#broken toy productions

[potuzzz]

Summer Days Children's Games Dead Goat

Falling Up Fly, Little Bird Boiled Honey

Again, The Scorpion Am Faihd Albion Salt

Father John's Gardens Taking Turns Odd Dove

Summer Nights O Tha Merry Saeng God's Hands

A Drink of Water Summer Storms Jungles and Reefs

Sugar Cane To Deny An Angel Snakes Hate Snakes

The Cost of Fortune The Dust of Gold Divine Solvency

Old Spirits Scout's Report Root Rot

Do Not Disturb Sapphires, Coats, Gold Rage, Rage

Father's Tricks The Stranger Broken Hearted

Magazine Style A New War Tam Am Tam Eugaigi Bebop

No More Prosciutto Just Another Dream Man's Hands

Hurricane Kate

#weirdcore #tam bebop #noir #global south #table of contents #indie games #indie dev #the darker the berry the sweeter the juice #imperialism #colonialism #abuse #fascist #death squads #cya #prologue #crypticposting #poem #memories #requiem for a dream #broken toy productions

[blackpearlblast]

[ID: five armless bipedal toys with heart-shaped, smiling faces. there are two full-size ones and three mini ones. they are all either green with red faces and white paws or red with green faces and black paws. end ID]

paint job is done!!! tomorrow i will apply varnish. hoping to open the raffle on monday or tuesday (raffle will be to fundraise for ezzideen's campaign)

#toy making #i hope people will like and want them! #today i also topped up an esim i had donated that's gonna run out and went thru some blindbox toys n sanrio merch i'm hoping #to sell off for more funds to donate for ezzideen's escape fund (if that's something you're into dm me! nobody's taken me up on #anything yet v____v) so yeah pretty productive! #still can't figure out why the petz hex i've been working on is broken i tried a fix some people suggested on discord but it didn't do #anything

[dollwrites]

ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪᴛʏ ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ʀᴀғᴀʏᴇʟ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!bff!reader, sex toys mentioned but not used, noise control, dub con technically ( for him… kinda TRUST THE PROCESS ) prank gone wrong for reader lol, creampie, has absolutely no spoilers or deep lore, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. HAPPY 4/20! i was gonna do some dizzy drabbles but i couldn’t get this out of my head. not proofread ( and written when i was in the clouds ) so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

what had started out as a fun prank on your best friend for revenge ended with you completely at his mercy, unbeknownst to him.

picking up around the studio wasn’t something you did too often, considering it a breach of Rafayel’s privacy, but when you got there and he wasn’t home, you let yourself inside like you usually did. you were about an hour early, anyways. you hadn’t taken two steps when you stumble over a pile of crumpled sketch paper. you scrunched your brows as you gazed around your environment. scattered brushes, broken pencils, and a canvas half-painted in the middle of the floor. you sighed; perhaps Rafayel had hit a wall with his muse and had gone for a walk on the beach. the least you could do for him, you’d decided, was to clean up a bit. after all, a clean space is a productive space, right?

that was when you came across it, left carelessly on his bed, swaddled in a sea of white sheets and the comforter. you’d never seen one in real life until this moment, and at first you mistook it for a woman asleep in his bed with her butt sticking out of the blankets— but, it was fake. a plump, nearly life sized ass sitting atop the mattress.

does Rafayel really use something like this?

you found your cheeks heated up with embarrassment when you pictured him mounting it, both of his smooth palm against the cheeks, svelte digits digging into the silicone to spread it open wide enough for him to push inside…

shaking your head to snap yourself out of the fantasy, you look around, making sure no one was around to see you get lost in your own desire for him. “S—stupid.” you muttered to yourself, stepping closer to touch the fleshiest part of it. surprisingly soft, as soft as your own skin. your brow quirks, fingers sliding to the waistband of a pair of cerulean, lace panties that adorned the faux lower body. it seemed so strange to have clothes on something that was meant to stay hidden and used in private, as if the silicone slab had been laid out meticulously…

no, Rafayel didn’t use this for his own pleasure, you decided. this was a prank. an elaborate one, but one meant to fluster you when you came over.

he was such an ass!

“Oh yeah?” you challenge under your breath, grasping the panties and tugging them off of the toy, “You want to play games? I can play, too.” determined to outprank Rafayel, you toss the panties on the bed and stash the toy beneath the bed. it was surprisingly heavy, and made a splat when it hit the surface of the floor, you had to stifle a chuckle as just hilarious this was. you didn’t want him to win, even if he wasn’t there to see it. quickly unbuttoning your pants, you discard them and the panties you were wearing, kicking them under the bed, too. then, you grab the cerulean lace and pull them on— perfect fit! you took a moment to glance in a nearby mirror, turning slightly. your ass had a similar curve and complexion, and you hoped it was enough to fool him, at least long enough for you to scare him when he least expected it. then, you climb into the bed, scrupulous as you nest your top half under a pile of blankets, the pillows resting on the top of your shoulders to hide your head. there was also the issue with your legs. it took a great amount of wrapping sheets around your thighs as you kick and squirm, before you’re finally perfectly positioned— identical to the way he’d left the fake ass, your own sticks out as if inviting him, as you wait for him to return.

at first, it had been difficult to keep yourself from jittering, too excited to see the look on his face when you jump out, effectively one-upping his lewd joke. but, as the minutes ticked on, with your entire body hidden within his bedding, you’d started to sweat, breathing in the dense air trapped under the pillows with you, and you had to readjust several times. it took so long that you were just about to give up on the prank and unbury yourself, before you heard the door open.

showtime.

you felt knots of excitement tying themselves together in your belly as you willed yourself to be as still as possible, and appear as the lifeless, silicone toy.

you could hear him moving about the studio, sighing, and your heart was starting to beat faster in your ears— you hoped that he would hurry to his room, so you could reveal yourself soon, and you could get out from under this suffocating duvet.

when he’d stepped into the bedroom, you hear the door close behind him, and you have to physically keep yourself from kicking your feet in excitement. it was almost time to scare the living daylights out of your best friend. your muscles tighten, ready to jump up, but a sound abruptly stops you.

a zipper.

you freeze, listening silently to the sound of rusting fabric. soft thuds as he kicked out of his shoes, and a whoosh that follows towards the floor.

was he undressing?

your eyes widen only when you hear a heavy breath, followed by the click of a cap. squeezing, then a low moan coming from behind you. it was Rafayel. your eyes widen. you’d never heard such a sound from his mouth, and you had a pretty good idea of what he was doing. the subtle skin slapping that started slow, but sped up shortly after, his breath getting heavier simultaneously. you realized how wrong it was to hear Rafayel pleasuring himself, especially when he didn’t know that you were there. you should really say something, open your mouth and let him know that he wasn’t alone, but when your lips parted, you couldn’t force any sound from it. you were too stunned by these sounds to give him any kind of warning. you listen, mouth agape and eyes big, staring into the headboard of his bed as he takes a few steps towards the foot of it. your mind races, realizing that he had not placed the toy on his bed for you to find it—

this had not been a toilet-humor prank that he was putting together. he simply hadn’t had the time to hide his private toys before you stumbled upon them.

to solidify this revelation, you feel one hand tracing over the shape of your ass. his fingers were warm and slick, and you nearly gasped, sealing your lips just in time for his digits to curl around the panties and tug on them, inching down your thighs. he would definitely discover you were disguising yourself as the toy when he couldn’t take them all the way off, and that thought was equally humiliating and comforting. you didn’t exactly love the idea of him finding out now, after exposing your cunt to him, and now that you’d gotten an earful of him jerking off, but at least things wouldn’t go further. Rafayel doesn’t, however, try to pull the panties down completely. instead, he seems content to leave them around your thighs, and his fingers trace upwards, slowly and skillfully, until they trace your netherlips, slathering your sex in what had to be lube, cool and wet.

oh, god. your top teeth sink into your lower lip as his fingertips swipe full laps between your folds. the pads rub against your most sensitive nub, leaving it throbbing and begging for more attention before they drag downwards, teasing your opening. he didn’t seem to notice that your cunt spasms, attempting to clamp down on his fingers, before they run another lap. he lets out a heavy breath, the sound of his palm smacking against his abdomen as he fucks his own hand in tandem to the way he was unknowingly teasing your pussy making your head spin.

this was so wrong.

you had to tell him right now.

your tiers part once more, this time determined to stop this before—

the swollen, slippery head of Rafayel’s cock rubs against your slit. one hand covers your mouth to keep any sound, words or otherwise, from escaping as you realize that it’s too late to expose yourself now. you’d look like a total creep, taking advantage of your best friend by pretending to be his sex toy. “Huh—uhh…” Rafayel emitted a low moan as he rubbed his dick against you a few more times, before planting one palm on your ass, the other holding tight to his base as he plunged inside.

it took all you had within you to not let out a cry of surprise at the sudden entry. your free hand grips the sheet so tightly you fear your nails will rip holes in it, and your toes curl beneath the mattress. Rafayel had been under the impression that he could be as rough as he wanted, because the pussy was nothing but a silicone replica, and so his rhythm was steady, deep pumping almost immediately upon bottoming out in your guts. “Fuck,” he breathes out, hips thumping against your ass, both hands grasping at it. “F—feels good… yeah,”

he was right about that, and you wished you could vocalize it. your walls fluttered about in delight as he pounded into you, his cock was longer than you’d thought it would be, the tip bold in its deep exploration, prodding against your g-spot with every, full thrust of his hips. you fought the urge to bounce back, meet his movements with equally eager grinding. instead, your eyes began to roll and your lids flittered, and the grip on your own mouth tightened to keep any of your stifled mewls and whimpers from escaping. you couldn’t, however, keep from gushing when he hit the perfect depth with his fervent stroking, and you could only hope that his thorough drenching you in lubrication would be enough to mask this.

you could hear him panting, moaning, swearing, as he fucked you with reckless abandon. his fingers digging into your warm, satin skin, his cock twitching and throbbing inside you. it was as if you felt every, single vein as they rub your walls, autographing your insides, claiming them as his as he uses you.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…!”

he was getting louder, his hips bucking more powerfully, more erratically, and the throbbing in your core was a testament to just how close to cumming he was.

you knew how wrong this was, but all rational thinking was dissipating; you were enjoying being fucked like this; greedy, careless pounding, by your closest friend too much to ruin it, now. you didn’t want to stop it, not until he was fully satiated.

“F—fuck, yeah,” Rafayel swoons, grabbing full fists of your ass, pulling your ass back to meet his hungry hip-snapping, “more, more, more!”

you couldn’t take much more, and you push your face into the mattress to keep quiet, both hands scrambling to hold on to something, squeezing the edge of the mattress with your nails sinking in— anything to relieve the pressure he was forcing as deep into you as he could. your feet wanted to kick, your back wanted to arch, and you wanted to scream out in pure pleasure, so you clung to the bed as tightly as you could in hopes that you could ride out the orgasm he was ripping from you.

he didn’t even seem to notice your twitching and subtle squirming beneath the blankets as he made you drop off and come undone, which you were thankful for, because he was too caught up in chasing his own high. “Gonna cum, gonna cum!” Rafayel was sputtering, desperately trying to get there, pressing all of his weight against your ass as he pumps a few more, deep and hard, thrusts into you before he grunts, and releases. as if he’d been pent up for quite a while, you felt a spattering of warmth, and then it spreads as he fills your belly with his essence. you nearly lose it in this moment, and almost blow your cover, your walls clamping down on his cock as he starts to retract. it felt so good to be full of Rafayel that you didn’t want him to pull out, but he does so with a ragged moan. there’s an uncomfortable emptiness that follows his abandoning of your cunt, the feeling of being fucked deep and left there, your oblivious best friend’s cum dribbling out of your used pussy as it twitches and your muscles stay tense. you knew you were leaving a small puddle on his sheets below you, but you could hear him milling around the room instead of focusing on you, now.

“Damn,” he mutters to himself, and you his phone unlock, then the rapid-fire tapping of his fingers on the keys. was he… texting?

you were answered when you heard the faint vibrating of your phone in your pants pocket, hidden under the bed. he texted you?! at first, you think he must’ve heard it, because everything went silent, and you waited for him to start shouting, but he doesn’t.

a few moments later, the door opens, and his footsteps fade as he swaggers down the corridor, satiated, and a moment later, you hear the shower turn on.

for the first time in several minutes, your muscles relax for a moment, before you swim out from your heated prison in a hurry, scrambling under the bed to grab your phone. every move you made, you could feel his release swirling around inside you and dribbling down your thighs, and you groan at the sensation, and the trail you made before you pulled the panties up to keep any more from leaving evidence. staring at the screen, panting and fucked out, your eyes barely focusing, you read the message in disbelief.

just woke up so i’m running late. stop on the way and buy lunch or something i’m starving

liar.

but you didn’t have time to dwell on the message; you get dressed as quickly as you can, what with your legs trembling like shaken jelly and your insides sore from Rafayel’s eager plowing, and hoist the fake butt back into place on top of the bed. you had to make a stealthy exit before he got out of the shower. stuffing your own panties into your pocket, you decide the best way to avoid an even stickier mess on his floor that would certainly be noticeable, you had to wear the panties meant for the doll. you could only pray he didn’t realize they’d gone missing right away, and later today when you could sneak away to the bathroom, you’d put them back in place.

so, stumbling and trying to catch your breath, freshly fucked, you leave through the sliding back door, the one that faces the shoreside, and closes it behind you to complete your escape.

once outside, you exhale deeply, lean against his car, hidden from windows’ views, to evaluate the damage, beyond the mess of him in your panties. you groan, covering your face with both hands in belated guilt.

you could never, ever tell him about this!

#I still don’t really like this but SKSKSK ILL TRY AGAIN #rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel smut #rafayel imagine #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace x you #love and deepspace rafayel

[ghostsy]

Addiction

yandere ! SUKUNA x READER

WARNINGS: yandere, substance abuse, dub/noncon

A/N: honestly just needed to rid myself of the writer’s block lol, hope it’s alright ^^

read at your own discretion.

❈ ◦•≫────≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫────≪•◦ ❈

Thinking about dirtbag drug dealer Sukuna corrupting some uptight good girl, spiraling into the most toxic codependent bullshit, and becoming addicted to her.

He doesn’t think much of it at first, some pretty little overachiever come looking for a little leg up on the competition. He’s seen it all before. Just for one test, she’ll tell him. And he barks out a laugh, right in her face, shameless as he looks her up and down, smoke curling out from under his cheshire grin.

“Sure thing, sweetheart. Just this once.”

The simpering look on his face will tell her he’s mocking her, but he knows her type; she’ll still take what he gives her. Sliding the adderall into perfectly manicured fingers, he’ll wave her off without so much as a second glance. He only laces a little insurance in with those pills because he could use the extra clientele, and not because something in those bright innocent eyes makes his chest and cock itch. 

She’ll come back; he knows she will. Tail between her legs, and hands just a bit too jittery when she begs for a little something more. Embarrassed as the words stumble out, shifting eyes darting anywhere but that condescending crimson. 

It all kind of spirals after that.

Once a month turns to once a week, and then it's barely a day or two goes by before she comes crawling back for another fix. The first time her pockets come up empty, he’s oh so kind enough to offer an alternative form of payment. She’s a bit hesitant, but that nervous, sunken eye look that’s come to live on her face, so pathetically sexy, is easily convinced.

He’ll shove her over the ratty old couch in his flat with a giddy amount of force, and bury himself between her thighs, fingers prying her pretty jaw open, letting the drool drip from her lips to her chin as he slips a tab on her glossy tongue. 

“Fuck yeah, open your mouth–open that fucking mouth–pussy gets tighter with a little X.”

It becomes a sort of animalistic routine, where the pitiful thing lets him use her and abuse her like a grade-A sex toy, any and every hole open and eager to take him. He’s almost embarrassed for her, how quickly she abandoned dignity for a moment of bliss. 

Though, he supposes, he gives her more than a moment. And it’s convenient for him, he thinks. A tight pussy and perky ass wrapped around his fingers; it’s easy, there whenever he wants to fuck. And that’s all it is. That’s all she is. Holes to fuck. 

“Want another hit, sugar?”

He’ll try to convince himself it’s just an easy way to test new product when he lets her have more than she’d earned. But he finds that he likes the far away glassy glaze in her eyes when she slips away to somewhere hazy, all cloudy and cottony. A taste of heaven that only he can give her.

And she gets a little giggly, a cutesy tilt in her empty head as she lays herself over him, shotgunning the smoke from his lips. Where when the two of them drift off together to nirvana on the couch, he ignores the warm, content feeling of waking up to her snugly wrapped around him.

And really, it’s her own fault the illusion shatters.

Dipped her feet in too far, and fell face first into the deep end when she’s sat on his lap in the back corner of his favorite seedy bar only half listening to one of his under-the-counter meetings, and finds herself lured in by the flash of a little white bag in the hands of a passing stranger. 

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes of distraction, of finalizing his business dealings when he notices she’s wandered off and broken his one rule not to leave his fucking sight. And it takes him all of two minutes to spot her halfway across the room, bent over a table snorting a goddamn line.

And he can’t focus on how fucking sexy it is that she sniffs it down without so much as blinking. He can’t focus on that because there’s some ugly freak leering over her, arm wrapped around her waist, and eyes shamelessly wandering her body up and down like he fucking owned her. Like the nameless fucking loser owned something that belonged to him.

He doesn’t really remember what happened after that when he’s standing over the bloodied corpse of the lowlife creep in the dimly lit back alley, except for the fact that sticky red was staining his fists and face and her tears were really starting to piss him off. 

“You spread your dirty fucking legs for any dude who's got a line?” 

He mocks her when he’s got her shoved against the wall bent and spread, face scratching against the stone, fucking into her with a force hard enough to make her bleed. There’s a twinge of satisfaction that she’s crying, voice wet and pathetic and submissive when she begs his forgiveness, prays for mercy. The hair that’s not caught in his fist sticks to her cheeks and neck, and he feels the sudden urge to bite.

“Keep screamin’, sugar. Maybe that dead pig’ll come and save you from the big bad wolf, huh?”

He delivers a sharp slap to her ass, and hauls her back by her hair, other hand palming and squeezing just a bit too harshly at her breasts. And she squeals, something sort of squirrel-like but adorable nonetheless. Something just for him. 

And when all is said and done, with his mark, his claim, leaking out of her and onto the cold pavement, mixing with the pooling blood of a stranger, he leans in real close. He twists her around to face him, and he can see the hollow, vacant look in her eyes. Empty. Empty because she’s nothing. Nothing unless he says otherwise. 

And with a sadistically giddy laugh, and his hot breath raising the hairs on her neck, he’ll seal one final warning with a searing kiss.

“You’re my bitch, my whore, forget it again, and see what happens.”

#yandere sukuna #yandere jjk #yandere sukuna x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines

[badasbebi]

home is where the heart is ➛ ♡

✦ pairing: bada lee x fem!reader

✦ summary: new to seoul in search of revitalizing opportunities, you're excited to see what the city has in store for you. however, after numerous awkward encounters with your (hot) neighbor and other unfortunate circumstances, you start to doubt whether this move was right for you.

✦ genre/au: fluff, smut MDNI!!, neighbor!au, accidentally turned into a coffeeshop!au as well. maybe some slight angst?

✦ word count: 14k

✦ warnings: probably has grammatical/spelling errors. switch!bada and switch!reader?? sort of?? y/n has a toy collection that could probably contribute to the production of toy story 5.

