#custom clothes hanging groove

[httyd-mc-pl-twilight]

Multiuse Laundry (Cleveland)

[newtonsheffield]

May we please get a Spicy Sunday 🌶 from Take A Deep Breath? I'm so excited for this one, the Good Girls vibes are just so strong, I already love them. Can we maybe see Kate reassuring Anthony if indeed he has the same self-esteem issues as GG Anthony. (I'm also a sucker for fighting and making up scenes, if that tickles your fancy anymore.)

Anonymous asked: Hi Molly! I hope you are well 🥰 I was wondering if we could have a Take a Deep Breath spicy Sunday today?? 🌝😈🌶️

Well, I got to remember what the Dutch National Anthem sounds like so… exciting.

I think that’s why I like these two so much as well. The Good Girls Vibe. The way I love that Kate and Anthony, and these are the same. Anthony’s kind of brash and he’s never seen out of a muscle tee and ripped jeans and he constantly smells a little bit like sweat and a very spicy cologne and Kate’s just… very attracted to him. Even though she probably shouldn’t be. Because she’s not going to get what she wants from him and she’s only setting herself up for disappointment. And Anthony thinks he’s probably not good for Kate, or not good enough.

But they find their groove eventually

Kate tried not to stare at Anthony through the window of his shop. She didn’t need to stare at him. A person didn’t need to stare at their own boyfriend did they? Not if that boyfriend walked through their flat completely naked, stood in the kitchen with not a stitch of clothing on while he cooked breakfast.

Edwina had been caught out more than once when she’d burst through the front door, ready for their usual trip to the flower market only to let out a squawk of indignation.

“Anthony! Jesus!”

Anthony blinked as he sat on the stool, unembarrassed, “What?”

Edwina sighed, “I can’t be certain but you’re leaving ball prints on Kate’s kitchen stool.”

He shrugged, “Kate likes me naked.”

Kate chuckled, his shirt hanging on her frame as she kissed his cheek, “You could maybe put on some pants when we have company.”

Anthony pointed his spoon at Edwina, “She’s your sister, she’s not company.”

“Kate, can we just go please?!” Edwina snapped. “Anthony’s penis is just… I can feel it staring at me.”

She should have been immune to him by now, surely. The number of times she’d felt his muscles flex under her hands and watched his lips form her name as he fell apart for her, because of her. She shouldn’t feel her cheeks get warm when Anthony winked at her, sat at her parent’s table and she shouldn’t be staring at him now.

His dark hair was caught under a cap and his muscles flexed as he removed his gloves, rolling his eyes at something his brother said, shaking his head. He was so handsome that it made her breath caught in her chest even as she turned to shove more flowers in the van.

“You need to get a grip.” Kate hissed at herself, as she put the arrangements in the van. “You’ve been dating him for six months, and he’s probably going to ask you to move in soon and he’s only… completely fucking, insanely hot.”

“Well, well, well,” Anthony’s voice burst onto the street seconds after the bell jingled and his customer left. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

Kate felt her lips curve as she straightened and turned towards him, “I could say the same.”

Anthony grinned, leaping down from the top step and landing right in front of her. His arm shot out around her waist and tugged her against his chest and she felt her cheeks flush. “You are so beautiful.”

She brushed her lips against his, “You look Handsome.”

“Yeah I decided finally to put some clothes on.”

Kate groaned as she pushed back from him, “I have to go on my deliveries.”

Anthony tugged her back and she inhaled the smell of him, slightly sweaty and the spicy smell of him mixed with her shampoo. “Well, luckily for you, my afternoon’s done and I can’t stay in there and listen to Ben thinking he’s in love with Hyacinth’s teacher, Miss Beckett.” He shut the door for her and climbed into the driver’s set. “He can’t let me just have one thing to himself. I’m a wife guy and now he has to be.”

Kate climbed into the passenger seat. “I’m not your wife.”

Anthony rolled his eyes, “You know you’re my girl.”

His hand was warm on her thigh as he pulled into traffic and it stayed there all afternoon. She could hardly pay attention to anything, with his fingers tracing a pattern on her skin. She could hardly get the correct arrangements out at the right address, she might not have were it not for Anthony who grinned at everyone

“Flowers! We’ve got Flowers!”

Kate watched their eyes widen in surprise as they took Anthony in, their fingers intertwined and Kate’s distracted manner. The scent of him hung in the air of the van and he leaned in towards her, brushing his lips against her cheek.

She felt so warm, so drawn to the easy way he laughed and leaned against the car door, plucking a flower from a bouquet and handing it to her.

“Take a left.”

Anthony blinked, “Are we getting a snack?”

“You can have a snack if you want.”

Anthony gasped as he pulled into the alley behind their shops, “Kate, are you offering me… a sexy snack?”

“I am offering you a sexy snack.”

As soon as the car pulled to a stop, Anthony practically leapt on her. Their lips crashed together and the soft fabric of his T-shirt crumpled in her hands as she pulled him closer to her, desperate for the feel of his chest against hers.

It was messy and awkward as she swallowed the sounds that rose in his throat, happy and content. She could feel the heat rising between them as his hand slid further up the skirt of her dress, further and further, the soft skin of his hand warm against her as the other tugged at the neckline of her dress. The fabric of his jeans was rough under her fingers as she tugged at the button.

Anthony let out a chuckle and his teeth nipped at her neck, “That’s awfully eager if I’m getting a snack in first.”

Kate shoved him back into his seat and his hat fell into the back as his head knocked against the headrest. His hands were tight on her hips as he pulled her onto his lap and her chest felt tight as his lips fell to her neck again. “You can eat me out later, Babe.”

“Is that a promise?” He was looking at her with so much love, and excitement and a hundred other things as the windows fogged around them.

“Sure.” She gasped, catching his lips again, tangling her tongue slowly with his and in those moments it was so hard to imagine she’d thought they’d never be together. They seemed so inevitable now.

Anthony groaned as her hips rocked against him, his eyes fluttering closed at the friction, “Okay, I… I don’t have a condom and I know you’re on a break from-”

“Don’t care.” She gasped, “I really really don’t care.”

Anthony’s tongue flicked against her thumb that had somehow made its way to the side of his mouth and he sucked gently forcing heat to course through her body even faster. His hands guided her against him, keeping the slow rhythm building between them and his hips snapped up joining them together.

It was hurried and desperate and Anthony’s lips swallowed the gasp of his name that fell from her lips. One of her hands slid to his hair and she felt his gasp against her skin as her other hand slid up his shirt. He shivered against her touch as they moved together and the van rocked side to side and they were so close she could feel his heart beating right under her hands.

Anthony’s hair was sweaty under her fingers and his cheeks flushed, his eyes screwed shut as his chest heaved, “Fuck, I love you, Kate.”

The sound that fell from her lips was almost a purr as she nodded, tension coiling tightly in the pit of her stomach. Her breaths stuttered in her chest and their rhythm was short and sharp and nearly punishing as they raced to the finish.

It seemed to hang in the air for a moment as though time stood still in the moment before they both fell. As though they were dangling on the edge of a cliff. And finally, they fell apart.

Kate felt Anthony shudder against her ad she forced herself to keep her eyes open to see the content look on his face.

“Holy Fuck.” Anthony laughed, catching her lips again, “I can’t believe I ever thought you were such a good girl.”

Kate patted his cheek, “Obviously you just bring it out in me.”

Thud Thud Thud

They both startled at the sound of someone banging on the windscreen and Kate could barely make Edwina out, her hand covering her eyes.

“KATE STOP FUCKING IN THIS VAN I MEAN IT!”

[causticaprine]

i don't write very often, but descriptive language is my favorite part! it was harder for me to describe bodies when my body dysmorphia and internalized fatphobia were at their strongest, because I think I just didn't Connect to bodies. like. as a concept.

some things to consider:

the lustre of someone's skin. is it well cared for, healthy and dewy? do they have some sort of skin irregularity like eczema, hives, scabs, or body acne? is it covered in a thin layer of soot or dust or sweat from being hard at work or worn down?

hands can tell a lot about a person's lifestyle. are they manicured and soft? are they rough and strong, or dirty under the nails, or nails chewed short and near bloodied from stimming

what's their build? consider how you might describe it. are they bulky and well built, scrawny with knobby joints, chubby with soft curves and cellulite, or something else?

How do their clothes fit? are they awkwardly tight, well fitting, or do they hang loose. are they, even, so well fitting or the person's body unconventionally shaped in such a way that they must have been custom tailored? use this as an excuse to sneak in a detail or two about their body.

don't underestimate the power of the points where our body connects. if you picture a character with strong muscles, currently being flexed to accomplish something, you may describe the sort of inner elbow area as like a vice grip. you may describe a fat character as having a soft apron belly that lies on their lap when they sit, or for a particularly skinny character, the sharp grooves in places like under their ribs or behind their knees.

are they performing an action? how are we supposed to feel about that action, and what imagery are you trying to evoke in that scene? Try to imagine yourself as the person you're describing. A strong person pushing a boulder: the grit of the rough rock on their hands, their firmly planted feet, the awkwardness with which they're having to position their hands on this uneven surface, and the burning flexion of what feels like every muscle in their body. now that you have a VERY firm idea of exactly how their body is positioned, imagine yourself as an observer. Their hands are placed as though they may slip at any moment, their brow furrowed in their laser focus. Their legs are firmly planted, as strong and as steady as a plough horse.

contrast. maybe a character's strong, handsome frame turns frightening as the narrative unveils something sinister about them. this can easily slip into caricaturizing them, but for example, a frame that once may have been described as delicate, doelike, and angelic, after learning they are so lean because they're sick, could be described as gaunt, sickly, and pale/dull.

look at more people. as a creative exercise, if you'd like, find a reference image on somewhere like adorka stock, fatphotoref, line of action, or even art books that visually portray characters in ways you want to be able to describe them in your writing. Then, Describe them.

Go outside and people watch from your car or a bunch, in a park or parking lot or gym or other public space. Yes, seriously. It sounds creepy, and sometimes you have to act like you weren't staring when you absolutely were, but seeing real people doing real, average things will naturally draw you to certain parts of them. That mother chasing her kid down at the park - she has soft curves, dingy sneakers, a messy bun, and the faintest hint of loose skin that drapes delicately around her body like gossamer. She holds her hands out to catch her son who was scared and dangling from the monkey bars, and he lets go with complete confidence she will catch him. You briefly realize in that moment how strong and athletic she is.

Saw this on Twitter and I obligatory need to share it

[ecoscreen]

DIY Fly Screen Installation Tips to Save Your Day

There are several advantages to window screens, such as shielding against dirt and other environmental factors and deterring flies and insects without compromising light and fresh air. A window screen can shield windows from potential damage caused by high winds during a storm.

If you have the necessary time and tools, or if you just want to know if you can install a window screen continue reading this blog. Go for the fly screens installation Service Auckland if you don’t feel confident about the DIY job. 

Choosing the Right Fly Screen

Determine the material of your window screen before installing it, then buy a replacement in the appropriate size. Fiberglass mesh is the most often used material for screens. Solar screens and aluminium screens are two more common choices.

To make sure you purchase the correct size screen, measure your frame and windows. A central support is required if the screen is 36 inches or taller to keep it from bending. Although there are differences in window sizes, the typical sizes range from 18 by 20 inches to 36 by 74 inches. Custom orders from fly screens specialist Auckland are needed for screens that are not in these sizes.

Keep Supplies Ready

Make sure you have all the necessary tools before you start. Acquire a measuring tape, a spline roller, a reliable utility knife, your preferred replacement screen material, and the right spline (typically vinyl or rubber). Additionally, it's usually a good idea to have a screwdriver handy in case your window frame calls for one.

Make the Material Ready

After positioning the frame on a level surface, lay out enough screen material to completely envelop the frame. Using a utility knife, cut the screen to the desired size, leaving an extra 2 inches of screening material on each side. This will guarantee that your replacement screen fits correctly.

Install the Fly Screen

To avoid calling for a fly screens installation Service Auckland follow the installation steps below. 

Using a clamp at the bottom and top of the frame, pull the replacement screen snugly over the frame.

Using the screen rolling tool, press the screen into the frame's grooves using the convex wheel's outward groove.

Using the spline roller, press the spline into the channel to secure it to the frame. Use wire brads to secure the mesh or staples if the frame is made of wood.

Don't overstretch the cloth; instead, keep it tight over the frame. The screen will droop if it's too loose, and the edges of the frame may get damaged if it's too tight. Rolling the screen in on two adjacent sides and then positioning a brick or other heavy item in the centre of the screen is one approach to make sure it fits taut.

After attaching the mesh along the last two edges, remove the brick. Take out the spline and try again if you see any creases or bulges in the mesh.

Get Rid of the Excess

After the spline is firmly in place, clip any excess screen material that is hanging over the frame's edges with your utility knife. This step helps guarantee that the window screen rests correctly and provides a cleaner, more polished appearance, although it is not necessary.

Maintenance 

In addition to extending its protective lifespan, window screen maintenance may help you save money. The following advice from a fly screens specialist Auckland will help you maintain the quality of your recently fitted screens:

Make sure you get the screens on your windows cleaned once or twice a year at the very least. To get rid of the collected dust and filth, you can use a vacuum. To gently brush them off, you can instead use soap and water.

Take off your screen in the winter. Snow might become trapped between the screen and the glass, severely harming it.

To avoid causing harm to the material, learn how to correctly remove and replace the window screen.

Though DIY is quite trending today and with the right skill and patience, many people are achieving the desired result with DIY, professional installation is always recommended to avoid any problem in the future. Choose a reputable fly screens specialist Auckland to help you with the product and installation both so that your investment becomes worthwhile.

[planovashopfittingsolutions]

A Retailer's Guide to Maximizing Sales with the Right Shelving Solutions

Shelves designed specifically for displaying merchandise are an indispensable component of any retail establishment. Not only do they help organise products, but they also provide an opportunity to showcase those products to customers who may be interested in purchasing them. However, retailers may find it difficult to locate the appropriate shelving solutions for their products.

There is a wide selection of retail display shelves available on the market today, each of which comes with a specialised set of characteristics and advantages. Pegboard shelves, gondola shelves, gridwall shelves, and slatwall shelves are among the most common varieties of shelving found in homes and businesses today. Gondola shelves are the most common and widely used variety of retail display shelves. These shelves can be found in grocery stores, convenience stores, and other types of retail establishments. They are freestanding units that have shelving that can be adjusted, which makes them versatile and adaptable to a variety of different product sizes and shapes.

On the other hand, slatwall shelves are fantastic for hanging merchandise such as clothing, hats, and bags. They are constructed out of grooved panels, which make the attachment of shelves, hooks, and other display accessories simple and straightforward. Gridwall shelves are similar to slatwall shelves, but they have a pattern that looks like a grid instead of slats. This gives you more flexibility when arranging your displays. They are frequently utilised in the retail settings of gift shops and boutiques.

As their name suggests, pegboard shelves have a pegboard backing that is used to hold hooks, shelves, and various other types of display accessories. Hardware stores and other retail establishments that specialise in the sale of small items are great places to find them. It is essential to choose a retail display shelf that is not only practical but also appealing to the eye, and this is true regardless of the type of shelf in question.

It is important that the shelving solutions be adapted to the requirements of the store and the products that are being sold. For instance, a shop that deals in large and cumbersome products might need shelving units that are strong and long-lasting so that they can support the weight of the products they sell. On the other hand, a shop that sells fragile products like glassware might need shelving units with built-in lighting in order to draw attention to the products and make an appealing display.

Shelving solutions are judged not only on how well they function but also on how aesthetically pleasing they are. It is important that the style and colour of the shelves complement the overall design and branding of the store. For instance, a store that sells organic products might choose to construct its shelves out of natural materials like wood or bamboo, whereas a store that sells high-end luxury goods might choose to construct its shelves out of glass or metal.

When selecting shelving systems, space utilisation is an additional important factor to take into consideration. The number of shelves required, as well as their dimensions and types, will be established by the store's dimensions and layout. A store that has a restricted amount of floor space might choose to install tall and narrow shelves to make the most of the available vertical space, while a store with plenty of floor space might choose to install wider and lower shelves to make the space feel more open and inviting.

When it comes to shelving systems, adaptability is another factor that should not be overlooked. When selecting shelves for their stores, merchants should look for ones that can be easily adjusted or reconfigured in the event that the store's product lineup or floor plan undergoes significant shifts. This not only helps save time and money, but it also ensures that the shop will always have a modern and contemporary appearance.

In addition to conventional retail display shelves, there is a wide variety of contemporary shelving options currently available on the market. Screens can be found on digital display shelves, for instance, so that customers can view information about products as well as prices and current promotions. They are ideally suited for shops dealing in electronic goods or other forms of high-tech merchandise. Customers are able to interact with the products displayed on interactive display shelves, which may be accomplished through the use of touchscreens or sensors. They are ideally suited for establishments selling products that must first be demonstrated or educated to the customer.

In conclusion, display shelves and shelving systems are essential components that must be included in any successful retail store. When it comes to designing a store environment that is appealing to customers and is both visually appealing and well-organized, selecting the appropriate shelves in terms of their type, size, and design can make a significant difference. When selecting shelving systems that are tailored to their particular requirements and spending constraints, retailers should take into account a variety of factors, including functionality, aesthetics, space utilisation, flexibility, and innovation. Retailers are able to boost their store's visual appeal, improve the visibility of their products, and ultimately increase their sales if they have the appropriate shelving systems.

[giftofwonder]

Cirque de Yuuie - MHA Various x f!Reader

A/N: Hey guys! So this is going to be a multi-part series of one shots. Each part will be a different character. There might be smut, we’ll see what happens. This is the introduction to the plot and characters. Some characters might have multiple parts as well. Let me know if you want anyone specific and also if you’d like to be added to their tag list! Also, let me know what you think! Feedback is always appreciated.

Intro

Your eyes cracked open, taking in the deep midnight hues that were cast over your room. Pale moonlight bathed everything in a faint glow.

You shifted, rolling to look at the clock on your bedside table. You groaned, pushing yourself up to sit on the edge of your bed and turned toward your open window. You could hear the boisterous chatter from the streets below. A cool breeze swept in and danced along your heated skin, and you welcomed it with closed eyes and a soft sigh.

Each night you found yourself waking up restless and antsy, unsettled. You’d sit in the confines of your room, and then dress and make your way to the tavern across the road. Tonight was no different.

Your tired limbs trudged across the cobblestone, pushing through drunken bodies that reeked of liquor and sweat.

You grunted as you pushed open the heavy oak door, finding it just as congested as outside. Bodies littered the room heavily, the music and laughter so loud it left your ears ringing. You weaved through the empty spaces and took a seat on a stool by the bar.

“The usual?” You heard a voice called out.

You glanced up, locking eyes with the bar tender as you gave a faint smile and nod.

A glass was slid in your direction a few seconds later, and you wondered if he’d already had it ready for you. You figured that must be the case, it was routine at this point.

“No luck sleeping again, huh?” He said, leaning across the counter as you nursed your drink.

“Afraid not, seems like this is becoming my normal.” You gave a dry laugh, trying to offer up something lighthearted.

“Seems like it. Something troubling you?” His head cocked to the side.

“Just the usual, nothing too bad.” You said, shifting your glass around in your hand.

“Come on now, you waltz in here every night and drink, people with problems that aren’t too bad don’t find themselves perched on one of my stools this often.” He whispered, his gaze intense as he inched across the counter toward you. His hushed voice was lost in the roars of the crowd around you, but you could hear him clear as day.

He wasn’t wrong. You had to give him that. The cluster of people surrounding you dispersed as groups made their way to exit back to the street.

Mummers still resounded around the room, but in the now much quieter atmosphere, you felt yourself relaxing. You leaned forward, propping your elbows against the chipped counter and braced your cheek in your palm.

“I just feel...I don’t know...an overwhelming amount of disinterest in my life. I wake up, I work hard and long days, I come home, eat and bathe and sleep. It’s a never-ending cycle that I’m doomed to repeat each and every day. It all just feels so lackluster.” You said, your voice soft as your eyes gazed at nothing.

“Well, that is quite the conundrum. Might I ask, why don’t you just do something else?” He quipped back with a grin.

“If only it were that easy.” You sighed, eyes slowly drifting back to him.

“Isn’t it, though?” He asked, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

“Is it?” You asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Hear me out, I’m no stranger to a hard days work by any means, but I like what I do.” He shrugged.

“Making drinks?” You pressed.

“No, I watch people. Get to know them, help them sometimes. You work in a pub and you meet a lot of people, hear a lot of stories. People get a bit of alcohol in them and suddenly their lips become uncontrollably loose.” He chuckled.

“So you’re nosy, then?” You spat back, a smile turning the corners of your lips.

“I prefer curious, it sounds much more pleasant.” He offered.

He turned and grabbed an envelope from behind him and slid it across the counter to you. It was unmarked, other than the intricate wax seal holding it closed.

“What’s this?” You asked, taking it and inspecting the “CdY” ingrained in the seal.

“A chance to escape.” He shrugged, and then leaned back abruptly, hands grasping glassware and a towel to polish the crystals surface.

“What do I owe you?” You asked, standing and grabbing your coin purse.

“Nothing. This ones on me.” He waved his hand.

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it. By the way, what is your name?” You asked, tucking the envelope into your pocket.

“Shinso, now get out of here and go off to do whatever it is you do when you stumble out of here each night.” He called, waving his rag at you. You smiled at the mirth lighting his eyes, offering a wave as you turned and made your exit.

______________________________________

You plopped onto your small wicker chair, it’s grooves lining up with your back perfectly, molded to your body after the countless hours you had spent hunched over in this seat.

