#if you're a goose manager manager it means you train goose managers

[fantasyfantasygames]

Goose Manager

Goose Manager, Etta Candy, 2020

Goose management is where you remove geese from someone's property without killing them. It's a real thing. If you haven't heard of Untitled Goose Game, well, that seems unlikely but go watch like 5 minutes of gameplay footage. It'll help you understand why geese need to be managed.

Or you could just walk by some geese and find out firsthand.

Anyway.

In Goose Manager, you play goose managers in the making - people whose job it will be to get geese (and other waterfowl) out of people's yards, barns, streets, playgrounds, elevators, national malls, supercolliders, etc. The usual spots. You pick a specialty:

A Noisemaker, focused on sneaking up close until you're ready to unleash heck.

A Trapper, who might employ have-a-heart-style traps or build sillier things like a goose catapult or a swanager.

A k-9, in which you play the person rather than the dog but still get to direct the actions of a very imposing and barky dog.

A Duck Dodger, who attracts the attention of these irate waterfowl and pulls them away from the pack without getting hurt in the process.

Niche protection is strong without being prohibitive. A k-9 character can scare away geese like the Noisemaker, but isn't going to be sneaking around. The Trapper can sneak, but their traps can only really take care of one goose at a time. There are no base stats; instead, everything is based on your skills and class.

Your characters will be assigned harder and harder missions until they finally graduate from the National Goose Management Training Academy, which is an actual thing, though I can't imagine this is how it works. Your training missions will become more and more contrived as you go along. You start out shooing a few younger ducks from a bike path, and end up having to clear hundreds of ornery swans out of the Pentagon without disrupting a Joint Chiefs of Staff meeting. It's absurd fun.

If there's one thing I can complain about here, it's that this feels more like a board game. The experience is focused to the point of not needing any elaboration. Elaboration is among the set of things that TTRPGs do well. It's still fun to add roleplaying elements to Goose Manager, but it doesn't feel like an integral part of the experience.

Etta (real name) Candy (not real name) is known for her layout-forward game designs. This one is no exception, with beautiful spreads carefully typeset on the wings of thresholded birds. It's a great effect that clearly took a lot of work. Etta prefers to make only physical copies, so pick one up from her on the con circuit if you're interested.

[blindmagdalena]

imagine being hired by vought to be a sort of housekeeper to homelander, doing his laundry and cooking for him in his penthouse. he’d immediately grow to love having someone to come home to, and would automatically slip into husband mode whenever he finds them doing him some wifely act of service (conveniently ignoring the fact they’re paid to be there, of course)

ao3 link

Working for Vought, specifically Homelander, turns out to be an insanely simple gig. Typically, you never even see him. You're free to do your cleaning in peace, picking up after America's favorite hero. He rarely ever leaves a mess, but there's enough to keep you employed. Tidying up his towels, replacing his hygiene supplies and tooth brushes. You're trained specifically on how to clean his suits. You empty and stock the fridge. He goes through a lot of milk. You always make sure to get whole. He lodged a complaint the one time it was less than. You were told initially that your cooking services wouldn't be necessary. Homelander isn't known to be, well... much of an eater.

Still, you didn't want the food you stocked at the start to go bad, so one day you prepare a few meals and put them in containers in the fridge. You include little notes with instructions on how they should be reheated. You sign each one with a little heart simply because that's how you've always done it, and pin them to the fridge. You think nothing of it. Homelander is dumbstruck by it.

At first he's affronted that you would leave him cold food in his fridge and expect him to heat it up for himself, but there's something distinctly... loving about it. Coming home to his laundry clean and his shelves dusted never felt like that. It was nothing more than a reset, an automatic process that he didn't dedicate any thought to. But this? This is personal. This reminds him that a living, breathing person was in his home, tending to it, and that person... cooked him a meal, and left him a little note. With a heart.

The next morning you get a text that you will indeed be cooking for Homelander that evening! You're in the midst of it, staying later than you usually do, when he walks in the door. You aren't making anything fancy, just steak and mashed potatoes, but he sucks in a breath like he's inhaling the scent of a gourmet meal. His smile is broad and gleaming. It makes your heart skip a beat.

To your surprise, he introduces himself. He shakes your hand firmly, and holds your stare as you remember your manners and manage to spit out your own name. "Charmed," he says through that radiant smile, and you feel like he means it. His eyes are somehow much bluer in person. His gaze flickers to the stove, and he clicks his tongue. "Not to question your craft, but is this really enough for two?" Looking at the steak currently searing, you falter. "Oh, I'm sorry, are you having company? No one told me." "Well of course I'm having company, you silly goose. You're standing right here, aren't you?" He asks, putting his hands on his hips. It's cheesy, like a moment straight out of a sitcom, but you fluster anyways. This man has such presence to him.

"You... want me to eat with you?" You ask, bewildered.

"Be a shame to cook up a storm and not even feel the rain," he laughs, as if you're the one thinking strangely here. He's already gone to the fridge, and pulled out a second steak. He offers it out to you with that same charming television ready grin. "C'mon. I can hear your stomach growling."

Tentatively, you take the package from him. "Okay."

That night, and each night that follows, you cook Homelander a meal at the tail-end of your shift, and sit down to eat with him. It's surreal, but after the second night, it occurs to you that you've never once seen sign of him having company. There's never extra dishes, or towels. No remnants of a party in the trash. If he does have friends, they're certainly never here.

You can't help but wonder if he's lonely. The thought humanizes him from the larger than life image you had of him in your mind, and you have an easier and easier time engaging him in conversation. He's funny, if not a little strange. There are times when you don't really know how to respond to the things he says, but he often moves on quickly enough to keep things from being awkward.

Truth be told, you're starting to quite enjoy his company.

Homelander begins showing up earlier and earlier into your shifts. The next week, it's barely after 4:00pm when he strides through the door, greeting you with a chipper, "Heya!" and a little salute.

You turn off the vacuum, and despite being a little caught off guard, you smile at him. For the first time, you say, "Welcome home!"

For a second, you worry you've said something wrong. That smile slips off his face, and he stands frozen a touch too long in the doorway. However, before you can add an amendment, his lips stretch back out and he closes the door behind him. "Good to be home," he says. There's less of that showmanship in his voice, you think.

"I didn't know you'd be home so early, I haven't finished-" "Oh, don't mind me, you do your thing. Pretend I'm not even here," he insists, taking a seat on his couch.

You expect him to occupy himself in some way. A book, perhaps, or even just his cellphone. Instead, for the next hour you're keenly aware of the fact the only thing he seems to be entertaining himself with is you.

After that, you cook dinner as usual, and the two of you eat amidst pleasant, casual conversation. It's the same as any other night, and yet somehow this evening feels distinctly different. You can't name exactly what it is, but something has changed.

Homelander begins filling out your time with new requests; he's suddenly become quite fascinated with plants. You had mentioned to him before that you like to keep them, despite the work they take. Your shifts grow longer to account for your new tasks.

