#plastic eyeglasses

[thisisrealy2kok]

Make your own futuristic shades out of a Sprite bottle

[papermonkeyism]

Found a dried up violet in a customer return box at work, and took the liberty of decorating my pocket notebook with it.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

*hands in fists, practically shaking all over* I just really love language

[wooden-gift-company]

wooden spectacle box

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[teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps]

[lightasthesun]

Comprehensive Lexicon Guide for First-Time SW Fic Readers:

Flimsi/Flimsiplast = Paper

Flimsiwork/Datawork = Paperwork

Stylus = Pen

Datapad = Tablet

Comlink/Comm = Communication Device/Phone

Binders = Handcuffs

Chronometer = Clock

Spectacles = Eyeglasses

Chrono = Watch

Conservator = Refrigerator

Caf = Coffee

Nerfburger = Hamburger

Blue milk = Milk (literally blue)

Hubba chips = French Fries

Sweet roll = Doughnut

Flatcakes = Pancakes

Tabac = Tobacco

HoloNet = World Wide Web

Holovision/HoloTV = Television

Holodrama/Holovids = Movie/Videos

Holocamera/Holocam = Camera

Holomap = three-dimensional map

Holojournal = Newspaper

Holocube = Picture frame

Holotable = Projector

Holoscanner = X-ray machine

Holojournalist = Reporter

Flatholo/Holograph = Photograph

Sonic Damper = Active Noise Cancellation

Refresher/Fresher= Bathroom

Sonic Bath = Bath

Sanisteam/Sonic shower = Waterless Shower

Hydrospanner = Wrench

Hydro Flask = Water Bottle

Power Cell/Energy Cell = Batteries

Authorization Chip = Decryption key

Datatape = Disk

Datastick = Flash drive

(Personal) Com Code = Phone number

Datachip = SD Card

Synthflesh = Synthetic skin

Glowrod = Flashlight

Sparkstick = Match

Slugthrower = Gun

Slug = Bullet

Vibroblade = a blade that can vibrate at high frequencies, increasing its cutting power and penetrating ability (tactical knife)

Rangefinder = Rifle scope

Turbolaser = Cannon

Ion pike/Vibropike = Spear

Electro Staff = Stun baton

Blaster = Pistol/Rifle

Stun Blaster = similar to a Taser

Landspeeder/Airspeeder/Speeder = Car

Turbolift = Elevator

Slideramp = Escalator

Starfighter = Fighter jet

Rotorcraft = Helicopter

Hoverpack/Jetpack= Jet pack

Speeder Bike = Motorcycle

Skylane = Traffic lane

Railspeeder/Hovertrain = Train

Power Chair/Hoverchair= Wheelchair

Windscreen = Windshield

Podracing = Car racing

Dejarik = Chess

Sabacc = Poker and Blackjack combined

Galactic Rebels = Combat simulator

B'shingh = Dungeons and dragons

Jizz = Jazz music

Wailer = Singer (ie. Jizz Wailer)

Cantina = Bar or Pup

Para Sailing = Paragliding

Aurebesh = Alphabet

Credits = Money

Sleeping Pallet = Bedroll

Naming Day = Birthday

Youngling = Child

Galactic Basic Standard/ Basic = English

Medkit/Medpac = First aid kit

Hypo = Syringe

Medic/Healer = Doctor

Medcenter = Hospital

Bactapatch = Bandaid

Nanoweave = Fabric

Transparisteel = Glass

Plastifoam = Packing material

Durasteel = Steel

Plasteel = Plastic

Duracrete = Concrete

Slicer = Hacker (slicing = hacking)

Identikit = Passport

Minder = Therapist

Synthleather = Vinyl

Viewport = Window

Cooling Unit = Air-conditioning

Honeydarter = Bee

Slythmonger = Drugdealer

Spice = Drugs

Stimpill = Caffeine pill

Power Socket = Plug

Cutters = Scissors

Cycle = Day

Standard Cycle = 24h

Standard Week = 5 days

Standard Month = 35 standard days

Standard Year = approx. ten months

Tenday = literally ten days

Cigarras/Smokes = Cigarettes

Click = Kilometer or 'a moment'

Parsec = a unit of distance

Tweezers/Clanker/tin head/tinnie = Droid

Separatist = Seppie

Promise Ring = Wedding Ring

Body Glove = Jumpsuit

Slicksuit = Wet suit

Civvies = Civilian clothing

Carbonite = a metal alloy used to freeze a person in a state of hibernation

Hyperdrive = device that allows a starship to travel faster than lightspeed

Moisture vaporator = device that can extract water from the air, commonly used on tatooine

Glareshades = Sunglasses

Gasser = Gas Oven

Repulsorlift = technology that can create an anti-gravity field and is used for levitating heavy objects

Heating unit = Heater

Utility Droid = Roomba

Sunbonnet = a Clone trooper helmet

Bad Batcher = a defective Clone Trooper

Banthabrain = birdbrain/ a stupid person

Bantha fodder = waste of space/nonsense

Blast! = word of exclamation

Blasted! = s.o in anger or annoyance

Blaster-brained = dimwitted

Blaster fodder = cannon fodder

Blast off = Piss off

Brainless = Stupid

Bug/Bugger = used to refer to Geonosians

Forceforsaken = godforsaken

Full of Poodoo = full of shit

Poodoo = Shit

Kriff = Fuck

Jedi scum = derogatory term for jedi

Kark = derogatory expletive

Larty = LAAT/i gunship

Laserbrain = insult

Meat droid = derogatory term for Clone Troopers

Redrobes = Palpatines guard

Rookie/Shinie = newly recruited Trooper

Scum = insult to refer to bounty hunters/rebels

Sharpie = Sharp-witted

Sithspawn/Sithspit/Hellspawn! = expletive

Sleemo = Slimeball

Son of a bantha = insult

Wizard! = Cool

Spaced = dead

Hutt-spawn = Bastard

Karabast = exclamation of dismay

Stang = Crap

Buckethead/Bucketbrain = derogatory term for Stormtroopers

Bucket = Helmet

Nat-born = Natural Born

Roger Roger = affirmative/copy that

Droid poppers = EMP grenade

Sitrep = short for situation report

Backwater Planet = any planet that isn't part of the core system

Holocron = device that can project a three-dimensional image of a person/object and is used for communication or entertainment.

Kessel Run = a risky Operation. Commonly used as a metaphor in impossible situations.

Thermal Detonator= device that can create a powerful explosion like a grenade or bomb

Ray Shield/Energy Shield = creates a (protective) barrier

Rebreather = device that allows a person to breathe underwater or in toxic environments

Phrases:

Wild goose chase = wild bantha chase

That's bantha shit = that's bullshit

As slippery as a greased Dug = untrustworthy

Credit for your thoughts = penny for your thoughts

Cut the poodoo = cut the crap

to get your gills in a twist = get upset about something

Holy mother of meteors = holy mother of god

Oh my skies/ Oh my stars = exclamation of surprise

Stars' end! = exclamation of disbelief

What in the blue blazes = exclamation

When Geonosis freezes over/When it snows on tatooine = extremely unlikely

Who pissed in your power supply = who pissed you off

Blast it = damn it

By the maker = exclamation of surprise

Great karking Dragon = expression of disbelief

Lothcat got your tongue = equivalent of 'cat got your tongue?'

Sod it = expression of frustration

[caesium-55]

Lewis just wants to sleep. He's tired. He just arrived yesterday from Las Vegas and he needs to grant himself a lazy day or else, he'll go insane. He already planned out a perfect morning. You, on the bed with him in the most innocent sense—Lewis wouldn't mind sex because sex is nice and all but he also loved just resting with you and basking in your existence and your being—freely drifting in and out of the realm of sleep, no annoying alarm waiting to ruin his morning with that god-awful buzzing nose, basking in the silence and peace of a morning in the quiet part of Monaco, and letting the hours pass by without care. Then, when you both get sick of the sheets, you go down and grab breakfast in that café just across the building that sells amazing crepes.

But he wakes up and your side of the bed is cold and empty and panic sinks in his system quickly. He glances around the room. Sunlight peeks through the tiny gap of the black out curtains in the window. Besides the night lamp, it's the only source of light in the room. Your phone is not on the bedside table, Lewis notes. That means you slipped away from the bed and left the room some time ago without Lewis noticing. Usually, he'd feel it if you even just twitched and he'd wake up in a heartbeat, but the jet lag and the exhaustion that engulfed his entire body must have stopped him from doing so.

He sits up and rubs his face with his palms. He decides to follow after you downstairs.

The door abruptly opens with a loud bang, making Lewis flinch and turn his head towards. Lewis's face transitions from sleepy to shocked to confused.

You're wearing a gown that greatly resembles the type of gowns that the female cast of Netflix's Bridgerton wore in the show. It's a mixture of lilac and pink, both are pretty colors. Your hair is fixed into an elegant half-do with a plastic tiara to complete everything. On one hand, you carry a portable Bluetooth speaker. In the other, a microphone. You sport the most serious facial expression in the universe but nothing about you screams seriousness at all. Especially not with the funky-shaped eyeglasses that sit on the bridge of your nose.

You slam your hand against the light switch next to the door and the entire room brightens. Lewis chuckles at the sight of you, eyes twinkling with mirth. The room never feels more alive than it does now.

"Ta-da."

"Good morning, baby."

The intro of the song starts blaring through the speaker. A strong beat of drums. Then, you began to sing.

“After the war I went back to New York

A-after the war I went back to New York

I finished up my studies and I practiced law

I practiced law, Lewis worked next door—"

"Baby, you practice medicine—"

"Even though we started at the very same time

Lewis Hamilton began to climb

How to account for his rise to the top?"

You point the mic towards him. Lewis smiles and shrugs his shoulders.

"Man, the man is non-stop."

Lewis chuckles, amused. You are getting into it. You put your mic on your mouth again.

"Gentlemen of the jury, I'm curious, bear with me

Are you aware that we're making hist'ry?

This is the first murder trial of our brand-new nation

The liberty behind deliberation (Non-stop!)

I intend to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt

With my assistant counsel

Co-counsel—"

Lewis tries to leave the sheets so he can get his phone and capture you in video. You stop him by putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Hamilton, sit down."

"I'm sat."

You begin pacing around the room, hands waving around in theatrical fluorish.

"Our client Levi Weeks is innocent

Call your first witness

That's all you had to say

Okay

One more thing–"

You walk up to him and Lewis waits for your next move.

"Why do you assume you're the fastest in the room?"

"Because I am?"

"Why do you assume you're the fastest in the room?

Why do you assume you're the fastest in the room?

Soon that attitude may be your doom!"

Lewis shakes his head at you.

"Why do you drive like you're running out of time?

Drive day and night like you're running out of time?

Every day you fight, like you're running out of time

Keep on fighting, in the meantime."

Your number ends with you doing a dramatic pose and Lewis bursts out laughing, the sound mixing with the fading music.

"I love you so much. You have no idea."

This is far from the ideal morning he's planned out. This is not quiet. This is not peaceful. This is boisterous and obnoxious and too much energy so early in the day and every bone in Lewis's body still screams exhaustion.

But Lewis wouldn't trade this morning over the peaceful morning in his mind. Not when you looked so happy singing and rapping that Hamilton song. You theater nerd. God, Lewis didn't know he was physically capable of loving a person this much.

"Hey baby, if we get a son, can we name him Alexander?"

"Whatever you want."

Lewis wishes this morning will never end.

[wannabepoeticischiya]

Weak

[ 01 ] — there's someone at the door

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"Is Gojō-sensei your ex or something?"

[Name] chucked at his accusation before letting out a loud rueful laugh.

