#search engine for vintage

[nyc-looks]

** ALL ONLINE SECONDHAND IN ONE **

Did you know? My app, Gem, brings all online secondhand listings into one search and helps you to find the used clothing items and accessories you are looking for. Browse the listings fast, and shop at the store website – without extra cost.

Gem shows listings from big platforms like Etsy, eBay, Poshmark, and The RealReal, and from hundreds of independent online stores.

Gem saves your time and shows you gems (!) that you would have missed otherwise.

Available worldwide as a website and in App Store and Google Play.

Comment below if you have used Gem and how do you like it!

#gem app #gem search #vintage #secondhand #resale #preloved #preowned #vintage app #secondhand app #thrifting #thrifting app #new app #app store #google play #used clothing #vintage shopping #secondhand shopping #shopping app #resale app #search engine for vintage #search engine

[dozydawn]

the 1950s said crochet can actually be something so high fashion

#unsourced beauties from my abandoned pinterest #btw if you’re looking for vintage crochet patterns use pinterest. it might just be an etsy link but their search engine is much superior to #etsy’s. etsy’s search engine is garbage. #crochet #fashion #1950s #fave fashion

[book0ftheday]

The Island of Dr. Moreau by H.G. Wells movie tie-in, artist uncredited, published 1977. The artist left their signature, but it was printed on a pocket sized book :/

J. Benndigan? D. Benedigson? I. Berrdijam? Anyone have any guesses?

#it is not often that im stumped with cover artist mysteries #but search engines are not helping me with this one #i even tried bing #too many editions #its on bookscans but they didnt mention the artist #h.g. wells #the island of dr. moreau #unknown artist #signet Y7495 #0451074955 isbn #movie tie in #special movie edition #cover art mystery #vintage scifi #vintage scifi paperbacks #scifi cover art

[taintedjeon]

──★ ˙ ̟ 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 - jjk (m)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: rockstar-vocalist!jk x groupie!reader (afab/she/her) 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞: rockstar au 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 18+, smut, porn-with-little-plot 𝐰𝐜: 4.1k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: omg here we go... bigdick!jk, bigsize!jk, dom!jk, sub!reader, she isnt bratty but she pushes the right buttons, strong language ie swearing, use of nicknames (princess, babydoll, baby, slut, good girl), now for the gewwwd stuffs ;; kissing, making out, nipple sucking, spit kink, size kink, light petting, reader goes into sub space, choking/asphyxiation, jk has not 1 .... nOT TEW not T H R E E ;; but ✨ fOuR ✨ dick piercings jahsgdfjshdh!!! (1 prince albert n 3 foreskin piercings) — n for the sake of this story he isnt circumcised since plenty of ppl on this app like to make things like that a big deal… if u do; theres the block button ok thank u bye. —the use of piercings for sexual pleasure, multiple orgasms, jk comes inside, unprotected sex, standing sex, dirty talk, fingering (oc receiving), oral (oc receiving), face ridddding, she uses his nose to stimulate.

Backstage of the venue is cold, a juxtaposition to the warmth of the crowd you had been swarmed in moments ago. Now, your body ignites in flames as Jeongguk drags you through the commotion of people; his palm wrapped around your wrist tight. From sound engineers, lighting operators, bodyguards and technicians of all kinds, Jeongguk manages to skillfully weave you both successfully to the end of what felt like a never ending corridor before opening the last door on the left and pulling you inside.

You’re not given enough time to make aware of your surroundings before Jeongguk shakes off his leather jacket and pulls his vintage 1991 Skid Row band shirt over his head in that sexy manner men do — arms crossed, gripping the hem and effortlessly off his body. Removing the shirt messes around with his already sweat soaked mid length bob that he has been growing out. But yet, as the strands fall in disarray over his face, it still manages to make him effortlessly fuckable.

You can’t ignore either his body and the way it bulges in the correct places and curves and dips in the rest. It might have been only six months since you had seen Jeongguk last, but in those six months, he has filled in his body finely — both physically and visually.

Tattoos litter his right arm in pretty shapes, swirls, designs and lettering. Beautiful colours striking against emboldened blacks and whites. He sports two barbells on either side of his chest and you bite your lip as images from the last hook up fills your mind from when you had the opportunity to enjoy them in person.

Jeongguk isn’t oblivious to you taking him in; top to bottom, head to toe, and finally he does something about it. Your back is pushed up against the door and the sound of the lock latching behind you. Jeongguk’s mouth is on yours in an instant, his pillowy lips slightly chapped from the singer being on stage for the last hour and a half but that doesn’t stop you from melting into him.

Your arms wrap around his neck, giving you ample opportunity to deepen the kiss. The metal of the metal hugging is lip is cool against your warm skin. Your tongue runs along the seam of his bottom lip and he grants you access to tangle your tongue with his. The after taste of cheap beer and spearmint gum is welcomed as the pair of you turn the kiss from passionately soft to fierce, a sense of urgency creeping into the mix as you’re both aware that you both need to get off before someone comes searching for Jungkook for his encore set.

“Couldn’t help but notice you starin’ at me through the set,” Jeongguk smirks sexily, knowing he has you exactly where he wants you. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

His hands roam all over your body as he kisses you hard. He starts at your shoulders, swiftly pulling down the thin straps of your tank top past the cups of your white lace bra before tugging the cups and feels as your tits release from the lace.

“M’sure plenty of girls were,” you’re quick to reply, voice airy with lust. 

Jeongguk breaks the kiss, saliva keeping your mouth connected before he snaps it with his deft fingers and then using them to run light, teasing circles over your hardened nipples.

“Maybe, but none that I actually want. Thought you were so fucking pretty…”

You shiver and you know it’s not from the temperature of the chilly room you’re both currently occupying.

Before you’re about to remind Jeongguk about the lack of time you both have, the dull hum of intermission music vibrates the tiny closet and his lips are on your throat and all words die on your tongue as you hiss out in pleasure.

“Sensitive, yeah?” He asks, his breath warm against your skin as he decorates your skin in tiny nips and sucks.

“Oh…yes,” you confirm, your lids fluttering shut as he continues his assault on your neck.

With shaking hands, your arms trail down to the belt loops of his leather pants and you hook your fingers through and use it to your advantage to tug him closer to you. The feeling of Jeongguk grinning against your skin at your obvious desperation for him urges him on. With ease, he slots his thigh in between your legs and uses his stance as an advantage to pry your legs further apart.

Working your own fingers on the heavy buckle of his belt as Jeongguk continues his teasing on your cunt, you manage to pull the leather in between your fingers to open him up. Jeongguk tilts your chin with his palm to continue his assault on your neck and you retaliate by slipping your hand underneath his pants. Your fingers come in contact with his hardened cock and Jeongguk bucks his hips further into your touch.

Your heart thrums against your ribs when you feel his fingers inch their way below the hem of your pleated skirt to press into the warm of your cunt.

“Warm and wet,” he whispers against the shell of your ear; his voice is enough to cause the small hairs on your arms to rise. You don’t stop the whine that falls from your tongue as he presses two digits harder against your pulsing clit. “And so fucking sensitive, just for me, pretty girl.”

You get lost in the sensation of him starting to rub you over the flimsy cloth at your cunt.

All your inhibitions are lost as your want for the vocalist grows. “Jeongguk, please,” you beg for more…beg for him.

“Fuck, yes, plead for me,” Jeongguk almost starts begging with you. “Plead for me just like you did in your videos you dirty girl. You’re so bad, huh? Sending videos of your creamy pussy whilst I’m rehearsing. Tell me, did you satisfy yourself? Or am I just too good at pleasing you?”

“No, Jeongguk, I-nothing c-could ever compare to you at all. I was only mmm-missing you, ahhh,” your voice trails off when you feel his thumb and pointer finger pinch at your clit, lightly twists.” Your body grows hot and electrified, sweat building a glistening sheen on your body at the tirade your body is going through.

It only lasts for the briefest of moments before Jeongguk stops playing with you and instead pulls your thong to the side and tucks it in between the juncture of your groin and thigh before running his fingers between your now exposed folds, feeling how soaked you are and slides a thick finger into your soft core.

“Fuuuuck, you’re treatin’ me fucking good tonight, doll,” his voice rasps and you watch as he sinks to his knees in front of you. With ease, Jeongguk props your leg over his shoulder and buries his head in between your legs and his tongue is quick to drag through your pussy.

“Jeongguk, fuck, ohmygod,” the cry is muffled as he brings a big hand up to your lips and covers your mouth. Your eyes can’t help but roll back as your cunt flutters over the thick, long fingers that help place stars behind your closed eyes.

“M’gonna need you to be quiet, babydoll. I’ve still got more to give you... going to push a couple more fingers in ‘till I’m satisfied, okay?

Jeongguk makes quick work of his tongue on your cunt. A litany of fast strokes, skilled pumps of his tongue in your messy leaky hole and now with the added addition of two more fingers, now counting three. You feel full of him as he preps you for what you hope is yet to come. It’s almost second nature for him to know when to curl his digits inside of you, a skill you’re more than aware has come from the copious amount of women he’s had in his bed. But for tonight, he’s here with you and that’s what’s important. You moan when he gets knuckle deep and causes your breathing to become erratic as both your hands tangle into the messy roots of his shaggy locks.

It’s frightening how fast your orgasm approaches you. It’s almost like he's known your body for years, and in some way, he does. Whenever his band finds their way to your town, the tirade of sexting continues from where it left off from his last visit.

“Yes babydoll, just like that, use me.”

He fucks his fingers into you and his tongue flicks your clit, drinking down your honeyed slickness. You don’t stop your hips from chasing your high, letting your pussy grind further into his face, nudging at his nose and then stopping to fuck yourself on his pretty button feature.

Out of the corner of your eye, you find a mirror tucked away in the corner. With the closest bathed in darkness, you’re unable to see clearly in the mirror, but it’s clear enough that you can make out the both of you — your hips fucking Jeongguk, using your hands to guide him into delicious positions for your tongue.

Lost in your thoughts, you don’t realise Jeongguk has removed a hand from your ass, his black chipped nail polished fingernails rakes down the skin of your thigh, hard enough to leave a sting of pleasurable pain as he continues down to the knee over his shoulder.

With shaking legs, your climax reaches its tipping point and you feel yourself come at an impressive force. Your body curls over in euphoria, fingers tightening its hold in his hair as a litter of curses fill the space between you both. Your head rolls back and your eyes tighten as nothing but black and speckles of white fuzzy stars to appear behind your eyes.

Jeongguk stands up, face wet from your cum coating his pretty features and he can’t help but swipe his tongue over his chin, making a scene of tasting the remnants of your arousal that he gave you.

“Aw, did my fingers fuck you dumb, hmm babydoll? Tell me how good it makes you feel,” Jeongguk demands from you as he practically laughs at your disorientation.

It isn’t fair, you’re still trying to come down from such a powerful climax that the best you can offer him is a string of useless babbled broken words.

His laughter continues and embarrassment settles in your chest. Nobody has ever made you come like that with their fingers alone and you’re both well aware of that fact.

“You look so fucking pathetic and pretty for me, pussy stretched over my bare fingers, making the sweetest sounds. Fuck, I should record you and put you on my next record and release it for the world to hear; you’d be my next breaking hit.” Jeongguk admits and lands a slap against your asscheek, the bite of his skin against yours causing you to hiss.

Eventually, you’re able to prop yourself up on your elbows on top of a stack of black equipment boxes that are kept behind the stages and cock your eyebrow up at him.

“Jeongguk, is that the best you’ve got?” You smirk, knowing you’re pouring gasoline all over an already raging fire.

Jeongguk walks towards you and traps you in between his body and the boxes you're using as a support beam. He lifts his hand in the air and the next thing you know, a dim light flicks to life and lights the closest in a warm yellow glow.

You’re able to take in the sight of the man in front of you for the first time since entering together. His once precise eyeliner and eyeshadow is smudged down his cheeks but in a way that makes him look fucking delicious. His chest is heaving with every shallow breath he takes and you’re awestruck at the beauty of him.

“Tell me what you want.” His eyes are darkened with unbridled lust as he wraps his tattooed hand around your throat and squeezes at the sides, watching your eyes roll back. Jeongguk truly does know your body like a well versed chorus and it makes your body thrum with want. “Good girls use their words.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

He towers over you easily as he stares down at you. His thumb glides over your lower lip and you open your mouth at his silent request. A train of spit is released from his mouth as he watches it slowly pool at the back of your mouth. Jeongguk follows his fluid and presses his lips to yours in a languid kiss, his tongue instantly twisting with yours nastily. You’re still able to taste your cum on his tongue and your pussy throbs for more of him.

It’s effortless how he breaks your lewd kiss and is able to manhandle your body, twisting you around so your back is facing him and he kicks apart your feet like he had done earlier.

“How badly do you want me to fuck you?"

You back your ass into the crotch of his leather pants as you feel him rustling behind you to remove his clothing just enough to release his cock. You move your hips against him, feeling his cock in between your asscheeks as you move to sensual rhythm. “So fucking badly. Remind me what your cock feels like.”

