#(side note i now have purchased three additional skirts)

[shamelesslymkp]

@mayakern OK so I have a PLAN to write a nice and helpful review of your skirts, but I honestly have no idea if I'll actually be able to follow through anytime soon or if it'll just languish in my head for the rest of time, so this is a PLACEHOLDER nice and helpful review that just says HER SKIRTS ARE V. NICE, IF PLUS SIZE AND ON FENCE HIGHLY RECOMMEND DO BUY

[heli0s-writes]

II. The Binding

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary:  You return to the newly dubbed Avengers Tower after two years. The Words find you with a surprise. A/N: Part 2 of Mystery of Love.

It took a few months for you to settle in and find a new apartment, but soon enough you were back on a regular schedule. Your work continued to be well-reviewed and circulating, which was a good sign because it meant you could still make a living off it. The merchandise in your store was steadily being bought and it certainly helped that you still had quite a bit of money left over from your last few paychecks. There were invitations in your inbox for exhibitions and requests to purchase original files of your work. For now, you were leaving them unread.

You visited your parents once, to talk to them, but you felt strange in their home. The longer your conversation went on, the more you realized that your parents couldn’t comprehend the importance of your work to you. Nor did they understand why you were no longer enamored with the idea of a soulmate. To them, you were meandering around the world to pursue a hobby, luckily it made you quite a bit of money, but you needed to settle down and find your other half. He was in Manhattan, they believed, so you needed to stay put. When you scoffed and said that it could very well be a “she”, they asked you to leave and think about your actions for a few days.

On a sunny May morning, as you reviewed the hundreds of pictures from your journeys, you received an e-mail from Ms. Potts. She hoped you had a fun trip, and that she’d like for you to come by for another assignment. She promised that there was a surprise.

You thought the surprise was that the Avengers Tower was now called Avengers Facility and was outside of town. It wasn’t. The surprise also wasn’t the chauffer who pulled up the next day to drive you there.

You balked at the size of the estate upon seeing it. She met you once again at the door, first to give you a hug and ask about your travels, then as if she’d done something wrong, Ms. Potts bashfully straightened her skirt and led you in. You laughed and returned the hug, thanking her for the bonus; it had gotten you through more than 5 countries in almost two years, after all.

The contract she slid under your nose was entirely review same guidelines as before. There were new specifications, however, four new Avengers: Samuel Thomas “Sam” Wilson, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, Pietro Maximoff, and Wanda Maximoff. You had heard about Sokovia while you were travelling- it happened while you were in Thailand, and Sergeant Barnes’ investigation and trial was on the news during your entire stay in Saudi Arabia. It was very, very recent.

“I thought you might like an additional photo to your Peculiar Pairs Series,” Ms. Potts smiled, “Wanda and Pietro are bonded,”

Your eyes must have looked like saucers. You’d never seen it before- soulmate twins! There were old folktales, of course, but you didn’t think it was real. You gasped in disbelief and ransacked your brain for an appropriate response. What kind of words would they have said to each other? Babies don’t have a concept of language? What was it like growing up together- what is their relationship with each other like? What did their family think?

You sputtered.

“I… Only with their permission, of course!”

Pepper laughed, “Yes, of course. Come on, let’s go see everyone.”

It was then that a wave of nausea hit you, thinking suddenly about Captain Rogers and the awful feeling your stomach gets around him. It was such an embarrassing thing to admit and be helpless to control. You often wondered to yourself if you were reacting so extremely because he scared you? No, he didn’t. Did you like him? Well, you didn’t know him. You were attracted to him, yes, but who wasn’t?

Captain Rogers had been in your textbook since you were a little girl. You went to the museum in Brooklyn multiple times and gazed at his uniform and peered at his photographs alongside Sergeant Barnes. He was handsome in such a honest and gentle way, someone once upon a time you might have dreamt of being your soulmate. He had beautiful blue eyes and a boyish grin, even as a man. You always thought even before the serum, you could have liked him. It wasn’t like you were a very tall woman, anyway.

You rubbed your sternum discreetly as you slipped behind Ms. Potts.

“Please call me Pepper,” she said abruptly, as if she were letting out a too-big breath of air, “Please. And Tony would love it if you’d call him y’know, by his first name too.”

You blushed. You’d just never been that way. But you promised her to try.

“I understand we’re all much older, but just get into the habit, yeah? Wanda and Pietro are your age, and wouldn’t it be weird to call them Mr. and Ms. Maximoff?”

You agreed.

After a few long hallways, the turn led into a large sitting space illuminated by an entire wall made of windows. A large sectional was placed in the center of the room along with some single sofas and bean bags. There was a bookshelf along one wall and a flat-screen across from the seats. All eyes turned to you when you entered. You recognized them- Tony, Natasha, Steve, Bucky Barnes, the Maximoff Twins, and Sam Wilson. Apprehension flooded your core at the sight of the Captain. Sergeant Barnes, who sat beside him, seemed to be glaring.

“Ah! There’s my favorite little P.R. twerp!” Tony Stark cried as he slid across the rug, arms outstretched, “Missed your photos, kid, I’ve got one of me blown up in the master right now. It’s fantastic.”

“Thanks, Tony,” You replied shyly, feeling a bit silly for taking so long to make the switch. Tony gasped dramatically and pretended to be on the verge of tears, punctuating his display with a loud, “Finally!”

Natasha came to hug you as well, whispering a greeting in your ear and congratulating you on all the good fortune with your travels.

The twins regarded you wordlessly, both giving curt nods and gazing at your camera bag. You returned the gesture, placing your hand on the strap to move the bag out of view- you didn’t want to take their picture until they were ready, regardless of what the contract stated. Sam Wilson came to shake your hand and introduce himself. He was very charming, you noted, and definitely knew how to hold a conversation- maybe being the most normal person here.

“I’m such a fan of your work,” he said with a smile, “It’s such a refreshing take on an old, trite thing.” You thanked him in response, grabbing the strap of your camera bag nervously. It was a habit you were trying to let go of, but receiving compliments was still something you handled poorly.

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes had been standing since you and Pepper entered the room. You noticed that the Captain cut his hair shorter than you’d seen it before. Two years ago, it was longer on top and brushed to the side. He tentatively gave you a small smile and waved, unsure of your reaction.  

When you smiled back, he exhaled loudly, “It’s good to see you,”

“You too, Captain”

There was a sudden sensation prickling at your flesh. At first it tickled, like a brush, but then it hit you like a staccato of needles stabbing into the skin of your chest. Your face contorted into an expression of confusion before the pain hit, hands pulling the strap of the camera bag down roughly to investigate the source of your agony. You backed up into a chair. Natasha and Pepper rushed over. The sweltering feeling grew as you struggled to unbutton your shirt, finally giving up and tearing it halfway down the middle.

As the buttons scattered, you watched in horror as black words appeared on your sternum, all capital letters running up your chest in a straight line: it’s good to see you.

Captain Rogers groaned audibly and fell backwards onto the couch as he frantically rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to see your words appear on his left bicep, cursive script running in a circle to disappear and return around. The room was filled with gasps and clattering chairs as the watchers began to realize what was unfolding. Sergeant Barnes leaned down to examine his friend, fearfully looking back and forth between the two of you.

“Jesus Christ!” He cried, as the Captain’s handwriting stopped carving into your skin. Your gasps were beginning to subside when he called out, but when those words left his lips, you began to feel it again, this time overtaking your arm. You couldn’t remain balanced on the chair any longer as you doubled over in pain, sliding onto the floor, just out of reach of Natasha’s steadying hands on you.

Underneath the loose sleeve of your speckled navy and white button up, the Sergeant’s words appeared in thick, heavy strokes of half-cursive, half-print: Jesus Christ.

The room froze in disbelief. Everyone looked from you to the Captain, to the Sergeant. Even your tears subsided for the time being while your heart hammered in your chest. There was ringing in your ears as you tried to still your panting, your hands trembled as they touched the newly formed Words on your left arm.

Sergeant Barnes slowly rose to his feet, staring at you. The Captain did the same. The three of you knew why this was happening, but not quite what it meant, or what it involved for your futures. Captain Rogers extended his hand first, and you slowly slipped shaky fingers into his large palm. It engulfed your hand in a compassionate but strong grip, and you couldn’t help but admire the way his arm flexed ever so slightly as he pulled you up. The touch had an immediate response. It felt like the first time you stepped on warm sand, or the feeling of an ice pack on your head in the throes of a fever. In Captain Rogers’ eyes, you could see the same emotions overpowering him.

“Say something to him,” he whispered. You gulped, looking at the Sergeant, waiting by his side, lips parted in anticipation. You shook your head wildly, afraid. Your first words to Captain Rogers were so dull already- what could you say to the Sergeant? You were racking your brain for phrases you’d memorized over time when he spoke up.

“Say somethin’, please,” Sergeant Barnes’ icy blue eyes urged you with a frantic plea, “There’s nothin’ that wouldn’t be just exactly how it should.”

Your stomach turned again and you reflexively placed a hand to your torso, suddenly reminded that your shirt was undone, your breasts barely covered by the sides of fabric. Captain Rogers pulled it shut for you, sliding one seam over another, and lightly touched your collarbone before letting his hand fall back to his side. It was a deliberate motion; the desire to pull you up into his arms and hide you away in his room was riotous in his mind, and it was taking all of him to be still.

“I’m not so bad, am I?” the Sergeant took a step forward, expression faltering on the cusp of sorrow. You opened your mouth to speak but couldn’t find what to say. He was a complete stranger- just another legend you grew up with, like the Captain, like soulmates and the idea of love. But he was right now in front of you, he was proof that the legends you’d been disregarding for the past 4 years existed, as much as you wished they didn’t. His hand brushed your cheek, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear, and leaving a tingling path in its wake.

“This… can’t be real,” You gasped absentmindedly as his thumb traced a line down your jaw. When your eyes started to fill up again with tears, you didn’t know, but they were cascading down your face as Sergeant Barnes sucked in a sharp breath. His full bottom lip rolled between his teeth as he unbuttoned the loose Henley. Your eyes travelled slowly down each button. At the edge of the slit in his shirt, there they were, the Words… your Words: this can’t be real. They were in the same position as Captain Rogers’ Words on your own chest. Sergeant Barnes exhaled shakily as the letters finished their scorching trail on him. The three of you stared at each other, heaving in unison, panting, steadying the furious butterflies in your stomachs.

Sam Wilson was the first to speak up, shattering the silence with the question everyone else thought, “What just happened?”

It shook you from your daze. Both of Pepper’s hands were clasped over her mouth. Natasha looked astonished, but intrigued. Tony slowly made his way to Pepper and pulled her hands down, gripping it tight in his, his eyes remained transfixed on the three of you on the floor the entire time. The twins sat in silence, fingers intertwined with pleased smiles.  

“This is incredible,” Pepper sighed, “I’ve only heard stories,”

“You... all are soulmates?” Sam asked

You looked back and forth between the two men at your side, unsure of how to answer. You could only think of the time you met John in Prospect Park with Francis and Marilynn. Tony seemed to recall that photo as well and spoke up in clear voice over his shoulder.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., pull up the Peculiar Pairs photo gallery on the T.V.” The flatscreen hummed to life as Tony scrolled to the last images of the set. There were three elderly people sitting on the bench together, holding each others’ hands. Francis on the left, John in the middle, Marilynn on the right, all smiles. Tony traced the Words on Francis’ wrist and Words on Marilynn’s collarbone. John sat happily between them, two sets of words etched on the same spaces: wrist and collarbone.

Tony pointed to you, “Same thing,” he said with a slight jerk of his neck, “You got Capsicle’s words on your chest, Count Buckula’s words on your arm… and he’s—” a slide to the right of his finger, pointing to Captain Rogers, “—got your words on his arm… and those words are on his chest…” the finger slid to the other side, at the Sergeant.

Both of Tony’s hands came to rest on his hips as he regarded you almost proudly. “I can’t believe it, kid, you got two soulmates.” It seemed like the speech would end there, but Tony’s eye began to twinkle mischievously, and a deviant smirk overtook his previously harmless smile, “Oh my, my, my, my, my, aren’t you three going to be having some adventurous s- Ah!”

Pepper had punched him before he could finish his sentence, and began to twist his ear, dragging him out of the room with a very sympathetic apology. The rest of the Avengers followed suit, loudly clearing their throats, offering you congratulations and smiles as a dark pink blush spread over your cheeks. The Maximoffs were the last to leave. Pietro strode casually to the hallway but lingered in the shadow as Wanda put her hand on your shoulder with a knowing smile. She pulled up the sleeve of her flowing blouse and showed you her brother’s mark--- a long curved line, punctuation with a frenzy of dashes and dots at the end. “Do not worry. It is meant to be how it is meant to be,”

At her brother’s bidding, Wanda slipped away as well, following him down the hall.

You were left alone with them. The two men standing in front of you stiff like statues, hands clenched tightly at their sides. You didn’t know what to do with your own body, either, as it hummed and positioned to their frequency. There was a vibration that was unmoving, a tune that was noiseless, a thread hanging onto all three of you, stringing you together. Your legs were beginning to shake.

Sergeant Barnes noticed and led you to the couch as Captain Rogers pushed two loose sofas closer so that they could sit facing you. He was careful to give you as much space as you needed, so long as it didn’t entirely take you away. The very sight of you now, etched with his Words gave him the clarity he’d been searching for nearly his entire life. He didn’t need verbal verification to know that Bucky also felt the same way.  

Your gaze slowly traveled up to the sandy-haired man sitting in front, leaning forward with his elbows resting atop of his knees. You’d known this man for years, but somehow in this moment, he looked so strange and unfamiliar. His brow creased with curiosity. You were sure this wasn’t how he – either of them- must have imagined meeting their soulmate. You were just some kid. Christ, fifteen minutes ago, you were still rejecting the idea of soulmates!

The markings on your body began to feel heavy with each acrimonious thought. Your chest tightened up again, stomach squeezing itself inside of you. Tears started to fall from your eyes as the room caved in. Your heart felt so full, as if it could burst from your chest at any minute if you let it. Your hands moved on their own, grabbing at your chest and arm, scratching wrathfully at the Words’ inscription on your body. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t want it. You refused it.

