#it's me and my thrifted fabric against the world

[oxbowreality]

on one hand, replacing the collection of polyester pjs I've been gifted over the years with natural fiber sleepwear would prevent me from overheating at night, thus reducing the amount of laundry I have to do each week. on the other hand, getting new clothes would use up new material. in your opinion, which of the following would be more environmentally friendly?

[shamanfox]

In a dimly lit room, where shadows stretched long and the air carried the faint scent of old books and forgotten dreams, there sat a man with a black hat. At first glance, the hat seemed unremarkable—a smooth, round brim, velvet-soft, shimmering faintly in the low light. Yet, for those who dared to touch it, it was a portal to something far deeper.

The man, his weary eyes betraying secrets long held, began his ritual. With deliberate care, he tore small scraps from an old notebook—each fragment a piece of his soul, a vessel for emotions he could no longer carry. His hands moved with the practiced grace of one who had long been familiar with the art of concealing pain. He folded each scrap meticulously, then dropped it into the hat.

Now heavy with the weight of unspoken words, the hat seemed to hum with a life of its own. It was no longer just a hat—it had become a universe unto itself, a swirling void where emotions tangled and unraveled, spinning in chaotic loops, seeking meaning amid madness.

The man’s gaze met mine, his eyes reflecting the depths of heartache and hope intertwined. “Go ahead,” he said, gesturing toward the hat. “Pick one.”

Though hesitant, I felt an undeniable pull. I reached into the hat, feeling its warmth, its almost living essence. My fingers brushed against the scraps, each one holding a story, a truth waiting to be unveiled. I pulled out a piece of paper, its texture intimate against my skin, like the caress of something ancient and knowing. The faint, sharp lead of its markings grazed my thumb, a quiet plea to be understood.

The man smiled, but it was no smile of joy—more a hollow grin, a void of understanding that dissolved into the shadows on the eastern wall. Outside, a streetlight filtered through my thrift-store curtains, casting eerie patterns that flickered with the night.

I closed my eyes, searching within, trying to unravel the meaning the paper held. In the depths of my mind, a fleeting whisper—a phantom BoJangles—urged me to see what was hidden before me, what I had missed. The scrap of paper was not to be read by my eyes; it was something far more profound. The ink had bled into my skin, its meaning flowing through my veins, merging with my being.

With a simple exhale, I released the message into the air. What had once been contained in that scrap of paper now expanded, filling the room, the night, the world beyond. It was no longer a mere word or feeling—it was truth itself, woven into the fabric of existence, carried on the wind of eternity.

The man and his hat had vanished, yet their presence lingered. I understood then that the emotions he had once borne were no longer his alone. They were shared, passed between us in silent understanding. Each breath, each exhale, a testament to the power of connection.

And in that moment, I realized that the scraps of paper had never been just fragments. They were pieces of a larger whole, a truth too vast for any one person to carry. As I breathed out, I became part of that story—a thread woven into a tapestry that had once been nothing, now transformed into something infinite.

[homiesondaweb]

I WROTE SOME HOBIE BACKSTORY FLUFF

Been writing too much angst lately🥲

anyway this is based of my previous head cannon on Hobie's siblings. Quick recap (might make a OC post about em) Hudson and Hendricks(yea name change) are the eldest twins about 12 years older than Hobie and are 21. Henry is in the middle he is 9 years older than Hobie, he is 18. Harley is only 5 years older and she is 14 going on 15 (she helps run the community garden). Hobie is 9!

I am Black but also an American from the midwest. So if I fuck up some of the UK vernacular or whatnot y'all can correct me in the replies or reblogs. If you see this fic floating on AO3 that is also me!

______________________

1966 Chevy C10 aka the ugliest truck known to fucking man aka Harley bedroom away from home. Given to her by her old dirt and hay supplier before he moved to Wales, the dark green vehicle that lives parked in their ground floor garage was her escape from a house full of her lanky and, damn-right charlie brothers. She has the bed of the truck softened with a scrap fabric mattress and tens of thrifted comforters and pillows. Her portable record player crones with a Betty Davis record riding the groove with a whining guitar. Harley uses a chunk of mirror propped against her stage trunk to watch herself as she sections her hair into lazy cornrows for the night.

The sky slowly crumbles into a sunset, unfurling into a cool moon, shifting the world to a soft grayscale and sepia. Streetlights outside the garage flicker on and the human officers switch their patrol lights to a slow strobing blue and yellow. Harley gives a big yawn that pops her jaw and hums along to the guitar's riffs. The sound rests really low in her throat, it nearly drowns out the sound of steel door creaking and small steps that padding in. The 14 year old pauses her humming and stretches over to see the interruption of her night routine.

It's shaped lika palm tree, outlined in muted pink with their bare feet slapping around on the cement. Sleepy gray eyes met hers before they lighten to hazel for a moment, then back to sleep gray.

"Comin' ta bed?" Hobie whispers, voice all low and raspy. Harley helps the wire of a little boy clamor over the raised gate, he settles his head on her shoulder after. She chuckles and smears some leftover mango butter on his nose before her hands are back in her head.

"Inna bit. Thought I might sleep down 'ere though. Let my Baney Bart lil brother have the whole bed. You've got ta start wearin' yer socks to bed, ice foot." Harley teases and Hobie whines, then snuggles against her side. 

Harley thought that now with Henry moving in with Rembrandt to the Canal flats would have given her the incentive to claim his room for her own and finally stop sharing both room and mattress with her baby brother. It wasn't easy though, ever since she came on the scene when the twins 7 and Henry was 5 the Brown siblings instinctively cuddled. Like cubs or kittens of some kind. 

Hudson and Hendricks would sleep on their stomach, shoulders piled on top of each other or an arm around the other's back. Henry uses somebody's calf as a pillow and his foot always ends up in Hudson's face. Harley found her spot cuddled over Henry's stomach and when baby Hobie joined the mix she always woke to her shoulder being smothered in his drool and soft snores. They were like cats in that way, if one sibling saw the other napping, they were gonna share that sleep.

It has peter off some, Henry started sleeping over in the art alley with his mandem. Hendricks working overnight security with Pa. Hudson staying with Imani more days out the week(they all wait for the couple to announce the true reason why she was getting rounder). Harley sleeps in the truck when her band mates  sneaks over after the city curfew because their fam is off it or someone is sick with radio or the flu.

But even with growing apart. A cuddle wassa cuddle and baby Hobie was gonna get his full of them. Of course Harley was still gonna share a bed with her little Barty when requested. Hobie starts to fade down to their true colors as sleep wraps him up, 

"Oi! No sleep yet lil boy. Gotta put the 'fro up." She whispers tugging at the puff on the top of his head. Hobie grumbles, going cut yellow with crankiness. Harley counters it with a pink kiss to the top of his head and lets the stocking-band out that release his coils. Hobie blinks blearly in his slumped sit as Harley sloppily parts then flat twists them down into four rows. He gives a little sigh at the cool feeling of mango butter to his scalp but grumbles when she ties a scarf over them. Harley chuckles as she releases his ears from under it and scoots the front back. 

They both know that damn scarf will be half way across the room and on the floor with her bonnet by morning. He cuddles into the front of her, stuck lika kola instead of a boy, smushing his face to her shoulder. Harley rubs his back and hums out the Buddy Miles intro that is stuck in her head as she feels around for her phone. Hobie blinks again as he watches her raise the antenna on top of it then pop in the code for someone. It rings loudly and they both wince before she lowers the volume and tilts the antenna to the right. 

"Headin' ova?" She asks and a voice hums a soft no. Hobie sighs, that was Donovan.

"Dottie and Kirt's gots lead or radio. Feelin' weak me-self, keepa eye on ya water, yeah? Think OsCo is doin' flushes again." He warns softly.

Harley tenses at that. She sits back some and uses her free hand to inspect Hobie's face. She blinks hard and they both revert to true colors. All warm brown skin, black hair and steely eyes. She gives a sigh of relief at seeing that the whites of his eyes as fine, not any spots of yellow. No dryness to his pallor, just sleepy.

"Where you in the fountains today?" She asks and Hobie shakes his head.

"Wit Pa tuday." He mumbles to her, she lets him relax back and resumes petting his back.

"Thanks for the heads up Vonnie. I'll come by wit some bone soup and a filter from Hud in the mornin'. 

"You're a dove Harles. Oíche mhaith a chroí." 

Hobie gives a fakes gag as Harley blares pink then clovers sketches, Gaelic love poems and the expert of Romeo and Juliet having it off etch over her skin in cursive for a moment before she simmers back to sepia.

"Bon lannwit, Mon kè." She says back and hangs up. Harley stashes her phone back under the mattress before turning off her record player. With a practiced ease she carefully slides Betty Davis back into the paper sleeve, then lays the mirror chunk down on a quilt.

"Ann kouche, pinèz." Harley yawns and clamors out the truck bed with Hobie still clinging to her. They make their way up to the flat and to their room. Hobie is nothing but soft breath so it startles Harley when he speaks.

"You gonna live wit Donovan one day? Like Henry and Huddie?" Hobie asks. Harley kisses his cheek and lays them down in bed. She lights a lavender incense cone, then pops it in the holder.

"Maybe one day."

"Gonna marry 'em?"

"Can't get married. He's too Irish. Laws will bang us."

"You don't care." Hobie giggles and Harley smiles real big at that.

"Who said me and Van ain't gonna bang the laws back bruv? Don't worry bout it Barty Bug." She tells him when she lays down fully and loops an arm around his shoulders, Hobie puts his head over her heart.

"You gonna runaway? You two go off?"

Harley hums.

"Where imma go, bug?" 

"... Cuba or Panama, like uncle."

"Too much sun for Donovan. He'd cook."

"Uhm… Canada. Like Erika's family?"

"Too cold. I'd freeze to death."

Hobie pouts at this point, turning into her elbow so he doesn't have to see the sleeply mirth in his older sister's eyes. Her black nails gently grasps his jaw and turns his face back to her. The both flare into blue and black ink and mapwork.

"What's with the questions. You think imma leave, love?"

Hobie nods in embarrassment but softens as Harley kisses his forehead.

"Not without you buggy. Same things goes for Hudson, Hendricks, and Henry. Same thing for Ma and Pa. No way I'm leavin' you even if the Queen, her corgis and the PM demanded it. Even if Von proposed right here. Which is stupid I'm 14, he's 15 and we've had lead poisoning on and off since we was little. So don't worry about Cuba or Canada, hell even Wales. I'm your big sister, we are Browns and some right punks. Labels are nothing but when you put in the care and obligations that comes with the title. Well, you're pretty fulfilled by em. And that means we stick together always. And care for each other always. So don't you worry your head about my crush. Don't worry about seeing my back out the door." 

Hobie just snuggles her closer at that. Harley chuckles and cuddles back. 

If there's one thing Hobie believes in, without a question,  it is his sister.

-----

Oíche mhaith a chroí = Irish Gaelic - Goodnight, my dear

Bon lannwit, Mon kè = Haitian Creole - Goodnight, my heart

Ann kouche, pinèz = Haitian Creole - Let's go lie down, Bug.

[pinkacademic]

Mature PA Fashion Archetype: The Editor

Considering some of my inspiration was 13 going on 30, I don't know if this is "Mature" but we vibe!

The Editor, inspired by The Devil Wears Prada, Ugly Betty, and 13 Going On 30. Of course, this is inspired by the fashion girly dreams of “the Chanel boots” like either Andy Sachs of Luke Skywalker, to your preference. But the fashion world is evolving to include new names, and the fashion girlies online are thrift-flipping queens. My goal is to balance both. You know this one is long because I actully remembered the Keep Reading for once:

Thrifty Girly

Slipdresses, camisoles, sleepwear as daywear- I’m not breaking new ground by pointing this one out, but the silky, sexy styling of a nightgown can range from Kate Bush- who has had a resurgence since last year- to Andy Sachs. If you were a stan of Ashley AKA bestdressed a few years ago, then you’ll know how cute these are.

Contrast. Combine garments regrdless of the gender that its intended for, wear princessy, fluffy skirts with a harness and combat boots, and clash your patterns against each other. The way to go is my making something about the outfit uniform to keep it cohesive, typically a colour-scheme.

Flipping- thrift-flips involve a bit of craftiness- take that plain t-shirt for 50p and some fabric markers, embroidery thread, patches, etc. Take a dress you like in at the waist, crop a men’s blazer etc. The key is finding what you like and perfecting it to your taste.

Emulating Designers

An article by JD Institute of Fashion Technlogy called the following the Top 10 Fashion Designers of All Time, so I picked 5 examples from that list! These aren’t necesarily my favourites, they were just a reference point.

Coco Chanel: to me, a Chanel look is black and white, potentially with a vibrant, candy-coloured pastel here or there, but I always think of black and white. Details include pearls, especially pearl buttons, a quilted bag, perhaps a bow, and the interlocking Cs.

Calvin Klein: I think of Back to the Future before I think of anything else, and I’m not a £50 t-shirt person… BUT, to emmulate Calvin Klein, you’ll need good quality denim, and a crisp, clean, probabaly white t-shirt. The style is very much basics, so to make it stand out without the branding, you’ll need them to be good-quality and well-fitting.

Donatella Versace: The New Arrivals section on the website is covered in slashes- all along the sides on some garments, across the chest in others- or deep cowls- like, to the navel. Cut-out details can be emmulated as modestly as a simple cold-shoulder, or go all the way. A deep V can go as high or as low as you like. I’m seeing mostly black, with some purple and bright pink.

Ralph Lauren: I think of a very preppy, classic, menswear look when I think of Ralph Lauren. This is what you wear to play golf on a superyacht, or whatever it is that rich people do… strong-coloured linen shirts, navy and white, and I’m seeing so many stong-contrasting stripes. I’m also seeing a lot of leather braided belts, which might not be the first thing you think of, but it adds to the nautical vibes.

Christian Dior: Dior invented the New Look, so you know that’s where I’m going on. That original outfit consisted of a long black skirt to the mid-calf and a white blazer that tapered in at the waist. You need that fifties dream skirt to really go classic, and I think to this day the deliver dresses that emphasise an hourglass shape.

[alienskyler1]

yeah, i think you shouldn't feel guilty for buying anything from thrift stores over the idea that someone else might have needed the item more the thing is, thrift stores get more clothes donated to them than they can ever hope to sell unfortunately some people donate really gross stuff that the employees just have to throw away and are not paid enough to deal with but the stuff you see on racks at thrift stores, i can't remember what the statistic was but no more than a certain percentage (maybe 60%? unless i was getting it mixed up with how much stuff is thrown out) is sold, a lot goes to landfills or gets shipped to developing countries, which sounds charitable but actually really harms the people there with Goodwill, stuff that stays in a store unsold for several months goes to a Goodwill Outlet (where everything is in bins and sold by the pound, fun place to go if you are lucky enough to have one near you) before being tossed (and yeah i know Goodwill is a pretty shitty company in a lot of ways and exploits disabled people, but in a lot of places it is hard to find any other thrift stores, and i think it is important to weigh against the harms of buying new clothes and the fact that a lot of corporations selling new clothes are also shitty) so given the reality of how thrift stores work, i think buying clothes from thrift stores is in general pretty good or at least not bad, given how much stuff there winds up in landfills or worse it could be considered objectively helpful to buy anything you want from there, though in that light i would also feel that it is better to avoid donating your old clothes to thrift stores unless you would have otherwise thrown them in the trash AND they are in good enough condition that someone could conceivably enjoy wearing them (if you donate clothes that are super gross and worn out they will just get thrown out and it will create more work for employees and in that case it is better to just throw them out yourself, and it is insulting to think some imaginary poor person would be grateful to have something in that bad of a condition) i prefer to give clothes i don't want or don't fit me anymore to people i know or trans clothing exchanges when i can and i am increasingly trying to alter clothes i already own, especially stuff that i don't wear much because it's too boring, or stuff that is too small for me i have been altering and adding extra fabric panels to to make them fit me better post-weight gain if you have a clothing item that you really aren't wearing then it's fine to cut it up or alter it, and even if you fail, it's not a net loss, there are more clothes in the world than anyone needs and unfortunately a lot of them are made to not last but made out of stuff that won't biodegrade to be fair i'm not going to be super judgemental about buying new clothes either just because the system is so fucked i don't believe my actions are making a difference, i only continue to do them because it feels right to me and that makes me happy and i need that happiness but shopping at thrift stores isn't stealing from people who need them more i do hate how thrift storees have become inreasingly gentrified and inaccessible to poor people and that is kind of a separate issue and there are complicated reasons for it but people misunderstand thrift stores sometimes, a lot of them are run by charities, but the charity aspect isn't providing cheap clothes to poor people, it is selling clothes people donate to them and using the money from that for the charity, whether it's an animal shelter or whatever so please do not feel guilty about shopping at thrift stores with the intention of cutting stuff up, or about cutting up your own old clothes instead of giving them to some imaginary hypothetical person if you are worried about "ruining" stuff, for one thing there is value in the learning experience, but also you could practice some techniques on clothes in really bad condition that need to be thrown away, or buy ugly t-shirts with words on them that no one is going ot want at thrift stores to practice techniques on before moving on to actually good clothes

logically I know that a cool and simple way to do Punk Fashions is to go buy something from a thrift store and modify it/add patches/do what I want

but also

i feel bad???? going to thrift stores and taking stuff??? like what if someone else who liked the item as is/needed said item more than me misses out because I wanted to buy a jean vest to beat up and do bad first-timer embroidery and patches on

[salt-baby]

tw/cw for a barely visible depiction of injuries, and use of the c slur in a discussion about cpunk ideology, as well as a picture of the full word

someone asked to see more of my patches and I am always happy to talk about my patch jacket!

for me my patch jacket is a sort of defense against a conformist world, and I choose my patches based on what will make me feel unashamed and brave. I specifically wanted to avoid adding patches just so other people will know what I believe in, so there aren't a ton of non-disability political patches. I tend to deliberate those very carefully, and until I'm sure I've done my research on where my place is as an advocate for those causes, I hesitate to make patches for them.

although denim jackets or pants are traditional, I wanted this to be a piece of clothing I would actually love wearing, and sweatshirts agree with my sensory issues way more. punk isn't really about tradition or uniformity anyway! (it's also traditional to not wash these, and I absolutely wash this, albeit carefully)

the base is a thrifted champion black sweatshirt that had holes in it, and the patch fabric is mostly black denim from some thrifted Levi jeans. I use apple barrel brand acrylics and sometimes a quilters pencil - most patches are just two coats of white paint. I use dollar store dental floss for all the sewing, and I found a black charcoal dental floss that I used for the sew on spikes. protip- if you knot your floss into the fabric every couple of spikes, then if the floss breaks only a few spikes will fall off.

