#I haven’t made a rug in a while so I’m p happy!!

[forgetmesleepy]

Clown in a bed of flowers rug!!!!! Sometimes we just wanna lie down and stare at the clouds going by amongst the smell of the flowers…! Cat for scale

[lostgirlmuseum]

Bucky vs. Book

^Bucky on his way to you fr^

Summary: Bucky rushes to your aid when he finds out you’re upset. He’s never seen you this distraught before.

Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

Words: 600 (I don’t think I have ever written something this short before wth)

Warning: It’s kinda angst?? But mostly fluff. 

A/N: Sorry I haven’t been on much lately, school is keeping me busy. I wrote this pretty quickly and it’s just a short little treat while I’m in the middle of writing a mini series. Idk when I’ll finish writing it, but it prob won’t be done this month. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

Divider credit: @cafekitsune

“Bucky?” Sam asked.

“M’ busy.” Bucky mumbled, curling a barbell like it was a dumbbell.

“Someone just informed me they heard crying coming from your girl’s room.”

“What?” Bucky dropped the barbell on the ground with a loud thud. 

“Move, out of the way!” Bucky yelled, nearly knocking Sam over as he started sprinting to the gym exit.

Bucky ran so fast that he was bumping into walls and hitting corners, trying to locate the nearest stairs. 

He took the stairs by three, his heart hammering against his chest, his ears on high alert in case he could hear you calling for him.

Finally, he made it to your room, and swung the door open without a second thought, just needing to know if you were okay. Bucky’s wide eyes spotted you instantly, curled into yourself on the rug, tissues littering the floor, sobbing. He had never seen you so upset.

He wasted no time sliding onto his knees and to you.

“Doll? Doll, what’s wrong? What happened? Are you hurt?” He tried to lift your chin to see your beautiful face, but you barely acknowledged him, your puffy eyes cast down.

“My h-heart,” you choked, clutching your chest.

“Are you having a heart attack?” He couldn’t stop himself from sliding his hands all over you, checking for injuries.

“I feel– s-so sad,” was all you could make out between sobs.

“Baby, who hurt you?” He was panicking, he needed to know what happened, why you were so distraught so he could fix it. 

“Stupid book!” You cried, and flung yourself at him, holding him close, and tucking your head into his chest. Bucky immediately reciprocated, wrapping his big arms around you, squeezing you tight, one hand brushing your hair.

That’s when he noticed the outline of a book under a couple tissues.

“It’s not fair,” you cried, body shaking with each breath.

“I know, I know,” he soothed. He, of course, did not know, but he was enormously relieved to see the perpetrator was only a book. 

“They were supposed to end up together! They were p-p-per–” You squeezed him tighter, struggling to get the words out. “Perfect together! Why did the author ruin it? It’s not fair, it’s not fair, they deserve to be happy!” 

“Shhh,” he whispered, starting to rock you back and forth.

“It’s not fair,” you whispered through another cry, and collapsed fully into him.

“It’s not,” Bucky echoed.

Eventually your cries quieted and slowed, and Bucky kissed your forehead and let go of you. You barely had time to question what he was doing when he picked up the book from behind you and started to pretend to punch it. 

“Bad book,” he chastised, “you made my baby cry. Nobody makes my baby cry,”

You couldn’t help but giggle, and wipe the remaining tears from your eyes.

Bucky continued to scold it, and even positioned himself to body slam it.

“Bucky,” you full on laughed, “stop,”

“Not until it apologizes,” he grumbled, faking a chokehold on it. “Oh, shit–” Bucky rolled onto his back and held the book above him, acting out a struggle. “It’s got me baby, help!”

Giving in to his shenanigans, you leaned over and grabbed the book from his hands, and gave it your own weak punch. 

“Fuck you, book,” You sniffed and laughed.

“It can’t hurt you anymore,” Bucky said, patting your back. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” 

“I’ve got you, doll.”

“Why are there dents in all the walls?” Tony’s raised voice could be heard all the way from the floor below.

You looked at Bucky.

“What?” He smiled cheekily. “You needed me.”

Thank you for reading!

My Masterlist if you'd like to check my other stuff out :)

Oh oh and this is inspired by my reaction to Me Before You by Jojo Moyes. I hate that book so much. I love that book so much.

[with-love-from-love]

(So let me preface this with the fact that when I wrote this I was in the midst of a mental health crisis, and it most definitely reflects. That being said I’ve read over this letter a number of times and I feel that everything I said was the truth, just take it with a grain of salt. I want this letter and all subsequent letters to be reflections of my actual feelings, the joy and the pain)

The stars that shine, and the stars that shade

(Siouxsie and the Banshees, Dazzle)

So here we are again, another month gone by, more time moving right through me. Unconcerned by my withering corpse, time just keeps on going, and I continue to search for reasons to stay, to remain, to exist. I feel hurt, mostly by myself, I feel like I’m a horrible person, and I know that this may seem like I’m trying to garner sympathy, but fuck it, maybe I am. It’s not that I have nothing in my life that brings me joy, but the emptiness remains. I’m very glad to have stopped looking at instagram, in the past month I’ve only looked at it for brief moments a couple of times, I definitely feel less stressed and less anxious, but I still can’t get a job, and I still can’t make art that really compels me or anyone else. I always want this message to be one of truth, so I would be doing no one a favor by masking how I really feel.

Girl, you are rich even with nothing

And you know tenderness comes from pain

It's amazing how you love

And love is kind and love can give

And get no gain

It's down a rugged road you've come

Though you had every reason

You didn't come undone

Somehow you made it to the other side

You didn't suffer in vain

(Sade, It’s Only Love That Gets You Through)

I really resent being valued for my body, and I know that sounds really selfish, so judge away, please. I’ve caused hurt, I’ve caused pain, mostly to myself, but also to many people who didn’t deserve it. I suppose I’ve always just wanted someone to listen to me, because that was not something I was afforded when I was young. I feel that the only time people listened to me was when I was like, 20 and pretransition. As soon as I started transitioning no one took me seriously, and I feel that happens to a lot of transsexual women such as myself. The cis, straight, and most of the queer world really feigns interest in our pain. Marsha P. Johnson is remembered as an “icon,” yet no one did shit to help her, she was found dead and no one even has a clear answer as to what happened. I really have no right to be this upset, I’m the t****y 1%, I’m white, I’ll probably be fine. Still the pain echoes through me, as I know it echoes through all of us.

I have managed to quit smoking for the most part, and I have two DJ gigs coming up this month, one at gingers on the 17th and one at the pride march in Manhattan on the 25th. I feel really lucky to be playing at such an “important” event. To paraphrase Sylvia Rivera, pride is a capitulation to capitalism, it’s about the almighty dollar, and they want me because I’m a freaky genderfuck and it’s good optics for them. To quote myself, even gay people are straight nowadays. I’ll be really happy to play fun music to a bunch of queers in the hot sun, but I’m not happy that I had to sign a contract and write a bio for myself, I don’t want to market myself, and I don’t want my body to be for sale, but unfortunately, sometimes my body is my number one asset. Jesus this letter is so fucking doomer, but I said I’d be honest.

I guess if yer reading this and you feel pained or challenged by what I’m writing, write me back, come talk to me in real life, I don’t get around too much. If you’re reading this and I haven’t spoken to you in a while, I’m sorry, but right now my spider silk has become very thin, and I might just get blown away by a strong wind. It pains me so much that most people who consider themselves “allies,” know less than nothing about trans experience, especially trans feminine experience. Once, a person who I really kinda despise said they liked me because I’m “well adjusted.” Now, on the list of shitty things this person has done to me, that comment ranks pretty low, but it still stings me today, the implication being that most of us are very poorly adjusted, and what a fucking shock! Who knew it would be hard to be well adjusted when you live in a world where basically everyone hates that you exist, gaslights you, fetishizes you, feels disgusted by your body, and thinks that you are a dangerous pervert. Yet after all of that we still manage to “yaaasss” and “slayyy” and we do it with pride, because that’s all we have. I don’t wanna be a “well adjusted” t****y I want to be a menace to the straight cis world.

If you know me well I’d imagine you are rolling your eyes right now, so let me just say this before I really cancel myself. Pain is double edged, it is neither good nor bad, it’s just gravity. There is no cure for pain, there is only a deep understanding of it. I feel very lucky to have a woman in my life who really loves me and puts up with my ranting and raving, she brings me the most joy out of anything, but we must remember that Goddess cannot be found in other people, we must find her inside, and she is there, in all of us.

This letter really got away from me, but I urge you to continue filling the well that is your life, even in my cursed spiral, I still manage to create. I started making a photobook, it’s just a draft right now, and I’m being harshly critical of myself, but there is a tiny grain of excitement, that maybe I could really capture what little I have to say with my heart. I also have a consultation for FFS coming up this month, which is serving as my beacon right now, I know it won’t fix all my problems, but it will fix the problem of my ugly ass face. In terms of tattooing I don’t really know how much I want to do it anymore. I want to still use it as a medium, but probably just for close friends and dolls who want to feel comfortable. I don’t want to sell my tats, or participate in the clout trap circle j**k that is instagram. Will I be a star that shines? A star that shades? who can say.

“It’s gonna hurt, now,” said Amy. “Anything dead coming back to life hurts.”

(Toni Morrison, Beloved)

Attached are some pictures from the photobook.

With love from love

Sasha Love

Please donate to FOR THE GWORLS, a collective providing mutual aid and support to black trans people. https://www.forthegworls.party/home <3

Also please go subscribe to my best friend’s newsletter. She is an amazing tattoo artist, painter, and writer, as well as a mother to two wonderful cats :) https://tinyletter.com/angelauratat222

Albums to listen to:

The Fragile - NIN

The Velvet Rope - Janet Jackson

Love Deluxe - Sade

Exile in Guyville - Liz Phair

Hyaena - Siouxsie and the Banshees

Stumpwork - Dry Cleaning

The Sun’s Tirade - Isaiah Rashad

[insufferablelust]

blurb/one shot about reid coming home after prison and the team wants you to go home with him to his apartment to comfort him because you guys are good friends. he starts to talk about how lonely he was and how much he missed talking and laughing with you but also how much he dreamt of touching/fucking you while he was there. spencer is a very hard dom and rough considering he hasn’t touched anybody in months.

Warning : Smut! with some name calling, and dom!Spencer x Sub! Reader.

When you received the news that Spencer has been released from that god awful prison, you jumped at the first look of him entering the bullpen with JJ after the whole Cat ordeal. You hugged him like you would hug a boyfriend, but you didn’t care, you haven’t seen him in so long— he refused to let you visit him on prison because he can’t bear the thought of how the others would watch you and Spencer’s blood boiled at the thought.

Its how you two has always been together, since you joined the team after Emily depart to interpol, you have always been close to Spencer— from the outside, it would look like you two were too close, but neither of you really cared. It would be naive of course, if you lie and say you don’t love him— because you do, as a best friend and so much more. But you knew, how difficult relationships could get for him so you never tried to pry more than you were given even if you had to watch him break down after Maeve, and the stories that follows.

Morgan teased you about it before he left, saying how you should make your move now rather than later— only Morgan knows how much love you have for Spencer (and Morgan is also the only person who knows how much love Spencer have for you) but you shrugged and laughed it off, swallowing down the bitter pill of reality that he would never look at you more than just a friend— a very close caring friend that kissed multiple times because they were drunk, yeah that’s it, right?

Wrong.

It’s been a few weeks since Spencer’s release and the whole Mr.Scratch mess. You were just quietly enjoying your mandatory break with red wine on your hand and flashes of imagination that accompanied your thoughts. You sighed as you take a look at your phone to see a message from Penelope.

Garcia, P ❤️

Hey princess! how about you, me, em, JJ, and Tara go out to shop tonight? maybe we could catch up too? i miss you aaalll soo much.

You smiled at the sweet message, quickly typing a ‘yes i’ll be there, your majesty. and i miss you too.” It wasn’t that difficult of a choice, seeing as you weren’t doing anything anyways, and you sure as hell could buy some more things just for the sake of retail therapy.

You quickly changed into a comfy dress that stops just below your knee, with a vintage belt around your hips and a cute burgundy cropped cardigan to keep you warm. You were zipping your bag when you heard it, heard the pretty loud bangs on your door that had you startled. To say that you were a bit paranoid was an understatement, as you approached the door with a gun prepared on your hands— you squinted at the peephole to see if you should open your doors or not, to your absolute childish-crush surprise— it was Spencer, a very disheveled looking Spencer standing in front of your door.

As soon as you sees him, you placed your gun away safely tucked on your cabinet before opening the door and let him in. He was dressed somewhat nicely, shirt tucked underneath his pants with his signature dark blue cardigan, his hair was a mess, and the bags below his eyes indicated that he’s in fact not doing well— though you figured as much.

“Spence, are you okay? you look tired.” You mumbled carefully, as you sat down beside him on your couch, his eyes wouldn’t even look at you but rather taken a keen interest on the floor of your apartment.

“Oh..are you going on a date?” He asks timidly, his voice shaky and on edge as his gazed turned to your bag and then your clothes.

“What? No, no no! Pen asked me out on a shopping night with the girls so i was just about to go.” You laughed, and you swore you heard his loud sigh of relieve when you said that, but you’re convinced that your mind is telling tricks to you.

“Well um i can go.. if you’re—“ You cut him off instantly just as he about to stand, you grabbed his wrist tightly to pull him back down and shake your head, smilling softly, “No.. Please, i can shop another time— you came all the way here so stay okay?” You begged him, eyes desperately trying to lock with his.

“Okay... okay, Y/N.” He sniffled, eyes finally met yours— you were shocked to see they were brimmed with raw fresh tears, falling slowly down his cheeks— you didn’t say anything else, just immediately tucking him against your sides so his head was laid on top of your heart and your fingers on his hair.

“Oh it’s okay, shh it’s okay— you’re okay, i’m here just let it out..” You cooed, holding him tightly as he sobbed onto your chest.

~

“Got your pretty dress all wet..” He mumbled as you both were laying down on top of the soft rug near your fireplace on the floor, your cheeks warmed at the sound of his voice, “It doesn’t matter, it’s not that your teardrops are made of paint anyways.”

You both laughed at your answer, laying on each other’s side, eyes locked. You brushed your fingertips across his cheeks, feeling his breath shuddered, “Spencer..” You whispered softly.

“Hm?”

“What happened?” His eyes fluttered shut as he drew in a sharp breath, your fingers were calm and soothing on his skin. “You’ll hate me..” He suddenly whispered, voice shot and it nearly made you cry.

“No, no i won’t. Hey look at me, there you go.. Spencer.. you know i’ll always support you no matter what, and i’ll never judge you of any decision you made because i know you, okay? and i trust you.” You emphasized each word, as your nose brushed against each other— you could care less at the thoughts of breaking regulations now.

“I know Y/N, it’s not that.. it’s just..” He moved back a bit, before intertwining your hand in his and kissed the knuckles, “I missed feeling happy.. missed being.. being able to help.. to talk freely... to sleep without nightmares.. to just—“ His voice trembled as fresh stream of tears threatening to fall upon his skin, you were quick to held his hand tighter so he knows you’re there with him— that you’re real.

“To have a control over my life, over something.. everything is out of place, Y/N... I-I can’t live like this.” You could see it in his eyes, just how much he wanted to feel the control again— to make his own decisions without having the trauma of being drugged by a female serial killer or catched by the police.

“And.. and i can’t stop thinking about..” He stopped as he bit his lip, under the soft glow of the crackling fore— you could see just how pink his cheeks get as he stared at you still, his palm is now pressed against your cheeks, “About what, spencer?” You whispered, feeling overwhelmed already by the warmth of him pressing against you so closely, your heart thrummed against your ribcage like a drum going off on it’s own.

“You... you— one of the only thing that kept me alive.. alive on— you, you i can’t get you out of my mind. I don’t like it..” His lips were practically brushing against yours as you widen your eyes, letting a pained, “Oh..” Left your lip as you came to a realization at what he’s referring to, but before you could get out of his grasp— he cut you off,

“I don’t like it because i can’t do a damn thing about it, Y/N. I don’t like it because i can’t touch you whenever i want, I don’t like it because.. because i’m so used to having things so certain.. all my life, all i want to believe in was numbers, and— and science but the only thing that makes sense right now in my life.. is you.” He craddled your jaw so gently as your forehead pressed against each other.

The room grew quiet after that, just heavy breathing, and both of you savoring the moment, the warmth of each other’s skin. You could hear a pin drop, but the only thing that you heard was his heartbeat that beats at the same pace as yours— fast, and full of desire, pent up desire for each other. His leg tangled itself onto yours as he inch his lips closer so they were practically grazing against each other, before he kissed you softly, softly yet so rough.. Rough as in he was savoring you, indulging in your taste.

The kiss lit you on fire, your skin burned against him as you whimpered softly at the pace of his kiss, it was rushed— yet full of desire, desire to claim each other.. to control you, and if you said you didn’t want it then that would be a lie. Here you are, sober and bright, with his tongue shoved deep inside your mouth, battling dominance— as you submitted to him, letting him to own that control.

When both of your lungs ran out of air, you whined against him, to which he pulled back and pant. Both of you tried to catch your breath, but your whole body is burning with fire— that fire is insatiable, the desire for him is insatiable.

“You said... you need control... let me be your canvas.” You whispered as you put your hands above your head and bit your lip nervously.

The silence returned as he watched you, stared at you, with so much adoration, shock, and lust.. it took him a bit of time to respond to your declaration, his hand wrapped itself on your neck, just held it there with a bit of pressure before whispering, “I’m not going to go easy on you.. are you sure you want this?”

You only smiled, and bat your eyelash at him, whispering, “Don’t hold back, Reid.”

~

Your back was arched in an angle you never knew you could reached, your hips constantly bucking up as your wrist tugged against the belt that tied them up tightly. Here you were, body as nude as day, with your hands tight together on top of your head, your panties shoved deep inside your mouth and the love of your life— the new version of him, has been between your legs for hours now, sucking the poor swollen clit of your cunt, bringing you to orgasm after orgasm that your eyes was wet with tears.

He hummed softly as he felt you clenched around his tongue, and tasting the way you ache and gushed onto his taste buds— groaning at the sweetness. He pressed a soft electrifying kiss on top of your clit that sent you to a sobbing mess before crawling up and pull the panties from your mouth and smile so softly yet so condescendingly.

“Oh princess.. Look at you, your make up is ruined.. look like such a mindless thing,” He taunted, causing you to buck your hips instantly, which earned a chuckle from him, “I didn’t know you would be this much of a depraved desperate whiny little girl, Y/N. I should’ve claimed you sooner.” You were screaming inside your head, telling him yes-yes you should but it’s okay.. i don’t mind now, just please— but the only thing that came out of your sinful bitten raw lips was a small “I’ve always been yours.”

He sees red instantly, hands clamping down your neck, as he pressed his forehead against yours, feeling an overwhelming sense of power— control he’s been craving, and oh how kind were you, the light of his life to serve that control on a silver platter for him— silly thing you are.. of course he’s going to take you in every way possible.

“That’s right you are, keep that in mind, bunny. Try not to scream too loud yeah? hate to bother your neighbor right? how will i explain? that my baby just can’t take it when she get fucked til she goes mindless?”

Just as you were about to answer, his cock pushed past your tight entrance, so suddenly and deep that you yelled, yelled with pure pleasure of being stretched— burning with pleasure, “Oh! Spencer!” Your eyes rolled back to your skull, as he groaned, “Fuck— you’re so fucking tight angel, oh there’s a good little slut for me.”