In the darkness of the chamber, you heard someone say, “She’s having a panic attack, Buck,”

A warm hand found itself against your back, rubbing large lines up and down your spine leisurely. Another hand was rubbing against the narrow plane in between your breasts, but it was cold and made you shiver. Someone’s hands were tucking your hair behind both ears, sweetly wiping away the tears that ran freely and gathered under your chin. You felt so small against them, leaning sadly into the warmth, shuddering sobs shaking your frame.

“Breathe… breathe, there you go, hon’, you’re doing great,”

The blackness soon began to fade, and you struggled to follow the rhythmic directions being whispered into your ear. New tears were shushed away gently by another voice, like an ocean breeze blowing away sand. Your hands clenched severely to your thighs, but soon were peeled away and held in a grasp that burned like a furnace. When the light returned to your field of vision, you could make out the Captain and Sergeant giving you encouraging smiles.

“I’m.. sorry,” you wheezed hoarsely. You hadn’t experienced one of these since early college.

“Don’t apologize, it’s a lot to take in,” Captain Rogers spoke, squeezing your left hand in his. At the sensation, you looked down to see your small hand, once again, engulfed in his and laughed loudly, surprising them both. They were glad to see you laughing, at least, and only raised their eyebrows to question it. You shook your head, not knowing where to start, pulling your hand away and wrapping both arms around your legs. You didn’t notice Captain Rogers’ expression.

“How does this work, Captain?” You asked, murmuring, in hopes that if they didn’t hear you, maybe you could just avoid talking about it forever. “There’s… two of you… the Sergeant, I.. this… we’ve only just met.” You squeezed your puffy eyes shut, feeling your poor head starting to hurt.

“Please,” he called, “Please…” it was pleading, soft and slow, so, so desperate, “Call me Steve, please.”

You swallowed, trying the sound out over your tongue gently, “Steve,” You chanced a look over to his left, where icy blue eyes wandered over your face.

“You’ve got more options with me, hon’” a smile graced Sergeant Barnes, and you started to notice just how much more handsome he was in person. All those museum photos could never capture the sharpness of his jaw, or the way his stubble worked to frame his face, or the dip in his chin that seemed to make his rather intense features so agreeable. His long hair was much nicer in person than it was on all those breaking news broadcasts. His blue gaze was brighter than you could have ever imagined from those black and white reels. You licked your lips idly, and flushed pink when both men followed the trajectory of your tongue and lingered on your mouth.

“Bucky work for you? If not, you can call me James,” “That’s his government name,” Steve quipped, getting smirks from both of you.

You tried both, and promised you would try to settle on Bucky. Neither of them felt right anyway, since you’d grown up categorizing any information you knew of him under “Sergeant Barnes”. You relayed the information to them, and added that frankly, it unsettled you to call Steve by his first name too. They, in return, promised to be patient.

“What if… its’ wrong?” Your face contorted, your eyes were flashing from Steve to Bucky, back to Steve, back to Bucky. Your brain was revving up, “I mean, soulmates, you know? What is that? Right?” God, you were rambling, but you couldn’t stop. “Shouldn’t we choose who we love? We’re… god, we were born decades apart. You guys are… superhuman.. and I’m just 23…! Compared to you, you’re legends, you’re Avengers, you save the damn world? Oh my god, I just take pictures of people.”

“I’ve never even kissed a boy.” You said suddenly, squeezing your eyes shut. There were flashbacks to all the times you’d run away from boys, or during the speed-meets when you’d stare longingly into someone’s eyes for the good span of five seconds before having to do it again with someone else thirty more times, or in undergrad, when you tried to go on a date with Nathan Young but when he dropped you off at home and put his hand on your thigh, you bolted.

Bucky and Steve laughed in relief as you slid your head in-between your hands. They shared a knowing look with each other before Bucky slid his hooked finger under your chin and turned you upward to gaze at him.

“Sweetheart, you don’t gotta kiss anyone unless you want to,” he assured, “We just want to be with you,”

They laughed again in unison. Bucky leaned back on the sofa and put both arms behind his neck, letting Steve explain.

“We’re eager, but we understand. I’ve waited for so long. We’ve tried to ignore fate… with dating,” A snort from Bucky confirmed his fact, “It never worked out.” Steve continued, “I feel it, in my gut, this is right. Can’t you? Buck and I, we’ve known each other since we were in diapers; there are no secrets between us.”  

You placed a hand on your stomach, feeling it settle strangely, wondering if the sickness you’d experienced in the past around Steve was a sign you wrongfully chalked up to your anxiety. He seemed to hear your thoughts and nodded, letting you know that the fateful day in the conference room, when he reached his quarters, he had developed an angry red rash across his arm. He was curious, but since you were keen on avoiding him, he let you have your space. Now, as the three of you sat in each other’s company, you couldn’t help but wonder if the universe needed all of you together for the Words to work.

You asked them for their patience. You needed to go home, let the information settle, do some work to calm down, maybe. You could tell that Bucky was hesitant to let you go, but Steve assured him it would be fine. He asked for you to return soon, because as you knew, soulmates who were already bound to each other with Words, suffered each other’s maladies, and he was honest in letting you know that it would hurt him to not be close to you.

When you quietly got ready to leave, Bucky broke the silence by asking your name- a fact you’d forgotten to give in the chaos of the Binding. He repeated it, over and over again, tongue touching the top of his mouth in deliberate flicks, as if it was holy. Steve walked you to the car and watched it until you disappeared into the horizon.

Upon returning to the lounge area where Bucky sat, pained expression casting harsh shadows on his face, Steve placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Bucky understood the implication of the hand—a request to keep his promise of patience. He wanted to, for you. He wanted to do anything for you.

“She’s gotta come back, Stevie,” he muttered, hand reaching up into his shirt to trace the words. Steve assured him that she would. “I can’t stand it, Stevie, all those times in the chair, when they were scrambling my brain,” his voice dropped low, “I was thinkin’ about her. I could feel her somewhere, not knowing what she looked like or anything, but just feel her. Can’t stand it that she doesn’t want to be here now.”

Steve didn’t need his friend to finish the sentence to know what he meant.

“Buck, if we push her, we’ll lose her. I want the same thing, but she needs to come to that conclusion on her own.”

That night, as you fell into your bed, a message blinked on your phone- an e-mail from Pepper. It was the picture you took of of John, Francis, and Marilynn- from Prospect Park, beaming on that old wooden bench next to the birdbath. A single question was written beneath the photograph.

It worked out for them, didn’t it?

Next Chapter

[nanchatte-tips]

Let’s put together a nanchatte outfit together!

Let’s put together a nanchatte coordinate (outfit) together!

Note: This is a guide on how to create a female-coded outfit. If there is demand for a male-coded guide, I would be happy to make one.

Part one: Tops

There are two main categories of tops: shirts with a sailor collar, and shirts with a folded collar. Both styles have long or short sleeves.

For folded collar shirts, pale colors are best. Shirts can be polo style or button-up style, though polo shirts can have a sportier feel and can be darker in color if desired.

Now for sailor shirts. Brighter and darker colors are much more common in sailor shirts. While the most common (and accurate) colors are white, blue, and black, more liberties can be taken with sailor shirts than with button-ups.

Part two: Bottoms

Pleated skirts, solid or plaid, are the go-to for nanchatte. Skirts can be pretty much any length, and should be worn on the natural waist.

There are also vest skirts, also called jumper skirts. These vary in length as well.

In addition to those, there are also one-piece uniforms like seikafuku style and bolero style.

Part three: Socks

You have a lot of options when it comes to socks.  Just-above-ankle, calf length, knee length, over-the-knees, tights, tube socks, and baggy kogal-style socks are all acceptable. The most common colors are white, black, and navy but other colors can be acceptable as well, depending on the outfit. Logos on the side are a nice touch. Shorter socks on top of tights is also a popular look.

Part four: Shoes

The classic shoe for nanchatte are brown or black penny loafers. They’re the most widely-worn shoe, both in nanchatte and at actual Japanese schools.

There’s also the option of mary-janes. They were popular for uniforms in the 80s so they have a retro feel.

A Korean trend that has been becoming more and more popular is to wear sneakers with nanchatte for a sporty look. New Balance and Adidas are two popular brands.

Part five: Sweaters

Layering is a very big part of nanchatte. Cardigans, sweaters, and vests are all popular outerwear. They can be button-up, zip-up, or pullover style. Often they are purchased one size too big so they can be worn oversized. V-neckline is best.

You can also layer a hoodie or sweatshirt on top. It’s even common to see them under blazers!

Part six: Blazers

Blazers are a staple of nanchatte. They are typically navy or black, but can be any color. They can be fitted, or be more boxy.

Part seven: Accessories

Now for the best part!

There are many types of sailor scarves, ribbons, and ties. Pick whichever you think looks cutest!

For bags, there are a few common styles, like the duffel bag, and the briefcase bag. Randoseru are bags designed for children, but they can look cute with nanchatte!

Part eight: How to match colors

I would recommend having only up around three colors in one coordinate. This creates harmony within the outfit. Socks, shoes, and accessories like bags don’t have to match, but think of it as bonus points if they do. Here’s some breakdowns of coordinates:

Part nine: Don’ts

While delicate embroidery on a seifuku is fine, stay away from galaxy printed ones and other similar jarring patterns and prints.

Make sure your pleats aren’t stitched down at the top - this style is not common in Japan. Knife pleats are much more accepted than box pleats.  

Stay away from frilly socks and sheer tights. Be careful with printed socks - argyle and other neutral prints are okay, but most other prints, like horizontal stripes. can come off as costumey.

High heels are not usually appropriate for nanchatte, but loafers with a small heel are fine.

And remember: Nanchatte is not a costume, it’s a fashion.

There you go! Now you’ve made your very own nanchatte coordinate. My askbox is open if you have any questions.

[takingcourage]

Additions: Part Six

Here’s a link to my masterlist if you need to catch up! 

Pairing: Jaime x MC

Word Count: 3,600

Summary: The Lewis household prepares for the arrival of its sixth member. 

Note: Thanks for your patience, friends. I’m sorry this update has been so long in coming. Grading took all of my brainpower (and most of my free time) toward the end of the year, and it’s taken some time to get back into the habit of working with words for fun. 

Only an epilogue left to go!

July, 2028

“Can I ask a personal question?”

Arden came to the end of the line she was reading and raised her head slowly. Sophia traced every movement, mouth tugged to the side like it always was when she was trying to gauge reactions. 

It was almost frightening how skilled the teenager was at picking up on nonverbal cues. In the year they’d spent together, Arden had learned more about her own body language from her daughter’s thoughts than she had in over decade of working in television. 

Realizing she still hadn’t answered the question, Arden bobbed her head in assent. “Sure.” 

“Are you pregnant?”

Arden sucked a breath. It was hardly the question she’d expected. 

“Yes…” she began tentatively, then set the packet of coffee on the counter. Ignoring the bag of grounds, she turned to face Sophia. “We were waiting until after Family Day to tell you and the boys,” she offered by way of explanation. 

Her daughter dumped another spoonful of granola into her morning yogurt. “Makes sense.” Sophia paused to meet Arden’s eyes before resealing the container. “I don’t think they’ve noticed anything, but you’ve been acting weird lately. Drinking decaf coffee and taking pills and stuff. My second grade teacher was always complaining about that when she was pregnant.”

Ignoring the glimpse into her daughter’s past, she motioned for her to follow into the dining room. “Sophia,” she began, sitting so that she could look the girl directly in the eyes. “I know you probably weren’t expecting this when you came to live here. Jaime and I weren’t either. But I need you to know that won’t change anything about how much we love you and your brothers.”

A glint of uncertainty passed over her daughter’s face, but it vanished quickly. “Well, no. I know that,” she insisted, forcing a laugh. 

The pit in Arden’s stomach loomed at the unnatural sound. This is exactly what I was hoping to avoid. How do I fix it? 

The girl avoided her gaze and picked up her spoon. When her eyes rose from the woodgrain of the table, Arden could just see the glisten of unshed tears. 

“Sophia...”

“I’ll be okay,” she insisted, dropping the spoon and nudging her bowl a few inches forward. “It’s kind of a lot though.” 

Tell me about it, Arden considered, heart wrenching as she watched her daughter battle with her emotions. “Jaime and I are excited, but it’s a lot for us too. We’ve loved having a family of five.” 

“Yeah.”

“And we’ll figure out what it means to be a family of six.” She might have missed the solitary tear on Sophia’s cheek if she hadn’t seen the hand she raised to bat it away. Arden opened her mouth in reassurance, but Sophia cut her off before she could speak. 

“Don’t worry -- I’m okay. I’m fine.” The tremor in her voice suggested otherwise. 

Arden considered challenging the assertion, but thought better of it. “I’m still getting used to the idea. It means adding onto the house again and figuring out a lot of things with work. Things may get tricky.”

“I can share a room with the boys again, if it helps.”

Arden mentally kicked herself for bringing up that aspect of their preparations. Of course her people-pleasing daughter would want to volunteer anything she could think of. “Absolutely not. No one’s giving up any bedrooms. We’ve got it figured out.”

“Okay.”

“And not to pressure you, but this baby is so, so lucky to have you as an older sister. You’re pretty incredible.”

“Thanks,” Sophia muttered, pulling her breakfast back within reach. “I’ve gotten lots of practice with the boys.” 

Arden slid her palm across the table with emphasis. “Think you can handle one more?”

Sophia’s free hand stretched toward her until their fingers met in the middle. “Probably.” Fresh panic drained all color from her features, and her brow worried itself into knots. “As long as it’s not another brother.” 

Laughter sprang to Arden’s lips as she drew her hand back. “I’ve been hoping for a girl too. It’d be nice not to be outnumbered anymore.” 

“Good.” The syllable floated across the table almost conspiratorially. “I don’t want to be like that princess in Cordonia. Three brothers is too many.” 

"Three brothers is a lot...but maybe don’t tell the boys that I said that?”

Sophia smirked around her spoon. When she finished the bite, the expression had turned to a smile. “I won’t tell them anything. Promise.” 

_____

August, 2028

This definitely doesn’t fit anymore, Arden determined, standing before her full-length mirror. In most outfits, no one would even realize she was pregnant. At four months along, she was still getting by with wearing looser clothes and staying away from her trademark pencil skirts when she was at work. This particular garment was an aberration. 

The “safe” bathing suit she used for family outings had made a lot of sense at the time of purchase more than a year ago, but the additional fabric now meant that the entire top was embarrassingly tight.

