#pop design for bedroom with fan

[ryancreaativeeliving]

9+ Simple POP Design For Bedroom For A Classic And Elegant Look

The bedroom, a space that is commonly cited as an individual sanctuary, calls for a design that reflects style and comfort. POP is a new phenomenon that homeowners and decorators are obsessed with now. It is an extra smooth, mouldy and good-looking plaster made of gypsum. Therefore, it allows for an almost real representation of the ceiling from there and embodies luxury and other side-decoration processes. 

Are you looking for simple POP design ideas for your bedroom and want to make it look classic and elegant? From circular to plus-minus and colourful, many POP design ideas can elevate your home interiors. One of the best and easiest ways to design and upgrade your space is by hiring a professional and experienced interior design company like Ryan Creative Living.

Simple POP Design Ideas For Bedroom

You can modify the design of the bedroom and thereby achieve an impressive and sophisticated atmosphere with the right design features. One of the most astonishing materials, to begin with, is Plaster of Paris (POP). It is quick to form and cover which is why it is the best option for the intricately carved moulding that will enhance the look of your room.

Understanding POP Design

Plaster of Paris is a building material that is employed to help with the production of aesthetically pleasing interior designs. It is derived from gypsum and is gentle, unstained and moldable. The interior bedroom, it establishes volume, surface light, and a sense of grandiosity. You can use simple creations to create classic and trendy designs and give the room a graceful and chic look.

Crown Molding

Plaster of Paris (POP), an easy design pattern may be enough to create an elegant atmosphere in the bedroom. One notable way of achieving this is by incorporating crown moulding. This feature not only acts as a focal point but also serves to join the upper and lower floor levels.

Crown moulding, made from hard-wearing materials, can go well with any style, be it the simpler or the more detailed ones. Its smooth edges and elegant curves enhance the aesthetics of the room, in turn, the room appears neat and classic, resulting in a more beautiful environment.

Ceiling Medallions

A simple plaster of Paris (POP) design may turn the bedroom into an exquisite space. One of the aspects to consider is the addition of ceiling medallions as a key feature. These decorations add more flavour and update the look of the room.

Appropriate use of ceiling medallions can make them an eye-catching centrepiece, especially when combined with an attractive light fixture. Their elaborate schematics endow a wonderful taste of opulent living and grace.

Wall Panels

Wall panels can be one of the things you suggest to the homeowner to improve the bedroom’s look. They make that room stylish and sophisticated. They also can function as a base for the rest of the design thus the furniture and other interior accessories give a feel of balance.

By picking the kind of colour and texture which is very natural and softened, or having straight lines, you can make the classic style look like that, and thus, you will have wider options regarding furniture and decorations.

Bed Canopy

POP Design has indeed been the game-changer when it comes to bedrooms, as with it, you can easily transform a boring bedroom into a classic and elegant area that is inviting and soothing. One of the most exciting aspects of this design is the bed canopy, which is a direct target and a strong factor in making the room look its best.

The canopy, which is made from light fabrics that hang beautifully and add romance and comfort, is among them. Soft colours and gentle textures in the POP design along with the canopy look balanced and sophisticated. 9+ Simple POP Design For Bedroom For A Classic And Elegant Look

[ryaancreativeliving]

10+ Bedroom Modern POP Plus Minus Design Ideas

POP, or “plaster of Paris,” has become popular for home interiors, especially for wall trims, false ceilings, and accent décor. POP is a white powder made from semi-dehydrated gypsum, a lightweight, heat-resistant substance that, when mixed with water, can be used to create stunning ceiling designs. Whether building a new home or renovating an existing one, POP ceilings can be easily installed. 10+ Bedroom Modern POP Plus Minus Design Ideas

[sturnioz]

shy!matt feels something strange when he catches the scent of your new perfume.

you carefully unwrap your new package, a smile spreading across your face as you tug at the deep crimson ribbon that adorns the box. with a gentle pop, the lid lifts away, revealing the beautifully wrapped perfume bottle nestled inside a bed of soft tissue paper.

after weeks of saving—taking on extra shifts and resisting the impulses to spend money on little things you really didn't need—you finally have the perfume you've been dreaming about.

your co-workers bought it, your friends also bought it... you knew you had to treat yourself to it too.

setting the box aside, you lift the perfume bottle from its packaging, your fingers tracing the delicate, intricate designs etched into the glass. it's perfect.

eagerly, you remove the cap and bring the bottle to your nose for an experimental whiff, and a soft, delighted hum escapes your lips as the fragrance envelops you — a pleasing fruity and sweetness scent. it's intoxicating, and you can already tell it's going to become one of your favourites.

you bring the bottle to your neck, spritzing your skin lightly before applying a touch to your wrist. a soft smile spreads across your face as you neatly place the bottle on your vanity, keeping it close to your others.

standing up, you glide over to your bed, propping your back against the headboard as you pick up your phone to text your groupchat, letting your friends know that you've got the perfume.

just as you're absorbed in your message, the door to your bedroom gently swings open, and you don't need to look up to know who has entered; the familiar sound of matt closing the door behind him and the soft shuffle of his footsteps across the carpet echo in the air.

he drapes his jacket over your vanity chair before crawling carefully onto the bed, his movements deliberate as he makes his way toward you.

"hey, baby.." he greets you, his voice a quiet murmur as he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering longer than usual.

you greet him back, expecting him to shift away and find his spot on the bed beside you. instead, he stays close, his face inching nearer to your neck, taking a few tentative sniffs.

his nose brushes against your skin, and a ticklish sensation ripples through you, making you giggle and momentarily forget about your phone.

"what are you doing?" you ask with a gentle laugh.

"what.. what is that?" he murmurs, his voice muffled against your neck. even as you lightly push him, he doesn't budge, remaining hovering over you. "what's that smell?"

"it's my new perfume," you explain softly, tilting your head slightly to try and meet his gaze. "do you like it?"

"yeah..." he whispers, and you catch the slight tremor in his voice, the way he swallows thickly as he leans in closer, his eyes darting away shyly. "s'really nice."

you're not surprised when matt positions himself above you, laying between your legs — but you are taken aback when you feel his cock press against you through your clothing, a warmth spreading where your bodies touch.

he avoids your gaze as always, and instead, he buries his flushed face in the crevice of your neck, inhaling deeply as if trying to absorb your fragrance.

"matt?" you call out his name softly to get his attention.

"m'sorry.. smell too good. can't.. can't control m'self." he whines softly, his voice thick with desire and a hint of embarrassment as he clings to you, his breath fanning across your skin as he lets out a soft moan, his hips grinding against yours in an attempt to relieve the tension between his legs.

"it's okay, baby," you reassure him, your own heart thumping as your hands move up to cradle matt's head, threading your fingers through his hair as you hold him to you.

you hear him let out a shuddering exhale, his own hands sliding underneath your back as his cock strains against his jeans, pressing himself more firmly against you as his hips move in small, desperate circles, rubbing his aching cock along the length of your pajama shorts.

moans escape his lips, muffled by your skin, as he seems to lose himself in the sensation, his movements growing more urgent, his hips bucking against yours with increasing speed and desperation.

your body rocks against the bed, the springs squeaking beneath you, and you hear his whimpers and whines, mingling with the soft moans that leave your lips. the fabric of your clothes rub against each other, creating an exhilarating friction that has your own toes curling.

"o-oh my go-god," matt chokes, his voice straining. his arms tighten around you, gripping you as if to anchor himself as every thrust sends a shrill of pleasure through his body.

lost in the haze of his arousal, matt mouths at your neck, lazily kissing the skin, gasping as you arch your back, rocking your hips to meet his own movements which seems to tip him over the edge as he lets out a strangled cry, his body stiffening above you as the pressure inside him reaches its breaking point.

his hips jerk erratically, grinding against you as his orgasm hits — his cock throbbing and pulsing as cum spurts from his tip, soaking through the fabric of his underwear and jeans.

you let out a huff as matt collapses on top of you, his weight pinning you down to the mattress as he rides out the aftershocks of his release. you continue threading your fingers through his hair to coax him into relaxation as you hear him pant heavily, and he buries his face further in the crevice of your neck — you can feel his heart pound wildly in his chest.

a light smile spreads across your lips, moving one hand down to stroke his back as he trembles slightly, soothing him even more as you press a gentle kiss to his warm cheek.

as matt's breathing slows down, he gently pushes himself up onto shaking arms, gazing down at himself, seeing the damp patch on the front of his jeans and he lets out a choked whine, his face heating up even more.

"it's alright," you reassure him again, trying to meet his eyes but he avoids you as much as he can. you giggle softly, squeezing his arm. "c'mon.. let's get you cleaned up, baby."

© STURNIOZ

[wannaeatramyeon]

DG x Reader: Manager and their Idol

8.5k. G/N. Soft, colleagues to lover (guess I love this trope). Masterlists

You had imagined life as a K-Pop idol manager to be much more glamorous.

You pity your young naive self. The one that envisaged schmoozing with stars and rubbing elbows with the movers and shakers, and instead set you on this horrid, lacklustre path.

What you didn't expect was the amount of time playing driver. Carting that stupid pink haired brat around. Waiting on him hand and foot during shoots and interviews, and being at his beck and call.

You have saved his ass more times than you can recall, ran through scripts with him, practised his stupid dances and moves alongside, protected him from unhinged fans and reporters and scavengers.

And yet you can count on one hand the amount of times he has thanked you.

Actually no, it didn't require any hands because he has thanked you exactly zero times for all your early mornings and late nights and for going above and beyond your duty.

Out of desperation, you had asked your boss if you could manage someone else and the request was declined.

"DG has taken a liking to you," she said, tone impressed as if that was something you should be proud of.

"Great," your smile comes out as more of a grimace.

And goddamn, this agency was so stupidly prestigious and the benefits and perks here really are second to none. Just why did Diego fucking Kang have to be their top idol.

.

.

The first time you crossed the threshold into his building, greeting the reception security guard and entering his penthouse keycode like you had been let in on the world's greatest secret, you had tiptoed around like a child in a museum. After all, this was DG's residence. The DG!

You had ooh-ed and aah-ed at every little thing. 

Taking delight in seeing his interior design of choice, the type of candy that he snacks on, the shampoo and conditioner he uses, the way he organises his desk. This is the chair DG sits on to eat. This is the sofa DG lounges on to watch TV. This is the bed he sleeps in, the bath he uses, the toilet he-

Any wide eyed innocence and awe evaporated after your first week working together.

Today, you stab in the entry code and let the door shut with a bang. 

You set his now cold coffee order on the kitchen counter and rifle with practised fingers through his unopened mail to see if there is anything you should draw his immediate attention to. You pick up his discarded clothes from the floor (and for fuck's sake, this suit jacket was on loan) and make your way to his bedroom where tufts of pink hair peeks out from under the cover.

"Good morning," you announce, locating the remote to open the blinds and letting in some sunlight.

Bedsheets rustle behind you.

"Good morning Diego," you repeat and give one warning, "I hope you're decent." With that, you throw the covers back to find the scantily dressed idol glaring up at you.

You remember the days when this sight would have made you weak at the knees. Seeing him half naked, in the flesh, freshly woken up with bedhead and half lidded eyes. It's what most of Korea dreams of, including yourself once upon a time.

Now all you feel is extreme irritation.

"Good morning," you say for the third time, plastering on a saccharine smile that you know DG sees clearly through because it is insincere as hell to anyone with half a brain cell. You let the fakeness shine through anyway.

For a split second, DG frowns as his eyes drop to your lips and then he pretends everything is good. Smiling back prettily, sharp canines on show and stretching. Lifting his arms overhead, showing a good stretch of pecs and abs and the line of muscle in a V pointing like an arrow straight down to his-

You roll your eyes.

"You're late." You throw the covers back over him and stride back towards the door. "We should have left half an hour ago." You leave out the part where you had been waiting downstairs in the car and after an hour of no show and no anything, you stomped your way up to his home.

DG, sensing your mood, adds oil to the fire with a smirk, "Why didn't you wake me then?"

If that idiot bothered to look at his phone, he would see a number of missed calls and unread messages from you.

Whatever.

"Hurry up."

.

.

DG has come across many people like yourself over the years. All cute and bright eyed, way too soft.

He never gave you any special treatment, for better or worse, and assumed that you would eventually burn out or give up and move on to something more worthwhile.

Unfortunately, in a rare turn of events, he had miscalculated.

Of course most people would be starstruck, it's only natural. But he mistook your sincerity and kind smile for ignorance and missed your sharp, observing gaze, and astute mind.

He's impressed, and he really can't remember the last time he was impressed.

In a matter of days of working together, you had managed to cut through the bullshit and within the month got him more compliant and docile than anyone else ever has.

Which should be a huge fucking problem, and raising red flags all over DG's mind.

...Except-

What's really troubling him right now, as he sulks in the passenger seat and you in the driver's, is that you have developed some sort of resistance to his charms.

Maybe a part of him does actually miss the you who he formed the first impression of. Who looked at him in wonder, with the same admiration that everyone else did.

Now that he knows you, he hates that he had thought that initial admiration was insignificant and worthless.

.

.

DG has a stash of candy in the car.

Or more accurately, you keep a stash of candy next to him to a) Shut him up and b) Keep him tolerable.

If DG wasn't so aloof, the fact that he has an incurable sweet tooth (and probably cavities to prove it) would have made headlines as a cute K-Pop fact and likely garnered sponsorship and advertising deals with all sorts of confectionary brands.

You had only found out during your adventures as his manager, rifling through his kitchen drawers trying to find his goddamn phone that he misplaced and you stumbled upon his stash of candy.

It really was a disgusting amount, something you'd expect a gaggle of grade schoolers at Halloween to hoard, not Diego goddamn Kang.

And then you also found out if he's not quiet and haughty in the car, making the atmosphere awkward, he likes to comment on your driving.

Who even sits in the passenger seat next to their 'chauffeur' anyway? He complains about you braking too suddenly and not accelerating fast enough. How you drive like an 80 year old with cataracts, and you're too slow when the light changes to green.

The turn in your relationship happened when you snapped at him to shut the fuck up after losing the final shred of your sanity on a three hour drive.

DG, to your dismay, didn’t miraculously lose his hearing and turns to you as you silently berate yourself for voicing the quiet thoughts out loud.

Although, you're in the deep end now. You're gonna get fired anyway, so if he says anything else you might as well give him a flick on the forehead or a pinch or maybe a punch to the face-

Instead, he laughs.

It's nothing like the laugh you have heard on TV and in interviews. The rehearsed and manicured 'haha' or cool chuckle that suits his shiny persona. It's kinda goofy and a lot endearing.

What's even more endearing is the way he does actually shut the fuck up for the rest of the journey. You like him a lot more after that.

So. You digress.

The candy is a way to keep the sweet toothed maniac quiet. Even if it doesn't work, at least it's harder to make out what insults he's slinging with a lollipop rattling around his mouth.

However, he has never ever shared any with you. Any of the candy that you stock, and pay for.

(That you technically claim back on company expenses, but you're trying to be self righteous here.)