At that, he began to thrust into you, so fast yet so deep, your lips wrapped itself around his thumb as he fuck the sanity out of you, feeling the overwhelming amount of raw pleasure— and love at the same time.

“Mmm! take me! oh god so deep, so— fuck!” You moaned after he pulled his thumb back, cultching your wrists together as the head of his cock hit that spot— the spot that has you seeing stars. He smiled as he keeps on working his thrusts “Yeah? yeah right there baby?”

“Y-Oh! yes, please please” Your whines were half coherent, but neither of you cared, nor complained, the only thing in your minds right now is to indulge in this burning fire of a pleasure, to relinquished control.

“Good girl, so fucking tight for me Y/N— god i love you..” He said it— said it, as his thrust became sloppier, yet somewhat deeper, his face were on your neck— biting a huge amount of marks, marks that’ll make sure everyone knows you’re his.

“I love you! i loveyou! god i—“ You were cut off as his other hand reach down to rub your clit fast, sending you into a spasm fit, back arched, nipples against his sweaty chest and the walls of your cunt clenched around his cock so tightly that it brings him to the very edge.

“Cum baby, cum for me, good- fucking girl do it.” He whispered, walls breaking down as he hold himself back as you cum, cum so hard around his cock that you were silent— only letting a very high pitched chants of his names, which brought him to his own release, coating— painting your walls with his cum, claiming you inside and out.

You both tried to catch your breath as he tried to pull out, in which you whined, “No.. wanna— wanna— ugh please?” Your glassy eyes were looking at him with such a pure adoration, pure submission, that he softly smiled and propped your both to your side with his softening cock still nestled deep inside your cunt.

You sighed as he unclasp his belt, bringing your wrist down to kiss them one by one. “I love you.. i do, i truly do Y/N.” He whispered, eyes looking at yours as you smiled widely, nodding and lightly sniffling.

“Hey.. dont cry, shh shh come here baby, hey hey.. are we taking turns to cry now?” He chuckled against your hair as he pulled you close, embraced you in his arm which you giggled at and pushed his chest a bit, before nuzzling your noses together,

“I’ve always loved you, Spencer Reid, and i always will.”

——

Oh my god!!! i know its not like the actual req, i changed it up a bit i hope whoever you are, you won’t mind!! anyways, thank you so much for requesting i love you! and thank you everyone for reading.

I’m gettting through my reqs right now, so if you requested in the past few weeks, expect them to be out soon! I love you all, blurb and tag list is always open. ❤️

[twiistedgalaxies]

Genesis: Chapter 4: Arrival

How two brothers can take two opposite paths. How a man can be made into a monster and how the other must pay the ultimate price to save everything he knows and loves. Or, alternatively: The origins of All for One and One for All.

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

        The Our Lady of Perpetual Help Orphanage was a dilapidated, angular building with sagging windows and chipping, sun bleached paint. It was two stories, the windows were small, and it had rose bushes in the parking lot that were withering and dying, despite the winter rains. This is what Tomura saw as he peeked out from the car window, worrying his bottom lip.

        “Alright brats,” Their driver barked, a man in his late thirties who smelled perpetually of nicotine and bourbon, “Get outta here, I got places to be an’ people to see.”

        He heard the car door click behind him as his brother disembarked. Tomura, however, hesitated. Was this really it? The pamphlets the social worker had pushed towards them had shown something more… not this.

        “C’mon, hurry up!”

        “Sorry,” he squeaked, pushing himself and his bag out of the car. He stood on the sidewalk, hands twitching nervously.

        “Are you alright?” His brother asked, eyebrow raised but a smile on his lips, clearly amused.

        Tomura felt his face flush and they began to walk towards the entrance, “Stellar. So what do you think the orphanage will be like? The pamphlet said there’ll be a recess area and shared meals and that we’ll have our schooling here and-”

        “Well, whatever it’ll be like, the pamphlet was clearly lying,” Hisashi’s face darkened, “Just try not to do anything I wouldn’t and you should be fine.”

        As if that statement wasn’t ridiculously vague. “Okay.”

        They pushed open the front double doors to the orphanage, revealing a shoddily lit front room. It was tiny, consisting of a single helpdesk, a folding chair by the wall, and a sad snake plant. A stern looking woman sat behind the desk, her features were angular and pinched, like a bird that had tasted something sour.

        "I presume you are the Shigaraki brothers?" the woman asked, voice high pitched and nasally.

        "Yes?" Tomura said, though it came out as more of a question than an answer.

        "You're late," the woman sneered.

        “Sorry,” he mumbled. Next to him, his brother gave a polite, albeit strained, smile.

        She stood up with a huff, “Come, I’ll have one of the children show you around.” They stepped through a door and walked down a long, carpeted hallway. The air smelled sharp, like mildew. “I’m Matron Abra, the head of this fine establishment. I will tolerate no horse-play, no dilly-dallying, and no backtalk. Tomorrow you will be given a schedule by which you eat and breathe, if you’re caught one toe out of line the punishment will be severe, understood?”

        Tomura nodded, biting his tongue to keep from protesting. This is ridiculous!

        “Say ‘Yes Matron’, I won’t put up with such disrespect,” she scowled.

        “Yes Matron,” the brothers chorused. Hisashi looked at her like she was a particularly nasty piece of gum stuck on the sole of his shoe.

        They arrived at the doorway of what appeared to be a classroom. A large chalkboard was at the front of the room, and desks were lined up in neat rows. The furniture was beaten and battered to hell, seeming to have taken many years of constant abuse. Despite being packed with children, the room was quiet. Eerily so. The stout, balding man at the front of the room paused his lecture to greet the matron.

        “Ah, Matron Abra! What a pleasure to see you,” he stammered, looking as wide-eyed and fidgety as his students.

        “Can it, Stewart, I need to borrow one of your brats.”

        “I- Why of course, who do you need?”

        Abra looked down at the class over her narrow, crooked nose, “Any of them will do, as long as they’re capable of basic tasks.”

        Stewart’s eyes swept the room, “Leo,” he barked, gesturing at a blonde teen in the back of the room, “You’re excused from class, just do as the matron says.”

        The boy nodded and hastily gathered his things before making his way towards the door. It shut behind him with a click.

        “I trust you’ll be able to show these two around competently, yes?” the matron said in a clipped manner.

        “Yes ma’am, but what about-”

        She cut him off, “Good. When you’re done bring them to the boys’ room and return to class. They’re to attend dinner after they arrange their things.” Abra strode down the hall towards the front room. Leo frowned at her retreating form, clearly frustrated.

        “Well, she’s uh..” Tomura began once she was out of earshot.

        “A witch of a woman?” Leo finished dryly, “The first rule of surviving here: avoid her as much as you can.”

        Hisashi quirked an eyebrow, “Why?”

        “Just trust me, crossing her is a bad idea,” Leo paused, “Anyways, I should probably give you two a tour, shouldn’t I?” He began to walk down the hall, gesturing for the two to follow, “The room you guys probably just came from is the reception area, it’s where we receive guests and stuff. Though, it’s not like we get any.”

        Tomura hummed, he couldn’t really blame people for avoiding this place, especially since he just saw a particularly monstrous looking cockroach skitter into a crack in one of the walls.

        “This hallway has two bathrooms and the classrooms. We’re split up by age, kindergarten through third grade share a class, fourth to sixth share one, seventh through ninth, and then tenth through twelfth.”

        “How do you learn anything like that?” Hisashi asked as he frowned, looking almost offended.

        “We don’t,” Leo coughed.

        They reached the end of the hall and stepped into a small room with ratty arm chairs and a stained rug. The walls were lined with ramshackle bookcases that were used more to store various knickknacks than hold any actual books. There was a large, imposing portrait of the matron hung over the brick fireplace.

        “This is the common area, we like to hang out here during our free time on rainy days,” Leo’s eyes lit up and he walked over to the shelves, he dug around and pulled out a monopoly box, yellowed with age, “A while ago, one of the other kids found this while they were out on an errand. We don’t get many games or toys, so… Anyways! If you want you guys can play a few rounds with us after dinner.”

        Tomura felt a smile dance on the edge of his lips, “Sure, that sounds fun, right Hisashi?”

        His brother shrugged noncommittally.

        “We’ll be happy to have you! So,” Leo gestured to a door to the right of them, “Down this hall is the eating area and kitchens. We haven’t been allowed in the kitchens since Matron Abra caught Thomas sneaking food.”

        Tomura winced at that.

        Leo pointed to a door to the left, “And this hallway leads to the two dorms, one for girls and one for boys, which is at the end of the hall. Do you guys have any questions?”

        “She said something about schedules?” Hisashi asked, arms crossed over his chest.

        Leo nodded, “Yeah, our day is split up between school and meals and such. She’s usually pretty strict about those, if she catches you somewhere you aren’t supposed to be you get in a lot of trouble,” he grimaced, “One time, I had to clean the gum off the bottoms of the dining tables for a month.”

        “How do we know which beds are ours?” Tomura inquired.

        “Oh, they should have a plastic name tag on them, just look for that. Unless you guys have more questions that’s pretty much it for what’s here. I should probably head back to class, if you need anything, let me know, okay?” Leo finished and went down the hallway they just came from. 

        “So…?” Tomura began.

        Hisashi hummed and headed towards the boys’ room, “We’ll be fine, like I said, don’t do anything stupid.”

        He followed his brother and stepped into the dorm. It was surprisingly large, but lined wall to wall with rickety twin beds. The floors were covered in dust, grime, and fading painted lines. On either side of the room were rusting basketball hoops. It took a little while of scouring the rows of bed frames before the duo finally found where they were meant to sleep. They were situated in the center of the room, bare and exposed for their peers to see. Tomura sat on his bed, ignoring the feeling of springs stabbing his butt, and pulled his stuff out of his bag.

        They were only allowed to take a precious few items with them. He himself had grabbed a few changes of clothes, toiletries, medication, joint braces, and a photo of his family tucked neatly into the pages of his favorite Captain America comic. Looking around, Tomura was at a loss as to where to put his things. There were only beds, no storage to be found anywhere. He hastily slid his comic under his mattress, and placed his hand on his chin as he worked out where to put his medical equipment. Glancing at Hisashi didn’t help, as the teen seemed to have already put everything away somehow and was lounging on the stiff bed with his phone. Eventually, Tomura decided to just shove his things back in his bag and place it on the foot of his bed until he found a better alternative. It’s not like the other kids could find much to do with joint braces anyways, so they were probably safe.

        Mimicking his brother, he pulled out his phone and checked his text messages. Since that night replies from Zach had grown less and less frequent, Tomura was worried, had he done something wrong?

                                                     4:50pm

                                                                                                                        [Hey]

                                           [You doing okay? Hisashi and I got to the orphanage.]

                                                                                                                        Seen

        Tomura heaved out a sigh. Figures. Still, ranting into the void was better than nothing at all, hopefully his friend would respond soon. Maybe he was busy?

                                                                     [The matron lady is suuuuper uptight]

                     [Man you should have seen her, she was like Mrs. Nott on steroids]

                                       [The social worker said something about our data being 

                                               cut off since our parents can’t pay our phone plan.]

                         [Talk to me when you can so we can move to Discord or smth :P]

                                                                                                                        Seen

        He flopped onto his bed with a groan.

        “You alright?” His brother asked, not looking up from his phone.

        “Yeah, I’m just really sore, and Zach’s ghosting me, and this is just all too much, ya know?” Tomura replied, throwing his hands into the air for dramatic emphasis and wincing as his elbows cracked.

        Hisashi sat up, eyebrows knitted together in a scowl, “Zach’s ghosting you?”

        He glanced over at his older brother, “Yes? But I think he’s just busy, this is our first year in middle school and finals are in a few weeks.”

        “Right.” the teen replied tersely, his focus returned to his phone. They sat there for a while like that, with Tomura reading web comics and his brother typing something into his device.

-@~*^*~@- 

        The dining hall was a large, rectangular room with high angular ceilings and stained glass windows depicting haloed figures. There were holes in the floor from where pews had been ripped out to make room for the lunch tables. It was loud with the chatter of children, both those who already had food and those standing in a line tightly wound around the room leading towards the kitchen door. The brothers sat at a table in the far corner of the room. Tomura tried desperately to eat the blandest mashed potatoes he’s ever had the misfortune of tasting to no avail. Hisashi, meanwhile, was chatting up a storm. While they were in line he had managed to somehow befriend most of the older kids. The preteen looked on at his older brother with envy. 

        “So how’d you all end up here?” Hisashi asked the others, a gleam in his eye as he leaned forward with mock-interest. 

        They were met with stories of drug deals gone wrong, of parents unable to afford to financially support their kids and dropping them off here, of parents leaving their children on the orphanage doorstep the moment they displayed the slightest hint of a mutation. His brother regaled them with the harrowing tale of the home invasion, painting a dramatic picture of their mother’s withered form in a hospital bed, surrounded by flowers.

        Tomura felt something catch in his throat. She was never given flowers. If he didn’t have an appetite before he certainly didn’t now.

        “How did you get that Monopoly board?” Hisashi asked, “I noticed it when we went in the common room, you don’t seem to have many toys, there must be a story there.”

        He frowned, hadn’t Leo told them already?

        One of the teens - a Hispanic kid, Jose - clapped another on the back, “That’s thanks to Rafi over here, he snuck out one night and found it in a back-alley dumpster, he smelled like garbage for weeks!”

        Rafi buried his head in his hands, “It wasn’t that bad!” he cried.

        Hisashi’s eyes narrowed slightly. He opened his mouth to say something, but Tomura didn’t hear. He got up to dispose of his food and wander into the dorm, fighting an onslaught of dizziness. He really didn’t feel good. Has the orphanage always been this cold?

        Tomura crawled into his bed, wrapping the cheap linen blanket around himself. He tried desperately to get comfortable but the thin mattress made such a task impossible. His face burned and itched. What the heck?! He closed his eyes and tried to sleep to no avail. At best he drifted aimlessly in inky black, at worst? The pain in his joints and muscles intensified into a shrieking crescendo.

        What had he done to bring this on? Tomura tried best he could to recall the events of the day, to a potential trigger of his flare-up, but he drew a blank. Sure, he’d been beyond stressed lately for understandable reasons, but that didn’t explain this sudden spike of agony. Had it been from wandering around the orphanage all day? Maybe, but the orphanage was really small, certainly not big enough to make his body do the electric slide of death.

        He let out a groan as the other kids entered the room, flicking on the harsh fluorescents and bringing noise with them. Tomura curled up on his side and pulled his pillow on his head in an attempt to muffle the outside world. There was a cold hand on his shoulder. He made a sound that came out like a whine.

        “Tomura,” His brother said, voice soft, “Did you remember to take your medications?”

        Oh. Whoops. In the blur of seeing the social worker and moving into the orphanage he must have forgotten. He shook his head causing the pillow upon it to shift.

        A sigh, and Hisashi rummaged through Tomura’s bag, “What am I going to do with you?” he muttered. “Hey Leo, can you come over here for a second?” the teen called. Tomura cringed at the sudden sound.

        “What’s up?” Leo asked.  A set of footsteps approached the pair.

        “I was wondering if it’d be possible to get my little brother some water, he needs it for his medication. The dumbass forgot to take it this afternoon,” Hisashi said, the last part teasing and aimed towards him. Tomura made a sound of indignation. 

        Leo hummed, “I can probably get a cup from the dining hall, hopefully the bathroom will be open.”

        “Alright,” Hisashi replied, “be quick.”

        The bed creaked as Hisashi sat by his side, “I take it you’re making a raincheck on Monopoly tonight?”

        Tomura rolled towards his brother, feeling his heart get caught in his stomach, he had forgotten about Monopoly, “No, I want to play.”

        His brother chuckled, “Not in this condition you won’t,” he pushed a long strand of white hair out of his younger brother’s face, then paused, “There’ll be other nights you can play.”

        Hisashi began to move his hand away from his brother’s face but Tomura grabbed it and moved it back. The cold skin felt nice against his burning, inflamed face. 

        “It looks like Leo’s back, sit up.”

        Tomura grumbled complaints, but sat up regardless, leaning against the metal bed frame. A plastic cup was shoved in his hands and he brought the cool liquid to his lips, “Thank you,” he said. Hisashi handed him his medications, and he downed them in one gulp. He pushed himself downwards to lie on his back. The lights of the dorms flickered out as the other kids settled down for the night. Tomura fell into a fitful sleep, to the sensation of his brother sitting by his side.

A/N: Woo! 2020 is over, thank the gods.  Updates may be a little slower because I am starting winter quarter classes this week, but I'll still try to get a chapter uploaded each Monday whenever possible. Next chapter should be Hisashi's POV, which I'm both dreading and excited to write. Please leave comments, feedback fuels my motivation!

AO3

Next Chapter

[the-voltage-diaries]

Hi! I noticed you're another fellow Taki fanatic. Just out of curiosity, but why is taki your favorite?

Hey hey!

Let’s be real, Taki is my absolute favourite otome guy; at this point its facts. I love everything about him, from his smile, to his smirk, to his sexy self, to his handsomeness, to his blush, to his grin, to his boyishness, to how he is WHIPPED for MC, to his dynamic with others fellow characters, to how he has his fair share of shortcomings, to how he ain’t perfect at everything, to- you get it.

I can write an essay on this and I’m not even kidding you, so you’re in for a treat. It’s time to dig deeper into what exactly is it about Taki that makes me love him so freaking much.

But before we do that, a very special thanks to @awesomeallseeingeye for helping me out with this! You’re the absolute best.

Disclaimer: The following post contains spoilers from Taki’s season 3, Shun’s season 4 Part 1 and a few other stories from Kings of Paradise. Also, there are mentions of some nsfw 18+ stuff yes sexc Taki, so please read at your own discretion!

Now, without further ado, here’s the list under the cut~

Consent King Consent and consensual sex are two things that hold a lot of importance when it comes to getting intimate, and when I say “consent”, I do not mean dubious or implied consent. I mean a scenario where it is clearly spelt out that if the other party does NOT want to be a part of it, the first party won’t continue. Now, when it comes to Taki, it is downright admirable how Taki always seeks for MC’s permission before doing anything intimate. He makes it clear that he will not do anything more unless the MC wants it too, and he doesn’t shy away from declaring how he is even willing to wait (no matter how long it takes) for the MC to be comfortable enough to go ahead with the deed. I adore this quality so much, and the fact that there isn’t ONE scene, apart from his season 3 MS where one scene had dubious consent (which Taki felt TERRIBLE about, himself),  where it isn’t explicitly states how he seeks VERBAL consent speaks volumes about how principled this man is. Swoon

Total Adorkababy While Taki was a stoic, sexy, stiff, smirking CEO in Seasons 1 and 2, he makes a 180 following his Season 3, which is understandable considering how he basically bares his soul to the MC in that season. MC and Taki become very, VERY close on an emotional level post Season 3, and the change in Taki is such a sight to behold. He is much more in tune with how he feels, and is, as a result, a lot more expressive with them too. Which is adorable, because while a part of Taki has grown up into a 30-year-old successful and mature CEO, the OTHER part of him, which is still a teenage insecure li’l baby, is more prominent when it comes to his feelings towards his MC. He is a literal blushy baby who stubs his toe because he is so shaken up upon seeing his MC wear a sexy red lacy lingerie lmfao. He needs to be preserved. He is precious. He is adorable. He needs all the love in the world. I rest my case.

