#toast Point Of Sale
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How to Implement the Ultimate Point of Sale Solutions for Small Businesses
Implementing the ultimate point of sale solutions for small businesses involves a strategic approach to integrating efficient point of sale systems. By selecting the right point of sale systems tailored to your business needs, you can streamline transactions, manage inventory effectively, and enhance customer experiences. Training your staff on how to utilize these systems optimally is crucial for seamless operations. Customizing your point of sale systems to track sales data, analyze trends, and generate insightful reports can provide valuable business insights. Regularly updating and maintaining your point of sale systems ensures smooth functionality and security.
Read More: https://toppossystem123.blogspot.com/2024/03/ultimate-guide-to-point-of-sale.html
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I've never requested before so I'm quite nervous but may I request something with a reader thats like usually very chatty when coming home from work but maybe someone at their job said something rude or they just feel to tired to talk? preferably with poly!marauders but i dont mind any characters, i love your writing and i hope you have a wonderful day :] no pressure to write this ofc
Thank you for requesting lovely and hope you have a wonderful day as well! <3
Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 677 words
Eddie’s van is idling at the curb when your shift ends. He grins as you get in, swapping his cherry coke to the hand already holding his cigarette to wrap the one closest to you around your thigh. It’s a favored spot. You’re always thinking you ought to trace an outline of his fingers and get it tattooed with “Eddie’s place” inside as a lark, but he’d definitely enjoy it way too much.
“Hey there,” he drawls, voice saccharine sweet and expectant as he leans across the console toward you. You peck him on the lips.
“Hi,” you say back. “You taste like cherries.”
His grin is crooked, goofy in that unabashedly lovesick way that makes your heart stutter. He holds up his cherry coke like he’s making a toast. “T’was the point. You want a sip?”
“Yes, please.” You take it from him, letting the cool fizziness wash over your sandpaper tongue. You’ve been craving a drink since halfway through your shift, when you’re fairly sure you’d willed all the water out of your body so you wouldn’t cry in the break room. Poor forethought.
The syrupy sweetness is comforting, familiar like Eddie and summer days and the lake. It makes you feel a bit more normal. You have to stop yourself from gulping it all down, dropping it in the cup coaster as Eddie stubs out his cigarette and puts the van into gear.
It takes until the first stoplight for you to realize he’s not headed towards home. “Where’re we going?” you ask.
“To the arcade. We’re meeting Dustin and them there, remember?”
“Oh. Right.” You’d totally forgotten. At least Robin should be there.
Eddie gives you a sidelong glance. “Work was good?”
If you’re being honest with yourself, about 70% of it was totally fine. “Mhm.”
He hums back at you, short and low. “Okay. What’s wrong?”
“Hm?” you hum again, unable to help it. “Nothing, why?”
“Don’t play dumb.” He squeezes your thigh meanly, metal rings biting into your skin. “You always want to gossip after work. Something happened, yeah?”
You toy with your bottom lip, looking out the window. You’re quiet long enough that Eddie gives your leg another warning squeeze.
“Talk.”
“It wasn’t really anything,” you say, honestly but forcing a bit more offhandedness into your tone than maybe you really feel. “A customer got all pissy with me because he thought something should be on sale and it wasn’t, but I’m not, like, still sad about it.”
Eddie doesn’t take his eyes from the road, but his lips purse unhappily. “But you were, huh?”
“I was,” you allow. “But I’m not anymore. I guess it just tired me out.”
He glances your way, as if to be sure you’re telling the truth, and hums. “M’sorry, baby. Still down for the arcade, or do you just wanna go home?”
“No, I’m good.” You wrap your hand around his forearm, running a path from his wrist to the crook of his elbow and back again. “I wanna see Robin. I can rally.”
Eddie nods contemplatively. The steady rumbling of the van is the only sound for a few seconds, and then he says, “On a scale of one to ten, where are you right now?”
You think about it for a few moments. “A four,” you decide.
He nods again. “Okay. By the time we leave the arcade, we’re gonna have you at a six.”
You grin at him. It’s already easier. Eddie sees out of the corner of his eye, quirking a brow like you’re being a dork but then slipping his hand from your thigh to intertwine your fingers from his. He brings the back of your hand to his mouth, kissing it wetly. You know he's content to sit in silence as long as you need, but you have one more thing to say.
“I feel like finishing off your coke would bring me up to a solid four-point-five,” you suggest hopefully.
Eddie rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth kicks up. “It’s all yours, sweet thing.”
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x self insert#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson hurt/comfort#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson drabble#eddie munson scenario#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson one shot#eddie munson oneshot#stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fandom#stranger things 4#stranger things x reader
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okay I’m sharing a sample chapter because I think it’s funny, if anyone is mean I will cry real human tears
Chapter 9
I decided to take seducing the mad sorcerer more seriously.
His odd acts of kindness, listening to me gab about my friendship troubles with Glenda, patching my wounds, the dragon scale, it added up. I mean sure, the guy turned me into a vulture, threatened to pull my teeth out, and implanted my chest with some sort of sick torture device…. but……. hmm, maybe this wasn’t a great idea.
Still, I wanted out of this vulture body. He could transmogrify me. All I needed was a path, connecting between those points, a way to ‘make it worth his while’, as it were.
“My lord,” I squawked over breakfast. The mad sorcerer was having thick-sliced bread with jam, and I was having a squirrel that had gotten trapped in the chimney and only just begun to rot. I’d flown it down to the kitchen to eat with the sorcerer, figuring a lonely guy like him would enjoy a social meal.
“My lord,” I repeated, swallowing the scrap of squirrel intestine that dangled from my beak. “I think you should turn me into a woman.”
The mad sorcerer choked on his bread.
After some spluttering and hacking of breadcrumbs, and indecision on my part as to whether I should be smacking his back with a wing, he recovered enough to answer. “Why in the world…...? Also, you are flinging rat…. particles everywhere, from this point onward you are forbidden from eating indoors. Effective immediately,” he added, as I raced to get in one last beakfull.
“It’s a squirrel, my lord.” I said, wiping my beak on the brick oven I perched on. “They have the fluffy tails, that’s how you can tell.”
“Stop that! Stop that!” The sorcerer rose to shoo me off the oven and, confused, I circled the room and landed on a chair.
“Anyway, so the transmogrification, my lord. I figure since the prophecy is clear about bodily sex, I can swap to the other one while still weaselling out of the whole thing. Pretty smart, right?” I finished wiping my beak on my own back feathers, and then raised a talon to scratch an itch beneath my chin.
“’Thick eyelashes for a boy’…. I suppose you’re right.” The sorcerer seemed deep in thought. “And you are rather disgusting as a vulture.”
“Well, no, I groom regularly my lord,” I protested, “Look, there’s this nipple-looking thing at the base of my tail, see? And I get oil from there and smear it all over the place. Keeps me shiny!”
“Stop flaring your feathers, I do not wish to see it. I will use the needle if I have to, obey my instructions.” The sorcerer kneaded his forehead with a hand, his toast lying forgotten on the table. A trio of the small humanoid kitchen constructs had descended on my squirrel, one carting it away and the other two working with brushes to scrub the scraps of red off the brickwork. I decided not to protest.
“I have given you free reign of this stronghold because, lacking opposable thumbs and any possible allies, the damage you could do is minimal. As a human, the situation changes.” The sorcerer had his forehead lined and serious, but the lack of a solid ‘no’ made me giddy. Time for a sales pitch!
“I could cook and clean! And decorate, my lord, this place is pretty drab. That’s not even getting into the other stuff I could do.” I cocked my head in what I hoped to be a significant manner, vultures not having any eyebrows to raise.
“The other stuff? No, no, no I see that look on your face, please don’t answer, I know exactly where this is going.” The sorcerer’s eye flashed, and another little construct emerged to carry away his toast. Disappointment struck – I’d been hoping the sorcerer would eventually exit the kitchen having forgotten it entirely, leaving the crisp bread available for plundering. But back to selling myself.
“No, see my lord, I reckon I could perform se-“
“Shut up, shut up, please stop talking. Alright, I will turn you into a human woman if you agree to one condition.” The mad sorcerer raised a single bony finger.
“Oh, my lord?” Joy and relief unfolded like a flower. “And what’s that?”
“Please stop trying to seduce me.”
#the context is that there's a prophecy about the knight's death#but he looks a specific way in that prophecy. so they're avoiding it through shenanigans#im at 50k words as of today
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I wonder how "yan anya and yan chrollo x darling" worked out because i feel like the second either anya or chrollo say they saw someone interesting (future darling) and or started spending a concerning amount of time with someone else (5 minutes) and actually enjoy it, the other would just.....make space in their basement....Immediately taking out competition. I feel like the only way future darling can, well survive is if anya is the person that gets interested first and chrollo decides to investigate a bit instead of killing on sight, that investigating most likely leads to "Ah, now i know why anya likes her so much" and con-gratulations/dolences, darling wakes up in some unknown bedroom
tbh, anya has the highest chance of falling for the most Regular shmuck. normalcy bewitches her. so when chrollo starts skulking about, she's on high alert. you're her 9-5 not-quite-partner-yet-but-still-in-the-cards-potentially-kinda-not-really-she's-delusional. he needs to go find his own! chrollo would have to give a solid sales pitch to kick things off. specifically, the boost to your security with them both in your orbit. especially since chrollo has better interpersonal skills (he phrases it nicer than that). they smooth out the details at brunch.
your future is decided by two notorious figures in society's underground over avocado toast.
having anya thrown into the yandere mix comes with some pros and cons, notably:
+less mind games from chrollo, as anya thinks it's bad for your mental health. no comment upon you pointing out kidnapping isn't doing your brain any favors either.
+anya doesn't go for threatening your family/loved ones, implicitly or otherwise. she knows that if anyone threatened ash (and estella too, depending on the day of the week), she'd never forgive them.
+the cutlery wherever you're staying at doesn't magically disappear. chrollo wants to 'relieve you of the temptation' by removing pointy objects, but anya argues otherwise. their abilities should be sufficient in disarming you should you ever threaten them with a knife. if anything, she wants to encourage this instinct, so you could defend yourself in the event they're not around.
-anya will not stop trying to convince you that kale tastes good so you'll eat more of the evil leaf.
-they share the most horrific anecdotes with a nonchalant air. chrollo will occasionally bring up memories from his youth, whereas anya focuses on her most notable escapades. you could've gone without her account of the anti-men cult she was sent to investigate who sewed their eyes upon initiation. it ruined your appetite.
-although chrollo hides it better, they're both out of touch with reality to varying degrees. anya couldn't accurately guess the price of milk and there's no convincing chrollo that killing strangers is 'morally abhorrent.'
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It is time for @gallacrafts Theme 22: PRIDE!
Gather round and I will tell you a little story…
🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈
The balcony in their west side apartment may not be huge, but it’s big enough to fit a small table and two chairs. When they first moved in, Ian’s idea had been to have regular brunches out here, enjoying the early morning sun and each other’s company.
Mickey pointed out that brunch was gay, and that he preferred an early morning fuck to early morning French toast, anyway.
Ian punched Mickey in the shoulder with a grumbled “Shut up”, and left it at that, sure he’d find a way to convince his husband soon enough. He always did.
But then word spread about Gallavich Security and they really couldn’t turn down any new clients because they needed the money for rent, and utilities, and furniture, and ambulance repairs, and Mickey gave those polka dancers an extra big tip at the end of their anniversary celebration, which Ian thought was really sweet, but it all added up.
And so, their lives got busy for a while, and since they weren’t using the balcony for luxurious married couple brunches, Ian started filling the space with plants.
He picked up a load of potted herbs one day, because they were on sale and the idea of having fresh herbs at all times made him smile. And once they had basil readily growing then of course tomatoes had to be next. Mickey found him reading an article about gardening in restricted spaces one evening and the next time he returned from a grocery run he unceremoniously dropped a hanging basket in Ian’s lap. “For your tomatoes” he muttered, before going to the kitchen to get a beer. Ian smiled after him, besotted with his grumpy husband.
Next Ian picked up some ferns for cheap. And one of their neighbours asked if they’d like some of her surplus spider plants, as they propagated better than she had expected.
The week after that Ian bought some blue agapanthus, for more money than he should have spent, but they reminded him of their wedding flowers – which meant he just had to buy them. So yeah, the plants start to add up.
And suddenly it’s June. They’d finally hired two new drivers and just finished training them, introducing them to all their clients, explaining the routes, the shortcuts, the high police presence areas to avoid at all costs… y’know, the usual.
And now? Well, now they have an entire week to themselves! Their first ever “vacation”, and Ian is determined to kick it off in style. He carefully gets out of bed. Mickey grumbles, smacks his lips, and turns his face into Ian’s pillow, inhaling deeply and settling back into sleep.
Ian opens the Pinterest App on his phone (he talks to his plants and is desperate to convince his husband of how great brunch is - of course he has a Pinterest account…) and lays everything he needs out on the counter, before heading out to the balcony to make some space. He shuffles plants around and adjusts furniture until he’s happy they’ll be able to sit comfortably. He heads back inside to start a pot of coffee and get to flipping pancakes.
He’s taken care of the few misshapen clouds from his earliest tries (by eating them, obviously!) and he’s just messing about with sprinkling some powdered sugar on the finished plates when he hears Mickey questioningly calling his name.
Picking up both plates and two coffee mugs he calls back “On the balcony!” before stepping outside and adding the plates and mugs to the already laid out cutlery, milk, and maple syrup. He steps back into the kitchen to get the full coffee pot and he’s just filled Mickey’s mug when the man himself steps out into the snug space.
“What’s all this?” Mickey asks, amusement and fondness in his voice.
Ian glances over at him then quickly away. He feels the tingling heat of a blush on his cheeks and suddenly feels silly for the amount of fuss he’s made, so tries to play it off as casual and says, shrugging “I made us some pancakes.”
Mickey looks at the pancake rainbows and powdered sugar covered clouds on both of their plates, sat next to steaming cups of coffee, and raises an eyebrow at his husband. “Yeah, you sure did…” he starts, teasingly, reaching for Ian’s neck and scritch scritch scritching through the short hair at his nape. He glances back at the table and concludes: “That’s really fucking gay, Gallagher.”
