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onyxylophone · 3 years

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@bakedbananners I hope this is more lighthearted than the last one was lmao

mcga/steven universe gem au! this one is solely inspired by the episode "hit the diamond"

"If This Fic Had a Sountrack it Would be Supermassive Black Hole"

"-Wayward gems! By decree of the Diamond Authority, all rogues must return to Homeworld for reassignment!"

Citrine let out a single, shuddering breath. He looked across to the other side of the open barn doorway. He made eye contact with Speridot and Lionskin Jasper, who also had their backs pressed to the wall. They looked as confused and mildly terrified as he felt.

"Surrender willingly, and tell us where to find the missing Jasper, or we'll be forced to enter your magnificent stronghold!"

Speridot made a face. She edged herself along the wooden wall, just barely peeking around the corner. Her mismatched face twisted into a deep concentration as her eyes scanned movement out in the field.

"What class of gem are they?" Lionskin Jasper hissed.

Speri squinted, "They're, uh...red?"

Lionskin glared at her teammate's back, "Red?" Her whispered voice went up an octave here, "We're all about to be shattered and all you can tell me is that they're red? Let me see-"

"No, wait," Speridot paused, suddenly going rigid, "I think they're rubies. Ruby guards."

Citrine raised an eyebrow, "How the hell do you know that?"

Speridot shrugged. She pulled back, retreating into the safety of the barn. Her and Lionskin shared a rapid, hushed conversation. Speridot smacked her fist down into the palm of her hand. It wasn't ASL, but Citrine had a pretty good idea what she meant. Lionskin firmly shook her head, scowling. Speridot grinned like a villain in a cartoon. Or maybe the Grinch.

I've handled a few rubies in my day! Let me out!

Not a chance. You still haven't given Speridot back her sunglasses.

I told you, I need those! They're bluelight reducing and without them I get these terrible migraines-

Citrine was abruptly pulled from his conversation with White Labradorite. He looked over at his companions just in time to watch Lionskin Jasper slam both of her fists over top of Speridot's skull, reducing the latter to shimmering smoke as her two-toned gem clattered to the floor.

Citrine jolted, "What the fuck are you-?!"

Lionskin raised a finger to shush him, before pointing first towards the open door, and then down at their friend's gem on the straw-covered ground. The seconds felt like hours, but within the minute, Speridot started to reform herself.

She reappeared inside the barn wearing a completely new outfit: today's choice was athletic shorts, knee-high socks, converse that alternated colors (one pink, one green), and a lime ringer t-shirt that said "NOT A GEM" in bright pink, glittery letters. There was an ascot tied around her neck to cover her cracking and a Hello! My Name Is: tag crudely slapped to her outfit that read Alex (human).

"...Subtle." Citrine remarked. Speridot stuck her tongue out at him.

"Merry Christmas, you two," She said, tossing something to each of her teammates, "Cover your gems."

Lionskin Jasper didn't waste any time, layering a magenta baseball cap over her hijab and pulling the brim down far enough to disguise the oval-shaped gem in her forehead. Citrine looked down at the Speri-souvenir he'd been gifted: a fluorescent fanny pack, complete with a stuffed cat keychain dangling from the zipper.

The quartz grimaced, "Do I have to wear this?"

"Only if you want to stay in one piece, I suppose," Speridot walked up to him, taking the bag out of his hands and wrapping her own around his waist to clip it into place. Citrine felt like his face was being dipped in lava. "Besides, I only lend the best stuff to friends who don't lose my favorite pair of sunglasses."

At least it covered up his gem.

Ask her if she keeps any snacks in there.

Citrine shook off Labradorite's projected images of fruit gummies, instead focusing on Lionskin as she gestured for his attention.

"Look for something to defend yourself with," She instructed, holding a battered shovel, "We can't summon our weapons in front of them."

Off to the side, Speridot grinned again. She was gleefully brandishing a pitchfork. The only other useful object Citrine could find was a baseball bat propped up in the corner.

Speridot was the first to leave the barn. She stepped out with all the confidence in the world, striding across the field towards the unfamiliar gems with a friendly smile plastered on her face.

"Hey, fellas!" She said loudly, leaning casually against her pitchfork, "What brings you to our farm?"

Lionskin groaned, burying her face in her hands. Citrine anxiously chewed his bottom lip, jogging up to Speridot as the rubies began looking her over.

"Give up, fugitive! You're under arrest, rogue ge-!" The ruby guard visibly read the text across Speri's shirt, "...Uh?"

"Oh, no, we're all human, actually." Speridot assured, putting a hand against her hip.

Another ruby gave her a suspicious look, "Oh, really?"

Speridot pointed a finger to the nametag on her clothes, "Mmm...yep. Says so right here."

A third ruby stepped forward, crossing his arms, "If you three are real humans, than show us something only humans can do!"

Speri blinked, finally at a loss for words. Citrine reached her side, panting slightly as he leaned on his bat like it was a cane. Fuck, he thought miserably as Lionskin Jasper joined their little crowd, what's something that…?

The quartz gem looked down at his makeshift weapon, suddenly jolting with realization. "Baseball!" He blurted, head snapping up as both the girls with him gave him a sideways look like he'd just lost his mind, "Uh...humans play baseball? Gems can't. They...suck at it."

"Then show us this...baaaseball."

"No!" Citrine shouted, making all the other gems jump slightly, "We don't...have enough players to play by ourselves! We need…you guys to be the other team? Three on three! A-and if you win, that must mean we're gems and just don't know it, so you'll have to arrest us. But if we win, that means we're humans! And also that you have to go away forever."

"Deal!"

"Wait, if you three are humans, then what are your names?"

"Alex," Speridot stated smoothly.

"Magnus?" Citrine said, sweating profusely, "I'm...Magnus. And this is...Sam…?"

"-irah," Speridot finished, flicking her head to the side briefly to swish her curly hair out of her eyes, "She's our sister, Samirah. We inherited this farm from our mother-"

"-Father-"

"-Our mother-father! They were...genderfluid."

"And are also dead now."

"Yes, yes. Very dead. We miss them every day."

"The farm's been so much more difficult without them…"

Lionskin simultaneously elbowed both of the other gems in their sides. "Anyway! Looks like you're batting first, Alex."

Speridot sauntered over towards home plate, taking the wooden bat from Citrine's outstretched hand. She leaned towards him and whispered as she walked past, "This is probably a bad time to tell you this, but between you and me, I've never played baseball before."

First swing. Strike.

Second swing. Strike.

Speridot grit her teeth, growling. Only one more shot. She readjusted her grip on the bat. Her eyes narrowed. The ruby pitching wound his arm back, then slung it forward sharply, sending the ball careening straight for home plate.

"Strike!" Speridot shouted. She spun around on her heel, slamming the bat full-force into the ruby catcher behind her. The side of the bat connected directly with that ruby's gem, creating a reverberating wave of sound that made everyone around cringe with pain.

"They're gems!"

The afflicted ruby vanished into smoke. Speridot dove, tucking into a roll. She grabbed the fallen gem, forming a bubble mid-roll and sending the Homeworld gem off to the temple before finally coming to a stop stomach-first on the grass.

Thwack!

Lionskin Jasper's discarded shovel had apparently been grabbed by one of the remaining rubies, who proceeded to smash it over Speridot's head, just narrowly missing her gem. Speri's vision sparked bright splotches of color, her ears ringing and pain exploding through her skull.

"AhhhhhHHHHHH!"

Citrine sprinted forward, lowering himself down enough to barrel into the ruby currently standing over Speridot. He tackled her assailant, somersaulting for a moment before coming back up straddling the foreign gem. He summoned his shield, banging it repeatedly against the ruby's face until ⅔ of the attackers were reduced to bubbled gems.

Lionskin Jasper handled the third ruby. She spun her trademark axe in circles over her head with both hands, gathering a shit-ton of momentum before swinging downwards, cleaving her opponent in half. Another bubble, another one-way ticket to the temple.

Lionskin breathed heavily, staring down at the dust swirling on the ground. She'd lost her hat somewhere in the fray. Citrine helped Speridot up on her feet. ("You okay?" "Yeah...yeah, I'm okay...") She leaned against him for support, her head still twisting and churning like the inside of a kaleidoscope.

Lionskin Jasper let her axe fall to the ground and dissolve into white sparkles. She wiped a streak of dirt off her face and turned to make eye contact with Citrine.

"I don't think I like baseball."

#I had a ridiculous amount of fun writing this :')#alex fierro #magnus chase #samirah al abbas #fierrochase #mcga #pjato #steven universe #my post #my writing #okay to rb

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knownbusiness · 2 years

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Some popular characters with the most fashionable anime clothing

Fashion and anime both come from two very diverse worlds. A vast number of people around the world love anime. But. recently, it has become more and more apparent that anime has influenced the street fashion of Japan. Moreover, it has created a revolution in the fashion industry.

Right from shopping streets to major runways, you will find people with anime clothing in the UK. In the anime world, people love the style of their favorite characters most. Besides, various anime fans look to the style of the main character of an anime while choosing a favorite.

You will find different stylish characters to select from several series. However, some characters come out at the absolute top throughout the years. This blog will devise some of the most fashionable characters’ outfits that impact anime merchandise in the UK.

Rohan Kishibe’s Bold- Practically, Rohan from the series Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure is already a designer. Being a mangaka, Rohan has an insane style sense.

Rohan is not just the best dressed. The whole design of Rohan spits style throughout the place. Truly, he is the king of fashion.

The innovative style of Bulma Briefs- None can make a list of fashionable anime characters without including the queen of anime and manga fashion. In the Dragon Ball series, Bulma has been shown having outfits for every occasion throughout her time. She changes outfits more times in one volume than other characters have in the whole series.

Bulma has rocked normal earthling clothing. Also, she has created some killer stylish space outfits. Moreover, she has an improved version of the Saiyan battle armour even. Probably, she would have a great gig as a clothing designer if she was not already rich.

Monkey D. Luffy’s Designer Collabs- Luffy is not too famous to be so well-dressed in the actual One Piece series. But, he has been shown outside the anime and manga for making some key fashion statements.

Probably, these outfits were not picked out by Luffy, but, he dresses in them better than most. He shows that he won’t be famous just for making the iconic straw hat a fashion statement.

Kintaro Oe’s 80s Style- Golden Boy is one of the funniest animes around. Also, it features one of the most stylish characters in the medium. Though, Kintaro Oe is a quirky goofball, but, literally, he wears the epitome of great ‘80s clothing.

The first thing through which the viewers get attracted is this awesome style continuously worn by this main character. He wears abstract anime tees or shirts as soon as the series begins. Kintaro dictates that old-style will never die wearing an abstract shirt to the backward hat, so-80s-it-hurts backpack and fanny pack.

Ichigo Kurosaki as an Anime Model- Ichigo, is the main character and one of the dressed anime characters. Truly, his aesthetic spoke to a generation. Moreover, it was one of the main factors in getting a number of fans into the Bleach series.

Ichigo has been featured in different outfits in several pieces of art. Practically, it makes him an anime model. Fans cannot get enough of seeing this rebel in stylish apparel and clearly they never will.

Fujiko Mine’s Large Wardrobe- People would see Faye Valentine as one of the queens of anime femme Fatales. On the other hand, the Lupin the III series’s Fujiko Mine would have to be called the goddess.

She is almost never seen dressing in the same outfit while going from series to series. But, she always is wearing the best fits possible with the best anime accessories. Whatever the mission or the outfit is, Fujiko makes an effort always to look her best.

Future Trunks’ Iconic Jean Jacket Outfit- Future Trunks is the first character that usually comes to mind if you talk about style or swag within the Dragon Ball series. You will find several people who may believe that Trunks is a bit of an overrated character. But, you cannot say that his style is overrated.

Unlike several Dragon Ball characters, Trunks has got dressed in different outfits. Generally, this character is well-known and recognisable for its short jean jacket outfit.

All these characters influence the fashion industry a lot. Nowadays, people won’t get surprised if they hear about an anime-themed party fashion show. Anime-themed apparel like anime hoodies or tees and accessories too is quickly gaining in popularity.

#anime clothing in UK #Anime Merchandise in UK #Anime Accessories #Anime Hoodies

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einsteinsugly · 3 years

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Zoomer Jackie Burkhart, circa 2022;

Likes: Puffy sleeves, ditsy florals, sundresses, lattice hem tops, cute little cardi tank sets, two-piece sets in general, shell necklaces/bracelets, embroidery, pastels, peasant tops (even if she's definitely not a peasant), flare jeans, high rise skinnies (she knows they're dated, but she's not wearing baggy jeans. gross), rattan straw bags (especially those circular ones), butterfly printed clothing/jewelry (as long as it isn't gaudy looking), ruched/smocked blouses, midi skirts, babydoll and/or wrap tops, ruffles

Dislikes: OMG ATHLEISURE, bucket hats, neons, ripped jeans, mom jeans (can't you try a regular straight-legged jean or something?), dad sneakers, camo print, biker shorts, fanny packs, oversized tees, wearing sunglasses on the tip of your nose, gaudy brand name streetwear, "Instagram baddie" fashion/most of the stupid things the Kardashians wear

Places to shop: American Eagle, Hollister, Nordstrom, Madewell, Lulu's, Anthropologie

Places to avoid: Walmart, Target (usually, but she finds some things there sometimes...shh, don't tell Donna), Fashion Nova (and all those similar places)

#that 70s show #that 90s show #jackie burkhart #shoplook.io #shoplook

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aileenmacnee · 4 years

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Aileen knew that she should have eaten a better breakfast that morning, knowing that boot camp was going to kick her ass. She made a mental note to call her endocrinologist later, and she shakily moved off her running path and sat down, taking her glucometer out of her fanny pack to check her blood sugar, along with a juice box. Slowly, she pricked her finger and sighed at the result, pulling the straw off the box and jabbing it into the top of the juice. Looking up, she blinked, wide-eyed, as she saw someone close by. “Just a low blood sugar,” she explained. “I’ll be up and running in about fifteen minutes.” She gave them a thumbs up, just to emphasize her point. // @gallagherstart

#gallagher:start #starter;

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birdsandspades · 4 years

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I Get A Kick Out Of You (A Bakugou Oneshot)

-Pro hero Bakugou and you are on a mission to the past. How will they navigate a day in 1959, will they even find the guy they are after. Maybe a movie, milkshake, and some dancing will help them get to the bottom of it.

Word Count - 6,069

-As you can imagine I Get A Kick Out Of You by Frank Sinatra inspired this, and also the need to go dancing with Bakugou. I had a lot of fun writing this, I hope you like it!

—-

“Alright, so you two know who you’re looking for?” The chief of police handed you a manila folder, looking between you and your partner as you stepped onto the platform.

You nodded, “I’m sure someone like Cryptid will stick out in a crowd.” You looped your arm through the one next to you, pulling them closer. Your other hand pulling down your visor on your helmet.

“Let’s just get this shit over, I fucking hate traveling…” Bakugou groaned, trying to pull away from your hold as he clipped the latch closed on his own.

The chief took a step back, giving you a brief nod. “I expect you back here tomorrow, don’t be messing around. We don’t want anyone noticing you two are from the future.”