All the while, he's been more and more present during your shifts. Although he doesn't directly take or distract you from your chores, you're always keenly aware of of his gaze on you while you work. You try not to overthink it, but the weight of his attention is heavy nonetheless.

One day, you're sweeping up a mess of spilled dirt, struggling to maneuver around the legs of a piece of furniture, when Homelander hops up to intervene. "Let me get that for you, sweetheart," he says, lifting the entire cabinet up as if it weighed nothing at all.

You lose yourself for a moment, standing dumbfounded before abruptly remembering to sweep the dirt out from under it, your heart racing. Your mind keeps replaying the pet name, and with every echo of it, your cheeks feel redder. Homelander smiles, watching you all the while. The next day, you arrive to find an enormous bouquet of roses sitting in a vase on the kitchen counter. There's a note with your name on it, and a simple message: Thanks for all your hard work. Keep it up! The note is signed with Homelander's sprawling signature. Smiling widely to yourself, you tuck the note into your pocket, and lean in to inhale the sweet smell of the flowers. On another occasion, it's time to clean the blades of the ceiling fan in his room, but you can't find that darn step ladder anywhere. Homelander must hear the way you're shuffling around and muttering under your breath—you swear the man hears everything—because he steps in to check on you. "Everything alright in here?" He asks, peeking in from the doorway. "Oh, fine, fine, I just can't find my step ladder anywhere. Have you seen it?" You ask, feeling flustered. Getting put behind schedule never fails to trip a thread of anxiety in your chest. "Can't say I have," he answers, stepping inside. He looks around the room. "What'cha need it for?" "Ceiling fan. Uhm, it's okay, I'll get to it later, if that's alright with you? I'm sorry, I could have sworn I left that ladder-" You stop yourself, realizing Homelander is suddenly striding directly towards you. Uncertain, you begin to take a step back, but he's fast. He puts an arm around you, and without warning you're being hoisted up into his arms as easily as a doll.

"Up y'go," he says, supporting not only your weight with ease, but resting you snug against his chest. You squeeze your knees together, arms pulled in tight, as if making yourself tiny will somehow protect you from the embarrassing quicken of your breath, or the rampant beat of your heart. "There you go. Who needs a step ladder when you've got me?" He asks, grinning down at you with that familiar dazzling spread of pearly whites. His smile feels better suited to a Hollywood audience than this quiet little moment, but the only thing you can really focus on is the fresh, woodsy smell of his cologne. "Uhm, I-I still don't think I can reach-" You stop, noticing the ceiling fan is now within arms reach. "Oh." Looking down, your eyes widen. Neither of your feet are touching the ground. Instead, Homelander is hovering well above it, holding you adjacent to the fan. You can't help the nervous laughter that suddenly bubbles out of you. "Oh my god," you laugh, looking around. "You're flying!" "As I'm known to do from time to time," he says, voice dripping with satisfaction. His gloved fingers tap absently at your waist, basking in your awe over what is, to him, a wholly unremarkable feat. The sheer normalcy of you makes his every move seem a marvel. He savors your wonder. You're so enamored with the novelty of it, you remember belatedly why you're up here. Clearing your throat, you reach up with the duster, and gently spin the fan, collecting the strands of dust and the like that had gathered on each one. You try your damnedest to focus on that, and not the fact Homelander's face is less than a foot from yours. Out of your peripheral, you can see that his grin has softened into a content, absent smile. Your stomach does cartwheels as you finish dusting the fan, bringing the duster back down. You clear your throat again, pretending it's not a nervous habit. "All done, thank you," you say quietly, smiling back at him.

"Any time, sweetheart," Homelander purrs. There it is again, that coy little nickname that sends your mind into a tizzy. As if that weren't bad enough, he winks at you, floating gently back down to the ground. Your legs feel so much like jelly, you worry you'll collapse the moment you're on your feet. Luckily, even once he's set you down, he leaves a hand lingering on your back. "You got a thing with heights? Your heart's pounding," he points out, much to your mortification. You try to laugh it off. "Oh, no! No, just wasn't expecting it. I'm fine with heights," you say, fumbling with the duster for a second before slipping it back into the cover. "Good," Homelander responds, an oddly cryptic depth to his tone. His smile lingers. "That's good. Alrighty, I'll leave you to it," he says, tipping his head in a polite little nod before he heads for the door, leaving you to your own devices, and the rapid fluttering in your stomach. Later that same day, you're thoroughly perplexed when you spot the step ladder exactly where it's supposed to be, certain you had checked there a dozen times over.

Two weeks from the day you first shared a meal, he presents you with a gift after dinner. "Oh, sir, you shouldn't-" "Please, please! Don't be so formal. It's just a little thing," he says, waving his hand dismissively. "Y'know, to show my appreciation. You take such good care of me. Just wanted to return the favor." Butterflies swarm rampant in your gut as you tug loose the pretty red ribbon tied around the box. Uncertain of what to expect, you feel a measure of relief when you lift the lid, and see a lovely apron folded inside it. "You wear this print a lot, figured you could use something, you know, matchy. Feminine," he says, gesturing vaguely with his hand. "Your other one's seen better days."

You exhale a soft laugh, touching the fabric. It's soft beneath your fingers, and of excellent quality. The gift is a thoughtful one, and it feels appropriate, despite what the expensive looking wrapping made you think. "You like it?" He asks after a beat, snapping you out of your thoughts. "I do! Yes, thank you. It's very nice. I've enjoyed working for you, sir—" You stop when he points a finger at you, his brows raised, and you correct, "—Homelander." He smiles, dropping his hand. "And eating with you. I can't say any of my other clients cared whether or not I ate," you say, chuckling. You think you see his nose twitch strangely at the mention of your other clients.

"Right, well! C'mon, let's see how it looks," he says, taking you by the shoulders and guiding you over to the mirror near the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. Homelander takes the box from your hands and presents it to you, allowing you to lift the apron up and let it unfold. Odd, it feels a touch heavier than you expected. You sling it around your neck, but before you can reach back to tie it, Homelander has taken it upon himself to do it for you. He cinches it at your waist with a sharp little tug, grinning at you from over your shoulder as he meets your eye in the mirror. "Loooook at that, perfect fit," he purrs, tying the ends off. "It's beautiful, thank y—" Smoothing your hands down the front of it, you stop. There's something in the right pocket of the apron. Glancing up, Homelander has a mischievous glint to his expression, but his brows raise, and his lips curl down. He's playing dumb.

Curiously, you slip your hand into the pocket, and feel smooth velvet against your fingers. Wrapping your hand around a firm rectangle, you draw it out, and feel your stomach flip as you stare at the distinctly luxurious looking black box now in your hands. "Oh, geeze, totally forgot that was even in there," Homelander says. His tone is terribly unconvincing, but he does sound very pleased with himself. "Whelp, you've already accepted, so I guess it's yours now." "I—" "Go on," he urges, giving your shoulders a little shake. He's watching you eagerly through the mirror. "Open it up. It's all yours."