I wanted the jacket to open in the front and to be longer, so I cut down the front and used a whipstitch the finish the raw edges and pockets. I also cut it under the armpits and added some t-shirt fabric (again with a whipstitch), which was the first place to get reinforced with patches. any holes were sewn up first with dental floss then covered with a patch.

this is the hood, which I lined with the sew on spikes and wanted to cover in eyes, to sort of stare back at the strangers that stare at me. my favorite is the biohazard eye! I've been really loving the biohazard symbols recently.

this is my cripple punk patch! I know it's not very readable but I tried! the safety pin next to it has energy drink pop tabs - evidence of my vices, the ways I fail to meet the standard of the "good cripple". I'm no less deserving of respect even if I use energy drinks, even if I smoke, even if I use harder drugs.

this is the sunflower patch, on my shoulder! this was made by using two layers of white acrylic then two layers of color - the lighter areas are one layer. sunflowers are symbols of hidden disability, and I've really identified with them! it's a pretty, subtle way to indicate my chronic illness.

this was the first patch - the one that started it all. it's a copy of the local hospitals COVID screener sticker, which I get every time I go for a doctor's visit. it's another one of those symbols of disability that I'm sometimes uncomfortable with, and making this patch helped me reclaim it.

this is a set of three patches, which help reinforce the jacket extension! I'm really passionate about this topic. I think that inherently, society teaches us inequality, and it's very very important to unlearn that hierarchy and do your best to use your privilege to level it. I may be in a disadvantaged group because of my disability, but I still have plenty of other privileges that I was born with, which I need to be aware of.

for me my patch jacket has been really empowering to make, and I feel much more confident wearing it. I often wear it to doctors visits or hospitals, although I often put something over it. I know before starting it I was really worried that people would consider me a poser or harass me or that I might "do it wrong", but I've had no issues with that! it's also a really quick project to make progress on, and dental floss is really easy to sew with. I think that if you feel this kind of expression would help you, you should absolutely go for it.

[maedesculpaeusoubi]

All Along the Watchtower | s. f. kiszka

Word count: +1.6k

Content warning: kinda fluffy (hopefully, I tried my best), gn reader but yn wears a dress (not really a warning but ya never know) vague mentions of being in lockdown, brief mention of sex, marijuana use, close to no dialogue, sammy with a beard and moustache bc im weak

A/n: this is 100% self-indulgent sorry not sorry also im rusty so all kind of feedback is welcome and appreciated<3

It was a particular cold night in Nashville when Sam finally arrived home; the boys had gotten on tour last month, but due Josh catching a cold, and Jake suddenly falling ill with pneumonia, the boys had decided it was in everyone’s interest to cancel the upcoming shows.

After all the world went through the past few years, finally having the opportunity to hit to road again was like a sense of normalcy coming back. The four midwestern boys were thrilled to perform the masterpieces they had been working on during this crazy period in their lives; thrilled to be able to share their love and passion for their craft with their audience, to be able to reconnect with their fans face-to-face after so much time.

But as much as Sam loved what he did for a living, he wasn’t opposed to the idea of going back home for a few weeks, back home to you. Having growth accustomed to having you by his side almost twenty-four-seven, saying goodbye at the airport was agonizing to him; but now he was finally where his heart yearned to be.

As soon as he got the front door open and stepped inside your shared home, he threw his luggage, shoes and socks at the entrance, not caring much for the fact he was making a mess when he had much more important things on his mind.

He could hear the faint sound of some classic rock song coming from the living room, probably the place he’d be able to find you best. It was easily your favourite room in the house; the dark green walls that contrasted so beautifully with the dark wooded floor, and the mismatching carpets you thrifted with Sam last year were some of the things you loved most about it.

It didn’t take long for his eyes to find your figure on the couch. The soft, warm light the side lamp casted upon you nearly took his breath away; the way the mellow hue of orange illuminating the side of your face as your attention was on a book you held in hands. You were wearing one of his shirts, just a simple white button-up probably made out of linen. It was one of his favourites on you, the fabric reaching the beginning of your thighs and the first few buttons undone never failed to drive him crazy. He made sure his phone was on silent when he took a picture of the masterpiece in front of him before softly calling your name.

Never in all those years by your side had he seen you move your head that fast. The book you had been reading for hours was quickly forgotten and thrown on the floor before you hastily stood up. You weren’t able to hide your big eyes as you approached him before squeezing your arms around his body with such a force that didn’t only surprise him. It hadn’t been that much time since you last saw each other, but God, did it feel like an entire life time.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming today,” you softly spoke as you ran your nose along the soft skin between his neck and shoulder. The unmistakably Sam scent hit your nostrils and the feeling of finally being home warmed your heart to no end.

“I wanted to surprise my girl,” he whispered back to you. One of his hand played with the ends of your hair, even having missed the unpleasant feeling of your dry ends hitting his face during the nights his body would be glued to yours. “I missed you so much, darling.”

Sam’s hands moved from his hips up to your cheeks, squishing them together. His lips opened in a goofy, enamoured smile before they crashed against yours for the first time in weeks. “You have no idea how much I missed you.”

It had been a few good hours since Sam had gotten home now. You asked about the most memorable moments he’d experienced on tour so far while braiding his hair and he made sure to mention all the small details. He cuddled with you on the sofa while you told him about the commission you had been working on and the nice botanical garden you visited with some friends recently.

The burning need to be close to one another became such, the existence of the bed upstairs slipping both your minds. Longing stares and kisses had been shared ever since he so softly said your name all those hours ago, but the yearning for each other only diminished after the third round, not even fifteen minutes ago.

Sam had gotten up to get a damp towel to clean you up and get you something else to wear; his white button-up you had been wearing all day had gotten soiled during the second round.

You were laying on the floor, the soft material of the carpet brushed softly against the skin of your back. The warmth emanating from the fireplace embraced your body almost in the same way Sam’s body would under the covers of your bed.

Sam had taken an sudden interest to the book you were reading before his sudden return home made you thrown it blindly to the floor. Picking up the book, he sat on the couch and began reading the synopsis on the back. He hadn’t read the book before and he didn’t know the author at all, but he remembered some parts you read to him during one of your late night calls.

Your seemingly sleeping figure suddenly moved, taking Sam’s attention away from the book back to you. The soft glow of the fireplace reflected on the white silky material of your strap dress in a way that he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander adoringly at the sight in front of him.

A lighter and the clay ashtray he made for your birthday last year were placed closed to your head, where he had put it right before going upstairs to get you something clean to wear. The music emitting from your phone combined with the way you were laying there on your side, right hip digging into the carpet and torso slightly curved to his direction, the dress hugging your figure in a way that made your ass stand out – that whole image made him dizzy with love.

He wasn’t big on posting about your relationship on the internet, preferring to keep the special moments you two shared between you and the people he loved and trusted the most, far away from possible malicious comments. But every once in a while, in moments like this, he couldn’t help but want to share the love he felt for you with the rest of the world.

Sam looked around for his phone, finding it under a pillow next to him. He opened up his camera and dragged his finger across the screen to lower the contrast, adding to the cosy winter vibes he was going for.

The guitar solo emitting from your phone faded away slowly as he captured the moment. Your hand reached next to you and Sam’s heart warmed at the sight in front of him. Your fingertips found what they were looking for and you took the joint from its resting place and propped it between your lips before reaching for the green lighter next the ashtray. The same guitar chords slowly faded back in, filling Sam’s ears and making him realise it wasn’t the second time he heard it that night.

“Is All Along the Watchtower by Hendrix your new obsession?” He joked in a soft tone. He was still filming the sight in front of him and didn’t want his voice to cover the song. He was conscious enough to make sure he wasn’t filming in a weird angle but his mind was also partly elsewhere, stuck in some kind of weird limbo of adoring thoughts of you and possible Instagram captions for when he’d decide to post the video later on.

“It’s so good, I swear he put crack in it.” You joke before taking a hit of the joint. Now facing the ceiling, you released the smoke. “I’m definitely obsessed with it, but not as much as I am with the feeling of your beard scratching the insides of my thighs.”

This made Sam choke on his own spit and quickly lock his phone – he was planning on posting the video on his Instagram, just a glimpse on your relationship, to demonstrate all the adoration and love he felt for you. (One of the best musicians to have walked this earth playing from your phone, his very own definition of perfection wearing an almost see-through dress and enjoying the warmth coming from the fireplace – how could he not share that?) He wasn’t expecting the answer you had given him and it had messed him up more than he would ever care to admit.

“You will be the death of me, I swear.” Sam shook his head slowly, eyes closed but with his lips forming a growing smirk. “I hope you’re ready for round four, darling, because I’m not done with you yet.”

“Are you going to fuck me to the sound of Jimi Hendrix?” Your head lulled to the side, innocent looking eyes fully trained on him.

Sam wasn’t sure how, but your eyes sparkled like a VVS diamond ring, even with no light whatsoever reflecting in them. The way they roamed across his face, hanging around his lips before slowly drifting down made his jaw go slack and his mouth drool with want.

“I hope you’re ready for rounds four and five, sweetheart.” He spoke in a low tone. “I’m nowhere near done with you.”

[thechangeling]

But you like her better: Part 2

Sorry it's been a minute! I hope you like it.

Cw: Some brief ableism, mentions of internalized biphobia, and self injurious stimming.

2013

It was raining when 16 year old María Machado Sotomayor first met Kit Herondale.

Marí had always loved the sound of the rain. It was peaceful and rhythmic, creating a nice tingly feeling in her skull running straight down her spine. It also good for the plants. Which meant that Marí arrived (on time for once) at her favorite class in a pretty good mood.

Marine biology was their one of their three special interests, the other two being lacrosse and Base guitar. So Bio was usually pretty fun for them. However this time was different.

Her mood was instantly dampened when she walked into class and saw someone new sitting in her usually seat. A blond, short and white kid who looked far too pretty for his own good. A new kid most likely.

A new kid who didn't realize that Marí always sat by the window every single day. It was their spot. Still Marí was determined not to overreact. They marched over to the new kid  and approached him with their best masking smile.

Remember eye contact. She told herself. Keep your tone light and breezy but not too lifeless. Smile. Appear friendly and non threatening. Try not to sweat. Try not to scream.

"Hi excuse me," Marí began in a sickly sweet tone. "That's actually my seat! Sorry!"

The boy instantly looked embarrassed and apologetic. "Oh I'm sorry!" He blushed. "I didn't realize there was assigned seating." He had an American accent, California maybe?

Wonderful. A white American boy. Just what they needed.

Marí chewed their lip and fought the urge to rock or tap. "There isn't actually," they admitted. "I just usually sit there. So can you please move?"

Now the new kid looked a little offended. A cold look settled over his face. "Well why should I?" He bristled. "This seat isn't really yours. It's not like it has your name on it."

Marí rolled her eyes in frustration. "I tried that already but then I got in trouble."

He stared at them curiously for a moment. Marí took the opportunity to break eye contact finally and scuff their heel against the floor. They were wearing the new black suede chunky heels with the gem stones that Marí had gotten when they went thrifting with their friends.

"María!" The harsh voice of her teacher snapped her back into reality. Everyone had arrived and taken their seats while she was arguing with the American and now everyone was staring at her. "Could you please explain why you are not seated young lady?" She snapped in her extra pretentious sounding posh English accent.

The one that said, "I'm better than you."

Marí tried not to growl at being called a young lady. They weren't feeling particularly female today. Not that Marí was going to bother explaining that to some old British hag.

"He won't get out of my seat!" Marí protested. Instantly laughter broke out around the classroom. Cruel mocking laughter that made Marí feel like her skin was crawling.

"It's ok!" The new kid cried out, practically jumping out of Marí's seat. "I'll move! I'll go sit over here." He grabbed his bag and moved to the back of the room as quickly as possible.

Marí smiled in spite of themself. His random act of kindness was surprising, but they were grateful. They took their seat near the window and sighed in relief.

Marí would always look back on that day with fondness no matter what. It may not have seemed like much to him, but it meant the world to her. After Bio class she had asked Kit to come eat with her and her friends. They had made their introductions and the rest was history.

They became close friends very quickly, bonding over movies and music. They sent each other playlists of their favorite songs and songs that reminded them of each other. Marí made Kit a queer playlist with songs by queer artists and told Kit that they were bisexual and a demigirl. They hadn't even told their friends that last part yet at that point.

Marí also told Kit that they liked to use she/they pronouns, but so far was only using them online. Kit asked Marí a lot of questions then confessed to Marí that he was also bisexual but he was still kinda getting used to it.

"I grew up in a shitty situation," Kit had told them. "I guess I still have a lot of shame."

Marí didn't hold it against him. She bought him queer literature and resources for queer history including "Bisexuality and Queer Theory" and her printed copy of the article published in the 90s called "The Bisexual Manifesto." She gave him advice on websites and people to follow online.

They also just talked. Talked about life and their experiences. Their feelings and their relationships with their sexualities. Bonding with another queer person was always special but spending time with Kit always made Marí feel so...light.

Despite how close they were getting, Marí didn't always want to touch him. They were touch averse in most cases unless they were very comfortable with someone. Sometimes it just depended on the day. On the days where Marí found they could not hug Kit they had invented their own way to show affection.

They would place a hand over their hearts and tap it, as if to say "I care about you" or "I love you." Sometimes Kit would say "tap my heart" as a substitute for actually doing it.

He introduced her to his close friend Janessa, the wayward vampire who was incredibly hot and kind of made Marí all nervous and tounge twisty at first. But as they got to know her, Marí realized that she was also incredibly kind, passionate and clearly cared at great deal about Kit. Janessa was a gamer who had named herself after a video game character. She drank cups of warm blood in novelty mugs with giant swirly sparkly straws and was pretty good at making people laugh.

Janessa, or Nessie as Kit had affectionately nicknamed her, was flirtatious and charismatic, but also brutal and deadly in a fight. She was full of surprises. And maybe, just maybe Marì was a little bit into that.

However as much as Marí didn't want to admit it, they were also were starting to realize that they were way more into someone else. Someone with perfect golden curls that Marí wanted to curl their fingers into.

Eventually Kit came out to Marí as genderfluid and requested that she use alternating he/they pronouns for them. They both made the decision to collectively tell their friends their pronouns. Marí, Kit and Nessie sat around her gorgeous leather couch and talked for hours about gender, identity and transness. Kit pointed put that they may never be able to fully explain their gender to the other two, just like Kit might have a hard time fully understanding Janessa's relationship with gender, or Marí's because everyone was different.

"It's personal Nessie," he had said. "Everyone has their own unique perspective on gender and every trans person has their own complicated feelings about gender and what their own gender identity means to them, and those feelings might not completely match up with another trans person's. But that's ok. You don't have to understand the other person but you do have to respect them."

