#and on another note why did they stop putting little toys in cereal boxes??

[ontargetmadders]

You know I've always been a big cereal lover but there is not one cereal that hasn't changed massively over the years. No cereal tastes half as good as they used to when I was a kid. I can only eat like 3 different cereals nowadays and even then I do go off them a little and need a break from them

[mortuarybees]

oh I just sent you an ask and then realized that you answered my question in a previous ask, so ignore me. (Though I do have another question about them getting married or at least choosing to be committed to each other forever). Thank you for this AU though!

THIS GOT LONG I’M SORRY. The chef suggests that this be paired with Mitski’s cover of Let’s Get Married, which actually invented the institution of marriage.

It looks like this:

It’s a balmy Sunday in April, 2014, and Aziraphale’s hands are clasped before him, forehead pressed to his knuckles. He’s nervous; he shouldn’t be, he knows, but he is. The pew is hard and uncomfortable, unforgiving–Crowley would laugh at that, and even as he smiles, the thought makes his stomach clench.

The service ended a while ago, but he likes to remain, reading through the echoing chatter until everyone has gone and he can have a word alone with Her. Praying in a room full of others feels obscene and vulnerable, like leaving the front door open for the neighbors to peak in.

Please, please, please, he thinks. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, praying, knows that if today is the day, he needs to go home before Crowley gets irritable and worried, but he wants to feel certain, the way Crowley had been.

(It looks like this:

Aziraphale likes gold. Loves gold; he grew up in an ancient and wealthy family, with so much money they’re casual about it, crystals dripping from chandeliers and fine tableware so old it belongs in a museum, and he won’t admit it–not now, especially–but he misses the elegance, the luxuries, misses a wardrobe full of Harris tweed and Burberry and Liberty’s. He likes gold, he would want gold, and Crowley is helpless to do anything but give him what he wants.)

It’s been a long time, Aziraphale thinks. He’s getting older–I’m getting older–he only gets one life. He’s the restless kind, what if he says no?

He asked first, he reminds himself, and then counters it by pointing out that last time, it didn’t mean much, to him. No, that isn’t fair, it meant something, but it wasn’t binding.

He doesn’t need to bind himself to you, he tells himself. He’s committed in every way he can. He’s never been the restless sort when it comes to us.

I’m overthinking this, he thinks, bemused, and as if God agrees with him, he hears the door behind him open, and Crowley’s relieved voice boom, echoing in the empty church and certainly disturbing the bad-humored priest, “Christ, there you are. I thought maybe the Rapture came and the rest of London was too godless to notice.”

Thank you, he prays. Amen. He turns around and smiles. “Crowley, dear. Would you like to sit?”

“Best not,” Crowley says, stopping at the end of the pew Aziraphale occupies. “Surprised I haven’t burst into flames yet, don’t want to push my luck getting comfortable.” He looks around and points at a painting of Saint Sebastian, posed in a rather un-agonized manner. “That why you come here all the time? An excuse to gawk at younger men?”

“Crowley,” he scolds, getting to his feet. He ducks his head to hide his smile and puts his hands in his pockets, toying with the small velvet box inside. “Please, dear, keep from blaspheming inside the church. Besides, you’re far better looking.”

“Damn right,” Crowley huffs, and he takes his arm possessively when he exits the pew, pulling tight against his side. He looks beautiful in the mid-morning light, hazy and soft, hair loose around his face, the stained glass painting colors on his pale face when he squints up at it as they leave. The face of John is mirrored perfectly in the lenses of his dark glasses for just a moment, and Aziraphale wishes he’d ever really tried his hand at art, just to immortalize in rich oil paint the rainbow of light on his face, the Beloved Disciple in his eyes, the swipes of glitter across his cheekbones, the black lace top under his leather jacket, pierced a million times over with all manner of pins over the years; he thinks if he wasn’t at peace before, this picture does it.

“You’re beautiful, darling,” he murmurs when it’s ended, when Crowley tilts his chin down, curls his lip against whatever blasphemy he was certainly thinking and it’s just him again. Just them, and God as far away as She always feels.

“I was kidding, angel,” he says, thumb stroking a reassuring line down his coat sleeve. “Ogle some guy all–” he gestures, quite theatrically– “shot up with arrows if you like. He’s dead, I’m not. I win.”

(It looks like this:

It’s 2000, and Crowley and Aziraphale arrived in London six months prior, alone and uncertain, refugees on a foreign shore. They both grew up in rural villages–wildly different experiences; Aziraphale’s family had an estate and he attended some posh boarding school on the moors, Crowley slept on a bus bench on more than one occasion–and the city is new and frightening and exciting. It seemed like the place for two young queer men to go, newly anointed adults forging a life together.

Aziraphale likes it, Crowley knows he does, he likes the museums, he likes the beautiful old buildings and the British Library, he likes taking walks in the park, and he likes having a home of their own, a home with Crowley. He tells him everyday, a comment here or there with a soft smile. But he’s wounded and mourning; he misses his family, and his new way of life is a bit of a shock. He won’t admit that it hurts, just sniffs and insists he knew it was coming, but Crowley knows him better that that. He loves London, but he can’t help but see the life he’s lost in every crevice of the life he’s found.

Crowley doesn’t believe in divine providence, but if he did, this would be the surest evidence of it: on his way home to their shithole of a flat with his first paycheck in his pocket, he passes the window of an antiques store, and sees it in the window. It catches the afternoon light perfectly and shines gold against the black velvet display; it’s a clunky old-fashioned sort of ring, with angel wings forming the band. Crowley has been thinking hard about this for years now, and it’s absolutely perfect.)

The sunlight outside comes weakly through the clouds, pale but just bright enough to avoid dreariness. Crowley relaxes once they step from the church steps and onto the sidewalk; his first boyfriend broke up with him with a vague and plausibly-deniable note in a cheap bible left on Crowley’s front porch when he returned home from a summer church camp, and Aziraphale thinks he’s always been afraid in the back of his mind that Aziraphale is going to come home from church someday and do the same thing, though he’s never said as much.

“I brought the rolled oats for the ducks,” Crowley says. “Figured we ought to stop in, since we missed last week. Otherwise they might mutiny.”

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale says, and that had been his plan, but it’s all becoming so terribly real and sudden, isn’t it? He could wait just a little longer–

No, he can’t. They’ve waited long enough.

(It looks like this:

Crowley, ever-charming, talks the proprietor of the antiques shop into setting the ring aside for him. She’s suspicious of him, with his sibilant S and the pins on his leather jacket, but he’s wearing his work uniform, a perfectly respectable red polo shirt and black slacks, and he gives her a down payment and a long and terribly touching story about his college sweetheart that’s mostly true, apart from the gender of the lover in question.

The truth is, there are some things which can be easily done without, and some things that can’t. Aziraphale prefers fancy vintages from significant years and miraculous rains in the French countryside, but a £5 bottle from Sainsbury’s won’t ruin New Years. They can buy store brand cereal, the eggs discounted because one of them has been cracked, they can throw Aziraphale’s fancy embroidered throw over the pullout and hang richly dyed moth-eaten curtains from the theater department’s dumpster and pretend it’s the Hotel d’Alsace. But there are some things that must be done right, some things that cannot be done without, and he’s convinced that this is one of them. He could as easily propose with a plastic ring from the coin machine at their favorite bar, but Aziraphale is going to love this ring; even if he says no, pats Crowley on the cheek and says, “How romantic of you dear boy, but that’s not really what’s done, is it?” he’s still going to love it.

He’s secretive and vague about the extra hours and side gigs he takes on to make the payments. Aziraphale notices, he knows he does, he knows him too well not to, and he’s curious and a little alarmed, but he felt bad enough lying about where part of his first paycheck went without having to do it again every month when he stops in to make a payment on the ring.

It takes six months, but she finally hands it over, along with a comment about how she’s thought about it and she thinks it’s really rather noble, what he’s doing, and he best keep to it, best not break this poor girl’s heart, she’s read about people like him, giving it a go with nice girls for a couple years and then skipping out, sticking them with kids and a broken life. He rolls his eyes and says he’ll pass the message along to his boyfriend after he proposes, and saunters out, a skip in his step. It’s perfect; he’ll still wear it every day and admire it on his hand the way Crowley admires it now in the sun, and even if he says no–well, that would be a fine consolation prize.)

There is a bench they’ve been coming to for fifteen years now, so habitually the ducks flock to them when they arrive, flicking oats into the water. Crowley is catching him up on the fight he missed while he was out (the walls are thin and the neighbors provide endless entertainment with their incessant and bafflingly banal bickering; it’s a proper extended universe, their family disputes, and the mother-in-law is visiting, so it’s been an exciting weekend), and Aziraphale is trying to listen, he really is, even though he insists eavesdropping and gossiping aren’t especially neighborly–“oh, come off it, angel, you know they’ve got their ears pressed to the wall when we fight, not to mention when we–” “Crowley!”–but he cant focus on anything but the weight in his pocket.

He’s been putting money away for a year now, ever since legislation to legalize it was introduced last July. He’d known it would take some time to pass, but if they were willing to propose it, it would be soon.

“Alright, what’ve you got squirreled away, huh?” Crowley demands, the dozenth time in a few short minutes his hand has gone to his pocket to ensure it’s still there. “I’m hungry. Was so worried you’d gone off and joined some cultish offshoot I couldn’t eat. Well, a more cultish offshoot. Is the Catholic church an offshoot? Suppose it must be, not like Jesus named a pope–”

“It’s not food, dear,” Aziraphale says, sighing. “And he did, he gave Saint Peter the keys to Heaven and he was bishop of Rome. Blasphemous old serpent.”

“I’m sure they all say that,” Crowley says, waving a hand. He eyes him curiously, flicking a rolled oat so it hits a duck in the head. “What is it then?”

Aziraphale’s heart thuds chaotically in his chest. “Crowley, dearest,” he says, turning to face him. He takes his hand in his, desperate for the anchor, the reassurance. “I love you.”

“Love you too, angel,” Crowley says, looking alarmed. “Are you alright?”

“You love me,” Aziraphale repeats, both wishing desperately he could see Crowley’s eyes, search them, and desperately glad that he can’t. Crowley’s bare eyes are so terribly expressive, the sight of them so intimate, he couldn’t bear it.

“‘Course I do,” he says, with conviction. ��More than anything. What’s this about?”

“Crowley, my love,” he says hoarsely, and he kneels on one knee, still clinging to his hand.

(It looks like this:

It’s October in 2000, and it’s been raining like the coming of the second flood for days. Crowley stands at the window, biting his lip and scowling at it, sick of it and about to start refreshing himself on the principles of chaos magic in a bid to end it.

“Crowley, dear, you’re making me nervous,” Aziraphale grumbles from the sofa. He loves a nice rainy day, loves curling up against Crowley with a cup of tea and a book or one of those awful television shows with the flouncy costumes and overwrought acting, but even he is growing tired of being stuck inside all day and getting soaked to the bone on his way to work. “Come sit down, would you?”

“I’m busy,” Crowley mutters.

“You don’t look busy,” Aziraphale says. “It looks like you think you can scowl the rain into submission.”

“Works on the plants,” Crowley tells him, and he knows Aziraphale is rolling his eyes without having to look. He’s half a mind to do away with his idea all together, just do it right here in their cramped little studio, when quite suddenly, the rain lets up to a light mist. He stares at it, jaw slack, for several long moments. When it doesn’t start pick up again, he shouts, “Let’s go for a walk.”

“A walk?” Aziraphale frowns. “In this?”

“It’s just misting and we haven’t gone out properly in days,” Crowley says eagerly. “C'mon, get dressed, I want to go to the park.” He won’t have time to get dressed properly, doesn’t want to risk the return of the storm–which is a crying shame, he had such an outfit planned–but he yanks the pants he knows make his ass look the best out of their dresser and a deep purple blouse with lace around the cuffs Aziraphale once said made him look very royal, stripping out of his pajamas and hopping into them as quickly as he can.

“The park?” Aziraphale puts his book aside. “Well, I suppose I would rather fancy a stroll, stretch my legs–”

“Excellent!” Crowley throws him a horrible pair of houndstooth slacks and the first button down he sees. “Get dressed.”

“Crowley–”

“Dressed!”

“These don’t even match!”

“I don’t care! Get dressed!” He darts to their vanity, staring wild-eyed at his reflection. Eyeliner is smudged raccoon-like around his eyes, but his sunglasses will cover that. He picks up a brush and yanks it violently through his hair. His eyes dart to Aziraphale, taking his sweet time picking out a new button down. “Dressed! Dressed, c'mon!”

“I’m getting there,” he mutters, waving lazily at him. “What do you think, green or white, dear?”

“You look best in blue,” Crowley tells him. He pulls his hair back, then lets it fall again, then pulls the front back and secures it a few pins and a comb he knows Aziraphale likes. He spins around to see Aziraphale quite leisurely buttoning up his shirt. “If you don’t hurry, I’m leaving without you.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes, but his fingers quicken, and he sits down to tie his oxfords. Crowley hurries to join him, shoving his feet in his boots and lacing them up as quickly as he can. The moment they’re both done, he yanks him up, hauling him to the door, shrugging his leather jacket on and tossing Aziraphale his blazer. “Wait, I’ve got to get my bag–”

“You don’t need your bag,” Crowley insists, and reaches into his pocket to make sure the ring is there.

Aziraphale frets the whole way to the park about how it’s bound to start pouring again any moment, and Crowley rushed him so much he forgot to bring an umbrella, they’re going to get drenched, they forgot bread for the ducks–unaware as they were that one ought not feed a duck bread, for its own sake–and St. James’ Park is positively sodden and it’ll take ages for his wool socks to dry out. Crowley doesn’t care; he links their arms and slogs bravely on to their usual spot, grateful that the heavy rain has cleared it out. The only other people around are a mother and child, some ways off, enjoying the brief respite.

“Angel, I’ve got something to ask you,” he says urgently, and he wrenches his sunglasses off–wait, he forgot, the eyeliner–he slides them back on, then takes them off again; he knows how Aziraphale likes to see his eyes.

“Yes?” Aziraphale looks confused and alarmed, he doesn’t like surprises or irregular reactions. He jumps to the worst every time, starts overthinking every twitch of Crowley’s face, and Crowley loves him, the anxious prat.

“I love you,” he says. “Do you love me?”

“I love you more than words can say, darling, what’s going on?” His eyes search Crowley’s face, his brow furrowed.

“Do you–” he swallows hard. They’ve never talked about this, not really. “You don’t think this is–y'know, a sin, right?” It feels so awkward in his mouth, his tone not weighty enough. The truth is, he’s never really seen what all the fuss was about, why so many other queer people struggled so much to reconcile their lives with the Church. The Church rejected him, so he rejected the Church, and he hasn’t looked back. But it means something to Aziraphale. He doesn’t know if he struggles with it still, but it means something to him. It means a lot to him.

“Oh, Crowley, dear,” he says, his eyes clearing. He touches his cheek, so gently Crowley could scream. “Of course not. This could never be a sin, I’ve been reading–”

Crowley can’t help but bark out a laugh. “Of course you have,” he says, beaming at him. “Of course you have. What have you been reading, angel?”

“Well, Montefiore’s ‘Jesus, the Revelation of God’ points out that Christ’s early life–”

“Flaming homosexual, Jesus was, then?” Crowley asks, unable to smother his unhinged grin, and Aziraphale isn’t sure what he’s so giddy about, but it seems like he can’t help but smile back, a little uncertainly.

“There was John, of course, the Beloved Disciple, and there’s a rather interesting idea about the Wedding at Cana, which is of course in some ideas thought of as a symbolic marriage of Christ to the church, and some–there’s this beautiful German print, of Jesus and John at the wedding, I’ll have to show you–some have suggested that it’s also a more literal marriage between Jesus and John–”

“Christ, angel, you’ll marry me, won’t you?” Crowley breathes, and he kneels.

Aziraphale blinks at him, brow furrowed, his mind clearly trying to catch up to this sudden switch in the topic of conversation. It’s always hard to interrupt one of his rambling little speeches, he gets so invested in them, but Crowley will just have to make it up to him later, let him lecture above him well into the night about apocryphal writings and stained glass and this print or that; right now, he just need to be engaged to this ridiculous man. “Er, what?”

“Marry me,” he says. He had a whole proposal planned, but he’s forgotten it, and it was stupid, anyway. “Marry me, I–” he fumbles in his pocket, pulls the ring out of the little felt bag the proprietor put it in and holds it up like an offering. “I have a ring. Will you marry me, Aziraphale?”

“Are you–” Aziraphale’s eyes are getting wide, his breath coming fast. “Crowley, you’re not joking about this, are you?”

“Why the fuck would I joke about this?” Crowley snaps. “Look, see, I got a ring and everything. Do you like it?”

“Crowley–” Aziraphale gasps, a wet and rough sound. “I–I suppose it would be legal, technically, but I–Crowley, you know how I feel about, about–what do you mean–”

“It’s not legal, I know, but neither is buggery, technically, just can’t be prosecuted, but that’s never stopped us,” he says. He knows, he knows how Aziraphale feels about playing to his assigned gender, even when it’s convenient. “Look, it’s not like Jesus and John had a marriage license, is it?”

And Aziraphale starts crying.)

“Angel,” Crowley says, staring down at him. “The hell are you doing?”

“Ah,” Aziraphale releases his hand to pull the small velvet box out of his pocket, opens it carefully, precisely, and holds it out to him. “Crowley, my dearest, will you marry me?”

“We’re already married, angel,” Crowley whispers, and as if unconsciously, his thumb strokes the tattoo on his left ring finger.

“Well, certainly,” he says. “But it’s legal now, and I know that what the state has to say doesn’t matter much, but you know–well, you remember how it can be, without something legal. Something on paper,. And you don’t have a ring.”

“I have better than a ring,” Crowley says, but his eyes are glittering, fixed on the little black ring in the box, a band of silver around it.

Aziraphale swallows hard. “Crowley, I would really quite like to marry you, officially, dear, if you’ll have me.”

“If I’ll–I swear to somebody, angel, you’re the stupidest genius I’ve ever met,” he swears. “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot, I–what the fuck does the ring say, Aziraphale?”

He smiles, can’t help but be pleased that he’s noticed. On the inside, in his own hand writing, is You Make Me Live, Dearest, in deference to the song Crowley has, on many occasions, blasted so loud their neighbors have pounded on the wall, practically shouting the lyrics at Aziraphale, hauling him, laughing, into terrible dancing that usually ends up knocking something over. Aziraphale takes a deep breath, and sings very quietly, and off-key, voice wavering (he hasn’t sang since his second puberty; he had a lovely voice, before, he was in a choir, but he hasn’t quite gotten the hang of it since), “Oh, you make me live, whenever this world is cruel to me–”

Crowley grabs him by his lapels and hauls him up into a hungry kiss, passersby be damned.

(It looks like this:

Aziraphale is crying, his face in his hands, and Crowley is frozen on his knees, all his giddy joy slowly leaving him, a hollow humiliation replacing it.

“Angel,” he says, hating how his voice cracks. “Angel, I’m sorry, you don’t have to say yes–you can keep the ring, I want you to have the ring–I won’t–I won’t leave, if you say no–unless you want me to, obviously–” Shit, shit, shit, he didn’t fuck up that bad, did he–

Aziraphale drops his hands, startled, and stares at him. “Why on earth would I want that?” he asks, and he goes to his knees on the wet concrete, pulling the ridiculous handkerchief that matches his ridiculous bow tie from his breast pocket, dabs at his eyes, wipes his nose, and puts it in his pocket with a deep breath. “I never–I never thought this would be possible, the way I wanted it,” he says at last. “I never even–considered it, really, I wished, perhaps, but I never–” he stops, and he stares at Crowley with such warmth and love it settles him, a little. He’s not going to turn him out, and that’s really all that matters.

“I just thought, I know you wouldn’t want to do it…officially, so it might not be legal, but maybe–you and me, we could say some vows,” he says. “If you wanted. If you don’t, that’s fine,” and his voice, the goddamn traitor, cracks again on the word.

“Oh, dear, I haven’t said yes, have I?” Aziraphale says, and he smiles, a watery thing, puts his hand on Crowley’s wrist. “Yes, darling, I’d love nothing more than to marry you, I really wouldn’t.”

“Oh,” he says, and a smile begins to form. “Oh. That’s–great, then.”

“You ridiculous thing,” Aziraphale says, beaming, and he throws his arms around him, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. He can feel his lashes flutter against the soft skin there, the slide of warm tears, his breath ghosting across the fine hairs, and he shivers.

“Hey,” he says, nudging him. “Hey. Did you see the ring?”

Aziraphale laughs, leaning back onto his haunches, and wipes at his eyes. “The ring?”

“Yeah, the ring,” Crowley says, waving it about. He thinks it looks even more impressive in the washed-out grey light, shining like a second sun.

“Crowley,” he whispers, seeming to really truly notice it for the first time. “Where–where did you get this?” His hands hover around it, reverent, as if he’s afraid to touch it.

“An antiques shop,” he says proudly. “Give me your hand.”

“How did you afford it?” he asks wonderingly, and he lets Crowley take his hand in his, slide it onto his finger, smiles at his little sigh of relief when it fits.

“Saved up,” he says. “That’s, er. What I’ve been doing, going out.”

“I was curious,” Aziraphale says, and his eyes well up again. “Oh, darling, all this time, you’ve been working?”

“Wanted you to have the best,” he says. “Look, see, they’re angel wings.” He runs a finger around the band, beaming at it. “You like it?”