Ever.

In all the months of working with him, he gobbles away happily even if your stomach is growling and you refuse to take any yourself out of principle.

Until-

"Here."

"Huh?"

Taking advantage of your response and open mouth, DG leans into your personal space and feeds you some chewy strawberry something or another (which coincidentally are his least favourite), fingers lingering on your lips for a fraction of a second.

Three things happen in quick succession.

The burst of sugar hits your tongue.

You nearly choke.

You narrowly avoid swerving.

"Careful now," DG grins when you get the car and yourself under control, and glance at him with a scowl.

Good. That proves you're not completely immune to his charms.

.

.

That bastard has now taken it upon himself to feed you candy at every opportunity.

You wonder if he's doing some sort of Pavlov experiment. The sweetness trying to erase any sourness you feel towards him.

It sort of works, and you consider biting his fingers off one of these days.

You hear the crinkling of wrappers, one for him that he pops into his mouth, and one for you that he gives without asking.

You angle your head towards him, and his fingers graze your lips every time.

Neither of you comment on the change but the intimacy drives you a little crazy.

.

.

And DG too.

Because intimacy works both ways and damnit his little gesture to keep the pretty blush on your face has backfired.

The only form of intimacy he knows comes from discreet hookups and low key links. Not someone who is around day in, day out. Or anyone that goes deeper than one night stands and booty calls.

You're there, you're always there. Of course you are, you're his manager.

But today, he feels under the microscope with you standing a couple metres away and keen eyes watching the camera monitor.

It's a no nothing day. Standard schedule where he shoots a fragrance commercial and he exits a pool all wet and sultry, white t-shirt clinging to his muscled body.

Then another scene where he writhes around slightly on a sunbed and eye-fucks the camera.

How it sells a fragrance, he never knows. The mystery of showbiz.

"Cut! More powder!" The director shouts out, the crew springing into action and DG knows exactly why.

He feels strangely embarrassed and flustered, which has manifested into his cheeks being flushed, and god he can't even remember the last time he has been like this.

It’s out of character and he needs to get his head together.

As the make up artist hurriedly dabs on some foundation, you make your way over to him.

"Are you sick?" you ask, concerned and reaching out to feel his forehead with the back of your hand.

"I'm fine," He says, turning away from your attentiveness and staring at a point in the distance.

.

.

With most people, if DG wants them out of sight, they stay out of sight.

But as his manager, and a very competent one at that, it’s harder to get you to leave.

Not that DG wants you to either, don’t get him wrong. 

The only constants he has around him are people who want something from him. And yes, he knows you’re only in his company because you work with him. However, he really can’t doubt the concern he always sees in your eyes. The compassion and empathy even when he makes you want to scream and tear your hair out.

His standoffish demeanour is not new to anyone. It’s part of his appeal to be quite honest. 

Yet he feels bad over the next couple weeks as he turns it up to eleven and tries to create some distance. He registers the hurt on your face as he is extra short with his answers and behaviour.

.

.

Pandering to overinflated celebrity egos and the insane Korean work ethic often leads to after hour shoots and dinner delayed until past midnight.

Honestly, this wreaks havoc on your sleep schedule and your skin.

"Here." You retrieve DG's takeout from the paper bag.

A double portion of delicious fried chicken with a side of kimchi and pickles. It's a change of pace from what most idols order, yet he doesn't give two shits about calories or sodium intake and to add insult to injury, somehow manages to keep his trim figure.

You lament your soggy salad sitting at the bottom. As if it’s not sad enough right now - once you arrive home, the lettuce will be wilting and room temperature and you will eat it in your dimly lit apartment with nothing to keep you company except the sound of the TV.

DG notices you turning to leave his penthouse, and his mouth moves before his brain can.

"Aren't you staying?"

"What?" You double take at the question.

DG's company is usually worse than your lonely meal for one. 

He’s annoying and you frequently want to slap him, but how he has been with you lately has been troubling and you actually feel a sense of relief at his offer.

(You had wondered if you might have been getting sacked up until this moment.)

Nevertheless, in all your time working alongside, you have never had a proper meal one on one together. Nothing more than you driving with one hand and the other hastily shoving a burger into your mouth as he looks on in disgust.

You would have dwelled on this more, wondering what's changed, what’s happened, but then-

"I'll share." DG nudges the box towards you, and the delicious scent of deep fried, battered goodness wafts along with it it

All your misgivings and your salad is forgotten.

.

.

Almost.

No, you were wrong.

Eating with DG, without any distractions such as traffic to navigate or other boisterous colleagues around, is unnerving. Disarming.

His haughtiness remains, but how haughty can someone be when munching on a drumstick.

All frostiness from the past weeks melts away as you both eat your way through his chicken.

He’s talking more tonight than you have heard in a while.

You find him funny, and really quite bitchy. Which you did know all along except it's much funnier now his slanderous comments aren't directed at you.

And has he always looked at you with such a piercing gaze? So intensely focused on what you have to say. Even if you're just complaining about your boss, blurring your lines of professionalism, he gives you his full attention.

You really can't remember the last time you have been in each other's company like this. 

You loathe to admit that even with what an asshole he is, DG's shine hasn’t dulled enough for you that you don't understand the appeal.

.

.

Leaning forward, DG whispers into your ear.

To anyone else, it looks like an over-affectionate idol with their manager. If they could hear his words, "I'm going to kill you," they would think otherwise.

Ok, so this one is your fault.

The good times have to come to an end and maybe you should have been more careful with his pride and joy - some ridiculously overpriced and over-specced vehicle.

Taking advantage of the clear blue Seoul skies, the pink haired menace was the one who drove you today in his fancy imported sports car, but the speed limits and the rest of the traffic was not on his side.

Already running late, even for him, he parked somewhere convenient and illegal then passed you the keys, leaving you stranded on the sidewalk, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, as he strode off to meet his music producer and choreographer and left you to park his baby elsewhere.

Why he entrusted you with it, you're not sure.

You would have done it anyway though, because when else are you going to have an opportunity to drive a supercar, if your boss didn't call at that moment. Questioning your expenses and DG's schedule and confusing you about the fitting at a fashion house and hair styling appointment that you knew like the back of your hand but when someone is so confidently incorrect, you start to doubt yourself.

By the time you got off the phone after pacing up and down the street and checking and double checking DG's timetable, you finally make your way back to the car-

And see it in the middle of being compounded.

You had begged and pleaded with the two men who were having none of it and you left, tail between your legs, to beg and plead with the other man who you knew would also have none of it.

Damn, you hate it when you prove yourself right in these instances.

You know DG won't really kill you, but he will likely make your life hell for the next couple weeks.

.

.

A normal person being pissed off at you would probably result in the silent treatment until tempers cool down.

DG does the opposite. Sort of.

He takes pleasure in making things as awkward for you as possible, until you're squirming in your seat trying to stay professional, thinking about your job and your rent and your bills; or torn between wanting the ground to swallow you up.

Around other people, your boss, your colleagues, his colleagues, he sidles up to you all smiles and soft looks. Slips purposely into banmal, and then oopsy, pretends that he didn't mean to be so informal with you around others.

Gossip soon stirs about your and DG's close relationship, if there's something else going on. Only you can see the mischief in his eyes and the malice in his smile and you think about yanking him by the ear and demanding to know what he is playing at.

Alone, he denies any sort of miscreant behaviour. Barely listening to you complaining and snapping at him. Ending with him outright ignoring you and you fume even harder.

This time, you're not sure the punishment even fits the crime. 

Any guilt soon dissipates when his car is returned in perfect condition within a couple days but his performance lasts for weeks.

.

.

Teasing you has always been fun for DG - when your cheeks dust angrily with pink and your eyes burn with fire.

The equivalent of a boy pulling a girl’s pigtails in the school yard.

.

.

Meetings with HNH Group usually do not involve you. If it does, at most you are waiting in the car.

Luckily, there are also an assortment of cafes and restaurants within a stone's throw and it gives you some time to debrief and catch a breather from following DG's hectic schedule.

The downside is you're never sure if a two hour meeting will be condensed to fifteen minutes or if a quick catch up with Charles Choi and other Executives turns into an all nighter.

There's been days where you have ordered a meal, then had to abandon it with a sigh and a longing look as you spot DG striding out of the building looking pissed off that you're not already there, or stayed in the vehicle with the engine running and your stomach rumbling as short appointments overshoot.

Maybe this is another consequence from DG being petty and irate with you for getting his car towed - you're left snoozing at the steering wheel of your runaround, the idol standard-issue luxury minivan, waiting for his return.

It's far too late in the evening for anywhere to be open, only the fluorescent lights of convenience stores and glare of the HNH logo illuminates the streets.

DG opens the sliding door, climbs into the back and slams it hard enough to jerk you awake and rattle the entire van.

He’s sitting by himself in the back, which is odd enough in itself.

As you blink away the dregs of sleep, in the rearview mirror, you notice the stiffness in his shoulders and the tightness in his jaw. His eyes stare vacantly out the window. DG is clearly upset about something, enough to crack through his aloof veneer.

"Are you ok?" You don't get a response, not even a passing glance.

Obviously something has gone wrong with the HNH Group meeting and the stress has manifested.

You wrack your brains thinking of something that might cheer up this asshole and you think of the only thing that improves your mood when you're on the verge of a breakdown.

(Usually due to the aforementioned asshole in your current presence). 

"Tteokbokki and beer?" You offer. It’s past your bedtime but a sulky DG for the rest of the week will also ruin your week too.

DG briefly looks at you before going back to staring at the window. It’s not a no.

You don’t get home until past 4am that night. 

At your favourite late night hole-in-the-wall, you eat far more tteokbokki than DG. On second thoughts, you don’t remember him eating any at all. You’re talking and downing beers to fill the silence, trying to perk up this silly celebrity. Loose lipped and spilling far more details than you would if you were sober, with him seated opposite and sipping on a soda. 

As the night ticks along, he thaws and a small smile settles on his face watching you gesticulate and ramble about your life.

You don’t get home until past 4am that night-

With DG driving, piggybacking you up to your apartment, and tucking you into bed.

.

.

DG can’t stop thinking of the weight of you on his back, arms slung over his shoulders, legs at his waist and his hands gripping your thighs.

You slurring drunkenly into his ear as he climbs the stairs in your building. It’s mostly nonsense. He can’t make out your words but remembers your breath tickling his skin.

And when he wraps your duvet around you, the brief moment of lucidity in your eyes as you look at him, softer than you ever have, you tell him, “Thanks Diego.”

Diego.

.

.

Nothing changes between the two of you after this. Not really.

You still find him an enormous thorn in your side. Incredibly stuck up and haughty and you continue to want to throttle him on a weekly basis but you are immensely grateful for him not leaving you a passed out heap on the sidewalk.

You’re in the middle of chastising him once again, dragging him out of bed as he is running late and being an absolute dick about it. Taking it easy as if he has all the time in the world. 

Well of course he does. He’s not the one that will be getting an earful from your boss or on the receiving end of the production crew’s complaints, as if trying to manhandle and cart this manchild around is easy.

“Diego Kang, I swear to fucking god-”

"James." He says, interrupting you as he picks out and pulls an eye-wateringly expensive jumper over his head.

"What?"

"Call me James when it's just us.” He checks out his outfit in the mirror, seemingly satisfied with it, before moving onto his hair. “James Lee. That's my real name."

DG, or James Lee, keeps his eyes on his reflection. Inspecting his non-existent roots, styling his fringe to make it fall just so and applying a liberal amount of hair product.

Nonchalant and casual even as he offers something desperately personal about himself.

"James," you say, trying out the sound for yourself. A name that seems at odds with his loud K-Pop shell but you imagine a time before the fame and the celebrity and the pink hair and it somehow fits.

"James," you repeat, and receive a small smile in return. Then it drops as you add, “If you don’t get your ass in the car in the next five minutes I will kill you.”

.

.

“James,” you think to yourself before you drift off to sleep that night. 

How peculiar.

“James, James, James.”

.

.

Celebrities these days are multi-hyphenates.

DG is an Idol-CEO-Actor, or at least trying to add the last one onto his resume. On looks alone, he would have already gotten his foot through the door. Add on his reputation and popularity, he is drowning in offers.

What you personally dislike more with K-dramas scenes though, is how long things take. How much it revolves around other actors and their managers whereas DG being in the studio or filming a music video is pretty much all him.

This K-drama is supposed to be the next big thing. 

With the biggest names attached, including DG who is making a cameo. The cameo that was also scheduled to be filmed five hours ago but you have both just been lurking in his dressing room since.

Along with some measly snacks and refreshments, which the crew has been kind enough to provide. 

However, the snacks are all but gone (thanks to you) and the refreshments are dwindling and there is no end in sight.

DG, or James, as you have started to call him in your head, is on his phone. He’s always on his phone. Scrolling through news articles, responding to important emails and messages.

There’s only so much news or celebrity gossip you can take. You have exhausted your own social media feeds and you have spent far too much money on your gacha games and the guilt has set in.

You twiddle your thumbs on the sofa next to him as he takes no notice of your presence and you decide to rest your eyes. 

Why not anyway? DG doesn’t need anything right now, work won’t be interrupting you, and there’s nothing for you to do. Just for a minute or five. Until someone from the production team knocks on the door and announces that it’s time for his scene.

DG side-eyes you when he notices your breath start to slow and deepen. Falling asleep on the job, really?

Then you let out a snore before smacking your lips together a couple times and he holds back a snort. He reasons that he should let you have some time to rest. After all, you’re the one that drives him around, his life is in your hands everyday and tiredness kills.

He’s on his phone for a few more minutes, reading through more emails on PTJ Entertainment and out of the corner of his eye he notices you drooping.

Body slowly slumping to slouch over him, until your head makes contact with his shoulder and you’re snoozing happily on your newfound pillow.

It’s equal parts inappropriate and cute.

Ugh, DG is 99% sure you’re drooling on him and the wardrobe department isn’t going to be happy when he returns the outfit.

Either way, that’s not going to be his problem. He adjusts minutely, makes it just a touch more comfortable for you and continues to scroll.

.

.

You wake up to a wetness by your mouth, and to your horror, DG smirking down at you.

.

.

Despite none of this being your fault, you apologise to everyone about having to reschedule DG’s music video shoot due to the previous day’s K-drama delays.

To your relief, the music video goes swimmingly and without a hitch, and the production is wrapped up on time. 

You’ll happily bet that his new song will go straight to No.1. If not, then at least the sensual music video will guarantee DG remains top of mind for weeks. 

You’re updating your boss and even she seems to be pleased.

"This is just work." DG interrupts as you're mid call.

You look up at him, brows furrowed.

Holding your hand to your phone to mute the speaker, you whisper, "I know."

"Good," and he walks away leaving you as confused as ever.

It's not the first time you have seen him shoot an MV, which thank the heavens is so much more efficient than bloody k-dramas, and also not the first time that there's been scenes that emulate an intimate moment. Lips nearly brushing together. Hands roaming bodies under fake rain.