✦ a/n: initially really liked this story. then, i sat on it for three days, and now I'm not really a fan of this? i also feel like i forgot to how to write? hope yall still enjoy though! i have a few ideas I'm rlly excited abt anyway <3

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The elevator lobby echoes with the shuffling of your feet and the thud of the cardboard box shifting within your grasp. Your new apartment complex seems to grow larger with each step, the space stretching endlessly as you aim for one of the metal doors. The box, marked “fragile,” presses into your arms, and beads of sweat drip down your forehead as you internally curse at yourself for your excessive overpacking and stubbornness. 

 You don’t know who or what made you believe you were capable of doing this move entirely by yourself, but you are now facing the consequences for past you's groundless self-confidence. As you take a step forward, your arms wobble under the strain, and the box slips precariously, threatening to escape your grasp. You tighten your grip, determined not to let the flimsy box defeat you. You were not going to let a box labeled fragile, of all things, be the reason for your demise. No way.

While attempting to steady yourself, you vaguely hear a loud ping reverberate throughout the lobby. Like the easily hyperfixated person you are, you pay no mind to it, focusing only on the task at hand. The last thing you need is to drop the box and have its contents shatter against the floor. You would never forgive yourself.

Just as you pause to readjust the box, the elevator door opens, and footsteps follow it. A tall, dark-haired woman with bangs stumbles into the opening, her phone in her hands. She stops in her tracks, clearly distracted, and you foolishly walk straight into her.

The box falls from your grasp, and as it plummets to the ground, you have an out-of-body experience. This was it. The box is going to hit the ground, and you will have lost this uphill battle. In slow motion, you watch the box tilt backward and forwards, suspended in midair for what seems like forever until, suddenly, you feel your hand wrap around it. As you blink away the stars clouding your vision, you register that you've saved the box from certain doom, just barely. A sigh of relief escapes your lips.

A triumphant smile graces your lips as you clutch the box tightly. It’s a bit more crumpled than before, but it is still very much in one piece (ignoring the fact that the fragile item inside the box was most definitely broken). Gravity was no match for your superior reflexes.

As you look up, your smile falters. Your eyes widen, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. You just ran into the most beautiful woman you have ever seen, and she is staring at you. Her eyes, framed by thick-rimmed glasses, gaze at you, wide and unblinking. She looks at you as if you were the most embarrassing thing she has ever seen, and it takes all your willpower not to turn around and run back down the hall.

Her long, dyed black hair hangs in a braid down her shoulder. Her outfit consists of a plain, oversized black t-shirt, baggy pants, and a pair of worn nikes. The only pops of color are the bright yellow socks poking out from underneath the white shoes, and the streaks of blonde in her hair. 

"Oh, my god, I am so sorry!" you finally manage, stumbling over your words. "I should've been paying attention to where I was going."

The woman seems to snap out of her daze with a vigorous shake of her head. "No, no, it's fine. Don't worry about it," she responds with a small laugh. Her voice is light and melodic, and the sound makes your heart skip a beat. She glances down at her phone, and a slight frown creases her forehead. "I wasn't watching where I was going either."

You give a small, awkward chuckle in response, but you feel your nerves ease a little. She didn't seem weirded out, thank the stars. 

She glances down at the box, and her eyes widen as if she is just noticing its existence.

"Here, let me help you," she says as she effortlessly picks up and takes the box from your hands before you can even think to say no, a shiver running up your spine at the contact. 

"You really don't have to," you protest weakly, making much of an effort to actually stop her. 

"It's the least I can do after making you almost drop the box." She gives you a warm smile, and the butterflies in your stomach start dancing wildly. 

"Thank you." You return the smile, feeling the corners of your mouth twitch.

She turns on her heel and gestures to the elevator doors. "Where are you headed?" she asks, pressing the up button with her elbow.

"Uh, floor 8," you answer. She nods, and when the elevator doors open, the two of you step inside.

The combination of the woman's vanilla-scented perfume and elevator music does little to soothe your anxiety. You stand side-by-side in awkward silence. You shift uncomfortably, feeling your cheeks burn. What do you even say to a person this gorgeous? You clear your throat and will the courage to speak. You are an adult. You can talk to people. You got this! Just be casual. Easy peasy. Just say words! Just. say. them. 

"So, uh, is this your first time using the elevator?" You wince.

Maybe not those words.

"No, I usually use the stairs." She says with a giggle, seemingly unfazed by your pathetic attempt at conversation. "But, um, is this your first time here?"

You nod. "I just moved here today." You pause. "How did you know?"

"I just—haven't seen you here before," she says simply, looking you up and down with an expression you can't quite decipher. "I'm Bada, by the way."

"Bada," you repeat, testing out the name on your tongue. It sounds nice. You smile, and the tips of your ears grow hot. "I'm Y/N."

"Y/N." She returns your smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Your fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. Your eyes wander over to the numbers lit up on the panel, and your face pales when you see that the two of you are already on the eighth floor. The elevator slowly comes to a stop, and you swallow thickly. "Well, I guess this is my stop," you say as you step into the hallway. 

"Did you want me to walk you to your apartment? This is actually the floor that I-" Bada starts, but a faint chime rings out before she can finish. She pulls her phone out, holding the box with one arm, and frowns at the screen.

"Ah, damn, I gotta go," she says. She looks back up at you and gives you a smile, although a little less bright. "I'm going to be late for a meeting. Do you think you can manage?"

You stare, momentarily perplexed by the kindness this random stranger is displaying towards you, but then you catch yourself, and smile.

You shake your head, waving a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it, I've got it. I'm a big girl," you reassure her. "Thank you for helping me, though."

She hands the box over, and your fingers brush again, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm.

"Of course," she replies, smiling. "Anytime. It was nice meeting you."

"Yup."

You give each other a brief wave, and you watch the elevator doors slide shut. 

As you stare at the spot she was once at, you feel a pang of disappointment in your chest. You wish you could have gotten to know her better, but there was always another day. You lived in the same building, after all. Maybe you'd run into her again. 

You struggle with the box a bit more, and then you finally enter your apartment, the door clicking shut behind you.  

The first thing you do is drop the box in the entryway and walk over to the nearest wall. You lean your back against it, sliding down until your butt hits the ground. You sit there for a moment, gazing out of the floor-to-ceiling window across the room, trying to process everything that just happened. And, well, everything else that's been happening in your life. 

As the sun dips below the skyline, casting long shadows across the city, you find yourself finally having to wrestle with contrasting feelings of excitement over this fresh start, mingled with a weariness that's settled into your bones after a day of moving boxes and thinking of the uncertainty surrounding the days ahead of you. 

Just a month ago, you made the spontaneous decision to move to chase your dreams in Seoul, a country an entire ocean away from where you're from. Now you are in a new city, a new apartment, a potential new job, and you have mixed feelings. You're excited about the possibilities but also scared of the loneliness you know is inevitable. It is a loneliness that is necessary, though. You’ve spent too long stuck, moping about your unfortunate circumstances in the same mundane city you grew up in. You were aching for something new. As terrified as you are, you know that it’ll eventually feel worth it. It has to. 

In the meantime, your living space echoes with emptiness and awaits your touch. Exhausted but determined, you eventually drag yourself off the ground, the weight of the day catching up to you, but not stopping you.  

You scan the space in front of you, surrounded by the remnants of your previous life, now neatly packed into cardboard containers. The living room, cluttered with boxes marked "pictures," "books," and "memories," feels too overwhelming, so you decide to tackle the kitchen first. Igniting your last reserves of energy, you unpack your pots and pans as your thoughts drifts to old routines. As the clock ticks away and you find new sacred spots for your favorite items, your exhaustion begins to fade as you infuse the space with pieces of yourself, fueled by the realization that this is your sanctuary that you could call your own.  

By the time you empty your last box for the day, the apartment glows with your presence. It’s nowhere near finished, but you already feel as if your choices have been validated. You collapse onto your makeshift bed, and as you close your eyes, a smile plays on your lips. 

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 "I asked for three and three-quarter pumps of brown sugar. Is this really the best you can do?"

You stare at the cup sitting before you. Three and three-quarters, your ass. Who the hell was going to measure that? You glance up at the man before you. His face is contorted into a snarl as he glares at you, as if he expects an apology. It takes everything in you not to throw the steaming hot cup of coffee in his face.  

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I believe that this is indeed three and one half—i mean—three quarter pumps," you lie, attempting to brush past your stumble in the calmest voice possible. You try to muster a professional smile, but it's a difficult feat. 

"Bullshit. You clearly can't read a scale properly or hear. Just do it over, and make it right. Three and three QUARTERS," He huffs, shoving the cup in your direction.  

Your fists clench behind the counter. "Yes, sir," you mutter through gritted teeth, your politeness hanging by a thread.

You dump his original drink in the trash and grab a fresh cup. The man watches as you add the pumps, one by one, ensuring that each one is added correctly. It is, and instead of being grateful that you did not put three and three-quarters of spit in his cup, he rolls his eyes, mumbling to himself about younger generations being too lazy to do their jobs right the first time. He takes the cup from you, without saying thank you, and struts off. 

You sigh, shaking your head. You needed to get your blood pressure checked. 

"You okay?" a voice asks.

You turn around, coming face to face with your coworker, Mijoo. She stands before you, leaning against the counter, a sympathetic smile on her face.

You groan, running a hand over your face. "I don't know how much longer I can take this. How have you worked here for this long?" you reply, your voice muffled by your hands. 

Mijoo shrugs. "Honestly, you get used to it after a while. And on the rare occasion that you run into a genuinely nice customer, I promise they make up for the hundreds of shitty interactions." 

Without moving your hands from your face, you state, “That doesn't make me feel any better." 

Mijoo laughs, bright and bubbly, and pats your shoulder. "Don't worry, it'll get easier, I promise. You'll be desensitized in no time! Seriously, I feel nothing when people call me stupid, or an imbecile, or a bitch-"

You frown, dropping your hands. "Mijoo, that's awful." 

Mijoo sighs and walks around the counter to wrap her arm around your shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Just don't stress about it, okay? You'll be fine. Plus, we've got each other!" 

You return the gesture, wrapping an arm around her waist. "You're right."

Mijoo has been your rock throughout this whole process. She was the one who interviewed you for this crappy job, and she was the one who showed you the ropes inside and outside of the cafe you work at. In addition to showing you her go-to spot in the cafe for mental breakdowns, she's shown you her favorite spots in Seoul. If it weren't for her, you're sure you'd be a complete and utter wreck.

"What would I do without you?" you ask.

Mijoo chuckles, squeezing you tighter. "Probably have a lot more panic attacks," she replies, causing the two of you to erupt in laughter.

The alarm on your phone blares, signaling that it's time for you to go home. You and Mijoo share a dejected glance. You hated leaving her alone at the shop, but she always insisted that you go home before the rush. You had no choice but to agree. 

"See you tomorrow," you tell her as you shrug on your jacket.

"Bright and early," she responds, throwing you a wave.

"Are you at least going home soon?"

She shakes her head. "Nah, I've got a few things I need to finish up, so I'll probably be here for a few more hours. I'll lock up."

You sigh. "Alright, but please text me when you get home."

She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Will do. Now, go. Go home and get some sleep, you deserve it."

You make your way to the entrance, giving Mijoo one last glance. She waves to you, a big grin on her face. When you open the door and step out, the bell above you chimes.

As the crisp air hits your face, you can feel the tension drain from your body. A content smile graces your lips, and you can feel your mood instantly improving. Even though your job was stressful, there was nothing quite like coming home after a long shift.

The sun has already begun to set, and the streets are bustling. People pass by you, not paying attention as they make their way home. Some have earphones in, while others are on their phones. You watch as couples and groups of friends chat and laugh as they make their way to whatever destination they have in mind. You feel a small pang of loneliness in your chest.

Your apartment isn't too far from your work, so you reach your destination quickly despite the heaviness in your heart. You're exhausted, and all you want to do is go home, cook dinner, and crawl into bed.

You ride the elevator to your floor, and you're reminded of the time you ran into Bada months ago. Her name echoed through your head every time you heard this elevator music, which was every day. You haven't seen her since that day, which wasn't really a surprise. It was a big building.

When the doors open, you make a beeline to your door, fishing your keys out of your pocket. As soon as you unlock your door, you practically skip inside. You immediately slip off your shoes and toss your jacket and keys onto the counter. You let out a satisfied sigh as you plop down on the couch, closing your eyes. You stay like that for a few moments, listening to the quiet hum of the air conditioner. After a few minutes, you hear your phone ping. Yelping, you sit up and pull it out of your pocket, hoping it's the text you've been anticipating from a landlord. Disappointment settles in the pit of your stomach when you see it's just a spam email. Groaning, you drop the phone onto the couch next to you.

You sit there, wallowing in your misery and loneliness. The quiet hum of the AC does little to soothe your worries.

You miss your friends, but the distance has made it hard for them to keep up with you, and vice versa. They all had lives, and jobs, and families. But you didn't. All you had was an empty apartment. And you had Mijoo, but you felt terrible relying on her for everything. 

As you’re ruminating on the pathetic reality of your social life, a loud bang comes from the wall behind you. You jump in shock and quickly turn to look at the source. You can barely make out a muffled, feminine voice, saying something that sounds like a curse. Seconds later, music starts playing through the walls. Loud, bass-heavy music. You sit up,  your hand hovering over the plaster, feeling perplexed. You haven't heard anyone in the apartment next to you since you moved in. You just assumed you were neighborless. Maybe someone new moved in? You haven't seen anyone with boxes or anything all week, though, and there's no way someone just managed to move in within the last 8 hours. 

A beat passes. You can feel the vibrations from the loud music rattling the walls. You frown, and walk over to the wall. You raise a hand and knock loudly, but it's useless. You sigh. There was no way you could relax with this noise.

You turn away from the wall, and pick your phone up in case you need to dial 119 during this confrontation. You make your way out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind you and ignoring how your heart pounds in your ears. You walk to the door next to yours and, after a moment of hesitation, knock loudly. The music stops, and your heartbeat slows. The door remains closed, so you knock again, even harder this time.

After what feels like an eternity, the door finally swings open, revealing a woman you thought you'd never see again.

"Bada?" you question, bewildered.

"Hey," she replies, sounding equally surprised. She's wearing sweatpants and a black tank top, and her hair is in a messy ponytail. You can smell a faint hint of sweat. She's still gorgeous, though.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, trying to hide your shock. 

She looks behind her, as if to verify that she's in the correct place, then turns back around. "This is my apartment," she states, slowly, as if she's speaking to a child requiring stabilization. 

"Since when?" 

She laughs at this, and your heart flutters. "Since I've lived here. Which is a long time, considering this is the second year."

"No, I mean," you pause, searching for the right words. "I haven't seen you around? I mean, you're right next door. There's no way I could've missed you."

Her lips form an 'o' shape, and she nods. "Ah, well, I travel a lot for work so I haven't been home much. I was out of the country for a while."

You nod, "Oh. That makes sense. Well, see ya!"

You turn on your heel and make your way back towards your apartment, embarrassment beginning to flood through your body, when Bada's voice stops you.

"Hey, wait."

You turn around, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

She looks amused. "Are you going to tell me why you came knocking? Or did you just want to see me?"

Your eyes widen and your cheeks burn. "What? No, I'm sorry, I-"

She interrupts you with a laugh. "Relax, I'm joking."

You nod, feeling relieved. You weren't sure why this woman made you feel so incompetent. "Well, it’s the music. It's really loud, and-"

"Oh, shit," she cuts in, her eyes widening. "I'm sorry, I forgot. I'm not used to having neighbors. It's been a while since someone lived next door."

"It's totally fine, it's just...a bit much."

"Gotcha," she replies.

You stare at each other for a few seconds, and you can feel yourself begin to sweat. You clear your throat. "Well, I should probably go now."

She nods, a slight frown on her face. "Okay. See you around."

"See ya," you reply, awkwardly, before walking away.

When you reach your door, you let out a deep breath As annoyed and embarrassed as you were, seeing her again was a bit of a pleasant surprise. She seemed even more beautiful now than she did in the elevator. Your mind wanders back to the sleeveless shirt she had on. The hair bun that gave you a clear view of her neck, her jawline, her collarbones.

You shake the thought from your head and walk into your apartment. You needed to put yourself out there, soon. It’s been too long since you’ve felt a woman’s touch, and now you can barely look at an attractive woman without spiraling into a frenzy. 

You decide to go take a shower and call it an early night, hoping that a session with Rosalia 3000 will ease your mind. 

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You stand behind the counter, boredly wiping down the surfaces. It's a slow day, and Mijoo is off, finally using her vacation days. The cafe is mostly empty, save for a few students studying in the corner. You've already cleaned the entire place twice today, and the clock hasn't even struck 4 o'clock yet. It was days like these that you hated most. As much as you disliked angry customers, having to stand behind the counter doing nothing all day was enough to make you want to claw your eyes out.

You sigh, and lean back against the counter. You check your phone, just in case you missed any messages you’ve been waiting for. When the screen loads, the familiar white background greets you, with no new notifications.

You lock the screen, and stuff the device into the pocket of your apron. You look around the cafe, hoping to find something to occupy your mind. Your eyes land on the display cases of cakes on the far end of the counter, and an idea pops into your head.

You grab a bag of flour, sugar, eggs, milk, and baking powder from the storage room. You mix the ingredients together, and add a few teaspoons of vanilla extract. After about ten minutes, the batter is ready, and you scoop some into a pastry bag. You start to pipe the dough into shapes, filling the space. The familiar motion relaxes you, and you can feel the stress slowly leaving your body. There were only a select few people in the cafe who were permitted to contribute to the array of treats your cafe housed. Unfortunately, you weren’t one of those people, leaving you little time to partake in your passion in between busy shifts and tiring days. You needed this. 

Working quickly, you fill up the space within 30 minutes. After placing the cookies in the backoven, you start cleaning up the counter, throwing away any leftover bits of dough and tossing the used bowls and utensils into the sink. When you finish cleaning the area as best as you can, you turn back around, and your eyes widen as you realize you aren't alone.

Standing before you, his arms crossed, is the man with the ridiculous coffee order from a couple days ago. Yikes. 

"Um," you begin, trying to keep your voice from wavering."Can I help you?"

"I’ve been standing here for two minutes,” he begins, and you can hear the aggravation in his voice. "Do you not know how to do your job?"

"I-"

"So you’re not just a terrible barista, you’re a terrible worker too,” he spits out.“There are barely any people in this cafe and you can’t keep up?”

You clench your jaw, trying to keep the anger bubbling up inside of you at bay. "Sir, I apologize for not noticing you sooner, but I’ll be happy to assist you now."

"Yeah, I’m sure. Where’s your manager?”

Your eye twitches. “He isn’t here right now. I can assure you I’ll be able to help you with anything you need."

"Well do you have a way to contact him? A phone number? Zoom?”

You shake your head. "Sorry, sir. Our manager prefers that we only contact him when he is away if there’s an emergency.”

He releases a maniacal laugh, then immediately straightens his face. “Is this not an emergency? How is this not an emergency when the service in this shop is so fucked that you don’t see a customer standing in plain sight for ten minutes?” 