Ian laughs, slapping Mickey’s hand off his neck, only to grab his face in both hands and pull him in for a lingering kiss, mumbling on the pull back to “Shut up, and eat your Pride Pancakes, Mick”
Delivering one more smacking kiss to Ian’s lips Mickey goes to sit down, positively beaming at his ridiculous husband. “Happy fucking Pride to us.”
Rooster mugs created by the fabulous @deedala, and available for purchase here. || If you’d like to see some in progress pictures of the pancakes then head over here :)
And lastly, as an extra sweet treat, below is some real life footage of Ian enjoying the Pride Pancakes!
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#Thank you Ruth for the late night beta <3#gallacrafts#theme 22#PRIDE#gallapride#Mys art#Mys fic#Mys in the kitchen#Gallacats#🐈⬛ 🐈#shamelessnet#cw: food
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Pal-entine's Day
"Making the most of your day off, Pinkie?" Tony asks, nudging his head towards the box in your hands.
"Well, Palentine's only happens once at year," you quip, placing the box on the common room coffee table.
Tony dramatically sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know I'm going to regret asking, but what?"
"Palentine's Day," you state matter of factly. "It's a thing."
"It's definitely not a thing," Steve agrees.
"Of course it is," you retort, dismissively waving at the both of them. "Why else would me and Sam, every year on the day after Valentine's, go look for all the leftover candy that's on sale. After that, we go have lunch and discuss the rest of you."
"You talk about the rest of us when we're not there?" Tony indignantly guffaws.
"Can I just add how nice you look today?" Steve quickly compliments.
"Duly noted, Steve. I will take that into consideration."
"Alright, this year I know I've got you beat-" Sam starts as he walks into the room with an oversized box in his arms, only to stop when he sees Steve and Tony also in the common room. "Oh, hey, Steve, Tony."
"What's in the box, Sam?" Tony deeply sighs. "A gift for a holiday that no one has ever heard of?"
"Someone's exceptionally bitter today," Sam quips.
"Well, when two of my colleagues take the day off for a made up holiday it tends to put you in a bad mood," Tony sarcastically remarks.
"Aren't most holidays just made up?" Sam counters.
Tony opens his mouth, only to close it when he realizes he doesn't have an adequate rebuttal.
"Oh, you should open mine first!" you eagerly insist, gesturing to the box in front of you.
"Aw... you didn't have to get me -," Sam stops mid-sentence as he pops off the top of the gift box. He softly gasps at the sight of the glass bottle securely tucked into the box. He lifts it closely examine the contents: a miniature replica of his family's boat. "How did even you do this?"
"I asked your sister for several very detailed pictures of the boat. And getting it in a bottle? That's for me to know."
"This is so cool," Sam marvels, still holding the bottle an inch away from his face. "Looks just like my family's boat in Louisiana."
"Your family has a boat?" Tony questions.
"You're from Louisiana?" Steve simultaneously asks.
Sam shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he puts the bottle back in the box. "Okay, okay, your turn."
"Alright," you excitedly agree. You tear through the tissue paper of Sam's gift bag to reveal a giant, green, plush animal inside. It's only when you pull the plush out of the bag that you see that the gift is an oversized plush chameleon, just like the sidekick in your favorite movie. "Oh my God, this is amazing! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
"It's a chameleon..." Steve awkwardly lilts. "Because you're adaptable?"
"Or like the sidekick from her favorite movie," Sam corrects with a sigh. Sam's head turns slightly, his voice dropping slightly, "You didn't invite them, did you?"
"You know, we're right here. We can hear you," Tony points out.
Sam drops his voice even lower, leaning in closer to you, "You didn't-"
"This is not normal," Tony interjects. "This is a very weird thing to do with your friends."
"You mean your friends don't get you giant, plush versions of your favorite cartoon characters?" you pose.
Tony fervently shakes his head. "No!"
"Then you guys need better friends," Sam mutters under his breath.
"Tell me about it," you mumble.
Grumpy Sunshine Series
Grumpy Sunshine Drabbles
The AnonymityIsFun Loves Tangled List
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The ocean is one of the first things Max ever talked to him about.
The way she used to love to see double sunsets reflected on the water like a giant mirror. How she liked sinking her toes in the sand and bonfires that glowed brighter as the day faded. How she never, ever since she was little, came home from the beach without a few souvenir shells, and her mother on laundry days would always be complaining about sand in her pockets. He's never heard a voice so happy and so sad at the same time as when that girl talks about California.
So when Lucas sees a jar of seashells at a yard sale, of course it makes him think of her.
The price sticker also does, because 25 cents is how much it costs per attempt to get his Dig Dug high score right underneath hers. With just a little effort, anything can remind him of her.
His jar of shells gives him an idea - an idea that will take lots of work, because this is not really the kind of thing to ask the party for help with, but one that will be worth it if it makes her smile.
It takes twelve trips in the end, because sand is heavy, and hard to carry by bike. Besides, one can only scoop so much at a time from the playground into buckets and pillowcases before it starts to look weird. It's a gradual project. There's no deadline.
If his dad is curious why he's suddenly so interested in seeing the forecast page of the newspaper every day, he doesn't ask. There have never been so many totally overcast and totally clear days in a row.
But one late afternoon when the sky seems right, Lucas tells Max to get on her bike and come with him.
"Why the quarry?" she keeps demanding on the way there, because she knows immediately that he's being vague and she's getting suspicious.
"Okay, there's the quarry, what do you wanna see so bad?" she asks, parking her bike next to his.
"You," he blurts finally with a laugh, unzipping his backpack. "I wanted to take you to the beach."
"What?"
She follows him a few steps down to the world's tiniest beach - a neat patch of sand spread near the water's edge, just big enough for two people to sit in, garnished with seashells.
He unfurls a towel and presses play on the tape. That had been the hardest part, harder than the sand, because the ocean sound effects cassette took more than three agonizing weeks to arrive in the mail, and it's way heavier on the seagulls than he wishes, but it is what it is.
"Did you know from over here you can see a double sunset? Or, okay, like," he gestures at the giant cliff face that is obviously blocking a lot of the horizon, "a double half sunset.. so, one, I guess, really, but..."
He grows nervous as he strikes a match and focuses on lighting his prearranged firewood, because she's had plenty of time now to say something, and she hasn't.
This is pretty lame and corny, and maybe he should've done it better or not at all.
"I know it's got nothing on California. Maybe someday I can see the real thing with you, but I thought for now.. maybe it could be fun to pretend, just for a minute?"
It's about 50/50 when he looks up whether she'll be smiling or rolling her eyes, and he hopes for the former, or at least a combo.
Neither. She just sits down on her knees next to him, all quiet and blinky and eye-avoidy, the way she gets when she's thinking things she isn't good at saying out loud, and slips her fingers between his. Relieved, he smiles and tends the fire, not making her talk.
It's too bad that the sunset doesn't turn out to be an especially spectacular one, but maybe that isn't the point.
They put their toes in the sand and watch the sky and laugh about whatever and toast a few marshmallows, and Lucas thinks that if she's this beautiful in the orangy glow of a double half okay sunset on a teaspoon of fake beach, he doesn't know how he could ever survive looking directly at her in her natural habitat.
"You know," Max says, smiling softly at his face in the firelight, "there is one thing Hawkins definitely has on California."
Pretending not to feel her gaze, Lucas looks around innocently at their surroundings. "The quarries?"
And she snorts and kisses him, and his marshmallow burns to a cinder.
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busy streets and busy lives • ralph penbury x reader
A strange day at work gets even stranger when you meet a man who claims he's from 1926. With no certainty as to when he can get back, you decide to take him in until that time arrives.
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Tags: Timewasters (series), modern!au, slow burn, mutual pining, idiots in love™, fluff, some angst, swearing and mentions of adult themes throughout, eventual adult content, alcohol content, drug content, penbury is a fanon surname
Word count: 9.7k
A/N: Sorry this one took so long, gang. New work rota to get used to (which, as a night shift worker, is a rough one) and then just as I got some good time off, I got hit with a MASSIVE cold that I'm still fighting off but it's been a downer on the ol' creativity.
Next chapter's a REALLY BIG one plotwise, so hopefully it shouldn't take as long!
You wake up to an empty bed and an overly natural lit bedroom. Pouting at the lack of Ralph, you throw yourself out of bed.
Thankfully, he's in the kitchen, sitting at one of the stools you'd recently bought in the January sales, since Ralph had said that he had enough of eating from his lap like a "feral animal". His eyes light up when he sees you, greeting you with a soft, "Good morning, darling!"
"Morning, yourself, handsome," you grin back, going to start making breakfast. "I know I couldn't avoid work today, but I'll still make us both your favourite, yeah?"
"Aren't you forgetting a little something?" he asks in a hopeful lilt. "Something for the birthday boy, perhaps?"
You roll your eyes, "Of course not," as you walk round to him, trying not to get too distracted by how simply adorable his little anticipatory shoulder wiggle is. Reaching over to cradle the back of his head, you pull him in for a kiss. His soft, sweet lips, still minty from having brushed his teeth, sandwich your top lip between them as he kisses you eagerly. You pull away with a soft, “Happy birthday, Ralphie,” before giggling, “and what have I told you about brushing before breakfast, it’s pointless!”
“I’m afraid I get rather a bad case of halitosis when I first awaken and I would hate for you to have that sully your opinion of me,” Ralph admits, frowning at your lack of presence as he watches you walk over to the other side of the counter.
“We all get morning breath, babe, you don’t have to worry about that!” you wave him off. Somehow, you know that you’re making him breakfast, but the actions don’t quite seem to match up. Before you know it, you’re sliding a plate in his direction. “Here you are, my love.”
“Sorry, what was that?” Ralph asks, a small smile on his face as he points to his ear.
“Shut up, you heard me, you just want me to say it again,” you shake your head, laughing under your breath. He simply smiles contentedly as he starts eating, and you watch him adoringly.
A strange noise starts to ring in your ears. It sounds as if it’s coming from outside, then as though it’s in the room with you.
Finally, you jolt awake, face half-buried in your pillow as your alarm rings over for the twentieth time. You grumble until you look at the time and you practically throw the phone at the wall as you yelp. How the fuck do you end up oversleeping through your alarm for twenty whole minutes?! Today, of all days, too. Head Office are coming in and your regional manager has stressed the importance of all hands on deck.
You finally emerge for Ralph to see you for the first time that morning, running between your bedroom and bathroom shouting a chain of, “Shit, fucking piss-stain wanker! Dogs-bollocking, dick-shitting nipples, fucking - ahhhh!” You shout as you violently brush your teeth.
Going back to throw on the first vaguely business-casual outfit you see, you stride out into the main part of the flat and face Ralph for the first time. With half a piece of toast in his hand and a crust sticking out of his mouth, he looks at you in horrified fear. You groan, “Sorry you had to hear all that. I’m running so fucking late, oh my god, why did I do this?!” You let your muscle memory take over the act of finding your jacket and shoes as you continue scolding yourself internally.
Ralph finishes his mouthful and pouts, “Aren’t you forgetting something? A certain birthday boy, perhaps?”
With an exasperated sigh, you continue running on autopilot, huffing an, “Of course!” Marching towards him, you hold the back of his head and gently bring it forward to kiss him in a sweet, lingering peck. “Happy birthday, Ralphie,” you smile before rushing out of the door, not noticing the surprised and confused look frozen onto his face or his beetroot ears.
As you hear the lock of the door click behind you, the realisation of what you’ve just said also clicks. You freeze, accidentally mirroring Ralph’s expression. What the fuck did you go and do that for?! You certainly weren't dreaming that time. You should go back in there and apologise. You should go back in there and assure both yourself and Ralph that it was purely an accident.
But then your phone buzzes with the name of your regional manager illuminated on the screen. With a sigh of resignation, you tap to answer the call and tell them, “I know, I know, I’m literally on my way in now, I’ll be there in time, I swear.” You run down the stairs, not even thinking of waiting for the lift, and once you’re in your car you catch your reflection in the rear view mirror just long enough to scream at yourself for being so fucking stupid. How you’re going to talk yourself out of this one, you just don’t know.
Ralph remains frozen in the same position, with the same expression, for several minutes. When his brain finally allows him to actually do something, the first thing he does, naturally, is slap himself across the face. He rubs his stinging cheek with mixed confusion and realisation. He can’t be dreaming. But why on earth would you just kiss him like that, out of nowhere? Had Ralph missed a cue or… Seven, if you’re at the stage where you’re happy to just up and kiss him? Could he have been outwardly courting you this whole time? And since when was this an established thing between you, anyway? The only other time you’d kissed was exactly one month ago to the day and -
Of course. Reality falls on him like the setting winter sun - quick, harsh and cold. You kissed him to celebrate the New Year, and so now you’re kissing him to celebrate his birthday. It must just be another tradition. Of course he shouldn’t have expected anything more. If there were any other potential for an actual relationship between you and him to blossom, you’ve had plenty of chances to let him know that you’re interested, and you never have. Your kiss was simply a nicety for his big day. Nothing more.
Still, Ralph’s heart is racing. What a rush to feel your lips on his again! Though he immediately scolds himself for indulging in his selfish fantasy. It’s honestly unfair to the both of you for him to keep pretending that you could possibly seek his companionship. It would put you in an awkward position, and its inevitability finally being addressed out in the open would surely break Ralph’s heart to no end.
To distract himself, Ralph goes to make himself a coffee, but curses internally at the empty jar that’s been left on the side. Of course, stupid Ralph. He’d already used the last of it up yesterday, and you’d told him not to worry, that you’d pick more up on your big weekly shop. Ralph thought it wouldn’t be a problem, but now he needs a boost to keep his mind moving, to stop him dwelling on… Whatever just happened.
He strides over to the other side of the flat to look out of the window. He could go to the supermarket, though this smaller one doesn’t have the coffee you like to buy, and the last thing Ralph needs on today of all days is to cause more friction between the two of you. And so, with a heavy sigh of resignation, he goes to get dressed before begrudgingly making his way out of the house.