Janessa's understanding of gender came from being a trans women. It was about a strict  binary with clear lines and rules. Rules that Kit was starting to make a habit of fingerpainting all over and Marí could tell that it was stressing her out.

And Marí had no idea where the hell they fit in these rules. They had stopped playing the game.

But those two loved each other more than anything, and Marí knew they could work anything out. And sure enough approximately seven hours and four margaritas later (only two for Marí,) they had come to an understanding.

2014

She kissed Kit for the first time a month into the new year.

They had been trying on clothes in Marí's room and Kit was wearing one of their old dresses that Marí thought they looked amazing in, but Kit wanted to give it away. It was dark navy blue and sparkly with spaghetti straps, coming to about mid thigh. There were cut outs on the sides, filled in with black sheer fabric, and it had a low v cut at the neckline which was also filled in with black sheer.

Kit had been infodumping about one of the Marvel movies again, Marí couldn't remember which one, and she had kept getting distracted by his tan smooth skin peaking through the sheer fabric and fullness of Kit's moving lips. He smiled excitedly and Marí had stepped forward and kissed him.

Their first thought was that Kit tasted like chocolate. Their second was that they should have done this months ago.

Kit had melted into the kiss, smiling slightly against her mouth and pulling her closer. They kissed her feverishly, sliding their tounge inside Marí's mouth and moaning when she deepened the kiss eagerly. They moved against each other with almost lazy, comfortable precision, kissing each other for what could have been hours or days or maybe only seconds.

Marí couldn't have said.

When Kit finally broke the kiss and pulled away from Marí, his eyes were practically gleaming with joy and love. And that was when they knew.

I love him.

2015

I love him.

Ty's words ran in her ears. Repeating over and over again, maddenly bouncing around inside of her skull until she was forced to utter out loud,

"I love him".

They whispered it under their breath but Marí could tell that both Alyssa and Ty had heard them. It was so quiet you could probably hear a pin drop.

But of course. Of course he does. It was obvious. This whole time Marí had noticed there was something wrong with Ty. Just like there was something wrong with Kit. The way they stared after each other when they thought the other one wasn't looking. The loving and worshipful glances mixed with the bitter glares.

Marí had already known that Kit was in love with Ty of course. But the way they had told the story made it seem like they were positive that Ty couldn't be in love with them.

But then again maybe that made sense. Given Kit's history and who he was. But then Marí couldn't help but think of Ty and how confused he must have been. God it was a giant mess.

Speaking of...

The room was still silent. Marí found that she couldn't read Ty's expression as he stared back at her flatly. But his body was shaking, his fingers fluttered at his sides. She wanted to soothe him.

They stepped forward carefully. "I'm not mad at you," Marí assured him. "I was hoping we could talk?"

Ty's left eye twitched. "We are talking," he pointed out. Alyssa snorted.

"Ty, they mean about the proverbial bomb you just dropped a few seconds ago," Alyssa said with a laugh.  Marí smirked to themself slightly.

It wasn't really a bomb. More like a flare.

She really needed to talk to Ty. The only problem was Alyssa had an annoying tendency to never leave his side. It wasn't like she had a problem with the girl. Of course not. But her presence meant that Marí hadn't had the opportunity to talk to Ty one on one.

They cleared their throat. "Alyssa could you please give Ty and I some space to talk?" They asked. Marí hoped they didn't sound too rude. Alyssa looked to Ty and he nodded slightly, signaling that he was ok with her leaving.

That was so strange to Marí. Their relationship. The way Alyssa, a werewolf who hated shadowhunters even more then Marí did, essentially took orders from him and clearly trusted him more than anyone else. But perhaps she wasn't one to judge.

After all, she loved Kit.

Alyssa left the room with a pat on Ty's back and a quick, "call if you need me." Marí shifted their weight back and forth as they rocked slightly from side to side as they waited for Ty to speak.

He stared back at her silently, most likely doing the same. Marí blew out a loud breath and forced herself to stay still, crossing her arms.

"Are you going to say something or should I?" Ty asked expectantly. Marí bit their lip and shrugged.

"I'm still thinking of what I wanna say," she admitted.

Ty smiled at her softly. "So am I."

There we go. Cracks in the armour.

"I'm sorry," Ty whispered suddenly. "I never meant to-"

"You don't have to apologize!" Marí blurted out. Whoops they had interrupted him. "Oh shit sorry you were still talking!" They reached for their hair nervously and realized that they were wearing that Morticia wig for their costume.

Great. Marí moved on to chewing on her knuckles.

"It's ok," Ty reassured her. "I don't really know where I was going with that sentence. And you shouldn't do that." He pointed to her hand.

Marí scoffed, "yeah well you shouldn't dig your nails into your palms." He glared at them and they laughed.

"Not so fun playing a game of Mirror Image is it?" They teased. Ty didn't respond, just stared at Marí solemnly.

"You know I really admire you," he said, aiming his gaze close enough to hers to create the illusion of eye contact. "I always have. I never wanted to hurt or upset you."

Marí wished for a brief moment that they could touch him and then shrugged the impulse off. "I know love," they cooed. "Me too."

Without really understanding why, she pressed her hand to her chest directly above her heart and tapped, just like how she did with Kit. Ty studied Marí for a moment and then followed suite.

Marí in spite of themself, actually felt bad for him. They could clearly see the toll the last three years had taken on him, specifically the last few weeks. Maybe his family couldn't see it, and they definitely knew that Kit couldn't, but Marí could.

Marí of all people could see past the mask because they knew what masking looked like. It wasn't just about appearing normal, whatever that word meant. It was about hiding your feelings. Taking that heart you wore on your sleeve and locking it up tight. But everytime Marí looked at Ty, they could see it. And it was bleeding.

Ripped and bloody and broken, just like her own and yet they both still had the sheer audacity to keep breathing. Marí was proud of them both.

"You need to talk to him," Marí prompted. "You both need to be honest with each other."

Ty furrowed his brow. "Honest? About what? He doesn't feel the same way." He had gone back to flicking his fingers as he stared at her, looking puzzled.

Bloody hell between the two of them, Kit and Ty were giving Marí the mother of all headaches.

They took a deep breath. "Yes they do Ty," Marí tried not to sound exasperated. "Kit is in love with you, believe me. They told me."

It hurt Marí's heart to have to say it, but it was true and Ty deserved to know the truth. And they knew deep down that Kit wouldn't really be happy, he wouldn't be Kit until he had Ty. And Marí had to make their peace with that.

Ty looked understandably confused. He ran a frantic hand through his hair. "But why are you telling me this? Why are you helping me?" He asked. "Don't you love them?"

She fought the urge to cry as tears gathered in her eyes. She found herself digging her nails into her palms despite chastising Ty for doing it a few minutes ago.

"I'm telling you all of this because I love them" she cried desperately. "Because Kit cries out your name in his sleep Ty! Because everytime he sees you, he stares at you like you are the moon the sun and the stars! Because everytime you speak they hang onto absolutely every word, and when you laugh-" Marí cut herself off.

They squeezed their eyes shut and took deep long breaths. Ty said nothing. Marí opened their eyes to see Ty staring at them in dismay. He looked like he was trying to think of what to say to help.

Marí shook their head. "I know Kit loves me. And they probably always will. We were close friends even before we started dating." Marí groaned and shook out their entire body this time, jumping up and down a few times as well to get rid of the tension. If Ty thought this was weird he didn't comment on it.

Marí wiped her eyes carefully trying not to smudge her mascara. "But you Ty?" His eyes refocused on her again at the sound of his name. Marí chuckled humourlessly. "Fucking hell, he is in love with you. And right now he is thinking that you hate him and I know it's tearing him up inside."

Ty stared at Marí hopelessly, looking overwhelmed and exhausted. "So what do I do then? What am I supposed to say?"

Marí shrugged. "I can't help you with that I'm sorry. It has to come from you." Ty looked even more panicked.

They gave him what they hoped was an encouraging smile. "Don't be scared Ty," they murmered. "It's Kit remember. They're not scary. You have nothing to worry about."

Ty didn't answer her. He had wrapped his arms around his body, squeezing tightly. "Marí do you remember those dead moon jellyfish we buried on the beach?" He asked.

She was a little confused as to why he was bringing this up now. "Yeah? Why?"

"That's what I feel like right now," Ty admitted. "Like I've washed up on the beach and now I'm just waiting for someone to come along and step on me."

Marí's heart sank. "Oh Ty," they breathed. "I promise that won't happen with Kit. I can't make any promises for anyone else, but I do know that Kit has absolutely no intention of hurting you again love."

Ty looked pensive. Marí could only hope that Ty would make the decision to trust them.

With a sudden jolt Marí remembered the party.

"Hey we still have the Halloween party to go to," she said, shaking Ty out of his stupor. "Do you still wanna go?"

To their surprise, Ty nodded. "Sure. I think Alyssa might kill me if I back out now."

Marí snorted. Alyssa Reyes could be pretty terrifying at times.

With surprise Marí found that their spirts were lighter having cleared the air with Ty and with the prospect of a party being renewed.

She smiled. "All right then let's head out!" Marí smoothed down the long black wig over her shoulders and quickly smoothed out the long skirt of her black slinky dress before turning and exiting the training room.

She knew that she would have to talk to Kit at some point and that conversation would be brutal. But at least they could have one last night together.

It's better this way. Marí told themself as they walked back towards the main living room where everyone was gathered.  At least now Kit can be happy.

It's for the best.

It has to be.

So I'm actually planning on writing a part 3 from Kit's pov because the drama isn't over yet! 😏

Tag list: lmk if you wanna be added/removed.

@playwithravenclaw @lavender-scented-rat @jazzkaurtheglorious @waterlillies   @nott-the-best @stxr-thxif @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @foxglove-airmid @littlx-songbxrd @clarys-heosphoros @queenlilith43 @arangiajoan @hardlymatters @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @tired-vin @phoenix-and-dragon @the-blackdale @adoravel-fenomeno @the-wckd-powers

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 11

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

A/N: I am not from the US and I've only been in New York once when I was a kid (I don't remember much lol I was six, I think), so I apologize if some of the places are inaccurate but I tried my very best to do my own research. Anyway, this is one of my favorite chapters I've written and I hope you guys enjoy it as well!

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The first whisper of the Monday air, brushed among the streets of the Upper West Side as you and Bucky decided to grab your running shoes and spend this day outside in the open air, hoping to burn all the calories you consumed last night. With a bottle of water in both your hands, you reached Central Park, catching your breaths. With sweat dripping down your forehead to your eyes, you saw a vacant bench and took the liberty to sit on it with Bucky behind you.

"Do you," Bucky sat beside you, panting and squinting his eyes and shaking off the sweat on his face, "do you run everyday?"

"Not everyday." You chuckled, taking a sip of water. "Four times a week."

"Why do you even like running? I feel like I'm in hell." He sighed, resting his neck on the brace. His breathing was restless and uneven but soon calmed down after a few moments.

"It takes my mind off things. I got a lot going on up here, y'know." You replied with much honesty. "Other people do it to keep in shape but I do it because I need it."

"I've never considered running. I just go to the gym and lift weights. Well, I have my own gym but if I'm being honest with you, I've been slacking off since the day I got here in New York."

You smiled and lifted your eyes to look at him. His face was glistening under the bright morning sun.

"Maybe it's a good thing we ran today." You nudged his shoulder with yours, his sweat-drenched skin rubbing up against your own. "You should run more. The more you do, the less you'll hate it. Trust me."

"You know what, as long as I'm with you, I will." He chuckled. "Ain't running with anybody else but you, doll."

There was a warm sensation moving up towards your cheeks. You didn't know if it was the heat of the sun or the warm blood rushing in but either way, you just knew that a pink flourish was becoming visible on your cheeks.

During that moment all you could muster was: "S-sure."

You hid your face by facing the opposite of Bucky and looked at the crowd that Central Park held. There, across the field lay a dozen picnic blankets on the bright green grass where a bunch of families and couples were reading, eating and talking audibly. Some were sitting underneath the tree for some shade. Some were walking their dogs on a leash and a poop bag ready on hand. Some were tourists with heavy backpacks just walking around. The chirping birds soaring in the air grabbed my attention, making you look up at the sky in which the bright sun hurt your eyes. You closed your eyes after that, trying to regain most of your vision. Once you did, you opened your phone and checked if Peter had left any messages. Unfortunately, there weren't any.

Peter was very vague about where his corporate retreat was, sticking to his notion that in order for him to take his mind off things, he also needed to be away from his real world, whatever that meant.

You sighed, texting Peter anyway, telling him everything was fine and that Bucky had been with you ever since he went away. You asked him how he was and hoped that everything was fine and well, and that he was enjoying his corporate retreat.

"Hey, let me take you somewhere nice today." Bucky said while tapping your sweaty shoulder, making you look up from your phone.

"Why? Where are we going?"

Bucky stood up, typing on his phone and looking around the park. "Wherever my car takes us. I figured since the bar doesn't open on Monday, you and I could do something fun that'll help you relax. Come on, you can go shower in my penthouse. I already have clothes sorted out for you in the guest room."

Your mind was still processing the part where he said that you could go shower in his penthouse.

Confused, you asked. "Wait, now?"

"Yes. Now, get up on your feet. My car's waiting on the road."

He didn't give you much time to comprehend his words, and respond, as he grabbed your hand, pulled you up from the bench. And as you ran, hand in hand, amidst the crowd, there it was again, that after feeling of spontaneity, fleeting; that same feeling you couldn't seem to explain really well — that same feeling you were wishing to avoid.

You and Bucky jogged towards the streets where a black and white Maserati with fully tinted windows was waiting on the side of the street. You thanked Bucky as he opened the door for you. He gave you a cheeky smile in response then hopped in beside you, introducing you to the driver named Howard. Howard nodded his head and smiled at you through the rearview mirror.

Once the car revved forward, you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, weary that your sweat was getting all over the expensive leathered seats of Bucky's car. You moved a bit forward in an oh-so-subtle movement, pushing your body against the strap of the seatbelt across your chest and did your best as you could to avoid sweating all over the seats. With one strong swift move, Bucky pulled your arm back, throwing your back against the seat and told you to relax.

You greeted Leonard with a smile and a wave once you arrived in White Wolf. You and Bucky exchanged some small conversation in the elevator which led right into the penthouse, something about the last time you were here. You both laughed at the memory as you teased him about it.

The penthouse didn't change as much the last time you were here; the only difference was there was no woman with little to no clothing waiting for Bucky to arrive. You looked towards the huge glass windows, your lips curved downward as you were hoping to get a good view of New York that was hiding behind the draped curtains. Bucky led the way towards the guest room in a well-lit hallway on the second floor. You walked under little chandeliers hanging from above. On the walls were duplicate Van Gogh paintings, and framed photographs of nature that blended well with the color scheme of the paintings, as well as the penthouse.

"I picked out some clothes for you that I thought you might like and had my assistant bring them over here." Bucky said, opening the door.

Feeling a bit guilty, you said: "Bucky, you didn't have to."

"I insist. Besides, I'm in charge of you for the whole week." He smiled, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed.

You playfully rolled your eyes. "I told you, I can take care of myself."

"I'm older than you so you do what I tell you." He just dismissed your remark, and added: "Now go shower. I'll meet you downstairs for some brunch."

With that, Bucky closed the door behind him, leaving you in a state of awe as you looked around the guest room which was twice as big as your room. It was like a duplicate of the living room but smaller, and with a king-sized bed in the middle on the far back with clothes and some towels draped along the edge. A telescope stands near the glass walls. Beside it sits two dainty cushioned chairs, and a miniature coffee table. There was a flat screen 32-inch television facing the bed.

You walked near the curtains, slithered your finger between the noticeable gap and took a small peek outside.

You stepped into the insides of the bathroom which was near the size of your room. Everything felt so unfamiliar to you but you bathed everything in and relaxed as soon as the small prickle of the cold shower water hit the soft spots of your body.

You got out of the guest room, feeling fresh from the cold shower. You wore some cropped halter top, heathered trousers and slipped on some fuzzy slippers that were quite big for your size, even though your feet were already big. You quickly assumed it was Bucky's.

"Did you, by any chance, get me some shoes too?" You joked as you approached the kitchen, eyeing the bagels on a big plate on the rectangular island in the center. You hopped on one of the high stools, grabbed one and smeared cream cheese on it. "Just kidding, I love these fuzzy slippers."

Bucky's back was facing you, busy flipping some pancakes on the stove. "You're not wearing that outside. And yes, I do have some but they're mostly Peter's. Don't worry he hasn't used them yet."

"That's alright. We're the same size."

Bucky turned around, a big pan on his right hand. He approached you and flipped a pancake on top of a tower of pancakes on a plate.

"You like the clothes I picked out for you?" He asked and sat down on the high stool.