You blink. “I thought—never mind. Sir, again, I’m terribly sorry. If you’d like, I can give you this drink on the house and—"

He cuts you off. "I don't want a refund. I want better quality of service…”

He drones on, and at this point you tune him out. There was nothing you could do or say to satisfy him. Really, the irony of the situation just made you want to laugh. He was complaining about you wasting his time, and by doing so was wasting even more time. Did this man actually have a job other than being a menace to innocent baristas? Probably not. As you mindlessly watch the man flail his arms in exasperation, you hear the bell above the entrance ring. You’re about to glance over, when the man in front of you slams his palm on the counter, demanding your attention.

"I'm not done yet! I've spent the last fifty six minutes telling you everything you're doing wrong, and you've barely apologized. In fact—"

"I'm sorry, sir, but if you don’t calm down I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” You cut him off, your voice surprisingly steady.

"What?" His mouth hangs open.

You cross your arms. "You are disrupting the environment and harassing me.”

"Harassing?" He repeats, incredulously. "Are you fucking kidding me? Who the hell are you to tell me what to do? You don’t have the authority to kick me out.”

You roll your eyes. "I'm not kicking you out. You are free to stay and order anything you'd like. If, however, you choose to continue to cause a scene, I'll have no choice but to have you escorted off the premises."

His eyes narrow, and this time he crosses his arms. "Yeah? And who’s gonna escort me?”

Customer service thrown out the window, you open your mouth to call him a prickly little bitch, but are interrupted by the sudden appearance of a hooded figure walking up beside him.

"Leave her alone," a familiar voice states. You look over, and realize the individual you’re looking at is Bada, who towers over the man beside her. 

The man scoffs, and looks her up and down. "Excuse me? Mind your own.”

"This is her cafe, and she has a right to kick you out if you're being disruptive."

"I'm not bothering anyone," the man retorts.

"Well, you’re bothering me. I’ve had to stand here and watch you squeal for the past few minutes and quite frankly it's starting to piss me off. If you don’t leave, I'll escort you out myself."

The man opens his mouth, presumably to spit some more venom, but the sight of Bada's clenched fists and murderous glare causes him to snap his mouth shut. He glares at the two of you for a moment, before turning on his heel and stalking off.

Both of you watch him leave. As the door closes behind him, you witness the door swing shut with surprising speed, smacking into Mr. Grumpington's rear end just as he reaches the threshold. Stumbling forward with a startled yelp, his briefcase flies out of his grasp, scattering papers across the sidewalk. 

Your hand flings up, over your mouth as you observe him stand slowly, his knees wobbling. A woman and her child pass by him with bewildered expressions, and you repress your laughter. Once he gathers himself, he shoots a withering glare in the direction of the café, and storms off. 

Old man finally gone, Bada turns back to you, her expression soft. "Sorry. I know I probably overstepped, but I saw the whole thing and I was worried he was going to hurt you.”

You sober up and shake your head, smiling slightly. "No, it's okay. He was being an asshole and I didn't know what to do with him. I'm glad you were here."

Bada returns your smile, and you're once again taken aback by her. “Anytime."

"I have cookies, if you'd like some," you offer, suddenly remembering the sweets baking in the oven. "On the house, for the trouble."

Bada's eyes light up. "I'd love some! And an iced latte, please.”

You nod. "Sure. Have a seat and I'll bring it out."

Bada takes a seat in a booth in the corner, and pulls out a laptop. As the coffee brews, you glance at her as she types and reads something on the screen, her expression concentrated. She purses her lips as as she focuses on whatever she’s looking at, and you find yourself staring.

She looks up, catching your eye. You blush, and spin around to face the display case, pretending to wipe it down. You grab the iced latte and a plate of cookies, and walk over to Bada.

"Thanks!" she says, smiling, and grabs a cookie. She takes a bite and hums in satisfaction.  

"Good, right?" you question, a smile tugging at your lips.

"So good!" she affirms, her cheeks full of the pastry. 

You break into a wide grin that you’re not sure is because of the woman’s cuteness, or the pride blooming in your chest. "Thanks. I made them." 

She raises her eyebrows. "Wait, really? Woah. I'm impressed."

Playing nonchalant, you shrug. "It's whatever."

She laughs. "It's not whatever! These would sell out in seconds if you displayed them in here," she remarks, grabbing another one. 

You're reminded of the call you're still waiting on, and try to dispel the anxiousness growing inside you. That’s the plan, just not here. You decide not to bring that up, though. You dont wanting to put a damper her spirits with your oversharing.

But you're not tired of hearing her praises. "You think?" 

"Definitely,” she confirms. "I'll come by every day to buy a dozen.”

"I'll hold you to it."

"Please do," she responds, and you swear you detect a hint of flirtation in her voice. Before you can retort, a notification pops up on her computer, and her eyes dart down. She sighs. 

"Everything alright?" you ask.

She nods, but her brows are furrowed. "Yeah. I'm just stressed. My job has been keeping me super busy lately."

You nod, and hesitate before asking, "If you don't mind me asking, what do you do?"

"Oh," she answers, her face clearing up. "I'm a dancer. And I choreograph for kpop groups."

Your eyes widen. "Whoa. That's cool."

"Thanks," she responds. She pauses for a moment, and she looks like she wants to say more. "It is, but...I don't know, sometimes these companies get on my nerves." She says with a tired laugh. 

You're a bit surprised by her confession, and the dejected look on her face makes your heart hurt. "What do you mean?"

She shrugs. "They're never quite satisfied with what we do and it sucks, you know? The only time I have fun is when I'm working with a company that doesn't treat their artists like shit."

You frown. "Yeah, I can't even begin to imagine how frustrating that is. I'm sorry." 

She smiles, looking sheepish. "No, I'm sorry for venting. It's been a long week."

You shake your head. "Don't apologize. You're saving me from having to clean the counter for the nth time today."

She smirks. "I thought the jerk from earlier was already doing that?"

"Oh god, please don't bring him up again." You groan, and she giggles in a way that makes your chest warm.

"Don't worry. He won't bother you anymore. I scared him away," she says, wiggling her eyebrows.

You laugh, and a comfortable silence falls between the two of you. You're about to ask her another question when you hear the bell on the door chime. You look over, and see a group of college students walking in. Your stomach drops. 

"Guess it's time for me to actually do my job,” you mutter. 

She nods. "What time do you get off? Maybe we could talk more after you're done? Walk home together?"

Walk home together? You should’ve put on a better perfume today. "Sure, but I'm gonna be here for another couple hours."

She slaps her hands together. “That’s actually perfect. I have a bunch of videos to review anyway. I'll be here." She gives you a small wave, and returns to her laptop. You walk away, unable to contain your grin.

And she is there. As the night drags on, as the rush comes in and finally calms, as the clock strikes 8, and as you close the doors.

You turn the keys, locking the door. You turn around, and she's there, waiting for you, laptop in hand.  She kicks a rock and it skitters away, hitting a lamppost. When she notices you watching, she offers a shy smile.

"Ready to go?" she asks.

"Sure am," You respond, and the two of you start heading down the street. 

The air is warm and the night sky is clear, the stars twinkling brightly. You glance over at her, and admire the way the streep lamps lights up her face. Her eyes are focused ahead, and you stare at her profile. She notices you staring, and turns her head, smiling softly.

"What's up?" she questions.

You shake your head and face forward, wanting to crawl in a hole at your slip-up. "Nothing." You feel the heat rise to your cheeks. This is silly. You've seen this woman plenty of times recently. Hell, you were just in the cafe together not even fifteen ago. But now, walking side-by-side with her, the air between you heavy, you can't help but feel a need to impress her. The idea that you could possibly have a friendship (or more?) with her makes your heart soar. It's silly, and maybe a bit childish, but you're not one to let a good feeling pass by. So, you take a chance, wanting to make this work. 

"So, I don't know much about you, but I'd love to," you begin, and her gaze darts towards you. "Tell me about yourself. You said you were a dancer, right?"

"Oh, yeah." She nods. "I started dancing when I was a kid. It was fun, but I didn't start taking it seriously until I was older. I started out doing covers, and eventually landed an audition with a company. That's how I got my foot in the door, and then I kept climbing and now I'm here."

"That's amazing," you tell her. "I'm guessing it's a lot of hard work?"

She nods. "Definitely. It's rewarding, though."

You want to know more, so you ask her more questions, and you follow into comfortable chatter as she tells you all about her life. She asks you a few questions too, some of which you avoid, like why you moved here, or why you're working at the cafe that you obviously dislike. But, overall, the conversation flows easily, and before you know it, the two of you are standing in front of your apartment building.

As the two of you approach the lobby, Bada speaks. "We should do this more often."

"Which part? Walking home together, or me talking your ear off about the ending of Twenty-Five Twenty-One?"

"Mostly the first part. Although I didn't mind hearing you talk about that kdrama. The lead actress is really hot."

You snort, and she follows suit. "You know, I'm glad you came into the cafe today," you confess.

"Me too." She responds, and the two of you stop in front of your door. You're unsure of what to say next, but Bada steps forward, and you tense. Was this really happening?

But then she's inching away, her hands tucked into her pockets. You relax, and ignore the slight disappointment built up in your chest. Duh, you think, shaking your head. What were you expecting?

"Well, have a good night." You say, offering her a small smile.

"You too," she says. "I'll see you soon."

She waves, and you watch her go, before unlocking the door and walking into the apartment. You close your door behind you, and lean against it, releasing a breath.

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Over the next week, you see Bada in passing in the hallway multiple times. Each time she sees you, she stops and says hi, and you talk for a bit. She stops by the cafe a few times too, although she hasn't been able to walk home with you again yet, having a late-night schedule nearly everyday.

But each encounter makes your heart race, and by the end of the week, you feel like your chest might explode. You're not sure the attraction is reciprocated, but even if it is, would she actually be interested in someone like you? Someone who had to deal with a shitty customer service job, was running increasingly low on money, had a terrible sleep schedule, and was depending on one call to determine whether or not this move was a mistake? Probably not. The videos you've been watching for the past hour have made that evident. 

Curiosity got the best of you, and you finally looked up Bada about an hour ago. It didn't take long for her to pop up. A ton of information about her was available, from her birthday, to her favorite food, to her shoe size. You mostly ignored that stuff, opting to watch her choreography videos instead. A horrible mistake. She was undeniably talented and captivating, and watching her perform made you feel a million things all at once, the most powerful being desire, much to your dismay. Why was that woman always humping the floor? 

After watching the last video, which was a choreography of a popular girl group's song, you shut your computer and lean back on the couch. You stare at the wall separating your apartment from hers, wondering  what she's doing right now. Is she getting ready for bed? Did she have a busy day? Is she thinking of you, like how you're thinking of her? Doubtful, but the thought makes your stomach flip. 

A notification from your phone interrupts your pity party. You assume it's a notification about a delivery you have coming, but you're surprised to see a text from one of your hometown friends. 

Jasmine: heyyy how is everything going over there!

Jasmine: opened up your dream bakery yet?

Not this. You really, really do not want to get into this right now, especially with your friends and family from home, who had high expectations for you. But they were your friends, and you didn't want to keep them in the dark. You take a deep breath, and respond.

y/n: almost. just working at a cafe while I'm getting everything settled.

You wait a few minutes, but she doesn't respond. You sigh. Another thing you miss from home—texting your friends in real time. It would have been nice to be able to vent.

You're about to stand up when you get a response.

Jasmine: oh okay! just be careful not to fall into the same trap you were in here. I don't want you working yourself to death :(

y/n: i won't.

Jasmine: good.

Jasmine: anyway, met anybody cute out there yet?

You stare at the screen, and you can't help but smile.

y/n: yes.

Jasmine: OMG!!!

Jasmine: details plz!

You laugh.

y/n: it's none of your business, lol.

Jasmine: come ooooon y/n!

y/n: nope! I don't want to jinx anything

Jasmine: fine. just keep me updated.

You're about to respond, but a knock at your front door startles you. You set your phone down, and walk over to the door, looking through the peephole, and speak of the devil: It's Bada.

You quickly comb a hand through your hair and rub the sleep out of your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you open the door, trying not to look flustered.

"Hey!" you greet.

"Hi." She responds, and you immediately recognize that something is decidedly off. She looks tense. Her brows are furrowed, and she’s avoiding eye contact, shifting her weight from side to side awkwardly. You see her clutching something behind her back, but cannot make out what it is. 

"Um, are you okay?" you ask hesitantly, half-ready to grab the (tall and grown) woman to pull her inside your apartment to protect her from potential imminent dangers.

"Yeah. I just-um. I think your package was delivered to the wrong address?" She pulls her arm from behind her back, and hands you a large box with it flipped to the bottom. "Sorry."

"Oh!" you take the package, are immediately met with the recipient name printed in bold font that is, of course, addressed to you. "Thank you. Sorry about that."

"No worries." She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I'll, uh, see you around."

"Yeah, definitely."

She walks away, and you're left standing in the doorway, a bit confused. That was...weird. You step back inside, shutting the door. You set the package down on the coffee table, and just as you are about to rip it open, you make eye contact with the imagery on the front of the package. 

Your eyes widen. Oh no. How could you have forgotten?

There, plastered across the front of the box, was a clear picture of a very suggestive toy. You read the words below the image.

"Battery-Operated Love: Your Guide To The Best Vibrators, Toys, and Dildos!"

You stare. You blink. You look around, as if someone is playing a prank on you. You stare some more. 

Then, you hurriedly reach for the throw pillow sitting next to you on the couch, and scream into it.

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You sigh, tapping your foot against the floor to the rhythm of humming washers. It's early morning, the sun barely peeking out, and you're currently in the laundry room in your building, waiting for your clothes to dry.

It's been a few days since your package fiasco, and Bada hasn't made another appearance. You'd say she's trying to avoid you, but in reality, you’re the one going out of your way to steer clear of her potential judgments. You've even taken to staying in late, leaving the apartment only to go to work, where you've adjusted your schedule to further avoid the woman in case she tried to stop by. You acknowledge the fact that you're probably overreacting. It wasn't that big of a deal. You're a grown woman with needs! And you weren't going to let those needs fester when you had such an accessible way of gratifying them. You couldn't let the hard work that ancient physicians put into developing such helpful products go to waste. You love to support small businesses!

Although, you weren’t a big fan of the one you ordered from this time. So much for "discreet packaging.”

You stand up, deciding to grab a drink from the vending machine outside to cool your nerves. You reach the lobby, and walk towards the corner, where the row of machines are lined up in front of windows that belong to the gym. You insert your coins, press a few buttons, and wait for your drink. The vending machine is old, and the whirring and clanging of the dispensing mechanism are loud, so it takes longer than usual.

You glance around as you wait, and your eyes finally settle on the windows. You squint, noticing a familiar silhouette performing a series of exercises.

Bada is inside, doing pull-ups. Her back is to you, and her hair is pulled into a ponytail. She's wearing a loose t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and shorts. Sweat drips from her forehead and down her back, and the muscles in her arms flex and move with each lift.

You feel your throat dry up. The machine spits out the can, and you grab it. You hesitate for a moment, and then step forward, pushing open the glass door leading into the gym as if you were moving on autopilot. You don't know what you're doing.

"Hey!" you greet.

She turns around, eyes wide, and lowers herself onto the ground. "Hi."

"How are you?" you ask.

"Good! Just finishing up my workout," she answers, reaching for the towel draped on a bench beside her.

"Cool," you answer, trying not to focus on the way her chest heaves as she catches her breath.

"What about you? Haven't seen you around lately," she says, wiping the sweat from her neck.

"I've been busy," you lie, weakly holding up your can. "Just got something from the vending machine while I'm waiting for my laundry. Probably gonna head out and run some errands after this.”

"Ah, okay." She nods, and reaches for a water bottle. You watch her tilt her head back, gulping down the liquid, her Adam's apple bobbing as she swallows. Your eyes travel to her neck, and her collarbone, which is exposed, and the droplets of sweat that rest on her skin. You watch her throat move, and suddenly, your mind is filled with images of her lips trailing down your neck, nipping at your throat, and you're overcome with desire. 

You swallow, then continue rambling, trying to rid yourself of your debauched thinking. "Yup, heading over to Itaewon with a friend tonight. Probably won't be back home until tomorrow morning!" you say with the projection of a teenage boy who had his first drink yesterday. You weren't lying this time, though. After the incident, you were humbled into a state of reflection. You wanted to try putting yourself out there, and potentially find gratification beyond something that was battery-powered. Mijoo was ecstatic to hear this, and immediately sent you a list of clubs she and her friends frequented. 

"Sounds fun." She takes another sip, and sets the bottle down. "Hope you have a good time. Actually, do you have time to do me a favor before you get back to your laundry?"

"What kind of favor?" you ask, a bit suspicious.

"Can you spot me?" she asks, and you're confused for a moment. She gestures towards a padded spot on the floor. "I was gonna do some more reps, and I’d really appreciate it if you could help me—um—make sure my form was right. f you don't have time, that's fine, I can ask someone else."

"No!" you answer. She jerks her head back in confusion, and you flush at your stumble. "No, I have time. I can spot you."

"Awesome! Thanks so much," she says with her signature heartwarming grin. "I'll just do a couple of sets. It shouldn't take too long.”

”I should warn you that I don’t know anything about weightlifting. Or strength exercises. Or cardio—”

"Not a problem. I’ll just do sit-ups." She reassures as she sits on the floor, and lies down.

“Oh. Okay,” you felt like you were in grade school. "Are we counting or not counting?"

"Um, counting would be helpful," she says.

You nod, and kneel beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. You feel her tense for a second, but are quickly distracted trying not to focus on the way the damp fabric of her shirt sticks to her skin. "Okay. Ready when you are."

You count, and with each sit-up, the muscles in her arms flex, her jaw tightens, and her breathing becomes labored. You're in such close proximity to her, her arm brushes against yours every time she goes down. The heat radiating from her body is palpable, and you feel yourself begin to sweat, the air becoming hot.

When she's finished, she falls back onto the mat, and you release the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. She gets up, and wipes the sweat from her forehead.

"Well, that was fun," she says, standing up to grab her stuff. 

"Yeah, it sure was," you murmer, trying to hide the fact that you're completely out of breath despite doing nothing but count. You stand up, and follow her out the door. "See you later, Bada."

Bada waves, looking you over once more in a manner that makes your insides twist, before turning around a speed-walking toward the elevators. 

You take a minute to breathe and head back into the laundry room, where your clothes are ready. Instead of grabbing them, you collapse into one of the cheap folding chairs in the corner of the room. Your clothes are probably tinier at this point, but you can't bring yourself to move. Why did you even walk in there in the first place? You knew well that you weren’t capable of acting normal in front of that woman.

You remind yourself of your plans with Mijoo tonight. A club. In the city. With pretty people. Where alcohol was served.

You take a deep breath, and stand up, taking your clothes and throwing them in your basket.

You'd be fine. 

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An ear-splitting wail from the girl next to you almost makes you drop your drink.

"I CAN'T DO THIS SHIT ANYMORE!" the woman screeches, and Mijoo, who is currently attempting to console her, rolls her eyes.

"Honey, please, don't make a scene."

"But it's true! I'm a loser, and I'm going to die alone! I might as well stop trying!”

"No, you're not, just stop drinking," Mijoo responds, her voice a few octaves higher in annoyance. She glances at you, and rolls her eyes.

The two of you are at the gay bar in Itaewon, and after an hour and a half, it seems that the night is coming to an end. Mijoo's friend, Naeun, had a mental breakdown after spotting her ex-girlfriend making out with the woman she told her not to worry about. After that, the mood was completely killed. Naeun feigned nonchalance at first.That relationship was seven months ago, she said. I’ve moved on, she said. I’ve had better, she said. it was almost convincing, until you saw her gulp down three shots at a pace you did not know was humanly possible.