“Crowley, my dear, I love it more than I can say,” he says fervently, and he puts a hand on his cheek again, leans in to give him a chaste, brief kiss. “Let’s go home,” he suggests. “I’ll thank you properly.”

Crowley leaps to his feet, bringing Aziraphale with him, and they don’t quite run to the bus stop, but it’s a very close thing, giggling like drunk teenagers sneaking out late, laughter peeling through the park when Crowley’s poorly laced boots send them tumbling, arms linked, into the grass.)

It looks like this:

It’s 2000, and it’s 2014, and they run home from the bus stop in a sudden downpour of rain, having forgotten umbrellas, absent-minded and distracted by more important things. A leather jacket is shed onto the floor, a tweed coat thrown in the vague direction of a coat rack; Crowley throws Aziraphale’s suspenders off his shoulders with pleased gusto, a tie, belt, shirts, hit the floor with abandon, sunglasses are placed very delicately somewhere safe. Crowley pulls at Aziraphale’s binder insistently, in 2000, yanks his white undershirt over his head in 2014; oxfords and combat boots are tossed and hit the walls and floor; they stumble over their pants as they try to take them off without stopping, without taking their hands off each other for even a moment, and the old bed creaks when they tumble onto it. The headboard cracks against the wall, knocks the crucifix loose, and the thud is followed by shaking laughter overtaken by gasps, and cries, and fervent declarations, hands clasped, mouths sliding inelegantly together. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you; and they’re both thinking with desperate and delighted devotion, my husband, my husband, my husband.

[lovesickjoon]

little more bite - kth (m)

pairing: taehyung/reader

rating: NSFW (18+), read tags carefully pls

genre: smut, wolf!hybrid x panther!hybrid

words: 5k+

description: after a shitty day at work, you're determined to go home and snuggle up with your blankets to watch netflix. sadly, the universe and this mutt named taehyung don't seem to want that to happen, though. 

warnings: dom!tae, outside sex, sex with a stranger, unprotected sex (not a good idea, kids), (slight) breeding kink, overuse of the word 'kitten', oral, road rage, p much everything lmao. 

notes: this is kind of a mess, and it’s a bit silly at first. i wrote it on a whim. btw, tae does come off as intimidating at first, but everything works out. ok? dw.

A tall, tan, and handsome man rapping his knuckles on your car window would usually seem like a great thing. Except, this one didn't have a particularly happy facial expression. It wasn't broad daylight, either. The man also didn't have a piece of paper held up to your window with a phone number written on it. 

(A story for another time). 

This man was definitely not here to be friendly. Instead, the mutt was here to yell at you because he had an extraordinarily awful day.

Luckily for him, you had a rather terrible day too. Little did he know, he was messing with the wrong cat.

You turn your attention to the man, and he stops tapping on your window.

"Did you get your fucking drivers license from a cereal box? Why the fuck are you stopped in the middle of the road?" the man hissed, ears twitching in annoyance. Before you can even spit out an explanation, you hear him murmur under his breath about you being a 'stupid cat.'

He takes a step back from the car and glimpses down the road to make sure no vehicles were coming. You roll down your window a crack. You weren't quite angry enough yet to put the window all the way down.

"Excuse me, mutt? Do you want to speak up?" you ask, raising your voice threateningly.

"You heard me loud and clear, but I'll repeat it since you're a little slow," he smirks. Through his fake smile and clenched teeth, he slowly repeats his earlier insult. "You. Are. Fucking. Dense," he says, emphasizing each word.

"Though, I don't know why I'm surprised. You're a cat after all."

That was it! He was not about to get away with this name-calling bullshit.

"What's your problem?" you ask, flinging open the car door. You nearly hit him in the process of stepping out, but he doesn't flinch. The night air is chilly, and you really wish you were at home. You could be wrapped in a burrito of blankets, and be drinking something nice and warm. Instead, you were stuck here with this asshole.

You slam your car door behind you, swiftly approaching him with confidence. The man has a wicked smirk planted on his face. A little voice in the back of your head yells at the top of its lungs. The voice screams at you and tells you that you've just walked into a trap.

The back of your mind jumps from thought bubble to another thought bubble.

'Kidnapping?'

The next idea your mind bounces to has your blood running cold.

'Sex trafficking?' Oh my god. No.

As you grow closer and closer to him, the burst of confidence dissipates.

It took maybe a total of four or five steps to be eye to eye with him. The smirk remains plastered to his face, and he waits. What exactly had you planned to do when you walked up to him? This man was so much bigger than you, the chances of you winning in a conflict were slim.

By the time you've come up with something to do or say, you notice that he has become distracted by something behind you. You open your mouth to speak but snap it shut to glance behind you. To your astonishment, he has snatched up your tail and is yanking it. You try to leap out of his reach, but he has a solid grip on your tail. Heat rushes to your cheeks and embarrassment burns in your veins.

Did he think you were some sort of fucking toy that he could play with?

"You son of a bitch!" you snarl, grabbing your tail from his palms. He registers your reaction as being one of anger, and not as one of embarrassment. You read his reaction as genuine, guessing that he did it without thinking. "What? It was flicking from side to side, and you expect me not to try to stop it? It's annoying."

You find yourself wanting to laugh, but you're so flustered you can't. This guy had to be a complete lunatic. He was acting like more of a cat than you were. Really? Chasing after something because it's moving.

You huff and smooth out your clothes. He might not have known any better, considering he isn't a panther hybrid. Tails were extremely sensitive, and something that no one but the person the tail is attached too should touch. You tried to ignore the stir in your lower region, now was really not the time.

"And I'm the dumb one?" you scoff, rolling your eyes.

He couldn't form his next sentence faster than you could, so you bulldozed your way right into the original topic. "Since you apparently have a problem with cat hybrids, let's talk about it. Why do you hate us so much? Did your dad leave your mother for a cat or something?  Or is it because you can't get any pussy?"

His eyebrows raise, and you can tell he is taken aback slightly because of your words. The surprise disappeared from his face and was replaced with an emotion you couldn't place. "Trust me, baby. I've had plenty of practice with pussy. In fact, I bet I could make this pussy" — He jabs his finger lightly into your shoulder, indicating that he's now talking about you. — "feel the best it's ever felt."

You cross your arms, shooting daggers at him with your eyes. Was he serious? You were not about to...

"You're all talk and no action. Show me something, then. Stop barking and bite already."

The words have slipped out before you can reel them in. Despite him being a complete stranger, a part of you was eager to test it. You wanted to tip the scales to see how he would react. This man was clearly very bold. In fact, you could almost see the confidence rolling off of his form.

When he took a step forward, you realized that this was him accepting your challenge.

The action had you taking a step back, as much as you didn't want to budge. It was instinct. You should find the nearest tree and run up it to hide.  

There was a very vivid fire raging in those dark eyes. Though it thrilled you, you couldn't stop the slight tremble of your hands. You advanced too far and now he was willing to put you in your place. You yearned to be brave and stand up to him, but yet you kept retreating backward.

Eventually, there was no more space left. The back of your leg connected with the side of your car, and you knew you were done for. The man was up in your face once again. The man reaches around the back of your neck and tows you close. You're trapped between him and your car. You can feel the warm breath against your neck, and you're sure your expression gives away how shocked you are.

He still seems to show some restraint, not touching you anywhere except for the back of your neck with his palm. "You wanted to see action, baby? You got it."

The pet name rolls off of his tongue so smoothly you feel as if you're going to melt. You can get a strong whiff of his scent from how close he is now. There wasn't an easy way to describe it. The closest explanation would be that he smells like he works in a flower shop. and that flower shop is directly across from a bakery. You would call it calming, but it was in no way calming when it was wafting off the stranger that had you leaned up against your own car.

"You still sure you want some of this? Hm, kitten?" he questions, moving back to look you in the eyes. You gulp, unsure of the exact meaning of his words.

The hesitation is clear as day, and your internal struggle is evident to him.

"Just say no, and I'll back off," he mumbles. He brings the hand that was placed on your car to your face and gently caresses it. "Don't over think it. If you don't want this, let me know."

The anxiety in your chest is replaced with a strange, aching warmth. He didn't seem like a freak any longer. He was still bold and a little quirky, but not someone who would hurt you. Any other person, any other day, would the odd feeling in your chest still be there? You didn't know, but maybe there was something different about him that caused you to want to trust him. Hopefully, you weren't about to regret this.

Feeling a little more reassured now, you try to channel the confidence from earlier. It's as if you can physically feel it bubble back up and out of your throat. "Fuck yeah, what are you waiting for, mutt?" you nod.

A deep rumble comes from his chest, and the sliver of softness you saw from earlier is gone. He shoves his body fully against yours, letting his hands roam. He twists you around abruptly, so your back is to him. He bends you over the hood of your car. The material of your shirt is rather thin, and the cold isn't blocked very well like this.

"What's your name, sweet thing?" he asks roughly. At this angle, you couldn't see him, but you knew damn well those sharp eyes were scouring every inch of your figure. "Well?" he huffs.

You can't seem to speak fast enough for his taste, because he swats your ass once and then twice without a bit of hesitation. You mewl out your name helplessly, feeling delighted by the sting.

"Oh, you liked that? Didn't you, Y/n? Pretty name for a gorgeous girl. I'm Taehyung."

The taunt brings warmth to your face. He doesn't stop there though, he makes it his motive to see you flustered. "Do you want me to take you against the car, baby? Anyone in the world could drive by and see you. They'd be glad they decided to drive down this road, though, wouldn't they?" He asks, bringing down his hand on your ass once more.

"Pretty little slut bent over a car, who wouldn't want to see that?" He rumbles.

You're joking?

As if on cue, you spot the headlights of a truck.

Just your luck.

You instantly start to claw away from Taehyung, ready to hide. Taehyung releases his hold on you and nudges you towards the tall field. You peer back to see what he's doing, and you can tell he is as genuinely surprised as you are.

"Go," he points towards the field.

Your face scrunches up in confusion, and he jabs his finger in the same direction. "They're going to stop if they see two cars stopped on the side of the road. I'll be there soon."

The hum of the truck grows closer, and you scramble toward the field.  In a split second, you're hidden in the depths of the cornfield. It was pretty hard to see where you were going, but you did your best. The moon was still bright enough that you could vaguely make out what was what, at least. A slight trail is left behind you from where you've shimmied around the thick stocks or have simply shoved it away.

The feeling of the husks brushing against your bare thighs made you cringe. This had to happen the day you wear a skirt, didn't it? You find a slight clearing in the field, and sit down in the middle of the area.

A sudden thought hits you. Why hadn't you just hopped in your own car?

Well, maybe it would've looked like Taehyung was harassing you while you were broke down on the side of the road. Really, though? His first thought was to tell you to go into the fucking cornfield so you could get abducted by aliens?

And your first thought was to listen?

Realistically, you should be more concerned about a snake slithering up to you to take a seat on your lap.

...

...

You weren't going to see a snake.

...

You were fine.

Why was Taehyung taking so long?

Why was it so quiet?

You halt your movements, listening carefully to what was around you. You didn't move, trying to hear if there was a rumble of a truck or something. DId that fucker dip and leave you? What a bastar—

"Boo!" Taehyung yelled, plowing right into your form.

You shrieked, not registering who or what had just jumped out at you. It was only until after his arms latched around you, that you realized it was just the douchebag.

"Aww, was kitty scared?" he giggles childishly, obviously quite proud that he successfully frightened you. You let the comment slide, more focused on how fast your heart is racing. Thankfully, the warm scent that fills the air around you is calming, and you lean into his embrace. Which is odd, considering you've known him for maybe 20 minutes.

You close your eyes, trying to calm down your racing heart. He buries his nose into the side of your neck, nudging you. "Sorry, I had to do it. You made it too easy for me. I wasn't expecting you to come so far into the field, by the way. I had to try and track down your scent to find you."

You frown, "Yeah, you're a dick for that... But really? How far exactly did I come in?"

He adjusts you in his grasp so that you're sitting perfectly between his legs, and leaning with your back against his chest. His hands inch down your body, exploring you gradually. He hums, thinking carefully. "I don't have a good guess for the distance, but it seemed as if I was searching for more than ten minutes."

Nonchalantly, he presses his lips against your neck, and you drop the topic. This son of a bitch was acting so... Unbothered. He doesn't miss a beat in his actions, it seemed so easy to him. As if he did this on the regular... Well, with that face, he probably got it all the time.

Your lips part slightly as you feel his lips graze and his teeth gently nip at your skin.

"D-Did the people stop?" you rasp, feigning curiosity. To be frank, you didn't care about the people. There was an ache in your lower region, and you were dying for him to do something about that. You were torn, though. You didn't want to show him just how desperate you were for his touch.

"Yeah," he said, lifting his head momentarily. He continued on, in the most casual way possible. "It was an older guy, he asked if I needed help, and I told him I could take care of it. He almost insisted to stay, but he said he better get home before 'the wife' calls him asking where he is."

"Wait, what? Did you pop the hood and pretend you were working on my car?"

"Honestly? That's exactly what I did. I know nothing about cars," he chuckles. His hand found the hem of your shirt and he started to pull the material upwards, stripping you of your shirt.

"Yeah, figured that," you mutter, helping him free the fabric from your form. You can sense the slight shift in his attitude. You peek back to see his head is tilted in confusion. Just to spite him, you finish the thought. "You look more like the janitor type of guy. Not a mechanic," you smile innocently.

He rolled his eyes and reached to unhook your bra. You could tell he wanted to press the topic more but was too distracted to do so. Another time it would be, then. After a few moments, he unsnapped it successfully. He slid the straps off your shoulders and threw it beside you.

For a second, he froze, thinking carefully.

"Uh. So. Not to kill the romantic, dreamy bedroom setting, but do you mind sitting up so I can get these pants off?" he asks, words dripping with sarcasm.  

The sarcasm trickles back to him just as smoothly as he initially delivered it.

"Oh, I don't mind. Let me get off this lavish bedding we have so you can strip."

You sit up on your knees, cringing a bit at the feeling of the rough ground on your knees. By the time you've shimmied out of your skirt and your panties, Tae is also completely stripped down. He also has his jacket, pants, and shirt laying on the ground as a barrier. Your face flushes uncontrollably, you were standing bare naked, directly in front of a stranger. Outside of all places. What the fuck?

"Come here, gorgeous," he motioned you over. You kneel down in front of him, trembling due to the adrenaline rushing through you. He takes notice, and you can see the soft shift in his dark eyes. "Look at you, kitten. Such a pretty little slut, with nice perky tits and soft skin."

He trails a hand over your breast, cupping it softly. "Tell me, kitten? Are you willing to use that smart mouth for something other than being snarky?"

You found yourself smirking, this man really had no idea what was coming to him. You let your eyes explore his figure carefully, taking note of every single detail of his skin. He was absolute perfection. You move your way over to him, and you grip his chin upwards so you can plant a kiss straight on his lips. Your hand sneaks its way down and wraps around his cock. Preferably, you'd be on your knees and he'd be standing, but you could definitely manage with this.

You break the kiss, winking before lowering yourself downwards. You could feel his gaze on you, analyzing every movement. There wasn't a moment of hesitation in your actions. You gave a gentle, teasing kitten lick to the head, before sinking your mouth down onto his cock.

He let out a low hiss as you sunk down lower and lower. You were always so, so eager to please your partners. When the head of his cock hit the back of your throat, you reflexively clench up. You shut your eyes and try to focus on your breathing.

As you hold still, you feel him start to roll his hips upward into your mouth. Gradually, Taehyung's pace grew faster and faster. Every time you got the opportunity to breathe, you took it.

"Pretty little bitch, you're good at this. How many times has the little whore done this? Hm?" he taunts.

The words thrill you, rather than upset you. There's always that little moment where you recoil, but for the most part, the words melted your insides. He gave a particular hard snap of his hips, pleasure very obviously boggling his mind.

"You're going to be my slut after this though. Just wait and you'll see," he growls.

You're not sure how true his words are, but the thought that there actually could be something after this makes your insides tingle. It was probably just him being desperate for his release though. You could sense the need in his tone, he was getting close and needy.  

At some point, his hand had found the back of your head. He guided you up and down his shaft smoothly and rapidly. "Holy shit," he gasps.

He was unable to quell his moans any longer. Grunts and obscenities flew from his lips. Your hands gripped his toned thighs roughly, finding yourself almost slipping from the rough pace Taehyung was setting.

"Such a good, precious little thing you are. Where were you all of my life?" he knew you couldn't respond but still popped off with whatever came to his mind. The praise urged you to work harder. Except, it only took a few more rotations of his hips before he was hauling you up and off of him.

Before you can even take a breath, he frantically dives forward so your lips meet his in a kiss. It's more of a peck than a kiss, thankfully, because you're still pretty breathless. You take a moment to regain your composure.

You couldn't see yourself, but you were sure you looked completely wrecked.

You felt completely wrecked.

You leaned back on your knees, gazing at Taehyung curiously. He looked just as ruined as you were.

"Want to ride you, Taehyung," you whisper, swallowing thickly.

He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth and shakes his head. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, but I need to work you open first."

You bite your lip, tempted to tell him not to even bother, but you would need it. "I could do it," you respond, gazing up to gauge Taehyung's reaction.

Taehyung seemed experimental, but yet you still worried that he was going to recoil in disgust. The last thing you wanted was him to not be into whatever you suggested. Especially not when the two of you were this far in.

When his expression begins to darken, you don't bother waiting for his words. You're already positioned directly in front of him when he sputters out a 'Sure.'

You felt confident, but your burning cheeks said you felt otherwise. You dipped two of your fingers between your swollen lips, wetting them. You were already rather drenched, but you could never be too careful. Taehyung's eyes were boring intensely into your figure, watching as you grazed your fingers down to your core. You didn't think you have ever been this turned on in your entire life.

You brushed your fingertips over your clit, gasping at the electricity that shot up your spine. You stroked over it again and then added more pressure. You zoned out and focused on pleasuring yourself, quickly forgetting about your surroundings.

Your pace grew quicker and quicker, but before you could add a finger into your entrance, Taehyung came into your view. You wanted to clench your legs together with him this close. He kept his distance for a few moments, but it didn't take long before he was gathering up some of the slick and pressing a finger into you.

"It was a stunning show, but I couldn't just let you perform alone," he rasps, glancing up at you with a wink. Your hips jerk upwards as he sinks another finger into you. You retain your pace, not missing a beat as you snap your fingers over your swollen bud. He curls his fingers upwards, and you cry out.

You were hurling towards your orgasm at an alarming speed.

You can't control the clench of your walls, so you halt the movements of your wrist. You didn't want to come yet, not until Taehyung was inside of you. Before you can pull your arm away, Taehyung snatches it.

"Don't you dare," he scolds. "Keep going."

You whine and shake your head, you were too close. Any more of that and you would b—

He dipped his head between your thighs without warning. If you weren't going to do it, then he would do it. He gave a powerful, broad lick right along your folds. An abrupt moan wiggled its way out of you. He gave a hum of approval and directed some of his attention to your clit.

He hadn't forgotten about the two fingers pumping in and out of you, apparently, because he drove in a third finger.

He bent his fingers upwards, searching rigorously for your sweet spot. You, on the other hand, were more focused on the pleasure being caused by his mouth. Each swipe of his tongue against you had you mewling aloud. It was as if he was trying to gather every drop of slick that had escaped you. Your entire body was thrumming, sparks igniting on every inch of your form.

He rolled his tongue over the nub in circles, and your body arched. "F-fuck!" you wailed, chest heaving up and down.

You were right on the edge, your hands flailed from the ground to Taehyung's hair. Your fingers curled into his locks, holding him to you. He could escape if he really wanted to, but you needed to latch onto something. You find out that he indeed can break away. He withdraws from your soaked center.

With a  sonorous tone, he drawls, "Who is it? Tell me what mutt is making you feel this way and I'll let you come."

You whimper out your response at first, distracted by the vibrating pleasure coursing through your body. It's almost inaudible, but his ears twitch and you know he still has managed to catch it.

"What was that? Say it louder, say my name," he demands, pleased with himself and by how you were responding to him.

"Taehyung! Taehyung! You!" you shout, grinding your hips to meet with the fingers that are prodding at your insides.

He smirks, bringing his lips back down onto your clit. He rolls the bud in his mouth again, sucking and rapidly working it with his tongue. His fingers finally find what they were after, and he jabs right into your sweet spot. You're thrown off the edge, and the tears prickling your eyes finally emerge. You clamp your eyes shut and cry out his name. You lock onto every inch of Taehyung you could grasp.  

It took a good minute or so before you came down. At some point, you released Taehyung and he made his way up to capture you in his arms. He pressed soft kisses into your neck and rubbed his hand gently over your arm. He brought it up to your cheek, wiping away the tears that had rolled down.

"You okay?" Taehyung's asks, voice gentle and reassuring.

You inhale deeply through your nose and exhale through your mouth.

"Honestly? I've never felt better," you giggle, slightly delirious. You heave yourself upwards and Taehyung lets his arms slip from around you. You glance around you, this didn't seem real in the slightest. This was the most realistic (and strangest) dream you'd ever had.

With you no longer in his grasp, he adjusted himself so Taehyung was sitting on his jacket, legs straight out in front of him. He was leaned back casually, using his elbows as support. You raised an eyebrow and without thinking too much about it, you scoot over to him. His calm expression turns into one of confusion, when you throw your leg over both of his, straddling him.

You still feel a tiny bit out of it, but you were ready to take the steering wheel. Taehyung got the drift and aligned himself with your entrance.

