#they don't have enough bookshelves at all and it's mostly empty space

[messy-does-cosmology]

Lol there is this LGBT bookshop near me run by this married couple and they mostly just stock their own self-published books and graphic novels

[time-travelling-chaos]

For the ask game, 2, 14, 23

Thank you for the ask!

2. If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

I'm unsure here. I used to write a lot by hand when I was younger, but then I switched to write only on the computer, and switching was hard because I was so used to writing by hand. So I imagine it would be hard as well to switch back, and it would take so time to get used to it again, but that it would be possible. The only thing is it take much longer to write by hand, and editing takes ages, so I'll probably write only one shots and not so much longer stories anymore, but yeah, I love writing too much to let that stop me. (And also 100% pen)

14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back?

I do! But usually people who borrow them from me are people that I'm close to, so they aren't scared to ask (I'm usually nice about it, as I trust them). And appart from one or two, I know where all of them are and will get them back. But the thing is I will rarely talk much about books if I don't trust you already, so that helps.

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

My most common place of writing is my couch. It's a white one, not too big but enough for two people to sit in. It has a blue blanket put on top to protect it from cats hairs, and two blue cushions, each leaning next to one of the couch's arm. In front of the couch is a wodden coffee table that is almost as large as the couch. It is quite old, as I got it from my grandfather, but still in perfect condition. It also has a lot of storage space and some hidden drawer, which is really cool, but also makes it incredibly hard to carry and move around. On the table there are usually piles of books, and currently there are four piles and a comic that is not part of any pile, a box of tissues, two plants, my water bottle and usually some snacks. Between the two plants, there is a small weather station, that I use exclusively to see the time and temperature, but that also gives informations about things such as humidity percentage or atmospheric pressure. My switch and some games are often on the table as well, otherwise I'll forget their existence for a few months. All of that is generally aligned together and located to the right of the table, leaving the left part almost empty.

If I'm writing during the day, I'll sit on the couch facing the table, meaning that I will also see the rest of the living room. The blue armchair on the left of the coffee table. In the left corner there is a small dinner table, and next to that another plant. On the wall facing me, I can see the two doors leading to my bedroom and my home office, each usually open. Between the two doors, there is a small vintage piece of furniture, that I got from my grandfather as well. It has two drawers in which I put all of my teas and on top of it, two more plants and some tea that I never put back in the drawer. On the right there is a bookshelve that is almost full and contains almost exclusively the books that I haven't read yet. On top of the bookshelve, there are four begonias that I often foget to water because it would require me to take a chair as I can't reach them right away. All of those orginiate from my cat's habit to try to cut my plants, but thankfully begonias can grow from a cutting easily.

If I write during the night, I'll mostly lay on the couch, with my legs resting and my back against one of the arm's, the coffee table on my right. When that's the case, I'll often have my cat laying on my either on my arms making it hard to type anything, or on my legs. In that case, I can see in front of me the small round table at the end of the couch, that has a salt lamp, an old typewriter that doesn't work anymore, the wifi box, and a small figurine on it. I'm also facing three large windows that lead to my (very small) balcony, and from that I can see the few herbs that are in the window boxes and I can see trees on the outside (there is a small park behind where I live so that's what I see). Oh and there is a platform for my cat stuck to one of the windows so sometimes I can see my cat there as well. Right now, it's raining outside, and the sky is grey (not a really dark grey, a lighter one though) and the window is open, so i can feel fresh air coming inside as well.

Ask game here

[jjkpls]

the wishlist (m) - 4

“What does it mean if a guy talks about your nipples?”

> genre : smut, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> total words : 4.7k

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, lot of pining; sextoys talk; explicit language; ambiguous infidelity ; awkwardness

previous - next

The issue is that Jungkook -and you're not a bitch for thinking that- is a little bit of an idiot.

He can be very smart. He can be wise and present unsuspecting resources and knowledge. He can teach you things you don't know anything about, figure out others you struggle to -but not during stressful times like for say an escape game because during those, he turns absolutely, utterly useless. 

But he is an idiot too. An idiot that sometimes shapes situations and conclusions and ideas in a very peculiar way that is very singular to him.

That’s precisely what happens then. He plays his role right, to its full extent, with great dedication and commitment. Except he missed a memo, misread the script and ends up playing a role that's not the one you planned for him. He believes that he’s your new adult toy provider (as if there is such a thing).

When you think he’s coming over to share a meal or play some game or binge-watch a series you promised to wait for him to experience together, he has a box hidden in his pocket or carried under his arm. 