"Yes, thank you. But seriously, you didn't have to."

"Okay, so let me get this straight... You let me pay for food and alcohol but not clothes?"

You laughed. "It's a different thing! Those were cheap, these," you touched the fabric of your shirt and trousers, "are obviously expensive. They don't have that thrift smell my clothes have. And besides, I need food but not clothes so you paying for my food was a big win for me."

Now, it was his turn to laugh, shoving a piece of pancake into his mouth. "Okay from now on, all I should hear from you when I give you stuff is thank you."

"But... why?"

"Because social convention dictates us to."

"I know, but, why are you giving me stuff?"

"How else am I going to keep you around?" He winked as he continued to chew.

"Bucky." You warned.

"Okay, okay." He chuckled. "The thing to know about me is I love spoiling people — people that I trust and I'm obviously comfortable around you."

Not knowing any other way to answer, you just said: "Oh, well... Thank you."

"And of course, the thing I said before too." He laughed and you threw a bagel at him in response.

You and Bucky enjoyed your little brunch while planning the day ahead of you: go around Fifth Street, and perhaps Broadway, maybe go to the Chelsea market and as Bucky said: "Just go wherever our feet take us!"

Once both of you were done, you headed down White Wolf, with Bucky's Maserati waiting in front. You greeted Howard as you climbed in.

"You know what would be nice?" You started once the car moved forward. "Capturing people's moments in a crowded street." You said, picturing Fifth Street in your head.

"Oh, that's right." Bucky replied. "Here." With his large hand, he handed you a camera. But it wasn't just any camera. It was yours.

"Wait, is this my camera?" You asked, taking it from him. He nodded in response. "Bucky, what the hell, you went through my stuff?"

"Not me. Howard."

"Howard?!"

"Don't worry, miss," Howard spoke, glancing through the rearview mirror where you saw your own reflection, "I didn't take anything else and put everything back in place. I just did what Mr. Barnes told me to do."

"James." You scolded.

"What are you James-ing me for?" He said, leaning against the seat, clearly stifling a laugh. "He's the one who went through your stuff!"

"You are such a child." You rolled your eyes. "You're the one who told him to."

"You heard him, he didn't take anything else."

"Next time you pull something like this, you ought to let me know okay?"

He lifted his eyes to look at you, teeth biting his inner cheek, a smile wanting to reveal itself. "Okay."

You sighed but you also couldn't help but smile at your camera. It had been a long time since you've operated it as you have been so busy in the bar and hadn't had clients for a while now. You closed it immediately, seeing as the battery was just at fifty percent.

You and Bucky got out of the vehicle as soon as Howard reached Fifth street and entered the Lacoste building with no rush. You held your camera close to your chest, the strap feeling a bit heavier on the back of your neck as the hours passed but the weight of pleasure of taking photos of the street from the inside of the glass windows overwhelmed that.

All the stores looked so unfamiliar to you. The stores you usually go to had dimly-lit rooms with low ceilings, and instead of tiled floors and walls, they had chipped to almost rotten wood walls. The smell of new clothes in these designer stores filled your lungs, the bright incandescent lights nearly caused blindness to your eyes, the amount of men and women dressed in suits, stockings, and skirts were nothing you had ever seen before, designer clothes were hanging on racks color-codedly, or by season, or by new and old collection, the eyes of the security guards in each entrance lurked from miles away until you get inside the store, and today, you have seen Bucky's sleek, black credit card get swiped into the little machines a hundred times. He bought some clothes for himself, and Peter, whom he actually promised to.

Bucky even handed you some clothes, told you to put them on and when they did fit you, he immediately went towards the counter.

Feeling as if everything was too much, you refused but all he said was:

"From now on, when I buy you things all you have to say is thank you."

Overpowered, you just nodded and said exactly what he wanted you to say: "Thank you." And as hours passed more shopping bags were in my bags (yes, you insisted to carry what he had bought you, and when he refused, you gave him back his words, a little taste of his own medicine: "From now on, when you buy me things all you have to do is let me carry them.")

"Ah, throwing my words back to me. I see."

As you walked around a whole lot more, side by side, exposed elbows and lonely fingers constantly brushing against each other, you talked about things you both loved. Nothing about Bucky's hotel business, nothing about the bar, just the things in life which made you both happy — photographs, paintings, and everything about art. He saw the world through yours. You were just beginning to see his but the details weren't enough for you. You craved more of what was in his mind and in his life — no, not the business, parties, booze and all that.

But the things that separate him from that world, and the things he grew up with before that.

A lot of questions swarmed in your head, trying to think of ways to ask them but Bucky merely insisted on knowing you. All of you. But just like him, you too had your guards up, especially around your family issues.

Then you reached Chelsea market. You didn't know how but you did. You spotted Bucky's car parked on one street and told you to leave all the things he had bought inside. After saying your goodbye to Howard who, afterwards, drove towards the bumper-to-bumper traffic in Manhattan, you and Bucky headed to wherever your feet you. You were feeling a ton lighter without the shopping bags dragging your hands and you could now freely touch and open your camera.

Bucky, with a Grande Starbucks cup in one hand, looked around with a big smile planted on his face. You walked around, seeing the art district of New York through your lenses. You grabbed Bucky's attention by calling his name and when he turned around, you snapped a shot of him. Eyes wide. Brows furrowed together. Lips in a state of bafflement.

"Hey, delete that!" He protested.

You laughed, turning your body in the opposite direction. "No way! It's a good picture!"

"No, it's not!"

You kept on laughing, mumbling a bunch of "sorry"s and "excuse me"s along the way, the camera still shoved in your face.

Your lens caught a familiar name from afar, printed in neon red: Wanda. You stood there in the middle of the crowd, leaving Bucky to wonder what had happened.

"Let's go there." You said, making your way across the street where it was.

"Where?"

"Just follow me."

Bucky held no questions no more as your feet treaded towards the building of Wanda's studio. Once you reached it, you merely stood meters away from it, looking at the sign.

"Wandavision." You mumbled under your breath then bit your inner cheek afterwards, contemplating if you should go in and say hi but that didn't matter anymore because standing behind the tall glass windows was Wanda herself.

Again, she gave you that oh-so-sweet smile of hers, long red locks cascading down her shoulder as she walked towards the door. You gestured to Bucky to come with you, no questions asked.

"Y/n!" Wanda exclaimed, wrapping her arms around you as you and Bucky entered the building. "Oh, it's so good to see you."

"You too, Wanda."

"And who's this dapper man of yours?"

Beside you, Bucky's body vibrated, a chuckle coming out of his mouth as he offered his hand. "I'm Bucky Barnes. Nice to meet you."

Wanda shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, too." She gave you a knowing smile, taunting you, but you dismissed her assumptions by shaking your head no, and then she pouted.

Wanda led you further down her large, wide studio, giving us a tour.

"I'm quite surprised you came by, Y/n."

"We were just walking around the market and saw your studio." You replied. "Wanda, what you have here is... so beautiful."

"Thank you. I really appreciate that. I've wanted this since I was a little girl. It's always been the dream."

The inside was bright, with fair white walls, floor and ceiling, and smelled of fresh lavender. On one corner, it smelled of fabrics, make-up, and hairspray. Framed photos of Wanda hung on the walls. There was a dressing area on a corner, and a comfortable couch, perhaps, for visitors as well as the models. A mini kitchen stood in the far back. On top of the cute marbled island was a coffee maker, and a mini fridge. There was one room solely for the post-production process, her main office. A giant paper backdrop had taken a huge space on the floor. Around it were different kinds of large lights, tripods, chairs and other expensive equipment for photography.

She had it all. Everything you've pictured yourself having.

Wanda had it all.

"You've come at the right time. There's not much going on today but I have tons of clients coming for the next few days but really, feel free to come by anytime you want."

"I will, thank you."

Howard picked you right up outside Wandavision. The whole ride was filled with uncomfortable silence.

"Your friend's really nice." Bucky said, trying to clear the atmosphere. "She's a bit too chatty for me but she's nice."

"Yeah." You answered, your head pressed against the window. "Really nice."

"Are you okay, doll?"

You hummed. "I am. Just a bit tired s'all."

"Listen, I just have to head to the White Wolf but Howard will drop you by the apartment, okay? The shopping bags are already there but you don't have to worry about them, I'll take care of them as soon as I get back. Just take a rest, okay? Maybe a short nap. I'll grab you dinner on the way. How does that sound?"

Tired to even tell him you didn't need to babied, you just said: "Okay. Thank you, Bucky."

You did as Bucky told you to. You ignored the bags sitting on the couch, placed your camera on your nightstand and took a damn nap. When you woke up, instead of feeling better, you felt sick to your stomach. Your phone lit up, a message from Bucky displayed on the screen:

"Sorry for the delay. I'm currently stuck in traffic. I'll see you in 20."

You sighed and with an empty stomach, and an occupied mind, you put on your jacket, anticipating a cold rush, grabbed your keys to the bar and headed down. You went straight behind the counter, jumped over it and found an unopened vodka.

You drank the vodka, drank all your troubles away and as you sat there on the floor, weeping, the place you worked at felt too much familiar to you. So much so that you began to hate it and to hate the kind of life you had been living. Who were you fucking kidding? No, you didn't like juggling two jobs. It sucked. Even though it had been giving you the ability to pay half of the rent, it still sucked.

This wasn't what you wanted.

A few moments have passed. You were already on your second bottle. There was a sound coming from the back which began to startle you. A certain Steve emerged from his office, a look of concern evident on his face.

"Stevieeee!" You stood up, well, tried to anyway. "You're here!"

"Y/n, what the hell." He took you in his big muscular arms, his one hand carefully yanking the bottle of vodka on your hand and placing it on the counter. "You're drunk. You should go home. Where's Peter?"

"He's away. He left. Wait, why are you here?"

"I just had to take care of some things."

"Is Nat back there with you? It's okay, shh, shh, I know about you too."

"Oh, God. Did she tell you?"

"Puh-lease! You imprinted your scent on her like a werewolf."

He just sighed. "Let's get you to your apartment."

"Don't worry, Stevie, I won't tell. Hey, call Bucky. Grab my phone. It's on my ass." You giggled and then hiccuped. He carefully grabbed your phone from your back pocket, let you enter my password which took forever, and then called Bucky.

"He'll be here in a minute or two." Steve said, sliding your phone back in your pocket. "Let's get you seated, alright?"

He sat you in one of the booths. "I'll get you some water, okay?"

You didn't respond. Your eyes were fixated on the photos on the wall. With your breath rapidly increasing, you stood by your knees, and grabbed as many photos as you could. Steve slid in the booth with you, handing you a glass of water. You took a small sip, avoiding his eyes.

"What happened, y/n?"

You didn't give him an answer to his question and just downed the water. But you did ask him something. "Why'd you buy my photos, Steve? Is it because you pitied me that day?"

"What? No, I truly believe you have amazing photos."

"But what?"

"What?"

"There's always a but. What is it, Steve?"

"But nothing, y/n."

"Liar." You muttered. "You're a liar."

"Look, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on."

"I don't need help. I'm not a child!"

"You clearly are, especially when you're behaving like one. You come in here, drink an expensive bottle of whiskey, cry on the floor and ask me a bunch of ridiculous things. It's okay to ask for help sometimes."

"I'll pay for the bottle if that's what you're asking."

"No, I don't care about that. I care about what's going on with you right now because this isn't you, y/n."

"Oh please, you don't. You just pity me! That's why you bought those two photos, that's why you let me put my photos up here in the bar. I'm no good, Steve! I'm no good."

"Y/n — "

Then, a door slammed, a running Bucky coming inside. "Hey, doll. I'm here. Hey, hey, what happened?"

"Let's just go, Bucky." You stood up beside Bucky who held your waist for balance.

"Thank you for calling me." Bucky told Steve.

"Just take her home safely."

"I live right upstairs." You groaned.

"And make sure she doesn't drink anymore or do anything stupid." Steve scolded, his eyes locked on yours.

Bucky held you all the way towards the outside of the bar, and guided you towards the steps that led to the sidewalk. A black limo was on the street. With the windows rolled down, Howard asked, "Is everything alright, Mr. Barnes?"

"Everything's okay, Howie. You can go back now."

"Wait!" You exclaimed, slipping away from Bucky's arms and headed towards the limo. "Howard, take us somewhere."

"Y/n, what are you doing?"

You didn't give him time to wait for an answer as you opened the door and climbed inside the spacious limo. Bucky climbed in, confused.

"Y/n, are you going to tell me what's going on?"

You gave no answer, instead, you gave Howard the address. "450 West 15th Street."

The ride was more silent and shorter. He tried offering you food he had bought but you kindly refused, dreading to get out of the limo. You held on to your photos so tight that marks, scratches and folds were visible even in the dark.

When you reached your destination, you quickly hopped out, with Bucky following you.

"What are we doing back here?"

You were standing in front of Wanda's studio, the red neon lights illuminating on the concrete street, giving a bit of life on this side of New York.

You sat down on the floor, against a big pot of plant, your eyes never leaving the sign. Bucky, still confused, followed suit anyway.

"You know, my parents told me I'd never make it here. The day I left my home to live here, they told me, 'you'll never amount to anything. You'll never have a good life in New York. You'll never make it as a photographer. That's not a real job.' And I told them I will make it that I'll work my ass off, blood, sweat, tears, I'll do anything to prove them wrong. But don't you just hate it when they're right? I left my family, lost my communication to my siblings for this ridiculous dream I've been chasing for years. Everything I've done here feels like nothing."

At this point, you didn't want to hear anything or anyone besides yourself. So you were more than glad to hear nothing from Bucky, and to feel his fingers interlaced with yours.

"Wanda and I met in college; a year younger than me. We shared a love for photography and arts. Then we kind of just lost touch after I graduated. And then I saw her a week ago. She looked so happy and so content and I could feel her pity on me, her eyes, her touch. It was the first time I felt so small and I didn't think I could feel smaller but then we went here. Everything I wanted for myself, the things I pictured myself having and doing... She's living it. She's out there and I'm not. And I really hoped that by now, I've proved my parents wrong but turns out they're right. They were right all along. I don't amount to anything. I'm nothing."

"Wandavision." You laughed bitterly. "Wanda's vision. That right there. That's fucking clever."

"Let's get you home, doll. Please?"

"I want to stay, Bucky."

"We'll talk when we get back. Please, y/n."

You didn't agree to anything but he lifted you up anyway, guiding you towards the limo which was still on the street.

The partition was up. Even though Howard was inside the limo as well, at that moment it was just you and Bucky.

So, you cried, like how the skies cried, in Bucky's arms. You wept for all the unpaid rent and debts, for the menial job that you ended up in, for your failed career as a photographer, for your selfish parents, for your isolation from your college friends, for your insecurities, for your dog that died when you left for college, for your former lover that abused you, for the books you left unread, for all the wrong choices, for all the money you wasted during your college days, for all the toxic people you've ever met, for all the alcohol stains you had to wipe for years, for all the food intake during your peak of stress in school, for the only cherries you tasted, for the drunk sex you've always regretted, for the drunk kiss with Peter you've always regretted, and for the incoming mistake you were about to do.

"Kiss me." You whispered, lifting your head from his chest. "Kiss me, Bucky."

He shook his head no. Your noses touched. "Why not?" Your breaths moved together.

"Because right now, you're a mess." He whispered. "You're very vulnerable and drunk. I can't."

"I'm giving you all the consent I need. Kiss me."

"Not like this, doll."

Instead of going for your dry lips, he placed his lips on your forehead, his mouth and breath lingering. "Not like this."

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

dandelions

request: if you vibe with it Spencer X Reader lowkey songfic for Dandelions by Ruth B. Spencer is recovering from Cat traumatizing him and the Reader is a baby tech analyst for the BAU. The Reader learns Spencer believes that he’ll never find true love, and so the Reader pretty much corners him in the techy bat cave and makes him dance with her (to the song). Ends with a semi established relationship and Reader let’s Spencer know she’ll love him when he’s ready. :) ❤️

so before we embark on this story, I just want to let you all know that i’m only up to season 4 of CM, but because of tik tok, i know most of the spoilers already, but i’ll try my absolute best

word count: 2,167                                                                                     reading time aprox: 8 mins

masterlist

It was a leisurely night at the BAU, the usual fleeting agents that roamed around the bullpen causing an uproar of commotion was replaced by a serene environment that was inhibited by a few individuals. It was around the time of the holidays meaning most of the agents had either went home to their loved ones or went to the bars to their loved ones, also known as 5-6 vodka shots with a beer on the side. 

The lights began to dim at the office indicating it was close to midnight. My eyes had accustomed to the sudden change of brightness due to the simple fact that Penelope’s office was just a technically advanced bat cave littered with eclectic trinkets from thrift shops. 