“Damn, Arden. Your body is amazing. ” 

She treated her husband to a small reflected smile and untied the straps behind her neck. “Amazing or not, I’m definitely not going swimming like this.” Jaime helped to ease the fabric over her shoulders, fingers skimming her ribs along the way. She shivered at the contact and leaned back against his chest. 

“I would hope not. If we ever decide to go skinny dipping again, the kids are definitely not invited...” he trailed off upon noting the tension in her shoulders. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

Arden leaned forward to dig through the open drawer, wondering if she could pretend not to have heard the question. He squeezed her side with a gentle hand. 

“It’s just... I keep thinking about next summer. We’ll have the baby’s schedule to work with and we won’t be able to take off and do fun things with the kids whenever we want to...” The words ended in a sigh as she met his eyes in the mirror. 

Jaime’s brows knit together. “You’re worried?”

“Aren’t you?” 

He thumbed the seam of her discarded suit, gaze dropping as he considered her question. I want this baby, Arden. 

“I want it too,” she assured, interrupting his thoughtful silence. “But so much is changing again and I just got used to it being this way. Our kids just got used to things and now we’re changing it all again.”

How many times do I have to tell you that we’ll solve this together? Please stop freaking out. 

His whispered thought cut through her escalating worries. 

“I didn’t mean to think that.” 

“I know,” she groaned. Thinking better of her initial response, she tried to lighten the mood. “But it’s true. We will figure it out...eventually. I just hate feeling so uncertain.” 

Tossing the bathing suit to the mattress, he held his arms open with invitation. For a moment, she pressed her cheek to his chest and tried to set her fears aside. 

“The kids are going to be fine,” Jaime asserted. "Will’s already started bragging about how he isn’t going to be the baby anymore, and you know Sophia is happy that she’ll finally have a sister. Alex is gonna come around sooner or later. He just needs more time.”

“That child always needs more time...” she muttered, turning back to the drawer to find a suitable replacement. “I love him dearly, but it’d be a lot easier if he just processed things as they happened instead of bottling them up.” 

Jaime’s brow quivered at the complaint, and it wasn’t long before Arden took his meaning. 

“Stop! I’ve gotten a lot better.” 

He took the fastenings of her new swimsuit and began working. “Yes, you have. Alex will get there someday too.” 

“I really hope so.” 

“Maybe even today!” he offered, something akin to a challenge in his eye. 

She brushed it off and directed her eyes toward the ceiling. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“And you love me for it,” he deduced, capturing her lips in a kiss as he released the fastened straps. 

“Very much.” She caught his eye in the mirror again, but this time the smile was genuine. They had every right to be optimistic, of course. This was just the latest in the series of hurdles their family had faced. If their track record was anything to go by, everything was going to work out...eventually. 

_____

October, 2028

"Last call for trick or treating!”

Will was testing out the length of his sleeves in the hall mirror, but Jaime’s announcement gave him pause. Seizing the subsequent chance to pester his brother, he darted into the living room. “Please come! We’ll get twice as much candy.” 

Alex burrowed deeper into the couch cushions and shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” Jaime deduced, trading glances with Arden. 

In the kitchen and out of Alex’s view, Arden gave him a small shrug. Their eldest son had been adamant that he was too old this year. In spite of his brother’s relentless cheer and encouragement, he appeared to be standing his ground. 

“I’ll bring you back some Skittles,” Will flourished his bag as if to make good on the promise. “Do you think Sophia’s getting candy at Ava’s house? I’ll try to get some extras for her too.” 

“That’s really sweet of you, bud,” Jaime encouraged, guiding him into the hall. “I’m sure she’d love that.” 

“Last call?” Will echoed in a pitiful refrain as he trudged toward the door. 

Mouth full, Alex murmured an approximation of, “I’m good.” 

“Have fun, you guys! We’ll stay here and hold down the fort.” After waving them off, Arden returned to the living room. “Ready to start this thing?”

“Sure.” 

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Alex’s feigned nonchalance. Like he hasn’t been asking to see this film for months, she quipped internally, mashing her thumb against the play button on the remote. 

The dull screen came to life, and a quick glance was enough to tell Arden that her son was much more engaged in the proceedings than he was willing to let on. Turning her attention to her own bowl of popcorn, she sorted through the pieces to find which ones had the most color. 

Stupid salt cravings.

Keeping one eye on the screen, she fell to musing. It seemed like she'd been measuring months for an eternity, fixated somewhat arbitrarily on the one-year anniversary of having the kids with them. Now that they'd passed it, time had started to fly. The fact that this was already their second Halloween together was baffling. Soon, they'd pass their second Thanksgiving, second Christmas, second New Year's Eve...

The doorbell chimed, yanking her back to reality.

Vaguely aware of the car chase taking place before her, Arden set the bowl aside and moved to answer the door. A strange weightlessness came over her as she stood, but darkness clouded her vision before she could move further. 

Arden woke slowly, floating and devoid of sense. Tingling returned in increments through her fingertips, creeping along the rest of her skin as she tried vainly to clear the cobwebs from her head. A firm hand gripped her shoulder, but it took several moments to place it.

"Arden? Arden, you okay?" Alex's voice was the most concrete thing that she could latch onto.

"M'fine," she managed around a cottony tongue. "I must have gotten dizzy."

With some effort, she trained her eyes on the boy. Sweat beaded across her forehead as her body attempted to reset itself, and she felt the flush run through her core and out over her limbs. 

"I think -- I think you fainted. I looked up and you fell over all of a sudden."

She blinked, mind too fuzzy to formulate a response. 

Alex stared back with pleading eyes, his worry etched in every crease of his brow. “Is the baby okay?” Please let my sister be okay. 

Even in her disoriented state, her throat immediately thickened. That simple shift from the baby to my sister spoke volumes. “Yeah, I just stood up too fast. Sometimes that happens.” 

“Do you need medicine? I can get it for you if you tell me where it is, or --”

Arden sat up straight, brushing a hand through the air in protest. “I just haven’t had enough to drink today. I’ll be fine.”

“Lemme get you some water.” 

Her head had stopped swimming by the time he returned with a brim-full glass. 

“Lemme know if you need more when that’s gone,” he offered, handing her the drink. “And are you sure you’re okay? I don’t...” the words trailed, but she heard the rest of the sentence: I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. 

“Alex, listen to me. The baby and I are going to be fine. We’re so much better already.” She made a show of drinking from the glass. “This is going to help too. I’ll let you know if anything changes. In the meantime, don’t worry -- okay?”

“Okay. But I’m gonna take care of all the trick or treaters from now on. You can stay on the couch and get better. We don’t even have to watch the rest of the movie if you don’t want to.” 

She took another long sip to counteract the sudden ache in the back of her throat. “Nope, I want to finish it. We’ve got to figure out what happens to those kids who got lost in the woods.” 

“Oh, yeah.” He tried to keep his eyes on the screen, but she felt him staring at her countless times as the film progressed. Quiet as he was, his thoughts spoke for him: nothing in the movie was going to scare him as much as what he’d already seen. 

That unspoken burst of feeling was all she was likely to get from her middle child, but it was more than enough to satisfy. As usual, Jaime was right. Alex was coming around after all. 

_____

February, 2029

The snow had just started to fall when Jaime pulled into the driveway. The morning temperatures had been just enough to thaw some of last week’s snow, and he knew it would only be a matter of time before the streets were coated in ice. 

“C’mon, let’s get inside before we freeze.”

“Do we still have hot chocolate?” Sophia asked, shutting the car door a little harder than she needed to. The force of the movement suggested she already knew the answer to the question. 

Jaime unlocked the front door, gesturing for the teenager to enter the house before him. “We’ll make sure to add cocoa mix to the list on the counter. Julie offered to run by the grocery store later this evening.” 

“I bet Alex drank all of it while we were gone.”

The offending brother was nowhere to be found -- a likely sign that he was in his bedroom. Will looked up briefly when they came in, but was soon engaged again in the round of checkers he and Harry were playing at the coffee table. 

“’Scuse me,” Harry offered in apology, pausing their game to follow Jaime toward the coat closet. 

Jaime faced his father in law with an easy grin. “Hey! Thanks again for helping out this afternoon. How’d it go?”

The other man pulled a skeptical face as Jaime shrugged out of his coat. “She’s trying to do too much. When we got here, she was unloading the dishwasher and listening to Will’s reading practice and everything. She thinks that baby carrier means she can do anything.”

With a sigh, Jaime eased the sleeves over the hanger. The image his father-in-law described came to his mind all too readily. He’d spent the past three weeks preventing as much undue exertion as possible, but there was only so much he could do. “Harry, I stopped trying to control your daughter a long time ago. We both know she’s going to do those things whether we want her to or not. The rest of us do as much as we can, but she got an extra dose of stubbornness from somewhere.” 

“That’s why we were here,” Julie cut in with a hand at Harry’s elbow. “I went and stayed with my son for two whole weeks when his wife had their first baby. The least I can do is come by every once in a while to help around the house.” 

“We all appreciate it -- truly,” Jaime assured. “I take it Arden’s upstairs?”

A door slammed from the direction of the boys’ room, and Alex’s voice spilled into the hallway, “It wasn’t me! There was still a packet and a half the last time I had any.” 

“Brothers are such...” Sophia censored herself as she passed the group of adults. At her pasted-on smile, Jaime raised an eyebrow before giving his focus back to his in-laws. 

“Last I knew, she took the baby up there to nurse. That was about half an hour ago, I think.” 

“I’ll go check in and let her know we’re back.” 

Jaime climbed the stairs, cautiously testing the handle of their door before swinging the whole thing open. He’d interrupted their daughter’s naps just a handful of times, but they’d been enough to make him wary of doing it again. 

Arden stirred as he came in, her voice quiet, but fully awake. “What time is it?” 

“A little bit after 4:00. Did I wake you up?” His wife was in the center of their bed, body curled protectively around the weeks-old infant that lay inside. 

“No, there was some noise downstairs.” At Jaime’s sigh, she continued, “ It’s fine; they didn’t know. I didn’t mean to fall asleep in the first place.”

“I’m still sorry you had to wake up to a fight about hot chocolate packets.”

“At least it’s a change of pace. I don’t remember the last time I woke up to something other than crying.” 

“Me neither,” he agreed, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. From this position, one tiny fist was visible. The rest of the newborn’s body was shielded from view, but the glimpse was enough.

Their baby was perfect. So perfect, in fact, that Jaime knew he could go the rest of his life without making anything that could ever compare. Each exquisite feature, from her thick crop of dark brown hair to the slender toes he knew were curled tight beneath the flannel of her pajamas, proved that their daughter was a work of art.

He’d never put much stock in blood relations. The few family members that he vaguely remembered from childhood had disappeared from his life long ago. 

And even though he didn’t love this baby any more than he loved the three kids downstairs, this love was a little different, somehow. Already, there were traces of Arden in this child -- traces of him. Their family had never felt like it was missing anything, but none of them could deny how much more complete it felt now that Lindy had entered the scene.

“How was the concert?” Arden asked, startling him from his musings. 

“You’ll have to ask Sophia about it later, but I’d call her pre-birthday celebration a success.”

“I’m sure she loved it.”

“I am too,” Jaime beamed, remembering how intently their daughter had watched all of the proceedings onstage. “And she loved getting to stick around and meet the musicians. Tony said to tell you hi, by the way.” 

"Did you tell him hi back?” she inquired before her mouth was hijacked by a yawn. 

“Of course. How have things been here?”

“Fine when I came up. Dad’s been telling me not to do so much, but what else is new?” 

“And Lindy?”  

Arden hiked a hand through her hair and arched her back, rolling toward him so that he could see the sleeping baby clearly. “As happy and sleepy as always,” she whispered, eyes following his to watch the sleeping infant. 

“We got so lucky.”

Arden smothered another yawn against her hand. “You know that saying that is practically asking for trouble, right? She’s not even a month old yet.”

“Look how well she’s fit in so far. Besides, it’s kind of hard not to think she’s perfect when she’s got your cute little nose and eyebrows.”

“And your toes, unfortunately…” 

Jaime shoved out his chin in retaliation. “Maybe she’ll have long fingers like me too,” he wondered, reaching out a hand to brush the hair from Arden’s forehead. “You’ve always complained about how short yours are.”

“They’re terrible for typing and playing instruments. Why do you think our band never worked out?”

“There were a lot of reasons...” he reflected. With the pad of his index finger, he followed the dimpled line at Lindy’s wrist. The baby continued to sleep despite his intrusion, her serene face turned toward Jaime’s body. 

“What are you thinking about?”

He rubbed his jawline with a wry smile. “I’m pretty sure you know what it is already.” 

“Maybe,” she evaded coyly. “Humor me anyway?”

“That you’re still my best girl, but you’re not the only girl in my life anymore. And that I’m pretty damn lucky to have three amazing ladies in my family.”

“The boys are pretty great too,” she reminded with a fond smile, allowing both eyes to flutter shut. 

“Arden?”

One eyelid rose. “Uh-huh?”

“I think we might have the best family ever.” 

She grinned at the absurd statement. “We’re so biased. But I think you may be right.” 

[advernia]

fic: with my lips engraved on every cup

— seven days, four seasons. just enough time to find a place to call home. - seasonal snippets on the dormouse & alice the second.

1: luci's b-day gift ft. diplomouse content! disclaimer: it's totally not farming-sim inspired lmao ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

winter He was there when Blanc handed the papers over to her, all of them checked, signed, and safely nestled within a long white folder. Behind them, standing tall but worn, was a cottage with a chipped black roof, musty stone walls, plywood barred windows, and piles of snow hiding a yard of dried grass.

All that a modest property enclosed by a picket fence with fading paint.

It’s a sore thumb among the many rows of homes and establishments around the Central Quarter; but still she accepted the deed with her shaking fingers and ecstatic grin. He watched quietly as she turned the folder back and forth, those blue eyes running over her own name written on the folder's front a few times; until she lowered her head and pulled the folder oh-so close to her chest.

The folder didn’t bend in her tight embrace, nor did its edges crumple in her firm grasp.

monday || spring 5 The yard has a touch of color now, meek greens that are far more pleasing to the eye than drab yellows and parched browns. She figures that flowers would make the yard look more lively, but the ground needed a little more care before she could get around to planting anything decent.

Advice from an expert gardener, she tells him.