Even if DG notices that you're watching the scene, eyes glazed over and bored, he still felt the urge to explain to you that there's nothing between you and the leading lady in the video.

Once out of sight of everyone, he facepalms himself for his ridiculousness.

.

.

You’re right, and you absolutely love it when you’re right.

The song goes straight to No.1 and holds that position for weeks, fending off competition from boy bands and girl groups and other solo artists. Apparently it’s going to be the song of the summer.

The music video also breaks records for being the most watched within 24 hours.

DG only reviews it once for post-production checks and finds it just fine.

There’s something he can’t quite put his finger on that seems off with it.

He wonders what it would look like if it was you starring opposite him.

.

.

“Where on earth is he?” You grit your teeth and grip harder onto the umbrella that is threatening to be swept away by the wind.

And another thing with being DG’s manager: it’s fine if he’s late but not if it’s you.

(Although to be fair, this instance of him being late is likely due to this particular music producer he’s meeting with enjoying the sound of his own voice.)

You were running late exactly one time in the past, during the first couple days of managing him, when the skies opened and drenched the earth. 

Heavens forbid DG’s perfect, beautiful, flawless hair is ruined by the rain. 

It’s not like he looked like a drowned rat. The paparazzi caught him in a wet t-shirt, fabric clinging to his abs and his pink hair slicked back stylishly. Even the goddamn raindrops were running fashionably down his high cheekbones and dripping off his pout.

For the next week, the tabloids and internet forums went wild with how hot he looked. 

(Who knows, maybe that was the inspiration for his fragrance commercial.)

Nevertheless, DG was displeased and it made its way back to your boss how displeased he was.

Ever since, you have been the unfortunate soul waiting in all manners of weather for him. Rain storms, blistering sun, freezing snow.

Today, it’s your favourite. Rain. You shiver against the elements trying to take shelter under the building entrance canopy, the wind whipping the downpour every which way and you’re getting soaked regardless of how you angle your umbrella.

“Hurry up, DG.”

You check the time over and over. He would be early to his next appointment if he exited the building now. 

…On time.

…On time if the traffic was in your favour.

…Late, but not terribly so.

…Fashionably late.

… Late enough to piss everyone off in the room.

Shit. Just as you begin to fret, wondering if something has happened to him-

Clicks and flashes from cameras alert you to his royal highness finally making an appearance, ready to exit the studio and making his way over to the car.

He materialises by your side, and you mutter a familiar phrase to him. 

“You’re late.” 

It’s a mantra you’re tired of repeating, but he relishes if the amused grin is any indication.

Without a word, he takes off his trench coat and drapes it around your shoulders. His right hand covers yours over the umbrella handle, left wrapping around your waist as he guides you through the throng of reporters and fans.

“What are you doing?” You hiss under your breath. 

You can imagine the optics now from the papers and your boss. It looks… Well. Not terrible but not the best.

“You’re soaked,” is all DG provides, accompanied with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. 

He opens the driver’s door for you before he climbs into the passenger’s side.

.

.

Thank goodness for your gift of the gab.

He’s being a gentleman, you tell everyone that would listen. Isn’t this what Korea wants? An idol with manners and who looks after everyone? Is empathetic and caring?

Think how well it would resonate with the female demographic, who wants a boyfriend like this! The older boomer demographic, who thinks none of the young ‘uns have any manners anymore!

Your boss isn’t convinced until the advertising offers for umbrella companies roll in.

.

.

Truth be told, DG doesn’t know what possessed him to do that. Especially in front of cameras.

Though, it’s not like he could just let you get even more drenched could he? You’re standing there, looking pitiful and he was just going to let you hold the umbrella over him when he should be the one taking care of you-

Hold on.

DG frowns at himself.

Damn.

.

.

James Lee has never looked after anyone besides himself. You need to look after yourself if you are to survive this dog eat dog world. To make it atop the Pre-Generation, the First Generation and now the Second.

He had unfathomably high expectations of himself (that he managed to achieve) and low expectations for relationships (that hadn’t been proven wrong yet).

People have flitted in and out of the chapters of his life, no-one staying around for long. Definitely no-one staying around long enough to know him, for him to grow comfortable with. 

Perhaps it has been the forced closeness that has caused him to let his guard down. Cabin fever, in a sense.

But James Lee, Diego Kang, has himself also been around long enough to know there’s more to you and he wants more of you.

.

.

Finding reasons to spend time together isn’t difficult. Actually, finding reasons to spend time apart would be much harder.

You both get on with your jobs and your duties, even as the closeness grows day by day.

And every time when you’re alone and you call him James, his heart grows fonder.

.

.

Out of all the seats available in his apartment, James lounges next to you, long legs draping over yours.

It's another night in together.

These seem to be happening with increasing frequency. DG at least used to keep up appearances, networking with his fellow celebrities.

Parties where you used to look at him with distaste as starlets surrounded him, award shows that he couldn't care less about as you hung around in the background.

Now he prefers to stay in with you, using work as a thin excuse. Studying lyrics that he has already memorised, going over dances that are long ingrained in him.

"You're not going to her party?" You ask, you were sure this fan-favourite and DG were an item or had history. At the very least, the who's who of the industry always attended her gatherings.

"No," his eyes continue roving over the lines.

Then when you thought the conversation was done, he looks over the top of his paper, eyes sparkling with playfulness, "I prefer being here with you."

Oh. Your breath catches in your throat.

You think you might never breathe normally again.

.

.

No, that’s a lie. Any opportunities for rose-tinted glasses has long passed by. You both know each other too well for that.

You breathe perfectly fine. Actually, this morning you are taking deep breaths to try and centre yourself. 

It’s not working. 

“You’re always fucking late,” you snap, giving in to your anger.

Sometimes you think it is your fault for not watching over DG 24/7. That instead of going back home, you should just live with him so you can shake him awake when he is supposed to get up instead of when he wants to.

And does it hurt him to look the least bit contrite at making your life a misery? 

Why does he have to look so smug with a lollipop stick hanging out his mouth? Seriously, between all the rushing around this morning, when did he find time to look for goddamn candy?

“For fuck’s sake, James.” You’re speed walking towards his front door, looking at the Maps app on your phone and miss his smile at you snarling his name. 

You’re already running behind and every route to the recording studio is red due to roadworks or an accident or just plain ol’ congestion. “Shit!”

Your finger jabs at the elevator button multiple times.

“It’s not going to get there any quicker if you do that,” DG speaks lowly into your ear and you get the urge to pinch him.

Instead of prodding some more at the button, you turn around and prod him in the chest.

“You’re going to get me fired one of these days,” You growl. “It’s fine for you, Diego goddamn Kang, the star who is pretty much untouchable. I’m not. I’m replaceable. There’s a million people who would take my job-”

DG snatches your hand, holds it still. “You’re not replaceable.” Then adds with an infuriating grin, “So what if we’re late.”

The minivan is skipped, and his answer to your problem is his other pride and joy. A motorbike that looks far too aggressive and a complete death trap.

“I’m not getting on that,” you say as DG hands you leathers that materialised from god-knows-where and a spare helmet.

“Fine,” he says, shrugging and throwing a leg over. “I don’t think your boss will be happy.”

“Fuck!”

.

.

If this was any other situation, you would be acutely aware of yourself pressed up against DG’s back. Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

Except all you can focus on is that you’re going to fucking die. You think you might be screaming.

“Stop screaming!” His disembodied voice calls out. Oh. Turns out you are.

For some reason, DG had thought the helmets with built in speakers and mic would be better for communication. Fun, even. Frankly, you’re just giving him a headache.

(Not to mention the fact that he bought a spare helmet at all. And leathers that he thought would be exactly your size.

He had never rode with anyone before and you certainly had never expressed any interest. Yet he passed by a motorcycle store when he had rare time to spare, and visited on a whim.

If he dwelled on this anymore, DG is sure his headache would turn into a full blown migraine.)

Later that night, when the ringing in his ears finally subside, he will still think about the way you held him.

.

.

When public opinion is on your side, then that’s fantastic. Amazing. You tend to get away with all sorts of things.

When it’s not, the truth can become muddied and there’s mental gymnastics from all sides painting you as the villain.

Fortunately, public opinion generally works in DG’s favour, especially in the case of his stalker who got sentenced for more jail time than if she was harassing a normal person, but not long enough to account for all the distress she has caused.

Such is the criminal justice system.

Her date of release looms large and near. DG, despite his talent and fighting prowess, realises certain traumas can’t be erased.

He grows on edge. Skittish. Snaps at any and everything. It’s noted by journalists. Other managers gives you questioning looks

You don’t miss his change in demeanour. To you, the reason behind it is obvious. 

You’ve heard about this case, everyone has. It dominated headlines for almost a month: the crazy sasaeng fan who believed herself to be DG’s girlfriend before moving onto another poor soul and was finally arrested.

As he spirals, nothing you do or say to him manages to get more than a nod or a frown. You try to offer that she had fixated on someone else before she was arrested, hoping that was a small consolation to him. And though he managed a weak smile, the black cloud still hangs over him.

In the end, you pack your bags and arrive at DG’s one evening. Instead of letting yourself in like you usually would, you ring the buzzer, smile into the door camera and tell him “It’s me!”

The door swings open to reveal DG looking perplexed (and worse for wear). Head tilting, curious and inquisitive when he sees your suitcase and carrier bags full of snacks.

“I’m staying for a while.”

“According to who?”

You barge past him anyway with a grin.

.

.

The date of his stalker’s release arrives and passes without drama.

You miss your home comforts but it makes you happy to see DG’s mood genuinely improve as the days go on.

The luxurious oversized mattress, fancy spa shower, and jacuzzi bathtub also helps to make your stay a bit more bearable.

Not to mention each morning DG actually cooks breakfast for you. Turns out he’s not bad at all at playing a househusband, and it’s also maddening how he manages to get up each day before you when he hasn’t got any place to be.

“Thanks James,” you say, when he presents you with a home cooked meal and his smile grows a bit more each day.

.

.

Peace doesn’t last.

Blurry photos of you both leaving and entering DG’s apartment at all hours of the day and night make the front page of certain news sites.

Headlines scream with leading questions. 

“Relationship beyond Manager and Idol?”

“How a Manager seduced their Idol.” 

“Who is this mystery person that has tamed DG?”

Why anyone deemed it newsworthy is beyond you. You’ve been to his apartment a million times. 

Yes, you suppose the closeness of DG and yourself in the photos can look a little suspect. 

In this particular one, it looks like you have your hand caressing his chest when in actual fact you were shoving him away for a dismissive comment he made.

And the other photo, of his hand on your wrist, was actually him dragging you away when he spotted a herd of fans in the distance.

More pictures unveil themselves.

A snapshot of you driving and DG feeding you candy.

You and DG, whispering intimately in your ear as his supercar is being towed away in the background.

You red faced and drunk as DG piggybacks you outside your building.

His jacket wrapped around you, hand on your waist and angling the umbrella over you.

Him smiling down at you (ok, you admit that you didn’t realise how soft that looks to other people.)

Finally an exceptionally pixelated image of you both on his bike, that could be anyone really.

Unfortunately, your opinion is in the minority as the articles are inundated with comments and furious, tearful fans shrieking that their idol is betraying them. 

Simply unhinged.

.

.

The speculation grows. You’re damned if you do deny anything, damned if you don’t. Your talent agency puts out an official statement.

To your ire, the statement is ‘no comment’ rather than anything more definitive. You glare at James when you find out, suspecting he has something to do with this.

He gives you a shrug, and a familiar look of mischief.

To his credit, he doesn’t leave you completely to fend for yourself. You stay off social media for your sanity, and when the paparazzi hounds you, he's the one with his arm around you, cutting a path through the crowd and shielding you.

It adds fuel to the fire. Does nothing to help your case. 

Still, you can’t help feeling safe and secure with his hand guiding you - holding onto your waist, round your shoulder, or simply - 

Your hand in his.

.

.

Outside of the conference room, where DG is wrapping up a press release for his newest album and nothing else, a reporter slinks out and approaches you.

You’re used to being on the other side of the conversation. Part of the staff, herding DG through camera flashes and questions being thrown at him though there was always some sort of camaraderie. Both parties just trying to do their job with deadlines and targets to hit.

This time you just feel a weariness as you see this person making a beeline towards you.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” They say, holding out their hand for a shake which you take with reluctance.

“Hi.”

A voice recorder is thrusted into your face, and you automatically take a step back. “Hope you don’t mind, but I just have a couple questions for you.”

“Um...”

“There’s been lots of sightings of you and DG together-”

You open your mouth to argue-

“Can you confirm your relationship with him?”

A vacant smile settles onto your face. It’s a practised expression where you follow all the cues to be polite and professional even as internally you wish to be anywhere but here. “I’m his manager.”

“Are you two together? Romantically?”

“I’m his manager.” You repeat through gritted teeth, and you’re surprised to hear your voice calm and collected.

“Is that a no? Or-”

“What even is this question?” You scoff, ignoring the way your cheeks heat, and refusing to partake in this circus a moment longer. “This is over.”

You manage to at least catch them looking apologetic, before you stride off into a corner to take a deep breath.

.

.

DG, much more adept and experienced at fending off questions, had finished the conference early and caught the entire exchange, watching you both with a bemused look.

Walking towards you with quiet, measured footsteps, his hand settles onto your lower back as he murmurs your name.

He bites back a laugh at your small, startled jolt.

DG tilts his head to signal ‘this way’. You give him a look but follow him regardless. Trailing behind, moving far away from other prying eyes. 

Up a flight of stairs, through multiple fire doors, turning left then right then another right then maybe a left. It doesn’t matter. You’re hopefully lost and decide to just put your faith in this wretched idol.

He finally seems to find what he’s looking for as he reaches an empty corridor; stopping mid-step and you collide into his back.

“Ack!” You exclaim, hitting the solid wall of muscle.

He lets out a huff of laughter and whirls around to face you, noting how cute your look of surprise is.

How strange though, that this is his current position. But is it really unexpected that the person that has been by his side for months has finally worked their way into his heart and has somehow learned to read him when no-one else could?

If he really thinks about it, yes actually, it is unexpected. No-one else has managed to grow close to him before. As James Lee, as Diego Kang. Birds of a feather or opposites attract or everything in between, no-one has got him like you do. 

There’s still so much more to tell and show you but… First things first.

Fidgeting, you shift your weight from one foot to another, growing self-conscious waiting for DG to talk, only to find him staring intently at your face. Impatient, you give in and speak first.

“What is it?”

“...”

“Diego-”

“James.” He cuts in abruptly, “It’s just us right now. Please.”

You blink in shock at the please and correct yourself at his insistence, lowering your voice so it doesn’t echo down the empty hallway. “James, are you ok?”

“Better than ever,” he says, a smirk now pulling at his lips.

You register his change in mood and narrow your eyes, wondering where this is going. “Why are we here?”

“When the reporter asked if we were together, you said you’re my manager.”

“I am your manager.”

“But you are interested in me.”

It’s not a question. DG, no James, says it like a fact and there’s no doubt in your mind or his. You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. Open it once more-

What.