Calloused fingertips reached to caress a fine silk that you’d never be able to afford. You pulled it to you, laying it across the table ahead and dug the patterns for a dress from the chest beside you at your feet.

You were a seamstress, and a fairly popular one. Women and men from both high and low society sought you out to tailor and craft their garments.

You had stitched an amazing collection of clothing, from simple gowns to the most intricate of pieces. Your customers had often boasted about your work, that you were able to create anything.

Until recently, you had been doing fairly well for yourself. You had purchased a home of your own, a massive feat for an unwed woman, especially one in her early twenties.

In the last six months, that had changed though. There had been civil unrest, looting and fighting at the capital. The local government had pushed back, increasing taxes heavily. With that blow came another, a new tailoring business on the other side of town. It offered cheap labor, using children from the orphanage as virtually free hands. The turn around was quick, much faster than the length of time it took you to produce a garment. But the quality was terrible. They used cheap labor and cheaper materials.

The first time you had seen their work, you had laughed till tears brimmed your eyes. However, the quick production and cheap cost had ended up hitting you hard. While the wealthy had no issue having you fashion something for them, most everyone else had flocked to them. It wasn’t terribly hard to do a simple stitch. To take in a gown or a suit. Suddenly, you found yourself praying for work as the jobs got fewer and fewer.

Meanwhile the heightened taxes left your coin purse extremely light. You hadn’t struggled like this in a very long time.

You finished the silken garment, folding it delicately over your arm as you took it over to the rack to hang.

Once hung, you patted off your apron and felt the crinkling of the forgotten envelope tucked in your pocket. You pulled it out, fingers dipping into the paper to tear it open. The red of the invitation was so bright, a high quality velvet lined in gold trim. You then wondered the status of your friendly barkeep, but chalked it up to his large amount of connections. Surely, a drunken man could be persuaded into giving an invitation in exchange for a free round.

Your eyes scanned along the paper, reading the fancy script that outlined the details of the event. You scoffed as you made your way back to your chair, shaking your head as the invitation was tossed onto your table.

A few moments passed before you picked it back up and read over the card again.

______________________________________

Your heels clicked against the pavement as you approached the large gate before you. You were in a state of awe at the lights and music making the night feel alive.

You stopped at the ticket booth, met with a disgruntled employee who looked half asleep. His thick yellow quilt was pulled taunt around his body and his hollow eyes stared at you with something akin to annoyance.

“Welcome to “Cirque de Yuuie”, admission is ¥220.” His bored voice stated monotonously.

“Oh...I actually have an invitation.” You said, giving a weak smile.

He held your gaze for a moment before he quirked a brow, his eyes scanning over you before he gave a sigh and a shrug.

“Alright, give it here.” He held out his pale hand, and you gently placed the invite in his palm.

He quickly pressed a stamp to your hand and shooed you away, so you turned and entered in through the gate.

______________________________________

You had wandered around the grounds for a while, but saw no familiar faces. It was odd, not even children were present. The cost had been rather high to enter, perhaps it was an adults only event.

After you had completed your lap, you were not too far from the entrance to the large tent in the center of the area. Red and white fabrics were draped beautifully, tied off with an intricately woven gold banding.

As you went to step forward, a large wooden pole cut in front of you, you gasped, your head shooting up to find a cheerful looking clown above.

“Whoops! S’cues me miss! Almost stepped on ya there!” He laughed, his painted lips opening to reveal his bright smile.

“Oh, no I’m sorry! I was enthralled by everything and wasn’t paying attention.” You waved him off.

“Ah don’t worry about it, it’s a beautiful night, and the tent looks great! I’ve been distracted by it myself! The names Mirio, by the way.”

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.”

He nodded and stepped to make his way off back into the crowd.

“HEY WAIT!” You heard a loud voice call out, and not a moment later, two more clowns turned the corner. One with green hair raced along side a blonde with large sunglasses and a lightening-shaped black streak in his hair. They were tailed by a very awkward and scared looking mime who ran behind them silently looking like he was going to be sick.

“Come on, Amajiki! Hurry up!” The blonde clown yelled behind him, causing the mime to flinch and pick up the pace. You laughed at their antics, they were definitely a good source of entertainment.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! THIS IS YOUR ANNOUNCER: PRESENT MIC, PLEASE GATHER TO THE MAIN TENT AS THE FESTIVITIES ARE ABOUT TO BEGIN.....YEAAAHHH!!!!” A loud voice blared through the speakers overhead.

You pushed through the gathering crowd, entering through the fabric doorway. The ceilings were vaulted, and you were amazed by how large it seemed inside.

Chatter broke out amongst those around you as you passed a sign that read “Yuuie’s Spectacular Freak Show!”

You followed the corridor, peering in the labeled rooms as you passed by.

“Strongest Men Alive! All Might and Red Riot!” Inside the room were two muscular men. The blonde man was tall, looming over the crowd as he smiled and flex. The redhead was laying on a bed of nails, and a crazed looking woman with pink hair walked across him while he looked on unfazed.

“One Body- Two Men! Twice!” A man sat, arguing with himself, the crowd would call out questions and he’d answer two opposing ways, often breaking out into an argument. The crowd giggled and taunted as he yelled seemingly to himself.

“The Vampire: Toga!” Your stomach twisted as you watch the girl give a cat-like grin and chug a vial of blood. Shackles held her to her spot but she called out to the audience, telling them to come closer and let her have a drink.

“Invisible Girl: Toru!” You blinked at the empty room, rolling your eyes as you pushed past to the next stall.

“Frog Woman: Tsuyu!” A girl in a green dress crouched in a pool, her long tongue falling from her mouth as her large hand gave a wave. You couldn’t help but notice her webbed fingers and the faint croaks.

“Worlds Largest Woman: Mt Lady!” An insanely large woman sat on her knees, smiling and chatting with the audience. She was beautiful, but had to be at least 9’ tall.

“World’s Largest Man: Fatgum!” A very large man sat in the center of the room smiling and waving as he let children drift into his stall and eat from the various sweets lining the table beside him. Though the adults around you spoke insults quietly, you couldn’t help but think the man looked very kind. You smiled softly at the sight of a child hugging him in thanks before returning to their mothers side.

“Bird-Man: Hawks!” A young man laughed loudly, his beautiful red wings flapping as he gave a slight show to those who watched. Many looked on in awe and wonder, and women swooned at his charm. His feathers seemed to almost sparkle and while you noticed something mischievous in his gaze, you were mesmerized nonetheless.

“Dabi the Dragon and the Indestructible Bakugou!” This room was larger, and smoke poured out. You were curious about this one, as there was no crowd gathered out front. You only saw one person, a rather attractive but angry looking man, growling as he noticed you. He rolled his eyes as he lit off explosives in his hands.

Your hands shot up to cover your eyes, before peering out to see the man looked fine, bored even.

“That was amazing!” You exclaimed.

“Course it was!” He sneered.

Suddenly, the curtain behind him rustled and another man emerged from the darkness. He was shirtless, his body scared in burns that wrapped around his torso, arms and face. His black hair spiked wildly, just like the blonde beside him. He smirked at you, sauntering toward you before lifting your chin with his index finger.

“Want me to put on a show for you, doll face?” He whispered. You nodded mutely, feeling much like the mime you had saw earlier that night. He chucked and stepped back. His hand grasped a bottle and he turned his back toward you, taking a large swig from the drink.

He abruptly turned back, and blue flames shot from his mouth and filled the room. You could immediately feel the immense heat and no longer wondered how his scars came to be.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, giving a small cough before grinning at you.

“Well, what’d ya think, princess?”

“It was amazing! Does it hurt?” You asked.

“Hmm? Nah, not really. Just burns a little.” He snickered at his joke while Bakugou rolled his eyes in the background.

“I also do a bit of sword swallowing.” He added, stepping in close to you.

“Oh, yeah? That’s a neat talent to have.” You spat back awkwardly.

“I could teach you, after the show that is. I’ve got a good one for you to practice on.” His deep voice said in a hushed tone, hot breath hitting you as his hand gripped the crotch of his pants.

You stumbled back quickly, mumbling about needing to find a seat, and then ran off to the main room of the tent.

Your heart was pounding as you took an empty seat in the front row that had your invitation number on it.

The lights around you dimmed and the seats behind began filling quickly. People chatted amongst themselves until the music changed and the curtains at the far side of the tent were drawn.

A pale looking man with light blue hair and red eyes slowly walked out, taking center stage.

“Welcome. I’m so glad all of you came to join us for the show.” His hoarse voice spoke out loudly. His eyes dragged along the audience, taking in those around him.

“My name is Shigaraki and I’ll be your host tonight. You’ll see things that you never imagined, acts of wonder put on display before you. Prepare to be in awe and amazed.” He cheered, giving and eerie grin.

______________________________________

Halfway through the show, they called for an intermission. The lights brightened as people stood and flocked outside to grab drinks and food.

You stayed put, reflecting on the show so far. There had been an amazing act with tightrope walking, acrobats and aerial silks. They had been called “Children of the Sky” by those sat around you. Aoyama, Mina, Uraraka and Nejire were their names.

Then there had been the father and son act of fire performance. Enji and Shouto Todoroki. They danced with fire and spun batons and hoops that were blazing. Their act would have been more enjoyable if the father had been quiet, but instead every few moments he’d call out to his son correcting his posture and moves. Mid performance, Dabi had joined them on stage. His blue flames shining brightly in contrast. He had quickly noticed you and his eyes lit up as your stomach filled with dread.

He marched over, pulling you from your seat as gasps and whispers of his damaged skin rang through the crowd. He didn’t seem to notice. Or didn’t care. He had spun you around, dancing as his azure fire lit his arms. You were worried you’d be burned, but the fire never touched your skin. He brushed his arms with his hands, extinguishing the flame, as the music had haunted. You watched the smoke rise from his skin as you frowned, but he simply took your hand and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of it before walking away.

You heard a voice rasp out “fucking show off” before seeing the angry blonde, Bakugou, take off after him.

Now you sat, watching a small man with balls on his head. He wore a jesters outfit and juggled before those left seated in the crowd. Slowly he made his way to you.

“Hey, how do you know Dabi?” He asked bluntly, wonder in his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t. Not really. I saw him in the freak show. That’s all.” You said, uncomfortable with the small mans leering.

“You actually watched him?” He asked dumbfounded. “No wonder he’s all over you.”

“What do you mean?” You asked perplexed.

“Uh hello, he’s gross looking. Definitely not as attractive as someone like me.” He beamed at you. You stayed quiet, unsure of how to respond and afraid to break the poor guys dilution.

“Hey I also do puppet stuff, you wanna see?” He asked, tone chipper.

“Oh, no that’s okay-“

“Okay cool, watch this!” He cut you off, pulling a small puppet from his suit. He dropped it and it limply hit the ground, the string much too long for him. The puppet dragged around weirdly as the jester spoke in a high pitch, giving the wooden body a voice.

You blinked, watching the train wreck as the doll slid through the dirt, getting jerked around by the man before you. He picked up the puppet and threw it at you, it landing in your lap. Then he pulled the string and yanked it back to the ground. You abruptly stood and walked away, hearing him call after you, but you only quickened your pace.

Once outside in the fresh air, a loud bellowing laugh burst from your lips. That was the weirdest thing you’ve ever had to deal with and you had been holding in laughing in the strange boys face.

“Seems like you’re enjoying the show.” A voice cut in.

Your head quickly spun, meeting the red eyes of the ring leader.

“Yeah! It’s nice, you guys are doing an amazing job!” You scratched your neck, feeling the hairs on your arms standing at the sudden tension as the mans smile fell.

“You weren’t invited here.” He stated.

“I...well I was given an invitation.” You replied.

“It wasn’t yours though. It wasn’t meant for you.” He said, eyes blank as his head cocked to the side.

“No, it wasn’t. I don’t know who it belonged to. A bartender gave it to me.” You explained.

“Hmm, is that so? Well, do enjoy the show then. But do me a favor, sit in a different seat when you go back in.” He sneered, and then he was gone as quickly as he had appeared.

You headed back inside, choosing a different seat in the front row that had been unclaimed earlier.

The music roared again as the clowns, Midoriya, Kaminari and Mirio, put on a show. Kaminari was being shocked while Midoriya rode around on a unicycle. Mirio stayed on his stilts and walked around the stage dancing and doing tricks. The trio was truly fun to watch, and then the mime, Amajiki, was shoved forward. A spotlight hit him as he stood frozen in fear.

“Come on buddy, you can do it!” Mirio whispered loudly in support.

Amajiki took in a big breath and lifted his arms, hands shaking as he formed an invisible wall in front of himself when a box hit him in the head and a drunken man “booed”. Amajiki immediately rushed to the shadows, pressing his face into the wall of the tent as an air of dread surrounded him.

“Uhhh...look over here!” Midoriya yelled out, pulling the attention of the crowd as he gave a large shock to Kaminari. Kaminari then “beeped” and “booped” and drooled as he wobbled around. The audience cheered and laughed.

Finally it was time for the final act of the night, the mysterious and powerful Mr. Compress.

A spotlight roamed the stage, and in a cloud of smoke he appeared. He wore a mask, top hat and yellow overcoat. His cane tapped against the floor with each step he took.

“Tonight, I will make you question everything you know about the world. Everything you believe to be real!” He called, and the crowd went wild, hooting and hollering.

He started with a few jokes, one about how he wasn’t the type to pull a rabbit from his hat, but then his hat shifted and he took it off. He pulled out the first rabbit, and then another, and then two more. You laughed at his seeming confusion. Finally, he plopped his hat back on his head and called out Bakugou to the stage. Bakugou marched to him, stomping his feet and crossing his arms as he came to a stop beside the magician.

Mr. Compress draped a large piece of fabric over the man, and then quickly pulled the cloth back to reveal a confused looking Shouto.

“I was just over there.” Shouto said, pointing to the other side of the tent.

“Yes! And now you’re over here!” Compress smiled, giving a grand wave of his arm.

“Aren’t I the one doing the magic then?” Shouto said blandly while Compress laughed.

“Alright then, do another trick for us.” Mr. Compress said, his tone amused. Shouto stood there silently, expression blank.

“I’m-“

“YOUR FIRE! USE YOUR FIRE SHOUTO!” His father yelled from off stage. Shouto glanced behind him, annoyance radiating from him.

“No. Nevermind. Just put me back where i was.” He said to Compress. Not a second later, the cloth was thrown over him and pulled off to reveal what looked like 100 butterflies.

The crowed oohed and awed in response, and you felt your eyes widen in amazement as well. It was so quick, you were trying to understand the trick, but could hardly wrap your head around it. This guy was good.

He went through a few more tricks, each a little better than the last. Finally he called for a volunteer from the audience.

Many hands shot into the air, while yours meekly raised. You weren’t one who gravitated to the spotlight, in fact, you had no desire to go onto the stage and have everyone’s eyes on you. But, you had promised yourself you’d let go for tonight and do as the bartender recommended. Escape.

Perhaps he could sense your distress, or maybe it was just because you were the closest to him, but he slowly walked toward you and extended his hand.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love it if you could assist me madam.”

You smiled, cursing inwardly at yourself, as you took his hand and let him pull you to your feet and lead you to the stage.

Red Riot ran over holding a heavy wooden chair, one you might find used as a throne.

Compress lifted the bottom of his mask and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, much like Dabi did, before directing you to take a seat. You did as you were asked, feeling the heat of the light on you, thankful that it’s blinding light prevented you from being able to see the crowd.

Mr. Compress started his speech about defying nature, and the use of powerful magic.

“Do not look away for a second, it is imperative you see your reality bent before you. With the help of my beautiful assistant, I will show you that the limitations we set for ourselves are often just an illusion. Anything you can think of is possible!”

He turned toward you, pulling the yellow coat from his body and leaving himself in his black vest and pants, the orange shirt beneath now visible. He pushed up his sleeves and held his hands outstretched toward you. You felt the chair jerk and sucked in a breath. It lurched again, and soon you were floating above the ground. You kicked your feet and smiled, trying your hardest not to shift in the chair.

Then the lights flickered, and a spotlight fell from the ceiling, crashing into the empty seat that had been assigned to your invitation.

In the moment of chaos, the chair dropped harshly, cracking against the ground as the impact tossed you to the side. You grunted, the wind knocked from your lungs and your eyes unfocused after smacking your head in the fall.

Screams were heard as the crowd panicked and scattered, the roars of animals following after them.

A harsh tug lifted you back onto your feet, and in the darkness you could see nothing, but allowed the person to drag you from the tent as your head spun.

Your mind was trying to process as you were pulled into a trailer, and as your body met the cot inside, you fell unconscious.

[reinepadova]

To Be Seen

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“The person who removes a mountain, begins by carrying away small stones.”

Sweet, bright, and floral – words that encapsulate the enticing smell wafting up from a beautifully carved tea tray, with the decanted water flowing down into its grooves to a catch basin underneath. Two pinming tea cups, already warmed and rinsed – painted in a beautiful array of geometric patterns – are a matched set with the tea pitcher currently pouring the first infusion.

“Your tea, Miss.” A large gloved hand – dark and unassuming, except for the dull shimmer of a large jade ring at its thumb, and a shining topaz gem cut in a sharp diamond at the wrist – pushed the filled drink with practiced ease near a seated figure, whose garbs of soft greens, subtle blues, and hints of black, signify a distant relation to the deceased.

“Thank you,” the figure said, her hand reaching for a cup, her head tilted to the unadorned wall. Though her arms seem relaxed, her shoulders were stiff, while her legs were tucked sideways, like a force of habit. She made a fine picture of poise and sophistication from afar, but perfectly humble in her mourning up close.

The host hummed graciously, savoring his first sip, noting the elegance in her figure despite the rather defensive posture. Hmm. If she remains unmoving, pain shall spread on her lower back.

“This drink is made from an evergreen shrub, which grows abundant at Jueyun Karst,” he began, calm dignity resonating in his voice. “It is said to be a place where the adepti enjoy their seclusion, hence the people's reluctance to disturb it's grounds. As such, these leaves are very rare. Only skilled herb gatherers that inherited the wisdom – and the courage – to traverse these lands are able to obtain them.”

“I see,” she replied, an empty cup waiting for a second infusion. He obliged and continued.

“Notice it's yellow hue? It is an accidental discovery. The color of dried tea leaves is normally green, with a taste that range from bittersweet to nutty, or from floral to oceanic. Some, on the other hand, would go so far as to liken it to simple vegetation. 'Grassy', they would say. Hmm. Tea may not be their beverage of choice.”

“Fascinating,” his guest replied, even tone barely hiding polite disinterest. He quirked a slight brow but remained undeterred - he's had encounters with people more ornery in years past.

As curious as her passively hostile behavior towards him has been for the past few days, he shall not stoop low to the level of the ignorant – like those at the marketplace, who circulate hearsays that leave much to be desired. He's only grateful young Mei is spared, for he may start questioning the integrity of his people.

He turned auric eyes down to his cup, watching the idle swirl of the liquid within.

He may only know just the surface of her troubles – like the vague taste of anguish from the void of her dreams – but he's determined to release the pressure through the cracks of her facade, like flushing steam from a smoking mount.

He knows beneath a calm mountain, lies a dissonance that could erupt, painfully and forcefully, at any given moment.

“But years ago, it is said a farmer had forgotten to dry out a batch of these leaves. And a cloth, flung free from a drying line, landed from above, sealing the warm moisture on them shut for a full summer's day. To the farmer's delight, the taste of the finished tea turned light and mellow, and the so-called grassy flavor gone without consequence. This procedure  is now known as 'sealing yellow', the widely accepted finish for the tea we enjoy now.”

“How interesting.”

“Quite so.”

Hmm. Mayhaps the origins of tea may not be of interest?

Silence reigned heavily on the two tea companions, like too much burnt incense hanging in the air. A low cough from one tried to break through the discomfort, while the other remained resolutely silent.

“Would you prefer a different drink? We have other varieties that may be more palatable for your taste.”

The lady seem to snap out of thought, shaking her head insistently while eyeing the gloved hand that moved to remove her cup. “No. That's unnecessary. This will do. Thank you for your service,” she dismissed, gently but concisely, with an unconscious hand rubbing at her eyes.

“Is there nothing else I may assist in?” he asked, subdued, concern coloring his words. His uncharacteristically tilted head missed entirely by the lady's distraction.

“No,” came the tired reply, an undertone of exasperation escaping in the same breath.

“...nothing at all?”

She seem to take a deep breath, holding it for a minute, before letting it out in one, even sigh.

Not far from the one-sided conversation, peeking at the side of a privacy screen, the seventy-seventh director of Wangsheng looked on, a feline smile stretched across her face. She watched, with growing giddiness, at the most hilarious drama she'd ever witness in her waking years yet!

“Hu Tao-zhǔrèn? Should we not intervene?” Ferrylady whispered, glancing worriedly at the guest lounge herself. She wanted to help dispel such a morose atmosphere, as ironic as that is, for it is her duty for an honored guest, as well as to their noble consultant.

“Shhh~ Not now, Ferrylady. This is getting good.”

“But, madam, this has been going on for three days. Progress is no where to be found.”

“Exactly. This is the most exciting thing that's ever happened to this place!”

"Madam. 'Exciting' is counterproductive to what we strive for in this business."

Ferrylady knew her young boss would have squealed if not for their absolute need for discretion.

No good thing comes from eavesdropping such a private exchange after all.

Hu Tao just hushed her again, silently crawling forward to get a better view. The shadow of the large vase their dear consultant insisted they buy the other day made for a good hiding spot. Something about its story being a distraction for the distraught passed through her mind.

