#might buy a coloring book and trace the pages onto fabric

[wistelligence]

i need. some lineart to Do Things with.

[shewhowillnotbenamed1]

:) Don’t know why, but I had a half-baked idea of Raven in the kitchen in her underwear and it turned into this. Hope you enjoy!

Prompt List.

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The sun rays streamed in through a wispy sliver of cream-colored curtain. Damian blinked softly, drawing up his hand, peering through a gap in his fingers to shield still sleepy green eyes. He yawned, turning over onto a small impression in the sheets, the remnant left by a small figure he had been spooning. Damian fought off the start of a smile, thinking of their extended session last night. This one lasted almost three hours, before they collapsed into each other, overtaken by exhaustion, and fell asleep. But no matter her state of soreness, he could count on Raven to always wake before him.

Confirmation came in the form of a sharp kettle whistle carrying through the open loft. With a limber stretch to loosen up his languid muscles, he made his way to her.

In the kitchen, wearing his favorite work shirt, was Raven. Humming. Gliding. Her hips moving hypnotically to a beat known to her alone, she traipsed around the space. She shuffled along until, at last she located what she sought in a cabinet overhead. Pale feet arched up, reaching on tiptoes, in a way that could have been for show, but he knew it was because she was so petite.

All the same, Damian took immense pleasure in the view.

Raven shimmied, the single buttoned shirt shifted, revealing the brilliant blue of her underwear. And in her hand dangled the spoils of the search: a bag of dark roast.

Coffee?

She was making him coffee. For a habitual tea drinker, who couldn't operate most kitchen apparatuses on a good day - this was Raven practically cooking for him in her underwear.

Raven was making him coffee...

Pouring a bag of French roast, in french blue lace to fill a French press.

It was a shame to interrupt, but she melted the instant his arms slid around her waist from behind. "Damian."

"Good morning, habibti." His lips lingered on the nape of her neck. "Smells...wonderful."

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied her biting her lip. No doubt, at the sensation of his body pushing into hers. "You wouldn't say that if I hadn't changed my mind..." Raven said softly. "And decided to try my hand at French toast instead of French roast - like I had planned."

If he had walked in on her with an apron over her underwear... Spatula in hand.

"Perhaps..." He angled his face to hers. "But when..." He began, but stopped, when he saw her stiffen. "Or rather, if your experiment goes south, I can always smell you..." Damian breathed her in again, lips just brushing hers. "Lather you in syrup..." Catching her lip between his teeth. "Nibble on you..." His tongue darted out. "Savor you."

She let out a frustrated cry that brewed into a moan of anguish when the teasing touch withdrew. "Do that again and you'll have me reconsider..."

He held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, I won't." But his emerald eyes glinted with a promise of more soreness. "For now."

Raven inched over to the shelf on the wall adjacent to the sub zero fridge. Again, she lifted herself off the balls of her feet. Damian's vert eyes traced over the curve of her ass, an arc in scant, sheer fabric. With a pale hand overhead, she searched the hanging cups, before conjuring up two matte black mugs. "Will these do?"

Damian stopped. "Hmm..." He glanced at her and folded his arms. "But I think something is missing..."

Raven was pouring coffee into his mug, when she realized. She grumbled a curse under her breath. "I didn't pack properly for the weekend."

"I thought you might." He handed her a wrapped box and waited for her to open it. Raven's amethyst orbs slid over the contents, but didn't she speak."You forgot your tea infuser." From the moment he opened the drawer, Damian's eyes hadn't once left hers. "Well, didn't you?"

With the look that flashed in Raven's eyes it could have more easily been a diamond necklace or a pair of designer heels, rather than a ceramic tea infuser. But he couldn't think of anything that was as irrevocably Raven.

And Damian paused before he asked. "Did you remember the loose tea?" He bent down and opened another cupboard, where he removed a baroque patterned bag with a ribbon handle. "An infuser is useless without tea leaves."

"It was such a long week - I was looking forward to seeing you..." Raven rambled. "I really forgot..."

He lifted an eyebrow and began removing the tea tins one after another. "Jasmine and cloud... Rooibos... Chamomile... White tea." Damian listed them off. "The basics."

"Basics..." Raven repeated. The corner of her lip quivered, as if it couldn't decide whether to turn up or down.

"Some promotion was going on with the infusers... I had to get these..." Damian shrugged and dragged a hand through the perfectly mussed bedhead.

They both knew the high end tea shop on Fifth didn't do promotions, especially on their signature cloud tea.

Raven stared wide eyed at all the tins. "These are...all my favorites."

"Naturally."

Damian stared at her, finding himself barely containing a smirk for the second time.

But this was truly priceless.

That startled look on her face - not from trinkets but tea leaves.

"This is -" She stammered. "Damian... It's too much..."

Damian wouldn't hear it. "Raven, don't start - I'm not returning a thing." He said hotly. "You will drink your favorite tea in my apartment, so choose one." Damian lifted the mug and handed it to her. "That's an order."

If buying her tea would make her happy, he would do it. So long as she would allow him, he would do it. And so much more.

"Thank you - for this." She smiled shakily at the rooibos tin in her hand. "I promise, I won't forget these when I sleep over next time..."

"Next time?" Damian scoffed.

"Yes..." Raven blinked wide eyed again. "Shouldn't I...?"

He shook his head slowly. "There's no need, Raven. Or didn't you hear me?"

"No need... What do you mean?" Raven knew very well what he meant, after all, her nose was scrunched in the adorable way it did when she needed to think.

"This is yours - for here." He pointed to the drawer.

Raven took a breath. "You want me to keep an infuser and tea..." She repeated skeptically. "Here in your drawer - in your apartment?"

"I can't have you forgetting your things again," Damian stated simply. "Besides with all the time you spend here, it would certainly be easier, don't you think?"

"Yes, I..." She cleared her throat. "I suppose it would..."

"Great - you agree." He tapped his mug to hers. "So, it's settled."

By the softness in her stare, she had to know what it symbolized. That Damian didn't just care - he knew her - and wanted her in his space. For all the moments she wasn't, Damian wanted to think of her. He wanted to think of her when he opened his drawer to find a fork and saw that tea infuser. A mug of cold jasmine tea abandoned on his coffee table. A book sunning its pages on the window sill. Smelled her perfume on his shirts. Found a lavender hair, or three in his sink. He wanted her things in his space, he wanted her in his space. He wanted them to share space together.

And now Raven knew.

"I...think you almost always take your coffee black." She whispered after a time.

"How about... a little hint of something extra...?" Damian mused. "Today is special after all. You made it special..." Raven smiled. "The coffee, I mean."

Raven glanced at the marble counter. And held up a carton of cream between her fingertips. "Cream - then?" she asked. Damian encircled her body with his and the mug descended from his height above. She poured in a couple of drops unsteadily.

Damian placed a guiding hand over hers. "More, please." He mumbled.

Raven took the kettle from the trivet to fill her mug with hot water. While preparing her tea, Raven had managed to maneuver with a muscular arm around her waist and a chin on her head. Damian practically purred, he didn't know how he had enjoyed mornings in the slightest before her.

"Do you want to...drink these in bed?" Raven suggested.

As if he hadn't spent days waiting and dreaming of her wrapped around him. Tangled together, on their island - alone in bed. Only leaving it to order in. Slow Saturdays snuggled up with a scantily-clad Raven were heavenly.

