#that��s the crux that never quite goes away

[noxiatoxia]

What’s the worst cause of a bad translation in danganronpa? I just saw your posts about it and was wondering how it it was

I didn't answer this right away because I spent some time thinking on it.

If you want my honest opinion, I don't think there's necessarily one "worst" translation. To me, it's more of a series of small translation errors / willfully removing character quirks that add up overtime to the bigger picture.

However, there are some specific egregious examples. I highly suggest this article on DR1's translation, as it paints a clear picture for the rest of the series (which abide by similar translation errors/choices).

In said article, however, I think is the worst translation I can think of in Danganronpa off the top of my head.

This is pretty bad for several reasons. Firstly, the official TL completely flipped the meaning of Naegi's sentence. I've seen bad translations in Danganronpa, but to completely 180 the meaning of a sentence is pretty bad. Furthermore, I think a joke was lost here. Naegi claims he is not a "Stand User", which is a JoJo reference. This being changed to a generic "I'm not psychic" I think ruins the joke that Naegi, who claims to have no hobbies, is making a reference to a manga - something many consider reading to be a hobby.

Plus, considering this is your first introduction to the character, and this is your foundation for understanding them...yeah. Not good.

SDR2 has a similarly bad introduction for Hinata, though not quite as egregious.

Left is the official translation, right is my fan translation patch.

This is pretty bad considering this is the crux of Hinata's motivations as a character. He does not think the people who attend Hope's Peak are marvelous. He thinks Hope's Peak itself is amazing. That's the whole point of his story, after all. He idolizes Hope's Peak. Never in the game do we see him idolize the students themselves beyond a simple "Wow, you sure are skilled, I can see why you got in". In fact, he routinely is pretty judgemental of them.

There's other things here and there. Komaeda's love confession in his final free time event was botched, as well as Saionji and Koizumi's love confessions in Island Mode.

Mioda's talent was messed up, too. She is not the Ultimate Musician. She is the Ultimate K-On Club Member. This is a pretty Japanese thing, hence the change, but if it were me, I would have gone with "Ultimate Pop Rock Musician" because that's what K-On music basically is, in terms of English genres. This is why the screamo music joke falls flat in my opinion. Of course she likes/plays metal, she's the Ultimate Musician. Except it was supposed to be more shocking since you're told she makes upbeat pop rock music.

Danganronpa also has just...a lot of clunky-sounding dialogue. Maizono's freetime event about the crane is very painful to read, as it is littered with references to Japanese folk lore which is not handled well in English, making it sound very unnatural.

Plus, this line:

was changed. Usually, when given your multiple choice in freetime events, you're supposed to guess what the other character is referring to. Notably, that isn't the case here. You're simply supposed to guess which of these birds are the biggest.

In the Japanese version, Maizono says, "It appears often in Japanese folklore. You know, that bird lives for a thousand years, a tortoise ten thousand years..."

To which Naegi thinks, "She must be talking about..."

Maizono is using a Japanese proverb (a crane lives for a thousand years, a tortoise ten thousand years), which strangely even the wiki seems to miss and mistakenly attributes it to her referencing Urashima Tarō. It's basically her saying "fill in the blanks, you know how this saying goes"...but since that saying is not known among English players, this part is poorly reworked.

Similarly, Twogami's final freetime event was written oddly.

I get what's trying to be achieved here, but it still sounds...not great. The point of the scene is that Togami from DR1 uses "omae" when referring to people, which is a very masculine/rude way to say "you". Twogami drops the act in this sentence and uses "kimi", which is a much softer ways to say "you". Hinata acknowledges this, but since there's only one "you" in English, they tried to word it as best as they could. Personally, I would have just reworded the scene entirely to make Twogami's sentence much softer in general, and then have Hinata comment, "It's weird hearing you speak so politely. The Togami I know is constantly looking down on others."

So, when it comes to the official Danganronpa translation, you're basically contending with 1) a lot of mistranslations, 2) removal of nuances in speech and 3) a lot of clunky, poorly naturalized dialogue. As the article I linked pointed out, even in Japanese, Danganronpa isn't some masterpiece of writing, but undoubtedly a lot is lost from these decisions.

Keep in mind these are just the ones off the top of my head I found worth pointing out in this post. There's probably way worse ones I didn't even think of, since I don't have either the English or Japanese text line for line memorized.

IMO, the best Danganronpa game in terms of text is Another Episode, 100% only because nearly every line in that game is read aloud. I find that trials in Danganronpa typically have marginally less clunky-sounding dialogue in English, and that I believe is entirely due to the fact they have people actually reading this stuff out loud. They can catch if it sounds weird out loud and then change it. So Another Episode, which is basically entirely voice acted, has the most natural-sounding dialogue in the whole series.

V3 I know very little about as I am not a fan of that game...but from what I've seen/heard, it's not much better despite coming out quite some time after SDR2. Gokuhara's speech patterns were entirely rewritten in English to sound like Tarzan...I guess to match his design? If I had to make him speak like any of the existing characters, I'd say he's more in line with Sonia's English translation. Just strange all around.

[confessmau]

Hello :) this is coming from a person who's extremely invested in Derek's character so here goes nothing /pos

I feel as if people tend to ignore or perhaps have this crux of the matter slip their mind, but Derek is quite the mentally traumatized character inside Mystreet. Undeniably alongside Aaron and many others, he canonically had been through a living nightmare. Since a young age he lost everything in his own life from the hands of Guardian Forces(as Aaron did--cycle repeats, we appreciate generational trauma<3 /sar). How Derek said directly to Rowan that his biological father had never been there for him. He is so clearly effected by these experiences yet most focus on how he treated Aaron in PDH, FCU, and I suggest Mystreet as a whole. While I agree that Derek is an abusive father. E.g. Smashing his son's phone to pieces to halt any/all of his contact with Aphmau. Locking him away from any type of social interaction(s), emotionally too. Practically stalking him 24/7. This list could go on-and-on unfortunately. Continuing forward however before I ramble.

Derek should also be ventured into, as well. Because I've heard people say even if he is traumatized, that gives no excuse for how he acted(not disagreeing;; I live by this phrase, but I want to show others that he genuinely has character depth—for explaining and to express he is human as well; as anybody else is). Or say "well I grew up with a really hard life and didn't take that out on others like him" You are not him. You have no idea what could actually be festering inside his mind. How could some be so empathetic but apathetic at the exact time. He's around his fifties and from the looks of things, Rowan didn't seem to knock healthily emotional characteristics into his head so that he wouldn't end up this hardheaded. Towards everyone and even himself. Either that, or Derek is an extremely stubborn person, perhaps deniability too. I have several speculations, please tolerate me.

Another factor I thought should be mentioned, his paranoia. I can't particularly remember who made the statement, but they had said something along the lines of "why would you ever have a kid if you were going to fear the outcome" it's entirely plausible that Derek never thought ahead. While I believe him to be quite intelligent in his own right, he has his moments as anybody else, and that's what precisely led to him failing as a parent. He had good intentions but executed them so awfully that everytime I rewatch the series and see him, I tear up. It's evident that he wanted to protect Aaron but for whatever reason, every action he did was forced outwardly in a negative manner. I'm not certain if that is from how his father treated him, life experiences, trauma exhibited from such a young age. There are many factors. I remember a flashback of Derek saying that he needs Aaron to focus any irritation on him, so that he can control the Ultima internally. However, Derek never predicted how that could've led to his son growing up with hate and acting out towards him, because in Derek's mind, he believed that to be the right or only way. Derek doesn't want Aaron to commit the same mistakes he did and his fears became reality because of his faulty style of parenting that we've seen and heard before. A parent tries to protect their child by any necessary means, child grows up angry and doesn't know how to deal with any of their emotions healthy, as well as struggling to exceed in social interaction(this showed for Aaron in FCU). The child would respond to this abuse by rage or a "neutral" mentality, and in the end, Aaron finally snapped his father out of his life in the FCU series. Derek tried to have the upper hand by unintentional manipulation(I saw an immense debate of how that's worse than intentional but I honestly can't see it that way) but when he realized that was unimportant, he let him leave.

I believe Derek appears later on which Aaron didn't expect to occur either. With Derek's true personality flowing out more throughout Mystreet, he definitely still appeared to be reluctant but cheerful with Aaron dating Aphmau. Even stating that she was his wife and if not reality at that time, the thought hadn't caused frustration. Even when made known by Melissa they weren't married, Derek didn't seem to notice and was completely on board with anything. I can't explain what I'm trying to convey. Ok—It's fantastic and even makes Derek more human when he expresses his remorse for letting Alexander(Aaron's dog) run away when he grew distracted by a business call.

AND Derek only approached Aaron on Christmas because of Aphmau sending him a letter, it hit him close and made him want to spend time with his son. While I find this bittersweet because Derek should visit on his own accord, still shows he cared and this was a step forward. Strange and made no sense, but a start nonetheless. TL;DR on this section, the Christmas series with Derek included was confusing but somewhat wholesome and made promise to Derek beginnings towards improvement, sort of. Summary of me saying "yeah this is weird and almost unrealistic but I suppose he's trying at least". The interaction I heavily prayed for is Derek sitting down with Aaron and spoke to him with authenticity. They should've had a conversation about everything, and sure, perhaps Christmas isn't the appropriate time for that but if Rachel apologized. Then yes, I believe the whole family should have had a private discussion with each other. Mostly Derek and Aaron. His son seriously needed that closure.

This series felt more.. Like a reliever than anything for plot activation.

I've also heard some people claim Aaron forgave his father too quickly but from what I recall, I do not believe Aaron ever openly said he had forgiven his father(if there's evidence—I'd definitely love to see that because it's been sometime since I've watched the entirety of Mystreet again! Please and sincere thanks!! /pos). I think he decided upon having his family stick around either from obligation or because he couldn't move on, possibly even fearing they could get hurt(I wouldn't be shocked if Aaron picked up Derek's paranoia) These are assumptions however. I think Aaron simply cares for his family and there's nothing inherently wrong with that as he shouldn't be to blame, and even if he forgave his father rather quick. What's it to you? There are people who do forgive but never forget. I say this as somebody who could actually relate to this supposed unrealistic aspect of the series(not to Aaron personally;; strictly the forgiving quickly part), you may not see it as such, but there will always be another that will understand. I've been witness to many thought-out writings and beautifully structured criticisms on this man—then I stumble across the ones that hand in the "he bad" and act if that's enough. While I don' care, it is definitely a show when there are people who are immediately willing to get into a heated debate because somebody else thinks differently than how they view said character. ((p.s Zero hate to those with these opinions, I genuinely find them fascinating :D a lot of people in this fandom are far more skilled with analyzing than I<33/pos))

Again, continuing past that, I went on a rant--my apologies. I jus' believe Derek is a complex person and maybe people don' view it as I, and if so, that's okay!! We all have so many opposite views and I constantly love to see how others view Derek, I've seen so many opinions on him rather negative or not. They're always cherished by somebody out there and I'm one of them :]. Still wish he wasn't so hated but I still fully understand and even confidently agree that if you hate the guy with a burning passion, good for you. Good for you<3 /g/pos.

I know my take is hot/ma. But, I truthfully see his character as something quite astonishing, I'll conclude Jess failed on writing him properly though. So, I could easily imagine how people aren't capable of relations or comprehending why he would do those specific actions. Jess necessarily hadn't gave him that standing point. One more note, a few held a distaste with how he passed on(this is because they claimed Jess did so for a lousy end with his character and I honestly agree), I think his death was quite significant to the character arc. This expresses that he consistently loved his son and family,, and would forever do so even if he is no longer himself. Or no longer beside his son physically. He wanted to save him and nobody else was present at that time, so he had to be the one. He accepted his fate before most and I conjecture that towards bravery. But once more, this is how the character radiates with me and it's honestly okay if nobody agrees with these opinions. Currently I'm sick and felt slightly talkative this morning :)! Other than that, I hope anybody who stumbled across my drawn out discussion with myself, enjoyed—and have a great time with whatever you plan for yourselves 💕 /pos

Bye byeee mwah mwah mwah.

~~

[angeltreasure]

hi there angel!!

first thank you for your blog, I really didn’t know there was such a beautiful Catholic community here and your posts and everything help remind me of God and to focus on Him ultimately when I’m too deep in scrolling… your post recently about suffering and lying in bed was absolutely so beautiful and it helped me think of my own suffering differently and it really helps because I suffer from constant mental illness and migraines.

anyway, do you have any favorite prayers? recently I was listening to a sung version of the Anima Christi and wow… that prayer is my favorite now.

thank you for spending your time praying for all of us!! ill be keeping you in my prayers c: hopefully you recover from your cold soon!

Good Evening! 🌌

Aww, thank you so much! I didn’t know there was one either before I made this blog over three years ago. A handful of them aren’t active anymore so once in a while you can find some gems but be careful tumblr tags, they aren’t all holy, let’s say, since anyone can tag anything they want.

I know the pain of those migraines for sure. See, you too can offer your own suffering up. Even on the darkest moments where you feel weakest or like you lost control, or maybe lost or unwanted by others, you too can offer up your pain and suffering.

I have some favorite prayers like the St. Michael Prayer and then an exorcism prayer Crux Sacra Sit Mihi Lux found on the St. Benedict Medal is also a favorite. It goes like this:

C. S. S. M. L. (Crux Sacra Sit Mihi Lux):

“The Holy Cross be my light.”

N. D. S. M. D. (Non Draco Sit Mihi Dux):

“May the dragon never be my guide!”

V. R. S. (Vade Retro Satan):

“Get away, Satan.”

N. S. M. V. (Nunquam Suade Mihi Vana):

“Never tempt me with your vanities!”

S. M. Q. L. (Sunt Mala Quae Libas):

“What you offer me is evil.”

I. V. B. (Ipse Venena Bibas):

“Drink the poison yourself!”

There is a wonderful video of this exorcism prayer sung by Harpa Dei that you can watch with English subtitles here. I find it quite comforting.