I could remember stepping into Penelope’s office expecting an immaculate high tech lair, only to discover a physical representation of Pen’s psyche splattered in all the crevices of the dark room. Apprenticing for Garcia had been the best decision I’ve made considering that my original disposition was to work in counter terrorism where there wasn’t an unorthodox and silly tech goddess. Not only that, but the BAU team had become more than family to me, taking into account that my biological family had abandoned me when I was young. 

I grew up with a developed resentment against love knowing that people will always abandon you in the end. Despite my childhood, ever since I’ve joined the team, all that contempt dissipated transforming into nothing but genuine love for the people around me.

And sometimes I held a little bit of extra love for definitive individuals. 

I was closing up a few files on Pen’s computer, rewriting the encryptions on her documents to secure her confidentiality when I peered out into the bullpen, a forlorn and solitary silhouette crouched into a seat came to view. The chair swaying side to side in combination with the lackluster lights made it particularly burdensome to identify the figure. The bullpen had emptied out, leaving the creature to it’s lonesome, adding to the ambiguity of the atmosphere. 

It was only when JJ approached the cryptic individual that it had clicked in my head. Spencer’s hair popped into view as JJ adjusted his desk lamp to give off more light. She had her bag and jacket hanging on her left arm signaling her departure from the office. She conversed with Spencer offering him a cup of coffee which he politely declined with a tight lipped smile. With this response, she patted his shoulder motherly and made her way to bureau’s glass doors. 

The sounds of the rubber stopper hitting the frame of the door indicated that JJ had completely left, leaving the bullpen with the inhabitants of me and Spencer. Although I don’t think he’s acknowledged my occupancy in Pen’s office as he let out a disgruntled sigh, dragging his hands over his perturbed visage. 

In the attempt to leave him to his aloofness, I resorted back to my tasks at hand on Pen’s computer, yet an almost incoherent sniffle echoed throughout the office, catching my ears off-guard. 

I reverted my attention to Spencer once again, watching him pull at his hair while briskly wiping away the dampness that had formed on his face. 

I felt a hefty tug at my heartstrings, feeling as if my chest cavity began to collapse in on it’s self. My esophagus congealed to the sounds of anguish that emitted past Spencer’s lips, feeling destitute as the boy became his own source of self reproach. 

My thoughts fought each other for the custody of my actions, contesting the ideas of soothing the boy or leaving him to his own. It was quite a delicate matter to approach considering the topics that had led him to spiral. 

Spencer Reid had only cared about one thing in the world: his mother and with the recent allegations with Cat Adams resurfacing, he’s been nothing but a ball of disquietude. His intelligence was the only wall that he’d build around himself that protected his unconscious mind from blemishing the utopian reality he had constructed in his conscious mind. It had been the barrier between his internal chaos and serendipity. 

Who knew one woman would be able to decimate the very thing he fabricated since his youth. 

After a few revelations, I became determined to release Spencer of the abhorrent thoughts his mind must of been swarmed in. Messing with bureau’s network, I connected to speakers that were planted in the bullpen that were utilized for broadcasts. 

I leaned over Penelope’s set up, grabbing the mic she hid behind her monitors and connected it wirelessly to the speaker. This ended up emitting a loud echo of feedback that resonated throughout the office, hence catching Spencer’s attention to the ceiling. He looked bewildered at the sudden blare, but settled down as the sound of my voice flooded the room. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid, please report to your nearest tech analyst. Again, Dr. Spencer Reid please report to your tech analyst” I announced, earning a wholesome smile from Spencer as he directed his attention to the office. He waved at me through the open door, chuckling while he stood up to press the wrinkles that had formed on his blazer. 

My heart swelled, growing exponentially vast as his demeanor changed to a more merry disposition. I could already feel the apprehensive twinges begin to appear at my wrists and the ever-growing grin plant itself on my lips. 

Once he arrived at the door frame, he let out an inaudible welcome as I grabbed an extra office chair for him to sit on.

“Long day?” I inquired, reclaiming my spot in my own chair. He leaned back on the spine of the seat, letting out a reluctant chuckle that held more gravity than he wanted to reveal. 

“You have no idea” He replied with a frigid smile. He fidgeted with the tips of his fingers while he gazed at the floor below him. 

“I was 14″ I stated, earning an inquisitive reaction from Spencer. “I was 14 when I decided to reject any form of aid, affection, or remorse from anyone who even came close to knowing me” I admitted, watching his face contort into vulnerability as if my words hit a weak spot in his barricade. “I told myself of the cold reality of the world and that no amount of consolation or love would change that”. I pulled my seat closer to Spencer, making our interaction a bit more intimate and fervent. “That wasn’t until I met you-” I confessed, now acquiring his full undivided regard. “-an-and the team. You guys proved me wrong and convinced me otherwise of my radical theories” I continued. 

I searched for empathy in his eyes, but was met with a distant and doleful gaze while he sucked in his lips as it began to quiver. He took in a sharp breath, maintaining a adamant composure. 

“Spencer, I know it’s been difficult and I’m sorry I can never understand the hardships you must be going through. But, I need you to realize that there are so many people who consider you one of the best parts of their lives” I professed, laying a tender palm on his knee. “That’s including me, you’ve been nothing but the best little genius I’ve had the privilege to be around, even with your constant rambling”. We both laughed at this statement, meeting each other’s gazes as if we were studying each other. “You need to let us in once and while. I don’t like seeing you get down on yourself for things that are normal to feel”

Spencer laid a warm hand on top of my own, squeezing it in acknowledgment before laying his head low once again. “I-i don’t think” He began, pausing in between his phrases to find the right words to articulate. “I don’t think I can ever find true love” He confided, running his fingers through the tangled bits of hair. “After Maeve, Cat, and now my mom, it seems like everything I ever try to love gets ripped out of my hands” He explained. 

With an idea in mind, I scooted away from him and to the computer that was still connected to the bureau’s sound system. I logged onto my Spotify account and began to play Dandelions by Ruth B. The mellow melody streamed throughout the entire room, engulfing the both of us in the beginning verse of the song. 

Maybe it's the way you say my name Maybe it's the way you play your game But it's so good, I've never known anybody like you But it's so good, I've never dreamed of nobody like you

“How about I get your mind off of it for a little while?” I offered, laying my hand out for him to grab. 

“No, no Y/N. I’m not much of a dancer” He dismissed, shaking his head. 

“Come on now doctor” I giggled, pulling at his fingers to join me. “You may not have a PhD in dance, but I’m pretty sure you can calculate the terminal velocity of how you drop that ass” I joked, intertwining our hands as he finally conceded to my antics. 

“Oh god Y/N, I’ll dance with you if you never say that again” He placed a supple hand on the indents of my waist while he centered his feet to match mine. 

After configuring himself, he looked down at me, really emphasizing the height difference between us. “Now was that so bad?” I teased, a toothy grin making it’s appearance on my face. The warmth that was radiating from the both of us made the small gesture more visceral, sending an irrefutable sensation of yearning throughout my entire body. 

Hopefully, it elicited the same feeling for him 

He took the lead, swaying us side to side while the chorus of the song saturated our eardrums, repositioning his hand to the small of my back. He exhaled a cumbersome sigh, lulling himself into my embrace.

Cause I'm in a field of dandelions Wishing on every one that you'll be mine, mine And I see forever in your eyes I feel okay when I see you smile, smile

I felt every tap, fidget, or movement Spencer made on the soft skin of my spine to match the rhythm of the melody. My head found asylum in the crevice of his shoulder, letting my hair fall into place as we slow danced. At this moment, I felt reality shift around me at a turtle’s pace, time seemed to have completely marooned, and all I could fixate on was the shallow breaths Spencer would take. 

“Thank you...Y/N, it really does mean a lot” Spencer attested, making me raise my head to meet his hazel eyes. Looking into them was like swimming in a pool of milk and honey while the sunshine eradicated all the bad in the world. “I know I’m not one open up about things like this, but you’re right and you reminded me of that, so thank you” He placed a loving kiss on my forehead, lingering momentarily before retracting. 

“Spencer?” I spoke up

“Yes?”

“I know that you think that love may not be possible for you, but you’re forgetting that Rossi looks at you as if you were his own son, JJ basically thinks of you as her own brother, and I love you too”. I pushed a stray curl that fell in front of him face, caressing his cheek in the process of placing the hair back to where it belongs. “Just like energy, love can’t be destroyed, just transformed” I quoted, settling my hands behind his neck. 

“And you?” 

I hummed in inquisitiveness.

“What do you consider me as?”

I furrowed my eyebrows, beckoning him to continue as I was unable to fully comprehend what he was getting at. 

“You said Rossi thought of me as a son, JJ as a brother. So what do you consider me as?” He pressed, pulling me closer to his chest. 

I could practically feel his breath fanning over my face while a tinted blush blossomed on the apple of my cheeks. “I think that’s another conversation for another dance. Don’t you think?” I suggested in attempt to stray away from his prying. 

“So you’re going to pull me into another dance?” He grinned. 

“Possibly, if you’re up for it of course”

He shook his head chuckling, gently pushing me out, twirling me as he did before letting me rest on his chest. Silence drowned out the room as the song finally came to an end, yet we still stood in each other’s embrace to prolong the occasion 

“Spence, I know that you need time. But just know when you are ready, that I’ll be here for you” I confessed, looking directly in his eyes. 

“I’ll be here ready to love you whenever you’re ready to love yourself first”

I'm in a field of dandelions Wishing on every one that you'll be mine, mine

[papa-nihilism]

Here I am, my lord and momor, humbly requesting a Jan/Peter Au... maybe shopping for clothes together, while on the run? And everything else your beautiful sunflower heart desires to write about them 🥺🙏 Love you as ever 💙💛

hold my hand until it feels right | Peter x Jan (The Edukators, 2004)

Notes: Momor!! Thank you so much for giving me a chance to write these two. Who am I if not the biggest Jan simp in the universe who only wants this stinky little man to have some love? I hope you enjoy this little rabisco. I took some liberties over your idea but I really wanted to make something emotional that showed how much these two care for each other and I do hope you don't mind it. whatever, love you too! 💙💛 (i know that I don't need to tell you this but feel free to request things anytime! hihi) Warnings: stinky little men in love, spoilers for the movie, my gay ass being overemotional for these dorks, jan is overhelmed by emotions in the middle of a thrift shop and peter tries to calm him down.

Jan's brown eyes were fixed on the way Peter managed the clothes laid out on the large rack in the thrift store, feeling each fabric as if the quality of the material was his top priority when choosing what to buy. Being on the run for so long, Jan was not surprised if Peter was looking for something comfortable and durable - however, if he knew his best friend well enough, he knew that he would try to find some way to indulge himself within what was possible. And now, he didn't condemn him that much anymore.

Living a life expecting every moment of freedom to be his last had made Jan reconsider some of his truths that he believed to be immutable. Maybe, in the end, Hardenberg was not so wrong.

The young man shook his head, as if the simple act of doing so would take that thought away from him and all the others that were beginning to surface. He feared losing his north, losing himself as he let other things - other people - get in the way of what he wanted. Of everything he was fighting for. The movement ended up attracting Peter's attention. "Jan, is everything okay?" the other man asked, taking the right hand that strode through the selection of shirts back to Jan's wrist covered by the beat-up black shirt that accompanied him at all times, visibly worried.

Peter's sudden touch, though welcome, surprised Jan for a few moments. He was still getting used to that different intimacy they shared with each other - yet little had changed, in a practical sense. He and Peter were inseparable even before Jule arrived in each other's lives - they were partners in cause, in crime, and in life. Initially, the whole situation that had begun to develop between them and Jule seemed like a watershed, and in the hours before Peter returned to the cabin where they hid Hardenberg, Jan felt for the first time a genuine fear of losing the other.

And of all the intense feelings he was feeling in those last few days, that one had certainly been the strongest of them - and the relief he felt at the sight of Peter's body next to his and Jule's was still something that overwhelmed Jan for a few moments.

The shorter one appreciated Peter's touch for a few seconds, before turning his brown eyes back to Peter. "I'm fine, I was just... thinking nonsense, that's all. Don't worry," the shorter one replied and for a few seconds Peter considered letting it go, fearing that he would push too many buttons and overstep Jan's boundaries. However, they didn't usually have boundaries with each other - they didn't need that. Especially when Jan's own words seemed to betray what he was telling him. Jan used to be the head of the two of them, and at that moment, Jan was pure and complete heart.

Still holding Jan's pulse, Peter carefully and tentatively allowed himself to intertwine his fingers with Jan's. "Hey, I'm here. Take a deep breath," he murmured to the shorter one, hoping that the sound of his voice and his closeness would help Jan calm down. They were in public, and as much as he wanted to hug the shorter one, the thought of another person's negative reaction bringing more of a concern and a possible trigger to Jan stood out more than his need to care - and in a way, that was also a way of caring for Jan.

As the seconds passed and Jan's pulse seemed to settle a little more with each count of three and a sequence of inhales and exhales, color seemed to return to the shorter man's face and Peter could see, beneath his brown eyes, a little of his best friend coming back to the surface. Relieved, he briefly squeezed Jan's hand once more and smiled.

That damn smile that was capable of making Jan's face flush and all the butterflies swarm in his stomach at once - all those sensations that, for too long, Jan had denied himself feeling. All those sensations that found a home in Peter just as they found a home within himself.

If Jule had once been a possible separation between them, she now bound them together more than ever. Not only her but the feeling they grew for each other since they were teenagers rebelling against the world.

"Thanks, Pete," he whispered, smiling shyly at the taller one. "Damn, Jan, you can't have a heart attack every time we have to spend some money," Peter had said, drawing a nervous laugh from the shorter one, before lightly punching Peter in the stomach in response to the other's teasing. "Come on, let's go pick out a new shirt for you, I can't stand to see you stealing mine anymore," Peter had said finally, throwing one of his arms over Jan's shoulders lovingly, guiding him through the thrift store as if they owned the place.

[btsslowburnfic]

The Arrangement Ch 17

Story summary: Desperately in need of money, you answered the questionable ad. AKA-Arranged marriage AU featuring Y/N and Yoongi

Chapter Summary: Part one of the photoshoot

Previous Chapter here

The work week proceeded as normal. Well, what had become normal. Delivering coffee and reminding Yoongi to eat, answering emails, trying to figure out which meetings Yoongi actually needed to go to and which ones were a waste of time. Of course you always went to the meetings, and holy shit you couldn’t believe the topics couldn’t have been discussed via email. You were looking forward to this particular day because you got to go visit Hoseok in the style department and Jimin had decided he was tagging along “for funsies.”

Yoongi was supposed to go and get measured and try on clothes for his photoshoot. When you reminded him that morning he laughed at you, “Uh no. Hoseok knows what size I wear. He can figure it out. Go look at the clothes and I might try some of them on tonight.”

You and Jimin met up for lunch and then headed up to the styling department.

“I’m excited. I’ve never been to a photoshoot before.” You said bouncing up and down in the elevator. 

“Yeah, they’re pretty boring actually. Like if it’s with some of the hotter models it’s a little fun for the eye candy, but then you feel bad for them because they have to sit for so long  making awkward faces. They are constantly getting their make-up and hair touched up. Touch base with craft services to make sure there’s plenty of water. The lights are bright.”

You took out your phone, “Oh thanks. I wouldn’t have even thought about that. Any other tips?”

“It’s Yoongi. It won’t take as long as it does with the other people. He’ll show up, do it, and leave. JK and Tae, especially Tae, want to chat with everyone on set and if they are together it takes foreeeeevvvveeeeeerrrrr.” 

“Huh, ok. Thanks.” The two of you arrived at JHOPE Fashion and walked through the rainbow vomit doors. 

Hoseok was wearing glasses with yellow lenses today, which made his dramatic facial expressions stand out even more. He immediately rolled his eyes. He pointed to you. “You are not Yoongi.” He pointed to Jimin. “And you are not Yoongi.” He put his hands on his hips. “So why are the two of you here?” 

“I’m sure you can guess why.” You responded dryly.

“Ugh. That ungrateful man. I had lovingly hand stitched these pieces. For him. These patches...” Hoseok pressed his fingers together as though he was praying. “Fine. Fine. You. Y/N. Come. You. Jimin. Wait right there.”

Jimin’s eyes went wide. “Me? Why do I have to wait here?” 

Hoseok turned from where he had started to walk towards the back. “You will thank me in a minute. A certain someone is coming to get his fitting in a few minutes.” He raised an eyebrow and then turned around, his heels clacking against the red tile floor.

Jimin started to blush profusely and before you could ask, Hobi interrupted, “Come new girl. We have work to do especially if that boss of yours refuses to come here and experience these magnificent beauties for himself.”