And now…

"It's like, you don't listen to anything I say," Naeun sniffles, and you genuinely feel bad for her. You give her a gentle pat on the back, and she turns to hug you.

"I know, I'm a horrible friend or whatever. Let's just go home and eat ice cream or something," Mijoo sighs, and the two of you help Naeun stand.

"Yes. Thank you. You guys are the best," she whimpers. "I don't deserve you."

"Yes, you do," Mijoo assures.

"Yeah, it's all good," you chime in. "Let's just get you home. I think you've had enough alcohol for the next week. Or year."

You and Mijoo drag her out of the bar and into the streets of Itaewon. It's dark, and the neon lights illuminate the sidewalks, where drunk patrons stumble through. You're a little buzzed, and Naeun's deadweight is difficult to carry. Somehow, you manage to get her onto the subway, and inside your building, which is closest. When you reach your front door, you can't help but glance over at Bada's apartment, and are surprised to see a light peeking through the crack between the door and the frame.

"You live here?" Naeun slurs, and you nod, opening the door and dragging her in.

"We'll put her on the couch. Do you mind if we stay over?" Mijoo suggests.

"Not at all," you agree, and the two of you set her down. She groans, and closes her eyes, stretching across your couch in a starfish position. Her dress has risen all the way up to her stomach, but she doesn’t seem to care, You grimace at the sight. "Poor thing."

"She'll be fine," Mijoo says, waving her off. "Come on, I’m starving,"

You follow her into your kitchen and lean against the counter as she reaches into your fridge to pours herself a drink. So much for ice cream. 

"Sorry our plans fell through," she apologizes, and you shrug.

"It's not a big deal. Shit happens. Besides, I had fun even though we were only out for, like, five seconds," you answer.

She takes a sip of the liquid in her cup. “We can try again next week? I'll make sure that Naeun is mentally stable next time."

"I don’t know. That doesn’t sound as fun,” you joke, and she grins.

"You’re so right,” she pauses as she opens your fridge back up, and gasps. "Ooh, y/n, can I have one of these?"

"One of what?" you ask, peering over her shoulder, only to find her holding cupcake that you'd made earlier. "Oh, yeah, sure. Go ahead."

She rips off the wrapper, and takes a bite, moaning. "Wow, this is—"

A loud thump sounds from the other side of the wall, and the two of you turn your heads, eyes wide.

"Is that your neighbor?" Mijoo whispers, and the two of you stand still, listening intently. There are a few more thumps, and then a sharp gasp.

"I think she's fucking someone," Mijoo whispers, and then a moan sounds from the other side, followed by a string of curse words, and the bed frame slams against the wall, a rhythmic knocking echoing throughout the apartment.

Naeun sits up from where she's sitting on the couch, and mechanically states, "I need to call her."

"Don't you dare," Mijoo growls, aggressively pointing a finger at the pitiful girl. Naeun whines, and collapses back onto the couch, and you continue to stare at the wall with wide eyes. This couldn't be happening.

You're quiet, listening to the creeks of the bed, the groans, the panting, the curses, and, despite the situation, you can’t help but feel…curious. You’d usually be irked by this situation, reminded of the particularly horrific nights you’d have when you lived with a roommate in your younger years. As made evident by the fluttering in your stomach (and in other parts of your body) you, this was not that. Not even close. 

Mijoo laughs. "Oh my god, does this usually happen?"

You snap out of your stupor. "Uh, no, actually. She's usually pretty quiet."

"Really?"

"Yeah. And besides, she's sweet, so it's kind of weird hearing this, but, uh, it's whatever," you reply, attempting to ignore a squeal that vaguely resembles Bada's name.

The bed's movements pick up speed, and the sounds become louder.

"Oh my god," Mijoo murmurs, covering her ears. Naeun starts crying again.

"She's gonna fuck her to death," Naeun sobs, and then the two of you can’t help but burst into laughter. You walk over to the living room, and pat her on the back.

"Come on, let's get you to sleep," you say, helping her up. "You can have the bed. Mijoo and I will take the couch."

"Thank you, I love you both so much," she blubbers, and you drag her into the bedroom, tucking her into the bed.

"We're gonna stay in the living room, so holler if you need us, okay?" you tell her, and she nods.

"I love you guys," she slurs, and then passes out, mouth wide open. 

"She’s so dramatic," Mijoo cackles as you close the door. 

You and Mijoo get ready to go to sleep, and soon enough the obscene noises from next door are gone. But, as you fall asleep on the couch, they still ring in your head.

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"I'm so sorry for the way I acted last night." Naeun apologizes, a pout on her face. You wave her off. “Don't worry, you're good. At least you gave us some entertainment while you were at it. Are you okay, though?"

She shrugs, adjusting the duffle bag on her shoulder. "Yeah. I mean, it was a pretty big blow, but I'll get over it. She's not worth the tears."

"Atta girl," Mijoo cooes, patting Naeun's head. She turns to you, and smiles. "Thanks for letting us stay over, y/n."

You open your front door, and wave. "Yeah, of course. I'll see you guys later."

Just as the two girls step out, the door to the apartment next to yours opens. You all look to the side, and notice a disheveled woman with blonde hair and bright red lipstick exiting into the hallway. You and Mijoo exchange glances as the woman's eyes meet yours. She gives a small, awkward smile when she notices the three of you, and then bows before hurrying down the hallway.

"Was that your neighbor?" Mijoo asks, and you shake your head. 

The actual neighbor in question steps into the hallway, and the three of you watch her with wide eyes. She's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, long hair cascading down her back. 

Bewildered by your stares, she looks at the three of you with confusion.

"Hello," she greets, bowing, and the three of you bow back. "How are you?"

Naeun's eyes become the size of saucers. "Y-you're Bad—"

"Good!" Mijoo interrupts, and gives a wide, forced smile. "We're all doing well."

"That's good," Bada replies, giving a polite nod. She looks at you, and the corners of her lips quirk upwards. "Hi, y/n. Nice seeing you."

After last night’s noises, her politeness makes you want to laugh. or scream. or cry. You return the smile, gripping your doorknob until your knuckles turn white. "Yeah, nice seeing you, too."

She turns her attention back to the other two, waves, then walks off.

Mijoo and Naeun immediately whip around to face you.

"Your neighbor is Bada Lee?!" Naeun screeches.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Mijoo yells, and you step back.

"Bye guys!" you say, closing the door on the two of them.

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Shortly before closing, the bell rings.

"Hello!" you chirp. "Welcome to—oh, hello!"

"Hey, y/n." Bada waves.

"Hey," you say, even though the two of you already said hello. "How are you?"

"Good, and you?"

"Great, thanks," she responds, staying put in front of the door. "Uh, I actually came here to, um, ask if you wanted to walk home together? I was just passing by, and I thought maybe we could just, like, walk back. At the same time. Since we both have to, um, go there. To our respective homes. I know it's been a while, but I thought it'd be fun. I-if you want some company, I mean. Sorry, I'll leave if you want me to, I'm just—"

"Bada," you interrupt, and she looks up, her eyes meeting yours. "I'd love to."

She blinks. "You would?"

The look of surprise on her face almost startles you back into hesitation. Why wouldn’t you want to spend time with the woman? Even with all the moments you’ve wanted to bury yourself in a hole because of your embarrassment, you couldn’t find it in yourself to ever say no. 

Untying your apron from around your waist, you nod. "Yeah! Just give me a second to grab my stuff."

"Okay." She grins. "Thanks."

You pick up your belongings, clock out, and the two of you stepping outside. You lock the doors, and begin to walk towards your building. 

"So, how was your night yesterday?" Bada asks, and you almost trip at the reminder of yesterday’s events. 

"Uh, it was fine," you reply, clearing your throat. "What about yours?"

"Oh, it was, um, good." She nods.

I’m sure it was, you think. You look at the ground, biting the inside of your cheek. "That's good."

The two of you walk in silence, and now you feel awkward. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. The only sounds surrounding you are of the rustling of the trees, and the occasional passing car.

"Was that your girlfriend?" she suddenly blurts out, and you whip your head around to look at her.

"Huh?"

"Last night, when I ran into the three of you in the hallway. Were one of those girls your girlfriend? Or…”

"No, neither of them," you reply, shaking your head. "One of them is Mijoo, the coworker I told you about, and her friend, Naeun. They came over after we went to a bar."

"Ah." She nods, looking at the sidewalk, and your eyes narrow. You swear you see a small smile on her face. 

"What about your girl?" you ask, and her head shoots up.

"My girl?"

"Yeah. Was the girl that was over last night your girlfriend?"

"Oh, no, no, she wasn't," she quickly answers.

"Hm," you hum. And then, your next words spill from your mouth before you can even process them. "I would've thought so with all of the…screaming that was going on."

"W-what?" she stammers, freezing in her tracks.

"Uh," you say, stopping as well. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."

"Did you hear...us?" she asks, her voice quiet, and you can't bear to look at her. Why did you speak up? You didn’t want her to feel embarrassed. Or worse, think of you as a creep for listening in. 

"Yes," you murmur, and she lets out a groan, her face turning a shade of pink.

"I am so, so sorry. I thought you were gone. Oh my god, that is so embarrassing." She buries her face in her hands, and despite your previous regrets, you bite your lip to suppress a giggle. Her reaction was too cute. 

"It's okay, really," you assure, and she drops her hands, still refusing to look at you. You smile, and continue walking. "Don't worry about it."

"But that's so embarrassing," she whines, and you laugh again. 

"You were clearly having a good time."

"Yeah, but I didn't want you to hear," she sighs, and you pat her back.

"Well, at least we're even now."

"What do you mean?" she asks, puzzled.

Uh oh. She probably already forgot about the delivery situation, and you just brought it up for no reason. What the fuck was up with you right now? You were just saying anything. 

"Oh, nevermind. Forget about it," you respond, waving her off.

"What was it, though? I haven't heard you…uh…do anything before," she protests, and you shrug, trying to brush her off.

"Nope! Forget about it! I confused you with someone else," you rush out, picking up your pace as you make eye contact with your building.

"You have another neighbor that could’ve potentially heard you having sex?" she replies, clearly confused, as she jogs slightly to catch up.

"No idea!" you sing, and open the door, stepping into the lobby.

"This makes no sense. Now I’m not gonna stop asking," she tells you, and you can't help but laugh. 

"And I'm not going to stop avoiding the question."

"Y/n!"

You enter the elevator, and press the button to the 8th floor, watching her enter. You give a polite smile, and she sighs, giving up.

"Fine," she finishes with a pout. 

The elevator goes up, and the two of you stand in comfortable silence. You don't know if it's because of the woman's earlier embarrassment, but something about tonight definitely has you feeling a little bold and ready to tease. 

"Hey," you pipe up, and she looks over at you. "You guys were pretty loud."

"Shut up," she grumbles, and you can't help but smirk, watching her glare at the floor.

"My friends almost called the police. It sounded like you were committing murder."

"What?" she exclaims, and then groans. "Oh my god, don't."

"And I almost let them. I was like, woah. I knew this woman couldn't be entirely perfect and had to be keeping some sort of deep, dark, secret. But a serial killer? I would've never thought. Turns out you just had a serial moaner in there, I guess."

"Please stop."

"I mean, what were you doing to that poor girl. I—"

"At this point, it just seems like you're trying to get details out of me," she interjects.

"W-what?" you squeak, and she smiles, turning to look at you, suddenly cool and collected. 

She shrugs. "You keep bringing it up."

You scoff. How dare she accuse you of such a thing! All of the thirst comments under her posts must have gotten to her head.

"You're ridiculous," you retort.

"Am I wrong, though?" she counters, and you stare at her with wide eyes.

"No," you reply quickly, and then you mentally facepalm, realizing what you said. "I mean yes. You're wrong."

"Right," she chuckles, and the elevator dings, the doors opening. "I have a question for you."

"Yeah, sure, what is it?" you ask, stepping out into the hallway.

She bites her lip, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. "Have you had the chance to use your Satisfyer Pro yet?"

Your jaw drops, aghast. "Wh-what? What the fu—"

"Goodnight, y/n," she grins, snickering as she runs inside her apartment like a little goblin, leaving you to watch her with a mixture of disbelief and irritation.

You can't help but let out a huff of laughter as you enter your own apartment.

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You're sitting in bed with a slice of cake on your lap, blanket tossed to the side due to the hot weather, binge-watching a new series. You contemplate checking your email for a message from that landlord, but decide against it, not wanting to put a damper on your decent mood. Instead, you tune in to another episode of a k-drama, in which the protagonist dies for a second time. Supposedly, it's for real this time. 

You're about to finish the slice when there's a knock at the door. You frown, pausing the episode. You stand up, place the plate on the dresser, then walk towards the front door, peering through the peephole. Your heart begins to beat faster when you see a certain woman standing outside your apartment. 

"What's up?" you greet, swinging the door open.

"Hey," she says, a soft smile on her face. She's wearing a pair of loose shorts and a white t-shirt, hair in a bun. Sweat glistens on her forehead, and her cheeks are flushed. You can't help but note how good she looks, despite looking rumpled. 

"Hi," you respond, returning the smile. "What's going on?" you ask, leaning against the doorframe.

"So, uh, my air conditioning broke," she begins. "And I was wondering if I could hang out in your apartment for a bit? The maintenance people said they aren't going to be able to get here until tomorrow. Apparently they don't work on Sundays."

You've suddenly become aware of the fact that Bada has never been inside your apartment. The idea of her being inside the same room as you, sitting on your furniture, breathing in the scent of your home, sends a wave of heat down your spine. Maybe it was best to reject her offer and suggest another solution.

"Come on in!" you say, and open the door.

"Thank you," she breathes out, walking in, and your eyes rake over her figure as she passes by you. 

She looks around, taking in the sight of your apartment. You notice her eyes linger on some of your old pictures from your hometown.

"Your apartment is really nice," she tells you, and you feel a rush of pride.

"Thank you! Feel free to take a seat wherever," you reply, gesturing towards the couch, and she sits, throwing her head back as she lets out a sigh of relief.

"You're a lifesaver," she declares, and you plop down next to her.

"What happened?" you ask, and she shakes her head.

”I wish I knew. I went to turn on my AC and it just, didn’t come on. Completely out of the blue.”

"That sucks," you respond, and she nods, a grim expression on her face.

"So," she begins, turning her head towards you. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," you answer, and then remember the slice of cake on the dresser. You point to it. "Would you like some?"

"Yes, please," she says, nodding fervently. "Water would be great, too, if you don't mind."

Grateful to put some distance between the two of you, you practically bounce out of your seat. "Coming right up!"

You return with two glasses of water and your cake. She thanks you, and you hand her a fork, taking one for yourself.

"This is really good, y/n. Did you make this too?" she praises, and you nod.

"I did. Thanks," you reply, taking a bite.

"You really need to give me the recipe for these things. Or start selling them! I'd buy them all," she compliments, and you blush, waving her off.

You stare at the ground for a moment, before laughing bitterly. "That was supposed to be the goal, I guess.”

She furrows her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

You inhale slowly, prepping yourself. You hated this. But maybe you needed this. "I used to have my own bakery. In my hometown That's actually where I moved from. But then my landlord jacked the rent up and I couldn't afford it, and I was forced to close," you explain.

"Oh." She frowns. "That's awful. What a jerk."

"Tell me about it," you mumble, carelessly dropping your fork on the table.

"Are you looking for another place here?" she asks, and you nod.

"Yeah. There's a lot of great spots in Seoul, but there's one building in particular that I've had my eye on. It's not far from the Han River, and the rent is relatively cheap, and it's got everything I could possibly need. I'm just waiting to hear back from the that landlord. We were negotiating and things were going pretty well. But now its been months. I haven't heard from him since I moved here."

You blink back tears, and clear your throat, picking up the fork again. Whenever you think of everything that's happened to you recently, you cannot help but feel like an utter failure. You worked hard, finally achieved success, only for things to all fall apart. It seemed as if all of your efforts were for nothing.

"Hey," she whispers, and her voice is soft, calming. "It's gonna be okay."

She gently squeezes your arm, and her touch is warm. You look at her, and the tenderness in her eyes is enough to make you want to cry more. 

"I know. It's just hard, sometimes," you confess, and her hand remains on your arm.

"I get that, but I can promise you that what you're going through is temporary. I can't tell you how many times I thought I was done for good when I first started out, but now, I've come this far. If you keep your head up, and just keep working hard, you'll make it. You’ve done it before.”

Her words resonate with you, and her unwavering support fills you with hope. "Thanks, Bada," you respond, smiling.

"Of course," she responds, her eyes never leaving yours. "I'm here for you."

"I'm here for you too," you whisper.

A moment of silence passes, and your eyes travel to her hand. Her skin is smooth, and her fingers are long and slender. You wonder what they'd feel like intertwined with yours.

"Um, I’ve been meaning to ask," she says, interrupting your thoughts, and your eyes meet hers again. "Any new dramas you wanted to tell me about? Or, what about the one with that married couple you talked about?”

You almost laugh at her obvious attempt to distract you from your depressing thoughts.

"Pretty good," you reply, and she gives you a pointed look.

"And by pretty good, you mean..."

"Amazing, wonderful, mind-blowing, spectacular," you continue, and she nods, satisfied. "I was actually watching it before you knocked on the door."

"Ooh, really?" she responds, eyes widening.

"Yeah. Would you like to watch it together?" you suggest, and she grins.

"Yes, please."

"Okay," you giggle, and grab the remote, pressing play.

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Halfway through the episode, you decide to move to your bedroom (because the AC works better in there, of course!). Somehow, while lying on the bed, your legs become intertwined. She's sprawled out, and her head is resting in the crook of your neck, her soft hair tickling your face. 

You can feel her steady breathing, and the heat radiating off her body, and all of your senses are filled with her. You're so focused on her that you can't even focus on the episode.

"Y/n?" she murmurs, and her voice is low, quiet.

"Yeah?" you reply, voice equally as soft.

"Would it be weird if I said that I'm glad my air conditioner broke?"

You snort, and her body shakes with silent laughter. "Not at all."

You pause the show, and sit up. She does the same, and her eyes are shining.

"Do you want anything to eat? I've got chips, and some ice cream," you offer, and she bites her lip.

"Not really. Thanks, though," she responds, and your eyes travel to her lips. They're plump and pink, and you're tempted to reach out and kiss her.

"Okay, no problem," you say, and her gaze is intense, burning.

"Thanks for letting me come over. I appreciate it."

"Of course," you murmur, and then clear your throat. "Anytime."

"Really?"

"Yeah! You can even stay the night, if you want. I don't mind," you respond, and her eyebrows raise, lips curling upwards.

"Okay," she answers, and leans forward, cupping your face in her hands.

The action surprises you, and you let out a gasp. She pauses, eyes searching yours, and you nod, giving her permission.

She leans forward, and you close your eyes, waiting for her to press her lips against yours. Instead, you feel a pair of lips softly kissing your forehead, and your cheeks, and your jaw, and your nose, and then they finally, finally press against yours.

The kiss is gentle and sweet, and when she pulls away, her eyes are filled with affection.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," she admits, and you chuckle.

"Me too," you whisper, and her smile grows wider.

She moves closer to you, and you wrap your arms around her, pulling her into a hug. Her body is soft, and her skin is smooth, and you can feel her warmth seeping into your skin.

"I really like you, y/n," she whispers, and you tighten your hold on her.