Swallowing, you crack the box back on it's hinges. Your jaw drops, your chest tightens. You stare at the shimmering three-stone drop diamond necklace in utter disbelief. You don't even feel Homelander let go of your shoulders, or hear him slide off and drop his gloves to the nearby table. "Oh my god," you whisper. You probably couldn't afford the box this thing was sold in, let alone a single stone on it. "I don't think I can accept this, sir," you say, slipping back into the habit of formality as your brain struggles to catch up to reality.

"Oop, too late for that," Homelander dismisses, plucking the delicate necklace up from the fabric it lay in. "Here, allow me," he says, ignoring your shellshock while he drapes the necklace against your skin, his bare fingers brushing the back of your neck as he gets it fastened.

Breathless, you tentatively touch the bottom diamond. Your mouth feels full of cotton, and your heart is racing. Is this really happening?

Meanwhile, Homelander grips your upper arms, beaming. "Look at you. You know what they say about diamonds; they're a girl's best friend," he laughs, those canines of his looking sharper than ever.

Giving your arms a squeeze, Homelander leans close to your ear. "Happy two weeks," he whispers, the heat of his breath on your neck prickling goosebumps all the way down your spine. "Thank you," you whisper back, pushing out a bewildered little smile.

Homelander lingers there a moment, the warmth of his hands on your arms seeping through the fabric of your shirt. His smile has relaxed some, and his gaze is slightly distant as he looks you up and down in the mirror. You see a flash of pink as he wets his bottom lip with his tongue. It isn't until you clear your throat that his eyes snap back up to yours, regaining presence of mind. "I should get going," you say gently. His fingers flex on your arms, and the corners of his mouth twitch. "Right," he says, lips pulling into a thin smile that doesn't reach his eyes. This is always his least favorite part of the night. With obvious reluctance, he drops his hands from your arms. "Right, ah, let me—" "Unless..." You interject, turning to face him. Homelander's brows shoot up to his hairline. He blinks. "Unless...?" "Unless you'd like me to stay," you say quietly, your stomach tying itself in knots. "Not as your housekeeper, but maybe as just... Company?"

"Company," he echoes, his parted lips slowly drawing into a smile. This one does reach his eyes. "We could watch a movie."

"I like movies," you say. The words sound dumb to you as soon as they leave your lips, but Homelander looks at you like you've just spun a beautiful sonnet. "Great, I have movies," he says, putting a hand on your lower back as he gestures you to the living room. His smile is broad now, eager and a touch boyish. You feel a little surge of endearment amidst the adrenaline. "What do you want to watch?" "Dealers choice," you say, slipping out of the apron before you take a seat at the couch. Homelander immediately busies himself with the television, flipping through Vought+'s enormous repertoire.

Still in a mild daze, you don't process any of the titles that fly by on the screen. Instead, you're hyper aware of the weight of the necklace hanging from your throat, and the lingering heat that Homelander's hands left on your skin.

So much for a simple gig.

[jetblack4realz]

idiot girlfriends - bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader

summary - bradley's stupid girlfriend doesn't understand that bradley has a life-long best friend, and that would be you

warnings - no

word count - 2.6k

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when you joined the navy, everyone knew it was only because of bradley bradshaw. well, and nick bradshaw. you wanted to do right by him and his memory by serving the same way he did and followed bradley into the navy, even pulling your own papers to graduate the same time and be in the same classes as him.

you two had been inseparable since you were toddlers. your mothers were childhood best friends and so when goose died carole moved her and brad right back to the same small town she grew up in in virginia, only a few doors down from you all.

so, when you two got assigned across the world from each other, it was a shock to everyone.

you met again in top gun, both competing for the top spot and landing ten marks above the rest of your classmates. you tied, which everyone thought was a good resolution, but you both teased about who really won for years.

you loved your line of work, emailing bradley on deployments and facetiming whenever the time difference allowed. you'd gone on random deployments off in fightertown and did a few in naples, but for the most part your commanding officers fought for you to stay in guam.

until the uranium mission.

you were ecstatic to be back in the states, stationed with him. and mav. but, mostly him. you'd jumped into his arms when you walked in and spotted him talking to your friends by the pool tables. everyone thought you guys were a thing, and you both were casual in blowing them off.

you trained hard, working well together in your fights against maverick. you managed to find tone on him once and only once, but hell, you were proud of it.

you flew with bradley and maverick, coyote as your backseater and accomplishing the mission. when he went down, you nearly had a heart attack. and when he got back it took everything in you not to kiss him, instead opting to wrap your arms around him in a death-grip of a hug.

because he had a girlfriend.

her name was gabbie, and she definitely gabbed. she was a brat, you and phoenix decided as soon as you were introduced to her.

"hey," bradley said with a wide smile, reaching out for you as he approached the group. you matched his smile and wrapped your arms tightly around him in a quick hug. when you pulled away, he offered phoenix a quick wave before he gestured to the girl with narrowed eyes behind him. "guys, this is gabbie. we've been together a couple months, she started emailing me this last deployment."

"right," you nodded, offering her a polite smile. "hi."

"this is phoenix, and this is minnie - or y/n," bradley said, gesturing to you with a soft smile. he looked back at his girlfriend. "she's my childhood best friend, i've known her forever."

"oh really?" she hummed with a dramatically sweet smile. "well, it's nice to meet you then."

"yeah, you too," you said with a nod. "wanna play pool with us? you could have the table next."

"does everyone in the navy play pool? even the women?" she laughed to rooster, his brows furrowing slightly. she looked back at you. "just because you're in the military doesn't mean you have to do everything the guys do. and you don't have to wear your hair that way on night's out either. you're off duty! dress cute!"

you were beyond shocked and so were the rest of your friends. your hair was up in a messy bun because yeah, you were tired after the week's dealings and didn't want to curl it. but also, top knots weren't regulation anyways.

and you thought it looked cute.

"i'm sorry?" you asked, tilting your head as you stared at her.

"well, do you like how i did my hair? i could show you if you want," she offered, playing with her front pieces, but it only made your grimace deepen.

"i'm good, thanks," you told her. you turned your attention to hangman, your go-to games partner. "jake - darts?"

as you walked away, whispering to him likely about gabbie, bradley watched with a frown.

whenever she hung out with the daggers she insisted that she would rather stay by his side than hang out with you and phoenix, making snide comments about women in the military and more about your appearance. and whenever you would try to have a private conversation with him, she was immediately by his side. you felt like you never talked to him anymore, that you couldn't talk to him anymore.

"wanna step outside for a minute?" you asked quietly, nodding your head to the back porch. "i need to talk to you about something."

"yeah, for sure," he answered quickly, his brows furrowed in concern. "what's wrong?"

you sighed, glancing around at where your friends were stood swinging back beers and shooting around the pool table in a game of 9-ball. your eyes caught on an approaching gabbie, a fresh mai tai in hand.

"can we go outside?"

"yeah, of course," he said with a nod. his hand hovered over your lower back as he ushered you to the back door, slipping out of it behind you and following you to the railing. he leaned his back against it, eyes on you.

"what's wrong?"

