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blazedgraysons · 3 years

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You're No Good - Ch. 2

C.J. Bennett is an overly ambitious student who dreams of shadowing her favorite author, Eli Jennings. The only thing standing in her way: Grayson Dolan.

warnings: this is a rough draft of a series i never finished. i'm posting the finished chapters before leaving this account. 🤍

part 1

If American Lit 1102 was C.J.’s personal hell, her job could at least be considered her own reprieve.

Sunnyside Vintage is an old shop off of Sunset, having been open for the last 30 years. It wasn’t the nicest of thrift stores — the clothes always have a weird mothball smell and everything is old - and not in the trendy way. C.J. loves it. The windows are huge, letting California sunlight wash the stucco walls gold, and the mannequins are always dressed straight out of the 70’s. The pay isn’t always great, but C.J. is allowed to take whatever she wants more than makes up for it in her eyes.

“I just don’t understand. I mean, Stevens has praised me this entire semester. She even told me personally he’s never had a student write as well as me nor pick up on the work as fast as I have. Wouldn’t that be qualities you’d want in an intern, Bea? Even Grayson Dolan would’ve been a better pick.” C.J. turns to her boss, angrily folding flared jeans.

Another reason C.J. loves Sunnyside — her boss, Beatrice “Bea” Walker. Once a glitzy soap star of the ’50’s, she retired with her husband and opened Sunnyside in the late 80’s. Despite being in her late-70s, she still holds on to the same glamour and charm that made her a household name a century prior.

“Maybe there was another reason. It could be something other then your application.” She croaks, lifting a pumpkin to place next to a costumed mannequin. As halloween rapidly approaches, the store was starting to transform to fit the fall season — hoping to draw in customers to purchase unique costumes for the holiday.

Before she can move to help Bea, the doors chime, signaling an entrance. Walking through with seemingly-glowing skin and a symphonic smile was Alexi, C.J.’s best friend and roommate. It’s hard to miss Alexi whenever she walks into a room — from her bleached-blue hair to eclectic style, she’s never been afraid to follow her own path, something C.J. has always admired. She walks straight to C.J., wrapping her in a loving embrace

“Are you okay? James told me what happened.” Alexi leaves an arm around her, and while C.J. knows it’s supposed to be comforting; all she can think about is how much she wants Alexi to leave. It’s one thing to rant to her elderly boss, someone who would love her in spite of her shortcomings and faults. But to know her own friend group has already heard about her misfortune, sending over someone to comfort and soothe, it was all just a little too pitiful for her to handle.

“Theta’s are throwing a party tonight. It’ll be the perfect pick-me-up, and you can forget all about Evans Jensen-“

“Eli Jennings” C.J. corrects.

“Whoever” Alexi rolls her eyes at the interruption, “is missing out on your incredible talent because of an idiotic professor’s incompetence. Everyone’s going and it won’t be the same without you, C.”

“As much as I would love that, Lex, I really just want to be alone tonight. Shitty beer, cheap Indian food, a sad movie so I don’t have to think about how these past four years have been a waste.”

“Not a waste, first of all. Look, I know that you’ve had this whole plan for your life since you popped out the womb, but shit happens, things change. This isn’t a failure, just think of it as a temporary setback. Plus, when life gives you lemons, you…” She trails off, waiting for C.J. to finish.

“Make lemonade?” She sighs.

“Use it to chase tequila.” Alexi giggles.

“I would go, but I have to close. Right, Bea?"

"Don't use me as an excuse. You should go, maybe find a boy to take home." Alexi makes a face at Beatrice's statement and C.J.'s face heats up.

“You’re going - no more buts. Wear something cute. Something that maybe doesn’t make if look like you were alive for Vietnam.” Alexi’s already leaving, kissing Beatrice lightly on the cheek on her way out.

This was how C.J. found herself standing outside the Theta Lambda frat house, October air chilling her through her jacket. She shifts her weight between her feet, surveying the small group around her. Alexi talks animatedly on the phone, asking for whoever to meet them out front.

A random person bumps into her, forcing her to spill the contents of her purse onto the dewey grass. C.J. groans, bending down to pick everything up while mentally thinking to herself all of the other things she could be doing right now.

A pair of dirty air forces steps in front of C.J. and she slowly looks up at the girl standing in front of her. She’s pretty, stunning actually. C.J. recognizes her immediately. Channing Williams - social chair of Rho Xi sorority and the key to all the best parties on campus. Dressed in a black romper and red velvet jacket, she’s everything C.J. isn’t and a quiet twinge of jealousy plucks her heart. ‘I bet she’s never lost out on an internship.’ she thinks bitterly.

“Sorry, do you know anyone?” Channing asks, voice soft and sweet with a clipboard in hand. C.J. looks at Alexi, waiting to hear her answer.

“Not really? I mean we know people, but we aren’t going to be on your clipboard or anything so if you could just let us slide through, I’m sure there’s someone here who could like vouch for us or something?” C.J. wants to slap her — not only did she drag her out in below-freezing weather, but she couldn’t even guarantee them a way inside.

“Well this is a greek-only party so unless you know anyone….” Channing trails off, not openly wanting to kick them out in front of so many people.

“That means no GDI’s.” C.J. didn’t even notice the miniature-sized freshman standing besides Channing. She clearly looks annoyed at the intrusion, keeping her from inside where everyone else is to deal with their little group. C.J. briefly wonders if the upturned stare is a requirement for Rho Xi or if that’s was just especially reserved for her.

“Geed’s?” Alexi repeats, raising an eyebrow.

“Goddamn independents. Y’know, not greek-affiliated.” At this point, C.J. is ready to call the whole night and retire in her bed when she see’s someone appear in between Channing.

“They’re cool, Chan. They’re with me.” Micayla Zhao enters, covered in glitter, sweat and what C.J. is almost sure to be a line of salt from a body shot. C.J. has always considered Micayla the only cool Rho Xi, having had multiple classes with her over the years. Micayla fit right in with their group: smart, beautiful and a wicked sense of humor.

Channing nods, seeming bored and just wanting to get back inside with everyone else. She does a quick finger tap with Micayla (sacred Rho Xi bullshit is what Alexi always calls it) and moving along the line.

“Are your sisters always that charming?” Micayla rolls her eyes, grabbing C.J. to move them through the house to the backyard. A huge bonfire is set up in the middle with a canopy near by for the designated drinking spot. She watches as Micayla confidently moves through the crowd, stopping from time to time to say hey to friends and classmates on the way.

“Most of the time. Look, they’re just possessive over tradition and the Rho-Theta party has always been major exclusive, Channing’s been fighting to make it open to outsiders.” Micayla yells over the thumping bass.

“Yeah, I’m sure they love all the GDI’s.” C.J. exaggerates her voice, pinching her nose to capture the nasally, valley accent Channing is almost famous for. Micayla stops, and had C.J. not been paying attention, she would’ve ran into her.

“Dude, you’re kind of being a bitch right now. Look, I get your bummed about your internship, but Channing wouldn't have let you in if she didn't want to. Would you rather be getting drunk, in your apartment alone?”

“Yeah, actually.” Micayla stares at C.J. for a second, looking like she’s about to bitch her out. As if Alexi can sense the fight forming, she grabs Micayla by the arm.

“Let’s go get a drink, you look like you need a drink in you.” They both walk towards the house, Alexi mouthing ‘Be Nice’ over her shoulder before disappearing completely. C.J. exhales, counting to 3 in her head before walking over to where drinks are set up.She fills up her solo cup, watching as the fizzy liquid moves closer and closer to the top. Before she can take a sip, someone bumps into her spilling half the drink over the side.

“Hey, watch it!” A thick Jersey accent exclaims, and C.J. groans, wondering if this night could get any worse.

“Bennett?”

Grayson appears in front of her, denim jacket over a black t-shirt and black jeans. She takes note of the dark spot growing on the front of his shirt, from where she spilt her drink.

“What’re you doing here?”

She simply shrugs, refilling the missing contents of her cup.“I didn’t know parties were your scene. I always imagined in your free time you’re in like a dark room, crying alone to Sylvia Plath novels.”

“Nice to know you think of me out of class, Grayson” C.J. takes a sip of her beer. She moves to walk away, hoping he would take it as an end of conversation.

"How'd you get in? Isn't this like Rho's only?" He asks, following her to the edge of the bonfire. She looks at him, watching as the light frames the features of his face.

"Couldn't I say the same about you? You're not a Theta." He just stares at her intensely until she relents, "Micayla Zhao got me in. Y'know her?"

"We had history together sophomore year. She helped me cheat on the midterms."

C.J. laughs shortly. "Sounds like her."

Grayson opens his mouth to speak again, but is cut off.

“As much as I’m enjoying this conversation, Grayson, don’t you have someone else to bother? Someone who, y’know, actually likes you?” If that comment bothered him, he didn’t show it, continuing talking to her as if they haven’t pissed each other off continuously for the past four years.

“What do you think about Michael Eichler getting the internship spot?” He asks. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she didn’t get the spot, now she has to sit and rub salt in the wound with her worst enemy.

“What’s there to think about? He got it, I didn’t. Fucking sucks.” He laughs, holding up his own drink.

“Cheers to that.” They both clink cups, and C.J. briefly wonders if the universe is still laughing at her.

"You know, that spot should've gone to one of us." He muses, watching the partygoers continue to stumble around them. He doesn't say anything after that, and she bites.

"Why should it have gone to one of us?"

"Well, think about it. We're both the top of our class, and I know for a fact Stevens has submitted your writing to collegiate magazines. There's no fucking way Michael fucking Eichler should've got that spot over one of us." C.J. pauses. She had known that Stevens appreciated her writing, but not enough to submit it anywhere. If what Grayson was saying was true, why hadn't she gotten the apprenticeship?

"Nothing I can really do about it now. He got the spot, I didn't. I guess I can become a second rate author now." She takes another sip, and Grayson snorts unattractively.

"I'm sure you'll be okay, Bennett. If Stevens like you, I'm sure there's another author dumb enough to want to publish your work too." She glares at him.

"And here I thought we were becoming friends."

"As if you actually would've wanted to become friends with me."

"Oh yeah, that's what I do in between my Sylvia Plath crying sessions. Desperately wish that Grayson Dolan would become my best friend." Sarcasm drips off every word and he looks at her before taking another long sip of his drink.

“You know you’re actually kinda cool, Bennett. When you’re not trying to bite my head off in the middle of lecture”

“Maybe if you didn’t have such shitty takes, I wouldn’t want too.” Whatever retort Grayson was planning falls from his lips when Channing appears by his side, tucking herself underneath his arm.

"Hey, Gray. I got you another drink." Two Coronas hang from her manicured hand, and he whispers inaudibly to her, giggling between the two of them. C.J. begins to feel awkward, and coughs uncomfortably.

“Oh, you’re the GDI from earlier,” Channing looks up at her half-lidded, dark eyelashes framing red-tinged brown eyes.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Channing shifts her weight, biting her lip and feeling like an intruder. "I didn't know you two knew each other?" C.J. supplies, feeling desperate for conversation

"Gray and I had math together freshman year, "They both stare at each other awkwardly, silent tension as they wait for the other to speak.

“So, I’m gonna go." She speaks.

“No, you don’t have to." Channing is already turned back to Grayson, looking like she wouldn't mind C.J.'s exit.

“No it’s fine” Neither Grayson nor Channing seem to protest anymore, and C.J. turns back to see her friends looking at her, both amused and curious at her interaction with the duo. She begins to walk towards them, feet and heart sinking with every step, not feeling any better about her current predicament.

“Hey Bennett,” She turns around to face Grayson. “Think about what I said. About the internship stuff” She just nods, and leaves the pair. The moment she reaches her initial group, Alexi pulls her towards them.

“You and Dolan were just talking and it didn't end in a screaming match. That’s new. What did he want?”

“Nothing. Just typical Grayson Dolan bullshit."Alexi looks like she doesn't believe her, and frankly C.J. doesn't believe herself. She thinks back to what Grayson said, about how they were the only real competition for the apprenticeship. Whatever he meant by that could be handled tomorrow.

"C’mon. Didn’t you say something earlier today about tequila shots?” She asks

“Atta, girl. That’s what I’m talking about.” She lets Alexi drag her away, sparing one last look at Grayson before entering the fraternity house.

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rokutouxei · 3 years

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the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 8 OF 22

And how impossible it still is: to train the heart to sit. - "The Kindest Thing She Almost Did", Blythe Baird

The College of Arts’ student council has rotating schedules on who gets to organize the university-famous Halloween party. This year, it was the Literature Department and the Film Department that paired up to choose a theme, decorate, and make sure the party is getting smoothly—and the very specific, not-required but entirely funny, theme this year was “Film or Book that you’d love to be turned spooky, but isn’t exactly spooky.”

This is why she thought of coming in as characters from the Night Circus. The black and white stripes matched with red really gives off a very Halloween vibe to begin with, but all the circus-y magic that goes on in the book itself also makes it very viable for the spooky vibes.

She’s now standing in front of the College of Arts’ event hall, where the event is set to happen. She tugs at the locks of hair dangling at the side of her face, the ones she couldn't get to obey her planned updo, even with all the bobby pins.