You followed him through the large door, which led to lime green hallways and then to a quiet, more muted workspace. The walls were lined with fabric bolsters, the middle tables with ribbon, thread, patches, paint. Paint? 

Hoseok sat down. “From what I understand, this album will have an acoustic feel to it versus his previous albums. For that reason I have chosen these natural materials such as cotton, linen, and denim.” He spread out several pieces onto the large table. “I have also opted for a more neutral pallet, as much as it hurts my soul. I have chosen colors found in nature. I have chosen brightly colored accessories such as these silks to stand in contrast with the stiff fabric and more neutral colors he will be wearing. Additionally, I avoided black. We’ll see if he notices.” 

You watched as he draped the red and purple silks over the top of the clothes. For whatever reason, you found it mesmerizing watching the fabric juxtapositioned in such a way.  “It’s so cool to hear you tell a story just using clothes.” You said, somewhat enchanted.

Hoseok flicked his eyes up to you, “Thank you. That is what I try to do with my collections. Everyone’s outfit tells a story, even if they don’t mean for it to. May I?” He asked, stepping back and gesturing at you.

“Oh man. You know I don’t dresses fancy--”

“Shhhh you don’t tell me.” He looked at your outfit. You had opted for an Aline skirt and blouse with a casual blazer.  “You had meetings this morning, that’s obvious by the jacket. You usually dress cuter. Which means you are either sick or not feeling great. You look fine. So I’m guessing...you are on your period. Sorry, this just comes out, I can’t stop it,” he paused for a moment as your jaw dropped open slightly. He stepped closer, inspecting the shoulders of your jacket. “The blazer is at least ten years old but you shouldn’t have had a blazer ten years ago unless it was for your school uniform and that isn’t a school jacket. Which means it probably belonged to an older sister or aunt. You are very responsible and well organized otherwise you wouldn't be Yoongi’s assistant. Therefore you are most likely the oldest or only child so that is your aunt’s jacket. Your blouse is nice. You actually like it, you’ve worn it twice in the week you’ve been working here. You bought it at a thrift store. You don’t spend a lot of money on yourself, but you are very confident. Therefore, it’s not that you don’t think you deserve nice things, it’s just that you can’t afford them so you likely grew up poor and it has continued into your adulthood.”

“Holy shit. You should be a detective.” You said to him.

“The shoes, I gave you last week. They don’t have a story yet, other than a very good -looking man in a suit helped you out because Jimin said you were a nice girl. You wear zero accessories which shows a lack of both funds and sentimentality. Most people have at least one piece of jewelry that means something to them, but if you have one, you don’t wear it.” He smiled at you, his white teeth gleaming. “ Now, how much am I right about?” He crossed his hands in front of his chest.

You clapped your hands as though you were in an audience. “All of it. Although I am still weirded out that you know I’m on my period. Next time I’m going to wear something skin tight to throw you off.” You joked.

“Well,” he started, “At least now that you work here you don’t have to worry as much right?”

Given the shitshow you went through this weekend you weren’t sure about that, but you shrugged, “It definitely pays better. And money doesn’t buy happiness, but it sure helps make some things less hard.” You gestured to the pile of fabric on the table, “So...what do I do? Take these clothes with me for Yoongi to try on or will they be at the photoshoot tomorrow? Do I need to bring them to the photoshoot?”

Hoseok sighed dramatically, “I could dress Yoongi drunk, in my sleep. He can just show up tomorrow and I will dress him then. My staff will make sure the clothes and accessories are at the photoshoot. Here,” He walked over to one of the garment racks. “More clothes for you. I know you have a big closet. And if you run out of space, just take Yoongi’s, he only wears like three things despite my best efforts.”

You laughed, “Yeah, you’re not kidding. Ok thanks,” You took the clothing. “I appreciate it.”

“It’s no trouble. Feel free to see yourself out, I’ll see you tomorrow. Oh and please make sure the catering has strawberries.”

“Strawberries? Got it.” You were learning so much today. 

You exited the backroom and saw Jimin over near one of the pedestals. He was chatting with JK who was getting fitted with a corset. What an itty bitty waist, you admired. The two of them seemed to be having a good time and you had a new list of things to do so you waved at Jimin and headed to 1802 to drop off your new clothes. You had forgotten Hoseok knew you lived with Yoongi. The week had flown by.  

You sent a text message to Jiwoo asking if you could stop by her desk and ask her a few questions to make sure everything was set up for tomorrow and then stopped by the apartment.

You conferred with her and learned how to navigate catering requests via the company website; apparently it wasn’t available on the app, good to know. you felt much better about the shoot tomorrow but still nervous and excited.

You knocked on the door to Genius Lab. No answer. Never any answer. You typed the code in and saw Yoongi wearing his headphones, lost in his own world. He had told you to just wait on the sofa when this was the case and that he would eventually notice you. Normally the smell of coffee was what alerted him to your presence, but you had come empty handed today. You sat down on the couch and took out your phone.

YN: I don’t mean to alarm you. But there’s something behind you.

You saw his phone light up. He ignored it for a minute, presumably to finish listening to a song, and then picked it up. You heard him laugh and take off his headphones.  “You are the worst.” He spun around.

“So mean. Hey. Tomorrow is my first photoshoot. I checked on the outfits for you. By the way, Hoseok is like Sherlock Holmes with clothing. I learned I’m supposed to contact catering, I have hair and make-up requests in. Do I need to do anything else?”

Yoongi thought for a minute. He never really participated in that side of the photoshoot, now that he reflected on it. He walked his way through a day on set.  “No. The changing rooms and photography are handled by other departments. Check with Jiwoo or Jimin, they’ve both set up a shoot before.”

“I did. I’m getting ready to send in the last food request. Any requests?”

“Mandarins. I don’t like to eat a lot on set because I don’t want stuff getting stuck in my teeth.”

“That makes sense. Ok. I’ll let you get back to it then.” You got up and stretched.

“Tomorrow will go fine. If you forgot anything, it will be somewhere in this building.” He reassured you.

“That makes me feel a lot better.” You said honestly. “Alright, I’ll see you around.”

“Later.”

--------------------

The next day arrived with Yoongi heading off to the hair and make-up department and you heading to the 11th floor to see what the photo set up looked like. You exited the elevator. Man your hands were sweaty, you followed the sounds of voices and made your way to the shooting location. The lighting crew was checking their overheads, a stand-in was posing on the various props they had set out. It looked as though there were three separate “areas” for shooting photos. One area had a large white couch, complete with coffee table, rubber plant, magazines. The whole set up designed to look like a living room. A second space was a blue sheet with a white background. The third space was a kitchen, complete with an island, stovetop, and refrigerator. Holy moly this space was huge. You marveled at it.

“Hello, can I help you?” An older man walked over.

“Oh hi, I’m YLN. Yoongi’s assistant. I was stopping by to check the set up. It looks incredible.”

“Thank you. Yes. Here, let me walk you through it.”

You received a tour of the set and also an overview of the order of shooting. You also found out that next week, weather permitting, there would be a second shooting at the park across the street. You got catering checked in, or at least pointed to the table and felt like you did a thing. The same happened when the clothing team showed up. You pointed to dressing rooms and the vanity where the accessories trunk should go. You were thankful no one had asked you any questions so far. This was a steep learning curve. You had hoped someone you knew might be here today to help ease your nerves, but so far, it was all new faces.

Finally, you saw one familiar face. Alice walked in, carrying a small case with her. You waved.

“Hey! It’s nice to see you again.” She said. “I had no idea you were Yoongi’s assistant until today.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess I didn’t mention that. I was so overwhelmed that first day,” you smiled.

“No worries. He was just telling me and Bongcha that he had an assistant now. He’s almost done. His make-up is setting. I’m on hair today which isn’t my strong suit, but it’s not like he’s needing a fancy up-do or anything and it’s good for me to practice.”

“Ok great. This is my first time at a photoshoot, so if there’s something I’m supposed to be doing but I’m not, can you let me know?” You confided in her. 

“Absolutely. It looks like most of the stuff is set up how it usually is. Just remember,” she got closer to you and spoke quieter, “You are Yoongi’s assistant. Some of these people, especially these older guys will try to get you to do stuff like get their coffee, grab them snacks. That is not your job. It’s not by job. If they have an assistant, it’s their job.” 

“I knew I liked you when we first met,” you smiled at her. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“Anytime Unnie.”

She walked over and took out her hair tools and placed them on the table reserved for hair and make-up. A few minutes later you saw Yoongi walk in wearing a black shirt and grey sweats. His face looked even more beautiful than normal. Next to him was a petite girl with long black hair pulled up into a ponytail, dragging a make-up train behind her.  Yoongi looked around for a second, and then locked eyes with you. You saw the tiniest smile threaten to come out as he walked over.

“Hey. Everything here looks good.” He gestured to the room.

“Thanks. I didn’t do most of it, I just pointed and people seemed to know what to do already. Your face looks good.” 

Yoongi chuckled, “You can thank Bongcha for that. Bongcha, this is YN.”

Bongcha stuck out her hand, “Hi. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Nice to meet you as well. You do good work. I give his face a 10/10. Highly recommend.” 

“Well, it’s easy when you have such a great model to start with,” She smiled while looking up at Yoongi.

Yoongi had started to blush between the pair of compliments. “Is Hoseok here yet?”

“No not yet.” You took out your phone to see if you had any messages from Hoseok. Nope. You looked back up, “Bongcha, I’m sure you already know, but the make-up table is over there.  Alice is setting up right now.”

“Great, thanks!” She headed over, her shiny hair swishing behind her. 

Speak of the devil in blue himself, Hoseok strutted in at that exact moment wearing an electric blue suit. His crisp white shirt underneath popped beneath the jacket, and his pocket square had little sunshines on it.

“Wow. You look like the sky.” You said before you could help it.

“Thank you. Indeed. It was my inspiration today. It’s a crime to be indoors beneath these artificial lights on such a beautiful day. Oh well. It can’t be helped.” He laid eyes on Yoongi, like a predator gazing on its prey, “Yoongi. Baby. Come.”

Yoongi scrunched his face. “Don’t call me baby. If you miss the sunlight so much, leave. I know how to dress myself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you don't know which pieces go together.” Hoseok grabbed Yoongi by the shoulders and started leading him over to the clothing section, leaving you to laugh at the pair of them. You went over to the table you had set up for yourself between make-up and the food. You had printed off several lists that morning to help you stay focused. You checked off several action items. Satisfied, you sat your clipboard down and looked around. It was a well-oiled machine for sure. You walked over to the hair and make-up table. “Hey ladies.”

“Hey! Have you two met yet?” Alice asked, referring to Bongcha.

“Yep, we just did.” Bongcha confirmed, putting on her make-up apron and filling it with various powders and brushes.

“Ooooo we should do a make-up party sometime.” Alice squealed. “We try to do it with all the new girls. And since Yoongi is” she hushed her voice again “One of our favorites. We have to take care of his assistant.”

You smiled, “Sure. That sounds nice. Excuse me.” You decided to go see how the clothes were going.

“Yes. Yoongi’s assistant. So glad you’re here.” Hoseok turned to you.

“She has a name, it’s YN.” You heard Yoongi say from behind the curtain.

“Yes yes. I know. We talked yesterday, remember? At that meeting I scheduled for me and you that you did not come to. Anyways, here. The outfits are now coordinated. They have tags on them corresponding to their accessory in the accessory trunk. Some pieces have more than one option that the Director of Photography and Yoongi will decide on. Got it?”

You looked over the set up. It seemed simple enough since Hoseok had organized it so well .”Yep. You going out to enjoy the sunshine?” 

“Honey, I am the sunshine. I’m off to get laid after having to deal with this cloudy baby.” He gestured to the changing room.

“Don’t call me baby.” Yoongi shouted from behind the curtain. You just laughed as Hoseok turned around and left. You waited for a few minutes. 

“You ok in there? Need me to come help you put your pants on?” You teased.

“Not necessary.” Yoongi slid open the curtain. Why was everyone teasing him today? He pouted without thinking about it.

You walked over, straightening the collar of his shirt “Hey now, you can’t go around pouting like a baby and not expect people to call you one. Here,” you handed him a mandarin. He scowled at you as he took it. “Such a pretty face” You laughed. 

“Yeah whatever. I can eat this while they set up the white meter. You should be fine to just hang around at this point.”

“Alright. Sounds good.” The two of you walked over to the main part of the set where the Director gave Yoongi instructions about where to sit as they practiced the blocking and softbox placement.

“Oh my god he looks so good eating that tangerine.” You overheard. Your eyes bugged out slightly and you turned around. A group of women from the photography team were looking at the images to check the saturation and focus, as well as apparently the model. Damn. NEXT CHAPTER

@lidda  @anpanman-sonyeondan   @firefairy1  @cuteipat​  @sugaslittlekookies​  @janeelizabeth1216​ @deeepvibes​ @gxldenhunny​ @livelyjay​ @niniita-ah​ @bobbyboops​ @honeysunandsoil​ @deathkat657​

[upcycleability]

Be Wary of Planting Trees

Planting trees is considered to be one of the strongest ways in which people are trying to combat climate change. Trees such up carbon dioxide and hold it in their wood, so planting a lot of them is bound to reduce total carbon emissions, right? What can be bad ebout planting trees?

Well... it’s complicated.

The benefits of tree-planting inititives

Nobody is going to argue with the idea that planting trees is ultimately a good thing. Especially due to the fact that we have chopped down 46% of the world’s forests from the time we started chopping til 2016, according to National Geographic.

Planting more trees takes excess carbon out of the air, increases clean air in the atmosphere, gives wild animals a place to live and call home, prevent species from being extinct, and if done right, increases biodiversity and ultimately benefits the world as a whole.

While planting trees is not by itself wrong, why would it be seen as a bad thing? Well, it depends a lot on the context of the tree plantings.

Trees as an excuse

A lot of people, but especially corperations and large companies, use tree planting as a way to wave away blame for other bad behavior. For instance, companies may refuse to reduce emissions, or even actively fight against emissions standards in law, while also trying to make themselves look more “green“ in the eyes of consumers.

in June of 2020, InsideClimate News released an article talking about the numerous pledges given by large oil companies to “reach net zero emissions.“ In this article, they mention:

“Most glaring is that none of the companies has committed to cut its oil and gas output over the next decade, the simplest and most reliable way—one might say the only way—to cut emissions, and a must if the world is to avoid dangerous warming. In fact, the stated net-zero “ambitions,” as the companies generally call them, do not require that greenhouse gas emissions fall to zero at all. They rely instead either partly or largely on capturing or canceling out these emissions with unproven technologies and reforestation at a questionable scale.“

Pumping pure carbon into the air, and then turning around and spending a few million on tree planting and carbon sequestration is not going to cut it. If we are going to reach real net zero emissions, we need to eliminate the oil and gas industries as a whole, literally uprooting them and making them obsolete. There is not enough land on this planet to plant a tree for every gallon of gas or pound of coal we burn.

You can learn a little bit more about this from this video from the YouTube channel Just Have a Think.

The misuse of forestry

Trees that are being planted make up only a small amount of the trees that are ripped out of the earth at an alarming rate. Often for little good reason. For one, wild fires are increasing around the world, destroying millions of acres of trees right then and there.

Hundreds of trees can exist per acre, which means that hundreds of millions of trees are lost to wildfires every year.

When it comes to the use of paper products in America alone, we use 7 trees per American per year. This equates to about 2 billion trees being used annually, often for paper products such as toilet paper and paper towels.

And this isn’t even getting into the slash and burn impacts of the Amazon by the president of Brazil. Nor does it count the hundreds of millions of trees chopped down specifically for European power grids.

According to Time Magazine in 2015, 15 billion trees are chopped down across the world annually. So in order for our tree planting behaviors to matter in the long term, we need to focus on reducing the number of trees that are cut down altogether. That includes focusing on recycling all of the paper currently in production, increasing the use of the bidet, using paper towels, and using more recycled and bamboo products when you can.

Planting trees is a good mindset, but there is more you can do

The last thing that we all want is for someone to think that planting trees is all that they have to do. While corperations are the ones mainly on the hook, you also should not become complacent just because you bought some carbon credits.

You should still:

* Vote for politicians that will fight for greener laws

* Write your representative and ask them to vote for greener laws

* Contact companies and request more eco friendly and sustainable packaging and goods.

* Reduce meat consumption

* Switch to renewable energy if you can

* Buy secondhand whenever possible

* Buying things sustainable, and closer to you if you can

* Reducing or eliminating flying if you can

* Using public transportation if able

We should not hold the weight of the world, but we should at the very least help to do our part.

***

If you like what I have written and want to help me out:

I run a small business as a solo craftsperson who focuses on eco-friendly and sustainable creations of goods. I use natural fabrics fished from the trash and other secondhand locations like thrift shops.