————

I LOVE Anima Christi! By any chance, is that video this one below because this one got stuck in my head for like two weeks. 👀

~~~~~~~~

Thank you so much for your prayers! 😭🙏🏻 I cherish praying for all of you.

[hulloitsdani]

This. This is why Kiran Fire Emblem has taken over my brain.

So some setup: as mentioned previously some time or another, I enjoy creatively tinkering with Fire Emblem Heroes’ writing. It’s a fun exercise getting to work with characters and plot beats I wouldn’t personally make. I think I’ve gotten significantly better at it too, in much the same way my art around this game has. I understand it more, I suppose.

As a result, this wonderful happy accident happened. I finally found the running theme of FEH’s characters (and thus its wider narrative as a whole).

They are all lonely.

The bad type of lonely. The dangerous kind. The one that can kill if you are not careful. And they are all infected with it, in one way or another. Alfonse and Veronica are our most blatant examples; their self isolating behaviors being obvious. Veronica spits on extended olive branches on principle based on who offers them and Alfonse was so traumatized by the last time he opened up that he now champions self isolation as being the most logical option. They are then confronted by Lif and Thasir, the natural conclusion to where that behavior will lead them. The personification of the loneliness that kills. Defeat them, or everything that matters will die.

It doesn’t quite get so blatant spelled out past that moment, but the idea never quite goes away. It’s the vice grip Hel has Eir under, what lifetimes of neglect threatens to do to Seiðr, what was passed down so many times in their family that it become truly genetic in Bruno and Letizia, and what our protagonists fight so hard to save Reginn from in the face of losing everything. And, oh, just the entirety of book 4. Super the thesis of book 4.

The only two characters not quite part of this dynamic is Kiran, who isn’t allowed to be a character in-game (pain), and Anna, who intelligence systems glosses over in the same way they did Sharena for a long time (more pain). Both of them have the capacity to expand this theme even further. It’s some of my favorite parts to explore when both drawing and writing for this game.

This overall discussion is what I believe to be the crux of Kiran’s loneliness that kills. The natural consequence of being isekaied is an extremely bad bout of culture shock. Not in a cutesy way either, like Kiran not understanding the phrasing of something or comedically missing the tone of a conversation without having the inherent context as everyone else. While that may be true, Kiran can take actions to fix that. No, it’s the reverse that’s the problem. Since Kiran is the foreigner here, there’s not always an effort to try to understand them in that way. And even if there is, no one has any real metric to fully understand. They are from a world so inconceivably alien to the people of Askr that their explanations can only go so far.

This leaves them isolated in a way they don’t have the words for and is not easy to fix. They just have to deal with this empty feeling. To get up and move on because there’s more important things to be worried about. Eventually, it all gets rather tiring to keep dealing with. They no longer bother to clarify what they mean when someone gets confused. Decide to remove it from their speech to avoid the issue all together. And while they’re there, some other stuff can go too. Fears, doubts, crippling homesickness, the empty feeling— no one needs to know that. Swallow it. All of it. Let the bile roll in their gut. It’s nauseating at first but over time— no. In the face of death? It barely requires forethought. And no one notices. Not until some goddess of nightmares finally rips the mask off and reveals just how good they got at pretending to be someone, anyone, else.

And man, that’s sad. It’s all sad, really! I try hard to not change any major plot beat in FEH, but Book 4’s climax would be the only major exception. This needs to have payoff. Everyone, even Freya, misjudges just how large Kiran’s loneliness has grown. How close it is to killing them. They are trapped in a downward spiral and rapidly approaching an absolute rock bottom. Not even Freya’s little fantasies can do anything at this point. But what does is Sharena and how she deals with her loneliness. She is the whole antithesis of the narrative full of loners. Unlike every other character, her loneliness drives her to inadvertently save people. To reach out and grab on with everything she has, in the most genuine unabashedly caring way. It is loud, it is unfiltered, it’s touchy, it’s annoying, it’s wonderful, and it doesn’t even work half the time but it doesn’t need to because when it does IT SAVES PEOPLE. Sharena saves people because she doesn’t want anyone to be alone.

AUGHHH THIS GAME. Kiran and Sharena Fire Emblem your friendship means so much to me. All of these characters need therapy so badly. Some trauma bonded found family vibes is just going to have to cut it for now.

What do u think Kiran is

How do u think the order sees kiran

*slowly sits up in my chair*

I think Kiran is a very normal person. This is someone you and I have met before. Be that from the other side of grocery store cashier, waiting in the same elevator, or walking by on a crosswalk. Kiran is a civilian from our world trying to roll with the punches of being warped somewhere completely alien. And you can see it in how they conduct themselves.

I always have a lot of fun writing Kiran’s dialogue because their casual modern speech almost feels like a dialect in comparison to the more formal fantasy tone everyone else speaks with. An “ain’t” will never exit Alfonse’s mouth, you know? And there’s a difference in “Do you have gold?” vs “You got gold?” To me, this gives Kiran an air of unfamiliarity to anyone they interact with. Let’s use Grima as an example, because it doesn’t sound like this grammatical change would make much of difference until Kiran has the audacity to hit Grima with a bro mid sentence. But that’s just how they talk. And as sweet and friendly as they are, there’s always moments like that to remind that no one has the cultural context to fully understand Kiran. Except for the audience, who can realize that Kiran let the customer service voice drop to talk to Grima like he’s an actual person.

And that’s just about how they talk! This view is only emphasized by every other thing about them! They’re a lovable goof, which is normal chill person behavior in the audience’s eyes but feels REALLY ODD to the characters of FE’s medieval fantasy war setting. There is this air of unknown about them that the more socially perceptive will pick up on and will try to come to a conclusion about. Example, I imagine Soren would interpret a lot of this as a dangerous and deeply annoying lack of intelligence from someone he has the displeasure of sharing a tactics table with. Or looping back to the Grima example, he would totally think Kiran has greedy ulterior motives behind that pleasant facade. It takes a lot of work for those types to realize that the discrepancy present isn’t really any of those things. But I also wouldn’t be too surprised if Kiran doesn’t try to directly prove any of those assumptions wrong unless they have to.

Why? Well now it’s time for the implications! Oh how we love the implications.

Because the Summoner is a different story. No one has any fucking clue what that is.

I can tell you what Kiran has pieced together so far. Summoning people from across time and space is apparently not easy. It’s not some school of magical study that some mage could pull off with enough time and research. Trust, Eitri tried. It’s a lot of complex moving parts. For example, the contracts. The contracts Kiran automatically binds their summoned to don’t even compare to the ones Veronica used in book 1. They are far more intense and infinitely harder to break. The only way out of them is if Kiran wills it so. Not even death is an option, because Kiran can come in for the revive. If they had to guess, it’s an older, more completed version of the art. Something lost to time. But no matter the case, Kiran has the ability to take full control of whoever they manage to summon. From a lowly farmer to the divine. And their power only grows.

In a similar vein, if there was any character to canonically see the hud, I think it would be Kiran. It’s genuinely part of their power set. I have previously described Kiran as the party mage until Veronica shows up to be the actual mage, but it would be way more accurate to call them a mystic/seer. They see the map, everyone’s stats, and is doing a fast amount of math to give the combat forecast. Then, upon processing all this information their enemies couldn’t dream of having at their disposal, Kiran can telepathically communicate any change in plans to anyone under contract. Kiran is not inherently some great tactician the moment they touch ground in Askr; they simply can do things no one else can. They’re learning the actual tactics part on the fly. This makes them simultaneously the largest ace up the Order’s sleeve and potentially its biggest liability. If they fall, it could cause a whole system cascade. By that same token, some of the biggest threats the Order has faced are the ones who do their research and rightfully target Kiran.

Now. Thinking critically about all that. That’s downright terrifying. A ridiculous amount of power has been dropped callously into Kiran’s lap and they have to work extremely hard to be moral with it. It’s terrifyingly easy not to be. It would actively take less effort to ‘take the reins’ as it were. But in order to be able to sleep at night ever again, they go the extra mile to not invalidate the will of their summoned. To take over like that. To make a colony of worker bees out of people. Because oh dear god they just summoned a child and the fact that they could easily force them to fight and die for them, only to be revived and do it all over again, is HAUNTING. No. No the Order has an in house orphanage now. This kid is getting adopted and cared for god damnit or Kiran might just pop a blood vessel. And sure that child is going to be a child and there will never be a world where they get along with everyone else, but that’s just going to need be a problem they address when they get there and not an excuse to use Hubris; the power set. Now replace the word child with everyone they ever summoned and you have the wider philosophy they apply to the entire Order.

They’re hyper aware of the power imbalance. They hate it with every bone in their body. They work really hard to correct it in whatever way they can.

So Kiran might not jump on the opportunity to correct those who think lesser of them. It’s… oddly comforting to know someone is keeping a critical eye on them. Holding them accountable. Especially since so much of the order just thinks of them as this quirky yet well meaning host. And, really, what can they even do about that? They have gone over the contract with every hero they summon and despite that they still choose to stay. So, what, do they try to inspire more mistrust? The problem with that they would have to actually do acts that intentionally inspire mistrust. And even if that was successful they can’t just waste the extra man power because every other month there’s some new divine asshole who wants them all dead. And if they fail that means they have to start their life from square one and god they can’t do that again so—

Just breathe Kiran.

It’s fine. You’re fine. Just breathe.

You have work to do.

[cleumz-moved]

carving pumpkins with them!

(anemo version)

i'll do others if you think i should!!

contains -jean, sucrose, xiao, kazuha (featuring beigguang), venti, aether, and lumine x reader, aswell as sayu but hers is platonic

warnings!! - knife mentioned/implied, mild cursing (in xiao's)

JEAN -

she just had to make time for you! so insistent on this tradition, and when you suggested barbara join in, well how could she refuse!

she carves a simple face, with triangle eyes, and a wide grin.

she doesn't mind touching the pumpkin guts, so she'll scoop them out for you if you really don't like them.

when halloween night falls, after she hands out healthy snacks (kaeya sneaks the kids candy), she sits near your pumpkins, eerie candlelight illuminating her soft smile, she states,

'i'm glad i have some one as special as you to celebrate with'

SUCROSE -

ohh, sucrose, she was so ecstatic you wanted to spend time with her, she even used bioalchemy to make extra big pumpkins! (much to lisa's horror)

she doesn't find the guts gross, and even bakes them to make roasted pumpkin seeds!

her pumpkin has an intricate little flower design on it, leaving you wondering how she's so skilled with a knife!

on halloween, when you set out the pumpkins, near timaeus' alchemy stall, to hand out sweets, she was so blushy when you kissed he cheek under the spooky silver moon!

'oh! i made some special candies, if you wanted to try them! they're made from our pumpkins!'

XIAO -

you wanted him to do what?? why would the vigilant yaksha, protector of liyue, do something so childish and strange?

when you finally convince him, with mild begging (how could he say no to those eyes?), he hated the pumpkin guts. disgusting, slimy and cold. you would have to dispose of them yourself.

when he begins carving, he does so quite aggressively, but when you ask to see what he's done, a delicate bird shape adorns the gourd.

as you eat lots of candy, in celebration, you explain, he looks at you with that soft gaze reserved for his to favorite things, almond tofu, and yourself.

'oH- IT'S ALL GROSS AND SLIMY, YOU EXPECT ME TO TOUCH THAT CRAP?? ABSOLUTELY NOT!!'

KAZUHA -

beidou came to bully (affectionately) him and ning came along, she walked up and did the childish 'oOoOoOoooOo- kazuha and (name), sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!' ningguang had to physically drag her away to go to the costume party thet were invited to (ning was a mermaid and beidou was a fisherwoman <3)

once you actually start carving, he'll carve the most intricate thing you've ever seen, and he does it so fast it'll make your head spin.

the rest of the crux catches wind (ha- anemo, get it??), they make pumpkins too! the alcor is aglow with a million little lights, and its docked in liyue harbor.

while the crux goes out drinking, you and kazuha sit in the crows nest, gazing upon the stars, he reaches over, and places his hand on yours, and hums contentedly.

'bei- beidou!' 'ahahah- have fun with your giiirlfriieeend/booyyyfriiieeend/significant ooootheeerrrr'

VENTI -

he was soooo excited! he couldn't wait! he talked about it the night before you planned to at the tavern! (diluc got kinda tired of hearing about it lol)

he is so childish. he threw a handful of pumpkin guts at you. right in your face. you weren't too upset though.

he carved a self-portrait! a messy little thing of his wind spirit form! it was soooo cute.

as i mentioned before, he pretends to be a kid to get free candy, so after sorting it on the rug, he shared some with you!

'wha? you want the sweet flower candies i got from sucrose?! nuh-uh! those are my favorites! ...fiiineee i guess i'll share'

AETHER - (not technically anemo, but my they almost never get included :()

while he is looking for his sister, he wants to spend time with you aswell! he remembers carving pumpkins with lumine in a different world, and gets a little sad, but thinks about how she wouldn't want him to be sad right now!

he actually likes touching the goo! thinks it feels neat. he also told paimon it tasted good, like slime, as a joke, but then she actually enjoyed it! then he tried some, as did you, but it really wasn't great (speaking from experience)

he carved pretty stars on it! nothing fancy. paimon carved a fish.

and you sat, on a rock in the wilderness, telling spooky stories around a campfire, while paimon was cowering. he laughed at all the right points in your tale, and even suggested telling some more in liyue harbor, sure the patrons of tea houses would recognize your obvious talent.

'no really! im serious! it's super good!' 'yeah, even paimon got scared!'

LUMINE -

she really likes halloween, remembering all the times she's scared aether, and planned to scare you!

she went and picked the biggest pumpkin she could find! it was soooo big, you all had to work on it together!

on her portion, she carved a scary face!! paimon carved in some bread.

she went to show the knights, proud of her handiwork, and lisa almost fainted! sucrose wanted to know where she found the pumpkin, for research purposes! and klee said it would be super cool filled with bombs.

'maybe klee's right? oh! we could put firecrackers in it! loud noises are scary!'

SAYU - (keep in mind this is platonic)

she doesn't wanna carve the pumpkin, it'll be sooo tiring, she says, but when told it might help her get taller, she immediately agrees!

she doesn't really carve her pumpkin, but gutted it and fell asleep inside! she also added eye holes!

she watched you carve yours through the little holes, and thought it was sooo cool!!

'maybe celebrating holidays with you is so bad, i think i grew an inch!'

- FINISH

happy halloween everyone!!

[versadies]

hello hello! for the soulmate prompts, libra (lie imprint) + kazuha + hc scenario + fluff wherein kazuha's soulmate is very two faced (kind and caring outside but very cold and bitter inside) and lies a lot so he'd get all the tatoos. ^^ thank you and congratulations on your milestone!

i knew you were trouble (hc scenario)

penpal: ty for requesting ! happy readings <3

prompt: libra the scale, lie-tattoo soulmate au

pairing/s: kazuha x gn!reader

sypnosis: in which kazuha knew you're more than what meets the eye, but still loves you regardless.

includes: spoilers to inazuma archon quest (prologue) and kazuha's story profile, two-faced reader, badmouthing, and ooc!kazuha (?)

the moment kazuha managed to get away from his homeland, his mind were filled with thoughts of what happens next.

it's true that the crux fleet is his new home and that he doesn't mind drifting around the seas, but he felt like he's missing something. something that could make him feel more at ease than confused and conflicted.

it wasn't until he looked down on his body, specifically his right covered hand when he realized his once forgotten dream.

there were many unknown reasons as to why his hand is covered in bandages,

and one of them is his soulmate.

he used to dream of meeting his soulmate after finally being released from the burdens of his fallen clan, ready to explore the unknown and possibly meet his destined other.

but then one thing led to another and that dream stopped after a major change by the raiden shogun.

he couldn't bare to look at himself in the mirror, the words imprinted on his body except his face– it all reminded him of his unfinished goal.

no, he didn't care about the fact that his soulmate lies so much that it practically made half of his right hand fully covered by tattoos, he was concerned that he doesn't have time to try and find them.

and now, perhaps he could continue on his journey.

who knew the start of his said journey could also the end?

days after he escaped from the nation of eternity, kazuha met you, a chef who desires to make unique recipes for the world to feast on.

he met you thanks to beidou, who told him that you'll be going with the crux fleet and set sail around the lands for ingredients.

the samurai didn't think much of it, minding his own business as long as you mind yours. for some reason though, there was something... odd about you that made him feel intrigued.

was it because of the sense that there's something more about you? perhaps.

it made kazuha wanted to know more.

he finds himself talking to you when you offered him to try your newest recipe: a soup that contains the finest ingredients from the ocean with the weirdest seasonings.

it tasted strange in a good way, yet he didn't mind it. not when you're keeping him company.

the samurai would definitely agree on the saying that goes, "food always tastes better when with company."

since then, he often visits your area to see your attempts in cooking new foods, if he feels like it: he'll even tell you suggestions. he finds listening to your words that's laced with care and kindness endearing.

deep down, he knew it wasn't.

he didn't need to listen to nature, he knew right from the start that you aren't what people think you are. he does not seek what lies behind your kind features, but he seeks what made him feel drawn to you.

sooner than later, he finally found the reason why.

"curse this stupid goal," you cursed to no one, yelling out a frustrated noise as kazuha hid himself nearby after coming across to your frustrated self. "curse this wasted trip, when will these idiots stop asking me about liyue?!"

the man watched as you stomp around aggressively, paying no mind to showing your true colors while everyone sleeps away on their beds below you.

he wasn't surprised– after all, nature never lies to him.

before he could try to walk away from you in plain sight, you said something that changed his perspective of you.

"i don't even care about these people." you mumbled, yet it was still loud enough for the man's ears to hear.

kazuha's heart drops when he felt that familiar itch, looking down at his arm to see the new tattoo with words that came out from your mouth a moment ago. this can't be a coincidence, can it?

he was so taken back by surprise that he didn't notice you staring at him with furrowed eyebrows.

"so you saw that, huh?" you speak up. crossing your arms at the sight of the man.

the samurai quickly turns around to your direction, his heart paced quickly from his recent discovery, it felt like everything is coming to it's right place.

"...it's you," he breaths out, his shoulders now relaxing. "after so many years, i found you."

"what are you talking about?"

"you're my soulmate." kazuha blurts out, watching as your face drops and your body went tensed from what he told you. "what you said earlier– it's on my arm."

you quickly hid your disbelieved state, putting up your kind facade once more with a smile. "...you're joking, right?" you said with a light laugh. "i'm surprised, kazuha. i never thought you're the type to joke."

"i'm not joking." he retorts. "i can tell you a lie right now."

your smile slowly fades, staying silent for a moment until you take a deep breath and look at him in the eyes. "tell me one then."

"i hate you."

just like that, your sweet kind facade immediately dissipates, leaving your true self out in the open for the first time in years.

all because of the words that's now imprinted on your right hand.

hesitantly, kazuha slowly walk towards your now shocked state, wanting to be closer to you. "do you think i'm joking now?" he asks.

"...this feels so stupid." you mumbled, still staring at your hand. "why don't you hate me for pretending this whole... sweet and kind attitude?"

"you have your reasons as much as i have mine," kazuha answers quickly, looking at the view of the ocean in front of him. "i'm quite curious of myself as to why you keep up the facade but.. i don't mind having you as my soulmate."

"even if i'm a two-faced? that seems bold of you." you comment grudgingly.

"perhaps i am, but it doesn't stop me from letting myself love a person like you regardless of what you've done to my skin."

before you could say anything, he turns to look at you with soft eyes. "i must say though, i'd like to get to know to my real soulmate instead of the one everyone knows about. if you allow me, that is." he confess.

you rolled your eyes, only to stop yourself and feel a bit guilty for that gesture. "you... you won't like me even... even if you're willing to know this side of me." you said with a frown. "i'm not as a good person as you think i am."

he lets out a light laugh and shakes his head. "i never said i have thought of you as a good person, not that you should be offended by it."

kazuha then lends out his hand to you, still smiling so softly that it made you question whether celestia did a mistake in making someone like the samurai be your soulmate. "i know the abode of the gods has chosen you and i for a reason," he speaks up once more.

"and if i may be so bold to put this out of my chest, i could never imagine myself hating my own destined other."

your mouth twitches up a little from his words, allowing yourself to roll your eyes and accept his offer in defeat. "alright i'll let my so-called true self be shown to you– but only if you stop being so sappy about this."

he chuckles and nods in response, his hand still out for you to shake. "that settles it then. i am kaedehara kazuha, a wanderer who roams the land. and you are?"

"...y/n," you then wrap your hand around his and shook it firmly. "y/n l/n."

[forgxtmenxt]

How Genshin characters comfort you during a thunderstorm!

Characters: Kaeya, Diluc, Beidou, and Mona Warning(s): None! Enjoy the fluff my loves <3

Kaeya:

Will tease you 100%

“Oh, so you’ve jumped into my arms, huh? Just haven’t had enough of me?”

If he sees you actually scared, he’ll pull you in close and let you sit in his lap

“Well, this isn‘t so bad, is it? It gives me a chance to be close to you.”

He’ll hum lullabies to you. They seem to be from a different land, as you can’t pinpoint the lyrics or the tune to any you’ve heard.

It starts to get late and the rain starts to clear up, but when you try to leave, this mf gives you the cutest puppy eyes ever

So you decide to stay.

When you happen to fall alseep in his arms (cause let’s be honest who wouldn’t) he’ll give you a small kiss on the lips before falling asleep with you.

Later on he’ll joke about how scared you were, but he‘ll never wants to be away from you when it starts pouring.

Diluc:

“What seems to be the matter? Is it the thunder? Here, let me help.”

Will be the most gentlemanly gentleman who ever gentlemaned

Lets you hide under his covers, gives you hot cocoa (or tea) makes soup, and reads to you to put your mind at ease.

When it gets late, you thank him and start getting your things.

When he asks where you’re headed and you tell him that you’re going back to your house, he gets really confused.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay? There is room for two, and the storm might persist through the night.”

Honestly this man looks like he’s the one who needs comforting

If/when you say yes, he’ll make sure you’re comfy and whispers stories from his childhood into your ear.

When he looks at you and sees that you’re asleep, he gives a lazy and tired smile before whispering “I love you, y/n” in your ear.

Beidou:

“You starting to get scared? You can stay in my cabin until the storm passes.”

You, Beidou, and the Crux crew were all out on the sea when it started to rain.

For the most part you were fine, making sure the crew was doing their jobs and helping out with anything that needed to be done, but then the thunder came.

Beidou let you in her cabin, and made sure you were comfy before having to head out again

Beidou regularly checks up on you

“Hey, are you still scared? If you want you can take a nap if my quarters until the storm passes.”

When you start to get tired, you go to her bed before falling asleep on the spot.

When the day is done and the storm is over, she goes to her room to see you cuddled up in her bed.

She takes a few seconds to look may how adorable you are before getting into bed and sleeping next to you.

“If you are ever need me, I’ll be here for you.”

Mona:

“Come in quickly starlight, you might catch a cold.”

(also hc that Mona calls you starlight)

Will cuddle with you in bed and tell you stories about the old hag that is her teacher to keep you from thinking about the thunder

Tries to make you some nice food, but bc of her mora situation (aka being broke) she can’t really give you the luxury she wants you to have.

The tea she makes is mainly hot water and a little leaf floating in it

The sticky honey roast she makes is also more sticky honey than roasted meat.

100% makes sure you get the bigger bowl of food and gives you some of her food as well.

“Come on now starlight, it’s my responsibility as a humble host to keep you satisfied.”

Tells you about astrology to let the time pass

“Well, Lisa is a Tempus Fugit. This constellation derives it’s name from the hourglass, and represents a trade between time and knowledge. The only way to stop this trade is to lay the hourglass on its side, making it lazy. It’s quite similar to Lisa’s work mentality. She’s all knowledge and books one day but the next, you can see her lazing about with a warm cup of tea. Speaking of which, let me refill that for you.”

After a few more constellations of your friends are told to you, Mona then focuses on yours.

“See that? That star shows me that you are independent and can do things yourself, but you aren’t afraid to rely on others when you need. The one next to it shows me that you’re the cutest person in all of Teyvat- oh, did I say that out loud?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This has been in my drafts for quite some time now. I hope y’all like it!

Hugs,

forgxtmenxt

[dreamersscape]

In Which I Attempt to Wreak Havoc Upon Panharmonium's Heart. Or Something.

Because I am an awesome friend, clearly, and possibly making people sad/verklempt is definitely an excellent way to (belatedly 😔 but I did start before the 15th!) celebrate Kakashi's birthday, right? ;)

I will admit up front that this is nowhere near as deftly structured and compiled as your Kakashi fanmix, @panharmonium, but that is precisely why I'm not even going to try to organize all these songs into individual playlists. Yet. Plus, I have a tendency to over-explain so this way I can better expound on why certain songs remind me of certain characters. Sorry that I sorta went a little... overboard?

Everything--except a few that aren't available on spotify, I'll link to them directly--can be listened to HERE.

What I'm Looking For - Brendan Benson | Kakashi → I may be a little biased with this one because it fits SO many of my favorite characters so well, somehow, but there's just something about the upbeat/tongue-in-cheek musical cues/delivery of lines such as 'I visit hell on a daily basis, and I see the sadness in all your faces' that just feels so Kakashi to me.

Happy Ending - MIKA | Kakashi → This is presumably a breakup song, but I enjoy it so much more in a non-romantic context (and the song itself isn't really boxed in with overtly romantic framing, so I appreciate that!). Anyway, some very important instructions IMO for listening to this with Kakashi in mind: everything before the bridge is about Kakashi up through his ANBU years, but when you get to the 'little bit of love' refrain, picture Kakashi meeting Tenzo, and then becoming Team 7's sensei, opening back up to Gai, adopting all the other leaf genin, assimilating Sai and Yamato into Team 7, and it keeps building with Kakashi gaining more and more loved ones to fill the hole in his heart, and then cry tears of joy with me! Just my personal suggestion. :D

Light - Sleeping At Last | Kakashi & Team 7 (/all his kids)

with every heartbeat I have left I will defend your every breath

→ I've seen this song used for ship vids and I'm all ????? about that because this is clearly a song about the love you have for your child! But I suppose if one of my favorite pastimes is aggressively re-interpreting love songs in non-romantic ways, I can't begrudge the opposite process... too much, lol.

Heroes - MIKA | Team Minato

your blood on me/and my blood on you/but to make you bleed/the only thing I wouldn't do/.../I wish there was a way/to give you a hand to hold/'cause you don't have to die in your glory/die, to never grow old

Long Lost Friends - Transit | Kakashi & Obito

how long/do you have to say that/this is not the person I used to know/you are not the person I used to know/.../because lately, you've been looking at me like you've seen a ghost/and isn't it obvious who's been missing who the most

→ What the heck! What the heck! What the heck! What the heck! What the heck!

Against the Voices - Switchfoot | Kakashi

'cause everybody knows/the hardest war to fight/is the fight to be yourself/when the voices try to turn you into someone else

Out of the Darkness - Matthew and the Atlas | Obito? Yamato? Kakashi? Itachi & Sasuke? Naruto & Kurama? → I'm a bit undecided about this one, or if I should just not worry about choosing one character and just let myself feel all the "inner darkness is not an innate characteristic, Danzo! They're just grieving/in a lot of pain, and they can find their way out of that dark place!" feels.

Save A Place - 1969 | Kakashi & Sasuke

so I'll keep away and save a place for you/and I'll only make the same mistakes as you/.../when all the blood all over your fingers is dried up/the pain will still linger

→ I'm not uber-confident in picking out really fitting Kakashi & Sasuke songs yet, but I hope this hits a lot of the right notes for you. :)

Thrive - Switchfoot | Kakashi

I'm always close, but I'm never enough/I'm always in line, but I'm never in love/I get so down, but I won't give up/I get so down, but I won't give up

→ See, it says right there that he's never in love! Not the crux of the song, and he's not always 'in line' either, but still! :)

Disarm - The Civil Wars | Kakashi & Obito

the years burn, burn, burn

→ I don't know how I keep collecting fictional relationships that work so well for this song, but literally every single line of this song hits so hard for these two?? Will never recover from this. (Also, I usually disregard when 'my love' pops up in the last line of the chorus, as the mood dictates. :) It's pretty incidental as is IMO.)

Renaissance - Paolo Buonvino & Skin | Sakumo & Obito & Kakashi & Naruto

let me show you one last time/let me show you one last sign/you can find it/I can't say that I can change the world/but if you let me, I can make another world for us/let me suffer all for you/make this vision all brand new/we can fight them/I can't say that I can win it all, [but] come with me and I will make my words stand tall

→ Okay, this is a very odd choice given that it's actually the theme song for a different show about the Italian renaissance (if you happen to see this, Mirjam, don't hate me!), but this could be IT! The "those who break the rules are scum, but those who would abandon their friends are worse than scum" anthem that's all about building a better world based on these principles! I really hope our sharing-a-brain talent translates to listening to this song in this way because I am feeling SOME KIND of way about this!

The Lament of Eustace Scrubb - The Oh Hellos | Kakashi → I really liked the song you chose from this album for your fanmix, so now I've feeling a tiny bit too on-the-nose with my choice, but I guess this is just a Kakashi album all around. 😆

Glass Heart Hymn - Paper Route | Kakashi(+ Obito) & Sasuke(+ Itachi)

memories as heavy as a stone/ I am empty, in my end you are my beginning

This Is Home - Switchfoot | Yamato & Kakashi (+ Team 7)

and now, after all my searching/after all my questions/I'm gonna call it home

→ All finding-where-you-belong songs are actually Yamato songs. True story!

Faust, Midas, & Myself - Switchfoot | Obito

you have one life left to leave/you have one life left to lead

→ Could this be any more perfect for Obito? It even has creepy-old-man!Madara!

Pluto - Sleeping At Last | Kakashi

Always Gold - Radical Face | Kakashi & Obito/Sasuke & Itachi/Naruto & Sasuke

all my life, I've never known where you've been/there were holes in you, the kind that I could not mend/and I heard you say, right when you left that day/does everything go away?/yeah, everything goes away/but I'm going to be here till forever/so just call when you're around

→ ...but mostly Kakashi & Obito because 'there were holes in you' 😭😭😭

Lemon Boy - Cavetown | Yamato & Kakashi → You already know the delights of this song of course, but I gots to be comprehensive. :)

Everywhere I Go - Lissie/cover by Sleeping At Last | Kakashi & Team Minato

danger will follow me now everywhere I go/angels will call on me and take me to my home/well, these tired eyes just want to remain closed

→ I chose the Sleeping At Last cover for maximum angst, 'cause sometimes it be like that.

Uneven Odds - Sleeping At Last | Kakashi

maybe your light is a seed, and the darkness the dirt, in spite of the uneven odds, beauty lifts from the earth

→ ...just like an earth style: mud wall :') Okay, okay, bad jokes aside, the seed metaphor of course makes me want to associate it with Tenzo, but this is clearly a Kakashi song!

Twenty-four - Switchfoot | Kakashi & Obito

life is not what I thought it was twenty-four hours ago/and I'm not who I thought I was twenty-four hours ago/still I'm singing spirit, take me up in arms with you/you're raising the dead in me/I wanna see miracles/to see the world change/wrestled the angel for more than a name/for more than a feeling, for more than a cause/I'm singing spirit, take me up in arms with you/and you're raising the dead in me

I'm Still Here (Jim's Theme) - John Rzeznik | Kakashi

and how can they say I never change?/they're the ones that stay the same/.../they can't tell me who to be/'cause I'm not what they see/.../and their words are just whispers/and lies that I'll never believe

→ Yeah, I might've accidentally imprinted on Treasure Planet as a 14 year old, and then someone made sure this song would forever live in my heart by making a fanvid of it with my favorite character from my robin hood show, but! He's still here!

See You Again - Wiz Khalifa (feat. Charlie Puth) | Kakashi & Obito/Team Minato

how can we not talk about family when family's all that we got?/everything I went through, you were standing there by my side/and now you gon' be with me for the last ride

→ I am being very unoriginal here, and there are in fact already fanvids made for these relationships set to this song (along with many others featuring different Naruto relationships), but I don't think I'll be able to rest until I translate the movie playing in my head whenever I hear this song now into an actually watchable format. After all, they have come a long way from where they began, and I intend to make that both as touching and ironically hilarious as possible!

Goodnight, Travel Well - The Killers | Kakashi → Admittedly, I got this idea from a magnificently crafted fanvid done for my robin hood show, but I genuinely think it would be really interesting to make something similar for Kakashi centered around the time he technically died but got better? I don't know how to explain it, but I think it fits quite well.

30 Lives - Imagine Dragons | Kakashi & all the people he's loved and lost → can be listened to here.

A Pound of Flesh - Radical Face | Kakashi

then today I wake up feeling easy/and find I'm on more familiar roads/I got a darkness wrapped inside me/but now it ain't so hard to let it go/so keep a candle burning in the window/I'm almost home

Hold Back The River - James Bay | Kakashi & life getting in the way of him being with his precious people (you may be sensing a pattern here) → @the road of life: Let! Kakashi! And his People! Hold! Each! Other!!! Also, 'tried to square not being there, but think that I should have been' is absolutely about Sasuke's defection and Kakashi adding it to his long list of undeserving self-recriminations.

The Fall - Imagine Dragons | Yamato & Kakashi → 😊😊😊😊😊😊😊

Shadowman - K's Choice | could work equally well for Kakashi or Obito, I think

any time tomorrow a part of me will die/and a new one will be born/any time tomorrow/I'll get sick of asking why/sick of all the darkness I have worn/any time tomorrow/I will try to do what's right/making sense of all I can/any time tomorrow I'll pretend to see the light/I just might/.../and doesn't it make you sad?/to see so much love denied/see nothing but a shadowman inside

Paint - The Paper Kites | Kakashi & Team 7

still there's a wound and I'm moving slow/though it don't show, though it don't show/I've got a hole where nothing grows,/how little you know, how little you know

→ A song for just how much Team 7 doesn't know about their sensei.

Always Find Me Here - Transit | Kakashi → ...most likely at the memorial stone. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (why am I like this)

Taste - Sleeping At Last | Kakashi

it’s bittersweet, it’s poetry/a careful pruning of my dead leaves/it’s holy ground, a treasure chest/I'm on my knees and only scratch the surface/like fists unraveling, like glass unshattering/we’re breaking all the rules, we’re breaking bread again/we’re swallowing light ’til we’re fixed from the inside

Help - Hurts | Yamato & Kakashi

take my hand and lead the way/out of the darkness and into the light of the day/.../'cause I know what I've been missing/and I know that I should try/but there's hope in this admission/and there's freedom in your eyes/.../I can feel the darkness coming/and I'm afraid of myself/call my name and I'll come running/'cause I just need some help

→ NO ONE TOUCHE ME.

Your Soul - RHODES | A mish-mash of Kakashi & Tenzo and Rin & Obito & Kakashi and Gai & Kakashi vibes? → So like, 'oh you know when you're alone/I'm holding on and on and on and on/to your soul' reminded me of your 'when you're all alone...the only thing you really think about is dying' 'but when there are two of you...the only thing you can think about is surviving.' and now kakashi - who just saved his life - is asking him 'did you want to die' and yamato is saying 'no' there are two of them and yamato wants to SURVIVE. tags as well as Gai's steadfastness as a friend, and 'I just wanna hold your hand' made me think of Rin's "Well then, I'm just going to have to connect the two of you." while holding their hands, and the sunlight/'soul shine'/'your light' motif is just A Lot in this song!!

7 Years - Lukas Graham | Kakashi → Alright, yeah, there are already approximately a gazillion pre-existing Naruto AMVs for this song and even one or two focusing on Kakashi, but they don't capitalize on all the angst possibilities in many of the lyrics or reach the fluff potential of 'will I think the world is cold or will I have a lot of children who can warm me [when I'm old]' and I cannot abide that!

Putting The Dog To Sleep - The Antlers | Kakashi & Sasuke → Okay, on one hand, this song is One Big Oof. But I do like the (potentially odd) way I've conceptualized it for Kakashi & Sasuke? Like, the first half is Kakashi going through all the tragedies in his life and getting lost in ANBU, but then in the second half it transitions to him wanting to prevent Sasuke from having to be as alone as Kakashi once was and they can face life together? It makes me emotional!

Trust Me - The Fray | Kakashi & Obito