“Hi!” The barista grins from behind the counter. “Are you… Okay? You look kinda… Not sure if you’re lost, or just… Grossed out,” they cock their head as they try and study Ralph’s reaction.
“Well, I certainly never thought I’d be stepping foot in this… Coffee house of yours since it replaced my favourite shop,” Ralph frowns.
“Ahh, yeah. Sucks to see the old plant shop go, but I guess there’s not enough gardens in South London to keep them in business, eh,” they shrug.
He scoffs, “My friends and I are more than proof enough that you don’t need a garden to enjoy having greenery around!”
They put their hands up, “Alright, alright, I’m sorry? I dunno, I didn’t have any say in what happened here, I’m just one person.”
“Yes, of… Of course you are, my most humble apologies,” He squeezes his eyes shut, but the barista offers him a forgiving smile. “I… Have no idea what any of these things mean.”
“Oh, what, the different types of drink?” They point at the board behind them, and Ralph nods. “You ever drink coffee before?”
“The kind you would make at home, yes,” he nods.
“Okay, so that’s pretty much the cafe au lait,” they point to the entry up on the board. “If you’re looking to expand your horizons a little bit, a flat white’s similar but it’s made with espresso, not filtered coffee, so that’ll pack a real punch. An Americano is a diluted espresso, you can ask for milk with it but as a coffee snob, I will judge you a little for it,” they joke. “If you like milk, lattes are a safe bet. If you’ve got a sweet tooth, we’ve got cappuccinos, or mochas if you really like it sweet. If you’d prefer a cold drink, I can make you an iced latte, mocha or a tea of some kind, if you’re into those…”
“I’m still not quite sure what I’d like,” he frowns, more puzzled than ever.
“How’s about we start you with a cafe au lait, then? See how you like it?” Ralph nods in agreement, and the barista taps away at their register. “Wanna start a loyalty card?”
Ralph turns his nose up, “Feels like a betrayal.”
“Oh my god, I promise your houseplants won’t care that you’re buying your coffee here now,” the barista groans sarcastically.
Ralph sucks his lips in before looking to the barista and nodding. “Very well.”
“Just need your full name and date of birth, please,” they ask, and Ralph freezes up. “Alright there, mate?”
“Y-yes, of course, just need to check something,” he frantically takes his phone out, taps the calculator and works out what 2023-26 is. “Ah! February 1st, 1997!” Despite knowing he now lives in a year that starts with a 2, the notion of saying 1997 out loud still feels alien to him.
The barista ducks their head to look up at him past their eyebrows, disbelievingly. “You just check the date to try and get free shit?”
Ralph looks shocked at their vulgarity. “Not at all! It truly is my birthday today, why would I lie about such a thing?!”
They shake their head, “Whatever. Have a birthday every day if you really want, no skin off my back,” they tease.
Ralph takes his free coffee back to the flat with him, expressing his gratitude to the barista before leaving.
After replying to texts from both your friends and his little girl gang, Ralph finishes his coffee and starts looking around the flat for something to do. Everything is clean, he daren’t get any shopping done without you for fear of getting it wrong… If only he could do some redecorating of some sort. That would be nice. It’s all looked the same for the last five months, and who knows how long before?!
As he goes to check Twitter, to read through some inevitable birthday greetings, he accidentally clicks open Instagram instead. Terrified, he notices that all of the adverts are for home decor. It’s bad enough that the speaker knows his voice, now his phone can read his thoughts?! He slams his phone down and marches back out to end up back at the coffee shop. “Hello, again.”
“I liked that drink, but I feel a little… Adventurous,” Ralph’s eyebrows waggle. “May I try that flat white now?”
“Sure thing,” the barista smirks. “Have you downloaded the app yet?”
Ralph frowns, “What app?”
They point to a sign detailing the loyalty reward scheme. “You need to scan the code from your phone to get the points to get the prizes. Get it?”
His eyes narrow. “I don’t think I can trust my phone anymore. Mine can read my thoughts. Can yours?”
The barista looks at him, bewildered, until they finally understand. Laughing, they shake their head. “Listen, mate, you seem like a decent guy and all, and I wish I could help, but I don’t get paid enough to learn all the ins and outs of datamining just to teach you.”
“Fair enough,” Ralph admits quietly. “But so, you mean I’m not the only one being targeted?”
Another head shake. “It’s just how advertisers get to you now. Don’t sweat it too much, it’s inevitable.”
“Very well. I promise I shall bring my phone back next time. Though you may have to teach me how to use this new app, I’m not very good with them. I apologise if my inadequacy is frustrating to you.”
“Normally it would be, but I dunno, there’s some strange charm about you that makes me actually kinda want to help you?” The barista asks, confused by their own sentiment.
With a small smile, Ralph muses, “I do rather seem to have that effect on people.”
Ralph’s journey through the coffee menu proves very educational to him. The cafe au lait seems boring in comparison to the flat white, but the flat white was far stronger than Ralph could handle, for now at least. The latte proved to be too bitter, the mocha too sweet. Cappuccinos seem to finally hit the sweet spot with Ralph, but once he’s finally realised that, the barista cuts him off. “You are literally vibrating, mate. That’s enough caffeine for you.”
“Are you quite sure? I’m finding this all rather riveting! Are there any more drinks for me to try, perhaps? Or I could start making that cappuccino a regular thing!” Ralph babbles, his own speed ramped up hundredfold.
“Very sure. Come back whenever you’ve come down from your high and then we’ll talk, alright?” they smirk, flashing their eyes towards the door for Ralph to take a hint.
“Could I at least have one to take back with me? I promise I won’t drink it as quickly!” If there is one thing Ralph has learned in recent months, it’s that he’s got a face that few people can say no to, and even if they do, he can make it more persuasive. He lowers his chin ever so slightly and makes his eyes look especially wide, sticking his lower lip out just enough to not look deliberate.
The barista’s poised composure falters a little as they sigh, “Fine. One more. But don’t you dare come back until tomorrow, promise?” Their face melts as Ralph holds out his little finger to them and they link it with their own. “You’re a weird one, Ralph. But you might be becoming my favourite regular.”
With an unnaturally wide smile, Ralph nods to them in thanks, pays for his drink and takes it back to the flat with him.
Once he’s back in, the first thing his eyes are drawn to is the stool he was sitting on when you kissed him. Oh, blast, and now that’s all he can think about, with all cylinders firing. You should be home soon, and then you’ll have to talk about it, and Ralph’ll have to while he’s like this, and that’s no condition to be having such a serious conversation in.
He checks the time on his phone and accidentally unlocks it to the page he had been scrolling through furniture on. That’s it! Ralph thinks in an epiphany moment. He’ll just put all of his energy into imagining the perfect way to redecorate.
~~~
Finally, as you wave your regional manager and the Director of Somethings (it’s been far too long a day to remember specifics) out of your store, you close the door and collapse against it. You make eye contact with the day’s floor workers and smile gratuitously at them with an exhausted nod. “Alright, good job, team, think that’ll keep them off our backs for a little while.”
“You were amazing, chief,” one of them grins, and you wave them off, pulling a face of disbelief. “You really had your head in the game today!”
“I swear to fucking god, if any of you start singing High School Musical…” you falter through the first half of your threat, not having any of the brainpower to finish it. Thankfully, the silence is filled with your team’s laughter, instead.
“Nah, seriously, you were on one today. Haven’t seen you like it in yonks,” another pipes up.
“Yeah, well,” you shake your head, “believe it or not, I’d rather do all that all over again than what I’ve got waiting for me at home.”
“Oo-er, trouble in paradise?” One teases, and you throw two fingers up at them as a joking insult.
“Trust me, living with someone like Ralph is far from paradise sometimes,” you shake your head, but you let out a tension-relieving rasp of breath at that sentiment. The way you’re talking about him makes it look as though the ensuing awkwardness of the evening is his fault. You woke up too late. You rushed yourself out of your sleep. You kissed Ralph again. How on earth were you going to explain this to him?! You can’t tell him the truth, that you’d been dreaming so vividly about a situation where kissing him would be so normal that you just forgot that it wasn’t. Maybe you could call it a modern tradition to kiss people on their birthday? But then he’d expect it from the others, and you’d have to explain to them why he’s expecting it. Which would unravel as to why it would be weird for you to kiss Ralph, which would unravel the truth of Ralph’s circumstances. And you’re in far too deep, now.
The walk to your car, the drive home, even opting to walk up all nine flights of stairs still proves fruitless as you try and think of any excuse to give to Ralph.
But thankfully, in true Ralph fashion, he seems to have created his own problem to discuss instead, as you open the door to find your furniture splayed out across the expanse of the flat, all at various angles. “Okay,” you start, alarming an unusually extra-jumpy Ralph, “I’ve had the most insane day at work, so I’m clearly just imagining this. I’m going to close the door, open it again, and everything will be the way it always is.” You step back, swinging the door shut, take a deep breath and open it again to find the flat still in total disarray. You rub your face with your palms. “Dare I ask?”
“Ah! Well, I’ve had quite the brainwave today! I really thought that all of this furniture could do with a little… Revamp, and so I’ve found some pieces that I thought could really brighten the place up, and some wouldn’t quite fit, unless! I had an idea! Since we have the stools now, we can begone with the table in front of the sofa, and then I thought that would open up the space for one of those ones that’s also a bed, but then I thought, well that’s pointless now, isn’t it? But then I had another bright idea, what if we moved things around to create some more open space here near the entryway, and then perhaps we could create an area for playing more of those card games with everybody instead of all being hunched over that tiny little coffee table, and -”
You zone out for most of his rambling, but you check back in in time to interrupt him. “Oh my god, please breathe.” Ralph takes a deep breath in, but he can’t seem to focus his gaze on you. “Even if we could get the furniture up here, getting all new stuff would cost money that neither of us have -”
“Ah, but that’s the remarkable part! There are apps that sell furniture for cheaper! I found one, it’s called Ebbay -” somewhere between your tiredness and the hilarious mispronunciation of eBay means you decide not to correct him - “and they sell secondhand furniture for far cheaper, and a lot of it is still in good condition!”
You groan, “Please tell me you haven’t bought anything yet.”
“Oh, heavens, no, it appears to be some kind of auction, and Mother banned Victoria and I from attending those when we were young for assuming it was a consequenceless game and accidentally spending frivolous amounts of Father’s money on items we certainly had neither the room nor the use for!”
The mental image of a young Ralph simply waving a paddle around for the sake of it at a high-end art auction charms you just enough to take your mind off of that matter, and to finally get around to addressing the elephant in the room. “Look, Ralph…” you start slowly. “I really think we should talk about this morning -”
“Oh, what? That?” Ralph asks, visibly shaking. “No, no! No need to talk about that, there are far more important matters at hand! Now, if I could just bend your ear about -”
“Ralph, we do not need more furniture!” you interject impatiently, and his face falls, still not making eye contact with you. “What is with you?!” You look around the flat for some kind of clue, and finally spot a take-out cup with the same logo as the new cafe that opened up opposite. “Oh, thank fuck it’s just coffee this time,” you sigh with relief as Ralph’s dilated eyes continue to dart in every direction.
“Yes, although I shall miss the plants a great deal, it is rather a splendid alternative, now that I know what I like! And whoever it was that was working there was incredibly charming, I’m already a favourite - oh,” he goes from giddy excitement to a flat deadpan. “Oh, heavens, was I being wooed earlier?”
Most likely, you think to yourself. Who wouldn’t want to flirt with Ralph? “Alright, listen,” you hold his biceps at arm’s length, and he finally looks straight at you. Big, blown-out, warm brown doe eyes bore into you intently. Swallowing hard, you continue, “You’re probably due to crash any minute, so there’s no point in trying to think anything through, you’re not in the right frame of mind. Just go lay down in the bed, sleep it off, and we can get ready for tonight when you wake up.”
“You look rather tired, yourself,” Ralph looks concerned. “Perhaps we would both benefit from a nap?”
“Yeah,” you rub an eye sleepily. “Yeah, I could take an hour’s kip on the sofa once I get it back to normal again.”
“W-well, there’s no harm in us both still sharing the bed, is there?” He asks, his eyebrows knitting together. “Plus, if you sleep through another alarm, at least I would be right there to wake you.”
Blinking slowly, you look disbelievingly at him. “So, you knew I was sleeping through my alarm and you didn’t think to do anything else to wake me?!”
“You always complain that you forget to switch your alarms off on days that you don’t need them! I assumed -” his yawn interrupts him, causing you to yawn as well. “The evil contagious yawns are back,” he muses, and you laugh under your breath.
“Yeah. Let’s just go to bed, shall we?” You ask in resignation, padding your way over to the bedroom and deciding that putting the flat back is not a task for your current self.
You awaken not by your alarm, but far sooner than it from the sound of panicked shouting coming from the other room. You fly out of bed, vaulting over Ralph’s body entirely and waking him up in the process. You swing the door open to find your friends looking terrified and calling your name. “Oh my god, babe, I think you’ve been burgled!” Grace states breathlessly through her squeezed cheeks as she looks around in horror, hands holding her face the whole time.
You can’t help but giggle, “Sorry to panic you all, but crisis averted. Ralph decided to do some sudden renovations on a caffeine high and crashed before we could fix it.” Ralph emerges from behind you, looking in wide-eyed fear at the prospect of an intruder. “He’s the robber you’re worried about!” You jerk your head at Ralph from where he stands, and all four of your friends all exchange strangely knowing glances at each other. “What?”
“Furniture all over the place, you two in the bedroom…” Scott smirks quietly. “Guess we were the intruders, after all!”
You feel yourself get flustered, while Ralph seems to have thankfully not heard. “Oh, piss off, do we look as though anything happened?” You hiss, and everyone merely looks at each other in the same way.
Ralph instead looks at everyone’s hands intensely to make sure they’ve all understood the assignment for tonight. He had requested no gifts for his birthday, as he had insisted that everything everyone has done for him has been more than enough, but he wanted to celebrate by getting as many of his friends together for a night out as possible. His girl gang had suggested a rather high-end club in the city, which everyone is happy enough to meet at to compensate for not buying gifts. The one thing your friends have been looking forward to the most about Ralph’s birthday is getting him on public transport.