"I really like you too, Bada," you respond, and she nuzzles her face into the crook of your neck. You're in heaven.

"Thank god. I was afraid I was making a fool out of myself," she confesses, and you giggle.

"What? Oh my god. Not at all," you assure her, and she pulls away, a smirk on her face.

"So, I was right about you wanting details?"

"Oh fuck you," you mutter, pulling her back into a significantly more aggressive kiss. A surprised noise escapes her lips, but she eventually melts into it, moving against you with equal fervor. Her hands run up and down your sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind, and you're so caught up in the sensation that you don't even realize when she starts straddling you until she presses her body against yours in a way that has you gasping.

Your hands travel underneath her shirt, feeling the smoothness of her warm skin, the lines of her stomach, the swell of her breasts, and the curves of her waist. She groans into the kiss before slipping her tongue into your mouth, causing heat to pool in the pit of your stomach.

When you pull away, she's panting, and her lips are swollen. Her hair is slightly mussed, and her pupils are dilated, her eyes filled with desire. Without words, you both begin removing each other's clothes, tossing them to the side. She's left in only a black bra and boxers, and you have to remind yourself to move.

She chuckles, and you stare at her chest. You can see the outline of her nipples, and you reach out, brushing a thumb against them, and she bites her lip, closing her eyes. You can feel her heart beating rapidly, and you trace circles around her nipples, and she lets out a shaky breath.

"Please," she begs, and you smile, pulling her into another kiss.

Your hands move lower, caressing the skin of her thighs, and then you're cupping her center, and she gasps, pulling away.

"Y/n," she pants, and the sound of her moaning your name sends another rush of heat down your spine.

"Bada," you breathe out, and press kisses against her jawline, and down her neck, and collarbone, and chest. Your hand is still between her thighs, and she bucks her hips, trying to find friction.

"Y/n, please," she repeats, and the desperation in her voice is so fucking hot.

You slip a finger inside her, and you feel her walls immediately clench, followed by a whimper you're not sure belongs to you or her. You curl your finger inside her, and her head falls back into the crook of your neck as she rolls her hips, grinding against your palm.

"More," she practically demands, and you add another finger.

She's soaking wet, and the lewd sounds coming from your fingers sliding in and out of her has you squeezing your thighs together, desperate for some sort of relief.

You use your thumb to rub circles on her clit, and her movements become more erratic, her moans becoming louder.

"I'm gonna-ugh," she pants, and her nails dig into your skin as she orgasms.

You can feel her walls clenching and unclenching, and her body trembles, her eyes squeezed shut. She breathes heavily, and the sight of her is enough to drive you wild.

You continue stroking her until she opens her eyes, and you can't help but grin.

"Holy shit," she manages, and you remove your fingers, and she lets out a moan.

"Good?"

"Yes," she replies, and leans forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

"Now," she begins, breaking away. "Let me take care of you."

You can only nod as she reaches for your breasts, fondling them, and her eyes never leave yours. She's smirking, and the intensity in her gaze is enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You close your eyes, enjoying the sensation, and you nearly jump when you feel her body shift, her lips pressing against the sensitive skin of your neck.

She moves down, taking a nipple into her mouth, and you groan, arching your back. Her lips travel to your stomach, and then your thighs, and then you're lifting your hips, and she's sliding your underwear off.

"Spread your legs, y/n," she requests, and her voice is low, seductive.

You obey immediately, and then her tongue is inside you, and her fingers are on your clit, and your entire body is on fire. She sucks on your clit, and then makes headway further down, sliding her tongue inside you. You can't stop the moans that escape from your mouth, and you're certain the whole complex can hear, but you don't care.

Suddenly, she stops, and looks up at you. Your eyes snap open, annoyed by the interruption until you observe the way he's smiling, her chin slick with your wetness.s

"I wanna try something," she begins, and she sits up, scanning the room. "Where's that thing you got the other day?"

You bite back a moan. "Nightstand drawer."

She opens it, and takes out a small, pink object. Your face flushes as she turns it on, the vibrations audible in the otherwise quiet room.

"Is this okay?" she asks, and you nod, eager.

"Yes," you answer, and her mouth returns to your center.

She teases your entrance with the object, and the combination of her tongue and the vibrator has you squirming, your hands finding their way to her head, holding her in place.

"Oh god," you whimper, and the pleasure is indescribable.

Her tongue picks up speed, and then the vibrator enters you, and you nearly scream.

She pushes the toy in and out, and as it vibrates against your clit, and begin to feel like you can't take anymore. Your back arches, and a wave of euphoria washes over you as your orgasm hits, and the only thing you can see is the light from the lamp and the white of the ceiling.

When you regain control of your senses, you can feel her body lying on top of yours, her head on your chest. You lay in silence, trying to catch your breath, and it isn't until you hear her voice that you speak.

"How are you doing?"

"Sleepy," you mumble, and she smiles, pecking you on the lips.

"Then let's go to sleep."

You can only nod as your eyes slowly close and your mind becomes hazy. Before you drift off completely, you think to yourself that this might've been the best night you've had since moving here.

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Two weeks later, you and Bada are going up the elevator to your respective apartments after a walk from your job. You'd just spent the past hour gossiping in between taking customer's orders. Apparently, Mijoo and Naeun are going out. Figures. You hoped it worked out for them, but nobody was beating the blissful few weeks you've.

The two of you are holding hands, and your free one is holding a box containing a dozen chocolate chip cookies, made especially for Bada.

"I'm thinking of moving out," she suddenly states, and the statement catches you off guard.

"What? Why?" you ask, and she shrugs.

"It's about time. I can afford a better place, and I'm ready to move on from the apartment life. I need a house."

"I can understand that," you reply, nodding.

"You should move in with me," she continues, and the statement makes you laugh.

"What? Are you crazy? We just got together."

"Who cares? I want to live with you. Don't you want to live with me?" she responds, pouting, and she gives you puppy dog eyes.

"Yes, but...," you pause, and you can tell from the expression on her face that she's serious.

"But what? What's the problem?"

"Nothing. Let's do it."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," you confirm, and she beams, leaning in to kiss you.

You can't believe what you just agreed to. But, in a way, you're relieved. Maybe this will finally bring a sense of finality to everything that's happened.

"Damn, guess I'm gonna have to tell Jennifer about us. She's coming out here soon," you mutter, opening your email app. You go to type in your friend's email, but your eyes land on an unread email in your inbox, sent two weeks ago. It's from an unknown sender, and the subject is 'Regarding Your Application.'

Your eyes widen, and Bada nosily peers over your shoulder, reading the words.

"What's that?" she asks, and you gulp.

"I don't know."

"Open it!" she exclaims, and you do.

Y/N,

This is Kim Sung Soo, the owner of the property you inquired about. I was out of town for business and unable to contact you regarding your application. I've looked through the papers, and everything seems to be in order. I'd like to meet up with you so we can further discuss the terms of the lease before we finalize anything. When are you available?

"Oh my god," Bada gasps, and she stares at you, wide-eyed.

"What the hell?" you whisper, and Bada squeals.

"Oh, y/n! This is so exciting! Congratulations! I knew it would work out. Now, you can start your bakery, and we can move in together, and oh, my god, I'm so happy!"

"I'm confused," you mutter barely believing your luck, and the elevator dings, indicating that the two of you have arrived.

"Don't worry about it, okay? Come on, let's go have some cookies," she says, tugging on your arm.

You nod, following her down the hall without a hint of resistance. As you watch the woman drag you with a giant smile on her face, you cannot help but giggle. Who knew you'd find home and happiness in such an unlikely place?

#bada lee #bada lee fanfic #bada lee imagine #bada lee fluff #bada lee x reader #bada lee x y/n #street woman fighter 2 #swf2

[writer-in-theory]

berry sweet on your lips

TW: Period-typical homophobia, Some Internalized homophobia, Implied abuse (Steve's dad is a pos)

When Steve was seven, his Mama caught him in her makeup.

He was sitting up on the bathroom counter, sloppily drawn eyeliner over his eyelids and trying to apply bright cherry red lipstick to his lips without smearing. The application process required so much focus he hadn't realized when the front door opened downstairs, or when his mom called repeatedly for him to come down to dinner. He did hear the surprised little yelp from her though, and the sigh once she realized which eyeliner he'd accidentally broken.

"Honey, those aren't toys to play with." His Mama's voice was tight like she was barely containing her frustration at the lost products. Dad always made her upset, and Steve didn't want to add to it. So it didn't seem like a good time to correct her, that no, he wasn't trying to play. He'd seen how pretty makeup could make people, and he wanted it. He wanted to be pretty.

Instead, he sighed and nodded, hopping down from the counter. "Sorry, Mama."

"It's okay, baby, that stuff just isn't for kids to play with. C'mon, let's get you washed up and we can get some dinner."

It wasn't the last time he'd thought about makeup, though it took years until Steve found the courage to try again.

--

It happened when he was fourteen in Carol Perkins's basement. He, Tommy, and Carol spent most nights together anymore. The Perkins' always volunteered to babysit Steve when he was younger and his Mama started going on business trips with his dad, and they always let Tommy come over so he wouldn't be left out. That basement with its bright tie-dyed blankets scattered around and posters of every attractive celebrity you could imagine felt more like home than his own house.

Maybe that was why he felt so comfortable suggesting it in the first place.

"Ugh, I need more girl friends, honestly," Carol groaned, flopping back onto the pile of pillows and blankets she'd acquired.

"What now? We're not entertaining enough?" Tommy teased from where he and Steve were playing air hockey. Steve's knuckles were sure to bruise tomorrow from the speed with which they were knocking the puck at each other but they hadn't stopped laughing yet. "Need to go braid Tina's hair and talk about boys?"

"You're not boring," Carol clarified, "but it'd be nice to do someone's makeup and talk about boys every once in awhile. A girl needs some gossip."

Tommy laughed, so Steve laughed too because it seemed the right thing to do. But really...it didn't sound so bad, did it? So when the laughter died down, he spoke up. "You could put makeup on me, I don't care," Steve shrugged.

He did. He did care so much. Even the thought of it made his heart flutter, threatening to fly away at any second.

"Really?" Carol raise one eyebrow, sitting all the way up and twisting around to face him. "You'd let me put makeup on you? The whole thing, I don't do boring makeup."

"C'mon, man, don't let her do that to you," Tommy groaned, but Steve just shrugged again and abandoned the air hockey table, coming over to sit down on the floor with Carol.

"It washes off, right?" As if he hadn't known how easy it was to swipe off red lipstick, though it would always leave a deep tint to his lips like he'd been eating berries. "It can't hurt."

It at least made Carol happy, and seeing her smile as she rushed off to retrieve her makeup bag made Tommy's grumbles about ditching the game worth it.

And you know, it was fun. Carol was actually gentle, and seemed to know what she was doing. Steve had his eyes closed most of the time while she brushed powder and liner on them, as she swiped mascara on and tried to perfect whatever glamorous look she'd seen in her latest magazine. She did talk about boys too, all about which girl had crushes on each boy that they knew, and why Eric Thompson was the most crushed on boy in Hawkins Middle.

"Eric Thompson? Get a grip, Perkins, you can do so much better than him," Steve told her, laughing at her indignant shout.

"Seriously. The guy's a total meathead," Tommy called from where he was sprawled out across one of the couches, idly watching whatever movie the Perkins' decided to rent for the night.

"You're a total meathead," Carol shot back in return. "Not Stevie here, though. No, I think after I tell all the girls about what a good guy you are, you'll be the new king of Hawkins Middle."

"Screw Hawkins Middle, I better be king of Hawkins High for this," Steve laughed, only because he had no idea how to thank her for it. By the time he'd left the Perkins' house the next morning, the bright eyeshadow and tacky lip gloss had been washed away but the feeling of pure peace it had brought him persisted.

--

Steve hadn't dared try again, not until he was sixteen and saw a guy wearing nail polish. It was one of the Seniors, the one who wore all black and who the whole basketball team called The Freak. And maybe he was a freak, Steve didn't really ever have a reason to talk to him and find out, but the sight of the swath of black over his nails left Steve breathless.

"You taking photography this semester, Harrington?" The guy—something Munson, Steve thinks—asked when Steve hadn't stopped staring in the hallway.

"Huh?" Steve startled, looking down both sides of the hallway as if to check if any of his friends were seeing who he was talking to. "No?"

"Shame," Munson let out a little 'tsk' noise, the way Steve's dad always did when he was disappointed. "You could've taken a picture and made it last longer."

Oh, oh. Steve's face flushed red, and the second he saw a flash of another green and orange letterman he panicked. They would know, oh God they'd see him with The Freak and it would all be over, they would figure out that he wanted to paint his nails too and—

Steve wasn't proud of the words spoken after that. They lingered far after he'd said them, swirling in his head until it sounded a little more like his dad was repeating them over and over again, reminding Steve of just what kind of person he was to stay clear away from.

It was that guilt that finally convinced him to go to Melvald's, where the kind woman at the counter didn't question why he was buying the cheapest makeup products he could find. He didn't even know if any of it would look good together, he just knew he needed it. He needed a way to see himself like this before he messed up again where someone could see, where someone could figure him out.

And so began the careful ritual. Every night he'd rush home from practice, lock his bedroom door even though he knew his parents were away on another trip, and swipe the makeup over his eyes, cheeks, lips. He got better at it with every attempt, until the liner wasn't shaky and his lipstick didn't look like it had already been kissed off (and now, wasn't that a thought).

--

Except that was the trouble with secrets, wasn't it? They couldn't stay buried for long, not when Hawkins was so small and this felt so much larger than the town, than the state, than anything Steve had ever been apart of.

It was only a matter of time until his dad found out.

That night he'd been sloppy, unprepared for his parents to come home early. The light in the upstairs bathroom had gone out and instead of changing it he'd moved downstairs, where the lights had already been switched out to a cooler white that made it easier to see what colors he was painting his skin with.

Steve Harrington was pretty sure he would die that night, all over deep red lipstick and perfectly-drawn eyeliner.

He didn't know where he was running to, all he knew was that he couldn't stay in Loch Nora. He ran until he was near the edge of town, nothing but trees and the one road leading out surrounded him. Steve hadn't had his car keys on him, and there was no way he could go back for them without facing his dad's righteous anger. Steve let out a painful cry, finding nothing left to do but lay down on the pavement and stare at the stars. He was barely eighteen, no car, no money except whatever bills were stuffed in his pocket, no plan. Just himself and that damned red lipstick still lingering like berry-stained evidence on his lips.

He didn't move for anything. Not when the night grew chilly enough to freeze his joints and prick up goosebumps on his arms. Not when the rumble of an old car engine came roaring in the distance, or for the subsequent squeal of brakes and a loud horn.

"Shit, Harrington, I know you have air for a brain but what the fuck are you do—" The person cut themselves off, like from seeing the state of him. They'd probably hit him too, kick at him while he was down because why the fuck did he think he could get away with this shit in the middle of nowhere Indiana?

"Shit, Harrington," the voice hissed again, sounding as pained as Steve thought he should feel.

"Get on with it," Steve voiced, voice rough with tears and the violent yells his dad had hit out of him.

"Get on with what?"

Steve rolled his eyes, turning his head to meet Eddie Munson's gaze. He wondered if he still painted his nails. He wondered if it even mattered, because even Eddie Munson didn't do what Steve did. "I'm tired, man. If you're gonna get your revenge on me make it quick."

That startled Eddie, reminding Steve of just how expressive the guy was. It was almost humorous, the way his head reeled back and his eyes widened impossibly far.

"Get in the van, Harrington."

Right, if Eddie was gonna murder him he couldn't do it out in the open, not where anyone could be driving by.

So Steve picked himself up from the ground, not bothering to brush off his jeans before sliding into the passenger seat. They didn't talk the whole drive. No music played. They just sat in complete and total silence, punctuated only by the nervous taps of Eddie's hand on the steering wheel.

Eddie Munson must be stupider than he was. Most murderers wouldn't drive their victim to their own trailer before finishing the job. Though, Steve supposed all Eddie had to say was that he saw Steve Harrington wearing lipstick and it'd all be waved away. Upstanding citizen, that Eddie Munson was.

"Shower's back there, there's a first aid kit on the shelf," Eddie spoke, unable to stand still once they got inside the trailer.

And that, well that was just downright weird. Steve tilted his head to the side, eyeing the little hallway Eddie waved his hand at like it might jump at him. "What's happening?"

"What do you mean?" Eddie sounded tired, like he hadn't slept in weeks. Steve felt like he'd never slept at all, like he might never again.

"You...aren't you gonna...?"

"I mean, I could if you think you're gonna fall," Eddie said nervously, eyes also watching the hallway. "Just tryin' to protect your modesty, man."

"What?" Nothing was making sense, and Steve was beginning to wonder if maybe his head had hit the tile floor one too many times because this was supposed to be simple, cut and dry.

"Can you just go clean up, Harrington?"

"Why?"

"Because I hate seeing all that damn blood on you, okay?" Eddie snapped out, voice raising in pitch the more worked up he got. "I don't know what the hell happened, but I hate it."

Oh.

"You're not...you're not gonna...?" Steve repeated, including a lackluster air punch.

That seemed to make everything click in place for Eddie. He sucked in a breath and both hands flew to the top of his head, scraping through his unruly curls. "Shit, you think? Nah, man, I'm not a piece of shit like whoever did that to you. C'mon."

Eddie started walking down the hallway, and honestly this all felt so vaguely dreamlike Steve couldn't do anything but follow, wordlessly sitting on the toilet lid where Eddie waved for him to be. The other man was knelt between his legs, wiping off his face with a wet washcloth. His touch was gentle, experienced as he wiped away the blood and set to work rubbing antibiotic onto each open cut.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Steve whispered out, eyes focused on the barest hint of eyeliner on Eddie's eyes. The other man clearly wasn't wearing it to be pretty though. No, this was drawn on with intentional haste, and made Eddie look so fucking badass that Steve didn't know what to do about it. "I sucked in school. I was awful to you."

Eddie's hands didn't stop, brown eyes focused on Steve's lips as he wiped at the split in the lower one. He could see the breath hitch in the other man's chest though, a quick collapse of Eddie's chest before his breath restarted at a normal rhythm. "You did suck, but that doesn't mean you deserve this."

Steve didn't say anything else, couldn't really. Not when the lump in his throat grew until he was sure he would never be able to breathe again, and the tears began to spill without inhibition. And Eddie, well Eddie let him. He just kept patching him up, never saying anything, never berating him or looking disgusted by the tears. He just sat with Steve while he let it out, eyes looking to Steve's every so often as if to check he was okay.

"I think something's wrong with me." The whisper sounded so loud in the tiny bathroom, echoing around and around and smacking into Steve's chest repeatedly.

"No." It was the first time Eddie seemed bothered by anything Steve said all night, fingers gripping tightly around the corner of the counter he was holding to keep himself steady. "There's nothing wrong with you."

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but Eddie cut him off. He looked Steve right in the eyes, a kind of fire lighting up in those dark brown eyes of his. "Steve Harrington, there is nothing wrong or broken or shameful about you. So you like to wear makeup, lots of guys do."

"I've never met anyone who does."

"Because you're in Bumfuck, Indiana," Eddie continued on, never sounding more passionate than he did now. It was intense, sure, but Steve had longed for someone, anyone, to say what Eddie was now. And of course it was the guy with the painted nails he'd been enraptured by years before. "Just you wait, pretty boy, there's a whole world out there with people like us."