You can find my Etsy store HERE.

I also have a Mercari shop for cheaper clothes

And a Poshmark for the more expensive stuff.

[gukyi]

tattoos together | kth

summary: you aren’t necessarily terribly particular when it comes to tattoos, and when you arrive at your favorite tattoo parlor one day in search of a new addition, one in particular catches your eye, but more importantly, so does the artist behind its creation. and slowly, you come to realize that art does not need sentimental value to be meaningful—it just needs to be loved.

{tattoo artist!au}

pairing: kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff word count: 5k warnings: mention of tattoo needles a/n: a huge huge huge thank you to @guksflavor for commissioning me for this piece, and thank you for contributing to the blm movement !!!! for anyone wondering--this was commissioned prior to my drabble commissions post, which is why it’s longer. hope that you enjoy!!!! 

When you go to a new city, your favorite thing to do is explore. 

Unpacking has never really been your forte, because it takes forever and it’s not as if any of the packages contain a surprise. You already know what’s in every single cardboard box strewn around your apartment, from the old clothes you never wear to the single set of nice dinnerware that you never use because you don’t ever have guests fancy enough to require usage of them. 

The beauty of the world is that it has so many hidden corners. So many hole-in-the-wall stores and secret alleyways shielded from street lights. Secrets unknown to even some of the locals. 

So yes, the boxes against the barren walls of your apartment can wait. 

They have been for the past couple of years, at least. What’s one more day?

Besides, if you hadn’t prioritized exploring over unpacking, you never would have found that little tattoo shop on the corner of South and Brooks, the one that looks more like a cottage-turned-overgrown-flower shop than a place where you go to get permanently inked. The walls are a pastel neutral shade, accented by exposed brick near the back and lined with drawings after drawings, new designs tacked over old ones, pages curling in on themselves after years of being hung up. 

From the inside or the outside, it doesn’t at all read like a stereotypical tattoo parlor. No black walls, no leather, no gothic lettering on the door. 

And that’s really the beauty of it all. That you would never know of this place if you hadn’t gone wandering, hadn’t decided that your unpacking of boxes could wait another couple of days (and maybe months, too). That there are secrets blanketing the city, and that you can learn them all, if only you keep your eyes peeled. 

Also, the tattoo parlor is right next to what you happily designate as the best bakery in the entire town, but that’s just a bonus. 

Still, Jungkook doesn’t ever seem to mind when you show up to a session with two coffees and a bag with two muffins inside of it. 

The bell above the door rings when you open it, stepping onto the beige welcome mat onto the tile. It’s been raining the past couple of days, and you can make out damp spots on the fabric where people have wiped their shoes. It’s busier than normal, today, several of the artists fielding requests and questions from eager clients, pointing at the designs on the wall or handing them their own sketches. 

But as always, Jungkook is free, loitering in the back corner with his hands tucked into the pockets of the dark jeans he’s wearing, as if he’d been expecting you all afternoon. 

Considering you are pretty much confidants after so many years of seeing him, you suppose that he’s picked up on your predictability—if only just a little. 

“What, don’t you have a job to be doing?” You ask instead of a hello, catching Jungkook’s attention immediately as you walk in, a bag of two scones in your hand. 

“Don’t have a job if you’re not here,” he quips back, strolling over casually and happily taking the napkin-wrapped baked good from your hand. He eats approximately half of it in a single bite as you settle down by his station, a vintage vanity that Jungkook says that the owner found at a thrift store. It’s awfully beat up as is, but looks more at home inside here, little succulents sitting, pressed up against the wall, and ink stains covering the countertop. 

“Touché,” you concede with a nod. 

“What are you here for today?” Jungkook asks over a mouthful of scone. “You got an actual design in mind or just want me to wing it?” 

“Am I not allowed to just say hello to one of my favorite people in the city?” You tease. 

Jungkook frowns. “‘One of’? Who else is there?” 

“Me, of course,” you tell him happily. “You got any new designs I can take a peek at?”

“See for yourself,” Jungkook says, motioning to the wall beside him as you giddily skirt over to take a look. You’re in here so often that Jungkook’s long foregone showing you which ones were recently added—deigning to sit at his table while you pick out the new ones from the old, which sketches weren’t tacked to the wall the last time you were in. 

There’s a couple of ones that you don’t recognize taped along the wall, or peeking out of the open binders that they have spread out on spare shelves and countertops, new designs of birds and flowers and snakes. But the one that really catches your eye is a small one, drawn on a piece of paper the size of a Post-it note. You almost miss it, half-hidden behind a much bigger sketch of an old grandfather clock, lines dark and heavy. It’s a simple line drawing, really, of the sun rising or setting along the horizon, its reflection shakily echoed in the water it stands above. It could almost be straight out of a scrapbook, a Polaroid of a real moment in time, a real sight someone saw. 

“This one’s new,” you say, fingers reaching up to page at the edges. 

Jungkook gets up to see what all of the fuss is about. “Oh, yeah, just added yesterday. You like it?”

“It’s pretty,” you say, unable to tear your eyes away from it. It’s so simple, so modest. Like a doodle that someone would draw in the margins of a textbook, like the start of a flipbook design in an old library book. “Looks almost like it was printed from offline.”

“You know everything in here is usually hand-drawn,” Jungkook chides. 

“Reminds me of a photograph,” you say as Jungkook reaches out with his hands to take the design down. “You know, like some really picturesque scene on a beach. With the sun reflected against the water.”

“Can’t tell if it’s rising or setting,” Jungkook comments, holding it out in front of him. 

“I think that’s the point.”

“So, where do you want it?” Jungkook asks. “And don’t say the bottom of your foot. I know you’re joking.”

You laugh, reminded of the time you had teasingly told him that you wanted a flock of birds tattooed beneath your feet, and he almost believed you before you burst into a fit of giggles. Pausing, you think. Where would you want something like that? Not your back, surely. To you, the whole point of a tattoo is to be able to see it. And not on your torso, either. You’ve grown rather accustomed to the feeling of a needle on skin, so the pain isn’t the issue, but a drawing like that isn’t meant to be kept secret. Not supposed to be hidden by your clothes. 

You can’t say that you’ve ever kept tattoos particularly serious, plotting out exactly what you’ll get inked and which part of your body will make it the most meaningful. Tattoos are but another art form, one that uses the skin as its canvas, and not all art is supposed to be perfect and purposeful and mean something. Art is in the eye of the beholder. It is, above all, supposed to make you happy. 

You love every single thing that Jungkook has drawn on your skin, and every single thing that was drawn before you met him. But this one is special. 

“Here,” you say, pulling up the sleeve of your shirt so it rests on your shoulders, tapping the empty space on your upper left arm. It’s surrounded with tattoos, with flowers and words and pictures, but there has always been an open space. One that you were saving for something extraordinary. 

“You sure? You know I can’t undo this as fast as I can do it,” Jungkook says, not to mock you but to make sure you aren’t making a mistake. 

Perhaps it’s your impulsive nature, the part of you that doesn’t really care about making mistakes so long as you can recognize that they happened, that makes you shrug. That isn’t terribly particular over where Jungkook places the needle. Tattoos are for fun. Taking everything serious is boring, anyway. 

“I’m sure,” you tell him, and Jungkook nods. He goes to transfer the design to a tattoo stencil as you wait, finishing up your scone. It’s a little harder now that you’ve waited a bit to eat it, not as soft as it was when Jungkook tore through his, but it’s delicious nonetheless. 

As you’re waiting, you hear the bell above the door ring. You turn around to look at the latest patron out of habit, that instinctual people-watching urge that bubbles up inside of you. 

You don’t recognize him. 

Which isn’t a first, per se, but you are in here rather often and have come to know most of the regulars, at least on a first-name basis. You wonder if he had just wandered in after strolling down the street, noticed the flowerpots hanging from the ceiling or the walls littered with designs or the cracking white paint that makes this place look like an old-timey ice cream store. His eyes, dark and brown and mysterious, go straight to the designs on the wall beside you, as if he knows exactly what he’s looking for. 

He looks down at you and the two of you meet eyes, his partially hidden by his caramel brown hair, yours looking up at him because it feels like you can’t turn away. There is something about him that makes you want to ask him to come here more often. Just so you can see him again. 

“Oh, Taehyung!” 

You turn back to see Jungkook returning with the design on a stencil, toothy smile widening when he sees the boy in question, a wave of familiarity rushing over his features. 

“Jungkook,” Taehyung says, and the two of them greet each other the way that all men do, with that unspoken hand grab-turned-back pat. “Was in this part of the city and thought I’d stop by. See how my favorite skin artist is doing.”

“Ugh,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, “I hate when you call me that. It’s weird and makes me sound like I make art with skin.”

“Don’t you?” Taehyung poses teasingly, making Jungkook shove him playfully. 

“Shut up,” Jungkook responds, heading over to where you’re seated and placing the stencil down on the table. “Y/N here is getting one of your designs on her arm.”

That has you engaged. 

“You drew this?” You ask, picking the stencil back up and holding it out to him. 

Taehyung takes a couple of steps forward and reaches a hand out to look at the drawing in closer detail, before nodding. “Sketched it a couple of days ago. Jungkook said that it might make a nice tattoo.”

“Jungkook has terribly good judgement,” you agree. “I didn’t know you drew for Jungkook.”

“Eh, it’s not a job or anything,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “I like doodling things on the side. Jungkook being a tattoo artist is just a bonus.”

“I’ll say,” Jungkook says with a forced cough. “Y/N’s got a couple of your drawings actually, Tae. That one of the cherry blossoms, and the one with the teddy bear.”

“You did those, too?” You ask, getting more and more pleasantly surprised with every minute that passes. 

“You kidding?” Jungkook scoffs. “Taehyung’s art is all over this place. My boss is actually getting kind of annoyed with how much real estate his drawings take up, but clients seem to really like them, so they stay.”

“So you’re saying it’s not my infectious personality?” Taehyung quips, making you laugh. He and Jungkook seem to go well together. 

Jungkook sighs, a smile tugging loosely at his lips. “Get out of here, I’ve got a client,” he says fondly, motioning to you. 

“Kicking me out after five minutes? I think that’s a new record,” Taehyung says, peering at the old clock on the wall. 

“Don’t get used to it,” Jungkook says, even though it’s obvious that the both of them already are. Jungkook’s too kind, too sweet, too wonderful to ever turn away a friend. Even if he does have a client. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Taehyung says with a tip of an imaginary hat. His smile makes the blood rush to your cheeks, charming and for some reason, irresistible. “Hope that we see each other again soon. I’d love to see your tattoos.”

“I hope so too,” you say, positively enchanted, as he exits, the bell ringing on his way out. 

You wonder why you hadn’t met him before. You suppose that you just always missed each other. 

You sort of hope that, after this, you never do.

You run into Taehyung a couple of days afterwards in the bakery next door to the tattoo parlor. You’re standing by the coffee counter, chatting to one of the baristas who always teases you for buying two of everything whenever you’re there, when you spot him wandering in, the same curious look on his face. He doesn’t notice you at first but you see him straight away, recognize him instantly. It looks like he just accidentally stumbled upon this place, like he had been walking and walking and walking and when he looked up, he was inside. 

You wonder if Taehyung comes here as often as you do. Wonder if he makes an effort to always stop in since he drops by the parlor on a regular basis. Wonder how long you’ve gone, cruelly so, just missing each other. 

“Y/N?”

You look up to see him gazing at you, a lopsided smile tugging at his features. Next to you, the barista hands you your bag of baked goods, two as always, and winks before getting back to work. 

“Hey, I didn’t see you come in,” you lie, hoping that he didn’t catch you ogling him as he walked inside. “You stop by often?”

“Whenever I get the chance to,” Taehyung says back. “I like carbs and coffee.”

“Then I suppose you’ve found the perfect place to be,” you say. And then, in a blaze of courage, you ask, “Are you just popping in, or do you want to sit down for a little?”

Taehyung smiles, warm and wonderful. “I’d be happy to.”

You snag a table in the corner, facing away from the barista who keeps sending you nonsensical and exaggerated facial expressions and gestures, because this is not a movie, and he is not your beautiful love interest who waltzes into your life and sweeps you off your feet. Even if he is rather beautiful. 

“I got two pastries,” you say, tugging them out of the bag, still wrapped in napkins. “Want one?”

Taehyung chuckles as you hand one to him. “Do you always get two of what you order?”

“Hey, I like carbs too,” you tell him defensively, making Taehyung nod in agreement. Seeing as you bought them just a few minutes ago, they’re still warm, soft between your fingers as you pull apart the dough and slowly take a bite. It tastes even sweeter than usual. 

“Do you come here often?” Taehyung poses. 

“Anytime I drop by the parlor,” you add cheerfully. “And sometimes even when I don’t.”

“We seem to always be missing each other, then,” Taehyung muses. 

“Hopefully that will change,” you add with a grin. “Jungkook finished my tattoo a couple of days ago. Do you want to see?”

“The one of my drawing?” Taehyung asks, even though he already knows the answer. 

“What else would there be?” You say, pulling up the sleeve of your shirt to reveal the design. It’s only been a few days, so the tattoo hasn’t had nearly enough time to fully heal, but the sketch is just as prominent as it was when it was first pressed into your skin. It fits perfectly in the empty space that was there before, the lines filling out the blanks between the other pictures. Almost as if that spot had been waiting for the right thing to fill it. Almost as if it had always belonged there. 

Taehyung’s mouth opens in awe as you show him, the skin still raised where the needle had pressed against it. You have to say you don’t really mind showing off your tattoos to others, especially when they bring you so much joy yourself, and people are usually more appreciative than disapproving, but watching the way Taehyung’s face lights up when he sees his design, his sketch, his art on your skin makes your heart beat something terribly fierce. 

The beauty of tattoos is that it is permanent art. Art on the wall of a museum will need to be constantly restored, will be moved from place to place as people bid hundreds of thousands of dollars on owning it. But tattoos follow you wherever you go, will keep you company no matter what the circumstances are. It is art that is permanent, because it will never leave you. 

It seems that Taehyung has realized that as well. 

“Wow, I—” Taehyung says, rubbing at the bottom of his lip, unable to tear his eyes away from the dark ink decorating your body. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’ll let Jungkook know that you really like it,” you say, pleased. “He did an excellent job, as always.”

“Why?” Taehyung asks, the simple question being the only word he’s able to form, the only thing he’s able to think. 

“‘Why?’” You repeat, an eyebrow raised. “Why did I get it?”

“Why did you get that one?” Taehyung says for emphasis, pointing to the design laced along your upper arm. “Out of the millions of possibilities, why choose mine?”

“Oh,” you say, at a loss for words. It’s difficult to pinpoint why. It doesn’t have a terribly sentimental meaning to you. No long-lasting symbolism that has followed you throughout your life. You chose it because it was simple and easy and beautiful. Because you thought that it would be the perfect fit. “Well, I don’t have a great reason.”

“It’s permanent ink on your body,” Taehyung says. “You must have thought it meant something.”

“I just liked the way it looked,” you say. “It was so plain and modest, but it looks like a scene out of a movie. Like a moment captured in time. I don’t know—” you shrug, “—it sort of reminds me of a Polaroid picture. The sun halfway above the horizon. Its reflection on the water.”

Taehyung is speechless, a soft grin slowly inching its way across his face. He looks fond, looks grateful and honored. Like what you told him was the perfect answer. 

“Is the sun rising or setting, Taehyung?” You ask, curious. You suppose that no matter what he chooses, it’ll be the right answer. That the sun can either be rising or setting, so long as you know that it will always return. If it’s rising, it is but a reminder that there is a whole day ahead of you. That you have so much to do and so much to look forward to. And if it’s setting, it’s to let you know that you made it another day, another twenty-four hours. The sun may be saying goodbye, but you can never lose faith that it will come back to say hello. 

Taehyung seems to ponder for a moment, eyes tilting upwards as he thinks, lets the question weigh on his heart. And then he turns to you, a glint in his eye, and he says, “You think it’s the sun?”

And truth be told, you had never considered that it might be the moon. 

In the stark black-and-white of a single-color tattoo, it could be anything you wanted. It could be a massive planet in another galaxy, could be a sweet chocolate ball sinking into a warm cup of milk. But Taehyung thinks it’s the moon. He sees the absent sky as dark, sees the circle in the center as the one that watches over you when you sleep. 

The sun and the moon are the only two constants in everybody’s life. One will never be without the other. And they will always chase after each other, circling the sky every day and every night, eternally unable to stay together. 

Perhaps it is the moon. Or the sun. Perhaps it is rising, or setting. 

And perhaps that is why you chose this design. Because of its ambiguity. Because it can mean so much despite being so little, which is what art is for, isn’t it? To see something and make it beautiful in your eyes? To always look at the world through rose-colored glasses?