“Miss Ferrylady?  H-Hu-zhǔrèn? Why are you crouching down there?”

The two snapped their attention to their new employee, who wore a very bemused expression while pulling at the collar of his stiff uniform.

“Shh! Meng, do you want the troubled souls in the parlor to catch your feet? Drop down behind us now and complete the formation. This is your first assignment~” Hu Tao murmured seriously, an unreadable twinkle reflecting in her eyes. Meng would have gasped out loud if he hadn't slapped his hands over his mouth.

He swiftly did as he was told, back brushing against the wall in the cramped space, before he swiveled worried eyes all around them. Ferrylady just sighed, familiar with their director's ways of keeping someone quiet.

“Now keep quiet for the next half hour you two. Act Two is about to begin~”

-{-}-

Stella mildly wondered if it would be child neglect to jump from the pier right outside the parlor, leaving Mei all alone. It's the only thing she could think of right now to prevent herself from strangling this, this – ugh! This persistent man!

She knows there is a custom of not speaking with customers, out of respect for old tradition – but this one seem to have missed the memo.

Before the day Mei's grandmother passed, the old woman had enough breath to tell her where she wished to have her wake, what she and Mei should wear, what their manners should be during mourning period, and other matters relating to Mei's future.

But despite her meticulous notetaking – her brushstrokes needed lots of work, she knows – Stella still felt unprepared for the kind of reception she received at the infamous Wangsheng ever since their return back at the Harbor.

After tucking in a sleepy Mei in her room, Stella went straight to the parlor, placing three of the Glaze Lilies in the simple pots she requested in advance, nestling them in between wreaths of white flowers surrounding the covered body.

When she finished burning the joss paper for a final offering, she jumped at the male voice directly from behind her. Whirling around, her heart skipped a beat, brows falling low at his short salutation.

The gentleman before her wore a suit that was subtle in opulence, and elegant in form – a large contrast to the uniform worn by the undertakers that assisted her and Mei before taking off to Qingce Village. She noted the thick rings that contrasted against his gloves – rings worn on the thumb, symbolizing the authority the wearer wields, as well as the arrogance boasting of wealth. Her brow had twitched.

“Good evening. May I ask why is the boss of Wangsheng seeing me?” she inquired, arms crossed. Its the only explanation for someone of importance to act like a host in the dark hall.

Despite the hammering beat in her chest, and the lost of color from her face, she stood tall with a firm stance – bracing herself in case this man mocks her for her ignorance. But when no sound of condescension came, she felt unsettled, and focused on his shining tie instead.

It's an unfortunate habit she has around these types she has yet to break, but a good enough technique to show they still have her attention. They usually have some sort of trinket on them – a silken pocket square, an heirloom brooch, or a collar clip – so its not difficult to direct her eye near their neck. 

She could have glanced up to a point near their ear, to give the illusion of eye contact - but she didn’t want to remember their face, she has no interest to know of it, to know of them. She has no plans of interacting with this person ever, if she could manage it.

But she was brought out of her thoughts by a sudden chuckle, a smooth and sonorous sound, like rumbling thunder in the distance. It was not taunting or haughty, like she had expected. It sounds like a relief of tension – like heavy rainfall after a long dry spell. Stella took a step back, surprised at her passing thought that it sounded attractive. “I am not the boss of this hallowed hall, much to the confusion of most. You are not the only one who assume so. I am merely one of its consultants. Wangsheng caters to all needs, no matter the status, affiliation, or ethnicity. Hence its forthright pursuit for various advisors in order to fulfill any request – for the benefit of the living, and those that have passed.

I myself do my best to be of assistance to any of our customers, when present.”

“That's, uh, nice?” Stella stuttered, utterly speechless. Not because the explanation lacked clarity – it’s actually worded very eloquently – but because this man, this consultant, was still talking to her, despite the lack of eye contact – a discourtesy these types would easily recognize. It was practically beaten into her head that it was a shameful habit, growing up – that no man would want to be her husband if she does not get over it.

Which motivated her more to never want marriage.

She could feel his eyes roving over her face, the path of their focus mostly resting on her cheeks –surprisingly, never straying down. “Indeed. And if I may say so, you seem to need a boost of energy. Or perhaps a good rest. We offer drinks that could assist you with either. If you allow it, I will prepare it to your liking.”

She tucked her head down, not knowing what to say. Not because she felt flattered or embarrassed by the attention of such an attractive-sounding individual.

But... the thing is –

She hates men.

She really, really hates men.

Growing up in a household that treated her more like a prize than a living being, she had no real choice on how to live her life. Powerful men of elevated backgrounds would strut before her, fluttering their clothes made from rare threads to show off their affluence, leering in greed and unwanted desire at her place behind a special dais – layers of gauzy silks the only physical protection she has from their disgusting gazes. But they were never thick enough for her to block out the absolutely dark intentions in their eyes, nor the reverberating hunger in their sleazy words. It made her skin crawl badly every time – feeling phantom insect's feet trail up and down her arms, creeping sludge up her throat, until it claw up to the sensitive skin of her scalp. No matter how much she bathes in scorching hot water after every encounter, skin scrubbed raw and red, she never manages to erase the feeling right away. Only in sleep could she hope to find peace.

If she even could.

They tell her that her feelings were irrelevant. Her treatment – expected. After all, everyone is led to believe she inherited attributes that show she has the blood of those that dwell in the heavens – in the upper universe that human beings could only dream to reach. And thus her body is seen as a sacred vessel, a carrier for future generations to come – perfect beings that would never suffer from mortal wounds, or mortal illnesses. The mother that shall birth the perfect world. You are one being that can propagate, and produce the most flawless humans the world has ever seen. Humans that would become the paragon for everyone else to aspire to! –

Stella scoffed mutely, unfolding her arms, before stepping back into place. That was what her foolish cousin had thought. Had believed. Had obsessed.

He was a brilliant scholar. A specialist of the unknown. And a zealous believer of their family's history and sacred roots. His fixation with perfection is a flaw in and of itself. A selfish desire that eventually led to everyone's death – especially one she held most dear – Selene. Her sister by name, if not by direct blood. The only relative that actually cared for her, that loved her, that protected her when no one else would.

Selene was the one that taught her how to sing – how to hone the beauty in her voice. She taught her how to fight – with a weapon used by an ancestor who fought her fate until the last of her breath. 

Selene taught a many great things, especially other skills that would have otherwise been useless if she was still in her own world – a world that pampered her like a sacred idol, with wings clipped short in a gilded cage.

The very memory of Selene dying in her arms serve as a reminder to never be selfish. To be mindful. To remember that even just one person's open hand is enough to live life for.

But, right now, with her muscles straining from holding her stiff position for so long, she is very much in a mindset to defy her own oath.

She really hates men.

But... she's trying not to. She has to not to – for Meilin's sake:

Most of the fishmongers at the harbor are men – Mei loves seafood.

Most of the chefs are men – Mei loves well-cooked food.

All of the guards are men – Mei trusts them to protect their house and harbor.

If not for Mei, Stella would have gone to live as a hermit by now, fishing or hunting for her own meals, cultivate her own harvests, or protect herself from foolish thieves.

For Mei, she will persevere. For Mei, she will try.

But –

She really hates men.

Specifically, this type of man.

Those greedy monsters cloaked in beauty and money. That speak well of culture and knowledge – both useless, and worthless. For it is a mere show of having been educated on knowledge the masses could not afford to have.

Her heart had not skipped a beat because she finds him attractive   – she still doesn’t know what he looks like. But from his clothes, his manners, his flowery words, she could only conclude one thing: this is the type of husband her family had wanted. The traditional type that wanted a traditional wife.

Out of all the typical traits that kind of wife should have: bearing many children, many perfect children, was the main goal. All the while she must always be silent, until spoken to. Be obedient without question. And wise enough to know her place  – while being the perfect trophy her husband could boast about.

Stella took deep, silent breaths, controlling her thoughts from making her jump to conclusions.

She had to tread carefully with any man in this world. The people at the market were nice enough so far. Respectful of deals, and follows through with their word. 

But, she's not blind to the staring – both the subtle, and the obvious. 

Her face, unfortunately, is one of the attributes she inherited from their family's progenitor, their beloved ancestor, and it's been described as appealing at worse, and magnificent at best. 

But she pays these no mind. Complements are empty words after all. Especially when they find out she can no longer produce children. That's alright. She has long accepted that any who show interest in her, will soon disregard it after they learn of her disability. Traditional men especially, will throw her away.

That's why – although she has her oath for Selene, and a promise for Gran-gran and Mei – she herself could never give an eternal vow to anyone. Not anymore.

Not after what she's done to herself.

But despite her cold aloofness day after day, night after night, this man remained persistent. Kept pestering to cater to her needs, when she made it perfectly clear the Ferrylady was doing a great job of taking care of her already. That he should focus on more important clientele than her.

Unfortunately, it's the sixth day now of Gran-gran's funeral, and she's still being served personally by the stubborn consultant with the alluring voice, who wouldn't stop inquiring if she was able to get a good night's sleep after clearly seeing she isn't. She knows the bags under her eyes are getting darker, and the whites of her eyes turning red with dryness.

It's times like this she misses those blissful sleep of white nothingness – the long morning nap, and the night she and Mei had to camp out before arriving at the harbor. The only explanation for them was the presence of that little guardian that wrapped around her snuggly like a giant tree in its branches – one made out of scales, and gems, and warmth. 

Ah. But it isn't a tree, is it? It was a dragon – or so Mei said. A legendary creature that is normally large and serpentine in form and built – either something that brings about disorder and chaos, or something that protects with might and force.

“Good thing Mr. Guardian is the protector type!” Mei had added brightly, even though Stella knew the little girl was extremely disheartened to see it disappear in the distance after escorting them to the edge of Liyue Harbor, fluffy tail flickering in a silent wave.

She will admit to miss its strange, yet comforting presence. The soothing calm she can feel as she stares at its amber eyes – whether out of vexation or gratitude. It would wrap around her like a thick blanket, enveloping her in a warmth she could feel in her bones, and in her heart.

Ah, well. Maybe she'll look to tame one of the strays around the area. See which ones are easy to domesticate. Maybe, one of them would have eyes as gold as Mr. Guardian. Maybe then she'll be able to cuddle up to something and get some much needed sleep.

-{-}-

As the lady continued to fantasize of respite, a lost look entering her eyes, Morax thought now is the right time for a change. Where diplomacy fails, action may succeed.

When her hand moved to subtly rest at her waist, trying to reach her back, and a pained look briefly passed over her expression, he acted – for the first time – without a second thought.

“You have not slept well after I left, have you?”

Morax murmured low, well aware of their audience in the background, but reached out to her nonetheless, touching the tip of her nose, hoping his action would trigger a memory, their memory, together.

He patiently waited for her indignant squeals and sputters to subside, staring steadily at her face until her angry gaze focused back on his.

She turned silent immediately, a great confusion painted her features. Her hand hovered close to his face – no doubt to slap him for his boldness.

The quiet this time was not uncomfortable – it felt very nostalgic, like the thrum of water drops on stone, or the hum of rocks being mined from the earth.

The kind of silence that defined their first meeting, letting her tug him free from her pack, and staring at him with open bewilderment – with awe-filled curiosity set deep in her exquisite eyes.

“...Mr. Guardian?” she uttered, like a secret, both hopeful and afraid. She withdrew her hand to cover her mouth, while her body sagged heavily on her chair. 

Sitting still was never a problem, but the want to comfort made his hand ache. He could only smile for now, to acknowledge the charming moniker, and to prevent from startling her further.

Blinking once, she took in his face. Blinking twice, she fisted her hand. 

She suddenly covered her eyes, rubbing them incessantly, as if his image burned her physically and she's trying to find relief. He gave in and reached out, holding them still – something he could not do before lest he hurt her with his claws.

When she focused back on him, eyes turning anxious, Morax slowly lifted a third infused cup, carefully wrapped her fingers around it, before slowly letting go. He rested his arms at his sides and turned entirely to her – hoping his body language was open enough for her to let down her guard, just as she always was while he was Exuvia. He noticed her sitting up straight against her chair, eyes asking questions upon questions mutely in the air.

A dull thud from behind them went unnoticed.

“Please. Have a drink. Let it soothe your nerves. 

The sea breeze outside will do much good for your head. Let me escort you to where the water meets the wall. And there, we might be afforded better privacy for your questions,” Morax softly besieged. He cut his gaze to the screen behind them, letting his focus rest on it for some time. Nearly silent sets of feet scurried away after a moment.

“Okay,” the lady consented, breaking through his concentration. When Morax gazed back, she took a long, slow sip, seeming to finally savor the tea he served, making him sit a little straighter in his seat. Her eyes softened slowly, and watered as recognition set in, which in turn made him tug at the corner of his lips in relief.

-{-}-

A knock was heard, before the slide of the door reached Meng's ears. “Yahooo. How is she? Have you revived Ferrylady yet?” 

“Uhm, I'm afraid not, ma'am. Maybe this is a good thing? It's better if she has her rest for the night,” Meng whispered back, blowing the lantern light out as his co-worker rested heavily on her bed.

The director and undertaker silently went out, walking away from the sleeping quarters as both thought back on the circumstances of the Ferrylady's fainting. “Yeah. Might as well~ Zhongli-xiānsheng certainly put her in quite a shock. I almost saw her spirit escape from her! Too bad it happened before we got to see what our consultant did to make our guest putty in his hands. Looks like that hermit strikes again! At least this time the lady seems like his age – physically I mean – and totally not like his stuffy personality. I like her~” Hu Tao sang, thinking of giving the lady a small discount on the incense she'll need to use tomorrow.

“W-would it really be alright to leave them alone?” Meng asked, nervously pulling at his gloves.

“Hmm? Any concerns I should know about? Oh! Is she one of those pretending to play 'hard to get', but actually wants to snatch Zhongli-xiānsheng for herself~?” Hu Tao asked, fluttering her eyes exaggeratedly.

“No, Hu-zhǔrèn! You got it entirely wrong.”

“Oh?”

Meng furrowed his brow, organizing his thoughts. “From what I heard, as well as my own experience in assisting her, she tends to avoid men. All men. Except maybe the kids and the grandpas. I saw her hand quake once when I accidentally brushed hands with her trying to move her potted plants for her.”

“I didn't think you had it in you. You sly dog~”

“No no no,  Hu-zhǔrèn! You misunderstand again!” Meng waved his arms frantically in front on him. “I mean... yes! I'll admit she's very beautiful. A-and she seems considerate, and kind. But she's a little, uhh, too beautiful? Even I know I'm not a good match for her. But her skittish behavior makes me feel like, like scum – like the lowest of the low,” he said dejectedly, shoulders falling. “She makes me feel guilty for even breathing in her space.”

Hu Tao hummed, a finger on her lips, before her brows quirked up in surprise at Meng’s suddenly spirited stance. “A few of the guys at the wharf noticed too, and speculated something must have happened to her. It's really sad to think of the possibilities. But we all talked about it, and agreed to do our best to be gentle in our interactions with her. No touch. Keep a good distance. And watch our words. We don’t want her to feel like we’re boars on the prowl.”

“Wow. Well done, Meng,” whistled Hu Tao, smiling wide.

“E-erm. Thank you?” Meng scratched at his head, face turning red in embarrassment.

“That's the longest I've heard you speak. Ever! I'm so proud of you~ You're not such a pitiful scaredy cat aftercall,” Hu Tao hooted in glee.

“W-what? M-madam...” Meng groaned, head falling down on his chest in dismay.

Hu Tao giggled softly, and changed her carefree stance. She gently patted him on the shoulder to get his attention. “Just kidding~ You really have to lighten up.

But, I didn't lie. What you're doing is very honorable. And even if you're too common for someone like her, I'm sure in time she'll notice and appreciate what you all are doing.”

Was that supposed to be comforting? Ugh. I still don't understand the director. I have so much to learn.

“Besiiides. If you guys are honorable already as ordinary citizens, what more someone of  Zhongli-xiānsheng's caliber?”

Meng nodded, smiling brightly. “You're absolutely right, ma'am. I should not have doubted his intentions.”

“Maybe by now, he's escorting her home. So let's have faith in our reliable consultant!”

“Yes, ma'am!”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

[←Previous]  | Chapter 6 |  [ Next → ]

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

A/N: Just to clarify, Hu Tao meant Zhongli is such a devastating lady-killer. He just doesn’t know it. And yes, more eye-flirting with these two. Sighs. He has such pretty eyes. Updated again on 04/15/2021 because I’m my own biggest critic.

Gong fu style of serving tea is so mesmerizing to watch. I can see Zhongli do it every time.

Fun fact: In ancient China, yellow tea was indeed considered very rare. And since yellow is the traditional imperial color, only emperors are able to enjoy it. Unless they deem a guest fit to be served the tea - which is considered a high honor.

Zhongli’s rerun banner is coming up sooner than I thought. I should have known Genshin would have a mid-anniversary thing too. Or something like it. I panicked, caved in, and bought the Blessing of the Welkin. His mats are not readyyyy aiyaah

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Follower Tag:  @meladollsims

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, art-in-the-sunlight!

For @art-in-the-sunlight. I hope you enjoy! Happy holidays :)

*****

Home For Christmas

“Help! Thief!”

Alec and Magnus turn in a synchronized movement at the outburst from a nearby vendor’s stall, finding a seelie pointing after a small figure bolting away from the booth. With barely a glance at his husband, Alec takes off after the figure, trusting Magnus to be at his side. He hadn’t thought to activate his speed rune, hadn’t seen the need for it during a leisurely trip to the Shadow Markets to stock up on Magnus’ potion supplies, but years of training and staying in peak physical shape enables him to quickly gain ground in pursuit of the thief, Magnus’ footsteps ringing out beside his own. Downworlders leap out of their way, recognizing them, and it isn’t long before they’re right on the heels of someone either very short- or very young.

They turn down an alleyway and, as the thief makes to turn the corner, Magnus throws up a shield of blue magic. The figure hits it head on, stumbling back and landing on their butt in a thump, a loaf of bread flying out of their hands, onto the dirty alley.

The person- a kid- Alec realizes with a twist in his heart, recovers quickly, but Alec and Magnus are already in front of them by the time they get back to their feet.

Alec glances over the kid, his stomach aching at what he finds. He can’t tell if the child is a boy or a girl, dressed in baggy clothes, skin smeared with dirt, dark hair in tangles. What he can see is the fear that’s apparent in the wide blue eyes staring back at him. They can’t be older than twelve.

“Hey, it’s alright, you’re alright,” Alec breathes, dropping down into a crouch to appear less intimidating, while still blocking the kid’s path. He’s more worried about the clearly neglected child now than the seelie who’d had one loaf of bread stolen. It takes him back to finding Rafael in a similar state in Brazil and he shudders to think of either of his children- currently safe and warm at Aunt Izzy’s- in this kind of desperation ever again.

The kid wraps dirty hands around themself, looking quickly between Magnus and Alec, likely on the verge of running.

Magnus offers them a soft smile. “You’re not in trouble. Were you hungry?”

The kid nods, glancing at the bread like they might try to pick it up and make off with it again. Before they can, Magnus snaps his fingers and the bread vanishes. “It’s no good now,” the warlock explains. “But we’ll get you some food, whatever you want.”

“Magic,” the child whispers, fingers twitching with red sparks. A warlock- of course.

“That’s right, I’ve got magic like you.”

The kid stares at him until Alec gently clears his throat. “I’m Alec and this is Magnus. We didn’t mean to scare you and we’re going to make sure you get some food, alright?” When there’s no response, Alec continues, “What’s your name?”

“Abigail,” comes a whispered response, fingers still sparking with magic.

“That’s a beautiful name,” Magnus says lightly. “Are you here alone?”

The girl nods, magic vanishing as she tugs at the torn scarf hanging from her shoulders.

“How did you find the Shadow Market?” Alec asks, wondering if she’s escaped from somewhere like Iris’ or if she’d stumbled in from the mundane world.

“The magic,” Abigail answers. “It brought me here. Am I in trouble?”

“No, sweet pea, you’re not in trouble, we just want to help you. Why don’t we go get you some food and maybe a warm drink.”

Abigail’s eyes are still wide and frightened, but she nods. Alec rises to his feet. “What’s your favorite food?”

There’s a moment of pause as the three of them head back towards the stalls. They’re almost back when Abigail speaks again. “Pizza.”

“Delicious,” Magnus agrees. “What kind?”

“Um… cheese?” She sounds uncertain and Alec exchanges a look with his husband.

Magnus smiles sadly. “Why don’t you apologize to Shelly and then we’ll sit down and eat some pizza, okay?”

“Shelly?”

Magnus nods towards the stall where the seelie is watching them with arms crossed over her chest. Alec wants to step between her and Abigail, wants to block the child from the seelie’s harsh gaze. Abigail shrinks back. “Do I have to?”

“I already paid her back for the bread, she isn’t going to hurt you.”

Abigail nods, brushes back a tangle of hair from her face and squares her shoulders with a seriousness no child should know, before marching like a soldier going to war. Magnus and Alec follow her back to the booth where she looks up at the seelie. “I’m sorry.”

Shelly goes to open her mouth and Alec can feel the seething response before it comes so he hurries to glare, letting a hand hover protectively over the child’s shoulder. “You’ve been compensated and we’ll make sure she doesn’t take anything else.”

The seelie huffs. “Fine, go away, you’re scaring my customers.”