There's something about scavenging a costume on your own that is so nerve-wracking. There's something more when you're portraying a character from a book someone introduced to you. It feels like it's a duty to get it right. She couldn’t find any entirely matching dresses in the thrift stores she went to, so this was the best she could do: some sort of modern but 1890s-inspired fortune teller mash-up of a costume. The dress was fashioned out of this dizzying deep blue-black velvet fabric, with little speckles of silver glitter like stars across it; she wore a striped black and white petticoat underneath it to give it some volume since the dress ended around the knees. She’d re-sewn the sleeves and the neckline to be similar to that of the era, revealing a nice V along her back and a nice, wide boat collar. Then, she’s put on a small, decorative hat with some red flowers on the corner of her head, and then draped a sheer black scarf with little rosy red designs on the ends over her shoulders. Then she put on some knee-high lace-up boots to add a little grunge to the entire attire. Lastly, she had a few Rider-Waite tarot cards in her pocket (The Chariot and Temperance) just for the vibe of it.

(All this costume preparation was really to wind herself down after submitting her initial requirements to the scholarship selection committee earlier that week.)

Just as she begins to spiral in her thoughts, “Sorry I’m late,” she hears Theo’s familiar voice call out, and she looks up from staring at her shoes and gasps out loud.

Theo’s wearing his hair a little curlier than usual, a lightly-tinted pair of green contacts on his eyes and—as he’s promised—a well-tailored suit, in black and white and red, to suit the general aesthetic of the circus itself. She figured he would come in a suit, but—she wasn’t expecting him to take the extra effort with the hair and the eyes, either. She could even see the little silhouette of a journal peeking from underneath his jacket—he’s obviously prepared even to the smallest details! Maybe, maybe he does look like the Marco in her head. Just a little. Maybe if his hair was darker. She finds herself staring at him for a ridiculous amount of time, so much so that he has to cough to get her attention again.

"The green eyes look lovely on you," she comments softly, hand curling up to gently press his finger at his cheekbone near instinctively, allowing her to observe his eyes better. Theo feels himself flinch in surprise, but he does not pull back.

"Thank you, grey-green was a very specific color."

She nods. "I do prefer your usual blue though." Her hand falls back to her side. "Too bad I can't magic it back?"

"You see it blue all the time. Stop complaining when this was your idea," Theo says, but he offers his arm anyway.

"So sour," she pouts. "How unbecoming of you, Mister Alisdair," she says, as she slides her arm into his.

Theo only snorts; he does not hide the half-smirk. "Only to match you, Miss Martin."

The event hall is lavishly decorated in some sort of spooky, old vampire mansion vibes, with all the matching spiders and fake candles. It is a little silly to see the DJ on the far end of the hall, with his set-up on top of what seemed like a desk older from three centuries ago. The caterers set up the food on a buffet table—also beautifully decorated, how many fine arts majors did the production team get to bully into helping them out?—to get it ready before dinner at six.

But the bar—the bar is open.

“Do you drink?” she asks casually, already one foot towards the bar.

He takes a nervous gulp she pretends not to notice. “Not a lot,” he answers.

“Then a glass will be alright. I told Arthur we’d meet at the bar. Come on!”

Because her college stupidly attempts to seem puritan, official drink menus are not allowed to actually say out loud that they contain hard liquor, so instead have really creative names. This time, they are references to different, random books and films, with fine-print descriptions of what it is. She orders a glass of Pride and Prejudice and Theo gets a serving of Kafka on the Shore. Both of them had just received their drinks when her phone begins to ring, and with a short excuse me she heads to a quieter part of the room and answers the call.

“Dazai?”

“Hello, Toshiko-san. I’m waiting outside the hall, but you’ve entirely forgotten that I haven’t actually met who I’m bringing in.”

Oh! “Well, I told him to wait on a stone bench there… Dark blue-ish hair, blue eyes, a mole on the side of his lip? He responds to ‘Arthur’.”

“‘Responds?’ Are your bookstore friends all a bunch of dogs?”

“Well, this drools at the sight of meat,” you say, unapologetically. “I didn’t see him there yet when I was still out, but—”

She hears a shuffle from the other side of the line, and Arthur’s familiar voice through the phone, a small “Hello, could you be Dazai?” and her friend’s very, very meaningful pause—she can almost see Dazai looking Arthur up and down—before he answers, “Yes, and you must be Arthur.”

The phone call ends and she grins for only a half a moment before realizing what she’d done.

She walks ever so slowly back to the bar, letting it sink in. But once she’s got her glass in her hand, she downs it in one go, surprising both the bartender and Theo. She shakes her head and then sits back down on the stool, half-laughing.

“Something happen?” Theo asks.

She groans. “I may have made a mistake with Arthur.”

Theo takes a sip of his drink, just the littlest bit smug. “Everything is a mistake if Arthur is involved.”

“I didn’t think he’d—”

“Hello, lovebirds,” says the devil, Arthur coming up behind them with—

With Dazai glued to his hip.

She’s known Dazai for a few years at this point, and because they’ve known each other for so long, there are little things she knows Dazai does that may not seem obvious to the onlooker.

First: Dazai is not fond of touching, but he is rather great at tolerating it. It usually takes a few months before Dazai is fine with being touched by someone. Even she took around half a year before Dazai would allow her to hug him freely. When he’s being touched by someone he does not particularly like, he clenches his hands and fits them into his pockets, so it’s not as noticeable.

Observer’s note: Arthur’s got his hand around Dazai’s waist. Dazai’s hands are wide open, resting at his hip.

Second: Dazai is also good at having his practiced smile. He says he practices it in the mirror, did it every day for a year until it became natural to him; it looks genuine and otherwise believable, that is, if you haven’t seen his actual smile. And even if you have, sometimes it’s still hard to tell. His actual, genuine smile, that goes up to his eyes, crinkling the sides of it, and he flushes sometimes too; it’s so wide it reveals the little dimple on his cheek.

Observer’s note: Dazai’s dimple is very, very visible right now.

Third: Dazai has this thing where the longer he considers a person, the less he becomes attracted to them, for some reason, even if the extended thinking time only makes him feel like they’re a better match by the second. Dazai is only genuinely, passionately, instantly attracted to people he knows will pose him some sort of danger and excitement.

Observer’s note: Dazai met Arthur today.

She bites back the groan that’s bubbling out her throat and grins. “Hello, Arthur, Dazai. Having fun?”

“Where’d you been hiding this cutie all this time?” Arthur teases, squeezing Dazai closer to him. “Much fun now that he’s here. I see you’ve started drinking ahead of us.”

“Just a little,” she says. “Shall we find a table?”

The four of them choose a table in the middle of the chaos—Arthur’s suggestion—somewhere midway the bar and buffet. The tables are for six, and the number makes her remember.

“I couldn’t get Isaac to come.”

Dazai shakes his head. “I told you he said he wasn’t interested. Must be working overtime like he usually does.” He nods towards her direction. “Good attempt, though.”

She frowns. “He should really let loose sometimes… I know he’s good at what he does, but a little, one-night-a-year party isn’t going to hurt him is it?”

“Ohoho, what’s this, have another cute friend I have to know?” Arthur interrupts.

Dazai taps Arthur’s nose gently and she wants to vomit. What has she done. “Isaac Newton, a Ph.D. student from the physics department. Too serious for his own good.”

Surprise fills Arthur’s face. “My, isn’t that Newt? Teaches classes sometimes?” She and Dazai nod. “Small world!”

“Next year we’re really finding a way to drag him in,” she says.

To which Dazai laughs, “you won’t be here next year, Toshiko-san.”

There’s a small sliver of silence that settles in between them, just long enough to be felt but not for the conversation to come to an abrupt halt. It makes Theo flinch a little.

“Then it’s up to you guys, isn’t it?” she takes her second glass of literary cocktail—she doesn’t even know what’s in this one, just pointed at the menu, it was titled Wolf Totem—and downs half of it in one go.

“Maybe if a girl came around to bring him, he’d be more persuadable,” Arthur teases, “Look at my chap Theo over here.”

“So you’re Theo, huh?” Dazai purrs. She throws a glare at him that goes ignored. “Nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Theo only nods as a response and she takes the chance to get the conversation back in a direction that makes her a little safer from their teasing. “But no, really, Isaac? Coming for a girl? You don’t know him at all, Arthur.”

“Oh, even the toughest guys fall back to romance, don’t they, Theo?”

Theo throws a glare towards Arthur; it is shrugged off as the newly-formed suddenly-a-couple laughs in unison.

Despite the ruckus, the four of them still have some good fun at the party. Arthur Arthur’s non-stop insisting that they play the party games has them rewarded with many things: a stupid award here or there, minuscule amounts of cash that could be used in the future for dine-outs, and even a nice bottle of high-end “water”—it was definitely vodka, the organizers just couldn’t announce it out loud. She and Dazai had to stand up a couple of times to go meet their college-mates in their department, but the four of them stayed mostly together until past dinner—that is until the dance music started to rev up, getting ready for the long night ahead.

“Excuse the two of us, we’re going to do some actual dancing, like people do at parties to have fun,” Arthur says, but his face is already littered in glitter from the poppers and his face is dusted pink from all the alcohol. Obviously, dancing isn’t required to have fun at all. Taking Dazai’s hand like a gentleman, sliding his arm around the other man’s waist, Arthur makes a comical bow to which she makes a face. The two disappear into the crowd of people dancing on the dance floor, and the sight of them so obsessed with each other makes her lean back on her chair to take a sip on her—fifth? Sixth? Ah, who is counting?—nth glass of alcohol.

Wary of being the killjoy, Theo gently asks, “Don’t you want to dance?”

“I mean… you don’t want to, do you?” she asks, facing him properly, glass still in hand. “I just felt like it’d be great to hang out with you here and if you’re not up for dancing…”

“If you want to we should go.”

“I’m not going if you’re forcing yourself to.”

“No, I’m not, so—”

“Theo, sit down!” she says, laughing. The alcohol’s given her skin a beautiful pink flush, and her smiles have turned wider, more relaxed. “It’s okay, I promise. Just sit here and drink your—drink. It’s just nice to have company.”

He nods as she turns back to watching the crowd. A smile still settles on her face as she watches the mass of people dancing and shouting to the music. Theo asks, “Do you always go here with someone?”

She shrugs, taking another sip from her glass. “I came alone the first time, and then the next I went with Dazai. He’s pretty popular—when he’s alone, without anyone slung on him, you know? Lots of people dance with him.”

“And you?”

“Me?” she asks, forehead wrinkling. “I’m normal. I sit and drink until my liver begs me to stop. And then dance until my legs beg me to stop when I’m drunk enough.”

He scoffs, but only in that friendly way of defeated acceptance. “Sounds like fun.”

“So much more fun with you around though,” she asserts, tilting her glass to him. “Cheers?”

“For what?”

And she’s quiet for a moment, before she raises her glass again, saying, “To friendship and literature, of course.”

Theo thinks that’s good enough. They clink their glasses gently and then drink.

For the slightest of moments, Theo considers asking the one question that had been on his mind since she invited him to the party. Preparing the clothes to wear to the event only made his curiosity even stronger, but at the same time, he didn’t feel like he had the right to ask. Theo feels content sitting in his uncertainty, the mystery of it hanging in the air.

But the alcohol has made him a little more courageous.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot!”

“Why didn’t you go as Celia?”

It’s common for a pair of people to attend a costume party in matching outfits with characters that are paired as well. Celia is Marco’s natural pair in the book. Isobel is not. Why didn’t she go as Celia? Theo would not have minded if she did. Celia was fiery and romantic and could see through Marco’s every disguise.

And Isobel longed and longed and never got what she wanted.

“I kind of felt for Isobel, you know?” she answers, in that hesitant way that makes the asker wonder if it’s because of the embarrassment or because of the half-lie. “She was running away, after all. Didn’t you say that was what I was so fixated on?”

And Isobel is only the circus because she was the way for Marco to get to who he loved. Even before he knew who he loved.

“Wouldn’t have expected that from you,” Theo remarks, taking out his little Marco-journal to dust it away idly. “You seem like the type who always feels extensively for the protagonists.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, but then, suddenly, her eyes widen brightly. She puts down her glass and quickly swipes the journal Theo kept with him before pulling him up by the wrist. “C’mon, let’s do the photo booth?”

“What?” Theo staggers up. Why so suddenly? “Who’ll watch over the table?”

She places her little hat on the table. “That’ll save it, let’s go.”

Theo can feel his pulse thrumming under his wrist where she’s holding on to him. Theo does not have the will to argue as she drags him to the makeshift studio on the far end of the hall. Instead, he focuses on her—the way her hair’s held up in an intricate braided bun on her head, the fall of her dress over her shoulders, the feeling of his hand around his arm.

She’s such a weird girl, he thinks.

When they get to the end of the line—a short one, bless the universe—she takes out the two tarot cards in her pocket and hands them to him.

“Switch props for the photo,” she explains.

When they get to the photo booth, they opt for two photos; one for her to keep, and another for Theo. They don't even bother with the poses, both half-drunk, holding up their character props as the cameraman fixes the shot. She settles, standing by his side, arms twined, head leaning toward him as the camera flashes once. And Theo can’t help himself when he turns to face her because of that, and before he knows it—the camera flashes once more.

She’s too far into her drinks to have time to think why Theo’s so concerned about seeing the photos first and choosing which one he wants to keep for himself.

It is just a little past midnight when she, Theo, Arthur, and Dazai hop out of the hall. She insisted that it would be better to wait until the end of the night before leaving—making most of the ticket, or something—and the most that they had gotten out of that was a free coupon to a fast-food chain.