"Boyfriend?! HAH! I'd rather be cursed a million times over than be with that conceited, narcissistic, eyeglasses freak!"

ao3: weak pairing: gojo satoru x f! reader genre: romance wc: 18.7k ++ status: ongoing

A knock echoed shattered the eerie silence blanketing a messy apartment. Mountains of dirty clothes and towers of empty ramen cups stood like landmarks, boxes accompanied by plastic bags from online shopping littered her floors like leaves on a wide lake.

"Yes... wait just a second." 

A woman hurriedly flattened out her bed hair and rushed to get the door, occasionally tripping, and stumbling as her feet made contact with stacks of untouched letters and paperwork.

The knocking continued, getting frantic and erratic by the second. "HOLD YOUR HORSES!!! I'M ALREADY ON MY WAY!"

She peeled away the stray toilet paper that stuck to the base of her foot and swung the door open, half expecting it to be the pizza delivery guy or the postman but instead, she was met by three young students from Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical School.

She slammed the door shut and grumbled to herself, leaning against the only thing separating her from a thousand memories. Her heart hammered against her ribcage as all the air she breathed felt stuck behind her throat, and before she knew it, she was back in that cold, lonely place. She wanted to walk away, perhaps flee to the nearest fire escape—to run as far as she could and ignore the vigorous banging on her entryway—but the faint scent of cursed energy wafted to her nose.

Are you kidding me? My landlord is totally gonna sue me!

The woman found herself caught between two equally unpleasant alternatives. On one hand, indulging a few brats didn’t look like it was too much of a hassle—she could kill them if it ever came down to it; burn the evidence, and be done with it—but these were sorcerer brats, there was no telling what the results would be, no matter which direction her interaction with them took place. Or she could escape to the nearest exit, pay for renovation with the money she doesn’t have, risk getting kicked out, and therefore have to sleep on the streets. 

That sounds absolutely terrible…

As much as the woman did not want to face confrontation, the idea of sleeping on the streets felt like too much. I can handle a few kids, no biggie. Bracing herself, she swung open the door once more and caught the fist that was aimed to break her doorway.

"What do you think you're doing, boy?" She snarled, tightening her grip on the poor boy's clenched hand.

"(L/n) (Y/n)-san?" His brown-haired companion questioned, holding a hammer and a nail, cautiously pointing it at the mysterious older woman.

The short girl painfully reminded her of someone she once knew. They both had the same short hair, equally hopeful sparkle in their eyes, and that annoying persistent demeanor. She hated it.

"Who else?" She surmised, eventually freeing the boy's throbbing hand and menacingly glaring at the rest of his sorcerer friends.

"Can we come in?"

(L/n)'s eyes landed on the boy with black hair, his appearance looking somewhat familiar to her, the older woman just couldn’t put her thoughts when exactly had she seen someone look like that.

"Whatever." She rolled her eyes and left the door wide open, her figure soon disappearing behind the landscape of her mess. The sooner she got these little trolls out of her hair, the sooner she could get back to her life.

The three students awkwardly walked through her apartment, trying their best not to judge the young adult or let out any mean or inappropriate comments.

Their eyes scanned their surroundings, in simple terms... everything was a mess. Everything. The television was carelessly placed on the table, lights were continuously flickering on and off, there was a leak on the far-left ceiling, water pooling on the red basin that was left there to do all the work, letters and papers were scattered everywhere, some were opened, some were crumpled and some were ripped to shreds. Her walls held all sorts of cursed spirits' heads, all assumed to be preserved or stuffed.

The lady emerged from her kitchen hallway, balancing three glasses of juice in one hand without breaking a sweat. The three broke their gazes off the odd choice of decoration and instead focused on the owner.

"What'd ya come here for, hmm?" She gestured to the—surprisingly clean—couch, the students awkwardly obliging to her offer.

"Gojō-sensei is sick."

(L/n) raised an eyebrow at the boy, she wasn't one for small talk but his straightforward approach had caught her off-guard, nonetheless. "And this is my concern, how?" She questioned.

"Well, we heard—"(L/n) raised her hand and Fix-it Felix immediately shut her mouth.

"Let me rephrase the question," she began, her eyes taking on a colder glint, and her voice modulating to a less friendly tone. "What makes you think that I have ties to this Gojō guy?"

"We heard him mumbling your name in his sleep." Kirby hurriedly replied, placing the now empty glass on the table before him.

"He kept calling for someone called (L/n) (Y/n)."

"He's sick." JoJo McDodd added.

(Y/n) wanted to deny their accusations, say that she wasn’t who they thought she was, that the person they were looking for was dead, or that she was a hundred million miles away. But Thor over here had confirmed her identity the moment she opened her door, and the obvious signs that she was indeed a sorcerer (her less-than-aesthetic choice of trophies) were arranged all over her tiny living hole. They caught her between a rock and a hard place, or in this case, a sorry excuse that they wouldn’t buy, or the truth.

(Y/n) scoffed at it all: the revelation, her foolishness, and above all the ability of Gojo Satoru to be less than a sorry excuse of a human being. Of course, he would—that stupid bloke. "Yeah, he’s sick,” she agreed not a moment later, “sick in the head." (Y/n) sneered.

The woman sighed, the sooner you get this over with, the sooner they can leave, her fingers irritatingly pinching the bridge of her nose. "Look," she began, "Gojō Satoru doesn't get 'sick'." Her fingers quoted the word sick, hoping to emphasize her point so that these demon spawns could get it.

"If he claims that he is, he's probably referring to it metaphorically." She lectured, wanting to add more but suppressing the urge to do so.

The first years could only tilt their heads and stare at her, eyes brimming with confusion.

(Y/n) sighed, "Maybe, he's implying that he's sick of everyone and everything being weaker than him," she suggested, adding a few more words under her breath, something that did not quite reach the ears of the three first years.

It's always been like that anyway.

"But he really is though! He's bedridden, (L/n)-san." (Y/n)’s patience wasn’t long enough to begin with, but with all these incessant pleas and unwelcome beseeching, it was burning far too quickly for her liking.

"Why don't you ask Ieri to check on him?"

"She did.” Marshall Lee confirmed, “But after a while, she told us to go and look for you."

Why Shoko? I thought we got along...

"Is Gojō-sensei your ex or something?" Pink Panther brought to light the idea he and his two companions theorized ever since they heard the older woman’s name escape their teacher’s lips (though unconsciously). Curiosity and wonder glinted in his eyes as Amy Rose the Second and Nergal Jr. glared and prayed for him to shut his rat hole and take a hint. At the very least, they wanted to leave this place in one piece. 

(Y/n) chucked at his accusation before letting out a loud, rueful laugh.

"Boyfriend?! HAH! I'd rather be cursed a million times over than be with that conceited, narcissistic, eyeglasses freak!" She cruelly denied, eyes burning and overflowing with hatred and something that can only be described as regret and sorrow.

Tch... you just have to ruin my life again, huh? No matter, that's all you'll ever be good at, anyway.

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[tvgals]

‘ IM GON BE THAT BITCH TODAY AND STILL GON BE THAT BITCH TMRW, BITCH. ‘

drugstore owner! tanaka x black! fem! reader <3

cw- black fem reader, tanaka is infatuated with you ! also the smuttiest of smut

as the girlfriend of a drugstore owner, you’d think you would get stuff for free right? wrong ! tanaka is very stingy, even when it comes to his pretty girl.

“but babyyyyy,” you whine, caressing tanaka’s chest in persuasion, “just one bottle of patron won’t hurt nobody! pleaseee!” your acrylics slowly raising up to his shaved head. “nope. sorry, mamas. payin’ customers only.” he rejects, pulling you closer to him by your waist. “ryuuuuu’ baby please! i jus’ wanna have fun with my friends tonight! i swear i’ll pay you back anyway i can!” you say, eyes practically shattering the plastics that make up the lenses in your square eyeglasses

“mmmm…anyway, yeah?” he asks, cocking a brow. “anyway!” you promise, kissing his cheek. “alright. go take a bottle. have fun mama.” he tells you, kissing your forehead. “thank you baby!” and with that, you run into the aisle that withheld all of the alcohol, and you take a bottle of patron, waving one last goodbye to your boyfriend behind the counter and you walk out.

you make it to your car, trying to pick up your pace due to the cold eating at your arms and legs. you make it to your car and plug the keys into the engine, shuddering due to the cold. you look to your right and see tanaka’s hoodie. you shrug and put it on, the fleece that was sewn into the hoodie helping your body temperature. once you were fully settled into your car, you call your friend and put her on speaker phone.

“heyyyy! you on yo’ way?”

“yeah, i’m just now leavin’ though. i’ll be there in like 10 minutes.”

“you got the patron?”

“duh. ryu gave it to me for free.” you brag.

“girl i wish my man got me stuff for free. aight i’ll see you later.”

“bye.”

and with that, you hung up the phone. down the street and around two corners from tanaka’s store. you hear a ding on your phone. you pick it up and pause the music previously playing on your aux, due to the fact tanaka sent a video.

< 61 bald bitch 🫶🏾

you should see what ur missin out on mama

*1 attachment*

you click it, already guessing what it was. the stereo that was previously playing city girls was taken over by the sounds of the pre-cum that was slathered over tanaka’s tip and the sounds he made due to it.

‘miss ya so much mama..’

‘can’t wait for ya to come back..need ya so bad..’

you practically type at what can be only classified as lightning speed,

god dammit ryunosuke. give me five minutes.

and with that, you swerve your car back around and hit those two corners once again and race down the street. parking sloppily once you get there. just from the lobby of the store, you can hear your boyfriends heavy breathing and his light whimpers. “dammit dammit..” he whines, throwing his head back. you march to the work room and see tanaka in the midst of his ecstasy. “you’re such a fuckin’ asshole.” you murmur, a snarl on your face. “yeah huh…enough of a….shit…enough of an asshole to come back?” he chuckles.

i’ll come back in like two hours when i get more motivation to finish this i apologize

[serenelystrange]

Rated G

At AO3, or under the cut!

“Oh, I am going to murder the new guy,” Buck hisses under his breath.

Taylor looks up from the paperwork on her newest sale with an arched eyebrow and sighs.

“He’s literally just doing his job, Buckley. Like I’m trying to and like you should be.”

“He stole her right from under me!”

“You mean he smiled at her when she walked in, and she made a beeline to him?” Taylor asks, smirking.

“Oh, Eddie, what a handsome boy you are! My granddaughter would love you!” Buck mocks in an irritated whisper.

“Buck,” Taylor sighs. “I know you have an appointment in ten minutes that you haven’t printed anything for. And I also know that you’re just jealous you aren’t the only pretty boy on the block anymore.”

“I’m not a pretty boy,” Buck says, pouting prettily.

“Go away and let me finish this,” Taylor says. “You’re never going to win that contest if you spend all your time whining about how Eddie is better at his job than you.”

“Oh, I’m winning that SUV,” Buck says darkly. “It’ll be the best wedding gift for Maddie and Chim, especially with the baby coming.”

“You know,” Taylor muses dryly, “If you’d been even half this determined in our relationship, we probably would have dated more than two months.”

“Low blow, Tay,” Buck scoffs. “Low blow.”

Taylor just glares.

“Ok, ok, I’m going!”

He hurries off to the back to print the welcome packet for his next appointment, the image of Eddie’s annoyingly charming smile burned into his brain.

“What’s that for you, Diaz?” Buck asks as they’re all headed out for the night. “Two today?”

Taylor looks between them for a moment before rolling her eyes and striding for the door, leaving Buck to his weird one-sided pissing contest.

“I’ve told you to call me Eddie,” Eddie says calmly, ignoring the baiting tone. “You know that. And it was three, actually. Mrs. Allen bought that little red Nissan for her husband’s birthday.”

“I hope they get full coverage,” Buck says, frowning at the memory of Mr. Allen test-driving a few of their cars previously.