I found a friend, or should I say a foe?/said there's a few things you should know/we don't want you to see/we come, and we go/here today, gone tomorrow

→ There are a few lines that call Tenzo & Kakashi to mind, but mostly it's Obito & Kakashi.

The Lightning Strike (What If This Storm Ends?) - Snow Patrol | Kakashi → I had to, right? My mindscape is a little murky/scattered about what specifically I want to think about when I listen to this, but obviously it has to do with Kakashi in one way or another.

Kettering - The Antlers | Team Minato(???) → Honestly not sure if this will make any sense, but yeah, vague team minato vibes?

Swans - Unkle Bob | Kakashi & Obito/Rin/Minato/Kushina/Sakumo → They should be by his side always!!!

Looking Too Closely - Fink | Kakashi → I honestly feel rather ambivalent about this one too, but I can't deny 'truth is like blood underneath your fingernails/and you don't wanna hurt yourself, hurt yourself/looking too closely' always destroys me because... well, you know. I love suffering. :(

Souvenirs - Switchfoot | Kakashi & Obito & Rin

wolves - Switchfoot | Kakashi

snowfall for the battlefield/roses for the father's sons/see them red on the ground:/bleeding/when the revolution came/we were more than hungry men/we were hoping for more:/bleeding/end. begin again./all of my world is collision and spin/hope is a world that has yet to begin/awaken, oh sleeper/awaken, oh sleeper/a new day begins

→ I wanted a wolf-related song too. :)

PRODIGAL SOUL - Switchfoot | Obito, Itachi, & Sasuke; just all them wayward Uchiha boys

Coming Down - Dear Euphoria | kid!Kakashi & his relationships

the shell/that I wore/it wasn't for fun/it wasn't to make you/stick around/it was for survival/it was what I've learnt/it was for the sun/.../our love has grown/our love has flown

→ Another one I'm a little unsure of whether it makes sense outside of my head or not, but I like the vibes?

Ghosts That We Knew - Mumford & Sons | Kakashi & Yamato? → Hmm, can I maybe submit this as a Kakashi-&-Yamato-just-need-to-mske-it-through-this-war-so-they-can-have-a-bright-bright-future song?

All Is Well (It's Only Blood) - Radical Face | Kakashi → ...he said as he's bleeding out or after he's thrown himself in the line of fire protecting someone he thinks is a better person than himself...

Bleeding Out - Imagine Dragons | Kakashi

when the hour is nigh/and hopelessness is sinking in/and the wolves all cry/to fill the night with hollering/when your eyes are red/and emptiness is all you know/with the darkness fed/I will be your scarecrow/you tell me to hold on/oh, you tell me to hold on/but innocence is gone/and what was right is wrong

→ In a similar vein to the previous song. But goodness gracious! Were they NOT straight up describing Kakashi here?

Amaryllis - Shinedown | Yamato & Kakashi → Just tossing this one out there, not sure if it will make sense or if it's a reach... but I like it?

lost 'cause - Switchfoot | Kakashi & Sasuke

are we a lost cause?/or are we just lost 'cause/we won't be the future we refuse to see?/and if I'm your lost cause/it'll be your lost 'cause/you won't see me as I am, the possibility/that I'm not the enemy

→ 214 feels. (And before and after that, but yeah.)

Through the Ghost - Shinedown | Kakashi & Obito

so many silent sorrows/you never hear from again/and now that you've lost tomorrow/is yesterday still a friend?/.../everything that mattered is just/a city of dust/covering both of us/did you hide yourself away?/I can't see you anymore/.../did you hide yourself away?/are you living through the ghost?/did you finally find a place/above the shadows so the world will never know?/the world will never know you like I do ... like I still do

Little Talks - Of Monsters and Men | Kakashi → Just Kakashi having little chats with his ghosts, totally the most heartwarming way to conclude this section. 😅

Sleepyhead - Passion Pit | Kakashi → Just kidding! Here's a slightly less morbid song for the Most Tired Boy Of Them All.™ (Random aside: this was my customary song to listen to on my walks to 8AM organic chemistry classes; I found it strangely soothing! On a different occasion, after a particularly long day for her, one of my roommates didn't have the energy to make it to her bed but nevertheless requested a lullaby from us. So I obliged by playing this song for her, but she didn't seem to gain the same peace of mind from it as I did. 😄 I know it's not my place to propose anything like this, but it does amuse me to imagine bookends!Kakashi in these situations, even though it's not OChem classes he has to go to.)

General/Miscellaneous:

Rise Above It - Switchfoot | Ensemble

don't care what they're telling me/we can be what we want to be/.../just because it's law doesn't mean that it's fair/.../don't believe the system's on your side/.../the curse is spoken/the system's broken; rise above it

→ I mean, how could I not think about Naruto when this song also has the lines 'hear us sing tonight like the last night on earth/we will rise like the tide/like dead men coming back to life/we are rising, rising'? It's fun to be literal sometimes!

Doorways - Radical Face | Allllll the traumatized children → Someone has to put all those tragic childhood flashbacks to good use, after all.

Ghost Towns - Radical Face | take your pick of Itachi, Sasuke, or Post-Kannabi-Bridge!Obito

there's no comin' home/with a name like mine/I still think of you/but everyone knows/yeah everyone knows/if you care, let it go

Blinding Light - Switchfoot | Hey, Hiruzen? You may have coined the phrase, "children are the king" but I don't think you truly understand it... (insert Princess Bride joke here)

hey boy, don't believe them/we're the nation that eats our youth/.../still looking for the blinding light/still looking for the reason why/still looking for the sun to shine/all my life I've been living in the darkest night/still looking for the blinding light/to take me higher and higher

Brother's Blood - Kevin Devine | EVERYONE → ...but certainly so much you could do with Itachi & Sasuke, Obito & Kakashi, Shisui & Itachi, even Hashirama & Madara! Sakumo's teammates turning their backs on him and saying 'I don't know one thing about my brother's blood'?!?! There are SO MANY ideas I have for this song! It gives me chills and makes my brain scream.

We Need Each Other - Sanctus Real | Ensemble → Already mentioned this one to you, but I have to include it here for thoroughness' sake!

Whispering - Alex Clare | the Hidden Leaf's lost/ostracized children/orphans

who will care for the falling?/who will care for the falling leaves?

So this is probably a strange concept to come up with and apply to this song, but the 'whispering, whispering, whispering' parts brought Konaha's virulent gossiping/passing judgement about others and often kids they don't even know problem to mind, too, and yeah?

The World You Want - Switchfoot | Ensemble → If I were to make a fanvid set to this song, I would definitely keep a broad focus, but I can't deny that the lines 'you start to look like what you believe, you float through time like a stream, if the waters of time are made up by you and I, I could change the world for you, you change it for me' FOR SURE has strong Obito & Kakashi/Kakashi & Tenzo vibes.

Red Eyes - Switchfoot | Ensemble, but definitely many dashes of Uchihas 😄 → I would like to thank Masashi Kishimoto for creating a world where red eyes are a Thing of Importance so I can one day make a fanvid using this song in not just the tired or teary bloodshot-red eyes way, but in a very literal sense too.

TAKE MY FIRE - Switchfoot | The Will of Fire → 'Cause I think I'm sooooo clever. 😄

Above The Clouds Of Pompeii - Bear's Den | various parent & child relationships → This obviously derives from the not-caring-about-your-female-characters problem, but it always gets me that all the single parents in the Naruto universe are almost invariably the fathers! I guess sometimes you can safely guess that the mothers are still alive/exist, but either way we hardly ever get to see them. :/ The one exception I can think of right now is Kurenai, but maybe I'm forgetting another conspicuous single mother. Anyway, I don't know if this helps or hinders more a potential Naruto fanvid for this song, but regardless, it still gives me feelings?

Who We Are - Switchfoot | Ensemble → It just makes me inordinately happy that the chorus for this song starts with 'who we are (in the fever of our youth)', you know? :D

Brother - Kodaline | all the friendships we can stuff in here and then some → Quite a well known song I'm pretty sure, but I love how many dynamics one could showcase in a potential fanvid of this. And, not gonna lie, 'oh brother, we go deeper than the ink beneath the skin of our tattoos' deserves to be used in some sort of Tenzo 'n' Kakashi or Team Ro fan creation!

Special Bonus:

Shake It Out - Florence + The Machine | Kakashi & Obito → I'm not sure whether I would have realized how well this works for Kakashi & Obito on my own, funnily enough, but then I found this fanvid of it (containing only scenes you've seen naturally!) and it hit me like a ton of bricks. It's so well done!

[jungwooisms]

pairing: tailor!jungwoo x female!bookbinder!reader   genre: fluff, angst, smut, period piece others: nakamoto yuta, suh johnny, moon taeil, park sooyoung, lee donghyuck (mentioned), kim doyoung (mentioned), lee ten (mentioned), lee taeyong (mentioned) warnings: cursing, sexual content (unprotected sex, oral f. & m. receiving), drinking, an overabundance of 60′s references, unrequited love word count: 20k

It's autumn in New York that brings the promise of new love Autumn in New York is often mingled with pain Dreamers with empty hands may sigh for exotic lands It's autumn in New York It's good to live it again

1963, Autumn. The small knife in hand cuts through the thin leather with relative ease, stopping at the point you’d marked with a small piece of chalk, you switch to cut the other end of the material. You eye the coffee sitting on the opposite end of your work bench, watching the steam rise from the cup that you’d barely taken a drink from. It was only nine in the morning and you hadn’t slept well the night before, had there not been any orders to fill you would have slept in a while longer. 

With the leather finally cut into its allotted pieces you go to move to the bound paper you were trying to cover before you hear someone walk in. The chimes above the door at the front of your shop sound off with a soft resonance, the same sound that had echoed the room for years. Footsteps treading carefully into the center of your shop, you can’t eye the stranger from your closed off workshop unless you open the heavy wooden door. 

A quiet “Hello?” rings out, they sound apprehensive and unfamiliar to you. There’s a tinged worry that treads on the lone word, leaving you all the more perplexed as you set down the leather and the semicircular knife onto your workshop table and head out into the main gallery of your shop. 

“Can I help you?” Question falling from your lips as soon as you begin to push open the oak door, finding a taller man looking down at one of the fabric laden books on one of the display tables. 

“Oh,” his attention turns to you from the book, to the doorway you’d entered from and then back to you.  The horn-rimmed glasses adorning his face slipping down the bridge of his nose. “I’m here to pick up an order for Moon Taeil.” His slender hand moves from its once stagnant position to push the glasses back up before moving to his right-side front pocket, “I can show you the receipt if you need it—”

“There’s no need,” you shake your head and raise your hand. Taeil had been a longtime customer of your family’s shop, you assume it’s mostly because of a mutual acquaintance with the Suh clan, but you would never be the one to edge into that conversation unprovoked. “I’ll go and grab your order,” a short smile and you’re turning on your heels and striding into your storeroom/workshop once more. 

When you walk back out a few moments later, the books wrapped in brown paper to protect their covers, the stranger is once again looking down at the assortment of books atop your display tables. 

“So,” you begin as you hold out the bound books to him, “are you new? I don’t think Taeil’s sent you before.”

He takes the books gingerly, his gaze returning to the soft leather-bound journal after he gives you a short nod in thanks. As if it took him a moment to process the question he blinks and turns back to you, “Sorry— My name’s Jungwoo Kim. I started working for Taeil last week.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you nod, trying to register the face with the name as comprehensively as you could. “Tell him to give me a ring when he needs his next order, I know he goes through those fairly quickly.”

“I will,” Jungwoo smiles, “Before I go do you think I could buy this?” His head nods down to the leather-bound journal he’d been eyeing earlier, “It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

A small smile gracing your lips, “Of course, it’s unlined though. Is that alright?”

“It’s perfect, thank you,” he says as you pick up the book as his hands were already burdened with his boss’ order. “How much do I owe you?”

“No charge,” you shake your head, fingers tightening along the spine. It’s smooth but the ridges of the leather run coarse under your touch, “Think of it as a congratulatory gift for getting a job under Moon. I know he has a reputation for being a bit of a—”

“Hard-ass?” Jungwoo muses, eyes widening as he realizes how he’s just insulted his boss. “And really, I can pay for that, I’m sure it must’ve taken you a while to make it.” 

“I’m not sure if that’s the exact term I was looking for, but it does fit,” you laugh, raising the book up. “Don’t worry about it, do you want me to wrap it?” 

“If you could,” he offers a smile as you move to the roll of brown paper atop the register table. 

It only takes a minute for you to cover it, you’d done hundreds, if not thousands, of wrappings for novels and books. Once you finish tying the twine bow atop the journal, you gently stack it on the books Jungwoo holds. 

“I hope to see you here again, Mr. Kim. That is, if Taeil doesn’t scare you off.”

“He’s like a weird mix of my dad and what I’d expect Hardy Amies to be,” you weren’t sure exactly who Amies is or what Jungwoo’s father was like, but you did know Taeil. Oddities and all. “And don’t worry, I have a stronger resolve than most,” he shoots you a wink before spinning on his heels and heading towards the door. He calls out a, “Thanks again for the book,” before shoving the door open with his hip and losing himself in the crowd of the street outside.

1963, Winter There was nothing quite like the holiday season in New York. Shops elevated the grandeur of their storefronts to catch the eye of window shoppers. Your own shop had seen an influx of patrons, as was typically the case around this time of year. But the demands were great, your hands had the slew of papercuts and hastily put on bandages to show it. Not that you minded it all too much, it was great revenue and it had paid for the camel hair coat you donned this evening. 

The city was abuzz with life and festivities along almost every street, and while the excitement from Hanukkah and Christmas had died down over the last few weeks, most now looked towards the reining in of a New Year as December thirty first arrived. 

“We’re going to be late,” Yuta’s arm slides under yours, the crux of his arm locking into yours as his pace quickens along the dimly lit street. The sound of his derbies clicking against the pavement reverberating around the nearly empty row of houses. 

“It’s ten and we’re going to a New Year’s Eve party, I doubt we’ll be late, Yuta.” You let out a scoff, fumbling with your bag for a moment, not sure what you were searching for in the first place. The streetlamp’s orangey glow not aiding you in deciphering the numbers etched into the doorways of the homes. 

“Says the person who took five years to pick out a jacket, I’m surprised we got out of your apartment before my hair turned gray— Wait a minute,” his fingers of his free hand trailing up to the dyed platinum locks on his head as he turns back to shoot you a glare, “It did.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” eyes rolling, you nudge him with your shoulder “It’s not my fault your stylist bleached you instead of dyeing you.”

“I feel like an idiot, they can’t even see me to fix it for another week.” He groans as the pair of you make your way to a brownstone tucked away neatly into one of the city’s streets. It would be innocuous from the others aligning the strip had you not been able to hear the gentle buzz of chatter and the occasional laugh drift out from the screened door. 

“Did Suh invite the whole block?” Yuta murmurs as he lets go of your arm so that he can jump up the short handful of stairs to the front door two by two. 

“It would explain how dead the rest of the street seems,” Musing, you follow him, more carefully as you’d always seemed prone to falling up stairs. The voices grow in volume and now you can even hear the scratchy sound of some music floating from the door. There’s no one at the door to greet you when you walk in, just an array of faces that you seem to recognize while others are brand new acquaintances, Yuta and you drop off your coats in a nearby closet and shuffle your way inside in search for the nearest drink station.

“I’d say his house is beautiful, but I can barely see anything. How does he know this many people,” Yuta questions as he slides out of the way of someone’s elbow almost hitting him in the stomach, “All I want is to get slightly drunk tonight but I bet the alcohol’s already gone.” 

“It’s the Suh household you know that’s not going to happen,” a snicker leaves you before you feel a gentle tapping on your shoulder. Stopping in your tracks you’re fully ready to meet Johnathan Suh’s smirk and subsequent banter, but it takes you a minute to realize that it wasn’t your childhood friend that had garnered your attention at all; instead, it was a somewhat less familiar face.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Jungwoo’s cheeks are slightly flushed with a smile, the contents of his champagne glass half-empty as he poses the question, “Can I get you a drink?”

“Oh, sure.” You return his smile, nodding your head as he begins to walk off, only stopped by someone calling out to him.

“I didn’t know Pincushion would be here,” Yuta’s voice draws nearer behind you, it seems like he realized you weren’t trailing after him anymore. You feel his hand land on your shoulder as he continues to talk to Jungwoo, “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks.” He taps his shoe on the floor, only stepping forward a little bit to let someone pass by behind him.

“Pincushion?” You question, looking from Yuta to Jungwoo with a quizzical look on your brow.

“That thing he wears around his wrist every time he comes in?” Yuta shrugs, “I couldn’t remember his name the first time I saw him, but I could remember that. Hence: Pincushion.” 

“Is that what it’s called?” You recall the ball of velvety looking green fabric you’d seen on Jungwoo’s wrist the last handful of times he’d come to pick up the tailor shop’s orders. 

“Yeah my grandma used to have one and I stole the needles from it to use as swords for my toys when I was a kid,” his shoulders shrug as he looks past Jungwoo and spots something beyond him. “I see one of those guys with a tray of drinks, I’ll get back to you in a bit.” And with that he’s off, sliding around you and Jungwoo to brush his way through the crowd in a frantic sprint to grab himself a glass.

“Does he know that there’s an open bar in the other room?” Jungwoo asks aloud as he watches your friend disappear into the crowd.

“Not yet but give him twenty minutes and I’m sure he’ll be all over it.” Yuta wasn’t one to drink heavily often, it was more of a holiday thing where he only did it if he knew he wasn’t going into work for the next few days. Needless to say, that Christmas and New Years are binge drinking galore for him. 

“So, book binding? How’d you get into that line of work?” You’d been so concentrated on looking for your friend’s brightly colored hair that you almost didn’t hear Jungwoo when he asked. 

“Family business, dad’s too sick to come in.” Your eyes flickering over to him, a small shrug of your shoulders.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” his brow contorts into worry for a moment, as if he’d offended you somehow. 

“Don’t be, if anything I think he’s playing it up a bit just so mom has to be around more often,” You smile, it was really only minor back issues but the doctor had prescribed bed rest and your father had been milking it for months now. 

“Smart man,” a short laugh into his drink before he takes a sip from his glass. “So, how do you know John?”

“Old family friend, plus he’s as rich as all get out so it’s nice to see what it’s like.” You note, looking up to the chandelier overhead. If it were anything but Tiffany you’d be surprised. “What about you?”

“You didn’t hear this from me but Taeil might be secretly dating one of his sisters and she invited the whole shop just as an excuse to see him.” The two of you lock eyes, a playful smirk on his lips dancing in the warm glow of the room. “I’m not complaining.”

“I don’t doubt it,” chuckling for a moment, you then look up as if you’ve realized something. “I should probably go and greet the host; can you imagine how rude of a guest I’d be if I didn’t?”

A ceding nod as he steps away from you, gesturing with his glass towards a side room off the main hall, “I think I saw him in there a few minutes ago.”

“Thanks, Jungwoo,” you move to pass him, heading towards the doorway before you stop for a moment, your head tilting in question, “Want to meet back up later?”

“I’d love that,” a gentle thud in your chest as you nod at him, beginning to move again and question the feeling that had plagued you enough to ask him that. 

You don’t find Johnny in that room, or the next, or even upstairs in his own bedroom. You do, however, find him on the second-floor fire escape, the butts of several cigarettes at his feet and a glass of whiskey in his hand. It’s cold, had you known this would be where you’d speak you would’ve brought your coat with you.

“Johnathan Suh,” You begin, crouching down to duck through the open window, catching him as he’s begun to lean against the brick exterior of his home, “Hiding away from your party again?”

“The guest of the hour,” A grin as you walk towards him, “How are you? I haven’t seen you at all in the past few months.”

“I’m good, good… It’s been so hectic with the seasonal shopping and all, who knew journals were a hot commodity for gift-giving?” You sigh, elbows resting against the cold fence of the escape. The time between now and the last you’d seen him had been great, but it had always been far and few in between when it came to his jet setting tendencies. 

“Sounds hellish for sure,” Musing, he takes a sip from his glass, the scent of whisky hitting your nose as it nears. His other hand rests atop the rusted metal of the fire escape, impatiently tapping as he looks out into the backyard of his home.

“And what about you, Mr. Start-Up? Tear down any more conglomerates recently?” You query, noticing that he was on one of his inward treks again. Something must’ve come up with his family.  

A snicker, as he offers out his glass to you, noticing that your hands were painfully empty, “No, but we’re working on a pretty big acquisition right now. It’s all mind games and if I didn’t make a shitload of money I’d be out of this business.” 

“Lucky you though, you’re able to retire at thirty-five if you really wanted to,” musing as you swirl around the contents of the glass, the ice inside clinking around. 

He laughs, the cold air mixing with his breath in plumes of white that spiral into the nighttime. You push yourself from the wall, bringing the glass to your lips and downing the rest of the contents as quickly as you can, “This isn’t the time to be hard on yourself, John. I think the countdown’s about to start,” a look at the small wristwatch on your wrist, the time indicating that you had about five minutes until the new year began.

“Shit,” the word elongated exasperatedly as he leans over to catch a glance at the clock face, “Let’s get back out there.”

The two of you amble inside, your cheeks cold with the winter air and hands a little stiff from holding the glass for too long. You set it down on one of the various demilunes scattered around the hall as you make your way back into Johnny’s living room. He’s lost along the way, pulled into a group of businessmen to talk or fawning girls to cajole with, you’re not sure which at this point. All you’re trying to do is find someone you know. 

You can try to push through the crowds to find John, but at this point it’d be like trying to part the Red Sea with your own two hands and it was infeasible to say the least. Or you could head to one of the drink stations around the house in hopes to find Yuta, but he was as elusive as a snake and it’d be a miracle if you could find him before the clock struck midnight.

“Sixty!” A choir of voices ring out from a nearby room, you think you can hear John’s voice rising above them all, but it might also be your ears playing tricks on you.

“Are they really counting down the entire minute?” The voice next to you startling you so much that you jump, turning, you see Kim Jungwoo looking off in the direction of the countdown. His brow furrowing in confusion, “I at least thought it’d be the last ten seconds or something.”

“Jesus Jungwoo,” hand over your heart as you try and catch your breath, “You almost scared me to death.”

A laugh, “Sorry about that, I’m a little light on my feet.”

It also didn’t help that you could barely hear with the throng of people surrounding you. The gaiety electrifies the room, as it does the entire world when on the eve of a brand-new start. 

“Did you want me to help you find one of your friends? I’m sure they couldn’t have gone too far,” his height somewhat advantageous to him as he scans the crowd, not seeing you shake your head as the countdown reaches thirty.

“I think I’m fine just staying with you,” you don’t notice the way he tenses ever so slightly at your words, a more rouge tint to his cheeks as he looks back to you with a sheepish smile.

“Are you sure?” Eyes widening as your gazes’ lock and you feel the familiar warmth creeping up the back of your neck.

“If that’s okay with you?” You question, the countdown hitting fifteen.

“That’s great— fine, it’s— yeah,” he trips and stumbles over his words, trying to find solid ground somewhere on the confab plain. It’s at that moment the countdown comes to ten, and the pair of you join in for the last seconds of 1963.

Five, four, three, two — 

“Happy New Year!” 

The clock had struck midnight and he was the closest one to you, you can’t remember if it was you or him that pulled the other closer to share a kiss. The kiss was chaste, but it resounded around your ribcage like the booming of the fireworks being shot off a distant skyscraper. A smile on your lips as you mouth back your own, “Happy New Year!” Despite it being innocent in nature, you know with the way the feeling buzzes on your lips you yearn for something more.

1964, Early Spring. The two of you’d spent time together since that evening, outside of that transactional relationship formed in the commerce of you selling your journals and him picking them up for Taeil whenever he could. It was outside of that realm, more personal as the days, weeks and months had transgressed. 

By some miraculous circumstance, and no less of your incessant mentioning, you and Jungwoo had been seeing each other on a regular basis 

“Taeil?” The door of the tailor shop opens with nothing short of a struggle. The heavy oak pressing back against your foot as you pry it open, your hands too full to push it. 

“Need some help?” A voice behind you, startling you so much that you almost drop the large stack of books in your hand. You look over your shoulder to see Jungwoo standing behind you, his head tilted as if to question how you’d made it this far on your own.

“Thanks,” allowing him to brush past you, he steps into the shop and holds the door open wider as you enter. “Where is everyone?” Noticing that the usual handful of other tailors didn’t seem to be aimlessly roaming the store waiting for a customer to arrive.

“Busy,” He notes, motioning for you to hand him the plethora of journals. Obliging willingly, you hand them off and stretch your arms, surely the strain from the hardbacks would pull your finger muscles. “There’s been an emergency tailoring session, some big shot’s in town and needs alterations done for some party they’re throwing tomorrow night.”

“Explains why no one came to pick up the order today,” you muse, “Shouldn’t you be helping with that?”

“I will be in about an hour,” he sighs as if he’s already imagining the work that he’ll need to put in this evening. “But someone had to watch over the shop today.” 

“Do you want company while you wait?”

You’re not sure how you’d gotten roped into staying with Jungwoo until well after the sun had set and the last customer had come in for the day. The lights of the shop are off, save for the small lamp that sits above Jungwoo’s workstation. He sits at his little desk in the back corner of the shop as he sews and hems away. His eyes scan the notes the patron had given when they’d dropped off the clothes, you had to squint to try and read the messy scrawl etched onto the parchment. You sit some desks away, flipping through some editorial detailing the up and coming designers of the fashion world but nothing was particularly catching your eye.

“Three alterations in one night, Taeil’s really trying to work us to the bone,” Jungwoo sighs exasperatedly, his hands falling atop his desk, a needle held between his right index and thumb while his other hand holds the garment he’d been attending to.

“Doesn’t it take a week to do something for just one piece?” You ask, not too versed on the schematics of it all, just acutely aware of when your father had needed suits adjusted as he aged.

“Normally,” he glances over to you, a hazy impatience settling behind his brow as he thinks to the two other pieces he was set to mend. “But it’s nine-thirty now and the guy wants them done by noon tomorrow,” Jungwoo almost barks out a laugh at the absurdity of it all, “I didn’t even get the roughest pieces, Doyoung’ll be up all night and finish five minutes beforehand if he’s lucky.”

“What are they making him do?” Magazine set aside as you stand to stretch, your legs numb with the fuzziness of pinched nerves.

“Some simple inseam stuff like I’m doing, but also taking in a few jacket sleeves and fixing shoulder divots,” He says as if you know what he’s talking about, upon seeing the puzzled expression that paints itself on your face he explains a little more, “It’s nearly impossible to do with the amount of time we’ve been given.”

“Why’d Taeil accept this job then?” Pins and needles poking through your skin as you walk over to him to take a look at what he was working on.

“Because the client’s paying us a fortune,” setting the needle down he pulls a pin from the cushion around his wrist to situate it into an odd angle in the fabric in front of him, “I might actually be able to take you on a real date if I finish this in time.”

“I’ve kind of liked the ice cream socials,” you shrug your shoulders, as he turns to look at you, “And all of the gritty little dives, it’s more memorable that way. Plus, it makes me a cheap date.”

A small ‘tch’ leaving him as he turns back to his work, “You deserve more than that.”

“As long as you’re there I’ll be fine,” you lean down to press a kiss on his cheek, “Now I’ll stop distracting you, I’ll make dinner or lunch or something because I know you’ll be dead on your feet tomorrow.”

“Try and get to bed early,” he says as you go to grab your things from where you’d left them up front, “I know you like to overwork yourself too.”

1964, Summer When you’d been invited to Jungwoo’s small apartment, you’d expected a small dinner and then maybe you’d go and watch television or explore the city afterwards. What you hadn’t expected was to see dark plumes of smoke emitting from under the doorway. You don’t knock, instead you barge into the apartment to find Jungwoo unlatching his windows and opening them to let the smoke escape, the source of the plumes coming from his small kitchen. 

“What happened?” You call out as he turns to you, your hand rising to your face as if it could vanquish the putrid smell. 

“I cooked,” the last window opens with a struggle, Jungwoo’s arms ache with how much force he had to exert when opening it. He shuffles over to you, seeing that you’d walked into the kitchen to find the source of it all.

“You… cooked....” A charred, black entity sits in a pan that Jungwoo had presumably pulled from the oven minutes prior. “Jungwoo what is that?”

“A loaf!” An almost excited tone cutting through your confusion as you turn and tilt your head at him.

“A… loaf of?”

“Meat!” At least he’s trying to sound cheerful, but that was his disposition most of the time. His hand guides your gaze over to a handwritten recipe atop the counter, he must’ve gotten it from some program. “I followed Julia Child’s recipe.” 

“I’m not trying to be mean but that looks like a brick.” Gaze flickering back to the meat-brick. 

“Yeah,” a sigh as he picks up a nearby spatula, grazing it atop the burnt meat, it scrapes atop it rather than giving way at all, “It’s about as hard as one too.”

The utter exasperation breaking through in his voice cause enough for you to laugh, the absurdity of it all pricking tears into the corners of your eyes. “We can try and salvage it,” you offer once you calm yourself down enough, the occasional chuckle flitting like a bird around your ribcage.

“Let’s just go to Le Pavilion or something, there’s also a new movie out too, we can try and catch it if we eat fast enough.”

And you do. For some reason Jungwoo orders the most expensive dish on the menu and doesn’t even like it, offering it to you instead with an abysmal pout that almost has you reeling in the small interior of the restaurant. The atmosphere is warm and jovial, met by the sinking sun as the two of you exit the venue, hands interlocked with a faint tightness as if you never wanted to be without him in your grasp again. Jungwoo and you then walk to a theater some blocks away, hands still held and a bubbling silence between you.

The film that Jungwoo had mentioned earlier had been Mary Poppins, some Disney flick starring Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke; you’re sure you’d heard Andrews somewhere before, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. 

“I didn’t realize they could combine live action and cartoons like that,” Jungwoo’s voice full of childlike wonder as the pair of you exit the cinema. The smell of popcorn wafts out of the theater’s doors and the bright bulbs of the marquee overhead creates a strange glow contrasted to the nighttime sky. 

“I didn’t either,” you note as a few kids brush past you and begin to race down the street, their voices carrying off into the night. It brings a small smile to your lips as you watch them gallivant around, not a care in the world as they continue to chase one another.

“Do you want me to walk with you back to your place?” Jungwoo offers, extending his hand out to you. You don’t answer aloud, instead just take his hand into yours and begin to walk the steadily emptying streets.

“Have you always lived in the city, Jungwoo?” It takes a moment for you to speak again, instead of just admiring the way that the lights glint off of passing windows and the rumblings of the cars that pass to your left drown out in the other amblings of the city.

“No, my family actually lives up north a little way away.” He hums to himself as he thinks, “I thought I’d always be stuck up there too, but I got the offer from Taeil and moved here as fast as I could. Although I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it at times.”

“I see,” you mutter, not knowing the feeling of leaving your home. It was a foreign concept to say the least, for almost the entirety of your life you’d know you were going to take over your father’s shop one day, and you’d been complacent in the matter. You’d had your hobbies that you dabbled in, but this was a nostalgic comfort that would and had transitioned into your livelihood that would take you no where else other than the little shop you call your own. “Would you want to move back?”

“Maybe when I’m older, sure. But I want to see the world first,” he nods his head, a twitch in his hand as he holds yours, “there’s so much I haven’t done or seen.”

It was a reckless ambition, but Jungwoo lived in that fantasy of the unknown, he had for all of his life. That was what he knew and all he abided by. You’d be fooling yourself if you didn’t worry for him at times, but he’d made it so far and you were curious to see where he was going. There was a creative longing, a desire to make, within him that no one else you’d come across had.

“I love you.” The words aren’t romantic when they fall from your mouth, when they’re swept up in the humidity of the summer air and ring around both his and your ears. This was more of a reckoning, a realization of the culmination of your growing feelings towards him since you’d met him almost a year ago now. A weight you hadn’t realized was there lifting from your chest, a songbird free from a gilded cage.

Jungwoo pauses, his feet stopping on the concrete as you continue to walk, only pulled back when you meet resistance. So, you stop yourself, turning back to look at him, a little ‘o’ on his lips and a confused look gracing his features. Had you said it too early? Or did he not reciprocate your feelings?

“You beat me to it,” a small pout emerging onto his lower lip, “I love you too.”

1964, Autumn “I can’t imagine those are comfortable.” You’re sure the clacking of your shoes could be hear miles away, with the obnoxious way they hit the sidewalk. They were pinching your toes too, and you might as well have put a band-aid on the backs of your heels because they were definitely going to be blistered tomorrow morning.

“They most certainly aren’t, but they are cute.” You note, standing on your toes so you can click the red slippers together three times at the heel. “

Jungwoo stands at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to your apartment, offering out his hand for you to grasp when you carefully make your way down the steps. As opposed to the cool air that had begun to settle into the city, his hand offers warmth against your bare skin as his fingers intertwine with yours.

“Which way to Yuta’s?” He questions, looking over your costume for the evening.

“He lives over in Flatiron, kind of near the shop so it won’t be too far of a walk.” You notice him looking at the checkered dress and bright shoes. “Was Dorthey not a good idea, Mr. Holmes?” Noting his outfit of choice, the pipe held in his free hand, the detective cap as well as the cape to match.

“I think you look cute,” Looking away from you and towards the street you’d begun to walk down.

Yuta’s apartment was small, it being so led to more intimate parties than one would find at John Suh’s home, in a way you appreciated it a little more. Bigger parties with unfamiliar faces made you feel as if you had to act less like yourself and more robotic in your interactions.

“I’ll let you in if you promise not to chuck my house to Oz,” Yuta asks as he joking cracks open his front door as the two of you stand in front of it, “And Pincushion here doesn’t try and solve a murder or two.”

“Hmm I guess that’s doable, right?” You play along, turning to Jungwoo to confirm.

“It might take some restraint but I’m sure I can manage.” Hand under his chin as if he’s deep in thought.

“I’ll take what I can get,” Yuta sighs and swings the door open, “Drinks in the kitchen, I think Hyuck’s trying to do a comedy-musical routine in the living room. I’d steer clear because he’s trying out ‘audience participation’ tonight.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” You laugh as you walk inside, the warmth of the room exacerbated by the sheer number of people crammed into the tiny space.

“I do kind of want to check out Hyuck’s thing,” You mention to Jungwoo after you find a space where the two of you can stand unimpeded.

“I don’t know if I can stomach that quite yet, want me to grab you a drink in the meantime?” Jungwoo asks, looking towards the kitchen and the few people filtering in and out of it.

“That’d be great,” a smile and then Jungwoo’s off to struggle his way through the packed room.

Lip bitten you try and look through the crowd, but the drawls of laughter tell you almost exactly where Donghyuck’s giving his tri-annual standup show. It’s shoulder to shoulder and you can barely hear him over the other going-ons of the party but from what you can ascertain it’s pretty funny.

“Happy Halloween!” A hand on your side as they call out, you turn, and it takes you a moment to recognize the face under the Gomez Addam’s mustache and wig.

“John!” A smile as you move to hug him for a moment, pulling away with your hands resting on his forearms, “I thought you were overseas?”

“I was supposed to be, a nasty storm delayed us by a few days over in Spain so I’m not leaving until Wednesday.” He says, looking over your outfit. “Didn’t you wear this like two Halloweens ago?”

“What no one knows won’t hurt them,” a playful nudge on his shoulder, “And if I were to remember, this wig looks very Elvis of you.”

“You might be able to remember correctly,” The black strands of hair that were pulled back still reminiscent of the shape they once held. “Hey, I was wondering if I could talk to you alone?” John smiles, a nervous tinge to his voice as he continues, “It’s a little loud in here and I can’t really hear.”

“Oh, yeah,” brow furrowing at the attitude shift, “But first I should tell— Jungwoo!” The confused expression on John’s face somewhat laughable as you wave your boyfriend over, spotting him exiting the kitchen with two drinks in hand.

“There you are,” Jungwoo says as he walks over, placing a kiss on your cheek as he hands you a glass. You’re not too sure what the contents are, but it’s warm and smells spiced and oddly autumnal. “Hey John,” he greets with a small nod of his head as you take a small sip from your glass.

“Hey Jungwoo,” a return of the nod, “I should probably let the two of you go, I just remembered I have some calls I need to make.”

“What did you want to talk about?”  You ask as John begins to turn on his heels. It freezes him, he looks back to you before offering you a warm smile once again.

“It’s nothing important, I’ll catch up with you some other time, yeah?”