You feel some cogs in your brain misfiring and all you can manage is a feeble, “Huh?”

“You told them you’re my manager, but didn’t say no to being with me.”

“...”

“So. What do you think?”

“Of what?”

“Us.”

“You like me. Tell me that I’m wrong.”

You take a step back. “...”

Another step. “...”

“Tell me you don’t want this.”

And your back hits the wall with an oomph.

DG slaps his hand on the wall beside your head, bends at the waist and leans his weight forward until he’s eye level with you. “Tell me and I promise I’ll stop.”

“...”

You’re cornered and he searches your face for a response.“Y/N?”

“...”

Fuck. Fuck!

How on earth are you supposed to respond when he looks at you like this. When his face is millimetres from yours and his breath is on your skin and his dark eyes pierces into your soul, pupils blown deliciously wide.

With his stupid pink hair and his fringe flopping, framing his face and his high cheekbones.

The stupid canines of his poking out that gives him so much character and is so hot it hurts when he flashes it accompanied with an arched brow and an arrogant smile.

His stupid pout and his stupid lips, that you know is constantly moisturised with a fancy overpriced lip balm to make it look kissable for the cameras.

And Jesus Christ, you hate to admit it but they do. They 100% do because somewhere in the back of your brain you always knew they look kissable but it has been often clouded by just simply how annoying and bratty you found him.

Except right now you don’t find him annoying or bratty at all.

Even as he’s confessing his feelings with complete confidence, no unease, no anxiety or doubts, because he always had a way of worming under your skin and he knows exactly how to push your buttons.

Damn it all.

“Kiss me,” you tell James, and he isn’t surprised at all by your reaction, face lighting up at your confirmation.

He shifts. 

Hand coming up to cup your cheek. He rubs his thumb twice over your skin, savouring you any way he can before tilting your face towards his. His lips at first brushes against your forehead. Leaves a trail down your nose, peppers both cheeks and then your chin. 

He draws back once, takes in your sweet face and gives you a smile so soft it makes your heart hurt.

Then finally, after wanting this for so long, presses his lips against yours.

Diego Kang, James Lee, tastes like candy and sugar.

[imaredshirt]

I'm kinda really into the idea of Fiddleford meeting Stanley before meeting Stanford.

Pretty early on after being chased out of New Jersey, Stanley ends up being chased out of Kentucky and drives the night through Tennessee until his car breaks down somewhere west of Murfreesboro. He gets the car towed to a nearby garage, where a young mechanic takes one look under the hood and says he'll have it ready in a jiffy. All Stan will have to do is pay a few bucks inside, and he can be back on the road in no time.

Sounds great to Stan, except - well, he's broke. He can't pay the guy. He knows this, but the guy doesn't know this, so Stan spends the next few minutes trying to talk up one of the old-ish Stan-vac Vacuums he's got stashed away in his trunk, hoping to give it to the guy in lieu of cash.

Turns out the mechanic is a chatty guy himself, and Stan learns a few things about him: his name's Fiddleford (Stan calls him Fidds right off the bat, and for some funny reason the guy's over the moon about it) he likes building little gadgets and the like in his off time, and he's working at his uncle's garage for a few months to earn some spending money before he heads off to some back-up college in California.

Next thing you know, Stan's got the trunk popped open and Fidds is examining the vacuum, humming and hawing and narrowing his eyes at the shoddy design. The car's fixed up and ready to go at this point, but Fidds is taking the vacuum over to a workbench where he's got a set of tools nearby, and Stan's following him, trying to explain that the vacuum isn't bad exactly, it's just --

"So, the thing doesn't actually suck stuff up," Stan says as Fidds deftly pulls the machinery apart. "I mean, it'll pick up some dust bunnies for a few minutes before giving up, but then it kinda - uh, spits them back out."

"Well," Fidds says, squinting one eye to look into the dust bag. "Aside from the clogged exhaust port on this one, I reckon you just needa fix that shoddy wiring to the motor and adjust the coolin fan. That'll take care of both problems."

"Shoddy wiring?" Stan groans. It wasn't like he was the one who had made the thing. He was only slapping his name over the handle and selling it. "What am I supposed to do about that?"

"It's an easy enough fix ," Fidds says. He rubs his chin and plucks the motor up, looking at it thoughtfully as he twists it to and fro and then adds, "If you want it to perform its most basic functions, that is. But I bet if I tinkered with it enough, I could make it even better."

Suddenly, he's got this almost manic gleam in his eyes, and Stan would be worried if the guy hadn't already piqued his interest. "Yeah? Better how?"

Fidds glances around the corner at his uncle, who's snoring away in a plastic lawn chair, then looks back to Stan. "Better as in it could pick up a dust bunny hiding under a bed on the third floor from the kitchen." 

Stan's feeling a little manic himself. “Pal, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve just made this thing marketable to every single sucker from here all the way back to Jersey.”

Fidds doesn’t have the right tools there in the garage, so he says he’ll have the thing ready in two days. Which is fine with Stan, he doesn’t have anywhere to be anyway, so he asks if there are any secluded places where he can park his car for the night - which prompts Fidds to cheerfully offer up a spare bedroom back at his family’s farm. It catches Stan off guard, until Fidds explains the terms - he just needs to do some chores around the farm from sunrise to sunset, and that’ll take care of the room and the car repair, no problem.

So that’s how Stan finds himself in this little room somewhere out in the hills, sitting in a cushiony bed, suitcase at his side and car parked out under some sycamore and hickory trees. Fidds is at the door telling him what time dinner’s at and what time everyone gets up the next day to start with all the chores, and Stan is nodding, suddenly feeling like he could fall asleep where he’s sitting, even with the mechanic’s rapid-fire twang going on and on, which he doesn’t mind - the guy’s voice is nice. The bed is comfortable. The room is warm and dry and it’s about a thousand times better than sleeping in his car for two nights.

He kicks off his boots and he’s still nodding when he falls back, drowsy and relaxed, and falls asleep to Fidds’s voice explaining how the room’s available for a few weeks, as long as Stan’s up to working on a farm.

Stan wakes a few hours later to a plate of dinner sitting on the bedside table and some banjo tunes being plucked out somewhere outside. He looks out the window and sees Fidds sitting under a tree, sticking his tongue out as he adjusts the strings on his banjo before looking up and waving cheerfully at Stan. Stan waves back.

He wouldn’t mind staying here for longer than a couple nights, he guesses. Working on a farm wouldn’t be too bad.

(Throughout the weeks, they learn things about each other - like how Fidds’s family wants him to marry a nice girl, have a few kids, inherit the farm, forget about computers and physics and college - and how Stan’s dad kicked him out for ruining his brother’s future, and how his brother hasn’t talked to him in months and probably won’t for years)

(and once the vacuum is done, they try selling it together, and it goes well - until the vacuums are so strong that one dummy gets their arm sucked up into it right up to their shoulder, and someone says they lose a hamster to one - not that the dummy or the hamster suffer anything worse than minor injuries, but an angry mob chases Stan and Fidds right out of Tennessee and through Arkansas and all the way to Texas, where they find themselves feeling kind of despondent in some seedy little motel, and then Stan turns to Fidds and asks “Hey, you know anything about making the adhesive on the backs of bandages better? Or maybe just less painful?” and Fidds’s eyebrows shoot up and the manic gleam is back, and needless to say, they spend the rest of autumn being chased from one city to the next.)

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is the house from HGTVs "The Barbie Dreamhouse Challenge," but as soon as the show wrapped they changed it. “The investors thought it would have higher resale value being a modern, beautiful, newly renovated home,” said the real estate agent, “They obviously weren’t going for the serious Barbie fans.” I'm a Barbie collector and there are lots of us. Someone would've bought it. Here are the befores and afters.

This is what it looks like now, and priced at $2,049,995 it just sold for $1.845M. I am so disappointed. Built in 1997, the 5bd, 5ba home is located in Canyon Country, California. HGTV looked at about 50 houses and finally bought this one for $1.750M. Each designer star team did a room and the team of  Mika and Brian Kleinschmidt of “100 Day Dream Home” won. When I was looking for before pics, a lot of the sites were no longer available- they didn't want us Barbie people to see the befores, I bet.

The family room before. I don't really care for the retro look.

Family room after. But, I don't like this white, either.

In the living room, the major features that the designers installed remain, like the two-story fireplace and the updated circular staircase. Everything else was changed to neutral gray, black & white.

The dining room. Man, they must've used an awful lot of white paint to cover up the deep colors.

The ’50s kitchen was stripped of the pastels and replaced with neutrals, but the retro Big Chill appliances—refrigerator, oven, dishwasher, stove, even the hood—are still in place, b/c they're very expensive. And, the pop-up appliance lifts on the island are still in place, too.

Ken's den wasn't changed much b/c it was cool, but they did remove the disco floor. Allison Victoria & Ty Pennington dancing on the disco floor.

Looks like they turned the walk-in closet/dressing room into an office.

It already had an office, so now it has two. Wow, they left the striped ceiling intact.

The new dull bedroom.

And, home gym.

The realtor wanted to buy the big brush on the wall, but was told that all the props had to go back to Mattel Toys.

And, finally, the pool. Mika and Brian Kleinschmidt won for their design on the pool and yard. Well, I see they kept the pink spiral stairs, yellow lifesaver and umbrella.

The dog elevator went back to Mattel, too.

https://www.realtor.com/news/trends/exclusive-the-barbie-dreamhouse-is-now-for-sale-but-prepare-to-be-shocked-by-its-whole-new-look/

[ferrstappen]

maxplaining 2.0 l Max Verstappen blurb

note: hello! i was working on another piece and a TikTok popped up of mini Max and mini Charles, and it was so cute watching mini Max maxplaining already, and I just had this idea, hope you like it! Also, this is taken from the two previous dad!Max I've posted, so we're back with the twins!

Remember to please show it some love, feedback and reblog are always very very appreciated, and tomorrow I'll be working on some requests and the Taylor Swift collection <3

pairing: dad!Max Verstappen x female reader

warnings: none

summary: Luca Verstappen's first press conference during his karting career. turns out, he even speaks like his dad.

It was a small press conference, really.

Still, local reporters were covering and asking questions, also interested on the fact that Max Verstappen's son was following the very big footsteps of his father.

Mila was constantly asking why she was forced to come to her twin's press conference, she has to listen to him at home and school, wasn't that enough? A lot of personality for a ten year old girl, but was easily convinced by a pair Gucci ballet flats, ignoring the questioning glare from his wife, who reminded him that she has to learn that not everything comes with a recompense, and a ten year old does not need that many pairs of designer shoes.

He didn't care, though. Whatever Mila wanted, whatever she got. What was the reason of having all that money if he couldn't spoil his loved ones?

People sometimes forgot about the karting race in front of them, instead watching as Max's deep blue eyes studied every move made by Luca on the track. At the same time, he managed to squeeze your hand and waist whenever you gasp at the speed or turns, not being a fan of your son following the motorsport path.

Of course Luca won, he was every bit as talented as his father. Max smiled and hugged his son with pride, giving him his best smile, highlighting every good thing he did, lovingly asking him if he was okay and trying to reassure him.

That's what he would've wanted to hear from his dad, or at least that's what you thought before kneeling in front of Luca and giving him a short congratulatory hug, knowing he was at the age where every bit of affection ended with Luca muttering "Mum", trying to hide his embarrassment.

The three of you stood on the back, not wanting to get in the way of Luca's moment after winning. She'd deny it, but Mila gave her twin a thumbs up while making eye contact with him.

Of course the first question was for Luca, asking him about his race overall.

The young Verstappen boy took a deep breath before he started talking. And then he couldn't stop...

"This is my first win, we were very fast and my opponent made a mistake so I could pass him first and then stay in the first position so I could win. We still have more races but we are happy with the results and hope we can keep winning, but we have too keep working hard, I know I will work and try to better myself so that I can give my best..."

"Mama, he's talking too much. It's embarrassing," Mila whispered on your ear, earning a glare from you.

When he finished answering the question, he instantly started talking to the boy next to him, explaining something about the track and brakes, even gesticulating to make his point.

Of course, Max was oblivious to the fact that Luca was almost the same person as him, never really being aware of his own tendencies to explain things on his own words.

Back home, after putting Mila and Luca to sleep and heading to the bedroom where Max was already waiting for you, carefully hitting your side of the bed, signaling that it was time to go to bed.

So needy.

As soon as your body touched the mattress, Max rolled over and draped his arm over your waist, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck. Meanwhile, you opened TikTok to slow down before going to sleep.

The first video was one of today, Luca animatedly talking and moving his hands. Then, it cut to one of a flushed Max doing the exact same thing.

"What are you laughing about?" Max lifted his head to check whatever was on your phone.

Lucaexplaining? Maxplaining 2.0? Versplaining? What's the best name?

"What are they talking about?" Max frowned while reading some comments.

Laughing at his cluelessness, you kissed the top of his head and put your phone down, noticing Max's breaths slowed down as you ran your hands through his hair.

You'd choose your talkative boys any day.

[joykai]

He has a way with em

Wade Wilson, the man NOBODY thought would make it to the X mansion as a recrute let alone WORK there. Now don't get him wrong he still works alone he made that ABUNDENTLY clear, he told scott to his perfectly chiselled face ("he was crafted by a greek god I'm telling you!!" shut up wade) that he was only there because logan asked him to be, the same went for logan, he was content in his one bedroom apartment with wade and mary puppins (I mean c'mon once they started dating living with Al just got weird really fast) but the X man himself popped over and started talking his ear off before he could even close the door on him. Scott explained how they would love for logan to take over old logan's history class, he was going to tell him to fuck off and never step foot in his and his boyfriends apartment again but had an idea.

He agreed but said he'd be teaching physical education and building stamina instead of fucking history AND wade was allowed to join. It took a bit of back and forth but eventually they agreed. Wade had some of his own demands (that were begrudgingly met).

He doesn't worth FOR the X men, he was his own unit and helped out (he finds working solo and with his man is the best life for him).

NO ONE got to dictate what he taught those kids, have a problem? teach em yourself, wade is gone and that means so is logan.

the kids can actually call him wade (Mr Wilson just reminds him of his father and a hundred or so kids screaming that at him is a perfect recipe for a panic attack).

Other than this he was pretty happy to start imminently the next day, It took around about a week before they started their classes, wade now taught self defence claiming that mutant powers only got you so far and that sometimes the best weapon was a broken broomstick and a dream.

Everyone assumed he would take time to actually learn the ropes of being a teacher and would need some HEAVY guidance but they were pleasantly surprised (all but logan) at how much of a natural wade was at this.

He was firm yet fair on the kids, he taught them how to strategize and how to be unpredictable in their own movements so that their attackers couldn't strategize around them.

He even went above and beyond helping kids outside of lesson, being a safe haven for many children at the mansion, he became a fan favourite around all the kids, one girl even thought to design her own hero costume off of wade so that she could always look like her hero (if wade teared up- 1 no he didn't and 2 he gave her some pointers on how his own suit worked and how to adapt her suit to how SHE fights).

