#gonna print i think four copies? one for me to practice two for friends and then a fourth for me to keep probably

[4th-make-quail]

well, after another size change i'm almost done with my typeset! i'm gonna make it an octavo size now, which is very wee but it puts the page number at a respectable 86 pages! also had a bit of a colour scheme change to match the banner accents - i'm really fucking happy with how it's turning out! one more pass to check for widowed and orphaned lines, then i'm gonna attempt to print it next week i think :DDDD

cue lots of crying as i try every physical step for the first time, but hey! LEARNING!!!

[1kook]

card swiped (4)

→ jeon jungkook x (f) reader

→ “I’ve known Jungkook was a virgin since he first tried to tell me he wasn’t,” you tell him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows.” GENRE romance (romcom?), eventual smut, teensy angst WARNING mentions of a hand job, talk of virginity OTHER college crushes, volleyball player!jk, student council president!oc, idiots to lovers, besties to lovers, childhood friends au RATING m (18+) bc brief sex ment WC 1.6k

NOTES (!) sorry for taking so long to update </3 school be kicking my ass. anyway here they are! an idiot couple. lmk what u think!!

[ masterlist ] 

In the past, whenever something had bothered you, the first person you ran to was Jungkook. Low grades, fights with your parents, boy drama— as your best friend and number one confidant, Jungkook was always your first choice. He was always willing to lend you a shoulder to cry on, even if that meant staining his white t-shirts with streaks of your mascara. He was always ready to go beat up a mean boy who had hurt your feelings during lunch, even if he’d miss his favorite special. And he was always down for some good old fashion i hate my parents ranting, even if he adored your parents. He was a great listener, an even better best friend, and had rightfully won you over from a very young age. 

That being said, how were you supposed to talk to Jungkook about something that bothered you when that something was him? 

You could easily tell any of your numerous girl friends, those of which would probably understand your predicament better than Jungkook or any man ever could. But after years of vehemently denying any notion of a romantic relationship between the two of you, you get the feeling your call for help will be met with more unimpressed glares than actual assistance. Besides, as much as you bring up Jungkook, none of them really know Jungkook to truly offer you any worthwhile advice. 

Your next option: Kim Taehyung. Now, Kim Taehyung held a similar background as Jungkook (translation: he also went to the same high school as you). He knows both you and Jungkook—frankly, more than you’d like him to—so he would be able to dissect the issue easily and offer trustworthy advice. The problem with Kim Taehyung, however, is that aside from knowing you at your embarrassingly dorky teenage prime, he doesn’t know how to keep a secret. Anything he knows, Jungkook knows. So if you were to, hypothetically, ask Taehyung for advice on Jungkook, well. Chances are, you’d probably get a rather confused text from Jungkook two minutes later. 

Which leaves you with one option— Park Jimin. There’s a reason Park Jimin isn’t your first option, and that reason presents itself now as you glare at him from across the empty room. For as long as you’ve been in university, Jimin has always lingered around the student council meetings, giving everyone he sees the prettiest, meanest stink-eye. You suspect it’s because he waits around for Min Yoongi, your Vice President (which isn’t an issue; Jungkook also frequents student council meetings while waiting for you), and doesn’t really care for anyone else. Your problem with Jimin doesn’t lie there but rather with the fact he’s adamant on taking up space and not lending so much as a finger to help. 

Today he is sitting with his feet on the table, dirty volleyball bag tossed on the floor. He’s watched you for the last fifteen minutes wrestle with the broken copy machine and hasn’t said a word since. He pretends he doesn’t see you struggling, because if he does, he’d be obligated to help you. 

To summarize, Park Jimin may be the fastest libero your university’s volleyball team has seen in years, but he’s a good-for-nothing bum everywhere else. 

And despite all that, he’s your best choice. There’s no one quite as blunt and honest as Park Jimin. There’s no one in this world who truly doesn’t care enough about anyone’s problems to gossip about them as Park Jimin. You plop down beside him, rumpled papers in hand. Without warning, you jump straight into it. “Jungkook is going to take my virginity,” you announce, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. If any of your fellow student council members heard you, you’re certain you’d shrivel up and die. 

Jimin hums. “That’s nice.” His eyes don’t leave his phone, thumb hovering over his screen. It’s a testament to how much he truly does not care. His extended silence plants a seed of doubt in you— was this the right person to tell? you begin to worry. But after a beat, Jimin’s thumb taps against his screen and he says, “Jungkook is a virgin.” 

You clench your jaw. “I know.” 

The thing about Jimin is, with the right wording, you can get him interested in something. Not interested enough to genuinely care, but interested enough to at least listen and offer his own piece of straightforward advice. His thumb comes to a standstill over his phone, eyes momentarily going blank. It’s a minute gesture, one that’s taken you four years of paying attention to catch. Just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone. “Really,” Jimin sighs, back to, you now realize, playing CandyCrush on his phone. “You’re gonna let a virgin take your virginity.”

Not a question, but you nod anyway. “Yup.” 

There’s sweat building on the back of your neck, nerves at an all time high, but you’re trying to play it off. Just a little bit more and you know you’ll have caught him. Beside you, Jimin’s jaw twitches. 

Finally, after what seems like an eternity of trying to act calm, Jimin clicks his phone off and turns to you. He’s as intimidating as ever, ash blonde hair pushed back today to reveal his forehead and dark eyes. “You’ve known Jungkook was a virgin this whole time?” he asks, has this calculating look in his eyes that makes you feel like you’re being questioned by an officer of the law and not the shortest person on the volleyball team. 

With a practiced air of nonchalance, you shrug. “I have,” you confess, and it’s the truth. 

While you may have been initially fooled that night two years ago, you weren’t that oblivious. Oh, you knew clear as day that Jeon Jungkook was still a virgin, just as well as you knew that he religiously washed his sheets every weekend or that he had a specific color coded system for his underwear drawer. Jungkook was a fool to try and lie to you, not only because you had found out, but because you had found out that very next morning. 

It had been subtle. The night at the party, you had watched on with a throbbing heartache as some pretty girl led Jungkook up a set of stairs, had barely fought off a wave of emotion when he returned twenty minutes later, his hair a rumpled mess. “Did you… ?” you had mumbled, pressed closely against him by the back door. Your eyes had been glassy, from your emotions and from the drunken stupor you had gotten yourself into while he was away, wondering what he was doing. A sense of jealousy you would never admit to had curled around your heart. His hand had landed on your hip then. He smelled like flowers and vanilla, a smell unlike his own. Your heart clenched, hand mindlessly reaching up to cup his jaw, so drunk and heartbroken, you couldn’t stop yourself from trailing your fingers along his pretty cheekbones. 

Jungkook had graced you with a simple nod, and then, “do you wanna leave now?” 

You’d left, stumbling down Greek road on your way back to his dorm. Jungkook had held your hand the whole way, tucked you into his twin bed, and then promptly knocked out on the floor between his and Taehyung’s beds. The latter was nowhere to be found, wouldn’t appear until the next morning when he’d accidentally step on Jungkook’s ankle and wake both of you up. 

Jungkook had yelped, and your eyes had fluttered open. You remember debating rolling over, checking on him like you wanted to, but Taehyung was already there doing just that. So you had laid still instead, listened as the two boys clattered around the room. They chatted mindlessly, about the party and tomorrow’s practice. Taehyung had been bragging about some girl he’d slept with last night. “What about you?” he had asked, and your breath caught in your throat. “Did you and…”—a pause, the distinct ruffle of fabric—“finally?” 

“What— no,” Jungkook had said, and you felt the bed dip as he sat down on the edge beside you.

Taehyung pushed on with a snort. “Well, did you get lucky at all?”

Jungkook groaned, placed one warm hand on your back soothingly. You tried your best to level out your breathing, relaxed your facial expression as you clung to the sound of his voice. “Just a handjob. Some girl I didn’t even know. Does that count?” You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, felt it beneath your fingertips when you fisted the sheets. 

And that curt admission sat in the back of your mind everyday for two years. 

You turn to Jimin. “I’ve known Jungkook was a virgin since he first tried to tell me he wasn’t,” you tell him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows.”

Jimin lets out a low whistle. “You’re smarter than I thought,” he grins, this conniving little smile that is a genuine cause for concern. “So you’re letting him think you don’t know?” You nod. Jimin’s smile grows. “My, my. If I had known you were this evil, maybe we would’ve hung out more.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m not evil,” you insist, flicking him on the nose. Jimin huffs indignantly. “I think what he’s doing is sweet…” you confess, feel your entire body heat up as you recall that wide-eyed look Jungkook had given you just yesterday afternoon, your kiss print fresh on his cheek. “And, well,” you look down at your shoes. “I used to dream about him being my first.” 

Jimin groans. “You two make me sick.”

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 14

Happy Chronicles Update! I promise I'm still trucking along on this baby. I think?? We've also officially reached the halfway mark on this installment, which is kind of. Wow. That's WILD.

anyway, I hope you enjoy!

welcome to today’s episode of Luka’s Word to the Wise: whatever it is, it doesn’t have to be perfect. it just has to be good.

thanks, I.

Ivan is right. And technically, so is his Ma, who’s been telling him and Juleka this for as long as he can remember. But Luka will give them the gratification of saying I told you so when this is all over. Even though he could take a stab in the dark and guess that only one of them would take him up on that offer. And it wouldn’t be Ivan. And it wouldn’t be his Ma.

In between messaging back and forth with Bubbles over the next couple of days, Luka puts together a flyer. It’s not exactly the best—just something he threw together on one of those free graphic design websites, definitely nothing like a Gabriel billboard. But it’s punchy, and it fits the vibe, and it gets the overall message across. And more importantly, Juleka doesn’t give him The Look for it. In fact, she smiles over his shoulder when it’s done, and she rubs her fist in his hair, and she affectionately says, “Now can you chill?”

Luka only grins and throws her into a fireman’s carry for another round of ping-pong. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t know how to be totally chill any more.

They pool pocket money, leftovers from past paychecks, to put in an order for copies at the local print shop. Only Rose has ever been; she tells them she’s tagged along with a couple of old friends from an art club to print issues of the comic they’ve been working on together. It’s nice to see her take the lead, point out the best paper stocks and finishes and spot colors, whatever those are, based on what she’s overheard. It certainly beats the alternative: four barely-adults standing awkwardly at the counter, pretending they know what they’re doing.

Even if, according to Luka’s Ma, that’s most of what adulthood is, anyway.

They decide on something glossy because it makes the colors pop, and admittedly Luka has to thank his lucky, anxious stars for saving the file in every format imaginable because he wasn’t sure which one they’d need. Before he leaves them and heads to work on his bike, Juleka gives him another smile, and Ivan manages a single, subtle nod, and Rose’s eyes sparkle. And it’s starting to feel a little less like a thing he needs to do. It’s a thing he wants to do. With them.

And, well. Any bonuses are just that. Bonuses.

These days, Luka’s made it a point to bike past the bakery on his way to work, because if he’s as much of a regular as the Dupain-Cheng family claims, then he might as well act like it. To be fair, he doesn’t always stop in to talk or buy something; in fact, most times he doesn’t. maybe it’s some silly sense of hope that he’ll be seen. That Marinette really did talk to her parents about picking up an extra shift or two behind the counter. That there’s still room on the bulletin board for him—them. And most times, it is just Mrs. Cheng at the storefront, organizing displays or chatting with a friendly customer.

But sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it is Marinette, idly staring at the window with what he can only assume is her sketchbook at her side and her apron tied around her waist. And sometimes, she looks up at him. And sometimes, she waves and smiles with all the warmth and none of the sweat of July.

That’s why he does it. For the sometimes.

The flyers, once they’re printed, are nothing short of gorgeous, but Luka can’t bring himself to take any of the credit for it. More than anything, he’s just happy to see his bandmates all in on this, even if he did jump in with both feet. Even if they do still rib him during practice about how he’s way too invested in this. (At least Mylène has only nice things to say. He’ll have to remember to order a few extra pastries just for her.)

They split the flyers into four stacks, because of course Mylène insists on helping and of course Rose and Juleka insist on going together. They run or pedal off in different directions once they’ve put a game plan together, and at least Luka can credit them for not teasing when he offers to take the third and fourth arrondissement. They all know it’s where the bakery is, in spite of how he talks up the Place des Vosges. They know, and they don’t have to say anything.

He’s still trying to figure out whether it’s a blessing or a curse to have your real-life friends on your social media accounts.

Even as he’s hanging the flyers in downtown coffee shops, in libraries, on signposts and public bulletin boards, Luka can’t stop staring. With every flyer he pins or tapes up, he finds something new to love about it. A splash of neon color in the top left corner. The jagged, cutting edges of the lettering. The blurred glow of a spotlight. Every time he looks, he gets the feeling that he’s already there. Music pounding in his ears, stage lights burning so bright and hot they make him sweat, fresh calluses on his fingertips that he’ll regret and adore later. He doesn’t think of stardom often, but he imagines this is something close to it.

At the very least, it’s what he would want to make of it.

It’s close to closing by the time Luka arrives at the bakery-patisserie; the usual lingering smells of fresh bread and sugary frosting and the easygoing music are both conspicuously absent when he walks in. But Mr. Dupain and Ms. Cheng are both missing from the storefront, and he has to double check the time on his phone to make sure he didn’t accidentally arrive too late, or that he’s not interrupting some closing routine. It shouldn’t take long; he spent almost the whole bike ride over rehearsing what he needed to say. He looks around cautiously, even clears his throat in case it gets someone’s attention.

It does. Marinette pops up from behind the counter with a squeak, and it startles him so much he nearly drops the stack of remaining flyers in his arms. And that would’ve been a pain in the ass as much as it would’ve been straight out of one of Rose’s cute romcoms for Marinette to round the counter and help him pick them up until their hands brushed over the same one.

Jesus. He really needs to get out of the house on his sister’s date nights.

He really needs to have a date night.

He also really needs to stop thinking about date nights when the person he’d actually consider a date night with is right in front of—

“Luka?”

He blinks to attention, standing awkwardly in the quiet. God, he really hopes he wasn’t staring at her when he zoned out like that. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Marinette shrugs it off with an apologetic smile. “We’re fresh out of napoleons, you know,” she says casually, slipping past him to flip the sign on the door. “Guess you’ll just have to come first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, I guess I will—wait—” He shakes his head. “No, that’s not why I’m here.”

Marinette pauses at that. Even seems to stand a little taller, intrigued. Hopeful? “Oh…? Then why…  are you here?”

Meekly, Luka holds up one of the Kitty Section flyers and nods toward the bulletin board. Here’s hoping he—it— isn’t too much of a disappointment.

Marinette squints at the flyer for a second, and then her eyes widen and spark in delight. She looks… impressed, at least. which isn’t to say she’s never seemed impressed by him before. It just makes all the things he’s been working for a little more worth it. “Wow,” she says. “You really weren’t kidding about being in a band, huh.”

“You know it,” he says with what he prays is a casual shrug; this… wasn’t part of the script. “I don’t wear this thing on my back just to look pretty.”

She stifles a laugh, then claps a hand to her mouth immediately. “Sorry, I didn’t—I wasn’t implying that you’re not handsome—pretty— “

Oh God. She’s stammering. And it’s adorable.

Marinette composes herself with a deep breath and her arms folded over her chest. “There are pushpins in the corner,” she says. “Hang it up wherever you want.”

Except Luka can’t help feeling like she’s got her eyes on him the whole time. Either she’s coming to terms with the fact that he was telling the truth all along, or she’s… judging him. Or the flyer. And honestly, he can’t tell which is worse. “What’s wrong?” he asks once he notices she’s still staring. “Did I put it up at a funny angle or something?”

“No, just… thinking…” Her voice sounds distant, perhaps somewhere he might never find her. But then she snaps her fingers, and she says, “That’s it!”

“Uh.” Luka’s brow furrows. “What’s it?”

“Oh, just… sorry, my thoughts just ran away with me, I guess.” Marinette steps toward the flyer, brushing her fingers over it and wincing. maybe it’s just from the finish; his nails have scraped over then more than once, and it felt just as bad as a chalkboard. “I was just thinking, well…  you’ve been good to my parents and all. Why don’t we help you with promotion? You know, put postcards in the boxes or bags. It couldn’t hurt, could it?”

Luka nearly spotters, but the only thing he can manage to say is, “Where am I gonna get postcards?”

“I can make ‘em.” She says it like the simplest, most obvious thing in the world, and looks him up and down when he falters. “If… you and your band are okay with that, I mean. Cause I, y’know… dabble, in graphic design. But I don’t want to impose, if you’re okay with this. It’s your band and all.”

“I can,” he starts to say; then he stops himself, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I can ask them?” Idiot, he thinks. That wasn’t supposed to be a question. “I’ll let you know what they say. Have to come in bright and early tomorrow anyway, right?”

Marinette only smiles. It’s faint, almost absentminded, but that sweet little tug at the corner of her mouth is hardly lost on him. “You don’t have to.”

“Ask them?”’

“Come by.” Her bag is hanging on a peg by the register, and she’s off rummaging through it before Luka can ask what she means. He gravitates toward her more than he actually walks to her, and by the time he reaches the counter she’s fishing a card out of her wallet. It’s pink and black, decorated with the same spray of flowers and monogram as her apron. when he turns it over, there’s her name at the top, and below that, two email addresses. And two phone numbers.

He looks up, wide-eyed.

“So,” Marinette says. “Unless you’re coming all this way for a napoleon, a pear tart, and my pretty face, I think you’re good.”

“I—” Luka turns the business card over and over as though it will teach him now to speak again. “I guess so.” Does she know he thinks her face is pretty? Wait—of course she does, he gave her that note. Oh, Jesus, does she still have that thing? It’s been weeks. “Well,” he says, scuffing his heel against the tile. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll come anyway.”

Okay, that was definitely not part of the script.

But then, neither is the way her eyes are sparkling. “Well,” she murmurs. “Maybe you will.”

“I should, uh—” He jerks a thumb toward the door. “Go, um. Happy closing?”

She laughs behind a hand, glancing between him and the tacked-up flyer before she grabs a broom and sends him off with a delicate wave. And to be honest, Luka’s never been angry with nature before, but he curses the wind for being so loud that he can’t hear that giggle in his head, over and over. Almost as much as he thanks it for drowning out all the stupid things he said, and the lingering questions of why she offered at all.

Luka’s Word to the Wise, Part 2:

Progress isn’t linear but it sure as hell doesn’t mean you can’t stutter your way through getting a girl’s number and succeed.

[veiledpeaches]

chance encounters | part iii: what i mean when i say

Summary: Between pages of meddling friends and societal expectations, all she actually wants is to find a happily ever after with Doyoung, even if it feels like that is no longer possible.

part i x part ii x part iii x part iv x part v x part vi

word count: 4k

GIF originally posted by @lukhei​

Haewon’s day starts briefly like this – a backache verging on cataclysmic, a phone that is ringing off the hook and a thunderous sizzle from the kitchen that could be an auditory representation of Johnny cooking up a storm for no particular reason on a Saturday morning.

“Johnny Suh, you know you’re not allowed to touch the kitchen as long as I am in the house.” She gripes as she walks out of her bedroom upon washing up.

“It’s my house,” Johnny argues, just as he places a fork and knife on either side of the dish he has prepared for her. “And - you’re welcome. Johnny’s homemade blueberry pancakes.”

“Please, you should be thanking me,” she says, sliding all her hair across one shoulder and digging into the pancakes. “Plus, what if I wanted waffles? That would void your compensation.”

“I can make you waffles later if you want,” Johnny winks. “Although, we can argue that pancakes really don’t deserve such discrimination if waffles aren’t accorded the same breakfast ghettoization - they’re practically made of the same ingredients.”

Haewon studies him with narrowed eyes. “That good, huh?”

“Whaddya mean?” Johnny’s expression turns sheepish.

“Ghettoization?” She returns the question, moving her hair behind her shoulder and smirking, “you’re rambling, it’s written all over your face, you sad sad man-child.”

He jauntily sits himself on the chair in front of her, the grin on his face too pleased to be contrite. “It was good.”

“We really ought to soundproof your room, she literally woke me up-”

The lady in question chooses this opportune moment to make her presence known, sauntering up to Haewon and Johnny as she buckles her watch to her wrist. Haewon’s head whips towards Johnny with glaring eyes, while Johnny discreetly mouths an apology back to her. They had laid down the quintessential rule (the rule that makes all ground rules obsolete) when Haewon had moved in in early 2017 - staying over’s only okay after the fifth date; if you want to have a one-night stand, book yourself a hotel. This is Johnny’s second infraction of the year (not that Haewon is counting, she has too much of a life for that). She hears Johnny’s date of four times stop short in front of them.

“Youngho-ah, who’s this lady and what’s she doing eating your pancakes in her underwear?”

Haewon drops her gaze onto herself as Johnny stands to give the accuser a kiss on the temple. It’s clearly just a camisole that’s in question, though given what Johnny’s lover is planning to wear out of the apartment, it’s sort of audacious of her to bring this up when she’s really giving Haewon a run for her money.

“This is Haewon, baby, my roommate. I grew up with her back in the U.S.”

“Ah,” Said lover reaches her hand out to shake Haewon’s in an oddly formal manner, her coffin nails digging slightly into the back of her hand. Haewon guesses the sigh that emits from her lips right after she studies her has more to do with relief than recognition.