The party goes one without much note after, the most affable thing being that routine that Donghyuck had been preparing.  At one point you and Jungwoo had slipped out citing an acute tiredness as an excuse to just walk the city some more. By this time of night, the kids that had gone out in search for candy were slowly waning, now only the belligerently drunk wandered the streets in search of the home they probably lived in.

“You have to admit that the joke about Red Skelton was pretty funny though,” insisting that Donghyuck wasn’t the worst comedian you had ever seen. Sure, his act could be cleaned up a little but there was definitely potential.

“What was it— I know a guy who bought a $99 color TV set. Now every Tuesday night he watches Green Skelton?” Chuckling as he recalls the joke, Jungwoo shakes his head “That was pretty good.”

“That’s the one, he’s no Jerry Lewis but he’s trying his best,” you laugh as you arrive to the entrance of your apartment, “Did you want to come in?”

“I’d love to,” he says, and your heart skips several beats, “but I’ve got a client coming in early tomorrow.” And then your heart drops, “I’ll come by tomorrow after I’m done?”

“Alright,” you nod and you say your good nights, he places a kiss on your cheek before turning on his heels and walking into the darkness of night. 

You fumble with your hands, trying to unlatch the small picnic basket that had acted as your purse for the evening, in search of your keys. 

“Actually, do you have room for one more?” You’d been too distracted trying to get your keys that you hadn’t heard or seen Jungwoo come back to your stoop. 

“I thought you said you had work tomorrow,” a wayward glance to him.

“I do, but it’s dark and I’m kind of afraid to walk home alone, I mean what if a ghost or vampire gets me? I’m too pretty to die right now,” he states, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits for you to invite him in. 

“A big baby, more like it,” you scoff, once again turning to look at your door and stating, “If you are coming inside, can you lend me my own spare? I think I dropped my keys at Yuta’s.”

“Yeah I think I’ve got it on my ring,” he rummages around his pocks for a moment until you hear the familiar jingle of his keys. There are only four that adorn the metal hoop; his apartment’s, his mailbox’s, Taeil’s shop’s, and the most recent addition: yours. 

“Roommate not home?” He questions as the two of you make your way inside, kicking off your shoes as you beeline to your kitchen.

“At some B. Altman holiday extravaganza with her beau,” pulling two glasses from a cabinet and grabbing a nearby bottle from the small section of your kitchen dedicated to alcohol, “Nightcap?”

“A small one,” Jungwoo nods as you come into the room, he’s standing over your record player, turning it on and beginning to play whatever was on the platter. You set the glasses down onto the coffee table and pry the cork out of the bottle, pouring two small glasses as he falls into the sofa beside you.

“I hope Delamain’ll do?” You set down the bottle and pass a glass to Jungwoo, only settling down on the couch once your own glass is in hand.

“It’s perfectly fine,” he sips at his glass, setting it down on the settee as he muses some more, “What record is this?”

“Ella Fitzgerald, mom gave it to me for my birthday last year, it’s one of her favorites.” Sipping from your own glass steadily turns into you just downing the liquid in one go. The glass hits the end table with a clink when you set it down, Jungwoo’s free hand resting on your thigh as he listens to the music wafting through the air.

“It’s lovely,” he sighs out as you rest your head on his shoulder, the scent of his Pour Monsieur cologne invading your senses as you settle. The meticulous grazing of his fingers over your thigh cause for you to sigh, wanting to sink further into him.

“Can you kiss me?” The words fall breathlessly from your lips, as his fingers trace the hem of your dress. And he does, turning his head to crash against you with such voraciousness that your teeth click against each other before he steadies and falls into motion with you. The pair of you stay like that for a moment, before you felt his hand slip under your leg, urging you to sit atop him. 

You straddle his waist, feeling a hardness beginning to strain against his trousers as you grind down onto his lap. He lets out a moan, probably the sweetest thing you’d ever heard, his eyelids fluttering as you do it again. A smirk graces your lips, your hands trailing from his chest to the button on the front of his pants, the fabric coarse under your touch as you move to unfasten it. Before you could, you feel a pair of warm hands atop yours, you looked up to see a wide-eyed Jungwoo. 

“I didn’t think I’d be doing this today, so my underwear isn’t exactly mood appropriate—” He says all too quickly for you to comprehend fully, “Just don’t judge me too hard.”

“They can’t be— Is that Mickey Mouse?” You catch the name on the waistband of his underwear, hesitating on releasing any more of the animated character for your eyes to see. 

“And I think you’ve just killed the mood,” he groans, his head falling onto the back pillow as his hands fall atop the couch cushions. 

“No, I didn’t,” you lean down for a kiss, rolling your hips over him, feeling that he was almost fully erect. His hands fly back to your sides, guiding you along as he lifts his pelvis to meet yours. “I think they’re cute but maybe leave them home next time.”

“Next time?” He mused, looking up at you through clouded eyes, a joking tinge added to his voice “What makes you think there’s going to be a next time?”

“Call it foresight,” shoulders shrugging as you look down at him, your head tilted ever so slightly “and you don’t seem like the hit it and quit it type, baby.” He’d slept over at your apartment before, maybe you’d had a few drunken makeout sessions but nothing ever this sobering, this far. In hindsight maybe you should’ve been nervous, let the butterflies in your stomach take over and calm you down. You’re not sure why you’d taken such a confident route with him, it just seems like he needed it. 

“Baby,” the word fell out as a whisper as you saw the faint pinkness of his cheeks in the glow that emanates from the lamp to his right, “Can you spare me any further embarrassment and just take them off already?”

“It doesn’t feel like you’ve got anything to be embarrassed about,” your hand brushing his away from the front of his pants, you sit up on your knees, “Mind kicking them off for me?”

He readily complies as you tried to maneuver without inhibiting him, you noticed him watching you, a hunger in his gaze that sent shivers down your spine. 

“Fuck— is someone else here?” You listen to the familiar sound of your front door unlocking; it doesn’t open but you can hear loud footfalls and an even louder voice talking outside of the door. 

“Sooyoung?” You call out after you were sure the voices had stopped, walking to the kitchen when you hear roommate’s keys hitting the kitchen counter “I thought you were staying at your boyfriend’s?”

“The asshole broke up with me because he wanted to be Holly Golightly. Him! He might have the astoundingly good looks for it but I think I’m a little prettier, don’t you think?,” The door of the fridge slamming shut, a rustle around the utensil drawer as she looks for a spoon. She did look stunning as the Hepburn character; you have to admit. “They’re re-airing that episode of Perry Mason if you wanted to watch it.”

“Jungwoo’s actually over so I think I’m just going to call it a night,” You say, leaning against the doorframe, watching her begin to dig into a tub of ice cream. “I’ll be sure to rant about your ex with you tomorrow.”

“You’d really do that?” A sigh as she shoves the spook into her mouth, “I’ll try not to wake you guys up when I get up for work tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Sooyoung,” a smile before you slip away and head back into the living room. “Alright Woo, it’s time for bed.”

“Alright,” Jungwoo pushes himself off of the couch, shouting out a ‘Goodnight Sooyoung!’ before ducking into your room. With his long strides he walks to your bed and subsequently falls into it as you turn to close the door behind the two of you.

“Don’t you want to change, Dr. Holmes?” You note his still costumed self as you look at his sprawling figure on the bed, “I think I’ve got your bed clothes from the last time you were here… Not sure if I cleaned them though.”

He huffs, “Forget it, I’m going to sleep.” He crawls to his side, blanketing himself with your duvet as you go into your bathroom to remove your makeup and change. 

You can hear him softly snoring as you exit the restroom, your face still a little damp and the scent of your cleanser tingling your nose. Sooyoung’s turned off the music in the living room, the garbled sounds of the small black and white tv quietly floating in under your door. It takes a moment, but you climb into bed next to Jungwoo, pulling the duvet up to your chin before you shut your eyes and fall into a dreamless slumber.

It isn’t sunny out when you wake up, you don’t want to look at your clock for fear that your alarm was about to go off and you’d miss the opportunity to sleep in a few minutes more. An arm draped over you, even in sleep Jungwoo was a cuddler. Normally you weren’t opposed unless it was the summertime and it was unbearably hot outside. 

“You know,” you hear him mumble tiredly, as if he senses that you’ve woken up too, “I always thought your apartment would be much more… bookier.” With the way his voice rasps with fatigue you’re not sure if he’s fully awake or half asleep. 

“What were you expecting? Books wall to wall?” eyes still closed as you pull your duvet closer to you, feeling his arm tense around your waist. 

“Kind of, something akin to a fairytale library,” his breath hot on your back, the hairs on the back of your neck raising at the sensation. “Like uhm— some Grimm story… Oh,” voice perking, “Can we go for that Halloween next year? You didn’t even tell me what you were going as until I saw you tonight.”

“You want to have a couple’s costume?”

“Yeah,” breathing slowing as if he’s falling back asleep agin,”Maybe Lucy and Ricardo, that’d be fun.”

The next time you wake up, the sun’s blaring into your eyes with an intensity you had never asked for.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” Jungwoo’s mumbling and shuffling around your room, sunlight was pouring in from your windows and he looked heavenly even in his manic state.

“What’s wrong?” Stifling a yawn behind your hand as you watch him frantically feel his pockets.

“It’s nine-thirty, We— I overslept,” another string of curses escaping him as he looks around your room, “Do you have a phone I can use?”

“It’s on the dresser.” You point lazily to the red rotary.

You hear the dial tone ring a few times before someone on the other end picks up, “Doyoung can you put my client on the line?” A pause, “Yes I know I’m late.” Another pause before Jungwoo speaks again, “Hello Mr. Smith? Yes, this is Jungwoo Kim I’m running a little late for our appointment, I’m stuck in traffic and if you could give me another— Huh? Oh, yes, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Only minorly,” he frowns, “You wouldn’t happen to have a suit perfectly tailored for me to wear, would you?”

“Can’t say that I do, why don’t you just go in what you’re wearing?”

“I am not going dressed up as Sherlock Holmes for this client, I have some pride you know.” 

“You’re literally wearing Mickey Mouse underwear,” you snort, “it doesn’t look that bad anyway, just don’t wear the hat and lose the pipe. Maybe the cloak too but it’s kind of sexy.” 

“Don’t try to tempt me,” he groans, buttoning and zipping his pants, “I’m late enough as is.” 

“I’d offer you an iron if Sooyoung hadn’t broken mine, that shirt looks super wrinkly now that I see it in the sunlight,” you note, he still looked nice though. He would probably look nice in anything he wore.

“Ugh, really?” Hands running over the wrinkled fabric he sighs to himself, “I’d say I’ve looked worse, but I normally have myself together.” 

“Good luck. I, for one, am going back to sleep.” You sigh and fall back into your blankets, not wanting to leave the sanctuary of warmth quite yet.

“Now who’s the baby?” He scoffs and you hear him tread to the side of the bed, a kiss planted on your forehead as you crinkle your nose up at him. “I’ll call you later today?”

“I’ll talk to you then.”

1964, Late Autumn. The rain began only a few minutes into your trek to the cafe, your umbrella weeping with the droplets as they roll off its surface as you trudge down the street. There’s a rumble in the distance but you’re not sure if it’s the local train station or thunder somewhere off beyond the city. Your other hand in your pocket, running your finger along the ridges of your shop’s key. While you know you’d locked it, you can’t help but have the underlying fear that you’d left the door wide open so that anyone could just walk in. Although you’re not quite sure what they’d take, a few blank notebooks don’t seem like it’d do too well in any sort of underground market. 

By the time you pull yourself from your thoughts you’re standing in front of a small cafe that felt more like a second home to you than your own apartment did at this point. The door swings open, you stand in the entranceway so that you can close your umbrella and leave it in the small stand upfront before you head fully inside. It smells like autumn, or at least the coffee’d variant of it. Pumpkin, nutmeg, and a few other scents you can’t quite pinpoint wafting through the air as you walk up to the counter to place your order. You pick out a few pastries as well and ask that they’re brought out when your coffee is ready. A hand to remove the paper-wrapped book under your arm so you can reach for your wallet, realizing then that the water had soaked into the leather. The wrapping paper now a little damp from where it’d brushed against your coat, you pick it back up as well as grab the receipt from the barista before scouring the cafe for what you’d come here to do in the first place.

Jungwoo’s dozing off when you find him in the back corner of the coffee shop. His jacket slung on the chair beside him, a scarf thrown haphazardly atop it as he leans with his head tilting backwards, pretty much dead to the world. Had the two of you not been frequent customers you’re sure that he would’ve been kicked out by now. But there he was, black turtleneck, tailored pants, and the cartoon bandages he loves so much wrapped tightly around his fingertips.

He doesn’t wake up when you accidentally scrape your chair on the ground when you pull it back to sit across from him nor does he wake when you drop the paper-bound book atop the table with a loud thud. Jungwoo does, however, wake when you brush your hand gently atop his, nearly falling out of his chair as his eyes open wider than you’d ever seen someone’s do. 

“That wasn’t funny,” he frowns as you snicker, glancing over to the counter trying to act as if he’s regained his composure, “did you already order?”

“For me? Yes,” you place your bag in the chair adjacent to you, shrug off your raincoat and hang it on the back of your chair. “For you, what is it that you get? Flat white, two sugars, low fat milk?”

“That’s it,” he hums, leaning his head back once more. It must’ve been another sleepless night for him.

“You should be thankful I’ve got an exceptional memory,” you frown as he can’t see you, he overworks himself too much and if you ever try to bring it up he brushes it off with a wave and an excuse of ‘I’m just doing what I love’. 

“You know,” he begins, leaning his head back up, opening his eyes to look at you. There was something shining behind them that you’d only seen on a handful of occasions; he has an idea and he’s not sure that you’ll like it, “I was wondering if you’d model a dress for me? Not for a fashion show or anything. I just think it’d look good on you.”

His gaze breaks from yours to look at the aisle behind you, you turn and see the barista coming with your drinks and assortment of baked goods. After a few repetitious ‘thank you’s she leaves and the pair of you are left alone once more. 

“Are you flirting with me?” An eyebrow piqued as you look at him. He’d asked you to do some of the strangest things before, going from the mundane ‘I think we need to get annual tickets to the opera just in case I forget your birthday and it’ll be a birthday present’ to ‘I swear to god if we don’t rescue this cat right now I’m never calling you again’. But it was two am and a shitfaced Jungwoo had thought that a raccoon was a cat as it rummaged through the garbage. That had also been the night where he’d serenaded you with his own rendition of Blossom Dearies ‘Dance Only With Me’ and Sinatra’s ‘I’m a Fool to Want You’; he’d broken down crying at the latter and you’d forced him to go to bed early. He only went on the condition that you’d hug him as he slept. It was certainly an interesting way to spend your first date together. 

“Do you want me to be? I’d say it’s fairly doable,” He winks as he drinks from his mug, blowing on its contents beforehand to cool the brew. 

A laugh, the brown paper under your fingertips wrinkling as you strain your fingers and push it towards him. It slides across the wood with relative ease, you finger partially tearing the paper where it had been dampened by the rain. 

“I brought you your book.”

“Unlined and all?” He asks as he sets down his cup, shifting himself forward to get a better look.

“Unlined, flexible binding, the works.” 

“You’re a lifesaver,” he sighs, taking the still wrapped book into his grasp. 

“I know,” you smile, watching as his fingers toy with the twine that kept it together. 

“Hello? Paging Ms. Bookbinder, you there?” Jungwoo’s hand waves in front of your face, suddenly you’re back in reality and trying to remember the conversation. You didn’t realize you’d zoned out that hard.

“Yes Mr. Reichelt?” You question, looking down as his finger’s unlace the twine you’d wrapped around the paper packaging. 

“Don’t call me that I am much cooler than Franz Reichelt, and less dead, for that matter.”

“Can you say that after you drink your coffee?” You poke jokingly while he eyes his mug with a wary glance.

“Anyway, were you even listening to me?” He leans towards you, elbows resting on the tabletop and a slight curvature to his smile that looked far too playful for the current moment. It stilled your heart for a second before you shake your head at him. 

“Not really, no.” You confess, sipping from your cup, “What is it?”

“I was asking if you would let me make a dress for you. I’ve had this idea in my mind for weeks and I finally got this mulberry silk imported from Lyon and it’s too good not to use immediately.”

“I don’t even need a dress like that, Jungwoo.” You frown, picking at one of the pastries in front of you, pinching off a piece before stuffing it into your mouth. “I’m not exactly the type that goes to parties where I’d need a silk dress.” You think that the last party you’d attended you’d worn a sweater and a dress from your roommate’s closet, nothing remotely close to what he was proposing. 

“You don’t even know what it looks like,” he pouts, “All I need are your measurements, you won’t even have to see the thing if you don’t want to.” 

A sigh, “Fine. When do you want me to drop by?”

“Does Tuesday around ten work for you?”

“I should be able to get Yuta to look over the shop while I’m gone.”

1964, Winter. The ringing of your shop’s bells draws you to the front room, your hands wrought with binding glue, you try to rub them on the apron you wear to rid yourself of the sensation. Before you can ask what the customer needs you stop in your tracks, head tilting to the side, “Isn’t it your day off?”

“It is,” Jungwoo’s voice is cheery as he walks in further, looking at the array of newly bound books sitting out on display.

“What are you doing here?”

“I can’t want to see you?” You fluster at the words, hard to hide the small smile that forms on your lips.

“I mean, you can, it's just that I’m working.” You motion to the store, to the few customers browsing the items.

“You’ve spent however many nights watching me hem skirts and taper jackets; I think it’s time I return the favor.” A nod of his head as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “What can I do to help?”

“What the hell’s pincushion doing here?” Before you’re able to open your mouthm Yuta’s come out of the back room with a stack of books in his grasp, “I thought you’d be holed up in your shop by now.”

“It’s my day off.”

“And you’re spending it… here…” The thud of books landing on a nearby table as the skepticism in Yuta’s voice rises.

“Yep.”

“He must really like you,” Yuta scoffs, going to grab a different selection of books off of another shelf. He turns to you and asks, “Can you grab me the leather samples from the back? I think Maisel’s coming in today and you know how he gets.”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” You shake your head and head to the back room to search for the swatches.

While he waits, Jungwoo notices a small web lingering in the intersection of two walls, the sunlight glinting off its strands having been what alerted him to his presence in the first place. At first, he thinks to sweep it away with a broom he knows is hidden away somewhere in your storeroom. You weren’t the biggest fan of bugs or arachnids; he was surprised you hadn’t rid your shop of it by now. But he can't find it within himself to brush the web asunder. It had worked hard to build and craft its home; he knew firsthand how difficult creating something from nothing was. 

“Her name is Jorōgumo.” Yuta had walked up behind Jungwoo with little announcement. The younger jumps, turning his head to look at the other. “I offered to kill her… him...? For her but she said it was eating the bugs and to let it be.”

Jungwoo eyes the fat-bodied spider, “Why is it named that?”

“It’s a fairytale from Japan, there’s a spider that looks like a woman. It entices men to follow her and then eats them while they’re distracted,” Yuta explains, the sound of the storeroom opening behind him.

“Are you bullying Arachne again?” You frown, handing the swatches to Yuta and looking up to the small web in the corner.

“I am not bullying Jorōgumo.”

“If I’m keeping a spider in my shop, I am not naming it after a monster.”

“And a heretic is better?” Yuta scoffs, tapping Jungwoo on the shoulder, “What do you think, Pincushion?”

“I’m just wondering why both the myths have to be women,” he shrugs his shoulders and looks to you, “Do you think you’d be free this evening so I can take your measurements? I finally have some free time to start working on that dress.”

“I think so,” a nod as you look to Yuta, “Mind looking after the shop for a bit?”

1965, Early Spring “Didn’t you already measure me?” Jungwoo’s hands hold a rolling measuring tape as he holds it up to your forearm as you ask.

“Yeah, but I want to make sure this is perfect.” Tape lowered; he writes down the number into one of the journals he’d brought with him to your apartment. Trailing away from that your eyes look to the bouquet he brought when he’d come over.

“What’s the deal?” Brow furrowing at the pink, red and white blooms, “You never give me flowers.”

“It’s a special occasion,” Beaming, he’s as bright as the sun. A jilted visage against the cool tones of your apartment’s interior. He looks up to you with a vividness in his eyes, “Your boyfriend’s going to Paris.”

“What do you mean Paris?” A hitch in your voice as you ask, a strange and warped confusion overcoming you.

“Taeil got me an apprenticeship with one of his friends, he’s going to be in town in a few weeks to talk about it with me and I want to show off the dress there.” He’s speaking at a mile a minute, a clear excitement as he beams.

“Don’t fall for some mysterious Parisian woman while you’re there,” You poke, still unsure about how you even feel about this.

“I doubt I’ll have time to even wander the city. With all of the workshops and sessions we’ll have. It’s going to be the opportunity of a life— ow—” he says as you gently hit his shoulder. “I won’t fall for some other girl, I promise,” He laughs and continues to take your measurements.

1965, Late Spring “Did you have a good time tonight?” The lock clicking into place as he asks, your footsteps falling on the floor as you make your way to his workbench in the center of what would’ve been his living room had he not made it into a makeshift workshop. 

You note the tools, the fabrics and array of swatches that litter his home, the pincushion he wears on his wrist as he works settled onto the tabletop. It’s as if the apartment is a representation of him, messy in ambition but persevering through the struggles as he tries to find the limelight of his own. A smile forming as he walks over to you.

“I had a wonderful time, thank you for inviting me.”

It had been a small gathering at the tailor shop, a small dinner with Taeil, Jungwoo, Taeil’s friend and Jungwoo’s future mentor Ten, and yourself. The entirety of the night you’d felt a knot forming in your stomach, the anxiety of Jungwoo’s future endeavors weighing heavily on your shoulders. You want to be happy for him but the closer it gets to Jungwoo’s departure for Paris leaves you feeling more and more despair at the event of it all.

“Thank you for coming,” Jungwoo’s hands find your sides as you lean your backside against the rough wooden edge of the table. “You made it all the more bearable,” smiling softly in the dim lighting of the apartment, he leans forward and places a soft kiss on your lips. The wine from earlier lingers on his breath, you're sure it does the same to yours, the darkness of the red already making you warm and your body feeling weightless, almost as if you were floating in a pool of water. 

You part, staring into each other’s eyes, a silent conversation before he’s leaning in again to find your lips. His kiss seems as if it seeks to steal the breath from your lungs. To devour you entirely until all you can think of is his closeness, the softness of his lips atop yours, of just him. The woolen fabric of his overcoat is rough under your fingertips as you move your hands from the workshop table to his shoulders, gently pulling at the cloth to urge him to discard the garment. His hands leave your sides momentarily as he shrugs the jacket off, the fabric falling and pooling on the floor at his feet. A metallic clang echoing around the space as he leans forward to lock his lips with yours.

“Jungwoo,” you breathe, soft pants escaping the both of you as you turn your head from him, your eyes trailing to the sewing scissors that had clattered onto the floor. Another rustling of fabric and you realize he’s discarded his suit jacket as well.

“Let it be,” a hand under your chin, guiding you back to the comfort of his lips. He presses himself into your touch, the way your fingers dance along the smooth cotton of his starched shirt, fiddle with the buttons and run your fingertips atop the small engravings adorning them. 

“Are we really going to do this in your workspace?” You look up to his darkened gaze, your voice caught in your throat as his own fingers move to toy with the neckline of your dress. Gentle, electric touches that have you reeling.

“Does that bother you?” His lips leave yours once more as he places soft, yearning kisses to your cheek, trailing down your jaw and then to your neck. He raises a hand to pull away the neckline of the dress to allow him better access to the apogee of nerves nestled at the point where your shoulder and neck meet. Teeth biting ever so gently that you would have mistaken it as a light graze had you not felt the sharp pinch. It pulls an almost whining sound from your vocal cords, causing your head to tilt to allow him more space to roam. 

Lips curling into a smile as he pulls away, his hand sliding from the table to your arm, then raising and gently pulling at your hair, “You didn’t answer me.” 

“God, fuck, no it doesn’t bother me,” you trap his lips in yours, tilting your head up so the orange glow of the street lamps outside shine into your eyes before you shut them, finding yourself lost in the entity of your lover. The slowest ministrations of your hips trying to roll against his, to seek out friction and closeness and the yearning of him to once again be a part of you, “Jungwoo.” Your tone is darker, needier, wanting as he presses his clothed self flush against you. 

A huff of air escaping you as he once again pulls his lips away from you, and then the gentle rolling of his hips against yours ceases as well. Eyes opening to find him looking over you, not scrutinizing, it seems as if he was rather admiring the picture that sat before him.

Head tilting, the presence of desire absent for a moment as he muses, “I think it looks amazing.” He hums as he lowers himself to his knees, somehow the softness of his voice makes you want to comply with every word uttered, “Can you sit on the table for me?”

Hands brushing against tulle and satin and a plethora of other fabrics you could care less about at this moment in time as you find your hold on the table as you move to sit atop its surface, your heeled shoes clattering to the floor as you do so. Jungwoo’s fingers caress your calves as he leans himself closer to your core, his warm breath making your mind conjure some of the most unspeakable thoughts. 

“I’ll have to let the designer know he did an amazing job,” you smile, involuntarily shivering as he slides his hands upwards, the hem of your dress inching towards your stomach the further he ascends. 

His face merely inches from your heat now, your hips squirming at the proximity. “I think he’d be appreciative of the feedback,” Jungwoo smiles, his face now obscured from vision due to the collection of fabric, you have half a mind to tear it off of you, not that you ever realistically would. It was far too precious. 

The rip of fabric, the coolness of the air hitting your now exposed sex, you whine in protest as he begins to slide the now torn fabric of your underwear away from you. 

“I’ll get you some more,” his right hand hovers over you, he uses his middle finger to swipe up the length of your slit, causing you to draw in a sharp breath. 

“Are you a lingerie atelier now— Fuck,” you begin to joke before he begins to tease your entrance with the tip of his finger. Your own hand moving to your breast, trying to fondle the mound through several layers of fabric. He slips the rest of his finger inside of you and with a moan you roll your hips to try and meet him halfway. 

It’s not until he eases in another finger and begins to languidly move them in and out of you as well as latch his lips to your clit that your vocalizations rise in volume. The digits curl inside of you, his tongue swirls around the sensitive bundle of nerves and your head finds itself lost in the euphoria of the moment, your hand falling away from your breast to find itself running through Jungwoo’s locks. He hums against you as your fingers tighten their hold, nearly sending you over the edge.

“Are you close?” You look to him, lips coated with the sheen of you, a tinge to his voice that straddles between curiosity and a carnal question. 

Hand moving from his hair to his cheek you can only nod, trying to roll your hips to the increasing speed of his fingers inside of you. His eyes watching you as you do finally reach your climax, chortled breaths escaping you as well as a slew of incoherent words and his name. Jungwoo can feel the way your walls spasm around his fingers and sighs to himself as he pulls them from you, wishing that it had been more than just his digits that had made you cum.

You sit up, a little dazed and a lot more aroused than you were when you’d first stepped into the apartment. Jungwoo rises to greet you, your lips clash together and you can taste yourself on his tongue as you vie for dominance. 

“Switch with me?” You ask, parting for air, voice whispering as your hands move to once again toy with the hem of his collared shirt.

And he does, backing away from you enough so you can land your feet on the floor and trade places with him. Your turn to take control for a moment, you feel the hardness of his cock through his pants as you tentatively palm it, trying to elicit some sort of sound from him. 

“Come on, Woo, I know you’ve got it in you,” you tease, running your hand up and down the etching of his member, slowly and meticulously trying to draw him out of his shell. 

“Have what—” he cuts himself off as you run your fingers over his cockhead, a low groan as if he hadn’t wanted you to hear it. 

“Have that,” you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The taste of salt greeting you, the sheen of sweat on his face glittering in the lights dimly illuminating his apartment. You fall to your knees, sending shivers down your spine as the cool air that balloons the skirt of your dress as your knees hit the floor with a dull thud. Hands sliding up his thighs, you move to his belt to hastily unfasten it.

It falls away, as do his pants and underwear, you were going to mention the lack of cartoon characters adorning it, but you were too preoccupied taking him into your mouth to comment. 

Tongue running over the slit on his head, it draws the sweetest sounds from him, saccharine-like honey that drips from his moans and rings around your ears. His hand running through his hair, his other gripping the table as he tries to stop himself from bucking into your mouth as you take him further. 

Your knees ache from the rough floor, the pain not deterrent enough for you to forget about the wetness between your legs. Fidgeting as your head bobs up and down on his length, you don’t think he takes notice. Yet Jungwoo was more perceptive than he let on at times, considering his hand now rests upon your hollowing cheek. 

“Get up,” Jungwoo urges, his voice hoarse as he tries to gently nudge you away from his cock. “I want to cum inside of you.” When you do let him leave your mouth, a thin line of spittle trailing from his head to your lips you hear him sigh out again. It was so easy to get a reaction out of him, he almost feels like putty in the palm of your hand. 

The indents from the wood settle into the flesh of your thighs as he helps you stand and lightly pushes you back onto the table. His belt clattering onto the floor as he fully kicks off his pants, his shoes, and briefs. 

You wonder at this point if you should take off the dress, but as your hand begins to reach for the zipper, he stops you, “No, keep it on.”

He kisses you again, taking his hands to gently pry your legs open so he can align himself with your core. Lips parting, you feel his cockhead brush up against your entrance before he pushes himself into you, his hands moving to trail up the sides of your legs. Slowly, feeling every inch enveloping him as his fingers tighten their hold on the skin of your hips. 

“Fuck,” he moans, fully sheathing himself inside of you. His brown eyes meeting yours, tongue darting out to wetten his lips, “Do you need a minute?”

When you shake your head no you fully expect him to start fucking into you with reckless abandon as he did most nights you stayed together. But he doesn’t, instead he starts to roll his hips into you, not trying to fuck the life out of you, rather trying to gauge how and what made you feel good.

“Woo,” you mutter with half-lidded eyes, hands trailing up his arms and to his shoulders, your nails digging into the now exposed skin. It was sure to leave marks, but only small crescent moons that would fade away come morning. 

It’s whispered ‘I love you’s’ that fall from his lips as your forearms wrap around his neck to pull you up

 and draw him in closer, a thrumming in your chest each time he says it. And you repeat it back to the best of your ability, to find a constancy in him that hadn’t ever made itself presentable to you in a lover or significant other before. 

For a moment you’re able to lose yourself in him, to forget that he’d be leaving you soon and your heart along with it. You’re enveloped in the presence of him and you wouldn’t have it any other way, you wouldn't let it be any other way. 

Jungwoo’s thrusts become more sporadic as he reaches his end, one of his hands leaving your side and moving to your clit to try and bring you over with him one more time. You’re sensitive and strung out on him, legs tensing as they try to close, stopping around his waist as you press your forehead to his shoulder. 

He cums with little warning, other than his hand moving from your clit and back to your side as he stills himself within you. The sweat collected on both of your bows intermingling when he presses his forehead against yours. His breathing slows as he regains his composer, kissing you as he slides himself out of you. When he pulls away to slide on his briefs you land your feet on the ground with shaky legs, holding the edge to balance yourself.

Jungwoo turns back to you and almost has to stifle a short laugh, your face contorting to the feel of his essence leaving you, it was strange but not overtly bad. Just not something you were fully accustomed to.

“Let’s wash up, hm?” Hand taking yours, he leads you to his small bedroom, only stopping midway inso he can help you out of your clothes. He unzips the dress, the cool air of his apartment fully encasing you as he pulls the fabric off your shoulders. You feel his lips press a soft kiss onto the nape of your neck and he catches the scent of the perfume you’d applied earlier in the evening. The dress falls, pooling at your feet and you step from its depths and onto the hardwood floor. Before you’re able to reach for the dress, Jungwoo’s swept it up, already moving to hang it in his closet. 

The two of you shower together, reminiscing on a handful of occasions with him that you’d fully devoted to memory but also of the future as well. Jungwoo was excited to leave, every mention of it fractalizing your heart just a little bit more, not that you’d let him know, you just put on a smile and tell him how happy you are for him.

You borrow a shirt from him to wear to bed, exiting the bathroom while he brushes his teeth and combs his hair. While he does, you wander his room, looking at the shelves that adorn the space. Most books atop them are about tailoring or sewing, things that wouldn’t typically draw your attention. You then spot a few that are familiar, the bindings nostalgic under your fingertips as you trace them, no names or words that addressed their titles.

“I never realized I made you so many,” You muse, looking at Jungwoo who’s just exited the bathroom.

“I have been your loyal customer for a while now, you know.” He notes, falling into his bed and collecting the blankets, he pats the mattress beside him to beckon you closer. 

You fall back into the bed beside him after you saunter over, encased in the blankets for a moment by the duvet he tosses atop you before you look to him, “I don’t want you to go.” It’s a simple statement that carries all too much weight for those six words alone, they lie heavily in your chest, saying them aloud does nothing to stop that. 

“I know, I know,” There’s a hurt in his voice as he knows just how difficult it’ll be to part from you. “We’ve still got almost two months left before I go though, let’s try to make the most of it, okay?”

1965, Summer It had only been a month since Jungwoo landed in Paris. His French is awful, and he only knows how to call things pretty, cute or something lewder thanks to the teachings of his fellow apprentices. There are bags under his eyes from another sleepless night, a cigarette hanging from his lips (a terrible habit he’s picked up as of late), and the mute sounds of some song playing out of the bar he’d just crawled out of. It’s probably Bridget Bardot but he can’t tell from his position, not that he can understand anyway, he’s barely been able to comprehend his own thoughts.

His fingers ache, only nude bandages that are a little too pink wrapped around them because he can’t find the cartoon ones that you’d given him tucked away in his things. His eyes feel strained, tired, and pulsing from overanalyzing stitching and searching cloth for tears, pulls or other impurities. Montmartre was beautiful, not that he was able to see if often as he was constantly working. And if he wasn’t working, he was probably trying to catch up on lost rest.

This was his dream, a part of it though, the other half had you somewhere tucked away in the echelons of his fantasy life. Although he was doing what he wanted, what he loved, there was something about you being in absentia that had him feeling empty. He’d written countless letters but only signed and sent a handful, worried of saying too much and worried of saying too little. To you and his father, his father that had sent him on this path at a young age. ‘Make something of yourself,’ he’d said when Jungwoo was seven, ‘you’re too ambitious not to.’

If he could laugh at him now, he would. But his father was an ocean away, retreated somewhere in the depths of Jungwoo’s childhood that he’d rather leave behind. 

Yet you on the other hand, he’d written you what felt like every day and struggled with each composition. Jungwoo had never missed someone’s voice as much as yours, the gentle feel of your hand intertwined with his or even the sounds of your footsteps trailing through your shop. He’s supposed to be happy, why isn’t he happy?

The cigarette burns, the acrid smoke filtering into his lungs as he inhales, a plume of what’s left leaving him when he huffs out, the cigarette dropped onto the ground, smoldering away. Hand flitting through his knotted locks, the dampness of sweat clinging to the pads of his fingertips as he brushes over his brow. 

Most people had dropped everything to work under Ten, a certified maestro of their craft. And Jungwoo had dropped everything, not begrudgingly at first, but as the dog days of the beginning of summer and the end of spring drew near there was a rising anxiety within his chest. If you had asked him not to leave as he was standing at the terminal’s gates, he probably wouldn’t have gone at all. 

He’s been giving up more and more lately; sleep, adequate meals, a solitary living space. Jungwoo’s worried when this serpent of work will seek out to devour you away too. It’s not that he wants to let you go, but if he’s to make something of himself he might have to, as cruel and malicious it may seem. In that you waiting for him was burdensome, not to him but to yourself. While he’s off gallivanting in an ancient city you’re in your shop, was he just supposed to expect you to idly sit by and wait for him? He’s not sadistic enough to tether you down to the unknown.  

1965, Late Autumn. You’d come home that morning with a new record tucked under your arm, the words ‘Rubber Soul’ peeking overtop the paper sheath that the store had given you as you set it down on your countertop after discarding your shoes and jacket by the door. You hum to yourself, shedding your bag, reaching for the new record, and bringing it over to your player, Sooyoung’s worn copy of one of Billie Holiday’s albums resting on the platter. With gentle hands you remove it from the spindle, tucking it away in its cover before releasing Rubber Soul from its own and setting it onto the player. System turned on, you place the needle on the record and adjust the volume so the first few riffs of ‘Drive My Car’ begin playing through the speakers. 