That, and this:

She’s half-slung over Theo when she yells at Arthur and Dazai, who are very obviously becoming a little too comfortable with each other, handsy as they huddle together. She shouts: “Jesus, guys, get off each other!”

“Hmm? Right now? Sure, we’d love to, if you don’t mind—”

“NO! NO NOT LIKE THAT!” she yells, pushing away from Theo to nudge Arthur away from Dazai. The new lovebirds just laugh mildly at each other as she huffs and frowns, falling back into step next to Theo. “Oh god, I’ve made the worst mistake of my life.”

“Best mistake of my life,” Dazai says with a slurred laugh, leaning against Arthur. She makes a gagging motion, to which Theo snorts.

Relative to everyone else’s lodging in the university, the van Goghs’ apartment is the one closest to the hall, so the four of them make their way to it, drunk feet stumbling on uneven pavements all the way there. Arthur and Dazai are walking ahead of them—Theo doesn’t know how Arthur knows where he lives, not when he’s never brought him there; that’s a question for a more sober time—and she and Theo walk side-by-side a few feet behind.

She’s not entirely drunk, no, but she’s a little closer to drunk than tipsy, and it shows when she speaks. “Did you have fun today, Theo?” she asks, ignoring the little misstep her conversation has cost her.

Theo has his hands in his pockets, but they’re only seconds away from grabbing her by the arm to steady her. Any minute now. “It was okay.”

She grins. “Great! That’s all I want.” She looks back up in front of them, and Arthur throws one glance upon hearing their conversation, but then quickly looks away. “It’s kinda, uuuuh,” she squints, the words lost. “Different, to hang out with you with ‘thur and ‘zai around.”

See, this is exactly why Theo capped himself off at three drinks. Look—he’s long accepted his less than average tolerance, but to have to babysit a group of drunk college kids… “Bad different?”

“Nuh-uh,” she says. “Jus’ different. Used to only us. ‘t’s nice being alone with ya.”

I don’t want to take care of a drunk you on my own, she hears in her head, and she isn’t quite sure if Theo had actually said it or if it was just a figment of her imagination.

Soon enough, the four of them stumble onto the van Gogh’s front porch, Theo just not-drunk enough to get the key in through the hole. With a click, the four of them are greeted by the bright light of the living room. Arthur must have been the one that hissed. They stagger in, Dazai slamming onto the sofa, Arthur right after him, and she, heading to the refrigerator for some water.

Theo disappears for a moment to check on Vincent in the studio and to tell him that he’s brought his unfortunate group of friends to sober up, and it’s a good thing the drunkards aren’t around with him because the brightness of Vincent’s smile would have knocked them right out.

“I’ll go take a shower,” Theo announces to no one in particular, shouting down the hall as he disappears into his shared bedroom with Vincent. She tries not to think of what that would look like, blaming her wandering thoughts on the alcohol. She’s about on her second glass of water when she spots Vincent headed to the kitchen.

She beams. “Vin-ny~” she reaches out to him and Vincent catches her before she falls.

“Did you have fun at the party?” Vincent asks, half-laughing, as he helps her to sit on the counter—which was what she was trying to do. “How much did you drink?”

She raises her hands up to her face and tries to count, fully knowing she stopped counting after the second glass. “Enough to make me happy,” she answers instead, smiling dumbly at the older van Gogh. “Theo was so grumpy.”

“He was so excited to go, though,” Vincent says, standing next to her. Of course he has no qualms ratting on his younger brother like that. “You should have seen him, preparing for his costume. Did he look just as you imagined?”

“…And better,” she admits, before taking a sip of the water again to sober up a little more. The ice in the glass is helping her brain to chill. “I’m not sure if he had fun, though. I feel kind of bad.”

Vincent hums. “He looks like he had fun. He wouldn’t have brought you guys here otherwise.”

“You think so?” she asks, eyes wide. The blond man laughs.

“I know so.”

By the time Theo comes out of the shower, he’s a little more dressed down, in jeans and a button-up shirt. He looks at Arthur and Dazai, both already long out like a light on the couch, and sighs.

“I suppose you’re sleeping here too,” he asks, looking toward her. She shoots him an awkward grin.

“She can sleep on my bed,” Vincent offers, but Theo shakes his head.

“She can sleep on mine. You sleep on your bed tonight, Vincent. I can sleep in the studio. I’ll just pass by the drugstore a few blocks down for some…” he frowns at Arthur and Dazai, “…Ibuprofen, for tomorrow.”

“Take care on your way out,” Vincent answers, taking a scan at Theo up and down to see if he’s sober enough to go out. Theo really didn’t drink a lot—purposefully, he knew this was going to happen—so he’s standing pretty straight. He nods and makes his way out, the door closing with a gentle click.

After that, she slouches next to Vincent, like she was just holding herself up to seem a little put together for Theo. Vincent pats her on the head gently, like a little child.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

She sniffles a little, looking down at her shoes. “I was just thinking h’much I’ll miss this.”

“Are you going away?”

“Maybe,” she says, idly. “I want to. Don’t want to. Want to.”

Vincent smiles, the kind of disappointed-but-not-surprised, non-judgmental, gentle smile of an older brother one would give to a younger sibling. Carefully, he hooks her arm around his shoulders, saying, “C’mon, let’s get you to bed,” as he leads her to his shared room with Theo. She is pliant in his arms, legs wobbling but still planted with a balance onto the floor.

The costume she’s in doesn’t look entirely too comfortable to sleep in, so he offers her a loose shirt and some sweatpants to change into. It takes her two minutes too long to fumble into them, but right before he begins to get worried that she’s gotten stuck in the fabric, she knocks at the door to tell Vincent she’s done. He walks in with a glass of water.

“One last before you sleep,” he says, assisting her in drinking. “I hope you don’t have a headache tomorrow.”

But she’s intoxicated, and her brain doesn’t follow along with Vincent, so as she’s drinking the water her eyes are wandering the walls, where various canvases are hung. All of them are Vincent’s, and most of them are unframed, and perhaps have never been seen by anyone besides Vincent and Theo. Once the glass is empty, she turns to Vincent with a glazed look in her eye.

“Do you think there’s going to be something greater for us outside of this place?”

He blinks, taken off guard. She has officially transitioned from clingy, whiny drunk, to having an existential crisis, philosophical drunk. He only laughs lightly, placing the glass on the bedside table as he coaxes her into bed, tucking her under the blanket.

“I sure do hope so.”

#the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart #ikemen vampire #ikevamp theo

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pbandjesse · 4 years

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We are sitting in the car waiting for James to get his bike all attached to the back. Which is taking a little while but that's okay. I'm just really tired. We just finished dinner with his family again and it was excellent and a lot of fun. But we did a lot today and I am just really looking forward to sleep.

I did sleep okay last night. But I heard everyone awake around 9 so I got up too.

To find that the water was turned off. Because one of the water heaters in the building broke. Dang. So I washed my face and brushed my teeth with my water bottle.

I felt pretty good. James and Jess were having coffee. And James had scones baking for us. I finished getting dressed. And soon Jess was sitting with me and we were doing our makeup together. It was fun.

Eventually we headed out and walked over to the café for real breakfast.

And it was good. And I am glad we have two nice cafés in walking distance. But mostly I was just really happy to be with Jess. I'm sad she's going home tomorrow because this weekend has been excellent.

Once we were done with breakfast we headed back to the house to get the car.

Off to the thrift stores we went. They were calling for snow but it only lasted a few minutes once we were inside and then it was just horrible rain. But that was okay.

I had an interaction that upset me a little though and could have dampened my whole day but I saved it. Through kindness. Me and Jess were looking at stuff and went over to the toys and another girl our age was looking took and she found a baby furby. And I was so upset I didn't find it first but excited for her. And her boyfriend came over and was like I saw that! And I said to them it's a lamb baby and they are my favorite and if you don't get it I will. And he said they are trying to fix some furbies right now and I was like that's so cool. And was trying to be positive but then she shot me a look and was putting off this vibe like she was upset with me. Like I was trying to take that furby from her. And I wasnt! I was just excited. So we walked away.

But then I was sad. And Jess went to look at shirts while I looked at coats. But I was sad and trying to shake it.

But I told Jess why I was sad and shook it off best I could and we went to look at dressed.

We loaded up this cart. Just everything we even only kind of liked went in the cart. It was hilarious. I went around the corner to the other dresses and there the girl who got the furby was. And I decided to reach out and have a conversation. Turns out she sells nostalgic 80s and 90s toys on ebay! And I told her about my Instagram and now we follow each other. And I told her if she posts furbies I'll make a post about it! It was so nice and it made me feel 1000% better.

Once me and Jess decided we had enough things we went to the dressing room. Jess went first and I organized the cart so our stuff was easier to grab. She tried on some ridicules things I picked out for her. And many just silly things she found. But she found some stuff she looked beautiful in and it was just really fun to see what she found. I tried things on a lot quicker even though I had about the same amount of stuff. I ended up getting a couple dresses and skirts. But my main great find of the day was an LL Bean jacket in light blue that I am so obsessed with. Im going to wear it tomorrow. It was a maybe at first and I actually put it back because its a little big. But I couldnt stop thinking about it and it was only $7.

The line to check out was very long. So we wandered around for a while longer. Jess found this really neat faux antique mirror but it would have been a huge production to get it to New York. So after much hemming and hawing it was left. But I did find a kneeling chair and I have wanted one for as long as I can remember so that was a well spent $15. We spent a good amount of money but we got so much stuff. Including 2 really great pairs of shoes. One are beetle boots in blue velvet with buttons, and the other are leather shoes with sherpa interior that spills out and they are while but incredible. Im really jazzed about them.

We finished up there and it was raining. But we got to the car in one piece and headed to the small goodwill down the street. I do not like this goodwill. I find them rude. But we each got one good thing. She got a bottle shaped like a fish and I got those hand gripper exercise things I wanted. But I got really upset because there was an amazing vintage suitcase I wanted to buy that didnt have a price ad that goodwill wont just go to the back and find out and they have signs about it all over. And I was just really bummed. And they were like. Well you could try again tomorrow. And my feelings are this store, of all the good wills Ive been too, has the highest amount of unpriced stuff I have seen. And they wont sell it without a price! But they also wont put a price on it. Like guys. You are just wasting everyones time. You continue to be the worst goodwill. It sucks.

So I just felt upset and wanted to go. We wanted a snack so off we went to the amish market. Except somehow I chose the wrong one? this was not the one I had been to before. It was very strange. But we did find one and I got a pretzel and she got a pickle and it was nice to walk around for a coupe minutes before we were back on the road.

We went to the other goodwill. But honestly I was a little burnt out on shopping. I didnt want to look at anymore clothes. She did get a pretty excellent planter and I got an amazing 4 set of plates shaped like sea shells. They are great. But thats all we got. And that was just fine.

We went to a diner for a late lunch. It was so cute and chrome. My favorite type of diner. The food was good but alll very hot. And I was starting to get tired.

We were about to be on our way home when I remeberd one of the things I wanted to accompish today was getting more snails and maybe a second frog and a heater. So we tried a pet store near where we were. No luck. So into Towson we went where we had great luck. I got 3 black snails. The same kind as my white ones. And a heater. No frog but as soon as we got home and got everything inside I put the snails in the tank and its like a switch was turned on in the frog.

He starts swimming around. And the snails werent all the way out of their shells yet but he was just sitting and as soon as they started moving he started moving. And now they are all motering around in the tank and I am so excited. He seems so much happier now. And the tank is already free of old worms and food. This is great.

Me and Jess sat in the living room taking tags off. And figuring out where James was. I knew he was with his friend but we were going ice skating and wasnt sure if we were waiting for him.

But we ended up going and meeting him there and it was a blast. It was so nice skating with Jess and we took pictures and I just had a really good time. James got upset after we left because he somehow lost a glove. But I keep telling him its okay. But hes mad at himself. I wish he wasnt but it happens.

We all left there and had dinner with his family again. Very expensive weekend! But the food and company was lovely. We were there until like 1030 and we were also celebrating James's mom's birthday and it was just really good. I felt really happy. But also really tired.

But once we went back to the park to get his bike we headed home. Which is where Im finishing this post. Jess just got a shower and I am going to do that next. I am very happy but also very sleepy. And tomorrow is another day. I hope you all sleep great. Have a wonderful night. Pray for snow.

#ootd #day off #friend #jess #ice skating #happy #thrift stores #saturday

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fightevilandthengetblownup · 4 years

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FIC: The Magpie's Store

---

Jo knew she’d been accused of it several times. That she’d been told that she was a thief. That she was a hoarder, a collector. That she was a magpie slowly pinching and storing away things. And Jo knew it wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

It wasn’t so much that she took things - that she went out of her way to find a specific item, or that she would nab whatever it was that took her fancy - but more that she found herself acquiring things. A great many things in the form of gifts and presents, some in the form of discarded pieces that no one would miss or ones that no one asked for back.

Her jewelry box was filled with them. Or perhaps that was the wrong title for it, but the velvet-lined base of the box and the many drawers in its three tiers held many an item that belonged there and some that didn’t.

---

The top drawer - the one that was opened most frequently and that she always asked her lover to retrieve this or that from when they would go out - was the most easily explainable items. Things that were not surprising for her to have and that held both items of sentimental and items of non-sentimental value.