"my dad texted this morning," you said, breath shaky as you glanced at your phone. he looked down too, reaching for it when it was offered to him. "it's my mom."

the door opened and out came gabbie. "hey guys! what's up?"

"hey baby, i'm so sorry, but could you go back inside?" rooster asked gently, offering her an apologetic smile. "we're having a private conversation."

"too private for your girlfriend?" she asked, quirking a brow as she glanced at you. she looked you up and down and you hated how pissed off it made you.

"yeah, i'm sorry honey," he said. "it's personal."

"shouldn't i know about your personal things?" she asked, her tone still high and light enough to feign innocence, but you were getting increasingly upset as she refused to leave.

"it's not his personal life, it's mine. it's my stuff that i'd like to discuss with my best friend, in private," you said in as even a tone as you could produce.

"do you need help with anything?" she asked. "i could help too."

"no thank you," you said. "just bradley right now."

"no, i'm actually working front desk at a therapists' office right now and i've picked up on a few things. i'd be happy to work a few techniques with you if you're feeling depressed or-"

"forget it," you mumbled, shoving your phone in your pocket and pushing passed her to get inside.

bradley sighed, following you quickly. she tried to catch his arm, saying something about the sunset, but he followed you inside, mumbling apologies and trying to get you to talk to him again.

you offered him a thin smile. "later."

later never came. there wasn't enough time in the work day to talk about private matters and it seemed like gabbie now had a permanent tie to his side.

the girl infuriated you to your core.

but, for bradley's sake and trying to be a good best friend, you offered one night to get to know her outside of the hard deck. she didn't even entertain the idea when bradley approached her about it.

"i'm not a girl's girl," she mumbled to him while you exchanged an eyeroll with coyote, able to hear their whole conversation thanks to her inability to whisper. "i've never been good at that. i'm better with guys."

"not likely," phoenix muttered to you with a roll of her eyes. "hypocrite."

"well, she's not necessarily girly either, hun," rooster told her, brows furrowed. "she is military."

"which isn't my cup of tea either. but, it's alright! i'll just stay with you and the boys," she answered, hands coming up to hang off his shoulder. her eyes were trained on you as you turned back to your game with hangman, scoffing under your breath.

"alright baby," rooster relented, eyes on your back with a knit in his brow.

"i'm trying here," you muttered to the man next to you as you leaned down to take your next shot. jake shrugged.

"can't help who she likes as friends."

"wish i could help who she likes romantically."

"what do you mean by that, min?" a smirk was already growing on his lips and you groaned.

"oh, don't start. everyone knows it," you said, moving around the table for the best angle.

"yeah, but you've never admitted it," he teased, following you. "do you like rooster?"

"he's right there, dickhead, go and say it louder," you said with a quick glare, shooting your last ball into the pocket.

"what'd you say, minnie?" rooster asked, eyes on you and jake both intently.

"nothing, just trash-talking hangman here," you answered, standing and clapping a hand on said man's shoulder. you smiled at jake. "he's about to get his ass beat."

you lined the cue ball up with the 8 ball, counting to three in your mind before you shot, the two balls clicking together and the 8 ball landing in the corner like you predicted.

"ha!" you exclaimed, turning to him. "loser!"

"you didn't call it," he hummed, a wicked grin on his lips. "scratch! i won!"

"what? no!" you cried.

"oh yes, princess," he laughed.

"you could tell what i was going for," you argued.

"oh could i?" he teased with a wiggle of his brows.

you scoffed, but couldn't help the laugh that escaped your mouth as he did a stupid 80s-like victory dance, phoenix leaning into you to mumble teases about the man.

from behind you, bradley's face had settled into a scowl.

"minnie," he called. "you and me."

your eyebrows shot up and a smirk lifted one side of your mouth. "oh really, roo? you wanna take me on?"

gabbie looked taken aback that he'd offered to play you.

"she just played. how 'bout you play coyote here?" she asked, looking at javi with a smile.

"nah, i'll give y/n another chance to win," he answered, his eyes not leaving you as you faced him with a smile.

"game on, chicken," you told him with a grin, moving to rack the balls.

he helped you, your hands brushing as you placed them into the triangular rack. your eyes found each other, a subtle smile on your lips as you placed the 8 ball in the center.

"all you mousey," he told you.

"you know, maybe i will take you up on your offer," gabbie chimed in, catching your attention. "let's do something."

"alright," you said slowly, nodding at her. "we'll figure it out later."

"no, let's go get a drink and talk," she replied.

"i'm playing bradley right now. later," you insisted. she seemed to harden at your use of his proper name and she approached where you stood next to rooster. she grabbed your forearm gently, tugging you towards the bar.

"phoenix will take your place. come on!" she said with fake enthusiasm. everyone could tell it was just that and you were left stumbling after her with knitted brows.

"no gabbie, we're playing," rooster told her, taking a hold of your other arm and tugging you back to him. she turned to him with a sharp look in her eye and you hated where you were standing at that moment.

"she wanted girl time, bradley, so i'm giving her girl time," she told him. she turned her attention to you, a sweet sweet smile shot in your direction. "maybe i can give you makeup advice?"

"okay, no," you laughed dryly, ripping you arm from her grasp easily. "i'm good, thank you. i don't need your makeup advice."

"oh, honey, you do," she cooed condescendingly. "i think the boys would agree."

"you're being rude and i'd like you to leave," you said calmly. you looked at rooster. "can you take her home, please?"

he looked conflicted, glancing at you and then gabbie.

"i don't need to go home," she told you.

"oh, so you're gonna play nice?" you asked, raising your brows.

"i will when you do," she answered, glaring openly at you now. you breathed an incredulous laugh, glancing back at phoenix with wide eyes before returning your attention to her.

"what the hell does that mean? i've been trying to be friends with you, lady!"

"oh yeah, just so you can cozy up next to bradley a second later," she said, her glare deepening as she gestured to his hand on your wrist.

"the hell are you saying?" you asked. "i've known him my whole life, forgive me for trying to maintain a friendship."

"no," she shot back. "because you're not just maintaining it."

"yeah, it's flourishing under your watch," you spat sarcastically. you shook your head, glancing back at bradley for a moment before pulling your arm from him and stepping back. you held your hands up in faux defense, scoffing as you stepped towards the door. "sorry brad, i'm not allowed to talk to you anymore."

"no, y/n, stop," he said quickly, shaking his head and sighing. "gabbie, stop saying stuff like that."

"it's true! she's making moves on you bradley," gabbie insisted.

the daggers were not amused, watching as you rolled your eyes and waiting for what bradley would do in respone.

"she's not," he said.

"but if i was?"

that was a question that caught him off guard. he looked at you, his mouth falling open and brows furrowing as he struggled for a response.

"i - what?"

you sighed, crossing your arms over your chest before looking at him with complete seriousness and honesty. "look, she's not the girl for you bradley. i think you've figured that out by now. the rest of us sure as hell have."

"what are you saying?"

"i'm here," you said with a shrug, taking another step back towards the door. "i've always been here. do with that what you will."

gabbie was awestruck, watching you with wide eyes as you strutted out of the bar.