Nodding your head to the rhythm, you set down the cover and make your way to the kitchen, noticing the small pile of postcards and letters you’d received from Jungwoo over the last few months. He’d been so busy he hadn’t really had the time to call or write a lot for that matter. But it wasn’t like calling was free, especially an international connection. With each new card that he sent to you, there seemed to be less that he wrote of and more empty space adorning it. 

“Hey,” You hear Sooyoung say as she exits her room, her purse in hand as she heads to the hall tree to grab a coat, “I’ve gotta head in, someone completely ruined the display for the winter collection.”

“I thought you were in charge of that?” A tilt of your head as she passes by. Sooyoung’s one of the floor managers of the flagship B. Altman some blocks away, and that left her unnecessarily stressed by the minute details of the store. 

“I am, but I let one of the new girls try and set it up,” a frown as she opens the door, “That’s what I get for trying to take on a protegee. I’ll be back around dinnertime, okay?” 

“I’ll see you then,” waving her off with a hand as the door slams shut, the sound of your friend’s key locking the door before the apartment falls into silence once more, the only sound coming from the next song on the vinyl. 

Stifling a yawn with your hand you head to the living room, plopping down onto the sofa as you reach for a magazine atop the table. It was one of your roommate’s detailing a plethora of fashion information, this seemed something like Jungwoo could take to more so than yourself. Before you’re able to get lost in the pit of missing him again the phone on the table next to the sofa begins to ring. 

“Hello?” Magazine tossed aside, you reach for the phone, pulling it to your ear as you lay reclined on the couch. Fully expecting a family member or one of Sooyoung’s friends over the line you sound a little more crass than normal.

“Whoa,” a familiar, achingly distant voice calls out, “Did I do something wrong?” 

“Jungwoo?” Eyes widening, your grip on the phone tightening before your brow furrows and you sit up, “Where are you?”

“I’m actually in a phone booth outside of Ten’s shop right now,” A short laugh, there’s something quiet about it, “I feel like I’m in some sort of film.”

“It sure sounds like you are,” distancing yourself from the line for a moment as the connection pops and crackles. Ear returning to the phone you feel your heart swell as you lean against your wall, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” He sounds apprehensive, as if there’s something ruminating behind his lips, but he was too afraid to say it. “I’m sorry for not calling sooner, it’s just been extremely busy here.”

Twirling the phone cord absentmindedly with your finger you shake your head, not that he could see you, “It’s alright.” The disquiet in his voice putting you on edge, “What’s wrong?” 

“I’ve been thinking,” He’s holding his breath, and you don’t realize that you are too.

“Of?”

“Ending this.” There’s a pause, a bated breath, and a clearing of his throat before he begins to speak again. It sounds robotic, rehearsed, even. “I don’t want to leave you waiting for me when I don’t even know when I’ll be back.”

“If you don’t think I’d wait for you you’re ridiculous,” A confused tone to your voice, you blink several times as if that were the cure-all to comprehend what he was suggesting. “Is there someone else?”

“God, no, of course not. It’s just—” A break in the facade for a moment before it turns static again, “You deserve constancy. I don’t want you waiting around for me when you could be happier somewhere else with someone else who’s actually there for you.” 

“Are you serious?” With the thought of him being an ocean away you could barely go as kicking and screaming as you wanted to, but you can’t. It’s hard to collect your thoughts with so many jumbling around your head. 

“I’ll get Taeil or someone to stop by and get my things,” voice muffled, there a small banging coming from the other end, as if someone’s hitting the outside of the phonebooth that Jungwoo was situated in. 

“No,” you frown, a heavy feeling settling into your stomach. “I’ll drop the dress and your things off at the shop.”

“Keep the dress, it was a gift,” his voice insists, sounding defeated and tired. 

“I don’t want it, I want you, Jungwoo.”

He would rather watch the stars flicker and die from their sepulchered facades in the expanse above, watch the oceans shrivel and continents shrink, than be the source of your privation. It’s as if he can hear your heart break over the line. It isn’t loud, it isn’t ear shattering— it’s a hairline fracture that webs out and settles into every fiber of your being. He knows it because it’s the same thing he’s afflicted upon himself. 

“I’m sorry, I love you but there’s no feasible way that I can—” he pauses, and you hear a voice tinned by the crackling line. It’s French, sounds angry and causes Jungwoo to speak into the phone once more, “I— I have to go. I’ll call you back later so we can talk about this, okay?”

“Okay,” the word is lifeless as it leaves your mouth, you hang up and pull the phone away from your ear as if you could still hear his voice after you’d killed the call. 

You are a bag of bones, skin, and whatever else deigned itself rotted enough to crawl its way inside of you and flourish. Amber leaves looking more titian as you leave your apartment, a muted tone as you walk the streets and to your shop. The lights inside aren’t as bright as they once were, sounds far too muffled by the blood rushing to your ears as Yuta asks you what’s wrong.  

1966, Winter “Try this one,” The bartender standing in front of you sets down another glass. He’d been talking to you on and off the whole night trying to get your opinions on different drinks he’d been concocting to try and get put on the menu.

“What is it?” Amber liquid swirled around what looked like a dried slice of orange. The whiff of something floral and reminiscent of anise hits your nose, causing your face to scrunch. “That’s not straight absinthe and cognac, is it?”

“Cognac Tesseron, Peychaud’s Bitters, simple syrup, and just the smallest taste of absinthe,” Carefully crafted and delicately handled you pick up the glass and observe it some more. “I’m thinking about calling it the Forget Me Not, but we’ll see what management thinks of that name.” Voice tinged with that oddly specific Brooklyn accent he turns to his other clientele, leaving you with the newest cocktail. Lips carefully pressed to the glass you drink, mulling over the flavors as you do so. After thinking about it you set the glass down, lips pursed together, it wasn’t a bad taste you just wished there were sweeter notes to it.

Alone. You sat alone in the dimly lit bar that denoted itself as La Fête. Why, you weren’t sure, but the cacophony of spirits mixed into the glass between your fingers was the only thing that had made you feel well the entire evening. Some comedian stands on the stage a few meters away, giving off a routine that wasn’t hitting as well as it should be. There’s muffled laughs and chortles from the audience in front of him, yet you’d barely heard a word he said.

“Mind if I join you?” A voice rings out to your right; you’re unable to see who it is until they take a seat next to you.

“Mr. Suh,” Eyebrows raised as Johnny turns to face you, “What brings you here?” You hadn’t seen him in a month or so, not after that had happened.

“Yuta told me I could probably find you here, and Sooyoung also told me about trying to cheer you up since the gifts she got you weren’t working,” A smirk playfully bouncing on his lips. “You look awful.” Hands folding atop each other as he adjusts himself in the seat.

“What makes you say that?” Scoffing as you bring your glass to your lips, taking a sip of your drink before setting it back down.

“Yuta did say you were going through something heavy.” His tone lowers, becoming more sympathetic and less lighthearted than it’d been a moment before.

The gentle ambiance of the bar around you, as well as the slew of alcohol in your drink, mellows your inhibitions and voice. It was the calmest you’d felt the entire night. “I just needed a break from all of this,” hand motioning towards your head. 

“I can understand that” Pausing for a moment he opens a nearby menu, perusing the selections. “I just came from a conference in D.C., aren’t you going to ask why?”

“Hmm, why?” You pose, head tilting as you turn to look at him.

“We’re acquiring some major stock in Marriott,” “Forcing a bunch of bigwigs to give up their assets is an adrenaline rush I won’t get anywhere else but there.”

“Sounds… fun?”

“In reality it’s just a bunch of stuffy old men with their own hands up their asses, “Although I guess I have to get used to it; I’ll be one of those men someday.”

“Johnathan Suh you will never be like any of those men,” sigh losing itself in your glass as you bring it back to your lips.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” as he closes his menu, he calls the bartender over, ordering some drink that sounded all too extravagant for your taste.

The pair of you sit in silence for a few moments, your glass now set atop the marble bar as your eyes wander around the warm, eclectic interior. “Are you merging them with that Canadian group? I can’t remember their name.” Snapping your fingers together as you try and recall. You look back to Johnny, who was beginning to take a drink of another one of the bartender’s creations.

The glass now moved away, and he frowns into the back of his hand; you wonder if it’s due to the alcohol. Head shaking in the negative he answers, “I actually left that partnership a year or so ago, decided I didn’t want any of ‘Daddy’s Help’ and tried my own hand at it.” Leaning back, he adjusts the lapels of his suit jacket, “And I’ve been doing a pretty good job if I do say so myself.” His confidence was a manic beast at times, but it never failed to make you roll your eyes. “What about you? Gonna commercialize your shop anytime soon?”

“As if,” You snort and look towards the darkened windows of the venue, “I’m perfectly fine in my shop,” Elbow resting on the counter, you lay your cheek atop your hand as your hair falls around your face, looking up at Johnny as your cheeks warm with embarrassment, “It’s all I can manage.”

Johnny laughs, it’s hearty and you feel your pulse rise along with the heat in your cheeks, “Don’t sell yourself short.” Shoulder shrugging, he returns to his drink, finishing it quickly while you sit up, rubbing your cheek.

“We’ll see when I get there,” smirk showing itself again as his fingers trace circles on the light marble of the bar. “Oh, weird, crazy question really,” His hand moves to his jacket, fumbling around one of the inside pockets for a moment as he searches for something. 

“Want to go to a wedding with me?” A piece of elegantly cut cardstock tossed down onto the bar, you don’t recognize the names scrawled onto the front of it in some pretentious calligraphy.

“Aren’t you dating that girl?” Fingers pulling the card closer, trying to recall the name, “Yoona or something? Why don’t you take her?”

Johnny almost chokes on his water as you speak, hitting his hand against his chest to get some air. “God no,” He coughed, setting his water glass down. “Yoona’s just a family friend, more like my big sister than anything else. If anything, my sister will get married before me.”

You nod your head in understanding, “Ah, is she still dating Taeil?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust them to tell me if it was raining outside or not,” he muses. Suddenly his demeanor turns mischievous, you’re not sure how to properly describe it as he leans in towards you, the smirk back with a vengeance. “But why were you interested in who I’m dating? Are you curious?”

It takes most of your willpower to lean back away from him and roll your eyes as you scoff out, “As if.” He only increasingly gets closer before you put a hand on his shoulder and playfully push him back.

“And what about you?” Does he seem nervous? You hear a genuine interest in his voice, but you aren’t sure if you’re exaggerating it due to the miasma of spirits clouding your senses. “Has any prince charming come up and swept you off your feet yet?”

“Does it look like it?” Eyebrow raised, you motion to yourself, “Yuta told you why I’m here, didn’t he?” Frown settling onto your lips you finish your drink, setting it down back onto the bar with an audible clink. 

“He may have mentioned it in passing,” John mutters, finger rubbing along the rim of his glass.

“I haven’t spoken to him in weeks, months even and he has the audacity to send in an order?” You try your best to sound indignant, but the truth was that it’d felt like a stab to your heart to see the hastily signed ‘Jungwoo Kim’ adorning the invoice. Your heart had almost stopped then, you’d thought that you and he were, at that point, separate entities once more. “He made it blatantly clear he wants nothing to do with me anymore, he can go woo as many Parisians as he’d like, I’m over it.” Not yet, you weren’t. But maybe repeating it enough would make it a reality.

“You know what I think?” John asks, finishing the rest of his drink as you look to your empty glass.

“I’m not drunk enough?”

“I think you’re plenty gone. But I don’t think you’ve ever let anything destroy you this much, or if you have, I'm a terrible friend for not realizing it. And with that being said, I will personally take up the reins to try and get you out of this slump,”

“Any other thoughts, O wise and wonderful mood maker?” 

“Yeah, this comedian’s garbage. I’ll take you to a Lenny Bruce set one day and you’ll laugh your ass off.”

“I appreciate it,” a snicker leaves you. “Anyway,” your eyes move to your watch, checking the time, “I should probably head back to my place, it’s getting late and I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” You rummage around your bag for a crumpled mess of bills that you toss onto the counter in front of you.

You stand and begin moving towards the exit when John speaks up, “Want me to walk with you?”

“If you want to,” pausing, you turn back to him and offer a smirk of your own, “it’s not too far away.” The two of you walk in silence through the winding interior of the bar as you make your way to the front entrance, you see through the large wooden doors that it is pitch black outside, thankfully the streetlights adorning the sidewalks keep things fairly visible. When the doors open and the two of you step outside you can’t help but let out a “Shit, it got cold.” 

“Here,” John shrugs off his already unbuttoned suit jacket and hands it to you, you can see the thin dress shirt he’s wearing, and you wonder how he’s not shivering himself. “Did you leave your jacket inside?” He asks as you drape the soft fabric over your shoulders.

“At the shop,” Standing outside, your toes on the edge of the sidewalk, your head cranes, trying to remember which way you’d walked here. “It’s…” you look to the signs at the end of the street, “that way,” hand motioning towards your abode once you recognize the names. “It’s about a fifteen-minute walk, I can always call a cab or something, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“It’s alright,” His shoulders shrug as the two of you begin walking, “It’ll help the alcohol get out of your system.” Had he seen you stumbling on your feet on your way out? If he did, he doesn’t say as the two of you walk the uneven streets, pushing through masses of tourists and civilians parading around the city. It’s not long until the crowds wear thin, leaving you, John, and the occasional pedestrian roaming the streets. “I’ve always loved this city,” John muses as the two of you stroll through one of the many parks dotting the town.

Nodding, “It’s lively for sure.” Your hands move to close his jacket tighter around your bare shoulders, “I don’t think I could imagine leaving it.”

“Maybe for a summer home though?” John laughs, moving his hands to his pockets. “I remember how you’d stay inside whenever it snowed or went below thirty when we were kids.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, “I wouldn’t say it’s that much of a problem anymore, I’m just a big fan of the sun in all its glory, not when it’s obscured behind a wall of cl—” Perhaps you would’ve finished that sentence had the heel of your, admittedly too high-heeled shoe not gotten caught between one of the junctures of the sidewalk, causing you to fall forward. You feel a pair of hands on you, one wrapped around your waist and one on your shoulder, as the ground rapidly rises to meet you.

Eyes closed you hear, “Are you alright?” as you’re hoisted back up onto your feet, never feeling the impact of the ground. 

“I’m fine.” Once his hands had left you, you raise your hands to your cheeks, feeling the rushing blood warm your palms, “I guess I’m a little tipsier than I thought.”

John looks at you for a moment, and then down to your feet, “I think you broke a heel.” Finger raised; you follow it downwards to look at the heel almost completely detached from the sole. “Here,” voice quickening as if to distract you from it, he takes your arm and puts it over his shoulder so you can lean some of your weight onto him, “wouldn’t want you to fall over again.” After offering him a quick smile and a small ‘thanks’ of gratitude you begin to walk again.

After a minute or so of walking, the pair of you take a turn onto one of the main drags of the city, the cool air soaking into you. “Do you mind if we stop for a second?” You ask, thinking you may have twisted your ankle when you tripped.

“Of course,” the two of you make your way to a bench along the sidewalk, you sit while John stands next to you. It’s a moment of quiet before he speaks up again, “Are you feeling alright?”

You can only shake your head in the negative, for fear that you may explode should you open your mouth.

“What’s wrong?” He questions, sitting down next to you, his hand falling atop yours in an act of subtle comfort.

Everything. Your throat becomes dry as you lean forward and embrace him, unable to vocalize the horrid deluge of hopelessness and heartbreak washing over you. 

You had seen the shop where Jungwoo was apprenticing when you’d gone into Taeil’s one morning, it had been featured in some editorial that he subscribed to. Seeing that it was a beautiful boutique and was quite revered among local and international audiences hadn’t dampened the blow at all. Jungwoo hadn’t been lying when he said it was the opportunity of a lifetime.

It still hurt. You’d been selfish in trying to make things work, too absorbed in it you hadn’t felt him slipping away until it was too late. Yuta had sat you down one day and told you to shape up. Jungwoo wasn’t coming back and the sooner you realized it the sooner you’d get over him. You don’t remember how long you cried into his shoulder for. For the eidolon of him was beginning to fade now, the lingering remnants of it still striking you to the core whenever you catch a glimpse of it.

“I just want to go home,” you try your best to sound strong, hating that the veneer you usually kept was able to slip so easily. Pulling away from the other you move to stand, kicking off your shoes and moving to hold them before you begin to walk.

“Aren’t your feet going to get cold? It’s nearly the middle of winter,” John calls out after you as he catches up, unsure of how to go about comforting you.

“I’ll be fine,” your toes cold on the concrete, “It’s only a few blocks away.”

It’s silence once more as the pair of you two amble to your apartment, the windows dark when you approach, Sooyoung must be out again. A sigh leaving you, alone again.

“Thanks for walking with me, Johnny.” You stop, turning to your accompaniment and smiling softly at him.

“Johnny?” His brow raises at that, “Are you sure you’re not still drunk? I don’t think you’ve called me that since we were twelve.”

“Yeah, I know. But I mean it, thank you.” Your other friends had tried to console you but Johnny’s attempt had been the most successful so far that had gotten you to even budge ever so slightly from the slump you’d found yourself in.

1967, Summer. The sparkler hisses as Johnny hands it to you, the bright end flickering with every centimeter the flame engulfs. A smile on your lips as you look to him, an equally bemused smile gracing his face as he steps away and begins handing out sparklers to a few other guests. After the host finishes handing out the sticks a large chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ begins to ring out, directed at Taeyong Lee. 

You didn’t really know the guy, but Johnny said he was hosting a birthday bash at a lake house up in the Catskills this weekend and it was a good excuse to get away from the city for a bit. It was a work friend of his, not sure from which endeavor but you aren’t complaining. Work at the shop had been far too busy to manage with just Yuta and you, you’d been looking at several applicants, but you had a difficult time sifting through the resumes. This was a much needed, and much deserved, break away from it all. 

Before the sparkler has a chance to burn down to your fingertips you blow it out and set it onto one of the porcelain plates atop the table in front of you. A small crowd had gathered to sing and with the rapidly setting sun it was difficult to see familiar faces among the crowd.

“Looking for someone?” A pair of hands placed on your hips as the question sounds out, the familiarity of it making you smile a little brighter.

“Just you,” You turn, looking at Johnny.

“Oh?” He questions, leaning in for a brief kiss before pulling away, “You’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The one that means you’re thinking of something,” A sparkle in his eye, the light from the nearby dock casting a green glow onto the lawn.

“Just work things,” you admit, “Even if I’m miles away from the shop it’s still on my mind.”

“Work’s a sickness, isn’t it?” He mutters, “Well, they’ve already started to start cut the cake, want to head in and grab a slice?”

“Sure,” you say his hands leave your sides, taking one of your hands in his and heading through the lawn and into the brightly lit interior of the home.

“Taeil said he’d be arriving a little later, my sister’s ready to blow a gasket but, when isn’t she?” Johnny laughs as you make your way to a nearby table, grabbing a plate with a precut slice of cake on it before turning back to him.

“Is this from the same bakery who did my cake last year?” You ask with nearly a mouthful of cake.

“I told you I made that cake,” he says jokingly, grabbing his own slice, “And if it were, would you say yea or nay for them making the wedding cake?”

“Yea. Definitely, this is by far the best buttercream I’ve ever had,” you nod, “Although I do need a drink.”

“Amaretto sour?” Questioning as he sets down his plate, ready to go off and mix your drink himself.

“You know I can’t,” a frown settling on your lips as you take another bite, “Just water.”

“I’ll be back in a sec,” Johnny says and heads to the bar in the next room over.

You move out of the way of the other partygoers looking for food and make your way to a window that looks out at the road in front of the house. As you watch, you see the bright headlights of a car pulling into the drive, trying to careen past the other vehicles lined up there. It must be Taeil.

It’d been a while since you’d last seen him, having to mail his orders to him now that you’d moved shop locations. So, you head to the front door, anxious to see an old friend. The door opens with a swing of grandeur, Taeil Moon stepping inside with a clear look of panic on his face.

Taeil spots you as he enters, rushing over to you, “She’s not angry, is she?”

“Your wife?” You question, putting a finger under your chin in thought, “She’s only told half of the people here how upset she is, so I think you still have time to save yourself.”

“I’d better get in there then,” he sighs, almost brushing past you before he stops, “I should also tell you that—”

You don’t hear what he says, though. Because you hadn’t realized that there was someone standing behind him until they step through the dark entranceway and into the bright lights of the foyer. For a moment it feels like time’s stopped, the plate in your hand straining from the pressure your fingers now exert on it as you lock eyes with someone you hadn’t ever expected to see again.

It’s you who breaks away first, mumbling about needing to find Johnny while it feels as if your heart seizes in upon itself in your chest. Before you’re able to rejoin the party, you feel a hand gently grasp your arm, “Can we talk?” The question is quiet, almost lost in the atmosphere of the celebration as Jungwoo asks.

A strangled gulp as you nod, setting the plate down on a small mail-table before you brush past him exit out of the front door. He follows you wordlessly, from the gravel path that wraps around the house and to the backyard that overlooks the lake. You keep walking, wading through grass that comes up to your knees until you’re standing on the wooden dock, the gentle sloshing of water hitting the posts giving you something else to focus on.

Face green in the light of the dock light overhead, it beams around the soft fog rising from the water as you hope it would swallow you up instead of you having this conversation with Jungwoo. 

“You never returned my calls,” he says, standing several feet away. His tone isn’t accusatory, it sounds hurt.

“I kept forgetting.” Liar. Nails digging into your palms as your hands clench with an anxiety that hadn’t riddled you for two years. “And you only called four times.”

“Five.”

“Four.” Resolution in your voice as you try and stand as firmly as you can. The shoes you were wearing were pinching your heels and you want nothing more than to kick them off into the water. You turn to look at him, trying to stay as calm. “Would you have picked up even if I did call back?” A tangling in your stomach as you recall having Sooyoung answer the phone for the next handful of weeks after the two of you had parted, each time he’d called Sooyoung would say you weren’t home.

He hesitates, at least his body does, the words, “Of course I would have,” escaping him before he could prep himself with a more eloquent response. 

“You seem to be doing well,” It’s silent until you break it, noting the suit he was wearing was from a higher end retailer.

“So, do you,” a break in his voice as he notices the crack in your demeanor, “I didn’t see you at Taeil’s wedding, I thought he would have invited you.”

“My mother got sick, so I missed it,” you recall having to forgo the event last year. Did that mean Jungwoo had been back that soon?

“You still have the dress.” There had been a melancholy deep set into your bones that had lasted for what seemed like lifetimes, now resurfacing more and more the longer you look at him. You’d forgotten about what you were wearing, the same dress that the tailor had labored unknown hours over and that had been the figurative wedge between you and him. Maybe this was some deity’s cruel sense of irony. “I still think it’s one of the best I’ve ever made,” 

“It’s a little tighter now but it’s still one of my favorites,” you can’t lie. Be it from the laborious love that was sewn into every stich or the bygone memories associated with it, it was and still is one of the best pieces you own.

“I really was an idiot for letting you go, wasn’t I?” Hands shoved into pockets, he’s not sure what to do with himself.

“You did what you had to.” Brow hardening, a remembrance of the last time you’d spoken.

“Don’t say it like that,” a soft plea, he’d never meant to hurt you.

“Then how should I say it?” A bitterness you thought forgotten riddled within every word you pose. 

“You know I tried to visit your shop when I first came back,” Deterrent of the conversation, he looks across the water to the distant shore. “But it was empty, some guy passing by had said you packed up months earlier and just left.”

“There was a water main break, ruined most of our inventory and we had to rebuild from scratch in a new place.” You still remember the dread you’d felt that morning, walking in to find everything in shambles.

“With John’s help?”

“Johnny helped.”

“Congratulations on your engagement, by the way,” eyes flickering to the ring on your finger, the light of the dock glinting of the main stone. “He’s a lucky man.”

Jungwoo sounds bitter, you can understand why but you can’t understand one thing. “Why did you come? I’m sure that Taeil said that I was going to be here.”

“I don’t know.” The answer is simple, but there’s a heaviness to it that you can feel. “I’m supposed to be flying out to Milan tomorrow. I guess I just wanted to see you again.”

“Did you expect me to fall into your arms, Jungwoo? To take you back?” Lip bitten, you’re sure you were going to draw blood if you kept at it any longer.

“Maybe I did when I came back last year, when I’d tried to see you.” He frowns, “I think now I want to make sure you’re happy.”

Happy. It feels as if that word dances off of the water behind you, across the sound and into the forest. Were you? The encroaching despair that had taken aim and marked you when Jungwoo had left was gone, a memory overwritten by the years that had followed, by the people who had followed. The shedding of yourself that came when he left took a while but without a doubt you can truly say this is the most complacent you’ve ever been.

The door to the lake house opens some ways behind Jungwoo, the lights from inside spreading across the lawn in an obscene spotlight on the two of you. A silhouette stands in the doorway, it’s easy to tell who the figure is as he leans against the door frame. You smile as you look at the outline of Johnny, heart swelling as it once had for the other man in front of you.

“Yeah, Jungwoo, I’m happy.”

[comrade-meow]

Tom Farr in an excellent article on Medium presents in-depth the central arguments around prostitution decriminalisation, unionisation, and its conceptualisation as work, specifically from a socialist perspective

The Coronavirus (Covid-19) pandemic facing numerous countries across the world is undoubtedly a dire time for anyone who in some way depends on a job to provide for their family and keep a roof over their heads. It is not controversial to say that the UK economy and society more broadly has been shaken to its core by the crisis currently facing us, and many have — rightly it should be said — used the situation to highlight just how deeply the past ten years of austerity-driven capitalism in Britain has failed the most vulnerable in our society.

Even before considering the resource shortfall that currently faces us, those who place themselves somewhere on the political Left have not faltered in vocalising their displeasure with the Government’s Ahabian pursuit of ‘balancing the books’ and their slicing away of the perceived State largesse of ‘the last Labour Government’. For all his many faults, it cannot be said that Jeremy Corbyn did not galvanise disenfranchised millenials who had grown tired of the grotesque excesses of capitalism not being shared more equally amongst different generations and demographics.

But this is not a critique of the successes — or more accurately, the failures — of Jeremy Corbyn and his left-wing policies. Rather, it is a critique of the rank hypocrisy that has riddled the Left, both in Britain and across the world — particularly those on the Left who consider themselves to be in any way “socialist” — when it comes to advocating for the actual redistribution of social power and wealth in the context of women within prostitution, which has been placed under a microscope in respect of the disastrous consequences Covid-19 is having on them.

Some background for those who may not be au fait with the UK’s response to this crisis: Covid-19 has presented an almost intractable problem for a Government that has built a reputation on wanting to shrink the State even in the face of thousands of deaths resulting from welfare cuts, lack of healthcare provision, and homelessness. When faced with the consequences of inaction — although a more cynical person may suggest it was the prospect of international shaming as opposed to the fundamental value of protecting its citizens’ lives — the Government were minded to finally get their invisible hand well and truly stuck in to the market.

On turned the money tap — Chancellor Rishi Sunak announced a £330 billion stimulus package to prevent financial disaster, and the State were going to support the economy with an ‘unprecedented intervention’. While analysing the criticism of the Government only doing this when faced with the most dire circumstances is a different story for a different time, suffice to say there are many of us who view the renewed investment after so many years of brutal austerity as akin to closing the barn door after the horse has already bolted. It’s the bare minimum, and it should have been done sooner. So this in some ways is a Pyrrhic victory for the Left, in that it has been proven the State can step in to support the most vulnerable in society — albeit the threshold for when the State should ‘step in’ is a fundamental point of contention — but it has come at a great cost.

But this has left a lingering question: if these same Leftist and socialist groups have been so keen to reduce poverty, exploitation, and power inequality, then why have they spent recent years advocating for the continued purchase and sale of women as commodities within the marketplace of sexual exploitation? It should be noted, this reference to women as commodities is not just emotive language used to create a misconstrued narrative. Quite the opposite, in fact. It is used as a precise term which will demonstrate that prostitution is not the sale of labour power as is often claimed by sex trade apologists, but is in fact the sale of women specifically as commodities within the capitalist mode of production.

The Workers’ Revolution is here!

Of course, advocating for the legalisation and/or decriminalisation of prostitution is not something confined to the modern Left or alleged socialists. However, in recent years the idea that ‘sex work is work’ has gathered pace in much of the mainstream media, with many supposedly progressive outlets not giving equal column inches to opposing viewpoints of what is still clearly a contested issue.

It has become the party line (sometimes literally) to never falter from the idea that either any kind of analysis of prostitution as exploitative is regressive or prudish; or, alternatively but closely linked, prostitution is not any more inherently exploitative than any other type of work under capitalism. That is to say, all labour under capitalism is exploitative, but prostitution should not be put on any kind of pedestal as being particularly exploitative, and should be reconceptualised — both legally and intellectually — as work, thus providing the “workers” (prostituted women) with the protection afforded to other types of employment. Or so the argument goes, anyway.

Deviating from this is “whorephobic” and warrants the label of SWERF (Sex Worker Exclusionary Radical Feminist), irrespective of whether you are actually a radical feminist, or “exclude sex workers”.

That’s enough internet for one day

Indeed, many of these same “SWERFs” are survivors of prostitution themselves, or are activists who have spent their lives working alongside and platforming the voices of women who have survived prostitution, which highlights just how jejune this particular slur is.

Stepping outside of the context of Covid-19 for a (lengthy) moment, the crux of this issue is not that Leftist sex trade apologists are somehow forming this opinion in a vacuum — as mentioned, there is myriad press coverage talking about the supposed benefits of allowing unhindered sexual access to the inside of a woman’s body — rather, this ideology is wrong on two fronts: prostitution should not be considered work in theoretical terms, and the reality of prostitution apologism proves it does not work in practice irrespective of whether it is considered “work” or not.

This argument is particularly egregious in its current form as advanced by Twitter socialists/Marxists/”I’m literally a communist(s)” (delete according to relevant Twitter bio) where on the one hand, there have been campaigns and protests to end the relentless free market capitalism that has gutted our society and left little protection for the most vulnerable amongst us; on the other, there has been an indefatigable crusade to glorify and expand a literal marketplace of human bodies there to provide sexual gratification for what is almost always a man.

Seize the means of production? I guess?

As Julie Bindel, author of The Pimping of Prostitution and campaigner against male violence against women tells me:

The sex trade, and prostitution specifically, is the starkest example imaginable of Leftist hypocrisy. Whilst genuine socialists or even soft centrists have a critique of uber capitalism, many will stop short at condemning poor and otherwise vulnerable women and girls having their bodies mined by rich exploiters for their own greedy and selfish benefit. Prostitution represents the interface between the worst excesses of patriarchy and capitalism.

Dealing with the first issue, on whether “sex work” can or should be considered “work”. The argument is formulated on the premise that by refusing to recognise “sex work” as “work” (or to put it another way, labour), then it prevents those within prostitution from receiving the protections afforded to recognised workers within the capitalist mode of production.

Discussions regarding socialist conceptions of work is a complicated issue, and one which has been debated for many years, but it is necessary to analyse this very carefully to put to rest the claim that “sex work is work”.

The first stop on this carousel of misery has to be the question: “what do you mean by sex work?” The phrase “sex work” has become so ubiquitous as to be totally meaningless. Everybody from the woman enslaved by a pimp, to the student who sells pictures of her body parts online with zero physical contact with the purchaser (which, by the way, is not devoid of risk or damaging consequences), to the “high-class escort”, to the strip club performer and all in-between are concertina’d down into a monolith of “sex worker”.

This renders the very real concrete differences between the reality of these situations as totally meaningless, and is indicative of the lumping together of vast swathes of women who have completely different relationships to this alleged work. (To preface, this section will borrow heavily from this superb Struggle Sessions essay, which is highly recommended.)

Take for instance the woman who performs in a strip club. Common “progressive” parlance would dictate that this woman is a sex worker. But this fundamentally misunderstands the concept of work, and the proletarian relation to it within the capitalist mode of production.

The majority of women that work in strip clubs in the UK are self-employed, which immediately distinguishes them from the proletarian who is exploited by a capitalist owner for their labour power, with the goal of extracting surplus value (which would ultimately result in profit). These individuals would be paid a wage for their labour power; the strip performer is not. The same goes for people who “cam”, and any other situation in which somebody earns money for a sexual performance after a third party takes a hosting cut.

Further, these performative types of “sex work” differentiate themselves from prostitution by their very nature. You can tell that even in common understanding, stripping and prostitution are not the same thing because strip clubs go to great lengths to make sex and sexual contact “against the rules” (not that this means prostitution does not occur within strip clubs, of course). While ironically the common thread between the above and non-pimp related prostitution is that none of them constitute work, they are still very much differentiated by the nature of what each circumstance entails.

These situations do not constitute work in the sense that these people are exploited by a capitalist employer as wage labourers, yet somehow they all constitute a monolithic grouping of “sex worker”. These women have been egregiously grouped together under the umbrella of “(sex) worker” by so-called socialists because, and this is the crux of the issue, they do something for money. This is not what is meant by a socialist conception of work.

Further to this, the condensing of all who do something for money that has the common thread of “sexuality” running through it ignores the very distinct class-differences within prostitution specifically. For example, the women who are controlled by pimps — which in the United States for example make up the majority of women in prostitution — are in no way workers. As the above Struggle Sessions essay points out, pimp-controlled prostitution is more akin to slavery than anything else. The woman is both controlled and effectively owned by the pimp, who oversees every aspect of her existence. The idea of applying “workers’ rights” to a woman who is literally owned by a man who profits off repeatedly selling her body is as grotesque as it is laughably bourgeois. Would these pimp-owned women band together to negotiate better terms of their enslavement? Would they negotiate a contract that stipulates when and where the prolific physical violence and abuse they experience can take place?

The same goes for the “high-class escort”. As with the strip performer and the cam performer, there is no “worker exploitation” occurring here as a socialist would understand the term worker (although of course, exploitation is occurring along sex-class lines). In fact, Marx himself stated that for worker exploitation to occur, the following social relation had to occur: firstly, the individual had to be free from any kind of slave-owner or employer (check); and secondly, they had to be “free” from any other means of subsistence, thus being “hurled as free and unattached proletarians on the labour-market”. This second requirement certainly does not apply to situations where a woman can allegedly pick and chose which high-paying contracts she might become party to.

The individual is not being paid a wage for her labour-power, with the capitalist receiving the surplus value. The relationship does not resemble anything akin to a capitalist exploiting a worker for their labour-power, as no capital is invested. It is simply the transfer of revenue from one party to another.