The slide in was like melted butter. One slow, solid sink down of your hips and he was filling you to the brim. You swallow him up excellently, and he spreads your slit so perfectly. You couldn't bite back the moan that eluded you, the feeling of being so full was almost too much for you.

Your fingers dig into his chest, but he doesn't seem to mind. His hands meet your hips and though you're in control of the pace, he lets his hands guide you. Speaking of the speed, you were going tortuously slow.

Not only because you were still coming down from your orgasm. Really, you needed to drag this feeling out forever. He groans as you lift yourself up, and bring yourself back down on him. You rotate your hips, grinding down on him. It doesn't take much more teasing for him to snap. You go to drive your hips down even once more, but he's flipping you onto your back before you can.

He grabs each of your legs and pushes them up near your abdomen. The calm Taehyung is gone, and he is now consumed by lust. He began a steady pace, dragging himself almost entirely out of you, then driving in all the way. Your head was beginning to swim, and there was no halting the faint moans tumbling from your lips.

"I'd bet my next paycheck that you've never felt better than you do now," he hisses.

You don't respond, unable to find the right words. If you weren't so fucking concentrated on his thrusts, maybe you would be able to answer. Well, even if you could think properly, you still were too prideful to tell him he was correct. The rhythm is rough and quick, and the lack of response only provoked him further.

"Oh, and don't worry. I didn't forget the whole 'mutt' thing," he snickers.

You want to argue with him, the mutt thing was only because he started it first. He initiated it by calling you a stupid cat, which was the reason you even fired back. What comes out of your mouth instead of a rebuttal, though, is his name followed by a train of curse words.

"Well? Tell me, kitten? Have you had better?" he gives a particularly deep thrust that produces a yelp from you.

"Fuck you!" you squeak, wrapping your arms over his broad shoulders and hooking your hands together behind his neck.

"Aren't I already doing that?" he taunts. "The big bad hound breeding the kitten, what a turn of events."

You gasp, something primal deep inside of you being triggered. You uncontrollably clench around him, the words exciting you. You see his expression turn into one of astonishment. "Oh, you like that? Huh? So you're into being bred? I thought that was just a mutt thing. Yet, I can see it in your expression, you want me to pump you full of my cum. Don't you?"

"Yes! I want it, please," you sob. It felt so... right being underneath him. His weight pinning you down, his arms caging you, and his hips pounding you into the ground.

You were growing closer with every sharp plunge he gave you.  

He leans over to your ear and whispers, "Meow for me, kitty. Tell me how you feel about us mutts now, hmm? You want to be a good girl for me, right?"

"I'm a good kitty! I feel s-so good," you whine. It doesn't stop there though, you hurl into another thought train. "This is all for you, everything- All of me, all for you..."

"See? That's right, you belong right here. Mine, my little slut," he growls, shoving his face into the side of your neck. One of his hands moved from the side of your head and downwards. It wasn't long until you found out where his hand had gone. His fingertips met your tender clit, and you couldn't stop the quiver of your hips. You tried to sway from the sensation, but Taehyung didn't let you.

He departed from your neck and changed to hover his lips directly above your mouth. His eyes met yours, and you knew it was over for you. His lips curled upwards in a sinister grin, "Come for me, kitten."

Taehyung's thrusts turned erratic and he began to tremble. He hammered right into your g-spot, and it was enough to send you hurtling towards your orgasm. The heat traveled, from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. The coil snapped for a second time that night, and you sang out his name as you came.

A howl of pleasure tore from his lips as he followed.

He wrapped his arms around your thighs and yanked you to him. It was apparent that he wanted to be buried to the hilt inside of you. His cum flooded you, splashing out around his length. Your mind blanks out, and you don't know how much time passes before he moves.

There's a vulgar, wet squelch that comes from your core when he pulls out.

"Fuck," you hear Taehyung curse as he plops down beside you. Taehyung's eyes are warm when they meet yours.  All the irritation from earlier is gone, and his features have softened.

You glance away, staring at the starry sky. You were at a loss for words. Taehyung raises up on his elbow and catches your attention. You can tell that he seems as uneasy as you are. "Was that... okay?" he asks, delicately.

You raise your eyebrows, "Holy shit, of course. Literally, mind-blowing. In fact, I think I'm forever broken because no average person will ever live up to that."

He laughs, "Well, I'm glad you enjoyed that. There's one problem though."

You frown and tilt your head to the side. Taehyung points to the ground, and you notice your clothes scattered about. The both of you had used them as a protective layer over the ground, and now they were probably forever stained by the grass and dirt.

Then it hits you, there was also another problem.

"Oh, shit. We can't just drive home naked... We're going to have to put o-"

You groan loudly, shoving your head into your hands. Who knows how many pieces of grass were you going to find in your clothes on the way home.

[minhoinator-writes]

One to a Hundred (~2900 words) read on AO3 // AFF

A/N: Sorta inspired by the Friends episode where Chandler kept accidentally kissing Monica after they get back from London....so I'm sure you can guess where this is gonna go lol I swear I'm working on the next BMS chapter, but it's just been a super stressful week for me and I needed a quick one-shot to get me back in the writing mood lol 

"It's gonna be weird, isn't it?"

"Hm?"

"Going home."

Minho sighed as he pressed his forehead into Kibum's shoulder, closing his eyes tightly. Right, their managers for Surprise Vacation would be coming to pick them up to go to the airport soon. Which, that was why Kibum was at his rented flat in the first place, so they wouldn't have to take two separate cars to the airports.

That was the only reason, as far as their managers were aware.

But, in reality, they were spending their last night together before they would have to return to Korea and the close-quarters of the dorm. This…development in their relationship was quite new, but the feelings behind it definitely were not.

After the cameras were off and they left the pizza place off of the ice rink, Kibum grabbed his hand and stole him away from the crew, and together they explored London for themselves. Truth be told, it was the best part of the entire trip, blessedly undocumented by the crew.

Some things were best kept to themselves.

Minho kissed along the plane of Kibum's bare shoulder, smiling when Kibum snuggled closer to his warmth.

"Isn't it?"

"What?"

Kibum scoffed. "Of course you weren't fucking listening to me."

"When do I ever?" Minho sniffed a laugh, his fingers toying with the waistband of Kibum's boxers. When did he put those on?

"All the time. You're really attentive, actually."

Minho blinked, his hand stilling on Kibum's stomach. This was part of the new development...more genuine compliments thrown into their usual banter. It was taking some getting used to, but he wasn't complaining. "Sorry, baby, I'm still tired."

He could hear the soft smile in Kibum's sigh. Another new thing...Kibum liked it when he called him baby. Minho relaxed on his pillow when Kibum started to turn around, doing his best to stay in Minho's arms. "You're not planning on telling the others, right?"

Minho shook his head. They had already discussed this, after their first kiss on the bridge overlooking the Thames that night they had snuck away. This would be their secret for as long as they could keep it. "Are you sure?"

Kibum searched his expression, his eyes dazzlingly beautiful for this early in the morning. "About?"

"That...that you want us to be together after we leave?"

His expression softened and he took Minho's hand in his, looking down at it as he started to fiddle with his hand. "Of course. I…" he shook his head, pursing his lips.

"What?"

Kibum grimaced. "It's stupid and cheesy." Minho grinned, shifting a bit closer to him. Kibum speared him with an exasperated look that melted into a shy smile. "Now that...we're together -- "

"Finally."

"Yes, finally, shut up, Min." Minho laughed and Kibum closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Now that we're together, I can't, like, imagine facing the world without you, you know, beside me." Kibum glanced up at him only to suppress his smile and immediately look back down at their hands between them. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" Kibum shook his head and Minho smiled, slipping his hand out of Kibum's limp grasp to raise his chin with an extended finger until their eyes met. "You're so cute when you get shy. I've always thought so."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

The mischievous glint in Kibum's eyes was Minho's only warning before he surged forward to silence him with a kiss. Minho smiled into it, holding Kibum close as he relaxed further into his pillow.

Honestly, if every morning began like this, he might be more of a morning person.

But, unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. The knocking of one of their managers pushed them apart, both hurrying to get pajamas on so their managers would be none the wiser.

And, so, it began.

The flight back to Korea was long and arduous. In between sleeping and eating, they both decided to work on the lyrics for their upcoming comeback. During the ManU game, Jeon Gandi emailed him the draft of Dream Girl, their next title song. He was supposed to write his rap for it, and after he finished eating his lunch, he got out his phone to start brainstorming ideas.

"Do you want my help?"

Minho glanced over at Kibum, noting the bags under his eyes and how sleepy he looked. He was a light sleeper, usually, so getting restful sleep on planes was more than a little difficult for him.

"It's okay, go ahead and try to sleep."

Kibum fought it, focusing instead on the lyrics Minho was starting to type...and backspace...and retype. He mumbled his ideas until he finally rested his head on Minho's shoulder, letting sleep claim him.

Minho smiled when he heard the first of Kibum's snores, and glanced down at the top of his head. After a furtive glance around, he placed a quick kiss on the crown of Kibum's head and refocused on writing.

It was a good song, really cute, in his opinion. He could already almost hear the upbeat tempo and the tune of it in his head. He read the lyrics again, and, maybe it was because their relationship was so new, but Minho couldn't help but think of Kibum.

"My heart makes me go after you in secret," he whispered aloud, glancing down at Kibum again. He read up to the point where his rap would come in, then reread it once more before he started to write his lyrics with Kibum fully in mind. The words flowed easily and once he was finished, he read over it again, making a few edits before he sent it back to Gandi.

Kibum stirred when Minho set his phone down. "Did you finish?"

"Mhm."

"Can I see?" Minho unlocked his phone and opened the email before passing it to Kibum. He watched his profile as he read over the rap, releasing a huff of a sigh when Kibum started to smile. "I like it."

"It's about you," Minho started to say but was cut off by the arrival of their manager bringing them a snack.

The comeback was a whirlwind of preparation that started almost as soon as they stepped off the plane. It swept them all up -- with regular meetings with him, Kibum, Jonghyun, and the other songwriters so they could finalize the tracks for the album, perfecting the choreography for the title track, photoshoots and the filming of the music video...it was a wonder they had any time to themselves to sleep or eat.

It wasn't a surprise that they had yet to be able to spend any time, alone, together, since their return to Korea. They did, however, tend to gravitate toward each other, no matter what they were doing, maintaining their connection through subtle glances and fleeting touches.

It was quite easy to hide their affection for each other from the others during a comeback. Everyone was too tired to focus on anything besides sleeping and how nice of a concept that was.

"Good night," Jinki mumbled as he pulled himself up from where he was nodding off on the couch. Minho glanced away from the television to watch him go before his attention shifted to Kibum, who was curled up in the chair by the hallway, reading a book.

"Night," Kibum said absently, and Minho went back to mindlessly playing his video game. Until Kibum's book snapped closed. He looked back, smiling as Kibum stretched in his seat. "I thought he'd never leave."

"Oh?"

Kibum smirked. "Mhm."

"We should probably go to sleep. Long day tomorrow."

"Today, technically."

Minho looked over at the clock. It was a little past midnight. "Yeah."

"Let's go to bed, huh?"

Minho nodded, turning off the TV and following Kibum down the hallway, turning sideways to move past him once Kibum stopped at his door. He grabbed Minho's hand before he got too far away. "What?"

"Aren't you coming?"

Minho blinked. "Where?"

"To bed." Minho blinked rapidly, his tired confusion clouding his mind. He pointed to his and Jonghyun's bedroom in answer. "I meant with me."

Minho's eyes widened. "What about Taemin?"

"He's with his parents tonight." Kibum cracked the door open and looked back at Minho with the same twinkle in his eye that had been there all those weeks ago in London.

Minho couldn't help but follow him inside.

* * * * * * * * * *

"So how'd you sleep?"

Kibum paused and glanced at Jonghyun before he took a tentative sip of his coffee. The question seemed innocuous enough, but there was something in his tone that made him slightly suspicious. "Fine. You?"

"Oh, you know me. Up later than I should be."

Jonghyun smirked, almost devilishly. Kibum squinted at him, the checked down the hallway when he heard footsteps. It was only Jinki. If Minho wasn't up in five minutes he'd have to go wake him up so they wouldn't be late for their schedules today.

They murmured good morning to each other as Jinki sat down beside him, grabbing the mug Jonghyun set down for him and staring at it blearily. A door opened and Kibum leaned back in his chair, smiling at Minho as he walked down to the bathroom at the far end of the hall.

"Hey, Jinki," Jonghyun said, glaring at the box of cereal on the top shelf of the cupboard. His favorite cereal. "Could you reach this for me?"

"I wonder who moved that," Kibum said, trying not to smile.

"Some tall asshole."

The door to the bathroom opened again, and Minho emerged in his running gear. He smiled sleepily at Kibum as he made his way toward him, and once he reached him, he said, "Good morning!" as he bent down to kiss him.

If this were any other situation, it would have been a sweet gesture. Kibum would have definitely kissed him back. But, instead, he just sat there in shock as Minho pulled away from him. His eyes were blown wide, and Minho's soon was too when he heard the clatter of a spoon in a bowl.

Both Jonghyun and Jinki were watching them, equally wide-eyed -- though Jonghyun was sporting a growing smile. Any possible excuse for Minho to be kissing Kibum that wasn't the fact that they were a couple completely left his brain. He would have stammered something, though, if Minho hadn't walked over to where they were, shaking his head slightly as he wrapped Jonghyun up in his arms.

"Good morning!" he said with strained cheer as he kissed him, and then again with Jinki. None of them moved after Minho left them, and Minho didn't turn around as he made his way toward the door. If his ears were anywhere near the color of his face, he was visibly embarrassed. "I'll be back! Taking a quick run!"

He took off before the door closed behind him, and Kibum's gaze immediately darted back to Jinki and Jonghyun.

"Well," Jinki said, picking up his bowl of cereal. "If I wasn't awake before, I certainly am now."

Before Jonghyun could comment, Kibum sprang from his seat and muttered something about going to get ready to leave.

As soon as he got into his room, his phone chimed. Kibum closed the door behind himself and went over to where it had been charging, unsurprised to find a flurry of texts from Minho.

Mino 5:13 // omg i'm so sorry 5:14 // i don't know what i was thinking i didn't even notice they were there at first 5:14 // were they mad at me? 5:15 // are you mad at me?? 5:15 // did they figure it out???

Kibum smiled at his screen as he started to type.

5:16 // Jjong might have but i don't know for sure 5:16 // and no, i'm not mad at you

He paused, internally debating before he sent hurry back.

5:18 // thank god 5:18 // wait why is there something wrong?

He could picture him clearly, standing there on the sidewalk, his phone in hand and his brow furrowed with concern as he stared at his screen, waiting for Kibum's reply. And, before Kibum could second guess himself or talk himself out of it…

5:18 // i miss you

He tossed his phone away immediately, and it landed with a soft thump on his bed. A moment later, it chimed twice then fell silent. Kibum watched it, waiting for several minutes for another notification. When none came, he slowly made his way over to his bed, picking it up to peek at the texts.

5:19 // awwww~ 5:19 // okay hold on

Kibum could feel the heat coloring his face as he tossed his phone back on his bed. He smiled as he sorted through his closet, picking an outfit that would be passable as fashionable enough for a radio show and a fan meet afterward. As he was fiddling with his beret in the mirror, figuring out its placement on his head, there came a knock on his door.

"Yeah."

The door opened, and a slightly breathless Minho poked his head in. "Hey, can you help me pick out an outfit?"

Kibum stared at him, then blink. "That was a really quick run."

"Someone asked me to hurry, so I did." He gave Kibum a cheeky wink and grin as he slipped away, probably heading for his bedroom next door. Kibum placed the beret without another thought and followed him. By the time he reached Minho's room, his shirt was discarded and he was sifting through his clothes. He smiled as Kibum stared, a little too smugly for Kibum's liking, but he couldn't tear his eyes away long enough to snap at him.

Sure, he had seen Minho shirtless before. Many times. They'd lived together as a group far too long for him not to. But, it was different now. Before, he wouldn't have been caught staring at him, not this blatantly. He didn't want to freak Minho out with his feelings for him, but now that he knew, and they were alone…

"Hey, my eyes are up here," Minho said, a smile in his voice.

"Yeah, I've seen them before." Minho snorted and Kibum finally looked up, sighing involuntarily. "Sorry."

"I don't mind. Come here." Kibum stepped further into the closet, his attention shifting from Minho to the clothes. "What about these?"

He held up two options that were clearly not designed to go together and he knew it, and Kibum sucked his teeth before playfully slapping Minho's shoulder. "Stop it."

"These?" Another terrible choice.

He rolled his eyes as Minho just laughed. "Fuck, just let me do it."

As Kibum stepped up to seriously inspect Minho's clothes, Minho slipped behind him and wrapped his arms around him before resting his head against his. Kibum hummed in appreciation at the warmth and closeness, but as he started to pick out some outfits, Minho started to distract him by kissing down his neck.

As much as Kibum would have liked to allow himself to get lost in the moment, in the security of being wrapped up in Minho's arms, in the way each time Minho's lips brushed against his skin made his heart flutter… They had places to be, and soon. He pulled a pair of skinny jeans, a black t-shirt, and a jacket off the rack and slipped out of his arms.

"You have to go shower or else we'll be late," he said.

"Okay."

Kibum searched Minho's expression, smiling softly at the affection radiating from his gaze. Before he could stop himself, he cupped Minho's face with both hands and pulled him into a kiss that was soon cut short by someone clearing their throat. They broke apart, both looking at a half-amused, half-confused Jonghyun.

"What the fuck is up with you two?"

"Nothing," they said at the same time.

"He's gonna go shower before the van gets here," Kibum said, hastily leaving the closet. "I'm gonna go finish my breakfast. What about you?"

"I was...gonna change out of my pajamas?"

"Good luck!" he said, slipping away from Minho, he patted Jonghyun on the shoulder, and after steeling himself, cupped his face much like he had just done with Minho and gave Jonghyun a firm kiss. "Okay, see you guys out...there…"

He hurried out the door, smacking his palm over his eyes after the door closed behind him. Yes, today was their first slip up since coming back from London, but there were bound to be more. Lots more… Something had to happen...change...if they were going to continue to be together.

And Kibum very much wanted that.

Maybe they should move out of the dorm. No, that would be way too suspicious, especially now. He started down the hallway toward the kitchen when he heard the jiggle of the knob behind him and he didn't look back when someone -- probably Minho -- walked out into the hallway.

If not one of them, then himself. It would be nice to have his own space. More room to fit his clothes, and all that. He stirred his now soggy cereal, grimacing at it. That was something to think about, but for now, he pushed the thought away.

It'd have to wait until the end of their comeback.

[its-fallinallinshawn]

Balancing Act - Chapter 1

authors note: thanks for reading!! feedback is always appreciated :)

summary: shawn is on a world tour. whitney just won five more olympic gold medals. their lives seemed to be so individually perfect and most importantly, parallel. their paths haven't crossed in over a year but that was always bound to change when they share a manager.  

Warnings: none

WC: 2,676

@briancraigen_: this tour is about to become a whole lot more dangerous, happy to have ya back @whitneymcquinn

@shawnssmile: omg what

@mendesluvr: wait what about camila

@whitneymcquinn: mwhahahahhaah

@smendesbby: WE STAN THIS QUEEN coming to save us from the Shawmila clown show

Let’s go to the bars! Let’s go to the bars!” Brian chanted for what seemed like the millionth time. Whitney laughed at her friend and continued putting the finishing touches on her makeup.

“On a scale of 1-10 how mad do you think Andrew would be if we skipped the concert and just went to the bars before everybody else?” Whitney asked, still preoccupied with getting ready. She smoothed out her strappy creme satin dress and began putting her black shoes on while she awaited Brian’s answer.

“Don’t you two dare. He’d be very mad Whitney Jane.” Andrew interjected, talking about himself in the third person, as he hopped into the tour bus just in time to hear the two 21-year old’s conspiring against him.

Whitney sighed and looked at Brian. They had to go. As much as Whitney did not want to see Shawn, she knew better than to piss Andrew off this early in the tour, especially when she had to spend basically the entirety of the tour with him. Plus, she’d have to see Shawn at some point, might as well be when she looks hot and ready to go out versus in her sweatpants with no makeup. Brian seemed to have a whole other set of reasons for not wanting to attend his best friends show. Whitney hadn’t been around for longer than a week, but she could already tell Shawn’s friends were not liking this new and Camila approved version of Shawn. It wasn’t hard to pick up on considering Brian’s endless supply of jokes about the two, but Whitney was interested to see the dynamic for herself.

“Whit, we’re already late. You look hot, like really hot. You can stop getting ready now. You could have no makeup on and be dressed in a paper bag and I guarantee Shawn would still die when he sees you. Plus, we have to get there before Shawn sings all his songs about you in front of Camila. I wanna see him squirm.” Brian said as he grabbed Whitney’s arm and dragged her out of the tour bus, ignoring the callings of Andrew yelling at them to behave.

Whitney smiled as her and Brian entered the arena. As much as she was dreading seeing Shawn, she was excited to see a lot of other people she hadn’t been able to see in a while. Whitney had been essentially locked inside an old dusty gym training for the past year. Now she was retired, from competitive gymnastics at least, and was ready to have some fun.

“Is that my second mija I see!?” Whitney heard from behind her, immediately recognizing the voice as Shawn’s father, Manny.

Whitney turned around to see the whole of the Mendes family, with the exception of Shawn who was on stage, and none other than Camila Cabello. Whitney sucked in a breath and put on the biggest smile she could muster. She knew she’d meet Camila at some point, but she didn’t think it was gonna be the second she walked into the venue and she was hoping to have a drink in her beforehand.

