#i am making the lid myself so the other $9 spent was on a glass cutter

[tea-stained-tabby]

ten gallon i've started on recently. i am challenging myself to make a tank that is as low-cost as physically possible. so far, i have only spent $18 on this!

i already had an extra heater and filter. the light currently being used is my old plant one, tho i do plan on ordering a new one. i bought the tank at a thrift store for $9. the driftwood, sand, shells, and plants were sourced from nearby lakes. the rocks are from an old garden at my house. i boiled the driftwood, sand, shells, and rocks for 2 hours to sanitize them. the plants were treated to a 1:10, bleach:water solution dip for ten seconds, twice. i plan on collecting botanicals myself and adding those soon as well. it's turning out lovely so far!

[shesclearlya3]

Summer of ‘84

Xavier Plympton x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,426

Warnings: smut, language, sex in a public place, au!, all characters are 18+, i’m sorry if this is bad lmao

**using my current tag-list so feel free to ignore**

It was June of 1984 when you and your close friends returned to your jobs at the local drive-in theatre the last Summer before you started college.

It was your second year working here, and you were sad that it would be the last. It was an easy job. You'd work nights only five days a week. It was nice being able to make your own money and have fun with your friends while doing it. 

You were working the concession stand tonight with Xavier Plympton. You had been friends with him the longest out of the bunch. He was one of the best co-workers you could ever ask for. Despite his constant complaining about dealing with customers, he was always armed with perfect comebacks when you were stuck dealing with a Karen. Plus, he did work hard, which was a relief. Some of the other teenagers you worked with were only there for the paycheck, clearly. 

You were particularly excited because you were able to see the screen playing Gremlins and Ghostbusters. You rarely got to enjoy the movies. You were either working the ticket booth or continuously walking around, making sure nobody tried to sneak under the rotting wooden gates surrounding the lot. 

It was just after 9:30 when Gremlins started, and you and Xavier had just finished up the line.

"Let's hope the crowd stays away so we can clean up." he sighed, stretching his arms above his head. The ugly yellow shirts you had to wear rode up a little, and you caught yourself staring before a pair of hands covered your eyes.

"Gah!" you said, and you heard the loud laugh of Montana Duke behind you. 

"Sheesh, you're such a scaredy-cat!"

"I was distracted!" you said, your cheeks burning as you started to wipe down the counter, which was covered in popcorn kernels. "Shouldn't you be with Brooke right now?"

Montana slid over the countertops, going to the pop machine where she started filling up two cups. "We're parched, it's just now starting to cool down a bit. Larry is making us patrol for the next forty-five minutes before the others take over."

You nodded, scrubbing a particularly stubborn spot of butter that was probably from the night before. 

Xavier had laughed at what Montana said, and you immediately knew why. They had been caught in quite the compromising position the first night the theatre was opened this season. You were surprised they hadn't been fired, and Brooke had given two shifts away after the fact to avoid being questioned about it. 

"He's a fucking pervert anyway," Montana said, putting lids on both cups. "I gotta go. Be good!" she called sweetly before she bounced out of the rickety building. 

"I wish these fucking fans would work!" Xavier grumbled, fumbling with the switch of the nearest overhead fan. It made a creaking noise, the metal blades moving an inch before it stopped. 

"They're ancient," you laughed, finally getting the spot cleaned. "Candace told me they've been here since this place opened."

"These are like forty years old then, how fucking convenient," he grumbled, before giving up. "You'd think they could afford to replace them."

"Watch your language," you scolded. "We don't need another complaint."

Xavier smirked at you, starting to restock the popcorn buckets. "y/n, you should really stop being so uptight, babe." he teased you.

"I am not uptight!" you gasped, your mouth falling open as you dropped the rag into the sanitizer bucket. 

"Exactly what someone uptight would say!" he retorted, laughing at you, his hands methodically stacking the buckets handful by handful. 

"You won't think it's amusing when you're fired, you ass!" you said, causing Xavier to throw his head back and laugh rambunctiously. 

"That's the least of my worries, babe," he grinned at you, and you felt your heart swell. "What would you do without me?" he said.

"I'd probably actually get some work done..." you mumbled, starting to refill the popcorn machine with fresh kernels. "But I'd have to deal with the bitchy Karens all on my own."

"Watch your language!" Xavier mocked you, balling up the plastic and tossing it in the nearest trash-can. "Hey y/n- oh, someone is coming."

You told Xavier you would take care of the customer as he started restocking the cups, watching as you showed the young boy all of the ice creams you had. He was cute, probably no older than eleven with thick-framed glasses and a toothy smile. 

"Thank you, Miss," he said, before hurrying out.

"I think he liked you," Xavier said as you closed the register. "That's cute."

You rolled your eyes, seeing Larry sitting in the projection room, already asleep. "Shut up, he's young."

The next half-an-hour you only helped two other customers. Many people came to use the bathrooms, but other than that, you were alone with Xavier. You had cleaned up everything there was to clean, and you decided to dig out the book you brought to pass the time. 

Xavier watched the screen through the large window next to the entrance, the portable stereo tuned into the theatre's station. He was very amused by Gizmo, even gushing at the little creature.

"That's cute," you mumbled to yourself, chewing on your lip to keep from giggling.

"I heard that," he said crossly, his eyes on you now.

"I didn't say anything," you shrugged, bookmarking your page. "I'm hungry, I want a pretzel."

"Lucky for you, I popped one in for you," Xavier said, gesturing towards the pretzel heater right next to him. "It should be done now."

"Thank you, Xavier!" you said happily, coming over and taking it out. Xavier watched you, and he reached next to him for a bucket of popcorn he had gotten for himself. He put a handful in his mouth as you started pouring nacho cheese into a plastic container. 

"Hey, y/n?" he asked again, looking at you.

"Yes?" you asked, watching the hot cheese, feeling your stomach growl with hunger.

"Do you remember my friend Chet? He graduated last year?"

You nodded, moving to sit next to him on the counter. "The cute dark-haired kid who is really athletic?" 

"That's him," Xavier said, stuffing more popcorn into his mouth. "I ran into him the other day, and I told him I was working here again. He said he worked here for a season before we met."

You encouraged him to keep going, wondering where this was going. You knew Chet Clancy, mainly because he was a popular jock who dated multiple girls throughout the years. You have only spoken a few words with him in your entire life, but he was sweet enough. 

"Uhm..." he said, looking a little nervous now. You thought it was odd, he rarely became this way around you. "He asked about you."

You perked up, tearing your pretzel in half as you watched him see if he were joking. He wasn't, looking you dead in the eyes, and you could see he was honest.

"He asked about me?" you asked, shocked.

"Yeah, he kind of... Hinted, that he was interested in you."

You found yourself smiling. "Really? I never really talked to him..."

Xavier nodded, "I know. I was a little shocked myself."

You ate some of your food, now thinking about dating Chet Clancy. You never would have imagined it, and not even because you rarely knew him. He just seemed so out of reach. You weren't the "normal" crowd he hung out with.

"Wow... That's insane," you said simply.

"Yeah... But I kind of choked up and said we were dating."

You spit out your tiny bite of food, covering your mouth as Xavier looked at you with wide eyes. "WE'RE NOT DATING!"

"Shh!" Xavier said, almost dropping his popcorn in an attempt to cover your mouth. "I know, y/n, I don't even know what happened," he growled, tossing the bucket aside. "I panicked."

"Why would you panic?" you asked, wrinkling your nose as you picked up your un-chewed food with a napkin and tossed it in the bin. "We're friends."

"I got... Jealous," he replied lamely.

You glanced up at him, and he was looking at his lap, his face wrinkled in embarrassment. You were thrown for a loop. As long as you had known each other, not once did there seem to be any romantic inclination. Of course, you've crushed on him a bit, I mean, who wouldn't? He was funny, charismatic, gorgeous, and saw something in you that he wanted to be your friend.

"Why?" was all you managed, your voice hushed and confused.

"It made me realize that I like you. And we're not little kids anymore. If I didn't tell you how I felt, then I might lose the opportunity to tell you." he said, before laughing dryly, "I guess it took another guy being interested in you for me to wise up and stop being an idiot."

You started to grin at him, and Xavier looked relieved. "Does this mean you're not mad?" 

"I'm not mad," you assured him, putting your food to the side. "I'm just surprised. I never would have thought..."

"Babe, I'm clearly head over heels for you, I tease you relentlessly because I like to make you laugh. And I like when you get snappy with me." he grinned at you, his eyes sparkling as you heard a group of teenagers pile into the bathroom, giggling. 

You scooted closer to Xavier, and you could smell his body wash. "I just thought it meant you liked to pick on me." 

He threw his arm over your shoulder, pulling you into his side. "I do, with love."

After that, you had spent the rest of Gremlins talking, sitting close to each other, and giggling madly. You had to go back to work once intermission started, and you felt your heart-beating wildly every time you heard Xavier's voice. You listened as girls giggled and whispered about him, cashing them out with a broad smile. At one point, you heard him go, "Sorry, ladies, I'm taken."

When the last movie started, you turned off all the machines, cleaning everything down quickly. The one thing you liked about this theatre is that intermission was the final call. You'd have time to clean up and be on your way home before the second movie was even half-way through.

You had set aside some food for the others while you finished up. Brooke Thompson and Montana came in, taking some leftovers and asking if you wanted to watch Ghostbusters. 

"We'll be out in a bit," Xavier said, gesturing to the broom he was holding. "Whoever worked in here last time did a shit job."

"Cool, we'll be in my car!" Montana said, before scurrying out with Brooke, their arms full of popcorn, soda, and nachos.

"I'm so ready to skip this joint!" Xavier said after he finished swimming, and you switched off the first set of lights. 

"Me too. Are there any nachos left?" you asked, locking up the safe.

"Just enough for the both of us," he replied. You stood up, walking over to him, and you ended up tripping over your shoes, colliding with his chest.

"Oh shit, you alright?" he asked, grabbing you tightly.

"I'm fine!" you laughed, looking up at his figure towering over you. "I think I tripped over the crack in the floor..."

Xavier stared down at you, and you felt his hand come up and brush against your cheek. You felt your skin tingle underneath his touch. "We're gonna get caught."