"As long as you know you're not leaving it."

From the first time Damian looked over at her in his sheets, his shirt and a book in hand, he knew, this was everything he ever wanted.

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

Raven padded over to the kitchen, after finishing off a mug of rooibos. She couldn't wait for another cup. A different flavor perhaps. "Which one should I pick this time?" She called back to the bedroom.

"Chamomile." Damian returned loudly.

Raven searched for the tin, she could have sworn it was on the counter. "Where is it?" she shouted.

"Coffee table."

Raven shuffled over to the living room and lifted it from the sleek wood. With a quiet pop, the tea tin unsealed.

Inside, atop the dried orange blossoms and yellow leaves, it laid.

Sparkling and silver, an engraved key.

Raven gasped.

"Did you find it?"

[maryellencarter]

So the final cause, if I recall my Aristotle (I was terrible at Aristotelian logic, or at least at what the badly illustrated homeschool textbook said was Aristotelian logic), was that my apartment has been growing irregularly more squalorous for months. Occasionally I would have a bout of energy and put my groceries in the pantry, but for the most part I've been doing well to keep up on the laundry. The proximal cause was... probably the coloring books.

Anyway, this morning I put on pants that were not sweatpants, probably for the first time in months, because going to get vaccinated is a festal occasion and one ought to look one's best. (I put on my cute top with the frilly shoulder straps and the little rosettes, too, since I figured it'd be smart to wear something sleeveless. And my combat boots with the pastel tiedye laces, in case of hiking, which also turned out to be smart. I was decked out.)

So then I went and showed a number of people my ID and my appointment email, and they poked me with a timy needle -- not as small as the one they used in the ER for the insulin that time, I didn't even feel that one, but a very nice thin needle compared to my usual standard of needles, which are the ones they use to try and get blood *out* of you, and often fail when you are me. Then they made me sit down for fifteen minutes in case I took an allergy, and then they gave me a lollipop (I got blue cotton candy, my favorite flavor) and a sticker with a hashtag on it and I left.

Then I got to wend my way back from the place where the vaccinations were happening -- it was a big event on the college campus, since they have a lot of nice big rooms and wide open spaces there -- and it happened I was coming back from a direction I do not usually wend my way from, and I dropped into Michaels. Usually I go to Joann's, because they have fabric, which Michaels doesn't, and Michaels is generally a bit froofier in the sorts of craft supplies they stock at least locally, but the Michaels and the Joann's are right across the street from each other, and I still haven't heard anything about my special order on the floss color that Joann's was out of. Michaels doesn't have the full range of DMC colors, but I took a look and they did in fact have the color I needed.

Then I wandered around some, because Michaels actually does have a bigger yarn selection than Joann's, and I found some Patons Kroy (my absolute favorite sock yarn for feel and texture) in a colorway I didn't loathe, which is *not* something I've been able to find since they stopped making that one colorway with all the orange and black and gray stripes, which I loved dearly and can't remember the name of. So I was like "this will be just the thing for that one lace scarf I was looking at that needs wool yarn in case it has to be blocked to look right", because knitted lace is like that and you can't block acrylic. You can "kill" acrylic but that's different and I'd rather not.

Um. Anyway. Then I wandered around some more, because I get into Michaels so seldom that it's handy to look at what-all they've got while I'm there. Over the past... week or so I have had a sudden bout of wanting to color in coloring books, because that happens to me sometimes; there was an impulse trip to the Walmart way out in the boondocks on the unlit road for Crayola colored pencils, because I decided I was not going to pay eight times as much for Prismacolors.

(The really infuriating thing about coloring books, in my opinion, is that right now you can either find the kiddie newsprint coloring books which are with us always, of course, or you can find "adult coloring books" which are *in-fucking-variably* filled with horses and lions and whales and other large charismatic mammals covered in what look for all the world like quilting patterns. If I wanted to color a rendition of a quilt filled with tiny stripes and polka dots, I'd get some graph paper! And the dots and lines and so forth are so tiny that you can *only* color them with colored pencils, because that's Adulty.)

(Yes, I know they sell coloring pages on Etsy and places. I've been avoiding the print shop for at least a month and a half now, when if I would put the things on my thumb drive and go to it, I could start getting my student loans out of default. I would never wind up printing coloring pages off of Etsy. No, I don't know why. Print shops scare me, perhaps slightly worse than post offices.)

Um. Where was I? So I had gone way far out to the Walmart nobody goes to which therefore often has interesting things in stock, and I had discovered that Crayola still does the glitter crayons I had coveted as a tiny, and they also make double-ended scented markers, which are like the coolest thing ever to the tiny early-nineties child I still am in my heart. So as of this morning, my kitchen counter was completely covered with... things. There was already the sewing machine and the Dr Pepper that doesn't taste like an old shoe, and the peanut butter and the elephant-shaped porcelain wax-warmer, but there had been a narrow slot where I could put a plate and eat my meals -- my only table having been co-opted a year ago by my workstation. Now that slot was filled with various Crayola products and a coloring book with mermaids in it, which at least had a few pages that could be colored partly with markers or crayons, instead of being entirely minced into geometric shapes barely larger than a pencil lead.

SO, what happened after I got vaccinated and found yarn and floss, is that I found out that Crayola still makes the *pearlescent* crayons I coveted even more as a kid. I had gotten one in a little sample pack included with my big 64-box, and it was very precious to me. It's long gone now, of course.

So of course then I bought the pearlescent crayons, and then I bitched at Leia for a while about how I didn't have any coloring books I could use these wonderful crayons *on* unless I wanted to go back to the Lisa Frank newsprint of my youth. (They did actually have Lisa Frank. I strongly considered it. But my tastes have evolved beyond newsprint.)

Then I googled some things, and I found Walmart listing a Crayola mandala coloring book. I went to look for it, and I didn't find it, but I did find a different coloring book with "stained glass" style pictures (sadly not on actual tracing paper, but it occurs to me that if I could source some tracing paper, which it further occurs to me that I haven't seen in years although admittedly I haven't been looking, that I could *trace them* and color them and tape them on my windows like the tacky '90s kid I am), which GLORY HALLELUJAH has spaces big enough to fucking color in!

...Michaels also had neon and metallic Crayola crayons. I might go back. They were 24-packs of each. The single silver and gold crayons from my mom's 64-pack were pretty much only used for Easter eggs in our house, so as not to use them up. I just -- I have a wealth beyond imagining of special effect crayons and markers available to me, and I'm struggling to find anywhere to use them. This seems backwards.

So anyway, then I also found a cute sundress big enough to go over my ass, and then I sat in the furniture section for a while and pondered buying a new table so I wouldn't have to keep stacking coloring books on top of the peanut butter jar in order to eat, and it occurred to me that if I took down my Christmas tree, which I've had up since the Before Times (having gotten it from in fact the same Walmart east of anywhere after all the rest in town were sold out of the particular model), then I would have a space along the back of the kitchen counter where I could hypothetically put a table.

So, because I am a sensible and moderate individual, I bought a thing of string to tie up the Christmas tree branches with, and did not buy a table yet. Then it was time for D&D, so I hurried home and put my vaccination card on the fridge and got into the voice chat and started taking down the Christmas tree.