GOLD PoVs His internal thoughts are just what I said, G O L D. Going back to the part where I said opening up to the MC made him come more in terms with his emotions post the debt trauma than ever before, Taki becomes more expressive not only with MC on the outside, but with himself on the inside too. He allows a much more open, vulnerable and worried side of him to rear it’s head and as a result, we have a Taki who cannot contain himself and basically short circuits whenever his MC does something out of the ordinary or is just cute. Taki, while on the outside appears calm, collected, and sure of himself, is just the complete opposite on the inside. He overthinks in the most hilarious of ways, goes p a n i k when he sees his MC, and his internal thoughts are a complete new story. It’s so worth it lmfao, this babie I love him pls protecc him tysm.

Considerate Companion While Taki is an amazing human being and the most considerate man on the planet in his own main story, I’d like to stress how equally brilliant he is in OTHERS’ stories too. We know that MC is Taki’s ex, and that it’s pretty obvious he still loves her even in the routes of other characters from the game. But, despite that, he is the kind of guy who is willing to step on his own heart and crush his feelings so long as the MC is happy, even if she is with someone else. It breaks him - it really does, but he has no problem standing on the sidelines and smiling at MC and her beau, wishing her well. Here’s a snippet from Shun’s Season 4 Part 1, where Taki was the love rival. He wished to get back together with the MC, but once the MC told him she cannot go back to him, he simply accepted it and told her to go back to her man. Furthermore, he even APOLOGISED for putting her in that spot. Can we just give this man all the applause there is to give?

Actually Apologetic This man knows when an apology is due, and doesn’t shy away from acknowledging his faults, or his shortcomings, or the analyzing where he went wrong in order to get better. He wants to be the best possible man for his MC, and will do whatever it takes to get there. He makes promises and keeps them instead of sweeping things under the rug and just moving on. When MC teaches him the importance of communication and even fighting in a relationship, he learns it like an obedient student and makes sure he doesn’t repeat the same errors twice. Freakin’ love that about him. This man knows that apologising won’t make him smaller. THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT WE STAN.

Emotionally Vulnerable Another thing Taki doesn’t shy away from apart from apologising is being emotionally vulnerable, even to the point where he literally breaks down. Now, while other points were more generic about him, this is pretty specific. This happened in Season 3, and while it took a while for the MC and Taki to get so far down the road of character development, once the dam broke, it broke. I haven’t seen a lot of Voltage men become so emotionally open and vulnerable that they physically show it - shakey hands, tears, feeling the need to be in MC’s close proximity for physical support, et cetera. In his Season 3 when MC FINALLY gets through to him, this man breaks the fuck down. He shakes, he trembles, he almost cries. He lets his MC see him at his absolute lowest. That kind of trust, that kind of openness... gah, just makes me fall for him even more.

Ovaries Exploder Okay, enough of the gut and heart wrenching stuff. Let’s get down to the sexy stuff. Taki Kozaki is a sexy man, periodt. He knows how to be sexy, how to be suave, and how to be so seductive you could feel your ovaries explode. This point is solely here because I just HAD to share his orgasm face and his love for the bunny-wolf roleplay. Thank you for joining me on this amazing journey where we have no regrets because we get a hot Taki. Can I marry him already plez. Just like plez.

Annnd that successfully brings us to the end of this list. Kind of. Sort of. I mean, I still have over 500 things to share but I don’t know if tumblr can take any more of my rambling.

THAT SAID, thank you so much for sending in such a brilliant ask! I had so much fun answering this one haha. I totally did not almost read all of those stories again as I collected the screenshots jk I totally did. I’m guessing you like Taki too, yes? I’d love to hear your list of reasons why you adore this precious man yourself!

Once again, thank you! ❤️

[ohshcscenerios]

The Case for Takashi x Haruhi P.4

Welcome back to the Case for Takashi x Haruhi, the series that travels through the manga and makes a case for why they should have been together. If you haven’t read Part One, Part Two, or Part Three they will be linked for your convenience. I would advise catching up before moving forward with Part Four. Because there is so much to unpack from Volume 5 it will be split between Part Four and Part Five (due to the length of the post being too long).

Please Note:

This post will contain examples from the manga so if you haven’t read the manga yet be prepared for “spoilers”.

This is all in the name of fun. I am by no means insulting or discrediting other pairings. I am just a person trying to spread more MorixHaru love into the world. 

Please feel free to agree or disagree. 

Shall we begin? 

We begin Volume 5 with Haruhi first learning about her inadequate test scores, landing her the third rank in her class. The Host Club is surprised considering how intelligent she is and they offer her their condolences. The anime doesn’t include this episode but the live action does. 

I’ve mentioned before how in the anime Takashi isn’t shown to comfort Haruhi in any way. He is either standing off to the side or appears disinterested altogether. Even during the beach episode when the hosts had a serious conversation with Haruhi the anime showed Takashi completely separated from the conversation; peacefully eating his crab without a care. However in the manga this is obviously not the case because Takashi is actively listening and involved in the conversation, even patting her head when she agrees to apologize. 

So it’s safe to say that outside the manga Takashi is not as supportive and comforting as he truly is. The live action does a better job at displaying his sensitive personality but the anime almost portrays him as a robot compared to his manga self. 

With that being said, we see another example of Takashi comforting and supporting Haruhi in a way the anime (for some reason) chose not to express. The twins give her a noogie but Takashi also offers a pat on the head. 

Why is this important? Takashi actively cares for Haruhi. He’s not in the background silently watching as he does in the anime. Takashi wants an active role in Haruhi’s life, not just a by-stander who happens to know her (as we sort of see in the anime). He wants to be called her friend rather than an acquaintance and to me that is very important. 

Anime Takashi isn’t as involved with Haruhi as Manga Takashi. Not only does the difference create an injustice for the pairing but also for the character. Takashi is more layered in the manga but in the anime he’s barely a two-dimensional character with absolutely no background history. In fact, the anime doesn’t even introduce us to Satoshi, his younger brother yet we meet Yasuchika, Mitsukuni’s younger brother. If I’m not mistaken, the episode in which Yasuchika declares Mitsukuni an “alien” and agrees to duel with him - that is the same episode we’re introduced to Satoshi however he doesn’t make an appearance in the anime. Takashi’s life is swept under the rug once again, giving him the short end of the stick. Takashi’s character isn’t recognized which pushes him further into the background. 

In the manga Takashi has more facial expressions and is shown behaving like his sensitive caring self. This is important because most of his “acts of comfort” are directed on Haruhi. 

The hosts ask her to choose which host will be her private tutor for the make up exam. Although it’s not made clear which subject Haruhi flopped in, each host offer their expertise. There’s a tiny little detail in this frame that I found quite interesting. 

Takashi offers to help her in history. Why is that interesting? Haruhi’s favorite subject is history. Now, this doesn’t mean she’d need help in history. I find this detail interesting because it further proves why they are compatible. 

We are going to fast forward into the next episode when the Host Club joins Haruhi in Karuizawa. This is also when the Refreshing Battle takes place, which we will dive deep into. 

The first little detail I’d like to discuss is their respective jobs. Tamaki and Mitsukuni are busy fixing a fence while the Hitachiin twins are escorting guests to their rooms. Kyoya isn’t actively participating which we see later on. So where is Takashi?

I’d like to point out that Takashi isn’t with Mitsukuni during this Refreshing Battle, like we’d expect. Normally Takashi is always by Mitsukuni’s side and chooses to participate in whichever task he’s doing. Usually the pair chooses to stick together like the Hitachiin twins. However this isn’t the case here. Mysteriously, Mitsukuni is keeping Tamaki company outside while Takashi is inside... with Haruhi. 

Now this may not seem like a big deal but let’s continue, shall we?

Takashi is inside meddling with the tables when Misuzu asks Takashi to fix a table’s chair legs. He responds with, “Certainly.” 

Notice how he didn’t respond with his usual “sure” or silent nod. Takashi is trying to act refreshing. Takashi is actively trying to win the Refreshing Battle. 

I would also like note that Mitsukuni isn’t taking this battle seriously. He’s a smart individual. He knows how to flaunt his cuteness. He’s strong enough to perform physical labor. Yet he chooses to goof off and watch Tamaki fix a fence. He isn’t even helping with the fence but simply keeping a conversation with Tamaki. Mitsukuni isn’t trying to win the Refreshing Battle, he’s just trying to have fun with his friends. 

So if Takashi knows that Mitsukuni isn’t trying to win the one free room wouldn’t that encourage him to also not win? If Takashi was simply going to follow Mitsukuni wherever he went it wouldn’t be fair to the other hosts to potentially win without really intending on staying in the room. 

Kyoya also reveals how the hosts plan on staying in Karuizawa; at Mitsukuni’s vacation home because it’s the closest. Kyoya even had Tachibana deliver his luggage there. So Mitsukuni never planned on staying in Misuzu’s pension because he could look forward to having a sleepover with his friends. 

So why is Takashi trying so hard to appear refreshing? He wants to win the room! He actually wants to stay in Misuzu’s pension. He wants to win this opportunity to experience a “bed and breakfast” with Haruhi. 

There isn’t any reason for Takashi to be chopping firewood but he is. Why? I have a theory that goes beyond trying to win the Refreshing Battle and it ties with the hosts’ confrontation with the Zuka Club. 

Takashi wants to appear strong and masculine around Haruhi. Yes his stoic personality naturally makes him appear strong and masculine but he doesn’t boast about it. I feel Takashi is taking this opportunity to “show off” his strong masculinity... for Haruhi. Doesn’t it seem a little odd that when she’s inside he’s also inside casually picking up tables like they’re paper weights and when she’s outside he’s also outside casually chopping firewood while shirtless? I honestly cannot believe this was all coincidence. I truly believe Takashi was trying to inadvertently attract Haruhi’s attention. This is Takashi’s equivalent to flexing his muscles for her. 

Kyoya asks Haruhi if she’d like to bet on the winner and though she declines he begins ruling out potential winners. He quickly rules out Mitsukuni and Tamaki, keeping the twins as a large possibility. However he makes sure to address the “dark horse” raising in ranks; Takashi.

Kyoya theorizes that if Mitsukuni drops out then Takashi is sure to follow. This is where I strongly disagree with him. Yes, I think Kyoya is wrong. I believe if Kyoya didn’t interfere with the Refreshing Battle then Takashi would have won. If Tamaki never found the piano the Hitachiin twins wouldn’t have felt threatened enough to devise a sneaky plan. Takashi would have quietly won. Misuzu continually gave Takashi refreshing points while the other hosts were slowly losing points. I believe if Kyoya didn’t interfere then Takashi would have won the room and he would have stayed in the room. 

Still not sure if Takashi really wanted to win? Let’s take a look at this frame. While most of the hosts seem horrified that they’ve been “shown up” by Takashi the only host who seems happy is Mitsukuni. Why is that? Why would Mitsukuni seem excited that Takashi is doing well for himself in winning refreshing points? 

Mitsukuni knows Takashi wants to win and he’s silently rooting for his victory. This would explain why Mitsukuni ws comfortable staying with Tamaki instead of helping Takashi with menial tasks. Mitsukuni knew Takashi wanted to steal this opportunity just like Tamaki and the Hitachiin twins. 

I also believe Mitsukuni knew Takashi wanted to “show off” to Haruhi which is also why he chose to leave him to do as he pleased alone. Mitsukuni probably knew that if he hung around Takashi he wouldn’t have made as big of an impression. In a way, it was as if Mitsukuni gave Takashi his blessing. 

Overall; Takashi tried to hit two birds with one stone by attempting to gain Haruhi’s attention and win the Refreshing Battle.

One final small detail I’d like to point out before we end this post; when Kaoru saves Haruhi from a fallen window notice where the hosts choose to stand. Mitsukuni is with Misuzu while Takashi is with Haruhi. 

Why would this seem important? 

I believe this is when Takashi is beginning to think about pursing Haruhi. It might seem like a stretch (and it probably is) but think about it; Takashi made sure to check on Haruhi before seeing where Mitsukuni was. Usually Takashi stays near Mitsukuni but in this episode Takashi ventured out on his own. Takashi created his own spotlight, in a sense, by choosing to be alone. Mitsukuni was obviously alright with that, as mentioned earlier, and here we see Takashi is still standing in his own spotlight. When the Refreshing Battle neared its end Takashi didn’t return to Mitsukuni’s side... he went to Haruhi’s. 

That concludes Part Four of the Case for Takashi and Haruhi. Thank you for reading and look forward to Part Five coming soon! 

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ Patreon Commentary Catchup 2020-03-29

I know I’ve been sitting on half-a-dozen asks, but I’m gonna sit on those a little longer because after I’m done catching up on ALL the commentary I’ve missed I’ll probably be a little exhausted.

First the commentary on Chapter 5: YOUR 3Y3S H4V3 B33N CLOS3D.  I skimmed this before, just so I could leave a comment about what I’d been told about the suicide feeling / Jaspers funeral when she was “eight” being way too late on the timeline.  They still haven’t made any corrections to that HS^2 page.  Hm.  Are they just feeling the general vibe and tags to help the fandom guide things?  I’m wondering if anyone came to any of them specifically with that, since Patreon commentary doesn’t seem to cut it.  (Which I might be grateful for, from another point of view, because why would they favor paid methods.)

Sketches and Commentary: Chapter 5, "YOUR 3Y3S H4V3 B33N CLOS3D"

Starting commentary on why they played with the medium by opting for a Longpage with that update.  Unsurprising and understandable~

Ooh, they included the commission/sketch instructions for the image they asked from Xam.

I don't know what we did to deserve Xamag.

Yeah few people dispute Xamag’s awesomeness.~

Much of this conversation was written before they launched HS^2′s first chapter, huh?

With the "primary" version of its original protagonist dead in a wallet,

Did... did Terezi or someone else put John’s body in his wallet after he died?  I forget.  *checks back*

(Meat 35) That’s definitely a fair question. But I have one that’s much more important for her to answer. Terezi, are you seriously just going to leave the body here? “TEREZI: HUH?” Of course not. Terezi’s a practical girl, after all. She digs the wallet out of her blood-stained pants, and captchas the corpse. She holds it close to her heart, like a secret. Like John’s stupid last words: a confession whispered for her and no one else.And then she starts walking home.

(Meat 36) Terezi’s jaw tightens. She’s not ready to hear any words that remind her of those few hours with John. Her hand goes to her pocket, where she’s keeping the wallet. She traces the contours of it with her thumb and forces a smile.

[...] Here we both are. It’s a beautiful day. You’ve got your dead boyfriend in your wallet. And we’ve already managed to strike such a nice metatextual rapport. So hear me out. [...]  I ease the throttle back a bit, just enough so that I’m not whispering directly into her ear when she slips the wallet out of her pocket. She clutches it so hard in her palm that she’s digging dents into the leather, and bites her lip.

God damnit, that was an important fucking thing for me to forget.  I hope she preserved his corpse in a better way than just “wallet”.  And why the FUCK did Dirk think it was so important to bring him???? That’s not good, is it.

Back to the commentary, going to how the Dirk crew’s conversations especially cover the meta question of why continue the story at all...

This is actually a similar question to one explored by a series that shares a lot of Homestuck's creative DNA, Steven Universe.

Oh god damnit, what timing, huh?  And then they go on about what constitutes a happy ending and what’s supposed to happen after, how work might not be done, et cetera.  Hopefully these authors take a page from how SU:F finished, because Steven Universe managed to pull it back to uplifting pretty well.

These are two dangerous women, confined together long enough to learn all of each others' weaknesses, and sharp-edged enough to exploit them.

True enough.

Dirk, unfortunately, cucks the audience from seeing the scene's "true resolution." What an asshole. I've never been madder at this guy than I am right now. I bet he didn't even provide a warranty.

Pff.

On to the next commentary:

Sketches and Commentary: Catnapped, Part Three

Catnapped is some of the most fun I’ve had while writing, because Jasprose is just so goddamn fun. Cats don’t plan, they live in the moment. She’s always existing in that moment of pushing a glass off the table.

We can all agree with that I think.

Plenty they talk about here, but I’ll just quote part of anything about characterization... 

First, I actually really appreciate getting a lot at Jane's genuine sympathy for Dirk here. There was quite a bit of mutual fondness and care between the two of them – but, at the same time, they enabled each others' worst tendencies.

Hm!

Swifer remains the closest thing to a "straight man" this story has. (Not in the sexuality way. In the comedy way.)

Yep.

There was no universe where we left this story without Jasprose saying "owo what's this". You know it, I know it.

Jesus Christ, I didn’t catch that.

God, Problem Sleuth just has the worst commuting luck. He should put some of his rug money into a permanent locksmith. Checking back in with these scenes is always a delight. It probably took PS like two hundred off-screen panels to get to this point. Miserable.

Wait, that’s right, Catnapped 28 is shown before DDD 12, but AFTER Dad is shown marching up handcuffed in Catnapped 26.  And yet in DDD 12, Dad and DD come fetch PS from out of his office, when the handcuffed thing hasn’t happened yet in DDD.  You can’t DO that, authors!  It only makes RELEASE ORDER sense, not any sort of OTHER sense?  What about when people come to catch up or read this later!  Come on, that’s sloppy.  Unless they’re going to leave PS behind to stay trapped in his office MORE, which I wouldn’t put past them.  (But, wouldn’t make sense since the bullethole from C28 is already there in DDD12.)  Andrew knew more of how to be responsible telling an out-of-time-sync story, believe it or not.

Commentary ends with a few sketches, like Jasprose doing a The Mask impression, appropriately.

Sketches and Commentary: Chapter 6, "A Conversation Regarding Relevance"

Oh, it’s Jade time.

On alt!Callie’s starting Space rant:

I wanted to impress on everyone just how vast it is, and also to remind the audience that alt!callie has them at the same mercy that Dirk does. She can force us to listen to her pontificate endlessly if she so chooses. She’s slightly less insufferable than Dirk, if only perhaps because her text isn’t orange. 

Yep, mostly.

So here she is. Jade. We find out that not only is she conscious inside her own head, she is also incredibly chatty. And not too thrilled with her current situation. I know most of the audience isn’t either, considering the fact that Jade having no agency has basically become a meme at this point. 

NEVER. AGAIN. PLZ.

As Callie told us in the beginning of the chapter, it isn’t natural for people to behave like narrative devices. Even within her own thematic framework, Callie has a habit of defaulting to behaving like a person after all. 

Even alt!Callie still became a story nerd, not just original Callie -- she just became a different, more insufferable type of story nerd.

Plenty more discussion I don’t need to touch on...  keep in mind I’m omitting large parts of this in most cases, again, to respect the paywall.

A remark on Dave and Karkat being two emotionally-constipated early-twenties Bernie Bros, which... I mean.  Fair.

She definitely does love them, and she wanted to be with them, but also...Jade has a lot of other prospects. She’s actually the one character who seems to be enjoying her time on Earth c. Hitting up interspecies raves and getting around. We just haven’t seen any of that because none of those other people she boned are main characters. 

Maybe that’s why alt!Callie was so blind and dismissive of it?  Offscreen experience being less in the Light, therefore less relevant to her, even though that’s the exact attitude she’s ostensibly at war with?

Anyway Jade’s consciousness is huge.

Yep.

It’s been a while since we’ve had any sort of serious meta talk about classpects. Mostly because there’s really no use for classpects outside of the game, unless, for instance, you go around referring to everyone as the Prince or the Witch because you are a dramatic alien in a hood. It does make sense that a Witch’s powers would be more useful than a Sylph’s to a Muse. 

Aaaand that’s all the classpect mention we’re gonna get isn’t it? ;P

(Yes I know, the author told us to dial it back.  They ARE going ahead and prepping to answer some outstanding questions, though.)