"I don't care," Xavier whispered before he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.

You held your breath as you melted into his touch. You've been in a few relationships before in your time, but nothing ever compared to what you were currently feeling. Xavier held your head in his hands, your kiss becoming more heated until you felt him pulling you towards the back, where the storage was kept.

"We're gonna get-."

Xavier cupped a hand over your mouth, pulling you into the closet before shutting the door. There was a single light hanging above you that he flicked on, and you could barely see the movie screen from the rectangular window sitting high above your heads.

"Trust me, Babe. If you're quiet, we'll be fine."

You nodded, holding onto him as Xavier pushed an empty box onto the floor, lifting you up and setting you on top of a sturdy table. There wasn't a whole lot of room. He reached over to lock the door.

"What are you doing?" You asked, kicking off your shoes. You were wearing denim shorts, and the air around you was much colder than you expected. You got goosebumps as Xavier played with the button of your shorts.

"Could I take these off?" He asked.

You nodded shyly, biting your lip as he slowly unbuttoned them, the only sound being your shared breathing and the zipper being lowered down.

"Have you done this before, y/n?" He asked, his hands gripping the waistband of your shorts.

"I've done a few things..." you said, your cheeks becoming hot.

"I'll be gentle, I promise." He said, before starting to tug your undergarments off. You lifted your hips, and he quickly let them drop to the floor. Outside you could hear the audience collectively laughing at something.

Xavier shed out of his shirt, throwing it on the nearest shelf. He wasn't overly muscular but was nicely toned. You've seen him shirtless many times over the years, but this time was different. He was beautiful.

"Are you enjoying the view?" He asked arrogantly, flashing you a smile as you instinctively crossed your legs. "Ah, spread them for me, babe." He kindly scolded.

"Of course, I am!" You respond, "You're hot, and you know it, babe."

"Cute," he winked at you, before looping his arms underneath your legs. Your breath caught in your throat as he pulled you closer, spreading your legs out for him. You could feel how wet you were against the crisp air, and you wanted to die from embarrassment at how easily you became aroused.

"Remember to stay quiet." He said, grinning at you mischievously. "You don't want to get caught."

You squeezed your eyes shut at his arrogance. "Fuck you."

The words had barely left your mouth when you felt his tongue lick a quick swipe along your thigh. You shuddered at the feeling; your stomach trembling as Xavier purposely teased you. You weren't lying when you said you have a little experience. But, you never received oral before. You gave it once, and that was it.

You let out a quiet gasp as he finally licked along your folds, your hands itching to grab onto his hair already. You refrained, lifting them above your head to keep from messing anything up.

Xavier was skilled as he ran his tongue gingerly along your folds, before pushing his tongue inside. The feeling caused hundreds of butterflies to fly over your stomach. Your thighs clenched as he adjusted his hold on you, kneeling down to push his head deeper between your legs.

"Oh, fuck!" You said a little too loudly before you felt his hand covering your mouth. You mewled and sighed against him as Xavier slowly ate you out. You always heard from Montana that it was one of the best feelings in the world, but you never imagined it being quite like this.

Nor did you ever expect to be here with Xavier, but life was crazy.

You grabbed onto Xavier's arm as he started sucking on your clit. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he teased your entrance with a single finger, barely testing the waters.

You were lost in the feeling when suddenly the door handle rattled. You jumped out of your skin, nearly trapping Xavier between your thighs when you heard the security guards' high-pitched voice. "Fuck! Larry must have locked it before he left."

Xavier freed himself, prepared to cover you with his body when the voice of Mason, a co-worker say, "It's fine, we'll just have to look in there tomorrow. I can't find the key anywhere."

You heard their footsteps fade away, and you and Xavier both glanced at each other, before giggling madly.

"I'm sorry, y/n," he whispered in your ear.

"It's not your fault?" You said, running your hand along his face now.

"I'm gonna go back down here now," he said, kissing your hand before slinking down your body again. You let him go, now covering your own mouth as he grabbed your legs, his mouth instantly closing over your clit.

"That's it, baby," he encouraged, his fingers once again teasing your entrance. "I'm gonna make you cum in my mouth."

Xavier continued until you were shaking so severely that he had to hold you down by the hips, almost forcing you to keep your legs open. Xavier pumped a finger inside of you, his thumb meeting your clit while his tongue teased it simultaneously.

You came in minutes, sighing loudly against your hand as Xavier cleaned you up, before placing kisses along your thighs. You breathed heavily as you sat up, quickly taking off your shirt, revealing your bra.

"Fuck, y/n," he said, allowing you to unbutton his pants, your hands fumbling to get them off as soon as possible. "You're hot."

"And horny, so please take off your pants." You begged, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. When you were completely naked, you stared at Xavier's dick, wondering how in the hell it was supposed to fit.

"Don't look so scared, babe," Xavier said, cupping your cheeks in his hands. "Have you?..."

You shook your head, "I never got this far."

Xavier nuzzled your neck, and you wrapped your legs around him as he kissed along your skin, trailing along your collarbone before placing kisses on your jawline.

"Do you have a condom?" You asked, suddenly having an epiphany on the importance of safe sex.

"There's a box behind the pack of lightbulbs," he said, and you pulled back to look at him. "Chet told me about them, I swear."

Xavier wasted no time grabbing a condom from said hiding place, and you watched as he slid it on with ease. You wrapped a leg around his hips again, and he hugged you while he pressed kisses to your face.

"Let me know if I'm hurting you, baby girl," he whispered, and you nodded, holding him tightly.

You focused on the sound of more laughter from the audience, keeping your breathing under control as Xavier slowly pushed inside of you. He felt you tense up, holding you tightly and not moving until you encouraged him to do so.

After a few moments, you told him to move, figuring it would worsen before it got better. Xavier nodded, still holding you tight as he rocked his hips into yours, both of you panting as you grew more comfortable having his dick inside of you.

When you felt a lot better, you laid flat against the table, keeping a leg wrapped around him while he increased his pace. Xavier's face was screwed up as the pleasure coursed throughout your body. His large hand reached forward, grabbing at your breasts while you attempted to keep your moans at bay.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," you said, trying to keep your leg from slipping off his hip.

"You're so fucking hot, babe," he said, leaning over you until you were almost nose to nose. "I want you to come for me, y/n,"

You shook your head, not wanting this to stop.

Xavier hid his laugh, increasing his face slightly. "You're going to fucking come for me, y/n."

"Make. Me." You said through clenched teeth.

Xavier laughed now, adjusting your free leg enough to easily slip his hand over your clit. He rubbed you out with his thumb, focusing on you, wanting you to come before he did.

"That's it," Xavier cooed as you finally clinched around him, crying out behind your hand as he slowed down, watching as you coated his length. "Fuck..."

You dug your heel into his skin as Xavier came, his hips stilling as he kneeled over you, kissing you deeply. You were breathless as he kissed you fiercely, hardly allowing you a break until he climbed off you.

You sat up, feeling light. "That was amazing."

Xavier grinned at you, pulling on his boxers after taking off the condom. "It's all you babe, not me."

taglist: 

@the-walking-daryl @trichy-knitts @shydragonrider @thefandomzoneisdangerous @lemonwhiskers @jetblackpayne @langdonsvcrd @okoktrinity22 @uwonman @stefanmikaleson1864 @sevenwonderwitch @rubbrninja @iamnotjesha @leatherduncan @imshakingandcryingrn @bratzblitz @goblackcat69 @brookethompsonownsme @bookoffracturedescapes @zodiyack​ @bitchchatter @shydragonrider​ @guiltyfiend @psychobitchtess  @aangrana  @thexmancometh @wtfcas @pleasforhelp​ @capshoney @agentnightshade44​ @frenchlangdon @morganelizabeth-99 @fathoe69333​

[kwrittink]

Clumsy Pup /9

Pairing: Reader x Hybrid!Kim NamJoon

Genre: Fluff/Angst (this one is balanced enough on both)

Warnings: self-depreciation, mentions of sex, language, (maybe a heart skipping moment?)

Words: 4,140

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It won’t happen again. The sadness on your voice resonated on his ears for long before NamJoon could force himself to sleep. Before all of this happened, he was starting to warm himself up with the thought he could go sleep on the bed with you - you said it wasn’t a big deal before and you really liked to cuddle him -, but at the moment he felt too hurt to even get up from his bed. 

I didn’t meant to sound like that thought. He thought, the whole scene playing on his head for the nth time since he woke up the next morning. When I said that it wasn’t a big deal, I mean. He rubbed his eyes, groaning.

I just don’t wanted her to compare herself to Yoko because what happened with her I... He sighed exasperated, not ready to go into memory lane yet. 

I left you breakfast on the fridge

The little sticky note was on the counter, and there was no sign of you on the house, so he assumed you went to work earlier that day. That was going to get awkward. 

He spent the day between reading but wasn’t able to enjoy the new books. Tried distracting himself with the notebook you lent him, searching the internet for some words and things he didn’t understand, but ended up napping for the most part of the day, not even bothering to eat the lunch you wrote a note about - making NamJoon smile a little bit sad at your cuteness -, just under the plate of breakfast. He still felt bad and upset, and that made him sleep restless for the first time since he was brought to your home.

The two next weeks were spent like that, an odd atmosphere lingering over the entire apartment, each one of you in your own bubble, only gathering to eat together - an awkward interaction filled with small talk - and watch TV in silence. It was driving NamJoon nuts, he wanted to say something, to apologize, but he felt wrong and awkward and was scared to make things worse. He could also see you struggling to reach out for him, like he had closed off and you didn’t knew what to do about it. Almost maddening. 

He never thought he’d be so happy to hear the doorbell ring in his whole life, more yet to see Lisa and Jimin behind the door. 

NamJoon knew for a fact that Lisa would come that weekend, since she had spoken to you on the phone about going out to see the snow or something like that, to which you had tried to postpone but, as he would get to know, Lisa could be more stubborn than you. 

- Hello big boy! Damn, are you growing or am I shrinking? - she asked, and he chuckled a little, shrugging.