Eddie laughs and shakes his head, remembering the same day. “I hope she makes him go to the optometrist.”

Buck smiles for a moment before remembering he’s annoyed at the man, and scowls again.

“I’m still going to win that contest,” he says. “You’re good, but I’m in the lead.”

Eddie just gives him an unphased look and shrugs easily.

“There’s still two weeks left, Evan,” he drawls. “I guess we’ll see who comes out on top.”

He holds the door open for Buck as they leave, biting back the amused grin that wants to spread onto his face as Buck stomps out the door like he has his own personal raincloud hovering above his head.

“Drive safe,” he calls out to Buck’s retreating form, just like he does every other night.

And just like every other night, Buck ignores him.

Buck spots them coming in a few days later, an easy sale if he’s ever seen one, and speedwalks as inconspicuously as possible to the door. An older but stunning Hispanic woman looks around as she enters, a young boy moving along with the aid of arm-crutches by her side.

“Welcome!” Buck says as he approaches, giving her his sunniest smile. He waves down at the boy. “Hey, buddy. You look a little young to be buying a car already!”

The boy giggles, looking up at Buck with bright blue eyes beneath his red plastic eyeglasses.

“I’m not buying a car,” he says, somewhat stiltedly but clear. “I’m here for my dad.”

“Oh?” Buck asks, straightening back up and looking at the woman. “Who’s dad? I can track him down for you.”

“I think we’ll be ok,” the woman says warmly, looking over Buck’s shoulder at someone. “He found us.”

Buck turns, and just barely stops himself from scoffing. Because of course it’s Eddie.

“Tia?” Eddie asks, with a concerned look. “Is everything ok?” He holds his arms out for his son and scoops the boy up, swinging him around until he shrieks before holding him against his side with one arm.

Buck narrowly dodges one of the swinging crutches, but finds he can’t be mad when the kid looks so happy.

Tia relays something to Eddie in rapid Spanish that Buck can’t really keep up with, his limited Spanish language skills stalling out after basic bar talk. But he knows the words for both hospital and grandmother, and he’s frozen in place awkwardly as Eddie’s face darkens with worry.

They seem to be arguing about something now, and Buck still doesn’t understand most of it, so he busies himself by making silly faces at the boy, who also doesn’t seem to be getting most of the conversation. The boy is too old to play peekaboo, but he still makes silly faces back, laughing as Buck pulls out his old party trick of wiggling his ears.

“Buck,” Eddie says, and Buck startles, looking over at him sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he says. “I was just goofing around.”

“No, it’s fine,” Eddie says, looking harried. “My abuela fell off her porch, and I need to get to the hospital. Do you think you could take my last two appointments for the day?”

“Don’t you want to reschedule?” Buck asks before he can help himself. “You’ll lose the commission.”

“I don’t have time to call them right now,” Eddie sighs, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “I need to tell Bobby I have to leave, and might need a few days off, too.”

Buck wavers, looking at the clock on the wall, knowing he has nearly a full hour until his next appointment is even there, and knowing Taylor will be more than happy to snag any walk-ins that come their way.

“Get me the names,” Buck says, finally. “I’ll call them and reschedule for a week out if they’re up for it. You talk to Bobby and then go take care of your family, man.”

“Wait, really?” Eddie asks, stunned. “I’m basically handing you two sales here.”

“Are you complaining?” Buck asks, only a little testily.

Eddie shakes his head and hands his son off to his aunt before clapping Buck on the shoulder.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “I’ll grab the sheets when I’m in the back office.” “I’ll be right back,” he says to his aunt, leaving her and his son standing with Buck.

“I’m Buck,” he says, giving them a little wave.

“Pepa,” the woman introduces herself, before jiggling the little boy. “And this little man is Christopher.”

“Nice to meet you,” Buck says. “I, uh, I didn’t know Eddie had a kid.”

“My nephew can be private,” Pepa says. “Annoyingly so, sometimes,” she adds with a resigned sigh. “But Christopher is his world.”

“I’m sure,” Buck says, smiling at the adorable boy. “I bet you’re what, twelve years old?” he asks with a completely straight face.

That sets the boy off into giggles as he shakes his head. “I’m seven!” he says.

“Well, you fooled me!” Buck says, grinning.

“Come on, Mijo,” Eddie says as he gets back to them, taking him from Pepa and giving Buck another appreciated nod along with his contact sheet as they head off.

“Thanks again, Buck,” he says, and Buck just waves them off, feeling suddenly wrong-footed and not sure why.

Buck is surprised when Eddie is back the next day, and even more surprised when he spots Christopher beside him. He watches from the break room counter as Eddie gets the kid set up at one of the tables with assorted snacks and an ipad, before speaking to him quietly and kissing him on the head as he straightens up and meets Buck’s eyes.

Buck, caught staring, manages a strained smile and takes a long and very hot sip of his coffee to avoid having to speak. Unfortunately, Eddie heads for him anyway, facing the counter as he pours himself a cup of coffee. Buck suddenly regrets standing so close to the damn thing, as he can practically touch Eddie’s arm with his own.

“Thanks again for yesterday,” Eddie says quietly. “Bobby said Chris could hang out here until I get a better babysitter situation for the rest of the summer.”

“No problem,” Buck says. “It’s good that you’re back. I’d hate to win the sales contest by default.”

“Liar,” Eddie says with an amused scoff. “You’d still love it.”

“Yeah, well,” Buck says, fighting off a grin. “It wouldn’t be as fun as winning fair and square.”

“You know,” Eddie says with a growing grin. “I bet the soccer moms would love to see how well their Chris-sized kids fit in the minivans…”

“Cheater!” Buck gasps. “You can’t use an adorable face to sell cars for you!”

“Why?’ Eddie laughs, “you do it all the time. I’ve seen those little old ladies literally pinch your cheeks.”

“Better than my ass,” Buck says, cringing as he thinks about the hassling Taylor has dealt with since she joined up. “Tay kicked a guy right in the balls once though, before you were here. It was great. He threatened to sue.”

“How’d that go?” Eddie asks, delighted.

“Bobby dragged him over by his ear to watch the security footage of him grabbing Tay, and told him if he ever stepped foot in the building again, he’d have his wife arrest him.”

“Damn,” Eddie says with appreciation. “Nice.”

One week before the contest ends, Buck checks the board in Bobby’s office, finding that Eddie is just one sale away from tying his lead. He glares at the board for a long moment, as if the smudged white plastic somehow made the numbers up instead of just recording them. Shaking his head, he decides he needs more coffee before he can deal with the day.

“Hi Buck!” Chris calls out from his usual place in the breakroom as Buck walks in, waving at him excitedly.

“Hey, buddy,” Buck says, heading over to the table and sitting down across from Chris. “What are you working on?”

“Paint-by-numbers,” Chris says, frowning down at his ipad, stylus in hand. “It’s to try and help my motors.”

Buck watches him fondly as he swipes with the stylus with determination, worrying his lip in concentration.

“You mean your fine-motor skills, maybe?” Buck asks.

“Yeah,” Chris nods, “that was it.”

“Your dad with a customer?” Buck asks, realizing the room is empty besides the two of them and wondering where Eddie had vanished off to.

Chris shakes his head, still looking down at his ipad.

“He’s on the phone outside,” he says, looking up briefly to give Buck a sad look. “He doesn’t want me to hear him yell at the army people again.”

“Army people?” Buck asks.

“He got hurt in a war,” Chris says. “So they made him come home, and now he’s angry at them all the time.”

“Oh,” Buck says, quietly. He doesn’t know the whole story, sure that Eddie will have given Chris only the abridged, child-friendly version, but it’s enough to make him frown in thought. “Well, I know he’s happy to be back with you, even if he’s angry at the army.”

“Maybe,” Chris says, shrugging without looking up, and Buck feels his heart breaking for the kid.

Eddie reappears in the break room before Buck can say anything else, face flushed red with irritation that he’s trying to smother as he heads towards his son.

“How’s it going, baby?” he asks Chris, a forced lightness to his voice as he peers down at the ipad painting.

“The leaves are tricky,” Chris frowns. “They’re really small.”

“Just do your best,” Eddie says, ruffling his hair. “It’s ok if you can’t do everything all at once.”

“That’s a good lesson,” Buck says, ostensibly to Chris, but starting right up into Eddie’s surprised brown eyes.

Eddie drops his gaze, avoiding Buck’s eyes, and pretends to watch Chris painting until Buck finally looks away.

“No Chris today?” Buck asks the next day when Eddie shows up alone.

“Pepa has the day off,” Eddie says. “So he’s hanging out in his pajamas on her couch instead of at one of our shitty lunch tables.”

“They are so wobbly,” Buck agrees.

Eddie hums, heading to the back room to grab the paperwork for his first appointment. Buck follows before he realizes what he’s doing, and leans against the wall by the printer as Eddie waits for his documents.

“Chris said something about the army yesterday,” Buck says, “you got hurt?”

Eddie sighs tiredly but nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Fucked up my shoulder pretty bad, among other things.”

“Shit,” Buck says. “I’m sorry.”

“At least I made it home,” Eddie shrugs with forced nonchalance. “Now if only the VA would actually help me with the kid they made me leave. That would be great.”

“Is Chris ok?” Buck asks with concern. “He told me he has C.P. but he seems basically alright, all things considered.”

“He’s great,” Eddie assures him. “He just needs to find a school that will actually be able to accommodate him and still give him a decent education. And that shit is so expensive.”

“And the VA doesn’t have any resources?” Buck guesses, frowning.

“They might,” Eddie says with a sigh. “But I’m so overwhelmed with it all, between the move from Texas, and finding a place for me and Chris, and starting this job, I just now started the process.”

“You’re from Texas??” Buck asks, incredulously. “How has that never come up?”

Eddie shrugs.

“No offense,” he says, “but you’ve pretty much hated me from the day I started. I didn’t think you’d want to compare backstories.”

“Oh,” Buck says, feeling all at once like an absolute buffoon. “I don’t hate you,” he says.

“Then what was with the attitude?” Eddie laughs, as the printer finally finishes collating his papers.

“It’s dumb,” Buck says, ducking his head. “But I was just jealous you swooped in here with your stupid pretty face and stole all my customers.”

“You know,” Eddie says, “Taylor did tell me you were just jealous, but I didn’t believe her.”

“I get too caught up in competition sometimes,” Buck says, sighing.

“Little bit, maybe,” Eddie says nodding. “So, you uh, you think I’m pretty?”

“Oh, we are not having this conversation,” Buck says, pushing himself off the wall and fleeing, leaving an amused Eddie laughing after him as he goes.

“Did I ever tell you about my ex, Abby?” Buck asks the next day he finds Eddie alone at the front desk. It’s a slow day, and Chris has managed to pull Taylor and Ravi into a spirited game of Go Fish in the breakroom.

“You barely spoke to me for the first two months I worked here,” Eddie says, giving him a sassy look. “So no, you haven’t told me about your ex.”

“She was a little older than me,” Buck says. “Was taking care of her mom before she died, and it was really rough on her, you know?”

“I’m sure,” Eddie says, the question of but what does this have to do with anything clear in his tone.

“It didn’t work out,” Buck says, surprised to realize it doesn’t sting as much as it used to when he says it. “But I did meet this really great woman because of her.”

“Ok?” Eddie asks, amused but still lost.

“I think you should call her,” Buck says, handing Eddie a mint green business card.

“I’m not looking for a girlfriend, Buck,” Eddie says, glaring at the card with an inordinate amount of offense, in Buck’s opinion.

“Don’t worry,” Buck says earnestly, “she’s married.”

“What is happening here?” Eddie asks with exasperation.

“She was their home health aide,” Buck explains. “She calls herself ‘red tape’s worst enemy’”, “and I bet she can get you and Chris the help you need with his school before your head explodes.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, looking up at Buck with badly disguised wonder. “You really think she can help?”