Suffice to say, sex trade apologists ignore this inconvenient stratification, and condense both ends of the spectrum — with the non-pimp owned women in the middle — down into one amorphous “sex worker movement”. By blurring the conception of worker to mean “doing something for money”, this necessarily then includes anybody else who might “do something for money” within the wider sex trade, resulting in a totally ambiguous collective consisting of pimps, brothel owners, porn producers, and strip club owners.

And what of the aforementioned women who are neither pimp-controlled or engaging in sexual performance?

This is where we can get down to the nuts and bolts of the issue. It has become a progressive flavour of the week to draw analogies between the “Wages for Housework” movement of the 70s, advocated for by Marxist-Feminists such as Silvia Federici et al, and prostitution. Advocates of this position draw parallels between those women who contribute to the reproduction of the proletariat labour-force within the contexts of marriage and household work by virtue of their unpaid labour in the home. This is including, but not limited to, cooking, cleaning, care work, and most importantly here, sex.

The common thread that links the location of housework as work (albeit unpaid work) and prostitution as unrecognised work can be found in the Marxist-Feminist analysis of marriage. To quote Federici at length:

It was understood — and the feminist movement has analysed it — that men always sell themselves, or try to sell themselves, in the wage labour market. We also sell ourselves in the marriage market. For many women, getting married is an economic solution, because the division of labour has been organised in such a way that it is much more difficult for women to get access to wage jobs. So, many women marry not because they want to, but as an economic solution for their lives. And you have sex because that is part of your job. We performed this deconstruction of sexuality, of the family, of the relationship between men and women, and we said that marriage is prostitution. In many cases, you can have a good relationship with your husband, but it doesn’t matter. The reality is that the way the state has constructed marriage has forced women to rely on marriage for survival and therefore, to offer sex in exchange for subsistence. The state has put us into the situation of prostitution.

So we have insisted that there is a continuity between the housewife who at night, after washing dishes and the floor, has to open her legs and have sex, whether she wants it or not, whether she’s tired or not — and many women have been beaten up because they refuse sex — and the woman who sells sex on the street. One sells it to one man and another sells it to many men, but there is a continuity between the two.

This, to put it bluntly, is a rather cavalier parallel. Many people would be mystified at the analogy drawn between marriage and prostitution, and argue along the lines of “they’re obviously not the same thing!”, but this misses the point. Federici is right when she states that marriage has, certainly historically and to a greater or lesser degree currently, forced women into a situation where economic dependence necessitates marriage and all that comes with it (in other words, sex). So the parallels between marriage — where the woman “sells it to one man” — and the prostituted woman who “sells it to many men” appear to make economic sense.

This, coupled with the other aspects of marriage — all of the unpaid domestic labour, the cooking, the cleaning, the care work — result in what has been conceptualised in Marxist terms as the reproduction of the work force. By doing all these things, the woman literally reproduces new labourers — and also current labourers who could not face the new working day without this care work — which circuitously results in further extraction of surplus value as the labour force is expanded by the introduction of new workers, and the capitalist can lower wages, thus increasing their profit margins.

Without delving into an analysis of whether wages for housework is a “good” or “bad” thing, the point of the argument is, as Federici states:

“…to demand wages for housework does not mean to say that if we are paid we will continue to do it. It means precisely the’ opposite. To say that we want money for housework is the first step towards refusing to do it…”

It would seem then that by recognising prostitution as this type of unpaid and unrecognised labour, similar to the woman who “sells herself to one man” within marriage, that the demand for it to be recognised as work is one in which would instigate a new class-recognition amongst women as part of the labour force.

However, and with great respect to Federici who is a tremendous theorist and academic, this seems to gloss over the fundamental relationship between the existence of marriage — and importantly, monogamy — as an institution, and the system of prostitution. To quote Friedrich Engels in Origin of the Family, Private Property, and the States:

“We thus have three principal forms of marriage which correspond broadly to the three principal stages of human development. For the period of savagery, group marriage; for barbarism, pairing marriage; for civilization, monogamy, supplemented by adultery and prostitution.

Thus, it is argued here that the system of marriage and the system of prostitution are necessary, but inverse, correlates. To parse that in a slightly less dry manner: they depend on each other to exist, but at polar opposites of the same conceptual spectrum. To quote Engels again:

monogamy and prostitution are indeed contradictions, but inseparable contradictions, poles of the same state of society

Marriage and prostitution developed hand in hand because it allowed men to act on their non-monogamous impulses by cheating on their wives with a woman who was not his wife. This sounds tautological, but the distinction between the wife and the prostituted woman is absolutely fundamental to understanding why marriage and housework as “labour” is not the same thing as prostitution as “labour”.

The man visits the prostituted woman precisely because she is not his wife. He can utilise her body for sexual relief without any concern for reproduction, or emotional and financial investment (beyond the immediate payment). There is nothing in the relationship between the married man and the prostituted woman that resembles the relationship of marriage as it would be understood in worker terms. Nothing is produced or reproduced in prostitution, and that is entirely the point. Domestic housework and sex may well be reconceptualised as work (although that is not without its problems), as it contributes to the literal reproduction of the labour-pool for the exploitative capitalist; prostitution does not.

This is clear to see in modern day Women’s Strikes— where women take to the streets to highlight that without their unrecognised domestic work, the world would likely grind to a halt. Can the same be said for prostitution as a system of so-called work? It would appear not. It should be noted as well, this is absolutely not a callous analysis of the women within prostitution, or a suggestion that the women should just be “done away with”, it is an analysis of the absolute misery of the system itself. Just as socialists do not hate the workers within capitalism, this analysis does not reflect on the women trapped within prostitution. It is an analysis of a system of brutal and violent oppression and exploitation. To suggest otherwise is to distract attention away from the capitalist in the worker-exploitation dynamic, and from the male punter in the prostitution dynamic.

A separate but related theory that drives the reconceptualisation of prostitution as work is that the women involved are selling their labour-power, and not their bodies. This argument is a rebuttal to the idea that prostitution is effectively akin to slavery, with men purchasing the bodies of women for sexual access. Sex trade apologists obfuscate this issue by claiming that “sex work” is akin to any other “service” work, where the worker provides a service such as waiting tables in a restaurant, and it is the labour-power that produces that service that is being sold.

This sleight of hand remarkably ignores the fundamental basis of what actually happens in prostitution, in that men are purchasing sexual access to the human body specifically because the human body in question is available to do that. Other types of labour do not require this specificity. A company that employs a plumber does not do so on the basis of whether (s)he has a large penis/breasts, or whether their hair colour is the right shade, or whether they fulfill a racist stereotype/fantasy. As long as they can sell their labour-power to undertake plumbing work, this usually suffices. The same cannot be said for prostitution, despite the fact that in a theoretical sense, almost all people would have the physical means to actually “do” prostitution (ie, functioning genitals).

On a fundamental level, men discriminate on the basis of the physical body in front of them — they do not just want sex with anybody, they want sex with that particular woman (or to a lesser extent, the man). The women are segregated and advertised on the basis of their breast size, or weight, or race.

If prostitution truly were just the sale of labour-power as a commodity in the production of sexual gratification as a service, punters would not discriminate between different women, but this is patently not the reality of the system of prostitution. For example, research of punters across five different countries showed that more than 50% had a preference for women that they perceived to be between the ages of 18–25.

Further to this, and yet another example of the fundamentally abhorrent nature of prostitution, race is also a central factor in punters’ decision making, and further highlights the intense class stratification that occurs within prostitution.

In the first instance, research in the US found that African-American women earned the least comparatively to their white counterparts (who earned the most) within escort-prostitution. At SPACE International’s Women of Colour Against the Sex Trade event held in London in 2019, women from across the globe shared their experience of racism within prostitution. Ne’cole Daniels, an African-American sex trade survivor who works with at-risk women and girls in California told the audience:

“The sex trade is built on racism. Black women are paid less [than their white counterparts], and treated even worse.”

Further, many of these same women are not only economically exploited as a result of systemic racism, but it propagates and entrenches racism on the part of punters who seek out women based on their race and ethnicity to act out racist fetishes. When quizzed on his “preference” for different women, one punter in Amsterdam stated:

“The black girls are pretty much down for anything, and the Eastern girls are eager to please. You learn who’s good at giving blowjobs, and who to avoid. [Being with colored girls] is exotic in its way.

This vile attitude is capitalised on by ruthless pimps, with one stating:

“The girls who work here are good at what they do, but [racial preferences and stereotypes] help get clients through the door. How do you say in real estate? It’s a buyer’s market.”

In the study mentioned previously that examined punter attitudes in five countries, racial stratification also played out there, with darker-skinned women being placed at the bottom of the conceptual pile in terms of earnings. A punter in Barcelona was quoted as saying:

If I had to choose, the dark ones would be bottom of my list. I’m not racist, but with black women, you see them on the lowest scale of prostitution. I have nothing against them, but sexually, they don’t interest me. (40-year-old white Spanish male)

This discrimination also plays out in the opposite manner, with punters specifically seeking out women of colour. For example, a 29-year-old white British man living in Spain who specifically sought out African street-based workers when he paid for sex described them as more liable to be ‘drug addicted, unclean and uneducated’. He then said:

I think for me, because I’ve got very nice middle class parents and been brought up in a very nice middle class way, sleeping with a prostitute for me isn’t just sleeping with a prostitute. It’s about like damnation towards society, you see what I mean? It’s like sort of damnation towards everything you feel about yourself as well. So it’s almost like wanting to damn yourself. So it doesn’t even matter what the prostitute’s like.

But, to quote O’Connell Davidson, the author of the above research: ‘It does matter to him — the prostitute needs to belong to a group that is popularly regarded as worthless, dirty and dangerous in order to serve as a medium of damnation.’

Even if prostitution occurred along the same economic-class exploitation lines, where a capitalist exploited the individuals to amass surplus value, it would still not be considered work like any other due to the fact it is a very specific, sexualised body being sold. Even the restaurant server who is hired by the misogynist owner because of her good looks and her alleged willingness to sexualise the service provision through the use of her physical body — for example, by flirting with customers — differentiates itself from prostitution in that it is still productive labour, allowing the owner to extract surplus value by exploiting the server’s labour power, regardless of the fact it may be analogous with prostitution in that both punter and owner have an interest in what type of physical body is “providing the service”.

Running parallel to this, in a study by Eileen McLeod of punters and the women they use, McLeod found that:

nearly all the men I interviewed complained about the emotional coldness and mercenary approach of many prostitutes they had contact with

This self-distancing employed by the women is not only a testament to the specifically degrading and exploitative nature of prostitution itself, but the fact the men complained about this is further proof that those who purchase the women’s bodies wish to be recognised as their owner for the period of time for which they have paid for. They desire acknowledgement, and the psychological presence of the woman, to reinforce their mastery of the woman’s body. If the man was simply interested in sexual relief, he would masturbate, or buy a “sex doll” to imitate — albeit poorly — the physical process of having sex. But he doesn’t. He wishes to purchase the real woman’s body, to engage in a transaction that can only ever exist within the context of prostitution.

This is a key point — if we recall the previous discussion regarding prostitution as a transfer of revenue from one party to another, and not the investment of capital for surplus value — this economic relationship is true for many service provisions, which Marx summed up as encompassing ‘(from) whore to pope’. In other words, all those individuals who are not paid from capital, but as individual service providers with no surplus value extracted.

But prostitution differentiates itself here too. Services such as woodcutting or portering — to use examples from Marx’s Grundrisse — ‘vanish upon consumption’. They are their own commodity. Proponents of the “sex work is work” line attempt to subsume prostitution under the umbrella of labour by stating that sex is the service-commodity produced. But sex cannot be meaningfully separated from the body in prostitution. For the greedy capitalist, he would soon rather utilise a workforce of machines in a relentless desire to extract the most surplus value for the least cost to himself.

Conversely, if we look at the sex-trade-equivalent in the form of sex dolls or robots, they are advertised as being ‘lifelike’.

Thanks, I hate it!

The ultimate goal for anything that isn’t a human body within the sex trade is for it to imitate the human body, as without it the relationship between punter and woman would simply not be the same. While it is true that the punter does not simply want a body to do “anything” (he specifically wants it for sex), the converse is also true: he does not simply want sex from anything. Thus, prostitution is necessarily dependent upon the human body being the object purchased.

Beyond the theories of labour power and employment status, it is actually quite difficult to conceive how prostitution would even function as a typical employee/employer relationship, and this once again reinforces the idea that prostitution is not, at its root, considered to be a situation (or “job”) like any other, even by those who advocate for its inclusion in the labour market.

For example, in 2002 Germany introduced the Prostitution Act 2002, which sought to bring prostitution under pre-existing labour frameworks, with the goal of legitimising the trade to encourage payment of taxes and employee protections. In what was undoubtedly feeble lip-service by the German Government towards the concept of “bodily autonomy”, they included in the legislation the prohibition of brothel owners to demand that a specific sexual service was performed. As O’Connell Davidson points out, this is totally unlike any other “employment contract”, with one brothel owner stating:

The employer’s right to give instructions to employees is limited. What do I do if she says: so, I am not going up to the room with the next three guests? What then? Do I still have to pay her? Can I throw her out?

In this example of course, prostitution would be formulated in precisely the way that any kind of socialist analysis of proletarian work requires it to be, in that an exploitative brothel owner pays a wage to the woman, and then the owner can extract surplus value from her labour. But in what appears to be a consistent trend amongst sex trade apologists and “sex positive” Twitter activists, myopic contradiction is the name of the game, and that is now no longer the type of “employment” that they’re talking about.

This is clear to see in the work of the International Committee on the Rights of Sex Workers in Europe, who demand that:

sex work is recognised as gainful employment, [and that] sex workers have access to social insurance which gives the right to unemployment and sickness benefits, pensions and health care’

This does not appear to be objectionable on the face of things, but when read with the following paragraph the entire reconfiguration of prostitution as work collapses:

The fact that sex becomes work does not remove our right to have control over who we have sex with or the sexual services we provide or the condition under which we provide those services. We demand the right to say no to any client or any service requested. Managers must not be allowed to determine the services we provide or the conditions under which we provide them — whether we are employees or ‘self-employed’.

These demands are certainly not enjoyed by other wage-labourers within the capitalist mode of production. Other service providers — such as those within the catering industry — may be able to refuse to serve drunk clientele for example, but they cannot simply restrict access to certain meals on the menu as and when they choose. Nor can they pick and choose which customers to serve based on a personal preference.

Thus, prostitution cannot be meaningfully separated from the sale of the body and is implicitly not viewed as “any other type of labour”, as these protections would theoretically allow the woman to refuse to engage in an act which she does not wish to engage in, with a person whom she does not wish to engage in it with, and certainly the ICRSWE recognise this. Simply put, the differentiation in how “worker protections” meaningfully apply to prostitution necessarily demonstrate that it is like no other “work”, and could not be conceived of as such.

It is also worth briefly considering how exactly tangible “worker rights” might play out within the context of prostitution, to understand fully the impossibility of categorising this as work within the pre-existing labour market. Almost all physical labour jobs have some form of worker protection in terms of health and safety regulations, protective equipment and the like (not that this stops morally bankrupt capitalists from ignoring these and working their labour force to death anyway…). How exactly would this work within prostitution? In this piece, Juno Mac and Molly Smith argue that by reconfiguring prostitution so that it is subsumed into the labour market, it would allow:

…people who sell sex (to) access labor law and other kinds of protection afforded on legal job sites.

What “protection” would actually apply here? In other professions, workers are afforded protection from bodily fluids and potential exposure to disease, for example. Would the women in prostitution be entitled to wear full hazmat suits to prevent the spread of disease and exposure to potentially hazardous substances? This, of course, would not happen as that would change the fundamental nature of prostitution itself.

Further, it is interesting that some proponents of this position do not recognise the hypocrisy in deriding Nordic Model or abolitionist advocates for our supposed “reliance on the corrupt police state” to enforce sanctions against punters, when that is exactly what would happen when a punter reneges on his end of the “contract” by refusing to wear a condom, or by brutally beating and raping the woman in front of him. This is not to say that criticisms of reliance on the police, who are the enforcers of the bourgeois State, are without merit — but it cannot be one rule for the police in one argument, and another rule in the alternative.

The same article quotes ‘sex worker Nickie Roberts’, who in the 1980s stated:

Working in crummy factories for disgusting pay was the most degrading and exploitative work I ever did in my life. I think there should be another word for the kind of work working class people do; something to differentiate it from the work middle class people do; the ones who have careers. All I can think of is drudgery. It’s rotten and hopeless; not even half a life.

Why should I have to put up with a middle class feminist asking me why I didn’t ‘do anything — scrub toilets, even?’ than become a stripper? What’s so liberating about cleaning up other people’s shit?

Indeed, what is so “liberating” about cleaning up other people’s shit? But this rather flippant comment about “degrading and exploitative work” betrays just how oppositional to worker-class solidarity this attitude is. In fact, many out-and-out Marxists such as Alexandra Kollontai in her work Prostitution and Ways of Fighting it went as far as to describe it as ‘labour desertion’. There is an undercurrent of disdain for the working class, where the acknowledgement that the work undertaken by the proletariat is actually not “liberating” at all, and anything else is preferable. This is a perfectly understandable position for the “meritocracy capitalist” to take — ‘life is a rat race, why shouldn’t I succeed’ — but it certainly isn’t a socialist position.

The theory is one thing, but what about the practice? As will be shown, any attempt by alleged socialists to try to reconceptualise prostitution as a workers’ rights issue is destined to fail in that regard as well. For a system that is in direct contravention of various international human rights law obligations whether or not you are examining the issue through a socialist lens, the answer for sex trade apologists to the question “what is the best way to legislate prostitution” apparently lies in decriminalising the whole endeavour, thus allowing the supposed workers to “unionise” and seek worker recognition that way.

This is a frankly ridiculous notion, and to quote the Struggle Sessions essay once again:

Being under the control of a pimp prevents a prostitute from all independent activity and independent thinking. The woman chained by the pimp cannot be organized into a trade union. A union of prostitutes who through some unknown force have ceased to be enthralled to pimps, due to the inevitable emergence of leadership and people who professionally manage such a union, will inevitably just generate its own, internal pimps. This is true because if the union bureaucracy is not completely ineffective (that is, if the union actually exists and functions), they would find themselves enforcing payment from reneging johns, securing housing in times of income shortage, bribing or negotiating with police, and sustaining their professional organizers with dues: they would in essence be pimps with a more charitable subsidiary.

Further:

In the case of prostitutes without pimps (who are not being pimped upon the point of being organized), who basically take contracts independently and have full access to their own income…For them the formation of a union is impossible. After all, a “union” of those who own their own means of production (lumpen or not) is actually called a cartel. Furthermore, the existence of a cartel gives impulse to the hiring of a general staff — plus, the stratification of prostitution would allow the cartel to employ other prostitutes under its protection — this again is a return to pimping.

The unionisation of prostitution is, in the bluntest terms, a total sham that benefits pimps and traffickers. There are numerous examples of this, including The Red Thread in The Netherlands, an organisation which proclaimed to represent “sex workers” despite only having 100 members (the Netherlands has an estimated prostitution population of 25,000), and never having fought a court case on behalf of one of their “workers” to improve their “working conditions” despite the absolute disaster that is prostitution in the Netherlands; or the Women’s Network for Unity (WNU) in Cambodia, which when the women within prostitution were asked of the supposed benefits of the WNU’s work, a WNU representative responded for them by stating that the organisation will help to purchase a coffin for the women when they die. This truly is the socialist revolution we have all been waiting for!

Perhaps most importantly, we can turn our attention to New Zealand, where the sex trade apologist’s utopia is in full swing — including blanket decriminalisation and a quasi-union in the form of the New Zealand Prostitutes’ Collective — to see how this actually plays out on the ground.

The NZPC themselves represent the abject failure of the bourgeois experiment that is prostitution decriminalisation, replete with the corruption and cloak-and-dagger tactics you would expect from a capitalist conglomerate, and not an alleged workers’ rights organisation. As Janice Raymond analyses here, quoting a sex trade survivor and writer named Chelsea who has had first hand experience with the organisation:

The NZPC has skewed its own research data to deceive the public that decriminalisation has resulted in greater safety for women in New Zealand.

Not only that, but due to the new moniker of “work” being applied to prostitution, the very issues that these workers’ rights were meant to prevent — such as not having to engage with a client against their will — have not only remained present, but have been reformulated as “exploitative worker conditions”. This, rather unsurprisingly, has been coupled with the exploitation tactics of greedy pimps and punters, resulting in a situation where:

‘…brothel owners were allowed to offer sex buyers an “all-inclusive” deal, a set payment that permitted them to do anything they wanted to women with no-holds barred. The women couldn’t refuse to perform any activity requested, or determine their own prices.’

The “refusing any activity requested” as you may recall was one of the main “worker demands”of the ICRSWE, which clearly is not actually feasible in practice. This once again proves the inseparable nature of prostitution from the body, in that actually doing prostitution requires the giving of the body to a client, regardless of whether they want to or not. Only now, the quasi-union that is literally dependent upon the continuance of prostitution for its existence euphemistically glosses over the rampant male violence against women — for example, it describes human trafficking as a “working holiday” — in a self-serving attempt to weave their own success story narrative.

The NZPC are also major players when it comes to law and policy reviews of how decriminalisation is playing out, and they occupy three of the eleven seats on the Prostitution Law Review Committee, per s43(2)(g) Prostitution Reform Act 2002. Why then, if the NZPC have the best interests of prostituted women at heart, are they signing off on research that lies about the number of women within prostitution since decriminalisation was introduced in 2002?

On page 13 of the report, the PLRC state:

The Committee endorses the findings of the CSOM that the enactment of the PRA has had little impact on the numbers of people working in the sex industry.

Then later in Section 8, paying particular attention to Auckland:

Research undertaken by the CSOM in February and March 2006 found 253 street-based sex workers in New Zealand…In Auckland 106 street workers…in Wellington 47 street workers…and in Christchurch 100 were recorded. Between June and October 2007, CSOM carried out another estimation of street-based sex workers…In Christchurch 121 street-based workers were counted and in Wellington 44 street-based sex workers were counted. In Auckland, 230 street workers were known to be working.

Further evidence of the PLRC’s intentional obfuscation and outright lying in the report can be found in this article by Samantha Berg, but suffice to say, if the NZPC really did have their “workers’” best interests at heart, then as an organisation that makes up nearly one-third of the PLRC they shouldn’t be endorsing fallacious research.

All of the above does not even take into account that prostitution under decriminalisation has thrived in New Zealand, with nearly 1000 brothel applications being submitted between 2004–2011, resulting in a growth of the exploiter-class, which has made the lives of the women within prostitution considerably worse. As sex trade survivor and co-founder of Wahine Toa Rising Ally-Marie Diamond tells me:

Decriminalisation hasn’t improved the situation in New Zealand. We have seen men become more entitled and demanding in terms of what they expect from women in the sex trade and what they feel they are entitled to because ‘they pay for it’. This has become more apparent since COVID-19 with many men ignoring health and safety warnings.

Women in the sex trade who are assaulted, raped, or attacked very rarely go to police. Young people, especially those of Māori or Pacific Island cultures are being pimped on the streets, and are being trafficked in licensed brothels. Overseas students visiting NZ on student visas and tourist visas are also at extremely high risk. Full Decriminalisation does not protect them. Trafficking is a huge issue in New Zealand, and yet the Government seems to turn a blind eye.

There are no government strategies in place to help women exit. Regardless of the law, exit services are imperative. Support must be there for all women and young people. Bella Te Pania, a Maori woman, tried multiple times to exit, but there was no support for her — she was the fifth sex worker murdered in Christchurch since decriminalisation. One life lost is one too many. Where was her protection, her rights under “Full Decrim”?

And this, rather circuitously I admit, brings us back to the impact of Covid-19 on prostitution. In the context of Covid-19 specifically, and as Renee Gerlich meticulously explains here, upon the introduction of Coronavirus lockdown measures, the NZPC had this to say:

COVID-19 INFORMATION: INSTRUCTIONS TO STOP PHYSICAL CONTACT SEX WORK BY MIDNIGHT WEDNESDAY 25 MARCH 2020

NZPC recognises that sex work is work and is the main form of income for a number of people.

However, with New Zealand going to a Level 4 alert, sex workers are asked to comply with the requirement to stay at home during the four-week period of isolation indicated by the Government. Only those in essential services will be permitted to work. Sex work is not classed among the essential services (doctors, pharmacists, police, ambulance, fire, vets, food production, and supermarkets).

Therefore NZPC wants all sex workers to comply with the four-week closure.

Failure to comply could result in officials arriving at your place of work to enforce compliance.”

The fact that the onus to simply “stay at home” has shifted onto the shoulders of those within prostitution demonstrates a borderline criminally negligent ignorance of the fact that many of these women cannot simply just ‘comply with a four-week closure’ — as recognised by the NZPC themselves — but also fails to protect the very women they are supposedly there to help. As Gerlich points out, the fact that the NZPC are threatening enforcement measures against these women demonstrates that they certainly do not have their best interests at heart, and are far removed from any kind of workers’ union that socialists would otherwise hold in such high esteem. And while a recent article in The Guardian espoused the apparently-innumerable benefits afforded to women within prostitution since decriminalisation — such as “migrant sex wokers being able to move from town to town” (excuse me while my eyes roll out of my head at “migrant sex worker”) — as Michelle Mara dissects here, that too is a smokescreen.

The decriminalisation of prostitution represents the worst excesses of capitalism, and relentlessly commodifies women down into objects until they are perceived to have no further value, and then discarded. While New Zealand is a microcosm of a specific legal approach, analogies of this ruthless free-marketeerism can be drawn with the pornography industry. After all, that is an industry that in effect has been decriminalised along similar industrial lines to prostitution. Performers have allegedly been afforded “workers’ rights” upon legal recognition of their status as “workers”, but this has done little to stop the conveyor belt of human misery that is pornography in the 21st Century, with performers reporting things such as:

It was the most degrading, embarrassing, horrible thing ever. I had to shoot an interactive DVD, which takes hours and hours of shooting time, with a 104 degree fever! I was crying and wanted to leave but my agent wouldn’t let me, he said he couldn’t let me flake on it. I also did a scene where I was put with male talent that was on my ‘no list’. I wanted to please them so I did it. He stepped on my head […] I freaked out and started bawling; they stopped filming and sent me home with reduced pay since they got some shot but not the whole scene.

And:

I got the shit kicked out of me… most of the girls start crying because they’re hurting so bad… I couldn’t breathe. I was being hit and choked. They kept filming. [I asked them to turn the camera off] and they kept going.

As pornography has become more ubiquitous, it has become more violent, and in purely economic terms, the market has functioned exactly as it does with decriminalisation. Performers are earning less and less due to absolute market saturation of both performers and content, and the same can be said for prostitution. As New Zealand sex trade survivors Michelle Mara and Rae Story state regarding prostitution post-decriminalisation:

After decrim there were fees for everything and no mercy

and:

Beyond that, the competition (sometimes as many as 50 women a night) was incredibly intense. Because many of the johns were regulars at the brothel, the longer you worked there, the harder it was to induce their fickle attention. If the women did not successfully cultivate “regulars” (which they did by giving the johns everything they wanted), it was not always easy to make money in the long-term. Johns want the newest, youngest girls.

As the restrictions on this market of human bodies have been untethered, it follows the exact same trajectory as any other free market. By leaving the market of prostitution to its own devices, ruthless pimps, traffickers, and punters exploit the economic vulnerability of these women to ensure they pay as little as they can, while extracting as much as they can, whether that be profit in the case of the pimp, or violent, abusive sex in the case of the punter.

This is what makes the apologist attitude of so-called socialists so disgraceful. In the light of Covid-19, all of us on the Left — socialist, Marxist, and otherwise — have recognised that the most vulnerable in society will need the most protection while economic disaster looms overhead. We want to see those who need it most lifted out of the vile free-market capitalist state of misery that has been imposed on them for decades.

By advocating for the idea that prostitution should be decriminalised, these people are condemning vast swathes of women to the very thing they seek to abolish in other social contexts. Prostitution represents the nexus of capitalism, patriarchy, and white supremacy, where women’s bodies are commodified into products on the free-market, ready for purchase by men.

To return briefly to the Mac and Smith essay, entitled Sex Is Not the Problem with Sex Work (the implication presumably being that the problem is work), with all due respect, surely the problem lies with both? It is one thing to erroneously elevate prostitution to another form of work within capitalism, and to locate the issue as one of labour; but to simultaneously reject that sex-class inequality is not one of the underlying driving factors of prostitution is to lack any class-analysis at all. It focuses purely on the economic, and does not delve into the sex-class inequality the drives patriarchy as it currently exists.

In her seminal work The Dialectic of Sex, Shulamith Firestone expounds the idea that the root of female oppression is due to the biological supremacy of men over women as childbearers, and examines the idea that sex was utilised as a tool of oppression to subordinate women. She goes further even than Marx and Engels in analysing how female subjugation occurs. As she states in the introduction of the book:

It would be a mistake to attempt to explain the oppression of women according to this strictly economic interpretation. The class analysis is a beautiful piece of work, but limited: although correct in a linear sense, it does not go deep enough. There is a whole sexual substratum of the historical dialectic that Engels at times dimly perceives, but because he can see sexuality only through an economic filter, reducing everything to that, he is unable to evaluate in its own right.

She goes on to state:

Unlike economic class, sex-class sprang directly from a biological reality: men and women were created different, and not equal. Although…this difference of itself did not necessitate the development of a class system — the domination of one group by another — the reproductive functions of these differences did.

This idea that certainly extends to prostitution, which of course still exists within the paradigm of patriarchal supremacy (as well as capitalism, and white supremacy); men’s control of women through sex. Although as has already been explained, prostitution is not reproductive in the same way that male domination over women as a class is predicated upon, it is still, at its root, a domination based on sex.

To ignore or refute this in an effort to defend the system of prostitution suggests that it somehow exists entirely separately and above those same paradigms. Presumably the fact that prostitution is overwhelmingly made up of women; who are economically impoverished; and that women of colour are at disproportionate risk of even further exploitation is all a coincidence?

As Andrea Dworkin said in the 1980s: ‘Only when women’s bodies are being sold for profit do Leftists claim to cherish the free market.’ This quote rings as true today as it did almost forty years ago. If Leftists and self-styled socialists truly want to embrace an emancipatory and radical politics, it is time they stop excusing the grotesque free market sexual exploitation of women across the globe. An authentic Leftist position should hold that these women should be aided and supported to exit the system of prostitution financially, emotionally, and practically, while of course removing criminal sanctions against them, not instead doubling down on this exploitation. The absolute rotten and despairing hypocrisy of these alleged socialists and Lefitsts has been all but driven home in the Covid-19 crisis, which has locked hundreds if not thousands of women into further destitution, oppressively crushed within the market of human bodies that apparently should be relentlessly expanded and ideologically engendered.

This does not resemble anything remotely like a Leftist, progressive, or socialist position, and the hypocrisy must be exposed and objected to at every opportunity. It is time to abolish the vile sex trade once and for all.

Special thanks to Julie Bindel and Ally-Marie Diamond for speaking with me for this article. Ally-Marie is co-founder of Wahine Toa Rising: “an organisation which acts as a voice for vulnerable, exploited women and children in Aotearoa/ New Zealand, who are overrepresented in the sex trade. Like us, they deserve to know they are WORTHY, VALUED, HEARD, SEEN, and LOVED”

https://facebook.com/WahineToaRisingAotearoa/…

Twitter:@WahineToaRising

Many thanks also to SPACE INTL, Feminist Current, and Nordic Model Now who platform the voices of women — specifically in this case Ne’Cole Daniels, Michelle Mara and Rae Story — who have survived and exited the sex trade, and without whom much of this article could not have been written.

[ramblingguy54]

Anne & Sasha: Two Sides Of The Same Coin.

Amphibia’s latest episode demonstrates what makes these two important characters who they are as very interesting, yet flawed, people. Anne has overflowing compassion, yet can be selfish in her own right when doing morally questionable actions in Season 1. Although, what sets her apart from falling into a downward spiral is Anne’s willingness to own up for those decisions improving upon herself. She cares a lot about who gets put in danger from her mistakes. The Second Temple delves into Anne’s personality very nicely in explaining why this kid, underneath all her faults, is truly worth commending all around. Whenever the Plantar family has been in danger she’s never strayed away from putting her own life in jeopardy. Same goes for any of the civilians of Wartwood, too. It’s a big part of what makes her a lovable, flawed, and quite frankly awesome protagonist. What better way to challenge her nature as a character when confronted with the fact she stole that music box? Yes, Sasha manipulated her greatly and it is also to blame for why they’re all in this crazy situation. However, Anne also had a choice to walk away from it, but couldn’t find the courage to stand up for what she believed in, overall. Not believing in the power of her own convictions plays a part in it, just as much as her other two best friends egging her on to steal this mystically powerful artifact.