- Well you’re not really that big Lizzy, so let’s hope for the former. - the quip came from behind her, while NamJoon opened the door wider for them to pass. Only then he acknowledged the cat hybrid’s presence, which offered him an eye smile behind the thick black scarf around his face. 

They got inside and, to NamJoon’s surprise - and relief - you didn’t sound like everything was perfect on the house. Your greetings were without much heat, the honesty of your state being very clear for the others to see. This is so much different than when people visited her - my previous owner, I mean. She could have just beated me, but would act like everything was perfect and she loved me like a son, or more. He breathed out, quietly following the other two after closing the door, a warm feeling filling his gut as he looked at you, smile creeping on his lips. We can’t be perfect, but we are true.

- So, are you also thrilled to see snow or is it just my owner? - Jimin asked, while he helped the hybrid with tea and coffee, that he proposed to do while the two girls talked. Turning to the smaller hybrid he pursed his lips, tilting his head to the sides. 

- Not really, but I also never experienced touching it, just felt the cold it emits. - NamJoon responded, coaxing a snicker from the other. 

- You’re so philosophical, dude. Well, to be honest it’s nothing much, just cold and fluffy. - Jimin sighed, glancing around and sneaking one biscuit on his mouth. From the corner of his eyes NamJoon observed him - while trying to filter the coffee without burning himself or spill it on the floor -, understanding that he wasn’t there just because he wanted to gauge his spirits. He must have noticed the air here, I feel like he’s quite sensitive. And a little nosy apparently. He pondered, while being grateful of the cat, since it hadn’t been anywhere near you after the greetings, because you and NamJoon couldn’t be speaking, but it didn’t meant he wouldn’t feel extremely jealous with that tiny thing clinging onto you again. 

- Tell, did you and Y/N had a fight? She looks a bit upset and you’re not circling her like last time. - Jimin went straight to the point, peering from the counter, ears high on his head in attention. The glass cup on NamJoon’s hand stumbled as he nervously tried to come up with what to say, because he could not tell Jimin it was because you had kissed him, and he reacted badly at your rejection. Was it a rejection, though? I’ve been asking myself if all that guilt is because she doesn’t accept the idea of kissing a hybrid or something... He thought, staring at Jimin while he steadied the cup - and himself. His chest began to hurt again, something so strange that he couldn’t put a finger on what that feeling was. 

- I uh... Yes, but hm how should I say it... - he stammered, mouth moving robotically. Jimin’s little jump back and widened eyes on the fragile stuff he was holding could have been hilarious if he wasn’t so preoccupied on trying to form words. 

- Whoa easy. You don’t have to tell me if it’s serious. I was just wondering because she was all over you last time and the apartment had this sweet aura all around, but now it’s so awkward that my tail wants to spike up. - he explained, and NamJoon sighed heavily, closing the lid of the coffee maker as he finished doing the beverage - it was one of the little things he knew how to do without making a mess -, the rich smell filling the entire kitchen.

- It’s not that serious I guess? I can’t really explain, I’m sorry. - shaking his head, the cross labrador apologized, placing the coffee and tea pots on a big wood trail, while Jimin picked the biscuits - this time allowing himself to eat shamelessly - carrying them with him, assuring NamJoon that everything was okay. 

Later that day, hours prior to the sunset, Lisa proposed you all got out, to fulfill the purpose of the visit, which was to watch the first snow - well, the fourth since winter had begun officially but oh well - together. Gearing up - NamJoon rolled the scarf around his neck, getting a bit annoyed at the faint smell it had from what he gathered to be Jihyun’s scent - you then got out, deciding to walk to the park, the same he had ran to when he thought you were trying to put him back on the system. 

On the trail to the city observatory - a small place where one could see the rest of the city, since where you lived was a little up on a hill - you walked in front of him quietly and paired up with Lisa, arm linked to hers as you wobbled with your thick coat. He observed you with a careful stare, wanting to tell you to steady, since it looked like you’d slip at any moment on the humid grass. I also wanted to be there lending my body, she’s so weak to cold weather... 

- Did you guys had sex? - again, Jimin’s question - even if whispered - took NamJoon completely by surprise, and he stopped on his tracks abruptly, glaring with eyes wide as saucers at the other, that lifted his hands in surrender. - Hey, I’m not judging, it happens, I would do it too, but my point is that you two got to be careful, though... - the cat was about to start, but NamJoon cut him short, shaking his head so hard the black beanie he was wearing slid off his head. 

- No! That’s not it at all! Why would you think that? - he inquired, hissing as low as he could, so you two didn’t caught up on the conversation. His heart was beating a million times per second. 

- Okay, my bad, don’t get offended, puppy. I asked because you two keep looking at each other longingly whenever the other isn’t looking and it is really annoying. It looks like you two slept together and one of them regretted it later... - he deadpanned, and NamJoon felt his face heat up. Have I been this obvious?

They started walking again, closing distance with the two of you a bit, just to not get lost - his nose was aching a bit with the cold, so to sniff you would be bothersome - while organizing his thoughts. I don’t really know Jimin, but he surely looks more... Experienced than me in a way? So maybe he can give me some light on this but... I still don’t want to tell him everything. 

- Well you see... Y/N she got sick some time ago, right? - he started, looking to the side at Jimin, which snapped his head back, surprised that he was going to tell him anything at all. 

- Yeah, Lisa left the house in a hurry that day, it was because you ran from home and she got sick from the cold weather while looking for you, isn’t it? - he quipped, and NamJoon winced closing his eyes, but nodding nonetheless. You could have just said you remembered it. No need to rub salt on the wound. 

- Exactly. So I was just waiting for Lisa since Y/N asked me too, in a moment of clarity, since she was a little delirious with the fever... But then she kissed me. Well, not kissed, pecked me on the lips. - started, looking to the ground, not able to meet the brunet’s eyes. 

- Oh, that was it? I thought it was more serious than that, why the stiff manners? - Jimin urged, making NamJoon roll his eyes. He glanced to see if you were paying attention, but only found you chuckling with something Lisa had said, and thought for a second that he hadn’t seen your smile in a while. 

- It’s a little more complicated. As I said she was a bit delirious, and in her hallucination, Y/N thought I was her ex-boyfriend, Jihyun. She called me by his name and all... - he trailed off, looking back to the floor. Jimin hummed by his side, tightening the scarf around his neck. It was getting colder with the passing hours, and the sky looked really cloudy, maybe it would snow more than just a little that night.

- Man, that’s thought. But then why the stiffness? I mean Y/N apologized later, I take it. Did you had a bad reaction? - he asked, and NamJoon huffed, it could be one way to say it, but he needed someone to understand some details of the whole thing.

- Please let me finish, kitten. - sighing annoyed he asked, making Jimin snicker at the way he was called. - I didn’t mentioned it because she had no memory of that, but about two weeks ago she woke up from a dream calling my name, and was really distraught, wouldn’t even let me touch her... - NamJoon frowned at the memory, while Jimin nodded, making a sign to his owner that asked from afar if everything was okay. - Y/N then asked me if she had kissed me. I tried to reassure Y/N that it was okay, but she reacted badly realizing it wasn’t just a dream, and began apologizing to me and saying that she had broken my confidence and had treated me like my previous owner did and such... But it was nothing close to what had happened to me before, you know? - he looks up to the cat hybrid, which just nods, not pressing the matter, so maybe he understood what NamJoon meant with that, and a little relieved, he continued: 

- And I kind snapped, told her it didn’t meant anything to me and that it wasn’t a big deal. I felt hurt, I didn’t knew at the time if Y/N acted like that because she despises the idea of kissing me or something... I don’t know if that really matters and don’t know how to approach her after being harsh like that. - at the end NamJoon was spilling his mind to Jimin, which crossed his arms, nodding with a reflective frown.

- Calm down for a bit... C’mon let’s sit over there - Jimin patted his arm, smiling a little at him while pointing with his covered chin at a bench nearby, where they could see the two girls as they walked slowly down the trail. - Answer me something: how did you felt? - he asked, once they settled in the cold wood bench. 

- Miserable, awkward, sad, restless... - NamJoon started enumerating, but Jimin rolled his eyes, impatient.

- No, I mean how did you felt when Y/N kissed you? - NamJoon paused, feeling a blush run to his cheeks again. It had been so quick he didn’t felt anything at the moment, but couldn’t deny he had thought a lot about that, and how his heart skipped a beat every time. 

- It felt strangely comforting... Warm. - he tried his best to explain, and thought he couldn’t see Jimin’s whole face, the way his eyes narrowed told NamJoon he was smiling. 

- Do you want it to happen again? - he inquired, head tilting to the side trying to catch the taller’s eyes. NamJoon looked away, towards where you and Lisa had disappeared, and wondered if they were at the observatory already. 

- What’s with that question? - he asked back, feeling awkward. What difference would it make to want something like that to happen again? Wouldn’t it just hurt him and make your relationship crumble when you didn’t want the same as him? 

- Because! It’s clear to you that Y/N isn’t like your previous owner, but you don’t realize she’s not like any other owner out there. She cares for you, treats you like an equal, you know how rare that is? I mean, Lisa is like that too, so we really hit the jackpot with having them take care of us. - Jimin started, and NamJoon nodded, feeling like he was being scolded, and even worse for snapping at you. - So get the idea that Y/N despises you or the idea of kissing you because you’re a hybrid out of your head. I’m pretty positive she sees you as a human with a tail. So answer me, do you? - he inquired again, and his last statement made NamJoon snort. Well, he’s not wrong, Y/N has been saying since the beginning that I’m her equal.

- ... Yes, I guess. I don’t know. I don’t think about those kind of stuff, you know? - the dog hybrid fidgeted with his hands, but from the corner of his eyes he could see the other nodding. 

- I understand. That answers even the question I asked you the first time we met. You do like Y/N, you’re just not ready to deal with it yet, and that’s completely fine. - Jimin sighed, smirking smugly because he had been right, and NamJoon could even get annoyed with that, wasn’t for being too flustered with his words. - But since we have this straight, I’m going to need you to be the grown ass dog you are and go make amends with Y/N. She won’t come to you because she thinks you’re upset at her, and to be honest you look a little scary, even if you’re just one big ball of fluff. - he chuckled at NamJoon rolling his eyes at that last part. 