Shrugging internally, Haewon sits back down to finish her breakfast as she hears Johnny and his partner-she-can’t-give-a-name-to-‘cause-Johnny-said-no-labels kiss noisily and bid goodbye, as she eyes said partner’s figure. Yeap, Johnny’s definitely a titties man.

“It was a crime of passion, your honor!” Johnny dramatically pleads once the door shuts as Haewon shakes her head vigorously and mutters, “that’s not how you use it”.

“You’re cleaning the apartment the whole of next month,” Haewon insists, before her eyes widen as a thought flits into her head, “oh my God, you guys didn’t do it on the couch, did you-”

“Of course not! I’m not an animal!” Johnny pretends to be scandalized, “and, come on. It was 2am. I couldn’t kick her out of bed - what can I say, I’m a gentleman. A modern romantic.”

“I think you catastrophically misinterpret the word ‘romantic’.”

Despite the inflection, Johnny is, one-hundred percent, a hopeless romantic - something Haewon quickly learnt after witnessing the poor man get dumped over the phone a while after she had relocated to Seoul. Johnny believes in the concept of soulmates, the proverbial ‘one’, and an ancient concept that most people would currently refer to as ‘destiny’. The manifestation of his soulmate pursuit is countless dates and relationships, grandiose expressions of love and a penchant for serenading his lovers with roses from their windows - a gesture not every Korean woman appreciates especially at 11pm on a Thursday night.

“I think I’m gonna marry her, Haewon,” Johnny tells her now, with a sparkle in his eye, “I think she's the one.”

Haewon looks at him disbelievingly. “You’ve been on four dates, John.”

“I know, but it feels so right, you know?” He smiles softly in a moment of clairvoyance, standing up to clear their plates. “Speaking of marrying someone, isn’t there something you need to do on Monday?”

Haewon rolls her eyes. Subtlety has never been his strong suit.

There’s a reason Johnny has been calling Monday D-day for the past week, and repeatedly using phrases that border on annoying such as ‘it’s go time’ and ‘let’s get it’. Monday would mark the return of a highly anticipated Kim Doyoung, and Johnny is adamant that Haewon should tell Doyoung, especially since Inhee has not confessed about what she's done.

“Isn’t it possible that she might want to tell him face-to-face?”

“If it was me,” Johnny straddles the chair in mock confrontation, balancing his arms on the seat. “If this was me, would you be saying something so naïve?”

“But it’s not you-”

“If the conditions were the same, but it was me instead of Doyoung, you know you would tell me in a heartbeat. And I would appreciate it, Haewon, just as he would.”

“You’re not doing this for yourself,” he looks at Haewon with a seriousness that silences her. “Don’t beat yourself up over something you have no reason to. You’re doing it for Doyoung.”

“The moment he reaches work, you march into his office, and you tell him truthfully what you saw. No one can accuse you of anything when you’re just being truthful.”

There’s a sign on the wall at the far right corner of the office that says “There’s no room for losers”. It’s a signature Fulworth saying, especially when things get tough at work. 

Haewon has never felt particularly perturbed by it until now. She can almost hear the enunciation of the word ‘losers’ in his low, gruff voice.

Unlike Johnny’s prediction, Haewon’s will isn’t the only thing stopping her from talking to Doyoung about his fiancée when Monday comes. The issue turns out to be a lot less 1980s-movie-dramatic than they had expected – a case of timing.

Doyoung has been in and out of meetings since he entered the office after lunch.

It’s not even like Haewon has been systematically avoiding him. Doyoung barely had a chance to say hi to her and update her about the situation at Bertsman when he had been whisked away by a very anxious Lee Donghyuck, who had been held in trepidation for the last two weeks due to the declining sales figures. Haewon had laughed, gotten back to the copy she had been working on for Cho Young Jun’s book press release, her stomach lurching at the thought of what she had to do later.

There's no room for losers, the neat cursive print stares back at her from the wall.

It’s only hours later, when the sky has turned pitch black and the hour hand on the clock has pointed to ten, that Haewon begrudgingly creaked her joints into motion as she made her way to the Managing Editor’s office, cursing Johnny and all that he stood for as a person.

“Haewon!” Doyoung’s lips breaks into a smile and stands up suddenly, with only the harsh light from the desk lamp illuminating his face. “I thought I told you to leave at six, I don’t even know when I can leave the office…”

“Doyoung works late every night. We hardly spend much time in the same room anymore. We don’t even talk anymore, about our lives and our work.”

“Boss, you just got back late last night. You should rest.” She tries, “and, well, your fiancée might be waiting up…”

“It’s okay, Inhee understands,” Doyoung laughs, “besides, I sort of have to undo literally everything the Bertsman employees have done. That’s what I’ve been saying, you can’t trust any one of their employees, they don’t do things the way we do,” he smirks.

Haewon smiles softly at him, even if he cannot see, his eyes trailing after the lines on the paper in front of him.

“Ah, but what can I do? I’m just a worker ant.” He flops his arms around, as if mimicking an actual worker ant.

This action doesn’t bring Haewon laughter as she had expected. Instead, her heart feels like it’s been wrung, the sudden tightening in her chest inexplicable. She doesn’t know if it’s a biological reaction, but tears have started to fill her eyes, and there seems to be nothing else she can do but blink them back.

This is the Doyoung that Haewon has fallen in love with, all five foot ten of him, gummy smile and square shoulders, a kind boss and a workaholic - but how real her feelings are doesn’t and cannot negate how ill-placed the same feelings are in their situation. Here he is, looking at her, grinning at her, as her vision blurs. In that moment, she swears she hears something in her break; a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower’s stem.

“Oh by the way, you really need to get back to me on the wedding,” he laughs breathily, “I really need that RSVP-”

“I can’t go.” The words leave her before she realizes, breath seeming to return to her lungs temporarily. “I… I can’t attend your wedding.”

His face falls.

“Oh, you have something that day?” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“No, I…” She looks down, licking her lips and inhaling shakily. “I can't attend your wedding, because…”

“Haewon.”

“Because… Because I like you.”

She hears more than sees his reaction, the pen in his hand slipping through his fingers and thudding gently onto the carpeted floor. “Haewon.”

“Because I like you,” her voice is still shaky, but there’s a part of her that’s calmer than ever before. “I can’t attend your wedding.”

She lifts her gaze to meet his, but Doyoung’s expression remains unreadable. She feels her jaw start to quiver, and clenches down on it.

“I like you, Doyoung. I like you so much that I can’t sleep, can’t think. I like you, I want to be with you, but you know what I also want?” She lets out a shaky breath, “I want you to be happy…”

It’s not like a leaky faucet, or a dam breaking. Instead, it’s like the little Dutch boy had pulled his finger out of her chest, because suddenly everything inside her is spilling out at once.

“But I see you everyday,” she shuts her eyes, and the tears flow at their will, “I don’t… know… what to do. Believe me, if I could will these feelings away, I would. I don’t want to feel so pathetic, I don’t want to like you like this.

“But I’ve also realized that I can’t be that… person, who stands on the sidelines and watches as you marry someone else - I can’t, I couldn’t do that to myself. I’m sorry. This is so out of line and you probably don’t want to hear this.” She inhales shakily, shutting her eyes as she pauses. “I’m sorry for telling you this… I just… I just needed you to know.”

Doyoung looks at her as if in a daze, his own lips quivering, until almost immediately, his head falls and he inhales sharply, as if giant invisible scissors had cut off his marionette strings.

“Why… Why now.”

Her eyes widen. “What do you-”

“Why are you telling me this, Haewon?” Doyoung looks at her like she’s missing a point, like she’s the most breakable thing in the world. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Her eyes sting with fresh tears. She can feel something rising in her throat - a sob, a scream - but she bites it back, shutting her eyes so tightly there are almost tears that refuse to escape. She hates herself for crying, for showing any weakness here, for thinking she ever had a shot with someone like him.

There's no room for losers, but in that moment, she can’t help but feel like she has become one.

It’s Friday, finally the end of the week.

She softly clicks the pen in her hand open and close, drifting in and out as Huang Renjun drones on and on about the press kits they are planning to prepare for the media and why the Marketing Department needed more of the budget to be allocated to them.

This meeting has lasted way too long, and it feels even longer with Doyoung right next to her, the sleeve of his jacket inches away from hers. He's scribbling down notes diligently, making her existence in the meeting obsolete - it’s been like this the whole week, and Haewon is exhausted. She knows what Doyoung is doing, how he’s taking meeting minutes down like someone who doesn’t have an assistant so he doesn’t have to ask her for them later. Despite the promise of putting what happened behind them on Monday, she’s entirely aware that things will never be the same again.

The envelope sitting in her bag is still warm, its contents only freshly printed this morning. She vaguely hears Kim Jungwoo asking a question before all eyes are suddenly turned towards her.

All, but Doyoung's.

She looks around the room, befuddled, while feeling Yuta’s foot nudge hers gently, presumably to get her to speak.

“I’m so sorry,” she finally says.

“Manager Kim asked if you had too much on your plate,” the timid intern next to Kim Jungwoo speaks up, “and if you were willing to undertake more of the comms with Cho Young Jun himself.”

She opens her mouth, surprised, and turns to Kim Jungwoo.

“As we were saying, before you spaced out on us,” he laughs good-naturedly, “we let him read the copy you wrote and he likes it. He specified that he wants to work with you.”

Haewon’s gaze drops to her notebook, where a messily scrawled question blinks back at her. Today or next week? She blinks, momentarily realizing that the decision presented to her now accounted for more in the future than she had thought.

“I… That would be a great opportunity for me, thank you.”

Kim Jungwoo grins. “Don’t thank me, your boss told the boy that you were highly supportive of his work. Of course he would be excited to work with you.”

She turns towards Doyoung, a wide-eyed Doyoung, a Doyoung who only looks back at her now, his eyes not betraying any emotion.

There’s something about placing the envelope on his desk that makes it so official, a breath of fresh air that comes from a gesture that’s so unabashedly melodramatic and passé. Doyoung eyes the envelope warily, clearly this was not something he had imagined.

“Why is it… addressed to me? Why isn’t it in an email?” Doyoung drops his glasses onto his desk, pressing his fingers gently against his eyelids. “Why… What is this, Haewon?”

“I just…” She licks her lips. “I just wanted to make sure you received it, is all.”

Doyoung looks at her for a moment, then gets up and shuts the door of his office, before clicking on the button below his desk, rendering the glass office translucent.

“Tell me, Haewon, what is this about? Is it because of Monday?”

She winces, remembering the state of mess she had reduced herself to that night. The only thing more pathetic than confessing to someone who’s engaged, is confessing to someone who’s engaged while crying.

“No, boss, of course not. I thought we agreed to put it behind us.”

“I thought we did too,” he says, sighing and standing with his hands on his waist. “Then what’s this about? I mean, do you want… a raise? What can I-”

“No no no, please don’t think that way. I applied for a Literary Arts Masters’ at Brown University,” Doyoung’s remains bewildered. “I want to be a writer, and, I want to study for it.”

Doyoung inhales shakily. “I mean, I know you wanted to write, but… You should have told me about this. I would’ve written you a letter of recommendation…”

“Well I got in,” she shrugs and smiles, “and… I want to do it. I’ll be admitted in the fall, so I’m moving soon.”

It’s almost like she can see the gears shifting in Doyoung’s head, the mental calculations as apparent. “Is that what you wanted to tell me on Monday? When you came into my office, is that the, well,” he licks his lips, “more technical reason why you can’t come to my wedding?”

Not entirely, she thinks. “Well, it’s one of them.”

Doyoung settles himself back into his chair, absentmindedly rearranging the stationery on his desk. “I don’t want a new assistant.”

Her heart sinks. “I know you’re stressed. I’m sorry, and… this feels irresponsible, that I didn’t tell you this earlier. Thing is, I didn’t really believe I would get in, and I got my letter so late, so now I only have the next three months…” She pauses, realizing that none of this should be important in the discussion. “That’s why I’m giving you a month’s notice instead of the required two weeks, I’m sorry that this is what I can only leave you with, but I want to help as much as I can. I swear, boss, I’ll get handovers done as best as I can, whether the recruitment is internal or external, I’ll make sure the transition is as smooth as possible for you-”

“No, I mean…” Doyoung stands up, the pinstripes of his suit bouncing against the light as he does, and walks slowly towards Haewon, standing right in front of her.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

If there's anything she'll miss, it's how Doyoung always leaves her breathless. The sincerity in his eyes twinkling like unshed tears, the way he just looks softly at her like this, his lips pursed tightly and making the small, almost unnoticeable scar by the corner of his lips more prominent. This is the Doyoung that makes her heart soar, an unspoken tenderness dancing across his features. But with this Doyoung also comes an unmistakable truth glaring right back at her.

“No one is irreplaceable, Doyoung,” she starts, a lump rising in her throat, “especially not me. And I think it’s clear that this week has proven that we are no longer able to work together properly because of my feelings and the awkwardness that it has caused.”

“I was trying to give you space-”

“I don’t need space, Doyoung!”

“What was I supposed to say? What am I supposed to say, Haewon? I’m engaged!”

He looks at her for a long time, then sighs and turns away exasperatedly, tears darting in his eyes.

And there it is - the bubble that has popped, the pink elephant in the room. Because the truth is, from start to finish, as selfish and morally repugnant as it is, Haewon had foolishly hoped for a future with this man somehow in some way, even when it had never been possible.

“You’re right,” Haewon feels her eyes sting, but she has promised herself that she is not going to cry in front of Doyoung ever again. They aren’t close enough for that.

“No, you’re right, I’m sorry, I don't know what I was expecting, why I said what I said.” She shakes her head, attempting to breathe again.

“Besides, your engagement isn’t the only thing standing in the way of anything happening between us.”

Doyoung looks up immediately. “What do you mean by that?”

Haewon winces and swallows, unwilling to spell it out. “I mean, you don’t… feel the same way, at all.”

There comes a point when things are undeniable and can't be hidden any longer, even from yourself.

“I never should have told you about it,” her voice comes out as a whisper this time, unintentionally intimate.

“I’m sorry - even with everything that I said that day, it only occurred to me after, how truly stupid and inappropriate it was… in the office, no less.” Doyoung begins to shake his head, but she continues. “I don't have an excuse for it, I’m sorry - but I swear I’m not… for the lack of a better word, punishing you or anyone else with my resignation. Even before telling you, I was bent on moving overseas for the degree. So Doyoung, you really don’t have to feel guilty or anything - you don’t owe me anything, I shouldn’t have said anything.

“At the same time… The chance for me to pursue my dream is too rare to give up on.

“You’ve done so well before I came into your life, you’re gonna be okay.”

Doyoung averts his gaze away once again, putting his hands into his pockets, and alternating between resting his weight on his left and right foot.

“You’re wrong, you know, you’ve never been more wrong.”

“I’m sorry?”

He finally looks up, his eyes filled with sadness enough to keep Haewon from taking a step out of his office. Outside, phones are ringing and people are talking, noisy and continuous and completely unaware. But here, there is a Doyoung who looks at her like she could break easily, as he contemplates whether or not the next words have to be said, if at all.

“You said no one is irreplaceable, but you’re irreplaceable to me.”

It’s finally down to the last week of her work - and a part of Haewon feels guilty to admit that it is a relief.

This is what Doyoung and Haewon has been reduced to - two people who would rather send each other emails than talk face-to-face, even if it’s about work. On the bright side - if there is one - the diminished duties mean that Haewon has been given ample time to interview, recruit and train Doyoung’s new assistant - a dogged 25-year-old fresh graduate with a double major in Journalism and Communications who has an unhealthy obsession with cars, whom the younger estrogen-infused female interns label “daddy material”.

“Ready?” Johnny smiles as he shoves his keys in his pants pocket.

She slides her bag across her shoulder and looks at him up and down. “Johnny, you’re not ready.”

“Oh right! Shit,” Johnny mumbles to himself, rushing to his room to get his shirt.

It’s 8.25am, which means that Johnny’s definitely going to be late, since he’ll drop Haewon off at her office first, but Johnny doesn’t really seem to care. She laughs to herself, picking up her phone just as a message notification chimes.

Haewon, I’m so sorry I can’t tell you this myself, but I will be on personal leave for the entire week. I know you’re mostly done with handovers and training Jeno, but I’ll need you to hold the fort for this last week - just check your email, you’ll understand everything. I’m so sorry I can’t be here for your last week. Thank you.

Personal leave? What kind of emergency would-

“Haewon!” Johnny jogs out of his room, his phone and shirt in his hands. “Did you know?”

His eyes are wide with shock, his mouth open. He swallows, taking in Haewon’s equally baffled expression.

“I just got a call from my Mom. The wedding’s off…”

xx

w/n: dear friends, please do not zone out in meetings. it doth not helpeth thee.

also, johnny is a giant teddy bear

come scream at me!! here :-)

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ @sasuhinabigflash2020​​ || Day Fifteen: Turnip Soup ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Yamanaka Ino, Haruno Sakura ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

[ Previous ] [ Next ]

For the first time in far too long, Hinata is having a girls’ day. And not just any girls’ day, but a potluck to boot!

With everyone’s busy schedules, getting a day to align to allow the four of them to meet up has been ridiculously difficult. Between Sakura’s haphazard shifts at the hospital to Ino’s work with the interrogation department to Tenten’s shop, coordinating has been a nightmare. Hinata, for her part, has tried to be flexible. Her work with Sasuke and the rest of the Hyūga to keep the civilians of Konoha safe hasn’t exactly been easy, but her new husband does his best to accommodate her.

So, finally, after weeks of near-misses, they have a day: Saturday. And Ino, with her connections to Konoha parks’ botanical group, managed to arrange a private spot in one of the village’s largest public gardens for the afternoon.

It’s going to be perfect!

And Hinata has gone all-out. Rising at the crack of done to have it finished in time, she’s made an old recipe of her mother’s: homemade turnip soup. Alongside from-scratch cinnamon buns, she’s sure to contribute to the miserable fullness they’ll all be feeling by the end of the day. She packs up bowls and utensils for her share, double checking she has everything she needs.

“Ready to go?”

Turning to Sasuke, she gives him a bright smile. “I think so! Sorry you can’t come…”

“It’s called a girls’ day for a reason. And I’m not sure I’d fit in, regardless.”

At that, Hinata pouts. “Of course you would. But...maybe you and the rest of the guys could have a day to get together…?”

Sasuke’s expression immediately sours. “Not sure I’d enjoy their idea of a ‘fun’ evening. Probably pigging out on greasy food and cheap beer.”

A giggle escapes her. “You’re probably right...still, I feel bad.”

“Trust me, I don’t feel slighted.” A hand threads fingers in her hair, resting against the rear of her head to steady her as lips gently press to her brow. “Go have fun.”

She beams softly. “Okay...I left you a portion of soup for supper, okay?”

“Thanks, Hinata.”

“Bye!” Giving a little wave, she packs up her things and heads out the door.

As per usual, the Konoha Summer has been hot. And today is no exception. Despite her demure style, Hinata has deemed a sundress necessary attire for the heat. White with a bit of lilac floral print, it’s still decent enough for her tastes. Reaching her knees with a medium neckline, the straps are several inches wide. Enough to keep cool, but not too much for her self-conscious self. Flat white sandals replace her typical on-duty boots. She even went so far as to paint her nails a soft lavender color.

And to top it all off, she’s got a wide-brimmed white hat to shade her face, accented with a purple ribbon.

...okay, maybe she put a lot of thought into this outfit, but...she wants to look nice! Especially since Ino always looks pretty...while Hinata’s not usually the dress-up sort, there’s a sort of unspoken sizing up whenever the four of them meet. Tenten pretends not to care with her tomboy attitude, but even she has her feminine moments alongside rough-and-tumble Sakura.

She just...wants to fit in, is all. Doesn’t matter how old they get, they’re still victims of their own vanities...some just more than others.

Pushing all those thoughts aside, Hinata brightens as she spots her friends. Sakura and Ino are already present, Tenten nowhere yet to be seen. “Hi guys!”

The pair turn and smile back. “Hinata-chan!” Ino greets jovially, waving her over. “Wow, you went all out, huh?”

“W-well, I...I really love to cook,” she explains sheepishly. “I brought soup a-and dessert!”

“I thought I smelled cinnamon,” Sakura agrees with a grin. “You’ve always made those!”

The pink in Hinata’s cheeks gets a little darker. “They’re...my favorite…”

“Well, I’m trying to watch my diet but I think I can cheat just one,” Ino replies, arms folding. “No one can pass up Hinata-chan’s baking.”

“Chyeah!” the rosette agrees.

“Any word from Tenten yet…?” Hinata then asks, setting her basket of goodies and wares on the table.

“Sadly she had to back out last minute,” Sakura sighs. “Apparently some important officer under the daimyō just sent in an order for a dress sword, and she needs to fill it as soon as possible.”

The Hyūga wilts a bit. “I see…”

“I swear, we’re just cursed to always have at least one person unable to come,” Ino sighs, taking a seat and draping one leg over the other.

“Someday we’ll manage it.” Taking out a large pitcher of premade tea, Sakura pours them all a glass. “We can put some of all our stuff together and take it to her place for her after, so she doesn’t miss out.”

“Oh, g-good idea!”

With that, the typical small talk begins as food is dished out: catching up on all the goings-on in their lives. Sakura moans about how busy the hospital remains. “The more hours the more pay of course, but it hardly leaves me any free time! I’m almost as bad as Naruto now with how little I’m home,” she pouts, leaning her chin in a hand.