Honestly, the Jade Situation is a tough one. To be sure, she has been sacrificed to the plot again and again, something that probably began as a coincidence and then later grew into a theme. Space players are destined to be huge, cosmic forces in the universe. Big movers. [...] But usually when we hear the story of big, god-like beings, we don’t think about the personalities behind them. What was it like for god to create the universe? Was he lonely? Did he regret it? Did he wish he could live in it instead? 

And Jade WAS too powerful not to sideline, by a certain point in the plot.  And before that, maybe trapped in a bit of a character arc where she had to get over some notions to step into the action.

I actually think Jade could have been okay with this. With being A Force For The Narrative. [...] But then Callie makes it personal.

Agreed.  If alt!Callie hadn’t been so shitty about it in general, they could have worked things out more meaningfully; but the immense resolve and effort it took to dominate Caliborn in her origin timeline has tainted her perception ALMOST as bad as Dirk’s.  Much of HS^2 is probably going to involve her gradually learning how to get over that in the background, the balance she needs to take ala the Ultimate Riddle’s lesson.

(Tangentially... it was said that it would have been nearly impossible to make alt!Callie dominate, even across ALL timelines.  What if alt!Callie had her timeline’s origin explained in HS^2 by a Third Scratch at this late date with the likes of Davebot running around to do it???  That would probably make me fucking mad.)

Back to the commentary.

Admittedly these last few chapters have definitely been “girls beating the crap out of each other” heavy, and I hope that’s okay.

PFFFFF

Callie and Jade aren’t really sure who makes a decision on what is considered “just” or “heroic”. Plot twist, it’s us. We do. But also the alpha timeline does.

Hmm.

More gorgeous Xam art. Initially we were going to make it more ambiguous whether or not she actually ate the peanut butter, but we decided to have it be a decisive moment of triumph.

Really?  Well, you could have made it visually clearer that the candy dropped.  A lot of people visually missed that.  This is a consequence of the back-and-forth artist-isnt-the-author art-commissioning going on, in part... Andrew was MUCH better at conveying what he wanted to convey BETWEEN panels than this crew, like comic book panels and their composition together; you can see that when comparing Homestuck proper’s sprite animation to that of fan adventures that used sprites, for instance.  These guys are at something of a disadvantage due to their disconnect.

Commentary on the Commentary

This commentary uses "she/her" to talk about the alternate Calliope possessing Jade, while the "other" Callie (remember them?) uses they/them. This other Calliope, presumably, has a much different relationship with her gender – and her brother – than the Callie we saw discussing the subject with Roxy and John. One of my favorite things about this update (I can say that, because I'm a second person who didn't write it) was that subtle hint about how different her Caliborn must have been to allow her to predominate in the first place. I'd be really interested in fan works exploring more about her (and his) past.

Hhhhmmmmmmm.

Not sure what else to say to that, but it does make me hmmm.

Sketches and Commentary: Diamonds, Dames, and Dads, Part 1

Probably not much plot-relevant here...

Oh pff.

They had full drawings of them going in for the kiss on standby.  They couldn’t resist making them.

Real talk, I have been looking forward to writing this story the most out of any other part of HS^2. Finally I get to combine my passions. Cheesy noir bullshit and old men making eyes at each other. 

Pfffffff.  Yes.

...the next three or four pages of this writing go on to describe how sexy this is and these characters and setting are.  I can’t fault a word of any of it.

The dream team is assembled. Nothing can possibly go wrong. 

Wow, I caught up on all this commentary quick.  See you next time.

[puckinghell]

A Drunk Tongue  | Tyler Sguin

Requested: nope Word count: 1882 Note: I kinda have an idea for a part 2 to this so if you’d like...Edit: Part two is up now

When Tyler’s phone lights up at 3am, his first thought is that there must be something very, awfully, deadly wrong with you.

After all, in 2 years of being friends with you, he’s never gotten a nightly phone call from you. You’re always soundly asleep by midnight, more responsible than he ever has been, and whenever you’re not, it’s because he’s keeping you awake.

“Hello?” he grumbles into the phone, sleep still lacing his words, his eyes barely opening. He hears a lot of noise in the background, people talking, music.

“Tyyyyy!” you squeal, giggling, and he realizes right away that you’re drunk.

Then it comes back to him. You told him you’d be going out to celebrate your roommate’s birthday tonight, despite not really wanting to. You told him how much you hated that he wasn’t there.

You didn’t really ever go out; it just wasn’t really your scene, and you were a bit of a lightweight. Tyler had dragged you out a few times, and you did have fun when you went, but it was mostly because you knew he was always right there to carry you home.

Tyler knew you were a lightweight too, and whenever he brought you out, he made sure to stay clearheaded. You were very touchy and loving when you had a drink, and he liked being able to wrap his arm around you and pull you close to him. Just to keep you safe, of course. Not at all because he’d been in love with you for over a year.

“Hey, Y/N,” he smiles into his phone. “What are you up to?”

“Give me the phone!” he hears another familiar voice speak, and then there’s some rustling in his ear and suddenly it’s your roommate, on the phone.

“Tyler, hi, sorry for calling you. Y/N is a bit drunk, and she keeps muttering about how much she wants to cuddle your dogs, and we wanna go to another club but I’m worried she’s going to crash. I was going to just put her in a cab but I was wondering if I could give the driver your address? She really won’t shut up about you, dude.”

His heart flutters at the words and instantly, he feels awake. “Don’t put her in a cab, just let me pick her up.” He’s already out of bed, pulling some sweatpants on and a hoodie, a baseball cap covering his hair. Your roommate tells him what club you’re at - one he frequents often, too - and he’s in his car within half a minute.

He might have driven a bit fast, but even if a speeding ticket would fall on the mat the next day, he wouldn’t regret it.

“Just coming to pick up my girl” he tells the bouncer, who simply nods. He wonders if the guy recognized him, or simply didn’t care. Or maybe he really did look like the boyfriend who just got called out of bed to pick up his drunk girlfriend. 

Not that you are his girlfriend. But, you know, that’s what it would look like. To a stranger.

“Tyler!” You spot him quicker than he sees you, and suddenly he feels something heavy draped around his shoulders and you’re stumbling against him, smelling like alcohol and smoke and your perfume, and he can’t help but laugh as you nearly fall over and grab onto him to steady yourself. “That’s crazy! I wished you were here and now you are!”

“Cause you called me,” he tells you, amused, and your face scrunches up in confusion.

“Did I?”

He thanks your roommate for calling him, and your friends wave you a quick goodbye before disappearing into the crowd. You barely seem to notice that they’re gone, your attention squarely on the guy in front of you.

“You wanna go home?” Tyler mumbles in your ear, as he starts pushing you upright and wraps an arm around your waist to stop you from toppling over.

“Your home?” you slur, and when he nods, you break out into a smile.

He manages to guide you into his car, but it takes a while; you keeps stumbling over your own feet and bursting out into fits of giggles. He can’t even bring himself to be annoyed, because he finds you adorable, carefree like this. It’s a side of yourself you normally keep hidden away.

“How much did you drink?” he asks, but all you can do is shrug.

“A few.” You lost count long ago.

Tyler starts the car and puts on the radio, knowing you like the background noise. You rest your head against the window, staring out of it while Tyler drives. Suddenly, you turn to him.

“I don’t like when you’re sad.” You say it like realization has only just hit you, and he frowns.

“I’m not sad.”

“Not now. But lately, you’ve been sad more than usual. And I don’t like it. What can I do to make it better?”

He sighs, ignoring the tug on his heartstrings. It’s true that he’s been stressed; the team hasn’t been performing well and it’s a weight on his shoulders, knowing he’s not carrying them like he used to. But he honestly thought he was hiding it well from you. He knew you’d worry, didn’t want you to. You had your own stuff going on.

“Make me some spaghetti, maybe?” he offers, because let’s be honest, you’re a great cook and he can barely scramble an egg.

“I’ll make you all the spaghetti in the world if it makes you happy,” you declare, and then you lean towards him and rest your head on his shoulder. It can’t be comfortable like that, not with the distance between the seats and your seatbelt cutting into your skin, but he doesn’t dare even move an inch, afraid you might move away.

“I’m never sad when you’re around,” he says softly, the knowledge that you probably won’t remember any of this tomorrow making him brave.

“Then I’ll make spaghetti first and then just stay with you forever,” you tell him, as if it’s the obvious solution to all of his problems. And who knows, maybe it is.

You’re both silent for the rest of the drive but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s a silence between two people who know each other inside out, for who just being near each other is enough. When he finally parks the car in his driveway, you leap out of the car, and you’re surprisingly steady on your feet as you walk towards his front door.

He chuckles as he opens the door, knowing what’s got you so excited all of a sudden, and indeed, as soon as the door opens you’re met with three hyperactive Labradors, tails wagging and wet noses pressed against your legs.

“Puppies!” you exclaim, and you basically throw yourself onto the floor in an attempt to pet them all at the same time. “Hello puppies,” you whisper, “did you miss mommy?”

He pretends it doesn’t mean anything to him, to hear you call yourself his dogs’ mommy, and he pretends it doesn’t feel exactly right when you act like it’s your own home you walked into, throwing your coat over a chair and stumbling to the couch, where you drop yourself unceremoniously.

“Sleepy?” he asks you, expecting you to say yes, but you shake your head.

“Nope,” you say, popping the p, “it’s not bedtime.”

“It’s 3 am.”

You frown. “Oh. I woke you up, didn’t I?” You looked upset with yourself, and he sits down next to you on the couch.

“I’m glad you did,” he hums. “I missed you.” Another sentence he would probably not be brave enough to say out loud if he thought you’d remember this in a few hours.

“You saw me yesterday,” you giggle, and then you reach out and brush your fingers through his curls. “But I missed you too. Missed the dogs more, though.” You call Gerry up the couch, who obliges happily, curling up against your stomach. You wrap your arms around the warm, fuzzy animal. “Goodnight.”

“You said you weren’t tired,” Tyler teases, and then he starts pulling down the zipper of your boots, taking them off one by one.

“Thanks,” you mumble. “You’re a good guy, you know.”

“Well, thanks, I’m glad you’ve come to that conclusion after two years,” he jokes.

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend, Ty? I know girls would literally line up to date you. And you’d be such a great boyfriend.”

His heart sinks. Because I’m waiting on you. But those are words he’s not brave enough to say, and he swallows them away, deflects the question, instead.

“Why don’t you have a boyfriend? I know guys ask you out all the time. Why do you always say no?”

“Cause they’re not you.” You say it so simply, like it’s a mere fact, like it’s not enough reason for his stomach to make these kinds of somersaults.

It hurts. It hurts like hell, and that’s why he has to remind himself of the situation. “You’re drunk.”

“Maybe.” Your eyes open again, your face moving away from Gerry’s fur. “But haven’t you heard? The drunk mind speaks the sober heart, a drunk tongue never lies, etcetera, etcetera.”

He allows himself, then, to wonder, just for a minute, if there’s any way, any way at all…

“I…”

“Goodnight,” you say again, the words barely audible on your lips. 

I love you. The words die on his lips as he watches you close your eyes, resting your head against his dog, and he can almost see the light go out behind your closed eyelids. You look so peaceful, curled up against Gerry, asleep on his couch, and it brings a warmth to his veins.

He kicks your boots away from the couch, and goes to get some painkillers and water to put on the coffee table. He also takes a trash can and puts it next to his couch. Just in case. He has a pretty expensive rug.

Then, he gets a blanket and covers you, carefully placing it so that every part of you up to your shoulders is covered with it. Gerry looks up at him with lazy eyes, and it’s almost like there’s a knowingness in them, like even he knows what Tyler was trying to say. The words he’s not brave enough to say sober.

He traces your cheekbone with his finger, and when you don’t wake up, don’t even stir, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. To his surprise, you react to that, but all you do is hum and smile, and then you’re completely out again.

He smiles back, even though you can’t see it, and turns off the lights before heading upstairs, leaving you there with Gerry as your guard dog.

One day, one day he’ll tell you how he feels. One day soon, maybe. Because you’re right, a drunk tongue never lies. He knows, deep in his heart, that you feel it too.

He just needs to throw it all out there, put his heart in your hands and wait for you to decide whether or not you’ll crush it to pieces.

He might need a little liquid courage for that.

[thedenimdentist]

Truman Boot Co: Java Waxed Flesh MTO Review & 1 Year Update

Introduction

Truman Boot Company is an American boot making company founded in 2014 in Pennsylvania. They later moved out to Boulder, CO, and recently moved again to their current location in Eugene, OR.

This will not be so much of an in-depth review of the Java Waxed Flesh boot by Truman Boot Company, as an amazingly extensive and detailed review was already written by Nick over at stridewise.com. Instead, my goal is to provide a quick overview of my specific pair of Java Waxed Flesh boots (including the customizations I chose and their build quality), as well as provide detailed photographs capturing the patina they’ve developed over the past year. 

Customization

I designed these boots through an MTO order placed back in March 2019. The customizations I chose were as follows:

Last: P-79 last

Size: 11EE

Construction: stitchdown (+$100)

Vamp: cap toe

Heel style: standard, no pull tabs

Stitching: brown

Ankle style: plain

Tongue leather: dark brown

Hardware configuration: 7 eyelets

Hardware finish: antique brass

Toe construction: unstructured

Sole: commando

Sizing

When buying my first pair of Truman boots, I was having a really difficult time determining what size I should order. After speaking to Truman and multiple people through Instagram, it was recommended I buy a size 10EE (based on my Red Wing Iron Ranger size, 9.5EE). Man, was that off. I normally have to wear my boots with a full length orthotic, and I could barely squeeze my foot into the size 10EE boots without the insert. I had to send those back to Truman to be stretched (to a size they claimed was 10.5EE) only to find that it was still way too tight. I ultimately had to sell those boots, and ended up purchasing 3 pairs of size 11EE Trumans within 2 months. (Probably not the best idea, but luckily 11EE was my correct size, so it all worked out.)

Tl;dr: I’m a size 11EE in Truman’s P-79 last.

Above are the two lasts offered by Truman: the C-55 last and the P-79 last (image taken from the Truman website). The C-55 last was not available when I purchased my Java Waxed Flesh boots, and has more of a formal, almond-shaped toe. Unfortunately, Truman does not yet offer wide EE sizing in this C-55 last, so I wouldn’t have been able to choose it anyway.

Below I’ve listed my sizes in boots from other brands for reference:

Truman Boot Company - 11EE

Viberg (1035 last) - 10.5

Red Wing, Iron Ranger - 9.5EE

Thursdays - 10.5

Onderhoud - 44E

Parkhurst - 11

For a deeper dive into how my feet suck and why sizing is always an issue for me when buying any footwear, please refer to my Onderhoud review (here).

(Above are the orthotic inserts I wear in my boots. They’re full length memory foam, so all my boots feel like slippers. Available on Amazon.)

Above are my 3 pairs of Trumans (from left to right: Java Waxed Flesh, Black Waxy Commanders, and Aubergine Horserump), along with my Red Wing Iron Rangers. All 3 Trumans are size 11EE with unstructured toes. (I’ve heard others recommend dropping down a half size for Trumans with a structured toe box. I can’t say for sure since I’ve never tried, so don’t quote me on that.)

Price & Shipping

The base price for these boots was $380. With the $100 fee for stitchdown construction, the final price came out to be $480 (plus $18 shipping). I placed my order on 3/15/2019, they were completed and shipped on 5/17/2019, and the boots were delivered on 5/23/2019.

Leather

Java Waxed Flesh is vegetable-tanned roughout leather produced exclusively for Truman by Horween Leather Company in Chicago. The leather starts as a rich, dark java brown color with a glossy waxed finish. This durable waxy coat makes this leather extremely durable and water-resistant. However, this glossy finish will scratch and scuff away with wear, revealing a roughout surface texture with a lighter, warmer color tone.

Waxed flesh is a great leather option for those who don’t want to worry too much about leather maintenance. Other than a quick brush down every once in a while, I have yet to apply any conditioner to my boots.

Unboxing & Initial Impressions

Unfortunately, when I first received these boots I had no intention of ever writing a review for them, and thus did not take very detailed photos. However, by looking at the photos I did take (and comparing to how they look now), these boots were constructed and finished very nicely. The stitching on the uppers appears to be very clean and neat, and the patterns are symmetrical between the left and right boots.  

Straight from the box, these boots felt like tanks. The chunky commando sole gave them significant weight and made them feel very rugged and sturdy. The leather was fairly thick and stiff with a waxy gloss finish, making it feel like armor when trying them on for the first time.

One area that I wish Truman had done a little cleaner is the two rows of stitchdown welt stitching. The spacing between the two rows is a bit inconsistent, with the outer row being a little wiggly in some places. It isn’t bad by any means. There are no loose stitches and the stitch density appears fairly consistent all around (I’ve seen far sloppier welt stitching out there on Instagram). That being said, I have no complaints about the durability and functionality of the stitchdown construction on these Trumans. I have no doubt that this welt stitching would far outlast the life of the commando soles, and will present no issues with resoling when the time comes. 

I admit, I have been told that I place a higher emphasis on the cleanliness and finishing of my boots than most (I blame Jake, @almostvintagestyle). I’ve come to appreciate the extremely precise and uniform stitching I’ve seen on boots by custom boot makers such as Rizky (@onderhoud.handmade), Peng (@flamepanda11), and Goto-San of White Kloud (@show_goto). I acknowledge that the precision and uniformity of a boot’s welt stitching mostly just aesthetics and has little effect on the durability/longevity of a boot (as long as it doesn’t fall apart or any cause issues with resoling in the future). However, I still believe that how cleanly a boot is constructed speaks to the craftsmanship and overall attention to detail of the boot maker, making me proud to own, wear, and post photos of their work.

(The very clean and uniform welt stitching on my Onderhoud derbies.)

1 Year & 139 Wears Later

As the header states, I have worn these Java Waxed Flesh boots 139 times over the past year (actually 11 months, but as the world is currently closed due to COVID-19, these boots probably won’t be worn much more over the next month anyway). The waxed flesh leather has broken in significantly and is much more flexible and comfortable. However, the leather still feels very thick and rugged, especially in comparison to my other smoothout leather boots. I admit, these are not my most comfortable pair. Even fully broken in, this waxed flesh leather is not nearly as comfortable as the Aubergine Horserump used on my other pair of Trumans (which were soft and pliable from the start). However, these javas are definitely my most heavy-duty boots. I feel like I could go into battle with these while still maintaining that slimmer, service boot silhouette.

You can tell by the rolls and creases in the leather that the leather has conformed nicely to my feet. Also, at this angle you can really see the uneven, asymmetric, and wiggly welt stitching that I mentioned previously (especially on the outside of the right boot). 

Here is a top-down view of the toe shape of the P-79 last in size 11EE (wide).

As I stated earlier, these boots are rugged tanks and can withstand quite a beating. However, being a dentist living in the suburbs, I don’t subject these boots (or any of my boots really) to the outdoor manual labor for which they were built. The smooth waxy coating has only really scuffed away in areas of high flexure (where my toes crease and around the neck of the boot where I wrap my laces). Other than that, the majority of the boots still maintain the glossy shine, even after nearly 140 wears.