It was where she’d deposited her so-called ‘sparkles’. The earrings and necklace that held gems she had never bothered to investigate the validity of. The set that had been an unintentional gift but despite the usual tricks of a Trickster vanishing in due course, these never seemed to disappear without a trace. Always where she’d leave them or he’d place them gently, frequently taken out and infrequently cared for in the way that other items that housed inside the little tower were.

Those were joined by the bright sunflower earrings that were a new favorite of hers, the backs of them pressed and held in the folds alongside their sparklier competitors. Those came out much more regularly than other items, slipped on and worn before being tucked away carefully.

Alongside them were her little pink compact mirror that she would slide into her purse for their Date Nights and her favorite ‘special’ lipstick - the thick red color that was bright enough to match her cheeks each time she would leave a trail down the pale, lean expanse of chest and leave a band like a brand around him. There was the pink tube as well that his sister complained didn’t match her complexion and Jo snatched up for herself, and the small foundation pad she used to use to cover her bite marks but now only the odd blemish rather than to disguise her scars anymore.

There were other items in there as well - the odd necklace with her initials or other pendants like pearls or golden circles, a small collection of rings that ranged from small golden vines to silver bands wrapped around one another, and the odd bracelet she’d bought on a whim - but most of those came and went, replaced or removed over time while those earrings and her shiniest baubles remained.

---

The second drawer held the less auspicious trinkets she’d collected but ones that she couldn’t bear to throw away as of yet. Ones that she barely remembered where and how she’d gotten them, others that she knew exactly where and who she’d received them from.

The delicate silver chain was curled in one corner. It had been taken off so long ago, and yet she couldn’t make the move to remove it from her collection altogether. Its little teardrop had rested so perfectly against the tip of her palm when she used to wear it, where she could just feel the cold touch of it with her fingertips to calm her back then. It had been hardly any time before she took it off, hardly any time that she had worn it - the gift an apology to her for the demon’s actions. The actions that were so inconsequential in the face of the actions he’d taken after then. An apology she barely got to acknowledge before he’d done much, much worse.

It had been lost for some time - she had even forgotten all about it during the worst of his crimes - but when she’d found it again, tucked into the inside pocket of a leather jacket she hadn’t worn for ages, Jo had stared for a long moment before placing it away in her little jewelry tower. Jo hadn’t given in to the flash of anger that had wanted to throw it into the trashcan instead. She also hadn't given in to the flash of an idea to wrap it around her wrist again.

Alongside it was a tube of lipstick she didn’t use any more. It didn’t suit her, she didn’t think. The color too dark, too rich, too then. She’d stopped wearing it after the last time it was smeared across her lips and chin with the equally dark but different smear from the foot to her face. It had been the first color she’d picked up upon getting back, but it had brought her nothing but bad luck - first the slew of nameless men she barely remembered mussing it, then the shadow and everything that came after. But the packaging was pretty, and she often found herself wanting to try it again. So far, it had been wiped off hastily with the back of her hand.

Among the odd heart-shaped rock and a few dried flowers that sat in the tray alongside them was also a strand of pearls that, if asked what they meant to her, Jo couldn’t give a real reason for the importance behind them. They weren’t hers, but they were special to the hunter who gave them to her to keep a hold of. Bobby had been excessively drunk that weekend when she stopped by on her way back from a shifter case en route past his. He’d been drunker than she’d ever seen him, and half the things he had said were stories she had never heard before. The pearls had been shoved into her hand with a look she remembered starkly, sharp and painful, from the last time she’d seen him before the run on the devil. He’d asked her to hold onto them for him. He told her that she was as close to a daughter as he was ever going to have around a hiccup. That he wanted someone to wear them again one day.

---

The bottom drawer though she barely opened unless it was to place something new in there. She didn’t open it for access like the first, or to reflect on things like the second. The bottom drawer was for the things she couldn’t get rid of but were just too painful to brush against or that she knew she’d be better off without.

One side of the drawer was taken up with a stack of Polaroids. Ones that she didn't have ticked away in her hunter's folder, ones that she didn't have in a photo album or hanging in a group frame around the house. They were snaps of those she didn't want someone to stumble upon, an array of photos that she needed for herself and herself only. They weren't like the naughty ones she'd taken and gifted at Christmas. Though the very top one was from Christmas day itself - with all her favorite people crowded together in front of the tree. Bobby had had an arm over the top of Shada's shoulder, while Dean and Sam had been ribbing at one another, and front and center with that smile that made her heartache with love was Grey. The others underneath though were all murky, dark photos taken in the bar with the same dark shadowy background and dim lighting but always with her smiling face and whoever else was in the photo. Her and Harry sticking their tongues out, Rufus' lips pursed and grouchy in the face of her grin, there was even one of the redhead she didn't even think of anymore with anything but disdain.

Beside them was the handle that had been something she found on the street on her way away from that cursed thrift store. It had been black and almost hidden in the small stubble of grass that marred the base of the post, but something in the shape right outside the hardware store caught her eye. Jo had picked it up, under the watchful and bored eye of the demon, and had almost dropped it feeling the engraving under her thumb. It went straight in her pocket, and she’d almost cried the moment she was alone and the shiny metal still held her father’s initials and was as bright and gleaming as it had always been. The blade had been sharp enough to cut at the mere press of her thumb, and she’d sucked on her finger like a child as she sat down on the hotel bed that the Scotsman had set up for her. It had felt like her life had really returned to her, having the little pigsticker back, like the missing piece that made Joanna Beth Harvelle real again was back.

Right beside that charred handle was a tiny piece of paper, equally darkly stained in the intricate pattern Jo could barely remember any more. It was smudged now, from how long it had spent crumpled in her purse until slowly the fear that maybe she would need it on hand had slowly faded. The day she moved that into the small drawer had felt like the weight of her fears had lifted just a little more, it had been on an ordinary day but as Grey'd kissed her cheek and swung her hand in his on the walk with Nana to get a late-night coffee and it had fallen out of her purse as she got the change out. Her love had handled it to her and asked if it was important and that had been the moment she knew it wasn't anymore. But she couldn't throw it away. One day she might need it.

The last of the items tucked away in that drawer, right at the back, was one she knew that would be almost as hard as the banishing symbol to explain just why she had it. The shiny surface, beautifully etched mother of pearl and the thin silver of the blade’s back was all that was visible along with the tang of the other end. It was one of her most taken items, it was the only one that she kept there that had been truly discarded and thrown away that she'd scavenged for her own. But it was too beautiful a piece to be in a bin, it was too important, it was more than just a tool and deserved to be saved in her mind. Jo couldn't have left that in the trash, and while it had stayed for a while in her hunting pack and then her study - when she tucked the piece of paper away, she'd moved the razor in as well, shoved into the back as invisible as possible.

---

Jo didn't often think about her habit. Her little collection of trinkets, shiny things her beady eyes would latch onto. Her treasure trove of things she couldn't part with, her collection of memories all bunched and thrown in together.

A jumble of pieces that made up important elements for her that if anyone had asked, she could say how and where every single piece had crossed her path and come into her life. A little tower of her new life that she was still adding to.

---

#fic #cc

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kylegoodmanuca-blog · 5 years

Photo

Punk is more than a sound

Punk is more than just a sound, it’s a whole way of being, and rock’s new rebels preferred lived-in T-shirts and Levi’s.

Loud, fast, and simple, punk rescued rock‘n’roll from suffocating on its own excesses, giving the genre a razor-blade edge it hadn’t had since its earliest days. The rebellious spirit and willingness to question traditional conventions—like the idea that you had to know how to play an instrument before you could start a band—would find their way into nearly every meaningful musical revolution that followed, from hip-hop to indie rock to techno.

Music’s only ever been just one facet of punk’s identity, though. It’s more than just a sound, it’s a whole way of being—a philosophy, an attitude, and, crucially, a look.

Punk’s sonic foundations were laid down in New York City by the same people who established the beginnings of punk style: artists like Lou Reed, the Ramones, Suicide, and the New York Dolls who wanted to strip away the bloat rock had accumulated in the psychedelic era and return it to something purer. While Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones matched their arena-filling ambitions with equally elaborate costumes of velvet and sequins, rock’s new rebels preferred lived-in T-shirts and Levi’s.

“We came out of the glam scene,” says photographer Paul Zone, author of Playground: Growing Up in the New York Underground. “So by the time ’74 came around and glam was winding down, probably 50 percent of the people in that scene were involved in what would come to be known as the punk scene. It was just that our flamboyance got a little more played down.”

“There was still fashion going on,” Zone adds. “They’d go to the thrift shops, where you could find vintage clothes. Black Levi’s jeans became a staple for everyone who was there. When it comes to Levi’s and jeans, they were being used in a lot of different ways. In the glam days, the Dolls were wearing little boys’ Levi’s jackets that where so small that they could hardly get their arms in them.”

In the mid-1970s, the new New York sound and style came into focus through the Ramones (who created a uniform of shredded Levi’s 505 jeans and black leather jackets), Television(whose guitarist Richard Hell was one of the first performers to rock spiked hair and torn T-shirts held together by safety pins), and Blondie (fronted by Debbie Harry, who pioneered high-low mixes of Levi’s and designer pieces), and other groups that orbited divey clubs like CBGB. “They had no money,” photographer Jenny Lens recalls. “The holes in Joey’s knees were from wear and tear. They were not fashion. I have photos of Dee Dee Ramone wearing a leather jacket, and around the wrists it’s really frayed. It was shameful back then to run around with holes in your jeans, and the Ramones said f—k that, that’s who we are!”

Blondie, 1977; Photo by Suzan Carson/Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images

By the time people started calling it punk, the revolution had already started to spread around the globe. Malcolm McLaren managed the New York Dolls before returning to London where he and partner Vivienne Westwood operated a boutique called Sex. Inspired by what he saw in New York, he combined the Dolls’ over-the-top outrageousness with Richard Hell’s deconstructed style to create a quintessentially British spin on punk fashion and tapped his new clients, the Sex Pistols, to promote it.

“McLaren went back to England and emulated the look and gave it a little more pizzazz with hair colour and putting more fashion into it,” Zone explains. At the same time, other London punks like X-Ray Spex—fronted by Poly Styrene—seized upon the movement’s DIY philosophy and started using staple items like jeans and leather jackets as blank canvases to decorate with pins, paint, and spikes.

At nearly the same time as it crossed the ocean to the UK, punk spread to L.A., where fans of the Ramones and Blondie adapted their distinctive looks to fit the city’s unique identity. “What we were doing in L.A. had to do with a lot of factors,” Lens says. “One was the weather. We could have a lot of thrift stores and a lot of yard sales, church bazaars. We don't have the rain and snow and cold that you have in London or New York. We were very into that DIY thing. You could repurpose [clothes], you could cut them up and do things with them. We’d rarely wear the same thing twice.”

L.A.’s bands were diverse, from pop-friendly acts like the Go-Go’s to the defiantly anti-commercial approach of the Germs, to bands like the legendary X who sat somewhere in between, but they were united by the bonds of their tight-knit community. “The fashion was very organic,” Lens says. “There were no paid stylists. We were stylists for each other. Everybody was going to thrift stores together, going to bazaars together, sharing each other’s clothes. It really came out of dressing up every day and expressing yourself and being an artist. You could be an artist who expressed themselves visually from head to toe and also on stage. Or not—you could be a photographer or a graphic artist or a fan or whatever.”

The L.A. style comes through in one of Lens’s favourite photos of the time, where X singer Exene Cervenka and scenester Pleasant Gehman pose in a shower at a loft where the pioneering fanzine Slash was throwing a party for Devo. “Pleasant had bleached her jeans and written ‘Slash’ for Slash magazine,” she explains. “Nobody had bleached jeans then. We did a lot of things that other people weren’t doing.”

Forty years after punk started, the music continues to reverberate, not only in the punk scenes that have popped up in cities and small towns around the world, but in the indie and alternative movements that punk inspired. In fashion, its influence has spread even further. You can see some of X’s rootsy simplicity in the indie rock uniform of jeans and T-shirts, and the continuing influence of McLaren and Westwood’s vision in the complexly customised jackets that have become de rigueur for rap stars. Punk style’s most enduring legacy can’t be boiled down to a particular item of clothing, or even the popularity of distressed jeans and dyed hair. It’s more about the idea of being authentic, that if you do your own thing and dress your own way, you can make the world change around you. “We would take what we would see in fashion and make it our own, where other people would take what’s in fashion and just run with it,” Lens says. “We influenced fashion more than the other way around.”