“Well, at least neither of you are sitting there alone too often,” Ino replies, sipping her tea.

“Yeah, but I’d rather we both just have more time off.”

“You know, you both control your own schedules.”

“We’re both workaholics,” is Sakura’s sheepish admission. “Someday we’ll slow down a bit, but right now we’re in our primes!”

“I know what you mean,” Hinata offers politely. “Sasuke and I hardly ever take time off. Even with all of the Hyūga we have signed up for the community watch force, it seems we’re always needed somewhere.”

“Well, Sasuke’s the founder after all. Since Shisui’s working with the Hokage, he’s really the only Uchiha people can rely on themselves.” Ino tilts her head curiously. “And you might not be heiress by name, but your clan still has massive respect for you and your abilities. Of course they’d rely on you, too.”

At the compliment, Hinata’s head ducks demurely, blushing. “...I suppose so…”

“How’s Hanabi been holding up?”

“Well! She’s, well...she’s bored with her lessons, but she’s always been a bit...easily distracted,” Hinata laughs. “But she takes her role seriously. And I know she’s relying on Neji-nīsan for guidance.”

“Any lingering problems with him?”

“Thankfully no, he recovered very well.”

“Thank the gods for that,” Sakura sighs. “One hell of a risky procedure, but...well, we all know how stubborn she is.”

“...I’ll never be able to repay her,” is Hinata’s quiet reply.

“Not sure a debt is the point, though. Besides, the main thing is he’s okay. Now if only he’d get off his high horse and propose to poor Tenten already.”

“He wants to! It’s just, um...complicated. Clan traditions and all that.”

“But what about you and Sasuke?”

“That was mostly excused due to the alliance,” Hinata sighs. “There’s only two Uchiha left, but...he’s technically still clan heir, so my father convinced the council it was still proper. It took some convincing for him too, though.”

“Ugh, so glad I don’t deal with any clan nonsense,” Sakura mutters lowly, stirring the last dredges of her soup. “Seems like such a pain.”

“Depends on the clan,” Ino offers with a shrug. “None of my team, despite us all being heirs, were pushed into marriages into the clan.”

“The Hyūga are probably the most, um...antiquated clan in the village,” Hinata admits with a disappointed set of her lips. “I have to wonder what Hanabi will do when the time comes…”

“Oh I doubt anyone’s gonna tell her what to do, the little spitfire.”

“Probably not, but that will still cause q-quite the stir.”

“Your clan’s had lots of stirrings since the war. It’s good for them,” Ino quips, taking a bite of cinnamon bun. “I still can’t believe it took so long to abolish the houses…”

“Well, after Neji-nīsan’s actions, it couldn’t really be ignored anymore,” Hinata agrees quietly.

“Then your big role in the ousting of the rest of the old council. Now that was awesome.” A wide grin grows over Sakura’s face. “I’ll never forget that.”

“Indeed. I’m just glad Sasuke and his family got the closure they were denied for so long…” Hinata’s eyes drop to the table somberly. “It still b-breaks my heart to think about it.”

“...yeah…”

A muted silence falls over the group of them for a time.

“...well, I don’t know about you two, but I’m full of both food and gossip,” Ino then announces, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “Amazing soup and buns, Hinata-chan.”

“T-thank you!”

“You’ll have to share the recipes!”

“You can’t cook to save your life, Dekorīn,” Ino laughs.

“That’s what practice is for, Ino-buta!”

Smiling sheepishly, Hinata waves a hand. “I-I’ll get you both copies.”

Tidying up after themselves (and putting together Tenten’s box, which Ino agrees to deliver), the trio stand and chat a little longer before parting ways. Evening is settling over the village, and Hinata sighs contentedly in the cooling air.

It was a nice day.

Arriving home, she calls out her arrival, Sasuke replying from inside.

“You’re early.”

“...am I?”

“I thought you’d be gone longer is all. Had your soup.”

“Oh! Was it good…?”

“Very. You’ll have to teach me.”

At that, Hinata gives a smile. “...I’d be happy to.”

     Woo, some slice of life fluff! Not so much centered on Sasuke this time around, but Hinata can always use more love. As can her bonds with the other girls! Still bugs me how little we got to see them all interact in canon...      Otherwise though, a simple little piece, nothing too special~ Another hot as heckie day so that’ll be all from me for now, but once the heatwave’s over I want to try to catch back up again lol      On that note though, I’d best head off for the night. Thank you for reading!

[goddessofthundathighs]

Happy early birthday to my twin @panthergoddessbast! Always remember that I love you immensely! 😘

—————————————

VI. THREE-HEADED MONSTER

The sexual tension on the ride back to O'Shea's house was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Erik could feel the way her eyes bore into the side of his face, her stare unrelenting. She wanted more, but he still didn't think she deserved it. She was gonna have to work for the dick, no matter how many times her hand brushed against his hardening third leg.

"What are you doing, Ms. Powell?" he asked, his eyes never leaving the road.

"I was a good girl at dinner. I think I deserve a treat."

"You got one in the bathroom, don't be greedy Princess." This made Shea pout, but she was determined to make him break.

"Please Daddy?" she tried again, sliding her perfectly manicured coffin nail up his thigh.

"O'Shea, I said no," he scolded firmly causing her to recoil slightly.

"No?" she inquired, her eyebrow raised in confusion. Being the spoiled Daddy's girl she was, no wasn't a word she was used to hearing. Erik noticed her change in demeanor and decided to exploit the situation.

"Yes, I said no, Bianca. Any other questions?" She huffed loudly, turning her body back to face the windshield.

"First of all, I'm an adult and you will address me as such. You're going to give in eventually. That tent in ya pants will need to be handled somehow."

"I have Skylar for that," he added just to antagonize her further.

"Nice try, but Skylar is a lesbian."

"Skylar is just like you, she doesn't give a fuck who eats her pussy, I'm just the only man she lets do it," he replied with a shit-eating grin. O'Shea remained silent the rest of the ride to her place, not even bothering to give him a look back as she walked up to her door and into the house. He couldn't exactly explain why, but he loved getting her riled up the way he had. He loved seeing the fire in her eyes when she was angry at him. It made his dick even harder and the dormant beast within him began to come to life.

Let me have a taste, the beast growled.

"Soon, big fella. Soon," he told himself. Little did O'Shea know he had his own Bennie, and Killmonger was an expert brat tamer.

--

"Why in the fuck would you tell her that? She should've punched your ass," Skylar fussed from her seat behind Erik's desk. She was on the computer, her long nails tittering away on the keyboard as she worked on an informative pamphlet for her own clients.

"The three major components of the cognitive-behavioral approach are: (a) replacement of sexual anxiety with sexual comfort; (b) adopting positive sexual attitudes and learning sexual skills; and (c) a program of individually designed sexual exercises to be done between therapy sessions. The goal of this therapy is to develop a comfortable, functional, and satisfying sexual style... How does that sound," she asked aloud.

"Like you copied and pasted it from a generic article but it serves its purpose and describes what we do. I might just change the name of the practice to mine and steal your pamphlets."

"I don't think so," Skylar mumbled printing multiple pamphlets before ejecting her drive.

"You couldn't do that in your office?" Erik teased watching her lips purse in indignation.

"I could've but I was already here," she replied, taking a sip from her caramel macchiato. "So how are things going with you and Shea?"

"Oh the usual, however, I think we're making progress with her attitude. She's starting to learn that acting out and misbehaving gets her nothing but blue balls."

"I don't think women can get blue balls, but go off I guess."

"Shut up you know what I meant, nigga," he replied, blowing the wrapper of his straw in her direction. The pair shared a laugh before Erik grabbed his leather notebook from the desk drawer.

"I need help coming up with the next method I want to try with her. She's the ideal candidate for experimental therapies. We can really take this thing as far as it goes with her. Hypnotherapy was successful, I've taken thorough notes on that session after watching the footage a few times. And the toy. The toy did exactly what it was designed to do. However, it's not just toys and hypnotism. I've found that engaging her in non-sexual ways are just as effective to bring out her little personalities.

"Oh, so you met them already." Sky leaned forward interested in where the conversation was headed.

"I've tapped into her Little behavior and experimented with some of her kinks. Buttercup is the Little and she appears whenever she feels that I'm upset with her. There are layers to that psychologically that I'd like to examine."

"Hmm," Skylar nodded intrigued.

"Bianca is the brat you and I are used to."

"Too used to it." Skylar's eyes roll.

"She's obviously triggered by the word 'No' and tends to act out when she doesn't get her way. She's also fairly easy to contain... Bennie-"

"You don't need to tell me about Bennie, I work in a sex shop. Bennie comes to work every day."

"I'm kinda stuck now... I have all of this leeway yet I can't decide which method to use next. When I look at her I see endless possibilities. Since you know her, what do you suggest?"

"How about you do some type of exercise in which you bring all of her little personalities to the surface? Get her high."

"Seriously? That's it?"

"Yeah. You'd be amazed at what you'll learn from her when she's under the influence." Erik rubbed his chin as he pondered the thought.

"But you know how I get when I'm high, Sky," he said, sending a sly grin her way.

"Boy get your slick ass away from me. Save the bedroom eyes for O'Shea, thanks."

"On some serious shit though, how do I go about asking her to the crib? That violates all types of rules and crosses all types of barriers."

"Well technically it doesn't because it's possible to file it under intensive in-home services," she chuckled.

"Sky..."

"Okay, seriously working with the client in their home is not out of the ordinary. Don't make this weird."

"Aight, so you think we should do this at her crib since I've already been there before?"

"Yes. Her home is easier to justify on paper since it's familiar territory and she'll be more relaxed in her own space versus yours."

"Yo smart ass! That's why I keep you around," he said kissing her forehead repeatedly.

"I thought it was because I rolled the best weed but both compliments will do."

"You know I love you girl. That reminds me, you still got that dispensary connect in LA?"

"Maybe, why? You tryna get some specialty shit?"

"Yes, ma'am. Something that will ease her mind and body and allow her to open up to me."

"I know just the thing. It's called Green Goddess."

"Ooh, sounds exotic. I need two ounces."

"$2500."

"You know my account info. Get it for me and bring it by. Oooh, bring some In & Out too. And Cold Stones."

"Nigga is O'Shea the female in this situation or you?"

"Hush woman and do what I say," he said with a sharp smack to her ass.

"Yes Daddy," she teased in a soft, Princess-like voice.

"Aye chill out, it's been a minute." Skylar's soft giggle rang throughout the hallway as she walked towards the entrance. He thought for a minute before typing a quick text to O'Shea.

Busy tonight?

Nah why?

Netflix and chill at your crib? I'll bring the bud and food.

You had me at bud. See you at 7.

"Spoiled ass," he chuckled as he put his phone away.

The rest of the work day went by smoothly and soon it was time to head to his patient's house. As usual, Skylar came through with the bud he requested and both his and Shea's favorite meals from In & Out and ice cream from Cold Stones.

"At this point, you owe me your life," Sky fussed from her desk. "Traffic was hell. There was an accident, a four-car pileup." She was working late due to Erik and his needy ways so she opted to facetime him as he made his way to O'Shea's house to make her frustrations known.

"I knew it would be something that's why I knew I wouldn't have the time or patience. But you know I always got you, ma. If all else fails, I'm marrying you."

"Choke on rocks," she pouted. "Always using me for the shit you don't wanna do. I'm getting a new best friend, one that respects how great I am and loves me for me."

"If it's a dude, I'ma kill him. Killmonger don't share."

"I ain't Killmonger's bitch," she countered. "And murder is very much so illegal. This ain't the Navy." He smiled, revealing his bottom row of gold. He cleared his throat before dropping his voice several octaves.

"You sure about that, ma?"

"Oh no, put the demon away."

"Nah, you said you were replacing us. You sure you wanna do that?"

"Unlike O'Shea, I can do what I want, but no sweetheart, I'd never replace you."

"Pinky promise and swear on Crip."

"On Crip, I'd never replace you and you know we don't lie on the hood."

"Aight we good. I'll call you later to let you know how things go." The pair shared their goodbyes and Erik exited his vehicle.

"You're early," O'Shea noted as she stepped back to let him in. The clock on the microwave read 5:30.

"Work was light and I figured I'd just go ahead and come over. Problem?"

"No. Is that Cold Stones?" She asked wide-eyed.

"Yes it is and no you can't have it."

"B-But why?" she pouted.

"Later, Bianca."

"How many times must I remind you that I am an adult?"

"Barely," he regarded with a smirk as he made his way to her kitchen. She followed him the whole way, pouting all the while as he pulled everything out of the bags.

"Fix ya face or you won't get any at all."

"That's not fair!" she pouted harder, folding her arms over her chest.

"Life isn't fair, Lil' Mama."

"This is some bullshit," she fussed as she walked to the couch.

"Bet. I'll keep this sweet cream and oreo shit to myself," he teased, noticing how her mouth dropped in shock. Erik's grin only widened as he walked over to the couch with their food and drinks.

"So what we watching, Bianca Boo?" he asked, reaching for the remote.

"First of all, my name is O'Shea."

"You're acting like a brat so your name is Bianca, now answer my question."

"Can we watch Hercules?"

"Fuckin' child," he mumbled as he pressed play on the movie. The couple ate, sang, and smoked as they breezed through their little Disney movie marathon. From Hercules to Mulan to The Emperor's New Groove they relived their childhoods while the Green Goddess indica worked its magic to mellow them both out and allow them to talk and bond on a more personal level. Several hours into the Disney and chill session, O'Shea figured she'd try her luck again. She noted how much more mellow Erik was when he was under the influence, using this opportunity to fully appreciate how good he looked dressed down. The charcoal gray turtleneck clung to his muscles effortlessly, barely covering the Patek Phillipe watch on his left wrist. His black slacks fit him well, as though they were tailor-made just for him. Her eyes remained glued to the bulge in his pants as he sat with his legs spread wide on the couch. O'Shea fought hard to keep herself from staring, but of course, Erik noticed. He had been watching her watch him for the last 20 minutes and the beast within him noticed too.

"You gone suck or just stare at it?" Killmonger growled, startling O'Shea from her shameless eyefucking. The deep timbre of his voice had her quaking and before he could change his mind, she dropped down to her knees in front of him, seizing her moment to strike him down to a base level of weakness. Surely he could not withstand her oral talent no matter what contenders he'd faced before. Skylar was a master of oral sex when it came to women, but O'Shea was the oracle when it came to men. She looked up at him innocently as she took him into her mouth, lightly teasing his tip with gentle licks before finally taking as much of him as she could down her throat. Though she was cursed with a gag reflex, she was still a master at her craft and the way he was moaning above her proved that she hadn't lost her touch. His stout, thick fingers found their way into her curly mane, lightly gripping her tresses to help guide her head up and down his shaft.

"Just like that, Shea. Grip that shit, stroke what you can't fit in that wet ass mouth," he encouraged. O'Shea moaned around his shaft, using his praises as encouragement to show out on the dick. She wasn't sure when she'd get him this loose again and wanted to make sure this experience was memorable. Just as she was finding her groove, he made the most awful sound above her.

"Ah, shit! What the fuck?!"

"Wait, stop moving!"

"That shit hurt, what the fuck did you just do to me?" In all of the 5 years that O'Shea had had her braces, never once had they gotten caught on anyone. Leave it to Erik Stevens to be the unlucky contender.

"I-I'm sorry, that's never happened before," she said fighting back her laughter. He was being more dramatic than the situation really called for.

"Oh, that shit's funny to you? I'm fucking bleeding."

"You're not, but ok," she said standing from her position on the floor.

"Man move," he fussed, rushing to the bathroom to assess the damages.

20 minutes. 20 whole minutes was how long he left her to her own psyche while he calmed down. He knew she didn't mean to do it, but the fact that she laughed is what really pissed him off. Once he composed himself, he walked out to see her back on the couch with her head down towards the floor. He didn't speak to her, only went to the kitchen to throw away the trash and grab his keys.

"So are you going to leave and not speak to me? I told you it was an accident."

"I know, Buttercup and I'm not upset. I just think it's a good idea to end this session where it is. I'll have Harper contact you about your next appointment. Have a good night." With that and a kiss to the back of her hand, he walked outside and back to his car, leaving O'Shea a confused, sad mess. She didn't do well with people being mad at her, especially at this point in her life when her little personalities were fully functioning entities. The buzz of her phone brought her out of her psyche.

"Daddy's sorry for the way he left you, Buttercup. I meant what I said about not being angry at what happened, but what really pissed me off is the fact that you thought it was funny."

"But you laugh at my pain all the time," she replied meekly, curling up into a ball on the couch.

"I don't laugh at your pain, I laugh at the fact that you think you run shit. How about this, let's meet somewhere and talk about it."

"Where?"

"Cold Stones."

"But I have ice cream in the freezer."

"Since when have you turned down more?"

"Touché. Give me 10 minutes." She quickly dressed, happy that he wasn't upset and that he still wanted to continue their therapy and build their potential relationship. Though he was indeed her therapist, she felt comfortable with him. More comfortable than she had felt with anyone in a long time and if she were being honest, it scared her. She hated how vulnerable she was around him having been so guarded for most of her life, yet she liked that she could be her true self without fear of judgment and ridicule for her behavior. The benefits of having him as her therapist outweighed her fears. He got her on a level that no one else had before, not even Sky.

Excitedly, she met him in the air-conditioned shop finding him with ice cream in hand. On her approach, he rested his palm atop her head as if to say welcome.

"So now I'm a dog?"

"Nah, you just small. Have a seat, baby girl." She sat down beside him and began eating the cold sugary concoction of sweet cream, chocolately brownie chunks, crumbled graham crackers and walnuts all drizzled with thick caramel. She bounced happily in her seat as the divine mixture set her tastebuds ablaze. This was one of her all-time favorite combinations and she was glad he'd remembered it to the smallest detail. He smiled as he watched her smiling and bouncing in her element, happy that she was happy. She was eating so fast that she dripped ice cream onto her chin and brand new royal purple Disney spirit jersey. She pouted, but he merely grabbed a napkin and cleaned her mess.

"Why the long face, Buttercup? I thought a messy little girl was a happy little girl."

"Sky just bought this for me, though. I didn't want to get it dirty. There's even a stain on Mickey." She turned her body slightly to show him the smudged caramel on the sparkly D emblem.

"Well that won't do, will it? You're welcome to take it off. You wouldn't want to spill again."

"But I'm not wearing another shirt," she pouted further.

"Less material to worry about. You should enjoy your ice cream freely. Do remove the shirt, Buttercup.. for your own good." She nodded, slowly lifting the sweatshirt over her head and laying it on the table. He grabbed and folded it neatly before placing it on the booth beside him. Now free from the constraints of the jersey, she tore into her ice cream like a woman starved.

"Doesn't that feel better? Your sweater is now safe from any harm and Daddy will worry about having it cleaned. That's not something a little girl should concern herself with."

"Yes Daddy, thank you," she said with a wide grin. It had been so long since she had been allowed to freely be in her little space, especially to this degree and it was nice to put the stresses and worries of adulting to the side, even if it were just for a little while.

"Um... I'm sorry sir, but um.. shirts are required in this establishment... Sorry..," the gangly scooper spoke nervously, obviously intimidated by his stature though he was not in his imposing state. The anxiety in the guy's eyes rubbed him the wrong way. Another negative profile. If that was the case while he wore a sweater and a name brand watch, he thought, the man deserved to feel fearful.

"Several pale skinned patrons are wearing sports bras and cropped bandeau tops, similar to my date's. Are you going to say the same to them?" Erik asked with a raised eyebrow watching the guy stammer in distress.

"I- It's just- Nevermind," the scooper stumbled, making his way back behind the counter. He started to pick up a phone, but when Erik made eye contact and mouthed a message, he put the phone back down.

"What did you say just now," O'Shea inquired, looking from the counter back to Erik's peaceful expression. The behavior of the scooper didn't match his face.

"Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about, Buttercup. Take your time. Finish your ice cream and we'll be on our way." O'Shea shrugged but continued to bounce happily as she ate her ice cream, even going as far as to ask Erik for another bowl for later. Because of the way he behaved earlier, he obliged.

"Whadya know, Buttercup! We got this one free."

"Yay!" she squealed, happily thanking the fearful scooper who nodded without eye contact.

"I-It was no trouble, really," he stuttered, eyes never leaving Erik's menacing scowl. As the couple turned to leave, Erik bucked at the young scooper, laughing loudly at the way he flinched, dropping a tower of ice cream all over himself.

"Damn, nigga. You need to lift weights or something," he smirked opening the glass door for O'Shea.

"Where do you wanna go now, Buttercup?" he asked as he brushed a rogue curl behind her ear.

"I wish it wasn't so late. I really wanna go to Disneyland." Erik checked his watch and noted that the park would indeed be closing soon.

"We can't get into the park, but Downtown Disney is still open."

"Ooh can we go to Salt & Straw?" she asked, bouncing on her toes.

"Buttercup you just had ice cream and got a free one to go. Not to mention you still have ice cream in the freezer from earlier."

"Yeah, but none of those were honey lavender with whipped cream and a waffle cone," she pouted.

'You're right, but considering the fact that I'm a doctor who also cares about your physical health, the answer is still no. You are sweet enough." She was upset but didn't protest further for fear that he'd just decide to take her back to her house. No matter how upset she was, Disney fixed everything. As the pair roamed the district, O'Shea's eyes grew wide watching Erik walk into to the Pandora shop. She'd been wanting new charms for her princess-themed bracelet forever, but never had the time or the extra funds to splurge on herself the way she wanted.