Then it was five hours later, and I had started konmari-ing the whole apartment in order to have somewhere to store the Christmas tree, and I had discovered that my closet shelf was almost entirely full of empty cardboard boxes, so I had pulled all those out and rifled through them to make sure they didn't contain anything important, and after rescuing three cards from a friend and one glasses chamois, I stuffed most of the boxes in a trash bag, jammed the condensed Christmas tree and all the winter blankets and my air mattress and various other wintry things into the giant box my office chair came in, managed to get that giant box up onto the closet shelf (I have some soreness around my injection site but I honestly don't know if it's a side effect of the vaccination or a pulled muscle from wiggling a very large heavy box into a very tight space over my head), and moved the Goodwill oddities into a midsize box that I think I brought my workstation home in, but they just moved the remaining onsite agents into a much smaller room so I don't think I'm going to be asked to bring my workstation back for a while, and when I do go to bring it back I think the monitors will fit nicely in my washtub.

(I'm giving Goodwill my crockpot. After I forgot the garbanzos in it for three days until the chicken broth started to stink, I decided I am not a person who needs to own a crockpot. Also something like eight skeins of rather ugly yarn because I bought too much for the baby blankets I was making.)

(I'm not sure why I own a washtub. It's bright blue and plastic. It does have a use, which is to hand-wash my weighted blanket in occasionally, as of course you can't put twenty-odd pounds of glass baubles in a washing machine.)

(I certainly did make some life choices that led me here, did I not.)

Annnnyway, so now I have an almost empty three-drawer Rubbermaid dresser, an entirely empty and extremely large Rubbermaid tote (I'm pretty sure I could trap myself in there, but I haven't tried), a mostly empty square ottoman which is also a storage box, and a royal shitton of tiny things like office supplies and party favors that don't *go* anywhere.

"A place for everything" is the really hard part, you know. I achieved it once. Then I moved out of that apartment and have never achieved it again. Once things *have* places, then even if you don't have the spoons to put the peanut butter jar back in the pantry right *now*, you know it has a spot between the Hormel and the Chef Boyardee, and it's way easier than "oh god if I open the pantry there won't be any room and I'll wind up putting the peanut butter under the bathroom sink with the Johnnie Walker Black or maybe over the kitchen sink on top of the Thermacare back wraps."

(You're supposed to store whisky upright in a cool dark place, okay. None of the upper cabinet shelves are tall enough, so I could have put it either directly over the water heater or directly next to the oven. Instead it lurks behind the toilet paper, next to the Clorox wipes and the pre-pandemic Lush bath bomb, which I should... probably use at some point.)

Erm. So then I was pondering what-all storage I would need to source in order to begin having places in which to put things, *findable* places which is the real grail, and -- I think I took a pause to read Dreamwidth and someone linked me a plushie trilobite, okay. I haven't yet entirely decided whether to buy it, but it occurred to me that I definitely have no home for a plushie trilobite, any more than for the amazing Zaeed plushie currently trapped under my cross stitching or the Star Wars Build-a-Bear who was supposed to make Ewok noises until three weeks of freeze-thaw cycle in a malfunctioning package locker did for his electronic squeaker, or the poor American Girl doll languishing inside the ottoman.

So then I was like "we used to have that little net corner hammock for stuffed animals when I was a kid, we never could get it mounted right, but perhaps with fewer cooks that would be a good option". So I googled for one, and all I could find was an assortment of JUMBO five-or-six-foot-long double-deep toy hammocks, obviously necessary to keep your child from drowning in the flood of stuffed animals that have taken over beds in the past thirty years.

(Okay, I was pretty toy-deprived as a kid, the 1980s were not in general what you would call a time of less stuff in American households. Still. I have a twin bed. I can hardly even *find* a toy hammock that wouldn't be bigger than my bed in some dimension.)

So then, it being the aforementioned five hours later with a lot of D&D combined with hard physical labor in the middle, I said to myself, said I, "Hammocks are made out of net, and nets are made out of strings." And by god, if there is one thing I'm better at than another, it is making things out of string. I've never actually gotten around to trying out the whole process of making an actual fisherman's net, which is much more closely related to tatting than to knitting, but I have yarn and most of the possible knitting or crocheting supplies I would need to invent things.

Which, at long last, explains why I have paused to write this halfway through creating a triangular filet crochet toy hammock out of sparkly yellow yarn.

Joann's is having a 50% off sale on plastic storage whatsits tomorrow, but I think I'll probably spend a large part of the day putting office supplies into ziploc bags and hanging them in rows on the wall with pushpins so as to figure out what-all I in fact own.

[mywonuderful]

You Before Anything

Thank you for the 100 followers! It might not seem like a lot but for me, I cherish every single follower that I have so thank you so very much for staying with me! I’ll be sure to worker harder in the future to write more and better stories for you all 😊 for the time being, I got inspired by Wonwoo’s beauty in Fallin’ Flower so here’s my little present for you all. I hope everyone is staying safe and let’s stay strong together 🤗

Pairing: Wonwoo x Reader Genre: p u r e f l u f f Warning: None

main masterlist

A few of your friends and Wonwoo’s group of friends decided to head out to the beach for a little getaway from finishing university. As excitement fills the van, you sat quietly beside Wonwoo, as you read your book with earphones plugged in, trying to distract yourself (and your heart) from the boy who you secretly have a crush on despite his icy cold personality and is short responses. Feeling his gaze on you, you slowly lifted your head, meeting his dark orbits.

“Is there something wrong?” you asked, pulling out one of the earbuds.

“No.” he mumbles and continues staring at the page you’re on. You found your eyes slowly tracing his facial features as they landed on his softy pump lips imagining how nice it’ll be to have them on top of yo-

“Are you reading Me Before You?” his eyes travels towards yours as your heart skipped a beat. You smiled and hummed a soft “Yes.” as you were about to put in the earbud you took out.

“It’s a good book.” He comments after a second as you stopped midway of putting in your earbud as this was a rare time Wonwoo spoke more than a sentence in a long time.

“I’ve heard. I finished watching the movie so I decided to read the book as well.” you closed the book, brushing you fingers across the cover

“It’s one of my favorites.” his really is playing with you heart today was what you thought to yourself as Wonwoo replied. He was always short and stern with his answers but today, it seems like you have a chance to hold a proper conversation with him. Though the conversation didn’t last long, it sure did make this day a lot more memorable.

****

“We’re finally here! I don’t think my ass can get any flatter than this!” Hoshi hopped off the van as he massaged his backside from the long period of sitting.

“Shut up, Hoshi. All you did was ate and sleep. Maybe you should try driving.” Seungcheol started rubbing his eyes from the straining on driving. 

As everyone got off and unloaded their bags, you all headed over to the beach house. Dropping down all the bags on the main floor, everyone started walking around, overwhelmed about how nice and beautiful and view and place was. After settling which room belonged to who, everyone started changing into their swimming suits, preparing to head to the beach while the day was still bright and warm. You were more self-conscious about your body, not because of insecurity but because you weren’t used to showing this much skin. A few days ago, you and your girlfriends decided to go vacay shopping for the beach resort as they all splurged over gorgeous outfits while you were shocked. After your friends convinced you to try on multiple outfits and swimsuits, they finally forced you to buy the outfits. Thinking about how this could be your chance to get Wonwoo to notice you more, your thoughts of fear and embarrassment pushed it away as you stood in front of the mirror in your room, hugging your exposed skin.