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sinto-hell · 6 years

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boys n fashion

i have uuuuuh very specific ways to imagine how the boys look because i’m never satisfied with canon and i Cannot Fucking Draw™ and i scream a lot about fashion so (mostly because what the fuck is fashion sense in otome i’m looking at u dmmd what the FUCK were those yellow socks and that jacket AN ALSO NOIZ’S ENTIRE FUCKING OUTFIT IM SO ANGRY) anyway this got a bit out of hand lmao i love clothes

nathaniel

LOTS OF SWEATERS

wears a shirt under his sweater with the collar poping out

“preppy” but not frat boy preppy. like comfy casual pretty. soft n warm like marshmallow. he looks soft but he could easily deck u into next week

lots warm cardigans

lots of light wash jeans. doesn’t really wear black or dark colored jeans. also always cuff his jeans

white adidas are the shoes he usually wears to school

he fucking despises flannels they’re the ugliest thing in his opinion

owns a lot of scarves; never wear any of them

he knows he looks good in stripes so he has a lot of stripped shirt

hoodies are for lazy days

one (1) pair of black ripped knees jeans. usually pair them with a creme sweater

also tries to make his hair behave but he just. can’t. so he tries to make it fashionably disheveled.

owns one of those jacket thats like denim but the sleeves and the inside are like a regular sweater and theres a hood god i want one of those

probably has glasses he wears to read

(i remember i saw an artist that basically drew him dressed like this but i cant remember their name so there’s that)

castiel

boi is a punk

his wardrobe is 90% band shirt, they’re literally almost all he wears

owns 4 my chemical romance shirt

he has two denim jacket: one black with various pins and small patch on it and one light wash with a big ass misfits patch on the back

also probably found his leather jacket in a thrift store

unironically buys those bad translation shirt that says shit like “try my delicious salt beef” or “way the bridge i burn high the way” credit to @mclfutarinotamashi for that one

90% of his band shirts are really worn out because he wears them so much

owns a pair of og black converse and red doc martens

usually always has his roots showing and has taken a liking in tying his hair in a half bun. sorta. but he mostly live in his natural bedhead

lys once braided his hair and he didn’t like it on him but he thought it was really relaxing

has a fuckton of spiked bracelet and rubber band bracelets, but only wears one or two at a time nowadays. he used to wear a lot more. like. a lot.

black jeans all the way

also ripped jeans

also own two or three big sweater, and one of them his hands just. disappear when he wear it.

lysander

don’t get me wrong i love the victorian fashion but;; it aint realistic

peg leg trousers. google it. he’d wear the heck out of that.

owns a lot of fancy black pants

he has those weird pants i’ve been looking for, they’re high waisted and really flowy and they’re called culottes. his are black with white stripes and he owns a black only version

he totally owns a green velvet skirt fight me on this

has a lot of scarves and wears them all

has a simple but very nice pair of brown boots for casual days and fucking 5 inches new rocks platform shoes with buckles all over for when he’s extra

a true Goth™

lots of turtlenecks and long sleeve black shirts. did i mention turtlenecks

he totally owns this sweater in green and black

he loves high waisted pants

plays a bit on androgyny, as he knows he’s pretty tall, but also very delicate so skirt are the fucking shit on him

owns a trench-like coat. with a hood. also long cardigans

sometimes when he’s extra he’ll play a bit into the steam punk territory

experiment a bit with makeup, but only on his eyes, he still shy away from lipstick

he braid his hair to sleep so it has nice waves the next day. cares a lot about his hair actually

also basically how @veroww dresses him what a babe

armin

oh boi what a mess

lots and lots of hoodies and generally clothes with hoods so he can hide in them and sleep

literally owns this and that (i have that one and it makes me look like a jedi, so another reason why he’d wear it)

nerd shirts. you know the type.

like he has 3 pokemon shirts and 4 marvel. alexy will not let him go out of the house wearing those. the only one hes allowed to be seen with in public is his star wars one

and fucking memes shirt

like he probably has a white shirt with a shiba inu on it

got that shirt that says “why be racist, sexist, homophobic and transphobic when you could just be quiet” with alexy so they match

one of these guys that only wears black skinny jeans or sweatpants

basically nerdy emo

has like. 2 pair of shoes. really dirty vans that he wear everywhere and a nice pair of boots for like. ass kicking purpose. kidding alex probably made him buy them

“vans or converse?” “vans what the fuck am i an animal”

probably owns a trasher hoodie (ok now thats me projecting bc i headcanon the only sport he can kind of do is skating so) (beside SK8ER BOI ARMIN AM I RIGHT)

also yes, a lot of beanies

anything comfortable, really; doesn’t really own a lot of fancy or statement pieces he wears regularly.

kentin

alex is right ok the military pants looks great and he probably has a great ass in it but jesus boy please change up ur game

i actually haven’t thought a lot about his fashion sense probs because i dont write him as often as the twins or cas or do i thirst over lys

but @ne-neptune has drawn him with glasses and a big jacket today and im lov

probably owns a carhatt jacket thats a bit too big on him

rolls up his sleeves. always. wether his shirts are long sleeves or short sleeves. he. rolls them up. sip sip THEM ARMS THO

wears a concerning amount of beige and green.

LIKES KNITTED SWEATERS OK. HE IS SOFT™

has a camo jacket

wears a lot of baggy pants but is also warmin up to more slim jeans, (not skinny bc its too tight and he doesn’t understand how armin and castiel do it) bc he knows his ass looks gr8

finally bought himself a new pair of fancy glasses he think he look ok with. hint: he’s both cute & fucking hot with them and everyone is thirsty.

combat boots all the way. he does own a pair of old converse that are seriously starting to be worn out, but he still wears them sometimes

alexy because i fucking can

now that’s my B O I

Thriftshop Fashionista™

seriously this boy love thrifstores. he once fucking found gucci shit in there. he’s lucky.

vintage/90s clothes aesthestic.

lightwash jeans with a big belt, weird dad shirt tucked into his jeans

HE TUCKS HIS SHIRT IN HIS JEANS

AND ALSO CUFF THEM WHAT A FASHION ICON

probably also own some peg leg trousers like lysander

his favourite pair of jeans is one he found in a really sketchy store, theres hole at the knees and the bottom of the legs are ripped and there are flower patches going down the entire left side (fun fact: one of my friend has these exact pant he found in a thriftsore and every time he wears them i’m just like. vogue is shook. what a fucking look. fashion icon.)

also probably owns a sweater with roses embroidery

has like 4 denim jacket, each very different; one with patches all over it, one with a giant gay flag on the back, one black with rips in it, and one plain light wash

has one of those weird flashy colored 90s jacket that’s like baby blue and bright orange. it was his mom’s. he stole it from his mom. she let him keep and re question her fashion choices every time he wears it.

weird 90s and dad shirt are his shit. also really big sweaters. weird colors. this boy own a purple knitted sweater with a yellow wolf patch on the back. rosalya hates it. he probably bought it out of spite.

also owns vans. and a pair of combat boots. and a pair of converse. and one pair of black high heels. and orange sneakers. and brown fancy leather boots. and-

he probably steals armin’s trasher hoodie for the aesthetic

also steals his beanies bc what he has like 10

loves embroidered clothes or things with patches or weird flower designs on them

also big ass red sunglasses worn ironically.

vogue is fucking shook by this boy

and that’s all folks

#my candy love #mcl #mcl nathaniel #mcl castiel #mcl lysander #mcl armin #mcl alexy #mcl kentin #mcl headcanon #fashion #i did;; a lot for alex and lys #but u know #theyre the most fashionable in canon so i built on that

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wp-yahoo-style-1042-yahoopa-blog · 6 years

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See the evolution of summer's sexiest shorts from the 1940s to the 2000s

Few clothing items usher in summer quite like a perfectly worn-in, frayed, and ripped pair of denim shorts. Some call them jorts (aka jean shorts), while others might prefer “cutoffs.” They’re a 21st century festival staple and a street-style favorite, with price tags that span the gamut from a couple bucks for some vintage Levi’s dug up in a thrift store, to roughly $1K for this Valentino pair, embroidered with butterflies.

But, before there were jorts, there were jeans. It’s nearly impossible to imagine a world or closet without denim, yet the durable, universally beloved garment only dates back to late 19th century, when Levi Strauss (along with a tailor, Jacob Davis) invented “waist overalls” in 1873, named for where the style starts on the body, compared to the full-body overalls of the past.

From left to right: Students at Los Angeles City College in 1958, Karen Erickson, 19; John Zinda, 20; Annette Schiff, 19; Biggio Pennino, 21; and Al Ponce, 19, look on as Jerry Brooks, 18 (second from left), reads a campus order instructing students not to wear shorts. (Photo by USC Libraries/Corbis via Getty Images)

Shorts have been around since the early 20th century, remaining taboo through the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s, for both men and women. There were even dress codes against, and fines for, wearing shorts, in certain cities throughout midcentury America.

Though it’s unclear when in the 20th century, exactly, the denim cutoff was born, denim itself was invented in the 1700s in Nîmes, France, and was initially touted as being completely tear-resistant. (The word “denim” actually refers to the birthplace of the sturdy fabric: it’s derived from serge de Nîmes in French, which translates as serge (a sturdy fabric) from Nîmes.

Punk rock singer and poet Patti Smith poses for a studio portrait. (Photo by Lynn Goldsmith/Corbis/VCG via Getty Images)

Long before jorts was a word — a dictionary-official one, even, but more on that later — the shorts style picked up popularity in the 1970s. The edgy twist on a beloved American staple was particularly big during the decade famous for punk and rock musicians. There’s a subtle but powerful symbolism in literally ripping apart a material that, while invented across the pond in France, had become strongly associated with American workmanship.

In the latter part of the decade, Patti Smith, a denim devotee in general, often donned pairs of roughly chopped and cuffed jean shorts, topped with oversized tweed mens’ blazers, loose T-shirts, or baggy button-downs. Smith often sported her cutoffs with black tights underneath, and wore them in a slew of situations, often photographed with her partner Robert Mapplethorpe, as well as onstage while performing.

Debbie Harry of Blondie on the beach at Coney Island (Photo by Roberta Bayley/Redferns)

Another musical icon to memorably rock the rebellious style was Debbie Harry: The Blondie frontwoman donned a very short, very ripped pair of cutoffs while cavorting on the beach in Coney Island, Brooklyn, in a series of shots from 1977 by rock photographer Roberta Bayley.

Daisy Duke, played by Catherine Bach in “The Dukes of Hazzard.” (Photo: Everett Collection)

The garment was most powerfully immortalized by actress Catherine Bach in the TV series The Dukes of Hazzard, which aired from 1979 to 1985. Bach’s character, Daisy Duke, frequently flaunted her gams in extra-short cutoffs to help her get out of perilous situations that she and her two brothers found themselves in. The hot-weather answer to denim wearing become synonymous with a stereotypical, Southern flirtatious sex appeal, thanks to the show, and bequeathed them an enduring nickname: The shorts are (still!) often called “Daisy Dukes.”

However, despite their breezy, bare-legged appearance, the cutoffs featured on The Dukes of Hazzard weren’t exactly styled in the most beach-friendly manner. The show’s network, CBS, deemed the minuscule shorts inappropriate for TV, and Bach had to wear flesh-hued tights under her cutoffs in every scene.

Behind the scenes on “Stunt Women”: Cindy Crawford in 1992 (Photo: Shutterstock)

Cutoffs got the Vogue treatment in the early 1990s. Supermodel Cindy Crawford wore a pair as part of a photoshoot on a Malibu beach in 1992, Herb Ritts shot Cindy Crawford for the November issue of Vogue, cavorting on the beach in Malibu with her husband at the time, Richard Gere, her supermodel physique displayed nicely in a pair of frayed Levi shorts. Before cutoffs made a Vogue cameo, their full-length predecessors were notably featured on the fashion bible’s cover four years before, when the magazine’s then newly minted editor-in-chief, Anna Wintour, featured a pair of blues on her very first cover, in 1988.

A big part of the charm of cutoffs is how democratizing and DIY-friendly they are; crafted for a couple bucks, or free, even, using any old pair of jeans and a sharp pair of scissors. The advent and popularity of the premium denim market in the late ‘90s and early aughts ushered in previously unheard-of triple-digit prices for the wardrobe workhouse, from brands like Frankie B, Seven for All Mankind, Paper Denim & Cloth, and True Religion. Shorts versions of pricy premium denim also took off, whether intentionally sold with abbreviated hemlines or in DIY form.

A model on the runway at the Spring/Summer 2000 Chloé ready-to-wear collection designed by Stella McCartney, wearing white tube top with smocking at top edge, fringed hot pants, high-heel sandals with white and gold ankle bands, and carrying a straw bag with cat-face design. (Photo: Getty Images)

But the humble cutoff has also gotten more upscale runway treatments: In 1999, for one of Stella McCartney’s final collections as creative director of Chloé, she showed ultrashort white shorts with a low rise (as was the preferred, hipbone-exposing silhouette of the era) and extra-distressed hems.

Then, the shorts reconnected with their musician-vetted roots in a new way, thanks to their growing ubiquity with festival fashion. Specifically, with one increasingly popular festival: Coachella. The annual three-day blowout in the desert of Indio, Calif., which began in 1999, is where many a trend has hit critical mass in the 21st century, particularly in the past five to 10 years, be it jorts, flower crowns, or chokers.

Jessica Simpson in the film version of “The Dukes of Hazzard.” (Photo: Everett Collection)

In 2005, Jessica Simpson introduced Daisy Duke (both the character and her signature shorts) to a younger generation with the film version of The Dukes of Hazzard. Unlike the O.G. Daisy Duke, Simpson didn’t wear tights under her cutoffs. Plus, the entire ensemble (both the shorts’ length and fit, and the snugness and cleavage-baring factor of her tops) were sexed up in the modernized, silver-screen take on the campy TV series.

Kendall Jenner in 2016, wearing a fringe jacket, jean shorts, and velvet boots. (Photo: Getty Images)

In 2015, the term “jorts” became a legitimate, official noun: the term, a portmanteau of “jeans” and “shorts,” was added to the Oxford dictionary that year, along with other modern vernacular, like selfie, twerk, and guac.

In the past decade, denim cutoffs have yet again cropped up on runways, in their fanciest, priciest form fathomable. During designer Hedi Slimane’s stint as creative director at Saint Laurent from 2012 to 2016, one of the (many) sweeping tweaks he made to the venerable French fashion house was peppering his collections with supershort hemlines and punky vibes, sometimes translating to cutoff shorts (and even cutoff denim overalls, like this spring 2016 Saint Laurent look).