He grabs at your arm and pulls it towards his covered cock. You take the hint and wrap your hand around his twitching length, giving him a teasing squeeze when you feel it. You’re back at standing straight and you turn back around to face Jeongguk, peeking down towards cock.

“What is that?”

“This?” he pulls his boxers down by the hem just enough to reveal the blue jewel piercing. “I’m so glad you asked. I did this for you.”

“You got your dick pierced for me?”

He laughs. “No baby,” this time he pulls his black Calvin Kleins to his mid thighs and reveals one by one a new piercing decorated with a different colour gemstone until he reaches his tip, decorated with a prince Albert with pink gemstones on either side of the bar. “I got my dick pierced four times for you. Each one a favourite colour of yours so when I fuck you, you can watch as the colours disappear inside of you.”

Your eyes widen and your mouth waters at the thought of how they’re going to feel as he fucks into you and you moan pathetically. You can’t look away from them. The pink prince Albert sits prettily at the top of his cock as a puddle of pearlescent precum allows the pink to look vibrant. Following that are three foreskin piercings, again all different coloured stones locking the metal bars in place. There is a purple set first, a green set in the middle and then your favourite colour at the end, nearing the base of his cock — blue.

He is so close to you that you can feel the warmth of his breath against the shell of your ear. “Now, let me use these how they were intended to be fucking used — to feel you wrapping yourself around my cock like an obident slut.” He presses a kiss against your shoulder and manhandles you back in place. “Bend over and spread yourself open,” he growls.

Doing as you’re told, your tits press into the cold metal boxes as you bend yourself to his liking before reaching behind you and spreading your ass open for Jeongguk, displaying your pussy, showing how wet and ready you are for him.

He uses this as an opportunity to bend down to your cunt and spits directly at your hole, watching as you clench around nothing in anticipation for his cock. You looked behind you to see him grab at his cock, lining himself up to your quivering cunt.

“Before I fuck you, there’s one rule you follow,” he groans.

“W-what?” You ask, your breathing all over the place as you wait somehow impatiently for the one thing you have waited six months for.

Jeongguk prods his tip at your entrance and watches as his cum coats your entrance, but never quite pushes himself in yet. “Every inch I fill you with, I want you to count every piercing you feel on my cock—”

“Fuck, Jeongguk!”

“There’s four in total, princess. Once you’ve counted the forth one, then you’ll know you’ve taken all eight inches of me. If you fail to count, I’ll pull out and he can start again until you get it right. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” you tell him.

Jeongguk places a hand at your hip and lines his cock up to you one more time. Slowly, he eases into you and your head falls forward against the boxes. The feeling of his prince albert piercing intruding your small hole causes goosebumps to rise and your breath to falter.

“Count. I’m not going to tell you again.”

With a shaky voice, you obey. “One.”

He stops for a moment, catching his own breath as the reality of the situation catches up with him as he takes in the fact he is back burying himself in his favourite pussy. Definitely one of the greatest parts of him touring the world is your cunt.

Jeongguk manages to compose himself and ease himself further into you, watching as he’s coming up to the first piercing on his foreskin. Just like the first one, he nuzzles the piercing over your clit and moves his hips in a way where it rubs over your clit. Your fist clenches as you feel him tease you and just as you’re about to urge him to go faster, he finally sinks the second bar into your snug core.

“T-two.”

This time, Jeongguk doesn’t waste any time and continues to sheath himself, feeling you wrapping around him. He can’t see you but he knows by how boneless your body has gone that you’re experiencing a whole new high. Better than any drug could give. He reaches piercing three, the green gem glinting from the small lightbulb above before disappearing fully.

He’s only three piercings in and you feel full already, unsure of how there can be any more of him for you to take. His cockhead already feels as if it’s touching your cervix. You know already that by the time the last cock piercing is in you that your tummy will be bulging from his size.

“Shit, there’s just one more. You’re doing so well for me, such a good girl for me,” Jeongguk purrs his affirmation and you perk up at his approval. “Wan’ you to touch yourself.”

You’re too blissfully fucked out already to be bratty, your mind too far in subspace. Your hand wanders in between your legs, towards your cunt. Pressing two fingers to your clit, you begin to rub in a near perfect circular motion.

“Please, Jeongguk, wanna be your g-good girl,” you hiccup.

Jeongguk uses your distraction as his opportunity to sink the last remaining piercing into your poor pussy, feeling you release more of your honey onto him, helping ease him into you just the way he likes.

Not even your favourite dildo can replicate the feeling that this is giving you right now. You have never felt pleasure like this nor do you think you ever will again until the next time you see him.

“F-four…”

He bends down over you to give you a moment to recuperate. His chest is against your back and he presses a kiss to the back of your head.

“Gukkie, move.”

With both of his hands now situated at either side of your hips, Jeongguk pulls out of you and you're forced to feel the jewellery leaving your cunt before he drills back into you, the metal piercings acting as ridges against your soft walls.

Wails and whimpers fall from your lips like a sinful prayer and right now Jeongguk truly did wish this was something he could record. Not for a record as he previously mentioned but for himself.

“More,” Jeongguk moans at your pleas and thrusts forward roughly.

Your heart beats in overtime to keep up with the excretion that your body is going through, sweat clinging to your skin and eyes rolling backwards as he begins a pace that has you seeing stars. His cock rubs so deliciously at your g-spot, every inch he pulls out of you is covered in a bubbly white consistency of your mixed cum.

“Wish you could see what I see, babydoll. Your cunt is such a perfect fit for my big cock.” He punctuates his words with a slap to your ass as he continues to fuck himself in and out of you at a ruthless pace.

You turn your head to the side to catch a glimpse of Jeongguk, and you don’t regret the image. His head is thrown back as he uses one hand to run through the strands of sweat slicked strands from his forehead as they merge together with the hair at the crown of his head. His face has darkened and his eyes are screwed tight in pleasure. You clench your cunt around him, enticing a sinful beautiful moan from him.

“I can take it, Jeongguk! Have always been able to look after you!” Your words aren’t lost on Jeongguk as he chases his high, taking you along for the ride too.

“Jeongguk, please, ohmy—, I’m gonna cum for you,” the words spill from your lips in a high pitched cry as your fingers work once more to rub yourself further to your hight. That’s all Jeongguk needs to hear. He places a hand on the centre of your stomach and the next thing he knows, he’s spilling his own seed into your spent cunt. Ropes of white fill you up and he feels as your stomach bloats just ever so slightly at the load he’s disposed of inside of you.

It doesn’t take you long to feel the frantic burning sensation inside of you snap at the feeling of Jeongguk’s cum filling you up completely before you’re now coming around his cock that is still snuggly stuffed inside of you to the hilt. Your body shakes and your legs are on the verge of giving out at the power of your orgasm that you quickly throw a hand around Jeongguk’s neck to pull at the strands to keep yourself upright.

Time passes as you stand there together, basking in the afterglow of rough sex that has definitely now made him late to the stage for his encore set. It doesn't look like Jeongguk is in any rush to go anywhere though as he whispers quiet little ‘shushes’ in your ear, knowing that you enjoy the little sounds of endearments he feeds you as you come out of your sub space.

Pressed against his soft, warm chest, you're able to hear the beating of his heart under his skin and your mind silently counts in time with every beat. He still has his arm around your waist as both of you still pant from your recent orgasms.

“You should go, Jeongguk, you have a show to finish,” you whisper, knowing he should leave you to finish what he started but you still don’t untangle yourself from his arms.

“I know. But I don’t want this to be the end. Once I get on that stage and finish my set, I’ll be dragged back into a van and taken to the next place when all I want is to be here with you.”

Warmth blossoms over your body at the admission and you can’t help but want more of him too. However, when you both started this, you knew of the implications and the risks.

Jeongguk eventually sits you down and reaches for his discarded band tee and dresses you in it, knowing you’ll keep it until the next time you see each other again. He dresses himself back up, pulling his pants up and redoing the buttons. He picks up the leather jacket and hands it to you with a kiss on top of your forehead.

His lips linger longer than any previous kiss like this he’s given you.

“Jeongguk, please go and finish your set.”

“I’ll see you next time, yeah?” And you nod your confirmation. You’ll always see him again.

He eventually pulls away from you and clicks open the door, slipping out and leaving you in the closest on your own.

“Jeongguk, where the fuck have you been? You’ve kept us waiting!” The voices dissipate the further they walk away. In your hazy, lust clouded mind you decipher that the voices to be his managerial staff or his fellow band members.

You sit by yourself in the small space which now feels too big with just yourself inside. The dull sound of drums and an electric guitar vibrates through the backstage area and you sit in your own company and listen to what you can of the music.

“Until next time.”

© 2023 taintedjeon on tumblr. all rights reserved. nobody has consent to modify, plagiarize and/or repost my content on any social media without my consent. they may also not distribute or translate any work to other site or blogs. anybody found doing so will be permanently blocked and reported.

#jungkook drabble #bts drabble #bts one shot #bts imagines #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts smut #jungkook angst #jungkook imagines #jungkook one shot #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #bts fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #bts x reader #bts x y/n

[galaxygolfergirl]

Watcher's Expenses

I didn't major in accounting: I took three classes and it grinded my brain to a fine powder. However, after graduating with a business admin degree, being a former eager fan of their videos, and from a cursory glance over their socials, there's a lot to consider in their spending behavior that really could start racking up costs. Some of these things we've already noticed, but there are other things I'd like to highlight, and I'll try to break it down into the different categories of accounting expenses (if I get something wrong, let me know. I was more concentrated in marketing 🤷‍♀️). I'm not going to hypothesize numbers either, as that would take out more time than I'm willing to afford-- you can assume how much everything costs. Anyways, here's my attempt at being a layman forensic accountant:

Note: All of this is assuming they're operating above board and not engaging in any illegal practices such as money laundering, tax evasion, not paying rent, etc.

Operating Expenses

Payroll: 25+ staff salaries and insurance

Overhead Expenses

CEO/founder salaries

Office space leasing or rent (In L.A, one of the most expensive cities in the US)

Utilities (water, electricity, heating, sanitation, etc.)

Insurance

Advertising Costs

Telephone & Internet service

Cloud Storage or mainframe

Office equipment (furniture, computers, printers, etc.)

Office supplies (paper, pens, printer ink, etc.)

Marketing costs (Social media marketing on Instagram, Youtube, SEO for search engines, Twitter, etc. Designing merchandise and posters, art, etc. )

Human Resources (not sure how equipped they are)

Accounting fees

Property taxes

Legal fees

Licensing fees

Website maintenance (For Watchertv.com, Watcherstuff.com, & Watcherentertainment.com)

Expenses regarding merchandising (whoever they contract or outsource for that)

Inventory costs

Potentially maintenance of company vehicles

Subsequent gas mileage for road trips

Depreciation (pertains to tangible assets like buildings and equipment)

Amortization (intangible assets such as patents and trademarks)

Overhead Travel and Entertainment Costs (I think one of the biggest culprits, evident in their videos and posts)

The travel expenses (flights, train trips, rental cars, etc. For main team and scouts)

Hotel expenses for 7-8 people at least, or potentially more

Breakfasts, lunches and dinners with the crew (whether that's fully on their dime or not, I don't know; Ryan stated they like to cover that for the most part)

Recreational activities (vacation destinations, amusement parks, sporting activities etc.)

The location fees

Extraneous Overhead costs (not sure exactly where these fall under, but another culprit, evident in videos and posts)

Paying for guest appearances

Expensive filming & recording equipment (Cameras, sound equipment, editing software subscriptions, etc.)

The overelaborate sets for Ghost files, Mystery Files, Puppet History, Podcasts etc. (Set dressing: Vintage memorabilia, antiquated tech, vintage furniture, props, etc.)

Kitchen & Cooking supplies/equipment

Office food supply; expensive food and drink purchases for videos

Novelty items or miscellaneous purchases (ex. Ghost hunting equipment, outfits, toys, etc.)

Non-Operating Expenses

These are those expenses that cannot be linked back to operating revenue. One of the most common examples of non-operating expenses is interest expense. This is because while interest is the cost of borrowing money from a creditor or a bank, they are not generating any operating income. This makes interest payments a part of non-operating expenses.

Financial Expenses

Potential loan payments, borrowing from creditors or lenders, bank loans, etc.

Variable Expenses

Hiring a large amount of freelancers, overtime expenditure, commissions, etc.

PR consultations (Not sure if they had this before the scandal)

Extraordinary Expenses

Expenses incurred outside your company’s regular business activities and during a large one-time event or transactions. For example, selling land, disposal of a significant asset, laying off of your employees, unexpected machine repairing or replacement, etc.