- Aren’t you a cute little kitty? - NamJoon quipped back sarcastically, making the brunet look away with a scoff, he was called out a lot on being cute but the other hybrid knew that the little kitty part would pick at his nerves. 

- Yeah yeah. You’ll be thanking me later for the advice after making out with Y/N. - getting up, Jimin patted at his green coat, that was starting to get covered with little snowflakes and started to walk to the direction he imagined the observatory was. 

- Jimin! - NamJoon follows after him, wanting nothing more than to flick the cat on the nose. 

The sun was already low on the horizon when the two hybrids reached the Lisa and you, which were seating on a similar wood bench they were just on, right next to the observatory’s entrance. 

- I thought you boys got lost, took you so long to get here! - Lisa exclaimed, extending one hand at Jimin and pulling him towards her, making him stumble and clumsily sit beside her. You chuckled, sipping on the hot beverage you had in your hands, growing a little more quiet as NamJoon sat at your other side. 

- We were catching up. Ah that looks really yummy Y/N noona, where you bought it? - Jimin asked, snuggling closer to Lisa so he could sniff at the cup. 

- Oh there’s a small food truck... Well beverage truck right in the entrance over there. If you want I can go and buy something warm for you two... I feel like buying another to myself anyways... - you smiled sheepishly, and the vine practically wrapped around Lisa nodded enthusiastically. You turned around carefully, looking at NamJoon, the silent question on your eyes. NamJoon also saw Jimin’s glare behind you, daring him to refuse your offer and grinned. 

- I’ll have one too then. - he said, and felt his heart warm up at the smile you threw at him, as you got up excitedly. 

- Okay! Would you like a caramel macchiato for you then Chims? I feel like you like sweet stuff. - you questioned, and Jimin hummed content with the choice. - What about you, Joonie? Coffee? - you turned to him, and the return of the nickname made him hold his breath. He clearly hesitated, and if Jimin didn’t poked his shoulder fast enough, it would be embarrassing. 

- Uh, I don’t know. Would you mind if I went with you? I feel like trying something different. - he then stood, shyly looking at the floor. He hoped to muster courage and talk to you on the way there, didn’t wanted to wait longer to clear things up. 

- Sure! You could help me to carry the drinks, I feel like I didn’t came with the appropriate boots today. -  you giggled, looking down to point out at the worn-out shoes, the sole pretty much flat. Suddenly he felt bad because you had bought him all those things but didn’t thought on getting something for yourself. And at the time I was so excited I didn’t even asked. 

- You know what NamJoon, you better carry Y/N, I can bet she will fall with those. - Lisa said, and you threw her a glare, shaking your head menacingly. 

- Alright, now we wait. It’s going to take a while though, there’s some orders ahead of ours. - you explained, steam forming on the air as you exhaled, leaning on the rail at the other side of the trail, where there wasn’t much people around. NamJoon nodded softly, quietly observing your features as you stared focusedly upfront, waiting for your number to be called. He needed to say something, he could almost hear Jimin nagging at him, be the grown ass dog you are. 

But... What should he say, how could he begin to apologize?

- You know, I don’t like when you call me just “NamJoon”. - he muttered, and instantly wanted to facepalm himself, regretting the choice of words. He looked away, hoping that you hadn’t heard him. Are you stupid? He scolded himself, peering at the side after a couple of seconds, to see if you were looking at him. You were staring curiously back at his face, the red tip of your nose peeking over the scarf, and he felt himself blushing hard. Swallowing, he took a breath. Well, you started it already, man. - It... It feels like you’re mad at me or something. - he explained, hand moving to the back of his head, scratching. 

- Oh I’m sorry! I’m not mad at you, Joonie. I just... - he turned his eyes at your high pitched voice but you looked down, and if his eyes weren’t deceiving him, your face was more flushed than before. - I thought you  were upset at me. You know, for the whole k-kiss thing. - you stammered, and he shook his head, breathing out. 

- I am not. I snapped at you because... Well Yoko is still an open wound so I didn’t wanted to talk about her. That said, I would never compare you to her. You’re perfect, Y/N. - these last words left him in a hurry, and his heart started pounding faster on his chest. You looked up at him, eyes glossy. 

- I’m really sorry Joonie, I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through, I feel really bad I never done anything before... - he cut you short, pulling your body against him, wrapping his arms tightly around your figure. He didn’t wanted to make you cry, it hurt him so much every time he saw you sad. You gasped surprised, but ended up melting on his body heat, sniffing. 

- No no, don’t cry Y/N. You still saved me, and I’m so grateful for that, I couldn’t have asked for anything better than you, I swear. - his voice cracked, even as he pleaded you not to cry, he felt like tearing up. I’m not crying in public, I’m not... 

- I have to apologize properly anyways, Joonie. About that matter, I really didn’t meant to do such a thing without any consent of your part. And thought I called you by my ex’s name... - NamJoon looked down at you, and he had this urge inside his chest, he had to know, he had to tell you.

- Don’t apologize. I... I didn’t hate it. - he began, feeling you stiffen on his hold, but not doing anything to break away, so he decided to continue. - I was surprised yes, but that was it, hence why I said it didn’t matter. I thought you had hated it, and felt kind of hurt I guess? - trying his best to keep looking at you, to gauge at his reactions, he let go of you. There was this second of silence, where you were just staring at his chest, biting your lower lip as you thought.

 - Number 52, come pick your order! - the man at the coffee truck shouted, startling the both of you. Fumbling for the little paper through her pockets, she managed to smile at him, scarf dislocating enough so Namjoon could see your whole beaming face - the flushed cheeks and red tip of the nose, eyes still glinting from tears not spilled. 

- I didn’t hated it. At all, Joonie. - you said, before walking quickly towards where you were being called, leaving NamJoon startled enough to forget he was supposed to help you carry the cupholder. 

When they got back to where Jimin and Lisa were sitting - they were in the same position you had left them, Jimin completely tangled around your friend -, and thought they got scolded for taking so long, Jimin didn’t failed to notice the barely contained smile of the dog hybrid, as he handed him the caramel macchiato, scrunching his nose at you right after for choosing the same as the other hybrid, while sipping on his americano. 

(credit to the owner of this gif: bangtannoonas)

[hopefullysomethingnew17]

Chapter 1: Peter

​I slapped the alarm as I rolled over. It was too damn early. Way too damn early to be waking up on a weekend. It was a good thing classes were already over. I pulled myself out of bed and grabbed the first clean shirt I could find. It ended up being a faded tank I hadn’t worn since spring break. I plodded around half-asleep, half-naked, and all-irritated. I trudged into the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. That helped. I squinted into the mirror, the image of my face a little fuzzy without my glasses. I needed to shave. Oh well. I walked back into the bedroom and grabbed my glasses off my nightstand. Once I had them on I found a pair of khaki shorts and pulled them on, only to have them slide halfway down my ass by the time I made it into the living room. So I turned around and grabbed a cloth belt off the back of my closet door and cinched it tight as I walked back into the living room.

It was too early for any of my roommates to be up, but I wasn’t worried about being quiet. They were all probably too hungover from whatever end-of-the-year parties they had been to the night before. I checked the fridge. It was overflowing with cheap beer and Chinese takeout, easily the most stereotypical college apartment fridge I had ever seen. I grabbed the carton of milk from behind a case of Bud Light and shut the fridge. Then, I grabbed a box of cereal and a bowl and made myself a meager little breakfast. I ate it quickly and went back to my room to double-check my stuff. Most of the clothes I owned were stuffed into a duffel bag on the floor next to the bed. I rifled through it to make sure I had enough for the next week. It was mostly khaki shorts and t-shirts, but I made sure I had two pairs of trunks and plenty of underwear. Never could be too safe.

Once I was sure all my clothes were in order, I unzipped my backpack to make sure everything else I needed was packed inside. My laptop and various chargers were tucked into the back pocket; my shampoo, soap, and deodorant was bagged up in the bottom; my toothbrush and toothpaste were sitting on top of that; my headphones were neatly tucked into there case on top of the toiletries; and my sparkling clean sneakers were holding everything in place on top. All my other shoes were in my duffel bag, but these sneaks were special. They were vintage Chicago Air Jordan 1s, 1985 stock. I wasn’t a sneakerhead by any stretch of the imagination, but my dad had given them to me as a kid, and I had taken meticulous care of them since. They were like my good luck charm. I took them with me everywhere I went. I ran my thumb along them before zipping my backpack up and checking the front pouch for everything else. Tylenol, check. Earbuds, check. Aux cord, check. I still had a nagging feeling I was forgetting something. Extra glasses maybe? I opened my nightstand drawer to find them. They were sitting next to an unopened box of condoms. I laughed and tossed both into the bag. As if, I thought. I zipped everything back up and slung my backpack over my shoulder. I grabbed my duffel and headed towards the door before I remembered one last thing. I set my stuff by the door and walked back to my dresser to pick up my record player.

I pulled off the record sitting on the turntable and thumbed through my collection until I found the right sleeve. It was Queen’s Greatest Hits, sides 3 and 4. I slipped the vinyl back into its spot and shut the lid to my player. I unplugged it and rolled the cord up, sticking it into my carrying case along with the player itself. I had room for ten vinyls in the case, so I flipped through my collection and picked out my favorites: Queen, Snarky Puppy, Steve Miller Band, Imagine Dragons, They Might Be Giants, Survivor, Commodores. I tucked them all into the case and closed it tight. I looked around the room for anything else I might need, and, finding nothing, I grabbed my record and headed out the door, grabbing my backpack and duffel on the way out. I checked the clock on the living room wall before I left. It was only 7:30. I told Charlie I’d be there at 8:00. I’d have to hurry. But then again, knowing Charlie, it would be 9:00 before we ever left. I turned the lights off behind me as I left, heading downstairs to the parking garage. I decided to go through the courtyard on my way. It was more doors to go through, but even as early as it was, it was a beautiful day. The lights hanging around the courtyard were just turning off as I made my way out. I headed through the lobby and out to the parking garage, weaving my way through until I made it to my car.