Looking back, one thing that I might’ve changed is getting a dainite instead of the commando sole. I opted for the commando sole because I felt like it complemented the rugged aesthetic of the waxed flesh leather. However, as these boots are worn mostly at work in a dental office and walking casually around Target, the functional traction the commando soles provide has had little use for me. I actually prefer the dainite soles of my other Truman boots, as my feet feel more balanced and sturdy on the ground. (This may be because the width of the commando sole actually in contact with the ground is significantly narrower than my feet, as you can see in the photo above.) Ultimately, this is still just my personal preference. There is nothing wrong with the commando sole used by Truman. When the time comes for a resole, I’ll probably send them to Brian at Role Club for some half soles and a low woodsman heel.

I’ve read online that some people find the heel (counter) of Truman boots to be bulbous and wide, resulting in some heel slip. Personally I haven’t had any issues with the heel.

While my boot collection is still fairly small, I can definitely say that I prefer unstructured over structured toe boxes. I absolutely love the silhouette of a boot after the leather has broken in and the toe has fully collapsed, conforming to the shape of the owner’s foot. The toe boxes of these Trumans have partially collapsed, and I look forward to seeing how they continue to mold to my feet in the future.

Conclusion

Overall, I am very happy with the construction quality of these boots by Truman, as well as how they’ve broken in over the past year. They are by far the most rugged boot I own (other than my Red Wing Iron Rangers), and would be my first choice should I ever need to do anything outdoors (like hike, or go camping, or whatever). The waxed finish of the leather still has a lot of life to it (I’m guessing, based on the amount of sheen still left on the boot), and I look forward to see how they look after another year of wear.

In the Wild

Below, I’ve compiled a few extra photos I’ve taken of these Java Waxed Flesh boots as I’ve broken them in over the past year. For more photos of these boots, as well as the rest of my denim and boots collection, please check out my Instagram (@thedenimdentist). 

[agentdagonet]

so this may be asking too much but… Headset Romance: The love story of two people who have never met. With Agent!Harry and Handler!Eggsy

Okay so I know that this is several thousand years late, but I hope that it was at least a little worth the wait?

Headset Romance

‘You’re a bloody peacock and that’s somethin’ I’ve learned from experience, Galahad. The fuck did you say that for? He’s def gonna remember your sorry arse now.’

'I found his company degrading- I can get the drive without playing nice with an adulterer.’

'If you say so, guv- but if this comes back to bite your arse I expect the whole song an’ dance. An’ a stiff drink.’

'And how will I deliver these things to you, oh faceless one?’

'You’re a fuckin’ secret agent, I’m pretty sure you can figure out a private youtube link and how to pay a drink forward. Or just do the performance for Merlin- he’ll make sure I get to see it.’

'Alternatively, you and I could simply go out after a job well done like normal people do after work.’

'We ain’t normal people, guv- on your left, yeah good- and I’m plenty satisfied with this arrangement.’

'You could be further satisfied.’

'Did you really jus’ try an’ pull that one on me? Next you’ll be saying somethin’ about the many benefits of physical interaction. Upstairs, third door on the right.’

'Well it’s not as if I haven’t suggested such things before. Got it.’

'Good, can’t go back the way you came but there’s another stairwell down the way- go up a floor and go down elsewhere. Minimal interaction means you can’ just punch your way outta this one.’

'Fists are so uncivilised-’

'Or any of your gadgets, neither. Jus’ get home safe and drop that drive at HQ.’

'Fine. In repayment for you taking away all of my fun, I’ll be sure to send you the most awful thing I can find in-’

'Oh there you are’

'Shit.’

'Lemme guess, it’s the prick you insulted earlier. An’ he ain’t too happy.’ There’s no response, but the view from the feed is answer enough. 'Knock 'im out and get the fuck outta there. This cover’s a bust now, anyway so it don’t matter how just get it done.’ Galahad doesn’t acknowledge him, though he does knock the target’s lights out as quietly as possible before making his way quickly but calmly from the event. Small favours.

'So I’m expectin’ that song an’ dance before you’re sent off on your next mission.’

'Is now really the time to rub it in my face?’

'Are you dyin’?’

'No.’

'Bein’ pursued?’

'No.’

'Injured in literally any way?’

'Well, my knuckles ache a bit.’

'That don’t count. An’ my point is that now is the perfect time to rub your mistakes in your face like a pup who’s pissed on a rug. I dunno how you survived twenty-somethin’ years without me.’

'Merlin had hair to pull out. And I resent that statement.’

'Y'mean you represent that statement. An’ I’m buying that man a cake. “Congratulations on Surviving Galahad” has a nice ring to it.’

'In what way do I represent a pup? I’m perfectly grown, thank you.’

'Oh I know you are; you’re a big boy, ain’t ya? But you listen to very few people, an’ even then do things your own way, and then you strut your way home expecting a bone and a belly rub for a job well done.’

'I’m hanging up now- obviously made it to the extraction point; I’ll debrief upon arrival.’

'Oh don’t take it personal, Galahad- you know you’re my favourite.’ The silence on the other line was answer enough. Eggsy closed the feed and smiled to himself, happy with the successful mission. He’d only been Galahad’s main handler for a couple years, but it was easily the most fulfilling job he’d ever had. Percival took him too seriously, Bors was a bit obsessed with explosions, and Lancelot was far more pun than professionalism.

It also wasn’t a bad thing that Galahad was incredibly witty. And fit. And so out of his league it wasn’t even funny. One glance in the mirror when he forgot (He assumed he forgot; no need to make assumptions and make things worse than they were) that the feed was running and Eggsy was completely gone for him. Lust at first sight, when he’d already been enamoured with his dry wit, made Harry’s inexplicable interest in him the worst temptation.

But he didn’t know much of anything about Eggsy besides his sarcasm. Well, that wasn’t quite true either, Eggsy mused as he wrote up his end of the mission report. Eggsy’d spoken about his sister, and his mum, and about the Prick with a capital P he’d managed to get rid of when Merlin had hired him. He’d talked about loads of shit. Just nothing he thought was worth the kind of fuss Galahad made of him- Galahad, who had never even met him, and probably just had a thing for a bit of rough.

Not that that was a bad thing- but Eggsy knew he’d want more than a tumble with him and he just didn’t think that was possible.

'Eggsy, I have something for you.’ Merlin spoke from the doorjamb, ever-present clipboard in his hand and a smirk on his face. There’s a ping from his monitor, and Eggsy opens a file under the watchful eye of Merlin labelled 'He Told Me So.' 

It’s a simple video, a sheepish smile on Harry’s face as he sits in the Kingsman plane, doing these silly little waves with his hands while he sings 'you told me so’ in varying pitches at a whisper. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want the pilot (a mate of Eggsy’s named Ryan, not that Harry knows that) to hear him and turn around, he’s flushed from his neck to the tips of his ears. It’s actually adorable.

'I don’t know how you get him to do these things, lad.’ Merlin’s chuckling behind him, eyes bright behind his specs. ‘I can barely get him to show up on time.’

‘What c’n I say, I’ve got the magic touch.’

‘If I didn’t know better I’d accuse you of having siren’s blood- he’d do just about anything you asked of him.’ Merlin nods his head at the screen, where Harry is paused mid-song. ‘This being the least of it. He’s also instructed me, in this e-mail, to tell you that your drink will be waiting for you at the pub down the street once he’s back on home soil. And not to sound terribly cliched, but  am not an owl so stop using me to send messages back and forth. Give him an e-mail or something if you refuse to give him your number.’ He grumbled a bit (sounds suspiciously like you oblivious bastards) before wandering off.

Eggsy finishes his report with a smile, and places an order at the bakery he knows Merlin prefers.

Harry got off the plane at HQ early the next morning, sun barely over the horizon, and immediately went to debrief with Arthur. Merlin would be sure to meet him there, the way he always did, and then Harry would get to go home and sleep in his own bed. Sounded like heaven.

‘Now, Galahad, it seems like the mission went off without issue?’

‘For the most part, yes.’

‘The most part?’

‘I’m afraid that alias is unusable now- I accidentally compromised the mission but managed to work around it to fulfill the objective.’

‘Excuse me, gentleman- dropping off some reports for Arthur.’ A young man came through, dropping a thick stack of files on Arthur’s desk with a nod. Nothing in particular stood out about him, accent as upper-class as most everyone at Kingsman (with the one notable exception that Harry could never track down) and his clothes, though casual, were obviously of high quality. He was probably one of Merlin’s minions.

‘Ah, Lunete, thank you.’

‘Sir.’ In lieu of goodbye, he nodded at them (and exchanged a wry smile with Merlin, confirming his suspicion) before leaving the Dining Room.

‘Now, to get back to things- there was no “accidentally” involved in your alias being compromised.’ Merlin turned a severe glare in his direction before turning back to Arthur. ‘I reviewed the footage personally, and he brought attention to himself by insulting the target. Claims he found his company degrading, and could accomplish the task without following the instructions of his handler. In the end he forcefully knocked the target unconscious because too much time had elapsed to use the amnesia darts.

‘Well, as he did achieve the objective, we can at least attest to his being correct on part of that- though you did lose us a useful alias and years of work.’ Arthur turned to Harry, who looked sheepish for a moment, intent on opening his mouth to defend himself, but Merlin redirected his attention once again.

‘Yes sir, he did- but I’d like to bring something to your attention; glasses, please.’ They looked up at the hidden screen, which was now displaying the details of his alias’ file. ‘This is the file for Atticus Grey as it was originally constructed.’ He typed something onto his clipboard, ‘this is what is associated with that person.’

‘Well, this is convenient.’ Arthur muttered to himself, saying what Harry had been thinking. By some kind of divine intervention, it seemed that all of the people he’d made connections with through Atticus were either in custody or dead. The former of which was adding to the latter every year.

‘So, even though he did in fact ruin this alias, it’s not an altogether unsalvageable situation. Honestly, we probably would have scrapped this alias within the next couple of missions anyway.

‘However, with this alias being scrapped a bit prematurely, my team will need a few days to make the new alias as airtight as possible. With most agents off on missions we’re prioritising handling over our background work- when Percival and Lancelot return we should be ready for wherever you wish to send Galahad next.’

‘Forcing our Galahad into some down time, are we?’

‘No idea what you’re talking about, sir, it’s just procedure.’ There’s a glint in Merlin’s eye that says otherwise, but nothing he says will change their minds. This wasn’t the first time they’d pulled such tricks, merely the most recent. Arthur dismissed Merlin with a smile, and he and Harry finished their tea with non-work related chatter.

‘I have some errands- a few days home shouldn’t be too tedious.’

He was wrong. Harry Hart was many things and now he would be adding wrong to the list. A few days on home soil with no clear objective or clear end in sight was tortuous. He’d taken to pestering Merlin for updates every few hours, which had resulted in him being locked out of his office and the direct link from his glasses being shut off. 

‘Any reason in particular there’s a picture of Merlin’s face taped to that punching bag?’ The voice comes from behind him, bemused and unfamiliar, and Harry turns to find the minion from before. Shit.

‘Needed to let off some steam- Merlin’s decided to force some down time upon me, but I have nothing to do.’

‘That so? Still doesn’t explain why you’re punching his face like that.’

‘Sure it does- he’s insufferable and I can’t take it out on him in person.’

‘Isn’t there anything else you can do to pass your time?’

‘I’ve already finished all of my reports- and I’m doing the only other thing I can here at the gym.’

‘You could go for a swim- or the obstacle course! That one’s always fun. Or family to visit, or something?’

‘Been there, done that; and the obstacle course is only fun the first few times. Doing it on repeat for days takes it away. And no, they all died years ago. Just me and Kingsman.’

‘You need to get out more. Come with me.’ Lunete had one shoulder propped against the doorjamb, hands in his pockets, and a smirk on his face like he’s got a fabulous joke but won’t share it.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Well I was going to head home and hang out with my mother and sister, but you need a night out. Come on, then.’

‘I barely know you.’

‘First off, we both work at Kingsman, so how dangerous can I be to you; and second your file’s public to those of us in the Lake, so I know all about you- you could come out and even the score?’

‘I think you’re just trying to keep me from beating Merlin the next time he emerges from his cave.’

‘Eh, that’s just a pleasant bonus.’

Eggsy ended up bringing Harry to the first pub he saw between the mews and Kingsman- in the opposite direction from the one Harry’d left his “you told me so” drink at. It wouldn’t do to be recognised since he was doing some serious posh-acting; he didn’t want the jig to be up too soon. 

On the one hand, it was annoying as fuck to act like someone he wasn’t for longer than he absolutely had to. Arthur and his cronies were bad enough on site let alone out in public. On the other, though, it was probably the closest he’d get to actual spy work even if it was all for his own benefit.

But, even as they sat across from one another at a booth and talked aimlessly about nothing, Eggsy could see Harry relaxing despite himself. He’d talk about some mishap in R&D and Harry would laugh until he was wiping at his eyes; and Harry would tell some story about his dog (the fuck kind of name was Mr. Pickle, anyway?) which would prompt him to talk about JB, and inevitably end up in giggles.

Eggsy relished the opportunity to see what Harry was like outside of a mission, and what he acted like with someone he wasn’t strangely obsessed with. Now that he thought about it, Harry probably saw him as a mystery he wanted to solve. He wouldn’t be interested once the mystique was gone, no matter what he said to the contrary.

Even more motivation to make this mask believable. No way for Harry to connect the two.

Harry, on the other hand, was enchanted with the surprisingly eloquent man. He lamented not having met him before, but resolved to get to know him better now. Merlin certainly wouldn’t begrudge him a friendship with one of his minions, would he?

—

‘Lunete! Package for you.’

‘Another one?’

It had been a few months since Eggsy’d taken Harry out to that pub in the guise of Lunete- and for some odd reason Harry had decided that the best way to cultivate a friendship with him was through obnoxious souvenirs. The kind of things Eggsy thought of when Harry threatened to gift him with “the most awful thing” he could find in wherever the fuck he was for a mission. Eggsy wondered if these were Harry’s idea of good souvenirs and, if so, allowed himself a shudder at the possibilities “the most awful thing” suggested.

Today’s mystery package wasn’t very large- which eliminated another taxidermied animal- and it wasn’t very heavy- which eliminated a new creepy looking statue.

If Eggsy hadn’t already known Harry outside of Lunete he’d have run for the hills after the first package. There’s eccentric and then there’s eccentric and while the former was interesting the latter was incredibly creepy. As it was Eggsy worried about his sanity, though he probably shouldn’t, as most of the Knights had something incredibly strange they loved. Gawaine had a collection of cat statues, Bors kept bits of rubble, and Percival collected local animal teeth. He’d resolved to never ask where he got them, no matter how elegant they looked once he’d polished them.

The sight of them with bits of gum still attached made an impression, to say the least.

Steeling himself, Eggsy cut the tape and pulled open the flaps before he could talk himself out of it, one eye closed while the other squinted into the box.

There was a note.

Lunete, I saw this while in Switzerland  and was captivated before remembering that I had no one to gift such a thing. But I remembered that you mentioned a sister all that time ago, and picked it up anyway. I’ve no idea how old she is (for all your chatter you’re surprisingly difficult to get information from) but if nothing else you can give it to your mother or something.

Reaching blindly into the packing chips he grasped the first solid object he came into contact with. It was box-like, cool to the touch, and thus far made no noise which eliminated several possibilities- and pulling it out Eggsy gasped.

It was elegant, carved in cherry wood and smooth as silk; the designs were all floral, likely roses or carnations or something. It wasn’t the kind of thing Eggsy would have picked up on a whim, but the kind of timeless beauty he could see being passed down or inherited. Opening the lid, Eggsy was a bit startled to be greeted with music- who made music boxes this gorgeous? The tune was familiar, if a bit sped up, but he couldn’t resist humming along.

And then, giggling to himself, he penned a response.

Well, Galahad, I certainly have no use for something as pretty as this myself, and Daisy’s a bit young for it, but my mother will love it. Thank you for the rarity that is a gift that doesn’t haunt my (or the rest of us Minions’) nightmares. Seriously. They’re haunting. But I’ll certainly be that someone who’ll watch over you.

Gershwin? Really? Could have at least been a typical Mozart or something but you had to go and get something classy and unexpected.

—

Eggsy certainly hadn’t expected his bit of fun to bite him in the arse quite so immediately. Harry’s flirting hadn’t lessened any over the coms, but now it was accompanied by humming. Incessant humming that matched the music box that now lay atop his mother’s dresser.

'Fuuuuuuck.’

'I’m not your agony aunt, Eggsy, take your self-created issues elsewhere.’

'But he’s gonna figure it out, Merls!’

'Again, not my problem. Get back to R&D or research Galahad’s next assignment, I don’t care, but get out of my hair.’

'But you don’t have any-’

'Finish that sentence and I’ll delight in telling him myself. I’ll make a power point with all the evidence, and finish with your address so he can-’

'Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll just go curl up and die at my desk. An’ you’ll have to break the news to Daisy.’

'Far be it for me to interrupt your plans for spontaneous expiration.’

—

'So, Eggsy,’

’Don’ even start, Galahad. Up the stairs and to your right- the painting of some posh knobhead with blue boots is hollow.’

'You don’t even know what I was going to say!’

'Half the shit from your mouth during these missions is either you tryin’ to talk me out of the plans I make to keep your sorry arse alive, or flirtin’ with me despite the fact that we’ve never actually met in person. As you ain’t fightin’ the plan, I assume your next words were gonna be some persuasive argument about the pleasures of the flesh. Again.’ He let a little of his irritation slip through, though mostly he was just nervous about Harry connecting him and Lunete. He knew it would happen eventually, but fuck it didn’t need to be now. 

’… Got the file.’ Harry said reluctantly, almost a sigh, and for a moment Eggsy wondered if he’d somehow gone too far despite not changing his reactions to his flirting in the first place. 'On my way to extraction.’ The playful edge that had come to be the highlight of these missions was missing. A Galahad subdued and not in the I-made-a-mistake-and-got-briefly-captured-again way.

It left Eggsy feeling off-kilter. And incredibly worried.

'Job well done, Galahad. Debrief at 1000.’ Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything after all.

—

'Dare I ask what happened to put this kicked puppy look on your face, Harry?’

'I’ve been ridiculous and making unwanted advances on a man I have never seen.’

'You’re always ridiculous.’

'I’ve never even met the man and his voice is the brightest part of my missions.’

'As I’ve already said once of late I am not an agony aunt and I have no desire or true advice to give you. Outside of, oh, I don’t know, perhaps asking to meet in person?’

'He shoots down my advances-’

'Likely because that’s what they are? Advances, obviously geared toward a goal that doesn’t happen to stop at friendship or likely involve it at all.’ Merlin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, 'Why do you care so much, anyway?’

'Eggsy’s never treated me like a superior officer. He’s never acted like he was beneath me for being behind the coms instead of in the field. He’s honest and rude and makes me laugh and somehow I’ve fallen for him despite not knowing the shape of his face or the colour of his eyes- the timbre of his laugh is enough.’

'I was expecting something more like “he’s a shit like me and I don’t want to ruin our working relationship” but leave it to you, Hart, to make it about feelings. What kind of spy are you?’

'A good one, I hope, to have made it this far into my lifespan.’

'Only by the grace of excellent handling.’

'Ah, the great Merlin, so humble.’

'I was referring to Eggsy- you caused me to lose the last of my hair, I have no patience for your showmanship, and your unparalleled ability to destroy my tech means that I tolerate you at best when I’m handling you.’ And there it was, the shame, at reducing a brilliant handler to a seductive voice through no actions but his own.

'I don’t want to lose him.’ It’s whispered, eyes staring at a spot on the wall and completely missing the pitying look Merlin throws his way.