“Don’t worry, i’ll keep Bakugou in check!” You tugged him back, gloved fingers digging into his jumpsuit.

“You’ll do what?” He was jolted forward, space and time quite literally bending around him as he clung onto your arm for dear life. Everything around him moved at a dizzying pace. Life itself rewinding as he stood in the middle of it all. Buildings deconstructing, days winding back, people retracing their own steps as they moved back to their very beginnings.

All at once it stopped. Bakugou clutching your arm, fistfuls of your suit in his hands as he tried to steady the shaking in his knees. It all rushed up, breakfast. He pushed you away, throwing off his helmet as he keeled over. This always happened.

You soothed your hand over his back, cooing as you shifted the backpack off your shoulder. “Bakugou you ok?”

“No, I’m not ok. Your quirk fucking sucks!” He stood up, wiping his mouth.

You offered him a water bottle, his feverish hands snatching it before you could even utter a word.

“Well, looks like we made it ok..ish. I think we can change out of our travel suits back here before heading to the street.” You pulled out a shirt from your bag, looking around the alleyway. You were behind some kind of group of restaurant, the street just ahead. People rushed past as they went about the day. You had arrived, 1959 Boston, Massachusetts.

Bakugou had collected himself enough, leaning back against a parked pontiac. “So where is this asshole?”

“The file says somewhere in this suburban area.” You turned back to him, handing him the file. “They marked some places on the map, we spotted him in a few newspaper clippings all dated for today. So we just need to hit up every location until we see him.”

He nodded along, flipping through the pages. “So what are we staging as this time?”

Everytime you went to a new time you always had an act set up. Something to help you blend in as you went about the mission. Sometimes it was siblings, sometimes total strangers. It all depended on the mission.

“A teenage couple out on the town!” You beamed, pulling out Bakugou’s disguise.

“What the fuck is this shit!” He took the bright striped button up, nose wrinkling in disgust. “And the pants, what asshole would wear these?” He ripped the bright blue pleated slacks from your other hand.

“You will.” You layed out your own outfit on the back of the Bonneville, a knee length full cherry red skirt, and a white cotton button up. The typical fashion of a 50’s teen, you had done your research.

“This is the last time I let you pick out this shit. I should have told you to fuck off after those bellbottom pants last time!.” He complained, unlacing his boots.

“Hey! Those were amazing pants you asshole!.” You kicked off your own shoes, pulling off your socks.

“They were fucking pink y/n, baby fucking pink.” He unzipped his suit, letting it slide down his back.

“You just have no taste in fashion Bakugou.” You unzipped your own, shimmying it down your shoulders.

“Hey!” He turned around, face red as he caught sight of your exposed back.

“Turn around!” You screamed, covering yourself.

He did as asked, chuckling. “I have plenty of fashion taste.” He stepped out of the suit pants, throwing it towards the open bag.

“Yeah, whatever you say fanny pack.” You were tucking in your shirt into your skirt, feet slipping into your white kitten heels.

“Why do you always bring up that fucking fanny pack, it was one time!” He buttoned the last button on his shirt, tugging at the crotch of his pants. They were too high, sitting just under his belly button. The shirt was comfortable enough, way too bright for what he usually wore. The red, yellow, white and blue stripes ran vertically along the short sleeve, all fighting for space on the small print. “Why are these pants so fucking high up?” He pulled at the material again, turning around to complain to you. He stopped, eyes wandering over you as you smoothed over your hair. A smile tried it’s best to pull at his permanent frown, and it almost won. But you just had to talk.

“What?” You glared, brushing off your skirt.

“You look stupid.” He spat, walking over to shove his helmet into the backpack.

“Asshole, I’m putting in for a new partner when we get back.” You grabbed the bag from him, zipping it closed. You threw it in a box by a dumpster, safe until you returned.

“Yeah you always say that. But guess who’s still here.” He ruffled your hair, pushing your head away as he walked ahead of you.

You ran to catch up, eyes going wide as you stepped onto the open street. You had been almost everywhere at this point, seen almost everything. But this, this was something else. You looked down the street, cars parked along the buildings in every pastel color you could think off. Teens walked past, laughing as they enjoyed their Saturday out of school. You could hear the newest Ray Charles record playing from the store across the street, What’d I Say, an absolute classic. A group of boys ran out of the front door with penny candy in hand, pushing through a group of women waiting outside a newspaper stand next door. It was simple, quirkless.

“Hey idiot, where are we going?” Bakugou nudged you, giving you a judgement look.

“Oh, um. The first place marked is called Pam’s. It says it’s a restaurant. He was photographed outside in a picture submitted for a photo contest in the newspaper…” You turned the map over in your hand, trying to make out the lines from the line? This was all starting to look the same.

Bakugou pulled the map from your hands, folding it as he pointed down the road. “That fucking Pam’s?” He gave you an angry smile, shoving the map into his back pocket.

You returned the look, grabbing his arm. “Well let’s go smartass.” You walked together down the road towards the dinner, couples passing by. They held hands, leaning against one another as they talked. Smiles bright, love in their eyes.

You looked between Bakugou’s clenched fist and your own empty hand before scowling.

“What is that ugly face for?” He looked ahead, not sparing you a glance.

“Were supposed to be a couple, hold my hand like that.” You pointed to the couple exiting the dinner doors.

“No, we’re already here. Now fuck off.” He held the door open for you, watching as you walked under his arm.

“Two?” The lady smiled from over the counter, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Yeah please.” You nodded.

“Follow me hun.” She lifted up the flip top, walking you both down the rows of red and white booths. She stopped at one by the back of the diner setting down two menus. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

You slid into the plush seat, Bakugou sitting across you. He took a menu, pushing the other to you as he looked over the burgers.

“What are you getting?” He looked over the top of the laminated sheet, already decided.

“I think just a shake, and maybe some of your fries…?” You set down your own, smiling innocently.

“Get your own fucking…” He was cut short, your server walking back up to the table.

“Decided yet?” She pulled out a pen and pad, looking between the two of you.

“I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries.” Bakugou handed her the menu, eyes squinting as he looked over at you.

He was daring you to say it.

“And i’ll have a strawberry shake.” You smiled at the women, handing her your own menu.

“No food?” She clicked the pen, folding the menus under her arm.

Bakugou glared your way, shaking his head.

He just wanted you to say it.

“No thank you.” You turned to face him, smirking. “I’ll just share with him.”

He sank in his seat as the waitress walked away. “You always do this shit. You’re going to eat all my fries again.”

He was right, you probably were.

You leaned over the table, rolling your eyes at the temper tantrum about to ensure. “Stop crying, we aren’t here to eat. We have to find Cryptid, so keep an eye out.

“What did he even steal again, some stupid blueprints?” Bakugou turned his head, looking over the occupied tables.

“Yeah if by some stupid blueprints you mean the one for the bomb they were planning on sticking under UA.” You greeted the couple passing by before turning back to your partner.

“That quirk eradicating thing?” He sat back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, the one Chisaki was making. Something like that would deviate the school.” You sat up, the waitress approaching with your order.

“Here you go honey, one cheeseburger. And a strawberry shake, two straws.” She winked your way before leaving to attend to another table.

“Two fucking straws, why would you need two straws?” Bakugou frowned at the shake, picking up his burger.

You looked behind him, cheeks heating up. The couple leaned over the table, forehead pressed together as they sipped from their shake. The same shake, two straws. You cleared your throat, pulling the glass closer. “I don’t know…”

Bakugou gave you a weird look, turning around in the booth. “That, that’s what’s got you so worked up?” He pointed a thumb towards the booth, chuckling as you sipped your shake.

“No, it’s not like we have to share the fucking thing. Eat your food and shut up…” You tried to hide the flush creeping up your skin.

“What if I want some?” He smirked, you didn’t hide it well enough.

“Then you can drink it without me attached to it…”

“Hey baby, your date here giving you trouble?” A tall man pressed his hands on the table top, eyes glued on you. His friends leaned against the bar top a few tables behind snickering.

“Oh no thank yo…” You looked across the table, Bakugou’s fingers digging into the wooden sides.

“Because if he is, I wouldn’t mind sitting with you.” He leaned down, blocking your view of Bakugou’s contorting face.

“I’m fine, no thank yo…” You could see small glimpses of Bakugou’s face over the man’s shoulder darting back and forth as he tried to see around him.

“It’s a shame, I would sit with you. Maybe share that…”

Bakugou stood up, pushing past the man as he shoved himself into you. He slid the both of you further into the booth, grabbing the shake from your hands. “Fuck off, it’s my straw.” He took a drink from your shake, glaring as the man walked off.

“Hey! Don’t drink all of it!” You ripped the shake from his hands, setting it down on the far side of the table.

“I don’t see the guy, let’s just go to the next location before some other fuckwad comes over.” He frowned, throwing some money on the table.

“I want to finish this.” You frowned, picking up the shake to take a drink.

Bakugou watched you taking small sips from the straw, groaning loudly. “Jesus let me help you with that grandma.” He took the other straw, lips connecting with the plastic as his forehead brushed yours.

You could have sworn you saw a hint of pink brush his cheeks, but all thoughts of that were erased when his crimson eyes met yours.

“Stop looking at me with that ugly face…” Bakugou pulled away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can we just get going already?” He grabbed your hand, tugging you out of the booth.

You watched as he pulled you along, staring at his hand tightly wrapped around yours. Bakugou had never been one to get jealous easily. But maybe he was just playing the part well today.

“Where are we going next?”

“The next picture is of the movie theater. It’s opening night for The Mummy, they got him in the shot of the crowd lined up.” You rushed behind him, feet dragging behind you as he pulled you out of the restaurant.

“Well let’s go, I want to get this over with. These pants are riding up in places pants shouldn’t be.”

You groaned loudly, you didn’t need to know that.

You walked behind Bakugou to the theater, his hand still wrapped around your own. His pace had slowed down once you left the diner, but the tension in his shoulder reamined, tightly wound as he stomped his way across the street.

Passerbys watched in horror as he trudged up to the ticket booth. Were you in need of help, who was this gorilla of a man dragging you behind him. You apologized as he pushed through the line, angry looks following you as he aggressively shoved a bill into the ticket slot.

“Two tickets for that.” He pointed to the poster, glaring at the teller.

The man pushed the change and the tickets through the slot without another word, relaxing once Bakugou mumbled and groaned his way into the building.

“Hey hot head, you’re drawing too much attention. If you’re not careful you may set off your quirk.” You harshly whispered into his ear as he walked up to the concession stand, his hand dampening in your own.

You knew him well enough to know that the angry he got, the more prone he was to slip ups.

You pushed past him to the front of the counter. “What do you want hangry? I’ll buy it.”

Bakugou huffed, pointing to the bag of atomic fireballs.

“Can I get a bag of those, a popcorn, and a coke please.” You hand the lady at the register a few dollars as another worker prepared your snacks. “Thank you.” You took the popcorn from the counter and the soda, leaving the candy for Bakugou to grab as you walked down the hallway to the theater.

“You shouldn’t be so nice when people are bothering you F/N.” Bakugou mumbled behind you, more aggravated than mad now.

“We have a mission, I can’t just tell people to fuck off Katsuki. Trust me I would have loved to…” You added, pushing open the door.

He stared at you, shaking his head. A small smile tugging at his lips as he walked down the aisle behind you. You were something else.

You sat down a few rows back, Bakugou sitting beside you as he took the popcorn from your lap. “So we just hang out here and wait for him to show up?”

“Yeah, he came to this show. He should be here somewhere.” You took a sip of your soda, watching as the seats filled up around you.

“I don’t see him F/N.” Bakugou leaned in to whisper in your ear, the lights turning off as the movie started.

“He’s here. Just give it some time.” You leaned up against his shoulder, settling against him as you watched the movie.

Bakugou wanted to protest, you were on a mission. But letting you lay against him like this wouldn’t hurt, just for a little bit.

Soon a good portion of the movie had gone by, your popcorn bucket empty as you reached your hand inside.

“Katsuki, i’m going to get more.” You shook the empty popcorn bucket, standing up.

He nodded, eyes glued on the screen. He was enthralled.

You slid past him into the aisle way, making your way out into the theater hallways. You walked back up to the concession stand, waiting your turn as the line moved forward.

You looked over the room, doing a double take at the front door. The man turned around, the same familiar weasley features you had been looking at all day.

He made eye contact with you, eyes going wide as you stepped out of the line. He looked around before booking it out of the theater, pushing over a few men as he ran out onto the street.

You chased after him out the door, watching him run down the street towards the roller rink. “Shit.” You cursed, walking back into the theater. You rushed down the hallways, pushing the theater door open as you walked over to Bakugou.

“Katsuki, I saw Cryptid. We have to go.” You leaned over his shoulder, turning his attention away from the screen.

“You saw him?” He stood up, people yelling from behind him to sit down. He put two hands over your ears, glaring at the people behind him.

You watched him shout, unable to hear a thing through his hands. People threw popcorn, angrily yelling back from the looks on their faces. Bakugou pulled you out of the theater, people booing him as he pushed you out of the doors.

“What did you say?” You looked at him, eyes going wide. You had heard him say some vulgar things, but never anything that had warranted that kind of reaction.

“I ruined the ending.” He looked around the theater, eyes landing on you again. “Where did he go?”

“Oh! The roller rink, I chased him out of the theater and he ran down the road.” It was now your turn to pull him behind you, tugging the blonde along as you ran out of the theater and towards the roller rink.

“You chased after him. F/N you should have just come and got me.” Bakugou contested, his fingers slipping from your grip. He always had a problem with getting sweaty when he got worked up, and the thought of you running off alone after a villain was making his heart race. He laced his fingers with your, a better alternative that would keep him attached to you.

“I did come get you, but he saw me and took off. I didn’t want to lose him…” You slowed to a stop outside the roller rink doors. It was already getting dark outside, the sun starting to set behind the skyline. You would have to catch him here, if you took any longer you were going to run out of options.

You walked up to the shoe counter at the front of the building, stepping up on the platform as you waited for someone to come out.

“Hey folks, welcome in! No rollerskates tonight, we close down for dancing on Saturdays, but you’re welcome to head on in!” A younger gentleman popped his head out of the office door, pointing towards the roller floor.

“Let’s just take a look around, he may be hiding in the group.” You thanked the man, walking behind Bakugou to the crowd of teenagers below.

“I am not dancing.” He turned to you, shaking his head slowly. It was his one rule on missions, no dancing. He hated it, hated the attention. It was a useless skill and he didn’t want to waste time doing it, especially on a mission.

“Katsuki I know you hate it, but we are going to stick out just standing here. Let’s just do one song, work our way through the crowd. If we don’t see him we can leave.” You pleaded with him. The mass of people was thick, too thick to see everyone inside it. You would have to sift through them to even get to the other side of the building.

“No, i’m not saying it again. You can go find someone else to dance with you in that shit.” He folded his hands over his chest. He didn’t mean that, he would probably knock anyone who touched you’s teeth out, let alone let them hold onto you for a whole three minutes.

“Katsuki, if we don’t catch this guy we will fail this mission. Do you want to fail the mission?”