"How about I make my Buttercup something special?" he beamed down at her, rubbing circles into the small of her back.

"Oooh, what is it?" she asked happily.

"It's a surprise, but why don't you go get us two of those honey lavender cones and it'll be done by the time you get back."

"Ok!" she squealed happily, taking his card and running out of the store before he changed his mind again. It took her all of 10 minutes to go and come back with her half-eaten cone and his full one. Her grin was wide as she regarded Erik standing in front of the counter with both hands behind his back. His shit-eating grin was back like he knew he was that nigga. And at this moment, he was.

"Whatcha got back there, Daddy?"

"Just a little something for my second favorite princess," he replied stepping closer to her. "Close your eyes and hold out your left wrist." She quickly complied and her beaming grin grew even wider as she felt the cold metal against her skin.

"Alright, open." He watched smugly as her eyes opened and widened. Her heart was so full she thought it would burst. She hadn't even realized that he had slipped her princess bracelet off her wrist until she saw it in its complete form.

"You finished my bracelet?"

"Yes ma'am, chronologically just the way you had it and I started your villain one." Her fingers toyed delicately with the Tinkerbell and poisoned apple charms on the princess bracelet before moving to Maleficent and the Evil Queen charms on the villain bracelet. Then her eyes met his. She wanted to cry.

"Thank you so much, Daddy."

"Anything for my Buttercup. I even left off Anna and Elsa because I know those are the ones you like the least." Again, he'd remembered something seemingly frivolous solely because he knew it was important to her. She felt her little heart swell two sizes.

"You're the best, really." She rewarded him with a sweet kiss on the lips, which he deepened when he grabbed her chin and added a little tongue. Just enough to leave her wanting.

"Come on, pretty girl. Let's get you home, we both have work in the morning."

—————————————

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

[aboleth-eye]

Hello! Would you have any advice for new DMs/things you wish you had been told when you started DMing? I'd like to try it myself, but I've only ever been a player, and just figuring out where to start is a bit overwhelming! Thank you in advance!

Great Question!  Here are my Lessons Learned from when I ran a game for the first time!  

There are Four Lessons I wish I’d known when I got started:  Have Your Resources Handy, Start Small (3 Parts), Things Go Awry, and Have Fun Together!   ((This is going to be a very long post, so I’ll cap it a little less than halfway down))

1.)  Have Your Resources Handy!

If this is your first time running a Tabletop RPG system, even if you’ve been playing for years, HAVE THE BOOK(S), WEBSITE(S) AND/OR PDF(S) NEARBY!  I’m serious about this, guys!  Playing a game or watching someone else play is a totally different monster to running it!  

When you first declare to the group that you’d like to host a game, I recommend you read the rules over at least two or three times before hand–start with a deep read first to get it all in your head, and then you can choose to speed read once you’ve had some time to digest the rules.  

But even if reading ttrpgs is your thing, have the resources within easy reach.  Either have your laptop available with open tabs to any pdfs/scans of the game source material and any relevant websites (like standard reference document pages), and/or have a physical copy of the game book with you.  If you are running certain monsters or encounters, I also recommend you copy down any stats and information to a separate text document (on laptop or printed) so you won’t have to page through stuff during the game.

2A.) Start Small: The Setting

If this is your first time or fiftieth time running a tabletop roleplaying game, and you are running a new system for the first time, limit the scope of project to start.  Writing campaign and world settings can be very intense, and it is very easy to write something too specific and railroad people into your lore and world.

For instance, don’t create a massive world with a continent of named cities and landmarks!  Don’t plan out every inch of your world, or else it’ll turn into a “fill-in-the-blank exploration” story instead of an organic world you can change as your group learns and grows!

My first campaign started in a very specifically written city on the edge of a vast magical desert.  I planned out a timetable of events that would catapult the players into the “open-world”.  The players noticed this and didn’t appreciate it. 

Also, do not bog your players down with Lore!  I’ve gone into campaigns where you need to know information “for backstory”!  This is your first campaign, it’s good to know what to introduce and when!  A group of starting adventurers typically doesn’t need to know your world’s entire array of deities, pages and pages of history, and legends “that shaped the world”!  You can introduce these things at character creation IF THE PLAYERS ASK, and then slowly dish things out as the characters live in your world.

It’s also good to not ties yourself down to specific placement of towns, countries, cities, landmarks, etc.  Leave the map blank save for the starting area, and any broadly defined areas such as forests and mountains.  Once characters finish their first missions and adventures, they’ll explore!  With all the “white space” of your world, you can insert places and things as you journey with the group!  

One of my favorite encounters when I was very new to D&D was when we accidentally burned down a forest.  We were fighting a massive tiger with a pixie NPC in a forest, and the pixie just trapped everyone (tiger included) in entangling vines.  Our pyromancer in the party tried to set the beast on fire, and they rolled a critical failure.  

The beast was set on fire and died!  And so did the pixie!  And now there’s a raging forest fire we have to run from!  We get an oxcart running and we take shifts to outrun the magical fire–FOR THREE DAYS!  It was an incredibly tense situation, and it was fun to add “an entire forest” to the pyromancer player’s list of things they set on fire.

You know what would have made all that suck?  If the DM had decided: “Okay, you pass through this location which is a lich’s hideout and have to face that; then the next day you’ll have to ford a river with the tired oxes.  Finally, you’ll be passing through this county’s border…”  

We just burned down a placeholder  forest, and all the consequences that came with it came AFTER we were finally safe!  The DM didn’t bog us down with heavy lore and their maps during a tense situation; they kept the focus on the action at hand.

Prioritize the players’ story before your own!  That’s the lesson I want to make absolutely clear.  You aren’t telling your story with friends as the characters; the Dungeon Master/Game Master/Storyteller is the worldbuilder who tells the character groups’ story as they interact with the world.

2B) Start Small: The First Encounters

Another item I want to bring up is Do Not Start Your Campaign with a “Unique Encounter”!  Start your campaign setting with a simple task for the players to face.  Here are the kinds of challenges I mean: defeat a bunch of zombies in a graveyard for a reward, go into a mine full of bats to retrieve a homing beacon, follow a simple mystery to find a girl’s lost dog, etc.  The Players’ should be introduced to your world with something simple to follow–that way they can make their marks and introduce how they roleplay to the story.  

Do Not try something you’ve “never seen before”!  Don’t have the characters whisked off to another plane or world while they slept!  Don’t have the players face fifteen or so mooks at once during an ambush!  Don’t have your characters struggle to tread water or leap floating platforms while fighting a monster!  These kinds of encounters instantly put players on guard and feel railroaded!  Give them the chance to decide how they integrate themselves into the adventure.

My first campaign violated this rule.  When the players left the city to enter the desert, they were suddenly beset by 12 monstrous scorpions!  And me, in my ambitious tunnel-vision, thought it’d be interesting to have each scorpion have its own turn.  I rolled twelve Initiatives for the scorpions and it was a LONG combat when it clearly didn’t have to be.  

It all looked so good in my head, but when you get players involved you can tell how grueling and boring something like that could be.  I learned a lot that session.

That combat ended the campaign for me.  I decided to go back to the drawing board because that kind of thinking was not going to fly for me and my friends.

Instead, give your players a task that could easily be solved in one or two sessions!  Do not give your players “only one way” to solve this!  For instance, if your first challenge is to get past some guards, let the players come up with the solution themselves.  They might decide to fight the guards, use magic/science to teleport past them, go off on a side quest to become guards so they can infiltrate them, or even walk up and attempt to socialize with them.  You as the storyteller/DM merely narrate the results of whatever the characters do; just bridge the gaps and think of consequences from the players’ actions.

ALSO!  Have a time limit for your first session, or plan breaks for food/drink/stretching.  This activity of DMing can be very stressful, and you might need a break to take stock of what problems and choices occurred during play.  

2C.) Start Small: The Players

Have your players build starting or low-level characters (I typically start with 3rd level for D&D).  The low levels will mean most powergaming and gamebreaking attempts by certain types of players will be nipped in the bud right from the start.  It will also typically limit the powers and abilities of your group (so you won’t have to memorize or look up high-level stuff until much later).  

Another thing I highly recommend is that you are present during character creation!  Do not let people determine/roll character abilities and stats without you.  Either be physically present when dice get rolled and abilities get determined, or be present digitally in a chatroom, discord or roll20 when electronic character sheets get filled in!  

My first campaign I allowed one of the players to bring a character from a friend’s campaign into it.  The original DM ended the campaign; and even though I had played in that campaign alongside this character I had no clue what they could do.  This made things challenging because this character “suddenly” remembered they could fly–so I had to add aerial combat onto my plate during the first fight of the campaign.

It made the situation tense, especially with my bad early encounters (see the 12 Scorpions combat above).

3.) Things Go Awry

If you’ve come this far, there’s one last piece of advice I want to give you.  Your first campaign is gonna suck in one way or another.

I don’t mean that to be disheartening; I want you to think of it as a learning experience.  Whenever a person learns a new skill or engages in a new activity for the first time, it’s always gonna suck.  (Even if someone has a “natural talent”).  You as the DM/Storyteller are going to notice problems crop up left and right; especially if you don’t take the advice I offered above.  For instance, if you start learning to paint with a new medium or start a sport you’ve never tried; you need to practice with the tools and techniques you’ve prepared to see what works for your style of learning.  

Running a roleplaying game is a very unique mashup of activities.  There’s typically a math element you need to consider behind every action the players take.  You need to workout your improvisation skills to bridge connections and gaps your players make.  You need to get in front of a group of people (sometimes more or less experienced than you) and tell a story that keeps their attention.  It’s a stressful mix of being an improv actor, a storyteller and the physical laws of your world.

Hopefully your players will understand when things get crazy and overwhelming.  Gametime might come to a halt because you need to look up a specific rule or wording that you aren’t familiar with.  It’s okay.  Until you get to know how your game world runs with your players in it, it is totally fine to take a breath and think things through.  Oftentimes you can ask your players for help in making a determination or house-ruling.

Last note on this topic: Get Feedback!  At the end of the session, be bold and ask your players if they enjoyed the session, what they liked and what they didn’t like.  Feedback is how DMs get insight on how the game is playing out.  While you’re DMing, your mind is on a million different topics; let the players tell you how they felt during gameplay, so you know what made them feel good or bad on the other side of the curtain.

4.) Have Fun Together!

This is something that needs to be said, if I’m honest.  Running a game can be a stressful activity that “ruins” some things about it now that you are “behind the curtain”.  This is your first session, in what you hope to be a series of games where you and your friends make all sorts of memories.

However, some DMs get incredibly discouraged and no-nonsense when they run a game for their first few times.  That is understandable, especially if being the “mastermind” is a challenge you haven’t prepared for.  A few sessions in and you might find the game isn’t fun for you and/or your players.  That might be a sign that you need to take a break from hosting–use that time to think how you can make the game fun for everyone, or if this campaign just needs to be scrapped!

The priority of the DM is to bring people together.  If a game system, campaign concept or player actions aren’t making the group (you included) happy; it’s better to stop things and take stock before things go too far.  It is never fun to admit your game isn’t viable or enjoyable, but hopefully you’ll have new experience you can take with you the next time you try your game.  

And heck, if you find you prefer playing at this time, that’s fine!  Even if this attempt didn’t have the results you expected, there is nothing to stop you from trying again later if you wanted.  But now that you know how it is behind the curtain, you are naturally more observant to how your own DM/GM runs their games and you can learn from it.

Remember how good the game system/lore/etc made you feel!  It’s why you wanted to DM in the first place; you recognized you had a story you wanted to tell, and this ttrpg had the tools to bring it to life!  No matter what problems arise when you’re behind the curtain, the game should still bring you enjoyment whether you play or manage the game.  Do not give up on the game just because of one bad session or two!  

When I decided to end my campaign, it really was a painful decision.  I loved the world as it was in my mind, but I was not executing it well so that my players enjoyed it.  I got feedback after that terrible 12 Scorpions combat, and decided to take some time to think about everything.  Our group went back to our original DM, with other members trying to DM in that time; and honestly I didn’t DM until I started a small separate group months later.  

During that gap in DMing I digested what I liked and didn’t like about my campaign, and had more time to reflect on the rules.  I decided to take a few steps back and learn from my mistakes.  I still made mistakes the second and third times I DMed, I make mistakes even to this day.  

But at the heart of it all, I love games so much that I want to constantly make my stories and worlds even better, even to this day.

I take the struggles of DMing as learning experiences, rather than let them define me as a writer, storyteller and game master.  I use them as stepping stones so I don’t fall through the gaps again.  I may have started out with a bad first campaign, but I would never take those mistakes away.  

I hope these lessons were helpful!  I love D&D and tabletop roleplaying games so much, and love giving out advice on how to make the experience your own.  I hope this helps a lot of new people bring their stories to life!  Also, I hope I helped everyone’s expectations into the right state of mind.  

Good luck and happy gaming everyone!!  Much love!

– Aboleth-Eye

[clothingbrand1]

Guidelines for Anybody Who would like to Start out a Clothes Brand name

how to start a clothing brand

In this article are a few strategies to any person all set to or considering about launching their own individual clothes line.

Idea # 1. Don't Rush

What I signify by that is choose your time when it comes to the start of your respective line. There may be a great deal of levels of competition to choose from these days, establishing some social media marketing web pages using a t-shirt coming shortly is not really likely to cut it. Have you ever ever received excited about a Fb site with twelve likes and "a clean new apparel brand coming soon"in the about me part? Me neither.

Tip # two. If you cannot style and design, then shell out someone that can.

A lot of street don start-ups launch their model with just their title inside a script font, screen printed over a black t-shirt. Now I am all for supporting a manufacturer, however, you want to no less than put some thought and creativity into your apparel, usually individuals will see that you'll be much like the rest of the clothing brands that have started off and failed. If you can't draw or style and design, pay someone who can. You happen to be gonna want stable types if you prefer to stand out and it will not have to be expensive. An awesome web-site for style and design do the job is called Designcrowd. This website makes it possible for you to put up your style and design brief, set your spending plan, then wait around for designers from everywhere in the entire world to write-up their entry and also you can opt for the best one particular.

Tip # 3 Really don't rip-off other folks!

Just about every brand wishes to be as productive as Obey, Stussy and Hype, but blatantly copying their strategies, style and ripping off their designs will not be planning to get you there. In reality, It really is much more likely to have a negative result simply because these models are very well known, highly regarded as well as their hundreds of fans will know that your outfits models usually are not primary.

Suggestion # four Imagine outside the box.

You've got most likely heard this stating right before and although it is much easier stated then done, a great method to start off will be to do a good bit of exploration to collect your own personal ideas. Check with you which kind of clothes do I would like to create? What are my favorite brand names? What do I appreciate in life? When you finally know the solutions to these thoughts then you can start to study brand names, jot down tips, choose photographs and doodle to actually make an image with the style of street don things you would like your brand to be manufacturing. But make sure you never dismiss idea selection 3 whilst doing your investigation!

Idea # five Analysis your product or service.

Given that you have got a handful of layouts or concepts that you would love to see printed on the t-shirt, it can be time for you to look into what organization you may use to supply your blanks. There are many companies which make blank outfits ready for printing so this component might be a little bit overwhelming, but choosing your funds and who your focus on industry is will seriously assist to slender down the choice.

Gildan and Fruit on the loom are at the most affordable end of the scale however they are likely to possess a boxier in shape and you're not likely to seek out a lot of reputable apparel brand names printing on them.

Tultex and Anvil print a great high quality tee for a fair selling price if you prefer a high-quality come to feel but your spending plan will never extend to high-priced blanks.

And on the greater finish are American Attire and Alternate Attire. Although these might be highly-priced, the quality is phenomenal and so they also have a range of colours and items which will make your model stand out through the rest.

Tip # 6 Don't lower corners.

If you want being taken severely being a brand name, creation will be the 1 position you need to do not need to rush or slice corners. Firstly, choose a good printing business. It'll cost you a great deal extra time, cash and energy inside the prolonged run should you commit to print having a man in his bedroom who prints your layouts wonky and gets chocolate stains on the t-shirts when he's printing them.

You will find numerous respected firms by typing in "Screen printers" in Google, and don't forget to shop all over. Octomuffin and Woven Inc are rated highly during the United kingdom.

Secondly, think about your brand name graphic. Would you like to generally be thought of being a experienced brand? In the event you do, then your going to want custom neck labels, swing tags and some neat packaging. This doesn't ought to be high-priced, but little touches like that will possess a long lasting impact on the client.

Lastly, don't print a lot of. Any time you initially release a structure, you'll have no clue how it will provide, so it truly is most effective to purchase a lesser quantity at the beginning to test the h2o. Really don't fret about promoting out swiftly, it's going to make your manufacturer appear common when you do so you can constantly just re-order far more.

Idea # seven Website, and pics.

You don't require a massive finances for making a good looking and practical web-site, there are so many e-commerce platforms readily available now which supply fantastic looking web sites for any minimal regular monthly price tag. Significant cartel, retail store envy, volusion and shopify are only the tip of your iceberg in terms of these.

As soon as you have selected your world wide web platform, get a domain. Domains are so affordable in recent times apparel manufacturers haven't any justification to not buy one particular, and it helps make you glimpse much a lot more professional whenever you arrive to start.

Now you are ready to upload your items and pictures. It's important to help make absolutely sure you can get some specialist searching pictures taken of your respective items and not types which look like they may have been taken on a three mega pixel mobile phone digital camera. Your shots tend to be the only way your consumers can connect with your merchandise over the web, should the pics are little, blurry or don't demonstrate adequate of the items depth, you happen to be possible not to receive a sale.

Idea # eight And now we wait.

After you to start with launch, the joy might be a bit as well a lot and you happen to be likely being expecting huge things inside of within a shorter duration of time. Try to remain grounded, things take time, a lot of time, so don't get disheartened if you have not offered out inside your initial thirty day period and just retain likely. It truly is also an excellent idea to test and acquire feed-back from family and friends to view should the merchandise are literally nearly as good when you think they may be.

And that's it, I really hope your observed this article appealing and hopefully a little practical, as I discussed before I'm not an expert while in the avenue have on market, but individuals are just a few of the points I've learnt along just how.

References Clothing https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clothing

[purplesurveys]

638

What website is it easy to spend too much time on? Reddit. I used to spend hours on end on Reddit back when I had just discovered it and saw how many subreddits I can check out, but I’ve toned down these days. I mostly use scroll through the popular tag to help me fall asleep, but I still spend a lot of time on it nonetheless. What's been bothering you lately? One of my classes is a subject I never really wanted to venture into because it will demand me to be insanely extroverted, but I didn’t have a choice but to take it and now I’m worried for my sanity for the next four months. Do you ever get cravings for cheese? Yeah but I’m not as crazy for cheese as most girls around me seem to be lolol. Cheese is ayts. I mostly like it as a dip for Korean barbecue, and I don’t really like the more challenging/funky cheeses. Do you ever crave affection? Yep, sometimes I act needy towards my girlfriend. Would you name your baby after someone or give him/her his or her own name? Their main name would be their own, but I wouldn’t be opposed to having their second name be a tribute to somebody important to me. For instance, if I have a son I’ve always thought of giving him Owen as a second name as an homage to Owen Hart.

Do you think boys can wear pink and girls can wear blue? It’s 2020. We’re way past pink vs. blue now lmfao. But yes, of course. Which hair curlers have you had the best luck with? I don’t use those. What is the best way to curl your hair? In like the four times I’ve had my hair curled, the stylists always used a flat iron. Don't you hate it when people act like idiots just to make you mad? That’s a different level of assholery, but yep I imagine that would piss me off. If you were thrown into a lion's den, would you trust God to save you? Nope, I’ll be saying goodbye to all my loved ones in my head. Do you wish you could call the police on the police? Not in this country, because most police are abusive and dicks. Do you write in cursive or print more? Print. My penmanship is nicer that way, because my writing usually comes out in messy scribbles when I try to write in script. But I always regularly practice my high school’s unique cursive anyway so that I never forget it/get rusty at it. Were you alive before the Internet came out? No, I think the Internet was already kind of a thing by 1998. Do you like that trends from the 90's are coming back in style? Yeah tbh I’m a fan. I love the simple t-shirt/mom jeans combo because it looks so effortless, and because it’s pieces I already have in my closet lmao. ....or would you rather have the trends stay the same as the last decade? Not really, I’m pretty good with all the 90s stuff coming back. Some kids ruined it by wearing chunky sneakers too much, but I like all the other trends that came with it, like bucket hats and belts. What was a horrible trend when you were in high school? I honestly didn’t know much about the trends when I was in high school because 1) we wore our school uniforms every single day, so imagine having one outfit 5/7 days a week, and 2) being from a Catholic school, we had a very strict dress code so it’s not like we could wear whatever the trends were. I do remember never being impressed with Roshes though. What is a horrible trend now? Hype/street clothes like DBTK. What would you do differently if you were God? Not make people suffer. Have you ever met anyone who claimed to be God? No. If I did, I’d run far far away from them. If you had to leave the US and never come back, where would you move? First of all, I have to live in the US before I can leave the US. Would you buy a castle if you could afford one? Sure, whatever. What is something you aren't ok with? My default answer would be homophobia. Do you know anyone who isn't fake? Sure. I know more not-fake people than those who are. Name five people you know who aren't fake. Laurice, Aya, Tina, Danika, Amanda. Do you fully trust anyone? Yes. How many true Christians do you know? Do you know any? What does being a ‘true’ Christian even mean? Do you think someone's value is based on how much money they have or make? No. Would you rather be an aborted baby or a victim of child abuse? Wow THIS IS THE WORST QUESTION EVER. What's one trend you're behind the times on? Tiktok. I do nooooooot understand it for the life of me and do not wish to. Do idiots act like know-it-alls a lot around you? I think know-it-alls act like know-it-alls regardless of who they’re with. Do you think it's ok to call an idiot an idiot? Not to their face, but yes I’ve used that word occasionally.