Once everyone has helped you get the flat back in order, you and Ralph get ready - as separately as you can show your friends - and you make your way over to the train station - but not before grabbing a McDonald’s to eat on the train. Ralph initially turns his nose up at the thought of eating such a meal out in the open, but after Connor reminds him of the dangers of drinking on an empty stomach, he wolfs his burger and fries down while you’re all still waiting at the platform.
Ralph rushes ahead of you all to press the button that opens the doors, jumping up and down with glee as the doors do, in fact, slide open. He leaps onto the train to make sure he gets a window seat, despite it being too dark outside to see anything. You, Connor and Anna all sit at the four-seat bay with him, while Scott and Grace sit on the other side with their partners. Nobody can take their eyes off of Ralph, though, who seems enamoured at the view through the window as the train moves even though most of it is plunged in the pitch black of night.
You make a plan for the Underground - teach Ralph how to use his new Oyster card to get through the barriers, then Connor was to take the lead in charging ahead, with you quickly following, Ralph in tow by way of you holding his hand, with Anna also holding his other hand behind him to make sure he didn’t get lost. You tell Ralph over and over again of how ruthless the Tube is, and that there is no room for manners, or dithering, or anything other than getting to the next train as quickly as possible. He finds it all rather overwhelming, especially as he learns the hard way that standing up on the Underground means having to hold on at all times, but his eyes light up as his body is thrown around under his grasp on the hand rail. He giggles at the names of certain stations, such as Plimlico, and you curse yourself that nobody knew of a good enough place to go that would be on the same line as Cockfosters station. Oh, to see Ralph’s reaction to that name.
Most of Ralph’s girl friends greet you outside of the bar, as well as one of his work colleagues. “I’ve been told to tell you that Babs appreciates the invite, but she’s already had enough of her body replaced that she’s not in the business of seeing what else science can do for her,” they recite to Ralph, to your amusement.
“You invited your boss?!” You ask him through laughter. “The lady who’s like 107?!”
“84,” he corrects you indignantly, “and I was simply trying to be nice!”
“Yeah, looks like you extended that nicety to the customers, too,” his colleague smirks as someone strides over confidently.
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Ralph, how many strangers have you invited?!”
“None!” He frowns. “This is a friend!” He smiles and claps as this friend of his that nobody seems to recognise approaches.
“’Sup, everybody? He-hey, Ralph! Happy birthday, my dude,” he greets, taking Ralph’s hand to shake it.
If the accent hadn’t already been a dead giveaway, Ralph nods excitedly, waggling his eyebrows. “He’s American!” He says to you pointedly, as though showing off.
You suck your lips in, trying desperately not to be too sarcastic in response so as not to embarrass him in front of his new friend, but you do allow yourself a little snarky, “Exotic,” comment, knowing it’d just go over Ralph’s head.
“He calls me dude,” Ralph continues proudly before introducing him to the group by name. “Um, Connor, would you be so kind as to introduce him to the ladies? I just have a small matter to discuss, I shall fill you in later,” he looks to his friend with a greater intent in mind, and Connor happily obliges.
“So, how did you meet Mister Cowabunga over there?” Grace smirks.
Ralph does not look amused. “He likes to come in on his work breaks to see what new ideas we’ve - I’ve - come up with! He has quite the experience level, though, he says that when he was younger, he worked in a whole city that was devoted to partying so he’s seen plenty of costumes in his time, but he says they’re nothing like what our shop does!”
You all allow yourself the moment of silence it takes to process how differently Ralph has perceived something yet again, but Grace’s boyfriend permeates that with a, “Wait, isn’t Party City just a chain store over in the Sta-”
“Yeah,” Anna nods quietly, “yeah, it is. Just let him think what he thinks, though.”
Grace also nods, “Trust me, babe, there is not enough time in this world to convince Ralph of something he’s wrong about. Just smile and nod.”
“So, did you only invite him because he gives you a very generic nickname?” You smirk.
“No! I have a plan,” he claps his hands together again. “I am going to wing him with someone tonight.”
“Right, and just who are you playing wingman with on his behalf?” You ask in a subtle attempt to correct him, but of course, it goes in one ear and out the other.
“Well, I thought he might be a good match for Charlotte, you know? He seems so calm about everything all of the time, and she’s quite… Excitable, albeit in a violent manner. I think he could possibly help her to chill out.” He looks around at all of your dropped jaws and throws his hands up exasperatedly. “Oh, heavens, what more could I have possibly gotten wrong for you all to keep judging me on my birthday, no less!”
“No, Ralph, you said that perfectly. Like, in context and everything,” Anna smiles proudly at him, and he beams back.
“Well, then! Who’s the bee’s knees now?!” He asks confidently, striding over to join the girls with his chest puffed out.
“And he’s back,” you mutter under your breath as you follow him, to Anna’s amusement as you link arms with her.
The girls seem to have arranged for a special VIP listing which they vouch for everyone personally, which you’re grateful for as you suddenly remember that, had that not occurred, Ralph has no ID, and your luck with that is bound to run out any day now. But that day is not today, and so you can relax somewhat. Just before you go in, you debrief all his other friends on his drink tolerance, and his American friend finds it particularly hilarious that Ralph can turn different types of drunk at will depending on what drink he has.
Everyone has already assured that since a) most of you are a fair distance away from home, and b) tonight is all about Ralph, nobody will get too drunk so that everyone can focus on making sure that he has a good night. You get into the bar, with its rhythmically thumping bass and dim lights, and immediately get hit with the tiredness you’d been putting off. Shit. You don’t want to risk drinking to the point that it’s going to make you even more drowsy, nor do you especially want to be the only sober one of the group; especially after the day you’ve had, knowing there was a drink and a good time waiting for you by the evening was the only thing keeping you going.
You head up to the cocktail bar and see that they’ve got something called an espresso martini. Perhaps that’ll keep me going, you think to yourself, though you make sure you personally tell everyone in the party to make sure that Ralph doesn’t get bought it - after the events of earlier, the last thing you need is to try and rein home a caffeinated birthday boy on the night train home.
The bartender lets you know that his specialty is actually a banana espresso martini, and that he only makes it for his favourites. He slides the glass over to you with a wink and a gesture that alludes to him expecting you to drink it in front of him. The bitterness of the espresso is cut short by the sweet taste of what you assume must be banana, even though you hadn’t specified. Bit presumptuous, you think to yourself, what if I was allergic? Still, the tastes complement each other well, and so you hold your glass up to him and nod. He looks you up and down and bites his lip as he turns to serve another customer, and Anna sidles up to you, one of Ralph’s other friends, Emily, closely following. “Well, guess I know where we can find you tonight!”
You look at her in confusion. “Excuse me?”
Her new friend points over at the bartender. “Come off it, we was halfway through coming over to tell you two to get a room when he’d finished with you!"
“Excuse me?” You repeat, now wide-eyed.
“Oh, come on, you can’t say you didn’t realise he was flirting with you!” Anna exclaims. You shrug and shake your head and she scoffs, “Seriously? What is it, hm, you got your eye on someone else?”
Your face deflates as you rasp in disbelief. “Give over,” you shake your head, but as you innocently sip, you chance a look over at Ralph, to see him chatting away with his American friend and a girl who you vaguely remember as going from wanting to fight you to fighting for you within seconds in a bathroom about four months ago. This doesn’t go undetected, but the fact that it hasn’t remains undetected by you.
Considering how exhausted you are, you actually last well through the night. Every time you feel yourself starting to wind down, you simply order yourself another drink, grab at least two of Ralph’s - and now, you suppose, your - friends and get on the dance floor until one of you inevitably needs the bathroom, to which you all go together.
At one point, you’re there with his friends Lauren (or Loz, if Ralph’s around) and Hannah. “You alright, hun?” Hannah asks, making you realise you’ve been stood in a trance-like state for however long.
“Hm? Oh! Yeah, just dead tired. Had a long day at work, and not enough time to nap before getting out here,” you shake your head and wave her off.
“Okay, well, don’t feel like you have to bottle stuff up, alright? Me and Lauren, and all the rest of us, we’re here for you if you need us, okay?”
“Yeah, just ’cause we’re Ralph’s friends, don’t mean we’re not also yours,” Lauren rubs your shoulder comfortingly.
“Thanks,” you offer them both a small smile, “but I promise that’s all this is. If I have anything truly on my mind, I promise I’ll book an appointment for some toilet therapy.”
Lauren cackles loudly, “Good! I’ll have to start charging you lot soon!”
After some bathroom mirror selfies, which warm your heart that Ralph’s friends are opening their arms to you as well, you head back to the bar. Ralph is still very much playing wingman, and it actually seems to be working. Charlotte seems far more fixated on the American than on Ralph, even when the latter is talking. Already warmed by his friends’ affection for you, your chest almost bursts at the sight of Ralph just… Existing happily, amongst people he didn’t even need you to introduce him to. Living his own little life. That all starts to sink when you then remember that he’s going to have to pull himself away from all of this to live a life that doesn’t appreciate him the way people do now.
And then comes the strangest feeling yet. As you watch the three of them take their shots - it’s just too dark to make out what they’re drinking, but it at least looks darker than vodka, thankfully - you just about catch eye contact with Ralph from the corner of his eye, keeping it as he puts the glass to his mouth and tips the shot down his throat. Something about that whole interaction has you feeling light-headed, accompanied by a sort of tingling sensation that moves through your body, but most definitely starts and ends between your legs.
As you process everything, you sigh loudly in resignation, which doesn’t go unnoticed by your new friends. “Alright, come on, what’s up, babes?” Lauren asks. “Tell me exactly what’s in your head, right now.”
In a fleeting moment of sheer lack of autonomy, either caused by lack of sleep, the presence of alcohol, or a bit of both, you simply shake your head and sigh, “I’m gonna have to fuck him before he goes, aren’t I?” When you come to, oblivious to what you’ve just admitted to, you have the urge to check your bag for your phone. “Shit,” you mutter to yourself, “think I left it in the bathroom. Um, would you get this one for me and I’ll buy yours next time?” You ask either of them, confused as to how they’re so dumbfounded, but Lauren nods.
“Sure thing, hun, take your time.” Once you’re out of earshot, the two girls slap at each other’s arms. “Did you hear that?!”
“Yeah, but what did it mean?!” Hannah asks, shaking her head.
“Well, based on who’s around us, if that was triggered by seeing whoever it was about, there’s only two options, in’t there?” Lauren flashes her eyes, gestures with her head and points over to where Ralph is now chatting to just his American friend.
“So… Ralph?” Hannah asks excitedly, but Lauren sucks the air in through her teeth.
“Nah, I don’t think so. I wish it was, I love a good rom-com moment, but why say before he goes? Ralphie would have told us if he were going anywhere, but I’m assuming Mister United States over there isn’t here forever, so…” She shrugs.
“Oh, but that’d break his heart,” Hannah pouts.
“Who’s breaking what’s heart? Lemme at them,” Connor interrupts jokingly, with Anna, Emily and Ralph’s colleague in tow.
Lauren and Hannah fill the others in on what’s just happened, and Anna and Connor look at each other excitedly. “What, were you guys rooting for Team… Whatever the other guy’s name is, not Ralph?” Lauren frowns, making Connor laugh.
“Oh, we are very much Team Ralph,” Anna waggles her eyebrows, informing the other girls of how they’d all interrupted yours and Ralph’s “shared nap”. As Scott and his partner join the conversation, quickly waving over Grace and her boyfriend, too, everyone starts swapping stories about you and Ralph that have convinced them all to start shipping the two of you. As though they could sense the vibe, the other girls also start to gravitate towards the group as the conversation goes on.
“So that’s it, then,” Scott shrugs. “We tell them that they’re madly in love with each other and finally get this painstaking slow burn over and done with!”
Lauren hums in disagreement, her eyes narrowing. “Hmm, I don’t know. Ralph would never believe us in a month of Sundays, remember that whole mess when they matched on Tinder?”
“When they WHAT?!” Your unaware friends chorus.
“Yep, Ralph accidentally,” Lauren holds up air quotations at the word, “hit the super like option or whatever, I don’t use Tinder, and ended up automatically matching with you-know-who.” The others vibrate with excitement. “So, we laid out an entire game plan to have Ralph finally confront everything, and what does he do? Panics as soon as they start talking, calls it an accident and runs away to call us, blathering on.”
“Right before that shitty date of his, too,” Emily scowls. “He could have dodged such a bullet, there.”
“Those two have taken so many easily dodged bullets, I wouldn’t place my money on either of them in a game of Russian Roulette,” Scott pulls a face, making everyone laugh.
“So, yeah, I don’t think we’re much use, there,” Lauren shrugs. “Sadly, I think the only way those two idiots are gonna get together is whenever they finally figure it out for themselves.”
“Right, we better start planning now what care home we’re all going to, so we can at least see it out together,” Connor nods, taking a little extra pride in how Lauren laughs louder than everyone else.
“God,” Ralph’s colleague pipes up with a laugh, “I had no idea about any of this, I can’t wait to tell Babs!”
~~~
Once you’ve grabbed your phone and gotten back to the main room, Lauren and Hannah are lost in a crowd of your other friends. You look over at the only other place you know definitely has at least one other person you know. You watch as Charlotte and the American - you wish you had the brainpower to remember his name right now - go off on their own and, not wanting to leave Ralph unattended for too long for fear of literally any consequence, you make a beeline for him. “Hey there, birthday boy!” You grin.
He flashes his phone up, and you get a glimpse of his lock screen - a photo of the six of you at New Year’s. “Not anymore, unfortunately! It has passed midnight now, so it is the day after,” he frowns.
You nudge his arm, “Yeah, well, it’s still your birthday in some countries, and we haven’t slept yet, so tomorrow isn’t today yet, either!” You raise your eyebrows at him, and he looks perplexed back at you. You giggle, “Never mind, ignore me. Been a hell of a day.”
“Yes, I can imagine. You, um, must have been under an awful lot of stress all day,” he mutters, barely audible over the thumping music.
“I know, I’m sorry I haven’t had the time to properly give you your card and your present, although hey! Extra birthday tomorrow! Who cares what time it is?!”