"bradley-"

"gabbie, i can't do this anymore," he said, eyes flashing to her as soon as you left his view. "she's right. you're not the girl for me and i'm not the guy for you. you'll find him, i know you will."

"what? what the hell are you-"

"and now i've gotta go get mine," he said, offering her a small, apologetic smile before running through the bar, dodging customers and slipping out the door after you.

"about time," coyote laughed, leaning back to sip on his beer.

"oh, screw all of you," gabbie spat. "i thought we were getting along, but i guess not."

"cheers to that!" jake said, clinking his bottle with phoenix's as she glared, leaving the room quickly.

bradley chased after you, desperation in his voice as he called, "y/n! y/n!"

you turned, a subtle smile on your lips as you peered at him. "yeah?"

"i want you," he said, grabbing your hands with a wide smile. "i want you forever. i want you to always be here and i want to always be here for you and i'm sorry that i wasn't, but i promise i will be."

"just kiss me, bradshaw," you told him, a grin overtaking his lips as he pulled you into him, his hands cupping your jaw as he pressed his lips to yours.

the kiss wasn't without passion, the both of you having been waiting for this moment for who knows how many years. your arms were wound tightly around his neck as you pulled away for air. you both had stupid grins on your faces, just watching each other.

"thanks," you breathed out dopily.

"anytime," he answered. he leaned closer to you, smirking slightly. "all the time."

he kissed you again, you smiling as you kissed him back.

"fuck yeah!"

you pulled back quickly to see phoenix and the daggers on the front porch, watching with knowing grins.

"we've been waiting for this!" coyote whooped.

you rolled your eyes and laughed at your friends before looking bradley back in his beautiful browns. "i have been too."

[thessalian]

Thess vs Horizon: Forbidden West Prologue

So a few notes from various bits of prologue. I'm not in the eponymous Forbidden West yet, mostly because one of the things I'm finding is that the low-level anxiety of jumping puzzle hits a little different with the fibro. I get tense, and lemme tell you, I feel it these days. So this is going to be a long, long game. But here are the notes from the Horizon: Forbidden West prologue ... more or less spoiler-free.

Ah, stealth kills, I have missed you. And I've very, very nearly hit the first achievement for those already. Not to mention the "knocking components off" achievement. Not there yet, but ... getting there.

In checking whether I'd actually reached any achivements yet, I note that various friends have got a lot farther than me in this game. Fucking fibro.

See ... this whole deal where it guides you on what actions you need to take to climb or grapple or whatever could be seen as annoying? But I honest-to-gods need a reminder if I'm taking it this slow. So it is annoying but it's also really helpful, so thanks for that.

Some of the new designs on these beasties are lit. Still hate being forced into armed confrontation with these things. Just let me hide and shoot them from the next post code over, damnit!

What's this thing? Can I scavenge it? ...Oh. I was supposed to kill Big Beastie with this. Sorry; I prefer precision. kthxbai.

...Well, if that isn't commentary on tech 'geniuses' and their bullshit, and on corporate greed. Also, it's actually a real shame that so many of the effective antagonists of both games have been dead for so very, very long, because they are all so very, very punchable and apparently they haven't worked out hard light hologram technology so I can't literally punch that smirking shithead in the face.

Aloy, you were raised agnostic and found proof of atheism. Varl has not. Chill the fuck out. You're equipped to see things as they are; your people view everything through a religious filter. So long as they're not exiling people or some shit, why do you care if they worship an AI construct?

Aaaaaaaaaaand we're back to Meridian. Cool. Wait, what the fuck now?

So ... why didn't we double-check the Spire before we went heading off on wild goose chases?

SYLENS YOU DICKWAFFLE. (Sorry, Lance Reddick; you gave really, really good dickwaffle.)

Not sure what to make of this "workbench" mechanic. It'll probably be better when I can fast travel to places.

Please, please tell me I can dump some of the vendor trash while I'm in what passes for civilisation in Horizon-world. Please? I have been so good.

Somebody want to please explain to me why those neckbeard arseholes think Aloy's ugly? Okay, sometimes they do not get her best angle in cutscenes, but mostly she's, like ... a realistically beautiful woman. Ah, right - it's the realistically part they object to. They want doe-eyed skinny waifu. Well, they can get stuffed, because I'm already struggling with how she manages to get the less dreadlocked bits of her hair moving like a shampoo commercial when she has no shampoo. Plus, those neckbeards are not exactly looking at the cover of GQ themselves, y'know?

I'm kind of interested in how they've set up this prologue. Both HZD and HFW start us with where Aloy has been and what she's done, but I guess you can't really turn "killed an invasion of war machines" into an easy prologue the way you can "finding a focus and training for Big Event". Plus, the whole thing makes me wonder exactly how many friendly faces from home we're going to have as companions. I mean, I know two - hell, even if I hadn't seen both in trailers, one I've already had as a companion, and when you get that many Oseram scattered around the place, you know who's going to show up in Horizon-world eventually.

No, seriously, let me offload vendor trash I HAVE BEEN SO GOOD.

So I stopped in and around Meridian before having to tell everybody, "Hey, I'm going to the place named in the title of this game because that guy you told me to look for is a dickwaffle but he could conceivably be a helpful dickwaffle if I help him with the problem he willingly dove into head-first by ... well, being a dickwaffle". I am at least supposed to be finding a workbench and hopefully someone I can throw vendor trash at, but I more or less stopped there because I do have some shit to do today. Not much shit right away - I mean, I do have D&D later this evening and we're still running a little earlier than usual because of Daylight Savings being weird this year, but that's still way later - but some shit. Specifically I need to go out for ground cardamom. Look, I need it to make apple pie spice, and all of my cardamom is in pods. Kind of wish that the recipes for apple pie spice I have looked up specified what colour cardamom needs grinding. I guess I'll just hope I get it right. I need this because I'm baking apple bread. I got buttermilk and everything! Also I want to make more apple turnovers and the homemade filling with only cinnamon ... well, it needs something. Maybe apple pie spice instead of just cinnamon is that something. Anyway, also means I need apples. So that means a shopping trip. So I guess I'd best prep for that.

And then home and more video games. Not sure if I'm going to do my shopping / crafting in HFW or if I'm going to go back to the Shadow-Cursed Lands in BG3 so that I can earn a whole lot of easy approval with Astarion and Lae'zel by making big lumpy bag of poison explode. I'll think about it as I do errands, I guess.

[crinkled-emotions]

OK woah I'm loving these sick prompts!❤ Could I please requst 37 and 38 for a Daderick and Roo moment? I know you said you're super busy atm so no problem if not!! Good luck with your exams and the move!

Thanks for the kind words!! I'm nearly at the end of semester and I managed to find a half decent apartment last week that I felt safe to move into 😊 These are so much fun for my Saturday night! Between this and taking the piss out of Miles for his inability to apply sunscreen this is a hoot (tm).

37: "having a cold does not make you weak" and 38: "just let me take care of you why are you so stubborn."

Notes: Rooster has a cold and he needs his dad however he is also a stubborn bastard. Post tweet.