Baby was my dream car, a 1969 Volkswagen Beetle, baby blue with original chrome trim. My grandpa had bought off an air force base before my dad was born, but he stopped driving it in the 90s, mainly because he could never drive a stick very well. Once I got a job in high school, half my paychecks went into new parts for the old girl, and by senior year I had her running beautifully. I’d driven her ever since, fixing her up more and more whenever I could. She was now sporting whitewall tires, a completely rebuilt engine with twice the horsepower of the original, a new paintjob, and custom upholstery. I couldn’t remember when I’d started calling her baby. It was probably around the time I finally started driving her. I was the stereotypical new car owner and referred to her as my baby, and the name kinda stuck. My friends had all made fun of me at first for driving such a “dorky” car, but once they took a ride in it, they all fell in love with it just like I did. I joked that if my engineering degree ever fell through I could always fall back on mechanics. As many hours as I’d spent fixing up Baby, it really wasn’t too far from the truth.

I took a deep, heavy breath as I turned the engine over, struggling to keep my eyes open as I pulled out onto the road. I made the executive decision to be late to Charlie’s for the sake of coffee. And booze. After seeing the pathetic selection in my fridge, I decided to take those matters into my own hands. I pulled into Grit Coffee Bar, a popular streetside café I frequented throughout the week to fuel my unhealthy reliance on espresso. Parking was no problem, being as early as it was on a Sunday morning. I managed to get a spot in the right in front of the coffeeshop. It was 7:45 when I pulled in, and I remembered that they didn’t open until 8:00 on Sundays. I killed the engine and pulled out my phone to text Charlie.

ME: Hey, gonna be late. Needed coffee and booze.

I waited for a reply, but it didn’t come for a while. I plugged in my earbuds and opened Spotify, not looking for anything in particular. I was halfway through “Lazaretto” by Jack White when my phone pinged with Charlie’s response.

CHARLIE: Ah shit I just woke up.

ME: Why am I not surprised?

CHARLIE: Oh get off my case.

CHARLIE: You’re the one buying booze at 8 AM.

ME: Well it’s either I buy it now or you get stuck with Bud Light for a week.

CHARLIE: Oh, nvm good call man.

I checked the time again. It was 8:05. The doors were just opening. I locked the car behind me and headed in to grab a coffee to kickstart the long day of driving ahead of me. Gus, a good friend of mine, was working the morning shift today.

“Should’ve known you’d be in here this early,” he joked. “You’ve gotta be the only guy on campus crazy enough to be up right now.”

“Thanks, Gus,” I feigned sarcasm, slapping a five on the counter. He didn’t even have to ask what I wanted. I came in so often that almost every employee knew I always got a medium caramel latte with two shots espresso and whipped cream. Gus was already grinding the beans as I walked up to the counter.

“I’m serious, you know,” he said, pouring the coffee into the cup. “I didn’t pass a single car on my way to work today. Why are you even up so early? All your roommates were at the big party at Trinity last night.”

“I’m going on a big road trip,” I said, grabbing my coffee and change off the counter.

“Really now?” Gus asked as he turned to clean out the espresso machine.

“Yup. I’m taking Charlie to Gulf Shores for Hangout.”

“Oh, you’re kidding! I’m so jealous, dude. That’s gonna be awesome.”

“Yeah, I really hope so. We’re gonna try to make it to Atlanta tonight.”

“Well, have fun. But be safe! Can’t have our number one customer up and leaving us.” Gus grinned and waved as I walked out, coffee in hand. I took a deep breath as I got in the car and cranked it up. This was without a doubt the craziest thing I had ever done. I shook off my nerves and broke into a grin as I pulled out of the parking lot. I turned on the radio just as my lucky song came on. Elton John was singing “Rocket Man” on the FM, and I couldn’t help but join him as my adventure started.

[extemporaneousmusings]

This is like, a super dumb, fluffy drabble I wrote based on some tags that @ticklefightharry left on a post earlier tonight. I don’t even know. 

Harry drunkenly gives himself a haircut and then tries to break up with Zayn to avoid the embarrassment of Zayn seeing the carnage.

Harry tiptoed up the stairs of his mum’s house, trying not to wake her or Robin as he snuck back into his room. He was only an hour past curfew, and a significant chunk of that hour had definitely been spent messily making out with Zayn. They’d been parked in his driveway, grappling for each other in the front seat Zayn’s beat up car before he quietly slipped inside, still tipsy and giggling at the awkward positions they’d found themselves in. 

After making it down the hallway to his room Harry huffed a sigh of relief before raking his hands through his hair. It was getting a bit long, and unruly, Zayn had chuckled at the length of his fringe a few times, tugging on the curls and pushing them out of the way when they fell into his face while snogging. 

Harry stripped out of his jeans and polo shirt and headed straight to the bathroom next door. The tiles were cool on his feet before he stepped onto the cushy bathmat. Flicking the light on Harry winced a bit at the brightness, and surveyed himself in the mirror, eyes still glassy from the vodka redbulls that Niall had been handing him in sticky cups all evening. 

As suspected, his curls were a mess, teased out from Zayn’s slender fingers combing through them all evening. 

“I look like a bloody sheep,” Harry muttered to himself, eying the fluffy mess on his head before pushing at his fringe. No matter what he did it wouldn’t stay where he wanted it to, and he grunted in frustration. 

His mum had been hinting that he needed a haircut for a few weeks now, but Harry hadn’t paid her any mind. But now, all of the sudden, he needed to do something about his dumb overgrown curls. 

Shuffling away from the mirror and back into the hallway, Harry wandered further down the hall and pushed open the door to Gemma’s room. It looked odd, full of all of her stuff but still decidedly uninhabited. He hadn’t been in her room since she left for uni a month or so earlier, and it was weird seeing it so tidy. Squinting, he scanned the room, trying to remember where she kept her craft supplies. Finally his eyes landed on a box peeking out from under the bed with some ribbon and colored paper visible through the clear plastic, and he got down on his knees to drag it out. 

Popping the lid, Harry fished around inside before his fingers landed on the rounded plastic handles of Gemma’s nice pair of scissors. He wiggled them out from under several stacks of glittery stickers and chopped up fashion magazines, eyeing them appreciatively once they were free. He didn’t even bother to replace the box before he was up and back in the bathroom. 

He placed the scissors carefully on the sink next to his toothbrush before contemplating his reflection once more. Maybe just a little bit of the fringe and it would be better. Zayn had recently shaved the sides of his head, giving him a sort of mohawk, and it looked so nice. But Harry’s curls wouldn’t look good in a mohawk, and besides, he didn’t want Zayn to think he was being weird and copying him or anything. No, just a slight trim of his fringe would probably be fine, and if he wanted more in the morning he could go and get his hair cut proper. 

Harry dragged his fingertips through his hair, pulling the curls down tight over his eyes and down to his nose. Grabbing the scissors he snipped a few times, tongue stuck out to the side in concentration. He repeated this process a few times before stopping to survey his work. He shook out his hair and pushed at the fringe, nodding to himself when it stayed put off his forehead like he had been trying to achieve earlier. Deciding that it was enough for now, he gathered up the small pile of hair from the sink and flushed it down the toilet before brushing his teeth and promptly falling into bed, asleep mere moments after his head hit the pillow.

Harry woke the next morning with the sun stabbing him through his closed eyelids, the bright reddish orange blaze disappearing back into darkness when he scrunched his eyes. Slowly opening one eye he groaned a bit, feeling a throbbing headache building behind his temples. Before he went out to the party last night he had set a glass of water on his bedside table, a trick he had learned after his first few times at one of Niall’s parties, but in all of the stress of giving himself a badly needed haircut he had completely forgotten to drink it before passing out. 

Fuck. A haircut. Harry’s hands flew to his head before he shot out of bed and into the bathroom. Gemma’s scissors were still on the sink, and a few stray hairs lingered in the sink from his less than thorough clean up job. Harry exhaled before looking at his reflection, groaning when he took in the altered appearance. His fringe was chopped in an uneven line straight across his forehead, about a centimeter above his eyebrows. The curls were coiled tightly, adjusting to their newfound short length. No amount of flattening or tugging could get his fringe to sweep to the side the way he normally styled his hair. 

“I look like someone’s deranged nan!” Harry whimpered, unable to look away from the horrific sight in front of him. After several minutes of devastating disbelief he trudged back to his room before curling up in bed again. How could he have been so stupid to think that giving himself a haircut while drunk would turn out okay. What would Zayn even think? 

When his mind wandered to Zayn, Harry froze before crumpling further in on himself. There’s no way Zayn was going to continue to fancy him now. Things had been going so well, too.

Without bidding, his mind flickered back to the party at Liam’s house a few weekends ago. Harry had been sitting on the sofa by himself, because Niall had fucked off somewhere and never returned. Zayn wandered in from the backyard, exhaling the last bit of cigarette smoke as he closed the door and glanced around the room. Most people had already left, or passed out, and Harry was gonna give Niall 20 more minutes to return before he just walked back home. 

When his eyes landed on Harry, Zayn’s mouth had quirked into a small smile. Harry hadn’t known what to do with this. Zayn hadn’t really spoken to Harry all year, usually staying quiet in when they hung out in groups. Harry had only realized his crush after he had gotten a bit hard one afternoon, watching Zayn and Louis play wrestle after they got high together. The way Zayn’s shirt had ridden up on his back, and his arms had flexed while pinning Louis to the ground, crowing triumphantly, had done things to Harry’s breathing. 

Harry watched, with a slight degree of horror, as Zayn approached him and collapsed on the couch next to him, flinging both his arms out to rest along the back of the sofa, and consequently, against Harry’s shoulders. Cocking his head Zayn peered at him, pursing his lips and quirking an eyebrow. 

“Why’re you all alone, Hazza?” he asked quietly, letting his arm rest more weight against Harry’s back. 

“Niall wandered off somewhere, dunno when he’ll be back. I was thinking about just heading back home by myself,” Harry replied, trying to concentrate on keeping his breaths even in the face of Zayn’s ridiculously close presence. He didn’t catch the way Zayn’s eyes kept flicking down to his lips, as he slowly but shakily continued to inhale and exhale, eyes on his knees. 