Alec resists the urge to roll his eyes as they turn and follow Magnus down the road to where it spills into a park-like space, complete with several wooden picnic tables. Magnus finds an empty one and slides onto the bench on one side. Alec sits beside him, letting Abigail take the bench on the other side, watching the way her magic begins to cut grooves in the surface of the wooden tabletop.

Magnus waves a hand and a cheese pizza on a paper plate appears in front of the girl. A steaming mug appears next to it a moment later. “Hot cocoa?”

She blinks at him. “What?”

“Hot chocolate,” Magnus clarifies, nodding to the drink.

Abigail eyes it with distrust, but slides it closer to sip from it. Her eyes go wide with something other than fear and Alec’s heart clenches in his chest. “I love it!” She takes a few more sips before turning to devour her pizza.

Alec presses his shoulder to Magnus’, keeping his voice low, “Catarina?”

“Already texted her,” Magnus assures him. Alec feels sufficiently calmer, knowing they’ll figure out what had led Abigail to this state and that they would, quite quickly, fix it. “She’ll come over as soon as she can.”

Alec nods, relieved, before refocusing on Abigail who’s shoveling down the pizza with a ferocity that would be adorable if it weren’t for the severity of the situation. “Abigail, do your parents know where you are?”

She stops eating, sets the pizza down, and rubs her hands together, eyes going to the table. She doesn’t answer.

“It’s okay, if they don’t. Or if you don’t have any,” Alec says gently. “We’re just trying to figure out how to help you.”

“I… I have a mom,” she says quietly. “She doesn’t care what I do as long as I don’t get in trouble or use my magic.”

It’s better than it could be, Alec supposes, but negligent parenting is far from ideal. “Well you can use your magic here, no one will be upset if you do.”

“Quite the opposite,” Magnus assures, snapping his fingers and adding a large helping of whipped cream to her hot chocolate. Alec gives him a look, but Magnus shrugs it off. “There are a lot of people here that can help you learn to control it.”

“Like you do?” Abigail asks as she finishes the pizza, wiping her greasy hands on her jacket.

“Exactly. Now that you’ve been fed, what do you say to getting cleaned up? If you’re okay with it, we can show you where we live and get you some clean clothes. You can meet our sons, one of them has magic like us,” Magnus tells her.

Abigail nods eagerly. “Okay!”

Alec feels a little sick, knowing that the girl’s mother had clearly never cared to warn her of strangers, but it helps them now so he forces the emotion down. “Do you want to see what a portal is like? Magnus helped invent them.”

“A portal?” There’s clear awe in her voice as she finishes the hot chocolate and sets the empty cup on the picnic table. “Yes please!”

“To the loft it is!” Magnus announces, moving his hands with exaggerated motions to swirl a portal into existence. “You’ll want to hold my sleeve or Alec’s, so you don’t get lost, alright?”

Abigail glances between them and Alec is about to suggest they walk instead, but then she nods and reaches to curl a small hand into the sleeve of Alec’s jacket, and they’re stepping through the portal.

When they get back to the loft, Magnus summons up some clean clothes for Abigail and while she showers, they discuss what to do. It makes sense to contact her mother, but neither of them is comfortable returning Abigail to the woman’s custody. This leaves them with two options - letting Abigail go with Catarina or letting her stay at the loft.

“I think it should be the boys’ decision,” Magnus says carefully. “To suddenly introduce a new child when they might not get along could be… incisive”

Alec is quick to agree, putting the comfort of their sons first, knowing Abigail will get good care with Catarina even if Alec would prefer to have her stay with them.

“Izzy’s bringing them home soon. We’ll see what they think.”

Alec nods, closing the space between them to rest his head against his husband’s shoulder, murmuring an “I love you” into the warlock’s hair. Magnus’ arms come up to wrap around him and they stay like that in the peaceful quiet of their kitchen until the pitter patter of small feet draws them apart.

Alec turns to find Abigail standing in the doorway, looking sufficiently less despairing. Her skin has been scrubbed clean, still slightly pink from warmth, and she looks adequately bundled in the cozy sweater and jeans Magnus had summoned. Her hair, however, is another matter, still in dark tangles. A brush dangles from her hand. “I couldn’t clean my hair. I tried with magic too, but it just made it worse.” Abigail says quietly, picking at the brush. “So I tried to brush it, but it was too knotted.”

“That’s alright,” Alec says quickly. “I have a younger sister, I used to do her hair all the time, do you want me to wash yours?”

Abigail nods, holding out the brush. Alec herds her back towards the bathroom which Magnus quickly snaps to resemble a salon, allowing Abigail to sit in a comfy chair, hair falling into a basin behind her. Alec works efficiently, careful not to tug at her scalp as he rinses her hair. It’s a long process, but he’d gotten ichor out of Izzy’s hair enough times to be familiar with it. He’s surprised to see Abigail’s hair turning blonde as he cleans it, what he’d thought were dark strands had apparently just been blonde hair so dirty they’d looked brown.

It’s after he’s washed her hair and is putting it up in a braid that Isabelle shows up. Magnus goes to answer the door while Alec finishes the braid. “Rafael and Max are home now, they’re mine and Magnus’ kids and younger than you. They can be a little hyper sometimes, but no one here is going to hurt you, alright?”

Abigail nods as she stands up, fiddling with her braid, but looking measures less afraid than when they’d cornered her. Alec leads her out to the living room where Rafael and Max are sitting cross-legged on the floor, pulling things out of their backpacks. Magnus is watching over them with a fond smile. All of them turn to look when Alec and Abigail step into the room.

“Daddy!” Max trills, leaping to his feet before freezing, expression turning guilty as his eyes go to Magnus. “Sorry.”

“We talked about trying to be a bit calmer tonight,” Magnus informs him quickly. Alec nods, going to pick up his son because, after the day he’s had, he needs the reminder that his own children are okay.

“Max, Rafe, this is Abigail.”

Both boys peek around Alec at the small warlock as she curls in on herself. The adults wait with bated breath.

“A sister?” Max asks, clapping his little blue hands together in excitement. He’d taken to having a brother like a fish took to water and, in the last year, had begun asking for another sibling as if one was as easily as obtained as adopting a puppy. Alec supposes that, for them, that did often appear to be the case.

Alec suppresses  a smile at Max’s enthusiasm. “Not yet, Maxie. Is it okay with you and Rafe if she stays with us for a little while though?”

Rafe nods, still quiet, fiddling with the bottom of his shirt. Despite his quietness, he doesn’t seem opposed to the idea. Max, on the other hand, looks ecstatic. “She can stay forever,” he says with utter seriousness before walking, extra slowly, to stand in front of Abigail. “I’m Max!”

“You’re blue,” she murmurs, eyes wide.

“I’m a warlock!”

Abigail’s eyes narrow. “What’s a warlock?”

“Magic users,” Magnus quickly steps in. “Max has magic like you and I.”

Max claps and butterflies made of magic explode from his hands, fluttering around him before fading away. Alec barely resists the urge to roll his eyes at Max’s obvious showing off, but Abigail looks intrigued. “Can you show me how to do that?”

“Yeah!” Max nods excitedly. “It’s easy!”

Before Max can launch into a full magic lesson, Magnus intercedes, ruffling the young boy’s hair. “Why don’t you show her your room first?”

“Do you like swords?” Rafe asks, finally speaking up, approaching the other two children. “We have lots of play swords.”

Abigail nods. “I used to play swords with pool noodles.”

“A pool noodle?” Max’s face scrunches in confusion as he leads his older brother and their guest down the hallway to the room he and Rafe share. While Abigail attempts to explain whatever a pool noodle is, their voices drifting off down the hall, Alec turns to his husband and finds the warlock already smiling at him.

“I think they adore her,” Magnus states, stepping closer to wrap his arms around Alec’s waist. Alec returns the hug easily, pressing his face into his husband’s hair.

“They’re never going to let her leave,” Alec agrees, silently adding that he feels the same way. He’s already protective of the young girl and he’s terrified to let her back into whatever situation had led her to this.

Magnus hums in agreement. “I guess this is a good time to ask how you feel about adding another child to our household.”

Alec grins, hearing his own longing echoed in Magnus’ tone, despite the other man’s casual words. “Of course I want her to stay.”

Magnus nuzzles into Alec’s shoulder. “Good. Me too.”

When Catarina comes by, she determines that Abigail is perfectly healthy aside from being a bit undernourished. After a rough conversation, they learn that Abigail had been living with her neglectful mother- a woman who had stopped caring for Abigail less and less as she grew.

Unfortunately, because Abigail’s mother- a woman she said was named Alice- was alive, adopting her without talking to her legal guardian would technically be kidnapping and neither Alec nor Magnus wanted to explain that to Luke.

So, while Catarina watches over the kids, they take a trip upstate to a crumbling house with an overgrown yard and a broken windowpane. Alec thinks, right away, that this is not the kind of place a child could get a good upbringing.

“Maybe you should let me do the talking,” Magnus says as they approach the door.

Alec raises an eyebrow at him. “Why?

“You’re angry and the last thing we want to do is scare her.” Alec disagrees. He thinks scaring her wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. His thoughts must show on his face because Magnus shakes his head. “I understand, Alexander, I’m upset too. But this woman went through a traumatic experience and raising a warlock as a mundane can’t be easy. Most women don’t even try.”

Alec shrugs. “She failed, Magnus.”

“I know.” Magnus’ voice is pained. “But we need to have a conversation with Alice, not an argument. We can’t go in there just throwing around not just accusations.”

Alec forces himself to pause, to breathe in and out. Of course Magnus knows the pain of being neglected by mundane parents because of his parentage. He fishes out his stele and glamours his runes. “Fine, you can do the talking.”

“Thank you.”

The woman who answers the door a moment later looks to be in almost as poor a state as Abigail had been when they’d found her. Alice has bags under her eyes, her hair tied in a messy bun, clothing stained and torn. She glances between them with fear evident in her eyes and Alec is struck by how young she looks.

“Are you Alice?” Magnus asks, making her look over at him, glancing between his makeup and shiny jacket.

“Yes, who are you?”

“I’m Magnus, this is Alec. We wanted to talk to you about Abigail.”

Alice’s eyes widen, hands curling into her shirt, picking at the fabric. “Abby? Is she okay? What happened?” At least she seems to care.

“She’s fine,” Magnus assures her. “She’s with our own children and a nurse friend of mine. However, the state that we found her in was troubling.”

Alice casts her eyes down. “She gets into trouble sometimes.”

Alec bites back a harsh response, letting Magnus answer instead. “We’re worried about her and the care she’s getting. She told us you let her do as she likes as long as she doesn’t use her magic.”

“Magic? She-she’s very imaginative-”

“Not to worry, I know all about warlocks,” Magnus interrupts, letting his magic twist between his fingers. “Considering I am one.”

Alice stumbles backwards, hands flying up as if to defend herself. “Why are you here?”

“We just want to talk so we can figure out the best way to help Abigail,” Magnus says calmly, letting his magic fade.

It takes a bit more convincing, but once they get Alice to realize she’s not in any harm, she hesitantly invites them in and, sitting on opposite couches in the living room, she tells them her story. The demon that had found her when she was sixteen. The unexpected pregnancy. Being cast out by her parents. “I tried,” Alice stresses, picking at the pillow she’s holding in her lap. “I tried to give her a good home, a good life. Even with the- the claws and the skin thing. I tried.”

Alec exchanges a glance with Magnus. Warlock marks. Warlock marks that Abigail had learned to glamor despite her clear inexperience and lack of knowledge about magic.

“I couldn’t do it anymore,” Alice continues, on the verge of tears. “Every time I look at her, I remember it and the- the magic and the claws and the skin thing. I love her, I do, she’s my daughter, but it’s too hard.”

“Alright,” Magnus says, gently as possible, hand finding Alec’s, fingers threading together. “Like I said, we want to help. Abigail is welcome to stay with us as long as she likes. We don’t want her to lose you, but this clearly isn’t an environment that’s conducive to the best future for either of you.”

Alice nods, tears streaming down her face now. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Alec finally speaks, his voice raw. Magnus gives him a warning look, but Alec’s anger has been momentarily subdued. “You clearly love her. And you can change and be good for her, but you need to put in the work.”

Alice sniffles, wiping at her face. “I want to do that.”

“Then we’ll be here to help,” Magnus assures her with a soft, sad smile.

Abigail moves in with them, officially, that day. They bring what little she owns from Alice’s house and make plans to meet with the woman weekly, with Abigail- if she agrees.

She settles into their lives so quickly it’s as if she’s always been there. The boys adore her and she seems to love them just as much and Magnus begins giving her the magic lessons he’d long since been giving Max.

Alice slowly begins to get her life together, but there’s a clear distance between her and Abigail. The younger girl walks on eggshells around her mother and Alice seems reluctant to so much as touch her daughter.

It’s several months before Alice tells them, crying, that she can’t take care of Abigail the way they have been; she can’t foster the growth that’s become apparent as she lived with them.

It’s Christmas Day when they sign the adoption papers, Alice takes the photo and spends the day with them and Alec thinks they’ve gained two new family members, in an odd way.

[gallavictorious]

Fic: Claim

Mickey wants back into Ian's life. Ian wonders if, and how, to let him. Or, the one where our boys conduct their meaningful conversations not by talking but by having sex. Not nearly as smutty as it sounds, though; it really is all about their emotions.

Basically, this is a 3,341-word exploration of their season 4 reunion and reconciliation. Includes the infamous blowjob scene and its aftermath, so warnings for complicated consent and Ian not being in a great place in general. The angst has a happy ending, however.

Read it below or on AO3.

Claim

Afterwards, you’re almost sure they were really there. You’re almost sure you didn’t just dream them.

Debbie, grown two inches and with a face no longer quite that of a kid. Lip, looking much the same as when you left, but worried in a way he can't quite hide and you don’t think you care for. It's harshing your groove, that pinched look. They're not here to party and their voices – no, I'm good, can we talk, arrest you, stealing government property, let's go outside – cut through your happy buzz, sharp pebbles in your shoe on a sunny day, and maybe that's why you haven't told them you were back, 'cause you'd know it'd be like this. They're family and they're good people, sure you're glad to see them, but Lip's questions just clashes with the beat of the music and this is supposed to be a good time, man, so why they've got to bring up all that stupid, boring shit that doesn't even matter anyway.

You have to go mix another drink, because that's your job right, and when you look up they're gone but there are other drinks to mix, and then it's your turn on the floor and Stephen's here tonight again and has brought his usual treats, you lose him later but there's a couple of other dudes throwing a party at their place and you go and then you go to the gym for good measure – or maybe you didn't, you're not sure, but it was a good, real good, only now that strange dull ache in your head is back and you're almost sure your brother and sister came by to see you last night.

You’re almost sure.

Mrs. Bergdoll calls a greeting as you stumble past her on the way to the bathroom and you reflexibely pull your lips into half a smile, call something back. She's nice; doesn't mind you staying here even after Monica went off with some guy she met when getting thrown out of Rover's.

You shower. The water is cold but at least there's water, fuck knows how it's still running. It clears your head a little, the cold, and you start to feel better again. Sharper. What does it matter what happened – or didn't happen – last night? Today's a brand new day, and you have a feeling it's going to be fantastic.

Work doesn't start for another couple of hours, so you do a bit of writing – gotta keep up with those ideas, these thoughts you keep having; gotta write them down before you forget because what if you lose something important? – and you go for a run and grab some Subway, and then you're on the L headed for the Fairy Tail, music in your ears.

That's when it catches up with you, the thought behind the thought, the one you've been trying to outwrite, outrun, outlisten. You turn the music up up up, loud enough for the lady next to you to glare, but still the thought comes, you can't stop it, your mind keeps drifting back to last night and  –

If Debbie and Lip came to see you yesterday, if they were there, if they know where to find you...

Will they tell him?

And if they do... will he come?

No. No. You don't want to think about that. He made his choice, he put on a goddamn tux and made it loud and clear for all the people to hear, in front of his fucking dad, I do, his hand in that whore's. He loves you – you are sure of it, still – but he did that, so what's love really worth, huh.

It's over, done with. He made his choice; you made yours. Maybe it didn't go exactly as planned with the army, but so what, it's better this way, you're rolling with it. Made lots of new friends, even if they don't know your real name, who cares about names when every night's a fucking party, and you wish you'd known this years ago, that life could be like this, fun, easy, no fucking heartbreak and no fucking hiding, no cares.

It doesn't matter anyway. He won't come.

It doesn't matter.

---

Two nights later you're giving one of your regulars a lapdance when there's a slap to your arm and a curt “time's up, lovebirds” and you look up and there he is.

There he is.

“Get up,” he says and you move without making a conscious decision to.

“It's my turn,” he says and sends George running and you don't know what to do or where to look and you don't even know if you're actually surprised that he's here.

“Curtis?” he says and there's a familiar sneer in his voice and you realize that you don’t want him to see you like this and it pisses you off, because you’ve got nothing to be sorry for, nothing to be ashamed of.

You could just walk away. Could call security and tell them he interrupted a lapdance or whatever, and if that doesn't get him thrown out the bunch of insults he will invariably throw at whoever comes to set him straight certainly will.

“Twenty-five bucks get you a dance,” you tell him instead, because fuck him; because you don't want him thrown out; because that’s all he is to you now, a customer. That’s all he chose to be, when he walked down that aisle.

He spits and he grumbles but he pays. He'd never have let you give him a lapdance when you were together but he pays for it now.

You push him down the black leather couch and straddle him, lean in, how's your day going?

He smells wrong. Something scented, spicy-sweet. You don't like it.

He wants to talk. You're giving him a fucking lapdance but he wants to talk and he's angry and looking at you like you're so annoying, like you're out of your fucking mind. You can still feel his semi pressing against your ass when you switch positions to lean against him, though, and as you turn your face towards his, getting close, you can smell him through whatever perfumed shit he's wearing,

Mickey.

He got married. You can't do this. He's still talking.

“Twenty-five bucks only gets you one dance,” you tell him. You stand up, away from him.

He won't let you go. Hey. You don't wanna hang out, fine. Your dad's dying. Ian. Your family. Liam.

Liam.

Something is about to burst and break open but then Roger is there and you don't know if you're relieved or not but when he asks you if everything's okay here, Curtis, you quickly reassure him, shifting to stand next to Mickey.

As you walk away, you think about how immediately, how reflexively, you moved to shield him.

---

You wake up a the crack of dawn, and maybe you should be surprised to find yourself in the Milkovich house but you're not.

Mickey's asleep in a chair in the corner, still fully dressed.

The bed smells of him, but smells of someone else too. You don't recognize the scent, but you know whose it must be, and fuck no, you're not sleeping in the bed he shares with her.

You should get out of here, maybe; get out and far away before he wakes up, but you're too tired, your legs are too unsteady for that and your thoughts too dull and slippery, so you just grab a pillow that smells like Mickey, and a couple of blankets, and you fall back asleep on the floor.

---

You wake up with a headache and to the sight of Mickey's pregnant wife towering over you. It startles you – where is Mickey – but you try to for cordiality, grasping for a couple of (probably) Russian phrases a guy you met at some party taught you.

Your attempt at charm wins you nothing. You leave.

---

“I forgot to say,” Mrs. Bergdoll tells you when you stop by the old house for a change of clothes, “but there was a couple of kids came looking for your the other day. Said you were their brother. I told them you were at work. They find you?”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

She nods and blinks at you through the cloud of smoke from her hash pipe. You consider asking her for a hit to take the edge off the comedown from last night, but you don't.

They know where you work, and they know where you live.

Nothing for it then. Time to go home.

---

Liam's alive. Frank too, so far, but you don't care so much about that. Fiona looks overjoyed to see you, but looks haggard and worn thin too, and you hate that, but... you can't help but feel the tiniest bit relieved when you realize that everyone will be too busy dealing with the ramifications of her brutal fall from grace to worry very much about yours.

---

He comes for you, and this time you thought he might. He blows you, which you thought he wouldn't.

It feels good, his mouth on you, but feels like something else too, something that for a moment is better than good: vindication.

His arms are heavy on your tighs, his fingers dig into your sides as he holds on to you to keep his balance, and you close your eyes and lean your head back and mingling with the rush of pure carnal pleasure is the rush of knowing that, sure, he married her, but he'll get on his knees for you. He'll come looking for you and find you and bring you home to his – their – bed and once you run off he'll come looking again.

He'll suck your dick, just because you asked him to.

I'll do it.

You hadn't expected that. You'd laugh in surprised glee, but – because you can't quite believe it, because you won't let him off that easy – you push instead. “Do what?”

His lips twist. He glances at you, immediately glances away. “Don't make me say it, asswipe.”

You don't. You could make him; he admits as much. That can be enough, you think.

Still, you're no longer some lovesick puppy who'll come crawling back all grateful with your tail a-wagging the second he realizes what a fucking idiot he's been, you're done chasing him, so you don't bother to hide the smug teasing in your voice as you spell it out for him. You don't tell him it's cool, you don't have to when he moves to crouch between your legs.

The face he makes suggests that you're a fucking nuisance, says yeah okay whatever, but the eager quickness of his hands and the way he looks up at you with pupils blow wide suggests that maybe he, too, has longed for this; dreamed of it, maybe, and ached.

His hand is warm around the base of your dick; his tongue wet with spit as runs it along your length, once, twice, before taking you into his mouth.

You bite back a moan. You're already fully hard. It's hurried and a little sloppy but it's him and he's good at this, though fuck knows how that happened, because you're pretty sure he's only ever done this with you, and not very often at that. He likes this, you know that he does, but know too that it still costs him something; is intricately tied to all the things he's still struggling to admit and express.

You love me and you're gay. Then gentle bob of his head tells you that he won't deny it again.