Alexander Wang Spring-Summer Collection 2016 at New York Fashion Week (Photo: Getty Images)

Alexander Wang trotted out some artfully beat-up, ultrashort pairs in his fall 2016 collection, too. 2016 also marked the year supermodels Kendall Jenner and Gigi Hadid added jorts to their model-off-duty street style.

Gigi Hadid in 2016 wearing jean shorts, a T-shirt, and navy coat. (Photo: Getty Images)

Beyoncé wears the Saint Laurent sparkle boots alongside Jay-Z. (Photo: Instagram)

The most epic jorts moment in recent memory came courtesy of the one and only Beyoncé, at what’s become the most important modern natural habitat for the garment: Coachella. While headlining the festival in April 2018, Queen Bey slayed in her first of five outfit changes throughout her set: a heavily shredded, customized pair of Levi’s High-Rise shorts, paired with a bejeweled yellow satin hoodie, flesh-toned fishnets, and iridescent sequined boots. The superstar had another memorable cutoffs getup a couple months earlier, in December 2017, thanks to a pair of black cutoffs paired with glittery Saint Laurent knee-high boots.

Beyoncé at this year’s Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival in April in Indio, Calif. (Photo: Getty Images)

These days, denim cutoffs are less associated with their late 20th century connotations of Daisy Duke and punky DGAF rock legend style, and more with celebrity street style (and, of course, festival garb).

A plethora of stars regularly don cutoffs, both off-duty and, occasionally, on the red carpet. To wit: famous fans of jorts include Kate Moss, Taylor Swift, Kim Kardashian, Victoria Beckham, Gigi Hadid, Rihanna (in another epic Coachella getup, pairing jorts with a Gucci bejeweled bodysuit and matching balaclava), and longtime cutoffs connoisseur, Chloë Sevigny.

So, just like the enduring, universal appeal of jeans — despite changing silhouettes, rises, and inseam lengths that cycle in and out of trendiness over the years — denim cutoffs are the indispensable warm-weather counterpart.

Rihanna wears a Gucci sparkle bodysuit and balaclava with her jorts at Coachella. (Photo: Instagram)

The appeal varies widely: For some, there’s a sort of Southern sexpot vibe, thanks to the surprisingly sartorially memorable television character, Daisy Duke, while others might associate with it a punk-rock insouciance, à la Patti Smith. Or, perhaps, a carefully curated but “carefree” quintessential Coachella look.

Expect this wardrobe staple to stick around for many more decades, sure to be championed by a new generation of style icons, across music genres and various creative fields, personal style preferences, and price points. In other words, love them or loathe them, in all likelihood, jorts are here to stay.

Read More from Yahoo Lifestyle:

• See the evolution of the prom dress from the 1940s to the 2000s • Olympian Adam Rippon on coming out before a major skating competition: ‘I felt power going out there’ • Innovative, resilient, woke: Ready or not, Generation Z has arrived

yahoo

#_revsp:wp.yahoo.style.us #jean shorts #The history of #jorts #_uuid:bce9fa5d-d942-3b5f-a503-e8d43b99779a #style #history #beyonce #summer #_author:Alexandra Ilyashov #_lmsid:a0Vd000000AE7lXEAT #fashion

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zzizzigom · 7 years

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Moonflowers — Hyungwon | 4

Characters: Heir!Hyungwon x Reader ; Wonho and Kihyun cameos

Genre/warnings: a little fluff and angst, nothing too exciting lol

Length: 4998 words

Parts: one | two | three

A/N: Still on a semi hiatus but this is so long overdue I wanted to get it out for you lovely readers! We get to meet Hyungwon’s parents in this chapter muahaha

as always I apologize for any missed typos while editing!

The zipper is stuck. You’ve tried holding the fabric down flat, unzipping and then re-trying, but something is caught and it’s not cooperating with you. With a huff you toss your arms up and let them fall to your sides in annoyance. You send a glance at Lena’s closest as you think about finding something new to wear. She had given you free range before she left for her classes, but you still hesitated. Her clothes are so glamorous they’re intimidating. Don’t be ridiculous Y/N they’re clothes.

You slip the dress over your head, careful not to disturb the light make-up and classy hairstyle you’ve chosen, and inspect the zipper, there’s a dent in the zipper teeth, making it useless to you. You drape the garment back onto its hanger and then once again shift through Lena’s options.

When you told her you’d be going to lunch with Hyungwon’s parents, Lena took one look at your closest and immediately deemed it incompetent, which you weren’t surprised about. The nicest thing you owned was a sweater from a fancy brand, that you actually got a thrift store.

At first you thought she was over exaggerating, but when you looked up the restaurant you were going to and saw the prices on the menu you wanted to choke. Even the appetizers were scarily priced. You couldn’t even imagine being able to afford that, and the fact that there were people who could blew your mind.

Finding another dress, this one a white color, you slip it on. You have to suck in your tummy a little but the zipper works and it looks really adorable. You’re looking at your outfit in the mirror, your lower lip nibbled between your teeth, when there’s a knock on the door. You look over your shoulder and call out, “It’s open.”

In the mirror’s reflection you see Hyungwon poke his head in cautiously and then slowly step into the room. His eyes trail the walls first, looking at the few photos and posters you have up and then landing on Lena’s collage of magazine cut outs. His eyes trail upward where you’ve strung fairy lights up to the ceiling.

The dorm is a little dirty, take out containers on both yours and Lena’s desks, and a few pieces of clothing on the floor, but it’s not the worst it’s been so you’re not too embarrassed. Still looking around, Hyungwon purses his lips and hums.

You’ve been out with him a few more times the past few weeks, and he’s a really decent man. Hyungwon knows how to make you laugh, he’s good at making you comfortable, and he’s really good at getting your heart to jump like it’s going to crawl out of your body. It’s sometimes to the point that you can forget about your differences in social class. He’s never judged you for your frugal ways, in fact aside from a few instances to set his plan in motion, he doesn’t show off his financial standing.

But in this moment you can see the pampered rich boy as he takes in the small room. He hums again and still looking around says, “It’s...small.”

You snort. His tone reveals that’s not the word he was going for, but the most polite one he could think of.

“Good eye,” you tease. His eyes snap to you in the mirror and he blushes a little in embarrassment.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and clears his throat. He’s wearing a black suit jacket over a cotton white t-shirt. His pants are black jeans and there’s rips on both the knees. His black leather shoes are so pristine and shiny you’re pretty sure you’d see your reflection on them. Hyungwon’s hair is styled purposefully messy to add just a touch more edge to his refined look.

He looks gorgeous. But when doesn’t he?

You narrow your eyes as if to scrutinize, hoping it covers your staring. He watches you and the longer your eyes stay latched onto him the more his mouth tips into a smirk. “You like what you see?”

You were expecting the dig but it still makes your cheeks warm because you do, you really, really do. You try to hide it with an eye roll and focus back on your own outfit. The dress is off the shoulder, baring your collar bones and neck. The skirt reaches mid-thigh and when you twist your torso left and right the skirt kind of picks up at the motion.

Completely unfocused on Hyungwon, you don’t notice how close he’s gotten until the warmth of his body is caressing your back. Your eyes lift to his in the mirror once more and he’s got his head tilted slightly taking in your appearance. Hands still in his pockets he puckers his lips for a moment and then nods. “Wear this one. It’ll match.”

Your eyebrow quirks, “Match with what?”

Hyungwon turns a little shy, then, his eyes dropping down to the ground. His smile turns boyish and he suddenly looks younger as his cheeks tinge pink and his nose scrunches ever so slightly. The sight has your own lips widening. You turn to face him fully and have to tilt your head back to see him fully.

“What did you do, Chae Hyungwon?”

Still shy, he fishes a box out of his suit pocket and holds it between the two of you. The box is long and covered in deep red velvet. You immediately know it’s jewelry. Part of you turns giddy at his notion but to hide it you give him a soft, yet pointed look. “We agreed no more presents.”

Hyungwon pouts and holds up a finger, “One more.”

You click your tongue about to refuse but Hyungwon’s eyes are wide and hopeful. With a long exhale through your nose you nod. “Fine, but last one. Promise!”

He only nods, now working on opening the jewelry box and pulling the accessory out. Before you can catch a good look at it, he spins you back around and carefully drapes the necklace on you. As he works the clasp, you silently study the gift.

It’s nothing too fancy and for that you’re grateful for. The chain is small and delicate and slightly tickles as it moves across your skin. In the center drapes a single pearl, it’s iridescent surface catching in the light. Carefully, you hold the pearl in your hands and realize there’s more to it. Holding the pearl to the chain is a silver, unfurled moonflower.

Your lip quirks at the sight and at the feeling of Hyungwon’s fingers trailing from your neck to your shoulders you look up and smile brightly. “I love it.”

Hyungwon releases a sigh. “Good, because I had to have that custom made.”

Your jaw drops and when Hyungwon laughs wholeheartedly you spin and shove his shoulder. He stumbles away still laughing but you ignore him, knowing he won’t stop laughing for a good five minutes at least.

Finding the shoes you want to wear, you slip them on, the kitten heel lifting your height a little. You do a last make-up and hair check before grabbing the purse Hyungwon bought for you and a light sweater for later.

Hyungwon is still laughing, though it’s dialed down to a light chuckle from behind his hand. Giving him an expectant look you raise your brows. “Are you done?”

He bites down on his lower lip and drops his hand from his face. Eyes still full of laughter he nods and motions towards the door.

Stepping out of the dorm room, you wait for Hyungwon to join you in the hall before locking the door. The hallways are pretty empty, majority of students in class. A few doors are opened some with soft music traveling into the halls. No one pays you any mind as you lead Hyungwon out of the building.

When you reach his car, Hyungwon holds the door open for you and then makes his way to the driver seat. Before he starts the car he turns to you. “The necklace really suits you.”

You reach up and touch the pearl gently. Putting on a haughty look you reply, “Well, it was custom made for me, so I would hope so.”

Hyungwon bursts into more laughter, and at first you’re laughing along with him. But then it takes ten minutes just to get his seatbelt buckled.

The restaurant is on the top floor of a sleek building with the words Hotel Shin on the front. Hyungwon helps you out of the car before handing his keys to the valet. He fills out the slip for his keys and then is greeted with a polite and cheerful. “Welcome, Mr. Chae. We’ll take good care of your vehicle.”

Hyungwon gives a tight lipped smile at that and then takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. When the two of you step into the hotel you’re blown away. The lobby is spacious, a tall ceiling holding a gorgeous and giant chandelier. People are bustling through the lobby, coming and going.

The couches in the lobby have plush red cushions with gold accents. There’s a fountain in the middle, creating a gentle background noise to the room. You’re so taken by the hotel, Hyungwon has to gently tug you along.

You don’t notice he’s taken you towards someone until there’s an amused laugh reaching your ears. Turning to the noise you come to face to face with a gorgeous man. He’s a little shorter than Hyungwon— but then again, who isn’t? His cheeks are round and soft and his plump lips are a soft pink.

The man studies your face with the most sparkling eyes you’ve ever seen and having them on you makes your cheeks warm.

Hyungwon must catch your reaction because he scoffs lightly from next to you. “Y/N, this is my friend Wonho, he’s the heir to this hotel.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Hyungwon won’t stop talking about you.” Wonho reaches a hand out to you, the dazzling smile never leaving his face. You’re still blushing, both at his smile and the thought of Hyungwon talking about you to others, as you shake his hand. Almost as soon as his fingers leave yours, Hyungwon is stepping closer to you, his chest at your shoulder. Wonho catches the movement and his smile turns into the shadow of a smirk.

“Your parents are already upstairs,” Wonho says.

“Thanks,” Hyungwon says, tightening his hand on yours. He starts to lead you towards the elevators and as you pass Wonho his happy smile is back as he gives you a little wave. Suddenly his face lights up as if he remembered something.

“Oh, Wonnie!”

Hyungwon blushes at the nickname when he catches you trying to hide a smile. He looks over at Wonho with a pointed glare. “What?”

“I thought you said your parents didn’t know Y/N was coming.”

Your eyes widen at that, you were under the impression they knew.

“They don’t,” Hyungwon says. “Why?”

Wonho frowns a little. “They asked for four drink menus.”

Hyungwon also frowns but then shrugs. “They’re getting old. Maybe they didn’t mean it?”

“Maybe they found out through the grapevine?” Wonho suggests. Hyungwon lets out a huff and then shrugs again. He thanks his friend for letting him know and then resumes leading you to the elevator.

When you step into the contraption, Hyungwon pushes the floor for the restaurant. You gently pull your hand from his and he looks over at you almost startled. His eyes dart down to your hand before back up to your face. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re parents don’t know I’m coming?” He shakes his head. “Hyungwon, Wonho said they asked for four menus, what if they have some important business partner or something?”

“It wouldn’t be. These lunches are for them to check up on me. No business allowed.”

“Well they’re obviously expecting someone else.”

“Y/N,” Hyungwon sighs. “It’ll be fine. Besides, if they are expecting someone else it’s the perfect set-up for my plan.”

Part of you feels like the words are slapping you one by one across the face. /His parents aren’t supposed to like me,/ you remind yourself. The elevator starts to slow as it reaches your floor and you give a silent nod in agreement.