'Then be honest, you great pillock, and talk to him. Not your weird proposition shit, either- I have to go through your mission footage and some of that… You’re not going to get anywhere with some bad pickup lines and innuendo.’ Merlin pushes his glasses up his face and turned away, tapping at his clipboard, 'And that’s all I have for you today. Please vacate the premises or I shall be forced to do something terrible to another one of your fetishistic loo butterflies.’

'Fine, fine, I’m goi- wait, what do you mean another?!’

—

‘Eggsy.’ He’s holed up in a supply closet, as cliche as one can be, but he will be there for an undetermined amount of time and he is just absolutely done with the stilted, awkward, handling of this mission. 

‘Dare I ask, Galahad?’

‘I just wanted to thank you for putting up with me.’ He tries to press as much sincerity into the phrase as he can, hoping beyond hope that he can somehow repair what he hadn’t realised he was breaking. ‘I know that I can be a bit much, but I don’t want you to think that I’m this way with the rest of the Lake. I simply have no idea of how to keep your attention.’

‘It is literally my job, Galahad, to keep my attention focused on ou ad get your arse home safely.’ Eggsy was confused, and maybe a little hopeful. He’d felt bereft without Harry’s incessant nattering, but hadn’t known how to fix it- maybe this was it.

‘I was rather hoping to keep your attention while off-mission, as well.’ Eggsy nearly groaned, but took a moment to think on the situation. Harry wasn’t being actively flirty, the tone was all wrong; if Eggsy didn’t know any better he’d say that the great Harry Hart sounded nervous. 

‘With more soul-damaging relics from your missions like the ones you send Lunete?’ 

‘No- well, correction, not only with carefully-chosen pieces. I-’ Harry paused, and Eggsy realised that this was, indeed, an honest conversation that Harry was trying to have with him. ‘I would like for us to meet. Formally, face-to-face, give myself a visual to go with the auditory man who has consumed my attentions for quite some time. I understand that there is no reason for you to believe me, given my previous actions, but I’ll readily admit to having had no other idea of how to express my interest. Merlin can tell you that outside of a mission I’ve never been particularly graceful or smooth when it came to potential romantic partners.

‘I find that I’ve become enchanted with the idea of you, and would greatly appreciate the opportunity to discover if my fantasies even touch upon the reality of you as a person.’

Eggsy literally had no idea of how to progress from here. Despite his own infatuations with the man, he’d dismissed Harry’s words as empty and with this revelation had no idea of how to progress. Forget the conundrum of Eggsy and Lunete being the same person- this was a problem now, and Merlin had probably known all along and that fucker hadn’t even tried to warn him.

          'We’ll see Galahad,’ Eggsy fought to keep his voice playful, to not give away his scrambling for a proper answer, 'you’ve got to get your way out of this shit first. An’ maybe, maybe, we’ll see about gettin’ a drink or something.’ And now Eggsy was back to cursing his mouth for running ahead of his brain and making promises he probably couldn’t keep.

Harry continued to pretend that the pounding of his heart was due to his circumstances in the mission and not due to the tantalising possibility of meeting Eggsy proper at long last.

—

Of course, Harry had managed the near impossible and completed the mission both on time and without any grievous injury to himself. Or to his target, which was a positive as he’d been tasked with surveillance and strictly told not to engage which are rules the man usually took as a challenge.

Merlin googled at the record when it was brought to him, and Eggsy took a seat across from the man as he reviewed the contents.

‘He didn’t make an uncouth comment and get chased from the grounds?’ The again went unsaid.

‘No.’

‘And he didn’t continue to press you about going out after you gave him a solid maybe?’ Merlin sounded as incredulous as Eggsy felt.

‘Nope.’ Eggsy was in more than a fair bit of shock. On the one hand, Harry had achieved the objective while Eggsy had been in his ear. So that was a point for both of them, for Eggsy’s success as Handler and Harry’s as Knight; but the hows of it. Harry had done all of it because Eggsy had said they might get to meet if Harry did what needed to be done. The mere idea of getting to meet had given Harry enough cause to have achieved a nearly impossible feat for him.

‘I’m no’ one to butt into personal business-’

‘I fuckin’ know that, Merlin- you practically set this shit up by keepin’ to yourself.’ Eggsy grumbled, crossing his arms and slumping in the chair.

‘But perhaps, lad, Harry’s more than a bit serious about this.’ Merlin continued as if uninterrupted, and Eggsy looked away.

‘D’you really think so?’

‘The only way you’re going to know is if you actually talk to him and stop with this weird double life you’ve made for yourself and no,’ Merlin wagged a finger angrily, ‘I am not going to help you fix this shit. You dug this hole, make your own way out of it.

‘I certainly hope that you continue to inspire this out of him and he doesn’t corrupt you instead.’

Eggsy stayed in that chair long after Merlin had returned to his own tasks, wondering just what he was going to do. He had two obvious options: he could meet Harry in person and come clean- or he could really chav it up and hope Harry wouldn’t be able to see Lunete in Eggsy.

But, to be honest, Eggsy was getting real tired of having to keep track of who he had to be at any given moment. What Lunete knew versus what Eggsy knew and where they could overlap believably with them both being in the Lake. It was getting exhausting, and even with the possibility of losing Harry entirely through this fiasco, Eggsy was just. So. Tired. And maybe that wasn’t the best reason to stop leading a double life but it was the one he had.

          So, there, that was one decision made- a pretty big one, too. Now he just had to hold himself to it. 

But that didn’t mean he had to make it easy for the man; maybe he could get one last bit of fun from this fiasco.

–

Harry’s office at headquarters was very secure. Merlin never let anyone in or out without his say so, even when the door was unlocked he’d lock it just as someone was reaching for the handle just to be a shit.

So the box on his desk was a terrifying surprise. First because he’d had no idea that anyone had been in his office- but mostly because of the contents. The outside was so unassuming that Harry had reached in without a second thought and immediately regretted the action. 

‘What the fuck is this shit?’

‘It happens to be a gift, you idiot, if you’d bothered to read the card prior to sticking your hand inside?’ Melin chimed in from the glasses, and Harry flipped him off smoothly with one hand as the other shut the glasses down. So what if he was right, it was the principle of the thing.

Harry pulled out the thing that had stabbed his finger, and was greeted with the most obnoxiously American thing he had ever seen. Intricately carved, it would be a work or artistry if it weren’t for the obnoxious colouring. A bald eagle sitting on a branch, a snake in its grasp, with everything but the bird in natural colours- the eagle was painted as the Americal Flag. It was the end of a wing that had stabbed him, curled upward in a parody of landing from flight. It was atrocious. 

‘What. the fuck. Is this shit?’ Harry warily stuck his arm back into the box of packing chips, feeling about for any additional hidden monstrosity, but came up empty. ‘No note?’ Harry began to turn the box about, half tempted to “accidentally” knock the statue from his desk- but he knew that if it had ended up here then the sender would discover the untimely demise. And, heaven forbid, send a replacement. On the end that had been facing his chair there was a small note, taped and half falling off the side of the cardboard. 

Let’s play hide and seek, Galahad. You’re it. -Eggsy

Harry pulled the note and examined the writing closely. The ink was partially bled through in some spots, as if he’d hesitated while writing it, and it looked to have been written by one of the Kingsman issued pens- not the ones with the poison, but the ones used for official paperwork, with the combustible ink. Just in case, you see, someone ever managed to get their hands on confidential paperwork. Which eliminated a great many people, as the only people to use them casually were the Minions, who used them for everything by default.

As if sparked by this train of thought, the ink began to eat through the paper. Well, that route of examination was out. Eggsy had mentioned more than once the trinkets Harry would send to Lunete, so it was entirely possible that this gift was poking fun at his habit of choosing memorable items for the man, but to that end it also firmly pointed Harry to a particular collective of Minions: Merlin’s favourites. Unfortunately, codenames meant very little overall within the walls of the place- but real names were rare. It was far more difficult to ask after Richard than Bors, for example, because much like in faerie courts real names held power and were rarely shared.

So asking for Eggsy would get him nowhere, unless he was asking Merlin directly, but the man had been of no help thus far and would likely continue on that trend for a while yet. So he was on his own to solve this mystery. Which meant he had to rely upon his already collected knowledge far more than present clues.

Eggsy was a man with a simple- no, humble- past, who had come to Kingsman from the Army where Merlin had spotted him causing some trouble. Eggsy’d been confronted by his SO and had been quite contrite to admit that he’d been messing with the tech because he was bored and had lost his sense of purpose when those around him didn’t seem to care about the why as much as the when. He’d had a note put into his file, and Merlin had snatched him up immediately. Harry was still unsure of why Merlin had been watching the man in the first place, as there were so many people potential to sort through at any time and only a finite number of places to put them. Harry figured it was like applying to an Ivy League school you didn’t know was considering you. Incredibly selective- so what had pulled Merlin’s attention to him?

But that wasn’t the concern at the moment. With what he knew about Eggsy, could he find him on the grounds? What did he care about, what did he mention liking about Kingsman, where would he have the highest likelihood of spotting the man in time to win this game. Harry wasn’t even entirely sure what he was competing for- but he was a vain man and desired victory for the sake of it just as much as any prize.

Harry had never bothered to learn the things a Handler would- but he could strategise if he could only decide what direction to go in. Top to bottom? One end to the other? From the centre outwards, or vice versa? Simplest would be top to bottom, as the roof provided a finite amount of space he could go- so to the roof it was. He wasn’t so desperate as to climb the sides of the building, and opted instead to take the service stairs to the top level and find a window that overlooked a bit of the roof and meander is way from there.

Which actually ended up being surprisingly difficult, but once he had found an acceptable exit he also stumbled upon another note taped to it.

Let’s play a game, mate- well, another one, waiting in one spot is just so boring y’know? I’m hanging out with the rest of the Minions til ‘bout 3 where you left me my drink way back when. Find me. That little shit had been here, how long ago was anyone’s guess, and instead of following through on whatever his original plot had been had changed the rules. As if Harry had known what they were in the first place, but the point remained that he’d changed the rules without warning or explanation.

But wasn’t that just like Eggsy, to at one moment follow plans to the letter and the next follow Harry’s lead on a whim? The fact that they were always successful could more likely be attributed to luck than any actual skill, but Harry was willing to take what the universe deigned to gift him. So he huffed a laugh and made his way back to his office, checking himself idly in the window as he removed his tie and popped a button or two. Going around to a pub while dressed to the nines, while safe in a Kingsman suit, was making himself a spectacle and if he intended to actually find Eggsy he needed to be able to blend in- at least a little. He removed his glasses, and mussed his hair just enough that it looked purposefully dishevelled as opposed to perfectly organised.

Harry made his way down to the pub, one he frequented and thus was able to pull favours with, and nodded at the barman who smoothly slid his pint down the bartop to his waiting hand as he sat at his regular spot at the bar. No words having to be exchanged, which freed him up to idly glance about the room. There were some outside seats but it was easier to hide in a crowd, and easier still to disappear with staff constantly moving about, if you knew when and how to do so. Which was usually a skill Knights honed and Minions of the Lake dismissed as unnecessary. The likelihood of their being spotted, let alone pursued, was miniscule- so why waste the energy that could be dedicated to other things instead?

There was a group of younger people in the corner booth, only a half dozen or so, about half wearing very familiar glasses. Now to spot his target proper. There was a young woman leaning intimately into the side of one of the men without glasses, with dark brown hair and pale eyes. That was Agravaine and Blanchefleur, then, as they were the topic of many Knights who were critical of relationships from within. And, honestly, how did they expect to achieve any sense of intimacy with someone outside of Kingsman, anyway? But that eliminated two suspects. There was his regular pilot, Houdain, with whom he’d shared many idle conversations of the last couple years. His accent was similar to Eggsy’s, but not so much so that he could ever have confused one for the other.

Three down, three to go.

There was another young woman with short cropped red hair, sans glasses but obviously sporting a pair of Kingsman brogues, bent nearly in double as she laughed- inelegantly snorting. She slapped the glasses off the man sat across from her in her antics, simply by waving her arms about, and Harry was grateful to know that she was not a Knight. If she were in this collective she obviously had immense amounts of talent behind the scenes, but something like that could make or break a mission. Which was entirely off topic, but Harry’s head was running in a million directions as he caught sight of the last two members of the table.

One was a driver that he knew quite well, Ither, who had always been up for a joyride while escaping their pursuants. The other was Lunete.

So Eggsy had lied, then. He wasn’t here after all. He turned back to his drink as a way to distract himself, observing the condensation run down the glass, and pretended that disappointment was not a bitter pill to swallow.

 Except, suddenly, he heard a very distinct ‘you’re fucking jokin’, bruv!’ he knew without a doubt that Eggsy was in that group. His head snapped up just in time to see Lunete slap Houdain playfully on the shoulder, the latter covering his mouth with one hand while shaking with laughter.

‘Swear down, Eggs, I couldn’ make that shit up if I tried.’

‘The fuck was Lancelot thinkin’, tryin’ to make a jump like that in that outfit? She gave someone a lucky view, then?’ Ither looked as if Christmas had come early, a very Grinch-like smirk on his face at the thought, but Houdain shook his head.

‘The street was clear, luck with her, so she didn’t flash no one- but lots o’ people complained about the thumpin’ from the roof, next day.’ Lunete shook his head as Houdain finished, but Harry’s mind had stopped a bit before.

Eggs. Eggsy. Harry ran the facts over in his mind as he took another idle gulp of his Guinness; Eggsy spoke often of Lunete’s gifts, he obviously knew Harry quite well after all the time of being in his ear, was well-liked and trusted by Merlin (who else would he trust his oldest friends’ safety to, if not someone he trusted?), and suddenly he couldn’t unlink the two. Lunete was Eggsy.

Lunete was Eggsy.

Lunete was Eggsy and he’d already had a drink with the man and he’d never let it on. He’d not even hinted that he’d been hiding anything; to hide such a thing from a Knight was impressive in and of itself. He’d been sure to keep their interactions regular, had never hinted at- well, hinted at what, exactly? Had Eggsy thought anything of their pint, that day, and what of the gifts? Why had he hidden himself so thoroughly within the walls of Kingsman that it took a ducking scavenger hunt for Harry to figure it out? It was not as if Kingsan was particularly judgemental- well, no, that was a lie. Arthur was a prick.

Ah. Prejudice based around the way one walks. And talks. The things that are the quickest to reveal oneself as “other” in a collective of men from money. Arthur was quick to anger and quicker to insult, if only ever backhandedly, so the ability to blend in was imperative- he guessed- to Eggsy being able to do as he needed. Drivers and Pilots were often silent until prompted and prodded into speaking- a Handler was easily identified and exposed by voice. To affect an accent in the presence of those who would look down on you for being different was entirely understandable.

But had Eggsy truly thought that Harry would judge him in that way? Had he not been clear with his affections through the coms? Short of screaming it from the rooftops he’d done all he could to show Eggsy that he thought the world of him. But… but perhaps that was what had kept him away. If someone is showy, you never take their actions or words at face value. Never. It’s survival one-oh-one, and Harry kicks himself for not connecting the dots sooner.

Every bit of tension in his body began to loosen as Eggsy turned around, just enough for Harry to admire the cut of his jaw and the upturn of his lip as he winked.  At him. That cheeky arsehole. Harry didn’t hear the particulars, but Eggsy was excusing himself from the group with a smile and making his way toward Harry- and what was Harry going to say when he finally got there?

‘Hey, Harry.’ Eggsy slid into the seat beside him and nudged one shoulder with his own, sloshing what little was left in Harry’s glass. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

‘You led me here, and yet you’re the one claiming to be surprised?’

‘Weren’t sure you was gonna find that window, guv, but you managed that shit in record time you did.’

‘So you set me up to fail?’ Harry finished his drink before he turned and lifted a brow, and Eggsy had the gall to laugh.

‘Nah, I set you a challenge and you met it. Exceeded expectations and all that shit. So, now, I’m an open book- what d’you want to know?’ He lifted a hand to the barkeep and accepted to proffered drinks with a grin.

‘Why?’

‘Why’d I leave you messages?’

‘Why this double life in the first place? What’s the truth here, Eggsy?’ Harry looked away, tips of his ears pink, and Eggsy paused for a moment before speaking.

‘I was scared- terrified, even- of you connectin’ Lunete an’ Eggsy. You’re a posh man, you got class out your arse and you’re fit and funny and I knew you were leagues away from me in life. You’d flirt with Eggsy, but Lunete was a mystery an’ you treated him like any other bloke while at the pub an’ then started sendin’ gifts and shit.’ Eggsy ran a hand through his hair and looked ruefully at Harry, ‘You was thoughtful and flirty and it made me fall more for you that I had already.’

‘That doesn’t explain-’

‘Gettin’ there, Harry. Promise. When I started at Kingsman, I’d barely walked in and Arthur looked down his nose at me and sneered that he didn’ want to see my face again. I thought I’d been dismissed b’fore I could start, but Merlin drew me aside. Tol’ me to ignore Arthur an’ that he was my boss an’ til he said leave I weren’t to so much as think about the door. But,’ Eggsy shook his head, ‘he gave me the name Lunete, an’ said to make it someone Arthur wouldn’ look twice at.’

‘So you made yourself unremarkable.’ Harry concurred, and tipped his glass in his direction, but Eggsy shrugged.

‘I made myself what he was lookin’ for. Growin’ up at the Estates, after dad died, you learn how to read people an’ make yourself what you gotta be to get by, Jamal and Ryan know all the same shit I do- they just don’t gotta use it as often. But,’ Eggsy grinned, ‘to explain the rest of this shit you get a bit of a story.

‘See, you an’ I’ve met before all this shit. Merlin and I had a bit of a laugh about it once I’d settled in. Y’see, once upon a time,’ Eggsy reached into his collar and began to pull on a chain, ‘you came by my place an’ left this with me for safe keeping.’ He opened his palm, and Harry forgot to breathe.

‘Oh my god. Eggsy.’ Harry breathed, in disbelief at having forgotten the child. It was a memorable name, and yet Harry hadn’t recognised it when they’d crossed paths again. ‘Eggcy Unwin- you’re Lee’s boy.’ 

‘Yeah, an’ that’s the other thing- I didn’ know if you’d still fancy me, flirty and shit, once you knew that. Still don’t know, actually, but I got tired of pretendin’ at you. The way I figure, this shit goes one of two ways, yeah? Either we get on as mates an’ we move on, or this shit’s blown us to bits and we never speak again.’ Eggsy spoke as if either option was acceptable, but Harry could see the tension in his jaw and fondly thought of him as an idiot. As if there were only ever two choices when it came to life.

‘You’ve left something out, Eggsy.’ Harry spoke blandly, allowing himself a small smirk around the lip of his glass, before setting it down and facing Eggsy fully. He waited for Eggsy to look at him and not the tabletop, but he seemed to be doing everything in his power not to do so.

‘Oh?’ Eggsy didn’t dare look at Harry- he didn’t want a fatherly pat on the shoulder, or apologies for how his life’d turnt out- but when Harry’s hand landed heavily on the wrist clutching his glass his head snapped up.

Harry’s eyes flicked to his lips so quickly Eggsy swore he’d imagined it before there were lips against his own. Insistent yet chaste, Harry pulled Eggsy to him by framing his face with both hands. His fingertips cradling his jaw with what Eggsy could only describe as reverement. His eyes slipped closed, and just as Harry began to pull his hands away Eggsy made a soft noise of protest before leaning inward and pressing his insistently back. One hand held him steady on the countertop as the other wound itself into Harry’s hair as they began to lose time.

They broke apart to jeering from the other Minions, ‘get it, Eggs!’ and the two flipped the group off with a united two finger salute before dissolving into giggles.