Like us. Like us.

"C'mon, you need some sleep. We can figure out the details in the morning."

"Wait...what?"

Eddie laughed a little, shattering the heavy moment with a burst of pure warmth. He stood up and offered a ringed hand out to help Steve up despite him not needing it. Eddie's hand was cold in his own, but it felt right there.

"Try to keep up, Harrington," he teased. "If you don't mind sharing a bed, you can stay here. Us freaks have to stick together, right?"

"I mean...your uncle won't...?"

"Nah, Wayne'll love pissin' Robert Harrington off," Eddie answered coolly, "And he's cool with...everything."

And despite Steve's skepticism, he was. Wayne Munson was pretty much the greatest support anyone could ever have. His face had flashed dangerously when Steve admitted what happened, saying the world had no place for men who hit their boys (Steve wondered only briefly why the topic seemed to pain Wayne so much). And living with Eddie Munson, well, it was great. The trailer was small and Eddie kicked in his sleep, but Eddie also smiled from the second he was awake and the no place had ever quite felt like home in the way the Munson trailer did.

And the next time Steve found the courage to sit and do his makeup, it came with bright smiles instead of that old, lingering fear.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #kinda #they'll get there #stranger things #steve x eddie #canon divergence #au no upside down #tw homophobia #tw implied abuse #jay writes in theory #this is totally unedited sorry you get it as is #steddie headcanon #steddie ficlet

[sp00pypumpkins]

This is how I feel Zero would met player HAHHA, they werent prepared to face an adult human per se XD.

Au belongs to @asamary!

I am going to rant a bit about it under the cut.

He uses they/he pronouns

He is slightly smaller than catnap

So Zero was just in a intership for a short period before he found the truth and wanted to out it but they got him and turn him into a toy! When he found the truth he met the prototype but his fascination of gadgets and mechanism was stronger than feeling fear XD

He can produce energy via his emotions and on his own will if he is in good shape, he met the critters soon after, he was in charge of the time for movies or shows and story telling. His knowledge in mechanism made him be able to have more dinamic storytelling using tricks with lights and such.

Zero then loses their temper electrocuting a scientist not on purpose trying to stop them for taking more kids, in wich the scientist take notice and take him to the labs in wich he got experimented more and amplifying his production of electricity.

He then kept being experimented while being plugged to the facility providing electricity to a portion of it. He became a living generator.

The prototype then offered them to be part of the hour of joy by the promise of revenge and freedom and no more pain, he accepted and shut the facility down from electricity and closed the doors from many places trapping everyone inside.

Now this is where the the au and canon takes different paths

Since in canon Zero gets deceived by the Prototype and was kept as a generator for the prototype (basically he will still be used as a generator by the prototype) the prototype would carve a mouth in the shape of a smile on Zero so he can feed. Zero dislikes him after being betrayed.

In the au since the prototype just killed the scientists and the bad people, Zero is very loyal to the prototype and helps them finding the more bad people by hacking security cameras or websites, but he stays in the town most of the time.

In the au Zero lives in the basement of the aparment the critters live in (if they are in a building and not just a singular house lmao) He produces the energy of a portion of the city, if he doesnt their electricity would go hirewire, he just plugs himself at night and acumulates the electricity in the generators.

If there is a storm and ther ei s apower outage he can easily feed the building, you just need to wake him up and tell him about it.

Zero has 6 minicritters of themselfves in wich some are patrolling and some are around him, they are like security cameras in a way

They go around fixing a lot of stuff around town specially electronics,

He likes to create gadgets, toys or artwork from metal, thats why he would go to the dupmster zone to search for parts and bring them home, they find admiration how the prototype can dissamble an object to create another so he looks up to the prototype like a teacher.

He is usually in the background doing mundane fixes there and there, because he was isolated and the only contact was when they experimented on him, he gets veyr anxious around adult humans but with time you can see he is just a silly guy who adores affection he just doesnt know how to handle it yet.

I like to think they are the guy whom people go when something gets broken or need assitance with.

I really couldnt stop thinkning about the au, its 2 am but I probs forgot things.

If ya dont mind I shall keep doing lil comics about this au with my oc in it qwq

Now just a wip of a future ref I am making

Some fun facts:

He dislikes being touched in the back

The Prototype helped zero gain a mouth and get unplugged from the cables since it was a tedious and careful task.

The minicriters have different shapes (i forgot to put the x body marks on the square anthena minicrtitter :()

Simple shape on anthena= complex shape on body and vice versa.

He can speak human language very soflty but it feels off for him specially if he talks for to long it starts to hurt. (He normally talks in gibberish like puppycat from the show :D)

The stronger the emotion the more energy he can produce

If there are tvs plug on them or he touches them, he can comunicate with those using memories and replicating the voice from that memory (is like doing a collage of different voices and images in a tv) he can also project their dreams on tvs

He is very light

The scarf/coat is attached to them like part of their body.

They are protective of their friends he isnt very strong but will fight for them

He gets sometimes ghost pains in their back, the scale of pain depends of the day

ANYWAYS thats it me thinks I shall make lil comics about all the facts and other stuff other times qwq

If u read everything, thank you and hello! Hope u have a good day :D

Also sorry about the grammar and writting english is not first language and its 2 am HAHAHA

They have a hard time hidding how they really feel because the color their anthena, eyes and stars may change by how he feels

He tries to always stay calm and with right composure but he is actually very emotional, he just had learn how to manage the emotions

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime au #poppy playtime sweet home au #poppy playtime player #oc Zero Signal #smiling critters oc #probably forgot stuff but oh well #I can already see mistakes but im tired #my art #poppy playtime oc #sweet home au

[outofconcheol]

Sign Here For... (HJS x F!Reader)

pairing: delivery boy!Jisung x afab!reader genres/au/rating: crack, smut, fluff, one night stand au, 18+ summary: Feeling frustrated and reeling from your recent breakup, you put in a special order on your favorite delivery app. However, with the goods, comes Jisung, who's a lot more than you'd ever bargained for.

word count: 4.0k

warnings: past relationship and referenced breakup (Minho x reader), regrettable decisions are made, Jisung and reader are both so very shy and cute but also bold, lots of innuendos, alcohol use, swearing, some little thoughts of self-doubt, Jisung's black nail polish, unexpected feels, smut warnings: nsfw thoughts, sex toys, making out, nipple play, fingering (f receiving), oral (m and f receiving), unprotected sex (the pull-out method)

a/n: djsksk what is this?? except the unhinged product of both my imagination and my infatuation with Han Jisung. this is my first time writing a fic for anybody besides bts, so I'm super nervous about this. Special thanks to Miss Emme (@temptaetions) for informing me that Dashmart, of all places, sells sex toys which then became the impetus for whatever kind of delusional thing this is. i hope you enjoy, and please be nice!

This had the potential to be a bad idea. A very bad idea. Rubbing at your eyes, you glare at your phone screen in the dark, legs tucked underneath you on the couch. If this backfired, maybe you could blame the blue light. Your psych professor in college had always loved to mumble about how cell phones were killing the younger generations’ brain cells. 

Or, you could blame the fact that you’d shown up to Chan’s party last night, determined to have a good time after months of moping over your breakup, only to find your ex, Minho, sucking face with a new girl. Yeah. You could definitely blame it on that.

It wasn’t like you didn’t expect him to move on — it was just that you also expected yourself to have. Minho had been your first and only relationship, lasting through all of college and beyond before you’d broken up, deciding your lives were heading in different directions.

Honestly, you hadn’t been upset until the party last night. You’d accepted the breakup, growing pains were inevitable when you’d gotten together so young. But the fact that he’d moved on this quickly and you hadn’t stung.

Not to mention you were horny. Four years with Minho and then just like that, it all stopped. All you wanted was to get laid again. Unfortunately, after a disastrous drunken encounter on a dating app with a physical therapy student named Changbin, in which he’d fallen asleep before you’d even done the deed, you decided that it might have been too soon, and to take a step back.

But you were human, and if devoting your college years to studying the human psyche had taught you anything, it was that humans were needy. Very needy. For food, for shelter, for company. Which is why you were surprised at how the human race hadn’t crumbled already, given the rate of break-ups and divorces occurring these days. The problem was, that despite being needy, humans were also overthinkers.

So you’d spent a week pondering over what you were about to do, rationalizing every aspect of it in your brain - the pros, the cons, the consequences. And had almost talked yourself out of it when running into Minho tonight had been the catalyst for driving your decision the other way completely.

All you wanted was to hop onto your favorite delivery app, ready to wallow in pity over some ice cream and chips, and maybe Pride and Prejudice (2005), but then you’d seen it. 

It seemed delivery apps were becoming more and more full service these days. Because right there, past the Doritos and the body wash, were sex toys. 

You feel your throat go dry and eyes widen as they flash across the screen - all different sizes, shapes, and colours. There was more variety than you expected.

Immediately, you groan at yourself. More variety than you expected? Who expected to see sex toys on a delivery app anyway? The drought must finally have been getting to your brain.

Throwing your phone aside, you groan, trying to ignore the throbbing at your temple and in between your thighs. Maybe it was time to go out and find someone – maybe your self-imposed celibacy was driving you stir-crazy. It wouldn’t be so crazy to check out Minho’s Instagram, and see how he was doing…

“Get it together!” you mumble to yourself, pinching your arm. You were not going to stoop to the level of texting your ex. However, you were going to stoop to a different level entirely. You wipe your clammy palms on your thighs, picking your phone back up and clicking on a pink one quickly, immediately scrolling down to avoid dealing with the consequences of your transgression.

A few minutes later, you’ve managed to fill the cart with a dozen different snacks…and well… the other thing. It taunts you as you check out, and you focus your mind elsewhere, like the berry cheesecake ice cream you’d ordered. This was just another form of self-care, right?

You can feel the blood rushing in your ears and a bead of sweat trickles down your back, and you make the decision to hop into the shower while you waited. Sighing, you push yourself to stop being the overthinker you’d always been. Whoever was in charge of it would just put it at the door and then leave. It was none of their business, right?

Jisung really wasn’t a judgemental person. He knew people went through so much in their lives, which is why he never questioned orders with enough food for twelve people, only for one person to show up at the door. Or when someone ordered just yogurt and Tide Pods. People tended to forget things. Or they wanted to enjoy things. And who was he to stop them?

But right now, he was conflicted. He’d thought nothing of the order he’d just gotten, clicking accept on his delivery app, but then he’d done a double take when he actually saw what he’d had to pick up. Chugging along to the store on his red bicycle, he heaves for breath, trying to calm the racing in his heart.

You had to be joking right? Maybe you’d clicked it by mistake. He was more than used to his fair share of strange requests, but delivering a vibrator to someone’s doorstep was a new one. For a second, he’d thought about calling to confirm that you’d actually meant to order it, along with a mountain of snacks, but pushed the thought away immediately. That would only make things more awkward.

He wondered what could have possessed you to do something so impulsive. But then a lightbulb went off in his head. People tended to make rash decisions when they were going through a tough time — like a breakup. And suddenly, it all made sense to Jisung.

And being the empathetic person he was, his heart twinged for your sadness. You must have been really lonely. He wondered who could have broken up with you to make you so upset - from what he saw from your snack choices, you already had impeccable taste and he liked you. So he’d make sure you got your things safely.

Pulling up to the store, Jisung parks his bike away safely, the bell above the door signaling his entrance. The store clerk takes one look at him in his snapback with the app’s logo on it, and can barely hold back a smirk. Jisung feels his cheeks heat up… this wasn’t even his stuff, why was he feeling self-conscious?

“I’m uh, here for, —” he chokes out, feeling his throat close up, unable to get the words out. “Yeah.”

“Here you go,” the store clerk pushes the bag his way, unable to hold back their laughter, and Jisung feels a flash of anger go through him. Yeah, it was odd, but there was no reason to be so judgemental about it. “I hope whoever it is enjoys themselves.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they do,” he blurts out, watching the clerk’s eyes widen before he realizes what he’d just said. “I-, I mean I’ll make sure they get it, you know?”

He decides it’s time to leave before he does something even more stupid, slapping his palm against his forehead while he rushes out. What was it about this specific time that had him so flustered?

Actually, he knows what it was. He’d taken one look at the pink vibrator nestled away in its packaging, and thoughts of what would happen to it after he’d left it at your door raced through him. Rubbing a hand at the back of his neck, he wipes away the sweat that collects at his nape, taking a few deep breaths before hopping back on his bike.

Looking at the map, your apartment was only a couple of blocks away. He had to get it together before then.

Shaking out your wet hair, you slip your oversized t-shirt on, pulling up your fluffy socks, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. That couldn’t be what you thought it was. You decide to wait a few minutes to see if they knock again, and sure enough, they do.

You huff, looking down at your app. You’re pretty sure you’d clicked “leave at front”. But whoever “Jisung” was, he clearly didn’t get the memo, knuckles continuing to rap at your door. 

“Helloooo,” his voice calls out, laced with genuine concern. “Is anyone there?”

Filled with annoyance, you stomp over to the door, pulling it open, ready to give this guy a piece of your mind when—,

Oh. Oh.

Big, brown doe eyes look at you from the other end, glassy and filled with sparkles, and your mind immediately goes blank, forgetting what you were so upset about. You stay there, lips parted, taking in every detail of the handsome stranger currently at your door, from his longish hair that falls in his eyes underneath his snapback, to the black painted fingernails on his slender hands. 

The two of you remained locked in a stare for a few moments, Jisung unable to take his eyes off you either, and that’s when it registers that you’re only wearing a t-shirt and socks. You have the urge to slam the door in his face and scream from embarrassment, but then you wouldn’t be able to see his pretty face. 

Jisung lets out a strangled sound, somewhere in between choking and a cough, hitting his chest in order to get the words out.

“Hi, I’m here with your order,” his voice cracks when he presents the bag full of things, the pink vibrator lying right on top 

Your lips remain parted in an “o”, unable to say anything, eyes flitting in between your order and the cute delivery boy at your door. Eventually, you realize you should do something. Just maybe. So he doesn’t think you’re weird.

“I, uh, thank you, uhm, Jisung was it?” you watch his eyes widen at your acknowledgement, a smile lighting up his face. And it has your heart doing backflips. 

“No problem, I hope you enjoy it!” Jisung responds enthusiastically, his ears reddening when he realizes what he’d just said.

Time seems to stand still when you accept the bag, watching him zip up his backpack and put on his jacket, those black nails taunting you. For a moment you imagine what they’d feel like inside of —

“Do you wanna come inside?” The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them, and Jisung freezes. You swear you hear him curse underneath his breath.

This was insane. Probably the most insane thing you’d done since breaking up with Minho. But he gave you butterflies in a way that no one had for a long time, and maybe, just maybe, this was a sign from the universe to take a risk. One more time. 

“Jisung,” you repeat slowly, and he finally looks up at you, checking over his shoulder to see if you’re talking to him. “Do you want to come inside?”

He shrugs his jacket off, letting his backpack slip off until it’s hanging off one shoulder before he nods, unable to take his eyes off you standing on the other side of the threshold.

“I’d love to.”

Jisung feels like he’s going to pass out, wondering if he was having an out-of-body experience. Not only did he deliver his first sex toy today, but of course it had to be to one of the hottest girls he’d ever seen. None of it seemed real, as he followed you into your cosy apartment, filled with fairy lights and soft cushions.

A troublesome thought crosses his mind as he slips off his jacket and shoes, when he thinks back to how maybe you’d been going through a break-up. You inviting him in only served to strengthen that suspicion in his mind, but you’d been nothing but nice, just as shy and nervous at he’d felt. Whatever this was, Jisung was down for it, whether you just needed someone to talk to or — he thinks back to the pink vibrator. 

Perhaps it was better not to get ahead of himself.

“Make yourself comfortable,” your soft voice echoes from the kitchen. He can hear you rustling around in there, putting away your things, and it makes him even more flustered. He looks around for anything to distract him from his racing mind, settling on a few photo frames of you and another guy, posing with three cats.

“I should probably take those down,” you surprise him again, coming up from behind and setting down some of the snacks you’d gotten and a few bottles of soju. “I haven’t really had anyone over here since the breakup.”

He was honestly shocked you were still on the rebound from your last relationship, given that you were — well you. If he’d known you then, heartbreak wouldn’t even have been a word in your vocabulary.

“It wasn’t horrible, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you reassure him, seeing a cute frown cross his face. “Minho was my first for a lot of things, but eventually you realize not everything is meant to last forever.”

“Is that why you, uh, you needed the things today?” Jisung chokes on sip of soju, hoping the sharp liquid can make him a little less awkward. From the way you fidget with your hair, he realizes it’s not helping at all on that front.

“Enough about me,” you take another swig, a bit of soju dribbling down your chin, and Jisung fights the urge to reach over and wipe it off. But then he’d be too close.

Jisung is a natural talker, opening up easily about himself and his life, from his own cute puppy to his friend group. Through the course of the conversation, he realizes that you’re older than him, but it doesn’t bother him. Something about the earnestness in your eyes makes him feel comfortable. It doesn’t help that you’re stunning under the dim lights, your damp skin shining and lips twisting into an adorable grin while you listen to him talk.

He wonders if he’s being a bit too forward, unable to keep his eyes off them while he goes on, but if you notice, you don’t say anything.

Half an hour later, and the distance between the two of you on the couch is completely non-existent, your thighs pressed up against Jisung’s while you giggle at his Doraemon impression. 

He knows he’s probably a little tipsy, both of you are, but that doesn’t stop shock from registering when you pick up his hands, intertwining your fingers to marvel at his nail polish.

You bring them close to you, and even though he’s not touching you, he can swear he feels the thud of your heartbeat underneath your shirt.

“Do you like them?” his voice is gravelly as he asks the question, the soju making him feel like he’s floating. 

“I do,” you stutter out. “They look really fucking good, I want them to, I-I mean I want some like them, shit–”

Another giggle bubbles from your lips and Jisung thinks he’s going to lose his mind, watching your eyes grow heavy-lidded, still clutching his hands in yours. The two of you are impossibly close now, any more and you’d be on top of him, but maybe he wants that. Maybe you want it too. 

You squeak when he pulls you on top of him, the haze clearing momentarily when he feels your legs straddle him, clutching onto his shirt to avoid falling over completely. Jisung grips your thighs to hold you steady, and your stomach swims at his proximity. Looking into your eyes, he sees your pupils go dark, your throat bobbing while the two of you remain frozen, contemplating your next move. 

He watches you suck in a breath, breaking eye contact to look over at the photo frames on your shelf, sadness flashing in your eyes. It stirs something within him, and he stops you midway, cupping your chin in his hands and tilting your head back towards him.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice is lower than he’s ever heard it, desire seeping into every crevice, and he sees you give a little nod before you’re leaning in, crashing your lips onto his. 

Jisung stifles a groan, melting into the kiss, your soft, slightly chapped lips adding to the fire that fuels in between you. A whine escapes the back of your throat, your nails raking through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him into you. He traces the inside of your mouth, pressing you down onto his thighs, shocked to find wetness leaking onto his jeans. 

You pull away with a flush, realization dawning on your face. Chewing your lower lip, you give him an apologetic look.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I forgot I wasn’t wearing anything underneath…”

Jisung pulls you back into him, nipping at your bottom lip, before he’s pulling away again, his warm breath fanning into your neck.

“You don’t have to apologize baby,” he voice makes you shiver. “I came here for you after all.”