“Y/N! We’re going to head out first alright? Don’t take too long!” Your friends’ voice echos as you pushed your ear against your door to hear them leave. After a moment of silence you decided to grab your bag and head out when the straps behind your neck on your top came undo. Your hands pushed up against your chest to keep to top up as you mentally scold your friends for making you buy such a scandalous swimwear. You tried countless times, tying a knot behind your neck when it comes every single time, making you sweat more and more with every try. Letting out a defeated sigh, you decided to head to the main area and call one of your friends. Carefully picking up your bag while holding onto to the top on your chest, you slowly opened the door to see if anyone remains in the house. Hearing silent, you walked over to the main area, putting down your bag as you texted your friend, asking her to come back to help. After a few minutes, you hear someone approaching from the other side of the hall

“Thank god you came, my top cam unloose and I can’t ti-” You let out a relieved sigh and turned around gripping the fabric when who you saw was not your friend. Instead, Wonwoo was walking when he looked up and saw your appearance, stopping his steps. He was wearing his swim trunks with a loose muscle tank that shows off his slender yet tone arms. His effortless look made your mouth water a bit before realizing that he locked eyes with you and what was going on. You both quickly turned around, flushed red faces as you tried to calm your speeding heart beat

“I-I’m s-sorry!” he stammered as your buried your face in one of your faces while still keeping the top up.

“I-I thought you were one of my friends.” you explained while feeling deep disappointment as this was the last way you wanted your crush to see you. Following a long period of awkward silence, Wonwoo cleared his throat as you slowly turned around, face still beat red as you face him who had the same color on his. He bites his lip while scratching the back of his neck, seeing his muscle slightly pop up as you found yourself swallowing hard at the sight.

“D-Do you n-need help?” he stuttered as you looked at him with a shocked expression.

“I-I mean, I saw you struggling and all so I tho-”

“If it isn’t too much.” you bravely cut off his babbling as his eye’s widen from your response. You turned around, back facing him as you heard him stepping closer as your heart rate drastically started increase with his every step. You felt his chest brushed against yours as his fingers touched yours to get the string. You felt his breath on your neck as he leaned down to tie the to strands together while his fingers would slightly brush against the skin on your skin. Shutting your eyes tightly, you tried to stop your heart from jumping out of your chest. 

“It’s done.” he lowly whispers as goosebumps started forming on your skin. Turning around, you thank him and apologized for the inconvenience.

“It’s nothing. Plus, it looks really beautiful on you.” He mutters the last part as you froze and blinked a couple of times, trying to register if what you heard was true when Wonwoo lets out a soft chuckle.

“Let’s get going, everyone is waiting.” he smiles as he bends down to pick up his bag along with yours as you stood there dumbfounded.

“You coming?” He looked over his shoulder as you quickly shook your head, telling yourself that you misheard it as you jogged up to Wonwoo and walked towards the beach.

“There you guys are! We were wondering what took you both so long.” One of your friends smirked and teased as everyone else joined, making you and Wonwoo glance at each other before turning away into a blushing mess. Jeonghan whipped up a volleyball and suggested that they play volleyball since there was more than enough people. Splitting the team in half, you found yourself playing against Wonwoo but that didn’t hold anything back since you were confident in the sport.

“Great exchange” Seungkwan complimented to you as you pumped the ball towards his direction where he then spiked it down, getting another point for your team. 

Your teamed hurdled in for a quick high-five before going back to their positions. You were in the back of the court, with your knees slightly bent waiting for the other team to serve when you heard a small group of males chatting as they approached. Turning your attention back to the game, Wonwoo was staring at the group of males while Minghao yelled at him to hurry up. Wonwoo focuses back to the court when he eyes quickly met yours before switching into a serious expression. Serving the ball, it traveled quickly over the net towards the middle when none of your teammates moved. You threw yourself towards the ball as you pumped it up, landing on the sand on your stomach as you watched the ball hit the tip of the net on your side As the opposing team starts to cheer, the ball hovers over the net landing on the over side when Jun tried to save it but misses. 

Your team screams out of joy as you got back up, smiling as you brushed the sand off when you saw the group of males checking you got. Shrugging if off, you transition your spot as the middle hitter as the tie breaker point when you caught Wonwoo staring at the group of males who were whispering at each other while glancing at you. Your friend served for your team as the intense game started as the ball flew from team to team for what seemed to be forever when Wonwoo spiked it down but Jeonghan was able to save it as he passed it Seungkwan who he then set you up for the perfect spiking opportunity as you leaped up and spiked it down with all your might as he swiftly landed in the middle of the other team, as the last point goes to your team. Everyone started cheering for you as you laughed breathlessly. Walking back to the spot where everyone left their belongings to get your phone, you were about to join your friends in the water when the group of males who were checking you got earlier came up to you.

“Hey there.” one of them said as you looked around to make you they were looking at you.

“You looked pretty hot playing volleyball back there” another said, dangerously approaching closer as you backed up.

“Thanks.” You smiled kindly trying to hide your uncomfortable feeling.

“How about you ditch your friends over there and come hang out with us instead? We’ll promise to make it memorable for you.” he smirked as you glanced to the ocean to see everyone playing in the water.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to turn it down.” You apologized and turned to walk towards your friends when he grabs your wrist, making you turning to face him, giving him a disgusted look.

“What’s the matter? None if your friends will even notice.” he starts tugging your wrist as you pull away as the other males started laughing teasingly. Suddenly a huge gust of wind blows when you feel the knot from your top coming untie once again as you tightly shut your eyes and hold a hand to your chest.

“You guys are disturbing my healing time. And can’t you tell she’s uncomfortable and terrified?” A low voice appears behind you when you felt something warm wrapped around you. Looking down there was a towel wrapped around you along with a pair of strong arms. Slowly lifting your head up, you see Wonwoo glaring that the group with his icy eyes that even sends you chills.

“What are you? Her boyfriend?” the stranger tried tugging your wrist again but you don’t budge under Wonwoo’s firm secure grip.

“She’s important to me and that’s all it matters.” He firmly placed a hand over the guy and ripped his hand on your wrist as the guys surrender and back up before muttering insults and walking away. You knees go weak from all that has happened today as you fell onto the sand, shocking Wonwoo.

“Y/N! Are you okay?!” He asked loudly, voice filled with concern.

“Just a little tired.” you look up to him and gave him a reassuring smile and a thumbs up. You looked down at his arms and towel which was still around you. “How’d you know?” you asked, as he looked down and immediately realized as he cheeks started tinting. He doesn’t answer and quietly starts helping you tie the knot as you let him while a smile forms on your face. 

Everyone started coming back from the water, questioning about what happened earlier when they saw the scene of you and Wonwoo without the group of males. Heading back to the beach house, stomach growling were heard as a signal that dinner should be served soon. Even though dinner was a little earlier than expected, it was the perfect time because the sun started to set and you’ve always wanted to take a stroll while admiring the view. As everyone was in the living laughing about jokes and chit chatting among themselves, you stepped away from them, heading towards the door when someone follows behind.

“Where are you going?” Wonwoo asks as you place on your sandals.

“Out for a walk. The view is nice.” You stood up.