Another kid came out saying he wanted wade to started calling him by his chosen name and wade with a bright smile ripped up the register and made a whole new one with said kid and let the kid add his own name in and made sure to change his name in EVERY class, not just his own.

Wade also helps kids with nightmares and sneaks pads and snacks to the girls who skip his class as well as provide stuff for the kids on the sidelines, the kids favourite part about his class is when he brings in logan and they spar because wade has so much fun with it and logan never brings out the claws and wade allows logan to get so many hits in that he could block and they are so inlove it makes some of the kids sick.

He is also very open with the kids, when him and logan got engaged the kids found out first (besides al and all his friends), he also found great joy when some of the older kids teased him and called him Mr Howlett instead of wade, it was a great way to trip him up if you were doing a 1 on 1 spar with him.

so it was no surprise when kids were heading for X men training they immediately flocked to wade for guidance and support, normally the halls were bustling with students trying to find anyone apart of the X men to ask questions but now the busiest place was wade's office.

"Wow they must really like wade" storm made a passing comment an eyebrow raised as she watched Wade talk to a group of kids who nodded along and had pens out to make notes of what he said. Logan just smiled fondly "he has a way with em..."

[els-wonderland]

Ranking Bridgerton Outfits: Season 1 Penelope

Photo credits to Tv Costumes on Pinterest!

Penelope's Debut Dress, Episode 1

I love this dress! It's one of the only Penelope dresses this season with the Season 3 fit that doesn't cut the bust in half. The undertones of greenish-yellow on the cream fabric look lovely with her red hair, and the jewelery is understated and elegant for her presentation to the Queen. No notes.

2. Pink Floral Dress, Episode 2

She looks so fru-fru in the best possible way. The floral embellishments pop here and there without looking garish, and the accessories of her frilled sheer gloves and the flower-and-ribbon headpiece tie everything together so sweetly. Her hair is great too, with the one long ringlet.

3. Lacy Green Dress, Episode 3

Give Penelope more greens like this! Her hair almost reminds me of 1960s updo, and the diadem and necklace tie in well with the lace overskirt. I love the scallopy pattern of the flowers on the lace, it makes her look a bit mermaid-y!

4. Pink Feather(ington) Dress, Episode 6

This one is just so delicate and ethereal, the feathered appliques against the pink satin bodice make her look like an angel. Do you see her walking down the hallway, with that pleated skirt flowing behind her? The only thing that doesn't work with this look is the necklace, it's just too harsh for the softness of the other accessories.

5. Pink Fern Dress, Episode 3

1989 Little Mermaid, take notes. This is how you do red hair with a vibrant shade of pink.

6. Garden Ballgown, Episode 1

So pretty, almost fairy-like with the sprinkling of little flowers in her hair. Something about the overskirt with the flowers climbing up over the already flowery fabric reminds me of a rambling meadow. I don't even mind the polyester gloves, because at least they match decently well.

7. Butterfly Ballgown, Episode 1

Is it in your face? Obviously. Is it giving more Art Nouveau than 1813? Yes. But a little campy? Her prettiest yellow dress? Inexplicable how she could blend into a crowd in something like this? Yeh

8. 'Sunflower' Dress, Episode 3

Probably one of the most historically accurate costumes all season. In certain lights it gets into the nauseating yellow green that I hate on Pen, and the pink gloves are heinous, but I give love the froofy like gathered sleeves, the lower cut of the bust, and the details of the train.

9. Regency Barbie, Episode 7

Nicola Coughlan and the costume designers really predicted Diplomat Babrie all the way back in 2020. The little band of posies around the bust really makes this look for me, thought I could do without the big chunky necklace. Portia definitely picked that out for her.

10. Yellow Walking Dress, Episode 4

Cute! So cute! The shimmery polka dots remind me of a Barbie doll yet again, and the light pink trimming and rosettes under the sleeves make this one memorable for me. Surprisingly simple for a Penelope look.

11. Flowered Promo Dress, Episode 3

I do prefer the promo version with the tiara to the flower, but I'm not mad at it. I think I'd find this dress very over-the-top if it had flowered appliques all the way down, but the way they peter out into tendrils across the skirt puts me in the mind of a country garden. It's nice to see some pops of red on Pen.

12. Orange Leaf Dress, Episodes 1 and 3

I wish they gave Penelope more over-the forehead curls as opposed to the little clusters on either side of her face. Little curls on the forehead feel more 1810s than the latter. The yellow adds a lot more dimension to this fabric, and I do prefer the yellow/ruched trim to the yellow and orange ribbon/plain neckline.

13. Engagement Dress, Episode 6

I don't even mind the black waistband. In fact I'm kind of a fan-it's giving Parisian-themed bedroom-but the white lace descending from it rubs me the wrong way. Love her big, fluffy ringlets.

14. Floral Spencer, Episodes 3 and 5

It's giving a bit of Hawaiian shirt, but I kind of love the combination of the froggy green, saffron yellow, and flamingo pink. I like how the appliques overlap the edges of her spencer, the slightly overgrown vibe of some of her flowered looks really scratches my brain.

15. Yellow Flowered Dress, Episode 8

Abhor the way they did her hair here. The fabric is so dainty, but the dress is a little boring, and I hate the chunky necklaces on her.

16. Grandma's Couch Dress, Episode 7

Grandma's couch/pos. A very soft, cushy, slightly musty-smelling couch. Don't like the centered corsage, it doesn't match anything else on the outfit, and they need to stop putting that necklace with so many otherwise nice looks.

17. Pilled Dress, Episode 8

This dress looks like it's wool covered with pills, and the dark green and hot pink of her necklace and hair ornaments respectively pull my eye from the dress, which I honestly don't mind, because the fabric looks itchy as all hell.

18. Yellow Floral Promenade Outfit, Episode 2

If they'd just take away that waistband, give her a gauzier shawl, and stop piling her hair so high, this one wouldn't be half bad.

19. Yellow Dinner Dress, Episode 4

I truly do believe that pinks and greens suit Pen better than these bright yellows, or even just a more pastel yellow.

20. Dandelion Dress, Episodes 3 and 6

I understand why Pen is holding her arms like that, because having those little yellow balls rubbing against my bare skin would drive me absolutely crazy.

21. Meeting Marina Dress, Episode 1

The hair and that big ol' bow really ruin this one. The fabric looks so peachy and light with her red hair, and I just think some soft curls falling around her shoulders would make her look like such a doll.

22. Yellow Upholstery Dress, Episode 5

This looks like a Target throw pillow. Burn than necklace.

23. 'Mine Is Yellow' Evening Gown, Episode 8

I CANNOT STAND the greenish-gray look of the embroidery on the bodice, which is sad because her hair looks perfect. The cut of the bodice is cutting her bust in half.

24. Chartreuse and Pink Dress, Episode 8

Frankly pukey-looking. The pink trim makes it infinitely worse.

25. Tadpole Dress, Episode 1

Something about this fabric just reminds me of those Tiktoks of people putting frog eggs in jars. That pink shawl is not necessary.

26. Black and Chartreuse Dress, Episode 1

See above- the green, the pink, the black-no.

[surrogate-fawn]

Im a fan of #7.

Nesting (Werewolf AU)

Prompt: "The baby feels so low" [Also inspired by @hush-writes-preg's "Spooky Season Day #3" prompt. He can consider this an early birthday gift as well!]

Characters: Fawn, Newt/Asher - Pre-Polly Relationship ((Newt is owned by @mittysins, and Asher is owned by @killer-orca-cosplay.))

Context: This takes place in a modern world where werewolves are common amidst human society. Fawn is a packless Beta who is about to give birth to her ex-mate's pup. Newt, an Omega, and Asher, an Alpha, are a mated pair who took Fawn into their home -- despite the fact they're expecting a pup of their own in a few months. The three have formed a close friendship, though Fawn still feels like an outsider. After all, she was human only a year ago.

Disclaimer: This fic contains lore for my, Mitty's, and Orca's werewolf AU -- be forewarned there will be worldbuilding mixed in with the kink stuff. If story-heavy kink is your kind of thing -- like it is for us three -- enjoy!

TW: A/B/O dynamics, but within the context of a werewolf society; mentions of past abuse, werewolf-related birth troubles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Smoky whisps of incense scented the room with lavender. The shades were drawn over the windows to block the fading sun. Golden fairy lights twinkled in the gossamer curtains woven through the support beams of the nesting tent, the only dots of light in the dark room.

The nylon pop-up tent was specially designed for those who were nesting. It clung to the baseboard and covered the entire bed in a snug, arched shelter. It could be zipped or unzipped in sections to create windows and doors as needed, or it could be shut tight for total privacy. The interior of the tent was stuffed full of jumbo-sized Squishmallow plushies, three oversized duvet covers, and one very pregnant werewolf.

"How you doing, Mama?" the mop-haired Alpha sitting bedside asked.

Fawn's pointed ear flicked in the direction of his voice in acknowledgement before she opened her eyes. She lay curled around a giant fox pillow, the soft material supporting her belly as she lay dozing in the tent. She had opened a section of the tent by the headboard so she could leave the nest if she wanted, but at the moment she didn't feel safe anywhere else.

"I've been better," she said, her voice lagging with fatigue.

A dewy layer of sweat clung to her whole body. Her clothing was shed to the bedroom floor, save for a black tank top and pair of boyshorts. The air around her was temperate, but her body burned with a mild fever. Her muscles felt heavy and useless, tired from months of carrying her pregnancy whilst fighting the tremors of rejection sickness. The worst of it had passed over time; but here she was, still feeling the effects of breaking her pair bond almost ten months later.

Oh, and being in labor for the last nine hours was not helping the situation.

The soft click of the door handle caught their attention. The pair of cryptids lifted their heads to look as it opened, the hallway light reflecting green in the mirrors of their eyes.

Newt's familiar scent -- much stronger than his mate's -- overpowered the lavender as he entered the room. Fawn's sinuses tingled with the spicy-sweet aroma of his smell, comparable to sassafras, that indicated his pregnancy as much as the grapefruit-sized swell of his lower belly. Fawn still struggled to describe the scents that were new to her.

The Omega approached her nest and held out the glass of tap water he'd been sent to fetch. Fawn craned her neck and lapped from it, her mouth too parched to obey her command. Her tongue was longer than it had once been, able to bring water to her throat as easily as any straw. She didn't pause to wrap her lips around the edge of the glass until her thirst was mostly quenched.

"Jeez, don't drown," Newt chuckled as Fawn took the drink from his hand.

Asher, the Alpha, got up from his seat and offered it to his mate with a nod of his head.

Fawn gulped down the last of the water and came up panting for air. "Don't tell me what to do," she retorted with a tired, playful grin.

"Don't tell her what to do, babe," Asher said, unable to disguise the smirk on his face as he set the empty glass on the bedside table.

The three shared a brief, quiet laugh.

Fawn's eyelids drifted closed as the room settled back into silence. She shimmied herself deeper into her pile of softness, falling easily into a twilight sleep; at least, for a few more minutes.

A huff of air left Fawn's nose a split second before her brow creased in discomfort. "Ash, start it," she said, curling tighter around her pillow.

"Yes, ma'am." Asher fumbled to unlock his phone and started the timer on his stopwatch app. "Started."

Fawn filled her lungs with air with one long breath and released it as a drawn-out exhale. The contraction coiled itself around her hips and squeezed, growing tighter by the second. The pain grew like a stinging vine around her belly, her ribs, her back, even wrapping around her upper thighs.

With a low groan, Fawn rolled herself onto her back. Her legs fell open at a wider angle than normal -- a sign her hips were loosening in preparation for her large pup to come through. She continued her ritual of slow, deliberate breathing as the contraction continued to climb to its dreaded peak.

Newt leaned into the opening in the tent, enough for him to run a gentle hand over the clammy skin of Fawn's arm. He didn't say anything, but his touch brought her a sense of ease. Even knowing that Asher was in the room, even if she couldn't see him, made her feel better. They'd only known each other a month, but she couldn't imagine surviving labor without them.

Fawn flashed her fangs in a snarl as the contraction reached its apex, the part she dreaded each time. "Ugh!" she growled through her teeth, her head pressed back into the pillow.

Newt's eyes widened when Fawn hooked her hands beneath her knees, drawing her legs up on either side of her belly. "Are you pushing already?"

"She's what?!" Asher gasped in alarm, his face appearing over his mate's shoulder.

"No!" Fawn growled, hardly able to breathe enough to speak. "My legs are about to fuckin' dislocate!"

She could feel the pup pressing its way out, prying open the flesh of her cervix as her womb squeezed it down. The pressure sent stabbing waves of agony between her legs. Her birth canal opened a little more with each millimeter the pup dropped, and now it was putting unbearable pressure on the ball-socket joints of her pelvis.

Fawn grunted in relief as the contraction ebbed. She released her legs, draping them wide apart over her plushies. Thankfully, Newt and Asher's guest bed was queen-sized and allowed her plenty of space to spread out.

"It's done," she announced, so Asher could stop the timer.

"Ooh, getting close," Asher said. "That one was thirty-eight seconds."

Even that short burst of work sent drops of sweat rolling down Fawn's sides. She pulled her tank top over the curve of her belly and tucked the fabric under her swollen breasts. She caressed the sore underside of her bump in long, soothing circles. The skin around her womb was pulled smooth as glass from the weight of the pup inside. She could feel where its surface was gouged by deep, purple stretch marks. Her pup wriggled impatiently beneath her hands, as if able to sense her touch through the thinness of the skin.

"Call me crazy," she said, "but I'm hoping this baby takes its time. It might rip me apart if it tries to break the speed record."

Asher checked the recorded times in his phone. "You'll be fine, it doesn't look like they're in a hurry," he said. "Just stay relaxed and the pup will keep working its way down."

Fawn gave a thumbs-up. "Copy that, Sarge."

"So, guys, are we taking bets?" Newt asked, resting his upper torso inside the tent.

Fawn tilted her head to peer up at him from inside the canyon of her pillow plushie. "On what?"

"Boy or girl," Newt grinned. He propped his chin up on his hand and beamed down at the redheaded wolf woman. "Should we take bets?"

"You boys can if you want," Fawn said.

"Just you versus me, babe," Asher chuckled from somewhere else in the room. "Fawn already knows, that would be cheating."

"No, I don't," Fawn said, quiet and matter-of-fact. She turned her eyes to the little golden lights twinkling over her head. "I didn't know if a doctor would make me contact my mate, so I never went to one."

At the mention of him, the mating scar at the nape of Fawn's neck became hot. She grimaced, able to feel each small wound his teeth had left when he'd inflicted her with the curse of the wolves. It wasn't as strong of a reaction anymore; the pain had at one point been overwhelming.

When she'd taken that first step out of the apartment with the intention to never come back, the mark had burned so intensely she thought she could smell her flesh searing. She was lucky Todd hadn't been home, because he'd no doubt felt the same sensation on the back of his neck -- where he had forced her to mark him as her mate as well. Had he been home, Fawn wouldn't have made it out of the building before he'd realized what she was doing.