Honestly speaking though, the yard wasn’t the only area of the property that achieved a new level of decency - cleaned and somewhat refurbished, she made the cottage look pretty, look more like a dwelling place rather than some long abandoned lot. Inside the cottage her belongings are little and decorations are sparse, but the simplicity has its charm and he’s sure she’d get by - long months of working under Cradle’s best confectionery allowed her to save up enough Lin to buy a house in Central, after all.

When she offers him a fresh batch of Earl Grey in what she mentioned to be her first ever tea set in Cradle (purchased with her own Lin, managed to coax a fifteen percent off to boot), he accepts it in a heartbeat.

tuesday || spring 13 The walls of the second floor mirror those of the first floor, that being the upper cement halves painted over with a calming cream color to contrast its dark brown wooden lower halves. It looked like coffee and cream that someone couldn’t bear to mix, something that brought about a sense of calm and warmth and also drowsiness. Then again, that might be his fault and also, it’s midday.

She serves him a cup of coffee along with something she called a calzone, a snack from the Land of Reason - the circular flaky pastry had been filled with bacon, egg, and more importantly cheese, and that ingredient alone made the whole thing absolutely delicious in his book. It paired surprisingly well with the rich coffee too, so maybe it’s no surprise that both his food and drink are gone after just a few minutes.

Maybe I should start a cafe, she says with a laugh, eyes dancing with mirth.

He dabs at the edges of his mouth with a napkin, pondering her suggestion. He tries to picture the first floor - a rectangular space that was much wider than it appeared to be - filled with tables and a wide glass display for assorted pastries and shelves storing canisters of tea leaves and coffee beans. Then there in the center of it all would be her, golden hair neatly tied up with a ribbon and blue eyes brimming with a kind warmth.

Welcome, she would say with a smile that reached her eyes, and he decides that it wasn’t a bad idea at all.

Maybe you should, he nods, tone completely serious.

wednesday || spring 21 It was his first time stepping into her kitchen, so he took his time to look around while she was still busy baking. He could’ve waited in the living room, but instead he sat on a stool near the windows and fought the urge to take a nap.

First of all, the place was at optimal temperature - a light breeze was flowing through the open windows to soothe the heat brought about by a running oven, relaxing the body in an environment that was currently a perfect balance of hot and cold.

Second, the scent wafting about the whole room was comforting - he’s not so sure how to describe it himself, but the warm aroma of baking bread along with the lingering touches of tea brewing in the air was more... soothing than appetizing at the moment.

And third, she was there and in the small space she truly looked like she was at home - feet smoothly going to and fro the counters to the oven, swift and steady hands prepping ingredients laid out on the counter, body upright and eyes lost in a state of focus. A practiced confidence exudes from her every action, and the longer he observed her the more he’s reminded that before she fell into Cradle, she was a confectioner from a place called London.

She hummed a tune as she worked, an unfamiliar melody to him that went up and down and up and down. It sounded cute and cheery and it’s something he could associate to her disposition, but all its chipper timbre couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.

So instead of struggling, he gives in - his eyelids flutter shut and he couldn’t see her anymore, but he could still hear the soft patter of her shoes tapping against the floor, the humming from her throat. He could still breathe in the scents coming from her fruits of labor, a hefty cheese loaf sure taking its time to be ready for consumption and notes of floral - maybe jasmine - tea.

... He’d been meaning to ask her if she truly resigned from the confectionery, but perhaps that would have to wait.

thursday || spring 29 There’s a pretty windchime attached to the thatched door now, made out of magic crystals and ringing out a light tune in response to the door drawing open. She sees him standing by the doorway and urges him to come in, three letters in one hand and each bearing a different seal on them.

One had a dark color, could be easily mistaken for a big blot of ink but was actually the clay seal known to be used by the Black Army. The other one had an excellent reddish shade, easily identifying itself as the crimson wax seal of the regal Red Army. The last one was a shining bronze, and that color was exclusive to the charm seal bearing the insignia of the Civic Center.

The letters are stuffed away in some drawer, so he assumes that asking about their contents would be impolite.

Once he’s seated on the sofa she disappears into the kitchen to prepare some snacks, so he’s left alone in a... strangely bare home. There’s little furniture, the flowery decorations she hung up here and there have vanished, the picture frames containing assorted pictures of her and the two Armies of Cradle aren’t displayed on fireplace’s mantel, and the row of tall shelves she lined with books ranging from the history and culture of Cradle to Glazed Sweets, and How to Perfect Them weren't around either. Even the fluffy fur rug that he often contemplated taking a nap on was gone!

Spring cleaning, maybe?

They’re halfway through their Assam tea and custard cake when he brings this up - the innocent question renders her quiet for a second then she chuckles, setting her cup back down on its saucer.

Maybe it is spring cleaning - I promised myself to get this place ready in time, she says.

Ready for what? he prompts, head tilting to the side.

A smile blooms on her face, eyes crinkling at the corners.

For... a ‘grand’ opening, I hope!

friday || summer 6 Through the long unbarred and new stained-glass-pane windows shines a bright light - it’s pretty late but still he knocks on her door, standing on the cobblestone path and staring at the neatly trimmed grass of her lawn. She opens the door seconds later, still dressed in her casual skirts and staring at him and his suitcase curiously - nevertheless, she lets him in without any questions asked.

It’s funny how the first floor now looked similar to how he imagined it to be on that one spring day - the room was now filled with at least eight tables paired with cherrywood chairs, looking tasteful and comfortable with plaid blue cushions attached to each seat. Near the far end of the room and close to the door that led to the kitchen was a wide glass display case right beside a clean long counter, surface empty save for a cupcake stand set one end. The tall shelves where her books used to be were relocated to stand against the wall near the display case, hosting an array of tea tins and coffee packs with a toss of assorted accessories and knick-knacks in between.

The dark wooden walls were repainted with an easy mint color, the whole room much brighter with the addition of the iron hanging lanterns secured on the ceiling. Curtains and decors such as paintings and flower vases were simple yet bursting nicely with summer-feel colors, and one corner of the room even had a neat display of potted plants.

The whole space seemed to be well-distributed, not too bare and not too cramped either - there were adequate spaces between tables, ample moving room on the floor for people to roam about. It was a nice place and definitely looking like a good place to nap in, but...

... I won’t be here for your opening day, he blurts out once they’re seated.

He doesn't miss the quick blink of her eyes, the glance to his suitcase, her slow nodding and the brief purse of her lips.

Oh, she says after a while, voice something small.

There’s nothing much to say after that, and he couldn’t find a good reason for her to stay when she stands up and excuses herself. He stares blankly at his hands that have curled themselves into fists on his lap, something sour and unpleasant brewing in his stomach making him feel all the more uncomfortable and -

- then there’s the soft clink of something tapping against wood.

He looks up to see a glass of water and beside it, a fork laid out on a napkin and piece of cake laid out nicely on a saucer.

A slice of triple coffee cheesecake for a busy diplomat, she announces.

His eyes count four layers of brown though, all of different shades and textures.

... Triple layer? he repeats.

That’s right, she nods, then points to each section of the cake according to her narration. The crust below is made out of chocolate graham crackers and set above it is the first layer, a traditional-style cheescake made with a combination of two cheeses. The second layer is lighter since it’s a mousse, the portion of cheese mixed in making it semi-sweet. And finally, the top or third layer is a whipped cream finish, soft and airy with just the right amount of cream cheese mixed in. All three layers also have varying amounts of coffee in them, that’s why -

- it’s a triple coffee cheesecake, he finishes, raising his head fully to meet her eyes.

She holds his gaze for a moment before her open palm gestures to the saucer.

I hope it’s to your liking... dear first customer, she says, the makings of a smile on her lips.

saturday || summer 14 It was only on the strangest of occasions that he had full appreciation for his past of being a former soldier, namely for that one phase in his life where he had undergone rigorous stealth training. The ability to be inconspicuous at will was a ridiculous skill for a diplomat to have, but in the country of Cradle and on this very special day, he’d beg to differ.

So he jumps over the white picket fence, making himself as small as possible by lowering his head and keeping his body close to the ground. As he crept across the yard he caught whiffs of a rich velvety aroma wafting in the air, slipping past that partially opened door just a few steps within his reach now.

When he rises up to his full height to push the door open, she turns around to the sound of creaking wood and the sudden rush of night air flowing into the kitchen, hands still wrist-deep in soapy sink water along with an array of saucers and tea cups.

They just stare at each other for a few seconds: he glances at her slightly mussed ponytail, blinks at the dark brown stains on the apron worn over her dress. She studies his disheveled clothing, takes in what looked like exhaustion written over the entirety of his face.

Tough Valentine’s Day? she decides to ask, voice kind.

He lets out a sigh, closing the kitchen’s back door behind him.

... I wasn’t even able to take a midday nap, he mumbles.

She laughs a bit at the sight of his sullen expression before raising a soapy finger, pointing at the teapot set on the stove.

How about we both take a break, then? she grins. There’s some leftover chocolate cake we can eat, too!

The prospect of seeing chocolate again was slightly unnerving but he nods anyway, if only to see that sweet smile of hers once more.

sunday || summer 15 Behind her there’s a laundry basket filled with a neat pile of various cloths, stains on them ranging from a spectrum of playfully colorful to borderline suspicious.

Behind him is an open back door that led to the outside where the sun is high in the sky, round and bright and beckoning.

Neither of them budge, though - her folded arms are set on the table and her head rests on them sideways, eyes closed and breathing steady. Seated across from her, his elbow is propped up on the table with his chin resting on his hand.

In between them, his cup of coffee and her cup of fruit tea have probably gone cold.

There’s a thick lock of her hair splaying itself on the table, just within his reach. After some period of thought, his free hand reaches out to curl the strands in between his fingers.

Lift, spin, fall - slip in, slip out. Rinse, repeat.

As he idly toyed with her hair, his eyes traced the parts of her face that were visible to his point of view: they follow the curve of her eyelid, assessed the length of her eyelashes, studied those light dark imprints under her eye.

Her laundry can wait, he muses, letting the tranquil silence carry on a little further. It’s all so strange and new, really - the weather conditions, temperature, point in time, and location were all so ideal, but yet...

... with her sleeping face just right in front of him, the only thing he could possibly think of was staying awake.

monday || fall 3 The cafe’s pastel yellows and calm blues have been traded for warm oranges and homely browns, sweet scents of vanilla and sandalwood replaced with spicy notes of cinnamon and gingerbread.

The chalkboard menu doesn’t feature iced teas and fruit cakes anymore, but filling in for them was a selection of hot drinks and club sandwiches. The cupcake stand on the counter was now a wicker basket filled with an assortment of cookies, each one in a small bag secured by patterned ribbons.

There are the little things that stay the same though, like how the wooden sign outside the cafe already spells ‘open’ come six o’clock sharp in the mornings. The windchime attached to the door still rings out a clear tune that echoed throughout the whole room, and in response to that her swift welcome would follow, voice happily loud and smile reaching her eyes.

He stands up to leave when the clock strikes nine, the agenda of a general assembly still fresh in his mind. She’s attending to other customers so he decides to leave his payment on the table, right next to his empty mug of hot cocoa.

The windchime rings again when he pulls the door open, and before he’s able to take his first step outside, he feels something pull lightly at his arm.

When looks over his shoulder, she’s slipping a small bag with a striped green ribbon into his hand.

Have a good day, she beams, then she turns on her heel and bounds off to table three.

tuesday || fall 11 It’s only when she pours some more tea in his cup that he realizes that there were no other customers left in sight, and that from madding reds and oranges; the sky had already taken on dark hues of blues and purples.

I have to admit - I’m not so sure what other work a diplomat does asides from... communicating, she says with a laugh, taking the seat across from him. Do you do paperwork often, too?

He closes the folder in his hands, setting it on top of the other folders he had finished reading and set aside earlier.

It’s a case-to-case basis, he hums. But if you ask me... Establishing foreign policies, contracts, treaties, trade agreements, and the like usually end up with more talks than actual paperwork if there's already a relationship between countries present. New connections start up with more paperwork as a formality - I mediate and negotiate any meeting or summit, survey and study any paperwork concerned, but in the end it’s the Civic Center that makes the final decision and action.

... I see, she nods a couple of times, then she taps a finger on her chin. Um... I know I’ve been living here for a while now so this sounds silly of me to ask just now, but I’ve only studied the map of Cradle, and I was wondering... how wide exactly is this world?

No sooner than the question had left her lips, she finds his hands clutching her very own and his face just a handspan away.

His breath, smelling faintly of apple cider tea, fans her cheeks when he speaks.

Do you want to know? he asks, voice adapting a deep tone she’s never heard him use before.

Mouth going dry, her eyes try to skitter away from the intensity of his gaze but they’re hopelessly drawn to every facial feature of his that she hadn’t quite noticed before instead: the defined lines of his cheekbones, the sharp bridge of his nose, unusually long yet dainty eyelashes, the curve of his li -

Warmth pools even further in her cheeks, words a pathetic squeak stuck in her throat.

wednesday || fall 19 On the second shelf, he spots three tea tins and five coffee packs with different designs and packaging. He blinks and proceeds to go over the contents of the other shelves too, and in total he counts eight new tea tins and twelve unusual coffee packs.

When he picks out a coffee pack in gold and silver wrapping with a familiar sigil drawn on its center, he hears a hum of approval.

That has a strong smoky aroma but a sweet delicate flavor, someone says.

He turns around to see her standing not so far away, a serving tray in her hands and feet pointed elsewhere.

This coffee pack has the sigil of Tenniel, he points out. Their fine woodcarvings and colorful handicrafts are gaining popularity in Cradle, but there’s a general lack of appreciation for the extreme bitter flavors that all Tenniel food products seem to have.

Is that so? Then maybe more people should try tasting that coffee, she shrugs. I think that blend tastes rather lovely - not a tad bitter at all.

You also have coffee packs and tea tins from Gernsheim, Pleasance, Lionel, Ludovic, and Dalziel - Tenniel included, they’re small countries that Cradle formed trade agreements with. Those negotiations were recently made, so it’s natural that most of their products aren’t familiar and don’t have much of a reputation in Cradle’s markets yet. But why did you...

His voice began to trail off, as if the question on the tip of his tongue was slowly being answered the longer he stared at the soft smile on her face.

Someone recently taught me that the key to good diplomacy, she paused as she moved forward to pluck the coffee pack from his hands, ... is the effort to start with even the smallest of steps.

She winks at him before making a beeline for the kitchen.

thursday || fall 27 He picks off one glittery bag from the wicker basket on the counter, peering at the gingerbread cookie inside. It’s person-shaped, and there’s something about how its clothes are snow-white and the dot-buttons on it are gold.