Accrued Expenses

When your business has incurred an expense but not yet paid for it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(If there's anything else I'm missing, please feel free to add or correct things)

To a novice or a young entrepreneur, this can be very intimidating if you don't have the education or the support to manage it properly. I know it intimidates the hell out of me and I'm still having to fill in the gaps (again, if I've mislabeled or gotten anything wrong here, please let me know). For the artistic or creative entrepreneur, it can be even harder to reconcile the extent of your creative passions with your ability to operate and scale your business at a sustainable rate. That can lead to irresponsible, selfish, and impulsive decisions that could irreparably harm your brand, which is a whole other beast of its own.

My guess at this point is that their overhead and operation expenses are woefully mismanaged; they've made way too many extraneous purchases, and that they had too much confidence in their audience of formerly 2.93 million to make up for the expenses they failed to cover.

It almost seems as if their internal logic was, "If we make more money, we can keep living the expensive lifestyle that we want and make whatever we want without anyone telling us we can't, and we want to do it NOW, sooner rather than later because we don't want wait and compromise our vision." But as you can see, the reality of fulfilling those ambitions is already compromised by the responsibility of running a business.

And I wrote this in another post here, but I'll state it again: Running a business means you need to be educated on how a business can successfully and efficiently operate. Accounting, marketing, social media marketing, public relations, production, etc; these resources and internet of things is available and at your disposal. If they had invested more time in educating themselves on those aspects and not made this decision based on artistic passion (and/or greed), they would have not gotten the response they got.

Being a graphic designer, I know the creative/passionate side of things but I also got a degree/got educated in business because I wanted to understand how to start a company and run it successfully. If they’re having trouble handling the responsibility of doing that, managing production costs, managing overhead expenses, and especially with compensating their 25+ employees, then they should hire professionals that are sympathetic to their creative interests, but have the education and experience to reign in bad decisions like these.

Anyways, thanks for coming to my TedTalk. What a shitshow this has been.

#watcher #watcher entertainment #ryan bergara #shane madej #steven lim #watcher tv #watchergate #accounting

[itstimetodrew]

I know it's a Boomer complaint but like. So many things are just becoming garbage now. Metaphorical and physical garbage.

The internet filling with bots and AI programs swallowing and regurgitating and training off of each other's nonsense until search engines can't accurately answer a simple question.

Lower quality meat and produce shipping to grocery stores, coupled with more foodborne illnesses.

The rise of 'bin stores' where shoppers sift through mounds of returned, unwanted, and broken items in hopes of a rare gem.

Gentrification of thrifting and shopping for secondhand items, where gently worn items become "vintage" and are sold for like-new prices, leaving thrift stores with worse quality clothing.

Similarly, fast fashion getting faster with online retailers like Shein and Temu.

Planned obsolescence continuing, of course. More expensive technology that has a shorter lifespan made with lower quality materials.

People not even considering answering a phone call from an unfamiliar number because there's a 95% chance it's a robocall or scam.

So much noise and so much junk. Many different issues, many of them with the same root cause. I don't have a solution here I just need to express how TIRED I AM OF GARBAGE.

#and like. at this point for some things you have to pay for the PRIVILEGE of avoiding the garbage!! #i know it's because capitalism I know. infinite growth and monopolies leave more people clamoring for worse scraps. #but sometimes I really just sit and think like. damn. I can't even get shit as good as I used to 15 years ago. #and if I could it would be seen as something premium instead of the norm.

[seat-safety-switch]

I’m Detective Archibald Shitpope. There’s only one thing I care about more than solving crimes: inexpensive Toyota hatchbacks.

The big boss upstairs has been tired of my incessant browsing of Craigslist at work for a long time. I get results, though, and no one else in the precinct comes close.

So when a murder case came across my desk, I did what I always do. Press F5 and see if anything under $2500 has been posted.

It took a long time to load. The precinct has shitty copper T3 back haul, and it’s always being wasted on stuff like crime scene streaming and live tracking of serial killers. That’s when I took a look at the case. And it shocked me. The murder occurred at the docks. The docks? That’s where JDM cars come from.

In dick school, they tell you that every murder has means, motive, and opportunity. There’s something else, at least for me. Toyotas. I carry a vintage トヨタ shift knob in my pocket, a sort of good luck charm. And, in contravention of department policy, my investigating car is a hammered-to-shit 2002 Celica GT (non-S) with bad ball joints, enough mileage that the digital odometer flickers in disbelief when I turn it on, and a case of sassy diff syndrome.

When I got to the scene, it was what I’d been dealing with for most of my career. A murder. I didn’t need the uniformed dipshits with their unreliable, smoggy domestic V8 squad cars to tell me that.

“It’s a classic locked room murder, boss,” said my assistant Soichiro when I finally arrived. He was born in Yonkers and legally changed his name after his hero, Soichiro Yamada, the guy who invented the cooled EGR system. “The keys are still in the vic’s pockets, so it's a mystery how someone got in there and killed him.” He walked me to a Toyota Corolla II “Windy.”

At once I knew the secret. “Soichiro, you fucked up again,” I spat with some measure of fatherly disappointment. This turbocharged, nearly-top-trim 1987 Corolla II sported the rare and desirable Panasonic parcel shelf speakers. That meant it also held the remote unlock feature, hugely uncommon for the Showa era, so much so that it would never be documented outside of the sales brochure, and certainly not in the inefficient and barbaric English literature for same.

“Turn ‘em out, Soichiro,” I ordered, pointing at his pockets, and he knew he had no choice but to comply. On the table before us lay the evidence of his treachery. One Carrozzeria branded remote lock/unlock remote, and - worse - the keys to a 1988 CR-X. He’d been on the take this whole time.

Later, the aforementioned uniformed dipshits would find something even worse on a search of a storage unit registered to my "partner," Soichiro. Four single-slammer D16 ZC engines, all matching serial numbers to the cars that went missing after the big tea house shootout in Chinatown. I’d been off that week, trying to find a replacement lift actuator, and Soichiro had filled in.

I don’t carry a sidearm. I don’t need to. I simply waited until Soichiro took flight, fleeing across the parking lot of the warehouse, and hit him with my car. Bent the upper radiator support, which the department bodyshop took care of since it was "in the line of duty." Fixed the headlight tabs, too. That probably cost Uncle Taxpayer a few cents.

I got a lot of heat for it later, from the chief, but the mayor overruled him, gave me a medal for valour. She was alright. Had a late model Tercel back home, I knew. Coupe, though, had a trunk. Politics is about compromise.

[fandomnerd9602]

That Lovin' Feeling

Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace x Reader

The desert sun dipped below the horizon, painting the Mojave sky in fiery hues of orange and gold. You leaned against a gleaming Super Hornet, the crisp twilight air humming with the gentle drone of cooling engines. The echo of celebrations from the Top Gun graduation ceremony had faded, leaving behind a pleasant bit of silence in the legendary Maverick hangar.

Across the expanse of concrete, Natasha "Phoenix" Trace stood bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. Her flight suit seemed to melt onto her lean frame, highlighting the confident set of her shoulders and the subtle curve of her hips. A stray lock of raven hair escaped her loose braid, catching the light like a feather on the wind. You watched her, mesmerized, as she ran her hand along the sleek fuselage of a decommissioned F-14 Tomcat, her gaze distant, tinged with a bittersweet nostalgia.

The urge to join her was irresistible. You pushed away from the Super Hornet and strode across the hangar, the silence stretching taut between you. As you drew closer, she turned, her emerald eyes snapping to yours. A playful smile curved her lips, the faintest blush warming her cheeks.

"Admiring the view, Rebel?" she teased, her voice laced with an undercurrent of warmth. Phoenix loved calling you by your call sign.

You chuckled, the tension easing. "Which view you talking about? The sunset, the Super Hornet or you?"

Her smile broadened. A small blush made its way across her face, "I can't believe your father's letting you look after this place"

"It was my home away from home" you shrug

"Did he say when he was coming back?" she asks, a little sway in her hips.

"Out sailing with Penny, I don't think we have an exact time but I think we have plenty of it"

The playful banter sparked a comfortable fire between you. You traded stories, anecdotes from your training, memories of Goose and your father, the infamous Maverick.

Her laughter, crisp and bright, filled the hangar, bouncing off the polished steel and leather.

As the shadows deepened, she led you further inside, away from the fading light. You found yourselves bathed in the soft illumination of a vintage lamp, spotlighting a corner tucked away amidst the planes. A worn leather couch sat near a dusty record player, the air thick with the scent of engine oil and old paperbacks.

She gestured to the couch, her smile inviting. You hesitated for a moment, then sank down beside her, the leather creaking softly. The silence returned, but this time, it felt charged, expectant.

She reached over, plucking a record from a nearby shelf. It was the Righteous Brothers, the familiar notes of "You've Lost that Loving Feeling" filling the air. Her fingers skimmed across the dusty record sleeve, then met yours in a fleeting touch. The electricity that sparked sent a shiver down your spine.

Without a word, she stood up, pulling you along with her. You stumbled to your feet, your hands still tingling from the contact. She took your hand, her grip firm, yet somehow delicate.

And then, she was dancing with you.

It wasn't a slow, romantic waltz. It was a whirlwind of playful spins and dips, feet tapping to the rhythmic beat. You laughed, surprised and delighted, her laughter blending with yours in a joyous harmony. Her steps were precise, yet strangely loose, mirroring the way she flew: fearless, controlled, yet undeniably graceful.

You held her close, the heat of her body burning through your flight suit. Her scent, a mix of aviation fuel and her own intoxicating perfume, filled your senses. Her eyes met yours, sparkling with unfiltered joy. The hangar, the planes, the world outside – everything faded away, leaving only you and her, caught in this whirlwind of music and laughter.

The final notes of the song faded away, leaving a breathless silence in its wake. You stood still, chests heaving, foreheads almost touching. Her eyes searched yours, a question unspoken yet hanging heavy in the air.

You leaned in, drawn by an invisible force. Her lips were soft and warm. The kiss was so brief, almost tentative, but it ignited a fire within you, a flicker of something real and raw that promised more.

As you pulled away, her gaze held yours, hesitant yet hopeful. You mirrored her expression, unsure of what this newfound connection meant, yet unwilling to let it go. The question hung in the air, echoing the song's final lyrics: "Bring back that lovin' feeling"

In that moment, bathed in the shadows of the Maverick family hangar, amidst the ghosts of a legendary plane, you felt a different kind of burn. A spark of hope, of possibility, of something that soared far beyond the confines of Top Gun, an echo of a future with Natasha "Phoenix" Trace by your side, dancing in the twilight between danger and desire.

for @deafeningsharkslimeempath

#top gun #top gun maverick #natasha trace #natasha phoenix trace #natasha x reader #natasha phoenix trace x reader #maverick #maverick reader #phoenix #phoenix x reader #monica barbaro

[thediktatortot]

So there was a post that suggesting using the search engine Wiby and I've been perusing the random button and found a few websites I either think are amazing or a little fun/ny:

Magazineart: Has an archive of magazine covers and ads ranging from pulp to sports magazines.

Fursuit.me: A fursuit database? There's like...THOUSANDS of uploads and it's kinda fun to browse and see how long people have been working on their stuff.

ImperialSystemHateClub: Someone's reasons for hating the Imperial measurement system.

FlameWarriors: Some guy who moderated a forum and watched a flame war go down and catalogued the different types of people he saw during the flame war lol

LostParks: Some forgotten florida attractions with pictures

CthulhuFiles: A website dedicated to the lovecraftian stuff and has a lot of info on the monsters and different lore

TophersBreakfastCerialCharacters: Someone who really loves cereal

CandyCigarettes: A collection of vintage candies and stuff

Area51: Someone who's got a lot of pictures on area 51 lol

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

The thing that really gets me? Is that, when you’re watching The Winchesters, you know that it looks and feels like Supernatural would look and feel if Jensen Ackles made it (because it is). And i love it! It’s warm and a mixture of gritty and mystical and lights have a slightly otherwordly glow to them (the glow of unreality and death, with its dream-like quality) and there’s an almost Tolkien-like quality to these abandoned bunkers and objects curated by people who don’t exist anymore and whom anyone hardly remembers, like an ancient civilization that knew how to keep evil at bay but whose memory has almost entirely been lost (the world has changed...). Information is found and shared on paper. It almost feels like the choice of subject, with its 70s setting, is almost an excuse to get rid of screens and online search engines and give Supernatural a vintage feel back, that Americana fairytale flavor it always wanted to have.

And now that I’m typing this out, I’m fully processing that the show is shot as a tale. The story of Mary, John and the others is not simply ‘happening’ in front of the audience’s eyes, it is being told, and it is shot as such! The warmth, the glow, the story-like feeling are there because that’s how the story is being told.

And now I’m having thoughts that inhabit that area between the accident and the purpose of Supernatural’s making. Because as Supernatural progressed, the visual quality of it became colder, brighter, sharper. Information was on the internet, shared on smartphones, with little romanticism left to the whole process. Of course this was due to out-story reasons, but it works in-story too. The story was being told by Chuck in an increasingly controlling, claustrophobic way. And the way it felt lost gentleness, lost charm.