Hyungwon steps forward and slips his hand back in yours and you swear it looks as if his shoulders relax as he grips your fingers. The doors open and the two of you step out. The restaurant is just as lavish as the hotel lobby.

A large glass wall separates the dining area from the host stand where a few other people are waiting for tables. The hostess looks up as you and Hyungwon approach. She looks too stressed to really even see you as she cards through menus. “Just two tonight?”

“We’re with the Chae party.” Hyungwon replies.

Her eyes widen a little and she glances at you and really takes in who she’s looking at. Her eyes scan over his appearance before she turns professional once more. “Right, if you wouldn’t mind following me.”

She drops the menus and then promptly stalks off into the restaurant. Her pace is a little on the fast side, and Hyungwon keeps up just fine, but you have to do a little walk-jog hybrid. She leads you past the tables in the main dining room and towards a private banquet room. As you near the door, your heart rate and breathing builds until it feels like you’re going to hyperventilate. Hyungwon’s parents are on the other side of that door. The hostess waits for you and Hyungwon to reach her before opening the door for the two of you.

“Enjoy your meal,” she murmurs before hurrying off back to her host stand. When the door opened the two occupants inside look up and you want to desperately run the other way.

Hyungwon’s mother is gorgeous, to which you’re not at all surprised about. Barely any wrinkles line her face, her dark hair pulled away from her face in a chic updo. Her cream white skirt suit is crisp and immaculate. Her face lights up when she sees Hyungwon but then drops into a curious frown when she sees you.

Looking at Hyugnwon’s father is like looking at Hyungwon in 20 or 30 years. They have the same facial shape, and nose. The same mysterious air to them. He’s sitting down, but you can tell he’s just about as tall as Hyungwon.

He sets down the newspaper he’s reading and looks at you over the rim of his glasses. But where Hyungwon’s deep gaze makes you want to bare your soul to him, his father’s eyes make you want to wilt.

“Hyungwonnie, come in, come in.” Mrs. Chae breaks the silence and motions for the two of you to come and sit. “Who...who’s your friend?”

“It’s the girl, honey. The girl from the gala,” Mr. Chae interjects, his voice a mixture of disappointment and deadpan. You pull back at the tone but Hyungwon pulls you back to his side, his hand giving yours a squeeze.

“Mom, Dad this is my girlfriend Y/N.”

The words send a zing through your body but it’s short lived as the air in the room turns tense. Mr. Chae lets a sigh out through his nose and Mrs. Chae looks pale. You go to introduce yourself but before you can move, Hyungwon is leading you to the empty chairs. He lets go of your hand to pull one of the chairs out for you and you hesitate to sit down.

Turning to meet your eyes, Hyungwon gives a nod of encouragement and slowly you’re lowering yourself into the chair. Across from you, Mrs. Chae’s eyes zero in on the necklace on you. “What a lovely piece.”

“Thank—”

“Isn’t it?” Hyungwon asks distractedly, interrupting you, as he looks through the wine menu. “Y/N wanted something simple but elegant.”

You figure this is a cue to put on the act Hyungwon and you agreed to. Reaching over you rest a hand on Hyungwon’s arm and grin. “Yup, and our Hyungwon is just so generous!”

Hyungwon smiles at you and then his parents before turning back to the menu. You try to keep the slightly ditzy smile on your face but with Mr. Chae’s narrowed eyes on you it feels flat. With an embarrassed blush you pick up the menu and look through the options.

“You know, Hyungwonnie, it’s great that you brought a friend, but your father and I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“That’s fine,” Hyungwon murmurs. “Whatever you need to tell me you can share in front of Y/N.”

“I don’t think I can. It’ll make things awkward.”

The waiter walks in then for drink orders halting any conversation. All three members of the Chae family order a glass of wine and when the waiter turns to you, you ask for the first champagne option you see on the menu.

“That option comes in the full bottle or a glass.”

“One glass, please,” you reply at the same time Hyungwon says, “The full bottle.”

Your head whips to the man next to you with wide eyes. Hyungwon meets your look calmly. “Only the best for my love.”

You try to shake your head but Hyungwon’s eyes turn pointed and with an internal sigh of defeat you turn back to the waiter. “The whole bottle, please.”

Now he’s parents think I’m a gold digger and an alcoholic.

When the waiter leaves, Mr. Chae clears his throat. “I’ll be honest, Hyungwon, you bringing this girl here really puts a dent in our plans.”

“We can work around it. I want Y/N here.” Hyungwon’s voice is tense. He glances up and looks are his parents cautiously. “What do you mean plans?”

As if on cue the door opens again and the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen walks into the room. She’s tall and elegant, her lips upturned in a permanent smile. Her hair is cut short, brushing against her chin as she walks. She’s wearing a baby blue dress and holding a clutch purse in one hand.

She sheepishly greets Hyungwon’s parents first. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Traffic is horrible right now, I think there was an accident nearby.”

“Oh, that’s horrible,” Mrs. Chae smiles. “But don’t even worry about it, Nana. Come, sit down.”

Nana smiles and moves to sit but then stops, her eyes on you. You’ve since droped your gaze to the table, your hands wringing in your lap. Humiliation burns your neck and cheeks as you realize everyone is staring at you. You’re in Nana’s seat. Cheeks red and eyes burning, you begin to stand but Hyungwon’s hand reaches out and gently presses against your thigh to push you back into the seat.

“We can grab another chair,” Hyungwon says smoothly.

“Hyungwon…” you mutter under your breath.

He meets your eyes squarely. “We can grab another chair.” His hand raises and you startle a little at the feeling of his fingers on your cheek. His head tilts a little and his expression softens as if to reassure you. “You’re not going anywhere.”

The waiter returns with drinks then and Mrs. Chae reluctantly asks for another chair. One is brought in and soon Nana is sitting on the other side of Hyungwon. The atmosphere is so tense you swear it drops at least five degrees.

Nana tries to make small talk but no one is suddenly in the mood to talk. It isn’t until after you’ve put in food orders and received your dishes that Hyungwon finally turns to his mother with pursed lips.

“What is this?”

She sighs and sets her utensils down. Hyungwon waits as she takes a sip of her wine. Next to her Mr. Chae continues to eat as if nothing was said. As Mrs. Chae sets her glass back down she gives Hyungwon the same looks he’s giving her. “Hyungwon, this was supposed to be a marriage meeting. Nana, here, is the heir to a highly respected company. This marriage would be resourceful not only for you but for her as well. It would boost both our families’ stocks.”

“So you want to marry our companies, not us?”

Mr. Chae scoffs then. The sound light and breathy but holding so much weight. “Are you going to marry some poor charity case then?”

Hyungwon’s father looks at you with such contempt that you lurch back, not expecting the hostility. Next to you, Hyungwon bristles and opens his mouth to snap back but you stop him with a hand to his arm.

“It’s fine,” you murmur, eyes burning. You feel so stupid for even being here, and as the realization that Hyungwon’s going to be paying you for this whole shitshow hits you, you feel even more ridiculous. “I’ll go.”

“Y/N,” he starts but you shake your head, grabbing your purse. He watches you, eyes stricken as you pull away from him.

You face his parents once more and give a quiet apology for ruining their lunch before exiting the room. Once you’ve cleared the banquet room, you’re almost running through the dining room back to the elevator. The doors open surprising fast, which you’re grateful for, and you step past it’s doors.

Once they shut and you’re alone, you lean your head back and shut your eyes trying to will away the tears. The elevator as only gone a few floors down before the bell dings and the doors are sliding open.

“Oh..Y/N, are you okay?”

You poke open an eye and see Wonho’s worried face as he steps into the elevator. He’s holding a clipboard in his hands and looks a little worn out. The happy glow that was there when you met him earlier now replaced with a tired and slightly annoyed expression.

“Are you okay?” you return the question.

He shrugs with one shoulder and pushes the button for a floor under the lobby and swipes an employee card. “Just some stuck ups complaining. When that happens I’m supposed to go up and mark down all their problems.” He waves the clipboard for emphasis. “Rich people suck.”

You snort, considering his background but then nod, looking down down at the ground. “They really do.”

Wonho turns to look at you, and you don’t bother calling him out for staring. The elevator reaches the lobby then, and you move to step out of the doors but before you can, Wonho is hitting the close door button. You turn and glare at him as the elevator begins to move down. He grins cheekily at you and then says, “Join me for a little bit. You look like you could use a treat, and I know exactly what to get ‘cause it’s what I’m coming down here for.”

The doors open on Wonho’s floor and he motions for you to follow with a smile. This hallway is bustling, employees roaming around, some hurrying and some moving more leisurely. As Wonho walks past some wave and call a greeting and Wonho happily returns the gestures.

You follow him into a kitchen, and keep close to him as chefs weave around and holler things back and forth. Wonho leads you into a sectioned off kitchen, which by the smells you can tell is the pastry section. Sweet scents such as vanilla reach your nose and you inhale deeply.

Wonho stops near the end of the kitchen and grins at one of the chefs. You think at first the chef doesn’t notice Wonho but then realize that he’s actually ignoring him. Wonho realizes too and pouts before saying, “You know as your boss I can fire you.”

“Try it, Hoseok,” the chef snaps, barely looking up from decorating a cake. “You’re whole hotel will fall apart without me. And you’re not my boss.”

Wonho grumbles but doesn’t deny it. “Y/N, this is Yoo Kihyun, world renowned chef. He’s well rounded but when he’s not on some cooking tour he likes to come here and make me cakes. Kihyun this is Y/N, she’s Hyungwon’s date.”

That gets Kihyun to stop immediately and look up at you. He takes in your form before going back to frosting. “Cute.” He finishes the cake and then steps back to take it all in. Setting it aside he pulls a new one in front of him and begins again. “And the cakes are for the guests, so I swear if you came down here to cause the same uproar you did last week I’m throwing you in the oven. It’s been a long time since I cooked rabbit.”

“You’re so mean,” Wonho sighs with another pout and in that moment you see the rabbit reference. “I just want two. The mudslide ones that I love.”

“Two?” Kihyun looks up again and sets down the frosting. He leans against the counter with a quirked eyebrow. “Hoseok, did you steal Hyungwon’s date?”

“No! Fate brought us together.”

Kihyun snorts at that and shakes his head. He turns and studies your face again and you give a slight smile, feeling a little awkward. “They’re in the back fridge cooling. But only two!”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!!” Wonho runs over and slips his clipboard under his armpit to grab two small white bowls carrying dark chocolate cake. He shuts the fridge door and then smiles and motions for you to follow him again.

Before you leave you call a soft thank you to Kihyun who only waves a hand in response, once again frosting the cake.

You end up in the employee break room, sitting across the table from Wonho. He’s retrieved spoons for the two of you and has begun to dig into his cake. You’re a little more patient, and take a slow first bite. It’s so savory and warm, you automatically feel at ease. After the humiliating scene in the restaurant, this chocolate treat is exactly what you needed.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Wonho’s voice is soft and his eyes are still focused on his cake. You know that his improper acknowledgement of you is to give you an easy out. You can pretend he didn’t say anything or you can slowly open up. You go for the former, giving a soft shake of your head.

Wonho only switches the topic to something else. You listen to him talk for a little while before he’s standing up to take a call. You’re alone in the break room for a few minutes. When the door behind you opens up you turn over your shoulder and see Wonho walking back in...with Hyungwon in tow.

He looks winded, like he’d been running around. His hair is now a real mess and his eyes wide. When they land on you he releases a sigh of relief and steps around Wonho to approach you and sit down next to you. He’s turned in the chair so that one arm rests on the table and the other on the back rest.

Avoiding his eyes you turn back to the cake and take another bite. Wonho quietly grabs his clipboard and cake before slipping away with an apologetic smile to you. You grumble internally, but don’t voice your annoyances.

There’s a warmth on your cheeks and Hyungwon is grabbing napkins to pat your face dry. He sits next to you quietly as you cry, occasionally holding the tissue to your face so you can blow your nose like you’re a child. When you’re done, you take in a deep breath and take a bite of the cake.

“Stop staring,” you sniffle, mouth full of cake. You’re a complete mess.

“You’re too pretty not to stare at.”

“Shut up, I look like a troll when I cry.”

“No you don’t,” he says in the most sure tone that you almost believe him. He reaches forward as if to move a strand of hair from your face and then pulls back. Disappointment tugs in your chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think they’d be that rude.”

You shrug it away. “It’s whatever.”

“No it’s not.” Hyungwon sounds angry all of a sudden. “It’s okay to be upset. Your feelings are valid too. My father shouldn’t have said that.”

“Hyungwon,” you gently rest your hand on his arm. “Don’t worry about it. I should’ve been more prepared.”

“Stop that. Stop trying to shoulder all the blame, Y/N. You’re not at fault and it’s okay to admit that.”

Your lips purse. There’s a stubbornness in Hyungwon’s face that says he can keep going if you want to argue. So instead you nod and scoop up a bite of cake before holding out the spoon to him. “It’s yummy.”

Hyungwon gives a small laugh through his nose and takes the spoon. He bites into the cake and chews it a little before swallowing the bite. His eyes narrow a little as he hands the spoon back. “Damn Yoo Kihyun and his extravagant cooking.”

His words bring a small smile to your face and you take the last bite of cake. Hyungwon lets you sit in silence for a moment, when you take a deep breath you face him. His eyes are clear and his expression shows an eagerness to please you. Your stomach is doing flips when you finally speak. “Can I take you somewhere?”

“Right now?”

You nod. “Right now.”