“Definitely,” Buck says, grinning. “She’s a miracle worker.”

“I don’t even know what to say,” Eddie hesitates for a moment before pulling Buck into a brief one-armed hug. “Thank you.”

“It’s uh,” Buck stammers, face flushing, “it’s nothing.”

Eddie shakes his head and claps Buck on the shoulder, leaving his hand there as he looks at him for a long moment.

“For Chris?” Eddie says, squeezing Buck’s shoulder, “this is everything.”

The bells on the door chime as a customer walks in, breaking the moment, and Buck takes the opportunity to escape to the bathroom.

Eddie can take the sale.

“You were right,” Eddie says, as Buck opens his apartment door and looks at him with bleary eyes. “It wasn’t nearly as fun to win that SUV by default.”

Buck groans, wondering how Eddie even found out where he lives, but moves back to let him in.

“It’s not my fault I got a stupid awful cold in the middle of August,” Buck sighs. “Corporate should take sick days into account.”

“Probably,” Eddie agrees, handing Buck a round Tupperware container that’s still warm. “Tia Pepa made it, it’s chicken soup.”

“You brought me soup?” Buck asks, feeling inexplicably like he might cry at the gesture. “You don’t even like me.”

“I never didn’t like you!” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. “Your beef with me was entirely one-sided!”

“Don’t be mean to me,” Buck whines, “I’m sick.”

“Lucky for you, I’m a pro at dealing with sick babies,” Eddie teases, leading Buck towards the couch he spots. “Sit down, I’ll find you a spoon.”

Buck tries to glare at him on principle but finds he doesn’t have the strength. Instead he lets himself be guided to the couch and settles down, tucking his bare feet up under his criss-crossed legs and securing the couch blanket around his shoulders.

“Chris says thank you, by the way,” Eddie says from the kitchen where he’s opening random drawers to look for spoons. “For the new car.”

“Hmm?” Buck asks, tired brain failing to understand what Chris has to do with the contest.

“My old car is on it’s last legs,” Eddie explains, “and even with our discount, I wasn’t going to be able to get anything better or bigger anytime soon. But the SUV holds his security seat and gives him plenty of room to stretch out his legs.”

“I didn’t know that,” Buck says. “You should’ve told me before.”

“I didn’t want you to lose on purpose,” Eddie says as he walks over and hands Buck the spoon before settling down on the other end of the couch. “A pity win is even worse than a win by default.”

“I wouldn’t have lost on purpose,” Buck says, the lie obvious even to his own ears.

“Sure, bud,” Eddie says, smirking. “You keep telling yourself that.”

“I hate you,” Buck groans. He takes a careful spoonful of the soup and hums happily. “But I love this soup. I guess it evens out.”

“I can live with that,” Eddie says, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. “So, what are we watching?”

Buck shrugs and pulls the Tupperware bowl up to his mouth to sip from directly, breathing in the steamy goodness.

Eddie can figure out the rest.

“Why didn’t Taylor win, anyway?” Eddie asks when Buck is recovered and back at work. “She’s killing it out there.”

“Tay goes for the high-priced sales,” Buck says. “Luxury cars and stuff. She’s good at it, and she definitely makes more money than both of us. But the contest was for the most individual sales, not the overall sales amount.”

“Well, I’m glad,” Eddie laughs. “Chris loves the car, he wanted to camp out in it the other night.”

“Adorable,” Buck says, fondly. “But not great for anyone over five feet tall.”

“I told him I’d take him camping before school starts,” Eddie says casually. “Next weekend maybe.”

“That’s cool,” Buck says. “You’ll have to make smores! It’s tradition.”

“Is that what you did with your family?” Eddie asks, looking concerned when Buck’s expression shutters for a moment.

“My parents aren’t really the family activities type,” Buck says. “But Maddie, my older sister, she would camp out with me in the backyard, and we’d make smores and tell ghost stories.” He smiles at the memory, despite it all. “She’s really great.”

“Maybe you could come with us?” Eddie asks, almost shyly. “We can make smores and roast hot dogs. Chris is excited to build the fire.”

“Yeah?” Buck asks, “I wouldn’t be in the way?”

Eddie shakes his head, giving Buck a soft smile.

“Not at all,” he says, “you should definitely come.”

Buck smiles again, feeling the blush creeping all the way up to his hairlines, but nods in agreement.

“Can’t wait.”

“I can’t believe it’s nearly Christmas,” Buck says as they’re leaving one Friday night, he and Eddie locking up as they go. “Not that it ever gets cold enough to snow here.”

“L.A. cant even handle rain,” Eddie says as they head to the employee lot, “we don’t need them trying to drive in snow.”

“Truth,” Buck agrees, shuddering at the idea.

They make it to the cars that are parked side by side, each pulling out their keys before facing each other.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Buck asks, knowing full well that Eddie has been planning their planetarium trip for literal weeks.

“Obviously,” Eddie says, grabbing Buck’s shirt collar and tugging him in for a sweet kiss.

“Drive safe,” he says, like he has every other night.

Buck steals one last kiss for the night, laughing against Eddie’s lips as he finally says it back.

The End

Notes:

Honestly, what am I even doing with my life? ^_^

[thisisrealy2kok]

Vintage Blue Cat Eye Triangle Shape Tinted Rimless Transparent Plastic Fashion Color Sunglasses

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

ep 3. take your time | myj, jjk

sugar, spice, and everything nice ep 3. take your time.

pairing(s): yoonji x reader x jungkook

summary: Er, how to put this? The previous mission was a total fail. Min Yoonji can't face Jeon Jungkook after being so overly confident in her plans - so she avoids him. Yup. Surely this means she'll avoid his fuckbuddy too, right? Wrong. The universe must be working against her... or is it?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; pan!f!reader; pan!Yoonji; internalized homophobia; gay panic + w/w sexual tension; best friend!Jung Hoseok visits; minor alcohol consumption; boiled dumpling Yoonji; f/f/m love triangle? slow burn; minor smut (sex dreams); non-idol!AU - Yoonji's POV

--

She did her very best.

In the end, it wasn’t enough.

It was pretty easy to not interact. After all, scheduling conflicts made it difficult to have the entire friend group meet up. Everyone was an adult with their own lives now, like it or not, and they were all at different stages in life. Still, they made an effort to at least meet up in small groups.

Min Yoonji had started making sure that she wasn’t alone with Jeon Jungkook.

She wasn’t sure if she could look him in the eyes without him knowing something was up. He was spacey, not an idiot. Acted like one, ha, but she didn’t really want him to change that.

Turned out, though, that Yoonji had nothing to worry about.

“Oh, Jungkook? He said he had to cancel last minute. Something came up. But, hey, that kid gave me some money and said we can eat on his dime today,” Park Jimin had laughed, holding out some folded bills. “Can you believe that kid? I tried to tell him we were older than him, but he just replied with, whatever, Jimin-ssi. Rude!”

And, well, Yoonji herself didn’t accept invitations sometimes. She was, at heart, an introvert after all, and at times it was difficult to muster up the energy for a social interaction. She used to feel bad about that, but therapy – and her best friend Jung Hoseok, surprisingly – helped her understand it. Strange that high-extrovert Hoseok was the one who insisted Yoonji to stay home and rest sometimes. Perhaps it was because he could easily sense the disparity in their tolerance for social situations since they were so different. She had always told Hoseok that he was rather wise, but smiley Hoseokie had always laughed and swore it was the opposite when it came to the two of them. She always trusted his judgement, or, rather, his lack of judgement. He had always been easy to talk to. It was rare for him to be without a smile.

Jung Hoseok smiled now, hugging Yoonji without hesitation when she came to pick him up at the bus stop.

“Thanks for spending one of your vacation days to come see me.”

That cheerful laugh stuck the air and Yoonji realized how much she missed the infectious, bubbly quality of it on the regular. “Don’t be silly. And, you know, before this I went to see Namjoonie too.” Bright orange beanie, caramel-colored coat, big eyeglasses with a rainbow pattern printed on the inside of the black plastic frame. Hoseok still had his healthy tan complexion but he seemed more built now, which was a little strange since he had always been a slender, lithe man. That hug had some real strength behind it. “I saw my parents the day before too. My mom cooked me a feast even though it was only a few vacation days, haha! So many plates! If you hadn’t been working, I would have invited you to come to Gwangju but that would have troubled you too much. My dad asked how you were too. I asked him how I was supposed to know when I’m stuck at the base?! He’s so funny!”

Yoonji couldn’t help but smile at his healing energy.

They walked to a restaurant with Hoseok doing most of the talking and Yoonji listening, passively beaming at his presence. She had missed him. She didn’t say so, but she didn’t need to. It wasn’t like her to be sappy anyway. Not without a drink, at least. Hoseok knew, anyway. He would tell his animated stories, lightly holding her arm for emphasis, and at the right time Yoonji would provide the exaggerated reaction, causing Hoseok to double over in laughter, his shining eyes getting crinkly and his mouth forming his signature heart-shaped smile.

They naturally settled back into their friendship as if Hoseok hadn’t been away for months for his mandatory military service.

With Hoseok, it was hard to have any worries.

They sat down, ate, conversed. It would have been nice to have the rest of the friend group there too, and maybe they would have a chance to all configure together later, perhaps at a karaoke bar late at night, but for right now it was only Hoseok and Yoonji. She had asked him if it was possible to have a conversation, but Hoseok had set several hours aside instead and suggested to get dinner.

“Something’s on your mind.”

They had half-drunk glasses of wine in front of them. Their plates were cleared now, and they were patiently waiting for dessert. Hoseok leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. A comforting, gentle one. For a moment, Yoonji looked away. A mixture of embarrassment and collecting her thoughts.

“It’s obvious, hah,” she mumbled.

“Hey, only because I’ve known you for so long,” he chuckled, waving away her doubts. “If it was something you didn’t want to talk about for the sake of hurting others, you would practice avoidance. If it was something you wanted to be asked about, you would come for advice but not forget to treat me first.” Hoseok shook his head, smiling warmly. “But, noona, you know you can say anything to me whenever you want, right? You always listen to my worries right away. I want to return the favor, too.”

She sighed ruefully. “It’s not just for you. Me, too. I can’t say something without working up the courage to it.”

“Courage? Aish. You’re a lot stronger than you let yourself know.”

Hoseok was, as always, wise. Maybe without he himself knowing it.

Sure, Yoonji had been able to push through a lot of hardships. Loving music when her parents had been against it. Bullying at school and trying to avoid troubling her parents with what was going on. Rough financial patches during university where she had to choose between one meal a day or going home on the bus. More than once having to weasel her way out of a potentially dangerous situation that involved alcohol and potential harassment.

But none of these things were love.

Intense attraction. Layers of guilt. Daydreams bordering on delusion. Unseen, intangible, and yet unmistakably there. It made no sense. It made all the sense. She had tried to push the thoughts away, but they always came back with a vengeance.

In dreams.

Yoonji bit her lip.

The dreams.

Even just last night. Another dream that had forced her awake with her blankets twisted around her body like snakes, her heart pounding and shivers all over, breathing fast. Often, her dreams resembled a house of cards, stacks of different images, imagination and memory blending. Thoughts colliding, collapsing into each other, and Yoonji would wake up catching bits and pieces but ultimately mostly remembering the last scenes. The ones that woke her up.

Darkness.

A weight over her eyes. Her breath catching as a soft touch traced her inner thigh. Her brain catching up, the weight on her eyes resembling fingers. A hand. An elegant one. A whisper, smokey-sweet, that became lost to the abyss even though the impact of those words lingered, causing an addicting tingle throughout her veins. Pleasure. Warm and encompassing even though it was only between her legs. Familiar and yet unfamiliar because Yoonji knew it wasn’t herself that was doing it, but effect was the same, if not stronger due to the foreign excitement and maybe slight fear too, not because she was exposed but because there was some level of expectation, wasn’t there?