Maverick's boots hit the ground after a hop, grinning as he passed his helmet to Hondo who rolled his eyes.

"Okay, you really gotta stop doing that to them. They're gonna quit."

"And what, make Hangman think he is indeed one of the most talented pilots I have ever seen? Never," Maverick deadpanned with a grin. Hondo snorted.

"Sure, that's who I'm worried about. I'm pretty sure Bob threw up after last time."

"Ah, he'll be okay. Who's going up later today?"

"Well it was meant to be Rooster, Fanboy and Payback but you might want to have a chat with Bradshaw. He's not looking too hot."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know what's wrong with him, but Seresin pointed it out to me and he's right; Bradley's out of it."

"Okay, I'll go and check on him. Can you get Payback, Fanboy and Coyote ready while I get him sorted?"

"Sure thing. Did you want me to let Cyclone know as well?"

"No way, that's a one way ticket to Rooster punching the nearest wall. I got him."

Maverick whistled as he walked the track back to where the aviators would be waiting. Phoenix, Bob and Hangman were disembarking from their jets, banter loud across the tarmac. Maverick didn't bother telling them to tone it down; Hondo would sentence them to their pushups and they'd shut up pretty quick.

"Bradley? Are you in here?"

"I think he's in the bathroom," Kangaroo called from her spot on the couch, listening to the radio. Maverick waved at her, heading for the men's room. He gently knocked before poking his head in.

"Bradley? Hey, kid, it's just me."

"Jesus, Mav, can a guy take a leak in peace?" Rooster huffed. His voice sounded... off. But not to a point Maverick would be usually concerned that he'd done something he wasn't supposed to.

"You okay?"

"Maverick."

"Okay, gotcha. Come and see me when you're... done."

Maverick stepped back out of the room and rested against the wall by the door, thinking of the best way to approach this. Bradley was stubborn, and while most people remembered Goose for his kindness and brilliant sense of humour Pete knew exactly where Bradley's stubbornness had come from. Carole was fun and headstrong too.

When Rooster reappeared from the bathroom he had the arms of his flightsuit wrapped around his waist and a sick flush to his cheeks. Maverick frowned and stepped forward to feel for a fever but Bradley pulled away abruptly, eyes wide.

"What the hell, Mav? What are you doing?"

"Well, you're grounded, to start. Something's wrong and I can't have you getting worse up there. Whatever's going on will only get worse in the air."

Maverick frowned.

"What is wrong, exactly?"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah? Sure, okay."

Bradley's shoulders relaxed so Maverick jabbed two fingers under his eyes, right on his sinuses. Rooster yelled, swearing under his breath.

"Jesus, Mav! What the hell?!"

"Having a cold doesn't make you weak," Maverick huffed. Rooster smacked his hand away again, beelining for the exit.

"If you're benching me I'm going to Cyclone."

"Good luck!" Maverick yelled after him. The door slammed behind Rooster and Maverick swore under his breath, arms crossed across his chest.

"I hear clicker training is effective for stubborn sons," Kangaroo suggested.

"It works for Lieutenants who don't listen too," Maverick deadpanned.

"Bradley-"

"-no, Maverick, fuck off. I'm fine."

"Watch your language."

Rooster narrowly dodged Maverick's hand that went to touch his arm and Maverick got the idea, clearing his throat.

"Let me take care of you, Roo. Why are you so stubborn?"

"It's a cold, I don't need taking care of!" Rooster yelled. Maverick finally caught him, wrapping an arm around Bradley's waist.

"Hey, look at me. Look at me, there you go. It's a cold, you're right, but if we don't nip it in the bud you'll only get worse. Have you taken anything, been drinking water?"

"No," Rooster admitted, even though he was still struggling against his father figure.

"I know you had to fend for yourself, y'know. After. But I'm here now."

Bradley's shoulders fell and he buried his head into Maverick's shoulder.

"My sinuses feel like they could explode."

"I know kid."

"And I have a headache like a motherfucker."

"Yeah, Roo."

"God, and there is snot everywhere-"

"-ah, yeah, including my shirt. Thanks, kid."

[one-boring-person]

Could you write something about Iceman and a reader who doesn't like Valentine's day please, I know you're a little swamped so no rush

I hope you like this!😊💛

Red Roses.

Tom "Iceman" Kazansky

Warnings: none

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day!😊💛💛💛

Masterlist

"I just don't see the point in caring, when there's nothing to care about!" I repeat myself for what feels like the hundredth time this week, turning and walking back up the corridor, away from my two companions.

"What do you mean "there's nothing to care about?" You could just enjoy the sentiment!" Slider argues back, he and Iceman following me up the corridor.

"Yeah, it's a good time to get wasted in the bar, if nothing else." The pilot chips in, making me roll my eyes.

"What, with all the happy couples around?" I scoff, waving them off, "Not for me."

"Why? What's wrong with happy couples?" Iceman questions, catching up to me with Slider in tow.

Groaning, I turn to them briefly, hoping my irritated expression will get them to leave me alone.

"Nothing, ok? Valentine's day just isn't my thing, so can we leave it at that, please?" I respond, trying my hardest to avoid looking too much at the blonde pilot in front of me, knowing I'll give myself away if I do.

"I guess." Slider replies, though he doesn't look too pleased about it.

Iceman only nods, watching me quietly as I turn and go back towards my room, glad that I have the next couple of days off for once.

*

Yet another cheerful-looking aviator steps past me in the corridor, a few roses in one hand, a card in the other, a nervous grin pushing at his lips as he nods at me. Returning the gesture, I try not to roll my eyes at the cliche of it all: doesn't anyone have any more original ideas than the red roses and soppy cards? 

Adjusting my uniform, I suppress the slight feeling of loneliness that has developed over the day, having witnessed many happy people receiving and giving Valentine's wishes, each person more joyful than the last. Both Maverick and Goose had made a loud point of showing their tokens off, especially when Slider had challenged them with a few of his own, having gotten more than one from the many girls he's spoken with in the surrounding area. It had been hard enough to avoid getting involved in the lead-up to this irritating tradition, and now that it is actually here it's even worse. Naturally, the commanders had been cynical about the whole thing, giving their best deadpan insults and witty remarks the entire time, making the day somewhat bearable, though there were of course some that couldn't hide the slight pride when they themselves received gifts from their own partners. Even going out on missions today was a trap of painful comments.

Now, however, as I find my way to my bunk room, I can feel the effects of the isolation I've put myself in, the generally low mood I've had all day finally starting to show for real. Watching some of the others has, for the first time, made me aware of some kind of emptiness within me, like a pit just waiting to be filled by the affection I've denied myself for years. I did my best to ignore it, but it's persistent, keeping me quiet and cold all day, as it usually does. 

Sighing, I shake my head of these thoughts, arriving outside my door, which I unlock quickly, going inside, into the comforts of my own familiarity. Closing the door behind me, I go straight to my desk, pulling open the drawer where I usually keep my supply of (technically forbidden) beers, only to groan to myself when I find it empty, having used them up last week, when I'd had a few of the other aviators over. Slamming the drawer, I mentally kick myself for not replacing them, going instead to flop onto the lower bed, sprawling across it with my eyes closed. 