He has the decency to not comment on it the first time around. He just set it down on the coffee table, between the bowl of chips and the one filled with guacamole. You see the logo on top of it. You recognize the design, reffined, minimalist with the pretty pastel matte colour. 

He probably identifies the shame and the annoyance on your face, painting your cheeks and reshaping your eyebrows, and doesn’t say anything. Simply smiles to himself and starts talking about the series’ new episode that’s about to start. 

It takes a lot of efforts, coming from you, to ignore the conspicuous object sitting just in front and in between you. But eventually, probably because more than a decade of friendship with this guy have grown impressive mind muscles on you, you manage to make abstraction of it. 

It just stops existing for a while until he leaves and you’re curious to see what’s inside. And again you have the same old intentions as before. The same ones.

You won’t use it. 

It’s curiosity. And it's fine for you to be curious because he’s the one buying it and gifting it to you. Why should you be blamed?

Freshly hopped in bed, just done reading the notice hanging over your face, you’re yawning and sending your eyebrows high in interest. Again you won’t use it but it sounds very interesting. That’s when you get a text from him.

Guk

So about the toy!

As if you were waiting for his explanation. As if the conversation got cut short and you were expecting him to pick it back up whenever possible.

You won’t entertain him.

You

I said not to buy me this.

Guk

You never said that! You said something about me being crazy but never about buying one again

Because you're mostly made of petty bitch material, you scroll higher quickly, wishing to find something, any text that would corroborate what you’re saying.

You don’t find anything though. Because you never actually told him to not buy you other toys by text, and now that you come to think of it, you probably never did out loud either because you didn’t fucking know that he would even consider doing so.

It’s not even Christmas anymore. It’s not your birthday. There’s even less of a valid reason for him to get you this therefore, of course, you did not explicitly warn him not to, you didn’t think it would be necessary.

You

It’s not even my fucking bday why???

Guk

I told you the lady at the shop

But who the hell is that lady?

Guk

She talked about a lot of products and they all seemed cool and because you liked the other one I thought I’d get you this one too

You

Jungkook

This simple response says a lot, you hope he can read between the pixels of his screen the desperation, the irritation, the frustration, the silent insults. 

Guk

Listen it’s super cool it's supposed to mimic the touch of a finger

Jungkook then proceeds to explain to you how it works. The original idea being a system with a tiny ball rolling under a silicon skin, to place on your clitoris to have the illusion of a finger's touch. And it’s interesting and innovative surely and sounds intriguing as in, you wonder if it’s accurate, but you’re tired and it seems like you’re wading in some sort of swamp you can’t escape from. There’s a fire burning your skin from your cheeks to your chest. You’re both hating this conversation and unwilling to just draw a final period to it. This asshole.

You

I can read

Guk

So you opened it already??

There’s a bunch of excited emojis that follows his last message and fill up the empty space your lack of response leaves. 

Why and how can he be so eager?

Here comes the delusional part of your brain. It’s a very wide, very deep hallway covered in bookshelves filled to the brim with stupid interpretations and beliefs and sometimes even memories you’ve shared with him. Often next to the laters are pinned an article from a teenage magazine or the jacket of a romance movie, specifically there to validate that yes, indeed, it must have meant something. 

The door of that corridor just creaked opened. You can discern the sound, you can feel the particular atmosphere without even having to take a step through. 

Is it really that normal to be so excited about that? For him? As a friend?

It’s the most frustrating part: you are friends. Friends who supposedly can tell each other everything. Friends who can ask each other anything. 

You should be able to talk about it. Just ask him. If there’s anything behind this whole mess, if he means to tell you something, if it’s wholly mindless, if there’s no hidden agenda.

It should be fine. There’s only trust and affection in this friendship. 

You are still too scared, you are terrified that he’d start linking dots, ask himself some new questions, potentially answer them himself, and have you all found out.

You'd have your barely well-worn cover thrown completely away. 

You send the blank emoji. The one with even the eyes closed. It summarizes your actual state pretty well, speechless, relatively annoyed. 

Guk

She said you could try it on other parts of your body too

Guk

At first

Guk

Like on your lips or your nipples

You want to die.

Now.

No, better, you wish to have never been born. 

Why is he talking about your nipples? Why?

And through all that, you still feel like something is wrong with you, along with your feelings. 

Turns out you are so overwhelmed by his clueless inadequacy, you need a good half an hour and a random shot of tequila to get through it. When it’s gone and exhaustion of a long day and alcohol have knocked nervousness and panic out, you fall asleep, forgetting about answering his outrageous last texts. 

“What does it mean if a guy talks about your nipples?”