“Is it alright…. If I join?” You were about to walk out when Wonwoo quietly asks. You turned around to face him before giving a nod with a soft smile as he wore his shoes. The two of you walked quietly beside each along the shoreline with your scandals in one hand as your watched the beautiful sunset as the clouds displayed the colors of blue, red, orange and yellow. The silence between the two of you felt somewhat cozy and snug as you would give each other glances time to time.

“Oh right, thanks for saving me back there.” You stopped and turned to face him as he shock his head.

“It’s nothing. I so happened to there at the right time and place.” He looked away, brushing the back of hair as you let out a soft smile. “They were checking you out for a long time.” he added on afterwards as your smile slowly turned into a confused expression.

“You saw?” curiosity filled your voice

“I mean you were staring at them too.” he mumbles as you let out a soft chuckle.

“Was I? I didn’t even notice it was them until they came up to me.” You tapped the tip of your chin, trying to recall what happened

“Sure. I practically saw your heart eyes when you were looking at one of them. You were even smiling so happily at them. Maybe it’ was better for you to follow them.” his tone had a hint of jealous towards it but you couldn’t tell for sure as you tried scanning his expression when the sunglasses on top of his head fall down in front of you from the evening breeze. He bent down to pick it up as you took in a deep breathe.

Say it now, or you’ll regret it later.

“You make me happy, even when you’re awful. I would rather be with you, even the icy and cold personality of yours, than anyone else in the world.” the confession finally escaped your lips as you saw Wonwoo bent down in front of you, frozen as you mentally prepared to get turned down. You closed your eyes as a chance for him to walk away or something.

“I never felt as intensely content in the world, towards another human, as I am, in this moment.” Wonwoo softly spoke as your eyes flutter open to see Wonwoo looking up at you with endearing eyes and a tender smile that made your heat skip a beat as you covered your mouth from your happiness. Though it wasn’t the usual ‘I like you’ confessions, you realized that this was what made you and him special. He stood back up, placing the glasses back on his head before stepping closer to you. His hands holds on to yours as he brings it away from you face as you looked down from embarrassment. One of his intertwines with yours as another delicately reaches for the side of your chin, lifting it up ever so slightly slowly leaning in as his lips were inches away from yours.

“I don’t know if you’ve realized,” he whispers before closing the gap between the two of you as your lips finally touched his soft, pumped lips. Your lips molded around his perfectly like a puzzle piece as you placed your hands on his chest while his hand grips your waist, pulling your body closer with that’s even possible while still holding your face with the other. He slowly broke the kiss as your saw a small blush across his cheeks. “but to me, it’s you before anything.” he smiled as your wrapped you arms around his neck and his around your waist as you pulled him into another kiss, smiling into it as everyone back in the beach house cheered and had their cameras out capturing pictures of this beautiful moment and view.

[everlarkficexchange]

By the Book

Author: @hutchhitched

Prompt 94: Smut. Hot, sweaty, passionate, loving, smut. Everlark has to be married and it can only be the 2 of them. No three-somes or switching partners. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: E

Summary: Peeta’s an author away on a book tour, and his wife Katniss misses him. When he returns, he finds Katniss has been reading a smut book during his absence.

 “Oh my God, Peeta! Listen to this.”

“Kat, sweetheart, I’d rather talk to you.”

“Shhhh! This is fantastic. ‘Esmerelda groaned as he parted her and slid inside, splitting her in two with his girth. She didn’t want to beg, but she couldn’t help it. She needed him to quench the burning fire in her loins with his drenching juices.’ What the fuck? That’s not even worth the dollar I paid for it.”

Peeta chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re right. That’s terrible. Don’t ever let me write something that bad, and stop buying books at garage sales thinking you’re going to find decent literature.”

“Deal,” I agree and throw the book onto his side of the bed. I hate that it’s empty, and I cannot wait for him to get home to me. “How’s the tour going?”

“It’s good. Really good,” he says. “I miss you, though. Wish you could have come with me.”

I roll my eyes and grin when he sticks out his tongue. “You know I can’t. I have a job. We have bills. We just bought a house. It would have been irresponsible of me to chuck it all and follow my husband around the country watching him sign books.”

“You’re just afraid you’ll punch one of the women you’re convinced is in love with me,” he laughs. “They’re not, you know. Besides, I only have eyes for you.”

“They’re not,” I scoff. “Bull. Shit. Bullshit, Peeta James Mellark. You are gorgeous, you write gorgeous books, and women fawn over you wherever you go. The last thing I want to do is rile up your fanbase. We need the income from your illustrious career, and having your wife on your arm doesn’t help sell books.”

“No, but it’d help me not have blue balls every night,” he grumbles. I pout at the phone screen for a second, but he’s not amused.

“Well, in that case…”

After carefully propping the phone of the bureau, I cross back to our bed and turn to face him. I pull on the tie of my robe, and it falls open to reveal the lingerie I bought after he left. It’s lace, sheer, and his favorite color—a lovely muted orange that glows against my dark skin. I know I’ve made the right choice when he stills and releases an elongated moan that makes me shiver.

“Oh, yeah,” he breathes, and I wink at him before crawling onto the bed and getting on all fours.

“I know you’ll be home on Friday, but I thought maybe this might tide you over for the next three days.”

He just nods as I arrange myself and pose for him. By the time we hang up for the night, I’m positive he doesn’t have blue balls, and I stay up half the night reading Esmerelda’s story and envying her for being in the same space as her lover.

****

“Yes, Prim, he’ll be home in a couple of hours,” I repeat into the phone for what seems like the fifteenth time. “We have dinner plans with his family, so I don’t have time to see a movie tonight.”

My younger sister chatters into the phone, but I’m not really listening to her anymore. I’m too busy imagining what’ll happen when dinner with the in-laws is finished, and I have my husband to myself back at our place. Despite mocking the smut book on the phone with Peeta, there were a few things near the end of the work that have inspired interest in learning some new techniques. I mean, really, I’m helping my husband with his craft. It’s a service to the world of literature what I’m planning to do to him.

I’m leafing through the final pages of Esmerelda’s sexual awakening when I hear what sounds like a key jiggling in the front door and immediately cut off Prim. “I’ve got to go. Someone’s here!”

With Esmerelda and well-endowed partner raised in my right hand as a weapon, I sneak toward the entry and screech when Peeta jumps around the corner and yells, “Surprise!” Startled, I throw the book at him, and he yowls when it hits him on his neck.

“What the hell, Katniss?!”

“I’m so sorry!”

He bends down and picks up the book. His brow furrows when he sees the cover. Raising it up so I can see, he’s incredulous when he asks, “You threw smut at me?”

We stand staring at each other for several seconds, and I have no idea how to recover from the surreal nature of his return. There’s clearly no other way to handle this, so I throw myself at him as well and kiss the red welt that’s sprung up on his neck. Dragging him to the living room, I disentangle myself long enough to lay down on the couch and bite down on my index finger.

“No, I threw the book at you. You should be punished,” I tease, and he suppresses his laugh. Before he left town, we did a little role playing with me as a policewoman handcuffing him for lewd talk and attempting to bribe an officer of the law.

“What are you waiting for?” I demand and pull down the collar of my t-shirt to expose the tiny amount of cleavage I have. “Get inside me. We’ve got limited time, and I’ve been waiting for you all day.”