My thoughts quickly stray to images of the one person I would actually be inclined to spend time with today: Iceman. 

The blonde pilot had received many cards and roses today, most of which came from anonymous admirers, though he had laughed them all off, stating clearly to me that they meant nothing. Surprisingly, I was more affected by these different tokens than I wanted to let myself believe; I was never one for jealousy, especially not for jealousy over a friend. In recent months, however, my attitude towards the pilot has become noticeably different to me. Inexplicably, I'd find myself spending more time with him, doing my best to impress him and make him smile or laugh, something that I've never done for anyone else. It wasn't long before I realised that I had, in fact, developed a crush on said pilot, though I did my absolute best to suppress it and get over him.

A knock at my door snaps me from my reverie, my body jolting as upright as I can in the confined space. 

Thinking I misheard it, I wait a couple of seconds, frowning when the knocking happens again. Shouting a quick "coming" to them, I get up and check my uniform, straightening it before going to the door. Hesitantly, I open it, looking out at the person standing there.

"Ice? What are you doing here?" I instantly question him, confused as to his presence - he and Slider had said they were going to the bar tonight.

The pilot smiles at me slightly, looking a little sheepish as he shifts where he's standing, his hands held behind his back.

"I came to see you. Figured you'd be on your own." He replies, grinning crookedly at me.

"Thanks." I roll my eyes at him, looking over him carefully, "What've you got with you?"

"Er, well I got you something." 

"You got me something? That better not be a red rose, Ice." I warn him, though I can feel my ears heating up at the thought.

Chuckling, he shakes his head.

"Don't worry, it's not."

"It's not?" I'm almost disappointed, but I don't let him hear it.

"No."

"What is it then?" 

Smirking, he takes his hand out from behind his back, brandishing a six-pack of beer cans, which he most definitely had to sneak in.

"Didn't think a rose would go down as well as these would." Is all he says, waiting for me to let him in.

"You're right." I grin, stepping aside to let him in, closing the door behind him, "Where's Slider? I thought the two of you were going to the bar?"

"Changed my mind. He's still gone, but I wanted to spend the night here, with you." Iceman explains, putting the beers down on my desk, before turning to face me and coming closer.

"But...why?" I ask, my face heating up at the turn of the conversation.

He shrugs, coming even closer to me, backing me into the wall, blue eyes trained on me with an intensity I've never seen before. As he nears, a smirk appears on his face, lips parting slightly as my back hits the wall, confusion and intrigue filling my body.

"Because," He murmurs to me, breath fanning out over my face, "I wanted to do this."

And with that, he's kissing me, mouth moulding perfectly to mine, hands going to my hips, pulling them into his own. Pressing his body flush against me, he smiles slightly as I kiss back, my own hands going up to wrap around his neck, holding him close as his lips move with mine. Almost seamlessly, he manages to slip his tongue out to trace my upper lip, a gasp escaping me as it lightly dips into my mouth, before it pulls back again, butterflies exploding in my stomach at the new sensation. His grip on my hips is tight, his fingers pressing into my skin slightly, drawing a groan from me. Swallowing the sound, he kisses me for a little longer, before pulling back for air.

"Happy Valentine's Day, (Y/n)." He mumbles, dipping his head back down to mine as he resumes the kiss, happiness flooding me as I return the gesture.

Maybe Valentine's Day isn't so bad after all.

[getitinbusan]

Only Love Can Hurt Like This -4

Im Jaebeom - Angst

Y/N doesn't want a relationship, especially not with an idol. Jaebeom only wants her.

Love after heartbreak and all the things that fall in between.

Angst, Cheating, Fluff, Smut

A new series inspired by lyrics, each chapter has a specific song that goes with it.

Chapter 1: Nice To Meet Ya

Chapter 2: Blood In The Cut

Chapter 3: Liability

Chapter 4:

Chapter 5: Only Love Can Hurt Like This

Chapter 4: That's Just The Way You Make Me Feel

You keep on asking me the same questions (why?)

And second guessing all my intentions

You've got the answers to my confessions

You know I love it, so please don't stop it

So real, so good, so fuckin' real

The way you make me feel Janel Monae. 

He knew he fucked up and he didn't know what to do about it. He'd finally made some headway and now he was back to square one. 

So, the next day he was back. Standing in front of your counter he held out a cup of Hotteok.

Before he could speak you jumped in, "See JB, the way this whole retail thing works is, you pick something you want that I'm selling, then give me money for it. Nowhere in the scenario do you bring me random shit just because."

Your eyes were red, he felt terrible, after only 2 conversations he'd already managed to hurt you. 

"It's not random shit, it's an apology. I'm sorry I drew attention to you last night." he paused, "you don't deserve to be attacked like that." 

You turned away trying to gain your composure, "The one thing I've learned through all this is to never apologize for showing your feelings. When you do, you're apologizing for the truth." 

You looked back, "I've never apologized for loving Yoongi, because it was real whether people want to believe it or not."

You sighed, "You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't put the target on my back JB it's been there a while, I'm just sad because now you've got one too." 

His heart sank when he realized that you weren't choosing loneliness to protect yourself, you were keeping your distance so he wouldn't get dragged into it. 

He placed his large hand over yours as it lay on the counter. "There's only one thing that's going to make me walk away from you." He tipped your chin so you were forced to look into his eyes, "Tell me you don't want me here." 

The door chimed, you were no longer alone.

"Like I said yesterday, it's bad business for me to chase away customers, stay as long as you want."

He smiled brightly, "That's not a no." 

Taking the Hotteok from the counter you were still unsure, but he was right, it wasn't a no. 

………………………

Standing at the bar in the exact spot you'd met him, you'd hoped he'd be here tonight. You felt like a desperate fool with a schoolgirl crush.

Three days had passed since you'd last seen him and despite your best efforts, you found yourself missing him. You hated the way your heart hurt, of course he'd given up why would this be a surprise? 

A hand reached around placing a drink on the bar in front of you. "You look like you could use this, still pining over Min Yoongi?" 

"Actually I'm waiting for a friend Minho." 

"I could be your friend tonight Y/N. I guarantee I can get you to stop thinking about him," he grabbed your ass. 

"No thanks, I don't think 5 minutes in your bed will change my world."

He grabbed the drink back, "No wonder he cheated on you, you're such a bitch." 

Dumb, Dumb, Dumb...you'd let your guard down and everything was feeling all too personal. Shooting back the last of your Soju you grabbed your jacket and made for the exit. 

"You're not leaving when I just got here?"

Your traitorous heart fluttered, "I didn't know I was supposed to be waiting." 

His grin got bigger, "Are you mad because maybe you actually missed me a little?"

Mad, sad, who could tell them apart anymore? 

"Yeah, actually I am and I'm livid with myself for it." 

He put his hand on your waist, "Hey, I'm sorry, I got called for re shoots."