He groaned, throwing his hands up. He hated dancing, he hated seeing people touch you, he hated that look you were giving him. But he absolutely despised failing a mission, the paperwork was atrocious.

He took your hand, practically throwing you onto the dance floor as he trudged behind you. Can it just be a slow dance, something simple and easy.

The music changed, the beginning notes of In the Mood started. The mass of people opened, each couple their own space as everyone settled into the beat of the trumpets. It was swing, a form of dance he sadly knew well.

Bakugou had been cursed at birth with parents who loved more refined things in life. He from a young age was introduced to piano, male fashion, and dancing. Stupid fucking dancing. His parents made him take classes until he started at UA, they said it would help him in becoming a great hero one day. He had taken a liking to swing early on, it was something he could see himself using in his training one day.

He did in fact see a difference in his hand to hand combat skills after he got the technique down, but fuck him. He was actually going to have to use it for its original purpose.

“Do you even know how to swing?” He groaned, taking your hand.

“A little, we practiced it for fun during ballet.” You leaned in, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He had forgotten about your musical upbring, you had suffered through almost as much as he did.

“Just don’t fall on your ass…” Bakugou started to move his feet, he would take it easy for your sake.

You mirrored him, holding onto his hand tight as he swung you around.

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. You couldn’t help but giggle, beaming as you danced around the hall.

He wanted to complain, but you looked so happy. It was rubbing off on him, that bubbly feeling of just being in the moment with you.

“Want to try something?” He yelled over the music, lifting his arm to twirl you.

“Yes!” You shouted, smiling as you came around.

He let go of one hand, swinging you out. He reeled you back in, his free hand coming under you back as he swung you to one side, then the other as you did a full roll over his shoulder. Your feet touched back down on the ground as he spun you out again.

You laughed, absolutely shocked. “The girls in my class were never strong enough to do that.” You took his other hand again as he chuckled.

“You’re a lot easier to dance with compared to the old hag that taught me.”

You very seldom saw this side of Bakugou, the soft side of him. The happy side. He had been assigned to you as a partner years ago because of a broadcasting incident. The poor man was always so wound up, a ball of nerves. It was only a matter of time before he punched a cameraman for getting in his face. You were a low contact hero, someone who worked behind the scenes. Hell you honestly never got recognized for what you even did. It seemed like a match made in heaven, a quiet hero looking for a partner, and a hotheaded pro looking to get out of the spotlight.

It started as a punishment, something to cool his head for a month or two. He went on a few missions with you, nothing too far back. But the anger and tension practically melted off the guy every time you went out. He liked it, the lack of pressure. No one knew who he was, no one expected anything of him. He could just be a hero, just save the day. No reports, no news casts, no civilians screaming at him.

You were his only concern, to keep you safe. You never expected him to do anything more. Before long he had asked to be assigned to you. It was a demotion honestly, he was one of the top 10 heroes after all. But most day’s it felt like he was everyone’s favorite punching bag. Not even a hero in society’s eyes, just the person they loved to hate. But you, you never did that. Sure you would argue with him, and he had to admit it was fun to have someone who was just as snappy as he was around. But you never blamed him, never accused him, never labeled him.

He was just Katsuki Bakugou to you, and maybe Ground Zero when he was being an asshole.

The song ended, everyone easing to a stop around the dance floor. A good section of the group made their way off the dance floor, breaking for water.

Bakugou looked around the room as he took a deep breath. “Now’s the best chance to find the guy.”

You nodded, the next song starting. You turned to walk off the dance floor, a warm hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Hey, where are you going? You won’t be able to see him from up there.” He pulled you back, resting a hand on your hip.

“I thought we agreed on one song?” You tilted your hand, letting your hand fall on his shoulder.

“You said it yourself, we’re going to have to work our way through the crowd.” He took a step back, swaying with the music.

You opened your mouth to protest, just smiling instead. You laid your head on his shoulder, scanning the crowd behind him. Why not kill two birds with one stone.

Bakugou did the same, leaning his head against your own. He looked for the uncommon top of silver white hair. Cryptid blended in with the people back home, but here his look was uncommon. He had gotten his name from how easily he disappeared into a crowd, almost as if he had never been there at all. But he had made the mistake of traveling too far back in time. The gene pools were smaller, more predictable. No one had bright hair, unnatural eyes, quirks.

“Hey man, what do you think you’re doing!”

You lifted your head up, turning towards the sound of commotion coming from the front shoe desk.

A man was chasing someone out the front doors, “That guy stole my wallet!”

You looked at Bakugou before running off the dance floor and out the roll rink doors. Cryptid stood across the street, his eyes locked onto yours as he took off down the alley behind him.

You tried to run after him, Bakugou grabbing your arm as a car passed by. “Do you want to get hit?” He yelled, tugging you back.

You watched the villain disappear between the rushing cars. You sighed in defeat, this guy was pretty good at this vanishing stuff.

“We can just catch him at the next location.” Bakugou frowned.

“Yeah…” You reached for his back pocket, patting only fabric. You turned him around, patting at his ass.

“Fuck F/N, stop touching my ass!” He slapped your hand away, his face growing hot.

“Katsuki, where is the map? You had it last.” You looked at him, panic growing. Without that map you had no way of knowing where he would be next in this massive city.

“I put it in my back pocket…” He patted the space, eyes widening. “When did I lose it?”

“You took it from me before me went to Pam’s…it could be anywhere…” You sat down on the side of the road, pedestrians staring as they walked past.

“Do you remember where he went next?” Bakugou sat down next to you, rubbing his temples.

“No, because someone took the map from me when I was looking at it.” You glared over at him, mood souring.

“Well fuck F/N, do you remeber anything we can use?” He complained, scowling at the empty alleyway.

“Maybe…I remember seeing something about a stolen car found on the top of the hill. It was supposed to be an extra tip just in case.”

“It’s worth a try, get up.” He offered you a hand, pulling you to your feet.

“What are you doing? We won’t be able to walk all the way there.” You followed him across the street, walking back into the alley you came from.

“We aren’t walking. Grab the bag.” Bakugou walked up to the parked pontiac, jiggling the handle.

You pulled the backpack out of the empty box you had left it in, walking over to the car.

Bakugou gave it a few more tugs, ripping the handle off of the car door. He pulled the door open, leaning under the steering wheel.

“Katsuki we can’t steal a car!” You harshly whispered, looking around for watchers.

“Why not, they are going to find one up there already, why not just leave this one too.” He connected the wires unearth, the car stuttering a few times before it started. He stood up, turning to you. “Or do you have a better idea?”

“…I guess not.” You threw your hands up, walking over to the passenger side.

Bakugou got inside the car, leaning over to unlock your own door. He pushed it open, sitting back in the driver’s seat.

You sat down, throwing the backpack in the back seat. “Do you even know how to drive one of these?”

“It’s a manual, not a spaceship.” He pressed down on the clutch and shifted to first gear, his other tapping the accelerator as the car moved forward.

This man never ceased to amaze you.

Bakugou pulled out of the alleyway and onto the street. “Where are we going?”

“Up there.” You pointed down the road, your fingers landing on the distant hill on the horizon. “It’s called a look out point I think.”

“Gross.” Bakugou’s face soured. Intimacy, disgusting.

You chuckled, leaning forward to turn on the radio. You clicked through the stations stopping a few in. “Hey, I know this song.” You looked over at the irritated blonde, rolling his eyes. It was Frank Sinatra I Get A Kick Out Of You, something you had heard in a taxi a long time ago.

Bakugou tapped his finger along on the steering wheel as he rounded the road up to the top of the mountain. It was catchy. He glanced over at you, face pressed against the window as you looked down at the city skyline. It was close to dark now, the tips of the sun barely brushing the tops of the lowest buildings. The street lights were kicking on all around the city as he drove up the dark dirt road, the soft light of parked cars peaking over the top.

He pulled into the lot at the top, parking a few open spaces down from the full rows of cars. He turned off the engine and shut off the lights, the night stars popping out one by one as your eyes adjusted to the night sky.

“Hey what does this button do?” You pressed the button on the roof back, the top clicking off as it moved back into the trunk space.

“Hey, don’t be fucking with things!” Bakugou groaned, trying to stop the top from tucking away. He looked at you, hand lowering.

The sky had opened up now, the shine of every star filled the empty space in your eyes as you stared at awe. You filled his as he sank into his seat, watching you gush over the sea of lights above the both of you.

“I’ve never seen this many. We usually never stay this late…” You laid back in your seat, counting every twinkle in the sky.

There were perks of living in such an advanced society, but there were also drawbacks. One major one being the light pollution. You had never really seen the stars, not like this. The city was too bright to see anything but the north star and the moon. But this was everything in between, the last dying breaths of the constellations above.

You reached a hand over, brushing your fingers over Bakugou’s. “Katsuki I think that one is Mars.” You pointed up, looking over at him.

“What one?” He leaned over trying to line up his site with your extended finger.

“That one.” You pointed again.

“I don’t see it.” He leaned over a bit more, shoulder brushing yours.

“That red one!” You grumbled as he leaned over you.

Bakugou rested his hand on the side of your head, leaning down to brush his lips over your own. He pressed in you, kissing you sweetly.

You tangled you fingers with his shirt as he pulled back, a smirk adorning his face.

“Hey, we’re working!” You blushed, covering your face with your hands.

“We are working.” He laughed, sitting back in his seat. He looked out the window, no sign of new cars.

“Do you think he will show up?” You sat up, looking at the row of cars.

“Maybe, we just have to wait and see.” Bakugou squinted at the movement coming from the car a few spots down before turning away.

“What’s wrong, did you see him?” You leaned over, trying to get a better look.

Bakugou threw his hand over your eyes, pushing you back into your seat.“ You don’t want to see.”

Your cheeks heated up, he was probably right.

You heard a scream come from the direction, both of your heads whipping around as you pulled his hand down.

“Hey get your hands off my girlfriend!”

You saw a man get out of the car, pulling someone else out behind him. He was in his underwear, hair messy as he threw the man on the ground.

“That’s Cryptid!” You shouted, pointing to the man trying to stand up.

The other man swung his arm, knocking the villain out in one punch. He crumpled to the ground, limp in the dirt. The other man got back into his car, starting the engine as he drove off.

Bakugou unlocked the car door getting out, you scrambled behind him as you crawled over the seat. You both walked over to the unconscious man, turning him over to see his face.

“Yeah, he’s out cold…” You touched the man’s chest, making sure he was still breathing.

“He must have seen us and tried to hide in that car.” Bakugou picked up the man by the back of his shirt, holding him like a wet cat.

“Well…that was convenient.” You walked back to the car, pulling the bag out of the back seat. “We should get him back before the chief throws a fit. It’s getting pretty late.”

You pulled out your jumpsuits, slipping it on over your clothes. You handed Bakugou his, trading him from the collar of the villain as he got dressed to leave.

“Let’s just say we did it, don’t need the chief knowing we let some highschool football player catch this idiot.” Bakugou reached out a hand, pulling you into his side.

“Looks like the mission is done.” You wrapped an arm around him, holding him close.

“Yeah.” He took the man from you, shaking his head. “Can we go home so I can stop pretending to be your teenage boyfriend, I like being your adult fiance more.” He flashed you a small smile before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Yeah, we still need to talk about wedding cakes tonight.” You smirked, handing him his helmet. You clicked down your visor, as he slid his on.

Bakugou groaned, “We can’t just do it in the morning?” He was jolted forward, the both of you vanishing from the hilltop parking lot.

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sacredwhores · 7 months

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Vicente Aranda - Fanny Straw-Top (1984)

#film #vicente aranda #fanny straw top #fanny strawhair #fanny pelopaja #1984

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koala-otter · 4 years

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incomplete fic 5: fashion au

Republic City Fashion Week had arrived. Out on the streets? It was a heyday of leaf litter and well-dressed visitors modeling their patterned three-piece suits, floor-length fall coats, thigh-high combat boots, and patent-leather fanny packs for photographers vaulting over the tops of cars and tripping over pedestrians’ feet with cameras strapped across their chests.

Inside the shows? Disaster.

“No, not the fur, just the canvas sneaker!” Sokka cried exasperatedly. He grabbed the shoes in question and handed them to the model. “Were you even at the fitting?”

She took the sneakers in hand and stared at him owlishly once before running off back to the crowd of other models.

A hand landed on Sokka’s back and he looked behind himself to find Katara, dressed impeccably in a royal blue slip dress and patterned blazer from his last fall collection, looking concerned.

“You need to calm down, Sokka,” she said. “We can’t have you bursting a blood vessel in the last fifteen minutes before the show.”

“I’m not gonna burst a blood vessel,” he argued. He adjusted the kimono layered over his cropped button-down shirt. “We’re just fifteen min—” He checked his watch, a platinum gift to himself purchased after the first time the label hit a million yuan in sales. His eyes widened. “Now fourteen, Katara, fourteen minutes till showtime, and the models aren’t even finished getting dressed.”

“They’re getting dressed,” Katara promised him, not taking her hand away even as he looked toward the models. “Let the stylists handle it.”

“And what?” Sokka said, crossing his arms. “Just start late?”

“Shows start late all the time,” Katara reasoned.

“Mine don’t,” Sokka replied. “And we’re down a model! I do one favor for Hahn to help him get his career off the ground, even though his walk is the worst, and he can’t even show up on time.”

“I know,” Katara said with a sigh.

Sokka pouted a second more until he spotted Suki, striding toward them in a sheer, gold-embroidered top and emerald green trousers from his first-ever fall collection.

“Suki!” he exclaimed, and she greeted them with a wan smile.

“Don’t get excited yet,” she said. She turned to Sokka. “I don’t want to stress you out, but I think you should know. I sent the invite to ShiShang.”

“What?” Sokka cries.

“I know, but they’re the world’s top fashion magazine.” Suki crossed her arms. “I’d be pretty shitty at PR if I didn’t at least try to get them to cover your show.”

Katara looked at Suki. “Who’d they send?”

“Their editor-in-chief.”

Katara gasped, and Sokka’s jaw dropped.

“Say sike right now.”

“I can’t, Sokka,” Suki said weakly.

“Zuko Watanabe is at this show? Here? Right now?”

“Front row.”

“Front row?”

“Right below the hanging kayak.”

Sokka let out a groan, long and low. They had rented out the boating wing of the Southern Water Tribe Cultural Center for the show.

“Oh, come on, Snoozles, he’s not that bad.”

Sokka looked up to find Toph striding over, equipped with her cane, and her arm looped through Aang’s. She grinned devilishly.

“You and Katara need to get over your little grudge against Zuko if you’re gonna make it in this industry,” she said, “considering Suki’s right, and he has the highest circulation in the world.”

“The grudge is for what he did to you and Aang!” Sokka sputtered.

“And it’s really nice of you guys,” Aang said diplomatically, “but it really was just a misunderstanding. How was he supposed to know Air Nomad patterns influenced the Fire Nation’s?”

“He’s a trained journalist,” Katara said, crossing her arms. “It’s his job to research that stuff.”

“Yeah, I can’t help thinking he could have done a little more before accusing you of appropriation,” added Sokka.