The two of you stumble back into your bedroom, lips clashing desperately, and you tug at the hem of Jisung’s shirt. He breaks away from your lips to allow you a small bit of focus, but it’s gone in seconds when he eyes your neck, pressing small kisses along its length, pausing to graze his teeth in a few spots. 

You flutter your eyelashes against Jisung’s temple, finally grabbing hold of his shirt and slipping it over his head. You pause, taking him in, running your knuckles along his sides, and he shivers. 

Jisung doesn’t even wait for you to finish undressing him, pushing you back onto your bed softly, watching the way your oversized t-shirt hikes up, exposing more and more of your body to him. 

You feel your stomach fall into knots at the appreciative look in his eyes. It’d been so long since someone had looked at you like that, and you feel like you could explode from that alone. You cling onto his biceps, giving them a squeeze, and he moves quickly, pulling you flush against him so he can grab your shirt and tear it off. 

Shoving you against him, he mouths at your jaw, tugging your hair so you arch up into him, grinding against the rough denim of his jeans. You collapse into a series of moans and sighs, rutting against him while Jisung continues to work you over, moving down to your neck, before he thumbs at your breasts.

The first swipe of his thumb against your nipple has you keening, throbbing with need until —

Jisung pins you in place, lifting his body slightly so you’re no longer touching. He toys with your nipple experimentally, giving it a squeeze, and you nearly sob at the contact, wanting to feel him again.

“Had to cut it off or I wouldn’t last,” he rumbles into your ear, stroking the soft skin of your stomach before he dips down in between your thighs, stroking exactly where you need him.

Jisung’s eyes widen in surprise at exactly how wet you seem to be, curiously swiping up and down before he plunges a finger in.

“Jisung, please, god, I—” you’re unable to get the words out, tugging at his hair while he fucks you open, your clit throbbing. Your hands roaming underneath the waistband of his pants, pushing at them uselessly, before Jisung pauses. You watch your arousal coat his fingers while he works the button open, finally pulling them off. 

Closing your eyes, you ready to finally feel him, but like everything else today, Jisung is full of surprises, kneeling until he’s face first with you, exposed and open for him. The first press of his tongue against you has you bucking up into him, and you feel him smirk, his other hand reaching to press on your neck.

Your eyes flutter, your entire focus narrowing to where Jisung sucks on your clit, and then you’re breaking, nearly flying off the sheets as your thighs clamp around his head, both of you unable to contain your moans. 

Jisung looks down at you, his lips swollen and messy with you on them, and you watch him study you, flushed and fucked out underneath him.

“Hey,” he says softly, brushing away the hair that’s fallen on your face. “You okay still?”

“Better than okay,” you mumble through your lips, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. It’s too soft a gesture for what this was supposed to be, but Jisung melts into it anyway, reveling in the quiet moment. 

“Keep going please?” you breathe into his neck. There’s barely a moment to think before Jisung’s hands are on your ass again, pushing you up into him so he can line himself up with your entrance. Without warning, he slides in, bottoming out harshly, and you dig your nails into his back.

You open up wider, letting him grab your leg and rest it on his shoulder, and his arm braces itself around your waist, lifting you up so he can find your lips again, tongue catching all the sounds that fall out of you. 

His hands roam all over you, like he can’t get enough of your body. Jisung’s sweat soaked bangs are messy as he throws his head back, thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier, and you know he’s close. 

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing tight circles on your clit, until you feel yourself snap, gushing around him. “Where can I–”

Your hand rests on his jaw, rubbing small circles into it, and you’re pushing him back, watching his eyes widen in shock as you lower, taking him in between your lips. Jisung makes a strangled noise when he feels himself hit the back of your throat, twitching once before spilling into you. 

The two of you fall into each other, heavy breaths mingling, and Jisung buries his head into the crook of your neck. You feel him smile against you, and your own soft smile lights up your face, the both of you falling asleep holding each other.

It must be the middle of the night before you muster up the energy to move, cleaning yourself off and changing into a comfy shirt and sweatpants. Behind you, Jisung is still dozing off, his face even softer in sleep than it was awake, and you stroke his cheek.

Feeling bad, you slip out, deciding to make him a cup of coffee. There’s a pang in your heart when you realize that he has to leave after this, that the two of you made no promises to each other. Every muscle in your body is aching as you hunch over the boiling coffee pot, begging you to ask him to stay. 

From the corner of your eye, you spot the pink vibrator sitting on the counter, still in its packaging, and you chuckle, realizing you’d never got a chance to put it away.

“I hope you’re not thinking of using that without me,” you jump in shock at Jisung’s voice, turning around to see him grinning at you, hair mussed and clothes rumpled. 

“Oh god, Jisung, I’m so sorry, your job, I didn’t even realize,” panic sets in as you try to make an excuse, guilt filling your chest for dragging him into your heartbreak.

“___,” he comes up to you, wrapping you in a hug from behind, his head resting on your shoulder. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have stayed unless I wanted to. And I wanted to.”

“Really?” you breathe out, unable to believe he’s actually saying this. “Why?”

You can’t stop your voice from cracking, the doubt creeping in again when you thought about how things had been good with Minho, and yet they hadn’t lasted, believing that someway, somehow, it was your fault. That you hadn’t been enough.

Jisung chuckles into your neck, pressing a kiss onto your cheek. 

“You’re so cute. I wanna be here for you, in whatever way you need. If that wasn’t evidence enough, I’m kinda into you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

You feel your heart explode at his self-assuredness, finding comfort in his presence. When the morning came you knew he’d have to go, but maybe, just maybe, you’d let yourself be needy again. Especially when it worked out so well the last time.

a/n pt. 2: As always, any comments or feedback are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi &lt;3

#han x reader #han jisung x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz x you #stray kids x you #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #skz smut #skz fluff #han smut #han fluff #han jisung smut #han jisung fluff #stray kids imagines #han jisung imagines #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #han fanfic #han fic #skz hard hours #skz au #stray kids hard thoughts #han hard thoughts #stray kids hard hours #skz hard thoughts

[kosmichippieccfinds]

👑 MEDIEVAL MODS + CC | The Sims 4

I am currently playing Morbid's ULTIMATE Decades Challenge over on YouTube. Below is a list of all of the Mods + CC I am using in my game to create the ultimate MEDIEVAL experience 👑

I'll be updating this list as I add new mods and cc to my game.

📺 Watch on YouTube

👑 MODS:

Medieval Windenburg

MC Command Center

MC Woohoo

More Traits in CAS

Royalty Mod

Medieval Interactions

Ye Olde Cookbook + Stoves

Home Region by Kuttoe

Fashion Authority 2 by Lot51

Functional Broom

Functional Loom

Functional Pottery Wheel

Archery Skill

Blacksmithing Skill

Honey Production Mod + Mead Brewer

Children/Toddlers Can Die of Anything

Playable Harp + Lute

Functional Horses & Carriages, No Helmet

Create Campfire Bonfire Anywhere

Arranged Marriages

Custom Farm Animals

Purchase Custom Animals

Zero's Historical Mods (pickpocket, disease, etc.)

Phone to Notebook Replacement

Sippy Cup + Toys Default Replacements

Stuff for Pets

Harvestable Wheat Grain

Natural Knitting Stuff

Live in Business (LittleMsSam)

More Buyable Venues (LittleMsSam)

Force to Leave (LittleMsSam)

👑 CC:

Build:

TSR Ye Medieval - Ligna Windows Set

TSR Ye Medieval - Timber Frame Walls

TSR Ye Medieval - Framework Walls

TSR - Broken Wood Door

TSR Ye Medieval - Soil Terrain

TSR Ye Medieval - Hay Ground Terrain

Birch Tree (2048x2048)

Objects:

Lili's Palace - Folklore Set No. 1

Linzlu's Frontier Items

TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 1

TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 2

TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 3

TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 4

TRS Ye Medieval - Tristan Bathroom

TSR Ye Medieval - Tavern Part 1

TSR Ye Medieval - Candle Holder

TSR - Skara Stool

TSR - The Old Garden Boat

TSR - The Old Garden Quay

Fish Market Decor

Fish Rack

Fish Crate V1

Fish Crate V2

Bohrium Vegetables I

Old Rustic Well ("Eco Living" version)

Stable Set by Moriel

Rustic Animal Shed

Rustic Chicken Coop

Rustic Bee Box

Bassinet + Infant Crib

CAS:

TheSimsResource (Ye Medieval)

TheSimsResource (Sifix)

Simverses (most of my peasant CC)

Anora's Hair (Princess Leia's Kenobi Hair by Buzzard)

Rosceline's Hair (Lusine by simstrouble)

Kenric's Hair (Henry Hair by JohnnySims)

Mira's Hair (Padme's Mustafar Hair by Buzzard)

Papa Cedrick's Hair (Wearwolves Game Pack)

Roseline's Peasant Dress

👑 LOTS:

Caspian's Seaside Hut (Lot + CC List) (20x20)

Caspian's Lakeside Cottage (Lot + CC List) (20x20)

TSR Ye Medieval Avelyn Castle (64x64)

TSR Ye Medieval Galbury Tavern (30x20)

TSR Ye Medieval Tyrada Tavern (30x20)

TSR Ye Medieval Herbalist Hut (40x30)

👑 SAVE FILE:

Srsly's Blank Save

Map Replacement Medieval Windenburg

[allamericansbitch]

since y'all seemed to want this.... here's the live notes i took while listening to each song for the first time (bold are thoughts i had during later listens)

fortnight: 

‘i was a functioning alcohol till nobody noticed my new aesthetic’ what the fuck does that even mean…

love the fact she gave post the female collab treatment. don’t wanna hear what he has to say. 

they’re voices sound actually good together? 

some pockets of the melody are catchy

okay i don’t hate this 

ttpd:

her red flags are on fire in this song lol

this seems very half-cooked

also jacks weird mixing continues to plague us all

CHARLIE PUTH???? WHAT THE FUCK WHY HE HERE

tattooed golden retriever??? ……no way

my boy breaks all his favorite toys:

i blinked and it’s half over

this also is like… half cooked and didn’t need to be released tbh

i love the way she sings the second verse tho

down and:

the production does not match the vibe

did tpain produce this

i’m… kinda bored lol

like i have nothing to say this also didn’t need to be released tbh 

this grew on me a lot actually

so long london 

the production is so futuristic? 

oh im obsessed with how she sounds on this one

her talk-singing in the verses is great

honest lyrics without any clunky unnecessary metaphors! a win!!

the fast-paced verses with th slow chorus is really really cool

a favorite so far

daddy i love him

i can barely hear her? the bad mixing continues 

‘growing up precociously sometimes means not growing up at all’ oh yeah WE KNOW

is this…… is this about her dating matty and loving how people hate him… no fucking way she’s this stupid

SHE IS BEING THIS STUPID

‘it’s white noise’ yeah yeah that’s exactly how id describe him  

.... anyway y'all remember when fans really believed the little mermaid theory and this song was supposed to be about how 'joe stole her voice' lmaooo

we will pretend this one doesn't exist!

fresh out the slammer

are we getting another ‘i didn’t cheat technically’ song lol

what is this weird tempo change….

okay kinda catchy

it’s sounds exactly like you are in love at the end….. jack is really out of tricks

florida

‘my friends all smell like weed or little babies’ what the fuck is she even talking about anymore 

i’m sorry but i’m laughing at the phrase ‘fuck me up florida’

again the production sounds so detached from the vocals 

i honestly still have no idea how i feel about this one

guilt as sin

an real instrument?? wow crazy 

okay she’s kinda cute? catchy and fun, love the melody

i love when she goes up at the end of the vocal 

okay…. i don’t mind this one she’s catchy, a little too long and drawn out but cute

who’s afraid of little old me?

what is this production? it’s way too soft to be as threatening as they’re trying for 

why did jack push her vocals back so far when she’s supposed to scream…. that’s ruins the whole thing…. she’s supposed to be screaming and threatening….. not quiet and far away…. hello

this song is trying very hard to be threatening but it’s not... vigilante shit 2.0

‘you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum they raised me’…………… upper middle-class pennsylvania? 

‘i’m drunk on my own tears isn’t that what they all say, that’ll  sue you if you step on my lawn’ okay bar?

the bridge was good but that’s about it.

i can fix him 

…………… not another matty song oh god

‘i can handle a dangerous man’…… im too stunned to speak this is so embarrassing 

wow taylor really is that girl who like ‘women supporting women’ and then dates/defends a racist bf…. a walking example of white feminism

intersectional feminism found dead.... twice....

loml

okay this is really nice? 

I WAS ACTUALLY ENJOYING THE SONG WHY DID SHE RUIN IT BY SAYING ‘MR STEAL YOUR GIRL’ 💀

if we ignore that one line we're good this is good. im refusing to let that line ruin such a good song

i can do it with a broken heart

‘bitch smile’ why are there so many cringey lyrics on this album lol

what is this song omg why do i kind of like it 

taylor please learn depressed isn’t a synonym for sad 

they recycled the mastermind production 

wait till taylor finds out most of the entire world is sad while they're doing their job and has to pretend they're not

smallest man who ever lived 

oh i think i like this?

‘you said normal girls were boring’ GIRL AND YOU DIDNT IMMEDIATELY GET UP AND LEAVE??? EWWWW??? she's not beating the pick-me allegations

'i just wanna know if rusting my sparking summer was the goal' okay love that line

i like this a lot

the alchemy

no….. no way this is real

i cannot

THE SPORTS METAPHORS WE JOKED SHED DO THAT AND SHE ACTUALLY DID IT OH NO 

touchdown ✅ teams ✅ benches ✅ winning streak ✅ the league ✅

she’s doing…… the worst thing ever this is so laughable 

the corny lyrics are on overload 

‘this time it’s heroine with an e’ didn’t she write folklore? i can’t remember 

that literally was an snl parody of a taylor song

clara bow

love how the guitar sounds… bet money this is an aaron track 

a stevie nicks reference!! a win!!!

i like this one a lot no cringey lyrics yet

nope never mind she name-dropped herself don’t like that

overall really liked it tho

the black dog

i think i like it?? this is kind of what i expected the album to be

okay for once the weird production choices kind of pay off

imgonnagetyouback

kinda catchy? 

she loves a fancy car getting wrecked line

the pre-choruses are the best part 

this would’ve been better without the jack of it all bc he loves a song that doesnt build to anything

this just comes down to personal preference: i don’t like her lighter vocals with jack’s heavy production (ie most of lover lol)

the albatross

a real instrument!!! production that matches taylor’s voice and is well mixed!!! aaron’s arrived!! 

i think it’s solid, has good writing and she sounds great. that's about it.

chloe or sam or…

took me a solid minute to have any semblance of a fuck to know what was going on but okay

okay i love this one

wayyyy more emotive than like… most of the original album

a lot of the 2nd version (or whatever this is lol) are way more emotive, maybe because her voice isnt drenched in reverb so we can actually hear her voice emote better

how did it end

this sounds like an old school adele song? 

i love this one too…. 

her being upset people wanna know what happened but then also feeding it while promoting the album oop 

i love the story of this one it's so refreshing

so high school

THE PRODUCTION is so good ugh aaron never fails 

the man here is a walking red flag girl and the lyrics are ~not it~ but the production is too pretty to hate it

fuck these lyrics are so bad lol

maybe if i disassociate hard enough i can ignore the lyrics and just listen to the production and vibe

give me a karaoke version of this song and we'd be so back

i hate it here

i mentioned disassociation and she made a whole song about it!!!! this one’s mine!!!! 

‘without all the racists’ GIRL HUH

WHAT WAS THE REASON

also... girl don’t act like we don’t know you’re fine with that lololololol

if i had a dime for every time i was liking a song to then have it slapped away because of a bad, out-of-pocket lyric…… 

thank you aimee

this isn’t grabbing my attention 

oh the bridge is interesting 

it’s meh 

i will never be thanking the people that bullied me thanks tho

i look in peoples windows 

what do you mean aaron didn’t produce this??? it’s well-made and has instruments? 

i love this one, again a really interesting and unique concept that's very refreshing to hear at this point when a lot of the songs feel repetitive

the prophecy

aaron guitar!!!! 

she’s nice i like her 

i've really grown to love how she sings this one, the melodies are cool.. however i feel like we've heard the same melody.. like on this exact album... where she upturns at the end of every line...

cassandra 

this seems very…. familiar… idk i feel like we’ve covered this (i mean there are 31 songs we’ve already covered everything lol)

this is such an aaron song, that's a classic 'the national' piano

i like her voice in this one tho, sounds good

peter

oh love i love this

now this? THIS feels the most like a taylor swift song

once again she’s at her best with a simple instrument and emotive simple lyrics

the piano reminds me of champagne problems

the bolter 

i like this! the chorus is so cute

oh i like that ending line a lot!

she’s cute, a little long and drawn out but cute

robin

i haven’t seen anyone talk about this one

welp…. i literally have no feelings toward this one but sounds pretty! 

the manuscript

oh this is soooooooo powerful 

i love this concept 

her ending the album on another introspective album that sums everything up a la dear reader yep yep!!

if you actually read of this ily 💗

#tp #ttpd lb #kind of lol

[wulvercazz]

🌃Street Horrors☠️

a bit of a flashback for part 2💕

Previous~

It wouldn't have been so weird to find a person in such a state, Ichigo's horrified to admit; not here on the ground level of the city. His heart stopping in his throat for the half second that he catches glimpse of the sorry figure hidden behind the trash. He's actually far more shocked that what he's found, gutted and dismembered in the middle of an alley, is actually a very unique looking android. Something with this technology isn't usually discarded in such a place.

It takes him a whole four hours to go home for his dolly cart and back and forth three full trips to bring back the broken thing in pieces; unable to carry more than a fraction of the incredibly heavy machinery at a time on his own.

It sits sadly, silently. Even more disfigured now that he had to bring it in three pieces into the garage he calls a home. Something about it rubs him off in the wrongest of ways... Spare parts, is what it is. He reminds himself. Nothing more. Tomorrow, after some severely needed sleep, he'll finish dismounting it to it's core pieces to use for future repair jobs and that sorry sleeping face won't haunt him any longer.

He sleeps that night's exhaustion till noon, and is almost surprised to find the thing still sitting in the same spot he left him. Still sleeping, still sad looking. Androids he's seen in the expensive, more vast, part of the city have plain and clean looks. Friendly in the way that an appliance looks friendly. The way this thing appears to sorrowfully take up space is fucking with his perception of it.

But he's not about to stop himself from doing his job simply because this creepy rich people's toy is disturbingly more human-like than anything he's seen.

Ichigo sets his tools and a makeshift stool at a reach-appropriate height near the android, safety wear in place in case this thing runs on some kind of fuel that he wouldn't want near his eyes. It's so badly broken up, and so much different to anything else he's worked with, that he's got no other choice but to take his time investigating it all over. Following the jumble of gut-like cables that spill out of its abdominal cavity, poking at what he supposes is a very large and empty memory port right in its middle. Whatever an android would need such a powerful core for he's got no clue, and honestly, he'd rather not know. The government doesn't keep a full control of all Android unit production for no reason; he's not about to dive into conspiracy theories... but there's a reason for everything- and they tend to have the worst of them.

Bits and pieces and more length of cable shuffle about as he works, perhaps he was being too optimistic last night, thinking it'd dissassemble so easy. He changes tools with a huff, reaching behind the memory port to poke at whatever it's attached to and a dim light blinks on right above his face. Ichigo's heart drops down to his stomach and then punches him in the throat until a loud startled gasp threatens to choke him, right until the fight or flight freezes on a continuous and alarmed confusion; the thing's eyes are open and staring right at him in a chilling glowing blue.