His thumb rubbed over your hip soothingly, "I only have your work number...I just got back and I was hoping you'd be here" 

A voice shouted from across the bar "Don't waste your time on that one JB, come sit with us"   

You closed your eyes trying to keep the tears at bay, "You heard the man. I'm leaving anyway, I guess I'll see ya around."

Shooting a look at Minho he ran out the door to catch up with you. 

Standing at the curb waiting for a cab he reached his hand out to you. "I wanted to be with you tonight, and I'm pretty sure you wanted to be with me. It's still early, let's go somewhere okay, can we still do that?" 

Placing your hand in his, "Only if we're alone...and there's alcohol."

He smiled victorious, "I think I know a place." 

Walking up the crowded street you felt better, anonymous. He kept squeezing your hand making sure you hadn't slipped away.

"Right here," he stopped in front of a pink neon lit Karaoke Bar. 

"Karaoke? I think one of us has an extremely unfair advantage JB." 

"Don't worry I'll let you win." 

Stepping closer to him you kissed his cheek, "Why are you being so nice to me JB?" 

"Y/N, why do you keep questioning my motives?"

His hand ran up your arm, "I hate that you've been mistreated for so long that you don't realize what normal behavior is."

He held the door open for you, "How's a private room and bottle service sound?" 

................................

You consumed copious amounts of Grey Goose as you took turns performing for one another. What you lacked in vocal talent you made up for in your ability to mimic choreography.

"I think I've lost my voice," you shouted after your efforts to sing Itzy's Wannabe.

"I'm going to have to tell JYP about you, maybe with some training you can debut next year and come on tour with us," he laughed.

He queued up the next song, "Come here, I want to dance with you." 

You moved into his waiting arms and allowed yourself to surrender to his pursuits. His song came on and you laughed, "it's so cheesy Jaebeom-ah!" 

He sang anyway, 

Our love will lead the way for us

If the road ahead is not so easy

Like a guiding star

I'll be there for you if you should need me

You don't have to change a thing

I love you just the way you are

You let your head rest on his chest, his heartbeat was louder, more important than the words he was singing.

Glad he was holding you up, you felt a little drunk, a little in love and for once, you weren't going to stop yourself. 

He kissed the top of your head and held on a little tighter, "So does this mean you'll finally give me your number?"

You looked up at him nodding, locking eyes he moved slowly closer, lips almost touching ...until his phone went off.

He frowned, "Fuck, it's management. Sorry I've got to check in. Just stay in my arms ok?" 

"You're going to read texts over my shoulder? How romantic," you jibed, but you didn't break away. 

JYP: Dispatch has reached out to us for comment regarding a new dating scandal. They were tipped off that you were with Y/N at Cakeshop Night Club tonight and now they are outside of the Karaoke bar waiting for photos. We need to discuss your intentions immediately. A car will pick you up in 15 mins, wait inside for security. Do not leave the building together as it is still controllable speculation.

You could feel his body react to what he was reading, deep breaths, tensed muscles and finally pulling you in tightly. "What is it J?" 

"I've got to get you out of here, the press are outside" 

He handed you his phone, "add your number."

But JYPs text was still open and you saw every word.

You keyed in your info and switched it off before handing it back. 

You breathed deep, "You know, sneaking in and out of buildings is my specialty," You put your hand over his heart and gave a sad smile.

"Don't worry about me. I'm sure there's a back entrance, I'll just grab a cab home. If you go out the front they'll be too busy taking photos of you, they'll never notice me."

You tried to sound confident and uncaring so he'd do what was best but Jaebeom had his own plan. 

"Get your stuff, we're going out the front together." 

He pulled your hand through the bar and out the front door. Lights flashed as they took their photos for tomorrow's headlines.

Hailing a cab he leaned over and kissed your lips, "I'm going to call you as soon as I can okay?"

You weren't okay, your first kiss would be your last kiss. Your smile hid the stabbing pain in your heart, you knew it was over before it had started.

"Jaebeom," you called him back after he closed the car door behind you, "It's been a really great time."

He smiled and waved.

Getting into the companies blacked out Suburban he was happy, he was going to stand his ground.

He'd felt bad that your first kiss had been under these circumstances so he opened his phone to text you a quick apology.

Searching the contacts  he found your entry, "I'm sorry" with random numbers underneath. 

[transfaabulous]

Reasons to muzzle-train your non-violent dog

Muzzles aren't some sort of torture or punishment device, nor do they force the animal's mouth to remain completely shut at all times. They also don't stop barking, growling, or drooling. They're tools to help keep you, others, and your dog safe. With the right muzzle, your dog will still have full range of motion, and be able to eat and drink with ease. Here's my list:

Insurance: If you have a dog breed that's stereotyped as violent and aggressive, even if your dog is the sweetest thing in the world, making sure to muzzle train it, and ideally have it wear the muzzle whenever it's on walks and such, means that people can't accuse your animal of biting them. How could it? It had the muzzle on. What did the accuser do, shove their fingers into the mouth of a clearly muzzled animal?

Veterinary care: Even the best-behaved animal can get stressed at a vet clinic, and stressed animals are unpredictable animals. Even if you're absolutely certain your dog won't bite, having it wear a muzzle at the vet will provide extra security and make it easier to perform general wellness checks and other medical procedures. It also puts less stress on the vets and vet techs. (This applies to groomers as well!!)

Keeping others away: If you're out walking your dog, chances are that people are going to want to interact with it. And hey, that's fine! But maybe you're uncomfortable with that. Maybe your dog is terrified of these interactions. If your dog is a service animal, then it gets even more complicated, and actively dangerous, because others are distracting your dog from its job. If the animal has a muzzle on, people might decide that it's not worth it to go up to the dog in the first place, and assume it's unfriendly.

Future Issues: No matter how nice and sweet and gentle your dog is now, future trauma, injury, and neurodegenerative disorders are always possible, and can change your pet's response to stressors. This can make your pet far more aggressive than it naturally is. But if it's already tolerant of muzzles, then that will be extremely helpful in managing the behavior.

Self-Injury and Destructive Behavior: Even if your dog doesn't bite others, it can bite itself out of stress or compulsion, and also chew things you really don't need destroyed. Muzzling can keep dogs from engaging in a lot of destructive behaviors, just because it can't bite at things. It's not exactly an alternative to using a surgical cone, though; a dog can still rip out stitches with a muzzle, even if it can't chew at them.

Eating: Dogs eat all sorts of things they shouldn't. Depending on the muzzle and situation, you might opt for a closed-type muzzle, which doesn't obstruct breathing, but doesn't allow it to eat. Even with open-type muzzles, there's a limit to the kinds of things they can fit through the wires. Kibble and wet food? Yes. Grass, poop, twigs, small rocks, pieces of candy, marbles? Also yes. An animal, stick, wrought-iron fence post, goose down comforter? No.

If anyone has more to put here, then please add!! There's a ton of reasons to muzzle train a non-violent dog, and I'm sure I've only scratched the service. Muzzles aren't abusive! It's like crate training and leash training. They're just good skills for your dog to have.