Min's finger stops midair, above the cash register she's been working on. She needs a good minute to get back to her senses and while you wait, anxiety invades you. Maybe you should never have brought it up. 

But this question, the torturous thing is slowly killing you.

Min finally turns her head to you, eyes squinted and eyebrows drawn low. She sucks in her pretty red lips before opening them to start formulating, with it seems a certain struggle, an answer. 

“I don’t think I quite understand.”

It’s a pretty straightforward, relatively easy question. That’s what you'd want to say but you’ve reached the state of bashful regret and decide not to press it. Some things are better just left alone. 

“Who talked about your nipples?” She ends up asking the one thing you wished she wouldn’t because there is no way you’re giving his name. 

“Doesn’t matter.” You mumble, turning around slightly, getting back to the task you were here, paid, to do -wipe the shelves clean and not talk about your “““love””” life. 

“I think it does. You wanna know if it means something? Like the guy's into you?”

“Something like that.” Your cheeks are aflame now. No doubt about it. You silently curse at your manager who refuses that you don’t wear the ugly hat that holds your hair back because having a curtain of hair to hold behind, as a help to keep some of your remained, sparse dignity would have been peachy. 

“What did he say exactly?”

Silence. You’re not elaborating. She sighs, defeated. 

“Well, I suppose... he’s considered the fact that you have boobs. If it’s a straight guy, that’s a good sign, I guess?” She shrugs.

You don’t like the answer. It’s exactly what the wrong, defective part of your brain, the one directly wired to your heart, wanted to hear. 

She doesn’t even have the context, anyway. It doesn’t mean much, doesn’t hold much power in your court of sensibility. 

She stares at the side of your face, clearly attempting to drill holes in your head to try and find some answers. You’re awfully silent, have said too much yet not enough and she’s dying to know the whole story. You won’t give in and she can tell. There’s no way you’re sharing the whole thing. The most, probably, probative point of the whole story: the sex toys. It’d turn her into a devastating tsunami of nonsense and misinterpretation and drown you in its wake and you can’t, when you’re already struggling to stay afloat, allow that.

Tag list: @fangirls94 @realswimshaddy @safi4x @pnkd @somewhereinthestarss @kpopfandomftw @kai-kai-bookshelf @pasteljoonie @ggukkieland

A/N: Don’t forget to click on the next button on top, two parts are being posted simultaneously :)

[jesseevelann]

An Unlikely Opportunity

Deidara spun boredly in his office chair, tapping at the desk while waiting for someone to walk through the door. He loved the job, minimal work and he got to yell at people, but he hated the waiting. Today especially was horrible, he had nothing to do.

His phone had died many hours ago, and his manager would scream at him if he doodled in his notepad again. Deidara didn't mind a bit of attitude, but god Sasori was annoying. Yap, yap, yap. All day long.

The day was almost over, but it took forever to pass. Deidara was losing patience.

"Hey, brat. The boss wants to see you."

"What? Why?"

Sasori walked behind him, shoving the chair. Deidara turned and glared at Sasori, who retaliated by poking out his tongue.

"Don't know, don't care. Now move. I have to take over for you, because you're just that important."

Deidara stood from the chair, yelping when Sasori shoved him out of the way. He huffed, and limped to the doorway, into the hall of elevators.

The hallway was oddly empty for the busy company, but it was perfect for Deidara. Especially since his ankle was twisted. No one would see him fall, but in the same breath no one could help him up.

He was grateful for the perfect condition the building was in, the elevators always worked, and had yet to fail on anyone. The boss was wealthy, and could retire at the age of thirty-two, but for some reason he didn't. Deidara would jump at the idea of not needing to work.

While the elevator took him up, Deidara started to think. Why did the boss want to see him anyway? He hadn't done anything out of line, and he certainly wasn't worth of a promotion. He started a month ago, and was just a secretary.

He definitely wasn't going to ask him out, Deidara was fresh out of highschool. Dirty clothes and worn out shoes, not even his glasses were in good condition. His uniform was a rental, and the fanciest thing he had ever worn.

Maybe he was going to kill him. There were rumours that the big man in charge was convicted of murder, and that he looked almost exactly like the city's most famous criminal. Deidara couldn't say for himself though, he had never seen his boss. He didn't even know his name.

The elevator sang its little song, and Deidara hobbled out, looking around for directions. The top floor felt larger than the rest of the building, it had less furniture and more open space. It was very rarely used outside of the boss calling meetings, or calling people into his office for mostly unknown reasons. From what Deidara heard, most don't come back out.

That thought alone sent shivers down Deidara's spine. He didn't want to join the few unfortunate enough to come to that fate, whatever it may be.