"Get your grubby fucking hands off me." A hoarse, messed up, voice says with a hard set brow and tight broken up jaw.

The tools clank and clatter into the floor messily, and the box and tool box he'd been sitting on shuffle with a screech when he backs off as much as he can without stumbling onto his ass. "Y-you- you're- I thought- your consciousness works."

"Enough to know I don't care for a scrawny little boy feeling me up."

Ichigo has a hard time choosing whether to be pissed at the obvious offenses or to freak about how this thing is throwing sass and insults in his face in the first place. Androids 'learn' from their first owners what will become part of their personality later on; absorbing the words and mannerisms, the inside jokes as much as they retain their owners' likes and needs, and fit them along their fabrication conduct protocols. To better relate to their human, of course. He's never seen an android learn personality quite like this, never heard an android complain, or have preferences and wants of its own. Never heard one come up with an insult on the spot in a voice that didn't sound like a mere echo, a regurgitated string of words it's heard many times before.

It's almost... like a human is sitting in pieces right before him.

Next~

#Android AU #robot gore #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #ichigo kurosaki #ichigrimm #Android!Grimmjow #一グリ

[horsefigureoftheday]

What are composition figures?

If you're a longtime toy collector, you've no doubt stumbled upon these things! You may know them better as Elastolin or Lineol figures, but you probably don't know much more than that. Are they ceramic? Wood? Some kind of old-timey plastic? Where did they come from? And why are they always broken?

Composition figures are antique toys, produced from the late 1800s, up until the 1960s - though their heyday was around WWII, where the Elastolin and Lineol companies really ramped up production. In fact, these companies produced so many figures of such high quality, that their names have since become synonymous with "composition figures" even though dozens of other companies all over the world produced similar figures. Figures produced by Elastolin are always marked with he brand name, while Lineol figures either have the brand name, a "Germany" mark, or both. If it doesn't have either of those brands, it's (usually) not technically a Lineol/Elastolin figure - which is why I stick to calling them "composition figures."

So, what are they made of?? For starters, all larger figures have a metal skeleton - sometimes the entire head/tail may be made out of metal! In my own collection I have a yak with a metal head and a bison with a metal tail. But usually, the skeleton is a simple support structure for the body, as shown on these xrays:

As for the body itself, the main component is sawdust, but the rest of it is kinda unknown. We know that the other major component was a binding agent, but no recipe has been preserved, as far as I can find. We do know that some recipes have included flour, dextrin, casein, bone glue, water, linseed oil, natural resins, and kaolin. However, some recipes are believed to have had too much moisture, which leads us to the next question...

Why are the legs always broken?? Part of it is time and rough handling, but most of it is that the material expands and contracts in response to heat/humidity. Composition figures are stupidly sensitive to environmental changes, and become very brittle over time - eventually, simply moving them around may be enough to cause fractures! Unfortunately, these cracks expose the skeleton and, since they were made of simple iron, the skeleton can oxidize and eventually break completely.

Most composition figures are about the same scale as modern toyline brands (Schleich, Safari, CollectA, etc.) so displaying them is pretty straightforward. Storing them, however, is another matter. It is imperative that they stay out of direct sunlight and away from heat sources. They should also be kept in as air-tight conditions as possible. And, of course, don't get them wet.

Cleaning them is not easy. I have had moderate success with a damp (not wet!) cotton swab. It didn't damage the figure, but it also can't completely get rid of 70+ years of accumulated dust, smoke, and sweat. I'm wary of using soap, as the pH change might affect them. Right side has been cleaned, left side is still dirty:

If anyone has any tips on cleaning, I'd be happy to hear it!

Thanks for reading! :D

#composition figures #elastolin #lineol #not horse of the day #my collection #collecting 101

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Private equity ghouls have a new way to steal from their investors

Private equity is quite a racket. PE managers pile up other peoples’ money — pension funds, plutes, other pools of money — and then “invest” it (buying businesses, loading them with debt, cutting wages, lowering quality and setting traps for customers). For this, they get an annual fee — 2% — of the money they manage, and a bonus for any profits they make.

On top of this, private equity bosses get to use the carried interest tax loophole, a scam that lets them treat this ordinary income as a capital gain, so they can pay half the taxes that a working stiff would pay on a regular salary. If you don’t know much about carried interest, you might think it has to do with “interest” on a loan or a deposit, but it’s way weirder. “Carried interest” is a tax regime designed for 16th century sea captains and their “interest” in the cargo they “carried”:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/29/writers-must-be-paid/#carried-interest

Private equity is a cancer. Its profits come from buying productive firms, loading them with debt, abusing their suppliers, workers and customers, and driving them into ground, stiffing all of them — and the company’s creditors. The mafia have a name for this. They call it a “bust out”:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

Private equity destroyed Toys R Us, Sears, Bed, Bath and Beyond, and many more companies beloved of Main Street, bled dry for Wall Street:

https://prospect.org/culture/books/2023-06-02-days-of-plunder-morgenson-rosner-ballou-review/

And they’re coming for more. PE funds are “rolling up” thousands of Boomer-owned business as their owners retire. There’s a good chance that every funeral home, pet groomer and urgent care clinic within an hour’s drive of you is owned by a single PE firm. There’s 2.9m more Boomer-owned businesses going up for sale in the coming years, with 32m employees, and PE is set to buy ’em all:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

PE funds get their money from “institutional investors.” It shouldn’t surprise you to learn they treat their investors no better than their creditors, nor the customers, employees or suppliers of the businesses they buy.

Pension funds, in particular, are the perennial suckers at the poker table. My parent’s pension fund, the Ontario Teachers’ Fund, are every grifter’s favorite patsy, losing $90m to Sam Bankman-Fried’s cryptocurrency scam:

https://www.otpp.com/en-ca/about-us/news-and-insights/2022/ontario-teachers--statement-on-ftx/

Pension funds are neck-deep in private equity, paying steep fees for shitty returns. Imagine knowing that the reason you can’t afford your apartment anymore is your pension fund gambled with the private equity firm that bought your building and jacked up the rent — and still lost money:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/02/25/pluralistic-your-daily-link-dose-25-feb-2020/

But there’s no depth too low for PE looters to sink to. They’ve found an exciting new way to steal from their investors, a scam called a “continuation fund.” Writing in his latest newsletter, the great Matt Levine breaks it down:

https://news.bloomberglaw.com/mergers-and-acquisitions/matt-levines-money-stuff-buyout-funds-buy-from-themselves

Here’s the deal: say you’re a PE guy who’s raised a $1b fund. That entitles you to a 2% annual “carry” on the fund: $20,000,000/year. But you’ve managed to buy and asset strip so many productive businesses that it’s now worth $5b. Your carry doesn’t go up fivefold. You could sell the company and collect your 20% commission — $800m — but you stop collecting that annual carry.

But what if you do both? Here’s how: you create a “continuation fund” — a fund that buys your old fund’s portfolio. Now you’ve got $5b under management and your carry quintuples, to $100m/year. Levine dryly notes that the FT calls this “a controversial type of transaction”:

https://www.ft.com/content/11549c33-b97d-468b-8990-e6fd64294f85

These deals “look like a pyramid scheme” — one fund flips its assets to another fund, with the same manager running both funds. It’s a way to make the pie bigger, but to decrease the share (in both real and proportional terms) going to the pension funds and other institutional investors who backed the fund.

A PE boss is supposed to be a fiduciary, with a legal requirement to do what’s best for their investors. But when the same PE manager is the buyer and the seller, and when the sale takes place without inviting any outside bidders, how can they possibly resolve their conflict of interest?

They can’t: 42% of continuation fund deals involve a sale at a value lower than the one that the PE fund told their investors the assets were worth. Now, this may sound weird — if a PE boss wants to set a high initial value for their fund in order to maximize their carry, why would they sell its assets to the new fund at a discount?

Here’s Levine’s theory: if you’re a PE guy going back to your investors for money to put in a new fund, you’re more likely to succeed if you can show that their getting a bargain. So you raise $1b, build it up to $5b, and then tell your investors they can buy the new fund for only $3b. Sure, they can get out — and lose big. Or they can take the deal, get the new fund at a 40% discount — and the PE boss gets $60m/year for the next ten years, instead of the $20m they were getting before the continuation fund deal.

PE is devouring the productive economy and making the world’s richest people even richer. The one bright light? The FTC and DoJ Antitrust Division just published new merger guidelines that would make the PE acquire/debt-load/asset-strip model illegal:

https://www.ftc.gov/news-events/news/press-releases/2023/07/ftc-doj-seek-comment-draft-merger-guidelines

The bad news is that some sneaky fuck just slipped a 20% FTC budget cut — $50m/year — into the new appropriations bill:

https://twitter.com/matthewstoller/status/1681830706488438785

They’re scared, and they’re fighting dirty.

I’m at San Diego Comic-Con!

Today (Jul 20) 16h: Signing, Tor Books booth #2802 (free advance copies of The Lost Cause — Nov 2023 — to the first 50 people!)

Tomorrow (Jul 21):

1030h: Wish They All Could be CA MCs, room 24ABC (panel)

12h: Signing, AA09

Sat, Jul 22 15h: The Worlds We Return To, room 23ABC (panel)

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/20/continuation-fraud/#buyout-groups

[Image ID: An old Punch editorial cartoon depicting a bank-robber sticking up a group of businesspeople and workers. He wears a bandanna emblazoned with dollar-signs and a top-hat.]

#pluralistic #buyout groups #continuation fraud #pe #pyramid schemes #the sucker at the table #pension plans #continuation funds #matt levine #fiduciaries #finance #private equity #mark to market #ripoffs

[useless-catalanfacts]

There are some toys that children always love. One of them is tiny versions of cooking utensils and dishes. Here's some of them found in Catalonia from different moments of history.

Left: A tiny vase and/or lid (3.2 cm long) made of thick ceramic. Local production, 4th century BC. Museu d'Història de Barcelona.

Right: Little cup (6 cm), made of thick ceramic. Local production, 4th-3rd century BC. Museu d'Història de Barcelona.

Two pitches and a toy pitch (12 cm tall) found at the bottom of a well. This well was built in the 15th century and was stopped using when the city hall built a water fountain in 1636. The pitches had to be lowered with a string, sometimes the string would snap or the pitch would hit the well's walls and break. For this reason, archaeologists found 145 broken pitches at the bottom of the well, and this toy. Little pitches used by children to carry water have been found before in Catalonia, but this one is so little and would be able to carry such an insignificant quantity that it could only be a toy. Museu de Banyoles.

Left: Tiny dish (1.5 cm), imitating the common brown ceramics with green glaze that were common at the time. Local production, 16th century AD. Museu d'Història de Barcelona.

Right: Tiny bowl (1.7 cm). Local production, 16th century AD. Museu d'Història de Barcelona.

Tiny jar (4 cm). Ligurian maiolica ceramic of the series "a tappezzeria" with "tre nuvolette" decoration. In the base, it has the Savona coat of arms used as a workshop seal. Even though this was made in Liguria (Northern Italy), this was found in Barcelona. At the time, there was a lot of commerce between these two places, particularly for ceramic chinaware, with many upper class families in Barcelona buying imported Ligurian dishes, plates, bowls... It seems like they also did it for their children. 16-17th century AD. Museu d'Història de Barcelona.

Tiny reproductions of common ceramics of the Early Modern period found in el Born archaeological site, 17th century-1717. El Born CCM.

Picnic basket (17 cm long), 1952. Museu d'Història de Barcelona.

Cooking tools toys: pot (10.5 cm), heater (3.5 cm) and whisk (12 cm). Second half of the 20th century. Museu d'Història de Barcelona: 1, 2, 3.

And thinking of our own childhoods, I'm sure we can all remember some more.

#arqueologia #història #catalunya #archeology #archaeology #history #toys #children's history #pottery #ceramics #museum

[midnightnautilus]

Hatchetfield dashboard simulator

————-

🧸 hatchetfieldtoyzone Follow

Come into Toy Zone and save big on all our newest items!

Just…don’t buy them all please you know who you are - Mod L

🐿️ #1sugiestan Follow

I don’t know what you’re talking about 😄😊✨

🧸 hatchetfieldtoyzone Follow

dude you’re one of our only followers im serious I know it’s you

25 Notes

☄️ hellyeahspace Follow

“my star sign makes me this” “my birthday makes me that”

Assign yourself with whatever Pokémon you wanna be. rules were made to be broken

🎸 breakingthelauter Follow

Hell yeah OP you’re so confident

👾 tumblrsfavoriteweeb Follow

THE MAYOR’S DAUGHTER?

256 Notes

⚓️ the-real-linda-monroe Follow

All right, a little notice for all of you.

Yes, I am the ACTUAL Linda Monroe, President of the Hatchetfield Boating Society. This account will be primarily used to keep track of my gorgeous sons and not to associate with the rest of you rabble. If anyone harms a hair on their head I’m suing you out of existence 😇✨👍👌

👨‍⚖️ garygoldsteinattorneyatlaw Follow

You’ll be faced with ME, Tumblr!

⚓️ the-real-linda-monroe Follow

Jesus Christ Gary you’re here too?

43 Notes

🍏 ihaveinfinityalternateaccounts Follow

god they never tell you how tiring truck driving is. like yeah i could just “zip zap zop here are your products” but no for some reason im driving this big fucking tanker down the highway. good thing im basically dead and dont need to take a piss every 2 hours. how do yall do it? well at least you wont be doing it much longer, yeah?

✨ imintofortnite Follow

op. op are you /srs or /j

🍏 ihaveinfinityalternateaccounts Follow

Are those words? I never learned the lingo. you keep your secrets.

🦅 fighting4america Follow

Wilbur, I know this is you. You can’t hide any longer. Please, stop this before everyone gets in serious danger

🍏 ihaveinfinityalternateaccounts Follow

oh look who it is mutuals! that’s a thing you say yeah? John how dare you come onto my turf XD

I’m RATIOING you John and there’s NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT

🔬 nerdwithaperd Follow

I feel like we just walked in on two dramatic exes who have no idea how tumblr works

3,678 Notes

#tw unreality #unreality #starkid #hatchetfield #tgwdlm #black friday #npmd #I’ve always wanted to do this

[sergeantsporks]

Empty

Hunter had thought that physical pain and Belos’ disappointment were the worst things that could happen to him. He’d thought the most awful experiences were the ones where he ended up bleeding or bruised or, in the worst-case scenarios, with broken bones that he’d be working with for months until they healed.

He’d been wrong.

Hunter had thought that betrayal was the worst thing that could happen to him. His life, a lie. The man he’d been nothing but loyal to turning on him in an instant. It had hurt worse than a hundred broken ribs, and made it just as hard for him to breathe.

He’d been wrong again.

Hunter had thought that the worst thing that could happen to him was the loss of control over his body. At the failure of mind games and emotional manipulation, the man he’d once trusted paraded his body around like a sick toy, had worn and discarded his skin like a cheap costume.

He’d been wrong.

Hunter had come to the conclusion that the worst possible feeling, the most terrible experience, was loss. Soul-crushing, terrifying, aching loss. The moment when he knew Flapjack was gone forever was the worst moment of his life—and until he lost someone again, nothing else could possibly top that.

But somehow, he still hadn’t gotten it right.

Worse than the injuries, worse than the betrayal, worse than the possession, and worse than the loss was the emptiness that had replaced it. The conflict was over, Belos was gone; there was no more danger. No more heartbreak. There was just… nothing. Hunter had no more tears left to cry. No more screams left to tear out of his lungs. Just a blanket of numb quiet, like someone had put him inside Camila’s TV and turned it to a static channel. At first, the quiet felt better than all the pain and heartbreak, but slowly, it seemed to sap the strength from him.

He still went through the motions. He smiled, he laughed, he talked to his friends. Meaningless conversation, silly small talk that he forgot almost instantly because the weird color Gus’ socks had somehow turned in the dryer was fun to talk about in the moment, made him laugh in the moment, but certainly wasn’t something that needed to be committed to long-term memory.

But once they were gone, once it was Hunter, alone, he was left again with the bone-weary exhaustion that didn’t seem to be in his body. He’d felt this way in the coven sometimes, sure, when he’d been overworked and overstressed, or when he’d had to spend just a little too long trying to convince other coven heads to listen to him and was sick of being around other people, but things were supposed to be different now. These were people he loved, people whose company he enjoyed, so why was he still left feeling so empty? At least before, he’d been able to track the source. Now, it was just… numbness for no reason.

Slowly, the numbness settled in further. It didn’t just creep up when Hunter was alone anymore, it stole into time with his friends. He still smiled, he still laughed, but the Hunter who smiled and laughed was running on autopilot while the real him slipped into that soft, silent numbness. The enjoyment of their company faded into familiarity of a routine. More and more, he talked without realizing, snapped back into a conversation halfway without remembering what had just been said.

He wondered if anyone noticed. He thought he did a good job covering for himself.

On good days, he’d pick up needle and thread and sew, but even the hobby he used to love felt like nothing. A finished product was simply a finished product. Occasionally he still accidentally pricked his finger on the needle, and felt that bright sliver of pain, a blip of emotion in a sea of emptiness. Even more occasionally still, that needle prick sent off a complicated wave of fear and revulsion, his body automatically reacting to the memory of a needle prick that had left him open and defenseless. He’d be left sweating and shaking, sick to his stomach. But at least that felt like something instead of the yawning chasm of nothingness that seemed to be following him everywhere.

Hexside had him up later than he’d been allowed to sleep in the emperor’s coven, but every morning, when Hunter woke up, he already wanted to go back to sleep. To put his body in the same place his mind and heart went, into that calm quiet. Making himself move and care about school was a chore when he fell into that numbness (and now it seemed like he barely climbed out—now, the numbness was the default, with a few bright spots of change). At first he dismissed it as morning sleepiness, but as the day passed on, all he wanted to do was to take a nap, or better yet, just go back to sleep entirely. And on weekends, on blissful, wonderful weekends, he did. He’d sleep and sleep and sleep, until his body wouldn’t let his eyes stay closed any longer, and then he’d lie in bed for another half hour at least before getting up. It didn’t fill him with any more energy to stay asleep that long, it didn’t make the numbness go away, but at least he wasn’t conscious in that cottony nothing. Sleep was the only relief from it.

Darius always looked like he wanted to say something when Hunter finally got up in the midafternoon, his face swimming with concern, but he never did. Hunter got the feeling he was worried about overstepping, or upsetting him. He almost wished Darius would say something, but at the same time, dully thought that it probably wouldn’t help anyway.

So he went through the motions. He scheduled out his day, get up, go to school, play flyer derby, come home, eat dinner, finish homework, hour of allotted time for hobbies or reading, then preparation for bed, and finally slip back into that blissful slumber he’d been looking forward to all day. A strict schedule. If it weren’t for the fact that it would cause worry, and the fact that Hunter felt like he should at least try to enjoy something, he’d skip the allotted hobby time and go right to bed after finishing homework. But some small part of him worried (as much as that numbness would allow him to worry, it was barely even a feeling) that if he slipped and let go of the hobby time, something more important would be next. So he kept the schedule, day after day after static day.

Just one more day

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

#vent fic lmao #toh #the owl house #toh fanfiction #toh hunter #the golden guard #hunter wittebane #hunter deamonne #my writing #minific