“Harry?” Zayn murmured, nudging his knee against Harry’s thigh. Harry’s eyes snapped back to Zayn. 

“Can I kiss you?” Zayn asked, eyelashes fluttering hopefully. Harry had barely been able to gurgle out an affirmative noise before Zayn leaned in and brushed his lips, soft and sweet on the corner of Harry’s mouth. Turning his head more fully, Harry had kissed him back, sighing softly against Zayn’s lips. 

“Been wanting to do this for so long,” Zayn mumbled, without pulling back, and then he had slipped a tentative tongue into Harry’s mouth.

Even now Harry couldn’t believe that Zayn, the Zayn of the gorgeous face and eyes and smile and everything really, wanted Harry to any extent. He certainly wasn’t going to want him now, with his stupid drunken mistake of a fringe. Harry fumbled around under his duvet for a moment before locating his phone. Sucking in a breath Harry slid the screen up and scrolled to Zayn’s contact. 

Before losing his nerve he pressed the button to dial, holding his breath as the phone continued to ring. Right before it was about to cut off and go to voicemail the line clicked and Harry heard Zayn snuffling on the other end. 

“Hey babes, what’s happenin’?” Zayn said, clearly muffling a yawn. 

“We have to break up,” Harry blurted, voice cracking in the middle. Zayn was suddenly very silent on the other end before clearing his throat. 

“Wait, what?” he asked, instantly more alert. 

“I mean, we can’t fool around anymore, I’m sorry. It’s just…” Harry stuttered, cringing with complete embarrassment. All he could think about was the fact that he never wanted Zayn to see him with this terrible haircut. As awful as this was, it was undoubtedly better than the alternative. There’s no way Zayn would ever want to snog him when he looked like this. 

“Harry, it’s 9 AM on a Saturday, what are you on about?” Zayn asked, voice getting more urgent. 

“I’m sorry Zayn, I just can’t right now. Or anymore, or something…maybe I’ll like, see you around or something. I’m um, not gonna be around for a bit though.” Harry was rambling. He needed to stop, end the conversation, and then somehow find a way to erase this entire nightmare from his memory. 

“I’ve got to go,” he tried again, interrupting a spluttering Zayn. “I’m really sorry,” and with that he hung up, and flung his phone across the room into his laundry basket before collapsing all the way down onto his bed.

He must have drifted back to sleep again, because at a certain point he woke up startled to hear a soft knock on his bedroom door. 

“Harry, love. Zayn is here to see you and looks rather upset,” his mum called lightly from behind the door. “Shall I send him up?” 

Cursing, Harry threw himself out of bed, dragging on a pair of flannel pajama pants and grabbing his nearest hoodie. 

“Ummm, ok,” he called out, angrily grappling with his hair and trying to hide it entirely underneath the hood. 

Zayn slowly opened the bedroom door, stepping in before closing it gently behind him. Even tired and disgruntled he looked beautiful, in baggy joggers and a soft jumper, quiff peeking out from underneath a gray beanie. 

Harry froze awkwardly by his window once Zayn was in the room completely, hands fidgeting by his side. Zayn glanced up at him, a crease furrowed between his eyebrows. 

“Harry, what the hell is going on?” he asked quietly, not moving from the door. 

“Why did you come?” Harry replied miserably.

“Oh I dunno, probably because the bloke I fancy called me at arse o’clock this morning babbling about breaking up when we haven’t even talked about whether or not we’re together,” Zayn shot back. “And this is the same bloke who enthusiastically straddled a fucking gear stick to give me a hickey, mere hours ago…” 

Harry remained motionless, still in shock and completely at a loss for words. Biting back a noise of irritation Zayn strode over toward him, until they were only inches apart. Harry looked down at his feet, but strong fingers curled underneath his chin to force his gaze back up, the side of Zayn’s thumb lingering against Harry’s bottom lip. 

“What’s wrong?” Zayn asked, softer this time. Harry shrugged helplessly, hands moving unconsciously to fiddle with his hair. He knocked his hood off a little before realizing and yelping, tugging it back down over the monstrosity of his newly shorn fringe. 

Zayn of course did not miss the sequence of gestures, and the look on his face shifted from anger and concern to that of bewilderment. 

“What’s wrong with your hair?” he asked, hands snaking up to tug on Harry’s curls, and pausing when he noticed something off. Resigned to his fate, Harry made no move to stop him as Zayn slowly pushed the hood down and took inventory of the situation. His fingers tugged lightly at the short curls on Harry’s forehead. 

“I cut it,” Harry offered, stating the obvious. 

“I see,” Zayn replied, still uncertain. 

“It’s awful! I don’t know what I was thinking, but I nicked scissors from Gemma’s room last night and cut it all off while still drunk because I’m such an idiot.”

Zayn’s nose and mouth twitched with Harry’s frantic outburst, but he waited in silence, sure Harry had more to say. 

“I just didn’t want you to see,” Harry finally confessed, voice dropping to a whisper. At this Zayn leaned back, completely confused. 

“Why?” 

“Because….then you wouldn’t, I mean. It’s so ugly, and, you know. You’re not?”  

At this Zayn snorted and rolled his eyes. 

“Thanks babes,” he replied sarcastically. “But seriously you didn’t want me to see it? Did you think I’d tell you to fuck off or something?” 

At this Harry shrugged and glanced down again, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Seriously. In what world would the length of your fringe change whether or not I want to snog you??” Zayn asked, pitch rising in indignation. 

“It’s just so bad,” Harry whispered back, face flushing with the embarrassment. Zayn clucked at this, and tugged the beanie off his head before depositing it onto Harry’s. He fussed with it a bit, tucking most of the hair off Harry’s forehead under the edge, but tugging some of the untouched longer bits out to curl around the ears. 

“Harry, no offence, but that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say, and you once told a story about a friend of yours who turned out to be your neighbor’s pet turtle.” 

At this Harry huffed out a breath, but glanced up under his lashes to see a smile starting to form on Zayn’s face. 

“Can I kiss you?” Zayn asked, fingers still tucked slightly under the edge of the beanie. Harry nodded, and felt Zayn’s nose nudging at his, prodding him to meet his lips. 

The kiss was tender and sweet, and Harry let out a soft little sniff before reaching out and dragging Zayn all the way in, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. When Zayn finally broke the kiss he stepped back, but remained boxed in inside Harry’s embrace. 

Quirking an eyebrow he studied Harry’s face, tugging at the beanie a bit so that some of the short curls popped out. 

“I have a lot of beanies, you can borrow whichever ones you’d like, if that would make you feel better.”

Harry nodded. 

“I can’t believe you tried to break up with me because you drunkenly cut your hair. What even is that Styles?” Zayn joked, shaking his head fondly.

“Dumb,” Harry muttered, pressing his forehead against Zayn’s. 

“Dumb,” Zayn confirmed, humming in agreement. 

“Although, I guess if you had to break up with me, that means you want to be together. 

Harry bit his lip at this, nodding, before looking back into Zayn’s eyes.

“Me too,” said Zayn, before he crowded back in, claiming Harry’s lips in another bruising kiss.

~fin~

[cosmosogler]

i was mistaken! i did not go to the office today because my sister had jury duty and was not available to take me to the office. so i got started on cleaning my room. i unpacked two boxes and put away most of my laundry. and put away a bunch of stuff from my bathroom in the apartment. my soap dispenser’s lid came off in the plastic bag so i had to rinse off everything else. 

i did not get around to looking at the papers, but that’s ok. i did twice as much cleaning as i had planned to make up for it. oh, and i found a new marina and the diamonds song i like. the title is “blue”. i have listened to it a few times, but i wasn’t at the computer too much today so i haven’t memorized it yet.

i went to play bunko with my gramma and her friends tonight. also my mom and my roommate’s mom were there. i didn’t have to interact with mother TOO much. i spent more time with dawn and gramma. i was getting scores of below 20 for the first 11 rounds, and then in the last round i got preposterously lucky and ended up winning twelve dollars (everyone puts in five). 

mother became aware of my dry eye problem, but i didn’t really mention that it’s been happening for seven or eight years. in the last year it’s happened once or twice a DAY. even when i put in eyedrops. it hurts so much and blinds me for a few minutes. wearing sunglasses seems to help... and making sure i get my eyes wet before i try to drive. it’s happened three times on the road, once with asher (and i was wearing sunglasses if i remember correctly), and i was so stressed. 

i found myself feeling super bitter on the way home from bunko. just... thinking about relationships. not even just romantic ones. it’s easier to be angry at myself than to be angry at other people though. i just, i wish i had known how little i mattered to jim. the last two times i’ve dated i haven’t seemed to matter to my partners. if i wasn’t such a prude maybe craig wouldn’t have... taken matters into his own hands.

man, that’s horrible. look at that. i can’t believe that is a thought i was having. i wish i didn’t get crushes on guys. 

while we were driving asher said things must be simpler without sexual feelings involved in my life. i know where he was coming from, and in a way that’s true, but it’s kind of made things a lot more difficult too. every partner i’ve had has like, tried to sneak in sexual stuff, or just dumped me without warning because i wouldn’t make any moves. that’s happened twice! that’s more than once!!!

i feel like i’m never going to find someone. i think of the kind of relationship i want as like a “partner in crime” more than a “girlfriend.” and... i know other people do look for that kind of relationship. but i am too shy to talk to them. or i don’t develop those sorts of feelings for that person. and i am afraid that even if i did find an ideal relationship i would be too suspicious that they were withholding those, i guess, more sexual feelings and will leave me without saying anything. or just jump on top of me while i’m trying to sleep! 

like, even if the other person was earnest, the relationship wouldn’t work because i’m too paranoid. i’m the problem. i’m broken.

hmm. i should have gone to bed earlier if i wanted to get up at 9 so my sister could take me to the office tomorrow. but i wanted to shower anyway so that would have held her up a while. taking obnoxiously long showers is the best part of my day. and i’ve been trying to shave my legs so my mom doesn’t call me disgusting. it takes a few tries. i found a new razor in the box i unpacked so maybe that’ll help. the other one was kind of rusty and dull.