“And he apologized for it years ago.” Aang grinned when Katara drew up close to him, and he kissed her cheek despite the doubtful expression on her face.

“He’s more than made up for it,” Toph said. “How do you think the prices for your textiles are so low? We make a ton every year from that home goods deal he set up for us.”

Sokka gawked at her. “Since when do you care about our prices?”

Toph stuck her tongue out in his direction. “Since you started judging my friend unfairly.”

“Your friend?” Sokka nearly shrieked. “After everything—you know what, I don’t have time for this.” Sokka pulled away from the group. “Because I have Zuko Watanabe sitting front row for my first spring collection, and my models aren’t even finished getting dressed.” He threw his arms in the air. “And where the fuck is Hahn!”

A model walking by, sipping ice water through a straw, stopped next to Sokka. “Hahn?” he asked.

“Yes, Hahn,” Sokka practically yelled. “Do you know where he is?”

“Hahn’s not coming,” the model said, resuming his sipping. “He’s on Ember Island for some influencer gig.”

He walked away, Sokka not-so-silently seething behind him.

“Great!” Sokka cried, turning back around to face his friends. “We have,” he looked down at his watch, “eight minutes until the show starts, and I have no model.” His head fell into his hands. “I don’t know how this could get any—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Katara said, laying a hand on his shoulder, “please.”

Sokka nodded, and then he wilted to the floor. “I have to skip look number eight, then.”

Katara rubbed his back, a sympathetic frown on her face. “I’m sorry, Sokka. I know how much look number eight means to you.”

Suki nudged Aang. He looked down at her with a small smile.

“Do you think you could do it?” she whispered to him.

Aang’s smile changed to slightly regretful, and he shook his head quickly. “I’ve volunteered before, but,” he said, pointing to his bald head, “Sokka says I’m too tall to model.”

Toph laughed out loud, and Sokka looked up sharply, tears in his eyes, just in time to see Suki sigh.

“All right,” she said, stepping forward. She took her hair out of its half-up-half-down style and shook it loose with her fingers. “I’ll do it.”

“Do what?” Sokka asked, his tone still mournful.

“Model. Put me in look number eight.”

For a moment, Sokka only stared up at her, and then all at once, he leapt to his feet and swept Suki up into his arms, lifting her into the air. “Suki, you are just the best friend ever!”

Suki laughed in surprise, pushing Sokka’s arms off until he unceremoniously dropped her once more on the floor. “Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “You haven’t even seen my walk.”

“I don’t have to,” Sokka said, grinning. “The clothes speak for themselves. Hee Yoon!” He waved over a young woman dressed entirely in black, and then pushed Suki toward her. “Take Suki to hair and makeup, and then bring her back to me to finish styling. We’ll have to do some last-minute tailoring, but she’ll be wearing look number eight.”

Hee Yoon’s black-lined eyes went wide. “But look number eight is a menswear—”

“And?” Katara interrupted, her voice steely.

Hee Yoon ducked her head. “Come on, Miss Kawakubo,” she said to Suki, “this should only take a few minutes.”

Sokka looked at his watch as the two women looked away. “We’re four minutes to the show.”

“And the models are dressed and lining up,” Katara said.

“And look number eight isn’t even till the second half, so we can start on time.” Sokka looked up from his watch with a smile. “This is why you stay friends with your exes.”

thissss was supposed to be a oneshot but then i did a real outline and it turned out it was more of a 15-chapter slowburn that i didn’t have energy for. but i might one day! we hope, you know?

#atla #zukka #zuko #sokka #katara #suki #aang #toph #my writing #incomplete fic

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twinmiki · 3 years

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If You're Undergoing Top Surgery Soon, Treat Yourself to These Essentials

Originally published on Cosmopolitan by Desi Sulca November 18, 2020.

rom Cosmopolitan

When people think of top surgery, or the removal of breast tissue to treat distress due to a person's current physical gender expression, per the Mayo Clinic, they mostly think of female to male (FTM) folks receiving "gender affirmation" surgery. That's definitely a thing, but there also are plenty of people who live somewhere between or outside the binary of male and female, like me! Even though we're not out here trying to "affirm" a "gender," some of us find this surgery to be an important part of living an authentic life.

For most, receiving the surgery usually entails patiently waiting on a literal waiting list for months before the surgery date is officially confirmed. Once it is, you've gotta prep for taking time off of work, clearing your social cal, and, uh, planning to be the proud owner of tyrannosaurus rex arms for an entire month. (Translation: You'll be unable to lift your arms or pick up anything heavier than five pounds.)

People are often left to rely on family members or their partners to aid them during recovery. And while some may say it’s not the cutest time in a person's life, I *do* think you can treat yourself as you heal up.

Whether you’re trans masc, trans man, a non-binary or genderqueer individual, a lesbian, two-spirit and find that top surgery is right for you, these are just a few suggestions to get the ball rolling with post-op care.

MANY PILLOWS You want to be literally surrounded by pillows for the first few weeks. That's because you won't be able to sleep on your back or your side without the support of pillows. Here are a few must-haves to make you feel like pillow royalty.

JFYI: If you’re on T or just regularly get overheated, being stuck in bed or with pillows around you sounds suffocating, the BedGear pillow will keep your body temperature cool for hours.

LOOSE BUTTON UPS, ROBES, AND HOODIES With you've got little arm function, these are an absolute must-have during recovery. People who have had top surgery recommend getting a size up because of swelling, and I recommend getting silk/soft material to not irritate your skin.

FOOD SERVICES Meal prepping is big for those who have to go through top surgery without someone to make every meal for them, and what’s a better way to do it than ordering already made meals in bulk to put in your fridge/freezer for the month?

BIDET During the first 30 days, it’s going to be hard to reach certain places, that includes cleaning yourself fully. These affordable bidets are perfect for anyone who wants to feel as clean as possible during their recovery.

TOWLETTES You won’t be able to shower for a few days. If you don’t have a partner or a caretaker to really help ya, give these a shot.

GINGER CHEWS It's super common to feel nauseous after major surgery, per UCLA Health. These ginger chews might help take the edge off.

HYDRATION Your body is healing and might need extra support with hydration. With that in mind, these packs are clutch.

EASY SLIP ON SHOES Good for taking walks around the house without wiping out during the recovery time.

FANNY PACK For the first few days you’ll have drains attached to you. You’ll have to pin them to your clothes or find a bag to store them in. FWIW, I chose to put them in a fanny pack. Style meets recovery.

PROBIOTICS It’s common to be irregular after, so it’s recommended to either get laxatives or probiotics to aid your tummy. My favorite way to consume is kombucha.

LARGE CUP AND STRAW These are lifesavers when you need to rest (see: lay) as much as possible. Everyone who's had top surgery has told me it's essential.

Tushy is a bidet startup which aims to replace toilet paper, Tushy was founded by Miki Agrawal.

#Miki Agrawal #Affordable Bidets #Authentic Life #Bidet #Life Savers #Literally Surrounded #Royalty

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 4 years

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Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 9: Only Dreaming •

A/n: For those of you who might not have caught my announcement, this series has recently gotten a title change, and new cover as you might have noticed. Both of which I owe a big thanks to my good friend scamander [RichieTozierKaspbrak on Quotev] This is still the It rewrite, just under an official name: Scars That Heal. You can find the full explanation on my profile activity, anyways, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Silver’s tires skid across the cracked pavement creating a high screech that barely managed to pierce through the thunderous heartbeat in Bill’s ears. Before him, stood the Neibolt house, and despite his pounding heart, there was no sign of hesitation as he stormed across the pavement towards the gate. However, when his bruised and gangly legs reached the gate’s threshold, they slow as if he is suddenly standing in quicksand. His nerves have finally caught up to him but Bill does not allow this to stop him from his mission and continues across the crisp dry grass that crunches beneath his sneakers. As he walks, it feels as if he is now wading through an invisible pool, his muscles aching as they fight hard against the water. The technique turned mantra slipped from his lips the moment it popped into his mind as crosses the lawn and into the dark shadow the house casts over all of Neibolt.

“H-he thr-thrusts his fists against the p-po-posts,” Bill’s clammy palms tighten, his mouth running dry but he continues. “and still insists he sees the g-gho-ghost.”

He has reached the house’s rotten and creaky steps when he hears the approach of several bicycles and Beverly’s voice.

“Bill!” She cries, jumping off her bike and it tumbles to the ground. “Bill, you can’t go in there. This is crazy!”

He turns to find his seven distressed friends abandoning their bikes and following cautiously after him into the yard.

“Look, you don’t have to come in with me,” Bill says, looking to each of his friends. “But what happens when another Georgie goes missing? Or another Betty? Or another Ed Corcoran? Or one of us?”

The shadow of Neibolt seemed to grow darker before it got lighter as Bill rallied before the Losers Club that day. And despite the ice coursing through their veins, not only from their previous encounter minutes ago but the mere thought of seeking the creature out, they couldn’t fight the small spark of hope from Bill’s words. He had always had that effect, he had a way with words despite the stutter. And what he said was something Eddie had been dreading himself. His eyes flickered to Y/n instinctively, his mouth parted slightly as he regains his breath. There’s a pained expression on her face, her lower lip curled as if she was fighting back tears and he feels like kicking himself for not doing anything to protect her back in the garage.

“Are you just gonna pretend it isn’t happening like everyone else in this town?” Bill asks, capturing Eddie’s attention once more. “Because I can’t. I go home, and all I see is that Georgie isn’t there. His clothes, his toys, his stupid stuffed animals, but… He isn’t.”

Bill takes a deep breath, and it seems to fill him with more confidence and the Losers each squirm under Bill’s confession.

“So walking into this house, for me, it’s easier than walking into my own.”

Bill turns to face the old rotted door and Richie raises his eyebrows.

“Wow.”

“What?” Ben asks.

“He didn’t stutter once.”

Y/n’s eyebrows raise in shock as this dawns on her and she turns to Eddie instinctively for his reaction and he meets her gaze uneasily. A moment passes between all the Losers before they begin heading for the porch.

“Wait!”

Everyone stops to see Stanley, who remains planted to the ground, his eyes filled with uncertainty. He catches their waiting stares and shuffles uncomfortably.

“Um,” he clears his throat. “Shouldn’t we have some people keep watch?”

Bill fidgets with the doorknob and he shrugs slightly and Stan looks around uncertainly at his friends.

“You know, just in case something bad happens?”

“Who w-wants to stay out here?” Bill asks.

Six hands rise to the air, none of them Beverly. Each Loser looks around at one another before one by one their arms fall back to their sides. Richie sighs, knowing what’s coming next.

“Fuck.”

After much debate, and several coin tossing later, the Losers had found themselves divided into two groups of four. Due to an unfortunate toss, Richie, and Eddie found themselves with Bill and Bev who had volunteered, while Ben, Stan, Mike, and Y/n stayed outside.

Richie, of course, didn’t go without a fuss, making his feelings on the matter very clear as they prepared themselves for venturing inside.

“I can’t believe I drew the short straw,” he huffs, trudging up the porch steps. “You’re lucky we’re not measuring dicks.”

“You’d still be drawing the short straw” Y/n quips, her voice vaguely meek.

He turns to look at her, ready with a comeback but the words die on his tongue when he spots her smile, it’s weak and he knows immediately what she is feeling - why she’s making jokes when at a time like this. He can’t help but smile weakly back. Her arms are folded over her b/t frame protectively and her eyes flicker between him and Eddie.

“Just be careful, okay?” She sighs, her eyes darting to each of them. “All of you.”

They each nod, and Eddie swallows thickly before following after his friends. Not before casting one last longing glance at Y/n who gives him a less than convincing smile of reassurance.

The front door creaks open, and Bill, Eddie, Richie, and Beverly step wearily inside. They each have to duck underneath the many wooden slats nailed over the doorway and through it, bits of sunlight stream through.

The three follow Bill’s lead as they exit the small alcove that bleeds into what is supposed to be the living room. Around them is an empty dark entryway with they could guess was thousands of thick cobwebs. The warped wooden floor beneath their feet was littered with hundreds of dead leaves scattered from the many twisted branches that had snaked up through the cracked floorboards, walls, and ceilings. It’s clear from where they stand and their limited view into the other rooms, several pieces of furniture have been left behind. And to greet them as they step inside, just across the floor was an eerie brick fireplace with a wooden header, carved into it in large misaligned letters; Good Cheer, Good Friends! A low whistle leaves Richie’s mouth as he takes in the chilling sight around him.

“Well, he’s got the haunted house part down to a science,” Richie says.

“Shut up, Richie.” Eddie scoffs, his nose scrunched up in overwhelming disgust as he looks around. “Ugh, I can smell it.”

“Don’t breathe through your mouth.”

Eddie’s brow furrow as he inches further towards one of the connecting rooms.

“How come?”

“Cause then you’re eating it.”

Richie’s eyes fall on the small alcove to his left when something tangled in a branch catches his eyes. Behind him, Eddie lurches forward as he gags repulsed and hastily grabs for his inhaler in his fanny pack. Against his better judgment, Richie crosses over into the small corner of the room and the closer he approaches the thick trap of web and leaves the clearer the object has become; a missing kid poster with an all too familiar face. Shakily he reaches for it, and every crumple of the paper through the branches is like a thunderous boom in his ears, his heart already racing. All he can do is stare in shock, he can feel his stomach twist into knots and this time it wasn’t because of Eddie. For the first time, Richie ‘the Trashmouth’ Tozier was speechless. Beverly is the first to notice.

“Richie?” She wanders over with the other in tow, her senses heightened when noticing his fearful gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“It… It says I’m missing,” He croaks, realizing his mouth and throat have run bone dry.

Bill joins his side, examining the poster and he tries to keep the worry at bay for his friends.

“Y-You’re not missing, Richie,” Bill eases.

Richie’s tremble only grows worse and he starts to shake the flyer, his voice rising.

“'Police Department, City of Derry.’” He cries. “That’s my shirt. That’s my hair. That’s my face. That’s my name-!”

“Calm down,” Bill interjects, attempting to grab the flyer. “This isn’t real.”

“That’s my face! That’s the date!”

“It can’t be real, Richie!”

“No, it says it!” Richie shrieks, now fighting over the flyer with Bill. “What the fuck!? Am I gonna go missing!?”

Beverly and Eddie can only watch in pain and worry as the moment unfolds until finally, Bill is able to rip the paper from the boy’s hands and throws it the ground without even a glance. He wraps his hands over Richie’s shoulders, holding tight against his clawing arms.

“Calm down!”

“Am I gonna go missing? Am I gonna go missing-?”

“Calm down! Look at me, Richie,” He tugs on his friend’s wrist, bringing his attention away from the flyer on the floor. “Look at me.”

“That…” Bill hastily points to the flyer, and Richie looks to it fearfully, “th-that isn’t real. It’s playing tricks on you.”

“Hello?” Calls a distant, whimpering voice.

The four Losers’ attention is ripped away to the source of the oddly familiar voice. Slowly, they creep back into the entryway, the leaves crunching beneath their feet and that is when they hear the voice once more.

“Hello?”