Fuck, but you've missed him. You have tried not to; have tried not to think of him at all – he made his choice, he married that whore, and you've spent the last few months running from the memory of him, trying to drown the taste of his lips in the taste of strangers, there's a whole world out there, guys, so many of them, they like you, and they're not all afraid to be who are they are and want what they want.

Some of them sucked your dick. It never felt like this.

You come in his mouth. You expect him to pull away when you make a small grunt to let him know you're close, but he doesn't. Stays right on you, around you, through it. Swallows.

He's never done that before.

He wipes at his mouth and looks up at you, eyebrows raised in half a challenge, like are you fucking happy now? but there's something else there too, a hint of vulnerability still, uncertainty lingering: are you happy now?

A curious tug at your heart; a softening, and a brief flash of something that feels real, in a way not a lot of things have lately.

You allow it. You allow your walls to lower, just enough to allow him right back in, into your life and all the way into your stupid heart.

Fuck, but you've missed him.

You scoot forward and reach out to cradle the back of his head, pulling him up for a kiss. Again, you half-expect him to pull away, and again he doesn't. Instead he lifts his chin to meet you, arms wrapping around your back in a loose embrace, and the two of you never kissed much, you didn't have the time needed for it to become a habit before everything went south, but like so much else with him it just works; you just fit.

You can taste yourself on his lips and on his tongue and that's strange but you don't care. You breathe him in, his shampoo, stale tobacco, no fucking perfume that smells like someone else, Mickey,

He straightens, getting to his feet only to push you back onto your back and climb on top to straddle you, and you don't resist and the familiar weight of him pressing down on you is heat is thrilling is comfort. Your hand is in his hair, his hand is around your wrist, but after a moment he shifts to lace your fingers together. He is kissing you like you're the first gasp of air after almost drowning.

You can feel his erection against your stomach, trapped between your bodies, but he doesn't seem bothered. He kisses you, like that's all he's ever wanted to do, like that's all he'll ever want to do.

For a little while you allow it, losing yourself to press of his lips; to his nose brushing and bumping against yours; the feel of his hair in your clenched fist. For a little while you let yourself know nothing but him, and the joy of being claimed. For a little while – but then you shift, twist and push to roll over, so that you're both lying on your sides, face to face. You keep kissing him – but slower now, deliberate – as you reach down to undo his belt buckle and unzip his jeans. You don't immediately push your hand down his boxers, though: you let your fingers brush over his soft skin just above the waistband instead, let them skim just past the straining bulge of his underwear, unhurried.

His breath hitches; he curses against your mouth, but it's a soft thing, half-swallowed. He pushes forward, just slightly, looking for friction, anything, and you promptly pull your hand back, and  your head back too, just far enough to break the kiss.

His eyes snap open, searching yours, and you see his face still, caught, when he finds you already watching him.

There's a question in his eyes; uncertainty; confusion. Annoyance too, in the way his brow furrows. You just raise your eyebrows pointedly and hold his gaze.

He stares at your for a moment. You wait for him to consider telling you to get the fuck on with it, Gallager, nobody likes a fucking tease. You watch him bite his lip and you wait for him to decide against demands. When he stays silent and slumps ever so slightly, relaxing into aquiencense, the thrill coursing through your body are equal parts triumph and excitement.

You take a momen to watch him and he lets you. He doesn't look away or ask what the fuck you're staring at. His face is open, beautiful, his eyes that startling blue. You used to dream about it, a long time ago; about him looking at you like this, soft.

Your eyes never leave his face as you slowly run your hand down his chest and slip it under his t-shirt to rest on his belly, and you smile a little when he lets out a long, unsteady sigh. Leaning in once more, you claim his lips for another kiss, and he responds eagerly, taking whatever you will give.

You can feel the tension in his body as your fingers roam the sharp curve of his hip; as they brush over his pubic hair; as you scratch at his inner thighs, caress and tease. You can feel the gust of air as he hisses into your mouth whenever your wrist brush against his dick.

But he keeps still. Waits.

There's a new sort of pleasure in this – in being allowed this – and for a moment you think that maybe you could keep it up for hours, but in the next you know that you could not, and his quiet moans are growing more frantic and you're starting to grow hard again, so you slide your hand inside his boxers. He whimpers as you wrap your fingers around his cock and it's not much of a handjob, really, it's rushed, too dry, but he doesn't seem to mind and you just want to feel him; want to hear his breathing quicken as his kisses grow sloppier.

He comes quickly, with a long, stuttering gasp, spilling over your hand, over his quarter zip, the sheets.

You don't say anything, just press your forehead against his, dry against damp. You hold him tight, sharing breath, while his hearbeat slows and steadies.

A minute, two. Your dick softens; you don't mind.

Eventually he pulls back a little, opening his eyes. He's flushed, still, but his gaze is sharp and clear.

You wipe your stitcky hand at his quarter-zip just to be a dick and he makes a disgusted face. “What the fuck, man?”

“It was already dirty.”

“Uh-huh. So's the fucking sheets, asshole, use those.”

You can feel your lips curl into a wide smile and see his doing the same, and then you're both laughing, like idiots, like giddy kids. He reaches for you and this kiss is languid, comfortable, and when you break apart you're still grinning.

Rolling over on your back, you reach for a cigarette, taking one drag before handing it to him. He accepts it with a pleased little hum in the back of his throat, a sound you've heard a hundred times after you've fucked him good and hard, and it goes straight to your cock, but goes straight to your heart too, so maybe you really are too fucking soft.

But he's here, isn't he, so maybe you are right to be.

You think you'd be happy to stay like this for a while, on the bed with him, just smoking, talking maybe, but: “Probably should head down and grab some dinner before they come looking for me again.” You glance at him. “Wanna join?”

“Nah, man, I'm good.” Doesn't feel like dealing with your family, most likely, but that's fine. You get it.

“Okay.” You stand, adjusting your pants and making sure there's no telltale stains. He remains on his back, looking dishevelled and loose and content, with his jeans still open and the smoke between his swollen lips.

Fuck, but you've missed him.

“I could bring you up a plate later?” you offer casually. “If you're staying.”

His eyes dart up to you and for a moment there's so much on his face, hope, worry, longing, caution, joy, but all he says is, “Yeah?”

You smile. “Yeah.”

---

A/N:  Yes, Ian is being rather unfair in not considering the fact that Mickey's been through hell, and no, it's not very charming, but he's a teenager dealing with quite a few issues of his own. It is what it is.

I'm operating under the idea that Mickey went by the old house to look for Ian when he learned Svetlana had kicked him out, and found out that Ian had grabbed his things and left, and that this is what he refers to when he says “took all your shit”.

I'm actually very bothered by the fact that they don't use a condom for this, since Ian's been out and about  and Mickey's had unprotected sex with a prositute, but then again, I don't really expect anything else from these stupidly reckless boys. Don't go have unproteccted sex unless you're monogamous though, kids. STD:s are real.

I guess this is kind of like the fic version of this meta I wrote a while back, I highly recommend reading the additions by other people, because they are very interesting and thought-provoking.

[delcina]

hello friends! i’m red (she/her pronouns) and i’m so freakin’ stoked to be here and to write with y’all!! it’s been a hot second since i’ve been in a group but this place was too cute to pass up on, so you are now stuck with me and my baby delaina. congrats! i’m up for literally anything under the sun as far as plots go, so please don’t hesitate to poke me or give this a like and i’ll appear in ur ims all magical-like. xx

『 taylor swift. twenty-nine. cis woman. she/her. 』 oh heavens, is that DELAINA JORDAN from FAIR LANE i see roaming around mapleview? minnie may’s always calling them -MERCURIAL & -PEDANTIC. i happen to think they’re not that bad! they’re a pretty cool EVENT PLANNER and every time i’ve seen them, they’ve always been +EFFERVESCENT & +TENACIOUS. i hope i see them around again! 『 red. 22. est. she/her. 』

GENERAL INFO.

name: delaina claire jordan

nickname(s): laina, lainey, del, delly ( reserved just for her mom )

birthday: august 28, 1991

age: twenty-nine

gender: cisfemale

pronouns: she/her

zodiac: virgo

sexuality: bisexual

occupation: event planner

hometown: rochester, ny

ABOUT.

mentions of: infidelity

delaina had a pretty comfortable upbringing. realtor mom, dad who had a professor job at the local college, golden retriever sprinting around the lawn of their house with the white picket fence, dinners around the table every night, that sort of comfortable. she was a bubbly, happy-go-lucky child, and life hadn’t given her any reasons to resent the sun coming up every morning. and then when she was thirteen, her father had an Affair which turned into a whole Scandal that followed her to school, and delaina was not used to being the center of attention on terms other than her own. delaina’s mother was absolutely mortified at the whole situation and filed for a divorce faster than she could have said ‘bye.’ delaina ended up taking her mom’s side in things and her relationship with her father pretty much ceased to exist the day that the divorce was official and her and her mom moved to mapleview. 

small town life was a bit of an adjustment for delaina; she considered herself a big fish thrown into an obscenely small pond when it came to mapleview, but it didn’t take long for her to find a groove and make herself at home. she played softball all through high school (gr8 anger management option) and ended up getting a scholarship to play in college.

she majored in communications, thinking she’d try to work a corporate job or for a company doing x, y, and z, but after a year at a giant media company that left her completely disillusioned and miserable, she decided to walk right out and do the very thing that made her happy: planning 

a good college friend asked for some help planning her wedding and even though delaina had absolutely zero experience, she did it anyways and ended up loving it, so she kept the ball rolling with it and started her own tiny event planning company in town. she specializes in weddings, despite having bad history with them and not having much of a romantic view on life

delaina loves people, loves working with them and helping them and spending time with them, but trust is a very different story. she’s not the best when it comes to opening up and letting people in. her “inner circle” is small even though she’s never really met a stranger

she throws a damn good event though and she’ll make sure the customer is satisfied!!! as for pleasing people beyond the work environment...quite frankly delaina’s gonna do whatever she wants to do and whatever she thinks is gonna make her happy. if you’re along for the ride, sweet, but if you aren’t, she’s not going to look back and coax ya along

delaina throws her entire being into her work; she loves what she does and couldn’t imagine doing anything else, but she can get pretty bad about balancing and prioritizing work and an actual real life??? and then you throw in her over-commitment to the details and having things perfect and it comes as no surprise that she’s sometimes on the hairline of having a breakdown (and it will come out of seemingly nowhere)

delaina is not afraid to go after what she wants, and there are times when she finds herself in a morally ambiguous area where she’s not afraid to step on someone if she has to in order to get to her point b

is very aesthetically and organizationally driven?? like she’s the queen of bullet journaling and having everything tick all the boxes of a sought out vibe. her shit is in Order (or at least, it is on paper)

she’s the girl you call if you want someone to sit with you on your couch and get wine drunk while you accidentally burn the cookies in the oven because you are too consumed in bitching about whatever great injustice life has served up lately. she is not the girl you call if you want someone to tell you everything you want to hear — if she thinks hurting your feelings will help you in the long run (even if it’s out of the best of intentions) then get ur tissues ready

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

platonic soulmate ( 0 / 1 ) — the yin to her yang, the person who knows what delaina’s thinking before it’s even crossed her mind, who sees her at her highest highs and lowest lows and loves her even when she forgets to smuggle them a piece of wedding cake as promised

high school or college friends ( 0 / ? ) — delaina’s been in mapleview since she was thirteen, and i imagine she went to college fairly close to home, so we can do just about anything with this. 

casual sex friend ( 0 / 1 ) — exactly what it says on the tin. these two have sex on occasion, whether it’s just to scratch an itch or because they’re bored or because they’ve had a bad day they need to fuck out of their system. there are no feelings attached here. just two people, getting down and dirty while talking about their tax returns and remaining good ass friends once the clothes go back on. 

exes ( 0 / ? ) — the good, the bad, the ugly, the ones who can’t stand to see each other happy but don’t ever want to get back together, the one who got away, gimme ‘em all

neighbors ( 0 / ? ) — again, the sky is the limit here! neighbors who show up on each other’s doorstep at 3am to hang out whenever they can’t sleep, neighbors who are feuding and embarking on a prank war that’s gonna get the HOA called on their asses, neighbors who don’t even know they’re neighbors, idk anything!!

hookups ( 0 / 3 ) — past/present, maybe someone she met at a bar or sdhfksdj maybe they were in the bridal party of a wedding, either way they got smashed then smashed each other tyvm, whether it is recurring can be up to us!

i’m open to everYTHING okay, whether it’s soft or angsty or completely Out There, lemme love u down. i am a mess but i’m now ur mess so it’s ok <3

[futurewriter2000]

A Touch of Competition

A/N: So, I’ve been working on this one for a long time because I just couldn’t get struck by an idea but I wrote it and I hope you guys like it.

PAIRING: Fred Weasley x reader

REQUEST: You are one of my fave writings so i was wondering if you could do a Fred Weasley x Reader where the reader is a transfer student and gets put into gryffindor she is also a prankster and after a while people start questioning if the twins or her are better, causing a feud between them, but the twins pull a prank that goes to far on her and she gets hurt. Fred feels terrible and finds out he has feelings for her. Thanks for listening x

XX

Competition. Out of nowhere, a transfer, a fresh Gryffindor and new face to follow.

It wasn’t even a week when you started to become the new prankster in the school but what truly caused your teeth on the edge that you became another prankster in school. You hated that word. Another. It was another word to describe the normals.

You were born to stand out. You were born to be different and you loved being unique. That’s who you were in your previous school but now. Now you had two boys to keep up with. Both were good, great even but you were the best and you had to prove it. You pulled out the best ideas from your head and you tried your best to make those ideas a reality.

It was a fact professors and students had to watch out because your ideas were original. They were creative and new, ideas nobody thought of before. That’s why some people said you were better than the other two pranksters and some said they are the original pranksters of Hogwarts.

“There’s a rumor Sinistra and Flitwick made a bet.” your roommate laughed as she caught up to you. “Which one is better, you or the twins.”

“Well, whoever made the bet against me is about to lose.” you laughed and looked at your watch. “Shit. I’m going to be late. I’ll talk to you later.” you smiled and started to run off to your class.

“Alright! Don’t forget the books I borrowed for you! They need to be returned by noon!” she shouted and you only waved at her and turned around the corner, bumping into two same bodies.

“Oh shit. I’m so sorry-” you stopped as you looked up at the two similar faces, smirking at you. “Well if it isn’t the George and Fred. My two favorite people.”

“You flatter me, (y/n).” Fred bowed and turned into the same direction as you. “Potions?”

“Advanced, yes.” you walked beside them.

“Another hour of Snape. No, thank you.” said Fred.

“Bet you didn’t know what you were signing up to when you decided to take Advanced Potions.” added George, smirking at you.

“Snape is the worst but not to me.” you winked and the only stared.

“What do you mean?” asked Fred as he stopped just before his class.

“Oh, my dear Freddie.” you pinched his cheek. “You might be adorable but I’m irresistible.” you winked before running to your own class few feet away from him.

That was true. Snape wasn’t showing you any kind of bad treatment. Mostly because your father was a “friend” of his. Not much of a friend but a business colleague. Your father was in some nasty business back home and Snape was a regular customer once upon a time. You were about six years old when he first came into your house and since then, he kept coming at least a few times a year. He didn’t like you at first but somehow you won him over. You couldn’t figure it out because he was quite broody and he was younger back then but he softened when you were around and you could see his guard down.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Professor.” you excused yourself and sat behind the desk.

He turned around, locking his dark eyes with yours and spoke flatly. “Next time you’re late, there will be consequences Miss (y/l/n). Don’t be late again.”

---

The Common Room was full of Gryffindors when you entered, your roommate following you.  “I bet that Sinistra bet on you.” she nudged you. “The twins are great at Charms and they are Flitwick’s favorite students. So no doubt he bet against you.”

The rumors were spreading like the plague. Everybody came to you, asking what your next big prank is against the twins but to be honest, you weren’t planning a prank on them. That’s what everybody would expect and you didn’t want to follow other people’s expectation.

“What did they even bet?” you looked at her and she shrugged.

“I dunno but I also heard what happened at Advanced Potions today.” the two of you sat down, one on the armchair and the other on the last spot on the sofa.

“What happened?”

“Snape happened. He didn’t take points from you. He’d never miss an opportunity to take points from a Gryffindor.”

“Yeah, (y/n). What happened?” someone put their hands on your shoulders and you looked up to see brown eyes looking down at you. “I breathe and he gives me detention.”

“Hello, Fred. Where’s your usual partner in crime?” you put your hand on his and he made his way to sit on the armrest on the other sofa where a few First years sat.

“First of all, I’m George and second of all Fred’s up getting ready.”

God, you saw right through his lie.

“A-huh.” you narrowed your eyes at him, clicking your tongue. “Plus to answer your question, what happened was that I’m just better than you and teachers love me.” you winked and suddenly saw the other ginger walking down the stairs.

“Hey George!” you waved at him. “Fred was just telling me about how the two of you were trying to pull a switch prank on me.” you smiled and George groaned.

“Are you telling me it didn’t work, Fred?” he looked at his brother and Fred face-palmed himself.

“You can’t prank me, Freddie boo.” you got up from your armchair and grabbed your bag from the floor. You grabbed his chin gently and slightly lifted it so your eyes were both on the same level. “Just admit it, Freddie. I’m better than you. Both of you.” you then turned to George, who smirked.

“That’s not what Flitwick thinks.” George smiled back while Fred kept quiet, looking at you.

“So you heard.” you let go of Fred and slung your bag on your shoulder.

“Might have. So what do you think?”

“I think Sinistra is going to win. He did bet on the winning one. Best prank wins, right?” you started backing away.

“Best prank wins.”

---

To be honest you weren’t planning anything. Great ideas always come naturally and you didn’t want to stress over some stupid bet.

That was when you saw a few kids dancing in the courtyard, just busting a few moves as one of the Fourth years played on the drums. There was a circle of five or six of them, all boys. One was in the middle, in his daily clothes showing up his best steps as the other cheered and followed his lead.

“If Professor Toady sees you, you’re loads of trouble.” you shouted at them and they stopped, smiling at you.

“Yeah, well Professor Toady doesn’t own the school, does she?” one of them shouted back.

“Can’t argue with that.” you looked at the boy with the drums. “Can I try?” you asked and he jumped on his feet, beaming.

“Sure. Show us what you got.”

You ran over and sat behind the tenor drum and started to create a beat. They all firstly started moving a little bit when you turned it up, they all started to groove, move along the beat.

“Gryffindor’s got moves.” said one of them.

“Let me guess. Hufflepuffs?” you smiled.

“That obvious- go TJ!” he cheered for the boy that entered the circle and started dancing to your beat.

“When did you learn to drum?” asked the drummer that was crouching beside you.

“Dad had a whole set back home from this major client of his. A muggle. And I might have persuaded him for some lessons.” you stopped and they all clapped, cheering you on.

“What Muggle?” he asked, sitting behind his drum.

“Ringo Starr.”

“You’re lying!” he shouted.

“Nope.” you shook your head. “The one and only, Richard Starkey.”

“Bloody hell. Did you meet him?” the other came to you.

“Yeah but not the other’s though.” you lowered your head.

“What was he like?”

“Normal, I guess. Just a drummer.”

“Wicked.” said the drummer and looked at the others. “We’re definitely betting on you.” they all nodded and you only rolled your eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re on the stupid bet?”

“The whole school is.”

“Yeah right.”

“Believe it, honey.” someones’ arm wrapped around your shoulders, a redhead popping beside you. “Dumbledore bet on us. He adores us.”

“That’s some bullshit, Weasley.” you snorted and turned to walk away from the Hufflepuffs. “See you guys later.” you waved at them and continued to walk with Fred by your side.

“So what are you planning?” he asked and you chuckled.

“Nothing to be honest. And even if I was I definitely wouldn’t be telling you.”

“Nothing. Yeah, right.” he scoffed, his arm still wrapped around you and his body close to yours.

Was he even aware of how he affected you?- No, (y/n). No way. Not your competition.

“Well, we have Transfiguration so where are you going?” you pulled him by his robe and he smiled.

“We have a substitute?” he furrowed his eyebrows. “Charms. McGonagall had gone with the First Years to this field trip to the other side of the country.”

“You have field trips?” you asked and he laughed.

“Well, yeah. You didn’t.”

“No, we didn’t. Only sometimes we went to the closest town to hang out. Our own Hogsmeade.” you smiled and followed him. “So I have to stick up with Flitwick. The man who bet against me.”

“I think you’ll get to have your revenge on him.” he walked beside you, leading you to the classroom. “I mean, you do say you’re the best prankster so what’s a Charms Master.” he smiled and opened the doors for you.

“That’s right!” you pointed your finger at him, walking backward into the classroom and not even looking where you stepped until you were already laying on your back, covered in slime. Your back was aching and you could hear the laughter coming from the whole class.

“Best prankster.” Fred leaned over, smiling devilishly at you and holding a wand upward where three buckets were levitating. One bucket covered you with purple pain, falling on the ground next to you. The whole class laughed, bursting of laughter. The second bucked covered you with feathers, white- the ones you find in your pillow and the bucket fell at your feet. The third bucket covered you in shell-less slugs, black, and disgusting but the bucket fell directly on your wrist and you felt your bone shatter inside.

Now, you were sitting on the floor, covered in slime, purple paint, feathers, disgusting slugs, and a broken wrist. The whole was entertaining themselves at your embarrassment.