He frowns, “I specified no gifts, I just wanted a night surrounded by the people I care about the most, and I certainly have had that!”
You smirk, “Yeah, except we’ve barely seen you, Casanova!”
He laughs bashfully, “Yes, well, I thought I’d give a little something back, in return.”
“By giving Charlotte someone to distract her with?” You laugh.
“Not only that,” Ralph muses. “You talk a lot about teaching me how to assert myself more, and proving that what I have to say matters. I wanted to - well, firstly, to show myself that if I could do it for others, I could do it for myself, too, but - I wanted to show you, as well. What you’ve done for me. And why I must insist that I cannot receive any more of a gift from you.”
Just toeing the edge of alertness enough to know it’s a bad idea to kiss him again, you instead opt for throwing your arms around him and hugging him tightly. He reciprocates for a while, until your supposed love interest for the night, the bartender interrupts to ask if you want anything. You insist on buying Ralph a martini, but not yourself, partly to start allowing for a steady and time-appropriate decline into exhaustion, and partly to ensure Ralph has no idea that the espresso martini exists, though you doubt he’d be privy to the bartender’s “special”.
You get lost in your own thoughts for a second. If the bartender had really been flirting with you, so obviously that it was spotted from the other side of the room, why didn’t you tell? Even through the tiredness, it’s been long enough that surely even your “take what you can get” instinct would have latched onto that and run with it. But something just felt so wrong about the way he approached you. Immediately calling you a favourite without knowing you. The wink and the way he looked at you like you were some kind of object to be claimed.
The word you’re looking for hits you with another realisation. It feels vulgar, and you only know one person who would use that phrasing. Ralph’s purity mindset has permeated your brain now, to the point where you can’t even allow yourself to be flirted with. If your dating life wasn’t already dead in the water, it certainly is now. Who, in all of London, would be willing to have the patience to “court” you and “woo” you the way Ralph insists you “deserve”?
“Are you alright?” His concern pierces through your train of thought, and you shake yourself back to reality to nod at him. “The man behind the bar said you should take this. I took a little sip to be safe, and it certainly seems to just be water.”
You thank Ralph with a grateful nod as you take a sip, before turning to catch the bartender’s eye and smile warmly at him, too. You hadn’t meant to buffer his advances, you just… Don’t care about seeking anyone else out at the moment. And yet, the only person you do care about doing that with, you’re doomed to never get to. What a tragic life.
Trying not to focus on the doom and gloom of it all, you try and distract yourself. “So, about Charlotte and Whatshisface,” you state as you start to approach the rest of your friends, who seem to hurriedly hush each other. “That seems to have gone well.”
“Certainly! And I have my eye on my next two subjects already,” he replies coyly before slinking himself away to rejoin the group, specifically standing next to both Connor and Lauren - Loz, now that Ralph’s here.
You all gradually drink, dance and sing the rest of the night away until the time to get ready to catch the night bus home looms. You slide into a seat on it, opting for the side closest to the window, and allowing yourself to switch off, merely enjoying the feeling of the bus beneath your forehead, vibrating away. You only know that Ralph has decided to sit next to you because, of all the slowly fading voices, Ralph’s is still the loudest.
You’re prodded awake by Ralph, who leans awkwardly to do so as you’re draped across him, head slipped just off of his shoulder to rest above his chest but still very much on his torso. You jolt up, hurriedly apologising, but Ralph waves you off. “Oh, pish-posh, Connor woke me up with such a forceful slap to my other shoulder I fear I’ll be bruised in the morning!”
“You fell asleep, too?” You ask, amused, before groaning. “Oh, god, there’s gonna be pictures of us sleeping on each other circulating the group chats for weeks now.”
“Well, that’s not a problem, is it? Not if we don’t make it so.” You’re not sure where Ralph’s managed to find such profoundness, but it impresses you. “Connor woke me up to say that he was getting off, but that the next one is ours.”
You nod, “Wanna push the button to tell the driver we’re next?” And watch affectionately how giddy Ralph gets at the action of pressing the button, hearing the bell and seeing the “Bus Stopping” sign light up.
You both thank the driver and walk back to the flats, thankful that the bus stop is barely a two-minute walk. Once you’re back at the flat, Ralph clears his throat. “Um… I suppose… Since it is still my birthday… And I’m certainly not tired for the moment…”
“You wanna open your present now?” You beam, and he mirrors you back in response. “Gimme a minute.” You rush to the bedroom and fish it out from your hiding spot. “Okay, you can come in!” You call for Ralph to follow you, and invite him to sit on the bed, which he does. As you brandish it to him, you explain, “At first, I got it because I saw it and I thought it’d look great as one of your window displays, but then I looked inside it and I thought… Well, you’ll see, “ you prompt, and he tears open the packaging.
He looks astonished at the sight in his lap. A suit jacket, golden in colour, adorned with sunburst and jacquard patterns. He lifts it out and turns it over to see an almost glistening black fabric. “Well, good heavens, this looks just like -”
Excitedly, you interrupt, “Look at the inner pocket! Left side!”
He pulls the jacket open to reveal a label: Tailored by Dower & Smyth for the personal wardrobe of Lord R. Penbury. His jaw drops. “Y- This couldn’t possibly - This is… Mine?” You nod vigorously, and he looks up at you, his doe eyes wide with shock.
“How weird, right? It’s like it was fate or something! It was just in some charity shop!”
“Yes, well, I’d rather not dwell on that,” he mutters under his breath as he carefully folds the jacket back onto his lap. “You know… This was tailored for mine and my sister’s 25th birthday party. The day we met Lauren and the rest of them.”
“That’s the first time you’ve said her name without hesitating or blubbering,” you point out light-heartedly, and he lets out a small chuckle, though it’s heavy with sadness. Not the usual woe-is-me, romantic-tragedy sadness, though. A different kind.
“It’s also the first time I’ve really thought of my sister today. My own twin, my... supposed other half. On her birthday, too. What a terrible brother I am,” he wrings his hands together, but you interrupt by forcing yours between his to hold one.
“Oi, none of that,” you start. “Considering how shit of a sister she was to you, and that she’s probably long gone by now, I think it’s allowed.”
“Do you think she mourned me?” Ralph asks quietly. “I mean, surely at some point they would have presumed me dead eventually. Do you think they held me a service? No, don’t answer that, what a morbid end to such a wonderful day.”
“Hey, I’d started this mess of a day, it’s only fair that you end it that way, too,” you tease, which makes him laugh a little. “I think… It shouldn’t matter either way. When you go back, I’m sure H.P can get you back to a time when they’ll still think you’re off with the Army or whoever you went to join. And before then… Who gives a shit? They’re not here, now. And they never did anything to deserve you in life, so why should they get to in death?” You shrug, squeezing his hand. “You’ve really found a way to find your people here, Ralph. I could see that tonight. And trust me, if you can win people over in this day and age, you can do it anywhere.”
Ralph blinks back tears and pats your linked hands with his free one. “I suppose I should get ready for an actual night’s sleep.”
“Sure thing,” you smile as you let go of him. Once he carefully hangs his present up, and grabs some pyjamas, he heads into the bathroom. You, too, quickly change into something far more comfortable, but your attention is interrupted as you notice that Ralph hasn’t quite shut the door between the bedroom and the bathroom. And that he is apparently the kind of person to strip all the way down to his underwear and then put his next outfit on. Watching him feels wrong, perverted, scandalous. But you can’t tear your eyes from him. His slender structure, with just the perfect amount of chub to form a perfect little tummy. One that also has a smattering of hair that leads down from his navel and beyond, burying itself beneath the elastic of his -
That’s when you pull yourself away from your sickest train of thought yet. Whatever prompted you to start objectifying Ralph like this, you hope it ends soon. Quickly throwing your own night clothes on, you silently await his return so that you can quickly head into the bathroom to wash your face, making sure you have the water as cold as possible.
Once you get back into the bedroom, though, Ralph looks at you apologetically. “What’s up?” you ask.
“You got me the most thoughtful present anyone could have done and I didn’t even have the decency to thank you for it.”
“Ahh, don’t be so silly,” you smirk, sitting on the bed that he’s already tucked himself into. “Your reaction was more than enough.”
“Well, I wasn’t exactly jumping off the walls,” Ralph frowns, but you shake your head.
“Doesn’t matter. I could tell how much it meant to you anyway, plus it got you to open up, which speaks volumes.” You reach over and take his hand again. “You know what you said earlier? About proving yourself to me, and to you, too?” He nods, and you grin. “Everything you just said about Victoria, and again, not being scared to say Lauren’s name anymore? That’s everything I need to know I aced that gift.”
“It truly is a wonderful find,” Ralph nods, once again misty-eyed. “Though I must again insist for the billionth time that everything you all have done for me to get me to that point is more than enough of a gift to last me many lifetimes.”
“And I must insist for the billion-and-one-th time, phooey to that! You deserve to be spoilt!” You grin. “And not in your usual little-rich-boy way,” you quickly add as Ralph’s brow knits together.
“I was about to say that you often refer to my past as being rather spoiled,” he comments, and you laugh.
“Yeah, but that’s more in a rich-people way. You deserve to be spoilt in other ways, for other reasons. But I better not talk too much about that, you need to fit your head through the door to go to work tomorrow afternoon!”
“Yes, I suppose we should both go to sleep soon, should we not?” Ralph asks, looking at the free side of the bed expectantly.
“Yeah, I guess,” you give in, throwing back the cover and basically dropping yourself onto your mattress.
Ralph sidles up to make his way slightly closer to the middle of the bed, “So, we should probably make sure we’re comfortable, shouldn’t we?”
You sigh with realisation. “That shot you had earlier was whiskey, wasn’t it?”
“I’ve had several, yes,” he admits quietly. “Though they were all bought for me before I could request my own drinks!”
“It’s fine,” you comfort him with a laugh. “So, big spoon or little?” You look over to see him mouthing your words back at you in confusion, so you hold your hands up in the air to demonstrate. “Two spoons, yeah?” You cup your hands and place one in the other. “Big spoon holds little spoon.”
Ralph nods. “So, I should be the bigger spoon, correct? Since I am… Bigger."
You shrug, "Not necessarily. Sometimes the little spoon is more figurative than literal. Though that's more, I guess… Backpacking than spooning," you laugh to yourself.
Ralph ponders for a moment. "Well, I suppose under any normal circumstances I would opt to be the big spoon, but… I think after everything, I should rather prefer to… To be held, I think."
"Alright, then, over you go," you gesture for him to roll over on his side, and you line yourself up to tuck his shoulder just under your chin as you wrap am arm around him, moving the rest of your body to fit the shape of his comfortably. "This alright for you?" You ask, unable to see his smiling, contented face.
"Just perfect," he replies wistfully, and you squeeze back in affirmation.
"Good. Night, Ralphie. Hope it ended up being a good birthday for you."
"Just perfect," he repeats in the same tone, "all of it." And before he can say anything else, and before you can think too much about that addition, you both fall asleep in synchronisation.
next chapter
#ralph timewasters#ralph timewasters x reader#ralph timewasters x you#ralph timewasters fanfic#ralph timewasters imagine#ralph penbury#ralph penbury x reader#ralph penbury x you#ralph penbury fanfic#ralph penbury imagine#ralph timewasters fluff#ralph penbury fluff#bsbl#fic: bsbl#*myfics#fic: ralph
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How Does a Point of Sale (POS) System Function?
A Point of Sale (POS) system functions as a central hub for processing transactions in retail environments. It integrates hardware and software to facilitate sales, manage inventory, and track customer data efficiently. POS systems streamline payment processes, provide real-time sales data, and enhance customer service. These systems utilize barcode scanners, cash registers, and payment terminals to complete transactions swiftly. By automating tasks like inventory management and sales reporting, POS systems optimize business operations. They enable businesses to analyze sales trends, track stock levels, and improve overall efficiency. In essence, Point of Sale systems revolutionize retail operations by offering a seamless and organized approach to managing transactions.
Read More: https://www.mioola.com/TopPosSystem/post/54097257/
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Theres a bunch of people in a discord I'm in whining that video games are ~60$ so they can't play anything/only have 1 game for their console.... and like. I get it. Games are stupid expensive these days (and don't get me started abt DLC/lootboxes/microtransactions) but at the same time... Is budgeting really that hard to do? Not to shake my cane at avocado toast but that stupid fancy dinner and drinks you just had to have at disney + the merch you bought would buy several games. (Not to mention the ticket itself.) I just feel so out of touch in that I feel like I'm the only one there that understands that 20$ can't be spent 3 times. It's not classism you won't use self-control. And it isn't capitalism's fault you consistently fail at basic math my fellow discord users.
Wait till they realize that $70 is going to be the new default price point.
But yeah, there are so many ways to save $60 for a game you want. Like, games are announced at least 4-7 months before they come out; most much longer, years before they ever hit shelves. If you put five dollars from every paycheck into an envelope you're good for at least one game per year just on that alone. More if you get paid weekly or biweekly instead of monthly. But you can also trade games in for money or credit. Most places around the US have at least one buy/sell/trade store within driving distance, and if that's too hard, there's always ebay. When you're done with a game, sell it. That's $10-30 off the $60 or $70 dollar price right there. Or wait for a sale. Most new games are on sale within a few months after launch these days anyway. There are seriously so many ways to afford games if you really want to, even when you're poor. If you can afford to plop down $200-$500 on a console, or even more on a gaming PC, you can afford a few $60 dollar games per year if you budget at all.
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https://x.com/louiestream/status/1728960764097261792?s=46&t=3v6fUO8HxEhcPbcR8Jxopg
this makes me so much more proud of louis than i already was (which is like. the proudest i have been ever of anyone) because yeah i do love his voice on mitam but he was clearly straining to reach this note on eotd and you can hear it. the whine/moan at the end is hot to me but if they had toured this album and he had tried to hit this note it would’ve hurt him. like, comparatively, the high notes in btm are very similar but sound worlds healthier and more supported.
i feel like that just goes to show how hard he’s worked to improve and utilize the unique aspects of his voice in a healthy way that’ll be better for his voice in the long term. and then if you compare that to H’s performances of toxic or hopelessly devoted to you - who has (imo) relied on his misplaced confidence in his abilities and lack of regard for the health of his voice instead of focusing on longevity. his vocal chords sounded like they were toast to me back in 2015 if he didn’t start caring and i think we’re hearing the ramifications of that now
I agree with you to some extent, and I’ll add a few thoughts, if you don’t mind. Here’s the audio.