“Whit, you look beautiful baby. I still cannot believe we weren’t able to make it out to Tokyo.” Karen said, referring to Whitney’s record-breaking performance at the Summer Olympic Games in Japan.

“Lookin more like your momma every day, I swear. She’d be so proud of you. I think she would be maybe the only person that could be prouder of you than us or your father or your brothers. Or Shawn or Brian. Okay never mind, point is you have so many people that are so fricken proud of you and we are somewhere at the top of the list.” Manny smiled as he pulled Whitney in for another hug and kissed the top of her head.

“Manny, stop you’re gonna make me cry!” Whitney laughed as she playfully swatted at him. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this family. When she met them five years ago when Andrew signed her, two months after her mother lost a long battle with ovarian cancer and fresh off a big move to follow her gymnastics coach to his new gym in Toronto, they became her rock. Training in Canada, far away from her family in North Carolina, they became her home away from home and her second family. Their support was what helped her become, as many referred to her as, ‘the greatest of all time’.

“Guys, what the hell? Am I chopped liver?” Brian teased, standing with his hands on his hips, pretending to look pissed off at the fact he was being ignored in the wake of Whitney’s reunion with the Mendes family.

Just as Manny was about to fire one back at Brian about seeing him all the time, Camila interjected, speaking for the first time since Whitney and Brian had appeared. “Wait so are you Brian’s girlfriend or something?” she asked in an enthusiastic tone.

Everybody looked at each other and disappeared into fits of laughter because one, Whitney being Brian’s girlfriend was just an incredulously hilarious thought as the two had been a pair of bickering best friends for years now. Two, because it became very apparent to the group that Camila had really no idea who Whitney was, nevertheless knew her past with Shawn. Aaliyah locked eyes with Whitney as to say something along the lines of ‘Oh boy, wait until she actually finds out who you are’. Whitney continued her nervous laughter and inwardly groaned as she realized this was going to be a long night.

“Oh Camila, this is one of Shawn and Brian’s best friends! Andrew is her manager too and she has trained up in Toronto near us for the past five years or so. I am surprised you don’t know her she’s on just about every cereal box in this country.” Karen giggled, cheeks red with laughter still.

“Only the best damn gymnast this world has ever been graced with. Whit, go get your 10 Olympic gold medals please, I am disrespected for you.” Brian said, not even attempting to hide his distaste for Camila.

Whitney gave him a discreet a look as possible. “I’m sorry about him, just ignore him it gets easy after a while, I promise. I’m Whitney!” she said reaching her hand out to Camila to greet her. Camila slowly accepted as she stole a judgmental glance at the small Olympic rings tattoo placed on the inside of Whitney’s wrist, as to confirm she wasn’t lying about being an Olympian. The awkwardness settled in as Camila’s silence lingered on.

“Well let’s go side stage, then? Yeah?” Brian asked as he handed Whitney a drink and whisked her away, Aaliyah on their heels, desperate to get away from her parents who had been tasked personally by Shawn to make Camila feel more ‘included’ when he wasn’t around. Aaliyah thought if Camila wanted to be more included, she shouldn’t toy with her brothers feelings just to gain some publicity, but as Shawn puts it ‘What does she know?”.

Whitney stood with a smile on her face as she watched Shawn perform. No matter the terms they were on, she would always be mesmerized watching him do what he loved. She couldn’t deny how good he looked either. His muscles looked perfectly sculpted in his white cutoff tee and she couldn’t help but glance at the rings on his fingers that she once was so used to playing with. She had been quite enjoying the show, dancing with Brian and Aaliyah. She had almost forgot why she was so nervous to attend the show to begin with until she heard the first few notes of that oh so familiar song.

“Shawn, what are you doing?” Whitney laughed as she felt the weight of Shawn crash down on her as he playfully flung her onto his enormous bed.

“This. Is. Me. Getting. The. Pretty. Girl. I. Like. Alone.” Shawn smirked, sneaking a kiss in between each word. “And because I have to show you something”. He said as he planted one last kiss on Whitney’s lips before getting off of her and walking across the room to grab his guitar.

“Oh my God! Did I finally get a song written about me you cheeseball?” Whitney teased as she feigned surprise, dramatically putting her hand over her heart. She smiled as she looked up at Shawn. His cheeks slightly pink from the effects of the alcohol he’d been drinking at the party still going on right outside the closed door of his bedroom. His hair slightly unruly from the amount of times he’d been running his hands through it that evening and all Whitney could think about was how much she couldn’t wait to do just that.

“Will you stop checking me out and let me be a sap for a couple minutes.” Shawn smiled as he began strumming his guitar and singing. Whitney’s heart swelled as she watched. She loved when he sang to her and he knew it, which is why he did it often. He couldn’t even count the amount of songs he had written about her over the years.

“What if my dad is right when he says that you’re the one? No, I can’t even argue. I won’t even fight him on it…” The second Whitney heard that line she couldn’t help but tackle the gorgeous boy in front of her in the biggest hug she could manage.

“Hey, I’m not done-“ Whitney interrupted Shawn’s complaint by attaching her mouth to his and swiftly removing the guitar that separated the two. She normally wouldn’t be this bold, but she had a drink or two in her and a beautiful guy with a beautiful voice singing to her that he thought she was the one. What was she supposed to do? Her hands instinctively went into his hair and his down to her waist, wasting no time in moving a little further south and giving her ass a firm squeeze. His tongue swiped across her bottom lip, asking for entrance and Whitney gave it to him almost immediately. Whitney began working her way down Shawn’s neck, nipping at the sensitive skin behind his ear, making sure to whisper how much she wanted him before moving any further down.

“Fuck babe, we gotta lock the door if you’re going to keep doing that.” Shawn moaned as Whitney grinded against him in her straddled position. She felt his warm fingertips lift her shirt over her head and she reattached their lips before her shirt even hit the ground.

“What the fuck guys! Get a room!” a drunk Brian yelled as he barged in on the couple who immediately jumped apart at the sound of Shawn’s bedroom door flying open.

“Dude! This is literally my bedroom, get out!” Shawn yelled as he scrambled to throw a shirt towards Whitney to cover her exposed chest while pushing Brian back into the hallway.

That was two weeks before Whitney had decided she was going to make a comeback for the 2020 Olympic gymnastics team and two weeks before Shawn’s world tour got signed off on. The memory made her sad as she could now see that in that moment, life was looming over them, once again ready to take them both into two totally different directions. But as she looked at Shawn’s shining face up on stage and she remembered her own immense joy every time an Olympic gold medal was placed around her neck and the Star-Spangled Banner played; she knew everything happened for a reason.

“Remember when I walked in on you guys about to fuck because he wrote you this song and you pounced on him? And Camila probably thinks it’s about her!” Brian said teasingly as he nudged Whitney’s side.

“Ewh!! Brian, that’s my brother!” Aaliyah screeched, hands flying to cover her ears.

“Brian, shut up.” Whitney laughed as she rolled her eyes and looked back up at Shawn. Whitney immediately froze as her eyes were met with Shawn’s already boring into her, shock written all over them. Whitney gave a weak smile which seemed to have caught Shawn a bit off guard as he stumbled over his words. He profusely apologized to the crowd, shook his head, tore his eyes away from Whitney, and made sure to not look anywhere near her direction for the remainder of the show.

Whitney sat in the VIP area of the crowded club next to Alessia and Connor. They were basically the only two people on this tour she hadn’t known from many prior visits to come see Shawn on previous tours, but she had become friends with them quickly. Especially Alessia, as they both seemed to be extra thankful to have another girl around all the time. Whitney had been nursing her third vodka water of the night when she felt an awkward tap on her shoulder and an all too familiar clear of the throat. She was met with the sight of a clearly drunk Shawn and blew out a breath in an attempt to clear her slightly fuzzy head and prepare for whatever conversation was coming her way. It might have been the liquid courage, but she felt oddly ready for her first encounter with Shawn.

“Uh, thanks for coming tonight Whit. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“Yeah I know.”

“What do you mean you know?”

“Because you never fuck up and you fucked up during ‘When You’re Ready’ when we made eye contact.”

Even in the dim light of the club, Whitney could practically see the heat radiating off of Shawn’s cheeks. She almost felt bad for being so blunt right off of the bat, especially with Alessia and Connor intently watching the pair’s interesting encounter. Whitney was almost 100% sure they did not know of her and Shawn’s past with each other by the slack and confused faces they wore as they tried to not make their interest so obvious.

Shawn gulped as he began again, he wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or her southern sass making it harder to recover quickly. He was nervously pondering what to say next when a belligerently drunk Brian slid into the booth.

“Holllllly shit” Brian slurred. “Well look who we have here. Whit, you should ask him where his girrrrrrrlfriend is”.

“Brian stop, she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Have you made a habit of making girls fall for you but refusing to put the label on it?” the sassy remark slipped out of Whitney’s mouth almost immediately and she instantly regretted it. Whitney mumbled a quick sorry and hurried to stand from the table but was stopped by a hand reaching across the table and grabbing her arm.

“That’s not fair and you know it.” Shawn said sternly standing up to meet Whitney’s eyes and bringing himself practically nose to nose with her. He knew he was a little too drunk and that he had pulled her a little too close, but he hadn’t smelled her lavender vanilla scent in so long and he just couldn’t help himself.

At this point Alessia and Connor had gone for another round at the bar in order to diffuse the situation, but Brian sat intently, smiling wide. As much as they both had denied it to him, he knew his two best friends wouldn’t be able to stay away from each other for long.

“Can we please just talk sometime, somewhere that’s not here? Preferably when we are both sober?”

“Sure, Shawn. Just let me know when you’re ready.” Whitney smirked as she pushed past Shawn to go join Alessia and Connor at the bar.

[shadowsofheros-blog]

Chapter 1 The Begining

     Sitting up on my small twin bed, I looked out the window and smiled. I was finally six and that means a lot. It has been a long wait for me, my first birthday that I could enjoy with other kids. 

        Looking around the house, I discovered that Mom was not awake. Her room door was open and to confirm my suspicions, I checked on her. After a forceful nudge, I determined she was not pretending. A while ago, I found that waking Mom up early could only end in misery. 

     Sniffling and rubbing my eyes, I sat on the red checkered couch in the living room. I stared ahead at the blank TV screen with a vacant expression, my toes barely brushing the shag carpet below me in the dimly lit room. I was just waiting to see if she would wake up.

     Slowly, I rose from my trance after a half-hour, hungry. I got up and opened the refrigerator, shielding my eyes from the bright light. I pulled out the milk jug and got cereal from the cupboard. I mixed it together and spilled very little. The first bite of cereal is magic. Sugary bites danced across my tongue leaving me needing to have more. I closed my eyes and took another bite of cereal, savoring the flavor, legs kicking under the table.

     After finishing my cereal, I checked on Mom again. She was still not moving. Better to not wake her if I want to live to be seven. I stumbled back to my room and grabbed my red backpack. After checking that all was in order, except the homework I didn’t want to do, I scribbled a note, in the neatest handwriting I could manage, to tell Mom I was at school. Then I walked out of the heavy purple doors, making sure to close them behind me.

     My home is two-hundred yards from the school. Mom told me that was close enough to walk, but she normally takes me. It’s strange walking alone this early.

     The school has one-hundred students and goes up to twelfth grade! The kids in my kindergarten class were limited to eight. I think that is a lot but my teacher told me they could fit even more if people moved here. 

          Most kids dropped out before twelfth grade though. In a small town like this, you could get away without finishing school. I don’t even know why I have to go. The teacher told me I should stay in school so I can be whatever I want. I don't believe her though, my friend’s dad is a firefighter and he never went to school. I think Miss Larson just wants to keep her job.

      In the future, I want to become a rich person so I can buy a three-headed dog, but mom said that is unrealistic. I want to be a firefighter too, or maybe a submarine driver. Fire is so beautiful, it shimmers and dances, so it would be nice to work with it. Water is pretty too but in its own way. It’s mysterious and dangerous, it is powerful and a little scary, so I will have to explore it. 

     I skipped the rest of the way to school, with the cool wind blowing on my face. It’s already April but I still feel freezing. I guess I’m just too sensitive to the weather.

     The sun just began to creep out behind the tall evergreens and light up the world around me. Tall wildflowers of all colors grow on this street and they slowly opened with the sun. I stopped to smell the flowers in the field. Mom says people need to do that to be happy or something.

    A crimson flower, the Canada lily, catches my eye. My absolute favorite flower. After it brought deer to our homes, me and Mom spent hours looking in books for the name. I picked up the soft, drooping flower and lifted it to my nose, prepared to smell a faint honey odor with the dew of the morning that I have come to love. I recoiled from the flower after catching the scent. It was the smell of burnt popcorn, ashes, and smoke. The kind of smell you know Smokey the Bear would get a PTSD attack from. 

     Inspecting the flower, I could see that the flower was burnt on the stem and shriveled up. It was crisp and flaky. I threw the flower to the ground and stomped on it, leaving the charred remains where it was as I walked away.     

     The giant concrete building sat only a few yards away, and I could already hear the laughter of children, playing before the bell rang. 

     The school was only twelve rooms big on a small lot. Each grade gets one teacher and classroom. My teacher, Miss Larson, is the newest one. Miss Larson is known as young and inexperienced. She mostly has us color, which is why we all love her. 

     “Miss Larson!” I shouted, running toward my teacher, “Miss Larson guess what!”

     Miss Larson turned around to see me and smiled. She put down her phone and took a knee, “Hello!”

     I gave her a big toothy grin, minus a few teeth, “Miss Larson do you know what day it is?” I asked.

     Miss Larson nodded her head and gave me a big hug, “It's your birthday, isn't it? We have to gather all of the kids to sing you happy birthday later!” she smiled sweetly and tucked my long black hair behind my ear, “Let’s get you a birthday prize out of the treasure chest.”

     I jumped with excitement. My first birthday present of the day! She held my hand as we walked inside the colorful classroom.

     Over at the counter of the classroom sat a box decorated with stickers and charms. The teacher opened the box and set it down next to me. I could barely stay still. Rummaging through the box, I eventually found my new treasure. A green stuffed bear.

     “That’s a wonderful choice! What will you name it?” the teacher patted my back, “Maybe a nice rhyme, like the ones we have been learning about?”

     I furrowed my eyebrows and looked at the new toy, “hmmm.. I think that I call it, Great Green Ted! -I laughed- Ya Great Green Ted!” then I turned back to the teacher with my eyes widened in curiosity, “Is that a rhyme Miss Larson?” 

     “No dear, that is not a rhyme, but it is a wonderful name.” 

     Miss Larson turned around and gazed out the window at the playground full of children. “I think you should get going, your friends might be waiting for you.”

    “Oh ya! They did say they wanted to talk to me today,” I inched closer and whispered into the teacher’s ear, “about something really important and secret.”

     “Oh wow!” Miss Larson clicked her heels, “You better get going! Want me to hold onto Ted for you?”

     I hesitated and looked down at my bear, “well… I guess that's alright. Thanks, Mom! I mean Miss Larson. Sorry.” I said sheepishly.

     Miss Larson just laughed, “It's ok, you wouldn't be the first.” She hugged me, but immediately let go, almost shoving me away. “Oh my, honey, you are burning up! Do I need to walk you home?”

     “N-No thank you! I just naturally have a higher temperature than most people,” I wrung my hands, “Mom says that it's because she ate a lot of spicy things when she was pregnant. Anyway you can’t send me home, mom is at work,” I said smugly, “The restaurant needs her to cook. She is the best.” 

     Miss Larson folded her arms, “I don't know if that is ethical, let me just take your temperature and give you some ice.”

     She must have noticed my confused face, because after she told me what ethical meant. “Ethical, hm, Ethical is, well it is okay or right. I’m just not sure that it would be okay to let you stay at school if you are sick.”

      The teacher led me over to the sink, “Here place these on your forehead.” 

     The water felt cold on my head, it was painful like a brain freeze. I winced and had to just dab it. Slowly I got used to the temperature, but it was not remotely pleasant. 

     My teacher turned to look at me and froze, her face mortified. The water was evaporating off of my head, and steam rising above me. She ripped the towels off of my forehead, apologizing relentlessly. 

     “Oh my, this is one hot potato! I am so sorry dear! I did not realize it was so hot!” she stammered. 

     She quickly threw the paper towels into the trash. Then she grabbed the thermometer out of the cupboard and threw a cover onto it, her hand still shaking with adrenaline.

     “Ok let's see, put this under your tongue,” I obliged while Miss Larson read my temperature, “This is definitely not right,” she tapped her feet to the tile floor, “We’ll just have to get a new one, there is no way that you are 119°F. Do you feel well enough to continue with the day?”

     I nodded my head vigorously and sprinted out of the grasp of my teacher, towards the other children. 

[wallsinner]

Title: Toy Soldiers Pairing: Reiner Braun x Female Reader Warnings: None, I don’t think. Summary: “Of course I remembered.” You said with a shrug, pleased that he seemed so thrilled with such a small token of your love for him. “My warrior boy.”  Notes: Old, Unbeta’d.

You hear the low hum of the TV from the living room as you close the door behind you, so you don’t call out his name and instead turn right and push the door open. Sure enough, yes, the TV is on low in the background but he isn’t watching it or paying any attention to it. Reiner has his eyes closed, looking peaceful as he naps on the couch. Actually, it’s really, really cute and it isn’t that often that you find your handsome, well-built boyfriend cute. Handsome? Yes. Hot? Absolutely. Sexy? Hell yeah, but it isn’t often you could use the word ‘cute’ to describe him. You can’t help yourself, you pull out your iPhone and snap a picture so you can ‘awww’ over it as often as you want to, but it doesn’t disturb him, his eyes remain closed. Part of you wants to leave him there to rest, because you know he’s going on a business trip tomorrow and you don’t know how much rest he’ll be getting on that. The selfish part of you, however, wants to wake him so that you can spend as much time with him as you possibly can before you go without seeing him for a few days and you’ve spent part of the afternoon out shopping with your friends Christa and Sasha to give him some space to get sorted and pack afterall…

It’s the selfish part that wins out. You drop the shopping bags onto the couch next to him and lean in to press your lips gently against his.

“Hmmm?” Reiner’s eyes flutter open and you pull away, giggling at the adorable expression on his face. “Oh, you’re home. I guess I fell asleep.” Another yawn, you feel kind of bad for waking him up. “How was shopping?” he asks as he casts a look at the bags on the sofa. “…Doesn’t seem like it was as successful as usual.” He opens his arms out to you and slide into his lap, nuzzling your head into his shoulder.

“It was okay.” You shrug. “We didn’t really do that much or go as many places as normal, Sasha had to pee and eat every ten minutes or so and so we ended up cutting it short.” You won’t admit it, but it was your idea to cut it short, partly because you wanted Sasha to go home and rest, but mostly because you wanted to go home and spend time with Reiner. “I love her, I really do, but I’ll be so glad when this baby is out of her. I didn’t know it was humanly possible to need the bathroom so often.”

“You say that now…” Reiner chuckles. “But at the end of it you’ll just have a baby with you when you all go out and instead of just feeding Sasha, you’ll be stopping even more often so that she can feed and change the baby too. Unless she’s going to leave it at home with Connie in which case…”

“Don’t!” You laugh at the expression on his face as you scold him. “He’s going to be the greatest Dad ever, infact, I believe you were the one to tell him that when he was complaining about how nervous he was.” Reiner just laughs and you open your mouth to speak again, as you remember the dumb little gift you have nestled in among the bags you’d bought home with you. “Oh! I got you something.”

It had been Christa who’d dragged you and Sasha into the little toy store so that she could purchase yet another gift for Baby Braus-Springer (who still wouldn’t be arriving for two months and you swore, already owned more possessions that you did, mainly thanks to Christa) and as soon as you’d laid eyes on the little box, you’d had to purchase it for him. You’d remembered right back to the beginning of your relationship, when you were still in the stage of needing to know every tiny detail about each other’s lives and pasts. You’d been lying in bed, having a discussion about childhood and growing up and nostalgia in general and he’d told you how much he’d loved them. That had stuck with you. You leaned over to search for the little bag and presented it to him. You knew it was kind of lame, but you were sure he’d love it and appreciate that you’d remembered.

You pushed the bags to the side and climbed off his lap so that he could examine it. “For me? You shouldn’t have?” He laughed and his eyes lit up as he saw the box nestled inside the bag. He pulled out the little box of toy soldiers and leaned in to press his lips to yours. “I can’t believe you actually remembered about this.” He told you fondly, opening the box and pulling out one of the green, plastic figures that were inside. “I love these things.”

“Of course I remembered.” You said with a shrug, pleased that he seemed so thrilled with such a small token of your love for him. “My warrior boy.”

Reiner doesn’t speak again, just takes each soldier out of the box, taking his time to examine each one in each pose.

Sunlight streams in through the window and you open your eyes groggily. Wait, what? Why was it light outside? Your alarm didn’t go off, why didn’t your alarm go of? You’d told Reiner that you wanted to be awake to say goodbye before he left, you weren’t going to see each other for a few days after all. You groaned in frustration as your eyes focused enough to look at the clock, post-it note stuck to it. You pulled it off, taking in a sharp intake of breath when you realized that you’d wanted to awaken four hours previously and looked down at the note. “Didn’t want you to wake, you looked so peaceful. I’ll call you when we land, love you – Reiner.” You read aloud and cursed under your breath. You appreciated the sentiment, you really did but you’d really wanted to see him before he’d left.