If you had a child with down's syndrome, would you keep him/her? I’m honestly not sure, and I don’t really like stressing about that kind of stuff this early. Don't you wish people who weren't qualified would stop getting handed leadership positions? Obviously. But there’s little we can do, with the key word there being ‘handed.’ Who is the worst plagiarizer you know? People in high school would copy-paste whole paragraphs from websites or textbooks onto group papers and I hate those people to this day. If someone tried to murder your child, do you think it would be wrong to expose them publicly and talk about it on social media? It wouldn’t be the best and smartest way to go, especially if it was the first thing I planned on doing. ...Why do you think people think this is wrong? Because I would be putting vulnerable people under limelight they never asked for, and because I’d be talking about confidential stuff, especially if the whole ordeal is currently going through a legal process, which is stupid. Is there a toxic person that you miss? You know, despite how close I was with Athenna, I’ve never missed her. Are you still contemplating going back to someone you shouldn't? Nope. What do you need right now? I’m gonna need a higher inner morale for my business reporting class, which is the class I’m really scared about. When was the last time you had a new crush? December 2013. Do you know any "Christians" who are rude and judgmental? Almost all the Christians I know are rude and judgmental. What would you do if your Bible was falling apart? I dunno. Leave it wherever it’s always been. Do you have coffee with Jesus every morning? Groan. Do you pretend to be someone you're not on facebook? Why or why not? No because I have no reason to do that. Do you know anyone who pretends to be a Christian to get attention? Ooooh interesting haha, but no. I’m sure in this time and place they’d get called out almost immediately. Do you want Jesus to come back soon? I’m gonna paraphrase a quote from Friends and say “I know you’re asking me a lot of Jesus questions, but all I hear is blahhhhhblahhhhhhhhhblahhhhhhhhhh.” Do you believe that Jesus is going to come back in your lifetime? Holy shit. Would you rather wear blue jeans or jeggings? Blue jeans. I’ve never owned jeggings. What is the most comfortable type of pants ever? Anything but skinny jeans. What is something you can't wear because of your body type? I can’t wear dresses that are loose around the chest area. Stuff like those are loose because the boobs are meant to hold them up and give someone a flattering figure, but if I tried to wear those, the dress would drop down all the way to my stomach lmao. If you have curves, do you like them? I have some curves, but I’m generally skinny. I do like the ones I have though. What is the curviest part of your body? Butt. Have you ever been punished for doing the right thing? I don’t think so. How often do you cry? One or two times a week would be a good guess. How many Christians do you know who actually care? This is very vague. Is Tumblr all that it's hyped up to be? But it’s not hyped at all these days... Tumblr definitely already peaked a few years ago, and I don’t know what people are saying about it now. At what age do you think someone is old enough to give advice? I don’t think there’s an age requirement for advice. Have you ever worn matching pajamas with someone? No. What helps you fall asleep? When I’m alone, I need it to be quiet or at the very most have white noise around, like the buzz of an aircon or the whir of the electric fan. When I’m sleeping with my girlfriend I have to be cuddled and I have to fall asleep first, or else I’ll keep waking up and twist and turn through the night. I’m a difficult person to fall asleep with huhuh sorry Gab :’( Do you have a nighttime routine? No. I just scroll through social media until my eyes get tired enough to fall asleep within seconds. What was the last mountain you climbed? Not sure, but it was in Sagada. Who is the fakest Christian you know? One of my titas, although I love her to death, is a very devout Christian but had a meltdown/breakdown when her daughter (my cousin) revealed she was dating a black guy. I was stunned when my mom told me all about the ‘drama’ and it took every cell in my body not to explode and give a sermon to everyone else in my family who was upset about it. Just for context, Filipinos are among the MOST RACIST PEOPLE ON THE PLANET so stuff like this WILL be a big deal, especially among our traditional Gen X/Boomer population. Who are the fakest friends you've had? Athenna and Fern. Who's the most narcissistic person you know? I don’t know anyone like this, fortunately. Maybe me because I like taking these surveys??? Jk :((( Who gives the best hugs? Laurice!!! Who was the last person you hugged? My girlfriend.

[nasanerdevans-blog]

Someone Pinch Me // [S.R.]

prompt: being a medical prodigy already has it’s ‘holy shit’ moments, but this might be the biggest ‘holy shit’ moment you’ve ever had or will ever have.  

warnings: swearing, lots of swearing

enjoy :)

Your hands slowly wrapped around the doorknob, the cool metal contrasting with the warm clamminess of your hands, coming from the rising nerves in your stomach. The large light above the large circular table was out, but two standing lamps that sat in the back corners of the room were flicked on. “Take a seat.” One of the two faceless individuals said, making you jump. Your body jolted forward to the seat that sat on the opposite side of the table.

The room sat silent for entirely too long, but you took this time to take in the characteristic of each of their faces, well, the ones you could see. These people were practically silhouettes due to the lights sitting directly behind them. The man who had instructed you to sit was sitting to the left. His head was smooth, due to his lack of hair, and seemed to have a darker skin complexion. As your eyes shifted towards the other man, the man who first spoke to you, broke the silence. “Are you (Y/F/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N)?” He asked, his voice was hoarse, you heard the turning of paper pages. “Y-Yes, s-sir.” You stammered, fiddling with your fingers in your lap. “Fury, can we turn the damn lights on? You’re gonna give this girl a heart attack.” The voice of his partner was higher pitched, and oddly sounded familiar.

“We’re not doing this good cop, bad cop thing, it never works. You just end up giving everyone heart palpitations.” The familiar voice said, you watched his faceless head turn towards you now. “Sorry kid, can you flip the light on?” He said, more as a demand and less as a question. You turned in the swivel chair and scooted just close enough to reach the switch. The room was quickly flooded with light. You hesitantly turned back around, and almost as a reflex, your jaw dropped. “Holy shit...” Was all you could muddle out. Sitting before you was they one and only, Tony Stark, or Iron Man, both names being just as infamous as the other. What the actual fuck is happening?

That day started off completely normal, nothing but the ordinary.

Your alarm went off at the ungodly hour, four o’clock in the morning. This may seem like an odd hour for a few, but for a someone who works in any sort of medical field this was normal. Your average morning consisted of rolling around in your sheets for another ten minutes, dreading to leave your warm and cozy sheets. Once you finally sit up and swing your feet over the edge of your bed, anticipating the cold floor contrasting with your warmer feet, making a layer of goosebumps layer across your skin.

Striding across the wooden floor to the bathroom across the hall, instantly turning the knob of your shower completely to the warm side, waiting until it was scolding hot, just the way you liked it. The hot water made the sleep-heavy haze, that hung over your body slowly disperse. It wasn’t that you were actually tired, you had been off the last two days, using them to catch up on your lack of sleep. You absolutely loved your job with every fiber of your being, the patients, co-workers, and every other thing that came with this job.

For the most part, your mornings were quick and to the point, the thing that took the longest was the shower, once you were in the warmth, similar to your bed, you struggled to leave it. Besides that, you would just throw on some scrubs and fix your hair into the simplest of styles, that would be out of your way and kept out of your face, so that day was no different. The hospital you worked at was a decent drive away, thirty to forty-five minutes. Your supervisors had asked if you wanted to transfer to a closer hospital, but you declined, you loved the drive, blasting your favorite music. It was just your daily dose of ‘me-time’, which is something you barely had, due to your busy schedule.

The building was twelve stories, completely made of two-toned bricks with hundreds of windows, you always felt bad for the window clearers, heaven forbid, one of the wires snapped. Well, at least they were directly next to a hospital, but still. You turned down the music as you pulled into your assigned parking spot.

“Good morning, Ms. (Y/F/N)!” the receptionist said, a huge smile plastered on her face. You gave her a big smile, while taking a sip of the drink in your hand. Approaching the steel doors with short strides, you clicked the button with a small arrow pointing up, tapping your foot as you waited. The metal box carried you up to the fifth floor, where your unit sat, also known as the ‘Trauma Center’. This specific floor dealt with the most grueling and high-risk injuries, and then being a a Level One Trauma Unit, only added to the insanity. A ‘Level One’ meant it provided total care, prevention and rehabilitation, equipped with learning stations for  research programs.

As the elevator doors pulled open, you were instantly greeted by a fellow co-worker and good friend, Jasmine. “Oh hey!” You exclaimed, almost walking into her. The smile that had twisted your lips upwards, was instantly changed into a worried expression. “What's wrong?” You asked, noticing her wide-eyes and arched eyebrows. Instead of explaining anything to you, she simply grabbed the wrist of your free hand, practically dragging you towards the West end of the floor, where most of the classrooms and conference rooms sat. You tried your best to plant yourself on the tile floors, but to no avail, Jasmine just continued to drag you past patients and some nurses.

“What the hell are you doing?” You barked, trying to pry your wrist from her tiny fingers. “You’re gonna bruise me!” You further explained. Opening your mouth to bicker again, but before your could get out the first letter, she stopped, right outside one of the conference room. You looked at her angrily, finally ripping your hand away from hers. You gripped your forearm, shaking your wrist, and checking for any damage. The skin was a small bit irritated, but besides that, everything was still intact.

“Now can you tell me what the fuck is going on?” You whispered-yelled, tossing the empty cup in your other hand into the garbage beside the door. “They’re in there.” Was all she said, you watched her gulp, making the nerves in your stomach only grow stronger. “Who’s in there?” You asked, voice just above a whisper. “Just go in.” She urged, practically pushing you into the door.

And you know how it went from there.

“Can-Can I ask w-why you’re h-here?” You stuttered, something you did often when you became overwhelmingly anxious, leg bouncing up and down under the table, one of the habits you could never break. “You can.” Mr. Stark said, a bright smile on his face, he let out a loud chuckle, laughing at his own’ dad-type’ joke. The other man rolled his only visible ‘eye’, while Tony just continued to chuckle at himself. “We’ll be asking the questions here, Ms. (Y/L/N).” The more intimidating man said, flipping through a file with your name printed on it, last name first followed by your middle initial, and then your first name. “Oh god, Fury, could you be anymore cliche?” Stark asked, leaning back in his chair, propping his head up on his hands. “I’m gonna kick your ass if you don’t shut up, we’re supposed to be intimidating.” They bickered back in forth, which was quite amusing, if you weren't in a complete state of inner chaos you might of laughed, but instead you just watched the two interact. “Bring it old man!” Tony tested, his hand hovering over the glowing triangle over his chest.

Fury changed the subject looking back at you, ignoring whatever Tony mumbled under his breath. “I need you to verify some information for me.” Mr. Fury said, pulling a sheet of paper out of the manilla folder. The questions were simple, like verifying your birthdate, the day you graduated high school/college, etc. “It says here Ms. (Y/L/N), that you are on your last year of medical residency training, at only the age of twenty-four, is that correct?” Nick asked, glancing up at you with his ‘good eye’. “Yes, sir.” You confirmed, bringing your hands up to the desk, still fiddling with your thumbs. “That is six years sooner than the average individual.” You had heard that statistic a million times, you almost rolled your eyes, but you decided against.

“Fury, we know she’s a genius, can we just get on with it? With what we’re actually here for.” Tony said more as a demand, than a question. “I’m never taking you with me to these things ever again.” Nick muttered to Tony, although he was obviously able to hear him. “Alright Ms. (Y/L/N), we are here to offer you a proposition.” You didn’t think your heart could drop any lower into your body, but you felt your heartbeat in your toes. “M-Me?” You asked, dumbfounded. Tony nodded, grabbing another manilla folder from his briefcase.

This is when Tony began to speak to you, “I read the essays you wrote about the effects on the Super Soldier Serum, and I’m very impressed with your knowledge.” Tony explained, this made your heart skip a beat, hearing those words coming from ‘They Tony Stark’ meant more than words can say. “You know things about the serum that has never been released, how is that?” You racked your brain for a moment, resurfacing the information you put into your essays, and quickly began to explain, bur before you could Nick cut you off, “How did you know Potassium was a part of the serum?” He pressed, his eye scanning over a copy of one of the essays in question.

“Potassium’s main job in the body is to grow and build muscles, and since these ‘Super Soldiers’ have the ability to regenerate muscles quickly, there must have been an above average amount of Potassium in the serum.” You explained, both of them watching you intently. They continued to question you on this knowledge, and continue to become more and more impressed with each passing moment. “You’re hired!” Tony exclaimed, jumping out of his seat,pointing at you.

 “H-Hired for w-what, sir?” You asked, the nerves bubbling back up. “Oh right, you still have no idea why we’re here.” he mumbled. He slid a manilla folder your way, you caught it right before it slipped off the table. A black bar was printed at the top, white letters spelling out ‘confidential’ with a small bird-like symbol just below it. You flipped open the folder and was greeted by a photo of a familiar face, one you had seen on the news hundreds of times, whether that be through a broadcast, interviews, or through phone videos played by the news. It was Captain America, aka Steve Rogers. You felt like you were looking at something you weren't supposed to, so you quickly closed the folder, pushing it away. “W-What is that?” So many questions swimming through your brain, but that was the only one you could get out.

“We’ve been tip-toeing for too long, so I’m just gonna say it.” Tony said, rolling his eyes and sitting upright in his chair. “Basically, because we’ve been researching you after a tip came in about you existence, and we came here because we believe you would be the perfect nurse for our two Super Soldiers.” All the information was too much to process, you felt like your brain had shut down. “What?” Was all you could muster out. “I don’t have enough time or energy to care for Rogers and Barnes after every fight, so I need someone who is completely dedicated to them, health-wise, and you fit that mold perfectly.” He picked up his briefcase and set it on the table, clicking it shut. “You’ll be their Sexy Sup-Stop.” Nick cuts him off, you didn’t even register what Tony was beginning to say, your brain had practically shut down, and was currently rebooting, you probably looked drunk, with glossy eyes and flushed cheeks.  

“Someone pinch me.” You thought to yourself, but it must have slipped past your lips because you heard Tony mumble something, that you couldn’t even register his words. They didn’t even let you get out a yes or no, and not even a ‘can I think about it?’ Instead, they placed a thick manilla folder in front of you, similar to the one you scanned over earlier. 

“In here is your contract, and you are not to share this information with anyone, do you understand?” Fury said, his tone back to serious, the same as before Tony began to make a fool of himself. You simply nodded, trying to knock yourself back into reality. “W-What if I-I have any questions?” You asked, looking between the two men. Stark fished around in his pockets for something, and quickly pulled out a small card. “if you have any questions, give me a call.” He said, placing the small business card on the folder. Before you could say anything else, they were already walking out the door, and presumably towards the elevator.

“You really can’t make this shit up.” 

[invisibletinkerer]

Fic: 30 Seconds Later (chapter 13)

Chapter 1 – Chapter 2 – Chapter 3 – Chapter 4 – Chapter 5 – Chapter 6 – Chapter 7 – Chapter 8 – Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14

Length: ~5700 words

AO3 Link

Stanford went into the car still reeling from Dipper’s game – and as irrational as it seemed, he found that he now looked forward to something other than Bill’s demise. Two days ago he would have called that impossible, the very idea unthinkable. But if the rift was secured and he himself stayed inside the warded room for the game—

The rift was the priority, though.

He didn’t even care that Stanley insisted on driving, even though Ford was the one who knew where they were going, and the likelihood of him falling unconscious while driving was close to zero at this point. He’d slept enough for a lifetime by now, even when accounting for a few unpleasantly panicked midnight awakenings. Bill had failed to reach him, and that gave him a better ground to stand on than he’d had since he’d first discovered the demon’s true intentions. Even the various aches seemed quite negligible this morning.

Of course, it was just like Stanley to still be possessive about his car – some things never changed. But they were going on small forest roads at relatively low speeds anyway, so the unnecessary hassle of giving directions was rather minor, all things considered. Besides, the passenger seat was comfortably familiar.

As he settled in, déjà vu struck him like a heat wave to the face. This car. The smell of leather and gasoline. A bumpy road. Stanley on his left.

It had been over a decade, and they had both been mere children, but the feeling was strong enough that he had to shake his head to dislodge it. He could practically taste the toffee peanuts.

Wait a second. He glanced at the old man in the driver’s seat – grey hair, shorts, and a printed shirt gaudy enough to be Fiddleford’s – presently looking nothing at all like the wide-eyed sixteen-year-old who had once been so proud of this very vehicle. It had been more than four decades.

“I can’t believe you still have the same car,” he said, running his fingers over the glove compartment.

Stanley grimaced. “Yeah, well. Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t believe it. It’s not the same car.”

Ford blinked, taking another look around. “It’s not?” Lacking photographic memory, he couldn’t be absolutely certain down to the details, but— “I do remember this car quite well from our childhood, Stanley. I know I saw the ‘Stanleymobile’ vanity plate outside, too.”

Stanley’s face might have looked pained for a moment, but then he chuckled. “That’s right. Confused the hell out of a buncha people when I got it.” He raised his voice in mock concern. “’But Stanford, why would you want the wrong name on your plate?’ Heh.”

Ford pursed his lips. The reminder that Stanley had been using Ford’s name for all these years stung, but it only made the present question more puzzling. “This is a replica, then. A copy.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment that you fell for it, Poindexter. It’s not like I’ve shown it to anyone else who remembers the original.”

“I didn’t ‘fall’ for anything,” Ford bristled. “I merely didn’t think you’d go to the trouble of making a replica of your first car, especially not when you were claiming to be me. I’m sure there has to be better cars on the market in the 21st century.”

They were interrupted by an especially bumpy stretch of the road – it was even less well maintained than last time Ford had seen it – making the car jump and come dangerously close to going off-road. Ford rolled his eyes at Stanley’s reckless driving, but assumed he could handle it like he always had.

He took the moment to take a closer look at their surroundings, looking for landmarks in the forest. There was still a bit to go, and there were no people in sight, which was expected, but also a relief. Other people meant other possible pawns of Bill, especially now that Ford himself was somewhat less available to the demon. It was fortunate that nothing required them to go into town, at least not today.

“There’s never gonna be a better car on the market than the old El Diablo,” Stanley said eventually, bringing him back to the conversation. “Got my hands on one of the same model in workable condition a few years back, so I touched her up a bit.” He patted the wheel affectionately. “She’s a good car. Feels like home, ya know?”

Of course Stanley would bring something back just because he missed it. Ford wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile or scoff, so he did neither. “It is a good car,” he admitted. “And it certainly brings to mind late sixties New Jersey, if that’s what you’re going for.”

Stanley grinned. “Sixties New Jersey, the glory days.”

Ford closed his eyes briefly and tried to recall the strong sense of déjà vu he’d experienced. “I won’t argue that,” he said. “But that was a long time ago.”

“You don’t say.”

Fair enough, but Ford shrugged it off. A question danced on the tip of his tongue until he finally gave in and asked it. “What happened to the original?” It didn’t matter, especially not when Stanley had acquired such a decent facsimile, but somehow he still wanted to know. “Did you lose it when you—when you were on the road?”

Stanley smiled wryly. “No, I still had her when I got here. But, well – told ya Stanley Pines died, didn’t I? Car crash, horrible wreckage, almost nothing left of the body. The car was identifiable, though.”

“Oh.” Stanley had really destroyed his own identity thirty years ago. It was hard to wrap his mind around, to get a grip on as something that really happened. He should have been okay. He should have had twelve years not to get tangled in his own dreams and desires into dealing with demons, but instead he’d done that. As if Stanley Pines was nothing. As if Stanford Pines was nothing, as if they were interchangeable. It hurt, in more than one way, but mulling over it would only be detrimental to the current mission.

There were a few moments of awkward silence, but fortunately Ford found they were approaching their destination, or at least as close to it as they could get to it by car. They would have to hike the last few miles cross-country. He told Stanley to pull over and park where the road widened slightly.

“This is the magical part of the forest?” Stanley said doubtfully as they got out of the car and locked it. “Doesn’t seem very magical to me.”

“That’s right,” Ford replied, back in his element with navigating the Gravity Falls valley. “The most magical part of the forest is further to the west, where I sent Mabel and her friends yesterday. This part is in fact relatively mundane, but it’s got a few secrets of its own, the biggest of which is our destination.” He checked the compass that Stanley had found for him in the attic, then charged ahead through the pines.

He quickly fell into a walking rhythm. The clear forest air, the smell of pine needles and leaves, and the brisk walk towards a clear and obtainable goal was invigorating. For once since long before going through the portal, Stanford felt truly alive. Perhaps he shouldn’t be enjoying something so simple when so much was at stake, but the sunshine filtering through the trees seemed to warm him down to the marrow, and he’d been cold for so long.

Stanley grumbled a bit about his speed, but he kept up. In fact, Ford was sure he caught him smiling several times.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered that the hike was more tiring than it should have been. Brief spells of dizziness was nothing to worry about. The sensation of limbs trembling with exhaustion had been such a common occurrence for the last few weeks that it hardly seemed worth acknowledging. Stanford was used to walking and even running for far longer distances with little to no trouble. This was nothing.