It felt horrible. You felt horrible. You felt embarrassed, defeated, completely ashamed, stripped of dignity and respect. You stood up, carefully not to slip on any slime or paint and embarrass yourself more. You stood in front of Fred who was laughing and smiling with the others. You looked at him right in the eyes, tears flooded your own and your voice trembled as you spoke. “You won!” you tried not to show how much the knot in your throat was. “Are you happy now?!” you took a hold of your wrist, your tears falling among the purple paint on your cheeks and you stormed outside.

All you wanted was to get in your bed and cry. Cry so much because in all your life you couldn’t imagine someone pulling as cruel as a prank like this one. Yes, you pulled pranks on people but people who deserved it. Harmless pranks that could be laughed at but you have never, ever once thought of a prank that would embarrass and be so disrespectful to the other person.

So you just went into the bathroom, stripped down of your clothes and cried. You cried while the water hit your body and removed the pain from your body. The bad part was that the paint left spots, purple spots and it looked like you were beaten by someone... Funny, you were beaten by someone. By Fred and George Weasley. What was worse, was your wrist that burnt from pain and swell quickly.

As soon as you were done with the shower you went to the hospital wing. Worse news couldn’t stay away from you because the next thing you knew, Madam Pomfrey was reporting to you that your bone is shattered and that all it needs to do is heal. She gave you a potion for the swelling and the pain but it would take time for your bone to heal. She immobilized it and put the cast on it.

You felt embarrassed, completely. How could you show your face after this? - In a million years, you would never think that you would be the one laughed at.

---

It was now your fourth day since you haven’t shown up anywhere. People were spreading rumors too fast and Fred? Fred felt horrible. He couldn’t sleep because every time he closed his eyes, he saw yours. He saw the shame, the broken pieces he left when he pulled out his prank.

What was he even thinking? He just wanted a good prank, he didn’t think it would turn out this bad. I thought there would be a laugh, here and there and everything would go to normal. But the next thing he knew, he was being yelled by your roommate about how he broke the wrist on your dominant hand, the one you used for casting spells.

“It was cruel and evil!” she continued to shout at both of them. “How could you do that to her!?! She hasn’t done a thing to the two of you! She never planned a single prank against you and the two of you repay her with that!”

“We didn’t know, okay. We thought the bet was who pulled a better prank. Looks like it got out of control.”

“Fuck you and your stupid bet, Weasley. You’re nothing better than the Slytherins!” and she stormed away up the girls' dormitories.

Fred kept staring just there but when he glanced at his brother, he was doing quite the opposite. He was sprawled on the sofa, a magazine in his hands and an apple in his hands. He could feel his brother staring at him, so he looked up at him all so innocently. “Yes?” he asked as he took another bite, the sound of it being louder than intended.

“How is it that it’s always me that gets more the blame and you’re just enjoying yourself?” Fred complained, slamming his arms against his body.

“Because people tend to like me more than you.”

“Keep dreaming mate.”

“I’m serious. I’m the sweet one, the maturer one, the cuter one...” he winked and sat up. “But to answer your question brother is that everybody thought you’d make a move on her since you fancy her and all. You sure made a move alright.” he said casually before laying back and putting up his magazine.

“I do not fancy her!” he denied and kept staring at his brother fake nodding.

“Sure, Freddie.”

“I don’t! I mean I like her as a person and all but I reckon I never -”

“-felt happier, lighter and complete with her around.” George exaggerated and Fred rolled his eyes. “You two have chemistry. It’s obvious something is going on between the two of you. She can even tell us apart. Now tell me which girl ever did that?”

“She’s a prankster. She knew we would pull a stunt on her.”

“Fred. Nobody can tell us apart and suddenly she can. She knows you is you and she knows me is me.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say that you should better apologize to her and make the right move this time.”

---

He was pacing up and down for the last hour. You could hear his footsteps since the moment you left Herbology and he followed you back to the library. The concentration was not there with you. You kept looking at the scribbled words but somehow you couldn’t read them and he was the cause why not. “If you have something to say, just say it already. If not, fuck off.” you said before you turned around on your chair and glared at him.

He pretended he was picking out a book but it was a dumb try. Clearly, you knew he was following you. He put the book back and sighed, swaying his feet over to you. “Uhm-” he cleared his throat and walked closer. “I wanted to apologize for for-for pulling that prank.” he said but kept his eyes facing the ground.

“So?” you asked, quirking up an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“Uhm.” he mumbled and finally looked up at you, noticing the white bandage around your wrist and feeling even more guilt surface on sight. “Shite-” he cursed under his breath, turning you his back and taking a deep breath in.

Why was this so hard? Why all of a sudden, after all of his 18 years, he somehow can’t say three simple words?

You saw him struggling. You knew he didn’t mean to hurt you and the way regret flashed across his eyes when they landed on your wrist, you softened. He was a kind boy. Since you have met him, you have known he was different than other guys you’ve met. There was just this sublimity when it came to Fred.

You got up from your chair and walked over. Your hand reached for his and as your fingertips touched his skin, you could feel him relax. “It’s alright, Fred. I’m not mad.” you tangled your fingers with his and he turned around, sorrowly looking back.

“I really am sorry.” he whispered and reached for your other hand, which was wrapped with a white bandage. He lifted it and kissed your revealed fingers. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Your breath was taken away as soon as his lips pressed against your skin. The soft kiss was revealing just how much he is. “Well.” you smiled as you finally got yourself to catch some breath. “I believe you aren’t quite forgiven..” you teased with an awful adorable grin.

He felt his lips curve at that lovable face and he leaned forward. “What can I do?”

“How about taking me on a date?”

“I could not think of a better idea.” he grinned and wrapped his arm around you.

“And Fred.” you wrapped your arm around him as well and started walking. 

“Yeah.”

“Expect payback.”

“I’m counting on it.”

[aestheticseungmean]

Promises-Jimin

Angst

Promises are always broken so it shouldn’t be a surprise to Jimin when you promised you were okay. In reality, you needed saving.

Yoongi is not cruel, this is fictional

——————————————————————————

The light through the crack illuminated your scared face that was hidden in the closet. You were hiding from the demons inside of the man you once loved. Those demons hurt you and made you break down and hide away. Deep down inside you promised that you could help him. But promises are always broken. “WHERE ARE YOU?” A whimper left your lips as the door was thrown open. “There you are!” His voice hissed. “Yo-Yoongi, please!” You let out a strangled sob and covered your face. Numbness covered you as he grabbed your arm harshly to pull you to your shared room.

While Yoongi went to the bathroom, you watched a bruise form in the shape of his hand. That was the fifth bruise this week alone. You jumped when the door opened. He smelled like cheap alcohol and smoke. “Lay down.” When you didn’t lay down, he grabbed you harshly to pull you into his arms. Why couldn’t you leave? Why do you subject yourself to this abuse? What do you see in him anymore? Quietly, you drifted asleep. The dreams turn into nightmares. It’s easier to hold onto something sweet rather than see all the broken things. This is the propaganda that you repeat to yourself like a mantra every night.

The burning sunlight woke you up. You simply took a shower and got dressed in a baby blue breezy sundress. Normally, Yoongi wouldn’t let you go out like this but he knew who you were hanging out with. Jimin was, in his eyes, a little brother. Someone he could trust to protect you and not make a move on you. Using a concealer, you covered up the bruises on your arms and just in case, you grabbed your cardigan. You didn’t want to let anyone know your situation because then they’ll pity you. Pity makes you feel weak and embarrassed because everyone points their attention towards you.

The breeze blew through your taut ponytail. You spotted Jimin sitting in the café through the window. Your pace quickened into a sort of skip. The outgoing customer held the door open for you and you thanked her. As the door shut behind you, you waved at Jimin. He gave you his signature smile. “Mochi!” “Squishy? Yeah, no. That doesn’t work.” You giggled at him and sat down. “We’ll find a nickname soon enough.” Deep in your mind, you knew your heart longed for Jimin. You knew for sure that he was kind, sweet, caring and playful. The complete opposite of Yoongi. “How are things with Yoongi?” Such an innocent question with the answer that was dark. “It’s great!” You lied through your teeth.

Jimin noticed but decided not to press on. The waitress came over to take the order. “Hello. What would you guys like today?” You ordered a bowl of Alfredo while Jimin ordered a burger. Both of you agreed on sharing some funnel fries. “Oh no! It’s raining outside.” He laughed and offered to walk you home. “Hold on, let me pay.” “Jimin, I can pay.” Jimin refused and paid. “I will pay one day. One day, I tell you.” “You can pay the day you try something new or I go broke. Whichever comes first.” You attempted a laugh but stifled a groan at the pain. Instinctively, you threw your arm over your stomach as a sort of shield.

“Are you okay!?” “Yeah, I’m okay, Mochi! I promise!” He nodded and held back his words. Since neither one of you brought an umbrella, you both were getting drenched. Your cardigan began to feel heavy and cold. “Here, take my coat and let me carry your flimsy cover thingy.” Carefully you took off your cardigan and sighed in relief when the makeup stayed on. Quickly, you threw on the jacket and warmed up. “Thank you, Jimin!” “You’re welcome, cutie!” You laughed at him. “Take my hand now, cause you are the cause of my euphoria!” He grabbed your hand and you walked side by side back to Yoongi’s house.

“This is where we part.” “Bye, Jimin.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Bye, cutie!” You’re dying inside. He watched you walk inside before he walked away. Softly, you shut the door and turned around to face a furious Yoongi. “Yoongi-Hi…” “Hi.” If looks could kill, you’d be burning right now. “What was that? You let him kiss you and call you cutie?” “Yoongi, please! It means nothing. He’s just looking for a nickname for me.” A harsh sting came across your face. “NO ONE ELSE KISSES YOU. NO ONE ELSE SHOULD CALL YOU CUTIE. DO I NOT DO ENOUGH FOR YOU?”

Uncontrollable sobs filled the room. Tears streamed down your face and stung the cut on your lip. “YOU ARE TO NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN. IN FACT, YOU ARE TO NEVER LEAVE THE HOUSE.” Slowly, you wiped your tears and walked to the shower. The shower drowned your tears and calmed you. When the water turned cold, you turned it off and dressed into your pj’s. That night, you decided to sleep in the guest room, not that Yoongi would care much. The bed was cold but it was a change of pace from the bed you’re used to.

Weeks passed and you didn’t see or talk to Jimin at all. Part of you wanted to go against Yoongi and see Jimin again. Even if it meant getting hurt. But you didn’t. You stayed safe. By being safe, you were protecting Jimin. A knock sounded at the door and Yoongi yelled for you to see who was at the door. You let out a sigh and opened the door. Jimin waved and cleared his throat. In a hushed voice you warned him. “Why are you here?” He didn’t respond but rather, he stared at your sleeve. You realized that your sleeve hiked up a little revealing your bruises. You attempted to pull your sleeve down but he pulled it up revealing the countless bruises.

“Where’d you get those bruises?” “Umm-“ Yoongi walked in and grabbed your shoulder tightly. “She is very clumsy sometimes.” “Yeah, clumsy…” Jimin wasn’t comfortable with the way Yoongi was holding you. “I was just checking in to see if everything is okay.” “Whelp, everything’s just fine.” Jimin sighed and wished you a goodbye but he wished he could stay just a little while longer to see you. As soon as Jimin was out of the driveway, Yoongi pushed you into the kitchen. “Why was he here!?” “I don’t know.” He picked up a wooden spoon and pointed it at you.

“Did you invite him?” “N-No.” One smack. ”DID YOU INVITE HIM!?” His voice bellowed. “No!” Two smacks. “Stand up.” You were too scared and weak to stand up. “Are you deaf? I said stand up!” When you took too long to stand up, he hit you again. Three smacks. Your legs shook but you stood up. He dragged you to the spare room and shoved you in there before slamming the door in your face.

Three welts formed on your skin. It stung every time you touched them. You winced in pain as you put on your old sweatshirt. It was time to head out to the grocery store to get food for the house. You browsed the isles until you bumped into someone. “Ow. Sorry.” The welts burned and you fought the urge to hold it. You looked up and saw Jimin. “JIMIN?!” “I know you didn’t get those bruises from being clumsy. I know you aren’t that clumsy.” You sighed. It was time to tell Jimin the truth. “Yoongi is the cause. He’s taking his anger out on me.” “YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE OKAY! YOU PROMISED!” “Promises are always broken, Jimin.”

“You are going to get your most important stuff and move in with me.” There was no use arguing with him. He is persistent. You grabbed the last of the grooves you needed and paid. Inside your head, you created a plan to sneak your stuff out. First, you were going to pack your bag or bags and sneak them into the bush underneath your window. Then, you would go out back while Yoongi is asleep and take the bags and leave.

Your plan went smoothly and you left. Three bags filled with journals, books and keepsakes. You couldn’t grab your clothes because that meant going into his room and possibly waking him. When you got on the street, you started running to Jimin’s house. Breathing heavily, you knocked on his door. “You look like you ran a marathon.” “I pretty much did and it hurts.” You laid down on the couch after Jimin let you in. “AHH.” “Relax, the pain will go away.”

The next few months were fruitful. You got a restraining order on Yoongi and you’ve moved in with Jimin. The two of you got closer since then and your bruises have since healed. Only a few scars remained on your body. Because Jimin helped you out of your toxic relationship, you weren’t timid around guys. Currently, you two were playing monopoly. While you were waiting on him to count his money to unmortgage properties, your eyes ran up and down his body. He had on a button up with the top three buttons unbuttoned.

His milky white skin looked elegant against the silky, dark purple fabric. He smiled without looking up and rolled. It was your turn and you rolled onto a property that you didn’t realize that he put a hotel on. “That’ll be a thousand dollars.” You paid up and glared at him. “Stop glaring, princess. I know you want me.” Jimin smirked at you. “Bite me.” The look of shock was only momentary before he replied. “Gladly.” He pushed the game off the table before reaching across and capturing your lips in a kiss.

His hand wrapped around the back of your neck to gain leverage. You parted your lips and he took the chance to use his tongue. The two of you only broke apart to stand up. The kiss was so intense that you found yourself pushed up against the wall with Jimin grinding on you. He trailed kisses down your neck and onto your collarbone. Keeping true to your words, he bit down on your shoulder causing you to moan out. “I wanted to do that for so long.” “So have I, Jimin.”

[goddessofthundathighs]

V. DINNER DATE

“Why didn't you tell me you had the tongue of an anteater? It seems like something you would've brought up once or twice since we've been in such close quarters,” O'Shea inquired as the two women strolled down Rodeo Drive. As promised, after they finished lunch Skylar took her shopping to search for a gown for the conference as well as to reward Shea for behaving so well during her little experiment. Sky��s response wasn’t immediate. She simply chuckled before removing the Prada shades from her face and using them as a makeshift headband to tame her natural curls.

“One, you never asked, and two, I’m a lesbian and an expert in female anatomy. Not knowing how to eat pussy is a disservice to myself as well as to my profession.”

“Touché,” O’Shea replied. There wasn’t much she could say after such an explanation. With that, the ladies continued their trip, spending an obscene amount of money, but Sky felt like they both deserved it. After spending several hours in Chanel, Gucci, and Christian Louboutin, the pair had dinner and then retired to their respective living quarters.

Conference Day

O’Shea sat behind the desk, iMac open to her emails, sketchbook open to her latest design, and her iPhone blasting her Créme de la Pénis playlist. The sensualness of the sexually charged lyrics helped fuel her creativity when it came to new design concepts. Just as she was finding her groove, the music stopped, interrupted by an incoming FaceTime call.

“Yes Dr. Stevens?”

“Good afternoon, Ms. Powell, you look beautiful today.” Her heart fluttered at his compliment, but she wouldn’t dare let him know that. It the short time that they had known one another, he had unlocked almost all of her sexual kinks and they had yet to have sex. O’Shea was perplexed yet intrigued and therefore continued in the sweet torture.

“Why thank you, Dr. Stevens. What do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?”

“Are you alone?”

“Skylar is in her office in the back of the store.”

“Are there any customers in the store?”

“Not right now.”

“Perfect. Grab a pair of headphones, I wanna try something.” Shea looked at the screen in confusion, but complied anyway.

“What are you wearing?”

“Well you can see my burgundy turtleneck, but I’m also wearing a leather pleated mini skirt, some fishnets and my black platform Doc Martens.”

“Mmm, that’s quite the visual, Ms. Powell. Think you can be a good girl for Daddy and play around for a bit?” The sexy voice was back and had O’Shea creating a puddle in her seat.

“That face is telling me yes, but I prefer verbal consent.”

“Yes Daddy.”

“Good girl, spread them legs for me.” As if she were in a trance, O’Shea spread her thighs and trailed her hand down to her pearl.”

“She wet?”

“Aquafina.” He smiled, revealing a new set of top and bottom grills, with the canines stretched like vampire fangs, with a dangerous glimmer in his eye.

“Should I be afraid?”

“Only if you wanna be, babygirl. But has Daddy ever given you a reason to be afraid?”

“Well it was that one time—”

“Girl shut yo ass up and pull that thong to the side.” She couldn’t help but laugh at his tone and his impatience.

“So how far does a nigga need to go with you to bring Bennie out the cage?”

“Why on Earth would you wanna meet her?”

“Well she’s clearly the one that runs the show. I just wanna see if she bout what she be talking bout,” his Oakland twang making an appearance ever so slightly.

“Be careful what you wish for, Stevens. Bennie doesn’t go back in the cage so easily when she’s summoned.”

“You let Daddy deal with that, Ms. Powell. Now like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, take two fingers.. stick them into that pretty mouth..get them wet.. and rub that clit nice and slow.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then that’ll be you all pent up and pissed off until tonight.”

“Touché,” she agrees. With that, her middle and ring fingers found her slickness, rubbing slow circles over her throbbing clit. She stared at the camera, biting her lip as his deep voice rumbled in her ear. Slow then fast then slow again she worked herself closer and closer to her release.

“You almost there, Princess?”

“Yes Daddy,” she whimpered, eying the front door as well as the door to the back office to ensure that no one caught her in her lewd act. This was the furthest she'd gotten with just her fingers in months. It had to be the combination of the movements and his voice.

“Good girl, now stop.”

“What?!” she screeched, as she was seconds from an orgasm.

“I just wanted you to get that pussy ready for Daddy. I’ll see you later on tonight.” With that, he ended to call, leaving her horny and pissed off in her seat. Her forgotten playlist was now a tease of what could've been.

“Skylar Moreau Greene!” she growled as she marched to the tiny woman’s office.

“I didn’t do it,” Sky answered, puzzled as to why O’Shea was disclosing her government name to the world.

“That blockhead friend of yours is about to come up missing!”

“What happened this time? You were just playing with ya pussy on FaceTime for him.”

“How did you—“

“Surveillance cameras, my precious.” Shit.

“Ok whatever. Anyway that nigga keeps getting me worked up and then leaving me hanging! I’m sick of it.”

“I thought you liked being edged?”

“I do when my release is the endgame. I haven’t cum in days! And no, I don’t want you to eat my pussy again even though that shit was IMMACULATE!” Skylar giggled at the admission. She’d been talking about it since the day it happened.

“O’Shea, sweetheart, I’m about to tell you something real. Erik isn’t like any other guy you’ll ever meet. His willpower and patience are unmatched, especially when he has a point to prove. The only way you’re gonna get what you want from him is by following his rules.”

“But this shit is dumb,” O’Shea pouted.

“Is it really dumb or are you just a spoiled little bitch?”

“Hey, hey! Lower your voice, ma’am. I’m in a vulnerable state and those are very triggering words.”

“I know princess,” Skylar teased, causing O’Shea to pout and stomp her way out of the office.

“I’m going to get my hair done!”

“Have fun!”

O’Shea left the salon two hours later with a large butterfly braid cascading down the left side of her face. Per Shea’s request, the stylist adorned the braid with gold charms and cording while the in-house makeup artist beat her face to the gods. They decided to go with soft glam on the face and lips, while adding gold glitter and false lashes for a bold pop. Once home, she freshened up and stepped into her dress. O’Shea stared in awe of herself in the custom ball gown Skylar had designed for Erik’s conference.

“My best friend is a flashy nigga, so his date has to match his fly.”

It was an Egyptian style white gown with gold accents and a cascading draped train. She completed the look with golden open toe high shaft stiletto gladiator sandals.

“If this doesn’t get me any dick, I’m fighting somebody,” O’Shea said as she admired herself.

Erik arrived promptly at 7:00. He stood clad in a black velvet suit with filigree detailing, black and gold Louboutin loafers, and his signature gold-rimmed glasses. His dreads were neatly braided to the back of his head and in his hands was a box of black and gold designer roses adorned with sparkling stones like the ones O’Shea had seen on Instagram. The man looked good enough to eat and though the sight before her had her essence pooling in her panties, Erik was still met with O’Shea’s attitude.

“I see someone’s still salty from earlier,” he taunted, noticing her cold demeanor.

“Whatever. Let’s just get this shit over with,” Shea fussed.

The ride to the banquet was quiet, too quiet for Erik’s liking, but he wasn’t giving in to O’Shea’s bratty antics. She needed to learn that she wasn’t the one in control of this situation and that she'd get the attention she craved whenever he chose to give it, but until then, he was content in torturing her every chance he got. He ran the tips of his fingers up the split in her dress, smirking to himself as her body inadvertently reacted to him. He watched the goosebumps spread across her skin as his fingers traveled further up her thigh and almost full out cackled at her pouting because he put both hands back on the wheel. He was sure he’d break her tonight.

O’Shea was awestruck once they finally entered the grand ballroom. The walls of the ballroom were ivory white with gold trimmings with four giant chandeliers lining the middle. Each table was decorated with black table cloths and accented with red napkins and red roses.