Nervous?

Of course not. Just because she had never done it before herself didn’t mean she didn’t know how it worked. She had seen enough porn in her lifetime.

Don’t let acting mindfuck you into being unable to appreciate the now.

That was true. She tried to clear her head, tried to simply feel what was happening, and that turned out to be easy. Her breath catching in her lungs as she felt soft, plush lips against her neck. Teeth nipping at her throat. A hand over her eyes and another between her legs, stroking her clit and making her hips flinch with the sensitivity, profoundly aware of how slippery those fingertips were against hot, wet skin, electricity crawling over her chest, short on air, and then.

The hand lifted.

Scorched eyes close, darker with desire.

She couldn’t look away, even as she felt another pair of hands against her side, kneading her thigh and up her torso. Afraid? Shook her head, too nervous to speak and then she saw the tousle of black hair, the two lip rings punctured into the right side of a lower lip graced with a small mole under the center of them.

Her head jerked and Jeon Jungkook grinned back at her, his naked chest glistening with sweat.

Last night, once again, Yoonji had been jolted awake by the shock.

“Hoseok, I…”

Guiltily, she looked up, into inquisitive, bright brown eyes behind lenses framed by black and rainbow colors.

“I think I might do something stupid, and it involves a girl.”

-

The roar of the train tried to deafen her thoughts.

Unfortunately, Yoonji’s mind was a persistent bitch.

Hmph.

Despite it all, she couldn’t even begin to confront the tumultuous whispers within. It was a not-so-complicated problem with a simple solution, as long as emotions weren’t factored into it. As long as daydreams of day dates and nightmares of lost nights weren’t factored into it. As long as Yoonji didn’t sit on the subway using every minute to analyze every tick of the head and struggle to recall exactly how those fingers fell upon each object held, she’d be fine.

She simply couldn’t bring herself to let go.

Yoonji sat against the window, headphones in, clutching her phone as if she was scrolling, but all she could see was the unfairness of life and its impossible choices. Her music had paused. At the moment she didn’t notice for, once again, she was mulling over Hoseok’s words. Not much had changed since her best friend had provided her a listening ear. After some time and more wine, they had chosen to walk along the streets, reminiscing with each step, but then eventually Hoseok brought up the subject again.

“I don’t ever want to see you sad, noona.”

“That’s literally impossible. Sad shit happens all the time.”

“I know it’s impossible,” Hoseok had laughed, and then sighed softly. His cheeks were still rosy from drinking. “I know it’s impossible, but I can’t be your friend and not wish that. As your friend, I’m always on your side, yet I’m no problem-solver either. You were always better at that.”

Yoonji had snorted even though it was unwomanly.

Hoseok had chuckled, not minding it. “There are no right answers in life, remember? You told me that a long time ago when I was having a hard time.” Like waves, her words drifted back to shore. “Life isn’t meant to have correct answers. Life is meant to live.”

Then why did it have to be so fucking complicated?

Of course it would be logical and lovely to stay silent and distant. Of course it would be reckless and exciting to get closer to the flame even with the foreboding threat of trampled sandcastles and broken hearts. Was it better to burned and better for it, or burned into ashes with nothing but the smoke of regret? It would be so much easier living in a vacuum without knowing other people could be affected by her choices, but love was not that kind of space, no matter how vast and endless it seemed. Yoonji chewed the side of her lip, focusing on the tug of velocity from the moving train underneath, searching for the physical sensation to ground her. The train slowed, yet she couldn’t help but be jolted by the stop nonetheless. People filtered out. People filtered in. The crackling announcement overhead murmured out warnings no one quite listened to but everybody knew. Stay away from the doors when they close, keep track of one’s belongings, those standing should hold on as the train begins to move. Next stop was–

Yoonji felt the air being sucked out of her lungs.

If love was not the vacuum of space, then why couldn’t she breathe now?

She looked away quickly. The image had already burned into her memory. Between the business suits and the trendy streetwear stood the instigator of all her current conflicts. Tousled hair, tight little black top, red plaid miniskirt. Oversized leather jacket over her shoulders. The woman leaned against the wall with a relaxed stance. Not a care in the world. What is she doing here? It was quite late but not so late for the drunkards and creeps to crawl out onto the streets. Yoonji, well, she had been working late taking over a shift for a vacationing co-worker. Although the shop wasn’t open late, she had been busy doing repairs. She noticed the heavy black boots and torn fishnets out of the corner of her eye. Her eyes flickered up and she saw something sticking out of the inside pocket of the leather jacket. A swaying black strap with a grey flame, hanging off a shiny black plastic rod with mother-of-pearl accents.

A lightstick?

She froze up as she felt the burn of scorched eyes.

Looked up and Jeon Jungkook’s girlfriend was staring back at her.

Maybe?

The train slowed.

The ricochet in Yoonji’s ribcage ramped up in speed and intensity as she realized people filtering out, people filtering in, and one gliding towards her. She kept telling herself they hadn’t locked eyes, even right up to the moment that she had a good view of that manicured hand, black with red glitter, wrapping around the train strap in front of her.

“Oh, hey.”

A wry smile and light bow.

The politeness both confused and flustered Yoonji. She sat in her seat, the others next to her indifferent to the mild confrontation that was shattering her composure.

“Ah… hi,” was the best Yoonji had.

The harsh overhead train lighting made the tangle of silver necklaces in front of her face gleam and sparkle. She tried not to look, because that would mean staring at another woman’s chest, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at that face either. She tried to appear nonchalant, except she forgot what that even meant.

“Hey, about last time we met,” she heard above her. Soft, silky, and smokey. “I wanted to apologize.”

They were close enough for Yoonji to smell the remnants of a heavy, sweet, boozy fragrance. It filled her lungs and made blood thunder in her ears. She couldn’t, for the life of her, recall what an apology was needed for. Although, she couldn’t form any coherent thoughts right now.

“A… Ah.” Yoonji shifted her eyes. “For what?”

“For being a dick, heh.”

She glanced up.

One of the woman’s arms was in her jacket, the one that was holding onto the train strap. The other was tucked behind her back, causing her hips to angle out a bit from the jacket, towards Yoonji. She had fantastic legs. Not that Yoonji was looking or anything. The other woman cleared her throat a bit and looked sheepish.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said. It was rude of me to pick you apart like that.”

That day in the café seemed like it happened ages ago. “Oh… I haven’t thought about it that way,” Yoonji confessed. She looked down, feeling a little bit ashamed. “You weren’t entirely wrong. I just didn’t want to admit it then.”

“Hmmm.” A brief pause. “The date didn’t go well, then?”

Her hands clasped together. She tried to chuckle to let out the tension. “Hah… You were right that there wasn’t one. The purpose was more to…” Yoonji trailed off. She didn’t know what to say now. Her eyes cautiously flicked upward. Those dark orbs looked down in return, so shadowed they seemed almost black. Burned. An eyebrow raised.

“You really were trying to scope me out, then.”

Yoonji felt her insides wince. “I’m sorry myself.”

A light scoff. “Don’t be. I get it. I give off that vibe, huh?”

There wasn’t a good response to that. She glanced again at the lightstick inside the woman’s jacket. “Did you go to a concert?”

That observant gaze followed hers. “Ah, yeah.” She tucked her head down, and Yoonji noticed the black belt around her waist now. “I try to keep everything on me. Essentials only.” There must be a leather pouch attached to her waist, then. That was why she was keeping a hand on her back.  “Since I go to these events alone.”

She couldn’t help but ask. “Why alone?”

The other woman mused with a pensive expression. “I guess I don’t have many friends that are into the same music I am into. Besides, there’s no stress of looking silly when you’re by yourself. You can enjoy however you like without considering others.”

“That’s just how you are?”

Those scorched eyes locked with Yoonji’s.

“That’s how I’m made to be.”

The sounds around her sounded all muffled. The people around her seemed not all there. She looked upwards with her heart aflutter, her thoughts racing, goosebumps popping up under her hoodie and jeans as Jeon Jungkook’s sort-of, kind-of, definitely-so-damn-hot girlfriend tilted her head at her, and Yoonji wondered why she couldn’t be the cool one, the smooth one, anything but the timid one.

“What brings you out so late?” that hazy, calm voice asked.

“Work,” was all Yoonji could manage.

An understanding nod. “Ah. Must be difficult.”

Not as difficult as this. “When are you getting off?”

The other woman raised her head and looked up to the LED sign. “Hmm, dunno.”

“You don’t know?” Yoonji furrowed her brows. “What do you mean by that?”

“I feel like wandering around,” was the lackadaisical answer.

“Are you crazy?” She straightened, frowning. “You can’t go wandering around at this hour.”

A striking gaze under lashes. “You worried about little ol’ me?”

She scowled. “That’s simply common sense.”

It happened so fast that she couldn’t react. In a swish of leather and chains, that teasing face was suddenly centimeters from Yoonji’s. Eye-to-eye and inescapable. The layered scent of her perfume became more intense, sweet and heavy and boozy, reminding her of Friday nights and bad decisions. That smirk was as annoying as it was arousing, and immediately after thinking that Yoonji wanted to unthink that, but it was too late and she was too fucked.

“Don’t pretend like you want to take responsibility for someone like me.” Her soft breath brushed against Yoonji’s lips. “You don’t like me that much.”

The other woman winked.

She fucking winked.

And as soon as the interaction started, it ended. She stood back up, letting out a soft sigh as she took her perfume away from Yoonji. She glanced at the doors as the train was slowing down again, not saying anything more. It was an ominous comment with an ominous connotation. Unsettling. Definitely dangerous. Borderline infuriating.

No.

Actually infuriating.

“Hey.”

The woman was about to back up, her lips parting, but Yoonji twisted her knee and hooked her leg around the back of those shapely calves, locking her in place. People around them hurried to their destinations, not looking down at their feet, not noticing the shot of tension and challenge between two women. Not that they would know the history between them. It could easily be interpreted as Yoonji helping her friend stabilize from the jerky train.

Those dark eyes darkened.

Yoonji frowned back, not backing down.

The crackly announcement flitted overhead. The train doors closed in unison. The train started again.

“I can’t let you do that,” she said tightly, unsure what the fuck she was doing.

A tilt of the head.

“And why’s that, Min Yoonji?”

There was a low purr in that question. It must be her imagination. She tried not to think about how her heart was doing backflips and quaking in terror from hearing her full name like that.

“I can’t in good conscience let you be so careless.”

They were at a standoff now.

Those berry-stained lips curved into a smirk.

“So your very good, respectable conscience is why you want to interfere?”

Yoonji relaxed her leg. They hadn’t been skin-to-skin because of her jeans, which was a good and bad thing. It was impossible to take a deep breath without being obvious, so she simply didn’t. She didn’t entirely back off though. She should have pulled her leg back. Her little stunt had made those boots take a step forward, nearly colliding with Yoonji’s other knee.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

Strangely, Jungkook’s fuckbuddy didn’t back off.

“Oh, but that’s how you’re acting.”

No, she wasn’t. “I’m not.”

Instead of answering, spiced perfume and leather closed the distance and placed herself right between Yoonji’s open legs. She started, trying to scoot back in her seat, but it was impossible. No one seemed to notice, or at least no one was saying anything. There weren’t that many people now. The train was reaching the end of the line soon. Plenty of seats were empty and people were shifting to sit further apart as the space was freed up.

Point was, there really was no reason to be closer.

“Ah, sorry. There just isn’t that much space, you know?” Cocked eyebrow. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Yoonji gritted her teeth.

She didn’t know if she wanted to slap that smirk off that face or make out with it.