When Stanley pointed out that he looked winded, it was just annoying.

“I’m fine!”

“Dammit Ford, slow down!” Stanley repeated. “You’re heaving like a bellow! Your face looks like a boiled lobster!”

“We’re almost there,” Ford panted, evading Stanley’s attempt to grab his arm. And, in doing so, unbalanced himself into putting his foot down wrong on the uneven ground, falling on his face.

He caught some of his weight on his arms, but still ended up with a faceful of pine needles and a hard root smashing into the wounds on his chest, scratching something open and knocking a groan of pain from him.

He rolled over on his back.

He really did need to catch his breath.

The sky above was blue, partly concealed behind foliage and tree trunks. Right in his line of sight was a large birch. On it was – fixing him in its gaze – a large, otherworldly eye.

He could have sworn it blinked.

Trying to run from me, smart guy?

No. Panic pushed him back on his feet in an instant. Every instinct screamed that he had to get away, that Bill was doing something to him, but as soon as he found his feet he stumbled backwards, almost falling again. Blood was pounding in his ears and black spots threatened to take away his vision.

He couldn’t see. He was going to black out.

“Stanford!”

“I’m fine,” he wheezed, blinking hard. A flailing hand found something to hold onto, keeping him from falling over. He was fine. There was air and he could breathe – too hard, too fast – and all he had to do was make his body catch up with him. He felt nauseous and could still hear Bill laughing in his ears, but he was fully awake and Bill couldn’t hurt him unless he fainted. Bill was watching, yes, but he couldn’t do anything. Ford was still in control. His hands were shaking independently of his struggling lungs, but he was alright.

Stanley. He’d grabbed onto Stanley, and somehow he was steadier than any tree. Ford leaned on his brother and finally the world stopped spinning.

“I’m fine,” he repeated after a moment. “It was just a headrush.”

Stanley made a non-committal noise and pushed him off so he could look at him. Meeting Ford’s eyes and confirming Bill’s absence, he relaxed visibly. “I did tell ya to rest another day,” he grumbled.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Ford managed, still panting. “I also recall—recall that I told you we have no time to lose.”

Stanley produced a plastic water bottle from his bag and handed it to Ford, who took it and drank gratefully. His lungs were starting to get back to an acceptable level of labor, but his heart was still racing, and his limbs were trembling uncontrollably. Exhaustion, still, despite eating and sleeping. Ridiculous.

“So, what just happened?” Stanley asked, before taking the bottle back and taking a swig himself.

Ford bit his lip. What just happened was weakness. He had no more excuses to succumb to that. He’d stumbled, and Bill had taken advantage of the moment to startle him. “Bill is watching us,” he said simply.

“Well.” Stanley grimaced. “He would be. But he can’t do anything to ya unless you’re unconscious, right?”

“Right. He has no means of attack, no pawns, not here.” He had to believe it. Trees were just trees, even if Bill could see through them. “I suppose— I suppose I stumbled because I overexerted myself. I had no reason to believe this particular hike would be strenuous. Considering I’ve walked it many times in the past.”

“Except in the past you weren’t recovering from being a half-dead wreck. I figured as much when your face changed color.”

Ford let go of Stanley completely and crossed his arms. “I am not a half-dead wreck!”

“No, you’re only a quarter dead now.” Stanley smirked briefly. “Seriously, are you okay? Can you tell me honestly that you won’t fall over if a deer looks at you the wrong way?”

“Deer are rarely dangerous, Stanley. Unless perhaps it’s a peryton, in which case the wings would give ample warning of its true nature.”

“That wasn’t—” Stanley sighed. “Look, are we gonna turn around and go back to the Shack, or can I really trust that this won’t happen again?” He sounded sincerely worried. Perhaps even afraid.

Ford clenched and unclenched his hands. Carelessness and weakness could lead to disaster. He might have been a hair’s width from blacking out just now, and that thought made him tense up all over again. He couldn’t stop Bill from watching, but he could make sure he was unable to do anything else. All he had to do was to get a hold of himself. He wasn’t—

He wasn’t doing this alone.

He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “It won’t happen again,” he promised. “I’ll take it slower from here. And I’ll have one of those chocolate bars you packed.”

 * * *

It was almost midday when they finally reached their destination, which turned out to be a clearing on a hill. The opening in the trees gave the place a good view of the local landmark hanging cliffs, so if it hadn’t been so out of the way, Stan figured it would have been a nice spot for sightseeing tours. Other than that, he couldn’t see anything special about it.

Ford sat down on a convenient rock with a sigh, wiped his glasses on a sleeve and motioned for Stan to come closer. His face was still a bit darker than it should have been, but it probably looked worse than it was because he was so ghostly pale in general. Alive, though. He was very much alive and would very much stay that way if Stan had anything to say on the matter. He had taken it slower on the last bit of the hike, at least.

“Are you gonna tell me what we’re locking for yet?” Stan asked. “Still don’t see any metal to use those sci-fi weapons on.”

“They’re not weapons, they’re tools. And yes.” Ford raised his chin. “Perhaps you can make a guess if I tell you we’re looking for an adhesive stronger than anything on Earth?”

Stan grimaced. “I really hope it doesn’t mean you’re gonna break the rift open and pull something out of there, because then I have to tell you that’s crazy reckless.” Not that he was always opposed to crazy reckless, but that rubbed him the wrong way.

“What? No!” Ford shook his head and got back to his feet. “No, guess again.” He pointed at the landmark. “Take a look at the shape of those cliffs – doesn’t it remind you of something?”

Stan narrowed his eyes. He had seen those cliffs thousands of times, and the unnatural-looking indentations in them were hardly news. He had no idea what Ford was going for. “It looks like Paul Bunyan took an axe to them to open up the valley,” he said. “At least that’s what I tell the tourists.”

Ford pursed his lips. “That’s an explanation I never considered,” he mused. “It is, however, wrong. Behold.” He held out a closed hand above Stan’s eyes, then dropped a small keychain charm to dangle in his field of vision.

A plastic UFO.

“Wait a minute.” Stan snatched the charm out of Ford’s hand. “Where did you get that?” Sure enough, it was the same kind that he sold in the gift shop. No keys either, just the charm.

“Seriously, Stanley?” Ford threw both hands up in exasperation. “Does that really matter?”

Stan glanced from Ford to the charm and back, feeling more confused than anything else. “Look, Sixer, I appreciate that you still have it in you to shoplift! But you could have just asked.”

“I would have used my own if I had been able to find it,” Ford said stiffly.

Stan winced with guilt. That’s right. He’d taken everything from Ford. No legs to stand on getting stingy about a keychain charm. “Nevermind.” He handed the charm back to Ford and took a deep breath before he could say anything he’d regret. “Keep it if you want it. I promise we’ll get everything straightened out as soon as—”

“It’s unimportant!” Ford interrupted with some fire, though he still took it back. “You’re looking at the trinket and fail to see the big picture. Look again. Look at the cliffs.” He dangled the charm in front of Stan’s eyes again, and this time Stan actually looked.

The shape of the UFO fit the hole in the mountain pretty well.

Stan’s eyes widened. “You’re saying a freaking UFO crashed through that mountain?”

“Exactly!” his young twin exclaimed, looking awfully smug about it. Then again, smug shoplifting nerd Sixer was a whole lot more relatable than terrified wreck Sixer, so that was a win. “According to my research,” Ford continued, “the entire valley of Gravity Falls was formed when an extraterrestrial object crashlanded here millions of years ago.”

“Not Paul Bunyan, then.” Thinking about it, he should probably have known something like that was up. It did make a few things about the portal make more sense. “The wreck is still here, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question. “You’ve been there before, and that’s where we’re going now.”

“Indeed.” Ford put the keychain away and bent down to push at the rock he’d been sitting on. It slid a few feet to the side surprisingly easily, revealing a dirty metal surface underneath. “Sometimes the strangest things in the world are hidden right under our feet. Stand back.” He took out his magnet gun and aimed it at the metal, and the next moment a square slab of the stuff flew out of the ground and attached itself to the gun’s muzzle. Below was a dark shaft into the underground.

Stan was fascinated in spite of himself. Somewhere inside him a little boy was screaming excitedly about treasure hunting. Together with Ford, even. He swallowed.

“I used to raid this place for parts for years,” Ford was saying. “Some of the more exotic materials for the portal came from here, too.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Some of that shit just wasn’t in any literature I could get my hands on.” He was still staring down at the hole. “And your notes weren’t exactly complete, especially not when I only had that one journal.”

“You still figured it out, though. Frankly, Stanley, that’s amazing.”

The compliment caught him by surprise. “Meh,” he said, waving it away. “Took me long enough.”

There turned out to be a wire ladder made from perfectly normal aluminum already hanging from the edge of the shaft, making it possible to climb straight down into the darkness. Ford took the lead, claiming he’d been there countless times before, and besides, all the aliens had been dead for millions of years. He sounded a bit like he was trying to reassure himself, but it definitely made sense to Stan that there wouldn’t be any living aliens onboard a spaceship that crashed an eternity ago. Something else making their lair there, maybe – this was Gravity Falls – but probably not aliens.

Stan was glad he was more or less over his fear of heights, because as they climbed, the narrow shaft soon widened into a large chamber that made it extremely obvious how high above any kind of floor they were. The sunlight from the shaft caught the walls and pillars below and turned into an eerie glow, illuminating something that could almost have been a giant cavern. Stan only looked down once, then kept his eyes on the ladder until he could step out on the floor, but the sight that awaited him was more than worth it. Reflected pearlescent glow on gently curving walls and pillars faded into the distance. Cracks, rubble, stray roots and patches of half-dead moss littered the ruins between alien symbols and long-broken equipment. The air was chilly, but felt strangely clean. It was the kind of sight people would pay a fortune to see.

“Whoa.” Stan’s voice echoed slightly in the large space. He glanced at Ford, and said, straight-faced, “This is the greatest thing I ever saw, and I once saw a gnome bathing in squirrels.”

As he’d hoped, Ford cracked up. His face split into a grin that he was obviously trying to suppress, head bowed and shoulders shaking in muffled laughter. “What’s wrong with you?”

Stan couldn’t help himself. “Bad genes, I suppose.”

“You—” Ford took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. “This is serious, Stanley!”

“I know.” Stan shrugged. “Let’s go get your glue.”

“This way.”

Ford led the way through the big chamber, past piles of rubble and patches of pale grass – hard to tell if it was normal plants taken root down here or alien ones. The faint patch of sky from the shaft above gave a surprising amount of light, almost like the gleaming walls and pillars were made to reflect back as much light as possible. That had to be marketable.

“Fiddleford and I used to come down here all the time, studying their technology and language,” Ford said, an odd wistful tone in his voice. “I haven’t been here since before—before he left. A couple of months, give or take thirty years.” He sighed softly and rubbed his own arms like he was cold. “It’s the kind of place that time doesn’t seem to touch.”

“Fiddleford,” Stan repeated. “Fiddleford McGucket.” Dipper had mentioned it earlier, but it was still hard to imagine that the crazy old man had once been a genius on par with Ford. Weirder things had happened, though. “He was really your assistant?”

“Yes, and my friend. We met in collage.” Ford kept going for a few more steps, then stopped. “Did you know him at all? Did he ever talk to you?”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘talk’,” Stan dodged. It had very seldom been a coherent conversation, after all. Thinking back, though – “The first time I met him he ran from me screaming. That might have been a clue that you didn’t really part on the best of terms.”

“No, we didn’t.” Ford looked down at his feet. “Never mind. Of course he would have avoided you.” He kept walking, and Stan followed in silence.

Would’ve been nice if he’d known about McGucket sooner – if he’d worked on building the portal originally he might even have been able to help repair it. But hey, it would have been too much to ask for Ford to mention his friend’s name in his notes. He’d have to tell Ford at some point, but right now did not feel like the time to say ‘by the way, the guy’s completely insane, lives in the dump, and doesn’t remember you at all’.

Suddenly Ford halted by a precipice – the floor simply stopped with no warning and gave way to a pitch-black chasm. It didn’t seem like it was broken or anything either, more like the aliens just decided to have a hole there for some alien reason. It was empty except for a smooth round pillar, going straight down into the darkness some four or five feet from the edge.

“We’re going down there?” Stan asked, pretty sure he knew the answer.

“Yes,” Ford confirmed. He was standing on the edge, one moment of lost balance away from falling to his death, which was a bit unnerving. He also seemed to seriously consider jumping, too, at least if the way he looked at the pillar in the gaping hole meant anything. Stan resisted the urge to drag him away immediately, but stayed close just in case. “This used to be some form of elevator shaft to the next level of the alien craft,” Ford explained. “The mechanism is long defunct, but there is no staircase route, so this is where we’re descending.”

“How?”

Ford looked at the magnet gun in his hand, which seemed to be trembling very slightly. “Normally I would simply jump over to the pillar and attach the magnet gun to it, holding on and allowing gravity to pull me down at a convenient speed.” Stan shuddered – there was absolutely no way he himself was doing that, fear of heights mostly cured or not, and it sounded like it could go wrong in a thousand ways for Ford, too. He was not recovered from all the shit he’d put his body through.

For once, Ford seemed to have realized that on his own. “However,” he continued, “after the minor incident on the way here, I’m no longer certain I can trust my body to hold up to that kind of stress. An accident at this point would spell disaster.”

“Yeah, I’d say.” Stan paused, since Ford still didn’t move from the edge. “Look, I really hope you’re gonna say you have an alternative.”

“Yes! Of course!” Ford nodded, hesitation gone, and finally turned to walk along the edge to their right. “Fiddleford insisted on installing a ladder here as well, just like at the entrance,” he explained, pointing at the start of another wire ladder attached to the edge close to a solid block of ancient alien who-knows-what.

Stan slapped a hand on his face. “If you had a ladder here all along, why didn’t you just say so?”

“I just did.” Ford raised his chin. “It’s not my preferred method of descent, but it will have to do.” He hurried down the ladder before Stan could argue the point. “Come on.”

The light from above didn’t reach the lower level of the spaceship, but Ford brandished a flashlight that reflected on the walls in a similar way, giving more than enough light to see their surroundings. Ford seemed to know his way around, but Stan couldn’t help dragging his feet, trying to take it all in. The urge to go back here at some point and collect as much sellable loot as was humanly possible was only increasing. There was the skeletal remains of an actual alien still slumped near a control board. Anyone would have a field day with that.

Anyone except Ford, apparently.

“So,” Stan said slowly as they walked. “I’m pretty sure this place’d be a giant breakthrough in at least a dozen academic fields.  You never thought of releasing the news to the world? Becoming rich and famous?”

Ford looked back at him, a strange glint in his eyes. “No,” he said. “By the time I first found this, I was already working with Bill.” He turned away again. “The portal was the priority at that point. Nothing else seemed to—Everything else seemed insignificant compared to what he claimed the portal would do.”

“Hm. Infinite alternate universes, right?”

“Yes. Let me make this clear though – it did not lead to anything of the sort.”

Stan swallowed, feeling an accusation in those words. “Well,” he said, “the alien spaceship is still here, and no one has published it yet. It’s not too late, ya know. You could change the world with this.”

For some reason, Ford flinched visibly at that. “Perhaps,” was all he said, not sounding convinced at all.

There seemed to be nothing more to say, so for a couple of minutes the only sound to be heard was two sets of softly echoing footsteps. Eventually they reached a dead end.

“Is this a door of some kind?” Stan guessed.

“Yes, it is.” Ford pointed the magnet gun to a spot on the ceiling, causing a small lever to pull downward. At the same time, the wall before them split neatly in half, leaving a gap of less than an inch in the middle. Ford grabbed the left edge and pulled to the side, slowly widening the opening until Stan took the other side and pulled the whole thing open in one go. Muscles, he still had them.

Ford gave him a nod of acknowledgement, then carefully stepped inside. “This is the storage facility,” he explained. “Now all we have to do is find the adhesive. I believe I know where it is.” His eyes flicked nervously around the room as if half expecting an ambush, though Stan couldn’t make out either movements or sounds other than their own.

He wasn’t sure exactly what they were looking for in here, but there was a bunch of small, flat six-sided boxes scattered in heaps on the floor. All of them were the same size and shape, and any one of them could contain anything. Actually, any one of them would probably count as treasure if you looked a little closer. The thought was inspiring; pocketing a few random ones was more or less a reflex.

Ford had quickly found his way to a curved nook in the wall lined with some kind of control panels, whatever a cargo hold would use control panels for. He’d put the flashlight aside, relying on the reflected light from the walls, and was working on taking out even more of the six-sided boxes from an opening under the controls, frowning at them one at the time.

“Any idea what these are for?” Stan asked, tapping something that might have been a dead monitor screen.

Ford grunted, still going through the boxes. “I believe these compartments were meant to be a secure storage space for extra valuable or volatile substances, though many of them were broken and tossed around during the crash.” He scowled at a container as if the design on it had insulted him. “The rest are the security systems, of course.”

“Of course.” Stan idly flicked a switch back and forth. “Wait, security systems?”

“Yes, the cargo would have been heavily guarded back when the vessel was up and running.” Ford glanced at Stan and added: “Don’t worry, though. Everything’s defunct by now. Most of it has been busted for millions of years.”

“Geez, way to give me a heart attack.” Stan snickered and rummaged through a few more of the little boxes in the heap closest to the panel, not getting any wiser about what was in them. “Hey, wanna tell me exactly what it is I’m supposed to be looking for, here?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Ford showed him the nearest box. “They’re marked with these symbols, see. The symbol for the adhesive is two concentric circles flanked by two smaller circles on opposite sides, each connected to the larger circle with a straight line.” He sketched the design over the unrelated box with a finger. “It’s still unknown what the alien thought process behind the symbol was, but like a lot of their symbology, it’s easy to remember memetically! If you imagine the center as—”

Stan was viscerally reminded again that Ford was there. Not dead, not a fever dream, but right in front of him and nerding out about some alien weirdness. Still young, like the past thirty years had been nothing but a nightmare. It hadn’t sunk in yet, if it ever would. It was over, and Ford was there.

“I thought it would be right here, though,” Ford continued, a stressed edge to his voice. “The other one we found was in this very unit.” He made a frustrated grimace. “If it’s not here, this might take longer than I hoped. It could be anywhere.” He waved his arm around the room.

“You sure there’s more of it at all?” Stan couldn’t help asking. Could it be that they were down here for nothing?

“There has to be!” Ford slammed the container he was holding down on the control panel.

“What happened to the last one, anyway?”

“It was almost empty to begin with. We wasted it on useless experiments, and now that I need it, there isn’t any more?” He leaned on the panels, looking down at his hands with a frustrated grimace.

“Hey, I was just asking. Don’t give up yet. Like you said, it might take some time to look though this mess, but that’s why you brought backup, am I right?” He gave Ford a pat on the back, earning him an unreadable glare.

“You’re right. I’ll go through this pile, you start over there,” Ford directed with a gesture.

Stan sat down on the floor by the pile and started shuffling the boxes like bricks. All of the designs included circles, stupidly similar, but he’d find the one Ford had described if he put his mind to it. It couldn’t be harder than—

Ford must have heard something before Stan did. Stan’s first indication that something was wrong was Ford spinning around, back stiff and ramrod straight, staring into the darkness on the far end of the area.

For a moment there was nothing there, but then it was like a light switch was turned on. The walls didn’t just reflect the one flashlight any longer, but there was some kind of light source in the distance, bouncing off the walls and making the whole place look like the electricity bills had not been neglected for the past million years.

Two giant, floating bubbles were approaching.

In hindsight, Stan should probably not have been surprised. Then again, long-dead alien security systems had been pretty far down the list of credible threats. A stray dragon finding its way down here and hoarding the six-sided treasure boxes, or a herd of manotaurs picking the place for their man-cave – sure. But million-year-old automated systems? It was like someone who died before humanity was a thing was deliberately trying to call him out for being a burglar. He decided he hated those aliens.

“Damn,” Ford said quietly from a few feet away, clearly on the verge of hyperventilating. “It’s—it’s okay. Stay calm. They’re not with Bill. They’re just security droids. They won’t even touch us unless we—” He broke off, raising his magnet gun in a tightly clenched, trembling fist.

“You’ve met these before?” Stan got to his feet and took a protective step closer to Ford.

“Yes, once! I thought it was the last one! They work by detecting fear, so all we have to do is—all we have to do is not to—” He was struggling with himself, breathing too fast and shallow again. “Shit.”

One of the bubbles extended a small brick-like piece in Ford’s direction, and Stan had seen guns ready to fire before. He reacted on instinct, without thinking, throwing himself at Ford.

[tsukihoshi14]

Hi new fan here! I have seen there is a new book about hanyu yuzuru that has came out. How many books are there about him? What are the difference between them and What's your recommendations? I'm planning to buy them on amazon so i wanted your opinion. Hope it's not too much to ask for. I love your blog 💖

Hi there, yes there’s been a boom of Yuzu-related books and contents recently so I totally understand that it can be confusing. 

[alert: everything below this line is purely my opinion and can be biased]

He has 3 autobiographies so far: Aoi Hono 1 (2012), Aoi Hono 2 (2016) and「夢を生きる」(’Living the Dream’) (2018) which was just out yesterday (I think this one also counts as autobiography). A sport journalist wrote a biography of Yuzu called ‘Yuzuru’s Method’. All four of them come with pretty photos of Yuzuru. @yuzusorbet made an amazing post with introduction and snippets of Aoi Hono 1, Aoi Hono 2, Yuzuru’s Method here, I found it very helpful when I was a new fan too. 