You stretched, throwing the comforter off your body and turned to face his empty side of the bed. Something green caught your eye and you frowned, reaching out and retrieving the small, toy soldier that had invaded your bed. For a second, you entertained the idea that maybe they were sentient like the toys in Toy Story, until you embarrassedly realized that it was more likely that Reiner had left it there.

Why though?

You put the little solider down on your bedside table and yawned, walking into the bathroom and turning the shower on. You threw your pj’s into the laundry basket and stepped in, allowing the water to beat down onto your tired body and wake you up a little. You slid out, dried yourself off a little and walked back into your bedroom to dress and dry your hair. You came back into the bathroom after though and opened the cupboard above the sink to grab your toothpaste.

There was another of the little plastic soldiers sitting behind it.

No. Seriously. What?

You frowned at it as you brushed your teeth. What exactly was going on here? Was Reiner leaving these around for some reason or had you accidentally awoken in a Pixar movie? You shook it off, assuming that it was down to Reiner like playing about with them and forgetting where he’d put them while he was getting ready to leave. You washed your mouth out, put the toothpaste back into the cupboard and headed down the stairs into the kitchen.

Coffee. You needed coffee. And cereal. But coffee first. You filled the coffee maker, hitting the button so that it would spring to life while you dealt with sorting out what you were going to eat for breakfast. You couldn’t help but groan and roll your eyes as you saw yet another one of the green plastic toys sitting on top of the container of sugar by the coffee maker. Okay, you could understand he maybe forgetting and leaving two of them around, but this one seemed to have been carefully positioned.

You walked over to the cupboard to deal with the cereal, shaking your head in confusion and… oh look, yeah, sure enough, sitting in the cupboard where most of the food was stored on the shelf above the cereal was yet another one of those green plastic men. For serious, maybe you shouldn’t have made that purchase because those toys seemed to have made your boyfriend transition back into a child, he was literally leaving them everywhere.

You prepared your cereal and then finished the cup of coffee, bemused by what the heck was going on all the while and planning on bringing it up to Reiner as soon as he called, because this behaviour was a little weird to you. You walked into the living room, planning on spending the rest of your Sunday morning watching catching up on the stuff you’d recorded to the TiVo box during the week, while surfing the internet, afterall there was nobody home with you to judge you on being unproductive (though to be fair, Reiner would never do that anyway). And oh, of course, on the coffee table you’d gone to set you cup and bowl down on was yet another one of the green plastic toys. Just… why?

You shook your head to yourself and flicked on the TV, opened your laptop and let yourself get immersed in your distractions. You hardly noticed that two hours had passed since you began your little TV marathon and ASOS surfing, but the ringing of your phone alerted you to your lost hours. Reiner. He must have landed. You picked up the phone, happy to be able to hear his voice. “Hello?”

“Hey!” Reiner’s voice was far too perky for a Sunday morning, but then again he had been awake since five and had probably drank like… a whole lot of coffee in that time. Or he’d napped on the plane. “We landed, we’re here in one piece.”

“I’m glad.” You replied with a smile. “Even if I’m a little mad at you for not letting me wake up this morning.”

Reiner chuckled. “You’re not really mad are you? You just looked so peaceful and I didn’t want to ruin you.”

“Maybe just a little.” You replied, asking how his flight had been and making small talk about the meetings he was going to have to attend. You reached out to pick the cup of half-drunk coffee on the table in front of you. It had long, long since gone cold but hey, going and getting another cup involved moving and it was Sunday, you could be as lazy as you wanted. You took a sip, pulling a face and listened to what Reiner was telling you about his conference as he waited for his cab to the hotel they’d be staying at, when you caught sight of the shaped green plastic on the table out of the corner of your eye. “Hey, Reiner?” You cut him off. “What’s with your soldiers being, you know, everywhere they shouldn’t be?”  

Reiner went silent for a second on the other end of the phone and then laughed. “You’ve found them then?”

“Well… they weren’t exactly hidden. You put them…” Realization washed over you. “You basically put them where you knew I’d see them.”

Reiner laughed again. “No, I put them where they’d see you. You know, so that I know something’s looking out for you while I’m gone.”

Your slight frustration at them being littered about the place immediately dispersed. You were so wrong when you’d thought that cute wasn’t the right word to use to describe your boyfriend. Because that was absolutely the cutest thing you’d heard this past weekend, including all the talk about Sasha’s baby.

No. Cute was definitely the right word to describe him.

Really fucking cute.

[wickedbananas]

How to Win Some Local Customers Back from Amazon this Holiday Season

Posted by MiriamEllis

Your local business may not be able to beat Amazon at the volume of their own game of convenient shipping this holiday season, but don’t assume it’s a game you can’t at least get into!

This small revelation took me by surprise last month while I was shopping for a birthday gift for my brother. Like many Americans, I’m feeling growing qualms about the economic and societal impacts of putting my own perceived convenience at the top of a list of larger concerns like ensuring fair business practices, humane working conditions, and sustainable communities.

So, when I found myself on the periphery of an author talk at the local independent bookstore and the book happened to be one I thought my brother would enjoy, I asked myself a new question:

“I wonder if this shop would ship?”

There was no signage indicating such a service, but I asked anyway, and was delighted to discover that they do. Minutes later, the friendly staff was wrapping up a signed copy of the volume in nice paper and popping a card in at no extra charge. Shipping wasn’t free, but I walked away feeling a new kind of happiness in wishing my sibling a “Happy Birthday” this year.

And that single transaction not only opened my eyes to the fact that I don’t have to remain habituated to gift shopping at Amazon or similar online giants for remote loved ones, but it also inspired this article.

Let’s talk about this now, while your local business, large or small, still has time to make plans for the holidays. Let’s examine this opportunity together, with a small study, a checklist, and some inspiration for seasonal success.

What do people buy most at the holidays and who’s shipping?

According to Statista, the categories in the following chart are the most heavily shopped during the holiday season. I selected a large town in California with a population of 60,000+, and phoned every business in these categories that was ranking in the top 10 of Google’s Local Finder view. This comprised both branded chains and independently-owned businesses. I asked each business if I came in and purchased items whether they could ship them to a friend.

Category

% Offer Shipping

Notes

Clothing

80%

Some employees weren’t sure. Outlets of larger store brands couldn’t ship. Some offered shipping only if you were a member of their loyalty program. Small independents consistently offered shipping. Larger brands promoted shopping online.

Electronics

10%

Larger stores all stressed going online. The few smaller stores said they could ship, but made it clear that it was an unusual request.

Games/Toys/Dolls etc.

25%

Large stores promote online shopping. One said they would ship some items but not all. Independents did not ship.

Food/Liquor

20%

USPS prohibits shipping alcohol. I surveyed grocery, gourmet, and candy stores. None of the grocery stores shipped and only two candy stores did.

Books

50%

Only two bookstores in this town, both independent. One gladly ships. The other had never considered it.

Jewelry

60%

Chains require online shopping. Independents more open to shipping but some didn’t offer it.

Health/Beauty

20%

With a few exceptions, cosmetic and fitness-related stores either had no shipping service or had either limited or full online shopping.

Takeaways from the study

Most of the chains promote online shopping vs. shopping in their stores, which didn’t surprise me, but which strikes me as opportunity being left on the table.

I was pleasantly surprised by the number of independent clothing and jewelry stores that gladly offered to ship gift purchases.

I was concerned by how many employees initially didn’t know whether or not their employer offered shipping, indicating a lack of adequate training.

Finally, I’ll add that I’ve physically visited at least 85% of these businesses in the past few years and have never been told by any staff member about their shipping services, nor have I seen any in-store signage promoting such an offer.

My overarching takeaway from the experiment is that, though all of us are now steeped in the idea that consumers love the convenience of shipping, a dominant percentage of physical businesses are still operating as though this realization hasn’t fully hit in… or that it can be safely ignored.

To put it another way, if Amazon has taken some of your customers, why not take a page from their playbook and get shipping?

The nitty-gritty of brick-and-mortar shipping

62% of consumers say the reason they’d shop offline is because they want to see, touch, and try out items. – RetailDive

There’s no time like the holidays to experiment with a new campaign. I sat down with a staff member at the bookstore where I bought my brother’s gift and asked her some questions about how they manage shipping. From that conversation, and from some additional research, I came away with the following checklist for implementing a shipping offer at your brick-and-mortar locations:

✔ Determine whether your business category is one that lends itself to holiday gift shopping.

✔ Train core or holiday temp staff to package and ship gifts.

✔ Craft compelling messaging surrounding your shipping offer, perhaps promoting pride in the local community vs. pride in Amazon. Don’t leave it to customers to shop online on autopilot — help them realize there’s a choice.

✔ Cover your store and website with messaging highlighting this offering, at least two months in advance of the holidays.

✔ In October, run an in-store campaign in which cashiers verbally communicate your holiday shipping service to every customer.

✔ Sweeten the offer with a dedication of X% of sales to a most popular local cause/organization/institution.

✔ Promote your shipping service via your social accounts.

✔ Make an effort to earn a mention of your shipping service in local print and radio news.

✔ Set clear dates for when the last purchases can be made to reach their destinations in time for the holidays.

✔ Coordinate with the USPS, FedEx, or UPS to have them pick up packages from your location daily.

✔ Determine the finances of your shipping charges. You may need to experiment with whether free shipping would put too big of a hole in your pocket, or whether it’s necessary to compete with online giants at the holidays.

✔ Track the success of this campaign to discover ROI.

Not every business is a holiday shopping destination, and online shopping may simply have become too dominant in some categories to overcome the Amazon habit. But, if you determine you’ve got an opportunity here, designate 2018 as a year to experiment with shipping with a view towards making refinements in the new year.

You may discover that your customers so appreciate the lightbulb moment of being able to support local businesses when they want something mailed that shipping is a service you’ll want to instate year-round. And not just for gifts… consumers are already signaling at full strength that they like having merchandise shipped to themselves!

Adding the lagniappe: Something extra

For the past couple of years, economists have reported that Americans are spending more on restaurants than on groceries. I see a combination of a desire for experiences and convenience in that, don’t you? It has been joked that someone needs to invent food that takes pictures of itself for social sharing! What can you do to capitalize on this desire for ease and experience in your business?

Cards, carols, and customs are wreathed in the “joy” part of the holidays, but how often do customers genuinely feel the enjoyment when they are shopping these days? True, a run to the store for a box of cereal may not require aesthetic satisfaction, but shouldn’t we be able to expect some pleasure in our purchasing experiences, especially when we are buying gifts that are meant to spread goodwill?

When my great-grandmother got tired from shopping at the Emporium in San Francisco, one of the superabundant sales clerks would direct her to the soft surroundings of the ladies’ lounge to refresh her weary feet on an automatic massager. She could lunch at a variety of nicely appointed in-store restaurants at varied prices. Money was often tight, but she could browse happily in the “bargain basement”. There were holiday roof rides for the kiddies, and holiday window displays beckoning passersby to stop and gaze in wonder. Great-grandmother, an immigrant from Ireland, got quite a bit of enjoyment out of the few dollars in her purse.

It may be that those lavish days of yore are long gone, taking the pleasure of shopping with them, and that we’re doomed to meager choosing between impersonal online shopping or impersonal offline warehouses … but I don’t think so.

The old Emporium was huge, with multiple floors and hundreds of employees … but it wasn’t a “big box store”.

There’s still opportunity for larger brands to differentiate themselves from their warehouse-lookalike competitors. Who says retail has to look like a fast food chain or a mobile phone store?

And as for small, independent businesses? I can’t open my Twitter feed nowadays without encountering a new and encouraging story about the rise of localism and local entrepreneurialism.

It’s a good time to revive the ethos of the lagniappe — the Louisiana custom of giving patrons a little something extra with their purchase, something that will make it worth it to get off the computer and head into town for a fun, seasonal experience. Yesterday’s extra cookie that made up the baker’s dozen could be today’s enjoyable atmosphere, truly expert salesperson, chair to sit down in when weary, free cup of spiced cider on a wintry day… or the highly desirable service of free shipping. Chalk up the knowledge of this need as one great thing Amazon has gifted you.

In 2017, our household chose to buy as many holiday presents as possible from Main Street for our nearby family and friends. We actually enjoyed the experience. In 2018, we plan to see how far our town can take us in terms of shipping gifts to loved ones we won’t have a chance to see. Will your business be ready to serve our newfound need?

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[oneofthemillionarmy]

Secret Santa

@sunshobine - Merry Christmas!!!

(song based: All I Want for Christmas is You)

To: Sunshobine

From: your secret santa ;)

I don’t want a lot for Christmas // There is just one thing I need..

Snow falls gently on the main road in the university, covering the grass and layering on the tree tops. It isn’t dark yet but dusky enough for some of the lamps lining the path to turn on, tinting its stark surroundings with warm color. The time of night has yet to arrive but the moon seems eager to make an earlier appearance in the cold weather. The crunching of snow beneath your feet is frantic as you rush from your last class of the day. It is exactly twelve days until Christmas day and exactly fifteen minutes past the time you were supposed to meet your friends at your apartment. You’re sure your brother Hoseok will use this as another reason why you should just give him a spare key to your apartment. But you’ve seen the state of his shared apartment with Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook. Despite the fact that they a completely empty fridge and pantry, empty or semi empty containers of food litter every square inch of the space. And you love your brother dearly but you are one hundred percent sure that your apartment does not need some Hoseok remodeling. Thankfully your apartment is just two blocks from the campus so the familiar building greets you soon.

“Ya, Pernela. What took you so long, making your dear brother and friends stand in the cold.”

“Sorry Hoseok, the lecture ran a bit late”

“It’s all good Pernela, we really didn’t wait long” Taehyung chirps as he rests his arm atop your head. “Hurry and open the door, we brought snacks!” he exclaims as he dangles the bag of goodies in front of your face.

“Ya, hurry and open the door before poor Joonie turns into a popsicle.” Your hand stops pushing the door open the moment you turn your head and take in Namjoon’s appearance. He’s as tall and elegant as always but the snow has dampened his hair a bit, causing some of his locks to stick to his skin, framing his face. A big scarf engulfs the bottom half of his face, his slightly red nose just poking out, the heat of his breath fogging the thick frames adorning his face. The entirety of it all causes you to flush more than what you could blame the cold for. Fuck, he’s adorable. Before your face fully turns the color of rudolph’s nose, Yoongi rushes by you muttering about his hatred of the cold.

By the time everyone has entered through the threshold of your home and you have closed the door, Jin already has cocoa going and the youngest boys have ripped open the snacks. The sight causes a small smile to form, your friends might be a bit goofy but you wouldn’t trade them for the world.

“Time to get this secret santa thing going!” Jungkook shouts as he pulls out a hat. Once everyone had put their name in, the drawing began. Before it was your turn, there were some quiet shrieks of glee and muttering. When the hat came around to you, there was a single piece of paper left. The person who you would be giving giving gifts to would be none other than Kim Namjoon.

Santa Claus won’t make me happy // with a toy on Christmas Day

You flop down onto the chair opposite your friend in the library with a loud huff. The table is situated far back in the corner hidden behind bookshelves as the bigger tables are taken over by university students ravenously studying for finals week. She gently closes her laptop at your arrival before pushing it to the side and turning her eyes to your slumped form.

“What happened now? Is Professor douche making a four part final again? Cause at this point I swear someone pissed in his cereal everyday in a past life.”

“It’s a three part final this time but that isn’t the only reason,” you whine as you knock your forehead against the table’s surface. “Last night the boys and I picked our secret santa’s for our yearly holiday gift exchange and you will not believe who I got.” Before your friend can open her mouth and let out a sarcastic response probably along the lines of ‘the love of your life and hunk in your mind Namjoon’, you reply with “It’s Namjoon.” Her eyes widen almost comically as her jaw drops.

“No! Really? What are you going to give him? You should tie yourself up in a ribbon and give him yourself as a present.” Heat flushes your cheeks as you playfully swat at her. But instead of lecturing her about her indecency, you decide to tell her your plans for Namjoon’s secret santa gift.

And I’m just gonna keep on waiting // Underneath the mistletoe

You pull your coat tighter around your body as you wait for Taehyung to open the door. It’s Christmas eve and as per tradition, two people hold a holiday party so that everyone can deliver their presents discreetly. And this year the hosts are Tae and Jungkook, the night is sure to be wild.

Finally the door swings open effectively showing off the festivities inside, drinking, grinding, drinking, more drinking, and lots of mistletoe hung about. Taehyung grabs hold of your hand and drags you into the throng of people. By the time you are dragged halfway across the room you have lost your coat and have obtained a cup with a very generous pour of some boozy mishap. Taehyung’s sudden stop causes a bit of the drink to slosh over the rim of the cup and you awkwardly shift your body so that none of it spills on your christmas sweat because the thing is ugly enough without a big stain on it. When you finally shift your gaze from your drink you see that you are now standing with your brother and Jimin and that Taehyung has gone off to who knows where.

“So Pernela, you ready to give your present tonight?” Hoseok wiggles his eyebrows at you with a smirk. You shove his shoulder playfully and retort that you’re always ready for anything. Which reminds you off a little note that you had received earlier that day. You had been in the library as usual studying for your stupid test that your stupid professor just had to stupidly plan for Christmas eve, stupid, when you went to the bathroom only to return with a folded note on your books and an overly smiley best friend. The paper was simple lined paper but it smelled faintly of coffee and the freshness of the outdoors. In a messy scrawl it read:

> tonight at Taehyung’s and Jungkook’s Christmas eve bash

(I’m sorry if this comes off a bit brash)

meet me at the dangling mistletoe,

when you get there at 11:58 you’ll know.

sorry, I tried to make this rhyme

but I was running quick on time.<

Looking at your phone to check the time it reads 11:56. Taking a quick sniff of whatever new drink Jungkook has given you, you crinkle your nose and down the entire thing. Your gut is telling you that you might need some liquid courage. Straightening your hair and grabbing the gift for your secret santa you make your way to the center of the living room where a big thing of mistletoe dangles from the ceiling

Everyone is singing // I hear those sleigh bells ringing

Unlike all the other pieces of mistletoe haphazardly taped to every visible surface in the apartment, this piece is un-crumpled and tied with a pretty red ribbon. As you approach the middle of the room you see a tall guy standing beneath the christmas arrangement. Checking your phone once again you find that it is exactly 11:57, you also find yourself staring right as a bright red and green sweater when you look up from your device. Trailing your eyes upwards you make eye contact with none other than Kim Namjoon wearing the red and green Christmas sweater, cheeks a bit flushed and hair looking as if a hand has been running through it for the past week. But he still manages to look define. And at 11:58 with the shyest of smiles he pulls out a small box and tentatively holds it out to you. When you take it from his hands your fingertips brush and linger for a second longer than necessary, causing your heart to skip a beat. Unraveling the bow and opening the small box you find a delicate necklace holding your initials staring back at you.

“Pernela Car, in this moment if you asked if I was completely sober i’d be lying if I said yes because you make me drunk on love. Also I had a few shots of vodka three minutes ago because the butterflies in my stomach felt like an elephant stampede. What I’m trying to say is that I’m your secret santa..wait, no that’s not what I wanted to tell you. What I meant is that you are the person I want to grow old with, and have kids with, and do laundry with on Sunday mornings, and plan our retirement together even though I won’t retire anytime around when I say I will. And shit that wasn’t it either. Taehyung that brat said the shots would help me get out what I’ve wanted to say for months but fuck, it’s like my mouth is a running faucet and everything is flowing out besides the fact that your really pretty and really really cute when you stand next to be and only come up to my chest even when you’re on your tippy toes. Did I already say how gorgeous you are? Or that I’d like to take you on a date-“ Before he can continue you jump up and wrap your arms around his neck, giving him the tightest hug. He pauses mid sentence and just stares into your eyes as if he’s lost all ability of speech. The both of you continue to gaze into each others eyes and it’s like the part in movies where the two love interests meet gazes and suddenly the world mutes so that it’s just the two of them in the entire universe and nothing else matters. It was just like that, with the exception that you could still very well hear your surroundings and the imminent shouting of “kiss”. To your surprise, Namjoon hooks his arms under your thighs to hold you closer to himself instead of letting you back down on the floor. When you move to protest, all words die in your throat when a pair of plush lips cushion your own.

“What do you say about us leaving this place and going to my apartment to watch a movie instead” Namjoon whispers as he rests his forehead against your own. And with a breathless nod, the two of you are gone.

Make my wish come true….

There’s a slight clinking from the kitchen before Namjoon emerges with two mugs in his hands. The scarf you had knitted for him wrapped tightly around his neck as he walks heel to toe so as to not spill the liquid.

“One not-so-hot hot chocolate for the beautiful Pernela” he winks and flashes his dimples before taking a seat next to you. He pulls the blanket over the both of you and wraps an arm around you, effectively pulling you closer to his body before starting the movie. With the lights off and the television screen faintly illuminating the room, you get a chance to gaze at namjoon without it being blatantly obvious. There’s a warm feeling in your stomach but it’s not due to the chocolate beverage sitting atop the coffee table, perhaps from the stupidly cute boy with the stupidly cute personality sitting beside you. And when he turns his head to meet your gaze, you decide in that moment that despite the falling snow outside, there’s nothing that could chill you when the brightness of his smile warms you like the glow of the sun on a spring day.

…all I want for Christmas is you

[thehiccupingbanana]

Just Another Day in Paradise

PAIRING: Phan (Phil / Dan) GENRE: fluff WORD COUNT: 1,641 WARNINGS: pre-smut, mentions of sex, but no sex, cute parent!phan stuffs, mpreg  SUMMARY: songfic based off of Just Another Day in Paradise by Phil Vassar AUTHORS NOTE: I thought dan and phil having their own kids instead of adoption would be cool. Also yes this is a country song.