don’t worry. i’m not going to do anything with the razor besides shave. i’ve accidentally cut myself before and it doesn’t just hurt, it itches for days. i want to be injured if i’m going to do that, not annoyed. if i wanted to be annoyed there are dozens of better ways to do that to myself.

welp, since there’s no way i could get ready in time to leave with my sister, i may as well keep writing until i feel like i talked about everything i wanted to.

are you still reading? hi. i’m sorry. i do read back over these sometimes so i’m not just tormenting you. i’m also stalling for myself!

i took my anti nausea medication at the right time both times i ate today and i still got pretty sick. i don’t think it’s helping. i should call my doctor tomorrow and set up an appointment for next week. i will try to remember.

last night i had a dream that started in the woods, went through a hedge maze but the hedge was made of rope and planks, and there was a dark neighborhood involved, and it ended up in a mall sort of building my brain told me was hong kong but there was just no way that could possibly be right. also there were elves? and orcs, i think?? but i left them behind in the maze. the first half was ok, to my sense of smell and sight and hearing and stuff, but the mall was just so overwhelmingly crowded. i hated it. i couldn’t figure out how to leave or where i might find a quiet corner to figure out what to do. there were seas of people waiting in endless lines to get nothing. everything was gilded and glittering and blinding. lots of red and white and gold and glass. smelled like a food court but there was no way to actually get food. it was so loud it rattled my head. i somehow didn’t touch anything the whole time though.

why are my dreams so cryptic? maybe if i remembered everything instead of just most of it they would make more sense when i tried to figure out what they meant. my worst fear is that they don’t mean anything, and they don’t mean anything on purpose. there is a time and place for dada. it is not good all the time.

sometimes i wonder why i have them and then i get kind of annoyed with myself. but i think i understand, at least a little bit. growing up with mom, when i was little, i used to wish so bad that i could be part of the books i read. i wanted to have a magical adventure and win people over with my hard work and determination and learn that i was maybe worth it. i called out for help from god every night. but nobody came. i guess consciously i had to accept that in reality nobody cares and mom is just going to be like this forever. great grandma was 102 when she died and she never stopped being like that. 

i mean, the terrifying nightmares started when i was 3 or 4. i remember the type of dreams i used to have at that age, and i remember very specific images and scenarios. i still revisit them sometimes and there’s always like an angry buzz in my head for the whole time i’m there. i got beat up during the day and tormented by devil visions at night. i started wanting to die by the time i was 6.

i started noticing a little more substance in my nightmares around, i don’t know, middle school. i guess because i spent more time sleeping, or at least, trying to sleep. i was too scared to try to get out of bed after that time dad pinned me against the wall by my neck for wandering around and startling my sister. i would go to sleep thinking about the books i was reading. 

maybe i just got used to the “death and decay” aesthetic. it still bothers me, but not as much as it used to. i got used to dying horribly or just suffering very strange and very painful injuries. like having a nail driven in under my kneecap. that was cool! maybe when i realized i would never have the kind of adventures i wanted in real life i started dreaming about them instead. but my most interesting dreams are always about other people that i meet. i am disappointed but also mostly glad they never really existed. sometimes they die over the course of the dream and i am just kind of witnessing their last few moments. sometimes i talk to them a while and then they leave and i continue with my business. sometimes i talk to them and wake up before i can ask a question that was on my mind. they always seem kind of... resigned, though. maybe some of them know that i won’t think they were real after i wake up. 

i have talked to death a few times... yeah, that seems right. it is always wearing a different person’s face, but i figure out who it was afterward. i don’t remember what we talk about. i’m never afraid of it. more like reverent. i’m kind of surprised it keeps me company while i wander around a dream. or maybe i keep it company. 

whenever i try to talk about my dreams with other people i am aware of the fact that i sound totally insane. i don’t like to talk about the weird powers i always seem to have. i don’t like to acknowledge things that might make me sound better, somehow, than i really am. but when i’m in the process of dreaming i don’t really think about it like that. i just kind of do the things i know how to do when i remember to do them. like, i learned the rules, and i sometimes take advantage of them to survive or try something new or leave an area i don’t like or ask a friend i previously made to come and help me. 

it’s kind of nice to know there’s some part of me that doesn’t really care what other people think, or what i think about myself. it just does what it does and doesn’t worry about it. it gives me hope that i won’t always have to hold myself back. but it also makes me fear that i am holding myself back, and if i just tried harder i could do anything. because that part of me is not only determined, but also stupid and doesn’t understand what limits are and gets angry when it encounters them.

i can never tell if it gets angry because i spent the first ten years of my life physically disabled and told that if i just tried harder i wouldn’t be so weak, or because the idea of a limit to human (my) intellect is scary. maybe both. 

like, one day i will be physically and cosmically unable to understand anything more. that thought makes me feel stupid, insignificant, and also gives me the horrible suspicion that i think too much of myself.

i never want to be egotistical. i never want to think that i’m better in any regard than anyone else. but just because i don’t want something to happen doesn’t mean it won’t happen and that drives me nuts. like, sure, i can’t control the world around me, but at the very least i could control myself. but i don’t know anything about myself! not for sure. i always latch on to what other people say about me because maybe they are more observant from their perspective outside the hurricane of constant madness in my head. 

there are so many contradictions that i find in myself that i can’t figure out what i’m really about, you know? like, i want a partner, but i know a relationship with me would never work for more than a few months. i want to understand and think about things, but i have so little energy that i can’t even try to do that half the time. i want to talk to people and make friends but every time i talk about myself i beat myself up and get so angry afterward because i also like to be dramatic and i must have been stealing attention from them, and not only stealing the attention, but also LYING, which means i totally wasted the attention! 

i am lying because i don’t know anything, and to hide the fact that i don’t know anything, because mom thinks i am stupid and i can’t let anyone else think that, i pretend to know things. i pretend that i remember an event perfectly and tell the story like i remember it, even when i clearly (to myself) have holes in the memory that could mean my whole point of view is wrong.

like, maybe craig didn’t really hump me when he climbed on top of me. maybe he didn’t even climb on top of me. maybe he was just sort of half on me and fell asleep and then got a semi boner. but maybe even that didn’t happen. maybe there weren’t other people in the room totally ignoring my discomfort. 

maybe mom didn’t actually hit me so much. maybe spanking is different from beating and that makes my complaints invalid. i mean, plenty of other people got disciplined and they were fine. and discipline is a part of learning right from wrong. not... physical discipline, but can i really know that i wouldn’t still be angry even if mom had just put me in time out instead of slapping me around and kicking me? like, literally punting me a few feet through the air.

how am i supposed to know anything about myself when half the things i tell myself could be made up?

man, gaslighting sucks. i don’t want to do that to people... i’m afraid that i already have though. everything i say is interpreting events a little different than they actually happened. maybe. i don’t know.

i think that’s what i wanted to talk about when i started writing. i’ve been having that feeling for years but like it’s hard to figure out how to talk about it. i didn’t have words. i gotta figure out how to get to this stuff by talking about something else first and sort of working my way to it. if you read this far, thanks for taking the time to listen to me. even if you never mention it or anything, the thought that this may have reached someone else and they might understand is... comforting. that’s why i write this stuff on tumblr instead of in, like, a word document. if i keep it in a private diary, then no one will see it, and no one will see how i feel and maybe also feel that way, and they won’t know that someone else understands how they feel. you know?

[thesamesandwicheveryday]

9.

It’s 4am right now, and I feel as if nostalgia woke me up the way a nightmare would, but it was nothing scary — that adrenaline of waking up after witnessing some subconscious terror, it’s physiologically the same — there are electric shocks still running up and down my arms and I feel as if I have to close my windows and check the door is locked but I’m not frightened. This adrenaline is redirected, it’s an excitement more than anything else, and I don’t want to secure the flat to keep predators out but instead to keep this feeling in. I don’t want any of this immediate nostalgia to escape through any nook of this place. I feel like I want to fill my home with it. 2012 was such a good year, it just was. Is it pathological to experience nostalgia for a time that occurred only six years ago? And it’s not that I was happier then, I can’t say that or feel that because objectively it’s just not true, because the nature of happiness changes and what I was happy with then may not satisfy me in the same way now, but something about that year, I don’t know. I’m bewitched by it, the unearthing of my memories from that time. Why haven’t I really sat down and thought of this before? Here in my living room, I am soaked through and agitated, and it’s dark outside still because of weather, or seasons, or perhaps it’s just this valley-pit and how it fails to let the light in — but I’m not really here right now, because I’ve travelled in time and I’m existing in two places at once — I look out the window and I see two windows — this one, that frames the crotchety old Gasworker Street cobbles at the embouchure of Ropshire Road that seems, at this time of day, like a wide open, gaping shark’s mouth and its needly streetlamp teeth all strewn with ale-bottles and other such street plankton and flotsam — but I’m seeing an overlay, the bowing bay window from the Kentish Town lounge I spent those two Summers hazing about in, and the dark, smokey Autumn morning here is dusking lighter to meet the powder hue of a June one in northwest London, and in the thickening silence of semi-rural Yorkshire, I hear the comfort of the non-stop house we had; I hear Will in the kitchen making we-had-an-argument-lastnight bread, I hear him working to a cut-glass woman reading commentary on the radio, I hear the nextdoor neighbours and their long, southern vowels as the squabble once again in the hubbub of a schoolday. I look down now at my own vest and joggers but, like a hologram, bright, white cotton appears as it did then, because cottons were so bright then and I wore so much white, nothing was going to get spilled and if it did, there were more cottons to be had. I see my floor here but I see my floor there too and looking up I see the high ceilings Will and I felt so proud of, as if space were premium real estate and high windows an ensurer of value; the more light, the more space, the more space, the more light, and now the smell of a lit oven and proven dough means I must now close my eyes because I remember it all so richly, and why does it all seem so incredibly clean? You know what, maybe it was the music? Because we seemed to listen to an abundance of it then, we soundtracked it all, I can hear the lucid dream-pop as if it’s coming through the floorboards and I can taste the wisteria from the neighbour’s quiet, beautiful garden where we were sometimes allowed to pick garlic and coriander leaf if I was deigning myself to cook something Eastern in our big, bustling kitchen where my work would be on the table, my performative efforts of university essays gaining themselves coffee mug rings, wine glass rings, poularde au riesling for kitchen supper splashback marks, ending up snagging under the table’s one wonky leg, creased up under the weight of our bodies when the kitchen table became a hurried sine qua non, and the sui generis flavour of sconce-lit, stove-warm late night the same colours as this one here, the Orange Muscat & Flora syrupy warm and round, very round taste, and fresh bathwater holograms rippling up round the skylight, warm all around me in amniosis, Will perched on the seat with the lid down, legs crossed like a grasshoper and his warm body hugging the big, good towel round me and its line-dried taste, and Beach House and Craft Spells and Widowspeak and Warpaint and Blouse and Best Coast and Kurt Vile and Real Estate and Balam Acab and YACHT and Atlas Sound and Memory Tapes and Gang Gang Dance and plans we all seem to had, when I was busy then, when I was — when we were — supper parties and matinees and brunches and openings and galleries and restaurants and pop-ups and the dinner we got engaged over and the dinner during which we announced our engagement and the dinner at which we first spoke about children and the dinner for which we bought new clothes for and the dinner at the place we chose for the reception and the calls we made, and the shape of love being so expansive and bright and light and its flimsy edges that bent and flickered like a blade of grass, rooted, and there were friends then, and they all had such things and jobs and hobbies and loves and how I slipped into that fray with my silk things and linen things and velvet things and leather things and the taste of salted things and infused things and emulsified things and frothed things, and laughing, as we did, and how that didn’t really stop — did I stop laughing, somewhere along the line? When did I stop laughing at things? And how do I start again? When you want to laugh, where’d you start? Where’d you go? Who do you need to know? 