‘Do they even recognise me?’ Harry breathed into Eggsy’s ear, and he shook his head in reply. ‘Well, they’re quite enthusiastic about your “getting it” from a man they don’t know.’

‘Like to hope they trust my judgement.’ Eggsy laughed, feeling high from the realisation that his antics hadn’t cost him a chance with the man before him. He pulled back, allowing himself to do a full once-over of Harry’s look- he looked gorgeous like this, ever so slightly undone, and Eggsy hadn’t let himself really realise it before that moment.

‘There’s never only two options, Eggsy. You know that as well as anyone.’ Harry smiled softly, running his thumb along his cheekbone.

‘Yeah, well, forgive me for puttin’ this option from my head after havin’ lied to you for so long. An’ forget the fact that  I’m nowhere near your league.’

‘We’re spies, Eggsy- lying is easy as breathing and takes half the thought of the truth. Not saying that I’m not a bit frustrated- but that’s more at my inability to be observant than your Parent Trap-ing me. And,’ Harry firmed the grip upon his face, ‘if I hear you dismiss yourself so easily again you’ll soon regret it. I love you, and if you find your own judgements are faulty then trust my own.’

‘You love me?’ Eggsy breathed, eyes wide like a child seeing art for the first time, and Harry allowed himself to drink his fill of the image before replying.

‘Well, I love what I know of you- both what you told me as Lunete and what I’ve come to know through our missions- and I look forward to loving the rest of you.’

‘Might take a while.’

‘Well, we have a while.’ The two pulled enough apart to finish their drinks, a pair of hands clasped between them as if to separate would break the spell.

[pippafitzamobi]

just me

It’s that time of the term when I’m ready to do everything except real work. Here’s the result. All 2158 words of it.

Also can be found on ao3.

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

The brisk of fresh air fills my lungs as I take a deep breath and close my eyes leaning against the huge tree. The surface of the trunk scratches my bare arms, and I welcome the sensation. The ache to feel anything except this overwhelming numbness I’m experiencing is taking over me again.

The past few days have been a whirlwind of inexplicable joy and painful revelations. The more I find out about myself the more I realize that there is to lose. 

It's no longer just about me, my sanity, my freedom. 

It's no longer just about Aaron, his wounds, his obligations. 

Somewhere along the way we've made friends, grew attachments. 

Something that was once an unfathomable concept for me: a poor, crazy girl destined for nothing but solitude. I am no longer alone. Now, I know the truth or at least a scrap of it. There is still so much to uncover, I can feel it, something escapes me and I’m too afraid to look closer.

We're all connected by the invisible thread of pain and now it's wrapping around our necks trying to strangle us into submission. 

I can't let that happen. 

I won’t let that happen.

Everyone is counting on me, on us, to end all of this once and for all. 

“Chiquitita tell me what’s wrong” a cracked, out-of-tune voice comes from the other side of the tree.

Kenji.

I've been a bad friend lately. So consumed with myself that I did not even once stop and thought about anyone else. I should do better. Kenji deserves better. The best of me, the best of anything really. He has been there for me and with me through it all. And I left him on his own when he was falling apart. 

“You really shouldn’t be out of bed yet.”

He ignores me, gazing somewhere deep into the darkness ahead of him. "So, what are we sulking about today, princess?"

My left shoulder rest against the tree as I turn to get a better look at him.

He looks tired, worn. An echo of a lively soul he once was.

What I wouldn't give to put my hands on Nazeera right now – if it wouldn’t be for a fact that my best friend is in love with her.

"I'm sorry."

The wind carries my words through the silence that settles between us as Kenji nods his head in understanding.

I love that about us. There’s no second-guessing, no questioning looks or doubts.

He gets it. Of course, he does. I don't know if there is any other person in the world who understands me as he does. 

What Aaron and I have exists on a different level of us. It’s more raw, rugged, soaked with everything we are and what we’ve done.

My connection with Kenji is not something that can be easily explained with words - it needs to be felt. And the fact that I don’t need to explain it to him is the best testimony to that.  What we have goes beyond anything familiar, beyond anything romantic. With each other, we can just be. And to people like us, that’s everything.

Especially since lately I’m not sure who I’m supposed to be anymore.

“Look J.” He slings a look down at me from the corner of his eye. ”I’m not angry with you. I could never be angry with for trying to rest and be happy,” he stops to release a loaded sigh, “but yeah..."

A broken laugh escapes him and something breaks a little inside me.

“It’s completely ridiculous when I think about it. I survived two decades of some serious shit without you and...,” he falls quiet for a moment. “I guess I should get used to not having you around.”

At that, I push away from the tree and stand in front of him frowning in confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

His lips tug in a small, pitiful smile and I suddenly struggle with an urge to punch him in the face.

“Come on, Jello, don’t be dense. We both know that when all of this is over you will go off to live somewhere far with the pretty boy and have a herd of his tiny megalomaniacal replicants.”

For a second I’m speechless. The sheer force of anger and shock that comes over me almost knocks me back. 

“I'm not leaving you.” It’s all I manage to say.

“Oh, that's so sweet. You are so sweet.”

I hate him.

“Tell me: are we going to live in the same neighbourhood? Or maybe even better! The same house. Do you think Prince Discharming would mind if we got a bunk bed, for you and me?  He can sleep underneath it, I suppose.”

My hands start to shake. “Kenji…”

“I don't want you to hold yourself back for my benefit. If anyone on this godforsaken world deserves a happy ending it's you. Even if it's with Warner.”

“Stop it. Just stop-p,” my voice cracks, my body shakes, my heart has abandoned me. “Stop saying things, I don’t want your stupid words.”

I shove his hand away as he tries to grab me and get closer to him, so close that I feel his warm breath on my face as I crane my neck to be able to look him in the eye.

I can’t believe him. That he would dare to think something like that. After everything, he thinks I could just get up and leave? Leave him, of all people?

“You listen to me now, you're not getting rid of me so easily. War or no war, we stick together, you understand? You and I have a long future in ahead of us and I expect you to be there.”

Something inside of him is brewing and breaking and mending all at once and I can see the change starting in his eyes, his face softening, his knees bending as he falls on the ground exhausted.

We’ve all been through so much, too much perhaps, that at times I wonder whether surviving it all is within our reach. I start to believe some of us were designed to cruise from one heartbreak to another until there will be nothing of us left, but a road wasted good intentions.

After a while, I join sitting beside him on the greenest grass I’ve ever seen, waiting for one us to speak.

“So, now that we got that out of our system, do you mind telling me what’s up with your sudden need for breathing exercises?”

How can I form into words what I myself don’t understand?

“Hey,” he says softly, nudging me with his shoulder.

 “I just feel I haven’t processed everything as well as I thought I have. And the chances that I will get time to do that are substantially small.”

“What’s there to process?”

I raise my eyebrow at him meaningfully, and he smirks in response.

“No, seriously. The only new thing is that you have a sister and are apparently from Australia–”

“New Zeeland, actually”

“...everything else is pretty much the same.”

“Is that so?”

He starts ticking off on his fingers, “Parents? Still shitty. Your taste in men? Still questionable. Superpowers? Unfairly high. The rest is only made of insignificant detail that will make you feel shitty the more you think about it. So...you know, don’t think.”

With a sigh I toss my face up to the sky, “Easier said than done.”

Stretching his long legs out in front of him, he crosses them at the ankles, while folding his arms across his chest, and leans back against the tree. “People put too much value into thinking. Thinking hasn’t changed anything in the world. Sure, sometimes it’s a good thing to do, but most of the time if you want to have something you have to get it done.”

He stops me before I get to say anything.

“And what we want right now is Adam and James back, Anderson dead, and your sister not pulling a plug on all of this,” Kenji points around them at the reminder of what her sister is exactly capable of.

“You make it all sound so simple. But I don’t even know who is supposed to pull it all off.”

“What do you mean ‘who’?” he frowns. “We are. You, me and the rest of them.”

“Yes, but...me as who? Juliette or Ella?”

His mouth opens in silent realization.

“Oh, Jesus, is it what it’s all about? Your name?”

“No, it’s not just that. It’s...what it mean..ugh…”.The frustration sweeps through me cresting in my chest. “I can’t explain it logically.” 

“Maybe because it lacks any logic, hm?” he squints his left eye at me as to emphasise his point.

Suddenly, my head starts to feel heavy so I let it rest on my knees. Communicating your problems is difficult when you don’t know what the problem is, or even if there is one. But I keep feeling this pressure in my skull and weight in my heart, so I need to try, try to speak about something I don’t even dare to think about.

“It’s like this,” I close my eyes and let words flow. “I was born as Ella, that’s who I am to Aaron and to my sister, and to many others who knew me since I was a child. But then I became Juliette, not by my own volition, but that’s who I’ve been for over a decade of my life. And it’s Juliette who discovered the true potential of her powers, it’s Juliette who rebelled, it’s her who fell in love and it’s her who made all of those wonderful friends. But Juliette is a creation of horrible design, but then again so is Ella. “

I open my eyes at last. They feel gritty. My throat is so dry I can't swallow the wad that despair lodged inside of it.  

“There are times I’m not sure which I am, and which I’m supposed to be.”

It is dark, but I can still see him, looking at me like he’s seeing me for the first time, noticing something he hasn't before. His expression gentle, understanding, and surprisingly sharp, almost determined.

Kenji knows. 

“Your name is just that. A name. Bunch of letters put together that don’t mean a thing. And don’t say a single thing about you.” He leans in closer, pulling me in with his eyes. “What do they mean? Did everything you went through as Juliette became erased when you found out your birth name?”, he shakes his head, “No.”

“Did your family stop exist when you were living as Juliette?”, he shakes it again, “No.”

His hand finds her in the dark. “You’re badass, you know that, don’t you? You survived hell and you keep coming back because you want to help people. It doesn't matter whose daughter you are and who is your sister, not even who are you dating right now. You can’t figure out which name to use? Use both, use neither. Choose a new one. For the first time in your life, you’re free to make a choice for yourself. Do you know how powerful that is, J? To be free? To be you? Because you've got to be you. No one else can.”

He knows he knows he knows

Me

With tears in my eyes I reach for him and he tugs me closer. I don’t need any powers to feel him, the certainty that there will always be at least one person who will understand me.

“Ella!”

Kenji groans against me and glares over his shoulder at approaching Aaron.

“I swear he has some sort of radar when it comes to you. Are you sure he didn’t implant any microchip into your skull? Actually never mind. I’m gonna check myself.”

He continues to work his fingers on my head until I elbow him, laughing. 

“Kenji!”

We're standing up, smiling at each other as if we have no other worries in the world, and at this moment I’ve never been more grateful that amidst all the tragedy in our lives we’ve found our ways to each other.

“Thank you,” I say, hoping it conveys all the gratitude and love I feel for him.

He messes up my hair, the way an older sibling might do a younger, to break the tension, but mostly because he knows I hate it when he does that. 

Throwing his arm over my much smaller frame, he starts walking towards the camp. “So, how about that plan? How much are we going to make Anderson suffer? I vote extremely much, the Spider-Man 3 level of pain.”

I may not know everything about my past yet, and my future might be even more uncertain than ever, but what I do know, is that this, this is the best side of love. And there’s no chance I’m losing that.

[deans-baby-momma]

The Padackles Link-Chapter 42

Over the next few weeks, deliveries kept coming in. We had ordered a crib, a changing table, a wardrobe to hang all of Jackson's clothes in, and a big area rug that looked like a pond complete with waterlilies and lily pads floating along the surface. Since Jensen was back in Vancouver on set, all I was allowed to do was direct the delivery men where to sit the boxes. The nursery was slowly becoming filled.

I had just answered a Facetime call from him as I walked into the room.

“Jay, I think we might have went overboard with buying stuff. If Jackson came tomorrow he wouldn't be able to fit in here,” I laughed as I turned the screen around and scanned the area. I heard his chuckle and turned the phone back to myself.

“Babe, once I get home and start putting it all together, it won't seem so cluttered, I promise,” he said as he winked at me. “You haven't lifted anything have you?”

“No. Well, I did pick up a couple of outfits and try to imagine a baby in them. They're so little! How am I going to take care of something that small? I'm going to lose him.” My voice was whiny by the time I finished.

“Drea, you aren't going to lose our son. Did you lose JJ when we left her in your care?”

“No but-” I pouted and he cut me off.

“See. You got this!” he smiled through the camera. “So how have you been feeling? Any nausea or cramps?”

“Nope,” I said, popping the p. “Feeling pretty good. Missing you though,” I jutted my bottom lip and frowned at him. I looked closely at him and laughed.  “Baby is it cold up there?” I had just noticed he was bundled up in a big winter coat that was zipped up to his chin.

“Hell yes! It's like 38° here. I tell ya, you'd think after 10 years I'd be used to frigid Canadian winters but this boy has Texas in his veins. I need sunshine and heat and warmth,” he chuckled. “Jared isn't faring much better either. He keeps hogging the heaters! The big baby.”

By the time the call ended, Jensen was grumbling about mean, mean women.I had teased him about lounging in the shade by the pool and enjoying the humid weather in Texas. He had been called back to set and ultimately ending my ‘torture’ as he called it.

Gen showed up with Tom and Shep in tow to help with my surprise for Jensen when he came home. We were going to paint the nursery. Well, she was. I just had to keep the younger Padalecki's occupied while she worked. We had chosen a light aqua green for the wainscoting and a soft tan for the upper walls. The trim would be white to coordinate with the color of the furniture.

“Daya, when Jackson gets here can we play wif ‘im?” Tom asks me while we are coloring at the dining room table.

“You'll have to be easy with him,” I explain. “Just like when Sheppy was born. He's going to be little and probably sleep a lot.”

“And poop,” Tom says with a disgusted look on his little face. “Sheppy pooped all ‘e time. It was yucky.” I couldn't help but laugh and ruffle his brown hair.

“You're right. Jackson will poop a lot. But he's just a baby so we'll still love him right?”

“Yea, of tourse.”

“And he'll love you too. You'll be best friends, I'm sure.”

“Daya, can I have more than one best fwien’?” Tom asks, seriously. “Acause JJ is my bestest fwien’.”

“Of course you can buddy,” I tell him wrapping my arm around him. “JJ and her brother can both be your best friends.” I say without thinking.

“But JJ don't have a bwover,” Tom states.

“Oh, um. Well-” I begin, trying to figure out to get out of this conversation. Thankfully Gen comes in and saves the day.

“Sweetie, Jackson is JJ's brother,” she says as she wipes paint off her hands. “Remember Christian at daycare, he had a sister with a different dad but same mom.” At Tom's nod, his mother continues. “Well that's how it is with JJ and Jackson. Uncle Jensen is JJ's dad and Jackson's dad.”

Tom cocks his head to the side and looks at me and then to my belly then to his mom. “How Unca Jensen put a baby in there?”

I gasp in shock and look at  Gen who is holding back her laughter.

“I'm not touching that!” I say.

“Don't worry, I got this,” she says and sits back on the sofa. She pulls Tom up on her lap and looks at him. “Remember when we told you about you were going to be a big brother?” Tom nods and she continues. “What did we tell you?”

“When two people are in love, sometimes a baby is made out of that love.”

“Right. So Unca Jensen and Drea love each other. And so they made a baby.”

“Ochay,” Tom says and scurries off his mother's lap and goes back to coloring.

Gen stands up and I follow her into the kitchen. “Geez! He came out of nowhere with that,” I say as I grab a couple of waters from the fridge. I hand one to Gen and sit down at the table. “I was speechless. Thank you.”

“It's fine,” she laughs. “I had to field those questions when we told him about Shep. And then when he found out that all kids didn't always have the same mom or dad.”

To say I had been overwhelmed by Tom's question was an understatement.  But it got me to thinking. How would people treat Jackson? Would they treat him differently because he had a different mother than Jensen’s daughter? When they got older, would there be exposed to questions and comments about their father’s infidelity? The more I thought about it the more panicked I was becoming. Gen was quick to notice and ask if I was okay.

“No?” I squeaked.

“Drea, honey. What’s wrong? Is it the baby? Is Jackson trying to come early?”

I shook my head as my eyes filled with tears. “I just realized how much my son is going to have to deal with as he gets older. His dad is a freaking television star with thousands of fans. And he was married when Jackson was conceived. How am I going to ever explain it to him?”

Drea, calm down. Ok, yes.. Our kids have to deal with a lot that other kids don’t but we just limit their exposure is all. And yea he was married but he wasn’t happy. And they had already split before you got pregnant. Anyways, what you’re worrying about is years down the road. Stop stressing before you do actually make him arrive early,” she told me sternly.

Although I heard and understood what she was saying, it didn’t really help my apprehension. And I also knew she was right, I needed to calm myself down before I ended up hurting Jackson or going into an early labor.

“Are you finished with the room already?” I ask, trying to get my mind on something else, something encouraging.

“The first coat on the top and the second on the bottom. It’s going on really smooth. I think you’ll like it,” she told me with a smile.

“I can’t wait to see it,” I told her, giddy. “I can’t believe in a little over a month there is going to be a baby here. My baby.”

“It is crazy. Seems like we just found out,” Gen says reaching over and rubbing my belly. I didn’t care for many people to touch me intimately, mostly just Jensen but Gen was the exception. She has been there since the beginning. In fact, if it hadn’t been for her Jensen and I would probably not be together.

“Hey Gen,” I said, a thought coming to my mind. “How would you feel about being a godparent?”

@xxdragonagequeenxx @carryonmywaywardcaptain @darlingpeanut @sunskittlex @sis-tafics @wayward-gypsy @sea040561 @pretty-fortune @squirrelnotsam @death-unbecomes-you @sandlee44 @internationalmusicteacher @kricketc27 @natura1phenomenon @mannls @nickie-amore @spn-tw-37 @frozenhuntress67 @blacktithe7 @supernaturallymarvellous @thetardishasaquidditchpitch @sirod-30 @heyitscam99

[everlarkficexchange]

Feast Your Eyes - Chapter 3

by: @lovely-tothe-bone

Written by: @ra3lynn3 @savvylark @lovely-tothe-bone

Prompt 91: Peeta as the tatted, ex-rocker owner of bakery chain (like in in DC-Balto area called dangerously delicious pies). Katniss is an attached (engaged or otherwise unavailable) food critic or reporter doing a piece on him but she and P can’t deny the attraction. Angst and such ensue. [submitted by Anonymous]

Rating: M; later change to E

Warnings: References to child abuse, sexual innuendos, eventual smut

A/N: Surprise! Happy Friday! Here is the rest of Everlark’s Meet Ugly to kick off the weekend. It’s a lot more fun, and will probably make a lot more sense, if you read Chapter 2 again ; ) If you haven’t read any of FYE yet there is a link on Ch 2 to Ch 1. I want to thank @savvylark who had a fairly heavy hand in writing the actual dessert tasting. She took my fragmented descriptions and dialogue and created flowing structure. It was amazing how with such broken, random sentences she somehow knew what my brain couldn’t translate to the page. Together we tweaked and tweaked it to perfection, even up to last night! Her and @ra3lynn3 are absolutely amazing, I feel very lucky to be creating this with them.

Regaining her senses, she shoved her trembling hand into his large warm rugged one.

“Katniss Everdeen. Thank you for finally showing up.” She was not going to let him off the hook, no matter how attractive he looked.

Peeta’s cheeks flushed, “My apologies, I was held up at a bakery sponsored event.”

Katniss was vaguely aware that his voice resembled the one from the phone calls but struggled to reconcile what she had just witnessed of him with the kind way in which he spoke.