"Besides," Fawn added, "I have no idea if I should go to a doctor or a vet now." Her freckled face paled, and she looked back up at Newt. "Shit, is that offensive?"

Newt laughed and leaned in to rub his cheek against her forehead. "Nah."

Fawn smiled as he brushed against her, leaving a bit of his spicy-sweet scent on her skin. She was still adjusting to perceiving the world through scent as much as sight and touch, but she grew more comfortable with it each time the pair scented her. Scent was transforming into language the more she utilized it. Maybe she wasn't sure how to communicate with it, yet; but there was something about it she was starting to understand.

"We'll show you the ropes once you're over the rejection sickness," Asher said, leaning against the nightstand so he could peer into the nest. "So . . . this guy didn't explain any of our lifestyle to you?"

Fawn shook her head. "Not anything us hum-," she paused, pressing her lips into a thin line. "Not anything humans don't already know. Transformation and full moon stuff, basically. He had me sell my silver jewelry before he'd even kiss me. I didn't know werewolves were that sensitive to it."

The boys shared a concerned look.

"Um," Asher cleared his throat, "we aren't. Silver allergies are rare as hell. A few poor bastards had a fatal reaction hundreds of years ago, and humans assumed it was a rule for all of us."

"Good old stereotyping," Newt said.

The lines in Fawn's brow deepened. "That piece of dogshit," she muttered under her breath. "I sold my grandma's pendant for him!"

Goddammit! Why hadn't she thought twice about Todd suddenly needing to "borrow" that money?! Her mating scar throbbed, seeping heat like an open wound where their pair bond had once been. A fresh sweat dampened her brow.

Newt brushed a few stray curls from Fawn's eyes and tucked them behind the point of her ear. "Fuck him. He's a dick."

"Yeah, fuck him," Asher agreed with a frown. His ear twitched as his scowl deepened, knocking his glasses askew. "Alphas are supposed to protect our mates, not take advantage of them."

There was a brief pause. Asher took off his glasses, cleaned them on his shirt, and added: "For what it's worth, Fawn . . . I'm sorry on his behalf."

"Me, too," Newt nodded. "Not as an Alpha, but as a wolf."

Fawn sighed and draped an arm over her eyes. "Thank you for that, boys. It helps . . . at least a little."

She felt like the world's biggest idiot.

When they'd met, she'd been seduced by Todd's hyper-masculine physique and charmed by his overly protective "doting". How special she'd felt, having an Alpha werewolf want her -- an average human woman -- as his mate. In hindsight, being an average human woman was exactly what made him want her. Easy prey.

How quickly she'd regretted her decision to let Todd put her in a mating press. After she'd endured the weeks it took for her anatomy to shift into that of his kind, Todd had convinced her they needed to breed as soon as possible. He wanted a large pack, as many pups as she could give him. It didn't take her long to realize they were the only reason he'd claimed her. Days after leaving him, she'd detected the strange smell of sassafras on her skin -- though she wouldn't know what that meant for two months.

The rejection sickness had masked any symptoms of a pregnancy. The effects were like that of withdrawal: fevers high enough to cause delirium, tremors, nausea, and full-body aches. She'd spent endless days and nights confined to the bed of a sleazy motel room. What carried her through was the knowledge that Todd was feeling just as shitty as she was. Yet, in her darkest moments, Fawn considered going back to him just to make it stop.

Then, her world changed when a fellow wolf woman at the drugstore offered congratulations based on her scent. This prompted her to buy a pregnancy test, and the thought of going back never crossed her mind again.

"Fellas?" Fawn asked, still blindfolding herself with her forearm. "Is a large pack, like . . . a status symbol for y'all or something?"

Asher shrugged. "Not as much as it used to be," he said. "It used to be a big deal in the past, like before we had the treaty with humans. That was because our packs needed the numbers for defense. But now? Not as much."

"Except maybe for those freakishly traditional families," Newt chimed in.

"Mmm," Fawn hummed in acknowledgement. She placed her other hand on the upper swell of her belly and gave it a thoughtful rub. "Well, this baby is mine. I'm not giving birth for the sake of some insecure asshole. This is my baby."

"Damn right it is," Newt grinned, his blue eyes glittering in the low light.

After a few seconds of silence, Fawn's limp-hanging hand curled into a fist. "Mmm, Ash . . . " Her voice trailed off into a chesty groan.

Newt looked over at his mate. "Ash, start it."

Asher pulled out his phone with a nod. "Starting."

Newt massaged Fawn's shoulder as she once again pulled back her legs. The pressure in her hips was immense, and the contraction was heaving the baby down with unholy force. Fawn pulled harder on her knees until she felt her pelvis widen, the bones drifting apart like tectonic plates.

"Breathe, Fawn," Newt gently reminded. "You're holding it."

Fawn hissed out her breath like a deflating tire. "God, it's coming down," she groaned. She shut her eyes and whined as the pup pressed harder against her cervix.

"Change position," Asher offered, bending down to see inside the nest. "Let gravity help you out."

Fawn released a high-pitched whimper. "My hips . . . my hips hurt."

"Here, hold on." Newt reached around Fawn and pulled out another of her oversized Squishmallows from the pile. He left his chair and climbed onto the bed, crawling through the opening of the tent with the plushie in-hand. "Sit up, love."

Fawn reluctantly let her legs fall. Her bones were lead. With Newt's help, she got to her knees and straddled herself atop the large pillow plushie so her hips could remain open.

"There, that's better!" Asher said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. His phone screen reflected in his lenses, revealing the contraction had lasted twenty seconds already.

Fawn bent forward onto all-fours, rhythmically dipping her hips into the pillow as the pain climbed higher than it had before. The Omega at her side dug the heel of his hand into her lower back, allowing Fawn to rock back against the counter-pressure. Her deep breathing wavered, each inhale growing shallower until the wolf woman was full-on panting.

"Calm down, you're doing fine," Newt lulled, ghosting his claws over her spine. "Deep breaths, like you were doing."

Sweat appeared in shining beads on Fawn's reddened face, dampening the frizzy curls around her temples. "I can't," she gasped. All four limbs trembled, fatigued muscles giving up the last of their strength. "I can't . . . I need to lie down."

Fawn sank chest-first into the fox plushie, arms unable to support her weight. Her tongue dipped in and out of her mouth as she failed to control of her breathing. Her fingers sank into the duvet, claws tearing holes in the fabric.

The end of the tent unzipped, creating an arch-shaped door that Asher climbed in through. While Newt continued to knead Fawn's back, Asher laid himself beside her.

"Hey, Mama, look at me," he crooned, his face appearing in the corner of her vision. When her hazel eyes met his, he said: "You are owning this! There's no need to get freaked out. You're too tough for labor to beat. Take a deep breath for us, alright?"

Fawn wet her lips and maintained eye contact with the Alpha while she drew in a big breath.

"Good!" Asher smiled, patting her shoulder. "Now let it out and make the next one even deeper. Show that pain who's boss!"

She obeyed, but mid-inhale she choked on air. With a canid yowl, Fawn pressed herself against the Alpha's body. Her hips ground against the pillow, as if it would cushion the force of her pelvis being forced apart.

"Ugh, gravity's helping too much!" Fawn moaned into Asher's shirt. "This pup is about to fall outta me!"

"That's a good thing!" Asher encouraged, draping his arm over her and motioning for his mate to lie down beside them. "You're making progress. The pup will be here before you know it!"

Fawn's hips finally settled as the contraction eased off, but she still felt unable to move. Her pelvis sat wide open, and the hefty weight of the pup was sinking deep inside it -- even without the contraction.

“Augh, fuck,” she moaned, the sound rumbling in her chest. “Fuck . . . the baby feels low. It feels so fucking low!"

"Ash?" Newt asked as he rearranged the pillows to better support the three of them. "Are you still timing?"

Asher caressed Fawn's thigh as she shifted to support her upper body against the mountain of Squishmallows Newt had piled up. Newt reclined on his side beside her, flashing her a bright smile -- his fangs always hung over his lower lip when he smiled.

"No, I think we're just feeling it out now," Asher said. He'd left his phone charging on the nightstand, just in case they needed it. "I think we're 'reaching a checkpoint' as it were."

Newt rolled his eyes. "Gamers."

Fawn snuggled into the pillow mountain, trying in vain to get comfortable. It wasn't as dramatic as what they showed on television, but Fawn knew exactly what the hot rush of fluid was as it soaked the pillow between her legs.

"Umm, hey . . ." She nudged the pillow aside, revealing ribbons of cloudy water running down her inner thighs. "I think it's time to lose the shorts."

Asher pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "And checkpoint reached!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For five hours, no one left that tent. The room grew darker as the evening gave way to the early morning hours of pre-dawn. The boys stayed at either side of the laboring wolf woman, holding her steady in positions that allowed her pup to ease down with gravity.

Between contractions, the three werewolves lay side-by-side in tranquil silence. The sweat on Fawn's brow would dry, her feverish body would cool, but the warmth of two other bodies prevented the chills from returning. That quiet peace would be broken when Fawn vocalized during a new contraction, signaling the boys to sit her up and widen her stance.

Fawn was growing restless, wanting to switch positions several times during every contraction: squatting against the headboard, kneeling against one guy or the other, or falling into a half-squat in a pile of her plush pillows. The longer the night wore on, the more fidgety the laboring mother became.

At around four in the morning, as the trio rested together beneath the fairy lights, Fawn suddenly spoke:

"Is the cradle ready?"

"Hmm?" Asher sat up and readjusted his glasses.

"Is the cradle ready?" Fawn repeated. There was a glint of urgency in her eyes, although her tone was soft and even.

The fold-out mesh bassinet was visible from inside the nest, placed against the opposite wall. The pup's first outfit was already laid out atop the blanket lining the mattress -- a cotton quilt with embroidered rubber duckies that Newt had donated from the stash he was buying for his own pup.

After a quick glance, Asher responded: "Yep, it's ready and waiting."

"Can you grab some extra blankets or something?" Fawn pleaded. She gradually drew her legs up until her heels touched the underside of her thighs. "Just anything that's soft."

Newt sat himself up and gave his mate a knowing look. "Babe? You think this is that 'final nesting' the baby books talked about?"

Asher's eyes widened. "Oh, crap. It might be."

"What?" Fawn asked. She suddenly realized she couldn't remember what either of the boys had just said -- she wasn't fully aware of what was going on around her. It was so, so hard to focus on anything other than the pounding pressure that had come to rest in the curve of her tailbone.

The mated pair gave each other a nod.

"Ash and I have been reading books about pups like crazy this month," Newt explained in a lighthearted tone. "'Final nesting' is just what your brain does right before the pup is ready to come out."

Asher grabbed the corner of the topmost duvet and rolled it towards them until it became a padded cushion. He carefully slid it beneath Fawn and said: "Yep, it's an instinct. Got to make sure the pup has a safe place to land, you know."

Now it was Fawn's turn to go wide-eyed. "Wait . . . wait, is it happening?" she gasped, her head shooting up off the pillows.

"Maybe," Newt said. "You'll know if it is." He placed a pillow over his torso to protect his belly and scooted behind Fawn to support her into a squat.

"And if it isn't, then we'll just wait some more," Asher concluded. "Don't try to bear down if you don't need to."

Fawn nodded, gulping down the dryness in her throat. She had no idea what to expect with the next contraction. If the monstrous pressure she was feeling hadn't triggered her body to push by then . . . oh, God above, what was about to happen to her?

"I don't . . . don't know if I'm ready for this," she muttered.

Newt leaned in and rubbed his cheek against the side of her neck. "You're as ready as you'll ever be," he said. He intertwined his clawed fingers with her own.

Fawn didn't feel the next contraction as pain, only as a familiar tightness wrapping around her womb. All other sensation was snuffed out . . . massacred . . . left bleeding in the streets! . . . by the wicked downward thrust of her pup moving through her effaced cervix. There was nothing holding that baby in her womb any longer, and it was not waiting another minute to leave.

"Oh, my God!" she screamed -- out of fear more so than pain. Her hips jerked back, trying to escape the demonic pressure burning inside.

Newt squeezed her hands -- his claws never marking her skin. "You feel it?"

"Yes!" Fawn cried, her body shuddering under the hellish urge to push.

"Go with it," Asher encouraged, placing his hand on her knee. "Let's meet your pup."

Fawn held her breath and gave a shallow, hesitant first push. She wasn't sure if she was using the correct muscles, but it felt . . . how could she describe it? . . . it felt like she was doing something. A few seconds of strain later, she let up with a sharp yelp. Yes, she'd been doing it right. That slight nudge had sent the pup rushing forward.

"It's moving . . ." was all she had time to say before her body demanded she continue her efforts -- and double them!

Those few millimeters of progress kicked her urge to push into overdrive. Fawn braced her weight against Newt, put chin to chest, and bore down with every ounce of force she could. The crown of the head pressed deeper against her innermost walls with a fiery, thorny tug. The sensation of her baby moving through her after so many passive hours of labor was startling -- yet beyond rewarding.

Had her eyes been open to see, Fawn would have observed Asher's tender smile as he watched primal focus harden her features.

"Just like that, Mama," Asher praised, again stroking her thigh. "Don't hold back, give it your all!"

Sweat trailed down her flushed skin. Unable to hold the push any longer, Fawn emptied her lungs with a harsh grunt.

"It's already hurting me," she growled through closed fangs. Her voice strained as, for just a few horrible seconds, she resisted the urge to push. "Goddamn, this is gonna suck!"

Newt laid his chin on Fawn's shoulder as she sank into another deep push. "Whatever you feel, don't fight it," he offered evenly. "Your body knows what it's doing, Fawn. Listen to what it's telling you to do."

Fawn's ears pressed back against her head as her hips dipped lower to the duvet. She felt a small trickle of fluid drip from her labia, but the flow stopped as soon as she stopped pushing. A groan escaped the back of her throat as the contraction eased off and she was able to relax.

"That was great," Newt praised, unlacing their fingers and letting Fawn have her hands back. "You got the hang of it right off the bat."

Fawn sighed and balled the duvet beneath them in her claws. Her chest rose and fell quickly, and her pulse hammered in her neck. Any sense of physical comfort was gone now, even between contractions. She knew there would be no peace for her until this pup was out and in her arms . . . but God only knew when that would happen. God only knew if that would happen! The pup was barely inside her birth canal and Fawn was already terrified that it was going to get stuck.

"What if . . . what if I can't get it out?" she panted. Her lower back was screaming, so she shifted her hips forward. It didn't help. "What do we do if I can't get it out?!"

"Hey, hey, don't think like that," Newt helped Fawn recline a bit further against him. He steadied her in his arms, his hands gently massaging the curves where her belly met her ribcage. "There's no doubt in our minds that you can do this!"

"And I'm down here if you need a little extra help," Asher said. He carefully took Fawn's leg and draped it over his lap, helping to open her hips now that she was in a more reclined position. "We won't let anything happen to you or your pup, Fawn. That's a promise."