He leans down and bites my earlobe causing a groan to fall from my half-open mouth. He shivers when my breath caresses his cheek, and I tug him toward me, anxious to feel his hardened length.

His stamina just pisses me off sometimes, and today is one of those days. He doesn’t give in to my rush. Not even close. Instead, he pulls me to my feet and backs me against the wall where he cages me in his arms. When I’m steady, he flips the button of my jeans open and slowly works his hand against my belly and under the fabric that separates me from him.

My knees weaken as the tip of his middle finger grazes my swollen lips. I choke on his name when he parts me to slide into the wetness there. He dips and strokes, incessantly, sweetly, softly, until I want to scream. When I finally do, he finds my clit and rubs it—feverishly slowly—until I’m trembling against him and promising him so many dirty things, I’ll be stained for life.

I’m dizzy with need and desperate for the feel of him inside me when he drops to his knees and presses his lips to the skin just above my panties. He breathes on me, searing my skin, and tugs the fabric past my hips and down to my knees. I pull my right leg free, and he palms my calf and pulls my foot to his shoulder. When I’m balanced, he pushes my knee against the wall and dips his head between my legs.

“Oh, hell,” I moan and close my eyes.

Peeta’s mouth moves against me, tasting and sucking, licking and nipping, burrowing deeper and deeper until his tongue’s inside me, touching my core. He growls the way an animal does when it eats something that sates its hunger, but mine only grows.

In and out. Mind-numbingly amazing. And then he mimics what he’s doing with his hands. His lips close over my clit, and heat scorches my insides. My hands tear at his hair, grasping his curls, frantic and greedy for all of him.

I’m incoherent when I climax, swearing and begging simultaneously. I can’t tell what’s from me and what’s his own saliva when he pulls away and looks at me. His mouth is slathered with moisture and his eyes hooded with lust. I’m so turned on, I can’t stay upright, so I slide down until I hit the floor.

“I want to fuck you so hard,” he murmurs, and my eyes flutter shut at the thought of it. I hear rustling, and I force them back open to see him naked and sprawled on the floor. His cock is rigid and weeping, thrusting upward from a thatch of dark blonde hair he grooms just the way I like it.

I know what he wants, and I can’t wait to give it to him. In seconds, I scramble over him and hover a few inches above his chest. Lowering my head, I trace his mouth with my tongue and grin at his choked response. I clean his face and savor the taste. He coaxed that from me, and I want to enjoy it again. His hands grip my hips, and I shift until I find his cock. I reach between us and rub his tip through my slit, covering him until he’s lubed enough to slide right in. I want to go slow, but a little voice gnaws at the back of my mind. We don’t have the luxury of time today.

“We have to meet your parents in thirty minutes,” I remind him right before we join. He groans, and I laugh at the way pain mixes with pleasure—sexual gratification combined with the reminder of familial obligations.

“Dirty move,” he grunts, and I agree. “Dirty…”

“You like it when I’m dirty.”

I rear back and ride him, and he can’t talk anymore. I know what he likes, and that’s what I give him. It’s hard, bruising, and definitely not something we can discuss at dinner later. When he’s almost there, I scramble off him and grab his balls. His cock twitches, throbbing and angry at the sudden exposure. Contorting myself, I lower my head to take him in my mouth while fingering him with my free hand.

He yelps and thrashes, but he loosens just enough for me to penetrate him before his hips jerk violently and he blows. I gag and choke as the mixture of his cum and my saliva slithers in rivulets to puddle against his pelvis. When I pull back, he strokes himself, fluid squeezing between his fingers and over his hand.

“If you’re done, you better get in the shower.” I don’t want him to stop. There’s something soothing about watching him rub his dick, but we need to get ready if we’re going to make our reservations on time.

“I’m canceling,” he insists and fumbles for his pants. He pulls his phone free and unlocks the screen. He dials his dad and mouths to me, “Take off your shirt,” as the phone rings.

“We can’t cancel,” I hiss, but he ignores me.

“Hey, Dad. I’m sorry for the late notice, but Katniss caught a bug today at work. She’s not feeling great. Can we raincheck?” A grin slices across his face, and he wipes his soiled hand across his chest. The smear of his ejaculate on his pecs is too much for me.

Peeta ends the phone call before I have my shirt off, and he whistles as I slowly bare my chest. I didn’t bother to put a bra back on after I changed out of my work clothes, and my nipples harden under his gaze. Suddenly, I’m disgustingly glad my husband’s sex drive is so healthy.

“Table?” he suggests, and I nod. He helps me up and kisses my neck as he backs me toward the oak slab that graces our dining nook. He helps me perch on the edge of the wood and moves between my legs. He’s limp now, but I know it won’t take long for him to recover. Until then, he has plans, and I’m happy to let him fulfill them. I bend my knees and lock them over his hips. I can feel his heat against my pussy when I wrap my arms around his neck.

“I think I can get three inside you tonight.” His voice is husky, and it does things to me.

“I don’t think you can,” I challenge.

There’s just enough space between our bodies for his hand. Long, tapered fingers stroke me, and I catch my breath when one slides inside. His hips pulse along, mimicking what he’ll do when he recovers.

It doesn’t take long before I beg him to fill me tighter. He adds another finger and then a third. I want him deeper, but he curves inside me until I squeal. Sucking sounds mingle with panting, and I relinquish control and let him drive me past the brink as many times as he can. My eyes roll back in my head, and I slump backward onto the table. I can’t tell when he replaces his hand with his cock, but he must at some point.

I’m beyond reason when his pace quickens. He leans over me and drives upward, lifting me off the table with his thrusts. I know we’re loud, but I don’t care. We answer each other; our conversation in a language we only speak together.

I’m filthy when we finally finish. He pulled out and spilled on my stomach just for variety, and the sticky substance pools in warm puddles in several places on my body. He grins and traces patterns on my ribcage until it dries, crusting against my warm skin as a mark of his hold on me.

“And Finnick said we’d never have sex again once we got married,” he scoffs. He shakes his head and kisses both my nipples before finding my mouth and slipping his tongue inside to meet mine.

“If you tell Finnick you painted me with your cum, I’ll divorce you,” I tease and bite his lower lip. “I know he’s your best friend, but that information is off limits. He’ll never let that one go.”

Peeta heaves a gargantuan sigh. Huffing with faux frustration, he agrees to my condition. “Contrary to what you and your lady friends think, men don’t kiss and tell nearly as much as you think we do. I’m positive you’ve shared more with your BFFs than I ever have with Finnick.”

I snort in disbelief. My husband knows I hardly share anything with anyone but him. He’s posturing, and it’s highly amusing.

“You know what I want to share right now?”

“What’s that?”

“A shower. I am disgusting.”

“Disgusting? Covered in my cum? I am offended.” Peeta’s mock outrage makes me laugh, and I drag myself off the table.

“Get your ass in the bathroom, sir. I can’t take this anymore.”

I’m already under the spray when he joins me, and I laugh when he tickles my sides and kisses me on the neck. I love being married to him, and I really love the feel of his artistic hands washing me clean.

“I love you,” he murmurs against my lips, and I repeat his words.

I’m sated and limp when turns off the water, picks me up, and cradles me against his chest. He kisses my temple and carries me to our bedroom where he places me on the bed. He turns off the lights and lights the candles I keep on our bureau before slipping under the sheets and cuddling me to him. His legs intertwine with mine, and his palm grazes back and forth over my breasts.