“I have to get off at the next stop,” Yoonji stated as matter-of-factly as she could. Tch. This wasn’t increasing her blood pressure in a good way. No. This wasn’t what she imagined at all. Yeah, of course people were different than daydreams. The other woman didn’t respond. She just smiled. Knowingly. Yoonji didn’t have a type. Nope. She also wasn’t scared of her either, no matter how hot, no matter how seductive, no matter how many positions Yoonji was putting them in her head right now.

The train slowed down.

That head of tousled hair tilted to the right exit behind her.

“Well, of you go, then,” she said with a resigned sigh and inviting smile.

The announcement overhead crackled. The train began to slow. A couple people stood up, getting ready to leave, accounting for their belongings with them. Headphones on, or immersed in conversation with their travel partners.

Yoonji growled under her breath, grabbed Jungkook’s definitely-not girlfriend’s free hand, and dragged them through the open doors and onto the platform.

-

Yeah, um.

She hadn’t thought this though.

“What was your grand master plan, Romeo?” came the amused, husky tone from behind her.

They were standing at the train platform, with Yoonji’s right hand in her crush’s right hand, wait, no, that wasn’t what I meant, and then she stiffened up when she felt spiced perfume and leather brush up against her back. Yoonji clutched her tote bag with her left hand, spinning around quickly, immediately locking eyes with a mischievous expression. Scorched eyes and berry-stained lips. She twisted her gaze away, trying to let go of that hand, but her fingers got caught in the other woman’s rings and a hand wrapped around her wrist.

“Don’t freak out.”

Don’t freak out?! She bristled but all the woman did was unlock their fingers and push down her silver rings. “You know Romeo and Juliet die at the end of the story, right?” Yoonji snapped to that nonchalant hand, not making eye contact.

“Yeah.” A wispy chuckle. “They’re also sixteen and thirteen, but something tells me you’re way past that. It doesn’t apply, but it did get a cute reaction out of you.”

She glared. Jungkook’s lady friend gave her a cheeky grin.

“You’re rude.”

Was it her imagination or was the tip of a pink tongue tracing that smirk?

“I can be a lot more than that, so consider yourself lucky.”

Either it was very warm in the train station or Yoonji was getting red in the face. She was about to turn her heel but then this lunatic spun around and began sauntering off the opposite direction. For fuck’s sake, what the hell? Before she could think about it too much, Yoonji crossed the distance with her long legs and snatched a handful of that leather sleeve, dragging the woman with her.

“Oh!”

“You don’t even know where you’re going,” Yoonji muttered with gritted teeth.

“Sure I do.” That relaxed tone was beginning to aggravate. “Your scary face is telling me you don’t want me to bother you.”

“My face is not scary.”

“Oh yeah? Then look at me in the eyes, then.”

This annoying–! They had arrived at the escalator. Yoonji let go of her hand and spun around with one smooth motion, checking if her unpredictable travel companion behind her was about to run off again. Her eyes widened when she realized they were nearly colliding. They were occupying adjacent steps. Due to the platform boots versus Yoonji’s sneakers, the other woman was taller. It wasn’t much of a difference, and then the steps of the escalator became more evident, creating a greater height disparity so now Yoonji was looking up into those piercingly dark orbs. She froze, unsure how to react.

A slow smile formed on those full lips.

“You’re not scary. I just wanted you to look at me.”

Irritation flared. Yoonji narrowed her eyes. But before she could spit out her distaste, the other woman spoke again.

“What?  Are you mad that I think you’re pretty?”

Fuck.

She couldn’t maintain eye contact any longer. Her face was burning. I can’t do this. Yoonji quickly turned around, using the excuse of stepping off the escalator to keep her eyes forward, hurrying quickly, not sure if the woman was following or not. It was obvious that she was out of her element. Out of her league, shit. She was playing ball while her opponent had trapped her in a pinball machine, Yoonji being the target, knocked this way and that with whatever obstacle that came out of her mouth, how could such ridiculous statements fluster me that much, and she was aware that she was annoyed yet also unable to stop thinking about that face, those words, and how their closeness had made her heart race just like how her body reacted around a hot guy.

Which was stupid.

So stupid.

“Ah, wait, let me make a stop here.”

Yoonji almost yelped, suddenly yanked by her hoodie sleeve into a small convenience store. She faintly registered that Jungkook’s – oh, for fuck’s sake, her, um, never mind, the woman was picking something up from a far aisle and hurrying to the counter. Paying for the item in a flash and politely refusing a bag while looking like a damn delinquent that could star in a porn movie. What? Yoonji shook her head furiously and was pulled out back out to the train station, right before the entrance to the street, which was how they ended up standing in front of a bookstore closed for the day.

One woman tore open a package of lemon-flavored gummies and the other clutched her tote bag, white as a sheet of paper.

“Want one?”

Yoonji only stared at her.

“Mm. I’ll save some just in case.”

How is this even happening?

“Are you a kid?” Yoonji sighed, feeling annoyed at herself more than anything.

“Are you an adult?” was the chirp back, complete with the same condescending tone.

She shot her an indignant look. The woman raised her eyebrows and popped another bright yellow gummy into her mouth. She was about to snap, of course, I am, but then her witty comeback was interrupted for possibly the nth time that night.

“’Cause, ya know, most adults wouldn’t do what you just did with me.”

Actually, night was better in this case. “Don’t make this weird,” Yoonji mumbled, looking away again.

“Who cares?”

She jerked her head away and stared at the black sky, wondering how she was losing her cool this fucking fast. How could someone be this smart-mouthed, this devil-may-care, this freaking annoying? It was like hanging out with an extra cunning, female version of Jeon Jungkook. It was driving her absolutely bananas on how to feel. Who cares? Hmph, so irresponsi–

Oh.

Oh my god.

“So, what’s the plan, kidnapper?”

Yoonji grumbled. “I’m not kidnapping you.”

“Aw, I was looking forward to being tied up.”

What the fuck? “Don’t tempt me.”

“Why not?”

“Look, are you drunk or something?” Yoonji scowled, gripping her tote tightly and sneaking a side-glance. “You’re just saying whatever you want.”

She was bouncing on her heels, enjoying her sour sweets. “That would be convenient for you, huh, if I was drunk,” she hummed.

“So you’re simply weird.”

A half-smile. “Better weird than putting up a front.”

A short pause. Her anger dissipated a bit. What am I doing? This isn’t like me at all. She sighed, somewhat defeated. Yoonji pondered how she got swept up like this. I don’t like her. But she did. Shit. How did all her buttons get pressed so fast and with such playful aggression? Damnnit.

“For the record, I don’t drink that much. And especially not when I’m walking alone in places. That would be stupid. In fact, I don’t think I’ve had a drink in a couple years now.”

Yoonji didn’t know if she appreciated the clarification or not. “And why’s that?”

No answer.

She turned her head and was given a pointed, disbelieving look.

“Come on. If I’m this irritating now, imagine me drunk?” Cock of the head. “You’d be on the floor.”

In what way? She didn’t respond to that. Yoonji could tell when she was getting provoked. “I’ll call you a taxi.”

A snort. Classy. “I can call myself a taxi.”

“I don’t trust you to get in it,” Yoonji countered, frowning.

“You don’t trust me at all.”

“That’s not true. I trust you to be a smartass.”

A sly grin at her deadpan words. Those scorched eyes glimmered from the low light of streetlamps. “How about this, then?” She folded the little packet of lemon gummies and tucked it into one of the many pockets of her leather jacket. “Let’s go somewhere together. Chill. Have some conversation. I feel like we are grossly misunderstanding each other. I don’t want us stuck like this. And then I’ll go home and pretend to be the good girl you want me to be.”  

You’re the one causing all the trouble. No. She sighed again, realizing it came out a bit shaky. This whole situation was giving all gas, no brakes, and Yoonji didn’t know why she was considering getting on this ride. What was she supposed to do? What was right? And then there was the way she was being spoken to, Argh.

“Too scared, huh?”

Yoonji glared. “Don’t try anything.”

A deep exhale. The other woman shook her head solemnly. “Hah, what are you thinking I would do?”

-

Min Yoonji concluded that she must be the stupidest person on the planet.

It was late, which was precisely why it wasn’t too busy at this hour. It was surely busier on the other side, considering late-night salarymen and odd-hours workers were getting off their shift. But on this side, the women’s side, well, there really wasn’t anybody at all. There were a few small groups of two or three women, crowded in their semi-private spots, but a lot of open space in the warm, medicinal pools of the public bath.

Yes, that was right.

Yoonji was in a public bath with Jungkook’s lover.

Fuck, she was stupid as all hell.

She sat in the bath with a towel wrapped tightly around her body and tried not to stare. A smaller towel was wrapped around her head with a bun twist at the sides. Yeah, sure, Yoonji didn’t have to get fully naked, but it wasn’t like she brought a set of extra clothes with her. Neither had her companion, of course, so renting towels was a must. That was fine. Everything was fine. Her face was ten thousand degrees. So was the bath. Everything was fine.

As soon as the towel had gotten wet, Yoonji had gotten a pretty good look at that womanly waist-to-ass ratio. Plus those perky tits. Slim, pretty shoulders. Pretty obvious why Jeon Jungkook was coo-coo for those delicious curves. The other woman had opted to tie her hair up instead, not wanting it to get wet, oblivious to the few strands that brushed sexily against the nape of her neck.

“Nice legs,” she had commented, keeping her voice low.

Yoonji sank further into the cloudy medicinal bath. “Keep your eyes to yourself.”

The faintest of smiles. “You aren’t good at following your own advice, are you?”

She couldn’t believe that she had gotten cornered into this. She also couldn’t believe that she was acting like a teenager caught with dirty magazines. She also couldn’t believe that her eyes weren’t deceiving her and there wasn’t a monster under those clothes but an actual hottie who damn well knew it. Just her luck. Not that it mattered, considering Yoonji had apparently forgone all logic. Hmph. She could be like that too.

Not right now, obviously. Wrong situation.

“I haven’t visited a public bathhouse in a long time,” that husky voice mused.

“I used to come with my family,” Yoonji replied distractedly. “But it’s been a while for me too.”

“It’s kind of nice.”

She floated a bit, her shoulders still above water, clavicles glistening with dew. In contrast, Yoonji was neck-deep, soaking like a boiled dumpling.

“Don’t have a group a girl friends to go with?”

Yoonji frowned. Sighed. “No, not really. You’ve seen my friends. I’m sure they’ve gone without me,” she added, flicking her eyes to wandering ones. “You?”

A light scoff. “I don’t have people I’m close with.” A quick, fleeting glance. “Unless it’s in bed.”

Crass but honest. This time, though, didn’t seem like those words were said to catch her off guard. She accepted the moment of mercy. “Why is that?”

“Because everyone loves the idea of trying to tame the outcast.”

The steam was nearly as heavy as the silence.

“Being lonely doesn’t make you cool,” Yoonji quietly murmured, watching the ripples in the water.

“Not trying to be cool. Just trying to survive like the rest of us.”

The heat was almost as soothing as her tone, but her words held the weight of a past full of nightmares. They stayed quiet. Eventually, both of them floated to the edge of the pool. Maybe it was an outcast thing. Yoonji thought to offer some consolation, but she didn’t know the words nor what the other woman had been through.

“You haven’t had it easy, huh?” she mumbled to the milky liquid.

“Heh. Has anyone?”

She soaked for a few minutes. Ripples fanning out. Such a small thing becoming so large. She was vaguely aware of arms resting against the side of the bath.

“You strike me as a lone wolf yourself.”

Yoonji shifted her eyes to see a poised hand millimeters above her barely-covered shoulder. She looked away again. “I’m not. I don’t need many friends, but I need the ones I have.”

“I don’t think you’ve always felt like that.”

Damn. She wasn’t surprised anymore though. “Hah… You’re right.”