[READ ON AO3]

“I want to play with that!” Olly grabbed the building block set out of Jamie’s hands.

“I had it first!” Jamie stomped her foot.

“I was born first!” Olly stuck out his tongue.

“There enough toys in this house, you don’t need to fight this early in the morning.” Dan could feel a headache coming on and he couldn’t do anything about it.

“Daddy! Someones at the door.” Jamie told him breaking him out of his self pity party. How did he not hear the dog barking. He walks over to the door and the phone starts to ring.

“Just ignore the phone! If it’s important they will call again.” Dan yelled, eying the kitchen table with the too many bills for comfort.

Dan opens the door to see a postal man waiting with a box and a clipboard. “Phil Howell-Lester?” he asked.

“Thats my husband...” Dan replied, signing the clipboard being thrust into his hands. Dan shut the door and turned around to see Olly and Jamie sitting at the table with cereal in front of them, and Phil putting the phone back on the hook.

“Good morning baby.” Phil smiled. “How are you feeling?” Phil walks over to the fridge and takes a swig of the orange juice right out of the bottle. The orange juice must’ve been sour because Phil made a very sour face, but it was worth it because Dan laughed harder than he thought he would that day, Phil couldn’t help smiling at his beautiful husband. Phil walked over to Dan to give him his good morning kiss, “I have an half hour to shower and get the kids to school. I’ll be right out.”

“I just have a little headache, but it will leave, and this came in for you this morning.” Dan handed Phil the box.

Phil gave him a concerned look. “Right. Thank you.” Phil walked down the hall.

“Olly. Jamie. Dirty clothes. Laundry room. Now.” the headache residing but still present. He started putting his and Phil’s clothes into the watching machine. It’s not starting – again. The only to get it to start is to kick the washing machine.

“Dan, don’t kick the washing machine.” Phil walked by buttoning up his shirt. “I will fix it.”

“Along with everything else you promised to fix?” Dan smiled.

“Yes. Kids let’s go!” Phil announced walking closer to Dan putting his hands on Dan’s waist. “I know today may not seem like it’s going well, but around us. We our living our dream. Two beautiful kids of our own, a dog that we’ve been talking about since our flat days in London. This is our paradise baby.” Phil placed at chaste kiss on Dan’s forehead.

“Let’s go Papa.” Olly grabbed Phil’s hand dragging him away from Dan, “You and Dad are going to make us late to school.

“Love you guys.” Dan yelled after Phil and their two kids trailing him. This really was a paradise.

-

“Phil, what time is it? Phil?” Dan opened his eyes. Not seeing a Phil next to he reached for his phone, 10AM. His eyes shot opened as he ran across the hall. Jamie’s not in her room and Olly’s not in his. Dan ran to the kitchen maybe Phil took them in, without letting Dan know. Seeing the box from the previous day sitting on the counter top by a piece of paper.

“The box is yours to open. Wear something nice with it. Meet me at the first restaurant we ate at in London. 6PM. We have the babysitter until 8:30 tonight. So we can eat and the kids will be in bed. I took the kids in to school earlier today, I didn’t want to wake you.” ‘It wasn’t their anniversary,’ Dan thought as he was reading. “You deserve an evening as amazing as you are.” At the bottom of the note it read Phil XOXO. Dan opens the box to see a dark blue tie with white outline hearts on it. Dan remembers why he loves Phil as much as he does.

-

“Just in case, there is an EpiPen in the cupboard. We have already set out Thor’s food. He can sleep wherever he wants.” Dan was going over everything with the babysitter – for the 5th time.

“Dad. Stop. Go meet with Papa and enjoy your date.” Olly came marching up.

“Yeah go Daddy.” Jamie echoed.

Dan looks at his watch eyes widening seeing 5:55 on his watch. “Emergency numbers are on the fridge. I gotta go.” Dan said his goodbyes and rushed to the nearest taxi. Dan knew they didn’t live far from the restaurant, but when the taxi pulled up at 6:02 seeing Phil sitting outside on a bench, he wanted to cry. Phil wanted Dan to relax and not worry about anything, but of course he had to be overbearing with his children. He remembers the day he found out he was a carrier, happened to be the day he was already a month pregnant with Olly. It was impossible to feel comfortable in his own skin, and when he told Phil, Phil showed him everything he loved about Dan with constant praise. Dan felt really happy until he kept getting sick. Phil thought it was just the flu but Dan insisted on going to the doctor. He knew something was different. As Dan was listing off everything he’s been feeling the doctor made notes.

“Mr. Howell-Lester, have you heard of a carrier?” The doctor looked up towards Dan.

“Sure. That’s when males can carry… Wait.” Dan paused.

“I don’t want to tell you anything for sure, but we’re gonna need to do a pee test to see if for sure.” The doctor pointed Dan to the private bathroom. Phil stood there in shock, the words how and what circulating through his mind, not noticing when Dan came back and the doctor was out of the room.

“So Phil, how do you feel about the fact that we possibly created life?” Dan interrupted his thoughts, “Are we ready to be parents?”

“I don’t think anyone are ever ready to be parents, Dan. But I mean-” Phil stopped when the doctor walked in.

“Mr and Mr. Howell-Lester, you’re going to be parents. You are about 5 weeks along, regular check ups are highly recommended.”  

When they got home they celebrated in a way that could’ve put another baby inside Dan if biology worked that way.

Dan was shook out of his thoughts when Phil said “Hey Dan, don’t cry.” The only thing Dan could think to do was put his head on Phil’s shoulder hiding his face in Phil’s neck. “Hey, hey. We’ll just improvise. Like when we had to tell our families about a little Howell-Lester joining the world, how did we even do that. We always have our plan B.” Dan smiled.

-

Babysitter thanked and paid. Over-sized duvet, Domino’s Pizza, Phil with glasses on, and pajama pants with hoodies. Candles lit and anime playing softly in the back ground. Dan and Phil paying more attention to each other than the TV set. After a while Dan rested his hand on Phil’s thigh, he couldn’t help it – Phil wearing glasses was attractive. “Do you wanna take this to the bedroom and make some love that is way overdue.”

He doesn’t have to ask Phil twice. Phil rushes to shove the rest of the pizza in the fridge while Dan is blowing out the candles and grabbing the duvet, both men rushing down to their bedroom like two teenagers. Phil kicks the door closed and pushes Dan down on the bed not even taking a moment to breathe before he’s tackling Dan in kisses. He starts out with playful kisses on his face then he gets down to Dan’s neck and Dan can’t help but wrapping his legs around Phil’s waist.

“You look cute in my old hoodie, but you would look even cuter with it on my floor.” Phil smiled.

Before Dan could get the word dork out of his mouth another sound was in the room. “Papa? Daddy?” Phil immediately plopped off of Dan onto the empty side of the bed. “What’s the matter sweetheart.” Phil asked concern all over his face, seeing his and Dan’s daughter cuddling her teddy bear, Dan no longer in the mood.

“I had a bad dream. Can me and teddy sleep in here tonight?” Jamie asked quietly, almost afraid.

“Jamie come here.” Dan beckoned.

When Jamie crawled inbetween them, Dan couldn’t even be mad. Phil reached over and turned off the lamp and sunk underneath the duvet. “I love you Dan. And I love you Jamie.” Phil smiled poking Jamie’s side making her laugh.

Dan reaches over to grab Phil’s hand giving it a kiss “I love you Phil.” and reaching over to Jamie’s little hand, “I love you Jamie.”

Dan thinks this isn’t how Phil imagined the night to go on, but Dan wouldn’t change it for a thing. They are happy and have anything they could ever ask for. It is his paradise.

-

Of course Jamie and Olly are in an argument over the fact that they both can not be wearing green shirts. The phone is ringing again, Thor isn’t barking. Phil has 4 bowls of with cereal pouring milk into them. Dan walks behind Phil wrapping his arms around Phil swaying them back and forth gentle enough to not spill any milk. Phil sets the milk onto the counter top next to the bowls, and turns around in Dan’s arms. Phil leans up giving Dan a kiss full of love and adoration.

“Gross Papa!” Jamie laughs.

“Ewwwwww.” Olly groans

“Hush you two.” Phil smiles giving Dan one last kiss. “Eat your cereal so we can go.”

Dan hugged into Phil more just enjoying his own personal paradise.

--

[wonderfulchaos69-blog]

Title: Distinction of a Name Fandom: Servamp (Age AU) Characters: Mahiru, Kuro, and all the kids. Summary: The five times Mahiru was called mom, and the one time he learned why. Notes: @crazyanime3 - taking a break from the longer project, so I thought I'd write some random age au fic for you =) This idea has been on my mind since Lily called Mahiru “mom” <3

It was cold outside and none of the children had on their scarfs or hats. Mahiru was growing frustrated trying to garner their attention and finally resorted to rolling up a magazine and shouting through it, "Oi, listen up! If you don't put these on now, none of you are getting any ice cream tonight!"

The desired effect was that they were lining up to be handed what they needed to be wearing, though Hyde was struggling to put on his. It didn't help it was the longest one out of all of them and he was getting tangled up in it rather than having any success at bundling up. With an exasperated sigh, Mahiru undid the mess that Hyde had gotten himself into and asked him to stay still as he looped it around the little boys neck, tightening it up so it stayed in placed, and then patted him on top of his spiky head with a smile. "Go have fun," Mahiru encouraged, beginning to turn away.

"Thanks, mom!" called back Hyde as he ran off, only realizing what he said a heartbeat later and pausing mid-stride. From where he was, Mahiru could see the tips of his ears color as the little boy insisted, "I didn't say that, you can't prove it!"

Chuckling, Mahiru shrugged and said, "Heard what?" He didn't bring it up again, but Hyde was noticeably flustered throughout the rest of his time playing outside. He only returned to his usual behavior when Mahiru started quoting Shakespeare at him, asking questions. Hyde could never resist a good debate when it came to interpretation.

--

It was a quiet evening for a change. Most of the children were out of the house, and the few that were around were busy with their own activities. There was one lone child that tugged on Mahiru's shirt, pointing to the kitchen as he asked, "Can we bake a cake for Nii-san?"

That wasn't an bad idea. It would be a nice surprise for the snack-loving Kuro at any rate, but he couldn't resisting poking fun, wondering, "Did you eat your brother's snacks again, Wor-kun?" The screwed up face as World appeared to think of a good excuse as enough of an answer and Mahiru laughed, leading him into the kitchen as he agreed, "Let's make a cake together, then. That sounds fun."

Lighting up, World went about the place with the ease of someone who was well acquainted with where everything was, being the good assistant that Mahiru had come to expect. When it came to food. The mixing bowls were placed on the counter alongside the spoons and other things they would need. Next came the ingredients as Mahiru listed them off for World to procure for them.

Once everything was ready to go, Mahiru added the flour, salt and baking powder into one bowl, instructing World to crack the eggs into the other bowl while he watched. His assistant had certainly gotten the hang of cracking them by now and needed little to no aid. Though those first few attempts, back when they had first started cooking together, had been a test of patience.

When it came time to mix everything together and the batter became to stiffen, World began to have a harder time turning the spoon, so Mahiru walked up behind him and added his hands into the fray to better help with the stirring. One on the bowl, and one alongside World's, pressing down on the spoon to ensure the batter didn't fly out.

Happily, World told him, "You're really good at this, mom!" And that was when some of the batter did go flying out, because Mahiru had forgotten to momentarily hold down on the spoon and World's enthusiastic mixing had renewed.

They did manage to make a single-layered cake out of what was left of the batter, but it was a close thing. Mahiru didn't point out the incident that led to it, and World didn't seem to realize what he had said. It wa probably for the best.

--

The dining table was a mess of books, and among them was a shock of purple hair. A young woman slowly beginning to raise her head and level Mahiru with a squint-eyed stare as she asked, "Hey, you're almost an adult. Do we really need this much math to graduate?" She gestured to the oodles of scrap paper that had scratched out answers and formulas on them. Mahiru shifted his weight forward to take a look at what was troubling Okami and what she had accomplished thus far, hands on his hips as he let at a faint, "Hmm."

It didn't seem that difficult, what she was working on, but he had to admit, "This really is a lot of homework." Also adding in, "Are you sure this is all due tomorrow?" She gave him a blank look in response, so he elaborated, "This looks more like assigned work for the week. Did you double-check the due dates you wrote down?"

In disbelief, she dug through the mess until she reached the notebook she had written the dates down in and leafed through them to the correct page. She glanced back, mouth slightly parted in shock. "You're right, mom."

Mahiru decided not to comment; she was already searching through the assignments until she found the correct one due tomorrow and beginning to puzzle it out. He didn't want to interrupt her for something that wasn't that big of a deal.

Still, he was starting to wonder.

--

Hugh was getting ready for his part-time job, adjusting his uniform just so. Mahiru snapped a picture for memento's sake and showed it to him. "You look great," complimented Mahiru, "stop fussing over the necktie."

"It's despicable," argued Hugh, frustrated and half-tempted to throw it aside from the way he was clutching it in his hand. "Who on Earth wears bow ties in this day in age?"

Mahiru set his phone on the nearest surface and took the necktie from him, stepping closer to redo the bow that should have been there. "You never know," Mahiru said, "you might have liked them if you grew up in the Victorian Era. You strike me as the type."

Offended, Hugh straightened his new bow and insisted, "I could never. These things are a dreadful abomination. What sort of person do you take me for?"

Considering that for a moment, Mahiru tapped his chin and then snapped his fingers, grinning as he said, "I think you look posh. That's the word, right?"

With reddened cheeks, Hugh dropped his gaze to the floor and scoffed. "Yes, it is, but ... what needless flattery. Well, I should be going, mother. I'm going to be late if I don't hurry."

Hugh was already out the door before Mahiru could correct him.

--

Cleaning the house was a relaxing way to pass the time while the kids were preoccupied with their own things. It was a nice, measured duty that required little thought, ingrained in him from years of maintaining his own living space for fear it would never get done otherwise. He could break in the new headphones that Sakuya had gifted him with as well, turning up his music while he hummed under his breath for the rest of the household's entertainment.

He had gotten lost in his own mind when he felt a tap to his shoulder, which caused him to let out a shriek and jump a food in the air at the unexpectedness. Clutching at his heart, he took his headphones off and turned to give the person in question his full attention. Mahiru nearly gave another shriek at coming face to face with a smiley-faced paper bag, Jeje leaning down to whisper, "Mom, I lost something."

Instead of fixing what was wrong in that sentence, Mahiru simply asked, "What did you lose?"

Jeje made an aborted motion to his chest, where a wind-up toy's key was usually hanging, and then mumbled, "Forget it."

"No, no, stop right there." Mahiru reached out and patted his arm in reassurance. "If it's important to you, it's important to me, too. Let's look for it together."

They did eventually find the missing key, hidden behind the couch, but Mahiru never did discover why everyone was calling mom lately.

--

Rocking Tsubaki to sleep in his arms, Mahiru was glad there was at least one sane child in the house that didn't take him for a mom of any sort. He was supposed to be their babysitter, not their mother, and he would have to ask Kuro what he thought about it. Not that he didn't like the idea of being a part of the family, but it would probably make it awkward for the younger kids if he let the charade continue. It was bad enough that Lily called him that all the time now, when he could get away with it at least, and his best friend just thought it was funny until Kuro was brought up.

With a bubbly laugh, Tsubaki clutched at the sleeve of Mahiru's shirt, swinging it back and forth and making sounds that gave of the impression of, "Ma, ma." That could have Mahiru hearing things, he was determined to believe, and he concentrated on the front door as he waited for Kuro to come home. His steadfast determination paid off as the door creaked open and Kuro came in loaded down with grocery bags, an enthused Hyde commenting on how great it was that he beat a certain angel to the last box of cereal. From the bruise on his cheek, it looked like he hadn't escaped unscathed and Kuro was scolding him before shooing him off to the kitchen with the grocery bags.

"How was everything?" Kuro asked, already holding out his arms to take Tsubaki. The child didn't seem willing, pouting and burying his face into Mahiru's shirt as he stopped laughing. "Huh, that's new."

"It was fine, but Kuro ... there's something I've been meaning to ask."

Worried, Kuro asked, "Are you sure everything was fine then?"

After shifting Tsubaki to a more comfortable position, using his hip to keep the child supported, he flat-out questioned, "Where is all this mother stuff coming from?"

Kuro gave an intelligent, "Huh?" His head tilted to the side, baffled. "What?"

"All of the kids!" Mahiru began. "They've all been calling me mom! Every single one of them."

"Er ..." For some strange reason, Kuro was beginning to guilty, as if caught red-handed with his hand in the cookie jar. "That ... could be my fault."

Gaping, Mahiru asked, "How?!"

"Do you want a list?" Sheepishly, Kuro rubbed at the back of his neck. "It just ... slips out sometimes. As a joke."

"A joke," deadpanned Mahiru. "You joke about me ... being a mom?" He had mixed feelings about that, but more importantly: "You're confusing the kids! Stop that!"

Placing his hands over his ears, Kuro whined, "Can't deal," and started to follow after Hyde into the kitchen.

"Not so fast, mister, we're going to have a talk," corrected Mahiru, Tsubaki delightedly clapping his hands with the return of the, "Ma, ma," sounds.

[mandimormon-blog]

Seaweed and Dirty Filters

Typically, as I type a blog, I have bullet points or a keyword list stored as a note, on my phone. Not because I forget everything, but I forget everything UNLESS someone offends me.  In the case, I remember the exact year, day, weather, time, location, minute, what clothing we both were wearing, and whether or not I was having a good hair day.

Last week, as I pecked away at the keyboard, I forgot a little gem.  It’s probably because my mind shifts focus dozens of times and when I remember where I was originally going with something, it’s too late.  It’s posted.

Picture this.  We go about the same weekly, school routine, day-by-day.  We arise and shine forth, extra early or most of the time not a minute before 7:00 a.m. expecting to be arriving at school sometime between 7:55-8:05.   A long time ago, (like last school year), I used to be up before the sun, getting five miles in and starting morning chores long before 7:00 a.m. rolled around.  This year, however, my son began all-day Kindergarten meaning, I have about seven hours a day to get household chores underway, a run in, weights in, and all of the errand running done (because let’s face it – it’s easier to fly solo when purchasing the weekly groceries).  I require my sleep.  I even get lots of stars on my FitBit for getting enough sleep per night.  Yep, that feels like a participation trophy but it’s a good feeling to get enough sleep not to mention healthy, so I’m not ashamed.

Back to rolling out of bed at 7:00, dragging my feet down the stairs, “inspiring” my children to get dressed in the clothing they laid out for school, the evening before.  Mamma-pedia’s Definitition of “inspiring” means bribing; repeating up to, but not more than 12 times; announcement of privileges; threats of privilege-removal; threats of calling the parent (in the restroom upstairs) into the conversation;  and shouting, as a final resort.  

Then a breakfast compromise, naturally, because no two children enjoy the same thing at the same time. Then hair.  Oh hair.  Have you met my middle child?  Undoubtedly, everywhere we go this little chicky receives a minimum of three compliments on her naturally curly loose locks.  Caring for these gorgeous locks isn’t a beautiful process.  This little girl is very independent and stubborn.  Every. Single. Day. Is a battle over the hair.  Every. Day.  If I choose to pull it into a ponytail or bun, she’ll remove it immediately because it wasn’t her choice.  After the effort to catch her running around the couch, bar, up the stairs, around the table, and spray detangling all over her, the floor, sometimes even my husband if she has to be lovingly restrained, hair styled and then it’s removed, in the blink of an eye, you can only imagine how frustrated I become.   Actually, not that frustrated anymore.  I can’t be fazed.  I just look like the Kermit memes or the emoji with its mouth closed straight across and eyes shut.

Hair, eventually check, usually minutes before 8:00.  Then it’s teeth brushing, book bag gathering, shoe placement or shouting about shoe placement, and running out the front door.  

As parental blood pressures return to stable, we call on someone to give a morning family prayer, (yes, on the way to school in the truck, the whole family), and discuss the children’s agenda for the day.  On this given day, it was Friday, and as we slowly inched our way closer and closer to the drop-off location.  I remembered it was Friday and Jude’s show-n-tell day.  I said to him, “Jude, is today show-n-tell?”  His response, “Oh yeah, I forgot.”  

I looked to my left and to my right.  “Well, maybe we can find something in dad’s truck you can take in.”  He held up a paint-stir stick, “I can take this!”  

I opened the glove box and pulled out the contents.  Without thinking and laughing a little, “Here’s a Book of Mormon, you could take that.” He began hopping in his seat, “Yes, Yes! I want to take that!”  

I looked at my husband, who tried convincing him it probably wasn’t a good idea to take that to show-n-tell. But Jude was insistent now.  He was so excited, so we couldn’t take it from him.  We just hoped for the best.  After dropping the children off, my husband and I conversed about how this was going to go down.  I laughed and said there would probably be a note sent home with him.  But, honestly, I wish I had the faith this kid has to be bold and absolutely satisfied with things I choose to do.  

The day went by, that was the day we went to the temple last week, so my mother picked up the kids from school.  She told us this story when we returned from our day-date.  Note, she usually waits in the carline.  Today, a few classes were out to recess while she waited.  

She said as she was sitting in the carline she was looking around at all of the children playing on the playground.  She noticed one little boy, but thought it couldn’t possibly be Jude because that child had no hat and no gloves on, this day was chilly.  But then she realized that little boy absolutely had to be Jude because he was running around the blacktop, carrying a Book of Mormon in his hands.