And now Dean is narrating, and suddenly the visuals are very Dean. Soft, warm, intimate. Vietnam looks like Purgatory. The characters look beautiful and graceful. There’s a loving quality to the whole thing. Out-story, it’s Jensen’s love for the show, and the love for the show of all the other people involved in this. The care and respect they have for the show. In-story, it’s Dean’s love for what he’s talking about, his care and respect for the subjects of his story.

It’s only been one episode but I’m already in love with this show.

#my spn thoughts #spn meta #spnwin #spnwin 1x01 #spn

[grandadofrad]

RESOURCES FOR ARTISTS VOL 1

In the spirit of gratitude for the plethora of free resources out there for artists that I've been gleefully ransacking my entire life, I want to share some of them that I've compiled.

smithsonian open access: this is a HUGE one! lots of images that are absolutely free to use, as well as an incredible set of 3-D resources. Their collection spans the same breadth that their multiple museums do-- natural history, gems, fine art, aerospace/engineering stuff, etc. so do not sleep on this.

(screenshot is the 3-D digitization page, one of my fav sections)

2. The League of Moveable Type is a resource for free fonts, but not just any free fonts-- professionally designed free fonts. Some of the bigger sites can be a lot of wading through sub par stuff, but every single thing here was very carefully and lovingly designed, and is free.

3. Unsplash is full of great free to use images. Seriously, huge collection. Portraits, textures, 3-D renderings, you name it and it's probably here and free to use. ALSO cool because images will note whether their creator is for hire if you like their work. You can also submit your images to this platform. (I think it has a premium section but I haven't needed to engage with it yet)

(screenshot of unsplash.com with a search for 'y2k render')

4. rawpixel's Public Domain collection. They've been high quality scanning public domain images for a while. They're free to use under a CC0 license, which is basically without restriction. They've got lots of categories, I personally love the Graphic Design and the Vintage Illustration sections.

(screenshot of the 'patterns' section of the Public Domain collection on rawpixel)

5. Photopea is a free Photoshop alternative that runs in your browser. It's got a few quirks(especially if you run a non-chromium browser, but stay strong anyway) and is ad-supported, but really powerful and robust. It also opens PSD files, supports smart objects and basically all of the Photoshop asset filetypes(.abr .grad .pat etc), as well as has filters, even a couple that Photoshop itself has gotten rid of in their more recent versions. You can use the fonts on your machine, export transparent pngs, and do generally anything that the big guy does. You can also donate a small amount to remove ads and support the singe person(!) who created and maintains it.

(screenshot of a .psd file with smart objects/smart filters open on photopea. The 'file' dropdown menu shows exciting options such as 'export' and 'save as psd')

6. Brusheezy.com is a great place to get free brushes, vectors, and photoshop assets in general(which can all be used in Photopea, btw).

(screenshot of the 'categories' page of brusheezy.com)

7. dafont.com Last but not least, I will include this huge font site but assume most people already have it on their radar. Free fonts! No account needed to download! Tons of categories! Many are demo/limited versions, so pay attention especially if you plan to use numbers or special characters as those are often the things left out of the free to use demo versions. It's nice to have a lot of options but to the discerning eye a decent amount of the fully free fonts here will fall a bit short/feel unpolished. That's not to discourage you from it, as I have a huge collection of types from here and routinely check it when I need something specific.

(screenshot of dafonts.com with the 'sci-fi' section pulled up)

So that's what I've got right now for visual art resources, I hope you can find something useful in here. Feel free to share this list and keep an eye out for the next one! Thanks to everyone out their with a love for sharing in their hearts, it's really inspired me to make some things with no other intention than to put them into the world as tools for others!

#free resources #resource list #art resources #free stuff #free collections #royalty free #free to use #shareware #for the people #dafont #brusheezy #smithsonian #rawpixel #unsplash #league of moveable type #public domain #cc0 license #fonts #textures #patterns #brushes #vectors

[repurpose-yourself]

Vintage

A relentless years-long search initiated by Santiago was about to end, all thanks to a small box sitting outside his home. While most wouldn't feel the kind of excitement he felt over the package, Santiago couldn't remember a time when such a delivery left him this happy.

Just holding the brown box left him jittery. All his hard work was literally condensed into this one parcel. Santiago wanted to violently tear the box apart in anticipation. But he kept his feelings tempered, knowing the object within could become damaged from such barbaric actions.

Walking into the garage, he set the box on his workbench. As he sliced the tape with a sharp knife, he glanced at the vintage motorcycle sitting a few yards away. A smile crept across Santiago's face.

"It's time," he said to himself, looking inside the box, "I will make you live again."

The part itself wasn't abundantly complicated. The difficulty rested with locating a decent replacement. Old, used parts sometimes worked. But those either failed after a few miles or broke immediately upon start up. Replica parts never matched perfectly, despite manufacturer claims.

It became so off-putting Santiago considered selling the bike. Just the thought made him sick. But he wasn't having much luck and offering the vintage motorcycle up for sale might breathe new life into other bikes that needed parts.

The major break Santiago needed came from a website he stumbled upon by chance. He liked the name, 'Vintage'. A quick glance at the webpage checked off all the right boxes for Santiago. Everything seemed legit. The catalog was extensive, not only for old bikes but many other products. Finding the particular part he needed took 10 minutes from start to finish.

Now holding the new item, Santiago found his interest in this website well placed.

"It's perfect. Absolutely perfect," the man said quietly, almost bringing a tear to his eye.

Eager to make his motorcycle whole once more, Santiago dove into making the repair. The specific location on the engine was already disassembled, making installation a breeze. Having made this repair many times before, Santiago had become a bit of a pro at disassembling and reassembling his vintage motorcycle. But in this moment, he hoped that would no longer be the case. The new part fit seamlessly, leaving him confident the bike would run again.

Santiago sat back and just looked at the engine. His admiration for this historical mode of transportation was commendable. And for his devotion, it would be rewarded. Grabbing the final protective plate, he leaned forward and secured it in place.

Knowing his vintage motorcycle would live again brought pure joy to him. Absolute pure joy.

But what Santiago didn't realize was just how much life he was breathing back into the bike. From behind the metal plate, fierce cries for help would remain locked inside the metal part. The pleas and struggles would be lost within the confines of the engine, doomed to be drowned out by the hum of something bigger and more important.

As the motorcycle roared to life, the daunting reality of the former human's plight took shape. Relentless spinning and vibrations painted a bleak picture. No one would come to its rescue. No one would free it from this hell.

Everything was perfectly legal.

And everyone wanted to use Vintage, the website keeping an old world running like new...

Story content is original and human produced. Imagery created using Microsoft Bing Image Creator.

#inanimate object #inanimate tf #inanimate transformation #unaware tf #nonconsensual tf #part tf

[tessatales]

Touch Starved ✨Yelena✨

Yelena x F!reader

Warnings: none really, touch starved Yelena (duh) mention of missing family (no death though!)

Theme: touch starved Yelena, grumpy lady, comfort found

A/N: wow, this series is over! Actually finished! And on my birthday to boot. I’ve honestly loved writing all of these fic, and I’m sure I’ll come back to a variation of it somewhere down the line but until then- thank you to everyone whose read these fics and I hope they bring you as much joy and they’ve brought me ❤️❤️

*Your POV*

‘Yelena’s acting strange’ Bruce murmured as you passed, pointing the tip of his pen behind him as he walked back to his office.

“Roger that.” You reply, straightening your spine as you walked into the towers main living area. Yelena was only a visitor to Avengers tower, although her access was nearly as unlimited as the residents that called this place home. (with only a few exceptions)

“Yelena! Long time no see!” You said with a grin, leaving your fist out for the ex assassin to bump.

“Tony banned me for the car incident” Yelena shrugged, taking a sip of her beer. You nodded with understanding.

“We’ll getting a limited addition vintage car towed for a joke probably wasn’t your best idea” You replied, snatching the drink from her to take a swig. Yelena shrugged, saying nothing.

When the silence stretched on longer than usual for the talkative Widow, you decided to speak up.

“Your particularly quiet today, what’s up” You prompted, knowing instantly that you’d hit a nerve when Yelena practically slams her beer onto the counter.

“See I don’t get you people!” Yelena growled, throwing her hands into the air before standing from her seat.

“Just because I’m not taking up every silence does not mean there’s something wrong” Yelena continued, shoving her stool angrily back into place before snatching her beer and stalking off.

You tried your best to not take the outbursts personally, though you could still feel the sting. You knew that Natasha was usually best at keeping Yelena’s moods in check, but with her off in deep cover gods knows where, you knew you’d just have to navigate these moments alone.

Yelena would calm down eventually, You thought with a sigh before trudging back to your own rooms.

*Yelena’s POV*

Yelena knew she’d fucked up. She’d felt the guilt the second she’d slammed Natasha’s bedroom door behind her. The second she’s been out of Y/N’s presence, her mood dipped and the anger she’d felt died in an instant.

Yelena wished she knew what was causing her mood, the outbursts becoming more and more frequent the longer Natasha was away. But she just couldn’t figure out why.

Of course she missed Natasha, she was her sister after all, but this growing anger since Nat’s departure just wasn’t adding up.

Armed with limited information, Yelena took to the towers best search engine, J.A.R.V.I.S.

“Why am I feeling this way?” Yelena said to the air, not bothering to say the AI’s name.

“I assume you are talking to me Miss Belova” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied, his voice forever patient. Yelena grunted.

“May I give you a solution based on an observation?” J.A.R.V.I.S. asked as he turned Natasha’s rooms computer system on.

“Go ahead” Yelena replied, wandering over to the screens. As she did, several articles on touch starvation and it’s effects began to pop up, each one explaining in depth the different side effected the issue could have.

“Huh” Yelena said, mumbling her thanks as she began to read.

*A Few Hours Later*

Yelena paced silently outside of Y/N’s door for what felt like a lifetime- after many hours of reading and arguing with J.A.R.V.I.S, Yelena had relented in her argument and accepted she had to do something.

Taking a final few steps, Yelena stepped up to Y/N’s door, tapping on it lightly as she contemplated what she was going to say.

*Your POV*

Groggy from your nap, You padded slowly to the door, your eyes barely focused as you opened it.

“I miss Natasha and it’s making me be a bitch” Yelena blurts. You blinked.

“Come in?” You replied, confusion colouring your sleepy voice. Yelena accepted, sliding past you to flop into your unmade bed.

“I was a bitch earlier and the Computer Voice says it’s touch starvation” Yelena continued, clearly unaware that you were basically still asleep.

“Okay…?”

Yelena sat up, finally taking in your sleepy appearance.

“Were you sleeping?” Yelena said with a little guilt, her cheeks turning slightly pink.

“I was, but don’t worry about it. So what does Natasha and touch starvation have in common?” You asked, coming to sit beside the assassin.

“Natasha is my sister. So obviously she tends to touch me more than anyone else” Yelena said, staring at her hands as she spoke.

“Go on?” You prompt, trying your best to sounds as reassuring as possible.

Well… when I’d have a bad night- or if we were just hanging out, Nat would usually stroke my hair or lay her legs on me while watching tv…” Yelena whispered, picking at her nails as she explained.

“And she’s been gone so long it’s affecting you emotionally- that lack of touch?” You finished, taking in the information slowly. Yelena nodded.

“Why didn’t you say something?” You asked exasperated, punching the assassin lightly on the arm before clambering up the bed and getting comfy.

“Ow! because I didn’t- what are you doing?” Yelena said, watching you with confusion as you lay the blankets beside you.

“I’m getting comfortable so we can nap together. Me and Nat do it all the time on the sofa” You replied, snuggling down with your arms outstretched, beckoning the ex assassin to cuddle with you.

After biting her lip for a while, Yelena seemed to give in, quickly sliding off her shoes before clambering up to lay in your arms, the blanket following soon after.

You were sure not to react to the audible sigh the assassin gave as she relaxed, her face seemed to involuntarily snuggled into your side as you adjusted to her weight.

Once comfortable, you placed one hand on Yelena’s head, moving your fingers in slow, circular movements as her blonde hair began to tangle between your fingers. The other rested lightly over her blanket clad waist.

The silence in the room was comfortable, with nether you or Yelena wanting to break the spell it had caused. Because of this, it took you a while to notice Yelena’s steady breathing and relaxed limbs. Only when her fingers began lightly twitching against your stomach did you realise she was asleep.

You weren’t going to wake her.

She’d finally opened up about something. And you weren’t going to break that intimacy. So you laid there in silence, still stroking the sleeping assassins hair.

Touch starved or not I’ll be here for you no matter what.

You thought as your eyes began to close, your hands slowing in Yelena hair until you eventually fell asleep yourself.

#avengers #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #bucky x reader #tony x reader #dr strange #dr strange x reader #bruce banner imagine #clint barton x reader #loki x y/n #yelena belova x reader #yelena boleva #natasha and yelena #touchstarved Yelena #touchstarvedmcu #touchstarved peter #touch starved pietro #touch starved natasha

[hanibalistic]

THE MASQUERADE | HAN JISUNG.

genre | (in general of the universe) fluff, angst, romance, friendship, magic au

synopsis | jisung decided to respond to a letter advertisement offering him a job at a coffee shop. it was a very old-fashioned way to apply for a part-time job, but he thought there would be no harm in taking a chance!

word count | 9.9k+

warning | none

universe | the cosmic shops / here is the discord link to its world-building server if you are interested in knowing more :)

note | world building i miss you.