“Dr. Udaku, nice to see you again,” a colonizer spoke shaking Erik’s hand.

“Nice to see you as well, David. How’s Margaret?” Erik asked, not really caring about the state of the man’s wife but more so to move the conversation along. While the pair conversed about meaningless bullshit, O’Shea slipped away to grab a drink from one of the cocktail waitresses and admire the scenery. Erik caught up with her just as she'd downed her third glass, wrapping a protective arm around her waist.

“Tsk. You shouldn’t wander off like that, Princess. You'll get Daddy all worried.”

“Then Daddy should pay better attention to me,” she retorted. “And I thought your last name was Stevens. Who the hell is Udaku?”

“Mind your business,” was all he said before pulling her chair out at their assigned table. She pouted and fidgeted the entire time, making her displeasure for being there no secret to anyone paying attention. After about the fifth obnoxious yawn, Erik leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“Don’t forget you're a guest. Don't think that I won’t handle your tiny ass because we’re in public,” he threatened.

“Not worried.”

“Didn’t say you had to be.”

“Ugh, niggas make you cum once and wanna talk slick,” she spat.

“Once? That lil stunt in my office had you cumming way more than just once.”

“Nigga I’m talking tangible cum, physical orgasms.. and Shy has you beat in that department. Compared to her, your head game is mediocre.”

“Mediocre?!” he whisper yelled, causing a few heads to turn their way.

“I said what I said,” O’Shea answered, taking another sip from her champagne. He didn't respond and they sat in silence listening to the speaker.

After enough time had passed post spat, the pair began engaging in comfortable conversation with the other couples at the table. For a second, O’Shea had forgotten all about the dormant beast that sat to her left until his right hand found her bare left thigh again, squeezing the flesh roughly. O’Shea bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from moaning aloud, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Dr. Nigga as he continued his sweet torture. He kept kneading and squeezing her thigh, causing her to clench her thighs together. She was unable to contain the squeal that left her lips as Erik smacked her outer thigh, causing her to spread her legs.

“Are you alright, O’Shea?” David asked, genuinely concerned by her sudden outburst.

“Y-Yes, I’m fine,” she stuttered out. Erik’s face remained neutral as his hand continued its quest upward into her panties where he found her throbbing clit. His thick fingers massaged slow circles, causing her wetness to pool once again. O’Shea tried desperately to close her legs, but it was useless. With his free hand, Erik took a sip of his water before leaning casually over to whisper in her ear.

“Try to close them again and I’ll bend you over this table,” he threatened with another smack to her outer thigh. O’Shea whimpered softly as she looked up at him and then down to her lap where she could see his fingers working their magic on her sensitive nub, her dress pooled in her lap. After the speaker made a small joke, the room laughed politely and Erik smiled at O'Shea sweetly before leaning back down to her.

“Is Princess gonna listen to Daddy?”

She closed her eyes and nodded, too far gone in the pleasure. Eyes still trained forward as the guest of honor spoke, Erik moved her panties to the side and slid two of his fingers into her, making ‘come hither’ motions against her g-spot.

“Oh fuck,” O’Shea moaned as silently as she could manage before putting a fist to her lips, biting down on her knuckles. David's attention was drawn again and he looked from O'Shea who seemed to be in great discomfort to Erik.

“Erik,” he whispered aggressively. Erik's face was of someone completely uninterested in what was going on and David pointed subtly at O'Shea, “Help her,” he implored shamed by Erik's lack of attention to her condition as he was hailed to be a capable and sought after doctor.

“Do you want my help,” he innocently blinked at O'Shea who was breathing heavily with her hand at her mouth so not to cause anymore attention.

“O'Shea?” He watched her face in faux concern as if he wasn't the source of her unraveling. “I think you might need some more attention,” he smirked as David finally turned away satisfied with Erik's involvement.

Erik’s deep chuckle was back at her ear as he pushed his digits as far into her as they would go, causing her essence to gush down his knuckles. O’Shea couldn’t take it. The forbiddenness of what they were doing had her wetter than she had been in a while and her orgasm was building fast. She leaned her head on his shoulder, whimpering so that only he could hear.

“Erik please..”

“So sweet now,” he murmured teasingly. “Please what, Princess?” She had begun rocking her hips to match his rhythm and aid in her completion.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” she whimpered as his fingers increased in speed, repeatedly stroking her gspot.

“Cum for Daddy, babygirl,” he purred, using his thumb to simultaneously massage her clit. She dug her nails deep into the rich material covering his thigh, biting her lip hard to mask her moan as her orgasm overtook her. David looked over to the pair, noting the sated look on Shea’s face.

“Are you sure you’re alright, O’Shea? You look flustered.”

“N-No sir. I’m totally fine.”

“She just needs some water,” Erik interjected. “Drink some water,” he directed O'Shea and she picked up her glass taking a sip and nodding. “She tends to get flustered in crowds. We're trying out a harmless little therapy tonight,” Erik lied as he pulled his hand from between her thighs, discreetly slipping his fingers into his mouth as David and another woman at the table listened with interest of the therapeutic method. The sight alone had O’Shea clenching.

“Isn’t that right?” he asked as he licked the last of her essence from his middle finger.

“Right,” she answered, taking a sip from the glass of water he slid in front of her since she'd finished her own.

“Ahem, if you all will excuse me, I’ll be right back,” Erik announced smoothly standing from the table and leaving the banquet room towards the hall of restrooms. O’Shea took a few more sips from the water glass as she tried to regulate her breathing. Meanwhile, David engaged her more in conversation mentioning relaxation techniques which worked to calm her nerves further. That was until her cell phone dinged in her clutch. She pulled it out to see one unread text message from Erik.

Bring yo ass here..

She bit her lip lustfully, as she slipped her phone back into her bag.

“Please excuse me, David. I need to get some fresh air.” With a confident stride, O’Shea, or should I say Bennie, made the short journey to the bathrooms where Dr. Nigga was waiting, leaning casually against the sink. His eyes traveled up and down her body hungrily as she stood before him.

“You gon’ take that shit off willingly or is a nigga gon’ have to rip it?”

“Nigga you will do no such thing,” she spat, planting her feet on the floor in front of him.

“Bet.” The harsh sound of ripped fabric filled the bathroom as Erik grabbed the split in her dress and tugged until the dress lay in two pieces on the floor.

“Bitch that was a $3,000 dress!” she fumed, his hand clamping tightly around her throat in response.

“What you just call me?”

“Bit—”

“Choose your words wisely, Princess,” he threatened as his fingers gripping the mound between her thighs once more, finding her throbbing core.

“That was an expensive dress Daddy,” she whimpered as she slowly starting grinding against his hand.

“You acting like Daddy can’t buy you another one, Lil’ Mama. I gave you simple instructions and you didn’t follow them so I handled it my way. Now look at you, grinding and clenching around my fingers like you deserve for me to let your bratty ass cum again.” He removed his hand from her center, sucking her juices off of his fingers. She looked up at him with pleading eyes, biting her lip as he stared down at her.

“What’s the matter, Lil’ Mama? You mad? You tired of me edging you even though you asked for this shit? Talk to Daddy.”

“I just wanna cum, Daddy. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Oh you begging now? That’s cute. This must be the little girl in you. What was her name, Buttercup?” Her face heated. She knew he knew about all of her submissive personalities, but she didn’t expect him to bring out her Little Girl so quickly.

“Yeah, that’s my lil’ baby right there. You know, Bennie really hurt Daddy’s feelings earlier. She told me my head game was mediocre. You don’t think that, do you baby?” he asked as he stroked her cheek.

“I think I need to experience it again, Daddy. I don’t really remember.” He smirked before lifting her in his arms and placing her legs on her shoulders. He stepped closer to the wall so she’d be able to lean her body back and began feasting from her. His thick tongue snaked its way into her entrance, thrusting back and for the way his dick wanted to.

“Eyes on Daddy, Lil’ Mama,” he purred as he flicked his tongue against her clit before sucking it gently. He spelled both of their names against her clit, effectively drawing 3 more orgasms from her before settling her back on her feet.

“Daddy’s baby feel better?” She smiled goofily, nodding her agreement. “Rate Daddy's tongue on a scale of mediocre to exceptional.”

“Phenomenal,” she grinned. He collected the ruined dress from the floor and deposited it in the trash before draping his coat around her shoulders. She was thankful that he was so big, his large coat masking the fact that she was completely naked underneath. Erik went back to the table to say his goodbyes, blaming their sudden departure on O’Shea having sensory overload, being tired, and suffering a wardrobe malfunction.

“Oh, it was great to see you again, Erik. Good to meet you as well O'Shea. Take care of her,” David said innocently, waving his goodbye.

“I will,” Erik nodded curtly turning to lead O'Shea to the exit with his lips to her ear whispering all the while.

—————

TAG LIST:

@vikkidc @thadelightfulone @sydneebleu @trevantesbrat @monogamous-nympho @madamslayyy @chaneajoyyy @jozigrrl @forbeautyandlife @amethyst1993 @iamrheaspeaks @mareethequeen @thehomierobbstark @whatmoredoyouwantamericaa @blowmymbackout @wakanda-inspired @yaachtynoboat711 @nickidub718 @heyauntieeee @princessstevens @killmongersgurl @bartierbakarimobisson @xaviera108 @alexundefined @raysunshine78 @dameshaemonique @laketaj24 @youreadthatright @theogbadbitch @bugngiz @amirra88 @post-woke @im5ftbutmythroat66 @blackpinup22 @beaut1fulone-blog @chefjessypooh @queengidiva619 @love-me22 @pending-lostheart

[courtneyyharper]

Depopin’

Hello folks, another day in the life of lockdown and another article to fill up “five” minutes of your time. One way I’ve been spending my time is spending some more time on my Depop account and just thought I’d share my knowledge (what little I have) with you all.

I’ve personally been using Depop for close to two years now and genuinely when I first started I thought nothing would come of it. Then one day I randomly sold my denim jacket for nearly as much as I had bought it for originally. From then it’s been a steady process of learning the ropes and although I am by no means a professional at this or making an income I do enjoy it. There are ways to make a brand out of this with wholesale goods and making your own goods etc. but these are just tips for anyone like me just trying to make a little extra money, save some money and be more sustainable even with fast-fashion.

So, I’m going to talk you through what to do before you start selling, how to sell and ship and even how to pick up a bargain for yourself…

Before you start…

Okays, I’m not going to go through the actual making of the account. I’m pretty sure you guys have got that covered. Make your password secure and stuff.

On to finding stuff to sell. My most popular items have always been going out dresses as they’re usually my higher branded clothing, such as Oh Polly etc. You can post almost any type of clothing but the more interesting the more likely it is to sell. Anything you do choose however should be in good condition and something you’d be happy with purchasing yourself. The best-selling items are usually brand new or in close to perfect condition. Every once in a while I like to do a clear out of things in my wardrobe I haven’t worn in a while and although it is up to you what you sell and of course there is an audience for everything I personally try and be realistic about what I can sell and what needs donated/binned.

Next you must be willing to ship the things that are purchased (this is something I struggled a lot with at the start as I learned the best process). I’ll talk more about shipping later but first you need the supplies. There’s nothing worse than receiving a Depop parcel in a taped together plastic carrier bag with your address scribbled on it. My top tip out of this whole article is to purchase some packaging.

Packaging bags can be surprisingly pricey at the post office or in office supply stores so what I first did was buy packs of them for £1 in stores such as Poundworld and Home Bargains which works out at only a few pence per parcel. Even better still if this becomes something you really get into a groove off you can buy wholesale packs of 100 on Amazon and eBay etc in colours. Little things like this can mean a lot to your customer and will actually end up saving you money in the long run.

Now you have the items you’re going to sell and your packaging to do so!

Taking your photos…

Honestly, this is kind of the entire key to selling. If your product looks good, then people will want it. There are three types of photos I like to use:

Website photos:

These ones are usually best if you have no photos in this clothing or would prefer to not be in the photos. They’re the easiest to put up on short notice. You just screenshot the photos from the website where you purchased them. The only problem with this is that some people prefer to see what the clothes look like in real life (I know I do if I’m on the fence) and will most likely ask you to provide a photo which is just effort later. Usually if I’m using these photos, I provide them in addition with some of my own photos or disclose I’m using this because the clothing does not fit so I can’t try it on, hence why I’m selling.

My own photos:

Sometimes I get lucky and I have a nice Instagram picture in the dress or top or whatever it may be but sometimes I have to set aside time to try on and photograph the clothes. When I do this, I like to do it as though it were going to be uploaded for Instagram. If you have someone to take photos of you in them than great but mirror selfies are also grand if you can do them right. That means having good lighting, so that the clothes are highly visible. I try and take them in bright day light, in a clean mirror and with a clean background. No one wants to see your laundry in the background or those water bottles that haven’t moved from your room in two months that we’re all guilty of.

Flatlay:

If you’re not overly comfortable or confident with being in the photo, then you can still take good photos of the product without wearing it. Always make sure your clothing or shoes or jewellery or whatever it is you’re selling is laid out freshly. It really goes without saying but all clothing should be clean and without wrinkles if possible. You can hang them up on a wall or lay them on a clean background on the floor. For this I like using a white wall or a clean block colour blanket, but everyone has their own style when it comes to this. Maybe even add some plant props or other things to spice up your photo but remember to make the product the focus of the photo.

Videos are also an option on Depop but it must be over 5 seconds long and I only like using this for sparkly or metallic items etc to show the real affect in person.

Although this isn’t always the case but when I really organise my page I like my account to look like an Instagram feed itself. It’s not necessary but it can really draw people to your page if they’re just clicking on for a browse.

When taking your photos always get a photo of the front, the back, any close-up details and of course if there is any marks etc on the item you should always show in a photo. You can only post four photos total so try and give people a good idea of what the item really looks like.

Description:

Next you need to describe what you’re selling. All the words you include will make it easier for people to search and find your items.

You should mention what exactly you’re selling along with brand, size, colour and anything else people need to know.

Always mention what condition the product is such as: 10/10, perfect condition, BNWT (Brand new with tags)

Even mention why you’re selling it: no longer fits, doesn’t suit me, ordered 2 sizes, didn’t return in time etc. Especially mention if it is not in perfect condition: small mark on right sleeve but barely noticeable (see photo 4)

#tags: You also have the options to add hashtags to your description to make is easier to find but you don’t need the hashtag to make it searchable. If I mention the brand it will come up in search when people search for the brand name, even without the hashtag.

Although against Depop regulations (so I’m not recommending) if there were to be other keywords (popular and similar brand names to what you’re posting for example) then your post may reach a wider audience…

Everyone has different layouts for their description but here is an example of one I would do:

Oh Polly LOVE ME KNOT dress

Ruched long sleeve bodycon dress in Oyster White

Size 10 (small fitting would fit an 8 also)

Thick good quality material

Bought on Depop and worn once by me

Great condition just won’t wear again

RRP 38 SOLD OUT ONLINE

#nightout #party #ruched

Then simply fill out the information it asks you for again, brand, size, price and shipping price too! (This is separate from price).

Pricing:

People don’t want to be buying things close to full price unless it’s brand new and you have the last available one to buy anywhere. If demand for your product isn’t high, then you’re going to have to be reasonable with pricing. You must remember (unless you’re handmaking your own clothes etc) that you’re not a retailer and people are looking for a bargain. However, every item is different so I can’t really give you a baseline price for items. The best way to learn where to ballpark your pricing is search for other items similar to yours and see what everyone else is pricing them for and if they’re selling well. I usually try and price things around 60-70% of what I paid and over time drop the price if there’s no movement.

You must remember websites are usually running offers on their own items. For example, I had one dress up recently and was getting a lot of messages as I was selling it for half the original price. Recently I had no questions about it at all and while writing this I realised the retailer had it on sale for lower than even that. Pricing can fluctuate daily and sometimes you must wait it out and/or concede to lowering the price.

Reposting:

If your item has been up for a few weeks and still hasn’t been purchased I usually go in and edit my item. Maybe switch the photos around, update the price and description a bit and post it again. This way people see something different and it gets put back to the top of people’s search.

Shipping:

This is the bit my friends ask me about most when Depop is mentioned. It’s also the most effort.

I’ve tried to get into a routine so as soon as someone purchases an item, I like to package it up straight away. Fold the item neatly and put it in its packaging. Make sure the address is correct. It’s always best to direct message the buyer and thank them for the purchase and assure them when you will get it shipped. Communication is key for good feedback later and although not necessary, I usually include a little thank you note in some funky way (at Christmas I sent Christmas cards and lately I’ve been using felt unicorn shapes I picked up in the arts and craft bit of the pound shop).

Now as soon as possible, you usually have about 5-7 days after purchase, take it to the post office. All you have to do is take it to the window where they will most likely ask you to set it on the scales for weighing and do the work for you. Once you’ve done all this once it’s a breeze.

Packaging costs me £3 a parcel (this is for second class, under 2kg, less than £20 value, unsigned and untracked which is pretty standard). However, for safety and for the first few sales I’d spend the extra and send it tracked. This way no one can claim they didn’t receive a parcel.

Top tip: if you’re sending a small package like a single t-shirt, then package it flatly. Sometimes they can fit it through the letter stencil, and you can ship for large letter prices which is cheaper than parcel prices, but this is also up to the cashier’s discretion so don’t count on it.

All current pricing can be found online too! You can print labels here and pay online to save going to the window, but I find it easier in person.

Make sure to get your proof of postage receipt and keep it! I always like to post a photo of this to let them know their item has been shipped and remember to update the shipping status too. Plus, you’ll need it if there’s any problems later.

Feedback:

Remember to leave your buyers honest feedback and hope they leave you one in return. The more positive reviews you have them more people will see you as a trusted seller later.

DMs:

Always try and click on to the app a few times a day and respond to any mails as soon as possible. Usually if you wait a day to respond they’ve already found something else instead.

Likewise, if people like your item feel free to shoot them a message: Hey, are you interested in [insert item]? If you have any questions just let me know! [insert friendly emoji]

Remember it’s all about interaction! Followers and following on Depop mean next to nothing. People use the search bar much more frequently than their timeline.

The Realities of Making Money!

Some weeks I’ll sell nothing on Depop and usually there’s more of these weeks than not but other times I’ll sell a formal dress, a few going out dresses, a jumper and make about £100. Although these weeks are far and few between you have got to persevere.

You should always remember when pricing items that Depop take a 10% fee and Paypal 2.9% after you’ve sold something (it costs nothing to list an item!) and account for this when pricing your items but also remember that people probably won’t want to pay £5 + shipping for a plain black t-shirt from New Look. Honestly, I rarely notice the fee being taken out especially if it is for clothes that I would otherwise just pack away under my bed for years.

Another thing to remember is that even when the money is deposited into your Paypal account you’re more than likely still going to have shipping to pay and packaging costs, so you need to set this aside also.

Buying:

So, when I’m looking for something specific online or find a nice dress that I’m thinking of purchasing then I like to do a quick search for it on Depop. I search the website name for the item (Oh Polly Love Me Knot Dress) and the size I’m interested in. If I find what I’m looking for I like to message the seller with any questions and if it is available. It’s always worth asking (politely!!) if they would consider selling it at a negotiated price or even with free shipping but always be reasonable. I can’t count the times people have asked if I’d sell them dresses that I had listed for £20 for a fiver with free shipping. There’s nothing more irritating. The nicer you are the more responsive they’ll be and want to reply.

I also like to save or like items and come back to them later, as a sort of wish list if I’m browsing. If nothing else the app is always good for getting ideas for future outfits much like a mood board.

In the case anything goes wrong…

Always buy through the Depop app and Paypal! Every once and a while sellers will ask you to pay them through friends and family on Paypal to avoid Depop fees but if you do this you have no way to claim back your money if the item doesn’t arrive. If an item does not arrive to you or someone claims they do not receive yours then this must go through the Paypal dispute system. If your claim is legit then you can easily get your money back so no need to worry and if someone makes the claim against you all you need is your proof of postage (but preferably a tracking number for 100% safety) and you can refute the claim.

With Paypal you’re always protected which is what makes Depop so great to use!

This was a long-winded way of explaining my personal process of Depop and has made it look even more complicated than it really is. Everyone has their own vibe how to Depop so don’t think you have to stick to this.

I love using the app to save money and even when purchasing items like formal dresses that I know I’ll only wear once I can usually find the one I want for a bargain or if I can’t I don’t feel too bad about paying full price because I know I can get some money back for it when I resell it. At least that’s what I tell myself…

Okays, that’s all I have for you today… Happy Depoping!

[gojohnmikeblog-blog]

5 DIY Bedroom Makeover Ideas on a Budget

You’re in danger of this condition if you spend tons of your time reading decorating magazines or watching TV. the primary sign is that you simply end up drooling over images of beautifully redecorated rooms, outfitted with thousands of dollars’ worth of latest furniture and accessories. Then, as you realize you'll never afford this type of makeover on your modest personal budget with payday loans , feelings of inadequacy set in. You become depressed at the thought that you’re getting to be stuck watching your bare walls and dated furniture forever.

Low-Budget Decorating Techniques

1.Rearrange the Furniture

Rearranging rooms is that the main focus of the Use-What-You-Have school of decorating. Its founder, Lauri Ward, aims to assist people to create beautiful spaces with the furniture they need rather than buying tons of latest items. you'll see several examples in their gallery of rooms transformed just by moving the prevailing furniture. Room after room goes from drab and cluttered, to elegant and comfy – and in most cases, not a stick of latest furniture has been added.