Those bad choices were mine and I’ll own them, but making them taught me it’s always better to do the right thing, so that’s what I did. Regardless of how much I didn’t want to.

This great quote here defines Anne’s morality down to the very letter. Anne may have her regrets about how she’s acted previously on many occasions, but they’re also an important part of why Boonchuy became a better person. Stealing the music box was very wrong, but in spite of this serious moral misjudgment Anne also became a better person. Anne grew more compassionate than ever before, learned to make stuff less about her own needs, helped others out even when they didn’t always return their kindness, and most importantly put her life on the line for a family she hadn’t known for very long in Season 1′s finale. In hindsight, one big mistake led into a series of events transforming her from a very selfish kid into this more mature, responsible, and highly reliable individual. Anne has become stronger in all of the right ways imaginable benefiting herself, best friends, and family, too.

Anne’s on a brighter road for a better future, but what of Sasha? We’ve known after Toadcatcher it’s highly apparent Sasha has been in a more fragile place of self-esteem. After that big emotionally charged battle Anne & Sasha had one has become better off in a sense, while the current latter has transitioned into a more vulnerable position. Sasha knows this for a fact despising it because she’s so used to being in control of everything around her life. To see a best friend stand up to her confidence and intensity shook Sasha’s perspective enough in clinging more than ever to not losing anyone or anything else. Barrel’s Warhammer shows strong consequences for Sasha’s unwavering stubbornness costing her more of what she cares about. Learning Anne & Marcy were working together bubbled up her lingering insecurities to surface level about the hand she’s been dealt, thus far. Sasha can be a compassionate person, much like Anne, which is unfortunately challenged by a bigger problem she faces consistently.

When it comes to the needs of others and herself which is more important? 

Percy & Braddock were very scared of taking up the task of getting this powerful weapon on what many of their kind have stated is a high risk of death mission. Sasha does have the heart to comfort them in their unease, but when it came down to the wire she couldn’t put their lives above her own goals. It continues to be Sasha’s greatest struggle that’s hard to watch, albeit making for darn good emotional investment, seeing the trials and tribulations she’ll continue to face. As long as she continues to ignore other’s importance in the matter, Sasha won’t be able to emotionally grow because the girl is so afraid of being challenged by anyone or anything. When you’ve got a mountain of bravado, status, and strength to uphold it becomes the very crux of what is claimed to be ironclad resolve. Sasha believed all would be fine and dandy completing this mission.

But see, that’s just it. None of it was. Though feeling remorseful, she disregarded the needs of friends and solider comrades putting their lives in serious danger. They told her to stop trying on obtaining this powerful weapon and retreat. Hell, even Grimes shouted to her this was getting too risky, as well. Sasha’s inconsideration paid a hefty price in losing more people she cared about. She already feels alone after becoming separated from Anne and knowing Marcy was currently by her side made Sasha feel worse than ever, throwing more fuel on the fire. Percy & Braddock choosing to leave at the end spells out a sad irony for Sasha. She wants to be in control of people and her own life, but the more Sasha fights back, the more it blows up in her face when all is said and done.

No, Sasha. You did it and I think me and Braddock are done with this. With all of it.

Anne & Sasha are very much two sides of the same coin. Both are very capable of compassionate remorse to their own friends, but when stacked up against their own goals Sasha has a hard time showing compromise. Anne was willing to endure freezing weather to save one of her family from a hungry creature. The girl was ready to brave an avalanche to save innocent lives. Sasha, on the other hand, threw two people lives to the way side and almost had them cut short just so she could obtain a powerful weapon to form an alliance. This was a great character study to show contrast behind what makes these two so alike, yet seemingly exact opposites in spite of how much these two value friendship. 

[iam93percentstardust]

Pining for Lost Innocence

Written for @heamarvel‘s Hallmark Event: Prompt 10

Find on ao3 here

It’s a long one so look out for the read more

In Becca’s defense, it isn’t like she could have known that she’s picked the day Bucky had gotten left at the altar.

He and Brock had been very lowkey, so lowkey in fact that when Brock had asked if they could just get married at the courthouse, it hadn’t seemed off. That probably should have been the first clue. And then there’d been the two witnesses and no one else- clue number two. And then the fact that both witnesses had been Bucky’s friends and not Brock’s- well, Bucky should have known by then that Brock was going to walk out on him.

But he had fancied himself in love and had thought that Brock was just as in love with him. So he had waited, waited there in the judge’s office with Sam and Tony as his witnesses for as long as he could until the judge had finally, reluctantly, told him that she had other weddings to attend to. He’d gone back to the apartment they shared to find that Brock had cancelled their lease. He’d called Brock’s job- the other alpha had quit three days earlier, no forwarding address. He’d tried once to reach Brock’s phone; he received a message informing him that the number was no longer in service. It had hit him then, really truly hit him that Brock hadn’t just left him at the altar, he’d gone and abandoned him. He’d shown up at Tony’s door thirty minutes later and had never really left since then.

So when he gets Becca’s wedding invitation and sees that she’s set the date for December 23rd, the same day that Brock left him, he takes a deep breath, resolutely does not crumple the invitation in his hand, and just carries it inside.

Tony’s stretched out on the couch, a heating pad across his lap. His heat’s coming up in a few days. The pre-heat cramps have always been the worst for him, to the point where he usually has to take an additional couple days off work along with the regular three for his heat. Bucky can’t stop himself from sniffing at the air surreptitiously to try to catch a hint of Tony’s sweet pre-heat scent.

Tony smells the best, always has. It had driven him crazy after they’d both presented as teenagers, it had driven him crazy during the one heat they’d shared when Ty had walked out on Tony only hours before his heat and he hadn’t had time to get his suppressants into his system, and it still drives him crazy now. But Tony doesn’t want him, not really. He’d been convenient after Ty but that was it. He wants to ask for more but he also doesn’t want to ruin the fantastic friendship they’ve got by trying to push, not when Tony’s never asked for it. When Brock had come along, he’d thought he’d managed to move on from his feelings but he’d lived with Tony for barely a month before they were back in full force.

He’s loved Tony since they were children. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s convinced that he’ll love him for the rest of time, no matter who he mates with. And if Tony never loves him back, he’ll have to be okay with that because he’ll take Tony any way he can get.

“Hi honey,” he announces, shoving his moping to the back of his mind. “I’m home!”

Tony looks up from his phone and smiles brightly, spying the grocery bags in his hand. “Hello darling. Did you bring home the bacon?”

“Nope,” Bucky says, popping the p. “Doc says bacon isn’t good for your heart.”

Tony pouts. For a fleeting second, Bucky has the urge to turn around and run back out to the store to get bacon but he holds firm. Tony’s had a weak heart for years. His last surgery should have fixed the problem but it doesn’t hurt to be careful. Tony can’t die. Bucky doesn’t know what he’ll do if Tony leaves him too.

“What’s that?” Tony asks. He nods at the envelope.

The beginning of Bucky’s good mood deflates. “Becca’s wedding invitation,” he says gloomily. He tosses the envelope Tony’s way, sending it spinning through the air. “She and Stevie picked a day.”

Tony completely fumbles the catch and ends up having to bend down from his reclining position to grab it from the floor. His shirt rides up, showing the smallest sliver of tanned skin. Bucky catches his breath, hoping that his scent blockers keep Tony from smelling horny alpha. Tony’s got enough trust issues after Ty; he doesn’t need Bucky adding to them.

He marches into the kitchen as Tony opens the envelope. He doesn’t need to see the look on the omega’s face when he sees the date. It’s sure to be pitying and he doesn’t want that, not from Tony.

There’s the shuffle of feet from the doorway to the living room. Bucky doesn’t turn around, just keeps putting away groceries. Even so, he manages to catch a glimpse of Tony in the mirror above the sink. The little omega’s wrapped the blanket from the couch around his shoulders. One hand is both clutching the heating pad to his stomach and holding the blanket closed. The other is holding the envelope. There’s no pity in his eyes, just soft understanding. Bucky smiles fondly to himself. He doesn’t know why he expected any different, except that maybe that’s all he ever seems to get from Sam (that and the occasional “You know, if you asked Tony out, you wouldn’t have this problem.”).

“Are you going to go?” Tony asks softly.

He shrugs. “Can’t not. It’s my sister and my best friend. Sides, Becca’d never talk to me again if I missed it.”

“You could tell her. She’d understand.”

And that’s the crux of it. He’d never told his family about what had happened last Christmas. His romance with Brock had been such a whirlwind. They’d gotten engaged after only two weeks of dating, moved in together a week after that, and nearly walked down the aisle three months later. He’d never even gotten around to telling his family that they were even dating, let alone that they were getting married (and subsequently, that he’d gotten left at the altar). He’d just told them that he didn’t feel up to visiting for Christmas and had spent the holiday curled up on Tony’s couch, letting the omega hold and soothe him.

“I won’t ruin Becca’s day,” he says decisively. It’s high time he stops letting Brock ruin his life. The man didn’t even bother breaking up with him. He certainly doesn’t deserve the right to determine the rest of Bucky’s life.

He tells Tony so. A huge grin breaks across Tony’s face. “That’s my alpha,” he declares proudly.

Bucky’s hand slips on the milk carton. He just barely manages to catch it before it hits the floor, glad that the mishap keeps Tony from seeing the red glow on his face. He wants to be Tony’s alpha, wants to hear Tony say that he’s his alpha. But if wishes grew on trees…

Well, wishing never did anything but cause misery.

“Dunno if I can do it by myself,” he mutters as he puts the milk in the fridge. Tony quirks his head curiously. “’s just I wouldn’t’ve had to do it if Brock was here. I dunno if I can handle Becca’s wedding on what was s’posed to be my anniversary.” He takes a closer look at what they’ve got in the fridge. “How does spaghetti sound?”

This close to his heat, Tony usually craves Italian food. Bucky’s more than happy to make it for him. If there’s a little voice in the back of his mind reminding him that any good alpha would take care of their omega before their heat, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

“Okay,” Tony says quietly. “I’m gonna go lay down again.”

Bucky watches him go before busying himself with dinner. He mulls over the problem of the wedding as he rolls the meatballs. He doesn’t want to go alone. If he goes alone, he’ll spend the entire time moping, fixated on what he almost had, and Becca will kill him. But-

“Tony,” he pants, skidding into the living room, “will you go with me?”

Tony, despite being fully clothed, clutches the blanket to his chest. He blinks at him sleepily. Bucky curses himself for disturbing the omega’s nap.

“To the wedding,” he clarifies. He’s already woken him up, might as well keep going. “Will you go with me to the wedding?”

There’s a strange, eager light in Tony’s eyes. “With you?” he repeats.

Bucky turns over the request in his mind and hastily adds, “As friends. I wouldn’t expect you to be my date.”

The eager light disappears. “Oh,” Tony murmurs. If Bucky hadn’t known any better, he might have thought that Tony sounded disappointed. But he does know better. There’s absolutely no way Tony’s upset that Bucky’s not asking him as a date.

Tony reaches up and holds onto one of Bucky’s hands with both of his much littler ones. “Of course I’ll go with you,” he says warmly.

He was imagining the disappointment. That’s all it was.

Imagining.

For Bucky, at least, the wedding of Steve Rogers and Becca Barnes is a strange one. Mostly because Steve’s his best friend and he remembers when they used to groan when Bucky’s mother would insist that they include Becca in their games. They had been six years older than Becca and so they really hadn’t had much to do with each other, which is why it had so surprised him when Steve had told him three years ago that he was madly in love with his sister and planned to ask her to marry him.

“I didn’t know you were even dating,” Bucky had said, utterly dumbfounded. Steve had scuffed his shoes along the floor and mumbled, “…we’re not.”

That was the point when Bucky had burst into laughter but he’d given Steve his blessing to ask her out, given it again when Steve had come back a year later and asked for his blessing to marry her, and continued wishing that he had the courage to ask Tony out like Steve had for Becca. They’d waited a few years to get married after announcing their engagement so Becca could finish college but everyone had known they were as good as mated. Steve was absolutely besotted with her and she was just as enamored as Steve.

Steve’s in the middle of his vows when Bucky hears a quiet sniff from beside him. He looks over to see Tony dabbing at the corners of his eyes with a tissue. He leans over. “This can’t possibly be making you cry,” he whispers. “It’s Steve. You two fight like cats and dogs.”

“Shut up, you useless alpha,” Tony hisses. “It’s romantic.”

Bucky wrinkles his nose and sits back up. It’s his alpha best friend and his beta sister. Bucky’s seen both of them (and Tony too, now that he thinks about it) naked in the kiddy pool. There’s nothing romantic about it.

Well, maybe it’s a little romantic. Just a bit. Barely more than a smidge. Fuck, if he and Tony were together, he knows that he’d think that it was romantic, with how they’ve known each other since childhood. He casts a sideways glance at Tony, who’s staring raptly at Steve and Becca with bright, shining eyes. He remembers the first time he’d ever seen Tony, standing alone on the playground, smaller even than Stevie because he was four years younger than everyone else in their year; remembers how Tony had come yelling to their rescue when Bucky had taken on a couple of Steve’s bullies. He’d gone home that day and told his mom, “There’s a new boy in our class and one day, I’m gonna marry him.” 

Only he never had. Somehow, the timing had never worked out and they’d passed each other by like ships in the night- except for Tony’s heat.

They’d had three perfect days together. Three days sharing Tony’s heat because his heats were always terrible and Bucky couldn’t stand seeing him in so much pain. Usually, Tony’s suppressants were enough to smother the worst of the heat cramps but Ty had never liked him on suppressants so he’d gone off of them for the duration of their relationship. For Ty to dump him only hours before his heat when everyone knows that suppressants needed at least a day to take effect…

He growls, low enough to be nearly subvocal, the thought still making him angry after all this time. Tony swats him and he jumps. “Sorry,” he whispers and lets his mind drift again.

Tony had called him after Ty had left, sobbing. It had taken Bucky an age to figure out what Tony was telling him and when he’d finally managed it, he’d been up out of his chair and halfway out the door before he’d paused.

“Tony, honey,” he’d said. “You’re asking me to come over now?”

Tony had sobbed out a yes but Bucky had still hesitated. “Right before your heat?” He’d known that omegas in heat could be needy, known that they craved attention and touch, but Tony wasn’t his to hold.

“Please, Bucky,” Tony had whispered into the phone. “Please share my heat, just once. I need you.”

And Bucky had had to put his phone on mute so that Tony couldn’t hear his broken cry. Just once. That was all he could have Tony for. Just that one heat before he had to let the omega- his omega- go again.

They’d had three perfect days. Three days of Tony writhing beneath him, of him crying, “Alpha!” in that perfect way of his. Tony had been perfect, responsive and lovely and so, so beautiful. He’d made the prettiest noises, soft little mews when he was overwhelmed and breathy sighs when he was happy, the cutest growls when he was being bratty and demanding and when he’d come- his sweet cries could have rivaled the birds for their songs. “Pretty omega,” Bucky had murmured, nosing into Tony’s throat. “Sweet omega. My omega.”

Three perfect days and then never again. 

“-for the first time as mates, Captain Steven Rogers and Rebecca Barnes Rogers,” the priest concludes.

…and now he’s missed most of the ceremony. Great. He hopes that Becca didn’t catch his drifting mind. He likes his dick where it is, thank you very much. Steve leans Becca backwards in a thorough kiss. For all of two seconds, Bucky entertains the thought of yelling, “Get some, Becca!” but he thinks that might be even worse than missing the ceremony.

“Did you pay attention to any of it?” Tony asks as they stand and clap with the rest of the guests.

“No,” Bucky sighs.

“Useless alpha.”

~

Becca finds him halfway through the dancing lurking in a corner. “Hey, dickwad,” she says as she bounds up to him.

“Fuckface,” he replies cheerfully, not able to tear his eyes away from Tony dancing with one of their younger cousins. Becca’s beautiful of course, brides always are, but Tony’s radiant in his traditional male omega formal wear. It’s nothing more complex than an ensemble cut like a suit across his torso but the back is entirely lace, dipping low across his hips where it flares into a gown. Bucky can’t stop staring- and neither can most of the other unmated alphas here.

“Are you staying for Christmas this year?” Becca asks.

“Hmm?” Bucky hums, still watching Tony dance with his five-year-old cousin. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Good. We really missed you last year. Actually, no, just Mom and Dad missed you. I was delighted that I didn’t have to see your stupid face.”

“Right back atcha.”

“But really, Bucky, it isn’t really Christmas if the family isn’t together and I know you had plans with Tony last year but maybe you could bring him this time?”

One of Steve’s artist friends, an alpha by the looks of him, cuts in and steals Tony away. Tony looks absolutely bewildered and keeps glancing back at Bucky’s little cousin, left alone on the dance floor. Bucky clenches his fists. That hadn’t been necessary. The alpha could have let them finish the dance or better yet, could have left Tony alone for the rest of the night.

“If you could take your eyes off your omega for five seconds,” Becca says archly.

That gets through to him. “Tony’s not my omega,” he replies confusedly.

Becca looks just as confused. “What? But you RSVP’d together.”

“Yeah…” Bucky says slowly, not certain where she’s going with this.

“He could have just come on his own. We sent him his own invitation. He didn’t have to come with you.”

He gets it then, where she’s confused. She doesn’t know that Tony’s here as his support. She’d just seen that they had sent two separate invitations but had replied together to only one of them, the same way a couple might have.

“Tony’s not my omega,” he repeats quietly. “We came together because this was supposed to be my anniversary.”

“What?” Becca’s mouth is gaping slightly open. Under his misery, he can’t help but be a little pleased that he’s stunned his normally unfazed sister. 

“I was seeing someone last year,” he mutters. “We were going to get married. It was supposed to be a quick, private ceremony, just us and a couple witnesses. I thought it would be a nice surprise for Christmas. And then he left me at the altar.”

“Oh Bucky,” she sighs. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve picked a different day.”

He glares at her. “You’ve worked so hard on this. I wasn’t going to ruin it.”

“Taking care of yourself isn’t ruining things,” she says firmly. “Is that why you didn’t come for Christmas?”

He nods miserably. “Tony said I wasn’t in any state to go anywhere so we holed up in his apartment and watched shitty Hallmark movies.” More quietly, he says, “It was perfect.”

Becca bites her lip. He watches her detachedly, wondering if she’s going to say what she’s thinking or not. She’s quiet just long enough that he’s getting ready to excuse himself before she blurts out, “And you still think he’s not in love with you?”

“What?”

“I can’t keep doing this,” she says quickly. “I know I told Steve I wasn’t going to interfere but I can’t watch you two miss out on this.”

“Becca, what are you talking about?” he says harshly.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she says helplessly. “You think just anyone would’ve given up on their Christmas like that?”

“I was upset!” he replies. “Yeah, I think any decent friend would’ve done that.”

“So Steve was there too, huh?”

It’s rhetorical. They both know that Steve spent last Christmas with the Barnes. “That’s different,” he begins.

“You said any decent friend. But fine. What about Sam? Was Sam there? Or how about Nat? Maybe Clint?” Bucky gapes at her. “You don’t have to say anything, it’s fine. I know it was just Tony.”

“Just because Tony spent Christmas with me doesn’t mean he’s in love with me,” he argues.

She throws her hands up in the air. “For fuck’s sake, you shared a heat together!”

“How do you even know about that?”

Becca sneers. “Steve tells me everything. I mean, come on, Bucky. Heats mean something to omegas. Sure, Tony was going through a breakup but he could have spent it by himself if he really wanted to. He wanted you.”

“He told me, ‘Just this once.’”

“Did he?” she asks. “Or did he ask for just once? There’s a difference.”

Bucky falls silent and turns to look at where Tony’s stepping firmly away from the alpha and going back to the kid he’d been dancing with earlier. “Becca, does he love me?” he murmurs, half-dazed by the very thought.

“He hasn’t dated since Tiberius. He invited you into his home. Hell, Bucky, you’ve seen his nest. No one gets to see his nest. If he doesn’t love you, then I don’t know what love looks like.”

He takes several deep breaths. “I think I need to sit down,” he gasps.

“Nope,” Becca says, pushing him in the direction of Tony. “You need to go ask that pretty omega to dance and tell him how you feel and then you need him to bring him to Christmas with you because I’ll never talk to you again if he’s not there.”

Bucky takes two steps away from her and then turns back around. He swoops down to drop a light kiss on her cheek. “You look stunning,” he says honestly. “Now please go find your husband and stop meddling.”

~

He waits for Tony to finish his dance with his cousin before he comes up behind him. He settles a hand at Tony’s back and murmurs into his ear, “Walk with me?”

Tony turns his head, so close Bucky can feel his breath on his cheek. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s great.” He pauses and then amends the thought. “I think. I just wanted to ask you something and I’d really like it if I could do it away from my very nosy family.”

Obediently, Tony trails behind him until they’ve left the wedding tent behind and are winding through the labyrinth behind the tent. Becca picked this reception hall specifically for the labyrinth and had thumped Bucky on the head when he’d informed her that it wasn’t like she was going to be spending any time in it. He’s glad for it now though as it offers them some small bit of privacy.

He comes to a stop when he has to start straining to hear the music. They’re in a small corner; if they were trying to find the center of the maze, they certainly wouldn’t have succeeded. It’s cold out, the way it always is in upstate New York in December. He can see their breaths hanging in the air between them. It’s supposed to snow soon, he knows, but it hasn’t started yet.

Tony rubs his arms. “Cold?” Bucky asks. When Tony nods, he holds out his arms. “I could warm you up.”

Tony doesn’t even hesitate to step into his arms, burrowing his hands beneath Bucky’s jacket to wrap around his waist. Bucky holds him close, settling his hands low on Tony’s hips and resting his cheek against the little omega’s hair. This close, he can smell Tony beneath the scent blockers he always wears. He inhales deeply. Peaches and honeysuckle, his favorite scents.

“Omega,” he murmurs. “Pretty omega.”

“You never call me that,” Tony says just as softly, shivering slightly. Bucky wishes he could know if it’s because Tony’s cold or if he likes it.

“I could stop.”

Tony hesitates. “Don’t stop,” he whispers finally.

Bucky smiles into his hair and turns his head so that his lips just barely brush the top of his head. “Sweet omega,” he rumbles. Tony trembles in his arms. The band begins a waltz and he shifts on his feet. “Would you dance with me?” he asks. Tony nods, his cheek rubbing against Bucky’s shirt.

Bucky doesn’t move much, just moves so that one hand holds onto Tony’s. They’re still pressed together. He’s still resting his head against Tony’s. But they’re turning in place, breaths whispering in the still night air.

“Becca wants you to come for Christmas,” he says.

Tony tenses just slightly. “Can’t.”

“Why not?”

He can feel Tony shrug against his body. “Christmas is for family.”

“So you’re going home to Stark Mansion?”

Tony’s silent, not that it matters. Bucky already knows the answer. Tony left that life behind a long time ago. “You could come back with me,” Tony says eventually.

“Christmas is for family,” he parrots. Tony growls, the hand hidden in Bucky’s jacket clenching in his shirt. He decides he’s teased him long enough. “Don’t you know you’re family?”

Tony shakes his head. “Not like that. Not for Christmas.”

“Especially for Christmas.”

“Bucky, don’t tease,” Tony says quietly. He starts to push away.

Bucky panics. Somewhere, this has gone wrong. Somewhere, he’s made a mistake. It’s started to snow, big white flakes falling to coat the ground around them. “Don’t go,” he says desperately. “Let me start over.”

But Tony’s standing away from him now, wrapping his arms around himself like he’s trying to replace Bucky’s warmth. “What are we doing out here?” he asks. He can’t keep his eyes on Bucky, keeps darting them away to look at the hedges around them.

He doesn’t know where to begin, doesn’t know how to ask him if what Becca said was true. So instead he asks, “Why did you ask me to share your heat?”

Tony stills, gaze coming back to him. “Wha- that was years ago,” he says incredulously.

“I know,” Bucky says steadily. He falls to his knees, shuffles forward to take Tony’s hands in his. “Honey, I can’t stop thinking about it. Why did you ask me?”

Tony’s gaze darts away and then back. His eyes are wide and a little fearful. Bucky prays that he’s not the reason that Tony looks scared. The omega swallows hard before saying, “Ty broke up with me. I-I-”

“It was your heat, Tony. It would have been awful but you could have gone through your heat alone. I would have been there waiting after it was over.” He presses his forehead to Tony’s hands. “Omega,” he begins. “Pretty omega, my omega. Why did you ask me to share your heat?”

He looks back up then. Tony’s eyes are as bright with unshed tears as they were a few hours ago. “I wanted to,” Tony breathes. “Ty left me because he said he couldn’t be with an omega who loved someone else.”

Bucky takes in a shaky breath. “Loved?” he asks, hesitant to say anything but he has to know.

Tony looks about as wrecked as he feels as he slowly shakes his head. “Loves.”

The word’s little more than a sigh, barely louder than the wind in the hedges, but Bucky hears him clear as a bell. 

He surges to his feet, one hand dropping Tony’s so he can catch his arm around Tony’s waist and reel him in. Tony’s now-free hand curls into the fabric of Bucky’s shirt. Bucky drops his head to press his forehead against Tony’s. This close, he can see the light dusting of freckles on Tony’s nose that the little omega tries so hard to pretend doesn’t exist.

“Honey, can I kiss you?” he asks, trying to tamp his desperation down. He doesn’t want to scare Tony. He can’t scare Tony. Tony’s precious and sweet and doesn’t deserve to be scared by a hulking alpha.

Tony flashes him a quick smile, bright as the sun. “Call me omega and we’ll see.”

He rubs his nose alongside the length of Tony’s. “Omega,” he rumbles, putting as much Alpha into his voice as he can. Tony shivers.

“Alpha,” Tony breathes and Bucky feels like roaring his triumph. “Yes.”

Their first kiss is little more than a brush of Bucky’s lips against Tony’s. “I love you,” he says, pulling back to drop a quick kiss to the tip of Tony’s nose. He presses another kiss to Tony’s lips, there and then pulling back. Tony’s eyes flutter closed on a soft sight and Bucky’s arrested by the sight of those long eyelashes against his cheek. His next kiss lands on Tony’s right eyelid. “Love those pretty Bambi eyes,” he says. Another fleeting kiss on Tony’s lips and then back to Tony’s left eyelid. “Love that pink blush on your cheeks.” Tony’s cheeks immediately heat. Bucky can’t resist placing his next kisses on each cheek, feeling the heat under his lips, before coming back to Tony’s pouting mouth. He’s there longer this time, placing quick teasing kisses on his lips, pulling back slightly, and then coming back, too overwhelmed by the feeling of Tony in his arms to stay away for long. “Love your perfect scent.” He buries his face in Tony’s neck, nuzzling into his scent glands. Happy omega is pouring off of him, filling the air with the smell of honeysuckle and peaches.

He fits his teeth around the gland and bites gently, not hard enough to spark a bond, just enough to tease. Tony goes limp against him, falling into his shoulder with a whimper. “I’ve got you, honey,” he says and presses a line of kisses up Tony’s throat to the corner of his mouth.

“Love you,” he says again, just because he can. 

Tony smiles at him, bright as the sun, warming up the winter night. “I love you too.”

Bucky kisses his smiling mouth, firmly this time. He takes the omega’s bottom lip between his teeth and nibbles on the soft flesh. When Tony gasps, he slides his tongue between his lips and licks inside. He pulls back to trace his tongue over the outline of the omega’s mouth, dips back in for another taste. Tony’s hand moves from his shirt to his arm, digging his fingers into his bicep. Bucky groans and hauls Tony even closer.

“Let me take you home,” he whispers, tearing his mouth away to suck at the smooth skin at the juncture between Tony’s neck and shoulder. “Let me lay you out on my bed, keep you safe, keep you warm.” He rolls his hips so Tony can feel just how hard he is. “Keep you full.”

Tony whines, hand clenching and unclenching. “Yes,” he says on a gasp as Bucky bites down. “Please.” Bucky takes his earlobe between his teeth and tugs. “Alpha.”

“My omega,” Bucky says. He drops his hand to where Tony’s ass meets his thighs and lifts. Tony immediately wraps his legs around his hips. “So perfect, honey.”

He carries Tony out of the labyrinth, kisses him quiet when Tony protests leaving without saying goodbye to Steve and Becca. “If I know them, they’re already gone,” he mutters. “’Sides, we’ll see ‘em in two days.” He takes a quick look at Tony’s blown pupils, the barest hint of omega gold around the edges. “Maybe.”

~

Bucky shifts on the front stoop for only a second before Tony slides his warm hand into his. “It’s just your family,” Tony points out.

“Yeah but I told Becca about Brock so she told everyone else so they’re all going to look at me like-”

“-you’re the luckiest alpha in the world,” Tony finishes. He reaches up with his other hand to thumb at the bondmark on Bucky’s neck. 

“More like the stupidest,” he mutters. He bends down to drop a quick kiss on the tip of Tony’s nose. “Coulda had this years ago.”

Tony wrinkles his nose. “Don’t know why you like my nose so much.”

“Your freckles, honey. I like your freckles.” He presses another quick kiss to the side of Tony’s head. “Even if I can’t see ‘em under that foundation you wear.”

Tony preens. “Well, that’s okay then.”

“Love you,” Bucky says and presses one more kiss to Tony’s lips. Tony mews and opens for his tongue. Bucky indulges in Tony’s taste for only another second before pulling away. “Pretty omega.”

Tony blinks his eyes back open, hazy and dreamlike. “Love you too.”

“Yes, yes you both love each other,” Becca says dryly. She snickers as they jump apart.

“When did you open the door?” Bucky demands.

“Too early. You two are gross, look like two seals wrestling over a grape.”

Tony sniffs haughtily. “It isn’t like you and Steve were much better,” he begins but Bucky presses his fingers against his bondmark and he falls silent with nothing more than a quiet whimper.

Becca watches the byplay with a tiny smirk before casually saying, “Are you just going to stand there the entire time or are you going to come inside? You’re letting all the cold air in.”

“Come inside,” Bucky says promptly and shoves her aside.

“Dickhead,” Becca snaps.

He replies cheerfully, “Fuckface,” and drops Tony’s hand to pull her into a tight hug and mess up her perfectly styled hair.

“Glad to have you back,” Becca mutters sullenly. She hesitates. “Better Christmas this year?”

Bucky looks at where Tony’s flounced off to the kitchen, probably to wheedle cookies off his mother. At the door to the kitchen, he pauses and looks back at Bucky to blow him a kiss. He smiles fondly. “Much.”

[risthebrave]

⭐star⭐

okay bear with me because i’m typing this on my phone and that is an instant recipe for a mess 🥴

i’m typically super indecisive but there’s one fic i’ve been dying to talk about for months and it finally came out this week but i still want to talk about it—

so spoilers for feeling borrowed, always blue below

writing this fic was a roller coaster of emotions, much like the story itself. i don’t think i’ve ever cried this much writing anything— so yeah it is validating and reassuring when people tell me they cried too shsjks 

i also wrote it over the course of three months: july - october, which is the longest i’ve worked on a project since my first fic which was an ongoing wip which i wrote/posted over six months. and then after those three months, i had another almost three months to let it sit and even get the chance to self-edit it which i’ve never done before sghjkss. i think this was definitely a big project and having that extra time to tackle it really helped. 

the biggest struggle i faced was figuring out how to resolve everything - as you know if you’ve read it, louis was stuck in a seemingly impossible situation and for the longest time, i wasn’t quite sure how i was going to get him out of it. in the end, it was really rather simple. i remember talking to my dear friend who also beta-read this for me, chelsea, about how i was getting closer to the climax and still didn’t know what to do and we were talking about contracts and movies we’d seen with similar elements and i was thinking about how my original plan: dean cheating, isn’t necessarily enough for them to dissolve the entire contract... but then i got to thinking about what was most important to the cartiers. what made them put on this whole charade in the first place, and that’s, of course: reputation. after that, everything sort of fell into place. i kept thinking: what if there was something more hazardous to their reputation about louis marrying dean? what if louis and dean threatened to become public image nightmares? what if, what if, what if - 

writing that scene when louis went to dean’s was arguably the hardest scene to write from the entire fic but i literally could not stop writing it. i started in the evening and literally had to drag myself away from the laptop to eat dinner because i didn’t want to break the trance i had fallen into trying to figure out the best way to have the scene unfold. i was also conflicted on whether or not to show the scene where they went to the cartiers but in the end i chose to gloss over it because it’d just be a lot of reiterating or what louis already told dean and it was completely unnecessary. i also decided to add that small bit about louis talking about how he went into design and later used it as a distraction/clutch after harry broke up with him because having those two explosive scenes back to back was just *too* intense and i needed to diffuse some of the tension. i’m pretty satisfied with how the whole sequence played out, legal inaccuracies beside. 

other than that scene, this fic has two of my top five (and tbh, three) favorite scenes i’ve ever written: the scene where harry comes to louis’ flat confess and then the scene where louis goes to harry’s flat to break the news. writing both of those scenes involved a whole lot of tears and breaks in which i frantically paced my room and tried to get ahold of myself :’( but i’m so proud of how both of them turned out :’) evoking emotion in the reader was definitely the biggest goal for this fic and i really do think i accomplished it. 

also a note on the smut scene: pretty sure this is also the first time since my first fic that i didn’t have to tag “d/s undertones,” or something akin to it because this was genuinely the most romantic/sappiest smut i’ve ever written and yes i cried my way through writing it. there was really no other choice - both louis and harry were so relieved and happy to be where they were at that point and there was nothing else they could do but make sweet love. there was plenty of flowery paragraphs and metaphors and winded prose to help meet the atmosphere i was going for and i had a list of three words i wanted to exhibit which were: awe, bliss, and joy. i think that succeeded too :’) 

as for implementing those VOWS: aka the sappiest part!! i was just thinking about how harry knows how much louis wants to get married and have his dream wedding and how this whole fiasco completely turned the whole concept around - he wanted louis to know that the disaster wasn’t the real deal. that one day he really would get married to someone he loves and have the wedding of his dreams and that hopefully he’d be that someone. it was a promise, i suppose. 

okay epilogue time! there was really only one choice for the epilogue in my mind and that was obviously louis’ actual wedding to harry :’) i wanted to show that he truly did get what he wanted in the end and everything he deserved and obviously i had to introduce nora too! i wasn’t sure how much of the wedding i’d show but then i realized when i got to louis peeking out to where harry was standing at the altar that the best decision was not showing the actual ceremony. the whole concept of a “wedding” was the biggest theme of the story - the crux, if you will - and the whole story was about fighting for love and being strong and getting to that damn wedding (the real one, not the fake one <3) and in the end, the physical wedding itself didn’t matter because louis had reached the metaphorical wedding -- does that even make sense? anyways, the only way to end the fic for me was with that last line of him stepping into the first act. that whole running analogy of him acting in play was a big theme throughout the fic (especially in the second chapter) so it seemed fitting to bring it back one last time. 

and as harry from there’s nothing like it (nothing at all) would say: the end is just the beginning. louis’ story is far from over; he stepped into the first act of the next chapter/play/whatever of his life when he walked down that aisle and i was very proud <3

and now, here’s a few of my personal favorite lines because yes i have favorite lines from every fic and i never get to talk about them:

In a month he’ll be married, yet he’s still sleeping alone.

-

Harry’s eyes close and he exhales, head tipped back as if he’s been listening to the most beautiful symphony. “Say it again,” he says roughly. 

-

“I’m always a fool when it comes to you.” 

-

“You are my entire heart, Louis.”

-

The love singing through Louis’ body right now is the kind of feeling they write ballads about - the kind of feeling people would kill or die just to experience even once. He can feel it vibrating in every single cell, bleeding from his heart into his arteries and veins and overtaking his mind and soul. 

-

A garden filled with flowers, yes, but also filled with the most important people in both of their lives: a garden of love.*

-

Steady as flowers, steady as lavender, steady as a Tomlinson - or, a Tomlinson-Styles, he supposes. 

-

Louis steps forward and into the first act. 

* just want to quickly say that family was another big theme of this fic and not just family by definition but family as in those who care about you and love you unconditionally. family as in his friends, as in the baby in his stomach, as in Harry. family is what makes it all worth it in the end :’)

OKAY i’m definitely forgetting some but those are just some bits that make me feel happy even though i’m the one who wrote them. 

this is already rambling on so long but it was so much fun to do so thank you for whoever submitted! 

[eyesfixedonthesun22]

She’s So High: Chapter 8: B SIDE: ALTERNATE ENDING

Summary: 90’s karaoke and your snarky wit seem to have revived the charming side of one Bucky Barnes. Everything comes full circle the morning after. *RECORD SCRATCH SOUND* Except this is the B Side...see notes.  Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Warning(s): Smut 18+. Swearing. Kissing, Fingering (female), Oral Sex (female receiving), Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex. No beta reader so like...typos probs.  Word Count: xxx Notes: So @marvelous-meggi and @kyber-hearts-and-stardust-souls put the idea in my head when I first posted Chapter 8 of “What would have happened if they had gotten caught?” and I saw that maybe I would write this as sorta a B Side to this chapter. And Meggie tagged me today saying she was waiting still. AND while I was showering I had an idea. So....this happened. ORIGINAL chapter text is in italics. NEW chapter text is regular font. 