Oh, he mouths after a few minutes.

He trades glitter for a star-patterned bag this time, and inside was another gingerbread cookie. Lo and behold, there it was: a person-shaped treat dressed in black clothes with silver accents.

Here’s your order, a cup of Dalziel’s triple berry te... what are you doing? she asks, setting the tea cup down gently on the counter.

In response to that he retrieves the glitter bag from the basket, then he turns around to wave the two bags in his hands.

You make Red and Black Army gingerbread men? he inquires. Her lips quirk upwards.

Children like those a lot, she explains. They find it really cute - and tasty!

He’d like to point out that while the Black Army as a whole would probably find this hilarious, it’s perhaps the majority of the ever-so proud Red Army that might find offense in seeing miniature versions of themselves being called cute and eaten by children.

He doesn’t, though.

What he settles for is putting the cookies back on the basket then leaning his body forwards, peering at her face instead. She stays in place but her head draws back a bit, eyes blinking a bit faster.

... What is it? she mutters after seconds of silence and scrutiny.

He goes over her features again; starting from the ends of her braided blonde hair, up to the center of her forehead, going to the blue of her eyes, passing the tip of her nose then down to those full lips.

I want a gingerbread cookie, he says.

The tension in her brow relaxes, her expression almost relieved.

Oh. Oh, that’s fine! Then you can have one -

... Of you.

- of those in the... wait, what?

friday || winter 4 There’s a long coat draped over her shoulders and a scarf around her neck, offering better protection from the cold than her nightgown could ever provide. Long socks cover her legs and fluffy slippers adorn her feet, and for a moment he ponders over how warm and comfortable that must feel.

Meanwhile, she’s going over the current situation - it’s just an hour before midnight, she’s about to go to bed but then she heard a couple of knocks on her door, so she decides to crack the door open just enough to take a peek. She ends up opening the door anyway because she sees him standing outside her snow-piled doorway, a lone suitcase his companion on the cobblestone path.

Well - this is familiar, she chuckled as she stepped aside and motioned him to enter. He accepts her invitation, pulling his suitcase along with him.

Another season meant that the silvery stripes and royal blues of winter would now take over the cafe’s warm oranges and homely browns, and the spice that used to linger in the air was cleared by the crisp smell of pine with touches of wood smoke from the fireplace.

The subdued colors weren’t so lively, but the cafe still felt so cozy.

When they’re seated and two steaming cups of fresh milk are in their hands, he pointedly stares at the large decoration set at the very center of the room.

Where did you get the tree? he asks, drawn to the shiny green leaves.

It’s... a generous donation from the Queen of Hearts, she grins. It came with a lot of decorations, too! I'll be putting them up tomorrow night, though.

I see. I’m sorry that I can’t help you with the decorating.

It’s fine, don’t worry about it! More importantly, where are you going this time?

... Ludovic. I’ll be there for five days.

Five days, hm? she hums for a bit, then later wrinkles her nose. Oh, didn’t you say that Ludovic is surrounded by mountain ranges? It must be way colder there right now since it’s winter! Are you sure you brought enough clothes?

I did. Ludovic’s winter has a lot more bite than Cradle’s, but I’ll be alright - I’ve grown used to it over time.

She pins him down with her narrowed eyes and pursed lips - he doesn’t shy away from her gaze though, choosing to meet her leering head on.

... Really? she mutters, a stern edge lowering her tone. How cute.

Really, he smiles.

He takes the sigh that follows seconds later as her sign of defeat, but he’s unsure on why she’s suddenly unraveling the layers of her scarf. She tugs at the cloth once and it lets go of her neck, yarn embellishments on each end falling loosely.

A couple of folds later and her outstretched arms offer him the scarf, a neat bundle of knitted beige cloth in her hands.

You can give it back once you’ve come home, she says.

saturday || winter 12 The papers spread out on the table are promptly ignored, just like how her intention of getting some accounting done was overthrown by a sudden interest in watching him brew coffee.

The blend was a gift to him given by a farmer’s village in Ludovic - the coffee beans were round in shape and black in color, earthy in smell and rather tiny. He opens the packet and scoops a spoonful of beans to put in the mortar, along with some...

Are those... beans? she asks from where she sat.

Ludovic’s cardamom, he replies casually.

Her brow furrows a bit, and it grows deeper by just watching him throw in some amounts of another unusual ingredient - star anise, she recognizes, and something in her shivered at the sight.

One of the locals taught me one of their favorite recipes, he says. They showed me how to make the coffee from start to finish, and when I took a sip of the finished product, it reminded me of you.

Hm? It reminded you... of me?

Yeah. The whole time I was drinking the coffee, I was thinking about how much I wanted to make it for you... and how’d you react once you had a taste of the coffee I made.

He isn’t facing her so she couldn’t see his expression properly, but there’s a solemnity to his confession that warms the tips of her ears.

... O-oh, she manages to spit out.

The pestle’s in his hand now, and the other one moves to hold the mortar. Grip tight and eyes focused, he began to crush the mortar’s contents. Crunching sounds accompany each grind of the pestle, catching both her eyes and her attention again.

Freed from their silk glove confines, she finds herself drawn to the bare skin of his hands, the curves of his knuckles, the bend of his fingers and the shape of his fingertips. They’re all so new sides to him that fascinate her, and after some prolonged staring she realizes two things -

One: his hands were larger than they looked, and they definitely belonged to a former soldier - some were faint and most were old, but her eyes could still pinpoint where some scars began and where they ended across his skin.

The second one, no matter how trivial it seemed, made her feel bubbly enough for her to vocalize that -

... This is first time someone’s ever made me coffee, she murmurs.

sunday || winter 13 A full moon’s blooming brightly in the night sky - the moonlight it trickles down on the stained glass windows makes each mosaic design shine, resulting in colorful shadows gracing the wooden floor.

Fifteen minutes had passed, but he still showed no sign of waking up like he had promised her earlier. Not like she had the heart to wake him herself, considering that he’d been in Tenniel’s grand court from dawn to midday solving a miscommunication, returned to Cradle just in time for a meeting in the Gardens, was afterwards ordered to mediate a growing village dispute somewhere around the closer outskirts of Cradle’s borders, then was hauled away immediately to act as an interpreter for the Gernsheim envoys having difficulty expressing their wish to pass through Cradle’s seas.

All that jumping in and out of Cradle in one day, made possible by magic - he surprised her when he suddenly appeared in her living room too, looking worse for wear than she’d ever seen him before.

Gently, she picks up the tea cup and saucer on the table - maybe it was pushy of her, forcing him to eat and drink something when his eyes could barely keep themselves open. Still, he drained the tea cup and left little traces of the cheesecake on the saucer without a single word of complaint.

Then he passed out on her couch.

... Five more minutes, she muses. Before heading back downstairs, her eyes go over his sleeping profile one more time: head laying sideways on a pillow, brown hair going about all sorts of directions across his face, jacket loose and vest unbuttoned, legs curled up near to the chest, one arm dangling off the couch.

One beige scarf around the neck, a hand keeping the fabric close to his lips.

Her face eases into a kind smile, her gaze as equally warm.

Welcome home, she says, a gentle whisper in the silent night.

.

.

.

.

.

2: oh man.... going back to writing dialogue with no quotation marks is an experience™.... and tbh i still can't settle on a temporary 'footing' for mousse's character┗(･ω･;)┛it's nice to know that he's pretty passionate about his job though! altho rly cybird... why isn't this diplomat fixing the diplomatic trainwreck that is cradle itself lolol 3: alice living in and owning a cafe in central is one of my personal headcanons - i was allowed to be self-indulgent, lol! ( ᐛ )و and the names of the countries on fall 19 btw are actually names of people that are one way or another related to the making / publishing of alice in wonderland! idk if cradle really has... uh, small neighboring countries... but i'd like to think there are??????? probably??? (゜▽゜;)

[blog-concrete-paver-molds]

A Purchased Concrete Paver Molds Production

He provides that he finished far rapidly than he expected and that the stroll maker is easy to scrub afterward. A reviewer also states that the concrete path kind works exceptionally well and that he made a 400 ft patio with it without encountering any issues. He extremely recommends it as the best stroll maker obtainable. If you're searching for a method to make a stone path rapidly, you may contemplate this stroll maker offered by Quikrete. Users love the standard of the mildew, however some do notice that the form arrived broken. The Kenley authentic path maker measures 17” x 17” x 1.6”, and it contains a weight of 2.9 kilos, 9-stone patterns for patios and driveways, and a PP resin development see the full article.

You can play with this by including water to help mute the colour. Blend these colors into the stone and into one another the means in which you might with a watercolor painting. If your pigment is a powder, then combine some water in with it. In addition, for every colour you've, you should also have one cup of water, plus you may discover it useful to have another further cup of water. Round them somewhat, and push them inward to create extra of a curve if you'd like. Now go ahead and add the charcoal colorant to the remaining mix you had separated and blend it in nicely.

Creates an effect of cracked concrete paver molds ice on concrete paving slabs. Choose a concrete combination best suited for replica of your stepping stone and properly combine it. We had some SureCrete Xtreme Concrete Mix laying around our store, so we used it for the purposes of this demonstration. Carefully pour the rubber into one corner of the mould box and permit it to flow across the mannequin. Pour rubber into rubber; avoid pouring rubber instantly onto the model. Do not scrape the edges of the bucket as you pour as unmixed materials tends to cling the sides of the blending container.

A purchaser also states that the Kenley mould is made from high quality materials and that it works perfectly. However, some prospects have complained that the Quikrete mold is overpriced and that it’s messy to use it. Some customers additionally noted that an eighty lb bag of concrete was too much and they advise that you simply use a 60 lb combine.

Though we now have many forms of concrete molds, can also produce it by your requirement. Creates a cobble design in 4 rows of 4 on concrete paving slabs. Creates a small cobble design in 5 rows of 5 on concrete paving slabs. Creates a crazy paving design on concrete paving slabs. Creates a diamond cobble design on concrete paving slabs.

Shop a wide selection of mold making materials, including latex, silicone, and more. One reviewer advised us that they added coloring and mortar mix in order that the completed patio would have enhanced traction- and even supplemented with some glass beads for a sparkling appearance. The producers say that you do not actually must lubricate the mold previous to pouring in cement, in contradiction to other reviewers who've ceaselessly suggested that that is the case. However, some clients have complained that it’s not very straightforward to use the random path for and that it’s onerous to maneuver.

Of course, you don’t should make concrete stepping stones that look natural. You can comply with much of this tutorial and make regular round stones, using the same stepping stone mold I used for these. If you make a concrete stepping stone mildew after which install them separately you’re going to should level the bottom first. This is because the underside of the mould would have been flat.

Diy Driveway Garden Pavement Brick Mildew Cellular Paving Stone Mildew

Concrete Success options a extensive variety of mildew shapes to create interlocking patio stones as nicely as stones for backyard paths. With so many molds to choose from, you are certain to search out one which matches your backyard. Since adding stones and pavers takes time and effort, and the outcomes aren't simply moved as quickly as they're put in, take your time to pick out the proper appear and feel on your garden. In right now's world of huge field home and backyard shops and smaller specialty garden centers, you may marvel why utilizing a mold to make concrete pavers is better than shopping for ready-made pavers.

As properly, when you solely want to use one square part of the mold, you'll have the ability to add the concrete simply to that using a small carton like a espresso can. A professional contractor informed us that after the entire concrete has set, it's a good suggestion to do some stress washing on the finished stone patio and apply some semi-transparent stain. You'll wish to fill-in any gaps and crevices between the stones with sand and use some black weed block previous to laying within the concrete to guarantee that weeds do not become a nuisance. Concrete is porous and is vulnerable to stains like leaf stains.

If you feel a reference price is inaccurate or deceptive please report it with the URL for the listing to report- Whether you need a driveway cutter, hydraulic side skirts, adjustable side partitions, or even changing profiles, Miller Formless can design a mildew to swimsuit your slipforming needs. These molds can be utilized tons of of occasions if cared for per instructions.

Tap the mildew together with your hand to eliminate any air bubbles.

In most situations, controlling the moisture, rather than the mud, is much extra desirable.

The path was already there however was coated in pebbles, so I shoveled all the unfastened pebbles out the areas I would be placing the stones.

Color the concrete and mould it into the form of actual fieldstones or flagstones. [newline]A main side to the manufacturing of concrete pavers or blocks would be the durability of the mildew being used.

Immediately after pouring, spray Pol-Ease 2300 Release Agent throughout the floor of the liquid rubber to assist take away surface air bubbles.

The distinctive mould manufacturing technology utilized by Lammers leads to concrete molds which last longer and constantly produce the highest quality products. The most likely place to make use of concrete pavers is the garden pathway. Choosing pavers for walkways provides a sublime contact to backyard pathways. Depending on what sizes, shapes and colors of stepping stones and pavers you choose, you probably can add an air of ritual or nation charm to the backyard path.

For an attractive natural-stone stroll, do this DIY information exhibiting you the means to build a bluestone path. Watch along here as Roger walks you thru developing a brick patio. For most of his patio design ideas, This Old House landscaping contractor Roger Cook favors 1 ½- to 2-inch-thick bluestone, a tough sandstone quarried in New York, Pennsylvania and Vermont. Mankind has called the hearth home for the centuries, it's true, but today persons are going ultra-retro and getting their warmth from stone-walled pits set into the earth. On cool summer time nights, you presumably can soften marshmallows and nibble s'mores when you lounge in an Adirondack chair, ft propped up on the rock ledge.

Established in 2000, PIM plastic mildew firm provides design of plastics, contract plastic mildew making, and customized injection molding service. It employed 15 people with a 500 sq. meters plant in Huangyan, a so-called Chinese mold town with over three thousand Chinese plastics firms and manufacturer. The final reusable concrete walk mold we examined is the Scepter Pathmate mildew. It supplies a random sample engineered to allow contractors and amateurs alike the power to shortly layout attractive-looking pathways, guaranteeing random designs for curved walkway paths.

Keep the trowel at a slight angle and just sweep it backwards and forwards. If this is easiest for you then go forward and simply pour it directly into the mould. It will most likely be best should you combine what you suppose you’ll need for the entire stone, but separate a piece that would be the prime ½”.