“Do you normally make a habit of overbooking yourself?” Katniss remarked.

“Not if I know a woman so charming as yourself is involved.” Peeta laughed lightly and winked at the silver eyed beauty.

“Mr. Mellark let’s –”

“Peeta.”

“Fine, Peeta,” she enunciated through clenched teeth. “I generally record my interviews, so if you could just sign this release form, stating you’re ok with that, we can finally get started.” Katniss tossed the paper on the desk and plopped onto a chair, preparing the recording app.

“No problem. Fire away when you’re ready.” After signing Peeta leaned back and checked his phone as he rubbed a finger at his temple.

“How about you tell me what that entrance out there was all about?”

His eyebrows rose at the question, then he nodded in understanding. “You don’t know who I am, do you?” he queried with a hint of a smile.

Katniss shook her head, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

“I’m a musician, I played lead guitar in a band called Nightlock.” He paused waiting for any flicker of recognition. “We were regionally popular with a solid fan base all over Washington, which turned out to be incredibly beneficial when I moved forward with the bakery.” He explained.

“So that fanfare is part of your routine?” Katniss cocked a brow.

“Ah, no. I mean, that is a…ah…common reaction, yes.” He paused, rubbing at the back of his neck. Gone was the charismatic rocker she had been confronted with, the change unsettled her.

“I usually avoid the front as much as possible. I mostly handle special orders and events, plus teach skills to my employees. When I’m here I am locked away in my own world; measuring, mixing, kneading, icing, piping, sculpting, molding, painting.” Peeta’s cerulean eyes burned brighter as he spoke.

Still, Katniss refused to dismiss his display earlier. “Then why did you come through the front today? Trying to show off?”

“No!” Peeta denied with his hands stretched out. He shook his head and looked down with a laugh, “I misplaced my store keys.” He admitted.

“So how does this bakery run if the owner isn’t on time and can’t keep track of his keys?” She challenged. Katniss was all too familiar with this type of behavior, this pattern of thoughtlessness especially set her off.

“If you must know, I was swarmed by a herd of tiny children.” Peeta deadpanned.

Katniss scowled, “What does that have to do with either of those things?”

“Have you ever wrestled your way out of a mob of sugar high six-year old’s? I’m lucky to have made it out alive. Apparently, the store keys weren’t so lucky, they were discovered at the scene of the attack.” He chuckled.

Messalla’s voice interrupted them, “Freshest possible, boss.”  He slid two plates filled with warm samples of baked goods on to the desk. The bakery manager flashed Katniss a proud smile and walked back to the kitchen.

Katniss admired the various confections, longing to dive in after the forty minute delay.

“Look,” Peeta continued, “you just caught me on an off day. You wouldn’t be writing this piece unless Decadent had generated enough buzz to catch your interest, am I right?” She reluctantly tore her eyes away from the delicacies to give him a half hearted nod of agreement.

Peeta smirked, “So, I must be doing okay, especially if The Feast sees fit to do a special interest feature on my bakery and I, rather than the normal dessert spread?”

Katniss nodded again but refused to look him in the eye. She was letting her nerves over the assignment and her frustration with Thom wind her up, taking it out on Peeta. She drew in a slow deep breath, willing herself to give Peeta Mellark a chance, even if he was a smidge arrogant–.

Peeta nudged a plate closer to Katniss interrupting her thoughts, “You’re the food critic, now is your chance to find out that we aren’t famous for our motorcyclist ex rocker. I’ll let the desserts speak now.”

Katniss glanced up through her lashes and found him smiling patiently. She eyed the plate and decided to start with a bite of black forest cake. Before she could contain it, a low moan slipped out. Peeta snickered as she clapped a hand over her mouth.

“I guess that means you’re convinced I’m worth your time?” He leaned back in his chair with a smug look on his face and laced his fingers together behind his head.

“Your wickedly delicious desserts are worth my time.” She corrected, swiping another bite of cake. “One delicious sample won’t earn your bakery a glowing review though, Pastry Man.”

Katniss froze, wondering where the words had come from and how it had sounded to Peeta but he was already moving on so she quickly dismissed the thought.

“Ok try this.” He handed her a portion of apple fritter, his fingertips grazed across her fingers as she scooped it up.

She pretended not to notice the tingling that unfurled where their hands brushed. She did notice Peeta’s concentrated gaze, Katniss foolishly suspected for a moment that he felt a thrill as well.

The journalist cleared her throat in an attempt to regain her resolve, “What else do you have for me to taste?”

At Katniss’s words Peeta gave her a look that revealed her double entendre. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth to try to explain just what she meant but Peeta graciously began a rundown of all the treats, pointing out Decadent’s best sellers. “These cheese buns are always sold out before closing even though we make two batches per day.” The lightly seasoned buttered cheese bun seemed to dance over her tongue. Katniss’s delight was as evident as it was contagious.

Peeta bit his lip at her pleased expressions.

As colorful as they were fruity, the tarts did not disappoint, with just the right combination of sweet to tang. Katniss couldn’t believe how incredible each one was, like bursts of spring and summer. Since her hiring at The Feast Katniss had had more than her fair share of cupcake tastings but even these simple creations were impressive to her astute palette. The croissants were beyond ideal, the crispy flakes shattering to reveal tender insides. She nibbled muffin bits, surprised at the unique flavor nuances in even the typically mundane classics. On and on it went, every dessert morsel as scrumptious and unique as the previous.

This baker was especially innovative, possessing a keen and discerning palate for flavor harmonies. She reasoned that Peeta Mellark was in no need of attention and praise though, once the article was printed he would see the flattering words.

“Well now I know they don’t line up around the block just for a glimpse of that pretty face of yours.” She teased the baker, reluctant to admit her true thoughts.

“You think I have a pretty face?” Peeta bantered back, batting his eyelashes.

She scowled and rolled her eyes while Peeta laughed at her reaction.

“So what’s your favorite so far?” Peeta asked.

“The triple chocolate eclair, I could live off those.” She groaned. “And the cheese buns. It’s a crime for one person to be so talented.”

Peeta’s hand covered his mouth but Katniss did not miss the earnest smile barely covered by his fingers.

“I worked hard to learn my crafts, Katniss. None of this has come easy. I committed all my time to honing each skill I possess.”

Katniss considered him for a long moment then returned to her notebook to compose the last of her reviews.

“So why a bakery?” She asked around a mouthful of cinnamon roll, licking icing from her fingertips.

Peeta’s eyes flitted away just before a bright grin overtook his face, “Baking runs in my family, on my dad’s side. The Mellark’s have always owned a bakery.”

Peeta’s voice grew wistful as he handed her half a pizzelle, “I learned how to bake cookies before I learned how to read. A couple years ago the band was ready to retire. I was ready to get back to baking and everything just sorta lined up. I catered a few high-end events, the right people noticed and offered to help with the startup. Really, I couldn’t have done it without – “

A harsh buzz drowned out his words, his phone started to slide along the desk before he grabbed it.

Peeta’s eyes flashed alarm but he immediately schooled his features, then he was on his feet.

“I have to go. I need to leave right now.” Peeta scrambled around the office, shoved his arms in his jacket, yanked both gloves on, and snatched his keys.

“I am so sorry Miss Everdeen; please can we reschedule?” His gentle blue eyes pleaded.

Katniss nodded mutely, too stunned to respond.

“I’ll send you a message!” Peeta threw over his shoulder as he dashed out.

Peeta clenched his fists around the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. He felt his rage building inside at the unfairness of it all. Eli was a child Peeta mentored, only 14, too young to suffer at the hands of the people he should have been able to trust.

“Home is supposed to be a safe place!” Peeta yelled to the empty seats in his vehicle.

No child should fear their own home. Peeta shook his head in disgust, at the injustice many foster children have dealt with, abuse in a foster home. Peeta had kept his cool as he filled out the report at the police station but on the drive home, privately, he was honest with his internal turmoil.

Eli came for his shifts the previous week at the bakery with several tell tale signs of physical abuse. Bruises in strange places, excuses that just didn’t fit, “I fell,” he remarked. “You know brothers,” he dismissed and “I’m just clumsy.” All excuses Peeta had heard before.

Excuses and lies that easily fell from Peeta’s own teenage mouth.

The young boy Peeta had taken under his wing wouldn’t admit any misconduct. Peeta asked further questions, only to be shut down. From his own experiences, Peeta knew he had to try a different approach. Unless the boy was willing to admit the truth it, it would have only broken the boy’s trust if Peeta called social services himself. He had to build that trust and earn Eli’s respect.

Peeta pleaded with the boy to tell his mentor if he was ever in trouble, without hesitation, Peeta would be there for him. Today Peeta had an especially terrible feeling in his gut. When Eli didn’t show up for his shift, he knew to keep his eye out for his phone. He didn’t want to cut the meeting short with the intriguing sweet and sour journalist, but when he received the ‘X’ sent from Eli’s phone, he knew what was more important.

With each of the teens Peeta mentored he had worked with them to set a plan in place. If they were to find themselves in trouble, they would send Peeta a text, a predetermined code. Peeta would pick them up when they needed help, ask questions later. Some of the kids chose to simply text an ‘X’  like Eli did.

As he drove, Peeta replayed the incident in his mind. The battered young boy, trying to hide his injuries, the pleading for mercy from his own foster parent, before Eli’s eyes met Peeta’s. The look of relief that Peeta saw wash over Eli brought a cold chill down Peeta’s spine.

It was all too familiar.

Peeta’s hands started to shake so intensely, he had to pull his car over.

[stupidpianist]

9 october 2018

18:06: It’s 18:06 while I’m starting this post and I’m, like, “therapeutically” listening to Glenn Gould perform Chopin’s third sonata over my speakers, and I have this apples and cinnamon candle going to my right. My brain is saying, “burn, baby, burn, yeah, that’s right,” at the candle, I think.

Deciding to do this through mutual “peer pressure” I’m getting from continuously reading Knausgaard’s My Struggle for the last several years, and more recently from Megan Boyle’s just-published Liveblog, which I’m now, like, fifty-one pages in, feeling increasingly obsessed with each subsequent page (i mean like the books are peer pressuring me i don’t mean like ppl are, attacking me, or something, for not doing this). I’m gonna quote the start of her liveblogging experiment:

“Starting today, march 17, 2013, i will be liveblogging everything i do, think, feel, and say, to the best of my ability. right now there is no one i talk to frequently enough to effect by my failure to follow through with tasks i said i’d do. the only person ‘keeping tabs’ on my life is me. as time has been passing, i have been feeling an equally uncontrollable sensation of my life not belonging to me or something. like it’s just this event i don’t seem to be participating in much, and so could be attending by mistake. maybe i wasn’t invited. clerical error. i witness myself willfully allowing opportunities to fade away, because sometimes, for whatever reason, it is hard for me to do things that i know will make me happy.

i can’t control getting older but i can control what i do as i age. also, i feel like my memory is deteriorating. i used to like documenting my daily activities. that seemed to help me remember more. lately the things i’ve been doing haven’t felt worth remembering, but i feel like that could just be a mind trick, and if i start writing more again, i’ll convince myself everything is basically the same as however many years ago it was when i felt more satisfied or hopeful or whatever it is i don’t feel now.

**THIS IS NOT GOING TO BE INTERESTING** **I AM NOT GOING TO TRY TO MAKE THIS SOUND INTERESTING OR TRY TO MAKE YOU LIKE ME OR THINK ABOUT IF YOU ARE READING THIS OR ENJOYING READING THIS, IT’S JUST GOING TO BE WHAT IT IS: A FUNCTIONAL THING THAT WILL HOPEFULLY HELP ME FEEL MORE LIKE IMPROVING MYSELF**”

Feel strongly that this, p. wholly, encompasses why I’m gonna try doing this again, too. Previously “in my life” I used to make, like, daily videos, or “vlog”-type things, and for another period, I wrote one short story a day, and for another period, I wrote, like, a letter-a-day to the general public describing what I did that day, and during each of these periods, I think I felt my general productivity, motivation, mood, well being, increase notably.

Also feel strongly that I won’t be able to, nearly as accurately, follow my day minute-by-minute as Megan did, will probably revert to something I write at the end of each day, or something, I’m not sure yet, or, like, maybe smaller posts as the day goes on? I don’t know give me a couple of days to figure it out please, I really don’t, I’m not sure.

Feel excited by this, feeling like, “yeah, this is a good thing to do, yeah, yeah, you do this, George, just ‘give it a shot,’ ‘go for it,’ ‘you got this.’”

18:22: Just got a text from my mom that said “the big pile is beans! Silly” in response to my replying “too spicy!” to a photograph she sent me, of a mound of flat beans, and a couple of cayenne peppers next to them. I just replied, “I meant the big red peppers.” I’m grinning a lot.

(earlier today) 09:00: Woke this morning to the sound of workers on the floor above mine still renovating apartments. They do this aggressive, rhythmic hammering, which then stops for a few seconds, then resumes for a seconds, then stops for a few seconds, then resumes again. Made it extremely hard to “sleep in,” which I wasn’t even planning on doing, but after cancelling all of my alarms, I sort of just drifted in-and-out of sleep in a weird numb stupor. 

12:00: Eventually got out of bed, feeling semi-disgusted at myself.

Decided to go with a “classic” outfit today, something from my youth, something from years past, something timeless. Chose brown pants with repeated cartoon raccoon pattern on it, grey long-sleeve shirt, “Don’t Give Up. Never Give Up.” black hoodie. 

13:00: Felt “mild amazement” that I was “somehow, already” dressed, in a vaguely positive way.

I was like, “yes, yes, yes, keep riding out this positive emotion,” and made a “G Fuel” energy shake. Strawberry shortcake flavour. Highly recommend. Chugged smoothie while idly watching YouTube videos of tech topics. Had a moment where I was like, “oh crap, dude, you’ve only got, like, five hours of productivity left in the day, you gotta leave, get out of your apartment dude, leave, leave now,” and then, sort-of panicking, grabbed backpack, headphones, iPod, put on shoes, ran out of apartment to McLennan library.

13:16: Yeesh it was so warm today, like, what happened? We gonna get autumn or what, huh? You too chicken to “bring on the cold”? Got to the library, sweating like a disgusting piggie. Chose a computer in the Cybertheque area, couldn’t sit next to the windows where I usually like to sit to squirrel and people watch out my peripherals. I was all, “man you’re gonna get so much done, you’re gonna get all that goodass studying done aren’t you, you’re gonna breeze through these readings,” and then NOPE nada that is not what happened at all. I just pulled up Spotify and played Grouper and then read more of Megan’s Liveblog for like three straight hours, with “intense focus,” I felt, like, “undeviating focus,” like, “laser-like focus,” like, “hawk-like attention to detail.” Felt mildly insane, like, I absolutely could not believe how engrossed in the book I was.

I WASN’T ALL UNPRODUCTIVE look here me out please, you have to at least be on my side a LITTLE: okay here’s the productive things I did okay:

-checked electricity/hydro bill

-checked when midterms were

-checked work schedule for the week

Look I know I know it’s not a lot but please just shut up for like two seconds gosh

A strange thing that started happening—even though my mood started, like, at 7.5/10 when I got to the library, after three hours it dropped, like, severely. Like a lot, I have no idea why, just the natural curve of the day I guess but like by 17:00 I was at a 3/10 if that and was like, “I gotta get out of here, get out of here, yo, hey, stand up, walk outside, get some of that ‘sweet, sweet’ sunlight before the sun disappears for another twelve or thirteen hours, go, log out of the computer, move your butt, move faster, go go go go” and then the “go”s continued faster and faster until I was outside, and, like, dancing a bit to the album I was playing (Prequelle, by Ghost. Been listening to a lot of Ghost recently. Been really “Ghost”ing it up, if you smell what I’m cookin’.)

Then while walking I was like, “alright, okay, it’s ‘time,’ when you get home, just start writing, just ‘do it,’ it doesn’t matter if you have nothing to say, you’ll thank yourself later,” and alsoo another part of my brain was going “start yoga, you promised [your best friend] Alli you’d start yoga, you even told me you wanted to start yoga, why haven’t you started it yet????”

18:40: Earnestly feeling a lot better, yeah, yeah, I am!! I’m gonna finish this post for today but wow that actually helped a lot. I know that Megan’s liveblog experiment ended up having net-detrimental effects on her life, we’ll have to see “how this goes.” Also unfair to compare each experiment as hers was minute-by-minute, and mine is like totally not minute-by-minute to such a significant degree that the data sets can’t be cross-referenced, I feel? I don’t know.

Do any of u ppl have a yoga mat you are looking to sell or could let me borrow? My apartment floor is linoleum and almost as uncomfortable as it is unpleasant to look at. I have, like, this rug from Ikea, but it’s not really in a good position for “yoga-like purposes,” nor is it especially padded, or furry, or like, whatever, you know what I’m trying to say. Gonna use it for now and just “see how it goes,” maybe it’ll actually be just fine? Gosh I don’t even know, feel so unsure about everything. Feeling hopeful, though, feeling “very hopeful,” this was a lot of fun, yeah, yes; gonna try and put in more detail tomorrow, with more timestamps “for accuracy,” or something. Feel strongly that this will be possible, will be bringing around a notebook to “log things in” now that htis project has started, yeah, uh-huh, mhmm, yes yes yes

[lotsasmilesphoto]

Happy Monday, all!  Once again, we’ve survived another week.  But I’m feeling good (cue driving guitar hits by Muse (my favorite version)).  The weather in the Pacific Northwest has been simply superb for autumn photographing (look for a post on that later this week); the rains haven’t quite settled in yet.  So we’ve been able to get outside and enjoy it in full.  I love this time of year.

This also happens to be a very busy time (when is it not?).  Between playing outside while we can, demanding projects at work (yes, believe it or not, I do have a day job, though I wish I could be a full time photographer!), and running the multimedia department for the rapidly approaching Kumoricon, my life has been insanely crazy.  So I have just this one image that I posted on 500px this week.This photo has a fun story behind it.  We were attempting to locate a really cool overhang nook in the side of a cliff in Canyonlands National Park for sunset, recommended by a friend.  Unfortunately, we made the mistake of relying on a webpage for the hike directions.  This didn’t work so well in the park, where we quickly lost all cell service.

First, we went the wrong direction entirely, just to get to the trailhead.  We eventually found it, but as we neared the cliff edge, we lost the trail and couldn’t find the next cairn to point us in the right direction.  Without the website, we were on our own, wandering aimlessly in an ever widening radius from the last cairn.

As the sun inexorably sank toward the horizon, we became more desperate to locate our destination.  We climbed on top of rocks and around outcroppings to get back on track – to no avail.  I ultimately had to give up (not something I do easily) and set up the tripod in the best spot I could find, lest the sun disappear without me.

This was one of the resulting shots.

When we got back to our rental, we looked it up.  We found we were searching in the wrong area, though we were close.  However, due to the angle of the cliff at that time of year, we wouldn’t have seen much of a sunset, even if we were successful.  So in the end, I probably got better shots where we ended up.  Some things just work out that way.

But lesson learned: print trail descriptions, or at least have destination coordinates on-hand!

While I didn’t get many pictures out on social media this week, I did get a bunch of new photos up on Picfair, now available for stock licensing.  If you’re in need of photos for your blog or business, I invite you to check it out; directly support an artist without the expensive middleman!  Here are the ten new images.

A sunset scene from #CanyonlandsNationalPark, and lots of new #photos available for #stocklicensing! Read the #story behind the photo here! #canyonlands #photoblog #adventure Happy Monday, all! Once again, we've survived another week. But I'm feeling good (cue driving guitar hits by…