A gorgeous dark wood door came into view, decorated gracefully with silver. A symbol similar to an Uchiwa fan was centred on the door. This man, whoever he was, had an appreciation for art it seemed. Although it wasn't Deidara's favoured medium.

He went to knock, his body freezing when the door opened by itself. He hesitated before pushing the door open carefully, adjusting his glasses while stepping inside. Acting like his injury wasn't there.

The room itself made his jaw drop. Bookshelves and exotic plants, gorgeous paintings on the left and photo frames of some of the most famous Uchiha men to have lived. A gorgeous rug laid flat under the large desk, it's quality and expense could be seen a mile away.

A large, comfortable lounge was pushed to the wall on the left under the canvases, and the wall behind the desk was a full window, showing off the whole city. If he squinted, Deidara was sure he could see his mother and step-fathers house, or even his apartment complex.

Multiple files and papers were stacked on the desk in pristine organisation, a golden name plate sat in front, "Uchiha Obito" carved so delicately in the metal. Deidara's eyes darted around, trying to take it all in as fast as he could. He had never seen such an expensive room in his life.

The door clicked shut behind him, causing him to jump and turn. There was no one there, but he felt a presence creeping against his neck. Deidara shook his head and turned, almost screaming seeing a tall, broad man in front of him.

He was larger than Deidara by a landslide, his features were defined and sharp, and he was dressed in a finely pressed black suit. Looking closer at his gloves, Deidara saw what he thought was dried blood. The glint of a knife hidden in his sleeve made Deidara's breath hitch.

"Sit."

Deidara fumbled for a chair, not even knowing it was there. He sat, sinking into the cushioned wood the best he could. The deep, raspy voice ringing in his ears. The tone was dark, perfectly matching the man's stature. Deidara looked up fearfully, eyes widening when they locked with a single eye.

The man walked around his desk and sat, elbows on the fine wood and fingers interlocked a mere three inches from his mouth. Deidara stared at the deep, swirl like carvings in the tan, slightly grey skin, bringing attention to the sharp, almost emotionless eye glaring into his soul. The iris was a pure black, deep as the darkest night, with a deep blood red tint glacing over it when the light shifted. The other eye was covered by an eyepatch, most likely due to the same incident.

"You are Deidara, yes? The new secretary Sasori is managing..."

Deidara nodded, too entrapped by fear to speak. He shivered feeling the eye study him closer, he didn't dare look away. Although they were all rumours, Deidara truly believed that this man would kill him instantly if he even blinked.

"My name is Obito... we had not met properly, I realised."

Obito slid a small notepad over to him, flipping through it before holding it out to Deidara, who hesitated before looking. The notepad was filled with Deidara's small scribbles. Deidara paled, Sasori must have reported him for slacking on the job.

"These are yours, correct?"

Deidara nodded, biting his tongue. Obito took the notepad back and looked through it one more time. If Deidara knew no better, he'd have thought he saw a hint of a smile on the stoic man's face.

"You are quite talented. Whatever are you doing in a boring office job, you could do so much with this..."

Deidara relaxed just a little, his confusion taking over his fear. Is this what he was called in for? To talk about his shitty doodles? That didn't make sense at all.

"I... I don't understand, hm... wh-why was I called in here?"

Obito chuckled softly at Deidara, his eye softening as he handed Deidara the notepad.

"I was curious... you have much potential. I simply don't see why you would waste your time here."

Deidara looked down at his feet, his face burning red with embarrassment. He didn't get compliments often, especially about his art.

"I-I don't know... it's easy, a-and pays bills. No one really likes what I do anyway, hm. I can't afford university..."

Obito nodded in understanding, pausing before he spoke again, thinking hard before making his decision.

"How would you like to design posters and advertisements for the company? I'll pay you extra, and I can even get Sasori off your tail for a while."

Deidara's head shot up, almost losing his glasses with the speed. Obito smiled amused, he already knew the answer.

"You will work in the office beside mine, I will supply you with everything you need. I expect frequent updates on your progress. Is that alright with you, Deidara?"

Deidara was at a loss for words, but his smile said it all. Obito was shocked when he jumped up, and tensed up when small arms wrapped around him tightly.

"Yes! Thank you Obito-San, hm!"

Obito let out a weak laugh, patting Deidara's back before pushing him off. Deidara beamed with excitement, even when he lost his balance due to his ankle.

"Glad to have you aboard, Deidara."

Big thanks to @peekintoeternity for inspiring me to actually finish this project, if it weren't for them I'd have scrapped it