The thing about laying down vocals for MITAM is that … I just don’t think they put that much finesse or care into the act of recording. They tried their best, they wrote the songs that they could, but they were writing while touring and recording in hotel rooms, recording in the middle of the night after a full concert, recording while mentally and physically exhausted, and at times drunk or hung over or high because they had zero down time.
Their voices also sound nearly destroyed. In the same song, End Of The Day, Harry sounds like he’s pushing high notes out of a throat that was fried to a crisp. The notes sound like they came from a tortured animal.
Louis’ voice in I Want To Write You A Song was literally two vocal cords beaten to a pulp, rubbing on a sanding belt. I bet it took him weeks to recover.
They wanted to finish the album so they could push out a release in November, a month for big sales. Harry wanted to start his solo career. The album was heavy on autotuning and Julian Bunetta’s overproduction. It sounds heavy and noisy. Drag Me Down’s lyrics, compared to Strong or Love You Goodbye, are perfunctory and cliched.
But the album still had some real gems because 1D is 1D; their voices sound good together.
To your second point— regarding deliberative work on vocal quality.
Louis had lost so much confidence in his voice between year 1 and year 5 of One Direction that he really had to work to dig himself out of a confidence hole. Vocal cords are muscles and singing is a sport, and much like golf or baseball, yips happen. You lose control of your voice and suddenly your falsetto is gone, your chest to head transition is crap, your intonation goes off the road.
Louis is still in the process of working it out, but here’s the thing.
Even while admitting that he’s scared out of his mind, that he’s shitting bricks, that he always second-guesses himself in the first 30 minutes of a concert, Louis is fearless.
Louis sings songs like Too Young and Bigger Than Me live, in an acoustic setting, at radio stations and on television, with no electronic amps covering up mistakes or second takes.
Louis never, ever lip syncs. It’s live, with live voices and live instruments, every time.
Louis shows us the process of rehearsals. He doesn’t have to do rehearsals, and he doesn’t have to take each concert seriously, but singing is a sport, and it requires a warm up, and he does it.
As I said, Louis is still in the process. He still has moments where intonation is off, but his voice is better than it was, it is more expressive and more theatrical. His recordings are better now. He is able to tour and do three consecutive nights of 100-minute shows without ruining his voice. 80 concerts this year, and more to come. If I know Louis, I know he will continue to strive for better.
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Merry Christmas, My Love | Jake Kiszka
Merry Christmas Eve for all who celebrate/Happy Holidays to everyone! Thought I would post a little christmas coziness with Jake to mark the occasion.
Warnings: None, all christmas fluff!
Word count: 1.4k
Playlist:
The Christmas Song (Merry Christmas to You) - Nat King Cole
"Jake," I hummed, shaking my boyfriend's shoulder as I lay in bed, just having woken up. Jake groaned but simply rolled over, dragging the majority of our grey comforter with him.
"You can sleep in on any other day of the year, it's Christmas morning!!" I insisted. "Santa came!" I added when he just grunted again.
"Santa isn't real," he argued from where his head was buried in a pillow.
"Okay, that's rude. “I huffed. He just gave a lazy grin in response, eyes still closed. “Fine, I guess I'll just have to open gifts on my own because there is no way I'm waiting on your lazy ass," I said, flinging the small amount of blankets I had left off of me and pulling on a sweater of Jake's that was carelessly strewn on the dresser.
"Well hold on," Jake insisted, his head popping out of the mound of blankets. "Just give me a minute, it's probably like 6 am," he complained.
"It's 9 o'clock," I laughed, turning the clock to face him for proof.
"Whatever," he rolled his eyes before his head disappeared again.
"You are... unbelievable." I grinned and shook my head. If he couldn't get up, then I would carry on without him. He would join me eventually. I made my way to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, peppermint bark flavored, as well as pulled out some bagels to toast. As the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted its way around the house, I heard some banging from the bedroom and a curse followed swiftly after.
"You okay?" I called, my eyebrows furrowed in concern.
"Yeah, this dresser fucking attacked me." he yelled back.
I smiled, "Wow, well tell it to stop or it's gone in the next yard sale. No hostile furniture in this house."
"Hear that you bloody piece of wood?" I heard him ask the inanimate object.
After I had plated the bagels and placed both them and two mugs of coffee in the living room, Jake padded down the hall and stopped in the doorway. "Hey, come take a look at this." he called me over, leaning in to look at the door frame until his face was nearly touching the paint.
"What's up?" I asked, coming over to stand in front of him.
"It's right there," he said pointing to a spot on the wood.
"I really don't see-" He cut me off by standing up straight, grabbing me around the waist, and pulling me in flush to him. My arms when up to his to grab for balance.
"There's nothing on the wall," he said simply.
I raised my eyebrows, "Oh really?" I asked sarcastically.
"Unfortunately not, but there is something above us. What's this? Looks like mistletoe" he asked, looking up. The sprig of mistletoe I had put up two weeks ago and forgotten about loomed over us.
"Real slick," I assured him.
"I try to be," He slid his hands up to the back of my neck and gently pulled me in. The kiss was slow, it was a quiet morning and the soft fall of snow. It was perfect.
He pulled away after a moment, "Now what were you going on about presents?" He asked.
I smirked, "Well since you asked, I want you to open yours first. I've been waiting months without telling you, but I'm about to just blurt it out if you don't just open it." I insisted, pulling him to the couch where he sat, and I dug under the tree for his gift.
"Okay, now I'm nervous," he murmured.
"Me too, I hope you like it." I said, finding it and handing it to him.
It was a thin, square package, obviously a record or two, but I had sandwiched something between them as a surprise.
"Hmmm what could it be?" He teased, taking it from me as I sat down on the couch next to him.
"Open it and find out," I said. So he did, ripping off the paper and tossing it to the floor.
"The Nat King Cole Story? No way, that's awesome. It has all our songs on it." He said picking up the first vinyl and flipping it over to see the back with the list of songs.
"Thank you. I love it," he said, putting the gift down to wrap his arms around me in a hug and kissing the side of my face.
"You're welcome, keep going." I urged.
"Okay okay." he laughed, turning back to his gift.
He placed the vinyl on the coffee table and went back to his treasures. On top of the next vinyl was a printed receipt for a hotel as well as two plane tickets.
"What's this?" He asked, picking them up to inspect them.
"Well, we just loved Australia so much, and we talk about it all the time, yet we didn't get to do all the things we wanted to with your touring schedule and me having to leave early, so I took a look at your calendar and saw you had a break in the spring. So I got to thinking and I got us tickets to go back to Australia, but this time, just us two and entirely for fun. I mean, if you want to that is..." I waited for an answer, but he just stared at the tickets in his hand. "I got insurance just in case you don't want to go and it was really just an idea." I rambled getting nervous.
"Absolutely not," he responded, his head whipping up to look at me. "We are going on this trip, are you kidding? This is like the best gift ever!" He said dropping the papers on his lap as he tackled me back to the couch. He squeezed me tight and said thank you over and over as I laughed and told him he was welcome.
"I can't breathe," I whispered finally after he had calmed down.
"Oh sorry," He apologized, pushing himself back up and reaching back to pull me up by my outstretched hands.
"So I take it that you like it?" I asked, wanting to make sure before I got my heart set on Australia.
"I love it. Thank you so much." He smiled at me.
"Good, one more thing," I said pointing to the last vinyl that got thrown to the coffee table in his rush to thank me.
"Oh right," he said picking it up and pulling off the rest of the paper.
"Arctic Monkeys," he read aloud. "I love them," He said, flipping it over to take a look at the back. "Thank you." He said, placing it on the coffee table with the rest and getting up. "Your turn," He said giddily.
"Oohh," I giggled, reaching for the wrapped gift he handed me after a moment.
"I don't know it you'll like it, but they seemed like you and I just couldn't resist," he explained as I tore away the paper.
It was a shoe box and when I flipped up the lip, the most glorious satin, multicolored boots stared back at me. "Shut up!" I exclaimed, picking the top boot up and feeling the smooth texture. "I love them! Thank you so much, Jake. They are perfect." I said putting it down and it was my turn to tackle him.
He simply laughed but quickly pulled away. "That's not all." He said getting back up.
"What?" I asked, wondering what else it could be.
"Here," he said sitting down and handing me a small wrapped box. I pulled off the wrapping and saw that it was a jewelry box.
I opened it to find a delicate oval locket inside with an intricate floral design etched into the face.
"Open it." He urged.
I undid the clasp and opened it to find a picture of Jake and me from our one-year anniversary a few months ago, taken in front of our favorite restaurant in Nashville as we smiled into a kiss.
On the other side was an aging white petal tucked into the metal.
"What is the flower from?" I asked, my finger ghosting over the side of the necklace.
"It's a petal I saved from our first date. That was when I knew you were the one so I saved some mementos." He shrugged.
"Jake..." I trailed off, at a loss for words. "That's so sweet," I said, my voice cracking from emotion. "Help me put it on?" I asked, standing up and holding out the necklace.
He stood up and took it, so I turned around and gathered my hair so he could see. His fingers were butterfly wings on the back of my neck. After he had clasped it, his arms found their way up around my shoulders and pulled me back to lean on him. We were facing the window and watched the snow start to slow its descent, but still leaving the ground covered in a fine layer of white fluff.
"Do you like it?" He asked.
"I love it," mimicking his answer from earlier. "Thank you".
"You're welcome, I'm glad you like it," he answered.
"I really do, Merry Christmas Jake." I told him.
"Merry Christmas, my love," Jake said back.
#jake kiszka gvf#jake kiszka#jake kiszka fluff#gvf#gvf x reader#greta van fleet fluff#Greta Van Fleet#jacob kiszka#jake kiszka x reader
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New Year's Eve, 1986
Summary: Steve cooks dinner for The Party on New Year's Eve while wearing his mother's old "Kiss The Cook" apron.
Read on AO3.
Artwork by the talented @yendts!
The apron isn’t even his. His dad had given it to Steve’s mom when he was in grade school as a joke. Cooking was a rare affair in the Harrington household, but when the nanny was out sick or unavailable due to prior commitments, Mrs. Harrington would muster the will to prepare a bowl of cereal or a plate of scrambled eggs and toast for her son before he ran out the door to catch the bus. Regardless of the dish's simplicity, she was adamant about wearing an apron to avoid staining her fancy silk shirts or lace-adorned blouses. Up until a certain point, before Steve was deemed old enough to use a stove or face a full day of school on a single granola bar, she would entertain his insistence at planting a boyish peck on the apple of her cheek when she hooked the apron on her neck and secured the strings around her fine waist. As Steve grew in age, height, and ability, those light and heartwarming moments between mother and son became less and less frequent. By high school, he was relying on chalky protein bars in the morning, school lunches, and cold pizza or TV dinners that required a microwave and a quick stir.
Things are different now. Hawkins is different. Steve is different.
The town, while no longer the gateway to hell, borders on desolation. Those wealthy enough to vacate put their houses on the market or took the hit and fled within days and even hours of the supposed earthquake—including Steve’s parents. He came home one day following a shift at Family Video to find a FOR SALE sign pitched in the front yard without a word from his parents. Robin helped him box his belongings and Eddie offered the wide belly of his van to transport his belongings to a two-bedroom apartment in his price range.
So while many have retreated to supposed greener pastures, The Party remains. Steve’s not certain Hawkins will be his home forever, but for now, it’s where he needs and wants to be. The determination to see Dustin, Max, Lucas, and even Mike fucking Wheeler survive high school and live out their weird, awkward, and nerdy teenage years with some semblance of peace keeps him steady and focused. And the distraction of caring keeps the pain that nips at his heels from rising any higher.
That’s why tonight, on New Year’s Eve, he isn’t getting blasted at a bar or cozying up with some stranger at a house party. Instead, he’s in his cramped apartment kitchen managing a nearly full stove and a blistering oven while “Manic Monday” by The Bangles plays on the radio. Sweat is beading at his temples along his hairline from the forced warmth the appliances are emitting. He uses the tea towel draped across his broad shoulder to dab the moisture up before snatching the wooden spoon that’s laying across the bubbling water to stir the softening pasta. He’s not sure if everyone even likes chicken alfredo or what teen will stomach a side of roasted broccoli, but he knows Max is hardpressed for a homecooked meal, Robin likes to consider herself cultured and will force down anything, and there’s nothing a quick swat to the side of Dustin’s big head can’t cure. As for Eddie, he seems content to scarf down whatever he happens upon—dry cereal, lukewarm beer, a gourmet meal, a can of cold beans. The guy eats like he’s not sure when the opportunity will present itself again—and doesn’t that make Steve’s insides twist and his heart clench.
They arrive in a flurry. Cold air from the hallway rushes into the kitchen every time the door is shoved open without a knock. At this point, they all have keys, Steve both desperate to avoid silence and eager to give them all a getaway when needed. Sure, he regrets the decision on the occasion that Dustin uses it to host a game of Dungeons and Dragons without warning, but he doesn’t mind when those impromptu game nights lead to Eddie playing a new record for Steve in the living room after the campaign comes to a close. In those instances, it’s common for Steve and Eddie to doze off on the blue plaid couch given to him by Robin’s parents until one of them jerks awake from a nightmare or a neighbor slamming a door shut. More often than not, Steve is the one to wake, and after he chugs a glass of water in hopes of settling his nerves, he grabs the sherpa blanket from the hall closet and drapes it across Eddie’s prone form.
He doesn’t know who will stay tonight, but he used what was left of his last paycheck to buy a few more blankets and pillows just in case he has a full house of drowsy kids and friends.
They all greet Steve in their own unique and annoying ways.
“Is that broccoli I smell? Steve, my mom feeds me enough vegetables, dude.” Dustin complains with a whiny tone.
Lucas tells him about what basketball skill he’s on the verge of mastering; Erica rolls her eyes with so much piss and vinegar that it has him questioning how she hasn’t lost an eyeball yet.