“I can’t believe you canceled on your parents,” I yawn and close my eyes. I’m worn out, but I know he has more planned for us. I have more planned for him, too, but it seems he’s on a roll. My ideas might have to wait. Esmerelda will understand.

“We’re newlyweds.”

“Still…”

His hand moves from my chest to my stomach, and he trails kisses along my neck and shoulder. I’m soppy and tingling when he finds my slit again. He doesn’t push or rush, but he’s persistent. There’s just enough contact that I can’t quite forget I’m naked with my husband who can’t get enough of my body.

“They want grandkids, eventually. I bet they’ll forgive us,” he jokes, and I hiss as his thigh rubs against my crack. He’s teased me from behind before, but I rear against him. For some reason, the thought of him working me open makes me hotter.

“What I’m thinking about won’t result in kids.” My voice is deep and throaty, and he groans his approval.

Our mouths fuse together for several minutes. We’re skin against skin; connected only as we can be. When he pushes, I pull. When he asks, I open. When he thrusts, I take. When he backs away, I bring him closer. Sweat covers us. My back slides and sticks against his chest. His pelvis smacks my ass repeatedly. His fingers stroke in time in time with his cock, and I can feel him swell inside me.

“Oh my fu—” he groans, and I hold him as tightly as I can. He used to beg me to help him stay together, and he needs me right now. He clenches around me, and I won’t let him go. I fight my climax, but I’m too close. I warn him, but it rips through me and splinters into a million pieces.

It’s several minutes before I’m cognizant again, and the weight of my husband’s body feels delicious. He shifts and pulls free, and I bite my lip as another groan rips from my throat. Every nerve ending screams in the aftermath of our coupling.

“I’m never leaving you again,” Peeta grumbles and drops a sloppy kiss on my chest.

“Ooooooooor, you could go away all the time and come back to this.”

When he chuckles, it rumbles through my torso. He nuzzles under my chin and holds me as his breathing returns to normal. My eyelids droop, and his fingers glance over my rib cage and raise goosebumps on my skin. I love him more than I know how to say, so I don’t. Instead, I curl into him and fall asleep in his arms. I have only good dreams.

[ginnyzero]

My Fashion Connection

I’ve been trying to pin down lately why I love fashion and fashion design. Because I don’t love clothes and designing clothes and the choosing of fabrics because of the glitz and glam of high end runway shows and the glossy pages of Vogue magazine and adulation of famous design houses. Most of that I didn’t even know about until I went to school. I didn’t choose fashion because of any of those things. I really wanted to go into Computer Game Design because of games like Myst.

Growing up in a very small town in the middle of the southern tier of New York, fashion wasn’t anything that anyone in our town was interested in except the town pageant queen who had a ‘reputation.’ It’s dairy country. My town was and is much more interested in dirt bikes, hunting and fishing and kegger beer parties. There were a couple of families that were more well to do and worked at Cornell or IBM and thus wore nicer clothes but out of a town of say 50 to 100 people, there were more cows and farmers and retirees. It’s the type of town when two of the young people marry each other, the entire town becomes related.

My mother is a home sewer. I hate the term sewer in professional capacity because it has the connotations of a house wife sitting at home making amateur garments. My mother made a lot of my sister’s clothes growing up and when she started sending me to Christian schools with dress codes, she also made clothes for me. (Mostly jumpers.) Eventually she either got tired of sewing or felt that we needed to buy things to keep up appearances and she stopped. (This ended up with us shopping in budget discount overrun boutique shops. Yes. A thing. Family Dollar and Dollar General didn’t exist yet! And mother hadn’t discovered the “joys” of the Salvation Army and second hand or they simply weren’t close enough to shop at.)

In a tiny town, you have to drive almost an hour in every direction to get to anything that remotely resembles a fabric shop. Except, between our tiny town and the city of Ithaca we got lucky, because out in a nowhere more nowhere than our nowhere was a tiny fabric shop run by a petite old woman named Leona.

To get to Leona’s shop, you took this very twisty road over and through the hills and turned right when you finally hit another ‘major’ road. And then off to the left less than a mile was a huge stand of pine trees and in the middle of these pines was a dirt drive. You’d drive up the hill between these tall pines the rocks in the dirt crunching under your tires that opened onto a clearing on top of a hill that held a farm. Leona ran her shop out of her home, a one story mixture of a red roofed, white trailer with an add on to make it an L shape. The barn hadn’t been kept up and the red stain was fading and the barn was falling apart. You parked on the edge of the drive, hoped it hadn’t rained lately and it wasn’t pure mud so you could get back out. (If you got stuck, there was always the local farmer with a tractor and chains to pull you out.) You had to park on the edge because despite the fact the farm wasn’t an active farm, she rented out the land and your cars needed to be out of the way for the tractors to get through.

She had the shop in the add on built on the back of the trailer. Firewood piled up next to the screen door and cats lounged everywhere. Leona liked hoarding things so the walkway had gnomes, garden statues and benches and wheelbarrows and yes, there was a tiny garden windmill in the middle of the circular drive. If it was winter, salt crunched under your boots and you had to walk carefully across the ice covered mud slush. If it was spring or summer, there were flowers peeping up among the grass.

And once you crossed the threshold, warmth, Leona smiling with her curly short white hair and the measuring tape around her neck behind the measuring counter. Bolts and bolts of colorful and textured fabrics lined the walls and the blank spaces of walls over tables were old fashioned wall paper in dark red with ducks or cream and pink rose prints and warm golden colored wood panels. Painted sawblades provided decoration. The clock might have been a novelty item, a cow or a cat or even something with shears for the hands. I can’t remember. (There might have been all three.) It smelled mostly of sawdust, dust and in the winter, the sharp smell of a burning fire from the potbelly stoves. Leona’s help were also middle aged or older ladies like her and they weren’t quite as friendly, but they were helpful.

Leona stocked her shop by going down to NYC and buying overruns from the warehouses. (Overruns are fabrics that designers don't end up using and fabrics manufacturers make too much of because they predict more sales than they make. Most fabric retail stores are stocked by overruns.) She mostly had colorful cotton prints and upholstery fabric. There was a little fashion fabric and by the time I hit high school, she had things like stretch velvet. She mostly sold to quilters and people like my mother. Cornell doesn’t have a fashion design program, only a science textiles program, but she’d occasionally get students. Her hours were irregular. I don’t know if she ever turned a profit. She encouraged touching the fabric. (Though she didn’t like children taking bolts out of the shelves for good reason.) She didn’t mind that I wandered about away from my mother. She always remembered me no matter how much time had passed.

But every time I go into a fabric shop, there is still that bit of magic from going to Leona’s. When I returned from college, I wanted to go and show Leona some of my projects. She died before I got the chance and I still regret that.

Professional shops like Mood, Britex, B&J’s and to an extent the discount fabric warehouse that I used during college in San Francisco make me shake my head because the workers don’t always feel helpful. They don’t make you feel like every customer is important. They aren’t like Leona, as frail as she was, with her sunny smiles and slightly raspy voice, glasses, and cheerful attitude and love of textiles.