“It’s coming from upstairs,” Bev murmurs under her breath, creeping towards the winding stairway, the boys close behind though reluctant.

“No shit,” Eddie trembles, stepping closer to Richie as they approach the stairs.

One by one they ascend the winding stairway, caution in every step. They each have duck a gracious amount to avoid the thick tendrils of cobwebs stitched between the walls. And as they inched closer to the top they could hear the sounds of muffled coughing, the source of the voice was gasping for air. They reached the second-floor landing - somehow, it seemed dirtier than the first floor if that was at all possible - and had a continuing set of stairs behind them. Ahead of them, was the entrance to a long hallway, and the four of them inched along as the ragged breathing got louder, now almost wheezing.

Just around the corner, and the end of the long hallway was a largely cracked and warped wooden door opened ajar revealing a figure on the ground. It was girl, gasping for breath and spitting up blood, her face buried in the leaves and dirt on the floor. Shakily, the messy head of muddied brown hair brushes aside as she weakly turns her head to reveal a face they never thought they’d see again.

“Betty?” Bev gasps.

“Ripsom?” Richie gulps.

She merely looks at them, her eyes sunken and lost before she is ripped away, clawing at the floor and her screams are quickly swallowed in silence. The Losers jump back in horror, their hearts hammering in their chests and they can feel the bile churning in their stomach. And yet, without a word they each creep forward, knowing what they have to face. The leaves scrape against the floor as they pushed by their dragging feet and Beverly tries to focus on the sound of each leaf’s crunch rather than what she is willingly about to face.

Eddie finds himself shrinking back but he carries on nonetheless. That is until he hears a hauntingly familiar voice carry through the air.

Eddie.

The poor boy feels as if his legs - and heart for that matter - have stopped working altogether and slowly he turns around. He finds nothing but the other half of the hallway and it came to a dead-end with an ominous yellow glow from the faded window pane.

What are you looking for?

Eddie’s eyes widen to the size of saucers and he freezes where he stands, his heart pumping his chilled blood through his veins. And he can feel the familiar tightness return to his lungs. His hands are fumbling for his inhaler when his friends reach the door at the end of the hall, unaware they were now one Loser short.

“She was just here,” Richie breathes, looking around the empty room. “Where the fuck’d she go?”

Eddie still stands rooted in place, he commands his body to scream for his friends but all that comes out is a hushed whisper. And as the only door amongst the dead-end hallway slowly creeks open with a taunting wail, one single moment plays over in his mind strangely enough; the coin toss just minutes ago.

“So, are we doing this two out of three, or is this a one-flip — well — flip?” Eddie asks.

It had come down to him and Y/n, and whoever lost the coin toss was going inside. The others had already paired off and it was between them. She stood across from him, she was bouncing nervously on the balls of her heels, shaking out her hands at her sides, visibly nervous. He held the coin in his hand, turning it over endlessly with his forefinger and thumb and her eyes followed its movement precisely.

“Cause if we do out of two of three, statistically speaking it’s fairer and considering-”

“Eddie,” she says suddenly, her voice trembling and pleading.

She fails to meet his eye and she sighs deeply, her eyes closed for several moments and he realizes she only wants the waiting to be over.

He shuffles on his feet and readies the coin, her eyes stilled trained on the quarter as well as his own and he is suddenly all too aware of the sun beating down on his neck. He looks at one last time, his stomach twisting and turning for many different reasons as the dumbest fucking plan he’s ever heard forms in his mind and the feeling hits him. That deep, sinking feeling one gets when they know - no matter a feeling, or any logical thought, no matter how much their gut is screaming at them not to do something, they know in their heart of hearts they are going to anyway. If it’s the right or wrong thing, they’re not quite sure but it is inevitable from that moment in time and beyond.

The ‘58 minted quarter soars through the air, the sun reflecting off in thin fleeting beams and Y/n’s voice rings out with slight hesitation.

“Heads,”

Eddie swipes at the coin, several beats off even though he was certain he could have caught it if he truly wanted to. Instead, it lands noiselessly in the grass only feet away.

“The fuck was that?” Richie called. “You probably didn’t realize this, Eds, but you’re supposed to catch the thing,”

Ignoring his friend’s jabs - and ruefully neglecting to correct his given nickname - he takes a few steps off to find the coin buried in a pile of grass and sure enough, as if to mock him, the tail end of the quarter glints in the sun.

“What w-was it?” Bill asks, growing impatient.

He picks up the coin and straightens out. He deposits the quarter in his fanny pack and looks to Y/n. Her eyes are squinted in the sun, and it only enunciates the worried frown already on her face.

“Heads,” He mutters, slipping over to join Richie, Bill, and Beverly.

He expects to see her relax, but all she seems is shocked. Not eased in the slightest. But that was only because she now had him to worry about. He had willingly taken her spot.

But would it be worth it, he can’t help but wonder. This was his chance to be brave, for her, and himself. To prove that he could be. But as he stared down the dirty hallway with god knows how many germs and viruses lurking in every nook and cranny and not to mention the leper’s voice calling to him again, he sure didn’t feel brave.

“Guys,” he mumbles, turning to find the door begin to close. “Guys!”

SLAM

The door separating him and his friends at the end of that long hallway had slammed shut. The noise breaks the others from their trance-like state and they whip around to find they are trapped inside, and worse; Eddie is not with them. Eddie’s terrified screams only bring their further to the edge and they fight harder against the door to no avail.

“Guys! Guys!” They hear him call out.

“Eddie!” Richie cries out, his heart pounding dangerously fast.

“What the fuck?!” His hoarse voice tears through the air, muffled by the door separating themselves from their friend.

Eddie nears the door, only feet away from the barrier keeping him from his friends when he comes to a screeching halt. The floor in between him and the room had suddenly caved in, one by one the wooden slats peel away to reveal a giant hole leading to the kitchen below - a hole he had barely missed by only the skin of his teeth. He looked down below in shock as he struggled to catch his balance - his knees wobbled terribly at the sight - and while he had not taken the fall, he felt as if his stomach had.

He tries desperately to slow his rapid breathing, and before he can even think of what to do next, he feels a bony hand grip his shoulder and just as fast an icy chill shoots down his spine. Eddie feels a light tug from the hand that turns him around and he can feel the exhaust of each gaunt finger at the simple gesture. It’s face is somewhat lost in the dark but It is unmistakable; the same face, the same monster that terrorized him before. Pools of excess spit dribble out of a hole in It’s cheek as It’s one foggy and cataract eye drinks up the sight of fear in the boy.

“Time to take your pill, Eddie.” It taunts.

It all becomes too much for Eddie, and for the briefest of seconds, he feels as if his heartbeat is so fast it is almost nonexistent. He is suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of light-headedness - or at the very least, he is only just now recognizing it - and suddenly his vision darkens. Only one thing is strong enough to pull him back to earth before he falls under once more; an explosion of pain on his head and back as piles of wood crumble beneath him, prodding his skin. Eddie is given only moments of consciousness to realize he is back on the first floor, his arm and back in searing pain and he has crash-landed on the kitchen table below.

The last thing Eddie hears before he feels the deep pull of sleep is the shrill beep from his watch.

Time to take his pills.

On the other side of the door, a panicked trio of Losers claw at the seemingly jammed door. Bill wrestles with the doorknob and Beverly begins looking around the room for things to use to bust down the door. Meanwhile, Richie stumbles numbly back, fear and panic gripping his heart at the raucous going on outside the door. And how Eddie was all alone.

Richie!

His head turns sharply at the sudden call of his name, grabbing his attention. But what held it captive, was the familiarity of the voice. He knew it was impossible, and just about the stupidest fucking thing to believe given the circumstances. The idea that his best friend had somehow made his away around the door and into the room and had decided here of all places would be the perfect time to pull a page of the Tozier handbook and pull a fast one on him to lighten the mood. It was ridiculous, but it was a far more palatable reality than the alternative he faced. That Eddie was trapped in the hallway alone and in grave danger, quite possibly in pain. Or worse. And yet, he had no clue. All he knew is he heard his best friend and the only logical thing was to go to him.

Come here, Richie. Came Eddie’s hoarse sounding voice, followed by a dry cackle.

Adrenaline was pumping fast through his veins, and his legs trembled something awful, but this did not stop him from striding quickly across the room as he followed the source of the voice. Around the corner, was another door, this one wide open that displayed a limited view of what looked to be a storage room upon first glance. Several figures cloaked in faded white rags, covered in dust and cobwebs filled the ill-lit room, and yet he still managed to make out the sudden burst of movement of a small frame scurrying from one hiding spot to another.

“Eddie,” He breathes, less than relieved and treads inside. “Eddie!”

Richie receives no reply, but he does not let this stop him from his search, nor does it calm his spiked nerves.

"Eddie,” Richie hisses to the now seemingly empty room. “where the fuck are you? We’re not playing hide-n-seek, dipshit!”

On the other side of the room, Beverly - who was nearing her defeat in her search for a ramming device of some sort, had only just noticed Richie’s absence.

“Richie?” She calls, trailing across the room, a curious Bill on her heels. “Richie-?”

Having heard her calls, Richie turns quickly on his heels to find Beverly just outside the door in the other room, a look of relief flashing across her face and even Bill comes into view. He breathes a sigh of relief, knowing for sure what he is seeing is a true familiar face and he can feel himself coming to his senses. He wastes no time in heading for the door, but just as suddenly as it had happened with Eddie, the door began to close.

“Richie! Richie!” Beverly calls, pounding and punching the wooden frame, no longer bothering to look for something to do it for her. “Richie, are you okay?!”

“Guys,” He yelped, his sweaty palms struggling to twist the jammed brass knob to no avail. “come on, open the door!”

“What’s going on? Rich!” Bill pleas, his arms growing sore from his fruitless fight, but he doesn’t give in. “Richie! Open the door, come on!”

Richie, who had resorted to tugging on the handle until his arms weakened called out once more, hoping his voice would reach them.

“I can’t!” He cries, his head whipping over his shoulder and he squints up at the new flickering blue fluorescence above him. “I- I fucking can’t!”

No matter his efforts against the jammed door, all Richie could really do was watch helplessly as he slowly drowned in his fear. The frightened cries of his friends now lost in the thunderstorm that was his own dangerously fast heartbeat. All sound was lost to him it seemed, that was until he heard the eerie sound of what he could only describe as several curtains dropping at once. Against his better judgment, he turned to face the room he was now trapped in and the pounding of his heart was no longer the problem. Scattered across the dimly lit room, illuminated by the pale and flickering lights were dozens upon dozens of clown figurines of varying sizes, all staring directly and unmistakably at Richie.

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, mouth running dry and his breath ragged.

The voices of his friends have since disappeared altogether, or maybe this thing just doesn’t want him to hear them. He can’t tell which is worse in the spur of the moment, that is until he can hear the snickering high pitched laughter of the many painted porcelain faces staring back at him. It’s not real, he tries to remind himself. He just needs to get back to Bill and Bev and then go find Eddie, but when he turns back around, he finds his path is blocked and he jumps back with a frightened yelp.

Standing propped up against the door, at about half his height was another porcelain clown, with cockeyed eyes and a wild painted grin. He found himself stumbling into the center of the room, now feeling more trapped than ever as he gazes around at the taunting figures surrounding him. One wooden clown, that stood just inches taller than him and its hand extended suddenly became the center of Richie’s attention.

It’s not real, it’s all just some fucked up trick.

Slowly, he reached out, his confidence slowly returning and taps the hollow wooden cheek of the white-face clown. Nothing.

Richie releases a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, and for a moment he thought he could almost laugh. Almost.

“Stupid clowns.”

No sooner does the sound of cloth hitting the floor echo in his ears, and just as fast his one measly scrap of confidence evaporates into the air. He turns to find at the very end of the room, what had been previously hidden under the final cloth tarp; a coffin. With a shrill, one chilling creak it rises open to reveal his own missing poster. And sprawled over it, and all across the baby blue moth-eaten fabric lining was a single five-letter word painted in blood.

FOUND

“Oh, fuck,”

His legs nearly buckled, and yet they still carried him forward towards the open coffin. His widened eyes never broke contact with the open casket, had they, and he just might have spotted the wandering heads of the clowns that followed his every move. As he approached, he prepared himself for whatever horror he was about to face. His mind even managed to conjure up several stomach-turning images before he could reach the thing, all far too horrible a thought to have conjured himself. And he wondered for a moment if the Clown was putting these awful thoughts in his brain. Or was It, and the fear It created in him just unlocking the darkest corners of his own mind?

What did lie in the coffin was something small, cloaked in a black veil of some sort and yet it still managed to keep his heart pounding. Just like a band-aid, he told himself. Taking another deep breath, once again preparing for the worst, he pulled the cloth off to reveal a small, marionette figurine… Of himself. It was made to look like it was rotting, and it sure was succeeding. It’s eyes were glazed over, nearly all white and his mouth was stitched closed. But what made his stomach lurch was the many patches in its face filled with real maggots, squirming and squelching and Richie could even swear he could smell the corpse rotting.

“Ugh!” Richie groaned.

Though he had to say he was in the least bit relieved, it was far less gruesome than he had expected, more disgusting than terrifying he couldn’t help but think. It was enough to make even him nauseous, and he always thought he had the stronger stomach out of his friends. He could practically hear Eddie gagging.

The very thought snapped him back to reality. Eddie. He needed to get the hell out of here so he could find Eddie.

With a definitive huff, he slams the coffin door shut.

BAM

The casket flies open and a sudden and elongated blur of silver and orange soars out and up to the ceiling, a sharp and maniac screech piercing the air. Richie stumbles back with a scream of his own and he watches on in sheer terror as Clown falls back down to earth, landing perched on the now-closed coffin and towering over Richie. It’s twisted smile grows, and the arch of where It’s eyebrows should be perk halfway up to It’s copper hairline creating a taunting snarl.

Reaching out one gloved hand, It moves as if to honk an invisible horn at the boy and It’s wicked grin only grows wider. “Beep beep, Richie.”

Before he can even blink, he is running for his life. No sooner had it spoke was It leaping through the air and charging after him. Unhinging It’s jaw, It lets out an impossibly shrill and ear-splitting roar of anger as It lunges after Richie, long arms growing in length as It reaches out to snatch him up. Richie spares a glance behind him, knowing he is about to run out of the room when to his great surprise the door swings suddenly open, and Bill’s arm stretches in and pulls him out.

Despite his current situation, Richie cannot believe his luck. He barrels over, swallowing air in heaps with his hands gripped tightly above his knees and hoping they don’t buckle.

“Let’s get outta here,” Bill stammered.

A soft thump from the adjoining room shifted their attention to a shabby, threadbare mattress that began to shake vigorously - they could barely make out a familiar giggle from inside. And at its center, a lump grew from inside the mattress until one of many weak seams finally gave way, splitting open to reveal the face a friend they had been searching for.

Their jaws hit the floor at the sight of a disheveled and even somewhat decomposing Eddie, who looked at the three friends with a glint of mischief.

“Wanna play loogie?”