Max grunts out a “hey” as she uses a cane to maneuver the small space.
The carpool crowd of the Wheeler siblings, Byers siblings, El, and Argyle patter in with such a subdued and quiet energy that he barely notices until Jonathan’s pat on the back causes him to crane his neck around.
Before he can turn back to the simmering alfredo sauce, Robin is lifting herself onto the only space of open, clean countertop next to him. She gives his shoulder a flick, sticks a finger in the sauce, offers a nod of approval, and starts yammering about her day with more details than his brain can compute. Regardless, he does his best to keep up and nods when he loses track of the narrative.
Eddie is the last to arrive, and Steve certainly notices enough to turn around and away from the steaming stove. The metalhead shoots through the door like a loose canon, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he kicks off his weathered sneakers. They land half on the mat and half on the tiled floor as he announces his presence with an abundance of zest and enthusiasm. Nancy catches sight and bends down to shift them over. Steve laughs and turns back to the sink where he needs to drain the industrial-size amount of fettuccine.
“Hold up,” Robin quips, voice a whisper but tone alarmed. Against his better judgment, Steve freezes when he realizes that what he’s wearing is the catalyst for her surprise. When he has anyone over for dinner, he typically finishes cooking prior to them entering the apartment.
Shit, he thinks, glancing down at the apron with a grimace.
Everyone erupts into either howls of laughter or fake gags. He flicks Dustin’s hat off of his head and scowls at Mike. His middle finger is raising on its own accord, but El shifts into his line of vision and pushes onto her toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. His hand drops and he smiles at the genuine sweetness he discovers on El’s face.
“Thank you for cooking for us, Steve,” she says without preamble.
“Yeah, my perfect-haired dude,” comes Argyle’s deep, drawn-out voice as he steps forward and into Steve’s space. “Many thanks for opening your humble abode up to us.” The kiss lacks the gentleness of El’s, but it’s full of unhindered appreciation. The shock of it brings a warmth to the apples of Steve’s cheeks.
No one else seems to be getting in line so Steve coughs to clear his head and the air. “Right, uh,” he mumbles out. “Food should be done shortly, so grab a drink and sit the hell down—and try not to break anything,” he finishes with a pointed look at Mike and Dustin.
Before he can spin on his heels and hide his face from view, Eddie’s doe eyes latch on to his. His usual pale skin has a dusting of color that mirrors the blush wine Nancy is uncorking and he’s tugging at the cuffs of his jacket sleeves. The thing that really makes Steve’s stomach swoop, however, is the intensity that’s swirling in the metalhead’s brown irises. They both swallow and drop one another’s gazes.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Robin’s mouth is slightly ajar. “Jeez, Steve,” she grits out, this time actually in a whisper just for their ears. “Here I am still working on getting my first kiss from a girl, and you’ve got a freakin’ queue going. Step right up! Take your pick! Come one, come all! The boy wonder is awaiting with his pouty lips and brooding stare.”
Steve chuckles and shakes his head at her antics but his face turns a little sour after a moment. “There’s only one person I’m hoping will be in that line at midnight, Robs.”
“I know, I know,” she acknowledges. “Don’t play dumb though. Did you see his face? I’m surprised he didn’t lunge like a rabid dog or melt into the floor and become a permanent fixture," she comments. “By the way, very tactile selection of cooking attire.”
Steve scoffs in disbelief. “I didn’t wear this on purpose!”
“Sure, you didn’t,” she quips with an exasperated eye roll. “I believe you.”
“Screw you, Robs!”
Before sitting down at the table, Steve makes sure to shuck off the apron and hang it on the handle of the oven.
Dinner involves a cacophony of slurping, happy hums of contentment, and the boys discussing what movies they want to see next year and complaining about their fast-approaching return to the halls of Hawkins High with irritated digs from Max and Erica sprinkled in. Throughout most of it, Steve finds himself observing. Robin talks between bites of food to a smirking Nancy. Jonathan and Argyle are looking longingly at the food and savoring each bite—a telling glaze clouding their respective eyes. Eddie seems to be doing the same as Steve. Taking it all in. He knows the metalhead has his bandmates, but this mismatched, makeshift gang takes the cake. Steve doesn’t try to even understand it. He doesn’t know why but it works. They work.
From across the table, their eyes cross paths once again and pause. It’s always hard to peel his gaze away from Eddie—especially as of late. They’ve grown closer. Spending more and more time in each other’s atmospheres. Sometimes with no real reason aside from having nowhere else to go or not wanting to be anywhere else. Steve’s had friends, mates he’d throw parties with, toss a football around with, grab a burger and fries with. But this is something all its own.
Robin is his best friend. Someone he spills his guts to on the daily. Eddie is on the cusp of that, but there’s another layer there that Steve is working through at a rate and ease he never expected. He hates Eddie’s taste in music. He hates the volume at which he listens to it. He hates how much his energy never seems to wane. But he also likes Eddie. A lot.
When the realization made itself known, it slammed into his chest and clobbered him upside the head. Another theoretical concussion to really scramble his brain and tear through every belief he had about himself. Robin was there to help him through it. Determined to convince Steve that the same instant acceptance he offered her was what he deserved too. The uncertainty still appears from time to time, but he’s proud of himself. He feels as though the hard edges crafted by his parents and his former coaches and the Country Club of Hawkins have been all but chipped away to reveal someone he recognizes and wants to get to know better. And that someone appreciates and longs for the companionship of a woman or a guy—or at least Eddie Munson.
He knows he’s about to trip face-first over the line between what’s an OK amount of time to hold someone’s stare, but Eddie has resorted to sticking his tongue out in a messy attempt to catch a noodle that’s dangling from his fork. Steve decides it's gross and endearing. He keeps his responding smile small and feels child-like joy blossom in his chest. It begs him to snatch a piece of broccoli from his plate and throw it at the other man. Against his well-trained judgment, he does just that. The floret gets caught in a frizzy curl and hangs mid-air. The look of feigned offense that blooms on the metalhead’s face ignites a chocked-out laugh in Steve’s throat. It’s loud enough to catch the attention of everyone at the table. Moments later, broccoli is catapulting in all directions. It lands on plates, in the sink, down shirts, and on the floor. Steve puts a stop to the chaos when he spots Mike grabbing for a noodle coated in alfredo sauce.
During clean-up efforts, Eddie saddles up behind a kneeling Steve to pluck a piece of food from his chestnut mane and popping it in his mouth. “I’ll give it to you, Harrington,” he comments with a playful husk to his voice, “you make food that’s good enough to eat and wear.”
“Gross, Eddie!” hollers Mike at the interaction. “You probably just consumed at least half of a can of hairspray!”
Eddie shrugs and says, “I’ve eaten worse,” and saunters into the living room.
They’ve been doing this for a few months now. Engaging in exchanges that border on innocent and flirtatious. Eddie gives just as good as Steve, if not better if the former jock tallies the number of times he’s left sputtering or with a warmth seeping across the surface of his skin. Steve knows Eddie is gay. Eddie is smart about not letting that flag fly in the “real” world—he has to be in Hawkins—but in the safe confines of The Party or even at The Hideout, Eddie allows it to wave with ease.
At first, Steve suspected that the metalhead was just a flirt or found joy in making other people squirm. But Robin was quick to correct his thinking. Noting how there was a clear difference. While Argyle loved up on each and every person willing to receive his affections, Eddie reserved his heated lines, looks, and touches for Steve and Steve only. After a while, the former jock couldn’t deny Robin’s observations. And yet, there’s still a doubtful piece of him that wonders if it’s all a joke. A means to an easy laugh at the expense of Steve’s forgotten macho persona. And the thing is, Steve wouldn’t blame Eddie. He gets that he was an entitled, hotshot asshole. But the hurt and disappointment that bubble beneath the surface at the possibility are so very real.
For the remainder of the night, the group plays board games in the living room, using the wobbly coffee table to roll dice and move pawns. There isn’t enough space for everyone to gather around it, so they team up and take turns. Eventually, Steve exits to the kitchen with Robin and Nancy. They sit at the table, Nancy telling Robin about what classes she’s taking next term at Emerson. Steve tries to listen, but he notices the pile of dirty plates in the sink and the urge to not wake up to them in the morning is enough to pull him away from the conversation. He lets the water heat up and reaches for the apron. He’s taking a chance at being the butt of another joke, but he’s ruined one too many shirts to questionable stains at this point for his minimum wage job to handle. He’s halfway through the stack of dishes when the music sounding from the radio comes to a halt and he hears a cassette being clicked into the tape player. The chords, the bass, the beat—everything is heavy from the start. Steve guesses it’s Metallica, but he knows it’s Eddie at the helm.
He wants to yell at him to turn it down, fearful of his ancient neighbors, but Dustin’s joyous hoot at the song choice drags the demand back down his throat. It’s New Year’s Eve, he thinks—they can suffer for one night.
He imagines the pair thrashing around the space, throwing their bodies onto the couch. As they get older, Steve feels more and more like a parent to Dustin. Not a babysitter. They joke about him being the “mom” of the group and to be honest, Steve has stopped fighting the label. He kinda is. He’s not sure where that leaves Eddie. Ever wild and whimsical. He supposes he’s the fun guardian. Who keeps watch but not in a meddling manner or worrying way. They’re a good team when he thinks about it.
He must get so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize someone is next to him drying the clean but dripping plates until an elbow is poking into his side.
Eddie grins at him.
“Can’t let you have all the fun.”
Steve rolls his eyes and lets a smirk tug at his lips. “Never.”
They finish the dishes in somewhat silence, Eddie bobbing his head to whatever hellish tune comes on next and flicking drops of water at Steve. The former jock is seconds away from spraying the water flow into his face when Mike’s voice screeches, “Ten minutes and counting! Get in here or you’re gonna miss it, losers.”
El shushes him, and Robin and Nancy grab their glasses of either wine or champagne from the table and head to where the group is quieting down to listen to the news broadcast live from Times Square in New York City. Steve from three years ago might have convinced himself that he liked the noise and the crowds and the flashy outfits and expensive liquor, but now, between his abused skull and his cracked-open heart, he’s confident in his whereabouts.
While Eddie tosses the plates with a carelessness that threatens to make Steve’s eye twitch into the cupboard, Steve dries off his hands and moves to remove the apron. The metalhead reaches out to stop him halfway through, the back undone, but the apron still hanging loosely from his neck. Steve looks down. The hand sprawled out on the center of his chest is adorned with chipped black nail polish and clunky sterling silver rings. The one on his middle finger is of a bat that Dustin and Steve chipped in to get him for a graduation present.
Steve pulls his gaze up to search Eddie’s face for an explanation. The same heat he witnessed in the other’s expression earlier in the evening is back.
“I never got a chance,” Eddie says softly between them.
A chance? A chance to what? To kiss the him?
Steve worries that his own silence is the reason for the hesitation that’s mixing with the heat in Eddie’s eyes now. But what if he’s reading it wrong? The possibility tightens his throat with building pressure. Still, seeing the other man uncertain and unsure reminds him too much of the terrified version he first tangled with in the boat house—so much so that he pushes past it and takes a leap.
“You don’t need the apron’s permission.”
Eddie blinks, the fearful fog lifting from his eyes. “No?”
Steve’s bravery bounds. “I want you to kiss me, Munson.”
Eddie nods as if to confirm he’s gathering and comprehending what’s being communicated. The metalhead’s hand is still on his chest, and Steve feels the need to ground himself, so he grips the edge of the counter with his left hand and wraps the fingers of his right around the other man’s wrist. Eddie bunches the material of the apron at the touch.
“Midnight is,” Eddie breathes out, glancing at the clock on the wall, “eight minutes away. We could wait.”
Steve shakes his head, somewhat disbelieving at his own transparency when he replies, “Don’t want to.”
Their lips meet like a wave crashing along the unsuspecting shore. They move with and against one another, pushing and pulling, trying to claim and be claimed. The heat originally reserved for their gazes has transferred to their mouths and tongues and teeth and hands. Steve releases his hold on the sink and the metalhead's wrist to instead grip Eddie’s hips. Eddie slides his palms and fingers to hook around Steve’s neck and tug at the loop of the apron.
Without much thought, Steve turns and lifts the metalhead up onto the wet counter. Eddie gasps and scowls before diving back in to reconnect their lips. Steve gets a nip to his bottom lip that he suspects is payback. Payback he’s willing and grateful to endure.
By the time they truly separate and break for intakes of air that are longer than two or three seconds, Dustin announces the start of the countdown.
“Eddie! Steve! Get in here!”
Eddie hops down from his perch and grabs Steve’s hand and tugs him to follow.
The kiss that stems from the clock striking twelve is gentle in comparison to their first. It happens on the outskirts of the living room, where the kitchen tile transitions starkly into the plush carpet. Those who aren’t cheering, shaking noise makers, or exchanging platonic embraces or romantic pecks, take note of the two men with squeals of surprise and yips of amusement.
When they pull away from each other, they’re both red in the face and laughing.
“Happy New Year’s, Ed.”
“Happy New Year’s, big boy,” the metalhead replies, grin broad as ever. “Guess ‘86 really was my year.”
It’s Max who gets the last word in though, gritting out a disgruntled “gross.”
#steddie fic#steddie#steddie art#eddie munson#steve harrington#eddie x steve#steve x eddie#stranger things
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ugly sweater weather
word count: 1.5k
gf!ryujin x fem!reader
warnings: ugly sweaters, reader is a horrible knitter, teasing, strip tease/lingeire surprise, christmas puns :)
enjoy @musicblissworld~
"but babe its tradition!" crossing her arms ryujin looks at you with an annoyed look. grabbing her arm you tug on it softly giving her pleading eyes. "please!! i made this, especially for you, do you remember how long it took me? all those trips to the craft store to buy yarn? the constant sore wrists? sleepless nights?" holding up the item in question you quiver your lower lip as a final straw, ryujin's shoulders slump in defeat as she takes what you're holding up.