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at this.  I even pulled Jude into the conversation my mother, husband, and I had, to ask about taking his show-n-tell to recess.  Sure enough, he let us know he did have it, it took it outside for both recesses.

Jude seems to be on a roll and has been for a couple of years now.  I’ve always heard the baby of the family is the comedian.  

On Wednesday, I was terribly busy.  I know you’re probably thinking ‘Yeah right’.  Valid. Truly valid.  But I dabble in a lot of extracurricular activities.  For one, I run.  I like to 5-6x a week.  So maybe an hour, hour and a half a day.  Weightlifting.  That’s 20-40 minutes.  On this particular day, I had to run, weightlift, runner-bathe… ‘Mamma-pedia’s Definition of “runner-bathe” – wash face, blow-dry sweat into hair, wipe off body with a damp towel and a little bit of soap, air dry, dress for the day.’

Then my mother and I ran over to Crawfordsville and hit up Kroger.  Have I mentioned how much I love their organics and gluten-free selections? Wow, I do.  Then since Wednesdays are early release, I ran inside, make a salad, inhaled it, and went to the school for pick-up.  I hadn’t really been home all day.  I didn’t realize how much of an impact this would make on my children until we all walked through the front door and Reis, stopped dead in her tracks, “Mom, why is the house a mess?”

Job Security.  That’s what I wanted to say.  I clean, clean, clean, every day.  A normal day those three kiddies walk in and everything is put away, the counters are clean, all articles of clothing clean and put away, the house is fragrant of essential oils from mopping or the diffuser, and even sometimes dinner is in the crockpot or ready to be prepped.  This particular day, not so much… the cereal bowls were still on the counter from the morning, a hair brush on the table, detangler out, hair cream.  Sink with several dishes, the counters weren’t wiped down a couple of pairs of shoes appeared sporadically on the floor, the couch was looking crazy.  The zipper is broken, so sometimes the guts of the couch hang out, you know what I mean?  The white stuffing.  Toys on the living room floor.  A hamper full of clothing next to the washer and dryer.  Barstools disheveled.  

As she said this I didn’t take offense, past the job security tidbit, I was like, “You are right. I have to clean it now.”   I’m not OCD. Not even a little bit.  My sink had blue clay residue for a couple of days around the bowl and like I mentioned my couch is undressed half of the time. If I were OCD that brown couch would be curbside.  I just have a routine I go about day-by-day, thinking no one noticed, but now I know they do.  

So, here I am straightening things up, Jude’s following me around at this point, discussing something with me.  We usually have very adult conversations together.  I opened up the utility closet door to place the vacuum back.  While it was open I hung another bag up on its hook, the furnace filter caught my eye.  It was still dust-covered.  

To my son, I commented, “I want to text your dad and ask him to get a furnace filter, but I’m afraid to, since I’ve already asked him, nine times.”

Jude replied, “Maybe he’s getting it for your birthday.”

Backing it up, on Monday my girls (plural) had 4-H meetings.  Remi is now old enough for Mini 4-H.  Reis has done 4-H since 3rd grade, but not Mini.  I, however, did Mini 4-H in second grade.  In second grade when times were simpler.  For example, you could bake cookies or build a birdhouse.  

In 2017, you can pick from a slew of projects, similar to the bigger kiddos, and this year you can even get a mentor and show a smaller livestock animal.  No cows.  

Reis had her first meeting of the year, too.  It was very successful and she’s stoked a friend of hers is taking a project this year.

Tuesday was Valentine’s Day. That day was crazier than the Wednesday, I’d described.  But only because I choose for it to be crazy and I was crazy-proud of that.  

I set my alarm a little bit earlier than normal.  It wasn’t 7 a.m. prying myself out of bed like a zombie.  I had a hop in my step, because I had big plans for the fam.  

While they were sleeping, I made gluten-free blueberry muffins, homemade gluten-free fresh strawberry and chocolate chip pancakes, and fresh strawberries cut into hearts, with “pink milk” (aka Strawberry Milk – we don’t even do regular milk in our home, we usually opt for almond everything but this was a special day).

I gave my husband a box of one of his favorite kinds of a candy with a cheesy message on it and later in the day, I made him a loaf of gluten-free banana bread.  He said it was good.  But to me, the texture appeared very dry.   I couldn’t try it, AIP still going strong.  Speaking of AIP, I read the guide to reintroduction, a few days ago, and laughed out loud.  It said as you reintroduce a food group, you should take a small nibble of the food, wait 15 minutes, consume it and then don’t reintroduce anything else new for five days to note your reactions.  AIP Founders must not understand my life.  If I’m trying a food I’ve been forced to avoid for 30 days and my meals consist of vegetables with the exception of nightshades, no grains, no seeds, no nuts, no dairy, no soy, no processed foods – do you think I can just take a little nibble of something?  The answer is no.  No, I inhale that food and then eat more of it.  I did try an egg yolk a few days ago, so I’m going to venture to say it didn’t affect me in a bad way, and I should probably hard-boil more eggs.   Oh, the sacrifice!  

I ran, tossed around some weights, and got ready.  I went by the flower shop to send an arrangement to someone and noticed I was the only female, aside from the staff, all men on Valentine’s Day.  I was planning Miss Remi’s Valentine’s Party.  Of course, I had been for the past couple of weeks.  I delegated almost everything, but I still took in my insulated bag of backups, in case they were needed and a gluten-free party mix.  

That morning, I decided to attend Jude’s party, too, since it was a half hour before Remi’s party. After his was over, I rushed to Remi’s, and feeling great about that one, because the moms did an exceptional job with their delegations.  Did I mention Remi and I both wore our matching Mommy and Me LuLaRoe Valentine Leggings?  We so did. She even wanted me to wear them to match her.  I had so many compliments because of how “festive” my leggings were.  

I began to walk down the hallway, headed out of the building after her party, but noticed my oldest daughter in gym class.  I tried discreetly tapping on the window but it was probably super loud in there, so I just let myself in and yelled her name.  I’m sure she wasn’t embarrassed at all.

She and her friend came quickly to me, probably hoping I didn’t yell her name, again.  I asked if she’d had her party and they told me it was in the next ten minutes.  I told them, I would probably come then.  

Classroom parties must be my weakness, because I know I described previously how proud I was at the beginning of the school year when I only signed up for one party per child so I wasn’t so stressed going to three parties and making three contributions or more for each holiday.  

I ran outside and moved my vehicle away from the bus lane, and went in for round three.   I unloaded a few things that wouldn’t be needed and reloaded my Mary Poppins insulated bag.  I was able to contribute a gluten-free party mix to this one, for my little Celiac Lady.

After school, I rolled out gluten-free (do you wish you had a quarter for every time I said gluten-free?) pizza dough, I made from scratch.  I was crossing my fingers it would taste good to my children.  This variety, how about I say GF now?  GF anything carby – like breads, buns, donuts – are rarely yummy.  They usually have a funky texture and grainy taste.  I always speculate it’s because it’s crushed up almonds or some other kind of nut. It lacks fluff.

I made a huge heart shaped pizza for the children.  My husband isn’t a pizza fan.  (Which I’ve heard means Telestial Kingdom for him.)  So I made one of his favorite meals (that my children don’t like); Chicken Tetrazzini.  

Chorus for Reis, Kettlebell Tabata for me, and Ballet for Remi – by the end of the day, I was about to die from exhaustion.  The pep in my step had long gone away.  And I felt like that zombie I described I usually feel like when waking up of a morning.

On Friday night of this week (not to be confused with last week, since I did talk about that, too), we went on a double date to Fujiyama – the new hibachi restaurant in Danville. What a neat experience!  We were seated at a grill and the chef entertained us while cooking our table’s food.  Lots of fire and laughter, the food everyone got looked out of this world. My husband was particularly fond of the rice, which was surprising.  My GF food had to be prepped in the kitchen.  Boring, I know.  

My friends and husband even made fun of me because I got a seaweed salad and sashimi.  Even more funny, when I tried to tell the waitress I couldn’t have gluten, she asked me what I was saying 4x in a row.  Then finally she was like, “Oh, gluten-free?” I guess the “free” on the end clues people in.  

When I was asking about the details of the seaweed salad, she told me none of the people she’s ever waited on had ever gotten it.  Danville doesn’t eat seaweed, I guess.  

I am really excited to take our children there to have this food experience!  After we finished up, we choose to bowl.  We also agreed Covington was a good idea.  Called, they said there was open bowling so we arrived. The parking lot seemed swamped. When we went in we were told it would be hours because the school was there.  Sure enough, high-schoolers, high-schoolers everywhere.  

Bummed because we were just in Danville, mind you ¾ of us are Mormon, we decided to go into the bar, where no one was, and play pool.  We drank gigantic ice waters and played pool.  The most stressed out I’d been all week, trying to figure out which pocket to aim for.  ;-)

Reis had a couple of friends spend the night, so they were quite busy being social butterflies.  On Saturday, Remi had another basketball game, where she made three baskets and had a few assists, too.  Jude was able to attend baseball camp, where he hit the ball multiple times and loved that.  Then Allen took him out for a Daddy-Son Date, Lazer Tag and lunch.

Saturday was a busy, busy day, too, but it was gorgeous out.  Today, piggybacked the busy-ness.  We had a Youth Fireside after church.  I think I’ve said before, we have a three hour block for church. I have a meeting beforehand, unless my husband is out of the building, then I go on time.  Throughout the year, our youth ages 12-17, have Firesides or meetings they select the topic and speaker and we eat lunch together and listen before going home.  

Today, was the Standards Fireside.  Our Young Women had submitted questions and scenarios they’ve encountered and the panel (they choose) of ‘cool and trendy’ adults, answered them with life experience and the “why”.   The meal was my task.  So, I had to prep everything for ‘Walking Tacos’ or ‘Tacos in a Bag’.  I made a few up and they smelled awesome.  I’d heard from several people, too, they were awesome. I pretended my lettuce with mushrooms and cucumber in oil and vinegar and apple was actually a Walking Taco. You’re killin’ me, AIP.  Sundays are usually a binge eating day for me, since I’m gone for so many hours, I like my body reacts as if it’s important I refuel and tank up, just in case I’m gone away from the fridge for that period of time, again.  

Here I sit, it’s now dark outside, and I need to go to my happy place.  My bed.

[we-johnnygonzalez-blog]

How to Win Some Local Customers Back from Amazon this Holiday Season

Posted by MiriamEllis

Your local business may not be able to beat Amazon at the volume of their own game of convenient shipping this holiday season, but don’t assume it’s a game you can’t at least get into!

This small revelation took me by surprise last month while I was shopping for a birthday gift for my brother. Like many Americans, I’m feeling growing qualms about the economic and societal impacts of putting my own perceived convenience at the top of a list of larger concerns like ensuring fair business practices, humane working conditions, and sustainable communities.

So, when I found myself on the periphery of an author talk at the local independent bookstore and the book happened to be one I thought my brother would enjoy, I asked myself a new question:

“I wonder if this shop would ship?”

There was no signage indicating such a service, but I asked anyway, and was delighted to discover that they do. Minutes later, the friendly staff was wrapping up a signed copy of the volume in nice paper and popping a card in at no extra charge. Shipping wasn’t free, but I walked away feeling a new kind of happiness in wishing my sibling a “Happy Birthday” this year.

And that single transaction not only opened my eyes to the fact that I don’t have to remain habituated to gift shopping at Amazon or similar online giants for remote loved ones, but it also inspired this article.

Let’s talk about this now, while your local business, large or small, still has time to make plans for the holidays. Let’s examine this opportunity together, with a small study, a checklist, and some inspiration for seasonal success.

What do people buy most at the holidays and who’s shipping?

According to Statista, the categories in the following chart are the most heavily shopped during the holiday season. I selected a large town in California with a population of 60,000+, and phoned every business in these categories that was ranking in the top 10 of Google’s Local Finder view. This comprised both branded chains and independently-owned businesses. I asked each business if I came in and purchased items whether they could ship them to a friend.

Category

% Offer Shipping

Notes

Clothing

80%

Some employees weren’t sure. Outlets of larger store brands couldn’t ship. Some offered shipping only if you were a member of their loyalty program. Small independents consistently offered shipping. Larger brands promoted shopping online.

Electronics

10%

Larger stores all stressed going online. The few smaller stores said they could ship, but made it clear that it was an unusual request.

Games/Toys/Dolls etc.

25%

Large stores promote online shopping. One said they would ship some items but not all. Independents did not ship.

Food/Liquor

20%

USPS prohibits shipping alcohol. I surveyed grocery, gourmet, and candy stores. None of the grocery stores shipped and only two candy stores did.

Books

50%

Only two bookstores in this town, both independent. One gladly ships. The other had never considered it.

Jewelry

60%

Chains require online shopping. Independents more open to shipping but some didn’t offer it.

Health/Beauty

20%

With a few exceptions, cosmetic and fitness-related stores either had no shipping service or had either limited or full online shopping.

Takeaways from the study

Most of the chains promote online shopping vs. shopping in their stores, which didn’t surprise me, but which strikes me as opportunity being left on the table.

I was pleasantly surprised by the number of independent clothing and jewelry stores that gladly offered to ship gift purchases.

I was concerned by how many employees initially didn’t know whether or not their employer offered shipping, indicating a lack of adequate training.

Finally, I’ll add that I’ve physically visited at least 85% of these businesses in the past few years and have never been told by any staff member about their shipping services, nor have I seen any in-store signage promoting such an offer.

My overarching takeaway from the experiment is that, though all of us are now steeped in the idea that consumers love the convenience of shipping, a dominant percentage of physical businesses are still operating as though this realization hasn’t fully hit in… or that it can be safely ignored.

To put it another way, if Amazon has taken some of your customers, why not take a page from their playbook and get shipping?

The nitty-gritty of brick-and-mortar shipping

62% of consumers say the reason they’d shop offline is because they want to see, touch, and try out items. – RetailDive

There’s no time like the holidays to experiment with a new campaign. I sat down with a staff member at the bookstore where I bought my brother’s gift and asked her some questions about how they manage shipping. From that conversation, and from some additional research, I came away with the following checklist for implementing a shipping offer at your brick-and-mortar locations:

✔ Determine whether your business category is one that lends itself to holiday gift shopping.

✔ Train core or holiday temp staff to package and ship gifts.

✔ Craft compelling messaging surrounding your shipping offer, perhaps promoting pride in the local community vs. pride in Amazon. Don’t leave it to customers to shop online on autopilot — help them realize there’s a choice.

✔ Cover your store and website with messaging highlighting this offering, at least two months in advance of the holidays.

✔ In October, run an in-store campaign in which cashiers verbally communicate your holiday shipping service to every customer.

✔ Sweeten the offer with a dedication of X% of sales to a most popular local cause/organization/institution.

✔ Promote your shipping service via your social accounts.

✔ Make an effort to earn a mention of your shipping service in local print and radio news.

✔ Set clear dates for when the last purchases can be made to reach their destinations in time for the holidays.

✔ Coordinate with the USPS, FedEx, or UPS to have them pick up packages from your location daily.

✔ Determine the finances of your shipping charges. You may need to experiment with whether free shipping would put too big of a hole in your pocket, or whether it’s necessary to compete with online giants at the holidays.

✔ Track the success of this campaign to discover ROI.

Not every business is a holiday shopping destination, and online shopping may simply have become too dominant in some categories to overcome the Amazon habit. But, if you determine you’ve got an opportunity here, designate 2018 as a year to experiment with shipping with a view towards making refinements in the new year.

You may discover that your customers so appreciate the lightbulb moment of being able to support local businesses when they want something mailed that shipping is a service you’ll want to instate year-round. And not just for gifts… consumers are already signaling at full strength that they like having merchandise shipped to themselves!

Adding the lagniappe: Something extra

For the past couple of years, economists have reported that Americans are spending more on restaurants than on groceries. I see a combination of a desire for experiences and convenience in that, don’t you? It has been joked that someone needs to invent food that takes pictures of itself for social sharing! What can you do to capitalize on this desire for ease and experience in your business?

Cards, carols, and customs are wreathed in the “joy” part of the holidays, but how often do customers genuinely feel the enjoyment when they are shopping these days? True, a run to the store for a box of cereal may not require aesthetic satisfaction, but shouldn’t we be able to expect some pleasure in our purchasing experiences, especially when we are buying gifts that are meant to spread goodwill?

When my great-grandmother got tired from shopping at the Emporium in San Francisco, one of the superabundant sales clerks would direct her to the soft surroundings of the ladies’ lounge to refresh her weary feet on an automatic massager. She could lunch at a variety of nicely appointed in-store restaurants at varied prices. Money was often tight, but she could browse happily in the “bargain basement”. There were holiday roof rides for the kiddies, and holiday window displays beckoning passersby to stop and gaze in wonder. Great-grandmother, an immigrant from Ireland, got quite a bit of enjoyment out of the few dollars in her purse.

It may be that those lavish days of yore are long gone, taking the pleasure of shopping with them, and that we’re doomed to meager choosing between impersonal online shopping or impersonal offline warehouses … but I don’t think so.

The old Emporium was huge, with multiple floors and hundreds of employees … but it wasn’t a “big box store”.

There’s still opportunity for larger brands to differentiate themselves from their warehouse-lookalike competitors. Who says retail has to look like a fast food chain or a mobile phone store?

And as for small, independent businesses? I can’t open my Twitter feed nowadays without encountering a new and encouraging story about the rise of localism and local entrepreneurialism.

It’s a good time to revive the ethos of the lagniappe — the Louisiana custom of giving patrons a little something extra with their purchase, something that will make it worth it to get off the computer and head into town for a fun, seasonal experience. Yesterday’s extra cookie that made up the baker’s dozen could be today’s enjoyable atmosphere, truly expert salesperson, chair to sit down in when weary, free cup of spiced cider on a wintry day… or the highly desirable service of free shipping. Chalk up the knowledge of this need as one great thing Amazon has gifted you.

In 2017, our household chose to buy as many holiday presents as possible from Main Street for our nearby family and friends. We actually enjoyed the experience. In 2018, we plan to see how far our town can take us in terms of shipping gifts to loved ones we won’t have a chance to see. Will your business be ready to serve our newfound need?

Sign up for The Moz Top 10, a semimonthly mailer updating you on the top ten hottest pieces of SEO news, tips, and rad links uncovered by the Moz team. Think of it as your exclusive digest of stuff you don't have time to hunt down but want to read!

[rodneyevesuarywk]

How to Win Some Local Customers Back from Amazon this Holiday Season

Posted by MiriamEllis

Your local business may not be able to beat Amazon at the volume of their own game of convenient shipping this holiday season, but don’t assume it’s a game you can’t at least get into!

This small revelation took me by surprise last month while I was shopping for a birthday gift for my brother. Like many Americans, I’m feeling growing qualms about the economic and societal impacts of putting my own perceived convenience at the top of a list of larger concerns like ensuring fair business practices, humane working conditions, and sustainable communities.

So, when I found myself on the periphery of an author talk at the local independent bookstore and the book happened to be one I thought my brother would enjoy, I asked myself a new question:

“I wonder if this shop would ship?”

There was no signage indicating such a service, but I asked anyway, and was delighted to discover that they do. Minutes later, the friendly staff was wrapping up a signed copy of the volume in nice paper and popping a card in at no extra charge. Shipping wasn’t free, but I walked away feeling a new kind of happiness in wishing my sibling a “Happy Birthday” this year.

And that single transaction not only opened my eyes to the fact that I don’t have to remain habituated to gift shopping at Amazon or similar online giants for remote loved ones, but it also inspired this article.

Let’s talk about this now, while your local business, large or small, still has time to make plans for the holidays. Let’s examine this opportunity together, with a small study, a checklist, and some inspiration for seasonal success.

What do people buy most at the holidays and who’s shipping?

According to Statista, the categories in the following chart are the most heavily shopped during the holiday season. I selected a large town in California with a population of 60,000+, and phoned every business in these categories that was ranking in the top 10 of Google’s Local Finder view. This comprised both branded chains and independently-owned businesses. I asked each business if I came in and purchased items whether they could ship them to a friend.

Category

% Offer Shipping

Notes

Clothing

80%

Some employees weren’t sure. Outlets of larger store brands couldn’t ship. Some offered shipping only if you were a member of their loyalty program. Small independents consistently offered shipping. Larger brands promoted shopping online.

Electronics

10%

Larger stores all stressed going online. The few smaller stores said they could ship, but made it clear that it was an unusual request.

Games/Toys/Dolls etc.

25%

Large stores promote online shopping. One said they would ship some items but not all. Independents did not ship.

Food/Liquor

20%

USPS prohibits shipping alcohol. I surveyed grocery, gourmet, and candy stores. None of the grocery stores shipped and only two candy stores did.

Books

50%

Only two bookstores in this town, both independent. One gladly ships. The other had never considered it.

Jewelry

60%

Chains require online shopping. Independents more open to shipping but some didn’t offer it.

Health/Beauty

20%

With a few exceptions, cosmetic and fitness-related stores either had no shipping service or had either limited or full online shopping.

Takeaways from the study

Most of the chains promote online shopping vs. shopping in their stores, which didn’t surprise me, but which strikes me as opportunity being left on the table.

I was pleasantly surprised by the number of independent clothing and jewelry stores that gladly offered to ship gift purchases.

I was concerned by how many employees initially didn’t know whether or not their employer offered shipping, indicating a lack of adequate training.