Thick, inky black sludge began to pour from his mouth, staining the mattress as well as their minds. The projection of Eddie let out a deep, primal grunt and he began to vibrate unnaturally as the grunts evolved into a crazed cackle before his head disappeared back into the mattress. All the while, the black sludge had begun to spread; seeping out from under the mattress and onto the floor, slowly inching for their feet and burning anything it touched.

Down on the first-floor kitchen, the real Eddie springs up, awoken by his adrenaline and he looks around the room. In less than moments, the entirety of his pain of injury returns and he looks down at right arm that lays limply in his lap. He is repulsed at the sight when he realizes why it looks so wrong. It had snapped clean in two, and his lower forearm dangled weakly when he attempted to cradle it. He winced as he did so, excruciating amounts of pain flaring up and it took everything in his power not to vomit. Though this time, he was unsure if it was out of disgust or pain.

Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck! How would he ever explain this to his mother? That is if even got out alive! What was he going to do?

Eddie was far too caught up in his panic to notice the gloved hand that shot out from inside the fridge. That is until It began drumming It’s fingers against the metal exterior of the fridge, creating a chilling rhythmic tap, tap, tap that diverted his attention. His head shoots up in time to see the refrigerator door slowly creak open. For one short instance, he can’t make anything out inside, though that quickly becomes a desirable advantage when he finally spots a crooked lanky arm unfold onto the floor revealing the crooked and twisted face that had cornered him here only weeks ago.

A sinister cackle echoed from the fridge as limb by limb, the gargantuan figure untangles Itself from the fridge and comes to tower over Eddie’s small frame. The boy draws back in terror as the clown dips into a bow, and It’s puffy white cheeks peel back into a mocking leer that revealed It’s several sharp teeth.

“Time to float!”

It’s voice, despite its low octave, was light and mocking. The voice It always used in this form, It’s favorite form: Pennywise.

He steps forward, his long and lanky arms began shifting side to side in a stiff and stilted manner as He stalked forward towards his prey. All Eddie could bring himself to do was crawl back to the best of his ability, swallowing a dangerous amount of air in the form of choked gasps. Finding this amusing, Pennywise puts on an exaggerated frown and begins to feign a gasp, mocking Eddie as It pretends to stumble.

All the while, the black sludge surrounding Beverly, Bill and Richie only grow closer to their toes. Subconsciously sweeping them back with her arms, Beverly turns on her heels and goes head for the door, the boys following her lead. However, they each stop short, shocked at the least to see not one but three doors in their path. They were each labeled, painted in what one could only assume to be blood, and each drop of excess liquid slowly crept up to the ceilings as if gravity had been reversed. From right to left, they read; ’Very Scary’, ’Scary’, and ’Not Scary At All’.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Eddie’s back hit one of the larger scraps of wood - what was left of the kitchen table - indicating he could go no further. He nearly jumped out of his skin when in the blink of an eye, Pennywise was within inches of himself. His tuffs of copper hair - normally swirling out in even sweeps, now mucky and mangled as it hung closer to his rotted face. In an act of bravery, and all the strength he can muster under such terror, Eddie begins to swat at the clown’s face, batting him away in an act of defiance.

Pennywise snatches the boy’s wrist with an iron grip, bringing it close to his jowls and pretends to eat Eddie’s hand. He giggled delightfully at his clever antics, oh what fun! And the squeals this meal was capable!

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Beverly met eyes with both Richie and Bill, knowing a decision had to be made. And it was unanimous. The three children scrambled for the door marked Not Scary At All, Bev is the one to reach the handle first and she rips the door open to find nothing but shadows. A hoarse whisper carries through the air, bringing goosebumps to their skin, all the while, the sizzling goo was creeping dangerously close to their feet.

“Where’s my shoe?”

Spotting the metal chain dangling only feet from his face, Bill reaches forward and pulls the chord illuminating the small space and the ghastly sight within. Betty Ripsom’s bloodied and bruised body was suspended from above, hanging by her wrists as she was left to bleed out from the gaping and shredded stump where her torso ended, and her waist and legs had been torn off. Her mucky and tangled hair hung over her face but parted soon as she limply lifted her head revealing the gathering terror on her face.

A horrible shriek left her lips, eliciting one from each Loser respectively. Richie lurched forward, swinging the door shut and collapsing on it, panting heavily with a wild look in his eye.

“Where the fuck were her legs?!” He screams, eyes falling to the sludge creeping up on his friends. “Holy shit, what the fuck was that?!”

“T-T-This is-isn’t real,” Bill reminds, shaking his head and grasping Richie’s shoulders. “R-remember the m-missing kid p-poster! That wasn’t r-real, so this isn’t real.”

Beverly nods feverishly, trying her best not to pay no attention to the sludge. Bill was right.

“You can’t let It get to you,” Bev urges, locking eyes with the boy. “It’s toying with us, all of us. But we can change that.”

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

“Tasty, tasty, beautiful fear!” The clown cried with glee, spit dribbling from his lips and onto Eddie.

Eddie convulsed with revulsion, his face barely able to scrunch up in disgust in the iron grip the clown held him in. He choked back sobs as the clown smiled. His eyes had turned to a yellow that glowed harsh bright light amidst a darkness like two headlights tailing you in the night on an old back road. And his smile was so sharp and sudden, so unnaturally pointed. And then, those gaping yellow eyes, the haunting headlights, rolled back into his enlarged - was it enlarging? - skull and his jaw unhinged revealing his rows and rows of thorny teeth. Like hundreds of little white needles that would surely tear his flesh apart and Eddie was sure of it. He was sure this was the end of him.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

“Come on. Ready?” Bill asked, the three of them facing the door.

“NO!” Scoffed the Tozier boy.

“Let’s go!” Beverly rallied, ripping the door open.

Disgruntled, Pennywise turned from his meal. Like a wolf in It’s den, It could hear, It could sense - It could smell - the company.

A sigh a great relief swept through the three friends as they saw the disheveled and grossly unsanitary hallway. Something they never thought they’d be grateful to see and Richie felt one of many large weights had been lifted from his chest.

“Oh, thank fuck.”

But the moment was cut far too short when Beverly begged the question he had previously been asking.

“But where’s Eddie?”

“Help!” Eddie! “Help!”

Pennywise’s gloved hand moves to cover the child’s screams, only managing to muffle his cries. All the while, It’s rotund head still angled away and physically, It’s eyes are fixed on the kitchen door, and yet It knows the boy’s friends are coming for him.

“Eddie!”

The door is thrown open, Richie, Beverly, and Bill come stumbling in. They all gasp at the sight of the disheveled clown hunched over their friend, hand now pinned around Eddie’s throat. Displeased, he turns to glare at the interruption, yet a glint of amusement lingers in It’s soulless eyes.

“Holy fuck,” Richie mutters breathlessly, eyes shifting away quickly. “Eddie!”

His exaggerated lip began to quiver as he looked to Bill, his voice growing high and shrill as he so easily put on an expression of pain.

“This isn’t real enough for you, Billy? I’m not real enough for you?”

“Oh, shit,”

A malicious smile painted the clown’s face, curling his mouth.

“It was real enough for Georgie!” He jeered.

An odious cackle erupted from Pennywise at Bill’s reaction, and it took only seconds for it to turn to a hideous roar as he lunged across the room in a hazy silver blur. It was their turn to stare death in the eyes - more specifically for Bev, Bill, and Richie - death was in the form of a heinous clown. A rallied cry tore through the air as swiftly and cleanly as the fence iron rod was driven through It’s eye so suddenly. Everyone in the room gaped at Y/n as she uncurled her trembling hands from the spike, blood floating out of It’s eye and up towards the ceiling. The rest of the Losers stumbled inside, mouths agape to see the wounded monster wailing meekly at It’s new wound. It was distracted, for the time being.

“Eddie!” Y/n cried, shuffling around the hunched figure, motioning for her friends to follow. “Guys, help me get him out!”

No one wasted any time, and Bill, Richie, and Bev managed to maneuver around pennywise and scurried to the floor to help. Mike, Ben, and Stan stood frozen in the entryway, unable to help.

“Eddie, come on!”

“Eddie!”

“Get up!”

In their fright, not one Loser could hear one another, each scream overlapping the other in a mad scramble to get Eddie out. But Eddie couldn’t bring himself to move, the shock of it all was gripping, and he was much too afraid of what would happen if his eyes left the clown for even a moment. Bill quickly caught on, and he turned his head to see Pennywise’s arched back slowly straightening, a deep growl rumbling It’s chest.

“Oh, fuck!” Richie gasped at the sight, looking back over at Eddie as he tugged at his one good arm. “we gotta get outta here!”

With a flourish, Pennywise turned on his heel halfway in a bow, and even then he towered over the Losers. The spike had gone clear through his head and was protruding through his left cheek, his growl deepened and he rose to his full height as he stalked forward. Dribble was once again pooling at his lip, and nothing but a fiery rage was left in It’s one good eye, fixed on It’s newest target. But she was too focused on Eddie, and getting him up. Beverly stood over her and Richie, groaning in fright and tugging frantically at her best friend’s shirt.

“Get Eddie! Let’s go!”

“Eddie, come on! NOW!”

“Guys!” He wailed.

Y/n, who was all too aware of the It’s presence, finally turned around to see It inching closer. She locked eyes with the monster and tuning out the overlapping screams of her friends became easy when she did so. Because all her mind could handle at once was the fear, the very fact she and her friends were in danger and she just pissed this thing off even more. It was coming for her first, that was easy enough to know. Though she trembled with fear, she shifted her frame in front of her friends, shielding them to the best of her ability.

It merely snarled at her, amused at her ply but far more tickled by It’s own countermove. A horrible cracking elicited from It’s hunched figure, and everyone - apart from Richie who was hellbent on assuring Eddie’s attention was on him instead - watched as the clown transformed. It’s arms began to grow, now sagging on the floor as It’s knuckles dragged through the leaves. And It’s torso had thinned to impossible proportions, It’s hunched and bony back ripping away the seams on It’s satin costume. And of course the eyes, the same eyes that haunted her that night and every night since.

And yet she didn’t move.

Not as he taunted her, with cruel, strikingly similarities as that night - the boogeyman towering over her trembling form. Nor did she move when he lurched forward with a shriek, a desperate, last resort jump scare that worked on her friends. But not her, she refused. Refused to let him know he got to her, or even admit to herself that he got to her. But he did, all too easily. Y/n looked up at the dark chasms where his eyes once were, were two glowing yellow iris now resided, and she waited. Waited for the final blow and for this all to be over. When it finally came, she had expected it to be directed at her but had hit Ben instead.

Turning suddenly, the iron rod protruding from It’s cheek had caught the flesh of Ben’s stomach, tearing it open. He collapsed back into Mike’s arms with a painful wail, Stan running to his side. All the while, Pennywise turned to look at the eight petrified children and cackled weakly at the small feat. Taking a bow, It backed out of the room, retreating into the shadows and back to It’s hideout. Everyone was in a state of shock, Mike and Stan were fussing over Ben. Richie and Y/n now doing the same with Eddie while Beverly trembled in horror, hand clamped over her mouth to stop her screams from breaking through. But Bill, he only grew more frantic and he rose to his feet and made a mad dash for the door.

“Don’t let him get away!”

“Bill! Where the fuck are you going?!”

At that moment, Bill didn’t care his friends hadn’t followed. He had to make sure the bastard didn’t escape. He followed the clown and found himself descending a rickety staircase, not unlike the one in his basement. That’s when he spotted the well. And more importantly the two lanky claws gripping the stone ledge and the disappearing glance of the clowns head and glowing red irises vanishing into the well.

“BILL! GET BACK HERE, WE HAVE TO HELP THEM!” It was Y/n’s voice, and Bill was certain he had never heard her so certain.

“NO! NO!” Eddie cried, looking around at all his friends as they grabbed for his arm.

Bill has to pull himself from his trance, promising himself this wasn’t the end and scrambled back up the steps back to his friends. He quickly joined their side, and for the first time, he got a good look at Eddie’s arm. He felt as if he could just about puke. Richie looked at him nervously, his hands trembling and a stutter of his own taking over.

“I-I-I’m gonna, I’m gonna snap your arm back into place!”

Anger flashed in Eddie’s eyes, and he shook his head with fervor. “DO NOT FUCKING TOUCH ME!”

Ignoring Eddie’s protests, Richie attempted to calm his nerves and prepare himself, all the while the rest of the group beginning to panic. Even Mike, and Stan were drawn to their cries, having been wrapped up in Ben.

“Okay, one,”

“Do not touch me!”

“Eddie, squeeze my hand,” Y/n ordered over the commotion, extending her palm but he shook his head.

“Two,”

Cries of protest echoed across the room and finally, Y/n quickly grabbed the Eddie’s one good hand, closing her eyes and turning away knowing what was inevitably to come.

“Three!”

Everyone heard the sickening crunch of Eddie’s bones shifting, yelling out in disgust but none compared to Eddie’s pained howl. Y/n grimaced at Eddie’s surprisingly strong grip, and she did her best to swallow the bile creeping up at the horrible sound. Remembering all too quickly where they were, she jumped to her feet. Her and Richie helped the boy up and once they were assured Ben was able to move, the eight Losers fled for the exit.