Jisung had no idea how much louder his world would become when he stepped into the coffee shop. 

With nothing but multiple rehearsed speeches prepared and a nearly empty bag that stored only his tablet for note-taking, he let the door behind him close gently while fixating his eyes on the environment of, hopefully, his future workplace. A deep sigh left the confines of his chest as the familiar operating noise of the coffee machine hit his ear. 

He put in his two week notice for his previous barista job a month ago. He had no expectations for maintaining any friendly work relationships, and he did not. He had gone to work and gone home on every shift. His silence was not kept. That would be impossible. But the continuous ‘How are you today?’ chain with his co-workers was not exactly material for making friends. 

His charming side left after he got hired the day of his interview; part of him knew the manager was desperate for workers, and he understood why. The pay was dog shit, the hours were horrendous, and some customers hit the nail on the head with being the group of people most undeserving of anything good in life. Besides those, let’s all the honest, being a barista is not a worthy enough relevant experience for the future careers any student would want to pursue. 

The joke of his life writes itself. He quit the last barista job because of its dead-end path and the poor work environment just to end up interviewing for another one. This job listing was nowhere on credible search engines or semi-sketchy recruiting websites. He found it in an advertisement letter addressed directly to him that was sent to his home. 

He applied though, because the joke of his life writes itself. 

The shop smelt of coffee beans and stunk of natural wood. Instead of a modern, popular beige color scheme, the structure maintained an overall old-fashioned brown tone, with vintage furniture and little to no alternative vibrant colors. Customers lined up before a long wooden counter with no openings; on top sat multiple steam machines shoving out coffee heat, either waiting or already being used. 

The accent wall attached to the one behind the cashier counter was made out of auburn red bricks and cement instead of ancient wood. Slapped in the middle of the brick wall was a fireplace with an ominous key cabinet stuck in the middle just above it. Jisung squinted at the fireplace, feeling compelled to wipe his glasses with the hem of his sweater. He swore he saw some colored dust on the logs. 

You made a mental note to swipe the fireplace after humorously following Jisung’s gaze toward it. You had already rung up all the customers’ orders this morning before he could snap out of his trance. Determined to startle him a little to make up for the dull morning, you waited by the side of the counter with your arms folded and leaned against the edge. It took Jisung a while, but eventually, he turned his head away from the brick wall and jumped when he noticed your stare.

“Good morning,” you greeted.

“Good morning,” he returned politely with a casual bow. He cleared his throat of his nervousness; it was still there. He just pushed it behind a well-crafted facade of confidence. “I am here for the interview.”

You raised a brow with intrigue. That was a surprising turn of events. By a turn of event, you meant any deviation from the usual barista routine. Either way! You were usually on top of everything; the cleanliness of the shop, stocking ingredients, tending to request letters, and remembering information communicated to you by the Entities. You cannot for the life of you remember ever hearing about the shop receiving new hires. You have been working alone for three and a half years. If there were such news, you would remember!

Jisung pursed his lips patiently when you raised a finger, signaling him to give you a moment. In the meantime, he stood on his spot and recounted everything that had led him up to this point—the advertisement letter, replying to the advertisement by mailing a response letter (which was weird to him), getting an irregularly quick decision back that told him to come to this location for an interview. He made sure he double-checked the location before coming here. He could not have been wrong, could he?

His eyes followed you as you moved toward the back, where the wall of tiny drawers was. Sniffing to get the nervous itch out of his nose, he reached a hand up to pinch the tip. He wasn’t sure why he felt out of place. When you pulled open one of the drawers to peek inside and closed it shortly after, he realized that those were not decorations. He was sure the ones on the top of the ceiling would be, though. 

You touched your hand to the empty spaces between each row to find a spot that could get you what you needed—the phone booth. When you did, you banged the space with your fist twice and stepped back. A ground shiver happened, startling Jisung. One of the drawer rows was separated from the wall with visible lines. Then, like a revolving door, it turned to the side and revealed a small accent brick wall with a rotary dial phone on top of an antique table. 

You picked up the phone and dialed a number. Jisung has no idea what happened. 

His best guess was that it was a deliberate design choice, but that assumption was quickly defeated with two counters he thought too quickly of. 

One, corporate design choices are almost always made to maintain the old or garner new consumers. He knew that much as someone who has always been heavily involved in the inner workings of the mainstream music industry. He had a phase where he pretended being independent was better. With the fabricated authenticity people much value today, it still is better. But everything takes money, including breaking into the industry or just making an album in general, so he did care about corporate to an extent. 

Even though he had never heard of this coffee shop before and had no idea how closely related to the Starbucks level corporate it was, there was no way the store structure was not crafted with the goal of inviting more customers. Except the changing telephone booth was shown when there were no customers around. It was just a function of the architecture that an employer could use, which to him made no sense. What can a cool feature be worth if the money spenders never see it?

Two, that kind of architecture must have cost a fortune to build. But Jisung had just heard of this coffee shop when he was offered to apply for a job here. When he was doing some research online before accepting the offer, he found no information about it either (and why did he apply to this job again? Because the joke writes itself!). A coffee shop as secretive as this one could either be two things: a soon-to-be vacant spot or a top secret hideout for extremely wealthy people. Considering its mundane location—just across the street from a plaza with McDonald’s and Pizza Hut—Jisung settled with the first thing. 

Funnily enough, he would not put it past people who could wipe their snot with dollar bills to be bored enough with their life that they decided it would be fun to open a coffee shop just down a regular street. To fit more into the ordinary atmosphere, they have decided to hire only one employee and pay them the most undeserving salary too! It was anything to live like poor people without actually doing it!

Jisung shook his head off the millions of assumptions popping up. He was thinking too deeply about this. All he had to care about was getting the job, or not getting it. He planned to figure it out as he played along. 

“I don’t know, Hyunjin. He doesn’t look too fine to me.” You spoke into the receiver while stealing glances at Jisung. “He looks zoned out, almost. All I’ve shown him is the turning walls, though.”

The other end laughed heartily with a joke you would have understood once, but you giggled with him nonetheless. Afterward, Hyunjin confirmed that he, too, got himself a visitor at the shop without prior notice. You heaved a relieved sigh, knowing that you made no mistake, even though it was unlikely that you would have to prepare anything extravagant to introduce a newcomer into the extraordinary world of the cosmic shops. All you would need were patience and a way of explaining things, both of which you possessed. 

After you hang up, you knocked on an empty space on the wall again to turn it back to the drawer row. Your hands flew to rub against your apron to clean off the cement feel, and then you smoothed it out of habit. Looking up from the ground, you caught Jisung’s eyes and smiled at him. He returned it with a much lower intensity, likely because he was still confused about the sudden wall change. You headed to the side of the cashier counter and kicked harshly against it once. An entryway opened up for you, and you walked out from behind the register. 

Jisung tried his best to hold back the furrow of his brows. As confusing as everything had been, he was still making an impression that would get him hired. But he swore on God that there was no visible entryway when he walked in through the door, which gave him direct sight of the side of the long counter table. And, of course, he swore on God because he did not believe in such things, so there would be no real repercussions if he made a mistake in his swear. You did walk out from behind it. He was not taking any chances.

“Sorry for the wait. I was not aware that we would be getting new hires,” you said as you held out your hand. 

He immediately reached out and gave you a firm handshake. “No worries! My name is Han Jisung!”

“[Name],” you returned. “You are a little early, Jisung. You came during rush hour.”

“The letter I received told me to come at this time, though,” he informed, motioning at his bag as if he had the letter with him and could bring it out for evidence if you doubted him. 

You hummed in acknowledgment. The letter could only have one sender: the Entity in charge of the coffee shop. Since the Entity also has access to the shop’s customer walk-in hours, if it specifically instructed Jisung to arrive at the time of serving, it could only mean that the Entity has a strong desire for Jisung to become a barista at the shop. It was a chance for him to catch you working, after all. If the Entity was unsure of its choice, it would have arranged for him to arrive when the shop was empty instead.

“I see.” You acknowledged to yourself before making eye contact with Jisung again. “You caught me at a terrible time, unfortunately. I just rang up all the customers’ orders, but I haven’t made them their drinks yet.”

Jisung smiled with uncertainty. He knew you were the only employee working at the front, but he didn’t think you were also going to be the person to interview him. He assumed someone of a higher position must be lazing around at the back and was charged to consider his application. Were you the only person here? Were you the manager who sent him the reply letter? What about the time clash? What kind of lousy management was this? This was even worse than what he had to deal with last time! 

Maybe he shouldn’t work here!

You ran a hand through your hair as you turned your head to the side. Your lips pursed and smacked inaudibly as your mind riddled with thoughts about what you should do. When you looked at Jisung again, you politely smiled at him. It was a pretty smile. At least he thought it was pretty.

Maybe he should work here.

“Would you like to come to the back to help, or would you want to just wait around while I finish with this batch of drinks?” you asked, pointing behind your shoulder at the register. He didn’t look confused, but you added anyway. “You were already hired when the response letter was sent to you. You didn’t come here for an interview, I reckon. You came here for an explanation, which will help you determine whether you want to work here.” 

Jisung breathed out an unsteady laugh. “Oh, I’m just looking for a part-time job while I work through university. I am fine with anything… even though I quit my last job, so clearly I wasn’t fine with anything…” The last part was mostly silent. After beating himself up enough, he perked up and nodded surely. “I think I will work here and see for myself. I’m sure you guys don’t have any policy I haven’t seen before!”

You giggled humorously at his response. How clueless, how cute. “This is not an ordinary coffee shop, Jisung.” 

“You guys sell coffee, no?” he questioned.

“Hmm…,” you hummed, mirroring his questioning pitch, “we sell more than that.” 

“Oh, is this one of those–“ Jisung snapped his fingers to conjure up the right words. He probably shouldn’t be talking to you so casually, but he could not help himself. You were the one who started speaking informally. You were only influencing him. “Marketing schemes? Where you guys say you’re selling coffee and something cheesy, like a homey environment?” He used air quotes, which, again, he probably should not be in his position. He just could not help it!

You scoffed. “No, but I’m glad you think this place is homey.” 

“Actually, that was just an example. In fact, I think this place can use a bit more feeling of domesticity,” Jisung said, seemingly building up his confidence with each word he spoke. He rubbed his hands together as if he was in deep thought, and then he made a noise when he finally settled with an example to his suggestion. “Maybe somebody like me? I’m friendly, and all the neighborhood grandmas tell me I am adorable, like a stuff-cheeked squirrel.”

You could not see why the Entity wanted him unless it has a slowly revealing secret of choosing personality over actual competence. It would be harsh to judge Jisung so quickly, which you knew. His ridiculousness was overshadowing any specks of natural assumption in people you have that he could be very competent at this job. Not that this job requires much real effort on a daily basis, but when it does come a time that effort is needed, absolutely nobody could slack behind, or the result would surely be bloody. 

Jisung responded to your judgemental eyes with a blushed smile. You sighed inwardly—he was cute, though. 

“Would you help me, Jisung?” you asked again; you would just have to explain on the way. He got the feeling you were asking him to get on board. Expectant eyes stared up at him, and a smile plastered on a cutely tilted head. “Please?”

Oh, he should definitely work here.

Jisung loved to pride himself as a fast learner, and he was! 

He wasn’t smart, but he was clever and quick-witted. Thanks to all the years of him being a curious and rebellious child growing up and having adults around him who cared deeply for him, he often had to weasel his way out of lectures and punishments. The point stood as he grew older, with his teachers, co-workers, and (some) managers, with multiple variations of him easily escaping problems. He absorbed his surroundings and people and knew how to manipulate them.

Just not this time. Mostly because he was confused with what he was absorbing. 

After agreeing to help you with the orders, Jisung anticipated being told the steps to make several cups of coffee—the easier ones, at least, like the Espressos and Americanos. But you had him on customer duty instead, which was intriguing at most. He had just realized nobody was waiting around the area for their order when you mentioned it. When he asked about it, you told him it was because the process of making a drink was better off staying confidential, which was, again, intriguing at most. 

He had worked as a barista for so long and seen so few variations to making the same caffeinated drinks that he could hardly believe there was anything special about the menu of this particular shop. Besides, customers were usually not perceptive enough to stalk the process of a barista making their coffee, let alone steal the recipe or complain about it. He had seen some before, but they were a rare breed of people! 

He begrudgingly agreed to serve the customers, even he was unsure why he was being defensive about the task. That invited even more interesting rules you gave him. 

Firstly, he was told not to introduce himself or make unnecessary conversations. Initially, Jisung thought it was a work ethic issue—chatting with a customer for too long will delay the working pace! He understood that and did not care much about talking to the customers anyway. Except you added clarification that he did not ask for, which was that you guys did not need any rare but possible (and unnecessary) mishaps in memory erasure when the customers leave.