"You're safe here," Newt said in a low, soothing tone. He continued to apply soft pressure to her sides and back, kneading over her sore body as if smoothing out a delicate fabric.

Fawn never doubted for a second that she was in loving hands. She dreaded to think where she would be right now if the pair hadn't opened their home to her. Without their kindness, chances were that she'd be delivering her baby in a motel bathroom or on top of a cot in a homeless shelter. These two had given her the ultimate gift: a warm, safe place to give birth. She owed her pup's life to them.

"I know," Fawn said, snuggling down further into the nest. "I don't want to be anywhere else right now."

Newt bent down and pressed a kiss to Fawn's hairline. "Keep listening to your body. Don't rush what it's trying to do."

Fawn nodded, puffing out a breath as she felt the next contraction roll up from her back to her belly. "Okay . . . let's go."

She took in a slow lungful of air, waited for the contraction to build in strength, and pushed.

Her loosened joints spread easily for the pup's skull as it squeezed its way down her passage. It became an endless pattern: Fawn would push, the head would squeeze down, and her pelvic bones would spread over its shape as it passed beneath them. She could feel the rhythm of the changes.

Push. Squeeze. Spread.

Rest.

Push. Squeeze. Spread. Spread.

Rest.

Push. Squeeze. Spread. Spread. Spre-OW!

OW! OW! Oh, fuck! Now it was so too big! Her hips were filled to the maximum, her canal stretched wide around a huge pair of shoulders as they slipped from her womb. She could feel her labia bulging from between her legs -- and oh, God, they ached! There was nothing but a layer of her skin holding the pup in, and it felt like a bubble of gum about to burst!

But she couldn't stop pushing. Not now, not when everything was raw and stretched and open and hurting so goddamn bad! Fawn curled her toes into the mattress and wailed as she threw herself harder into pushing. Her voice grew louder as she felt the inflamed skin between her legs starting to open.

"Good job, Mama! Here it comes!" Asher cried, his voice raised to be heard over Fawn's roar of effort.

Asher had his eyes glued to the pale, wet sac pressing out of Fawn each time her body strained. He'd read in their books that it was common for werewolf pups to be born with their membranes wrapped around them. That was fine, he just had to be prepared to remove it.

A tiny spurt of fluid leaked out from around the sac as the head began to stretch the skin of the perineum. The pup's size seemed to be keeping most of its sac unruptured, the fluid too pressurized to leave the birth canal. Asher furrowed his brow but said nothing.

Of course, Newt took notice of his mate's unease. He swallowed the unease in his chest, and scented Fawn's hair with his cheek again in the hopes it would distract her.

"Ash sees the head," he crooned. "Keep going, you're pushing like a pro!"

With renewed vigor, Fawn gave into her body's needs. Asher waited until a few centimeters of the solid white membrane stretched open Fawn's lips, then he placed his index finger against the bulging sac to gauge how much fluid was inside. He felt the semi-solid squish of the pup's head just beneath the film, but his finger pad felt the swish of water when he pressed down. That wasn't a very good sign, but Asher still felt confident that he could handle it.

"I'm going to help you out a little, okay?" Asher told Fawn, cupping his hand over the crowning pup. "Focus on pushing, and I'll help you open up. I'll go slow."

Newt once again sensed Asher's unease and made it his mission to protect Fawn from sensing it, too. "Pup's almost out, Fawn," he said as he gave her shoulders a brief hug. "It'll be out quicker with Ash helping you. Just take a deep breath and let yourself stretch."

"I'm trying," Fawn whimpered. "I'm trying."

As Fawn bore down against the pup, Asher ran his fingers against the sides of her lips. He nudged her skin open bit by bit around the sac, watching as it stretched from a small oval to a wide circle over the course of several minutes. Asher cringed as he saw the skin of her labia discolor from a raw red to an almost beet purple with the width of the head.

Fawn, meanwhile, had fallen completely taciturn. Aside from wolfish growls and whimpers, she made no efforts to express her pain verbally. Her focus had shifted solely to bearing through the ordeal, working with her body to bring it to a swift end.

"Keep going, we're almost there!" Asher cheered. He had his hands positioned at the apex of her inner thighs, supporting the tight skin as Fawn pushed the head to its widest point.

Fawn shuddered and let her head fall back on Newt's chest. Her mind was a mess of black static as the pup's shoulders ground against her pubic bone. She arched her spine as the pup ceased to move for one heart-stopping moment. Then, in a sudden lurch, the sac-covered head popped free into Asher's waiting hands.

"Awesome! Awesome, Fawn!" Newt cheered, peering over her shoulder as much as he could. He could see the white membrane resting in his mate's palm. "Babe, you got it?"

Asher nodded. "I've got it, don't worry."

Without drawing attention to it, Asher took the claw of his thumb and carefully -- oh-so-carefully -- punctured the membrane at the base of where he felt the pup's neck should be. A quiet sploosh filled the nesting tent as amniotic fluid rushed over Asher's hands. He hooked his claw inside the tear and slowly peeled the sac over the pup's head.

There wasn't much hair on the pup's head -- unusual, though not uncommon -- but that wasn't what Asher was looking for. He craned his neck at a painful angle until he could catch a glimpse of the pup's face. When he saw it, he paled. The features were predictably swollen, but the puffy lips were hanging open and dripping a thick yellowish mucus. Asher thanked the stars above that he and his partner had read up about whelping -- for he was able to recognize the tell-tale symptom of waterlogged lungs.

The mates locked eyes with each other and nothing else needed to be said or done. They both understood.

"This is it, love," Newt said, leaning in to help Fawn hold her legs apart. "This next contraction is going to be the one."

Fawn's jaw gaped like a suffocating fish, but finally her voice obeyed her command: "Is my baby okay?"

Oh, hell. She must've smelled the pheromones of their stress. Newt had been hoping she wouldn't understood what the scent of fear was, yet.

Newt smiled at her and brushed her sweat-plastered hair away from her eyes. "They're fine, they just need some extra help."

"When you push, I'll give them a little tug," Asher said. "It's going to hurt, but it'll be over before you know it."

Fawn squeezed her eyes shut. "Can't hurt any worse than this," she mumbled. "Just do it."

The boys were expecting the horrific scream Fawn released when Asher began guiding out the first shoulder, but it still made their sensitive ears ring.

"You're so strong, Fawn!" Newt said into her ear. He felt her legs trying to close against the pain, and he had to pause to pull them back apart. "I know it hurts, but you're handling it so well! We're so proud of you!"

Asher kept his focus locked on delivering the pup as fast and as safe as possible. One hand supported the pup's body while the other pulled down on the emerging shoulder.

"Come on, little guy," Asher muttered under his breath. "Come on, you can do it."

With an audible pop of Fawn's hip joints -- and another yowl from the wolf woman herself -- the pup's first shoulder slipped free. Asher wasted zero time in hooking his thumb under the tiny arm and continuing his steady, gentle tug.

A rather disgusting squelch accompanied the pup as it slid onto the duvet. The remains of the membrane bunched around its feet as Asher scooped it into his hands. The body was grey and limp, and all three heartbeats stalled.

"What's wrong?!" Fawn cried. "What's wrong with it?!" She reached for her baby on instinct, but Newt held her back.

"It's okay!" he said, adjusting himself to block her veiw of Asher and the baby. "It's okay, I swear! Asher's taking care of it."

Newt stroked her sweaty face with the back of his hand, doing anything he could think of to soothe her. It didn't stop the tears from flooding the exhausted mother's eyes.

Behind his mate's back, Asher brought the pup's face to his lips. His mouth easily covered the nose and mouth of the newborn, and he gently sucked the sour-tasting fluid out of its airway. Asher spit the gunk into his sleeve and repeated the action, rubbing his thumb against the baby's chest as he did.

It was a process that lasted less than twenty seconds, but to all three werewolves it felt like eternity. But eternity ended when the pup sucked in a deep, squeaking breath. The sound of its first cry was shrill, but to the trio it sounded like singing.

Asher couldn't help but start crying as the little body he'd resurrected wiggled to life in his hands. "Here he is!" he said, voice wavering with joyful tears.

Newt sat back immediately, allowing Fawn to see the baby alive and well in Asher's arms.

"Here's our boy!" Asher announced, laying the crying baby over his mother's heart.

Through the haze of her tears, Fawn looked over every detail of her little boy. She saw the layer of damp fuzz covering his skin, the points on his pink, folded-over ears, and the coating of protective skin over his miniscule claws. She thanked whatever power was out there for that last detail, because such tiny needles would've been horrible to feel coming out.

"Sweetheart," she told the baby, wrapping her arms around him, "don't make a habit outta scaring me like that."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Is he already nursing again?" Newt asked as he placed the glass of water on the nightstand.

"He eats like a horse," Fawn chuckled, adjusting the nursing pillow under her baby. Jacob was the name she had settled on.

The sun was coming up now, filling her bedroom with a soft white light. Asher was on the floor, disassembling the nesting tent. It would be taken out again in a few months for Newt to use, but the Alpha was determined to Tetris the pieces correctly into their box.

Jacob was an aggressive nurser. Three hours old and this was his third time demanding his mother's milk. Newt and Asher insisted such an appetite was normal for a larger werewolf pup, but Fawn wasn't too thrilled to learn she was going to get even less sleep than she anticipated with a new baby.

Fawn quickly drained the glass of water. She wasn't sure if she would ever feel not-thirsty again. "So, Newt," she said, "I didn't scare you into wanting a C-section, did I?"

"Nah, not at all." Newt laid down on the bed beside Fawn, propping himself against the Squishmallow pile. "If you could get him out, I'm pretty sure I'll be okay."

Newt pet the thin strands of hair on Jacob's head. The newborn swiped a clumsy, mitten-covered fist over his head with a teeny-tiny growl. All three adults stopped and stared.

"Was that him?!" Asher asked from the floor.

"Yeah . . ." Newt said, withdrawing his hand. "He's very protective of his food."

Asher almost fell over laughing. "That's Alpha behavior if I've ever seen it!"

"How do you guys even determine that stuff?" Fawn asked. "Is it a sex thing?"

"Eh, a bit," Newt shrugged, "but it's also a personality thing." He tickled the folded tip of Jacob's soft ear, and got the same response as before.

"Ow!" Fawn jerked as her son bit down on her breast. "Stop annoying him, or I'm biting you, too!"

"Sorry," Newt chuckled.

"I can't thank you boys enough for this," Fawn said. "This werewolf shit is all sorts of weird for me, and . . . now I know for certain that Jacob wouldn't have been alright if you weren't with me."

"That's what packs do," Asher said, re-folding a segment of nylon tarp. "We look out for each other."

"Do we even . . . " Fawn stopped herself mid-sentence and looked away.

Newt grinned and touched his forehead to Fawn's temple. "I don't know. What do you think?"

Fawn grinned in return and rubbed her cheek against his hair, leaving her scent on his skin.

[ryaancreativeliving]

10+ Modern False Ceiling Design For Bedroom in 2024

In interior design, bedrooms are private sanctuaries where each element reflects your practical needs and aesthetic desires. An often overlooked aspect, even by experienced designers, is the ceiling—the fifth wall of your bedroom. This vital area has the transformative power to add comfort, warmth, and style to your space. Ceilings do more than hide dangerous wires; they make a significant visual statement.  Read More 10+ Modern False Ceiling Design For Bedroom in 2024

[sirwadewilsonfromimgur]

Deadpool and Wolverine:KCAU

Deep Lore...

In the Heart of Kansas City stands a man dressed in black Armani, drinking a scotch most fancy.

The people around him would judge him handsome but clearly a dillatant and a dandy.

People were like that. Skin deep quick assessments... The Monarch Bar down at the Plaza was full of guys that looked like him.

What they don't know is this well manicured man is an act... a convenient one at that. His darling husband Wade liked dressing Logan up, and when Logan was doing less violent work, he liked how it made people misjudge him... underestimate him. No one suspects the pretty boy can fight. And he got a sick joy from the looks on their face when he popped his claws, slashed their throat, and tossed them like a bag of garbage.

With that little vignette for context.

My writing of Logans "fancy" fashion sense has a purpose...

The Noir was my poorly written Love letter to Patricia Cornwalls Scarpetta novels... up to and including a weird twist ending (something she's been doing lately) but more importantly, it's partial inspiration for why Logan is so "stylish" and dressed expensively (like Scarpetta's husband)

The other inspiration is my straight-up pattern aversion and fashion. Apart from a few situations for 20 years, it's been jeans and a tank top. Wade would totally think it got stale quickly... (fourth wall break... I also just want it to look like I baged Hugh Jackman) I also Firmly believe Wade has excellent fashion sense and good taste. He just refuses to express that in his own wardrobe, mostly because of self-image issues.

But I gave this guy money, a hot husband who has no qualms about wearing whatever is in the closet, Wade absolutely replaced all of Logans clothes with designer brands and fancy shit that they could suddenly afford, and Logan does look good. It's all tasteful, no outlandish high fashion, he actually doesn't hate the choices esthetically... hes not the biggest fan of how ostentatious they can be price point wise.

Lastly, I enjoy the contrast of Logan in his "street clothes".... Imagine if you will, on the streets of Kansas City this guy (see pic below) pops knives out of his hands, and it's the last thing you see after you foolishly said something (mean and homophobic) that upset the guy in a hot pink track suit with Jucy written on the ass that was holding his hand.

Also, let's be honest... unless it's certain people Wade is ok with... he's kinda jealous of wolvy showing off the goods...

This guy below only gets to come out in the bedroom.

[aleksanderscult]

Yesss I meant this thanks. Btw i have seen so many of your posts mentioning leigh's opinion on darkling and if you have more saved would you mind posting them too? 🤧 She deactivated her Tumblr ugh. I have still seen so many ss and tried to find all i could on Google but I really want more so if you have it do share.

Yeah, sure!

She really didn't have to deactivate her account. New fans always pop up and she could keep it open for people to glimpse her past asks, posts etc.

So!

A masterpost where Leigh Bardugo talks about the Darkling

Her Goodreads Q&A (it consists of four pages)

Kindle notes for some S&B quotes (it consists of three Darkling quotes)

And here are interviews where she mentions him (I'm only going to put the rare ones. Most of them you can find them easily in the internet)

Here, here, here, here, here (in this last one she only mentions that originally S&B was called "the Darkling") here (she compares the Darkling with Kaz calling the former "more noble" than the latter) and here (she talks about his RoW appearance)

Proof that she has written scenes from his POV

Tumblr asks of him:

Here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here (in short, they contain answers to questions like "What instruments did the Darkling play?" "Would he use the Jurda Parem?" "What does he wear in bed?" "Did he lose his love for colors?" "Why did he decorate his bedroom like a forest?", "Would an eclipse affect his powers?" and many others 💛)

And here we have more asks that I digged from a very deep search that took two months of my life:

He was jealousss!!:

Lil shadow boy caught feelings 💕:

"Running up that Hill" reminds her of the Darkling:

Apparently the Darkling never sports a beard:

Lil Aries baby:

He WOULD be a pretty good interior designer I mean..HAVE YOU SEEN THE LITTLE PALACE??:

Apparently the Darkling purposefully attacked on Nikolai's birthday day (HE'S SUCH A DRAMA QUEEN LMAO):

Her inspirations for the Darkling's character:

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Welcome to Villa Del Leone, designed by Robert Marx in 1962, the son of Gummo Marx, (I've heard of the Marx Bros., but never Gummo- who the hell is Gummo?), of the famed Marx Brothers, in Palm Springs, CA. You can tell that the son of old Hollywood money lives here b/c of the cool stuff inside. The Hollywood Regency style home has 4bds, 3ba, & is listed for $4.995M. Since we can't afford it, let's look at it for inspirational purposes.