Finally, I’ll add that I’ve physically visited at least 85% of these businesses in the past few years and have never been told by any staff member about their shipping services, nor have I seen any in-store signage promoting such an offer.

My overarching takeaway from the experiment is that, though all of us are now steeped in the idea that consumers love the convenience of shipping, a dominant percentage of physical businesses are still operating as though this realization hasn’t fully hit in… or that it can be safely ignored.

To put it another way, if Amazon has taken some of your customers, why not take a page from their playbook and get shipping?

The nitty-gritty of brick-and-mortar shipping

62% of consumers say the reason they’d shop offline is because they want to see, touch, and try out items. – RetailDive

There’s no time like the holidays to experiment with a new campaign. I sat down with a staff member at the bookstore where I bought my brother’s gift and asked her some questions about how they manage shipping. From that conversation, and from some additional research, I came away with the following checklist for implementing a shipping offer at your brick-and-mortar locations:

✔ Determine whether your business category is one that lends itself to holiday gift shopping.

✔ Train core or holiday temp staff to package and ship gifts.

✔ Craft compelling messaging surrounding your shipping offer, perhaps promoting pride in the local community vs. pride in Amazon. Don’t leave it to customers to shop online on autopilot — help them realize there’s a choice.

✔ Cover your store and website with messaging highlighting this offering, at least two months in advance of the holidays.

✔ In October, run an in-store campaign in which cashiers verbally communicate your holiday shipping service to every customer.

✔ Sweeten the offer with a dedication of X% of sales to a most popular local cause/organization/institution.

✔ Promote your shipping service via your social accounts.

✔ Make an effort to earn a mention of your shipping service in local print and radio news.

✔ Set clear dates for when the last purchases can be made to reach their destinations in time for the holidays.

✔ Coordinate with the USPS, FedEx, or UPS to have them pick up packages from your location daily.

✔ Determine the finances of your shipping charges. You may need to experiment with whether free shipping would put too big of a hole in your pocket, or whether it’s necessary to compete with online giants at the holidays.

✔ Track the success of this campaign to discover ROI.

Not every business is a holiday shopping destination, and online shopping may simply have become too dominant in some categories to overcome the Amazon habit. But, if you determine you’ve got an opportunity here, designate 2018 as a year to experiment with shipping with a view towards making refinements in the new year.

You may discover that your customers so appreciate the lightbulb moment of being able to support local businesses when they want something mailed that shipping is a service you’ll want to instate year-round. And not just for gifts… consumers are already signaling at full strength that they like having merchandise shipped to themselves!

Adding the lagniappe: Something extra

For the past couple of years, economists have reported that Americans are spending more on restaurants than on groceries. I see a combination of a desire for experiences and convenience in that, don’t you? It has been joked that someone needs to invent food that takes pictures of itself for social sharing! What can you do to capitalize on this desire for ease and experience in your business?

Cards, carols, and customs are wreathed in the “joy” part of the holidays, but how often do customers genuinely feel the enjoyment when they are shopping these days? True, a run to the store for a box of cereal may not require aesthetic satisfaction, but shouldn’t we be able to expect some pleasure in our purchasing experiences, especially when we are buying gifts that are meant to spread goodwill?

When my great-grandmother got tired from shopping at the Emporium in San Francisco, one of the superabundant sales clerks would direct her to the soft surroundings of the ladies’ lounge to refresh her weary feet on an automatic massager. She could lunch at a variety of nicely appointed in-store restaurants at varied prices. Money was often tight, but she could browse happily in the “bargain basement”. There were holiday roof rides for the kiddies, and holiday window displays beckoning passersby to stop and gaze in wonder. Great-grandmother, an immigrant from Ireland, got quite a bit of enjoyment out of the few dollars in her purse.

It may be that those lavish days of yore are long gone, taking the pleasure of shopping with them, and that we’re doomed to meager choosing between impersonal online shopping or impersonal offline warehouses … but I don’t think so.

The old Emporium was huge, with multiple floors and hundreds of employees … but it wasn’t a “big box store”.

There’s still opportunity for larger brands to differentiate themselves from their warehouse-lookalike competitors. Who says retail has to look like a fast food chain or a mobile phone store?

And as for small, independent businesses? I can’t open my Twitter feed nowadays without encountering a new and encouraging story about the rise of localism and local entrepreneurialism.

It’s a good time to revive the ethos of the lagniappe — the Louisiana custom of giving patrons a little something extra with their purchase, something that will make it worth it to get off the computer and head into town for a fun, seasonal experience. Yesterday’s extra cookie that made up the baker’s dozen could be today’s enjoyable atmosphere, truly expert salesperson, chair to sit down in when weary, free cup of spiced cider on a wintry day… or the highly desirable service of free shipping. Chalk up the knowledge of this need as one great thing Amazon has gifted you.

In 2017, our household chose to buy as many holiday presents as possible from Main Street for our nearby family and friends. We actually enjoyed the experience. In 2018, we plan to see how far our town can take us in terms of shipping gifts to loved ones we won’t have a chance to see. Will your business be ready to serve our newfound need?

Sign up for The Moz Top 10, a semimonthly mailer updating you on the top ten hottest pieces of SEO news, tips, and rad links uncovered by the Moz team. Think of it as your exclusive digest of stuff you don't have time to hunt down but want to read!

https://ift.tt/2vGf3FJ

[byronheeutgm]

How to Win Some Local Customers Back from Amazon this Holiday Season

Posted by MiriamEllis

Your local business may not be able to beat Amazon at the volume of their own game of convenient shipping this holiday season, but don’t assume it’s a game you can’t at least get into!

This small revelation took me by surprise last month while I was shopping for a birthday gift for my brother. Like many Americans, I’m feeling growing qualms about the economic and societal impacts of putting my own perceived convenience at the top of a list of larger concerns like ensuring fair business practices, humane working conditions, and sustainable communities.

So, when I found myself on the periphery of an author talk at the local independent bookstore and the book happened to be one I thought my brother would enjoy, I asked myself a new question:

“I wonder if this shop would ship?”

There was no signage indicating such a service, but I asked anyway, and was delighted to discover that they do. Minutes later, the friendly staff was wrapping up a signed copy of the volume in nice paper and popping a card in at no extra charge. Shipping wasn’t free, but I walked away feeling a new kind of happiness in wishing my sibling a “Happy Birthday” this year.

And that single transaction not only opened my eyes to the fact that I don’t have to remain habituated to gift shopping at Amazon or similar online giants for remote loved ones, but it also inspired this article.

Let’s talk about this now, while your local business, large or small, still has time to make plans for the holidays. Let’s examine this opportunity together, with a small study, a checklist, and some inspiration for seasonal success.

What do people buy most at the holidays and who’s shipping?

According to Statista, the categories in the following chart are the most heavily shopped during the holiday season. I selected a large town in California with a population of 60,000+, and phoned every business in these categories that was ranking in the top 10 of Google’s Local Finder view. This comprised both branded chains and independently-owned businesses. I asked each business if I came in and purchased items whether they could ship them to a friend.

Category

% Offer Shipping

Notes

Clothing

80%

Some employees weren’t sure. Outlets of larger store brands couldn’t ship. Some offered shipping only if you were a member of their loyalty program. Small independents consistently offered shipping. Larger brands promoted shopping online.

Electronics

10%

Larger stores all stressed going online. The few smaller stores said they could ship, but made it clear that it was an unusual request.

Games/Toys/Dolls etc.

25%

Large stores promote online shopping. One said they would ship some items but not all. Independents did not ship.

Food/Liquor

20%

USPS prohibits shipping alcohol. I surveyed grocery, gourmet, and candy stores. None of the grocery stores shipped and only two candy stores did.

Books

50%

Only two bookstores in this town, both independent. One gladly ships. The other had never considered it.

Jewelry

60%

Chains require online shopping. Independents more open to shipping but some didn’t offer it.

Health/Beauty

20%

With a few exceptions, cosmetic and fitness-related stores either had no shipping service or had either limited or full online shopping.

Takeaways from the study

Most of the chains promote online shopping vs. shopping in their stores, which didn’t surprise me, but which strikes me as opportunity being left on the table.

I was pleasantly surprised by the number of independent clothing and jewelry stores that gladly offered to ship gift purchases.

I was concerned by how many employees initially didn’t know whether or not their employer offered shipping, indicating a lack of adequate training.

Finally, I’ll add that I’ve physically visited at least 85% of these businesses in the past few years and have never been told by any staff member about their shipping services, nor have I seen any in-store signage promoting such an offer.

My overarching takeaway from the experiment is that, though all of us are now steeped in the idea that consumers love the convenience of shipping, a dominant percentage of physical businesses are still operating as though this realization hasn’t fully hit in… or that it can be safely ignored.

To put it another way, if Amazon has taken some of your customers, why not take a page from their playbook and get shipping?

The nitty-gritty of brick-and-mortar shipping

62% of consumers say the reason they’d shop offline is because they want to see, touch, and try out items. – RetailDive

There’s no time like the holidays to experiment with a new campaign. I sat down with a staff member at the bookstore where I bought my brother’s gift and asked her some questions about how they manage shipping. From that conversation, and from some additional research, I came away with the following checklist for implementing a shipping offer at your brick-and-mortar locations:

✔ Determine whether your business category is one that lends itself to holiday gift shopping.

✔ Train core or holiday temp staff to package and ship gifts.

✔ Craft compelling messaging surrounding your shipping offer, perhaps promoting pride in the local community vs. pride in Amazon. Don’t leave it to customers to shop online on autopilot — help them realize there’s a choice.

✔ Cover your store and website with messaging highlighting this offering, at least two months in advance of the holidays.

✔ In October, run an in-store campaign in which cashiers verbally communicate your holiday shipping service to every customer.

✔ Sweeten the offer with a dedication of X% of sales to a most popular local cause/organization/institution.

✔ Promote your shipping service via your social accounts.

✔ Make an effort to earn a mention of your shipping service in local print and radio news.

✔ Set clear dates for when the last purchases can be made to reach their destinations in time for the holidays.

✔ Coordinate with the USPS, FedEx, or UPS to have them pick up packages from your location daily.

✔ Determine the finances of your shipping charges. You may need to experiment with whether free shipping would put too big of a hole in your pocket, or whether it’s necessary to compete with online giants at the holidays.

✔ Track the success of this campaign to discover ROI.

Not every business is a holiday shopping destination, and online shopping may simply have become too dominant in some categories to overcome the Amazon habit. But, if you determine you’ve got an opportunity here, designate 2018 as a year to experiment with shipping with a view towards making refinements in the new year.

You may discover that your customers so appreciate the lightbulb moment of being able to support local businesses when they want something mailed that shipping is a service you’ll want to instate year-round. And not just for gifts… consumers are already signaling at full strength that they like having merchandise shipped to themselves!

Adding the lagniappe: Something extra

For the past couple of years, economists have reported that Americans are spending more on restaurants than on groceries. I see a combination of a desire for experiences and convenience in that, don’t you? It has been joked that someone needs to invent food that takes pictures of itself for social sharing! What can you do to capitalize on this desire for ease and experience in your business?

Cards, carols, and customs are wreathed in the “joy” part of the holidays, but how often do customers genuinely feel the enjoyment when they are shopping these days? True, a run to the store for a box of cereal may not require aesthetic satisfaction, but shouldn’t we be able to expect some pleasure in our purchasing experiences, especially when we are buying gifts that are meant to spread goodwill?

When my great-grandmother got tired from shopping at the Emporium in San Francisco, one of the superabundant sales clerks would direct her to the soft surroundings of the ladies’ lounge to refresh her weary feet on an automatic massager. She could lunch at a variety of nicely appointed in-store restaurants at varied prices. Money was often tight, but she could browse happily in the “bargain basement”. There were holiday roof rides for the kiddies, and holiday window displays beckoning passersby to stop and gaze in wonder. Great-grandmother, an immigrant from Ireland, got quite a bit of enjoyment out of the few dollars in her purse.

It may be that those lavish days of yore are long gone, taking the pleasure of shopping with them, and that we’re doomed to meager choosing between impersonal online shopping or impersonal offline warehouses … but I don’t think so.

The old Emporium was huge, with multiple floors and hundreds of employees … but it wasn’t a “big box store”.

There’s still opportunity for larger brands to differentiate themselves from their warehouse-lookalike competitors. Who says retail has to look like a fast food chain or a mobile phone store?

And as for small, independent businesses? I can’t open my Twitter feed nowadays without encountering a new and encouraging story about the rise of localism and local entrepreneurialism.

It’s a good time to revive the ethos of the lagniappe — the Louisiana custom of giving patrons a little something extra with their purchase, something that will make it worth it to get off the computer and head into town for a fun, seasonal experience. Yesterday’s extra cookie that made up the baker’s dozen could be today’s enjoyable atmosphere, truly expert salesperson, chair to sit down in when weary, free cup of spiced cider on a wintry day… or the highly desirable service of free shipping. Chalk up the knowledge of this need as one great thing Amazon has gifted you.

In 2017, our household chose to buy as many holiday presents as possible from Main Street for our nearby family and friends. We actually enjoyed the experience. In 2018, we plan to see how far our town can take us in terms of shipping gifts to loved ones we won’t have a chance to see. Will your business be ready to serve our newfound need?

Sign up for The Moz Top 10, a semimonthly mailer updating you on the top ten hottest pieces of SEO news, tips, and rad links uncovered by the Moz team. Think of it as your exclusive digest of stuff you don't have time to hunt down but want to read!

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How to Win Some Local Customers Back from Amazon this Holiday Season

Posted by MiriamEllis

Your local business may not be able to beat Amazon at the volume of their own game of convenient shipping this holiday season, but don’t assume it’s a game you can’t at least get into!

This small revelation took me by surprise last month while I was shopping for a birthday gift for my brother. Like many Americans, I’m feeling growing qualms about the economic and societal impacts of putting my own perceived convenience at the top of a list of larger concerns like ensuring fair business practices, humane working conditions, and sustainable communities.

So, when I found myself on the periphery of an author talk at the local independent bookstore and the book happened to be one I thought my brother would enjoy, I asked myself a new question:

“I wonder if this shop would ship?”

There was no signage indicating such a service, but I asked anyway, and was delighted to discover that they do. Minutes later, the friendly staff was wrapping up a signed copy of the volume in nice paper and popping a card in at no extra charge. Shipping wasn’t free, but I walked away feeling a new kind of happiness in wishing my sibling a “Happy Birthday” this year.

And that single transaction not only opened my eyes to the fact that I don’t have to remain habituated to gift shopping at Amazon or similar online giants for remote loved ones, but it also inspired this article.

Let’s talk about this now, while your local business, large or small, still has time to make plans for the holidays. Let’s examine this opportunity together, with a small study, a checklist, and some inspiration for seasonal success.

What do people buy most at the holidays and who’s shipping?

According to Statista, the categories in the following chart are the most heavily shopped during the holiday season. I selected a large town in California with a population of 60,000+, and phoned every business in these categories that was ranking in the top 10 of Google’s Local Finder view. This comprised both branded chains and independently-owned businesses. I asked each business if I came in and purchased items whether they could ship them to a friend.

Category

% Offer Shipping

Notes

Clothing

80%

Some employees weren’t sure. Outlets of larger store brands couldn’t ship. Some offered shipping only if you were a member of their loyalty program. Small independents consistently offered shipping. Larger brands promoted shopping online.

Electronics

10%

Larger stores all stressed going online. The few smaller stores said they could ship, but made it clear that it was an unusual request.

Games/Toys/Dolls etc.

25%

Large stores promote online shopping. One said they would ship some items but not all. Independents did not ship.

Food/Liquor

20%

USPS prohibits shipping alcohol. I surveyed grocery, gourmet, and candy stores. None of the grocery stores shipped and only two candy stores did.

Books

50%

Only two bookstores in this town, both independent. One gladly ships. The other had never considered it.

Jewelry

60%

Chains require online shopping. Independents more open to shipping but some didn’t offer it.

Health/Beauty

20%

With a few exceptions, cosmetic and fitness-related stores either had no shipping service or had either limited or full online shopping.

Takeaways from the study

Most of the chains promote online shopping vs. shopping in their stores, which didn’t surprise me, but which strikes me as opportunity being left on the table.

I was pleasantly surprised by the number of independent clothing and jewelry stores that gladly offered to ship gift purchases.

I was concerned by how many employees initially didn’t know whether or not their employer offered shipping, indicating a lack of adequate training.

Finally, I’ll add that I’ve physically visited at least 85% of these businesses in the past few years and have never been told by any staff member about their shipping services, nor have I seen any in-store signage promoting such an offer.

My overarching takeaway from the experiment is that, though all of us are now steeped in the idea that consumers love the convenience of shipping, a dominant percentage of physical businesses are still operating as though this realization hasn’t fully hit in… or that it can be safely ignored.

To put it another way, if Amazon has taken some of your customers, why not take a page from their playbook and get shipping?

The nitty-gritty of brick-and-mortar shipping

62% of consumers say the reason they’d shop offline is because they want to see, touch, and try out items. – RetailDive

There’s no time like the holidays to experiment with a new campaign. I sat down with a staff member at the bookstore where I bought my brother’s gift and asked her some questions about how they manage shipping. From that conversation, and from some additional research, I came away with the following checklist for implementing a shipping offer at your brick-and-mortar locations:

✔ Determine whether your business category is one that lends itself to holiday gift shopping.

✔ Train core or holiday temp staff to package and ship gifts.

✔ Craft compelling messaging surrounding your shipping offer, perhaps promoting pride in the local community vs. pride in Amazon. Don’t leave it to customers to shop online on autopilot — help them realize there’s a choice.

✔ Cover your store and website with messaging highlighting this offering, at least two months in advance of the holidays.

✔ In October, run an in-store campaign in which cashiers verbally communicate your holiday shipping service to every customer.

✔ Sweeten the offer with a dedication of X% of sales to a most popular local cause/organization/institution.

✔ Promote your shipping service via your social accounts.

✔ Make an effort to earn a mention of your shipping service in local print and radio news.

✔ Set clear dates for when the last purchases can be made to reach their destinations in time for the holidays.

✔ Coordinate with the USPS, FedEx, or UPS to have them pick up packages from your location daily.

✔ Determine the finances of your shipping charges. You may need to experiment with whether free shipping would put too big of a hole in your pocket, or whether it’s necessary to compete with online giants at the holidays.

✔ Track the success of this campaign to discover ROI.

Not every business is a holiday shopping destination, and online shopping may simply have become too dominant in some categories to overcome the Amazon habit. But, if you determine you’ve got an opportunity here, designate 2018 as a year to experiment with shipping with a view towards making refinements in the new year.

You may discover that your customers so appreciate the lightbulb moment of being able to support local businesses when they want something mailed that shipping is a service you’ll want to instate year-round. And not just for gifts… consumers are already signaling at full strength that they like having merchandise shipped to themselves!

Adding the lagniappe: Something extra

For the past couple of years, economists have reported that Americans are spending more on restaurants than on groceries. I see a combination of a desire for experiences and convenience in that, don’t you? It has been joked that someone needs to invent food that takes pictures of itself for social sharing! What can you do to capitalize on this desire for ease and experience in your business?

Cards, carols, and customs are wreathed in the “joy” part of the holidays, but how often do customers genuinely feel the enjoyment when they are shopping these days? True, a run to the store for a box of cereal may not require aesthetic satisfaction, but shouldn’t we be able to expect some pleasure in our purchasing experiences, especially when we are buying gifts that are meant to spread goodwill?

When my great-grandmother got tired from shopping at the Emporium in San Francisco, one of the superabundant sales clerks would direct her to the soft surroundings of the ladies’ lounge to refresh her weary feet on an automatic massager. She could lunch at a variety of nicely appointed in-store restaurants at varied prices. Money was often tight, but she could browse happily in the “bargain basement”. There were holiday roof rides for the kiddies, and holiday window displays beckoning passersby to stop and gaze in wonder. Great-grandmother, an immigrant from Ireland, got quite a bit of enjoyment out of the few dollars in her purse.

It may be that those lavish days of yore are long gone, taking the pleasure of shopping with them, and that we’re doomed to meager choosing between impersonal online shopping or impersonal offline warehouses … but I don’t think so.

The old Emporium was huge, with multiple floors and hundreds of employees … but it wasn’t a “big box store”.

There’s still opportunity for larger brands to differentiate themselves from their warehouse-lookalike competitors. Who says retail has to look like a fast food chain or a mobile phone store?

And as for small, independent businesses? I can’t open my Twitter feed nowadays without encountering a new and encouraging story about the rise of localism and local entrepreneurialism.

It’s a good time to revive the ethos of the lagniappe — the Louisiana custom of giving patrons a little something extra with their purchase, something that will make it worth it to get off the computer and head into town for a fun, seasonal experience. Yesterday’s extra cookie that made up the baker’s dozen could be today’s enjoyable atmosphere, truly expert salesperson, chair to sit down in when weary, free cup of spiced cider on a wintry day… or the highly desirable service of free shipping. Chalk up the knowledge of this need as one great thing Amazon has gifted you.

In 2017, our household chose to buy as many holiday presents as possible from Main Street for our nearby family and friends. We actually enjoyed the experience. In 2018, we plan to see how far our town can take us in terms of shipping gifts to loved ones we won’t have a chance to see. Will your business be ready to serve our newfound need?

Sign up for The Moz Top 10, a semimonthly mailer updating you on the top ten hottest pieces of SEO news, tips, and rad links uncovered by the Moz team. Think of it as your exclusive digest of stuff you don't have time to hunt down but want to read!

https://ift.tt/2vGf3FJ