I also had Barbie. I’ve talked about Barbie and my love of Barbie. I would play with Barbie rather than with baby dolls. (My baby dolls took lots of naps according to my mother.) And I loved the clothing packs. I loved dressing and undressing her and trying new outfits out of the outfits I had. Barbie was a safe present to buy for me when I was growing up, because a) that meant my group of Barbie’s got new clothes and b) if this Barbie had different color hair or skin then I got more variety in my Barbies. (My favorite was the long red headed mermaid with the teal outfit. This was back when the tail was a “Skirt” you could take on and off.) I had maybe one Ken and I inherited a lot of clothes from my older sister who grew out of Barbie about the time I started getting interested. Some of them were homemade but I couldn’t get my mother to make more and she wouldn’t teach me how to sew to make them myself. (In fact, she said it was too hard and downright discouraged it. Guess who doesn’t really like sewing? Me.)

Today, I love Monster High and Ever After High, but if they’d existed when I was a child, I wouldn’t have gotten them because of my parents’ extreme dislike of anything related to monsters, ghosts or Halloween. (I am a November child people. This is ridiculous. Come on, I share a birthday with Bram Stoker. OKAY.)

And somewhere in that time, (1992 apparently, man, I was younger than I thought) when I was getting a pittance of an allowance and had saved money from Christmas, I had enough money to buy a new Barbie or a Crayola Fashion Design stencil/tracing kit. This was before Project Runway. This was before the idea that these Fashion Drawing kits were thought to be remotely popular. No one thought that little girls might like drawing clothes! (Go figure.) The Easy Bake Oven was still the biggest and most innovative thing for a girl’s toy. But Crayola came out with a stencil kit with a bunch of papers that had design outlines, and pattern rubbing plates and a light box. Everything in the kit was meant to fit in the light box. The light box was plastic, pink and ran on D batteries (not included bummer.) And I had just enough money to buy it or a new Barbie. (I think my only other difficult choice that compares to this was the Star Craft Battle Chest and something else and I chose the Battle Chest.)

(I can't believe I found a picture of that, someone is selling one on ebay.) Because, I mean, a new Barbie would only give me one set of new clothes, with this fashion design kit I could draw clothes, lots and lots and lots of clothes. I had always been an artistic child. I liked drawing. This had never really been encouraged except in the “here, have another set of colored pencils, pastels, watercolors, no lessons included.” So, here was Barbie in paper form! I didn’t have to take the clothes on and off. I could just trace what they had on the sheets or try to come up with stuff myself.

Pages of my Fashion Design Kit Now

I’m not going to say I was very good at it. The point was, I had fun, this was something to do that didn’t involve playing a game on the computer or reading a book or practicing my piano and I hadn’t gotten into writing at this age. So, from using this stencil, I started with encouragement of one of my friends, to try and make it more real life proportion and draw the figures myself (once again without any sort of drawing classes. The art classes at my school were a joke.) I bought sketchbooks and took them to school with me. I started writing because of this same friend.

It was frankly an escape. My allowance never grew bigger. So, it went towards buying new books to read, sketchbooks and replenishing my Crayola colored pencils. (Though Imperial ones were better but I only got those out of the colored pencil color by number kits.) I didn’t buy fashion magazines. The idea of fashion as a career wasn’t on my radar. I didn’t have a career on my radar. College was one of those, “I’ll think about it later,” things.

The girls at my school who were cheerleaders and liked fashion weren’t precisely my friends and felt like complete foreigners and strangers to me. I didn’t ‘get’ them. We had our groups and we stuck to them. Having arrived to this school after the groups were formed, I fit nowhere and living so far away from everyone else, there was no way that I could feasibly see to hang out with them after school in order to get to know them well enough to fit into one of the groups at all.

Magazines were a luxury in our house. Vogue never made it into the house ever. It took until after 7th grade and a major fight that we even got the newspaper. So by the time I hit eleventh and twelfth grade and college was ‘mandatory’ and I had a list of requirements for what college I could go to, I had to look through what the colleges offered versus what I was interested in and thought I could be good at. (Let me say that writing wasn’t considered because my mother was very anxious about me being able to have a ‘real job.’) And the practice test for the ACT in 10th grade came with this odd employment aptitude test thing to help you find the job that would be the right fit. (Goodness knows if it was remotely accurate.) Fashion design was in my “right fit” category. And between all the majors, there was a tiny college in Ohio that happened to have a Fashion Design degree under their Health and Human Services Major. And since the only computer graphics and gaming major I could find was at a Calvinist college in Michigan, I thought the Mennonite College in Ohio was probably a better idea.

I didn’t read fashion magazines. I didn’t know really how to sew. (Sewing lessons with my mother were a complete disaster.) I couldn’t make a pattern. I had absolutely no portfolio. There were three things I liked, writing, computer games and drawing clothes. And let’s be clear, I wasn’t that great at drawing clothes and my designs at the time probably weren’t that innovative. I had to make a choice and what very little information I could glean from the Ithaca Public Library (seriously, you’d think having Ithaca College and Cornell, the library would be better,) fashion seemed the way to go. It was a massive industry. It had to have work available after I attained my degree.

Oh to be that young and naïve again. Probably sheltered is the better term.

I was over a year and a half into my fashion degree at this tiny college when someone finally thought to clue me in that “to get a design degree you have to have an art minor.” Realizing that this was utterly ridiculous and that making patterns in ¼ of the size wasn’t really going to get me anywhere after trying to talk with one of the other students about whether or not we could really get work after going to this school, (I’m sorry, sweetie, I hope you realized I was trying to convince myself as well as you,) I transferred out and into the Academy of Art. (And this took another large fight.)

Where, I had a lot of credits but I essentially had to start from the beginning. So, having those credits wasn’t actually to my advantage because the numbers of credit hours earned made it appear that I had more experience than I did. This got me more scrutiny and really a worse college experience.

Let’s understand something, I grew up in New York. The Fashion Institute of Technology is part of the SUNY system of colleges. I was a New York resident. It would have been fairly cheap for me to go to FIT. My parents didn’t want me in NYC or at a secular school. Parsons was always out of the question because it’s as costly as Cornell and I understood that. FIT would have been an extremely LOGICAL CHOICE.

Oh well, I loved San Francisco. I loved the big city/small town feel of it and the ability to walk most places and the public transit. If it wasn’t so expensive to live there, I might still be there.

So, schooling wore away at me, but it didn’t dim my love of creating clothes. My love of creating clothes was never founded or predicated upon the idea that success was a runway show and a big fancy store and my name in lights. I didn’t want to be the next Coco Chanel. I didn’t know who she was and at the time I started drawing clothes, I frankly didn’t care. My going into fashion was me going “here is something I love and enjoy doing, can I make a job out of it? Yes. Yes. I can.”

No one can take that from me. I might get bored or tired, but you can’t take the love of creating away from me.

And by the way, I still don’t read Vogue. It’s out of date before it’s printed and 75% advertisements. I also still don’t care about a runway show or seeing my name in lights as a “name” of a brand. That’s not the fashion price point I do or understand. And that’s okay, despite the push by fashion schools to design for that price point and that should be your goal, there is a lot more to fashion than ready to wear. Maybe that gives me an advantage, maybe it doesn't. That's not my connection to fashion. Magical fabric shops, Barbie, Crayola, the joy of creating, those are my fashion connections. And those are a lot more tangible than a runway or a name in lights by my account.