×××

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nosdreamsrp · 4 years

Photo

› THE MEMBER GROUPS

The member groups found on nostalgic dreams are based on popular fashion brands that you see many wearing on social media. We have four different tiers ( standard, premium, elite & diamond ) and each tier has four different brands within it. Down below you will find our sixteen member groups with traits and simple aesthetics so everyone has an easy fit for their characters!

standard member groups

quirky › uncouth › curious › forgetful

skateboarding or skating in free time › late nights on the beach › blastoff by internet music › chain smoking cigarettes › dirty and torn vans › messy hair › monster energy drinks › winged eyeliner › choppy bangs › sunflower by post malone › white tees x denim jeans › cliff diving at night › bucket hats › cross body fanny packs › reflective colors › flower snapchat filter › sleeping through alarms › fades into the background

irrational › playful › mischievous › bold

strong cologne and perfume › baby showers › strappy heels › bad and boujee by migos › gold grills › natural makeup › straight hair › timberland boots › late night breakfast spots › red hues for accents › suede material › hennessy black › denim x neutral colors › kickback with friends › at fault by medasin & felly › patterns › frappes from starbucks › broken promises › curiosity killed the cat › not so trusting

socially aware › lazy › adventurous › fanatical

all white attire › eating cereal for dinner › going shopping with friends › setting multiple alarms › red bull and vodka › curly hair › frequent visits to art galleries › hoodies and cargos › yamborghini high by a$ap mob › sight-seeing for photo-ops › simple jewelry › hot girl bummer by blackbear › wispy lashes › gold caps › amusement parks on the weekend › rhetorical questions › always the peace makers › cool and comfortable

bourgeoisie › idealistic › know-it-all › persistent

picnics in the park › always has an opinion about something › good as hell by lizzo › chunky sneakers › braided pony-tails › attends charity events › always has a plan › text back in 2 to 3 business days › blazers and combat boots › blurred lines by robin thicke › coffee in the morning › dark hues of color › too smart for their own good › obsessed with coordinating › lover of vanilla scents › minimalistic jewelry

premium member groups

optimistic › selfish › discreet › inconsistent

oversized tees › inconsistent actions › hustle & flow by zaehd & ceo › reads newspaper comics › caffeine over sleep › cross-body bags › social loners › too cool for school › walking snapple facts › where’s my juul?? by full tac & lil mariko › layers clothing › black as an accent › love the smell of flowers › rolled up jeans x thick socks › triple texters › tiny sunglasses › lover of music festivals › fishnet material

manipulative › go-getters › frivolous › spontaneous

clubbing on the weekends › flashing cash in pictures › designer from head to toe › said sum by moneybagg yo › headband accessories › bright color accents › quick money schemes › night owls › face tattoos › oversleeping in the mornings › imma by bbno$ & lentra › prefers facetime over phone calls › silk & satin material › always in large crowds › woodsy and earthy scents › overflow of gold jewelry

nature-focused › oversensitive › cautious › self-indulgent

bonfires on the beach › loose and flowy clothing › too many pillows on the bed › rollin by calvin harris, future and khalid › early nights & mornings › organized planners and journals › brunch on the weekends › straw and fringe material › tiny handbags › vacationing on islands › coffee bean by zaniah › bitter and zesty flavors › beach curls or waves › green is serene › million dollar smiles › dewy skin

temperamental › confident › melodramatic › witty

flavored swishers › jewelry anklets › basketball and football › loads of unread messages › fresh hairstyles › sum 2 prove by lil baby › late night drives › hip hop music on repeat › gamer heads › always texting, never calling › vodka drinkers › durags and dad caps › whats poppin by jack harlow › sleeping in on weekends › wears sunglasses inside › life of the party › knock knock jokes › wake and bakes

elite member groups

whimsical › spoiled › empathetic › irresponsible

their way or the highway › falling asleep on the phone › indecisive about life › dunkin donuts over starbucks › dior by pop smoke › lace and mesh material › 90’s aesthetics › dramatic lashes › easily persuaded › cluttered spaces › layered chains › what they want by russ › takeout over cooking › has a hard time fitting in › mixed prints and patterns › has to be center of attention › silk scarves › floral parfum

judgmental › traditional › evasive › diplomatic

online shopping › distressed jeans › astrology lover › minimalistic vibes › enamel pins and brooches › chanel (go get it) by young thug, gunna and lil baby › handwritten love notes › more logical and practical › hot apple cider with cinnamon › leading the conversation › supalonely by benee & gus dapperton › monochromatic colors › frequents museums › murder mysteries lover › moral sensibility › prefers action over words

meticulous › inconsistent › humble › catty

lover of vintage designers › espresso shots › name plate jewelry › happy by pharrell williams › starts new things but never finish › autumn nights › loves meeting new people › works well under pressure › winged eyeliner › chocolate candy eaters › detailed oriented › instrumental music › cooler than me by mike posner › chunky and platform heels › sand between their toes › loyalty over everything

devious › persuasive › rebellious › flirtatious

take tons of selfies but never post them › bright colors › drinks with umbrellas › snake lovers › demons by drake, fivio foreign and sosa geek › ice cream sundaes › seizes every opportunity › reckless when drunk › smoky eyeshadow › moody by briijean › sweet scents › socks x sandals › drumsticks over flats › compulsive liars › teardrop tattoos › pool party throwers › color blocking aesthetics › impulsive nature

diamond member groups

charming › reserved › innocent › jealous

love diy projects › rom-com lovers › drinking water from a wine glass › my hair free care free › fresh scents › getting caught in the rain › pink matter by frank ocean and andre 3000 › cuddling with a love one › denim on top of denim › blushes easily › singing in the shower › watermelon sugar by harry styles › white button-up shirts › bamboo plants for luck › up before sunrise › mutes the group chats

scatterbrained › imaginative › martyr › resourceful

oversized sunglasses › hard on the outside but mushy on the inside › loves conspiracy theories › would misplace their head if it wasn't attached to their shoulders › mismatched clothing › why don’t i care by gglum › cancelling plans last minute › watching the sun set with friends › sticky and sweet flavors › prefers waking up in the afternoon › thrifted furniture › deep meaningful conversations › earfquake by tyler, the creator › brown and yellow accents

studious › possessive › mature › talkative

hasty when provoked › alternative music › collects artwork and coins › knows more than they should › dream catchers on their walls › read books at coffee shops › bloom by troye sivan › gardens full of produce or flowers › random dance sessions › animal prints › nitro cold brew coffee › parce by maluma and others › speaks in third person › leather watches › whiskey connoisseurs › watches the history channel

volatile › spunky › promiscuous › nurturing

matte black everything › monster by kanye west and others › hidden flasks of liquor › displays public affection › positive vibes only › hot summer nights › drunk texts and voicemails › less clothes the better › champagne showers › late night rendezvous › drunk face by machine gun kelly › full of energy › has an idgaf attitude about life › speeding in traffic › simple silver jewelry › mile high club

#urban rpg #jcink rp #urban rp #jcink rpg #jcink site #jcink buzz #premium jcink #city/town rp #real life rp #site buzz #nosdreamsrp #nospre

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out-of-jams · 5 years

Text

Airplane Mode | Track 07: 21st Century Girl | jhs

Summary: Inspired by Love at First Touch by bagelswrites

In a world where a bruise marks the first touch of your soulmate, time is the only thing that matters. The marks take hours to appear, sometimes even days if you're really unlucky. Once First Touch is initiated, both parties only have a few weeks to find the other. From then on, the body begins to reject any form of sustenance other than the touch of the other. If one fails to find their soulmate in time, they starve to death.

So what happens when your soulmate is a world famous idol?

And you're just one fan in a sea of many who can't even speak the same language?

Pairing: Hoseok/ FemOC

Word Count: 5.1k

Genre: Fluff. Angst. Idol!au. Smut. Soulmate!au. Explicit language.

Warnings: Explicit language. Anxiety. Somewhat brief depiction of a panic attack.

Words written in bold are spoken in Korean.

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“It’s cold as hell.” Eunjae’s mumbled complaint passed through the black face mask pulled over her mouth and dissipated into the winter air.

With teeth chattering, she quickened her pace to keep up with the older woman next to her. Eunjae’s over the knee black boots clicked against the sidewalk and she took a moment to be grateful that they were only three inch stiletto heels. Even with the sleeves of the thick, red Supreme hoodie that she’d borrowed from Hoseok’s closet that morning covering her hands, she was still freezing.

There wasn’t much that she could have used from his wardrobe without looking like she was playing dress-up, so Eunjae did what she could. A small, cute black belted fanny purse that she’d designed months ago was hooked around her slim waist. With her silver hair loose down her back and tiny rings through her cartilage piercings, Eunjae was pulling off a very Ariana Grande-esque look.

She’d been lucky that while her clothes were nowhere to be seen, most of her shoes and accessories had been shipped out to Seoul early. So after digging through two boxes worth of various shoes, she’d found her favorite pair of boots. Even though Eunjae wasn’t necessarily self conscious of her short height, her footwear collection might say otherwise. Almost every pair she owned were either platformed or heeled. Though she did own the occasional regular pair of running shoes.

“Let’s go in here.” Eunjae barely got a warning from the woman walking beside her before she cut to the right and almost left Eunjae in the dust.

At eleven am on the dot that morning, the doorbell to Eunjae’s apartment rang, effectively scaring the hell out of her. She’d been in the bathroom inspecting herself in the foggy mirror, the steamy air from her recent shower billowing out into the hallway.

The sound had startled her so much that Eunjae’s hand jolted from where she’d been drawing on winged eyeliner. The brush jerked, leaving a huge black streak down her cheek, which she scrubbed at viciously as she stumbled to the door. Luckily, the bruises had faded completely from her skin due to the impromptu cuddling session in the car with Hoseok on the way back from the airport.

Unlike earlier that morning, there was only one ring of the doorbell as the person on the other side waited patiently. With sudden nerves invading her senses, Eunjae hastily ran a hand down the hoodie she converted into a dress. The hem fell a little lower than mid-thigh and she was grateful that her boots were tall enough to help prevent her from accidentally flashing someone.

Eunjae took a moment to take a deep breath before pulling open the front door. She wasn’t normally so nervous about meeting new people. In fact, she was actually pretty outgoing. But something about the whole situation just made her a bundle of nerves that she tried to hide behind the bright smile she pasted onto her face.

Standing on the other side of the door was a woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties. Though it was hard to tell for sure. The woman’s wavy black hair was cut into a fashionable bob that did well to accentuate her elf-like face. She was dressed business casual, with a white blouse underneath a black blazer, french tucked into a pair of jeans. The woman had on a pair of short white heels with a cross body purse hanging from her shoulders.

She gave Eunjae a polite bow of the head and extended her hand with a smile on her red painted lips. “Hello, Morales Eunjae-ssi. My name is Park Soyeon and I’m here to show you around Seoul.”

Soyeon’s soft, accented voice soothed Eunjae’s nerves and she reached out to take her offered hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You as well.” Soyeon brushed her hand through her short hair, the gold watch on her wrist glinting under the lights. “I work as an English interpreter for the company, so I’ve also been appointed to tutor you in Korean, if that is something that you’re interested in.”

With a hand still swiping the excess eyeliner gel from her face, Eunjae stepped to the side and waved the woman in politely. “Absolutely. Yes. Come in and please ignore the mess that is my face.”

Now, almost two hours later and a healthy amount of shopping to break the ice, Soyeon’s personality was beginning to emerge. The woman was professional, that was a given, but the more time the pair spent together, the more Eunjae discovered that the woman’s initial innocent appearance was far from true. Her energy was enough to rival Hoseok and despite being in her mid thirties, she gave off a very spirited vibe. And the woman loved to shop.

Eunjae found that out the hard way when she had to physically hold Soyeon back from dragging her into all the high end stores in Gangnam. While yes, Big Hit was paying to supply Eunjae with enough clothes and necessities to last until the rest of her belongings arrived in Seoul, she didn’t feel comfortable racking up a huge bill. Soyeon had pouted all the way to the less expensive, less high end designer stores. But she’d perked right back up at the cute displays in the windows. Apparently, Soyeon’s girlfriend was huge into fashion, which only served to prompt the woman into even more of a shopping fiend than normal, since their anniversary was fast approaching.

Sitting across from Soyeon at a corner table inside a cozy cafe, Eunjae sipped idly at the sweating glass of water in front of her. With one hand fingering the sleeve of her too big hoodie, the other tapped across the screen of her brand new iphone. That had been something that Eunjae decidedly couldn’t pass up on, since she needed it to communicate and all.

Soyeon had nearly run her down in the Apple store when Eunjae tried to pay for it herself. While she didn’t have a job, she still kept up a somewhat steady flow of income into her bank account. Sometimes Miles would invite her to costar in some of his YouTube videos (or she’d just invite herself over since she practically lived there anyway) and since he made so much revenue, he would split the profits with her. Despite explaining this to the interpreter who snatched her wallet, the woman refused to acquiesce. So Eunjae reluctantly let Soyeon swipe the black company credit card to purchase it.

The first app that Soyeon had insisted she download was something that everyone in South Korea had. The air in Seoul wasn’t always clean enough for the human body to inhale, so the app forecasted when and when not a face mask was needed in order to step outside. Hence the face mask currently pulled down below Eunjae’s chin.

“So I think after this, we head back to the company. Sound good?” Soyeon’s voice came out muffled as she chewed on the end of her straw. The iced latte in her plastic cup was almost completely drained with more ice than coffee left.

“Sure.” Eunjae closed out of the most recent text thread with Miles and set her phone on the table. “If you want.”

Soyeon paused in her vicious chugging to eye Eunjae over the rim of her coffee. The woman’s eyes were narrowed in thought and she pursed her lips as she stirred the remainder of her drink. “You nervous to meet the boys?”

Eunjae huffed a laugh and dropped her gaze to her cup, using the tips of her pointer fingers to push it back and forth across the table. “I’m just surprised you’re done shopping is all. You were like a tornado of fabric and credit cards back there. I thought they’d have to call in a SWAT team to stop you.”

“Uh huh.” Soyeon leaned forward on the table and placed her chin on her fists, lipstick stained straw pressed between her lips. “You have nothing to worry about. The boys will be nothing if not respectful.”

She reached out a hand to stop Eunjae’s fidgeting ones, pausing long enough for Eunjae to look up. “Besides, you barely speak Korean and not all of them completely understand English. What could possibly go wrong?”

With a playful roll of her eyes, Eunjae snorted in amusement and fell back against her chair. “That’s like, exactly what someone says right before shit hits the fan.”

“Whelp.” Soyeon shrugged, taking one last noisy pull of her drink. “What’s that weird English phrase you showed me earlier?”

Eunjae simply raised a brow in response, lips pursed in mirth.

Soyeon giggled before standing from her chair with a wink. “‘Ain’t nothing to it, but to do it.’”

“I regret showing you that video so much right now.” Eunjae groaned but followed the older woman’s lead, standing and shoving her phone into the purse around her waist.

The ride to BigHit Entertainment was spent with Eunjae anxiously playing with the sleeves hanging over her hands. Numerous bags stuffed with more clothes than she needed spread across the backseat in a multicolor rainbow of plastic. A radio station streaming Seoul’s most current popular music blasted from the car speakers. Soyeon had turned the volume up to an obnoxious level, her fingers drumming on the steering wheel along with the beat.

Eunjae sank down further in her seat, causing the top of the hoodie to bunch up closer to her nose. The faded scent of, well, Hoseokstuck to the fabric and she had to stop herself from burrowing into it. She felt strangely comforted by the smell in a way that she didn’t understand. Maybe it was just a soulmate thing? Or perhaps it was because he was the closest person that she knew in the whole country? Who knew. Which was a little sad in and of itself since she barely even knew the guy.

The closer she got to the company, the more her nerves came out to play. Eunjae tried to push the thoughts--the reality--of the situation to the far recesses of her mind for as long as possible. But now she was less than two miles away from coming face to face with the boy group that she’d been fangirling over for a while now. Not only that, but she would have to put all of her nerves, her doubts, her starstruck anticipation aside because her soulmate was J-Fucking-Hope.

What if the members of Bangtan hated her? What if, for some reason, they couldn’t get along? Where would that leave her with Hoseok? Would he grow to dislike her too? Eunjae didn’t want to imagine being rejected by the one person in the world that the universe decided to pair her with. She didn’t know if she could handle that.

Over and over, the thoughts played in a continuous loop in her head until she’d worked herself up into an anxious mess. With her bottom lip caught between her lips, Eunjae fiddled with the golden crescent moon shaped earrings in her lobes. She clenched her eyes shut and turned her focus back outward, grasping onto the closest thing to keep her grounded.

Some song from Red Velvet was blasting from the speakers and Eunjae let the lyrics flush the dangerous thoughts from her mind. She had a habit of doing that sometimes: working herself up with situations that always turned out to be way less of a problem than she’d feared. And Eunjae didn’t want to turn into panicking mess before she even stepped foot out of the car.

Just as she got her anxiety under control, Soyeon whipped the compact SUV up to a gated parking lot. The woman barely had to slow to a stop and flash her employee badge before the security guard at the gate let her in. The car maneuvered around the various filled spaced until Soyeon finally pulled into an empty spot. As she cut the transmission, Eunjae took one last steeling breath.