Our High Pick: The Quikrete Walkmaker

The Pathmate Paving Stone Mold provides an ideal approach to mold a walkway in a yard with pace and effectivity. It's constructed of a plastic material that is out there in black colour. This paving stone mildew options various shapes and sizes so you will get artistic together with your pavers. It can be reused after cleaning so you could make as many as you need. This concrete paver mould permits you to design your own path with numerous colors and designs.

The concrete paving mildew measures 17.12” x 17.12” x 1.57”, and it features heavy-duty, plastic development. This nation stone sample stroll maker is a Chinese-made choice designed to create engaging patios, courtroom yards, and walks. All you should do is fill the mould with a concrete combine, easy the floor and then remove mould. Such as plastic paving molds, plastics grass brick molds, curb stone molds, slope safety molds, concrete slat molds and so forth.

Paver Molds For Concrete, Lot Of 14 Interlocking Octagon Patio,walkway,Backyard

Suzerain Ltd is a provider of high-density polypropylene paver moulds and accessories used for paver brick manufacturing. Allow the concrete to set for a maximum of five minutes, then rigorously take away the mould. For the following stretch, rotate the mildew a quarter-turn and place it beside the paver simply accomplished, angling barely when you're creating a curving pathway.

To simplify my quantities, I figured I had the equivalent of 9 giant stepping stones. The strategies are actually fairly easy, however since the concrete is heavy to cope with and this project would require a lot of crouching and squatting on the ground. If you’re not satisfied about making your personal stepping stones, then take a glance at my article discussing all the pros and cons of constructing stepping stones vs. buying them and having them put in. A reference value is supplied by the seller of the item . Percentage off and financial savings amounts are primarily based on the vendor's reference price. The reference value can give you an indication of the worth of the product butsome shops might promote the item for lower than the reference value.

As we previously mentioned- when you have a large project to do, you may wish to rent a cement mixer quite than hand-mixing the concrete. Buyers advise to purchase multiple of these walker maker molds at a time to make the job go easier- laying out multiple molds at a time. So the subsequent most efficient method of blending the concrete combine is to make use of a bucket and a drill with a particular concrete mixing bit. The info on the bag of the concrete mix should provide this info, but when not, you probably can often find that info on the manufacturer’s website. And be sure you do a check patch first to ensure it doesn’t change the color or darken the concrete stones in any undesired means.

In general, customers are extraordinarily happy with the functionality and usefulness of the Pathmate random stone mold. A purchaser feedback that he made a 16 ft path very quickly and that you have to wait only two minutes earlier than eradicating the frame. He also says that the form is sturdy and light-weight, and he recommends that you buy two for comfort.

Our paving stone molds are made out of the liquid rubber that hardens to mould and recreate all pure stone texture and grain detail. The first stepping stone mould we study is manufactured by Quikrete- it is a Chinese made walker maker designed to build out patios, walks and courtyards. All you want to do is fill the mold in with a concrete mix, smooth surface, after which remove the walker maker mold.

In addition to being highly sturdy, stamped concrete doesn’t include any gaps or grooves that pesky weeds can development by way of, making your path safer and more aesthetically pleasing. Stamped concrete walkways are relatively maintenance-free, only requiring sealing every few years to take care of the color and texture of the walkway. Stamped concrete is also significantly less prone than other materials to the frost freeze cycle widespread in colder climates. We use actual stone molds to give your walkways the same look and texture solely present in nature, and can customized colorize to your choice. Stamped Ashlar Pattern Walkway with Brick Stamped decorative concrete patterns pair properly with other hardscapes, such as brick, and can be colored to enrich your exteriors.

Instead of wearing a path into the grass, join spaces purposefully with a stone walkway. Watch TOH landscaper Roger Cook work with a home owner to make a flagstone walkway in a day’s time. For a patio well price the view, let a fence, hedge, or facade function a wall, and a pergola, tree cover, or wide umbrella as a roof. Then furnish your outdoor room for eating, entertaining, or gathering around a fire. With all the brilliant thing about a well-manicured garden however without the maintenance, a stone patio makes a sublime addition to any home.

It may be washed off with water after the mold making course of. If you've a very porous mannequin, like the one in this tutorial, you may have to use a couple of coat of Poly PVA Solution. We applied two coats of this sealer, waiting for it to dry (~ 1 hour) in between coats and earlier than transferring on to the next steps.

[likexporcelain]

A Crack in Everything (Chapter 3/8) - Jonerys

Summary: Six years after their high school romance ended in emotional ruin, Daenerys Targaryen runs into Jon Snow by chance on Valentine's Day, forcing old memories to the resurface. This sudden reunion could be cathartic, but it could also deepen the cracks already in their hearts. The question Daenerys grapples with is, will this all be worth it in the end?

Rating: Explicit (eventually)

First 3 chapters up on Ao3 - additional tags/warnings/notes there

It took me three hours to get ready for Dick Tarly's party. A lot of strategy had to go into what look I chose. Not only was I going on a date with one of the most popular boys at school, but I was also going to have to make the most notorious boy at school jealous. I showered and shaved my legs, then blow dried my hair, put in curlers and doused everything in hairspray. After that, I spent the better part of an hour applying enough makeup to make it look like I wasn't wearing any makeup at all. Clothing proved to be the greatest challenge. For most of the people attending this party, this would be their first time seeing me in something other than a plaid skirt and blouse, and they would quickly realize that everything I own was purchased for under thirty bucks. I actually tried on my middle school graduation dress and would have seriously considered wearing it had it actually zipped. Eventually, though, I settled for a blush pink floral-print dress from Forever 21 and four inch ankle boots. I'd look cheap, but at least I'd be wearing something they wouldn't expect. Plus, the pink of the dress matched my lipstick.

I was regretting coming to this party as soon as I got off the bus. Bus lines didn't typically run through such wealthy suburbs so I had to walk over a mile to get to the Tarly residence. I was half convinced I wouldn't be let in the front door when I arrived. “Who invited the Targaryen bitch?” I imagined someone saying. It would illicit a swell of laughter from my classmates and I'd have to maintain my composure long enough not to cry in front of them. However, when I reached the mini mansion that smelled like a bonfire and echoed Top 40's music, the front door was wide open and tipsy teenagers were filtering in and out of it as they pleased.

The first thing I wanted to do was find Jon, but I forced myself to focus my sights on Loras. It was tough to recognize most of these people. I was so used to seeing them all in their school slacks, skirts, and monogrammed blazers. Now, they were all in their finest – and/or sluttiest – casual wear.

“Dany, there you are!” someone called from the middle of a crowd by the front staircase. I followed the sound and was quickly met with my date's blue eyes and gold hair bouncing up to me. “You look super cute. Who made that dress?”

“Sweat shop workers in urban Los Angeles, according to the protesters outside the store. I'm not proud of myself,” I answered.

Loras laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard and I wondered how much he'd already had to drink, though I didn't smell any alcohol on him. “Let's go outside,” he suggested, putting his arm around my back and leading me through the lively crowd that took over the entire first floor of the house. We made a stop in the kitchen first and Loras poured liquor into a red cup, handed it to me, then continued to guide me toward the backyard.

With the amount of people inside added to the amount outside, I figured half the school was at this party. The fire pit on the patio was lit and about fifteen teens sat around it chatting and making out. The pool was designed to look like a jungle pond surrounded by heavy stones and thin trees. Girls in their underwear sat in the shallow end watching a handful of guys compete in a breath-holding contest. At least ten people had squeezed into the hot tub and I was fairly certain a couple of them were naked. Some kids I recognized as classmates had already given me sideways glances. I wanted to leave. Jon probably wasn't even at the party. If he was here, he was with Sam, probably upstairs in a game room playing Halo or whatever.

“Actually, do you know where the bathroom is?”

Loras had been scanning the crowd, but then looked down at me with indifference. “The bathroom? Um, yeah, it's inside somewhere.”

With a sigh, I told him I'd be right back, though I had no intention of that. As I weaved my way back through the house, aiming for the front door, I spotted something out of the corner of my eye. Black hair and pale skin. Leaning against the dining room wall, stood Jon, a Heineken in one hand while his other stayed in the pocket of his black jeans. I wanted to smile at how like-me he looked. Not that he too was wearing a pink dress, but his jeans were somewhat worn, his shirt was thin and stretched and he wore the same old green converse he did everyday to school, despite it being out of uniform. I had gotten to see Jon's tattoo close up numerous times, but this was the first time I'd seen him in short sleeves, which made the red-leaf tree on his forearm look like it belonged there.

Sam was next to him in clothes more suited for a family dinner, but rich or not, Sam was as unused to parties as I was and his nervous expression showed it. Two girls stood in front of them, smiling and giggling, eyes glimmering at Jon with interest, and I suddenly felt like I hadn't eaten in two weeks, lightheaded and sweaty. As soon as Jon's head turned toward me, I turned mine away, eyes planning out a quick escape route. Before I could take three steps, though, Jon was coming up beside me.

“Daenerys,” he said, and for the first time, it annoyed me. “When did you get here?”

“I was just going to leave,” I replied.

“Do you need a ride?”

“No, that's alright. You're busy.”

Jon glanced behind him quickly. “I'm sure Sam won't mind.”

I shook my head, but before any words could leave my mouth, Loras was coming up to me as well.

“Dany,” he said, putting his hand on my arm and standing close. “Did you find the bathroom okay?”

“Uh, yeah.”

And then I heard Jon's voice again. “Loras, I don't think we've met. I'm Jon.”

Loras was visibly taken aback by Jon's introduction, and so was I. As far as I knew, Jon had never intentionally met anyone at our school. He met me because we had sat next to each other in Chemistry for a few weeks and he met Sam because they were lab partners.

“Hi,” Loras said, shaking Jon's hand with some reluctance. The two looked at each other and whatever sort of silent conversation was happening between them, I didn't like it. When Loras looked back at me and asked “Can you come with me?” I agreed and could feel Jon's eyes staring at my back as Loras lead me back toward the backyard.

This time, however, we didn't actually leave the house. Loras stopped us near the backdoor, rested his hands on my shoulders and walked me backward until I hit a wall. We were close enough to the kitchen that I could smell the beer and liquor like it was being pumped through the air ducts.

“You look really beautiful tonight,” Loras said and he was standing close to me again.

“Thank you.” It was all I could think of to say. I wasn't sure at what point Loras decided he liked me. He always seemed so bored when I tutored him, and he had never really looked at me until he asked me to this party. The only thing I knew for sure about Loras, was that he wanted to kiss me and some part of me wanted to kiss him too. He wasn't Jon, but he was someone. And he thought I was beautiful so why not? Jon had never called me beautiful.

I didn't think anything of it when Loras took another thorough glance around the room. I was too busy trying to replay movie kiss scenes in my head. Yes, I had been kissed before, but it was Kindergarten and somehow I felt like it didn't really count. But then his mouth was on mine and my mind just turned off. The pop hits faded into the distance and everyone around us seemed farther and farther away. My hand was still holding the red plastic cup and my other stayed at my side. It wasn't a passionate kiss. I wasn't sure if it was even a good kiss, but it was a kiss and it seemed to last forever until Loras was being pulled away from me.

My first thought was of Jon, that maybe he had gotten so jealous watching us that he was going to fight Loras for me. But the man who was arguing with my date was tall and his dark hair was cut short.

“We have one fucking fight and you decide to hook up with the Targaryen bitch?!” the young man shouted. There it was. The Targaryen bitch. It hadn't gone exactly the way I had imagined it would, but the crowd laughed all the same. My chest felt as hollow as my stomach and my skin felt like it was on fire. The argument in front of me was cutting in and out like a poor radio station and all I heard was Loras's voice shouting “Now you know what if feels like when. . .” and “If you would just stop denying who you are. . .”

When a hand landed on the back of my shoulder, I thought I would break into a million pieces. Right up close to my ear, Jon's voice whispered “Come with me.”

In that moment, I would have let Satan himself lead me into the pits of hell if it would get me away from Loras and his boyfriend and all the people who couldn't stop laughing. Jon's hand was clutching mine as he walked ahead of me, clearing a path through all the people, and next thing I knew, we were ascending the front stair case. Jon tried a few door handles that turned out to be locked before finding one that wasn't and pulled me inside.

“I'm so stupid,” I muttered, then brought my red cup to my lips and drank until there was nothing left inside. I gagged and coughed but the liquid tingled as it went down my throat.

“You're not stupid,” Jon insisted, taking the cup from my hand and setting it aside. “You're one of the smartest people I've ever met. However, you are the only person in the whole school who didn't know Loras Tyrell was gay.”

Bringing my hands to my face, I laughed into my palms so that I wouldn't cry. “You were right. I should have listened to you.”

“You want to make it up to me?”

I slowly dropped my hands and looked at Jon with a frown. I suddenly became aware of how small the room was that we were in compared to the great room downstairs. It was an office with no closet and one window. A large desk stood against one wall and a leather love seat stood against the opposite wall. The door was shut behind us and we were alone, the only light coming from a dim floor lamp in one corner of the room. Jon moved a hand around to his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, then handed it to me.

“I can't figure out what I did wrong,” he said with a small smile.

Taking the paper in my hands, I saw that it was a Sudoku puzzle, one edge frayed like it had been ripped out of a book. I let out a breathy laugh. Every time I thought Jon was going to do one thing, he did the other and I wondered if I would ever stop being wrong about him. I took a pen from the cup on the desk and sat down on the love seat. Jon sat beside me, our legs almost touching. It took me a couple minutes. I had crossed out a few of Jon's answers and replaced them, and soon the puzzle was complete.

“You could have had Sam help you with it,” I said as I handed it back to him.

He examined the corrections and replied “I didn't want Sam to help me with it. I wanted you to help me with it.”

With a heavy, exhausted sigh, I slumped back against the love seat. Without the Sudoku to occupy my brain, I was forced to process the mess I had found myself in downstairs, forced to accept that I had been acting like an idiot for the past week.

“Sam told me about what your dad did,” Jon said, breaking the silence with something else I didn't want to think about. “Why would you choose to go to a school full of kids who's parents were ripped off by your father?”

“Because it's the school that's going to get me into Harvard and all the other schools I'm applying to, and then I'll get to choose my own destiny. I'll be able to do anything I want and be whoever I want.”

“What's wrong with who you are now?”

I shrugged, fingers playing with a loose thread at the bottom of my dress. “I'm alright, I guess. I have anxiety, though. And I lack confidence.”

“Same with me.”