2012 was perhaps an anomoly that I appreciate the pause of. It seems like everything else swims in the same great darkness, whether it was someone else who invited that darkness in or, quite often, me who threw that gloomy tone over my entire landscape the way that I did. There’s light to my every experience, and the light that does creep in creates a tasteful balance in my memory, so that everything can be neutralised, and a new era can begin. It doesn’t hurt to reminisce on these terms, and it feels funny to think about — looking back on it all and seeing what particular flavour of murky I tasted that summer, that semester, that term of employment, that relationship, that year: the nervy dark of me that sat in tepid baths for hours on muggy Sundays in my late teens buzzing like a bandsaw and coming down from amphetamines; the orchestral dark of my several terrible peaks, like great timpani behind grand old curtains pounding those hundreds of mornings when I woke up wondering to what extent I’d half-heartedly risked my life the night before; that mossy dark from the mold-spored pages of a Victorian bodice-ripper of my own private scandals slipping on wet sod and stumbling in and out of shallow lakes with some other hungry dark of deceptive and contrary want. However it came and went, it did so gloomily, and that was on me, I did that — but 2012 was two summers long and none of that film of grit stayed long enough to leave a mark, because someone always washed with me. And it’s not because I’m lonely now because how can I be lonely with Ben? Not even just Ben, how can I be lonely with the people I’m already meeting? How can I be lonely with Hugo around, with Rob and Kat down the road, with the Sicilian market vendor, with the sandwich shop, with the people I’ll meet because when have I ever found it hard to make friends? I do this, I’ve done this, I’ll keep on doing this and doing things because I am not lonely, I am just a wistful person, because how could I be anything but happy right now, when everything — on paper — adds up to comfortable happiness? I’m happy, and how could I not be? There’s nothing I had then, that I can’t still have now. I cannot think of one thing I am missing from my past that lacks in my present because these things aren’t formulaic and times and happinesses change, wants change, and whatever I had then I have right now and if I didn’t, trust me, for an afternoon in 2012 on the Southbank with a lavender martini and a pack of Gauloises and a fucking jambon and juniper-pickled cucumber muffuletta, I would run and get it tomorrow. Fuck tomorrow — I’d run right now in the pissing rain over the moors and break my leg on the crags to go get it and drag it into the present with me now. It’s just silly, isn’t it. I should really get some sleep. 

[theconservativebrief]

Our staff of cultural critics picked their favorite highbrow gifts — and some guilty pleasures.

I am one of those people whose headphones always require at least 10 minutes of untangling. Wireless earbuds, while not perfect, were a relief for a tangly person like myself — but the sound quality and fit of many versions leave a lot to be desired.

The best ones I’ve been able to try are Sennheiser’s Momentum True Wireless earbuds. They work almost like noise-canceling headphones, crystallizing whatever you’re listening to and pulling it front and center for your eardrums. Listening to Ariana Grande’s “thank u, next” through them makes her vocals sound truly special. And the bass, while not spectacular, is still solid; it might be as good as you’ll find in wireless earbuds.

But it’s Sennheiser’s comfortable fit — and a nifty feature called “transparent hearing,” which allows you to hear ambient noise while commuting or jogging — that pushes them over the edge. If there’s one problem, it’s that they’re very expensive, so there’s a constant anxiety that you might lose a bud. (Sennheiser, $300)

—Alex Abad-Santos, senior correspondent

One of my favorite gifts I received last year was an illustrated triptych of Dorinda Medley’s most iconic moments. Medley is the true star of the television show The Real Housewives of New York, best known for getting completely obliterated and yelling things in various fancy kitchens (she’s incredible). Kat Archibald is an illustrator in England who does these hilarious prints of reality stars and their most famous quotes, but there are plenty of other artists on Etsy who cater to whatever fandom your loved one stans. (Etsy, from $7)

—Rebecca Jennings, reporter

Holiday greeting cards are pretty boring, but they don’t have to be. For pop culture mavens who want to give (or receive) a nice card — maybe with, say, a gift card tucked inside — there are plenty of options on Etsy, most starting at under $5. For instance, the horror fan might fancy a terrifying look at Pennywise, the killer from It, or a reminder of how frightening The Shining is. Or an exhortation to be Rock-in around the Christmas tree.

For your family member who adored Bohemian Rhapsody, try Freddie Mercury. For a classic touch, send some cheer via an Elf card. Your friend who’s been bingeing The Office on repeat (not that I’d know anything about that) can enjoy a Christmas card worthy of Dwight Schrute himself, or maybe Belsnickel. There are options for fans of everything from Post Malone to Hallmark movies. And for the loved one who celebrates it all, there’s even a visit from the Holiday Armadillo.

—Alissa Wilkinson, film critic

Publisher Penguin is officially calling these adorable little books “Penguin minis,” but it’s way more fun to make like they do in the Netherlands and call them “dwarsliggers.” When shut, a dwarsligger is about the size of a deck of bridge cards, so you can hold it in one hand, which is both convenient for reading on the train or bus and surprisingly cute. When you flip one open, you see that the text is oriented horizontally rather than vertically, and you turn the pages by flipping them up, more or less the way you scroll up through a smartphone. The format won me over entirely when I put one next to my giant stack of to-be-read books, realized that it made them look as though they belonged to a hulking giant, and cackled gleefully.

Currently dwarsliggers are only available to John Green fans, but if the format takes off, expect to see commuters clutching dwarsliggers on trains around the country. In the meantime, there’s nothing wrong with a good John Green read. ($28)

—Constance Grady, book critic

So, yes, this absolutely seems like a parody of a gift you might get for one of the Real Housewives. I received one in a swag bag at a film festival this year and laughed at first. Then I brought it home. Then I put wine in it. Then I realized that it was the ideal accompaniment to a long stretch of hours spent watching movie screeners or, more likely, binging an upcoming season of Big Little Lies or The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. I’m not great at wine glasses, and I live in perpetual fear of spilling some cabernet on my couch. The sturdy construction of this tumbler, which is about the same size and shape as a travel mug with a lid, means I don’t have to worry anymore. I am a convert. ($7)

—Alissa Wilkinson

If you have friends who love reality television — any kind, from RuPaul’s Drag Race to the Real Housewives franchise — please consider getting them a Cameo. Cameo is basically the singing telegram for the modern era. For a fee, you can get celebrities (usually minor ones) and athletes to make a downloadable video message; you give the celebs an outline of what you want the message to say, and they record something custom for your friend(s). (Cameo, from $17)

—Alex Abad-Santos

There are a fair number of book subscription boxes out there, and a lot of them will throw in some form of beverage — coffee beans, tea bags, hot chocolate mix — with the books. What’s fun about Blue Spider’s Attic is that the books they mail out with their beverages are secondhand — which means that a) a monthly subscription is cheaper than a lot of the other book subscription boxes out there, and b) you’re more likely to come across an old book you haven’t heard of before. Since all the books are chosen by real people, based on a questionnaire you fill out explaining your tastes, you’re basically getting a guided tour through a really well-stocked used bookstore every month, without ever having to leave your house. (Blue Spider Attic, $20)

—Constance Grady

Book lovers will adore artist Jane Mount’s “Ideal Bookshelf” project, where she paints various celebrities, authors’ and influencers’ ideal bookshelves — a collection of up to 15 of their favorite books. You can buy one that showcases the picks of someone you admire, or, better yet, you can have Jane make a custom print, which makes for an unforgettable gift tailored to your recipient’s personal tastes. When my husband and I first moved in together, we ordered a custom print from Jane that combined 10 of our favorite books. Years later, it’s still my favorite piece of art that we own. (Ideal Bookshelf, $34)

—Nisha Chittal, engagement editor

I‘ve seen Come From Away three times with both friends and family since it opened in 2017, and I’ve loved it more each time. The true story of 7,000 airline passengers stranded in remote Newfoundland after 9/11, it’s a simple, well-acted, and well-designed musical that manages to feel lively, engaging, and genuine, all while avoiding schmaltz. I’ve been struck each time I’ve seen it by how necessary it continues to feel in the current political climate — how hope-giving and hopeful. It’s currently playing on Broadway and touring throughout the US, but if you can’t find a performance near you, the original Broadway cast recording is also worth your time. ($12 for the mp4 album)

—Aja Romano, internet culture reporter

Original Source -> Vox’s gift guide for culture aficionados

via The Conservative Brief