Secondly, as he watched you make the drinks in hopes of getting a glimpse of the process, he learned one of two things: the tiny boxes behind him held lumps of dust of different colors, and you mixed them into the drink. The first thing you did for every cup was add the dust that looked like craft shop dust glitters. Nothing about it looked edible to Jisung. Everything about it looked like the materials pre-schoolers will slap on a Mother’s Day card. When he asked about it, you said they were personality dust, and it would do him nicely not to inhale nor taste them. 

Lastly, there was nothing on the cups. There were no labels, no names, and no order abbreviations. There were only patterns. Each coffee cup has a unique design; chalk stripe, pinstripe, checkers, plaid, and whatnot. You informed him that every customer has a charm bracelet made of patterned pearls around their wrist. The patterns on the cups reflect the ones on the bracelet identically, so all he needed to do was to obverse and hand the drinks out. No calling names, no asking about anything. Just serve the drinks and leave.

These were a set of exceptional rules. Bizarre ones! Most of what he was cautioned not to do was against the customer service etiquette he has spent years honing, and the way the customers behaved was also out of normality. Everything so far has made him a point that said working here would be easier than usual but also unfamiliar. Extraordinarily unfamiliar. 

“How are you doing, Jisung?” you asked after you collected all the leftover bracelets from the trinket plate left just by the back exit of the shop. Customers were instructed to drop them off when they leave. “You seem unwell.”

“That’s harsh. I don’t think I look that worn out,” Jisung muttered. 

“Not worn out,” you said as you approached the fireplace and reached for the key cabinet. You hung the bracelets on their respective slots within the cabinet before closing it. You turned back to Jisung, your expression monotonous. “Just confused.” 

“I am confused,” he replied as he crossed his arms. He regarded with you faint distaste. It was a misplaced judgment of how he felt about everything he had learned about this coffee shop so far. “You guys have interesting rules here.” 

“This is not an ordinary coffee shop.”

“Yeah, okay–” He pursed his lips shut and heaved a deep breath. Whoever was behind this marketing scheme to be different and unique has got to quit it because authentic things can only stay authentic for a maximum of two months before becoming annoying. And this whole extraordinary concept you were selling him was getting on his nerves. “That is not remotely true about anything these days.”

“What is? Extra ordinem?” 

“What is that?”

“Latin.”

“Oh, my sincere apologies. Public school didn’t exactly teach me a dead language,” he said with a few nods of false acknowledgment. “Is that a requirement? Do I need to be fluent in an obscure language to work here? Something like Sanskrit?”

“Oh, I know Sanskrit.”

“Of course you do.” It came out as a defeated whisper. Jisung rubbed his eyes and thought using humor as a defense mechanism against whatever he felt would do well. “Actually, let’s switch the roles for a bit. I want to talk to your manager about something.”

“You can’t do that until you have officially signed the contract to work here,” you hummed, giving him a brief glare for his snarky remark as you turned away from him to head to the counter. “Which I am just getting to before you interrupted me, by the way.” 

You kicked the counter once and walked through the space. You moved toward where you last brought out the dial phone, Jisung recognized, and you repeated the action you did to turn the wall around. You knocked on the space between the drawer rows twice. He counted how this operation unfolded: two knocks, the ground shakes, and the wall turns. But, instead of a dial phone, what came about this time was a podium with a comically oversized leather notebook. 

Dust filled the nearby air when you closed the notebook. It was as heavy as you expected; you have never had to take it off the podium. Holding it to your chest, you turned around, noticed the steam machine, and paused with a forgetful gasp. You had to key in the code for the teleportor. Shifting to the side, you put the notebook on the counter before going to the steam machine. 

There was a sequence to what to push, what degree to turn the dials, and when to pull on its handles. Jisung noticed it through some obscure form of rhythmic measure he could hear from how you handled the steam machine. The steam machine whistled with an airy heat, like the starting of a steam locomotive. When you were done, the fireplace ignited with a burning flame. The flame blew out as abruptly as it started, startling Jisung for the second time. 

He stared at the fireplace with big, jittery eyes. But the way you slowly pulled the notebook back to your chest and left from behind the counter did not go unnoticed. You made your way near the fireplace and turned around, beckoning him over to you. Jisung furrowed his brows and fidgeted with his legs as if debating if he wanted to move anywhere near a self-igniting fireplace.

“Let’s stop stalling,” you urged just a beat before he jogged over to you, causing him to scoff in irritation. 

“I wouldn’t stall so much if you would give me a thorough explanation of what is happening around here,” he retorted. “I don’t want to participate in any unsafe work environment charges.”

“You won’t have to if you don’t sue us.” You pointed into the fireplace, mostly giving him dull eyes and ignoring his comments about everything he came across. “Crawl through the tunnel.”

“Wow! You are just full of surprises!” Jisung clapped his hands loudly. His smile looked delirious. “Did you not hear what I said about unsafe workplace environment?”

You rolled your eyes. There should be nowhere more notorious than where you work when it comes to unsafe workplace environments. If Jisung were worried about safety—first of all, the Entity would have never set eyes on him in the first place. It must have been that he has another quality so overwhelmingly beneficial to this service chain that the Entity decided to take a risk and recruited him. Secondly, if Jisung were worried about safety, you genuinely would not recommend him signing any contracts today. If anything, he should make his way out now.

But you must explain everything for him to make an informed decision, so it was through the tunnel willingly or—you pursed your lips together—a slight change of plans.

“Fine,” you sighed with a dramatic shoulder slump. “All subtly is gone.”

You clicked the heel of your right shoe against the ground, scraping it more than landing it. Then, with much effort, you slapped your hands twice. The ground rumbled, but this time the floor began to spiral in addition to the Earthquake. Sounds of rusty gears reverberated off the walls like a stereotypical factory, moving something out of sight. Most things stayed in place, not at all bothered by the shaking. 

Jisung went on his tip-toes in response to the spinning floor, but he soon realized that while the ground under his feet was moving, he was not. He gawked at you in disbelief when he saw that you were only patiently standing off the side, waiting for a result he wasn’t sure about. Then he had a thought that perhaps you were used to this. But the only reason he could fathom this being a common occurrence was that the design of this coffee shop has got to be phenomenal, and he had already rejected that assumption a while ago. 

A pair of single vinyl sofas and a tall, round coffee table rolled into the room. When they were set in place near where Jisung was standing—the back of the sofa nudged his hip—the ground stopped shaking. Jisung whipped his head from the sofa to you. For some reason, he decided not to run for the door. Something told him that if this was the level of abnormality the coffee shop could produce, the door leading outside must not be outside. 

Not to say he came to that conclusion because he did not believe in magic. Rather, he believed in a well-practiced production team and the greatness of technology. With a full head of modern, sensible options to choose from, Jisung decided this must be the second coming of The Truman Show. Or something like that, at least. He wondered if he would get compensated for this. Maybe he would sue, just not for poor workplace environment. 

“Sit down, Jisung,” you asked after you set the notebook on the table. You picked a sofa and rested yourself atop it, waiting for him to do the same but choosing not to stall anymore. “This must all be confusing to you–“

“Is this a variety show prank?” He cut you off with a twirling finger pointing at the ceiling. When you bewilderedly gave him no response, he sucked in a notable breath and leaned back against the chair. He crossed his legs and shrugged, almost smugly, as if it was a huge accomplishment to bust your little broadcasting scheme. “I have to say; this is all very well done. But I think I’ve acted like an idiot enough for thirty minutes' worth of content, so please ask the editing team to blur my face, or else I will sue.” 

“You can’t sue us,” you said, with deadpan eyes and a deadpan tone. This really has dragged on long enough. “We don’t exist anywhere on the government registry.” 

“What? You guys are independent?”

“Technically,” you nodded, “we work for the higher-ups.”

He smirked questioningly. “So, the government?”

“Think high as in literally.” 

He furrowed his brows, his smile depleting seconds longer because he was thinking deeply about this. “Like…” he grumbled, “Gods?”

“There you go. It’s not that hard.” You clapped your hands softly in a mocking mannerism. “Not directly, though. We work for Entities, who work for Gods.” 

He opened his mouth, debating what he should say. If growing up in a religious school has taught him anything, it was that God is not real. It could be a gross case of misplacing his hatred for the school system, and in general, the school itself that made him come to the conclusion. But he has generally never broken out of that realm of thought, and he didn’t think he ever would in the future. Today was not going to be the day his belief got questioned. 

“I am not religious,” he informed.

“Sure. That means nothing to me, and I reckon it means nothing to them too.” You shrugged dismissively. “You don’t have to believe in them. You just have to abide by them.”

He tilted his head in unwilling agreement. If anybody here should know about abiding by values they do not believe in, out of fear or shame or any outrageous emotions, it should be he who the less-than-gracious societal standards have touched. He has been doing that since he began his studies at the religious primary school, after all. 

He could humor this. 

“Okay,” he said and crossed his fingers. “What do you have for me?”

“A thorough explanation,” you replied. “And a fair warning to please listen very carefully to what I say in the next few minutes because I hate to repeat tedious information. Once you sign the contract, you cannot terminate it unless of exceptional circumstances.” 

Well, somebody should really sue this place. 

Jisung was not religious. 

You were not asking him to be.

It felt like you were, though. Either that or you thought he was stupid. Not just out of a strange dislike but genuinely. Both of which left a bad taste in his mouth. But this was going too far and too specific into detail that it was out of place to settle it all with scamming as a solution. If this wasn’t a scam, then this must be a cult. A cult that believed in specific cosmic energy. But not even the internet tarot readers would go as far as to renovate an entire shop to sell a belief! There was no way.

That left him one last, unwilling option: this must be real. 

From the Goddess’s sacrifice in a war from a time he couldn’t begin to date back, to the creation of this coffee shop and a chain of other shops under the same magical premise, to the powerful beings with no forms that were basically in the position of a branch manager—this whole shebang must be real. And he, Han Jisung, who does not have a fulfilling life mapped before him, was somehow selected to serve here.

On second thought, the most outrageous thing you have said so far was that he, of all people, was chosen. 

“What was the war about?” 

“The war is inconsequential,” you replied with a brief smile, finding it hilarious that the war was what he decided to ask about first.

“Didn’t a lot of people die from the war?” he questioned with an incredulous but still righteous-sounding whisper. “That is why the Goddess died, wasn’t it?”

“But did you die in the war?” you asked rhetorically before you shrugged. “You didn’t. Then it shouldn’t matter.”

“It’s history. A tragic one at that,” he argued while maintaining his previously low tone. “War is war. A massacre is a massacre.” He eyed you carefully, trying to access you more than you were letting on for him to see. You looked like a human, but he was still in the unknown about what you were. He wanted to know. He wanted to find an excuse behind that seemingly apathetic demeanor. 

“Yet you can learn nothing from it, and you can do nothing to prevent it if it happens again,” you said with a raised brow. You had not meant for the mood to dampen, but you would take no attitude from any boy with a false sense of heroism today. “What is history worth if it’s just a story?” 

Folktales, fairy tales, and fables. Raconteurs do not tell lessons from pure imagination. Everything children have ever read was real somewhere within this vast universe. They were all history—Cinderella’s dream coming to an end, the flock of sheep that died because of a boy’s deceptive mischief, and Thumbelina’s home being turned into a fuming factory. The original story is always history, and the subsequent renditions are the result of creativity, which was still one of the greatest gift a God has ever given mankind. 

Yet they were not important. You learn from stories, and you never execute their morals. Why? Just because they were contained in colorful spines and spoken through a soft mother’s mouth? 

“I did not mean to say the war is unimportant in the foundation it set for the world to be where it is now,” you added. “But neither were you there at that time, nor have you been working in the structural manifestation of its consequences long enough to care, have you?”

“It’s worth it because I care,” Jisung said after a moment of silence. He looked determined; the answer did not come out of spite. “You told me what happened, and I am in the know now, so I care. I don’t have to have experienced it.” 

History matters because story matters. Stories of humanity, stories of humans, stories of people; they all matter. He was born in this generation because people cared enough about each other to keep each other alive and going. There were old stories about strangers he had never met because someone once loved them so much that they could not contain their legacy in memories alone. History matters because story matters because love matters. 

You debated against telling him the little impact his care has on the world. Taking a mental step back, you slumped against the sofa and nodded in agreement to seal the conversation. What mattered now was to get the hiring orientation over with. 

“Do you have any more questions for me?” 

Jisung flashed his determined eyes at you, a result of his previously one-sided agitating conversation. He quickly bounced from the brewing distaste onto his usual humorous demeanor. He cleared his throat and mimicked the motion of rolling open a very long scroll. The scroll would obviously be full of questions, but much different than the performative ones he would ask at an actual job interview. 

“What is the compensation for working here?” He wiggled his brows at you with a smile. 