“Absolutely.” His voice holds no hesitations. His nod is curt and no nonsense. “I’d go anywhere with you. Just name the place and I’ll take you there.”

You give the name of a park near your dorm and Hyungwon nods again. He takes your hand and you feel immediately at ease, as if you’d been yearning for his touch since you left the banquet room. “Anything for my moonflower.”

#2wonnet #mxwriters #monsta x scenarios #hyungwon scenarios #kpop scenarios #monsta x #hyungwon #chae hyungwon #monsta x imagines #monsta x au

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shanie-the-toyaddict · 3 years

Note

I mean the Third Doctor's cosplay is mostly cheap. A cheap black velvet jacket can be found at a vintage clothing shop or etsy. Ditto with the ruffled shirt and floppy bow tie. iT'S JUST THAN DARN OPERA CLOAK THAT'S THE BIG PROBLEM! (Like it's expensive but not ruinous and this store never seems to have things on sale).

Oh yeah. Most of that stuff can be found pretty easily. When I cosplayed 13 I was able to find most of the stuff to do it at local stores or online for cheap. The only things which I bought specialty were the coat and the shirt. And I still wear the shirt all the dang time. (I have gotten a bit too big for the coat though.) But I don't even want to cosplay Six. I just want his coat because I'm that kind of extra. Before I sized out of it, I wore my 13 coat to walmart and mcds constantly. It was my go-to fall/spring trench. I wore it for a year and a half before I got too big for it. Cloaks in general though are a pita. You aren't going to find one at any thrift store and they are usually at least 100 dollars to have custom made. I've wanted a black velvet/silver satin cloak (wizard style) for most of my life and my sewing-capable mother promised to make me one for halloween.

Ten Years Ago.

She got about 3/4 of the way through it and never finished. She's decided now that, since I'm a Christian, there's no point in completing it. :(

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nationallampoon · 7 years

Text

Mike Pence Returns to The Crossroads

“I went to the crossroads, fell down on my knees, Asked the Lord above ‘have mercy, now save poor Bob, if you please.’”

~ Robert Johnson, “Cross Road Blues”

Meanwhile, in Donald Trump’s White House… (pt 5) (read pt 1 here)

Two new White House interns are nervously awaiting a meeting in the Cabinet Room. Both are wearing Ivanka Trump “Embellished Mock-Neck Slit Dresses.” One dress is in the color “Blush,” the other the brighter “Berry” hue.

Don Jr. and Eric Trump come into the room talking loudly. “So dad offered Meat Loaf the job and he said no,” Don Jr. says.

“The Communications Director thingy?” Eric asks.

“Yeah, ungrateful prick. Good morning girls.”

The first part of White House orientation is being done by the Trump sons at their father’s request. Don Jr. opens a file folder on the table and starts going through the new intern’s resumes. He says, “So … Your names are Karen and Tamela.”

“Yes,” Karen and Tamela say in unison.

Eric says, “We’re going to call you Christie and you Sabrina.”

Karen and Tamela, now Christie and Sabrina, exchange a confused look. “Uh, okay, I guess,” Sabrina says. She’s wanted to work in the White House since she was thirteen and is not going to risk any perceived insubordination.

Don Jr. asks, “Christie, do you have a business card?”

“I’m Christie?”

“Yes.”

“Not yet.”

“Let me show you mine. Picked them up from the printer’s yesterday.” Don Jr. flicks a gold business card holder open and places a card on the table.

“Good coloring,” Eric says.

“That’s bone. And the lettering is something called Silian Rail.”

“It’s, uh, a … nice, business card,” Sabrina says.

“Let’s see mine,” Eric says and presents his card. “Eggshell, with Romalian type. What do you think?”

“Nice,” Don Jr. says. His iPhone dings its text message alert. On the phone is the text, FEED ME A STRAY CAT.

Christie and Sabrina have moved beyond confused to uncomfortable. Approaching scared in a hurry.

Eric says, “Christie, Do you like Huey Lewis and The News?”

“I don’t know. Is that a band?”

“Their early work was a little too new wave for my taste, but when Sports came out in ’83, I think they really came into their own, commercially and artistically. The whole album has a clear, crisp sound, and a new sheen of consummate professionalism that really gives the songs a big boost. He’s been compared to Elvis Costello, but I think Huey has a far more bitter, cynical sense of humor.”

Eric syncs his iPhone with a bluetooth speaker and plays the song “Hip to be Square.”

“In ’87, Huey released this record, Fore, their most accomplished album,” Don Jr. says. “I think their undisputed masterpiece is “Hip to be Square”, a song so catchy, most people probably don’t listen to the lyrics. But they should, because it’s not just about the pleasures of conformity, and the importance of trends, it’s also a personal statement about the band itself.”

Don Jr. puts his Gucci briefcase onto the table in the Cabinet Room. He begins to pull seemingly random items out of it.

“What’s that?” Christie asks.

“Duct tape. I need it for … taping something.”

“Is that a raincoat?”

“Yes it is!”

In the Oval Office, President Trump has just signed an executive order making the manufacture and sale of Guy Fawkes masks illegal and a Class E felony. Punishable by up to five years in federal prison and/or a $250,000 dollar fine. Trump holds up the executive order for the cameras, saying “This is big stuff. We’re cracking down on this kind of stuff, bigly. We can’t have these masks in our mostly black inner cities and liberal college campuses. Those kids are dickheads anyway, okay?”

Within days, now-illegal Guy Fawkes masks will begin to be hot commodities on the black market. A street vendor in New York City’s Chinatown will start covertly peddling them out of a counterfeit purse stand at $500 bucks a pop.

The machinations of further legislation regarding the rationing of poster board and Magic Markers is underway. Sharpie markers coming into the United States from Mexicali, Baja California have been slapped with a seventy-five percent tariff. And President Trump’s daily Twitter attacks on Michaels arts and craft stores has effectively driven them out of business. All of this has been done in an effort to punish whatever and whoever possible connected to making protest signs against Trump and his White House.

Having come directly from Steve Bannon’s bat-filled basement office, Stephen Miller enters the Oval wearing his gimp suit. Miller has paired the gimp suit with a pair of $560 dollar blue suede Salvatore Ferragami “Parigi” moccasins. An aide unzips the mouth slit on the gimp suit and Miller says in a muffled voice, “Bannon wants you to turn on Morning Joe, Mr. President. Important segment coming up.” The aide re-zips the mouth flap and Miller bear crawls out of the Oval Office on all fours.

To get messages to the President, his staff occasionally has to relay them through the television he watches all day to make sure they are heard. This morning Melania needs to get her husband to go to the barber to tame his ridiculous hairdo, take his Propecia and Lipitor, and pay Barron’s allowance so he can order some medieval swords for his new collection.

Chief of Staff Reince Preibus drew the short straw and is being interviewed on Morning Joe. When Mika Brzezinski asks a question about what President Trump meant when he told Senators on a conference call that “golfing left-handed is fuckin gay,” Preibus answers:

“Mika, the President has more important things to worry about than political correctness on conference calls. He has other things to do. Such as working for the American people. Such as repealing and replacing Obamacare. Such as making sure he keeps his barber appointment, taking his meds as prescribed by his doctor, and giving his son Barron his generous allowance by the end of today. President Trump is a father first and he is not going to apologize for making that a priority.”

Mika Brzezinski looks directly into the camera and asks, “What?”

Of course, Trump is watching and he immediately picks up the phone on the Resolute desk to tell his secretary to confirm an appointment with his barber for him and Mike Pence.

“Mr. Pence is not in Washington today, Mr. President.”

Trump asks, “Where the hell is he?”

Meanwhile, in Rosedale, Mississippi…

Vice President Mike Pence’s disguise is convincing. His signature silver hair is hidden under a simple black, curly-haired wig. A high-quality fake mustache is stuck on his upper lip. The ensemble is completed with cheap gas station sunglasses. Thrift store jeans and hoodie purchased by a trusted aide at a Salvation Army. Chuck Taylor sneakers that have been scuffed with a wire brush and sandpaper to look worn. And an Army issue field jacket with the name tag reading BURR.

To avoid detection, Pence took a Greyhound bus — in disguise — from D.C. to Mississippi. When he made the same trip last year, the disguise wasn’t necessary. No one noticed the governor of Indiana walking the streets of Rosedale, Mississippi.

On Symonds Road, isolated and remote, hardly a landmark visible in all directions, is the Remembrance Mortuary and Crematorium. Mike Pence steps inside the small building, looking for the mortician, Elston Gunn. For years, that man has worked as an intermediary of sorts.

Gunn is a big man, shaped like a cannonball. He wears a pair of denim overalls so big that it would be hard to guess how many “Xs” come before the “XL.” He greets Pence quietly, with a thick drawl. “Been a year, huh? There’s a full moon tonight, I noted.”

“Yes,” Pence says. “I need to see Him tonight. Can you arrange the meeting?”

Elston Gunn smells of formaldehyde and embalming fluid. He reaches into the front pocket of his overalls, retrieves a red handkerchief, blows his nose into it, peeks inside to see what came out and says, “You got the money, I assume?”

“Ten thousand. It’s all there.” Pence puts a manilla envelope stuffed with cash on a small table.

“Three o’clock in the AM. On the button. Be absolutely sure you’re not followed. Be sure you’re alone.” Gunn pulls a red velvet Mojo Bag out of the front pocket of the denim overalls and hands it to the Vice President of the United States. “You’ll need the Mojo Bag. Put it on the ground at the Crossroads at one minute before three. Then say the prayer.”

“I remember.”

Inside the Mojo Bag is a mixture known in voodoo and Delta Blues songs as “hot foot powder.” A blend of cayenne pepper, graveyard dirt, ground coyote jawbone, sulfur, bluestone, kosher salt, and gunpowder. Also in the bag is a severed paw from a black cat, a bat wing, a human eyeball, and a pair of loaded dice.

Hours later, Pence has made his way to the intersecting cross of Highway 1 and Highway 8. He checks the time on his Rolex. 2:58 a.m.

Then 2:59.

No longer in disguise, having changed into a long black robe and flip flops, Mike Pence places the red velvet Mojo Bag on the center of the Crossroads, bows his head and whispers, “In nomine magni, dei nostri Satanae Luciferi excelsi.”

About thirty seconds passes.

“Hello, Michael.”

The Devil has appeared at the Crossroads. Illuminated in the moonlight. Smelling of fecal matter, bile, and rotting meat. Scaly green skin. Skinny arms and legs. Hoofed feet. Bifurcated tail. Red eyes. Three-inch horns on his forehead. Alongside the devil is a glowing hound the size of a Kodiak bear.

“Ave Satanas,” the Vice President says.

“How are you, my son?”

“Exhausted, but energized.”

The Devil hisses, “Yes, I know. For us to continue, you know what must happen. You must greet me properly.”

In Latin, the ritual is called the Osculum Infame. Translated, it means the “Kiss of Shame.” Satan turns around, exposing to the Vice President the second face he has on his ass. An eyeball in each cheek that moves independently like a chameleon’s, his tail acting as the nose, flicking back and forth, and doubling as his anus, the Devil’s second mouth.

Pence goes to his knees. Satan laughs softly out of both of his mouths. A long, forked tongue comes out of his backside and licks the side of Pence’s face. Closing his eyes, Pence leans in and performs the Osculum Infame.

“Aren’t you going to say hello to Belphegor?”

Pence reaches out and scratches the Devil’s giant glowing hound behind the ear. “Hey there, Belphy. Good boy. That’s a good boy.”

“So,” Satan says and he spits fireball-loogies into the dirt out of both his mouths, “everything is going to plan.”

“So far,” Pence says. “We’ve been successful in continuing the slow implantation of increased hate since the campaign. I think we’re a year away from beginning to re-normalize some of the ethnic slurs that have been taboo.”

“I’d like to see ‘kike’ re-enter the lexicon. That’s a fun one. But I’d start with ‘hymie.’ It’s a little softer.”

“Good idea.”

Illuminated in the moonlight, Satan takes a a scaly green hand and gently taps the Vice President on the cheek. “That’s good work, Michael. That idiot has no idea he’s being manipulated does he?”

“Not a whit. All it takes is some flattery when we know he’s watching us on television and a steady stream of right wing news stories and we steer Donald any way we please. I could get him to say the Earth is flat within a week.”

The Devil lets out a guttural laugh. “He really is a thick, dopey stooge.”

“If there is any sign of resistance, all we have to do is throw him a rally in an airport hangar with mouth-breathing troglodytes in cheap hats agreeing with everything he says and we’re back on track.”

Satan says, “I’m sending one of my best men to keep an eye on things in the White House.”

“Is that necessary, Master?”

“Everything is okay. You’re getting everything we agreed upon, don’t you worry, our deal is solid, I just want direct updates. You won’t even see Pazuzu. He’ll be mostly invisible. But he’ll be keeping an eye on your progress.”

“As you wish.”

“Pazuzu has a wicked sense of humor. He may make himself known to tell a few jokes. He’s been working on some new material. The kiddie-rape stuff is hilarious. I want you to be back here a year from tonight.”

The Vice President says, “I understand.”

“Good night then, Michael. And Michael?”

“Yes, Master?”

“Keep up the good work.”

Illustrations by Mikey B. Martinez

Read Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |Chapter 3

Mike Pence Returns to The Crossroads was originally published on National Lampoon | The Humor Magazine Est 1970

#american psycho #hunter s. thompson #pence #satan #Trump

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