“I really want you to drive me home, but I don't want you to see where I live.”

“I wouldn't judge you.”

“I know that.”

“I wouldn't want anyone to see where I used to live either. Even the kids at my old school would probably feel bad for me.”

Smiling just a bit, I asked “Can we just stay here for a little while?”

Jon answered by putting his arm around me and I leaned into his side, finding comfort in the gentle scent of Old Spice and teenage boy.

* * * * *

I was still taking my meds religiously after three years, but Jon popping back into my life was adding salt to my wounds and bringing back memories I've tried hard to suppress. And still, I waited for Saturday on bated breath, longing for just one more chance to be in his company. Every moment before Jon pulled up in front of Martell's, I wondered if there was anything I could say that would somehow change the past, that we could just start over. Or maybe he'd decided he didn't care about any of that anymore. I knew that I could find a way not to care either.

“Are you hungry?” was the first thing Jon said to me when I pulled myself into the passenger seat. His Jeep was old and rumbling and the vanilla air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror wasn't strong enough to mask the intense tobacco smell.

“I'm fine.”

“You haven't eaten, so we should get some food.”

We drove to the pier, just a mile from my apartment so if anything went terribly wrong, it wouldn't be much trouble to just walk home. There was a Mexican taco truck in the parking lot and Jon bought me two carne asada tacos after I tried and failed to pay for them myself. I was more grateful than I let on, though, because I was starving and finished both tacos before we reached the end of the pier. The benches were covered in gull poop so we stood at the railing instead. It was better that way, I thought. I could look over the edge and watch the water rush past the wood pillars beneath us and the sound would keep me centered.

The first words Jon spoke since thanking the food truck employee for the tacos were “I have a confession to make.”

I turned my head, but my eyes stopped on his arms that rested on the wood railing. He wasn't in his Whole Foods uniform but he still wore long sleeves that I wished he'd roll up so I could get a better look at the tree on his forearm, and maybe catch a glimpse of the unfamiliar tattoos too. His fingers were laced together and fidgety. He was trying not to smoke.

“I knew you lived here,” he continued. “I'm not stalking you or anything. I moved here because Sam was here and I needed a place to stay for a bit, but when I moved out of his place, I decided to stay in the city when I found out you were here too. I didn't know you worked at Martell's until after I started at Whole Foods, but I guess it's been a few months now that I've known. I kept thinking that one day I would go up and talk to you, but. . . I didn't know what I would say, or if you'd even want to see me again.”

“And then I ran into you where you work.”

“Yeah.” He smiled a bit out at the horizon. “The way you told me your schedule, I thought. . .”

“I did want to see you,” I assured. “I didn't really know what to say to you either, though. I had no idea you were here. For all I knew you were still overseas somewhere.”

“Nah, I'm done with that.”

“Good,” I whispered against the wind, but shook my head at myself immediately after. “I'm just glad you're okay. I always hated that you had to go put yourself in danger just to get away from me.”

My eyes lifted to his face, wanting him to look into them and tell me he was done running. Instead, his gaze remained on the sea and replied “I needed to get away from everyone. Not just you.” He relented to his habit, pulled a pack from his pocket and slid a cigarette between his lips. His hand shook as he lit the end and closed his eyes on the first inhale like it was Albuterol for an asthmatic. “It wasn't just you. I had to get away from everyone. It was just too much to handle. The way I felt about you. . .”

“You hated me,” I mumbled.

“No.” He turned to face me finally, but now I couldn't face him. “I loved you, despite everything, but that was the problem. I was afraid.”

“We didn't have to change. We could have stayed the same.”

“You know that would have been impossible. I needed to leave to --”

“Don't tell me what I know, Jon. You left because you didn't want to be with me. That's what it all comes down to. But, you know, that was a long time ago. It doesn't matter anymore.”

Of course, that was a lie. It did matter and I wanted nothing more that to climb over the rail and drop down into the dark water. But maybe this was good. Maybe this was what I needed. This was closure, right? And now I could finally start to get over him. Right?

Jon fell silent again, leaned his arms again on the rail and resumed his cigarette. “I just wanted to hear from you that you're doing okay, that you're happy. But you're not in school and you're stocking dog food for a living. I don't understand. Was it my fault?”

“No. It had nothing to do with you. I just. . . dropped out. I couldn't do it.”

“That's bullshit. If anyone could do it, you could do it. Something had to have happened.”

“Maybe you just don't know me as well as you seem to think you do.”

That, of course, was a lie as well. Jon knew me better anyone, and even after six years, I didn't doubt that. Something had happened.

He wasn't going to let me slide either. “I know you're not a quitter, Daenerys, and you're not going to be able to convince me otherwise.”

I wasn't a quitter, and I wasn't about to quit my fight either. “What do you want me to say? This is my life. You could have been part of it, but you walked out. And now you act like I owe you some sort of explanation for why my life sucks. Well, I'm sorry that I'm not married with children like Sam. I'm sorry I work a minimum wage job that barely pays for my half of the rent and I have no fucking idea what my next move will be. Maybe I'm just not meant to have anything that I want.”

“That's not true.”

“It seems pretty true.”

Jon walked off and discarded his cigarette in the ashtray lid of a publish trash can. I stayed where I was and when he returned, his hands were resting in the pockets of his jeans. “You don't owe me anything,” he said. “Your life is none of my business. I just want you to be happy.”

Trying hard to relax, I shut my eyes and counted to ten.

* * * * *

The Monday after the party, I thought everyone would be talking about how the Targaryen bitch ended up in the middle of a gay lovers quarrel, but that wasn't what I heard being mumbled under the breaths of those I walked past in the halls.

“Jon Snow,” they were saying. “They went upstairs together. You know what that means. Yeah, Jon Snow – Robb Stark's cousin, and that Targaryen bitch.”

“Grany!” A familiar voice called out to me as I crossed the campus at lunch. My eyes rolled to where Tyene Sand stood by the benches with a few other girls all wearing the same smirk, glaring their cat eyes at me like I was prey. Tyene and her friends had called me Grany since I started at Westeros Prep on account of my white hair. At least it wasn't quite as abusive as 'the Targaryen bitch.' “Heard you and the off-brand Stark had quite a time together at Tarly's party last weekend,” she exclaimed.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I replied flatly.

“Come on, Grany, don't play dumb. What's your motive? You think he's getting some of that Stark money? Because word around town is that his mom was a straight up junkie. Got knocked up by some pimp, raised her kid in a crack house, and shot her inheritance up her arm til she croaked.”

A Freshman beside her added “I heard Ned Stark forced her to change her name so that she wouldn't tarnish the family's reputation. And Snow came from the shit she liked to snort up her nose.”

I knew that the Freshman was wrong at least. Jon's mom was named Stark until her death, but Snow did come from his mother's unwillingness to pass the family name down to her child. I didn't say any of this, though, because even if they weren't secrets, what Jon told me in private was none of their business. Also, I feared that if I discounted only some of the rumors, they would assume that to be a confirmation of the others.

“Too bad you couldn't nail down Robb Stark before he graduated,” Tyene continued. “Aerys Targaryen would have been so proud to see his daughter take the golden son away from the Starks. The Starks have always hated the Targaryens, haven't they?”

“Everyone hates the Targaryens,” the Freshman answered.

“You people are so stupid,” spoke Yara Greyjoy, a Senior from my History class, as she was walking by. “The Targaryens are all dead, except for this one and the second son. They've got all that money split between the two of them and it's more than the Starks will ever have. The only person getting screwed is Dany. Apparently figuratively and literally.”

Suddenly, the string keeping me together broke and I let loose. “Are you all fucking serious?! Nothing happened between me and Jon! And there is no money! The money is gone! If any of it still exists, I certainly don't have it! I never stole anything from anyone and I never even met my father. I work at the outlet mall and live above a Seven-Eleven and I'm one of only a handful of kids at this miserable school who isn't just here because they can afford it, because I can't afford anything!”

My outburst was met with a chorus of laughter and I marched off while Tyene muttered something about all Targaryens being pathological liars.

Most days, the best part of my day was getting to spend lunch period with Jon, and that day was no different. I dropped down on my butt and leaned back against the gym's back door. “I fucking hate this school,” I muttered.

“Me too,” Jon replied, closing the novel he was reading and setting it aside. “Let's drop out and travel the country together selling magazine subscriptions door to door.”

He always knew how to make me smile. “As great as that sounds, I can't drop out. And I'm a terrible salesman.”

“Are you mad at me because I took you upstairs and started all of this?”

“You're about the only person I'm not mad at,” I replied, then sighed. “Can I ask you something? Do the Starks really hate the Targaryens?”

For a moment his eyebrows furrowed, then his head shook. “I don't care who the Starks like or hate. I only care about who I like or hate, and I like you.”

I had never viewed myself as a catch, due to my general lack of self esteem, but I still didn't doubt his words. Ever since he threw that pen at me, Jon made me feel like the most interesting person in the world. It started with my name, like it was more than just a name. He always marveled at how quickly I could solve math problems and how I had the periodic table memorized and could name every capital of every country. Hell, he was impressed that I could name every country. When talking about college, he would begin each question with “When you get into Harvard” never “If you get into Harvard.” I think he intentionally picked Sudoku puzzles that were above his skill level just so he could watch me finish them for him. When I was with Jon, I felt like I could do anything, because he actually believed I could do anything, and he was more than happy to sit back and watch me. I knew he liked me. It took me until after the party to add it all up, but I finally knew. But I didn't know if he liked me the way I liked him.

Sitting upright and folding my arms in my lap, I asked “Can I ask you another question?” This time, I waited for him to nod before going ahead. “When you say that you like me. . . What exactly do you mean? Like, do you like me how you like Sam, or. . ?”

He swished his head from side to side, humming under his breath like he was trying to decide where to eat dinner. Then he smiled and said “I like you how I like you.”

Cheeks flushed, I shook my head and tried not to smile. “You're so difficult sometimes,” I told him and he responded by grinning wider, showing me his teeth before leaning in close to me. The moment I realized what was happening, his fingers grazed my jawline and I followed his touch until our lips were pressed together.

When we parted, his hand moved to rest against my neck and I reached my fingers out to fiddle with one of the buttons running down the middle of his shirt. The kiss wasn't “electrifying” or “magical” or one of the other adjectives romance novels might describe a first kiss with someone special as. It was better than that because it wasn't those things. It was comfortable. It was right. Like I should have been kissing him my whole life. And I wasn't nervous at all, during or after.

“You kiss way better than Loras,” I whispered.

“It probably helps that I'm kissing you because I want to, and not because I'm trying to make a dude jealous.”

I smiled and gave Jon's shirt button a gentle pull until his lips were back on mine, where they belonged.

* * * * *

The Ocean breeze was picking up, causing my hair to blow behind me. When my eyes opened, I cast them downward at Jon's familiar shoes – too clean to be the same pair from high school, but I found comfort in the homage to a better time. I wrapped my arms around myself, and then the words came out of me like air. “During my sophomore year at Caltech, I started sleeping with one of my professors.”

I wasn't even sure if Jon had heard me. I looked up and his eyes were back on the water, teeth nibbling at his bottom lip.

“How did it end?” he eventually asked.

“About as badly as you could imagine. People found out. He quit. I never saw him again.”

“I'm sure it wasn't your fault.”

“I know it wasn't, but that doesn't change that it happened, and how much pain it caused.” I shuddered out a breath, but the cold air kept my tears at bay. “I meant to just take a year off to get my shit together, but one year turned to two years and then I just gave up and started looking for jobs outside Pasadena. I started at an Office Depot in Hawthorne before getting the Martell's gig. Thankfully someone working there was looking for a roommate, because I wouldn't have been able to afford a place on my own here while only working part-time.”

“You loved him.”

After a moments pause, I answered “No. Maybe for a second I thought I could, but when all was said and done, he really didn't mean very much to me.”

Jon looked down at me with some confusion. I was digging myself into a hole that could only end with me telling him the full truth, and despite my nerves, I was doing it on purpose, because I wanted Jon to know.

“When I found out I was pregnant, though, it didn't matter who the father was. I thought that having a baby on my own, let alone while in school, would be the hardest thing I'd ever do, but I was going to do it anyway, because you're right. I don't quit. I dragged my fat, pregnant ass all over campus, never missing a class, never letting anyone tell me that I couldn't do both. Looking back, I don't know if I was ready to be a mother. Maybe I was just being selfish. Wanting to bring someone into the world who couldn't leave me like everyone else.”

The cold turned out to be no match for my emotions and when the first tear slid down my cheek, I turned away, leaning my back against the railing. I felt Jon step close to me, his body becoming a shield from the breeze.

I continued after a long breath. “I told you I still wasn't driving, but the truth is that I got my license after graduation and bought a car with my financial aid money not long after starting at Caltech. The last time I ever drove, though, was the day I lost control in the rain and smashed into a light post along the highway. I had been just a couple weeks from my due date and as soon as I got to the ER they did an ultrasound, and just like that, I wasn't going to be a mother after all. After inducing labor, I gave birth to my dead son, and when the nurses asked if I wanted to hold him and say goodbye, I didn't see the point. I couldn't even look at him. Suddenly, the world just seemed so small and insignificant and nothing was important, especially not me. Almost four years later, here I am.”

Jon's hand flattened on my spine and I lifted my shirt collar up my face to wipe the wetness from my eyes and cheeks and under my nose. Before I knew it, I was following the scent of vanilla and tobacco until my forehead was against Jon's shoulder and his arms were wrapped tight around me. I splayed my hand in the center of his chest to feel his heart beating fast and irregular and tried to focus my mind on that instead of that day in the hospital, screaming at nurses to just leave me alone. Ever since I was a little girl I thought I was destined to be alone. I had lost everyone and then I lost Jon too, then my child, and myself.

Smokey breath warmed my head and lips pressed down on my hair. After a while, I became too afraid to let go of him less he disappear with my truth and leave me to recover on my own. I wasn't sure if I could do it on my own anymore. But Jon never tried to let me go. Others on the pier were probably looking at us, thinking we must be in love. I could live without Jon's love, but now I wasn't sure if I could live without Jon.