I’ve finished the two Aoi Hono books, I have a copy of Yuzuru’s Method but haven’t finished it. imo, the structure of these 3 books are kinda the same, but Aoi Hono-s provide more details (2 books vs 1) and they are mostly Yuzuru’s answers and perception of how things happened in his life in a chronological order, while Yuzuru’s Method focuses more on the concept of ‘What made Yuzuru become a champion?’ and the journalist puts an emphasis on how he evolved each season (each chapter is about one of his senior season). Personally, I also like the two Aoi Hono the best out of all Yuzu books not only because they tell the story of Yuzuru’s life and his thoughts in great details but also because the royalties are donated to Ice Rink Sendai where he trained for so many years.

[update: for those who don’t understand Japanese, nonchan translated Aoi Hono 1 and you can ask her for it if you have the book, I’m translating Aoi Hono 2 so it’ll be ready some time soon, you can have it if you have a copy of the book.]

I haven’t had a chance to read「夢を生きる」yet, but I’ve seen several reviews about it from Japanese fans.  It covers 2015-2018 with interviews from Ice Jewels and interviews done specifically for this book. I’m quite sad that it doesn’t mention Pyeongchang at all (probably too close to printing date), but I heard that there are pretty photos in the book (they even have photos of him wearing hakama in there, the blue one from 2015 :>). I’m definitely gonna get myself a copy of it this month. 

Yuzuru also published a Quote collection book and a Photobook under his name a while ago. @kaerb has been translating some of the quotes from the former book (quote + context) so you can take a look here.

Yuzuru has been mentioned in quite a few books, I don’t think I know all of them. But a lot of fans buy Team Brian 1 (2014) & Team Brian 2 (2017). I don’t have them yet so I’m not sure about how the books really are. But they definitely emphasize on Team Brian, Brian’s relationship with Yuna, Yuzu, Javi more than just Yuzu, so that’s something to keep in mind. The reception of the first book is very good, but doesn’t seem to be the case for the second one. Again, I haven’t read them so I can’t confirm how good/bad they are, but I do plan to get at least the first one and see.

If you also want to read more on Japanese figure skating and Yuzuru’s role in it, then there are two books that were just released a few months ago. One is called「日本フィギュアスケート 金メダルへの挑戦」(The Road to Olympic Gold) (2018), written by Noriko Shirota, mentions how Japanese figure skating evolved from Midori Ito, Arakawa, Mao,…. to Yuzuru. I don’t know much about this one but the reviews seem good. The other one is「羽生結弦は助走をしない」(2017). This is written on the same topic, with the emphasis on Yuzuru and takes other skaters in his generation into consideration more than the first one. Also, this is written by a figure skating enthusiast and strives to explain figure skating itself and why these skaters are great to those who are not fans or not familiar with skating. I’ve only started reading this recently, but I really like the casual voice of this author and how the book approaches skating quite logically and easy to understand. On the other hand, this one doesn’t come with any photos, it’s all plain text with a pretty Seimei-styled cover, just in case you’re wondering.

Several people have asked me about this recently-released book called 英語で読む羽生結弦 (Reading about Hanyu Yuzuru in English) (2018). This is a bi-lingual English-Japanese biography of Yuzuru. I was very excited about this book at first. I only got the chance to take a brief look at it at the bookstore, but my impression was that it’s kinda similar to Aoi Hono, like a shortened version, with explanations of figure skating terms and also a list of his achievements. Friends and Japanese fans reviewed that the English translation was not really good and the book explained some of the skating terms incorrectly, so I wouldn’t really recommend this book tbh.

Ahhh, it’s become a long answer again :))) I hope I didn’t miss any good books. If I did or if others recommend to add some more good titles, I will edit the original post. I’m aware that Yuzu did a lot of interviews on Ice Jewels and mooks (don’t know if you’re interested in them or not) but I don’t have any knowledge on magazine-related or mook-related contents so I can’t really recommend anything :”>

FYI: Since you ask about buying books, I’m assuming that you’re quite comfortable reading Japanese texts. But even if you don’t, it’s still a good opportunity to practice. I never had enough motivation to read books in Japanese until I started with Aoi Hono tbh XD So if anyone wants to challenge yourself reading this and is curious how hard the text is, you can DM me and I’ll send you a scan of the first 2-3 pages so you can estimate before buying. I have 4 books so far and the scale of difficulty for me is:

羽生結弦は助走をしない 

Anw, have fun and enjoy reading :D Just ask if you have any other questions :>

[grapevynerendezvous]

Chocolate Watch Band - No Way Out

Chocolate Watch Band (Watchband) is considered by some to be the ultimate Garage Band. They played early, if not the earliest psychedelic punk music.They had a heavier take on responding to the British Invasion that was in full swing when they formed. In their early stages they were interested in the music of The Who, but it is obvious that they owe a debt to The Rolling Stones, and perhaps were America’s answer to the hard edged blues-rock and swagger of the Stones. Their recordings certainly supported that, and their live performances reflected it as well. As a warm up, and to show their abilities to producer Ed Cobb down in Los Angeles in 1966, the first song they recorded tracks for was Chuck Berry’s Come On. This also happened to be the first song the Stones ever recorded. - As written about by Vladimir Bogdanov, Stephen Thomas Erlewine and Chris Woodstra. The style of music they played has been defined in a number of ways, garage rock, proto-punk, psychedelic, (definitive) psychedelic punk. In the bands’ website History - The Story, it even goes so far as to label their music as “Anglophilic blueswailing”. Music critic Bruce Eder said “they were a unique phenomenon -- based on their recordings, they were a world-class garage punk act, if that's possible, beating the Ramones to the punch by a decade, He further “described the material on the album as "highly potent, slashing, exciting, clever pieces of music”. While I’ve not seen it mentioned I would go so far as to surmise that they may have been influenced by the psychedelic blues-rock offered by The Yardbirds as well. Eder further says “…the album (No Way Out) was largely overlooked at the time of its release and had gone out of print by the early 1970s’, By the early ‘80s I started hearing about the demand for their original albums which eventually spread across the planet. Eder said that around that time their albums “were changing hands for $100 apiece or more.” In later writings I have seen up to $1000 being estimated. I firmly concluded early on that no way would I ever sell my copy of No Way Out.

Before going further it must be noted that the use of Watch Band in their name appeared in two places in particular, the albums No Way Out and inner Mystique. It is apparent in all other ways that the name as created by the band early on is Chocolate Watchband. In no place I’ve researched have I seen a reference or explanation for this. In my opinion it was either an error on the part of label and/or producer, or it was done intentionally. The latter would make some sense since producer Ed Cobb certainly did a lot of rogue tampering when it came to the production of their recordings. There was another band called The Chocolate Watch Band based in London, England. That group released two singles, ironically in 1967, the same year No Way Out was issued. I seriously doubt that the San Jose CA-based CWB was aware of that band. In any case, the name Chocolate Watchband (or CWB) will hereon be used.

When I discovered their album No Way Out in my favorite record store across the road from my high school it must have only been out a short time. I’m not sure I had heard of them, but the album was attractive enough to listen to and I bought it immediately. It’s possible that a friend of mine may have known about them because I found out pretty quickly that they were “local”, since I lived in Palo Alto, in Santa Clara County (aka, in time, Silicone Valley).

The band was originally formed at Foothill College in Los Altos Hills in 1965 by Mark Loomis and Ned Torney. This was prior to my tenure at Foothill, but I have heard they played there many times.  As to how the band name came into being I happened to find this information from Tim Abbott: “The story is that the band was sitting around the Owls Nest up at Foothill College trying to come up with a name for the band. The idea was to find two cool words that sounded good together. Somebody said chocolate and somebody said watch()band and that was it”. Chocolate Watchband eventually dissolved when Torney and the lead singer at the time, Danny Phay, moved over to a band called The Otherside (The Other Side in some examples) followed by another CWB member Jo Kemling. This left Loomis, drummer Gary Andrijasevich and bassist Rick Young with no band. After a foray into The Shandels Mark Loomis decided to resurrect Chocolate Watchband, calling on Andrijasevich once again and pulling Shandel bandmates bassist Bill ‘Flo” Flores and Topsiders guitarist Dave ‘Sean” Tolby into the fold. The final piece was added when Loomis recruited David Aguilar as lead vocalist. Aguilar, who had just become the lead singer in the band The Mourning Reign, explains how it came about:  “…as I moved around the stage at the Brass Rail with a tambourine in one hand and a microphone in the other, I saw two guys with long blond hair, Sean Tolby  and Mark Loomis in the front row of the audience watching me. I didn't think much of it. There was always other band members hanging around checking out the competition. Later that evening, while I was struggling with chemistry homework in my bedroom, my Dad called up the stairs and said there was someone on the phone for me. It was Mark Loomis. He said he was forming a new band called the 'Chocolate Watchband'. Was I interested in joining it? It took almost a nanosecond to decide. "Hell Yes!" "Good" he said. "We meet next Thursday night at 6 PM at my house. Here's my address. " That was all we said to each other. When I drove up four days later, drums and cymbals were being thrown out the front door onto the lawn. I could hear yelling going on inside the house and a woman wailing in her high pitched voice. Out came the last remnant of the old Watchband, a drummer cursing and flipping off some invisible entity inside the house. I was thinking, wow this is one hell of a reception! When I got inside, everything was peaceful. Mark had a broad smile on his face. He was standing in front of his mother whose face was redder then a ripe tomato. All he said to me was, "Well, that's done. Let me show you where we're going to practice.” He led me past the kitchen, through the family room and out into the garage. In those days, the garage was where all good and bad bands ended up. …Mark's garage was awesome. No cars, no crap, just a garage with soundproof walls, carpet remnants on the cement floor and two little neighbor girls ages 11 and 12 with pimples on their chins sitting in lawn chairs with wide grins on their faces. It was time to rock and roll!”

The new line-up made their debut performance in February 1966, quickly becoming one the hottest live acts in the wider Bay Area and beyond. During their brief heyday period in 1966-1967 Chocolate Watch Band played many concerts, including at Fillmore Auditorium, Oakland Coliseum, The Whiskey in L.A,, Coconut Grove in Santa Cruz, and others. The played bills with The Mothers of Invention, Jefferson Airplane, The Grateful Dead and The Doors among others. They also performed at the first rock music festival in the United States, KFRC’s Magic Mountain Festival at Mount Tamalpais in Marin County CA. After the Mothers gig at The Fillmore, Bill Graham wanted CWB to be one of his personal house bands at his new venue, Fillmore East, along. with the Airplane and the Dead. They had just signed a contract to be managed by local promoter Ron Roupe a week before so that did not happen. Roupe went on to secure the record deal with Green Grass Productions which lead to their meeting producers Ed Cobb and Ray Harris, according to Richie Unterberger. By the fall of ’66 they got signed up by Cobb to the Capitol Records’ subsidiary Tower Records. Two singles, Sweet Young Thing  backed by Dylan’s It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue (1966) and Misty Lane backed by She Weaves a Tender Trap (1967) were released and failed to chart to add to the already recorded, but yet to be released, Come On.

During this period the band was featured in two Sam Katzman films released by American International Pictures. The first one, Riot on Sunset Strip, an “exploitation movie par excellence rushed out to theaters in early 1967” which, according to Eder included “a couple of excellent numbers, "Don't Need Your Lovin'" and "Sitting There Standing," and (the band) managed to appear in the movie, which has since become a '60s cult classic.” It was at the height of their musical powers. The next film, The Love-Ins, was released later in July. The band was supposed to have a major role in it, but most of that was cut before release. It is rumored that it was due to some band misbehavior on the set. However their song, Are You Gonna Be There (At the Love-In),” ended up being used in the movie according to Eder. When asked by Amanda Sheppard for her 2018 Article “No Way Out for the Chocolate Watchband!” in PleaseKillMe,  “Is it true that you started a food fight on the back lot of MGM while you guys were filming Riot On The Sunset Strip?” David Aguilar had this to say, “Yes, I may have started a food fight but what can I say…I was a young rocker in a strange land! Important Safety Note: You would think a hamburger has stable aerodynamics when tossed…it doesn’t….probably the pickles are to blame.” I guess the possibility of the band creating havoc on the set was real.

Along about this time Chocolate Watchband was also recording tracks for their first record. What ‘The Story’ on the band’s website history site calls “mysterioso studio trickery on (‘the’) (be)half of producer Ed Cobb” could also apply to other various details about the No Way Out recording project in general. There is no specific information about studio recording dates, exact release date, and what songs actually featured the band. Per one source the recording period was in mid-1967, which would be true, but not very precise. Based on what information there is, four of the tracks on the album actually featured the entire band. According to biographer Bruce Eder only two songs, Come On and Gone and Passes By made it to the album intact. Amanda Sheppard points out that the label, pressuring Ed Cobb to rush production, lead him “to record multiple songs he wrote with the sound engineers, while the band was out on tour”. There are actually two instrumentals written by engineers Richard Podolor and Bill Bennett, plus two more written by studio musician Don Bennett and a co-writer. Don Bennett’s lead vocals were also recorded for at least three of the tracks and ended up on the record rather than David Aguilar’s. This was notedly true concerning what is generally considered  the most popular song, Let’s Talk About Girls. On some tracks entirely different musicians were used in the recordings. The song No Way Out is stated in one source as the only composition by the band, but Ed Cobb credited it to himself, which is what became official. There is even one source according to Eder that says “Frontman Aguilar began writing material for the band, including originals like….”No Way Out….”. He further states that it was “an instrumental spawned from a studio warm-up, with spontaneous Aguilar vocals, that Cobb later took credit for”. In his AllMusic biography of the band Eder says it was “Cobb-authored”. Mysterioso indeed.

Amanda Sheppard writes, “To further complicate matters, Chocolate Watchband’s label, Tower Records, had mistaken the group for a black rhythm and blues band and farmed out their distribution to Uptown Records who sold their albums in Oakland, instead of their top market in San Jose. Uptown even booked the Watchband on soul revues with Jackie Wilson and The Coasters.” In the same article with Sheppard she asked David Aguilar about soul revues: He replied, “We did one soul revue that I can remember. We had just been signed by the Attarack Corporation, we had cut some tracks in Los Angeles and in some bizarre turn of fate, someone at Capitol Records apparently looked at our name and decided what the ‘chocolate’ must indicate in our name, THIS WAS A BLACK ROCK AND ROLL BAND. They assigned us to the Uptown Label, a distributor of black rhythm & blues and 50’s black performers. Chuck Berry was notorious for showing up at a show, playing with a locally hired band, and then getting paid in cash before he left the theater. So, we stepped in and played as his backup band…paying off the theater bouncer to get rid of the original hired band when they showed up to play. It worked! The shows were set in the ‘50’s revue set-up…lots of performers, 3-4 songs, and then the next group came on stage. With Chuck, we did “Johnny B. Goode”, “Little Queenie”, “Sweet Little Sixteen”, and “Roll Over Beethoven”. The Watchband played “I’m a Man”, “Little Red Rooster”, “Better Man Than I”, and “I’m Not Like Everybody Else”, which really fit for that show!”

About the time the album came out Loomis, Andrijasevich and Aguilar had all left the band. It had become clear that Loomis preferred a more melodic style of music and he and Andrijasevich ended up in a folk-rock band for awhile, The Tingle Guild, with early CWB vocalist Danny Phay. Since there was still a heavy performance schedule to fulfill guitarist Tim Abbott, drummer Mark Whittaker and vocalist Chris Flinders (members of the San Francisco Bay Blues Band) joined the remaining Flores and Tolby and the band. While being somewhat different, the band maintained a level of success. Abbott and Flinders left the band before the end of 1967 however, and Aguilar came back briefly, but the band was essentially history by the end of the year.

A memory I have about the No Way Out album involves a party that included primarily members of the high school choir which I was in, and our friends. The party was at the home of one of my choir mates, She and two of her sisters were all friends of mine in high school. I brought along some record albums, amongst them was No Way Out. I put side one on and when the second cut, the bands’ wicked version of Wilson Picketts’ Midnight Hour, came on I suddenly found myself being asked to play it again, and again, and again. There were some people there who just couldn’t get enough of it. I don’t know, maybe it was the weed. No one else seemed to care so I, and a few other people, put it on several times throughout the night. Luckily, other music got played as well.

I recall hearing about a new drummer joining CWB not long after I got the album, and that he had attended my high school. The name was familiar and one day I was walking near my house and I ran into him outside his. He had graduated that year, two years before I did. I decided to ask him and he said that he had joined CWB. It turned out to be brief, but it was cool that I had a neighbor who was in Chocolate Watchband. Around 2010 or 2011 I got to know Gary Andrijasevich and Tim Abbott. Gary lives in Santa Cruz and is still an active percussionist. I met him when I saw him playing with one of the bands he regularly plays with, EXTRA LARGE. He also plays with other bands at times, like my friends Beach Cowboys.

Chocolate Watch Band has been playing off and on since 1999 and after I became publicist at the now-defunct Don Quixote’s in Felton CA I did some research into what they were up to. I discovered that Tim Abbott was now the ongoing guitarist for them. I decided to reach out to him and we communicated about the potential for them playing DQ’s. Eventually they were scheduled to play thanks to my friend DJ Sid Presley, but due to David Aguilars’ acute health issues it was canceled. I later met up with Tim when CWB premiered at San Francisco’s The Chapel in 2015, seeing them once more in 2019 just as they were releasing their newest album, “Sweet Young Thing”. Prior to that I got to see Chocolate Watch Band for the first times twice on the same day in 2002. They played a co-bill with The Electric Prunes presented by the BayPop Festival at The Great American Music Hall in SF. That afternoon both bands played at Amoeba Records in Berkeley. I picked up CWB’s 2000 ‘Get Away’ album written primarily by David Aguilar at Great American that night.

Chocolate Watchband is alive and well, recording singles and making videos real time as I write this, Tim Abbott told me. There is just no way out of it, folks.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Chocolate_Watchband

https://www.thechocolatewatchband.com

https://www.thechocolatewatchband.com/history

https://www.allmusic.com/artist/the-chocolate-watchband-mn0000774791/biography

https://pleasekillme.com/chocolate-watchband/

https://rateyourmusic.com/artist/the_chocolate_watchband 

No Way Out full album https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9FaO2yDAia8

LP31

[cherryaire]

I heard about the prompts for Dan's birthday, so how about either of these choices? 1. All of the Grumps give him a special present each from their own heart 2. Some great Egobang (because why not?)

I pretty much did both! Gotta drop Egobang in there because I’m 100% certified egobang trash!

Brian -

Dan looks at the rectangle package Brian has handed him. It’s wrapped in plain blue paper, and scribbled in the top left corner are the words “Happy birthday, dick.” He knows immediately that it’s a book, and if it’s a professionally bound copy of The Beej, Dan might actually go to jail for second degree murder.

“Of course you got me a book,” Dan says dryly.

“Open it, you idiot,” Brian tells him, and Dan sighs dramatically, if only to annoy Brian a little bit more.

His sass evaporates immediately upon tearing off the wrapping paper, however. Tears immediately well up in his eyes and he has to set the book down next to him on the couch because of how bad his hands are shaking.

It’s a signed, first edition copy of “The Last Unicorn.”  

Brian grunts from the impact of Dan practically tackling him and hugging him tight. “Happy birthday, Danny,” Brian says, petting Dan’s hair.

“Thank you.”

-

Later on in the day, when he sees Audrey, she excitedly gives him a stegosaurus plushie and wetly kisses his cheek before running away, cackling.

Barry/Vernon/Brent -

There’s a large box waiting for him on Barry’s kitchen table. He hasn’t been over too much since he moved, considering how busy they are, so he and Barry have planned to get some take out and watch shitty movies, just like old times. “What’s this?” Dan asks while he hangs his jacket over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. It’s a plain cardboard box, and the only indication that it’s something special is the bow that’s taped to the top.

“Open it,” Barry urges, not looking up from where he’s unpacking their Chinese food. “It’s from me, Brent, and Vernon.”

Dan grabs a paring knife from the block and slices through the tape. He opens it to find several items, and he’s not quite sure what everything is until he begins pulling out shirts. There are six old band tour shirts, plus a Kurt Cobain memorial shirt. There are three Rush ones, a Yes one that he could probably wear as a dress, one from The Cure, and one from Pink Floyd. Dan peeks into the box again to make sure he didn’t miss anything, and sure enough there’s a bubble wrapped parcel in the bottom, which he tears into once he gets his hands on it. Out spills more vintage band merch, this time a Rush patch, three Rush pins, four Def Leppard pins, and an Asia pin. Dan is smiling so hard his face fucking hurts.

“Dude!” he shouts, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. “This is so fucking rad!” He waits until he’s sure that Barry’s hands are empty to sweep the shorter man into a tight hug. Barry laughs warmly and pats Dan’s back. “Thank you!”

“Brent and Vern helped me find quite a few of them,” Barry reminds him. Dan whips out his phone and snaps a picture of the pile of merch before sending it and a very enthusiastic thank you text to Brent and Vernon. Barry helps Dan refold the shirts and put everything back in the box so that they can clear off the table to eat. When they’re settled, Barry pipes up with “and now you can wear more than the three t-shirts you cycle through constantly” and Dan chucks a piece of sweet and sour chicken at him.