“Come on, kid.” The woman patted her shoulder comfortingly before she opened her door and slipped out.

The cold air from outside shocked Eunjae back to her senses and she scrambled out to follow. The stiletto heels of her boots clacked against the concrete parking lot as she followed Soyeon inside the building. For once, Eunjae was thankful for the cold because it forced her to pick up the pace to prevent herself from freezing to death.

Instead of taking the front entrance of the building, the parking lot led to a back entrance for what appeared to be employees only. Soyeon bounced on the toes of her shoes as she quickly slid her laminated employee card through the scanner at the side of the door. With a beep, it flashed green and the woman rushed to pull the door open. She barely gave Eunjae two seconds to scramble in after her to avoid being locked out.

White marble floors and beige painted walls greeted the pair as they slipped inside. Eunjae had been expecting some kind of grand, showy interior. There were absolutely zero pictures of the inside of the BigHit Entertainment building online, which left ARMY to speculate what it was actually like inside. What she hadn’t been prepared for however, was how normal it looked.

Where they entered looked like any normal office building. They were in a wide, open hallway with a bright green exit sign glowing above the door they’d entered. To the right was another door that led to a stairway that Eunjae presumed went all the way up to the top floor. The rest of the hallway was empty of life: no doors, no employees, nothing. Just a security camera perched on the ceiling with a red light slowly blinking in and out of existence.

Soyeon turned to Eunjae with a sigh of relief, most likely from having just escaped the biting cold. The puse dangling from her shoulder swung with the moment and Eunjae had to shuffle out of the way to avoid being hit. “Well, this is where we part ways. I have a lot of work I need to catch up on.”

Eunjae blinked in both shock and confusion, stuffing her facemask into the purse around her waist. “Wait, you’re just going to leave me here?”

A short laugh left Soyeon’s red painted lips, the sound bouncing off the walls. “Not--”

Before the woman could finish her sentence, the metal door to the staircase swung wide open. It hit the wall with a thud as whoever pushed it put too much force against it. A sheepish looking Hoseok poked his head out from the doorway and he checked to make sure he didn’t put a dent in the wall.

“--exactly.” Soyeon finished her statement with a smirk of amusement. Tilting her head to the side, she raised an eyebrow at the rapper. A string of rapid Korean left her lips and if her teasing tone was anything to go by, Eunjae could take a guess at what she was saying.

Hoseok’s eyes scrunched as he let out a loud laugh; a shrug lifting his slim shoulders. “Whoops?”

The words had barely left his mouth before his attention turned to Eunjae. Quicker than she could process, he scanned her from head to toe. His expression morphed into something unreadable, eyes darkening in the fluorescent light. But before she could try to discern it, his eyes flashed back to hers with a dimpled smile, hair pushed back from his forehead like he’d ran his hand through it repetitively.

“How was shopping? Good?” The question left Hoseok’s mouth carefully, like was was trying to make sure that he was translating the correct words.

As with every other time Eunjae found herself around the man, the corners of her lips pulled up into a smile. She was the type of person where the energy of others directly affected her own. While he wasn’t as goofy and loud as he was on camera in person, the man’s friendly disposition rolled off him in waves so strong she could almost feel it on her skin.

“Yeah. Very good.” Eunjae shoved her still cold hands into the pouch of her borrowed hoodie.

“Aw, my little protégé!” Soyeon’s icy cold fingers pinched one of Eunjae’s cheeks playfully, earning an annoyed nose scrunch. “You’ll be fluent in Korean before you know it.”

Soyeon, much to Eunjae’s benefit (or horror), had been throwing random Korean words and phrases at her all day. After making her repeat them a few dozen times, the woman would give her random pop quizzes at the most inopportune times. And if that wasn’t enough, Soyeon had the habit of sometimes abandoning Eunjae at a store counter to fend for herself (“Immersion is the best learning tool, kid.”). All-in-all, the woman’s teaching methods were completely abnormal, but Eunjae couldn’t say they weren’t a little effective.

“Yah.” Eunjae waved the Soyeon’s hand off with a pout. “You’re such a bully. I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Sucks to suck, kid. Anyway,” Soyeon put a hand between Eunjae’s shoulder blades and pushed her towards an amused looking Hoseok. “Go hang out until the boss man sends someone to come get you two. Shouldn’t be too long, but also, who knows with how long business meetings usually last?”

The woman left no time for anyone to reply before she turned on her heel and strutted down the hallway. Pointing a finger at Eunjae from over her shoulder she added, “I’ll have someone drop those clothes off later today. And I’ll meet with you sometime either tomorrow or the day after. Seeya!”

All Eunjae could do was stare as Soyeon disappeared around the corner. She’d evaporated just as quickly as she’d appeared.

The sound of Hoseok clearing his throat brought her attention back to him and even with the added height of her boots, she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. He nodded his head back towards the door to the staircase.

“After you.”

Murmuring her thanks, Eunjae stepped past him into the stairwell. It was just as empty as the hallway and the drab colored steps seemed almost endless, twisting up and out of sight. Turning back to Hoseok as he followed behind her, Eunjae raised a brow, half curious and half anxious. “Where to?”

“Studio. Everyone..,” Hoseok flashed her a reassuring smile, hands gesturing with his words. “Excited to meet you.”

Well if that didn’t send a jolt of nervous anticipation down Eunjae’s spine, she didn’t know what would. She wasn’t sure if she should be thankful that the rest of the members were excited to meet her or if she should feel more pressured to make a good first impression. With her finger pointed to herself, she squeaked, “me?”

Hoseok’s contagious laugh forced the tight muscles in her shoulders to relax a tad. He opened his mouth to respond, but before any words could make their way out, a loud rumble sounded from his stomach. His eyes widened and he looked down at his body as if he’d been betrayed.

“Hungry?” Eunjae stifled a giggle behind a sweater paw. It reminded her, however, that she had yet to eat for the day. The dread that had been weighing down her stomach all day had effectively chased away her appetite. Now though, it mingled with a twinge of hunger.

“A little.” Hoseok smiled sheepishly with a hand resting on his stomach like that would stop the sound from escaping again.

“Have you eaten?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips and Eunjae’s brows pinched in concern at the grimace on his face. Hoseok’s shoulders lifted a little in a shrug. “Tried.”

“But?” She urged.

“I..,” Hoseok’s nose scrunched as if the memory he was reliving was unpleasant. His head tilted to the side slightly, eyes raising like the words he was searching for were etched into the bottom of the staircase above them. “Got sick.”

Eunjae’s eyes widened at what he was saying. She quickly did the mental math in her head, counting the weeks since they’d initiated First Touch. The timeline just about matched up to the normal statistic of when food would become totally obsolete to the body. Since she hadn’t eaten anything that day she didn’t know if her body would react the same.

And she didn’t really want to test that theory.

Slipping a hand out of her hoodie pouch, Eunjae extended it out towards Hoseok. The movement pulled his gaze down to her outstretched hand and she wiggled her fingers with a small laugh at his questioning eyes. “I’d be a bad soulmate if I let you starve.”

His slender fingers intertwined with hers slowly, almost completely wrapping around her smaller hand. Any remaining tension in her body dissipated at the electric current that burst through her veins with the feeling of safety, warmth, home. With a flash of his dimples, Hoseok gave her hand a quick squeeze of thanks and turned to the stairs.

“This way.”

As they ascended the steps, Eunjae couldn’t help but silently thank the fact that the touch of a soulmate also took away the feeling of pain. While she was used to walking around in heels, the toes of her shoes were starting to pinch her feet and it would only be a matter of time before she had to change her confident strut into an awkward shuffle.

Hoseok pushed the metal door open once they reached the third floor and Eunjae followed him out into the hallway. The heels of her boots sunk into the soft carpet and she sent him a questioning look when his hand slipped from hers.

He simply nodded his head at the doors lining the length of the long hallway. Words embedded in the frosted glass doors read out the names of some of BigHit’s main producers. Hoseok threw a wink over his shoulder and held a finger to his lips. “Shhh.”

Eunjae just hummed in understanding. From what Sejin had said weeks ago at their initial meeting, the nature of her and Hoseok’s soulbond had to be kept on the downlow. She just wasn’t sure who was or was not informed. Did anyone outside of Bangtan and their management get to know? With the way Hoseok didn’t touch her as they walked down the hallway, Eunjae hazarded a guess that none of the producers knew.

The hallway was quiet except for the occasional sound of drums or piano keys drifting from the closed studio doors. Eunjae couldn’t help her inner fangirl from internally screaming. Where she was walking, Producer’s Row, was where all of Bangtan’s songs were made. Just a few feet away from her could be the key to their next big hit.

Lost in thought, Eunjae almost ran into Hoseok’s back as he stopped in front of one of the frosted glass doors. His lips quirked up in amusement and she had no warning whatsoever before he twisted down the handle. All she could catch were the letters spelling out MonStudio.

As soon as it opened, music poured from the room and spilled out into the quiet hallway. Eunjae couldn’t see anything past Hoseok’s tall frame and she took that moment to gather herself. That was it. The moment that she’d been preparing for all day. She was about to meet the members of one of the most famous boy groups in the world.

She didn’t get much time to prepare before Hoseok’s hand slid back into hers and he lead her into the room. Whether he was grabbing her hand to soothe the nerves wafting off her in waves, or to sate his hunger, Eunjae wasn’t sure. But she didn’t give it much thought because there was only so much her overwhelmed brain could process at once.

MonStudio, Kim Namjoon’s studio, wasn’t very spacious. The walls on either side of his desk were taken up by glass shelves displaying numerous amounts of bears and trinkets gifted from fans. There was a leather couch pressed up against the wall closest to the door and a small coffee table in front of it. The knee high table was littered with paper, some balled up haphazardly and others with words and sentences scratched out in black ink.

Taking up a seat on the couch hunched over a notebook furiously scribbling was one of Korea’s most famous rappers. With his blond hair pushed back by a thick headband, Min Yoongi paused in his writing to look up at the sound of their entrance. The end of the pen in his hand tapped a staccato rhythm against his pale cheek like he couldn’t contain the words it itched to spill.

The rolling chair that had been facing the desk across the room spun around as well. Eunjae was grateful for Hoseok’s hand in hers keeping her grounded against the starstruck feeling creeping up her throat. Kim Namjoon, in all his dimpled, long-legged glory greeted them with a smile.

His pressed a button on the computer keyboard behind him that caused the music spilling from the giant speakers on his desk to cut off. Namjoon’s hair glittered a dark grey underneath the lights of his studio. The baggy green sweater and beige cargo shorts he wore almost blended into the beige painted walls. It was just those two waiting in the room and Eunjae felt her fear dwindle a little at the fact that she wouldn’t meet all six members at once.

“She’s here?” Tilting his head, Namjoon tried to peer around Hoseok, who almost instantly moved out of the way.

Eunjae suddenly felt like she was on display. At the corner of her vision she could see Yoongi’s eyes flicker down to where Hoseok’s hand was wrapped around hers. An uncharacteristically shy smile tilted at her lips and she wiggled the fingers of her free hand in a wave. “I’m here. Hi.”

Hoseok gently pulled her farther into the room and motioned back and forth between her and the two other men in the room. “Eunjae, Namjoon-ah. Yoongi-yah, Eunjae.”

The use of the informal nickname didn’t seem to bother Yoongi as both him and Namjoon dipped their heads in a respectful bow. Both men spoke their greetings at the same time, Yoongi’s deeper voice blending in with Namjoon’s.

“It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.” Namjoon’s English was perfect and Eunjae couldn’t help but feel a little relieved at the fact that he could translate between the four of them. Gesturing towards the couch that the eldest rapper was perched on, he smiled. “Please, have a seat. Get comfortable.”

Yoongi gathered the notebook in his hands and the stray pieces of paper scattered around him and shifted to sit on the floor at the other side of the coffee table. Eunjae’s eyes widened. “Wait! You don’t have t--”

“Too late!” Hoseok released her hand only to grab onto her shoulders and guide her to the now empty couch. She didn’t have time to argue as he dropped onto a cushion and pulled her down next to him.

Instead of taking her hand again, Hoseok simply threw an arm over her shoulders. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and she smiled in answer to his silent question. While he acted casual about the skinship between them, Hoseok repeatedly made sure that she was comfortable with it.

“So,” the sound of Namjoon’s voice brought her attention back to the other two in the room. Thankfully, neither of them made a comment about the fact that she was pressed into their best friend’s side. “How are you settling in?”

“I don’t think it’s fully hit me yet, to be honest.” Eunjae huffed a laugh, sinking further back into the comfortable couch. It was no wonder that the rappers would sometimes sleep in their studios if all of their couches were so plush.

“That’s understandable.” Namjoon’s golden cheeks dimpled. “It’s a pretty big change.”

“That’s one way to describe it.”

Namjoon snorted in amusement and crossed one of his legs over the other, the chair beneath him rolling back a little at the movement. “Well if you ever need anything, you can come to any of us. We’ll try to help you the best we can.”

Eunjae could feel Hoseok’s warm stare burning into the side of her face as she gave her thanks to the grey haired man. Yoongi simply sat cross-legged on the floor, attention wavering between the conversation going on around him and the open notebook on the coffee table. The words begging to be etched onto the page conflicted with his desire to participate. That and the fact that the blonde wasn’t entirely comfortable speaking in English.

Hoseok spoke to Namjoon, the end up his sentence lilting like a question.

“Hobi-yah wants to know how old you are.” Namjoon translated for the rapper at her side.

Blinking at the question, Eunjae almost smacked her forehead at the realization. Korean manners were based a lot around how old somebody was, with more respect going towards those who were your senior. And she couldn’t recall ever telling Hoseok her age, so she wasn’t offended at all by the question. “I’m twenty-three.”

Hoseok made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded halfway between teasing and something else that she couldn’t decipher. He tapped a finger against his chest and hummed, “older.”

“I know.” Eunjae’s answer pulled a smile from his lips.

“Speaking of,” Namjoon rested a cheek against one of his hands, his forearms propped up on the chair’s armrest. Whatever he was about to say got cut short as the door the MonStudio echoed in a knock. All attention turned towards the figure on the other side of the frosted glass. “Come in.”

The door swung open to reveal Sejin in all his exhausted glory. The man sent an apologetic smile at the occupants in the room, finger pushing up the falling frame of his glasses. “Sorry to interrupt, but Bang PD-nim is ready to see these two.”

Whatever slight comfort that Eunjae felt within the confines of the cozy studio was wiped away almost instantly. The anxiety that had turned to a gentle simmer cranked itself all the way up, threatening to bubble over. She held it in though, pushed it down until it hid behind the small upwards tilt of her lips. Hoseok moving his arm from around her shoulders had her bracing herself for the inevitable.

She followed him as he stood from the couch, and with a few quick parting words to the other two men in the room, Eunjae trailed after Hoseok’s fleeting back.

Time to put on your big girl panties, bitch.

#bts #bts fic #bts fic rec #hoseok #hoseok fic #hoseok fanfic

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