[trujillostanley91]

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[westletter]

January 2020

Dear Friends, This mysterious poster has been appearing on lampposts in downtown Kingston since last fall.  It has prompted a rather personal examination of fake news.  Read the fine print under the photo and note that the scientist on the right is The West Letter editor’s father, Allen (Al) West.  He died at age 86 in 1996.   Bitten is the title of a book that appeared last year.  Written by a science writer in California, Kris Newby, it argues with great conviction that the scourge of tick-borne Lyme disease can be traced to US biological weapons research “gone wrong” post World War II.  The author, a recovered Lyme disease patient herself, builds a case that experimental work at Plum Island NY, led to the pathogen “escaping” into the deer population in Connecticut in the ‘70s, and from there to humans.   In plain English, Bitten is a conspiracy theory, that commits the classic error of equating correlation with causation.  Newby conveniently skirts the ample evidence that Lyme disease has been with us at least since the 1890s, and possibly for centuries, preferring to make a case out of two coincident but unrelated facts: one, US military tick-borne disease research in progress on Plum Island NY post WW II; and two, the first identification of Lyme disease in Old Lyme (from whence the name), Connecticut in 1977.  The “ah hah” factor, if you are inclined to the conspiracy, is that Plum Island is but a short hop, as the crow flies, from Connecticut.  

The amateur poster maker too has indulged -- egregiously so -- in the same lack of critical thinking.  Looking at the poster, you might assume that Al West and Queen’s University “in Ontario” were central to the conspiracy theory story.  You would be wrong.  The cover of the book does not feature this photograph.  Nor in the entire text of Bitten is there any reference to Al West or Queen’s University, other than in the photo and caption.  The main character from beginning to end of Bitten is the man on left, Willy Burgdorfer, the discoverer of the bacterium that causes Lyme Disease.  The purpose of the photo was to help bring him to life for the reader.  The guys in the lab coats to his left were completely unrelated to the conspiracy tale.   

I’m guessing that the poster maker is a Lyme disease sufferer in Kingston who buys the conspiracy angle of Bitten.  He or she has seized on the three amigos in lab coats photo, and its caption, as “evidence” (guilt by association) that Al West and Queen’s University must have had a hand, along with Burgdorfer, in releasing the plague of Lyme disease upon humans.  Sic transit the compounding of fake news.                                              §     

FAKE INVESTING NEWS Beware the market soothsayers Canadian economist David Rosenberg is a genuine heavy hitter.  After years opining and advising on Wall Street he returned to Canada to do the same for the Toronto-based money manager Gluskin Sheff.  Rosenberg’s “Breakfast with Dave” subscription service has a devoted following, as do his frequent interviews and articles in publications such as the Wall Street Journal, the Globe and Mail and the Financial Post.  

Last November Rosenberg left Gluskin Sheff to hang out his own shingle.  The name may be changing, but the schtick has not and will not.  Rosenberg is best known as a “perma-bear”, someone who almost always forecasts bad news ahead in the markets.  Famously, while Chief Economist at Merrill Lynch, he correctly called the impending real estate crash in the US before the Great Recession in 2008.  That made his reputation.  Unfortunately, with rare exceptions, he has been calling for more bad news ever since.   Rosenberg is one of those economists of whom it can fairly be said: “He called 39 of the last 9 recessions.”  Put another way, even a broken clock is right twice every 24 hours.   Beware the market soothsayers.  If you listened to the naysayers a year ago (including Rosenberg), you missed out on the best market performance in the past decade.  In investing it pays to stick to the knowable: is this stock over or under priced; are the board and management demonstrably competent and on the shareholders’ side; can the balance sheet withstand the inevitable storms?  The rest is guessing, which has no place in long term successful investing.                                            §     

THEME FOR A NEW DECADE Hop on board the shortage in rental housing! To quote from an editorial in the January 3rd edition of Globe and Mail:

“Canada has recently been the fastest growing country in the Group of Seven, with a population rising at double the pace of the United States and United Kingdom, and four times that of France and Germany. According to Statistics Canada projections, our country could have 48.8 million people by 2050.  And that’s the agency’s medium growth projection; under a high-growth scenario,there could soon be 56 million Canadians.   Nearly all of these future residents are going to live in this country’s handful of big cities.  That means millions of new urban dwellers ....”   At a recent baby boomers dinner party, the talk turned to empty nesters making steps to downsize.  The hosts, it turned out, were preparing to put their house on the market, and had been apartment hunting.  However, they were discouraged.  “How long do you think the waiting lists are to get into a good building in Kingston?” they asked.   

No one knew.  They answered their own question: “Two hundred.  Three hundred.  Even five freaking hundred!!!”  Of course that’s just anecdotal.  But the Stats Can projections bear out the argument.  In large part due to immigration policy, but also taking natural increase into account, there is a widely acknowledged shortage in rental housing stock in Canada’s cities.  This bodes well for the the cash flows and growth rates of well-run operators like Minto Apartment Real Estate Income Trust (REIT) of Ottawa.  The founding Greenberg family is still running the business and they are best of breed, as is their portfolio of properties. 

                                            §

CLASS OF 2020 FIRST TERM REPORT CARD Solid start, Info Tech shines   At the half-way mark in the 2020 academic year (July 1st to December 31st, 2019) the Class was up a respectable 7.3% vs. 4.2% for the TSX; 9.5% for the S&P 500; and 7.3% for the Dow.   For the calendar year (January 1st to December 31st, 2019) the Class advanced a sparkling 22.1% vs. 19.1% for the TSX; 28.9% for the S&P 500; and 22.3% for the Dow.   The Headmaster is reasonably pleased and offers the following first-term commentary:  “We dodged a bullet in the energy sector with Enbridge making a nice recovery -- there should be more to come -- and the addition of Algonquin’s green energy portfolio to the Class.  The pair were up 12.4%.” “Our Info Tech players -- Apple, Microsoft, Visa and Open Text -- once again led the pack with a sterling average return of 20%.  Are they expensive?  Arguably, yes.  Could their run have exhausted itself?  Quite possibly, in the short term.  Am I considering replacing these Class leaders with new prospects?  Absolutely not.” “Financials, represented by BlackRock, RBC, ScotiaBank and TD, held their ground, eking out a 1.4% average return.  On the plus side, their valuations are quite attractive, a quality that is increasingly difficult to find in many parts of the market.  That bodes well for future gains.  As noted previously, BlackRock’s co-founder and CEO Larry Fink is an impressive guy, quite visionary and worth keeping an eye on.  In his just published annual letter he is committing to exiting positions in environmentally unsustainable businesses.  He is encouraging others to do the same.  Coming from the head of the largest asset manager in the world ($7 trillion USD), that’s a meaningful nudge.”   “Retail Class veterans Metro and Alimentation Couche Tard clocked a respectable 4.5%. While fully priced for now, they continue to benefit from wise acquisitions.  There will be more to come.  In particular, I’m following Couche Tard’s mating dance with Caltex, a fuel distributor and convenience store chain in Australia.  If the deal goes through, it will be the largest in Couche Tard’s history and transformational for the company.  If not, another deal will come along.  Couche are patient buyers.”    “Global fertilizers champ Nutrien was beaten up somewhat this past term, dragging the return for Resources down 11.2%.  By comparison with key competitors like Mosaic, however, Nutrien is smelling like a rose, given the weak market conditions.  All the while, wisely managed Nutrien continues to throw off cash and use it to buy back shares and pay a growing, nicely yielding dividend. With some cooperation in potash and nitrogen prices, I can see this Class member in positive territory by the end of the school year.” “Brookfield Infrastructure pulled up the Class average with a tidy 15.5% Infrastructure gain.  What did the market like?  Among other things, canny purchases of cell phone towers and a gas pipeline network in India.  And data centres.  This classmate is a master at recycling capital to deliver shareholder value.  Translation: selling high; buying low.” “CNR, John Deere and CCL held the fort, almost, for Industrials, with an average return of - 4.1%.  Each had to contend with headwinds of one form or another.  For CNR, there was the strike; for Deere, the fallout from the US/China trade war in agriculture; for packager CCL, global trade would be a factor, but I also have nagging concerns about purely operational factors.  More recent acquisitions have been slow to bear fruit.  Let’s hope some of these issues will be resolved by next June.” “Healthcare desk-mates Amgen and Johnson & Johnson didn’t break a sweat over the past six months, registering an average gain of 17.8%.  Do not be deterred by the multitude of talcum powder and opioid litigations J&J is facing.  These are par for the course in the pharma world, and are already fully reflected in J&J’s still below par share price.  Keep your eye on the business fundamentals.  They are doing just fine.” “Telus, our lone but dependable Class member in Telecom, logged a 3.8% gain.  Factor in the dividend yielding 4.6% and what’s not to like?” “Disney waves the Class flag for Entertainment, and what a flap it has created with the keenly awaited launch of its streaming service Disney +.  Since its September debut, subscriptions have breached the 50 million mark and show no signs of slowing down (Netflix watch out).  It’s enough to make a Headmaster proud.  The stock is up an underwhelming 3.6% for the term.  But put that in perspective: over the past 12 months, the House of Mouse has had a run-up of 31.9%.  As is so often the case, the market anticipated the good news.  Fear not; there should be more to come in the months and years ahead.” If you would like further information on any of the investing ideas raised in this issue, or a complimentary consultation, please call or email. CW

[berserker-official]

Livestream 9/28

Sorry this is a little late I had some personal things to take care of but HOLY SHIT WAS IT HUGE UPDATE THE PATCH NOTES ARE OUT AND I WILL POST THEM SEPARATELY

To start things off they announced that the PTS last weekend had a lot of good feedback and the dev team will be working on changes to Tribute mode with the help of said feedback before it comes out so it can be even better.

The patch AND live update that they talk about today will go live next week, Oct 5th. They went over some of the more important things later on.

This weekend has two special things going on. One will be a double XP weekend event, while the other is 30% off all steel bundle purchases. While I’ll avoid the steel purchases because I don’t want to spend real money on this game for right now, I am excited for the XP weekend. It will start tomorrow and go until Oct 2nd.

For this week’s new content every hero gets three new battle outfits: Cubist, Minimalist, and Fauvist (being an art major I rolled my eyes hard at these)

After the basic news we got to see some upcoming changes to three Brawl maps. These changes were because many players wanted an actual brawl, and not two separate duels.

Canyon: This map is famous for having two enemies spawn near a bridge that is ledge-hell. To fix this and create a brawl-inviting area, the spawners were moved to next to the water and bridge, so they’re in the area of the cemetery closer to the other players.

Overwatch: One of the Duel maps was recently changed to have the two players spawn on the two different bridges. Because they didn’t want this to feel the same in Brawl, players are now spawned on the ground, in the mid-zone.

Sanctuary Bridge: Both teams spawn near the edges of the map, which causes some ledge-hell. In the middle of the map was a large catapult on fire as well as some spikes nearby. To change this, all players are spawned in the middle of the area, and the spikes are removed. One side that normally has a hole to ledge people with is now a trap-door.

After map news they talked a little bit about the Faction War. Samurai managed to take Round 3, while the Vikings would’ve taken it if they had one more round. According to Bio this was an incredibly aggressive round. She also specified about isolated territories. You’ve probably seen a territory that’s surrounded by two other factions (imagine a Samurai territory in between a Knight and Viking front somehow.) The question is: Who gets that isolated territory? The answer is whoever has the most territory that is touching the isolated one. So if there’s a lone Samurai spot in between Knight and Viking territories, if the Vikings have 20 and the Knights have 18, Vikings get it next turn. If both factions have the same amount then it’s random, which hasn’t happened yet.

Also in the update, Event playlists will now give you assets, but you can only apply them evenly or on a War Banner.

THE PATCH

This is apparently 13-15 pages long, so they only skirted the surface. When the full notes drop I’ll be sure to share it.

ZONE FLICKER FIX

UNLOCK FIXES 

GUARDBREAK FIX ON DIFFERENT ELEVATIONS

FIX ON CHARGE ATTACKS LIKE RAIDER’S OR LB’S. They do know that this fix causes a bug with the LB and they have a workaround in place until they can fix it later on.

CHIP DAMAGE BUG FIX

ATTACK UI TO APPEAR SOONER

ASSASSIN PARRIES FIX

ICONIC EMOTE SPAM FIXES

Shinobi - Health increase to 110, Tackle window reduced, double dodge stamina decreased, guard time increased

Warlord - Headbutt timing reverted, Dodge recovery reduced, certain attack damage increase

Gladiator - Dodge bug fix, Skewer deflect bug fix

Orochi - Wind Gust is now 3m instead of 2.5m

Nobushi - Can now counter guardbreak in hidden stance again.

Centurion - Charge Heavy distance reduced, Jab has a delay after a combo, Jab will no longer stagger, Eagle Talon stamina cost increase, Legion Kick no longer has the stun visual effect. (there are some others but I missed them)

Feats - Feats unlock bug fix

Brawl now has the anti-run system, but this only activates when it becomes a duel.

Matchmaking is now separate when it comes to Duel and Brawl, meaning you’re duel stats and brawl stats are separated when it comes to matchmaking.

When someone rage quits a Duel, you will win the entire match, no longer be forced to fight a bot for the rest. There will also be a penalty buff. In addition to getting the 10 minute ban penalty, the game you rage quit out of counts as a loss.

The first steps into customizing controls on controllers - There are now presets for controllers. This allows you to have the guardbreak option on a stick or trigger button as well as some other changes.

Fight control tuning - You can now customize your fight stance in terms of where your right stick or mouse is moved. You can widen the Hidden Stance/Full Guard Stance area, change the sizes of the top or side zones, or even rotate the entire circle, in case you have a habit of moving the stick in a certain direction and the game registers it as not the zone you want (say you have a habit of moving the stick to the top right when you want top but it could register it as right.) This works for both mouse and controller. You can also tweak the deadzone there.

They were talking about something to do with the Sprint but I missed it. I’ll double check later/tomorrow.

Customization

Stat gauges are back and revamped. This time it’ll show you what your equipment stats look like as a whole as well as individually.

There will be a notification for when RED NAT players get together to warn them that they might lose communication if they play together.

Colorblindness fixes

Option to clear the “New item” notifications. For some reason while they did fix it it didn’t get to everyone because something acts like a cache for this stuff. They’re adding the option to clear this cache so any “!” symbols you have will be removed.

4 new icons will be added to help players see if anything is going on in their game. If you’ve played Overwatch or any other big shooter you’ve probably seen these icons in the top corner. They’ll blink to notify you about latency, lag, packet loss, etc.

Finally they talked about a bug fix for the Sentinel map where the soldiers in mid lane took too long to clear and change teams in Dominion.

[jacksonmoon93]

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