“Anything reasonable and within the limits of what an Entity can or is allowed to do. The kick is that it doesn’t have to be money,” you said with a snap of your finger. “One of my colleagues asked for a five hours extension on one of the nights last month to study for an exam.” 

“Cool. Have the manager know my first paycheck will be at least five thousand dollars,” he hummed. “Next question! Do I get to do all those house tricks you did?” 

“You would have to,” you replied with a shake of your head, unsure why he even asked the question. “Additional to the tricks, you will also be granted special abilities.”

“I was getting to that!” He closed the imaginative scroll in his hands. For a moment, his expression flattened with seriousness. This part was important to him because of his excitement to obtain superpowers (a childhood dream of his, one could say) and his curiosity to understand the need for him to have them. “We need those abilities because of unforeseen attacks, right?”

“Yes.” You nodded. 

“Do you know why they happen?” he questioned.

Those were not detailed in books. Being an avid reader, you have concluded that one requirement of understanding the books in The Repository is comprehension skills. Books of Life describe actions and events but do not discuss emotions and thought processes. Why did this person do this? Why did this person choose a particular someone? The books do not detail the reason, just the action. Reasons can only be found in a reader’s interpretation. 

To answer Jisung, you have no idea. You could only guess, and you had developed an elaborate assumption long ago. You just have no wish to indulge Jisung in it today. 

“Why do people do anything?” you countered. 

Jisung sighed. His best guess was for power. It seemed to always lead back to that. 

“The Entities have a protective barrier around all the cosmic shops to prevent attacks, so we are mostly safe. But the barriers are essentially useless if faced by a creature whose power is on par with them.”

Jisung deduced the rest by himself. He has read enough comic books and watched enough movies to understand what you meant. If any creature is to barge into the store, there is a very high likelihood that the creature would be of the same caliber as an Entity. Hostility paired with high power—he did not need a demonstration from celestial beings to predict the chaos that particular duo could cause. It was already happening on Earth. 

“Has anyone ever died from an attack?” he asked. 

“Not that I know of. Heavily injured? Yes. Died? Not sure.” You shook your head. “We don’t talk about it. If you really want to know, you best consult the librarian.” 

“A librarian, like from the… you know,” he waved his hand as if gesturing at a God standing behind him, “non-human library? Is there one?”

“Yes. It’s called The Repository. It is the only all-knowing thing in this universe.” You laughed briefly at his thoughtful expression. Then you began to hum. “I think our current librarian is a human boy, though. The previous librarian stepped down and is now practicing alchemy in the tower instead. He is an owl.” 

“Does the owl talk?”

“He does.”

“Do you think he will let me record him if I ask politely?” Jisung joked, but some degree of his voice showed that he was seriously anticipating agreement from you. This was all new to him, but the excitement of welcoming a magical world into his existence simply could not be contained with disbelief alone. 

You snorted at the idea. The owl was but an old man in animal form. There was not one menacing bone in its body. “He loves flattery, so that might be the way to go.” 

He grinned. He didn’t actually plan to videotape the talking alchemist owl. Come to think of it, how fascinating it would be to get a taste of alchemy finally? Let alone meeting a sentient owl that has enough intelligence to practice it. That would be cool. It sounded fake; Jisung still had lingering doubts about everything. Reacting so calmly and floating with the process like this was extraordinary of him. 

A timid corner of him wanted to be part of something greater, something magical, something untouched by regularity. Because throughout his life, he has been underwhelming. Nothing valuable comes from a boy pursuing a creative future that would bring him nowhere because he was both unlucky and simply not good enough. That was it for him—a mistake made during freshman year in college that would soon dictate the rest of his life.

Unless he chooses to be a barista at an otherworldly coffee shop. 

“So…” Jisung muttered with his eyes on his hands. He played with his calloused fingers, fading wounds on his skin from guitar strings reminding him how his life could be more significant. He slowly peeked at you when he finished his sentence, “When do I start work?” 

You clenched your fists together. Jisung wanted to work here. That signaled the end of an era of you working alone, facing monsters alone, and being alone. A spark of excitement ignited within you like you hadn’t heard good news in a while. You contained it professionally and sealed the vault with a thankful smile. He was taken back by the sincerity of it, and a sudden blush crept onto his cheeks. 

He knew this from the moment he saw you; time hasn’t altered his opinion. You were very pretty to him. 

“They will send you the work schedule after you sign the contract and get your gift from the tree,” you informed as you touched the leather notebook on the table. You opened the spine to reveal two pieces of paper stuck to the back. They were employee profiles. You turned the book around and pointed at Jisung’s profile sheet. “Check your details and give me your hand.”

Jisung schemed through the information. He never checked them once throughout his life, not at the doctor’s office, not when he was applying to university, and not even when he was renewing his passport at the government center. The odds that there would be an error is too low. Nodding and humming in mindless agreement, Jisung paid more attention to the profile structure than the information printed on top, and he gave you his hand. 

You huffed at his carelessness but said nothing. Taking the first page of the notebook between your fingers, you guided Jisung’s thumb to the slit of the parchment paper and swiftly nicked his skin with it. He winded with a strangled yell, surprised and obviously pained. Retracting his hand, he held his thumb and squeezed to numb the pain. He panicked when more blood trickled out, and his next instinct was to get it away from his clothes. 

“What the fuck?” he accused. 

“You need to sign the contract. I already told you,” you replied with a point to the end of his profile sheet. “You also need the blood for the tree.” 

“This is a lawsuit waiting to happen!” he hollered as he stamped his thumb to the paper, leaving a print. Unlike his expectations, nothing happened. It was just a bloody thumbprint. 

You ignored him as you shut the notebook. Standing up, you briefly gestured for him to follow you before shuffling on your way. You quickly ran behind the register counter to return the log book where it belonged, then you approached the fireplace and pointed at it for another attempt. This one would be smoother, you believed. 

“Crawl through the tunnel,” you demanded.

Jisung scoffed, and one side of his lips quirked with unwilling smugness. He kicked his feet and glared at you as if telling you he was going to do it anyway, so you should have asked him nicely. You rolled your eyes as he knelt before the pit. He grimaced when his hands touched the burnt wood, but he continued through and squeezed his small shoulders through the fireplace. You followed behind him closely. 

It did not take long for you both to come out the other side. Jisung could already see the brightness from inside the tunnel, but his eyes still needed a short adjustment period when his head popped out through the hole of a tree. He forced his body out of the hole and carefully stood up, his eyes still squeezed shut to accommodate the sudden sunlight. You did the same but with more familiarity and dusted your apron like you always did after crawling through the tunnel. 

Jisung rubbed his eyes harshly a few times and blinked to process. The wind picked up behind him as his sight welcomed a never-ending meadow, something like a fairy-tale garden or an enchanted forest. Flowers grew on all grassy surfaces, with tender trees lodged far and between. A curved walking trial could be seen leading up to what seemed to be the biggest tree he could find in the area, and when he squinted, he could find a picnic table with several chairs around it. 

“Come on. We need to get to the tree,” you urged with a tap on his shoulder. 

Jisung followed behind you. There was a pattern in his steps; he admired the scenery, and sometimes he would stop to check something out before hustling to catch up with your pace. He wanted you to give him time to take everything in, or maybe even more to explore this place, but he supposed work will always be work. He would have more time here when he began his work. 

“Where is this?” He asked after his third time catching up to you. 

“This is the Glory Garden,” you replied. “Do you remember the drawers behind us on the wall? We get the personality dust we store there primarily from this place.” 

He kept a confused smile on his face. “Personality dust?”

“Yeah, that is what we sell,” you said casually. “I planned to tell you once you start training.”  

“You guys sell personality dust?”

“No, we sell personalities.” 

He stopped in his tracks with a head tilt, squinting at you. First of all, like almost everything that has happened, that sounded fake. Second of all, that was a significant part of the coffee shop operation that you have conveniently left out of the explanation. He wasn’t sure if the sale aspect of this business was anything important to mention, but should you not have told him anyway? Third of all, selling personalities? Give him a break!

“You can’t sell personalities,” he laughed. 

You turned around to face him. There was not one ounce of argumentative gleam in your eyes, only exhaustion and perhaps a mildly irritated speck. With a face like his, it was a waste for him to be so upsettingly redundant.

“This is where you draw the line?” you asked. “You just crawled into a fireplace, through a tunnel in the fireplace, and out to a meadow that doesn’t exist on Earth. But this is where you choose to use your critical thinking skills?”

He furrowed his brows. That felt like a personal attack on his intelligence. “I don’t like your tone.”

“Start liking it then,” you retorted quickly before spinning on your heels and walking away. You added with a wave of your hand, though, just for some self-entertainment. “You can do it. You’re smart.”

Jisung snorted in disbelief as he watched your back. He pointed accusingly after you, faint curses flowing from his lips like a waterfall. But there was a smile on his face. Running a hand through his hair, Jisung licked the corner of his mouth and pulled his lips into a grin because he secretly liked it. He wasn’t sure what he liked; the subtle distaste you two have for each other? Your irritation with him and his utter lack of trust in you? The kind of light-hearted rivalry he read so much about in comic books? Perhaps. Or it could be his crush on you making the judgment.

He chased after you, jogging along the only walking path in the meadow. You soon led him to a flower bed filled with variations; sunflowers, tulips, peonies, lilies, and many more he could not recognize. But the most intriguing about the flower bed was that all of them were abnormally tall and squeezed closely together. It seemed the further the bed went, the higher the flowers were, starting from his waist and going over his head.

There was an opening in the middle of two overhead roses. You had to push them apart to open the path up ahead. The more Jisung saw it, the more this flower bed felt like a trap. A human catching device of sorts, he was imagining. Something the fantasy people created to catch intruders who did not have the purest of hearts!

“Stupid… stupid… stupid…”

“The flowers can read your thoughts,” you told him without looking back. “They’re calling you stupid.” 

“I would make a problematic joke, but I’m walking inside you guys right now–” Jisung pursed his lips when he processed what he said. He shook his hand before his mouth to forgo his poor word choices mentally and also his horrible thoughts of cutting this whole flower bed down with a construction truck. He hasn’t learned how not to think whatever he wants to yet. “Please don’t kill me.” 

The flowers continued with their one-word insult until the end of the path. Coming out from the other side was the beginning or the end of a cave with heavy moss vines hanging over it like a door. Jisung peeked through the gaps as he walked out of the cave, and his brows raised. He turned to look behind his shoulder; all he could see was darkness. 

This place felt hollow. It was under the same sun, but the ancient trees forced the lights to dim with no gaps between their leaves and branches. Sounds of cicadas filled the forest, mixing with the gentle swings of wind against the surface of all the plants in this place. Everything was quiet and old, and humid. This was the type of place people go to for peace of mind or to end their lives. There must be a lake here somewhere that somebody has jumped and drowned in. A refugee, a God, a girl and a boy.

“Do you see that tree there?” you asked gently as you pointed upward.

Jisung trailed after the direction and faced up. He could see it, but seeing only parts of a colossal log hidden behind the fog was weird. “That is where we’re going.”

“That is where we’re going,” you repeated in confirmation. 

You two walked. Jisung tested himself on his memorization to find out he was quite directionally challenged. Still, he pushed back against the defeating thought with the excuse that not only was this forest enormous, but he was also still in a state of shock, and this was only his first time here. He should redo the test when he has done enough exploration. He reckoned he would do much better.

After a few minutes of non-stop walking, you finally stopped. Before you both was a wall of thick fog, Jisung could not begin to try and see into it. You rubbed your hands together to combat the sudden cold created by the mist. Then you turned halfway around to alert for his attention. You reached your hand out to him, waiting.

“Take my hand,” you said. “You’ll get lost in there.” 

“Is that true, or are you flirting with me?” he said with a loud chuckle.

“My friend almost died in there.” 

Jisung’s hand flew into yours with a solemn nod. He apologized under his breath, not quite meeting your eyes after the foolery he unknowingly pulled. You found his reaction amusing, mostly because you were lying. 

The fog never kills; it only loses people. You remembered the first time you arrived at this place with Hyunjin. You two came across each other at the flower bed path leading to the forest—called The Green Hallow, you later learned—and decided to walk together for company. After heading into the fog, you two separated and became increasingly lost as you attempted to find each other. Once you two did, Hyunjin grabbed your hand and did not let go until you both reached the other side. 

You did the same with Jisung. His hand was soft in yours as you walked straight ahead without changing the angle of your steps. Keep straight, do not falter, and go through the fog. Coming out the other side was The Oak Fort—a sanctuary separated from the rest of the forest, protected by the power of the most ancient oak tree in the universe. This place was different from the forest; quieter but with tranquility, and there were gentle sounds of wind chimes in the air.

Jisung looked above and noticed the twisting branches poking out below the clouds, circling the fort like a dome. The most ancient tree, the wisest tree, the most powerful tree. You let go of his hand, and he reacted by staring at the sudden cold that hit his palm. He threw off the feeling and followed you. He stepped across the narrow stream of water near where the tree's root submerged into the ground and met you in the middle. 