You’re taken aback by the bright wash of sunshine flooding the room as your eyes flutter open. A room that is clearly not your room. Your half-awake brain remembers the events of last night sluggishly. This is Bucky’s bed… which would explain the large arm draped across your middle.

You savor the warmth from the sunlight spilling across the bed coupled with the warmth radiating from his body next to you. The soft sheets caress your naked skin as you stretch your muscles; careful not to wake Bucky.

You study his face. All the tension it normally holds during the waking hours is absent. His hair is strewn across his pillow. His limbs, all but the one anchoring you to him, seem to be splayed in every direction. You crane your neck to see the clock.

“Fuck.” You allow another five minutes to enjoy the proximity with the man beside you before carefully sliding under his arm.

You curse once more for sleeping in this late but allow it remembering fondly why you were so exhausted. Bucky had woken you up throughout the night. The first time he had ground gently against your backside. He nearly came from the wanton whines that permeated your dreams. When you stirred awake, he slid into you from behind; relishing in how soaked you had been for him.

The second time you had protested a bit, citing lack of sleep. Not easily deterred, his mouth worked your breasts with lavish kisses. All complaints died on your tongue when his head disappeared under the covers with his apology of “just once more for me, darlin’?” You could have sworn you heard a series of knocks clearly coming from the room next door. All worry dissipated as Bucky tongue fucked you through not one but two more orgasms.

The third time was entirely your “fault”. You had woken with your throat parched. Returning from the bathroom with a glass of water, you noticed a tempting tent in the sheets. Thinking you’d have the element of surprise, you were certainly shocked (though not complaining), when things ended with you bent over the side of the bed with Bucky’s cock pounding you into the mattress.

You smirk at the memories, attempting to find your clothing from the night before. Quickly giving up, you opt for Bucky’s flannel as a dressing gown. You’d be able to start breakfast in privacy and come back in normal clothes once the team was awake. Which would be soon if you didn’t hurry; you thought, stealing a final glance back at Bucky’s sleeping form.

You’d settled on a batch of breakfast quiches for the team. You press play on your favorite playlist, letting it provide a pleasant background soundtrack. Once the egg mixture was ready, you could throw it in the oven and probably catch another half hour of lazy morning cuddles with Bucky.

All the vegetables were chopped and ready for the filling. The only problem was you couldn’t remember the ratio of cream to egg. Pulling open the cabinets you see the cookbook you need propped on one of the top shelves. Clearly someone else had used it last. You would never have put it so out of reach. You stand on your tip toes and attempt to swat it down from its elevated prison.

You must have been engrossed in getting the cookbook down because Bucky is able to silently creep into the kitchen. He enjoys watching you struggle; finding your little frustrated cursing adorable.

You see the cookbook teetering, almost within reach, when a pair of hands land on your hips. You freeze but relax once you smell the familiar scent of him behind you. His head drops on your shoulder for a quick kiss behind your ear; hands dipping under the hemline of the flannel.

“You skippin’ out on me, dollface?” He mumbles into your skin.

“I needed to get breakfast in the oven before everyone is up. I was gonna hop back in bed with you while it bakes.” You resume your struggle to get the cookbook down as Bucky chuckles at you. “Would you quit laughing at me?! I need this cookbook. I can’t remember the ratioooooooohh-”

Your reply turns to a moan. One of his hands detaches itself from its place on your hip, effortlessly grabs the cookbook, and tosses it on the island behind you; the other is occupied ever so softly stroking small circles into your clit. You collapse back down off your tip toes and let your weight fall back into his chest.

“Doll, you can’t go around stealing my shirts and making them look ten times sexier than I ever could.” His voice seems entirely unaffected but the sudden shift in mood. “I’m incredibly insecure and you’re showing me up.”

You can hear the smile in his words even if you weren’t feeling it in his lips which are now sloppily and lazily kissing up your neck. You sigh deeply, enjoying the teasing sensations he’s sending through your body.

“Buck-” you whine gently, remembering where you are. “Someone is gonna hear us.”

He pulls back from you to quickly jab at the volume button; increasing the music so others don’t hear you. “Then you better be quiet, sweetheart.”

Needing to see his eyes, you turn around to face him. His hair is mussed. It looks like he’s thrown on the same black jeans from the night before. They hang obscenely low on his hips unbuttoned. He’s deliciously shirtless.  Warmth from the bedroom still clings to his skin.

“I distinctly remember a grumpy old man yelling at me for too loud of music this early in the morning.”

The pressure on your clit relents only to feel a digit slide into your core slowly, his thumb takes up the circles on your clit.

“Come back to bed darlin’. Sleeping in isn’t as fun without you there.”

“I have to make breakfast-” Your reply is choked off by a particularly strong wave of pleasure as his finger pushes pressure onto your g-spot. You open your eyes only to see a perfectly smug and unbothered face. If you didn’t feel his motions deep inside your now pulsing cunt, you would have guessed he was almost bored.

You try again to defend your actions, “Everyone will go hungry if-”

With his eyes locked on yours he adds a second finger into you. “Fuck.” He cocks his head to the side slightly and gives you his best shit eating grin.

“You were saying?”

“I’m out of excuses.” You mold your lips to his, giving into the pleasurable sensations. You attempt to walk him backwards out of the kitchen towards the bedroom.

“Nuh uh,” he says with his mouth now sucking deep hickeys into your collar bone. “Wanna see you cum right here.”

You want to protest but the clench of your walls around his fingers betrays you before you can get a word out. You pant small breathy moans into his shoulder as he brings his lips to your ears.

“That’s it, darlin’. I can tell that turns you on.” You suppress another low moan and it comes out more of a whimper. “Knowin’ anyone could walk in… see you becoming a panting little mess stuffed with my fingers.”

At this point, you’re relying completely on Bucky for support; your legs have gone to Jell-O. “I can tell you’re close, doll. I feel you fluttering around me.”

The stretch and glide of Bucky’s fingers have you forgetting about the residual soreness. You bite your bottom lip; hoping it will keep you quiet enough. You’re ready to let go with your release-

“Holy fuck, Barnes!” You whine all vestiges of anger about him teasing you previously slipping away. “Don’t stop.”

His pace is measured and calculated hitting unrelenting on your g-spot with perfect pressure. Perhaps any other time you’d be embarrassed by the slick squelches coming from his motions but all you care about was that they didn’t cease.

“Oh I’m not stopping baby. You’re gonna cum for me right here,” his words are hot and low in your ear as your vision goes white. “And then I’m gonna spread your legs and have my breakfast.”

With those final words you’re a panting moaning mess into the crux of his neck and shoulder; cookbook and quiches long since forgotten while your release rips through you.

“Now I do fully appreciate the suave nature of that line you just laid on your lady there, Barnes; but can the both of you move this to a more suitable room?”

“Yeah like literally ANY other room!” Steve chimes in staring at the two of you pink faced and bug eyed.

“But maybe bleach the countertops first.”

“I’m not letting them get off that easy, Tony.” Steve stands with his shoulders squared, a giant wall of muscle blocking the escape. “ James Buchanan Barnes! Agent! What the hell were you thinking? Engaging in…”

“Fucking seems more apt a word”

Steve presses on ignoring Tony’s interjection. “Being intimate in shared common spaces. Did you want to get caught?”

Perhaps it was the tingles of aftershocks still moving through you but you felt your pussy throb as Steve voiced aloud the very words about the situation you were in. Tony, ever the joyful observer of others misery, locks eyes with you. Whatever state of flushed you were went a shade darker at him noticing your state of rekindled arousal. There was something about being caught that just shot jolts straight to your core. You knew it was risky but that was half the fun. Now to have Steve calling you out on the very thing that turned you on really only amplified the situation between your legs.

“I mean anyone could have walked around the corner at any second to see Bucky and you.”

You can’t help but shift your thighs back and forth aching to get back to Bucky’s room and let him finish his earlier promise.

Tony raises and eyebrow before speaking. “I think they’ve had enough lecturing, Cap. But just think about how much worse it would have been if we came in any later.”

“Yeah yeah we get it,” Bucky comes to your rescue, placing his hand in the small of your back to nudge you back to his room. You quickly duck under Steve’s arm, out of the kitchen hoping Bucky is right behind you. You turn only to see Tony pull him aside, no doubt for one more talking to.

***

“Look, hear me out and try to remember I’m only saying this for your benefit as I’m obviously off the market,” Tony says to Bucky while wiggling his wedding band clad finger. “That girl has a thing and it’s a thing you need to look into.”

“A thing?” Skepticism clouds his voice.

“Obviously get her consent but I think you have a bit of an exhibitionist on your hands there Buckaroo.”

***

“We’re gonna be late.”

You can’t help but laugh as he pushes you into the more discreet alley behind Pastimes; pinning you beneath his strong frame while he assaults your neck with wet kisses.

“Let them wait. I haven’t seen my girl all day.”

Nips and pecks turn to hot, open mouthed kiss and gasping embraces. His fingers quickly trace the cleft between thigh more needing places of yours. You mouth a silent thanks that you’d worn a skirt tonight.

“Bucky, we should go a bit further into the alley.”

“Should we?” His words might as well have been a growl. “Afraid we’ll get caught again, little one?”

He pulls your panties aside and presses into your wetness.

“I’d love it if Stevie came out looking for us and caught you stuffed with my fingers, mid-orgasm once more.”

There’s no hiding the tattletale clench of your walls and renewed gush of slick.

“Maybe he’d give you another lecture about proper conduct and soiling the good Avengers name. But you just can’t help it. You love me finger fucking you where anyone could see us. Don’t you?”

You’re certain he’d wanted to force your response but the sudden turn in your boyfriends demeanor was all too much for you. With his question and recent push of fingers inside your tight channel you’ve gone and cum; walls fluttering, eyes going shut, body tensing in Bucky’s arms.

“Holy shit, doll. Just from that?”

You nod sheepishly at him once the afterglow of your release sets in and you can think again.

“I can’t wait to see what else you can do, darling.” He kisses you gently on the forehead and then the lips before helping you get straightened up. “Now let’s go sing some karaoke.”

Bucky plops down across the booth next to Sam like nothing out of the ordinary just occured. You attempt to make conversation with Wanda but you find it hard to focus after Bucky’s little surprise. Your eyes wander and meet his across the booth. They glint playfully. Your gaze moves to his hand holding his drink. Two of the fingers are obviously coated in your slick. Noticing your gaze, he moves the finger up to his mouth and licks it clean. You let out an uncontrolled gasp.

“You okay there?” Tony says. You pry your eyes away from Bucky’s face you manage a nod. You refuse to look back at him, knowing full well he’s got the largest shit eating grin plastered on his face. Just this once you let him have it; he’s earned it.  

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Happy Together : 2

Small World

Character(s): (deceptively) dark!Steve

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. It goes without (and with) saying that this is 18+.

Series Synopsis: The reader is stood up while awaiting a blind date, instead finding herself keeping company with the restaurant’s famous owner; Steve Rogers. After that night, she tries to forget her humiliation but she just can’t shake one thing about that night: him.

Chapter Summary: The reader sees a familiar face.

Notes: For reference to setting, see the previous chapter. As for this one, I hope you have patience. Now, Witness kinda took a few chapters to get to the crux, but this one might take a little longer. ;) But I promise, it’s going to be some very fucked up Steve eventually. In advance, I thank everyone for following along and soon I will start adding to other WIPs one Witness is finished (maybe finally start that Medieval AU lol) <3

Thanks to everyone who reads and as always, I looked forward to hearing from you in the replies/reblogs/tags/asks. <3

You were annoyed that you had wasted time at that restaurant waiting on yet another unreliable and selfish man. You could’ve used the hour finishing your latest commission but instead you spent your Saturday morning on the project. You usually tried to save that day for yourself. Self-employed, you made it a priority to work at least six days a week. You were paid well enough, quite successful as it was, but you liked the security of having a little extra under your belt. Besides, it always made you anxious to think that you could be actually doing something instead of lazing around on your couch watching Netflix.

Plus, you needed the distraction from your self-pity. The humiliation lingered for a few days after and even your work couldn’t erase it entirely. Why hadn’t he come? Was it an innocent case of forgetfulness? Or maybe he had changed his mind after seeing you. Tandi had exchanged your information via Facebook and he had seen your photo the same as you had his. Perhaps he hadn’t been as pleased at the prospect. Ugh, you didn’t even know him. Just forget it!

It was Wednesday and the disappointment was still a speck at the edge of your mind. It was sunny for once, a light jacket over your blouse and jeans as you basked in the warming spring air. You walked merrily to the park, happy to be outside, refreshed almost. You found a place on one of the bench, the melody of birds and interspersed voices of people filling the flowery air. You pulled your tablet and pen from your leather tote and opened up your program, working on the outline of the geometric logo you had started the night before.

Every now and then you looked up from your work and admired the serenity nestled amidst the chaotic city. You crossed your legs, resting your tablet against your knee and continued to draw, the sunlight hugging you. A blur moved across the top of your vision and paused, looming closer and you slowly looked up. The tablet nearly slid off your knee as you spotted the man approaching you. It couldn’t be.

“Hey, it’s you,” Steve greeted, his perfect smile shining brighter than the sky. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name the other night.”

“Um, Y/N,” You answer, shading your eyes from the sun beaming over his shoulder, “You remember me?”

“A face like yours is easy to remember,” He replied coyly, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Yeah, I uh...know,” You admitted shyly, “Thanks again…”

“Oh, it was nothing,” He waved away the gratuity, “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Go ahead,” You shrugged, steadying your tablet across your knee.

“Are you drawing something?” He asked, your tablet half-dimmed as it threatened to lock.

“Yeah. Working actually,” You explained, clicking the sleep button and shifting the screen against your thigh. “I’m a graphic artist.”

“Ah,” He nodded, “Makes sense. It must be fun. Doing something creative like that.”

“It can be,” You answered, “I…” You paused, his eyes never leaving yours. He was so intent on you, as if no one else was in the park. How had he picked you out among the crowd? Half of New York had probably been in his restaurant. You shook away the overly paranoid questions and continued. “Depends on the job, really. I mostly just do corporate logos and designs. Can’t really get paid for what I want to draw.”

“Well, what do you like to draw?” He stretched his arm over the back of the bench, you almost didn’t notice as it slid behind you. You were sure it was just a casual gesture, a habit he didn’t give much thought to, but it felt entirely too intimate.

“Life, I guess. People, animals, trees. I just like to create scenes, not just...symbols,” You said, nervously twirling the pen between your fingers. “I prefer to paint, really.”

“Oh, yeah? Do have any of them on that thing?” He pointed to the tablet, “Anything you’re willing to show me?” You blinked as his tone caught you off-guard. He was talking about your art and yet it seemed like he meant something more. You could’ve sworn his eyes had strayed from your face for just a second. God, you were crazy. After being stood up and nearly two years by yourself, you were growing delusional.

“I might, I, um...one second,” You unlocked your tablet and saved your work. You opened your gallery and flipped through your files, settling on a quick sketch you had done of a sparrow that had built a nest outside your building. “It’s just a drawing, but, um, here.”

You handed over the tablet and he tilted it so he could see the screen, his brows lifting as his eyes ran over the lines and shadows done in monochrome, splashes of auburn here and there to give a hint of life to the sketch. “Wow, that’s really good.” He looked up, holding the tablet out to you, “You’re very talented.”

“Thanks,” You looked away shyly, “Really, it’s just a sketch. I’ve seen way better.”

“No, no, what you do is amazing. You shouldn’t compare yourself to others,” He smiled as you took the tablet, your fingers brushing his by accident. “You’re you and that makes it more than a sketch. It’s art.”

You allowed yourself a small smile. “Thank you,” You locked your tablet again and set it on your lap, resting your pen beside it.

“Well,” He slowly pulled his arm out from behind you, his warmth releasing you as he stood. “I’ll leave you to it. I’d hate to keep you from you work.” He checked his watch as he spoke, “And I’ve got to get to the restaurant for dinner service.” He looked back to you, his blue eyes searching you, considering you closely as he measured his next words, “You should definitely come back some time. You know, no date required.”

“Yeah, uh, sure,” You nodded evasively. You didn’t really want to admit that you couldn’t go back not because you were dateless but because you had bills. “It was, uh, surprising to run into you.”

“You, too,” He grinned, his golden brows twitching, “The special tonight is salmon. You should give it a try….have a good one.”

He turned away, strolling across the park and onto the street. You drew your brows together as you saw a silver car pull up and he got inside. Why would he be walking through the park if he had a town car? You shook your head and readjusted your tablet across your knee. Maybe he had just gotten out to stretch. You doubted he had gone out of his way to bug you.

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

You balanced the mugs, careful not to spill any of the foam as you walked between tables and found your seat by the window. Tandi was sat with her phone out, grinning at the screen like an idiot. You set her latte in front of her and cupped your own warm mug as you sat down. She finished typing and relinquished her phone on the table. She looked up at you, starry-eyed over her latest fling. Well, they’d been seeing each other for a couple months so maybe it was getting serious.

“I’m real sorry about Danny,” She said. She had arrived as you were waiting in line, grabbing a seat as you bided your time in the queue. Your mouth twitched and you looked away. The heat still rose in your cheeks whenever you thought of the painful hour spent in the restaurant. It had been more than a week.

“It’s not your fault,” You grumbled, “It was just embarrassing...I can’t believe I sat there that long. It was like everyone was staring at me.”

“I’m sure they weren’t, but it was a dick thing to do. I’ve blocked him on Snap, Facebook, and Twitter.” She smirked, “So yeah, fuck him.”

“Ha, thanks,” You scoffed, raising your mug to sip from it, the foam cooling the espresso. Your eyes wandered out the window as you leaned back in your chair.

“You know, not all guys are like that, Y/N,” She trilled, “Carson’s a nice guy and he has lots of friends.”

“I don’t want to date any of your boyfriend’s bros,” You protested, watching the passerbys through the glass. “Carson’s nice but not my type and I can’t imagine his friends are of a different cut.”

“Well, you should at least consider someone. Anyone!” She said dramatically, but before you could chuckle it caught in your throat. You swore you recognized that blonde head across the street. You couldn’t say for sure as it quickly ducked into the suit shop and you blinked as the mug in your hand wobbled. You steadied your grip and turned back to Tandi. Right, you were going crazy.

“I will. One day. But I’m fine right now. Work’s good and steady and I feel pretty good. I can do what I want when I want...Living with Mike was difficult and I didn’t even realize how much I hated it til he was gone.” You stopped yourself before you could get too emotional. “I know it’s been a long time, but I’m working on it, a little at a time.”

“I know…” She reached over and touched the back of your hand, “I just want you to be happy; healthy.”

You smiled. A genuine smile. Not the one you put on for strangers or when you were anxious. A real one and it felt good. You took another gulp and waited for Tandi to begin her usual train of gossip. She always had the messiest stories about her workplace; she was an actor and had garnered many a theatre job, enough at least to keep her studio apartment. Once she began, it was hard to stop her and your latte was drained by the time she finished.

Her phone shook the table. She flipped it over and checked the notification, her face shone. “Carson’s back from his trip,” She almost sang. You stared at her and sighed as her eyes rounded brightly.

“Go on,” You relented, “You’re free to go. I won’t keep you. Just call me when you get a chance...if you get a chance.”

“Thank you,” She stood so quickly she hit the table with her hip. She pulled on her thin trench, pulling taught the belt around her thin waist. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know. That’s why I’m letting you go,” You crossed your arm, “Just let me know you’ve arrived safely. You know I’m paranoid.”

“Sure, sure,” She leaned down to give you half-hug, “I’ll see you.”

“See you,” You patted her lower back in return, “Bye.”

You watched her go, content at least with the hour shared with her. You couldn’t expect her to put her life on hold because you had. You weren’t bitter but you mulled her words. Just because one jerk had stood you up didn’t mean they all would. Maybe not today or tomorrow or the next day, but you’d be ready to start again one day. For now, you wanted to pop into the used bookstore just across the street. You always found something interesting there.

You stepped out into the cool spring afternoon, the evening looming as a hint of rain floated in the air. You ran across the street and hopped up onto the curb, your focus solely on the book shop. You entered with a ring, the small bell above the door announcing your entrance. The storekeeper was sat at a desk stacked with book, the daily newspaper held aloft like a shield. You headed for the back shelves where vintage magazines were kept in old filing crates. You liked to use them for inspiration.

As you picked out decades-old issues, the bell jingled again but you didn’t pay much heed to the arrival of another. You continued to thumb through the magazines until you had half a dozen, content that they would last you a while. You stood and looked along the shelf, walking parallel to it slowly as you read the titles of ancient odes and medieval limericks. You stopped to pull out a collection of Wordsworth, the spine thin and worn, easily falling open in your hand.

“Excuse me,” The voice interrupted you before you could finish reading the title of the first poem. It was oddly familiar. Your lashes fluttered in disbelief, “You dropped…” Steve’s voice died and he chuckled as you turned to him slowly, “You again.”

“Uh-huh,” You mumbled warily. It had been him on the street retreating into the suit shop. That would prove he had been in the area for more than an hour but why? He held no wares from his visit to the tailor’s. Another coincidence? Surely, you weren’t that special.

“As I was saying, you dropped this,” He held up the white pen you used with your tablet. It had likely slipped out as you knelt at the crates.

“Thanks,” You accepted it and tucked it snuggly in the side pocket.

“What’s that you got there?” He asked, nodding at the book in your hand.

“Nothing,” You closed it and placed it back on the shelf. “I was just wasting time.”

“Oh yeah?” He smiled, resting his hand on the shelf as he leaned on it casually. “I just kinda stumbled in. Saw this copy of Dante’s Inferno,” He held up the painted cover which depicted an eerie cave spiralling ever downward, “My mother used to keep a copy but I never read it. Thought maybe I could give it a try.”

“Cool,” You hugged the magazines to you chest. Something about him being there at that exact moment was off. The unease was stronger than it had been at the park; his spontaneous visit had been more believable then. You tried to smile. You were being dumb. And what were you even afraid of? He used to be an Avenger. He was good guy. “I was actually just about to head--”

A clap of thunder shrouded your next words. You looked past the bookshelves as the light rain you had failed to notice through the window began to pour down in sheets. Your distress must have been plain as your lips parted slightly.

“Do you need a ride?” He asked, shaking you from your despair. You looked back to him and tried to think of something. Anything.

“I’ll catch a cab,” You shrugged him off, trying to seem unperturbed. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Don’t waste your money. You can share my town car. He’s just outside. I’m sure you don’t live too far out of the way.” He smirked, his hand shifting along the shelf as he edged closer. You almost didn’t notice the subtle movement.

“Really, I can’t. You’ve already done enough. I really should, um, go.” You back away only to find the corner at your back.

“I won’t let you say no,” He asserted, “Come on. Just a car ride. That’s it. I mean, do you really wanna stand out in this and hail a cab?”

You stared up at him as you considered the invitation. Why were you so reluctant? He had done nothing to earn your distrust. If anything, he had only done you favours. But why? Oh, shut up brain, he wasn’t Mike. Or Danny. He actually seemed like a decent human being so why were you being so dumb?

“Okay,” You relented, “Sure. Why not.”

****

tags:  @ruff-m3rc @alexakeyloveloki @lanabanana-86 @sathlens @jessieray98 @kellyn1604 @ahideousthinginside @ironlady1993 @kloe-iel @grayxswan @iheartsebastianstan @myboyfriendgiriboy @tanelle83 @patzammit @phoenix21love @they-call-me-le @iheartsebastianstan

[inactiive-shit]

Masterlist

UPDATED: 7/3/2020

I have decided to collect and link all my shit together because it is hard to find sometimes and honestly, I just thought it would be fun. Here are all my stories (at this point, they are all Sanders Sides fanfiction):

1. A Hero’s Death - Virgil always wanted to be a hero. And now he is. But it's not quite like anybody imagined it. (warnings: death, violence, no comfort//genre: angst/whump?//pairing: LAMP, some qpp some romantic) Read on AO3

2. Reasons To Live - Virgil just wants to walk home and agonize over his upcoming test, but a man he’s never seen before asks him a question, and somehow it all ends up okay. (warnings: none//genre: this was once described as cold fluff, which is possibly my favorite thing I’ve ever been told//pairing: platonic Analogical) Read on AO3

3. Don’t Stop If I Fall - When Virgil makes a promise, he means it. Furthermore, he always fulfills it. Even if it’s not quite in the way Patton was hoping. (warnings: death, unspecified creatures, unhappy end//genre: angst//pairing: platonic LAMP) Read on AO3

4. But Grow If I Can’t - Sequel to “Don’t Stop If I Fall” (warnings: same as previous installment) Read on AO3

5. Blood In My Mouth - A win brings him a friend, a loss brings him a friend, and an illegal fighting group can bring. . .love? (warnings: violence//genre: ???//pairing: platonic Moxiety, Prinxiety, romantic Analogical) Read on AO3

6. We’re Not What We’ve Seen - Nothing is guaranteed in war, and Patton knows this better than most. That doesn’t stop him from believing they’ll make it through mostly unscathed. (warnings: violence, war, despair//genre: hurt-comfort?//pairing: platonic LAMP) Read on AO3

7. I’ve Been Sane Too Long - Finals are a hard time - especially for someone like Logan, who has always done well and now has to. Failing means he’s worthless. . .doesn’t it? (warnings: stress//genre: hurt-comfort probably//pairing: platonic Logince) Read on AO3

8. (Bury Me In) All My Favorite Colors - Logan’s favorite color used to be dark blue, but now it’s a little more complicated than that. (warnings: death, no comfort//genre: angst//pairing: romantic LAMP) Read on AO3

9. You Watch It Fall - Roman’s been around for a very long time. He’s seen and done a lot of stuff. Some of it can get pretty old. (warnings: violence, some comfort//pairing: romantic Prinxiety) Read on AO3

10. Desperate Times, More Desperate Measures - When their powers manifested, Virgil’s three older brothers wanted to be just like their Dads and fight crime. Virgil had never been so inclined. Now, however, they never come to family dinners because they’re always busy. Virgil takes matters, and maybe the law, into his own hands. (warnings: I don’t think there’s any unless you count annoying your siblings//genre: It’s pretty funny//pairing: familial LAMP) Read on AO3

11. Night Is For Sleeping - Or Making Friends - All Dee wanted was a nice night in, sleeping. When the Prince of Chaos shows up in need of help, Dee’s night goes down the drain along with whatever sleep schedule he may have had. (warnings: blood, near death experience//genre: hurt-comfort//pairing: platonic Roceit, romantic Moceit) Read on AO3

12. Dedicated To The Kids - Virgil’s never known anything but his grueling schedule. Now, he’s tasted freedom. He won’t give it up. (warnings: implied abuse, running away//pairing: none) Read on AO3

13. All The Lighters Looking Just Like Stars - It’s about Roman being in a band (warnings: none) Read on AO3

14. False Hope - All Virgil wants to do is go home, to leave all this pain behind him. Nothing’s ever been that easy, though. He doesn’t think it ever will be. (warnings: whump, pain, confusion, unclear ending//genre: whump//pairing: romantic Analoceit, familial Prinxiety, platonic Moxiety) Read on AO3

15. Memes Make For Serious Business - This is based off a textpost. It’s really just funny and fluffy. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Analoceit) Read on AO3

16. Memes, Pt. 2 - Sequel to “Memes Make For Serious Business” (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Analoceit, platonic Roman/Patton/Virgil)

17. Leaf You Happy - Roman and Remus have a tradition they’ve enacted every year since they were kids. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: FAMILIAL Creativitwins) Read on AO3

18. Pumpkins - Logan's favorite treat comes around exactly once a year, and it comes with all of its own rituals and traditions. Those rituals and traditions have changed over the years; that just makes it that much more special. (warnings: mention of a knife for pumpkin carving//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Analogical, familial DLAMPR) Read on AO3

19. Supernova - Virgil was looking forward to a full night of horror movies and candy. Unfortunately, his Dad gets sick last minute, so there's only one person left who can take Roman trick-or-treating. But, hey, there's probably something aside from candy in it for Virgil as well. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Analogical, sibling Prinxiety, sibling Logicality) Read on AO3

20. Live A Little - Logan only gets one day out of the year. He has to make it last. (warnings: death, implied murder, blood, ghost//genre: ???//pairing: platonic LAMP) Read on AO3

21. In Perpetuum - They say the house is haunted. Shadows where there can't be, sounds there shouldn't be, music when nobody's lived there for over a decade. They say there was a murder there. But what really happened? (warnings: death, mental illness, it do be happy ending//genre: I’d call it fluff, but it’s whatever you call trying to write a ghost story and coming up with a love story instead//pairing: romantic DLAMP) Read on AO3

22. Friends In Scary Places - One thing Patton loves are haunted houses. (warnings: general haunted house stuff, gore for actors’ costumes, scares//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Moxiety, Intrulogical, Roceit, platonic DLAMPR) Read on AO3

23. Skeptical Belief - Logan has always believed in ghosts, despite the facts that his life has been totally free of the paranormal and he's a very skeptical person. The crux of the issue, then, is that he must find his own proof. Easy enough. (warnings: there is a demon-like thing//genre: it’s sort of fluff but not really? Unsure//pairing: platonic Analogical focus) Read on AO3

24. A Promise Never Broken - When the waters rise, Dee will always be there. (warnings: depression//genre: hurt-comfort, maybe? Idk, man//pairing: ambiguous Moceit) Read on AO3

25. Scary Movie, Safe Arms - Roman hates scary movies. He always has. He definitely does not want to watch one, not even for Virgil. Well...maybe he'll try for Virgil. (warnings: scary movie//genre: fluff//pairing: platonic Prinxiety, platonic LAMP) Read on AO3

26. The Dragon Witch of Heart’s Hospital - Dee is the Great and Terrible Dragon Witch. He can often be seen battling with young Prince Roman and his good friend Mage Logan. Recently, though, the Kingdom has gotten a few new residents. (warnings: setting is a hospital//genre: fluff//pairing: platonic DLAMP) Read on AO3

27. Jack And Sally Started At Taco Bell - Romantic Anxceit and their absolutely trash goblin dynamic. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Anxceit) Read on AO3

28. Monster - Virgil is clairvoyant - a psychic, medium, gifted, has The Sight, whatever. No matter what you call it, it sucks. Even a hang over would be better than this. It might not be all bad, though. Things could be looking up. Maybe. If Virgil can stop puking long enough to look up. (warnings: puke//genre: hurt-comfort I think//pairing: pre-romantic Anxceitmus) Read on AO3

29. Masquerade - Dee is the Prince Consort to Prince Remus. They've been dating another man for quite a while now and they believe it's time the rest of the kingdom - and the King, Remus's brother Roman - finally learn about their newest partner. In the most spectacular fashion possible, of course. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Anxceitmus) Read on AO3

30. First Snow - Virgil’s from southern Florida and he’s never been to a hell-state quite like this one before. Of course he’s never seen snow! (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairings: platonic lamp) Read on AO3

31. The Shoulder - Virgil gets hurt and the last thing he wants to do is be vulnerable withe people. Unfortunately for him, there are a few people he might like to be able to be vulnerable with. (warnings: fight mentioned, dislocated shoulder, anxious thoughts//genre: hurt/comfort//pairing: platonic dlamp) Read on AO3

32. When The Violence Causes Silence - Virgil has to train the New Recruits.And he is just ecstatic about it. /s (warnings: zombies, fighting, near death experiences//genre: apocalypse//pairing: platonic moxiety) Read on AO3

33. Life As A Sanders - Through the years of Virgil and Logan getting adopted by their Dad, Patton, and some of their major milestones in life. 12 Parts. (warnings: some fights, I’ll add more as they appear//genre: fluff?//pairing: familial dlamp) Read on AO3

34. Old Flame - Roman had a high school sweetheart. He hasn't seen him in over ten years and for all he knows the man could be dead.Then he shows up unexpectedly, and it turns out to be something both of them needed. (warnings: past toxic relationship, past drug abuse//pairing: platonic prinxiety) Read on AO3

35. Icarus - Roman loves to fly high, but Logan fears that one day he may go too high. (warnings: none//pairing: romantic logince) Read on AO3

36. Leaving To Be Happy - Roman and Remus are rather well off, rich sons of a well-known business man. Roman is expected to marry well and one day, surely, Remus will finally settle down himself. There's just one problem: Roman might as much disdain for this plan as his brother. (warnings: mentioned homophobia, forced heteronormative garbage//parings: familial creativitwins) Read on AO3

37. I Don’t Have A Name For It - Logan does not know what to call the feelings that Patton makes him experience. Luckily, it's an easily-solved problem. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic logicality) Read on AO3

38. Of Love And Knives -  It’s Valentine’s Day, and Remus had a plan. It’s just…a work a in progress. (warnings: lots of sexual language/references//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic dukexiety) Read on AO3

39. Quiet Lies -  Dee gets a little bruised up. Luckily, it’s not anything a couple of horror movies can’t fix. (warnings: mentions of violence//genre: hurt/comfort, i guess//pairings: platonic anxceit) Read on AO3

40. Burning -  Virgil needs a goddamn hug. (warnings: touch starvation//genre: hurt/comfort//pairing: platonic dukexiety) Read on AO3

41. Warmth -  Logan can’t sleep, but his roommate is very helpful. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: platonic/ambiguous loceit) Read on AO3

42. Ice Cream And Staying Up - Patton gets home from work late, and he’s fine, but Virgil was scared about what might have kept him. (warnings: mention of puke//genre: hurt/comfort//pairing: qpp moxiety) Read on AO3

43. Knight And Mage - Roman gets wounded in battle. It's fatal. Or...under other circumstances, it would be. (warnings: near death, battle//genre: hurt/comfort//pairing: romantic logince) Read on AO3

44. Snake-umentary - Virgil has had a stressful day. (warnings: mention of crash, accidental misgendering, panic attack, dissociation//pairing: romantic anxceit) Read on AO3

45. Water Bottle - Remus hyper-focuses so hard that he forgets to do basic things, like eat. (warnings: accidental dehydration//pairing: romantic anxceitmus) Read on AO3

46. Nasty - Virgil likes ice cream and Remus doesn’t like clothes. (warnings:  nonsexual nudity, mentions of quarantine and shitty jobs//genre: fluff//pairing: platonic dukexiety) Read on AO3

47. Peachy Fuzz - Remus really needs to get better at cards so that this doesn’t happen so often. (warnings: blood, fight, theoretical mention of murder//genre: hurt/comfort ig//pairing: romantic dukexiety) Read on AO3

48. Empty - Patton feels empty. (warnings: depression//pairing: platonic royality) Read on AO3

49. Thunder -  Dee doesn’t like thunder, and his boyfriend does, in fact, know that. (warnings: referenced sex, none included//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic anxceit) Read on AO3

50. Self Care - Roman fights crime because he has to. Because if he doesn’t, who will? All Patton’s asking is, who’s looking out for Roman? (warnings: none//genre: hurt/comfort//pairing: platonic royality) Read on AO3

51. Gift - Patton gives his boyfriends a heartfelt gift. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic lamp) Read on AO3

52. Jacket or Blanket? - JD, Virgil, and Remus go to the roof to look at stars. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: ambiguous anxceitmus) Read on AO3

53. I Love You - Logan is very much in love. Figuring out the appropriate time to say this is, somehow, the hardest part of the process. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic analogical) Read on AO3

54. Medusa - Remus really just wanted a bite to eat. He hadn't been expecting to find a living myth. (warnings: vampire, monching//pairing: pre-romantic dukeceit) Read on AO3

55. Drifter - Virgil has been on a lot of ships in his life; he’s more of a drifter than a pirate. But this one? It’s something different. (warnings: none//pairing: platonic moxiety) Read on AO3

56. Electricity - Remus is like the clock that still has cogs. He does work. It is just a different kind of working than others are used to. Sometimes, he must be wound, sometimes his gears malfunction and he must be reset. Sometimes people ignore his face for the ones printed in pretty, glowing numbers. (warnings: references to past issues, intrusive thoughts, Remus-normal stuff//genre: comfort//pairing: platonic intruality) Read on AO3

57.  Betrayal - Virgil’s getting revenge. His way. (warnings: fighting, betrayal, blood, stab//genre: angst//pairing: Virgil and Janus, but angry) Read on AO3

58.  Family - Janus finds out about Virgil trying to duck out. He’s less than pleased. (warnings: dark sides, aggressive love//genre: hurt/comfort ig//pairing: platonic anxceitmus) Read on AO3

59. Eventually - Roman and Logan play Mario Kart. Sometimes, Mario Kart can be the window to the soul. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: logince) Read on AO3

60.  Just Until - Virgil has not been having a good week. Patton knows a guy. (warnings: panic attack, snake mention//genre: comfort//pairing: platonic moxiety) Read on AO3