A wispy chuckle. “What made you change your mind?”

She thought about it. “Before I knew it… I had begun to rely on them. I’m close to my older brother, but my parents… and then my brother went off to university. Started working long hours in a high-class hotel restaurant. I was just the daughter that fiddled with guitars. My parents paid for my music lessons, starting with piano and then whatever instrument I wanted to learn, but I don’t have anything interesting to show for it. And, anyway, you know how it is. I can’t blame my brother for being a son. It was probably because of his support for me that my parents paid for my music degree.”

“Or because you’re good.”

“Even if I am,” Yoonji exhaled, blowing ripples in front of her. “I wouldn’t enjoy standing out.” She ruminated on that a bit. “With the emotional distance between my parents and the physical distance between my brother… I chased a lot of dead ends. Didn’t know where I was headed or where I wanted to go. I don’t know why those guys… Don’t know why they bothered with such a mess.”

“Probably because of your cute face.”

Yoonji scowled and flicked water next to her.

An unbothered laugh. “Maybe they saw something in you.”

Can’t imagine what. “Through school, shared hobbies, friends of friends.” She thought of each of them. It had happened organically, beginning with Kim Namjoon during university, bonding over books and music. “We just ended up like this.”

“Mhm, that’s usually my explanation too when I wake up the next morning.”

A muscle in Yoonji’s eyelid twitched. The implication was obvious. “Is that all people are to you?”

“That’s all people want me to be.”

She said it so casually, so calmly, that those words didn’t seem to hold the gravity that they should. The steam around them curled and snaked in the air. Several women were leaving now, chattering away with their gossip. The whole situation felt surreal.

“You don’t mean that,” Yoonji finally said.

A sigh.

“Sometimes I believe that’s all I am too.”

They listened to people pad away to the sauna. Someone in the corner was getting a thorough back scrubbing. Yoonji snuck a glimpse of a meditative profile. Glistening cheekbones, lips, clavicles. The top of the towel was saturated and stuck to softly rounded mounds that skimmed the surface of the water. She tried not to look for too long. The prominent peaks were noticeable and tempting.

She understood why Jungkook was so attached now.

What?

“Don’t feel bad for me.”

Somehow, Yoonji had sunk nearly chin-deep into the water. “What?” she mumbled. She almost jumped out of her skin when she felt a delicate hand plant onto the crown of her toweled head. Five points of contact. She clutched her body towel in a death grip, as if it was going to be ripped off her.

“I said, don’t feel bad for me,” chuckled the teasing voice beside her. “Getting all emotional?”

She was about to shake off the hand forcefully but it moved away just as quickly as it came.

“I don’t feel bad for you,” Yoonji muttered.

She regretted saying it when she did, and yet it was too late to take it back. Long, agonizing seconds ticked by along with ripples of moving water. She wanted to reach out somehow, but it wasn’t possible to do so. They weren’t that close. She was Jungkook’s, well, his in general. And Yoonji felt the way she did, which was complicated altogether.

The silence was broken by softness.

“You just feel something you can’t quite explain.”

Slowly, Yoonji turned her head.

Curled, damp strands of hair clung to an undefinable expression, framing burned eyes and a not-quite smile that seemed more like a hint than an actual answer. Yoonji was neck-deep in hot water and half-crouching at this depth. Her hands were twisted around themselves. She carefully pulled them apart, looking away, then back, heart racing. The bath was opaque with medicinal salts and herbs. She had to feel her way forward, feeling more confident as she waited for her companion to react.

And then.

There was nothing but water.

“Let me get out first.” There was a slosh of water and Yoonji backed up instinctively, seeing the other woman slink upwards, standing to step out. She quickly jerked her line of vision away from wet towel plastered to prominent curves. “I can endure the embarrassment, heh.” She did not sound even an iota of embarrassed.

Her cheeks flared hot. Yoonji kept her eyes firmly on the water. “I’ll… I’ll finish up and follow in a minute.”

“Take your time.”

Light, drippy steps faded away, leaving Yoonji alone, sinking into the water with only her eyes showing, terrified someone could somehow tell she was red-hot from seeing an almost naked woman. Not just any woman. Fuck. She closed her eyes, screaming in her head. Why does it have to be her? Eight billion people and counting on this planet and this had to happen.

That’s all people want me to be.

Yoonji really didn’t like how that sounded.

Don’t feel bad for me.

This dumpling boiled for a little longer until her redness could be explained away by the heat.

Eventually, she got out and padded off to the locker room too, both startled and relieved that she was alone. She dried off and got dressed, thinking about the undertones of those statements. If she had been a liar, Yoonji would have assured with, no, not to Jeon Jungkook, but that idiot’s actions were the complete opposite. Yes, Yoonji knew otherwise because she had known him for such a long time – but did she, though? How well did she know him, really? She paused, holding her hoodie. She hadn’t been talking to him lately, trying to avoid giving herself away.

The memory of his Instagram post lingered in the back of her mind.

And then the image of those scorched eyes surrounded by steam.

Yoonji pulled her hoodie over her head. She couldn’t pretend to ignore the trees in front of her even though she hadn’t seen the whole forest yet. She looped her hand over the handle of her canvas tote bag. Gathered the rented bath house items, preparing to return them. Jeon Jungkook. The nightmarish woman of her dreams. These complicated feelings she both didn’t recognize and knew all too well. First and foremost, she was a friend. She would not betray that.

She couldn’t bear that.

It took a moment to pay for the rented items and then Yoonji found herself in the waiting room at the front. Sitting at the bench was none other than the one of leather and silver, her spiced perfume faint and replaced with the sweet herbal scent of the bath. She stood up as Yoonji entered, tucking her arms into the sleeves of the jacket and flipping out her hair from the collar. The sides of the oversized jacket flapped open. The lights of the bath house were dimmed for an ethereal glow, and it was just enough light to spot the jutting peaks of large nipples against that tight black top.

Before she could stop herself, Yoonji raced forward in her sneakers and snatched the sides of the jacket, yanking them shut over that chest.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, gripping the leather between white-knuckles fingers. “Are you crazy?”

“Hm?”

Yoonji froze.

She gripped the jacket closed, not looking up. Couldn’t.

“What’s with you?”

Confusion above her. How does she not know? “Weren’t… Weren’t you wearing a bra?” Yoonji tried to ask as calmly as she could, hands shaking as they slipped down to the bottom of the placket where the zipper head was. She prayed the fabric was thick enough so the other woman couldn’t tell.

“Yeah, I put it in this bag the bath house gave me.” There was a rustle and Yoonji perceived a brown paper bag held up in her periphery. She fumbled with the zipper, letting out a puff of air to appear as annoyed as possible. “But all I’m gonna do is go home and go to sleep. What’s the point of putting it back on for twenty minutes?”

“You…”

“I called for a taxi already, by the way. I wanted to wait for you to finish, though. Want me to get one for you too?”

“No,” Yoonji blurted out a little too fast. She cleared her throat and busied herself with zipping up the jacket. “My place is close to here.”

“I can walk you there. Change the address of the taxi.”

She clicked her tongue. “I’ve walked home alone for years. Don’t flatter yourself.”

All of a sudden, a hand caught one of hers in the middle of retreating from the zipper.

Fingers wrapped around hers tightly.

She snapped her head up and became the closest she had ever been to kissing another woman.

They stared at each other for seconds that felt like hours. The hand was warm with slim and elegant fingers, similar to Yoonji’s own. She felt searched. Exposed. Her hair was a little damp from the bath so Yoonji had pulled the hood up to cover it. They were so close she could see the edges of her bangs curl towards those dark eyes. With a start, she realized that meant that the other woman was bent down ever-so-slightly due to their current height difference.

Silence.

She could have said so many things but Yoonji watched her hold her tongue.

For some incomprehensible reason…

The silence made Yoonji’s heart ache.

A small, pleasant smile. She didn’t say anything still. Instead, she took a step back and let go of Yoonji’s hand, letting her gaze stay only a second longer, and then those scorched eyes slipped away, disappearing behind waves of wild hair, out the door and into the street where headlights waited.

Yoonji watched the taxi purr away into the night.

She walked home, one of her hands pressed to her racing heart, a lasting tingle radiating from her fingers.

-

She couldn’t take it.

She should, and she would. But she couldn’t take it, knowing they shared moments that existed only for them. She told herself she would get over it, but some part of her didn’t want to get over it. Some twisted, masochistic part.

Min Yoonji sat in front of her computer and keyboard in the dead of night and composed a song.

She needed something to occupy all of her mind. Or something to explain it all, this strange high and down low all at once. Her sound could never be called overly optimistic, but she tried a bit of a higher key this time, with brighter, chirpy samples to go alongside her keyboard. She just sang words into the mic that came to mind, not really thinking too much about what it meant or why.

It was one of those jumbled tracks that she probably wouldn’t listen back to in a long time, but something in her needed to make it.

She fell asleep in her chair with her headphones still on and her head nestled on her hoodie arms.

She told herself to get over it.

Don’t feel bad for me.

In her dreams, Yoonji wasn’t guilty.

In her dreams, she could watch them. She knew how Jeon Jungkook was around the person he liked. He seemed all tough and cocky, but there was no way he could be. Not to such powerful femininity, and certainly not to kind eyes that had obviously been burned so many times. Jungkook was playful. Gentle. So obviously trapped but acted like he wasn’t.

I could have been you.

Not really.

Could have.

She was lost in her dreams.

Black nail polish with red glitter. Deft fingers gliding over his chest. Fingers tracing his tattooed shoulder, followed by soft, full lips that made no sound. Hands that traced his body, framing him like art as lips brushed against his ear. Whispers of things unsaid. Barely visible under messy hair – dark, scorched eyes shadowed by lashes and lust. Fascination at quickened breath falling from parted lips adorned with a small mole underneath them, right at the center. She continued to watch, transfixed at how they moved like water, seamless and in unison, twisting their bodies to face each other. Lips hovering over lips. Bare shoulders, bare waists, legs over the other, the hand cradling Jungkook’s face elegant, possessive, holding him in place as that wet, pink tongue extended, tracing his open mouth with the tip, teasing him, making him moan softly.

She blinked slowly.

Now it was her holding Jungkook’s face, staring into his lidded eyes.

She tilted her head, leaning in.

Yoonji shot up from her desk, gasping, overturning her lyric notepad and sending it flapping to the floor, along with her pen catapulting across her bedroom. Her muscles screamed in discomfort, cramped from the hunched position, and Yoonji winced, placing a palm on her chest and sensing the layer of uncomfortable sweat that had suddenly appeared.

Her heart ricocheted in her ribcage.

Her face burned. She tried to take in several breaths, pulling her hand away from herself. Slowly. Carefully, as if denying such physical reactions. She spotted the picture frame on her desk. Her and her friends standing next to each other, ages ago. A visit to a ski resort. Jungkook was standing next to her, flashing a peace sign and a toothy smile.

His arm was around her shoulders.

Bundled up, she looked a mix between disgruntled and pleased.

I have to do something or I’m gonna lose it.

Yoonji got up from her desk and flopped face down onto her bed, hoping for a dreamless sleep.

-

ep 4. hey, you alright? sugar, spice, and everything nice

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min yoonji masterpost | masterpost

[pedropascalito]

The Last of Us Joel Miller Character Study S1E1: Joel's Drawer(s)

His literal drawer(s).

I changed the shadows to try to make out what he keeps in this top drawer and to the best of my eyes:

A green CD case. I have a green CD case just like this I keep DVDs in. Twins with Joel!

Sunglasses or eyeglasses case, which, come on Craig Mazin, we couldn't get even one shot of Joel in sunglasses? Have you never watched Narcos? Pedro looks divine in sunnies. Have you never watched We Can Be Heroes? Pedro looks divine in eyeglasses. Petition for more Pedro roles who canon wear glasses, please. Anyway...