“Touch the tree with your palm. Make sure your blood gets on it," you instructed before taking a few steps back to give him privacy. 

His helpless eyes lingered on you, and part of him relaxed when you smiled encouragingly at him. He looked back at the tree and heaved a deep sigh. He thought he was hallucinating blood spots on the wood; marks left behind by previous workers. This was what he wanted. This was what he agreed to! He had already signed the contract, so he couldn’t get out of it even if he wanted to now. Press his palm, and his life changes forever, for better or for worse. 

Biting his lower lip slightly, he abruptly flatted his palm against the tree branch. 

You watched with anticipation what would happen. From your experience, when you and Hyunjin received your respective gifts, the tree produced a different reaction. You both deduced that whatever happens during the process reflects the gift that the tree grants. That assumption was later confirmed by your research on the oak tree in the library. Looking forward, though, there didn’t seem to be much happening.

Jisung looked up with confusion. A sudden recoil of dread salivated in his mouth then—could this be rejection? Was the tree refusing him a position at the shop? Could the tree even make a decision like that? Well, of course, it can! It is the most ancient tree ever! It must have been through countless wars and seen numerous generations! It could probably even fish out the fact that he sucked! If anything has a say in who could work in a store made out of pure magical bullshit, it would be the tree! 

Jisung abruptly choked on thin air, grasping for oxygen. His body struggled against sudden immobility. He was too busy arguing with his head. Even if he wasn’t, this was all too sudden for him to properly react anyway. Your wide eyes fixed on Jisung, unclear of the usual violence you were seeing until you took a risky step forward and squinted your eyes. They were barely visible but wrapped tightly around his limbs, and his throat was spider silk. 

But they were not soft. They were cold and threatening, like metal wires thin enough to cut your head off cleanly. After a moment, they began to burn at his skin like splatters of boiled water he could not avoid. It hurt. The burning hurt. And he could barely breathe. Unbeknownst to Jisung, the spider silk glowed a faint golden color as it submerged into his skin, giving his vein the natural magic the tree had taken out of itself. That was where the burning came from; not the submersion but the magic. 

The magic was where the pain came from. 

When the gifting process was done, Jisung dropped harshly to the ground and sobbed out the fear. “What the fuck! What the fucking was that–fucking shit–what–“ He got thrown into a coughing fit simultaneously as he sucked in as much oxygen as he could. “Fuck you! What was that? That sucked balls!”

“Do you curse this much regularly?” you muttered as you helped him up. 

“Fuck you, I thought I was going to die,” he retaliated tearfully while accepting your help. The redness on his face slowly faded as reality returned to him. “Damn it. I thought it was going to be butterflies and rainbows.” 

“With magic? Never,” you giggled. “Magic always comes with a price, especially when people who normally wouldn’t have it use it. We all went through the same thing when we got our abilities, and we all have to look after the possible consequences of using them.” 

Jisung eyed you with narrowed eyes. That made him feel better. He thought he was, embarrassingly, the odd one out; the only one who got his bones and pipes knocked out of him by a tree. An ancient magical tree, but still a damn tree nonetheless! Sighing audibly, he asked, “What was yours like?”

You hummed. “I was suffocating until the tree was done. Not gasping for air, suffocating. No air in or out of me at all.”

“That sounds better than what happened to me,” Jisung scowled. 

You rolled your eyes. It was not a competition, but if you had to pick a person—or a pair of people who got it the worst? “I think the two working at the music store got it the worst, actually,” you mentioned with a grimace. “One of them was bleeding by the end of it, everywhere. The other one got a tree branch shoved down his throat.” 

Chan and Changbin began working for the cosmic stores after you. You were not there during their gifting process, but you were there in The Repository when Changbin barged through the doors with a heavily wounded Chan on his back, looking for help. One of the creatures that emerged from the fog after the gifting process led them through the hidden cave in the middle of the oak tree. That directly led them to the library tower. 

The alchemist owl was the one who tended to them. You remembered it giving Changbin a cup of dark green goo to drink, instructing that it would be needed to get the wood residues out of his body. You made friends with him as you gave him a tour of the library; it was just to help him swallow down the disgusting drink, really.

“That’s a lawsuit,” Jisung mused under his breath to combat the disgusted itch clambering at his throat by simply imagining what you just told him. He rubbed the base of his neck after he caught a glimpse of your deadpan, and he smiled. “It’s not funny anymore, huh?”

“It never was.” 

“Oh.” He rolled his eyes and whistled. “Harsh.” He liked it. “So, what now?”

“You’re done. Now you go back to Earth and wait for your schedule,” you said. “Oh! Before I forget–this should go without saying, but no using any of your abilities outside of,” you waved your arms about, “this setting. Unless you are coming for work, then you are allowed to use magic to get any door to lead here.” 

“The superpowers work outside of,” he mimicked the waves of your arms, “this setting?”

“Yes,” you sighed in defeat. You could not tell if he was mocking you or trying to make a serious joke. “Please don’t use it outside of… this setting….”

Jisung hummed in agreement. There was a lower chance of him attempting to use magic on Earth if you never even told him he could in the first place. Besides, who would believe him? Nothing is what meets the eye these days, even if they are real. He wouldn’t, though. He would listen to you.

“Okay.” A small smile peeked at the corner of your lips. “Welcome to The Masquerade, by the way. That is our shop’s name. Masks, personalities, you know.”

“Haha…” Jisung let out a wiggle of laughter that died down quickly. Not because he felt awkward but because he was deep in thought. It took him a short moment to speak. “A Masquerade, a mask parade.” 

You blinked with pity. Jisung pursed his lips together and forced a grin on his face. 

It would be a tough crowd from now on. 

#w: the cosmic shops #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz x you #skz x reader #skz x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #jisung imagines #han jisung x gender neutral reader #jisung scenarios #han jisung imagines #han jisung scenarios #han jisung x you #han jisung x y/n #han jisung x reader #jisung x y/n #jisung x reader #jisung x you #han x you #han x y/n #han x reader #han imagines #han scenarios #stray kids oneshot #skz oneshots #skz scenarios #skz #stray kids

[punisheddonjuan]

So we're all familiar with the obvious SEO'd websites written by AI and engineered to appear at the top of any search result and just how fucking awful they are and how they're clogging the internet with garbage making it more difficult to find relevant information. I hate them. Well, all of them except for this one I came across recently, I can't remember how, but it's in the running as one of the most unintentionally hilarious websites of all time.

Ladies, gentlemen and those who identify as the secret third thing, may I introduce to you, Fluentslang.com.

Fluentslang is an attempt to do with ChatGPT what Urban Dictionary did with thousands of witty, funny, gross, and sometimes brilliant user submissions: provide a definition for slang and internet terms. Except Fluentslang does this poorly, extremely poorly. So let's take a look (underneath the read more).

Let's look at what fluentslang says about the internet acronym "kys":

It even offers conversational examples:

All of the articles on Fluentslang follow the same format, there's a definition, a conversational example, and then it suggests what this might mean coming from either a boy or from a girl!

The whole site is like this, it's baffling. Okay let's do another one, how about their page for "Daddy":

Don't we all strive for to have someone who calls us Daddy and we call Daddy in turn? Okay, how about something a little more niche and weird, let's go with "unbirth":

I don't think that's what that means but okay. Let's try another one, this time "Boof":

Helpfully it also offers conversational examples:

I think I've seen all of those videos.

It's a little strange how many of the entries have this weird sort of "corporate therapy speak" sort of vibe to them. It's a little like a middle manager who took a course on CBT trying to be helpful in the most condescending way possible. The best example of this is the definition for "Netflix Bipolar":

Oh but definitions aren't the only thing that Fluentslang does, it also does listicles! Let's look at the list for "Top 47 Slang for Fucking":

I've only ever heard the term "diddle" when used as a euphemism for child molestation, which I guess is a form of fucking, albeit one that is non consensual and morally abhorrent but uh... yeah that's weird. What else is on here?

I'm confident that no one has used this phrase since 1929.

Let's look at one more listicle, this time "Top 29 Slang For Straight Person", hands down the funniest article on the website:

Okay this one is just hilarious the whole way through.

Alright that's enough. I got a laugh out of it, but seriously this is probably the least harmful AI generated fake SEO'd website out there. All sites like this are harmful by varying degrees, at their least harmful they're a hindrance to finding useful information, at the other end they're serving people faulty medical advice. Most are somewhere in the middle, simply giving bad information that is liable to ruin your day. Recently I was looking up whether WD40 would be safe for lubricating the tuning machines on my classical guitar, a vintage RamÍrez with a value of close to $3,000 CDN based on similar eBay listings (I bought it from my former teacher for much less than that amount). The first page that came up in my search suggested yes that would be fine, but I clocked it as AI generated almost immediately, and it took a bit more searching before I came across a forum post from fifteen years ago that definitively stated "no, WD40 will destroy the wood finish, use graphite". Thankfully I'm internet savvy, but if I wasn't I might've damaged an instrument I dearly love. These sites are cancer. I hate them.

#link #ai generated #seo

[usafphantom2]

RUSSIA: With the only aircraft carrier stopped in reform, MiG-29K embarked fighters were sent to the war in Ukraine

Fernando Valduga By Fernando Valduga 23/01/2024 - 08:49in Military, War Zones

The Russian navy embarks its new Mikoyan MiG-29KR fighters aboard its only aircraft carrier. But the elderly - and unreliable - Admiral Kuznetsov has been under renovation since 2017. So the Russian Navy gave new use to the jets of the embarked squadron.

The 1980 vintage flattop aircraft carrier of 58,000 tons may never return to frontline service, effectively stranding its twin-engine supersonic MiGs.

The Navy may have found another use for some of the approximately 22 MiG-29KR survivors of the 24 that the fleet acquired from 2013: according to the Ukrainian Center for Defense Strategies, it unfolded them to Crimea. From there, they supposedly hunt Ukrainian navy boats.

The new MiGs, which have multifunctional capability with modern air-to-air and air-to-ground weapons, were left out of the first 18 months of Russia's 23-month broader war against Ukraine. Perhaps already last fall, at least two MiG-29KR belonging to the 100º Independent Ship Fighter Aviation Regiment were flying from the Saky air base in Russia-occupied Crimea.

The medium-weight MiGs allegedly flew alongside Russian navy Sukhoi Su-30SM heavy fighters on patrols in search of Ukrainian navy boats operating in the western Black Sea.

After sinking the frigate Hetman Sahaydachniy, the Ukrainian navy no longer has large armed warships. What it has are many missiles, air and sea drones and small fast boats.

Manned boats carry Ukrainian commands in attacks on Russian-controlled territory. Robotic boats loaded with explosives infiltrate the ports to attack Russian warships.

A supersonic fighter versus a small boat may seem like an unfair fight, but the crews of Ukrainian boats usually carry ground-to-air missiles fired in the shoulder. In August, a Ukrainian crew hit a Russian Sukhoi fighter, apparently damaging it and forcing it to return to the base.

Despite the danger, do not be shocked to see more MiG-29KRs in the sky of Ukraine. Some of the Russian navy's MiG-29KR patrol the Russian Arctic, but most of the force - more than a dozen jets - may be available for wartime operations.

And it's not as if the MiGs need to board Kuznetsov anytime soon. Although the Kremlin optimistically projects that the aircraft carrier may return to the fleet this year, it is possible that the review will extend until 2025.

There is even a remote chance that Kuznetsov will never return to the fleet. The aircraft carrier has very little real combat power - perhaps too little to justify the risk that the crew must accept every time the geriatric ship sails.

The last time Kuznetsov unfolded off the coast of Syria to attack Syrian rebels in 2016, his air wing lost a MiG-29 and a Su-33 due to faulty detention equipment. The fleet leaders decided that Kuznetsov was not safe for flight operations before the planned overhaul and transferred its air wing - including the surviving MiGs - to an air base in Syria.

Source: Forbes

Tags: Military AviationMiG-29Kaircraft carrierWar Zones - Russia/Ukraine

Sharing

tweet

Fernando Valduga

Fernando Valduga

Aviation photographer and pilot since 1992, he has participated in several events and air operations, such as Cruzex, AirVenture, Dayton Airshow and FIDAE. He has works published in specialized aviation magazines in Brazil and abroad. He uses Canon equipment during his photographic work in the world of aviation.

Related news

MILITARY

Pentagon confirms start of serial production of the B-21 Raider stealth bomber

22/01/2024 - 21:59

MILITARY

B-1B bombers perform joint training with Singapore and Japan in the Indo-Pacific

22/01/2024 - 21:00

SAAB

Saab signs GlobalEye support contract with the United Arab Emirates

22/01/2024 - 19:27

HELICOPTERS

First KAI LAH helicopter will be delivered to the South Korean army this year

22/01/2024 - 17:00

ARMAMENTS

German Air Force reinforces arsenal with Brimstone missiles for its Eurofighters

22/01/2024 - 16:00

MILITARY

Denmark will buy long-range drones for surveillance operations in the Arctic

22/01/2024 - 14:00