No matter what it is, it will remind you that you are never alone. No, even when you have nothing left, the sun and the moon will always stand by you, watch over you. They will light up the path in front of you and guard you on your journey. 

“Well,” you ask Taehyung, smiling. You wonder briefly if that was the whole point of his design. For it to represent whatever the viewer wanted it to. And then you realize that of course that was the point. That Taehyung drew it like this on purpose. Tattoos will follow you for the rest of your days. So will the sun and the moon.“What do you think it is?”

You don’t see Taehyung for a while after that. 

Not that you had been expecting to inexplicably bump into him on the street, or anything, but you were secretly hoping that your luck had changed. That you were slowly beginning to make up for all of the moments you missed each other, all of the times you were just five minutes away from meeting, always just a little too early or a little too late. 

Still, you wish that you could see him more, or at least more often than you currently do, which is never. You know so little about him and yet there is something that draws you closer, makes you want to sift through the layers of dust between his bones, find out what makes his brain tick and his heart beat.

Ever since he walked into the tattoo parlor that day, strolling in with his hands on his pockets and witty comeback on the tip of his tongue, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. About how his art is etched onto your skin eternally. About how he does everything with purpose. 

Meeting him was no accident. 

Is it possible that you were always meant to know each other?

After a month, you return to the parlor, half in search of another design to add to the collection and half hoping that maybe your luck will change and you’ll be able to see him again. And if not, at least there’s always Jungkook to keep you company. 

You drop by the bakery and pick up a very optimistic three scones, just on the off chance that Taehyung may be there when you arrive. Besides, you can’t imagine Jungkook complaining about free food, let alone extra of it. 

But when you arrive, you’re shocked to see that Jungkook is busy working on someone. 

“Taehyung?” You ask, his name the first word to come out of your mouth when you enter. He’s sitting at the same stained white vanity sleeve rolled up as Jungkook presses the needle against his skin. He’s wincing, in that way that people who are getting their first tattoo do, not necessarily from pain but simply from the feeling. 

Jungkook pulls the needle away from Taehyung’s arm before the two of them both turn to look at you, equally as shocked by your presence. 

“Y/N,” Taehyung says back, almost as if your very existence has taken his breath away. 

“You weren’t supposed to come for another hour or so,” Jungkook says, checking the clock on the wall. 

“Are you complaining to the person who brings you free baked goods?” You ask, making Jungkook shake his head in a guilty no. You saunter over to the table to pull out the scones, giddy about having rightly purchased a third, when you notice the design slowly being imprinted onto Taehyung’s skin. 

It’s the same one you have. 

“Hey, what’s this?” You ask, not necessarily looking for an actual response so much as wondering aloud. Taehyung’s getting it in the same place as yours, the upper arm, a single drawing of ink on bare, untouched skin. It must mean something rather special to be his first. “Is that—?”

“Don’t be mad at me for copying you,” Taehyung says sheepishly. “The more I thought about it the more I liked it.”

“I’m not mad at you,” you tell him. 

“I don’t know,” Taehyung says with a sigh as Jungkook motions towards the needle, a silent question to see if Taehyung’s still alright with him continuing. Taehyung nods, letting only his eyes drift upwards to yours as Jungkook goes back in. “I mean, I guess it’s kind of impulsive, isn’t it? Getting a tattoo after seeing what it looked like on someone else. But when we were talking about it, I just thought about how detailed it really was. How it said so much despite being so little.”

“That’s what I thought about it, too,” you say with a grin. “It’s special. I mean, every tattoo is special, but this one is because it can mean whatever you want it to mean. Whether it’s the sun or the moon, rising or setting. And the beauty of it is that you can change your mind about it, too.” 

If one day, you would rather the moon watch over you, keep the waves calm on a quiet night, where your thoughts are loud and heavy, then it will. But if, the next day, you want some light to shine down upon the field of daisies and wildflowers in your heart, then the sun will come out. No matter which it is, it will stand guard over you, protect you from what the rest of the world will try to throw at you. 

“What do you think it is, Jungkook?” Taehyung asks, making Jungkook stop. 

Jungkook looks down at the drawing, at what he is pressing into Taehyung’s skin, and he says, “I think it’s the rising sun. Telling all of us to look forward to a brand new day.”

You smile. “And what do you think it is, Taehyung?”

Taehyung doesn’t skip a beat. “I think it can be all four all at once—the sun rising, the sun setting, the moon rising, the moon setting. It just depends on what you want it to be.”

“You know,” you say with a grin. “We’re going to have matching tattoos now.”

“Oh, are we?” Taehyung asks cheekily, even though nothing he ever does is accidental. Not the sketch, not the tattoo, and certainly not its placement. 

“We are,” you say, pulling up your sleeve for good measure. “They could be buddies. Hang out and take pictures together.”

“What about us?” Taehyung asks. “Can we hang out and take pictures together too?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” You pose, even though you already know the answer. 

“That depends,” Taehyung quips back. “Are you saying yes to one?”

“I think I am,” you say, pleased smiles lacing their way across your faces. Taehyung is beaming, the discomfort of a needle barely even registering, as he grins at you, charming and brilliant and bright. “And I look forward to it.”

“Me too.” Taehyung nods. 

“I’m here to hopefully get another tattoo,” you tell him, raising your eyebrows. “If you want, you can stick around and maybe we can get tattoos together.”

“Isn’t that a bit impulsive?” Taehyung smirks. 

“Aren’t you?”

And you think that, even though the universe kept you apart for so long—separated by minutes, perhaps even seconds—it sort of always knows what it’s doing. You were never not going to meet. It was just a matter of when. 

And the sun and moon will never not protect you. It is just a matter of which. 

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[salt-baby]

You mentioned in one of your posts personalized knee braces, may I ask what you did to them? I need ideas to spice up my braces

absolutely! thanks so much for the ask! 

most of my gear is customized in some way or another, and a lot of it is either visible mending or visible-mending inspired

my knee braces are the bodyprox hinged knee brace, which are available over-the-counter and have served me pretty well! They've lasted about a year but I would probably recommend replacing them around six months

anyway the first signs of wear and tear were on the covers for the metal hinges on the side, so I took some embroidery floss and added some little decorative patches wherever it tore through and that held really well. this part of the brace doesn't have any effect on functionality, it just protects the hinges from scratching things, so I felt pretty safe repairing it. These could also be removed pretty easily to work on.

[Image ID: two black knee braces on a striped blue bedspread. The knee braces have covered hinges on each side, and the covers are worn through in multiple places. There are three embroidered spots on the covers: a sunflower, a smiley face, and a rainbow flag. / .End ID.]

eventually it was wearing through too much to keep up with. Most of the wear came from the inside, from the friction of the metal against the padded fabric, so when I eventually went to replace them entirely, I knew the most durable layer should be the innermost one.

inspired by this post, i ordered some eye-pattern quilters cotton and used some thrifted black denim to make new covers. They’re sewn (with a whip stitch, specifically) around the edges and seams with black dental floss. I’d also recommend upholstery or heavy-duty thread, since that holds pretty well, comes in a lot of colors, and is cheap. I added two layers of the cotton since I figured it would tear quickly and it did. heres when it was new:

[Image ID: a person wearing grey compression tights and black knee braces in front of a white background. The knee braces have been modified, so that the hinge covers are made out of an eyeball-pattern fabric with visible black stitching. / .End ID]\

the quilters cotton basically tore immediately, but I honestly think that it looks cool as it is. The denim has held up remarkably well! no tears or thin spots or anything! I used a thick, no stretch denim for it (honestly I think I destroyed a pair of Levi Jeans for it...)

there’s some spots in the back which have gotten all torn up from the velcro, and I would patch or darn those areas, but I’m about to get shiny new prescription knee braces, so it didn’t seem worth the trouble.

some other things i’ve thought about doing but didn’t was to whipstitch around the edges in a colorful thread or embroidery floss, modify the tag somehow or paint the little velcro tabs. Because of the little plastic loops, you could probably also add a chain if the clasp was big enough, like one of those shoe chains? you’d have to try and see! I think theres a whole world of possibility for self-expression using braces. 

if you do end up customizing your knee braces, I’d love to see them! If youre comfortable feel free to tag me in a post or dm me pictures!

I’ve also modified my wrist braces and my oval-8 ring splints, so if you (or anyone else) are curious about those, send me another ask and I’ll happily go into it! I just didn’t want to rant too much on one post.

[aceofspadegrass]

niragi bullying kids but i think the kids should start bullying back

Bully The Angry Licorice They Said. It’ll Be Fine They Said

Characters: Last Boss, Niragi Suguru, Cabot

Genre: Just some funky bullying. And a little murder. 

1.7k words

Niragi really do be bullying children. Even if the children are kind of dickheads in return.

As you see, I am bad at bullying. What I am good at is just calling the other person very dramatic names.

Also Last Boss is just watching the entire thing.

Sorry it's a little bad.

—————————————————————————————————

If there was anything Last Boss preferred to do other than follow Niragi around, it was just sit in his room alone with Cabot, but sadly that wasn’t an option. Niragi didn’t let him sit in his room, poking him awake with his own cat and then dragging him outside for reasons the other hasn’t even told him yet.

Cabot meows quietly in his ear, paws resting on his shoulder as she perched there, watching the world pass by her. Last Boss feels her nuzzle the side of his head, tickling his ear, Last Boss gently reaching up and scratching her where she liked it. She purrs happily, and Last Boss goes back to focusing his attention on Niragi, who saunters down the halls, gun at his side as always. He doesn’t bother to ask Niragi where they were even going, or why exactly he needed him there. Niragi was weird and usually had his own plans that he acts out of a simple impulsive whim, and sometimes Last Boss was simply dragged into it. Maybe because Niragi kind of thought his presence was intimidating and cool.

Or maybe he was just lonely and Last Boss was the only person willing to be in the same room and not judge him for trying to peel a banana with a coin.

They both end up outside, Last Boss slowly blinking as Niragi walks to one of the cars, glancing back at Last Boss and jerking his head towards it, that cocky smile on his face. “ Well? Come on, we don’t have all day.” Niragi called out to Last Boss, who shuffles over. “ Technically, we do…..” He says, low and quiet enough that Niragi would’ve never heard him as he makes it to the car, opening the passenger door. Niragi was already inside and turning it on, Last Boss slipping inside and shutting the door. He snaps on the seatbelt, Cabot comfortably tucked inside Last Boss’ hood and kneading close to the nape of his neck, where the fabric was.

Niragi drives off, not even wearing his own belt, and Last Boss braces his feet against the bottom part of the car as Niragi races down the empty streets with reckless abandon, the vehicle swerving this way and that. Last Boss had to keep his head down to even process it, the outside making him a little dizzy from how violently Niragi was going. Cabot was at least keeping him stable, her constant kneading against his neck familiar and slow.

He doesn’t know where they where even going until Niragi shuts off the car, Last Boss finally looking up and around him. It seemed to be a simple shopping district, Niragi already walking away without him. Last Boss stays put and watches Niragi, silently testing how far he’d go before realizing (or simply just remembering) that he was there too.

Cabot meows, wriggling herself out and landing on his lap, Last Boss looking down at her. She stretches, and proceeds to also make biscuits on his leg before staring up directly at him.

“…. He’ll come back sooner or later, so ….” He tells Cabot, and as if even mentioning his existence summons the demon himself, there was a loud knock at the window, Cabot scrambling off into the back of the car. Last Boss looks up, staring directly at Niragi in silence, face blank. He didn’t appreciate him scaring Cabot, Niragi just staring back. 

“ Come on! I didn’t kidnap you to be lazy and sit there! Come on! I want to walk around!” Niragi knocks on the window again, and Last Boss opens the door, if only to stop him from pounding so impatiently. Niragi backs away to let Last Boss exit, the taller of the two waiting until Cabot hops out and rubs against the duo’s legs in content. Last Boss bends down and pets her, Niragi just staying where he was for a few seconds. He leaves when Cabot focused her primary attention on her owner, strolling off. Last Boss follows him silently, Cabot keeping pace with him. 

Niragi wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to walk around, quite literally going inside buildings and straight back out, looking at random trinkets that each shop housed. Last Boss stayed outside most of the time, only coming in when Niragi calls him in to show him something that caught his attention, only to leave it there and wander off somewhere else. Nothing went into Niragi’s possession as far as Last Boss was aware, always set down where it was originally. At one point it almost looked like Niragi would take an old handheld console, but all he did was suddenly ramble on about how long it took for him to beat Sonic before putting it down and walking away.

He looks down at Cabot, who was pawing at a stray dust ball. “ He’s happy about things other than violence. He has a brain, isn’t that nice.” He mumbles, out of Niragi’s hearing range, Cabot batting the dust ball away and chasing after it. 

There was a shout deeper in the store, and Last Boss goes to investigate, although at his own pace. Niragi could handle himself, he was sure, so he didn’t feel the need to hurry.

“ What the fuck!? Who the fuck are you!” It was a younger voice, Last Boss slowly blinking as he makes it to where the shout came from. Niragi was standing there, door open, Last Boss peeking in. There, all in the corner surrounded by blankets, pillows, and old thrown away cans, were a bunch of kids, perhaps no older than 14 at best. One of them was aiming a baseball bat in their direction, Niragi scoffing and leaning his weight to the left. “ I should be asking you that question. What are you all doing back here, eh? This place is shit.” Niragi smirks, Last Boss watching the interaction in the background.

“ So? Not like what you had is much better, old man!” “ Wh- Old man?! I’ll have you know that I’m fucking youthful as hell! You look like fucking babies!” Niragi growls, the lead kid smirking and turning the bat in their hand, the light in the room illuminating the dark splotches upon the wood. “ At least we’re decades more spry than you! You may look good, but I bet that your old man bones are gonna fail you!” “ I take care of myself, excuse you! I’ll fucking shoot you right here, don’t think I won’t!” Niragi points his gun at the children with a snarl, a few of the children hiding behind whatever they could. Last Boss didn’t know what to make of any of this, but the determination and bravery on the baseball bat wielding kid was impressive, the kid laughing in the face of death.

“ Oh, too much of a pussy to take a few words? You look like you buy your clothes off the bargain rack! No, even better! You stole them from the thrift store!” Niragi only got more angry it seemed, and as a warning shot a few bullets into the ground, a few yelps coming through from the other end. Last Boss blinks, and looks to Niragi for a second. He seemed infuriated by the kid, and likely wasn’t about to take any of it sitting down.

“ You think you’re so tough, but I’ll show you! I’ll show all of you! You’re just kids, and I’m an adult with a gun!” The other kid snorts. “ Yeah, surrrreeeee…… Bet you think you’re tough too! You look like you try too hard.I mean, look at that face! Piercings all on one side? You look like you have silver moles! They look stupid on you!” The kid retorts with a smug grin, and Niragi huffs.

“ And you look like a generic background character that doesn’t even get a name! Who the fuck made that face? Oh man, your mom probably looked like a hag!” Niragi cackles at his own statement, Last Boss slowly blinking as Niragi looks back at him with a satisfied smirk. “ At least I have a mom! You look like yours went and taught you how to be a badly printed pool!” Niragi rolls his eyes at the kid. “ At least it didn’t print little volcanos on my face! Unlike someone.” The leader glaring at him.

“ That’s just how I look! I’ll get super sexy and all the girls and boys will adore me! You’ll look like a wrinkled pocket receipt , ready to decompose and die Niragi rolls his eyes, and he shoots again, closer. “ You say one more thing and I’ll blow you like a piñata.” The kid grins, and his stupid mouth begins to open,” So in other words, you would blow me? Ewwwww! The weird bag of Adderall and crack is gonna get us! I’m sooooo scared~” He smugly and sarcastically replies, a few other kids joining in a little in laughing.

“ He looks like a discarded charcoal grill!” “ Probably smells like overflowing garbage-“ “ Hey! Do you think he even has a brain in there? Probably filled with tapioca pudding! Ooh, or just black beans!” There was a faint click, and Last Boss doesn’t even have time to react properly then Niragi let bullets fly from his beloved gun.

He sighs once the other end were nothing more than flesh, and turns to Last Boss, grinning. “ I’m gonna head to the other store.” He rolls his eyes, resting his gun back on his shoulder as he leaves. “ They really think they could get away with calling me names?” Niragi grumbles on his way out, and Last Boss merely blinks, not even looking back. Cabot comes around on his way out, demanding pats. Last Boss kneels down and runs his hand from back all the way to her tail, Cabot purring. “ He smells more like a sad sandcastle, actually.” Last Boss mutters, and Cabot meows in agreement, the cat climbing him like a short child using a countertop to reach her favourite cereal on the shelf. He stands up and shuffles his way back near Niragi’s side, not at all ready to deal with his angry grumbling for the next half hour.