Some sort of leather case/dopp kit style bag. Wrong shape for CDs, and I don't remember ever seeing a cassette holder like this. And that would be unlikely in 2003. Perhaps a keepsake box? It's well-worn around the edges and looks older, so whatever it is, it's important to Joel.

Random paper, maybe business cards or phone numbers?

And of course, money

6. What looks like a checkbook cover, which were def still in heavy use in 2003

7. The checkbook is resting on a darker object that I would guess is an address book. These were still very common in 2003 as we were making the transition from paper books to phone contact lists. I still had a contact book because at that time if you changed your phone, you could not export/import/sync contacts, so w had a master list. (I still have mine I think, but I don't update it anymore.)

8. The yellow plastic device looks like a stud-finder I used to own, which would not surprise me and would match the construction ephemera we saw on the desk. But, perhaps someone else knows what this is?

9. The white trim looks like the top of a catch-call basket and I can't figure out what the orange loop is. Not a headband. Maybe a kind of strap?

10. There looks to be some metal pieces inside the basket, and a metal device outside of the basket against the back drawer wall. It almost looks like an older pencil sharpener, but other than that, I can't guess. Anyone else have an idea?

11. It looks like a roll of Smarties candy under the stud-finder(?). I love the idea of Joel stashing candy in his drawer.

I love that the brown leather case and checkbook cover are classic, simple yet elegant in leather and very practical, and the brown leather case looks especially loved. I wonder what he keeps in there?

All together, this drawer is functional, relatively neat, and obviously he is not worried about Sarah borrowing money or seeing these possessions. Maybe he even leaves the candy for her, knowing she'll be in the drawer at times. Cutest dad ever.

[mymanreedus]

You star in the film The Bikeriders (scheduled for June 2024) directed by Jeff Nichols (Mud: On the Banks of Mississippi). How did you join this project?

I was at the Cannes Film Festival and I was talking to someone without knowing that it was the director Jeff Nichols (which I love). And here, he tells me that he's making a movie called The Bikeriders. I said, "Like the book of photographer Danny Lyon?" "And he says, 'You know who it is?' I explained to him that I had prints of his home. He then offered to play in his film, which is adapted from Danny Lyon's book, which photographed a biker club. The film is about the club that started in Ohio in the '60s. As it grows and the message spreads, other motorcyclists come to see them. I'm playing a member of the Hells Angels who is from California to beat someone who is on the Ohio gang, to sum up. But I end up loving them all and celebrating with them. What would really have happened...

You're playing alongside Austin Butler and Tom Hardy in this movie...

I read the script and I said to Jeff, "There are too many beautiful guys in this movie. It's just leather, tobacco and all that. Can I try something?" And he said, "Of course." And so, I play Funny Sonny, a crazy character with rotten teeth. I had false teeth, a wig and a big beard that itched me. I hadn't met the casting yet. So the actors hadn't seen me yet with my crazy look. We were shooting in a field and I had been made up without the rest of the team. I then went down a hill on a motorcycle in front of about 100 extras. There was a plastic duck on the sleeve of the motorcycle that made it difficult to drive using my fingers. The make-up artist had these pretty pink glasses, old glasses, which I borrowed from her. I put on the glasses, but in fact, they were eyeglasses. I still kept them, and I had to cross all these extras, stop, get off the bike and walk towards Tom (Hardy), Austin (Butler) and Jodie (Comer). They were looking at me thinking, "But what the hell is he doing?" "I thought in my head, "Go it's going to be nil, or it's going to be fine." But, come on, shit. Let's try. So I got started."

Do you have any anecdotes about the film set?

The film was really fun to shoot. Jeff Nichols is a very good filmmaker and all these actors are so talented. It was cool. I was going to France, at the same time, and I was flying back and forth in Ohio to shoot The Bikeriders. I walked in the city with smashed teeth and would order cafes, just to see if I could be understood with my teeth. People were looking at me, "Oh, my God, what happened to you?" I have a five-year-old daughter and sometimes I put on the teeth of the film (which I kept) to read her a story at bedtime. It's funny.

Norman Reedus, Numero

[st-just]

Random worldbuilding question #9!

re:

What aesthetics are considered “advanced” or “futuristic” in your world - canvas wings, shiny chrome, smooth plastic? How has this changed over time?

Okay so realizing after the fact that I’ve got at least three different relatively thought out settings each of which have multiple cultures/groups who probably have different answers for most of these questions, so! Lets pick semi-randomly and then lose track of the question and write seven hundred words of vaguely related free verse.

In most of Abhari, to be ‘advanced’ is to be similar to the latest fashions of the Sublime Commonwealth – the Committee on Industry and Progress is almost universally considered the most important body of state below the Grand Secretariat itself, after all. To be advanced means to be godless, the harvests and tides governed by mesmerisingly complex arrays of mirrored bronze directing aether in accordance to the dictates of Universal Reason. It means rectangular fields and ubiquitous canals, and government by sexless bureaucrats in grey coats and red hats, without family name or native tongue. Schoolhouses and conscription, and architecture that’s long on geometric patterns and short on portraits or idols.

‘Futuristic’ goes a bit beyond that, and the palette to draw with is clockwork and light. Pocketwatches and orreries and everything in between, automota doing the work of couriers and carriages on immaculate city streets, or self-propelled artillery crawling along mountain passes on spidery legs. Grand, illuminated libraries where the secrets and histories of the entire world have been transcribed into a single comprehensible tongue for any member of the public to peruse. Mirrors and lamplight and eyeglasses, and endless, endless reams of paper; every page full of facts and figures, or carefully transcribed reports.

Outsider the Commonwealth, there’s more variance. The artificers and guildmasters of the Holy Illyrin Empire and its sprawling array of vassals and dependencies would, as a rule, take being called ‘futuristic’ as a grave insult, to imply that their work is in some way distinct from their august predecessors is very nearly the same thing as calling them a fraud. Every worthwhile secret of craft and artifice was discovered by ancient masters centuries ago, even if it has perhaps only been unearthed and put to use quite recently by an appropriately respectful modern disciple. To be advanced in the positive sense in to be similar to the Imperial Court, and when the seasons change aristocratic fashion filters out across the land with some delay but enough force to make up for it.

The most impressive and famous workings are full of pomp and ceremony, ancient ritual and treasured heirlooms. The fashion at the moment leans towards ostentatious luxury – floor length cloaks and gowns, proudly displayed tokens of divine favour or noble patronage, cloth of gold and magnificent jewellery, a whole language of gems and patterns to advertise how ones sabre or necklace is enchanted. The most glorious are waited upon by called and bound devils, the right to command the labour of a condemned spirit and set the terms of its parole proof of their honour and lineage.

Conversely, no genius or savant of the Free Cities would object to having their work called futuristic – the heroic figure wresting some world-changing secret from an ancient tomb or the mind of a demon or the depths of their own imagination and winning fame and fortune for it is exactly what all of them are aspiring to be. If a well-read traveller’s image of a ‘city of the future’ isn’t one of the Commonwealth’s idealized and efficient geometric grids, it is surely Celmy or Khasal, sprawling and three-dimensional, full of unmapable paths that cut across each other at nonexistant angles to create impossible shortcuts.

To be advanced is to be rich, to sit at the heart of a globe-spanning trading empire whose markets are full of spices and textiles from continents away, to live in a city that others fight for the chance to visit, where the mere fact of citizenship is enough for magnates to woo you with feasts and festivals for your support in the Assembly. Little distinction is made between a novelty unearthed in a foreign land and brought home and one invented in a workshop down the street – the fact of something being an exotic novelty makes its presence as futuristic as any truly new innovation, and as worth showing off. The aesthetic is spectacle without much thought for restraint or modesty – silver and flame, strongmen and fleshweavers, ecstatic communion or sadistic demonbinding, monumental architecture or a more efficient mill; anything at all that demonstrates a personal surpassing of ones natural state.

[cripbian]

as another way of talking about disability history, i wanted to talk about the risd museum’s exhibition variance. you can find stuff about the exhibit here (including most of the objects) & the publication (articles + scholarly work attached to the exhibit) here. im not sure how accessible the website is for screen readers, unfortunately.

variance dealt with historical portrayals of disability, including artwork that capitalizes on a disabled subject without their consent as well as modern & contemporary artists' artworks about their own disability.

some art pieces i found interesting + thought provoking:

Robert Andy Coombs Cuddle on Couch, from the series CripFag, 2019

[ID copied from alt text: Coombs, white man, lies on a blue couch, embraced by a black partner, Dani. Coombs stares at the camera. The urinary tube in Coombs’s belly and other protective devices on his legs are emphasized by his nudity, adding to the sensual nature of the image. Behind the couple, part of a wheelchair, a straw for drinking, and assistive equipment for photography can be seen. Blankets have been thrown over the end and sides of the couch, creating a cozy and lived-in atmosphere. End ID.]

(label copied from RISD museum website, hyperlink my own):

Here photographer Robert Andy Coombs captures himself in what appears to be a postcoital moment of intimacy with his collaborator, Dani. Coombs exposes his entire body while staring back at the viewer by way of the camera. His CripFag series—described by Coombs as “the sexual adventures of a gay quadriplegic photographer”—reclaims his sexual identity, making disability sexy. “Being disabled, I don’t get to see my body or explore it very often, so photographing helps me appreciate it for what it is,” Coombs explains. “It shows all the different aspects of what makes my body unique and beautiful by showcasing intimate areas like my floppy crippled wrists and the tan lines where my splints lay, my suprapubic catheter, scars from my G-tube and tracheotomy, and my beautiful tattoos.”

Michael Mazur The Occupant, 1965

[ID: Just visible behind a wall, a figure sits in a wheelchair, holding a cane. They turn towards the viewer, eyes black and haunting. Before them appears to be a bad, half out of frame. The lithograph is messy and sketchy, adding to the quiet horror of the figure's situation. End ID.]

(label copied from RISD museum website, hyperlink my own):

In these haunting lithographs, artist Michael Mazur uses the emotional capacity of gestural mark-making to invoke the plight of institutionalized individuals. Mazur began the series in the early 1960s, when he was volunteering at the state asylum in Cranston, Rhode Island. This institution was established by the Rhode Island legislature in 1869 as the State Asylum for the Insane and Poor. The series title, Images from a Locked Ward, is telling. Compared to Hogarth’s print, Mazur’s lithograph presents an entirely different emotional take, highlighting the inhumanity of institutionalization. At the same time, by working from memory, Mazur captures emotion without trafficking in the suffering of identifiable individuals.

Lanzavecchia + Wai Designers, Francesca Lanzavecchia Tattoo Back Brace, 2008

[ID copied from alt text: Two photos of a beige back brace that is a very light skin color and made of plastic. The first photo shows the back of the brace. On the right side, a orange-red koi fish jumps with a splash of water. The second photo shows the front, where the edges of the koi's fins can be seen on the left. The brace is fashioned via plastic clips down the front. End ID.]

(label copied from RISD museum website):

This plastic back brace, embellished with a red koi fish as if it were a tattoo, reimagines what assistive technology devices might look like. Medical devices are often perceived to be necessarily sterile and functional, leaving aside the possibility that they could reflect an individual’s aesthetics. (As a counterpoint, consider eyeglasses, which are also assistive technology devices, and the wide variety of styles available.) Lanzavecchia + Wai’s responds to this absence with a variety of devices including braces, canes, and crutches. “Here disability aids become a stage to discuss, understand, and cope with disability, illness, and human frailty. . . . [M]oulded and tailor-made around the body, [back braces] are a cumbersome second skin. They are reinterpreted with the aim of transforming them into objects of desire and representative skins.”

there were so many interesting art pieces in this exhibit; check it out online!