This is an odd way to design an entrance hall, but it seems meant to be a gallery, judging by the spotlights and photos on the walls.

Movie memorabilia.

A framed Paramount Studios logo has the place of honor on the fireplace. Love the pink sofas and the huge classic John Lennon portrait. Funky sign in front of the fireplace, too.

That's unusual, a huge poster hung sideways.

Cool English themed sitting room decorated with real motorcycles.

This serves as a dining room/library. Beautifully done, the purple carpet really makes it pop.

The kitchen's wild quartz counters would make the HGTV designers clutch their throats gasping in horror.

Elegantly dated bedroom has sliders to the pool.

The all-white en-suite has Grecian columns.

And, look at the vast closet. The clothing looks as bright and colorful as the decor.

Nice secondary bedroom. Very calming colors and I'm a toile fan.

Looks like a woman's office.

I wonder if that's an original Beatles drum set. Beautiful guitar collection display wall.

Outside, a the lovely pool. I love the zebra.

This is very nice. So manicured. I like a more natural looking garden.

Very cheerful home and it looks so inviting warmly lit up at night.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/466-Camino-Sur-Palm-Springs-CA-92262/18023638_zpid/

[sunwarmed-ash]

I love you, friend! 💕

A couple of my headcanons for your amusement:

1) Connor likes to spend his free time playing video games (esp. farming sims) because they trigger the Mission Successful reward system in his brain

2) Gavin has quite the collection of fantasy dildos 😈

first off i love BOTH OF THESE. Very canon to me imo, I wrote the second one first, I hope you enjoy!

*NSFW warning*

Secret Box

This thing, between the three of them, that started small and innocently enough, turned into something so much bigger, stronger, and honestly sexier than any of them initially intended. So much so they closed on a three bedroom house last week and Hank, Sumo, Connor, and Gavin are moving in together. 

But moving is also greuling, at least to the two humans who complained about aches and pains every free moment they could. It's why Connor offered to bring everything in in the first place. Connor would not get tired. He was specifically designed for advanced stamina. But Hank and Gavin were two of the most prideful and stubborn men Connor has ever met. 

It took them a while to agree, but after Hank’s back popped in a way that was more bad than good, he threw the white flag and thanked Connor for his help before going to pass out on the couch. 

Gavin lasted a little longer, but once he and Connor carried their king sized mattress up two flights of stairs, he threw the flag too.  

There aren't too many more boxes, under half a dozen, and most of them headed for the same floor. He should be done and ready to lay down with his exhausted humans in about 15 minutes. 

Connor moves another large wardrobe box containing some of Hank’s old suits exposing a time faded blue, 15x15x10 box that he doesn't remember packing on the truck. Or seeing before honestly. 

Written all across the slightly yellowing cardboard is handwriting that matches Gavin’s, the words, 

DO NOT OPEN UNLESS YOU ARE GAVIN

I MEAN IT DICKHEADS

MY STUFF, HANDS OFF! *

Over almost every surface. 

A padlock opened in Connors vision and a prompt to 

Open the box? 

Had him biting into his lip so hard it bled, in strain to do the right thing. 

Because, well it's not his stuff. It’s very obviously Gavin’s. But whatever is in there, it's obvious he wants to keep it a secret. Under plenty of warfare in fact. 

What's the phrase Hank always says to him, curiosity killed the cat? 

Well, Connor isn't a cat, he’s an android. But he’s also not an idiot. He won’t open it down here, in plain view of everything and everyone. He will take it upstairs, into their shared master bedroom and open it there. 

~

Connor hasn't felt a choice impact him this strongly since he deviated. It's weird. It's just a box, he shouldn't be afraid of the damn thing. But it wasn't necessarily the box that was scary. It was the potential of everything that could be in there. 

What could be in there that Gavin didn't want Hank and him to see?

Maybe it was something super rare. Like the world's only albino guinea pig. 

Or maybe Gavin’s a master jewel thief and it's full of diamonds… 

Or maybe Gavin’s a deranged maniac who keeps his victims severed heads in a box!

Or worse….

What if its an embarassing snapshot of Connor from the DPD Christmas party?!??!

His fans whirring in his obvious anxiety attack has him shaking his head and clearing all of the ridiculous thoughts he just had. It’s just a box. And he knows Gavin better than he knows most people in the world after nearly 2 years. 

But once he opens the lid of the long traveled box, he instantly wished he hadn’t. 

Mostly, because in that moment, someone had come into the room behind him, exposing his crime. And even worse, that person was Gavin. 

“Hey! What are you doing!”

“I'm sorry!!” Connor panics, slapping the lid back onto the box so hard its sides folded under his force. He didn't even get a chance to look at everything inside, he was too scared of Gavin’s much deserved, wrath. 

“Ey, easy!! Those aren't cheap you know!” Gavin says, genuine worry in his tone and Connor’s hands pulls off the box and steps back. 

Hank and Sumo are on Gavin’s heels, barging sleepily into the room to add to his humiliation. 

“What’s- oh shit. Ha! I see you found Gavin’s collection.”

Connor and Gavin’s cheeks boths flushed in embarrassment.

“Hank!” Gavin scolds at the same time Connor asks, 

“What are they?”

“What do you mean what are they? They’re fucking dildos” Gavin says hotly, temperature matching the blood boiling under his cheeks. 

Connor looks at the box with the busted lid again, though he doesn't need to. He has the video feed already saved, he can bring up every inch of his first glimpse in high graphic detail. 

“But, they don’t, look like our other ones,” Connor says carefully, reading Gavins stress levels and adjusting his particular phrasing. 

“Cuz they’re not modeled after human dicks,” Gavin says again, and Connor thinks about the one on top. The one that didn't look like a dick at all. More like a tongue, easily as long as Hank’s cock but curved and shaped drastically different. 

“And that feels good?” there wasn't any judgment in Connor’s voice, just genuine curiosity. He thinks that's what really gives him the upper hand and reduces some of Gavin’s stress. 

“It feels phcking incredible. All of them do.”

“Some of those are big Gavin.”

“I’m well aware.”

Connor’s eyes glazed over, imagining Hank using any of them on Gavin, or vice versa. It was enough motivation for Connor to then ask, with the biggest, softest eyes he can, if he can fuck Gavin with one. 

~

Gavin’s knees shake as he struggles to take the ninth irregularly bulging inch, but he begged for it deeper, his cock still stiff and spitting fluid all down the shaft.

“Phck,” he can’t keep the pant back as much as he wants to. It hurts, but in the way he loves, and the fact that Hank and Connor are both so obviously getting off to it only adds to it. 

“You’re doing so good Gavin,” Hank praises, and Gavin feels more fluid fall off the tip of his cock onto their mattress below. He felt like he was about to lose his mind, so he’s glad at least it looks more polished than he feels. 

“Con, don’t stop, please.” 

Connor’s hand squeezes his hip before twisting the bulging dildo in his ass. 

The pleasure that rocketed through Gavin’s body at that particular action knocks out his knees and Gavin is barely holding his face off the mattress by his elbows. “Oh my god.”

“It’s actually Connor, but I appreciate the compliment,” the robot sasses and if Gavin wasn’t so desprate for an orgasm, he might have shot something back. Instead he shuddered, and pulled his tired legs back to their original position. It lined one of the bumps of the dildo up with his prostate and Gavin was putty in Connor’s hands. 

“Are you gonna cum?” Hank asks, sitting on the bed beside him, running his warm hand across Gavin's face to get the sweat out of his eyes. 

Gavin nods in Hank’s hand, and then Connor’s thrusts becomes relentless. It doesn't take much at all, and then Gavin is screaming through a painfully strong orgasm. 

~

AN: I'm sorry for the minor crack, but I just had to with the spongebob reference. It really wrote itself. You can blame Daddy Clancy for the melding of fandoms in my brain. 

As for the sex toys, use your imagination or alt the links I got the inspo from 1. 2.

* do I have a box just like this? Wouldn't you like to know weather boy.

[bringthekaos]

Cuz that’s the thing with Viktor, there’s not much that’s beyond his control these days, and that’s by design (...) you can’t do that forever. It’ll eat you alive.

Jayce learns the hard way when Viktor is about to implode. His movements become more stiff, with random bursts of gear grinding and jolts. The shimmer injectors working iust little more than usua. He goes almost mute, but when he talks the modulator sound even raspier. He doesn't take off the mask.

I was just gunna answer this with some more meta or analysis but you know what… this one deserves a little ficlet. Let’s call it Overheated.

Overheated

Jayce knew something was wrong the moment he stepped foot inside Viktor’s lab. Sure, the air was stifling from the myriad of running machines and clouds of puffy steam… but it was the subtle little in-between things that tipped Jayce off; like a single snagged thread pulling at a compromised seam. It was the why that mattered.

It was stifling and hot because something was throwing off Viktor’s usual protocols. Something was clouding his typically routine-oriented mind, keeping him from noticing the abnormally warm and hazy state of his lab. He was fixated on something, fixated hard enough that the best interest of his gadgets was slipping his mind.

Jayce could hear him before he could see him—loudly tinkering away around the corner in what stood for a measly bedroom. And there was a shortness, a tension to said tinkering that didn’t usually plague Viktor’s work. Usually, he was precise and careful to a fault; his work so clean, well… a machine might as well have done it.

And while Viktor’s moods were wholly different nowadays, given the emotional suppressor, Jayce was beginning to re-learn them. He’d once likened it to putting a diamond under a hydraulic press—it would be tough, it would be fortified. It could withstand more pressure than almost any other substance on the planet. But eventually something would give. And it wouldn’t go quietly, either; no, it would be explosive.

So rather than injecting himself into that maelstrom, Jayce steered clear of his former partner for now and instead went about doing what he knew he could to help—wandering quietly into the workshop proper and flipping the switch to power on Viktor’s air filtration system. If they’d been in Piltover, he could have just popped a few windows open, but down here in Zaun, that would just pollute the air further.

So next he went for the cooling fans over in the corner where Blitzcrank’s charging bay sat empty, and angled them toward Viktor’s bedroom before flipping those on as well. And finally, after listening for a moment and hearing only a loud crash and litany of mumbled bilingual curses, Jayce went for the small kitchen counter, rinsed the sole mug that didn’t have cracks in it, and poured a healthy amount of sweetmilk.

Then it was just a matter of wrangling this particular runaway train. So Jayce steeled himself, clutching the mug close to his chest as he meandered into Viktor’s bedroom.

It was immediately clear where the steam had come from—not the many running machines, though those were noticeably hot even from several feet away—no, it was Viktor himself.

The vents in his neck were set at an extreme angle, letting out puff after puff of heavy, thick steam that occasionally turned black when Viktor released a particularly strained breath. There was loud, chaotic rattling resonating from points of tension all over his mechanical body—his neck, his chest, his left arm and leg. And beneath it all, the subtle little hiss of the Shimmer injectors as they delivered micro doses like clockwork to combat his visibly agitated state.

That was the thing about suppressing his emotions… suppress them long enough, and they’re bound to recoil. It was simple physics—and while Jayce could have mentioned this, could have piped up about I warned you this would happen, that this isn’t healthy, and now look what it’s done to you, that would just be throwing gasoline onto the fire, and that was the last thing Viktor needed. So Jayce went a different route.

He cautiously stepped forward, patting Viktor on the back once to announce his presence before leaning past him and setting the mug down in the only mess-less corner he could find.

“You, uh… you wanna talk about it?” he asked, cringing at the mother-hen inflection.

Viktor did not answer—instead taking a single step to the side and deliberately turning his back on Jayce. The vents in his neck sent out another huff of black, and Jayce took this for what it was; don’t mother me, it’s insulting.

But Jayce wasn’t deterred—after all, why was a little mothering such a bad thing? Some care, some consideration, some warmth and doting? Everyone could use that every once in a while. Yes, even the infallible Machine Herald. Especially the infallible Machine Herald.

“V?” he prodded, his hand hovering at Viktor’s back as he tried to decide if touching was the best idea right now.

“No,” Viktor snapped, and even just from that one word alone, Jayce could hear the stress on the voice modulator—low and raspy, as if he’d recently spent a significant amount of time raising his voice.

“Okay,” Jayce agreed, retracting his hand and taking a step away—just freeing up Viktor’s space so he wouldn’t feel so constricted.

Instead, Jayce peered down at the project Viktor had been angrily funneling his not-very-suppressed emotions into. It appeared to be a modification for Blitzcrank’s revolving gadget arm; replacing several busted or outmoded gadgets and rewiring the entire thing to make switching between options a quicker and more seamless operation.

So without another word, Jayce pulled up a stool, grabbed Viktor’s spare pliers, and went to work—removing and rewiring the attachment ports, thus freeing Viktor up to focus on the gadgets themselves.

And for the longest time, they simply worked—shoulders bumping every so often as they just shared in the silence, in the heady weight of each other’s company. They worked, as they always had, like a well-oiled machine; wordlessly passing tools to each other and reading the other’s needs as if it were their own. And slowly but surely, the rattling within Viktor’s chest began to go quiet, the hissing tempo of his overworking injectors steadily slowed and eventually stopped. And Jayce could hear it more than see it when the tension in those rigid metal shoulders relaxed—a creak and a groan like hot metal plunged into an ice bath.

Finally, after Gods knew how long, Viktor’s movements ceased entirely—his hands stalling where they were turning a bolt on the wrist rotator and a single, long sigh leaving the voice modulator like struck glass.

Jayce mimicked it, stilling his hands and turning his head to peer at the flat, unreadable surface of Viktor’s mask with eyes that hopefully said are you okay now? That’s all I wanted, all that mattered—that you’re okay.

And he wasn’t sure how, but he could just tell Viktor was giving him a withering, grateful grin under that mask.

“Thank you, sluníčko,” he said, voice even and harmonic like morning church bells.

Jayce offered up a proud, toothy smile before leaning in and placing a quick, chaste kiss to the mask, right where Viktor’s lips would be—silently communicating that I know you feel like you have to keep it on sometimes, that you don’t like what you’re feeling, and you don’t want anyone to see that, even me. And that’s ok. Keep it on, if that’s what makes you comfortable. I can love you with it on just the same.

A new series of whirs and clicks went off in Viktor’s neck, followed by a short burst of steam, but this time Jayce knew them to be a good sign—the Machine Herald’s version of a blush.