Here are a couple of samples of old pieces put to new uses:

A Bookcase From Dresser Drawers. Apartment Therapy shows how a Chicago couple converted an assortment of free secondhand dressers to a custom-built bookcase. They removed all the drawers from the dressers, painted them white, and mounted them on the wall. Their books are grouped on these “shelves” by color.

Shelving From a Dresser. If you’ve turned your dresser drawers into bookshelves, the remainder of the dresser can still be useful – you'll add wooden planks where the drawers wont to be to make open shelving. At HGTV, you'll see an old dresser converted to a colorful case for storing books and games.

A Bar From a Bookcase. House Beautiful shows an antique bookcase that a replacement York couple repurposed to function a bar. It still holds a couple of books on the highest shelf, but the lower three house liquor bottles and glassware.

A Sink Vanity From a Dresser. If you can’t find just the proper vanity cabinet for your bathroom sink, you'll make one from an old dresser. HGTV shows an example made up of an antique dresser to suit a standard bathroom.

Also Read: Get Fast Loan Cash instantly

2.Shop Secondhand

Places to buy secondhand include:

Reuse Centers. If there’s a reuse center in your area, like the Habitat for Humanity ReStore, it should be the primary place you buy your home projects. These stores sell a good sort of material left over from new construction, also as materials salvaged from old buildings. you'll find furniture, appliances, and much of other home-remodeling materials for a fraction of retail cost.

Thrift Stores. Thrift shops aren’t only for clothing. Many larger thrift stores, like Goodwill, also sell home furnishings and accessories. Even at smaller thrift stores, you'll often find small pieces for your home, like lamps, glassware, and artwork.

Updating the existing accessories of your home not always require taking payday loans.

Craigslist. Your local Craigslist group is another good place to seek out home furnishings on a budget. Check the “For Sale” section to ascertain listings for furniture, appliances, antiques, and “household.” This last category may be a catchall which will include anything from a lava lamp to a gas grill.

3. Use Paper

Wallpaper as a Backsplash. Many modern kitchen renovations feature a gorgeous tiled backsplash as a focus. Unfortunately, this sort of tile is quite pricey – between $5 and $20 per sq ft. However, you'll create a durable and ornamental backsplash on a budget with splash-proof vinyl wallpaper. For about $40, you'll buy a 30-square-foot roll of wallpaper – enough to hide the entire backsplash area in most kitchens.

Wallpaper as a Headboard. The focus of a bedroom is typically the headboard of the bed. If your bed doesn’t have one, you'll add one on to the wall. Just cut a bit of wallpaper to the proper size and hang it behind the bed, and you've got an ornamental headboard that takes up no room in the least. Updating the existing accessories of your home not always require taking payday loans.

4. Add Woodwork

Picture Rails. an image rail is about above a chair rail – usually about on A level with the tops of the windows within the room. It’s called an image rail because it is often used for hanging pictures without putting nail holes within the wall. Instead, you attach a dangling wire to every side of the image and fasten the opposite end to a hook that hangs over the rail.

Wainscoting. Wainscoting is paneling that runs around the room about halfway up the wall. the foremost common type is beadboard – narrow panels with thin grooves running down their length. Other types include horizontal planks, frames built out from the wall, and board-and-batten molding, which are evenly spaced vertical planks with one long horizontal plank at the highest and bottom. At Young House Love, the Petersik's show how they installed board-and-batten molding within the hallway of their first home for less than $57.

5.Create Cheap Artwork

Posters aren’t the sole belongings you can frame – you'll obtain and frame the subsequent as well:

The pages of a colorful calendar

Pictures cut out of a magazines

Completed jigsaw puzzles

Pieces of patterned fabric, wallpaper, or paper

Pictures, text, and styles printed out on your home printer

Small keepsakes of any kind mounted during a shadow box

People often assume that buying artworks taking big cash same day loan.

If you see a bit of art you wish during a store or during an article, you'll often come up with a cheap thanks to reproducing it reception . as an example, at Young House Love, the Petersik's explain how they recreated some vintage subway signs that were selling for $1,600 each online. they only printed out the station names on their printer, glued the pages to painted wooden boards, and gave them a distressed finish.

So when you’re done, you finish up with an area that’s truly your own. It reflects your work, your ideas, and your style far more than an area you simply spent money on. And that’s something you'll actually feel great about.

[marinette-sky]

Incantation of the Heart

A/N: Hey guys! Its been awhile since I have posted any sort of writing or fanfiction here! I finally finished the first part to this ML magic au, and man let me tell you...this took forEVER! I got stuck on writing about clothing! Can you believe it?? But yeah, hope yall enjoy this!  (also, my ao3 is pamplemousses so check me out if you like what you read <3)

Summary: Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a village mage who had made a comfortable life with her magic shop, ‘Ladybug’s Spells and Potions’. However, her fairly repetitive life was thrown into a tumult when Adrien Agreste, also known as Adrien the Enchanter, abruptly settled in her village one sunny morning. 

And he just so happened to be her new neighbor and rival vendor. 

Now, Marinette was never very fond of change, but by the will of the gods if she was not overwhelmingly enamored with this one. 

Word Count: 3,519

Rating: M (well, right now, its a cool T/G rating, but future content will be M)

Marinette had been tending to her garden that sun-drenched afternoon when the Change occurred.

The entire day leading up to that exact moment in time had been pleasantly uniform---which is how she preferred it to be. Marinette Dupain-Cheng had woken up promptly before sunrise to prepare various brews and elixirs for impending customers, which took her exactly until the first rays of light seeped through the cottage windows. After a minimalistic breakfast of rosemary tea and blackberry scones, the mage busied herself with dusting the wall of grimoires taking up residence on one side of the shop.

As soon as that was done, she took to the task of arranging the herbs she laid out the night before into their designated parcels to place neatly in the vacant spots of their shelves. When she finally settled behind the shop counter, steady streams of clients were waiting for her.

Not to say that there was not the occasional hiccup in her otherwise repetitive lifestyle, because there definitely were. Still, this bump in her day-to-day schedule was of no ordinary caliber. Oh, no.

The change just so happened to be Adrien Agreste, notoriously known as Adrien the Enchanter.

And he just so happened to be her new neighbor and rival vendor.

Now, Marinette was never very fond of change, but by the will of the gods if she was not overwhelmingly enamored with this one.

Adrien stood across the gravel road in front of the now-sold establishment, surrounded by moving crates and helpers. Although it was a fairly warm fall day, he looked sophisticated in a cinched black waistcoat and tightly-fitted slacks, his white button-up rolled above his elbows. His hair stopped midway down his neck, and the way the sun caught on his honey-blonde locks made out as if he were wearing a halo.

Even from afar, and only viewing the back of his being, Adrien was evidently well-built like the gods harvested him from the Garden with the perfect bolline. It felt as if she was gazing upon the male incarnation of Aphrodite and his crown of falling stars.

And if she stared too long, Marinette knew the god before her would turn around and reveal his true, glittering form and steal her vision away.

Suddenly breathless at her own spinning thoughts, Marinette ripped her gaze away from the male and instead focused on the bolline she had been previously putting to use by digging little pockets in the dirt for her wolfsbane seeds. Wolfsbane only germinates in riposte to fresh snowmelt, which is why it’s best to plant them in the early fall so that when winter comes they will have had long enough to ruminate. The budding herb was particularly popular with her customers for its antidotal effects on many poisons and the curse of lycanthropy. Because the seed placement is such a tedious process, it is crucial for Marinette to pay special attention when she sows them.

She would simply have to introduce herself later.

Determined, the mage worked fervently to finish the task she had started, trying her hardest not to think about Adrien. Minutes passed fairly quickly when she got into the groove of things and a good half hour went by before the last seed was bedded and sprinkled with specially iced water. Marinette beamed with pride at her handiwork, settling back on her knees to admire the yard. On each side of the stone path that lead directly to the shop entrance lay her numerous gardening plots that extended until the divider from the shop next-door stopped them. Every plot was nicely aligned and labeled so that customers could peruse for specific ingredients with little difficulty.

Sighing in content, Marinette let her stare wander across the way where all the excitement had been earlier. All the moving crates had disappeared from the street and the helpers were nowhere to be seen. In fact, only Adrien himself remained…and was he looking at her?

With a jolt, she realized he was indeed peering at her with an expression she could not pin down from a distance. Like a firefly in a mason jar, she panicked and considered her possible routes of escape.

Alas, too little too late.

Now he was waving good naturedly at her, flashing a charming smile that could make any glacier melt from its warmth. Marinette refrained from swooning.

Now he was walking (or rather, striding) over the gravel road to greet her from where she was kneeled in her garden. Why couldn’t he have caught her in something more appealing than a dirty pinafore?

And now he was standing a breaths-width away from her, shadowed by the sun and hand extended for her to take graciously. Marinette could scarcely move for a few dizzying moments before coming to her senses and accepting his out-stretched appendage.  

“T-Thank you.” Marinette managed to mumble, hyper aware of how firm and balmy his grasp was. Though they had only just met, he was squeezing her hand like they were long-time friends.

Adrien just nodded courteously and revealed another blinding smile.

“Think nothing of it! I’m Adrien Agreste, the new charms merchant around here. Despite what the name of my shop says, I can assure you that it is only a sobriquet.” Marinette spared a glance to the sign above his shop, which read ‘Chat Noir’s Charms and Hexes’. The names itself piqued curiosity in the mage, but she decided to hold her tongue until they got introductions out of the way.

Besides being popular for the title Adrien the Enchanter and his skills, he was also quite known for being a restless spirit. Adrien moved from village to village, opening up shops under different names and leaving under no discernable circumstances. His father, Gabriel Agreste, was an extremely gifted warlock in the occult world with very deep pockets; it was assumed that’s where he got the resources and funding to hop from place to place with no debts to pay.

“O-Oh, uh, I already know who you are, since you’re kind of well-known in the occult world…” Marinette cringed at the comment and cleared her throat. “A-Anyways, my name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng and I’m the owner of ‘Ladybug’s Spells and Potions’.” She gestured vaguely to their surroundings, smiling to soothe the stiffness of her manner.  

“Lovely to be in your company, Marinette.” Adrien replied without missing a beat, much to her relief. He let the pleasantries hang in the air between them as he took a moment to look around. His eyes seemed to sparkle when he restored eye contact with her again. It made her heart skitter in her chest.

“Are you a witch, by chance?” He suddenly burst, leaning forward ever so slightly. This made Marinette grimace and look away.

The pedestal she had put Adrien on shrunk.

Witch.

The very term was borne from the slew of bad apples that plagued their history as magic users, as mages. To her kind, ‘witch’ intoned to the forbidden practice of dark arts and blood rituals as a way of getting tasks or jobs done. Although she had delved little interest in the history, to dabble in forsaken magic was implicit to entering Lucifer’s den. Once a mage sought out the Devils’ shadow magic, the natural power coursing through their veins became irreversibly tainted, much like a poison apple.  

But, as the old proverb proves, ‘one bad apple spoils the barrel’.

During the dark ages, witchery became popular and numerous covens were formed, forever tarnishing their kins’ reputation. Hell, Marinette had ancestors that were active participants and leaders of these covens. Disturbingly, Marinette had heard hushed whispers from her own parents about her grandmother being a savant in witchery—

She did not wish to further ponder the matter.

Marinette let out a tired sigh.

“Adrien, I know you did not mean any harm by it, but please do not refer to me as ‘witch’. I’m a mage.” She informed him seriously, and then added, “Actually, around here, I’m referred to as Marinette the Mage.”

Upon hearing this, Adrien’s face crumpled like dead leaves in the autumn breeze, smile drooping to an ashamed frown. What little skin he was showing paled, and color rushed to his cheeks.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend you, and on our very first meeting!” He hurried to amend his mistake, holding up his hands apologetically. “Please don’t think badly of me, it was my mistake!”

Adrien was so distressed that Marinette felt a twinge of regret in her heart. Just a twinge, though.

“It’s, uh, quite alright Adrien. Really, you didn’t know.” She soothed awkwardly, combing her hands through one of her pig-tails to keep her fidget-y hands busy.

“Are you sure? I just grew so excited; it has been far too long since I have made the acquaintance of someone of your kin.” Adrien gave her a nervous stare, lips parting as he leaned inwards. “As you know, magic users have become less and less of a common phenomenon from the lack of…breeding.”

Oh, gods.  

Momentarily strung by this, she mutely nodded.

He wasn’t wrong, seeing as many magic users become so caught up in their own powers they essentially wither into ill-socialized hermits, refusing to marry in fear of having to pass on any of their hoarded knowledge of magic to a heir.

“Y-Yes, I’m just surprised you forgot calling someone like me a ‘witch’ was offensive.” She giggled in good humor to assuage his discomfort. “Ah, perchance could be you’re too—”

Marinette caught herself before she could finish with ‘sheltered’. Gods, that was close. She would rather be stripped of her powers than ever say something so bold to his face, and in such a casually brazen manner too.

Adrien, jumping at the distraction, slanted his eyes curiously at her. A small smile dangled from his lips, but it was vastly different from the polite one he wore when he first greeted her. He couldn’t know, right? Marinette felt very warm all of a sudden.

“Too what?” Adrien asked coyly, cocking his head to the side in the most natural way possible. He gazed at her from beneath his eye lashes, batting them innocently.

Marinette had a sinking feeling that he knew what she alluded to.

Could enchanters gift themselves the power of telepathy?

Oh, gods, she was finished.  

“N-Nothing, forget it! I should probably take my leave, midday rush is about to start.” Her face flamed despite the chilly wind that gusted against them with impressive bravado. Adrien let out a short, harmonious laugh that Marinette knew would ring in her head the rest of the day.

“On that note, I should get back to my shop. I promised an old friend he could visit, maybe you know him?”

“Oh? Mayhap I do.” Marinette amiably replied, glancing at the sundial that lay nearby. They were really cutting it close.

Then again, Adrien Agreste was worth the fuss.

Adrien grinned devilishly. “Well, I guess I’ll have to invite you over next time he visits for you to find out. Bring a friend, too. I would love to get to know you more...”

He half turned away, and breathed her name like it was the most charming thing to have uttered at that moment, “…Marinette.”

And with that Adrien whisked himself from her sight like magic, leaving Marinette in a state of utter and total disarray.

No wonder he donned the title Adrien the Enchanter, because he had already cast an enchantment on her heart.

 Two weeks puttered by without incident and the Autumnal Equinox was almost upon Yoke Elm Village, much to the excitement of Marinette. The autumnal equinox was essentially the first day of fall, which was a big deal to the supernatural and superstitious residents of the village. To celebrate the ushering of a new season, a festival was being held in the town square that evening.

“Alya, hand me another bowl, I’m about finished with this one.” Marinette said as she grinded her incense mix of marigold, passionflower, and fern into the mortar. This was the last batch of ceremonial incense she needed to complete before they could pack all the sets onto her cart to sell before the festival began at sundown. Marinette had been handpicked to be a vendor for the special occasion, having been given the honor to make the traditional incense that would lighted for the sacred ritual that evening.

Unfortunately, Adrien had also been chosen to contribute to the festive event, being given the task of supplying harvest charms to all the farmers and horticulturists as part of the ritual.

In those two weeks of preparation for the event, both Marinette and Adrien had not seen hide or tail of each other (except for their run-in at their local sundry market, which is how they found out why the other had been so preoccupied).

It frustrated Marinette to no end.

It also frustrated Marinette to know that her close circle of friends was getting to know Adrien better during this time period without her.

Though, that was all by chance, of course.

Marinette met with Alya that same day and chattered happily about her intense infatuation with Adrien Agreste. Alya, excited and mystified by her best friend’s abrupt obsession with Adrien, hung onto to every detail. In fact, Alya went out of her way to meet Adrien after their talk. She caught him right as he was about to leave for a rendezvous with an “old pal from his adolescent years”, who turned out to be Alya’s boyfriend of two years running, Nino Lahiffe.

They all got along splendidly, from Alya’s recounting of their outings.

Pushing the thoughts from her head, the female sighed deeply and held out her hand for the next bowl.

“Mari, there are no more bowls to hand you.” Alya waved to the empty counter before them, “We’re done.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow at her friend’s plural suggestion.

“Pardon me, I mean you’re done.” Alya tossed her auburn hair behind her shoulder dramatically and carefully pushed off of the bench they were both occupying to avoid snagging her cape.

Alya had already donned her festival wear before venturing to Marinette’s cottage. She fronted a shimmery tan cape gown and a long, thin black cape tied around her shoulders. The tan fabric was layered with black lace from neck to floor, a small slit going up each side of the dress. A black corset belt sat snugly at her waistline, nearly hidden from view by the smooth tulle cloak that encased her figure. To top it all off, Alya had chosen to wear elbow-length gloves that matched indiscriminately with the corset belt.

Needless to say, she was alluring enough to earn the blessing of any grove faerie and harvest god that gazed upon her that evening.

“That’s what I thought.” Marinette let out an entertained laugh as she stood up to remove her work apron, feeling accomplished and relieved that the hard part of her work was done. All she had to do now was transfer all the incense to her cart and book it down to the festival.

Marinette and Alya quickly gathered up all the incense in their baskets and exited the mage’s work shed, which was located behind her shop. The work shed was usually where Marinette tinkered with her magic; inside, she had a work bench, a mixing cauldron, and a three tier shelf that contained all her most prized and precious spellbooks. Additionally, it was where she stored her market stall cart, but that had already been prepped with decorations and moved to the foyer of her home.

The duo entered the shop through the back entrance and hastily loaded all the incense onto the cart. With Alya’s help, the task was finished with plenty of time to spare. While Marinette was busy re-adjusting a frilly bow tied to the bar of the dolly, Alya pounced on her with unexpected vigor.

“What in the--” Marinette yelped, finding herself being steered by strong arms.

“Marinette, we need to get you ready!” Alya cooed as she forced her away from the foyer and towards the stairway on the other side of the shop. “You want to look good for your darling Adrien, right?”

“Erm, well—I wouldn’t call him that, but yes—,” The mage stuttered, affronted by the affectionate nickname.

“That’s what I assumed. Now, cease your henpecking ‘round the incense and go get dressed!” Alya did an impression of a crotchety woman, which caused Marinette to giggle. Alya took this as an opportunity spin her in the direction of her room, successfully tearing her away from the cart.

When the mage began to protest more, she winked playfully, revealing the coal powder dusted on her eyelids, “I’ll look after everything else while you’re away!”

“But—”

“No arguing! Come, come!”

Marinette pursed her lips in resignation as she was hustled up the stairs, the sudden activity causing the picture frames on the wall to tremble as they passed. Thankfully, none of the frames tumbled from their perches by the time Marinette reached the threshold of her bedroom, which was a wooden trapdoor embedded in the ceiling. Magical sigmas had been carved all around the frame of the door, meant to ward off any evil spirits and ill-intending creatures that bumped in the night while Marinette was slumbering.

At least, that was what Marinette told people.

She smiled to herself at the thought as she vanished into the ceiling, the trapdoor rattling as it sunk back into the frame.

 Less than half and hour went by before Marinette finally emerged from her chambers, taking great care not to snag her dress on any of the splintered wood railing as she descended the steps to her foyer. Once she reached the bottom, she practically flew into the adjoining room where Alya was, eager to show off her newest hand-crafted creation.

Alya looked her up and down, whistling appreciatively.

Marinette had decided to match the theme of her gown to the theme of the festival, hence her look being less revealing and more accurate to the history of the event. She had taken an A-line chemise and sewn it to a black, calf-length skirt to establish the dress silhouette. After a bit of needle magic, she turned the skirt into jumpskirt and proceeded to add tulle underneath the body of the gown to fluff it up (for extra measure, she added a silk lining under the tulle to keep it uniform). Marinette then embroidered an elaborate pattern of falling leaves onto the skirt, using magic thread to make the leaves change colors periodically. For the chemise top, she spelled the plain white color to shimmer under moonlight and made the shoulder-sleeves sheer. She also sewed a strip of lacy ruffles along the front buttons and along the collar, making the color outline of the ruffles a gradient of reds, oranges, greens, and browns. As a final touch, Marinette donned an underbust corset to complete the look. In addition, she wore black stockings and lace-up boots.

“What do you think? This one took me ages to finish, even with a bit of magic.” Marinette did a little twirl, lifting the skirt up in a mock curtsy. This made Alya giggle.

“It looks incredible! You look incredible! I just know Adrien will think so, too.” Alya circled Marinette, absently caressing the dress fabric in admiration. It really was an intricate gown, with all the patterns and magic done on fabric.

They both chatted excitedly about the dress for a minute or two more before deciding it was time to leave for the festival. Marinette and Alya hustled the cart out of the cottage door with little difficulty, although there was a bit of a fuss when Alya stubbed her toe on a cobblestone and cursed loud enough for passing festival-goers to throw them annoyed glances. Nonetheless, they both pushed the cart out onto the main road and began their trek towards the townsquare.

Before Marinette could completely leave, she remembered she had not closed up the shop. She rushed back to the cottage, telling Alya to continue on without her. Once she was well up the road and out of earshot, Marinette ducked herself back inside and called out to the shadows.

“Tikki! You can come out now, we have to go!”

A red blur darted out from the stairs and zipped right into her awaiting palm. Tikki yawned and stretched out her arm-like appendages, smiling sweetly up at her as Marinette tucked her into the pocket of the gown. As she was leaving, she swiped the black cloak hanging on the coat hook by the door. It had little embroidered ladybugs lining the edges of the cape and hood, as well as a gold clasp. The mage donned the cloak and swept outside, locking the door as she went.

Marinette fumbled in the midst of her rush to meet Alya, her mind on the weight in her pocket.

Ah, yes. Tikki was a secret she would take to the grave.