"fine...but only for today and you're definitely on santa's naughty list this year! i mean this sweater is criminal?" grumbling the last part to herself she heads to your shared bedroom to change for the day's activities. as you finish cooking some gingerbread-shaped french toast you hear footsteps enter the kitchen, turning around you almost drop the plate in awe.
"...whatever i'll just tell them my girlfriend is color blind and knitted this in the dark surely-OW?!" rubbing her arm ryujin whines trying to escape from your grasp. "why did you pinch me?"
"hmph! you deserve it, just for that no french toast for you." letting go of her you head to the table to take her plate causing her to chase after you with a lost look.
"hmph! you deserve it, just for that no french toast for you." letting go of her you head to the table to take her plate causing her to chase after you with a lost look.
"no no i'm sorry love, my angel, my miss claus. you're the best knitter in the world and i'll wear anything you make me with pride. even if it means i have to change my name and wear sunglasses so no one-OW!!! i'm joking geeze stop with the pinching you're not the grinch!" kissing your cheek ryujin steals her food back and tries to scarf it down before you had any time to react.
eventually you both make it out of the house to begin your errands for the day. ryujin was in charge of buying the wrapping paper and decorations while you went to buy the groceries. you were supposed to meet back at the town square after dropping the things off at home to buy your gifts for your families and each other. finishing everything in light speed you see your girlfriend on her phone waiting on a bench nearby, running over you throw your arms around her neck and kiss her face multiple times.
"guess who~"
smiling she turns around and kisses your lips. “i wonder who?” turning around she smiles brightly at you. “all done with getting our dinner ready?"
"yes ma'am, and you're done looking cute in that sweater?" rolling her eyes she gets up and takes your hand.
"shut up, i got laughed at by a little kid and one lady asked me i needed money. babe i'm sorry but i'm confiscating your needles when we get home. we'll leave the knitting to your mom ok?" pouting you nod dejectedly as she strokes your cheek. "but hey let's buy everyone's gifts who knows maybe we'll find matching sweaters to take a picture together later? how does that sound?" ears perking up at the idea your small nod makes ryujin squeeze your hand in return. "perfect, nutmeg is on me today."
after window shopping in little shops and kiosks all over town, you both managed to buy everyone's gifts yet there was no sign of matching sweaters that fit up to your standards.
"jin they have to be super ugly! that's the whole point of wearing them!!" shaking her head ryujin stays quiet as you continue to rant to her.
"you know what? we'll just order them off esty or something, right now you look like you need something sweet to calm down, i'll be right back ok?" walking toward the food stalls you take a seat nearby and wait for her to return. scanning the area you spot a shop you hadn't entered and decide to browse while you wait, getting closer you see that it was a lingerie shop full of themed underwear sets on sale for the season. looking around you settle on a cute matching set for you and ryujin in hopes of this making up for the ugly sweater you made her.
walking out of the store you fail to realize ryujin watching you leave said store that she may or may not have gone to buy your lingerie before your previous birthdays. seeing you clutch the bag tightly in your hands she chuckles as you stuff it inside one of the gift bags you're holding. pretending as if nothing had happened you see ryujin holding a box of donuts and cheer as she comes closer.
"they're for after dinner missy. now carry this box and i'll handle the gifts ok?"
"yes dear~" kissing your handsome girlfriend on the cheek you lead the way back to your apartment. placing everything down ryujin gets to cooking dinner while you start wrapping everyone's presents. occasionally glancing at you she sees the mystery bag and your embarrassed look as you try to check if she's watching you.
"i-i'm going to take a shower!!" quickly standing up you 'hide' the bag from her sight and book it to your bathroom. having an idea of what you were planning ryujin decides to play it dumb and wait to see what'll happen. putting on the underwear you smile at how the red complimented your skin making you look sexier than ever for your girlfriend, ryujin was going to be in a surprise for sure. covering it up with your black pjs shorts and an oversized hoodie you finish cooking for ryujin while she heads to shower and manage to plate everything as she comes out. chatting about your purchases and the reaction everyone will have after receiving your gifts you feel time slow as you wonder when would be the right time to show her. eyeing her chest multiple times it comes to the point where she grabs your chin and makes you look her in the eye.
"um baby girl my eyes are up here unless you're thinking of something else?" smirking she waits until your flustered expression calms down and you've collected your thoughts. tugging at the end of her sweater you into her eyes challenging her silently.
"jin you know how i wanted to find us something to match for the holidays...well i found something and wanted to see what you thought." tilting her head she nods.
"sure thing let's have a fashion show in the living room." getting up she puts both of your dishes in the sink while you close your blinds and make sure the door is locked (just in case) before standing in the center of the area. sitting on the couch ryujin sits with her legs open as she lays back relaxed. "so where is the sweater?" playing with the string of your shorts you shake your head.
"a-actually jin...it's something different..." slipping your shorts off her eyes widen as you take off the hoodie and reveal what was underneath. sitting upright she scoots closer to get a better look at you. "i-i got us m-matching underwear w-well two pairs this red one and a really cute white patterned one but i felt like you would want to see this one first." hiding your hands behind your back you blush pink at the reveal. "sooo what do you think?" taking a moment to study the way the fabric barely hugged your body she feels herself get wet at the thought of all the things you could do together while wearing or rather not wearing this. moving her hands to touch your stomach trailing them down to cup your ass she pulls you close to bury her head in between your boobs. groaning she gives you a light squeeze and lets out a heavy breath.
"oh you're definitely on santa's naughty list now." mumbling against your chest ryujin pulls back and looks up at your face. "i love it babe, in fact, i love it so much that i think its time you sit on my lap and tell santa what you want for christmas this year or at least tonight." patting her lap she grabs your waist to place you against her. trailing her fingers up your bare thigh lingering near the waistband of your panty she whispers against your ear. "i'm feeling a bit chilly princess why don't we warm each other up in bed?" shivering at the nickname you nod and feel yourself swept into her arms locking lips all the way to bed.
#hannie.writes#itzy#itzy x fem!reader#itzy x fem reader#ryujin x fem!reader#ryujin x fem reader#ryujin x reader#ryujin x you#itzy soft hours#itzy soft thoughts#itzy hard hours#itzy hard thoughts#itzy ryujin#ryujin#christmas hc#its october but who cares#itzy imagine#itzy imagines#kpop imagines#kpop x reader
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“Happily Ever Aster”
What are some of your headcanons on how some of the characters lived happily ever after? We won’t know for sure until being mentioned offhand in future seasons but it’s still fun to come up with ideas. Here is how I vision some of their happy endings. I’m putting it behind the read more in case some people still haven’t seen the season finale yet
Grace and Hannah
It’ll be weird for a minute since Edgar is dead and as terrible as he was I’m sure they’ll still have to grieve him in some way. Once that passes I see them continuing to travel together and maybe Hannah working with Grace in her antique shop. Rather than another yurt, I could see them living in a cozy cottage surrounded by more psychotropic plants. Idk if they’ll marry, but I see them adopting a baby or maybe getting a sperm donor and their baby being weird af like a mini Wednesday Addams.
Feng and Vivian
After news of Edgar’s death breaks out and people check out Kyler’s videos from the weekend, I can see a lot of people flocking to try baobing for clout but falling in love with it. They’ll get a boost in sales and Feng will end up opening even more locations. Now that he has enough money to pay off debts and etc, I see him and Vivian traveling the world together and her teaching him how to live it up. He doesn’t have to play it safe anymore so I could see him and Vivian sending Grace and Zoë pics of them both skydiving and other thrill seeking tourist stuff. Maybe offscreen Aniq and Zoë asked Vivian to help choreograph the first dance at their wedding and it turned out amazing.
Travis
Since he became the house and beat Sebastian, he can afford to fly out and visit Weronika. Does anyone remember what he does for a living? I could see him feeling inspired at actually discovering the crypto scam and taking courses so he can be a legitimate detective. Maybe he will even create an agency to help other people that have been scammed out of their crypto.
Isabel
She may not have been able to hold Edgar accountable for drugging her but she’s at least finally free. Howie is a close friend but maybe they’ll become something more at some point. With her personality I don’t expect her and Hannah to ever have a perfect relationship, but after that moment they shared while telling the mind movie, maybe they can get to a decent place. Probably not though after how she treated Grace.
Sebastian
Yeah he lost a bunch of money and was fired by Isabel, but you can’t keep a scammer like him down. He’s either about to start running cons with his cousins again or he’s going to attach himself to a wealthy older lady like Isabel and live out the rest of her life in luxury before moving on to the next one.
Aniq and Zoë
When they go see Danner in the time jump, are the rings to show that they’ve already married or are they still engaged? Either way, I don’t care to see a wedding. We’ve already been there and done that with Grace even if it did end terribly. I’m fine with seeing hilarious wedding and honeymoon photos/videos and calling it a day. It’s too bad Yasper is in prison because he would have been a really fun best man. Imagine the wedding toast 😂
Danner
Assuming season three will be the afterparty for the premiere of her movie, I hope that the person killed isn’t Jaleel White. Danner has been through enough so that would suck to do that to her character when she finally found what she wants to do in life.
Ulysses
He obviously doesn’t deserve a happy ending after trying to kill Feng. It might be too much of fan service, but the idea of him being cellmates with Yasper and them both performing together for the other criminals is hilarious to me. Knowing him, he’d probably be using his knowledge from his travels to scam the other inmates into giving him money for food and etc.
What about you guys? It would be really cool to be able to compare these headcannons to what will actually be canon in the future seasons.
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Today was a lot sleepier then I expected. I didn't even sleep poorly or anything last night. I just feel a little paralyzed today. Like doing anything feels to much. I'm just waiting. Waiting to find out what's happening with the house. Waiting to find out if we are going to keep searching. Just waiting.
So I didn't get a lot done this evening. I didn't even take a nap. Despite wanting to. Thankfully I did get stuff done at the market. Even if I didn't make any money.
I woke up this morning and it was dark which I still hate so much. Tomorrow is day light savings so it will probably be better? I don't remember how much it actually helps.
I got dressed but I wasn't having a good time. I felt all off kilter. I was doing things in the wrong order. I was to cold. James asked me a question and I got snippy and just wasn't having fun. I almost would have not gone to the market except Ann has texted us that she was sick and had to stay home. So I felt like I needed to be there to make sure everything was okay.
So even though I wasn't having much fun this morning we left here and went and got hash browns. James teased me for eating the ketchup packets. But I counter that I am using them as a shooter!! Which is the correct way to use them.
The market was fine. Quiet. We had the second lowest number of customers through. But I was not interested in really selling today. Like I wasn't standing and trying. What I was doing was sitting and sewing and listening to a video. I enjoyed being there. But no one really was buying today. Rod even had like ten loaves of bread by the end of the day when he's normally completely sold out by 11. He even gave me a loaf. It's maple cinnamon and will be so nice for toast.
I did have a few nice conversations though. A few people interested in my upcoming workshops. And someone wanting to have me possibly come and run a workshop for teens. So I was pretty jazzed about that. The woman who approached me was also a veteran so me bringing up working with the national guard children and teens was definitely a point in my favor.
I very much was ready to leave though. Once I finished all my hand sewing I was left with very little to do. I made two frogs and three beads. Which felt nice. I will add their little faces later. I have a nice little pile of bears that need sewing still but they were at home and this could not be completed while I was bored today.
I did have a nice time being out there. Had a nice chat with Stanley. I would go inside to visit James. They brought a battery pack so I was able to keep my phone alive. The cold was killing the battery. But I was able to keep chatting with Jess as she was making plans to do some work on her house today. I'm so excited to see how it's changing over the last few months especially since she has furniture now. It's just really cool to see.
At 1 though it was finally time to go. And while I didn't make any sales, I did get paid to be there today and I had a lot of people walk by and tell me how much my stuff is and that's nice too.
I was ready to go though and packed up pretty fast. Stanley saw me struggling to balance my cup on my box and carry it so he carried it to my car for me. Thank you Stanley you are the best. Need to make him cookies soon, as spice wafers are in season again.
I went and said goodbye to James. Big hugs. I was going to go home but I decided to take myself to Southside diner and sit at the counter and have a sandwich and watch a video. And it was honestly really nice. The waitress was nice. It was a little to loud but that was okay. I was feeling good.
I went to the new five below next. Was very surprised at their new five beyond section. Where they were selling $20 digital cameras. I was tempted for sure. But I did not get one. Though I was. Tempted. I got a face scrubber and a lotion for my face since it's been so dry and a calico critter. And had a nice time looking around.
I walked to the dollar store next but it was to cramped in there. And I decided I wanted to go home. So that's what I did.
When I got back here I would put some things away. And got comfy. And the plan was to rest until 4 and then get stuff done. I had to send an email first with a lesson in it that needed slight updating. So I worked on that. Figured out how to use my laptop and keyboard separately with Bluetooth and that made the typing experience a lot more comfortable. And then I laid down.
But James texted me that someone else made an offer on the house. So they were going to have a call with the realtor about what to do next. And then I couldn't turn my brain off. And I was struggling a little. Just feeling kind of bad. Wound up. But paralyzed.
And that was basically the rest of the day. James would come home and we were just quiet in bed. James started the laundry and fed their sour dough. But we were both a little stuck.
We would come up with a plan though. Offer slighted higher, but not the full amount. If it still doesn't happen for us we won't fall apart, we will keep looking. Everything will work out how it's supposed to.
So when we finally did get on the phone with the realtor he said we probably won't get it with this new offer because it's under the asking still. But he'll help us really start getting to new places and we'll figure it out. With whatever we are comfortable with. And I already found another one for us to see. That is slightly more expensive but is also slightly nicer. So we will see. I know everything will work out how it's supposed to.
Now though I do sort of feel like I wasted my evening. Not really resting. Being anxious. We are waiting for the realtor to send James the new written offer. And they are going to get the towels out of the dryer. And I am talking to Jess. But now I want to go shower and just go to sleep. I'll get things done tomorrow. Probably.
Tomorrow though I am going to the Irvine nature center to meet Heather for the Indigenous People's month festival. I'm excited. I think it's going to be fun. I am going at 1230 so I can see the basket weaving demo. I really hope it's the best time.
I hope you are all doing good tonight. Send good vibes that we find the perfect home, even if it's not this one. Sleep well everyone.
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