Suzy -

“Jesus, Scuze,” Dan grunts, taking the large, heavy package from Suzy and resting it on his coffee table. It’s at least��two foot long and two foot wide, if not more. He’s glad that he’s got some open space on his walls left, otherwise he’d have to do a fair bit of rearranging.

Suzy is sitting on the couch next to him, curled like a cat. Arin is in his kitchen unpacking their dinner. “Has he opened it yet?” he calls.

“Not yet!” Suzy calls back. She turns to Dan with a childlike excitement on her beautiful face. “Open it!”

“Did Arin want me to wait for him or—”

“Open the fucking present, Dan,” Arin says from where he’s leaned into the living room. As soon as he’s appeared, he’s gone again, and the sound of clinking plates begins as he divvies out the food.

“Demandy Sandy,” Dan mumbles, but obliges. He carefully tears the black wrapping paper (why had he expected anything else from Suzy?) to reveal a gorgeous map of Middle Earth, set deep into a nice black frame. “Whoa.” He leans in close to examine it, finding that it’s incredibly detailed. 

“Do you like it?” Suzy asks, hopeful.

Dan wraps his arm around her and pulls her tight to his side before kissing her temple. She giggles and wraps her own arms around his waist and snuggles into his side. She smells like peonies and freesia. “Thank you, Scuzy. It’s beautiful.”

Ross and Holly -

While they wait for everyone to arrive at the office for Dan’s impromptu birthday party, Holly comes bounding up to him. Dan can’t help but smile at her. She’s so radiant and the happiness on her face is contagious. She’s carrying a box that’s wrapped in brown paper and decorated with birds. “Happy birthday!”

He takes the package from her and eyes the wrapping. “It’s almost so pretty I don’t want to open it,” he muses. He knows that she drew the birds on it, and it feels wrong to tear through someone’s artwork. 

“I taped it pretty simplistically so you shouldn’t have to tear it if you don’t want to,” she says, pointing to the sparse amounts of scotch tape on the flaps. Dan grins and slowly undoes the tape, taking care to not rip the paper. He’s gonna hang it up somewhere in his music room.

“Oh my God, Holls, this is awesome!” In his lap sits a Legend of Zelda chess set. He’s been meaning to get a chess set for a long time so that he and Arin can also play when they’re at his house, but he had never gotten around to it. He carefully rolls the wrapping paper and secures it with some of the tape he had peeled off before hugging Holly tight, causing her to squeal when he lifts her slightly off the floor. 

“You’re welcome, Dan,” she says breathlessly when he sets her down. “The only thing I ask though is that you let me play a game with you.”

“Deal.”

-

After everyone has had cupcakes and people have begun to clear out, needing to return to their duties or head out to prior engagements, Ross shuffles up to Dan and places two small boxes on the table in front of him. “Hap birth,” he says dryly.

Dan fixes him with an incredulous look before chuckling and shaking his head. He opens the smallest one first, and he’s greeted with a little blue ceramic stegosaurus. He’s a little goofy lookin’ and Dan is immediately in love. “Aww, he’s so cute!”

“It glows in the dark, too,” Ross says, and Dan gasps.

“It’s like the 80s up in this bitch,” he says, reaching for the second package.

“Yeah, if we’re talking about your age,” Ross quips, and Dan uses his long legs to his advantage, lightly kicking his socked foot into Ross’ shin. 

The second present looks so fragile that Dan’s almost afraid to touch it. It’s a replica of a stegosaurus skeleton crafted out of paper. It’s contained in a glass dome. “Dude,” Dan says, astonished. It’s like having a museum display in his hand! He makes sure to carefully wrap it up before putting it back in the box. He really, really doesn’t want to break it. Before Ross can escape, Dan has captured him in a hug, and even though Ross is grumbling, Dan knows he loves it since he’s hugging him back. “Thanks, man.”

“I mean, I needed to get the dinosaur some dinosaurs, right?”

What an ass.

Arin -

It’s weird that it’s two days past his birthday and Arin hasn’t given him anything. It’s not that he thinks he deserves something, but it’s very out of character for Arin to not give someone a gift of some kind for a holiday. He loves any excuse he can get to give someone something that will make them smile.

Dan has settled himself on the Grump couch while he waits for Arin to finish doing whatever he’s doing out in the main office. He scrolls through the subreddit with a smile on his face upon seeing all of the ‘happy birthday!’ messages. He’s hasn’t been super excited about his birthday since he turned twenty one, since after that there aren’t really any milestones to look forward to until you reach retirement age. Getting so much love from his friends and the fans, however, has made him enjoy his birthday a bit more since it reminds him just how awesome people can be.

Dan puts his phone to sleep when he hears the sound of the door opening behind him, and sure enough, Arin comes around the couch and sits down next to him a moment later. He’s holding one hand behind his back however, and he looks nervous.

“What’s up, Ar?” Dan asks. 

“I uh, I have your present, but before I give it to you I wanted to say sorry for it being late. There was a delay on it getting done for some fuckin’ reason.” Dan furrows his brow, confused.

“Okay.” He nods his head. “It’s not a problem, big cat. I’m just appreciative that you got me something, man.”

Arin smiles, and it lights up the entire room. His cheeks are flushed pink when he removes his hand from behind his back and hands Dan a hardcover children’s book. Dan is confused for a few seconds before he fully reads the cover. It’s the book he wrote a few years ago that Arin was going to illustrate. Dan’s mouth drops open slightly with a gasp, and he cracks the book open so that he can flip through the pages.

It’s professionally printed and bound, and it looks like something he could find in Barnes and Noble. The illustrations are fucking gorgeous. They’re not done in Arin’s usual style. Dan brushes a finger over the page, completely enamored. He doesn’t know jack shit about art, but he’s pretty sure that it’s hard pastels and watercolors. The colors are so vibrant and it’s exactly like he had always imagined. 

He only realizes he’s crying when he tastes salt on his lips.

Carefully, he shuts the book and sets it on the table in front of them before he turns to face Arin, who is watching him with bated breath. Dan doesn’t fully know what possesses him to do it—maybe it’s just because it feels right—but he cradles Arin’s face in his hands and kisses him softly on the mouth. Arin’s sharp intake of breath is loud, but after a second he relaxes and releases the breath. The sensation of facial hair against his upper lip and chin is strange—it’s very different, but it’s not a bad kind of different.

When Dan pulls away, he opens his eyes to see that Arin still has his closed. His cheeks are a lovely rosy pink, and his lips are parted and shiny. Dan can’t help but press a second chaste kiss to them.

Dan leans into Arin’s warmth and presses his face against his neck, winding his arms around the younger man’s waist and holding him tight. “Thank you, baby girl,” he says, and Arin shivers at the feeling of Dan’s breath on his sensitive skin. Arin runs his fingers slowly through Dan’s hair, making sure to not catch his fingers on any possible knots. Dan leans into the touch, a complete opposite of the reaction he would have had four years ago. The thought makes Arin smile.

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry it took me like, three years to get it to you.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Dan tells him. “It’s perfect.” 

There’s a long swath of silence before either of them speak again. Dan feels the rumble in Arin’s chest before he hears what he says. “Could I kiss you again?”

He pulls back so that he can look at Arin. A smile breaks out across his face.

“Absolutely.”

all of dan’s gifts

[buffystylez-blog]

The Harvest

Original Australian air date: probably the same day as Welcome to the Hellmouth or a week later. I don’t know.

Written by: Joss Whedon

Directed by: John T. Kretchmer

Starring: Sarah Michelle Gellar, Alyson Hannigan, Nicholas Brendon, Anthony Head, Charisma Carpenter, Kristine Sutherland, Julie Benz, and David Boreanaz

 Oh, hello. It’s What Buffy Wore season 1, episode 2, in which Buffy prevents her first apocalypse while simultaneously being grounded by her mum.

I genuinely cannot remember if this episode screened straight after Welcome to the Hellmouth. It did in the US, but I have no idea if Australia followed suit. I googled it for about five minutes and decided it probably doesn’t matter. Plus, I’m kind of in pain with gastritis, which incidentally is probably the sexiest stomach issue you can have.

 The good news with this episode is that there are three outfits. The bad news is that they’re not great.  There are highlights (Buffy’s hair) but some real lowlights (not Buffy’s hair – more like, pants and jackets).

 To the recap!

 We left Buffy at the end of Welcome to the Hellmouth in a coffin at the mercy of Luke, a huge ass vampire dude. I don’t have to say spoiler alert, right?

 In a joyous turn of events (or subtle continuity error), it turns out Buffy has put on the cross necklace her stalker (ahem, love interest) gave her and it burns the vampire, distracting him enough to allow Buffy to escape and rescue two-thirds of her new friends. Soz, Jesse. But before you can say vampires exist, Buffy discovers the Master is planning on sending Luke as his representative or whatever to the Bronze, where the teens go, to drain enough blood to make him strong enough to leave his mystical underground prison/lair.

 After trimming some dead weight from the Scooby gang (soz Jesse), Buffy and friends stop the Harvest by very slowly fighting some vampires and killing Luke with a great fake-out.

 But who cares about that! What was Buffy wearing?

 Here we see the cycle of school outfit and Bronze outfit repeated. But then, bonus! One more school outfit.

  Outfit 1

The hair has definitely improved. The fringe is less wispy because she’s parted her hair in the middle. It’s still 90s as hell, but it suits SMG better. She’s wearing silvery hoops I can’t get a good view of, but they’re pretty.

 She’s wearing the cross necklace, which, again, I’ve always liked and may have looked for a copy once or twice. But as someone raised Roman Catholic who is basically agnostic and suspicious of organised religion, the cross is still a weighty object, emotion wise. It’s why I couldn’t quite bring myself to wear Rosary Beads as a necklace when Kate Moss did that time. Even though it looked cool.

  I always thought Buffy was wearing a navy button-up shirt here. But now I can see it’s black. And not button-up. Is there a zipper at the neckline? Probably not. I think the amount of attention I paid these last 20 years of watching and re-watching suggests I didn’t really care for it. There’s a vague memory of liking it, but perhaps it was more about the accessories.

We’re also back to ankle length pants that are somewhere in between straight and wide leg. They’re a silvery blue, which I think is why I thought the shirt was navy - some sort of same colour palette deal. The boots are around ankle length as well. They have buckles? We see them infrequently but she will wear them to the Bronze. Which will lead me to wonder why she changed her entire outfit except her shoes. Then I remember I do that all the time and shut the hell up about it.

 Was matching your eye make-up to a colour you’re wearing a thing? Because this is the second time Buffy is matching her eyeshadow to her clothes, pants in this case. It looks ok, I guess?

 The real stars of this outfit, however, are the sunnies. I mean, come on. Look at those babies. I would wear the heck out of these now. So. Fucking. Great.

Buffy wanders off school property to battle some vampires and rescue Jesse/find out he’s been turned into a vampire with Xander in tow and some cryptic warning from Angel, who could actually help her but chooses not to because… reasons. But now it’s time to stop Luke, Darla and friends from feasting on more of Buffy’s classmates. Outfit change!

Outfit 2

Again, Buffy chooses practicality for slayage. Does it look any good? Well… sort of? This time we have grey/charcoal pants that are slim fit, but not skinny leg (see previous post on why). She’s wearing the same boots as outfit 1, which – why change everything else but the boots? I’m sure I’ve done the same (see how I mentioned earlier that I’d say that? Is that foreshadowing? Is this a callback?).

 I keep forgetting that she wears a long-sleeved white t-shirt with weirdly placed pockets and a strange neckline. I think it’s designed to show Buffy means business and to show off the cross necklace again. It’s… ok.

  The hair is again the highlight, which has been put in a very practical high ponytail. To hide stakes, possible bloodstains and to battle both the undead and the cold weather she wears a brown leather jacket. That sounds cool, yeah? Probably makes Buffy even cooler, right?

Uh, no.

It’s baggy. It’s old and ugly. It may have been passed down by the previous slayer, or her dad, or a homeless person. I probably loved it. Jackets in the 90s weren’t really about tailoring or correct sleeve length. 

I do love an ugly jacket. You’re talking to a person who has a brown bomber jacket with navy trim and at least four different animal prints. This should be in my wheelhouse. Actually, I should search for this on eBay right now.

This look does feature prominently in the opening credits and a lot of images of Buffy on the worldwide web. She looks cool as hell. Without the jacket. And I might have worn jeans instead. But again, they’d be late 90s jeans and probably not much of an improvement. Speaking of improvement, let’s see how the next outfit isn’t one!

Outfit 3

Like, what is this? We clearly liked the 60s in the late 90s. Upcoming episodes will definitely confirm this. But did we do it well? Uh… not this time.

So we have here a cherry shift dress that looks quite cute on its own. And the boots from Welcome to the Hellmouth are back. And they are welcome. Shift dresses and knee high boots are very cute. Ask Twiggy. But then… Buffy has thrown over the top of this a purple, possibly suede shirt. And it’s… it’s… not great. She tops this look off with a magenta headscarf. 

Nothing individually is too offensive, but also nothing quite works together. You know how Coco Chanel (probably) said to always take one thing off before you leave the house? Buffy, gurl, why not roll with that and lose two-three before leaving the house. Or just start again.

So what were others wearing this episode? Giles was his English librarian best. And we all know how I feel about Giles now. Cordelia didn’t feature too heavily but her outfit at the Bronze was giving off sexy cat burglar vibes, which is good.

 There’s a scene in a computer lab in which Cordelia and Harmony discuss how awful Buffy is and Willow gets sweet, sweet vengeance. But I don’t really care about the ensemble here. It’s the guy who propels the conversation between Cordy and Harmony. I want all of us to take note of extras or supporting cast members who take their role very seriously. This guy is really into doing a good job as guy who asks Cordelia about Buffy.

See?

Xander wins with this green number. But then he loses with a wallet chain, and later a camouflage t-shirt.

Angel is now dressed like he’s going to a meeting with the New York office. Perfect for stalking teen girls and not helping them. But, like, yeah he’s really hot.

  Our actual winner, again, is Willow. Cute overalls? Yes. Cute dress with cute cardigan? Again, yes, of course. Have you met Willow Rosenberg?

Up next is Witch, where I’ll tell you all about how much I love Adidas Superstars and we finally discuss Buffy’s sleepwear. And is there tie-dye? THERE SURE IS.

 Keep an eye out for more bonus posts and the first commentary, which will be… actually, I’m gonna maintain an air of mystery and tell you later.

 Until next time, Slayerettes.

screen caps via screen capped.net.

[365daysofj2]

Sand and Stone (J2 AU, 7/?)

Life at home settles into a comfortable routine. Jared gets Jensen set up with a mic and his laptop, and Jensen starts working on a new demo. He practices for an hour and a half and then records for another couple of hours. He also asks Jared to get him some colored pencils and a sketchbook so he can work on a cover. That forces Jared to get in his car so he can drive to the craft store. When he sits down behind the wheel, he can feel the panic hovering just at the edge of his consciousness, like a thick fog. He takes a deep breath and grasps the wheel in one hand and Sadie’s neck in the other. He’s got her belted in a harness in the passenger seat, sporting her work jacket and leash. He takes a deep, shaking breath and turns on the car. The car rumbles to life beneath him. He does the 54321 exercise, focusing on the five things he can see (the steering wheel, the dashboard, Sadie, the clock, and the gearshift lever), four things he can hear (the engine hum, the radio, Sadie’s breath, and his own breath), three things he can smell (the acrid dust from the unused heater, the leather of the steering wheel, and Sadie), two things he can taste (the remnants of coffee on his lips, and the cold air from the vent), and one thing he can touch (the steering wheel). He swallows hard and eases the car away from the curb. He doesn’t encounter much traffic on the way to town, for which he’s grateful, and he parks in the back of the parking lot, away from all the other cars. He and Sadie walk the full length of the parking lot to get to the store, and Jared can feel his heart slowing as he takes slow, deliberate steps. He finds the watercolor pencils Jensen asked for, and buys him a set of sketch pencils besides, just in case. He also buys a large top-bound sketchbook with a black cover and a pencil sharpener that runs on batteries. He knows Jensen will protest that Jared spent too much money on him, because Jensen thinks even a couple dollars is too much, but Jared’s happy to do it. Having Jensen around just adds so much to Jared’s life. He didn’t realize just how much he needed another person in his life. When he moved out of Anaheim, he left behind all the friends he made there, and he hasn’t kept in touch at all. He occasionally talks to his college friends on Facebook, but they’re scattered across the country. Jared pays for the purchase and the young cashier gushes over Sadie. Normally Jared would be annoyed, but this time he just thanks her and promises to give Sadie a few extra pets when he gets home. He smiles at the young woman and leaves the store with a large bag. When Jared gets back to the apartment, the red bandanna that Jared asked Jensen to tie around the doorknob when he’s recording is still in place, so Jared takes Sadie on a small jaunt around the neighborhood. When they get back, the bandanna is gone, so Jared unlocks the door and goes in. Jensen’s sitting in front of the laptop when Jared and Sadie enter. Jared takes off Sadie’s leash and jacket and nods to Jensen. Jensen looks up, startled. “Oh, wow, I didn’t hear you come in.” “You were busy,” replies Jared. He hands over the bag. “I got everything you wanted, and a little more besides.” Jensen opens the bag and goes through it. “You really didn’t have to, but thank you.” Jared grins. “You’re welcome.” He extends a hand. “You want to take a coffee break?” “I think I’d rather take a beer break, if you’ve got any.” Jensen accepts Jared’s hand and lets Jared pull him to his feet. Jared chuckles. “Yeah, I’ve got a six-pack in the pantry and some mugs in the freezer.” Jensen smiles. “Lead the way.” Jared retrieves the frosty mugs from the freezer and opens two beers. He pours them out and hands one to Jensen. “Thanks, man.” “No problem.” Jared sits down at the kitchen table with his own beer. “How’s it going?” Jensen nods. “Not too bad. I’m a little rusty at mixing, but it’s coming back. I think I should be ready to burn them by Wednesday night.” “That’s great!” Jared sips his beer. “Right on time, then. How many copies were you planning to make?” “Just fifteen or twenty to start,” replies Jensen. He takes a long draught of his beer. “If I run out, I run out, but I doubt that’ll happen. I don’t think RJ Claske is going to be that popular.” Jared frowns. “What?” “My stage name,” says Jensen. “RJ Claske. I just rearranged the letters of my real name.” “I don’t even know your real name,” Jared replies softly. Jensen shakes his head. “It’s safer for both of us that way.” “I know,” says Jared, “but I hate that.” Jensen sighs. “I do too, believe me. It’s not a fun way to live.” He looks up at Jared and gives him a halfhearted smile. “But at least I’m not alone anymore.” “No, you’re not.” Jared smiles. “And neither am I.” Jensen sips his beer. “You want to go down to the beach when I’m done? We can take sandwiches and make a night of it.” Jared nods, still smiling. “That sounds great.” He stands up. “I’ve got a box of pasta salad in the cupboard. I’ll get it started.” Jensen finishes his beer. “I’ve gotta get back to it. Thanks for the beer.” “Anytime.” Jared retrieves the box from the pantry, and then steps behind Jensen and and clasps his shoulder. He leans down and kisses him on the cheek while taking his empty mug out of his hand. Jensen grins and tips his head up to kiss Jared’s jaw. That makes Jared grin as well. Jared takes the empty mugs to the sink and washes them out while Jensen goes back to the computer. Jared busies himself with preparing food and listening to the scraps of music that come from the laptop in the living room. Jensen takes his art supplies to the beach with them, and once they’ve eaten and played with Sadie, he pulls out his colored pencils and sketchbook and flips to a blank page. Jared watches as Jensen starts drawing the jetty in sharp, dark lines, and then begins to fill in the colors of the setting sun in both the sky and the water. Jensen blends colors beautifully, skillfully. Jared raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you could draw.” Jensen shrugs. “I’m just playing around.” “It looks really nice,” says Jared. “Thanks,” Jensen says absently, not really sounding like he means it. Sadie flops down beside Jared and he starts petting her as Jensen continues to color. Jared thinks about the great meals Jensen cooks and wonders what other skills he hides because he thinks—or more likely, he’s been told—that his efforts are subpar. Jensen finishes the drawing. “Can I see it?” asks Jared. Jensen reluctantly hands it over. “This is beautiful,” breathes Jared. “You gonna use this for your album cover?” “I might.” Jensen looks out at the ocean, at the sun sinking into the waves, and leans back on his elbows. “It’s so beautiful here. I can barely do it justice.” “No, you really did,” argues Jared, handing the sketchbook back to Jensen. He closes it and sets it aside. “You’re a lot better than you think you are.” Jensen ducks his head. Jared moves to Jensen’s side and puts an arm around his shoulders. “I swear, I’m not just saying that,” he murmurs in Jensen’s ear. “I really think you’re talented. And I hate that you don’t agree.” Jensen shrugs. “It’s just—he put me down so much, I started to believe him. He seemed so much smarter and cooler than me, so I thought he knew what he was talking about.” Jared pulls Jensen close and rests his chin on the crown of Jensen’s head. “Monday morning I’m going to therapy and I want you to come with me.” Jensen hesitates. “Okay,” he finally says, sounding unsure. “And after that, we’re gonna take this—” He taps on the sketchbook cover, “to the print shop and get the covers made.” Jensen nods slightly, mindful of Jared’s head on top of his own. “Sounds good to me.” Jared grins. “Stick with me, kid. We’re gonna make it—together.”