#I want to eat the herringbone stitch

[friendlyneighborhoodfirbolg]

Little satisfying things :-))

[njadastonearm]

2019 goals

All in all, I didn’t do so great on my goals last year, but I made some progress on some of them. So I’m revising and expanding on last year’s list and adding some new ones that struck me as important as I went through this last year.

ACTUALLY finish that blanket. I’m maybe halfway through it. I can do it! If I work on it an hour or so per week I can get it done!

Make an actual project out of that nice yarn that’s been sitting in a yarn bowl for two years. Maybe use it to learn herringbone stitch?

Once every three months (let’s say the first day of every third month, or the first day I have off of every third month), do a serious clean of my space. I should try to keep things tidier in the meanwhile, but I think scheduling a “dump everything that’s taking up too much room” day every once in a while will be necessary.

Get back on that exercise schedule — that can wait until masters apps are done/I get accepted to a PhD program, whichever comes first, but I definitely want to get back on my stationary bike and use the office gym again. I have podcasts that need to be listened to!

Average at least one book per month again. Try to beat my total from this year (shouldn’t be too hard if I don’t spend three months on one book like I did this summer).

Break out that record player more! On the deep cleaning days, bust out the records I got for Christmas and sob along to Mitski as I clean!

And use that damn thumb piano! It just sits in my room looking pretty! It doesn’t have a big range but I should use it!

Make a point to make it to a couple of books team happy hours throughout the year — I hope to be gone in August, but until then I’ll try to make it.

Try to make at least one new recipe per month — I’m not a great chef and don’t like cooking, but I do need to come up with new ways to get the veggies and vitamins I need. I tend to eat a lot of the same stuff when left to my own devices and it’s not great for me.

Some of last year’s other goals are getting carried over as secondary goals (I’ll try to write fic when possible, make an effort to make friends especially if I go to grad school, do some sort of artistic activity once a month) but I don’t want to bog myself down with too much. I’m trying to spread some of the goals out over he year so it’s not a bunch of “start TOMORROW” stuff, too. All years bring change, but I’m hoping this year it’ll be mostly good changes for me.

[goldgravesship]

An Office Affair | PART 2

SUMMARY: Percival Graves has been ignoring Tina Goldstein successfully for 23 glorious days since her demotion. He would decide if they could ‘enjoy’ a professional relationship—or any other kind of relationship. A series of GoldGraves stories.

RATING: Mature

PART 3 (updated may 8th, 2017)

PART 2: FF.NET | AO3

PART 1: TUMBLR | FF.NET | AO3

Many thanks to @nomorefrostbite, beta reader extraordinaire.

             “At last.” Graves sat back in his chair and took a long, slow sip of his coffee. He told everyone he drank it strong and black, but always added heavy cream and sugar when no one was looking. A lamp on his desk and an illuminated display case on the far wall dimly lit his office, the case displaying scopes and books he had collected over the years. He eyed the scope he knew Tina favored the most.

            “Percy, did you fire Miss Goldstein?” Seraphina Picquery pushed the door aside and let herself in without knocking. He hated when she called him that, and hated it more when she left the door open so half his aurors could overhear her doing it. She knew it too.

            “Madam President, I’m not sure what you’re talking ab—” As usual, she wasn’t one for listening to excuses or explanations, real or otherwise.

           “I’ve heard rumor – and it better be rumor, Percy,” an implied threat that had him merely raising an eyebrow at her as she carried on, looming over his desk, “the ladies in administration are saying Tina Goldstein screamed by the elevator and then ran off crying after you fired her. Two confirmed that you nearly threw her down the staircase. They’re saying that you abuse your power and bully your staff!”

           Percival pushed his chair back and stood in a display of respect to Seraphina; with her hair pulled back into a wrap she was taller than him, though he’d always felt they were evenly matched in style and stature, not to mention ability. Her dress was regal, pressed silks and fine stitching, no expense spared. How kind of her to stop by and bother him in the midst of a mountain of reports.

            “Fabricated hogwash - she slipped and I helped her, nothing more.” A part of him now wished he had thrown Tina down the staircase to warrant such accusations.

            “And was she crying?” Seraphina walked over to the glass case and leaned against it. He wondered why her sudden concern. “The girl looks up to you.” Did that mean she was deserving of some special treatment?

           “We demoted her, she doesn’t deserve my attention, and is no longer my problem.”

           Picquery looked at him as though she could see straight through him, as though she were a Legilimens and his Occlumency walls were parchment thin. That was another thing he hated, to add to his long list. “Only because it is law, only to protect the Statute. There was no excuse for her risking everything we stand for over one No-Maj child.”

            “Three. There were three children involved.” Percival had read over the report so many times he could recite it word for word. Paying attention to the details was his bread and butter work, so he had no qualms about correcting her, no matter their relative positions.

            “Well, either way, one or three or none at all, that isn’t what I’m here to discuss - handle the situation before it blows out of proportion. Intimidating your subordinates is one thing, but rumors that Percival Graves abuses his power are something else altogether.”

            “As you say, Madam President.” Percival bowed toward her curtly but respectfully as she left for her duties.            

           It required two additional coffees and a pastry to make it through the workday. He struggled to hold back various obscenities and hexes after listening to the endless drivel of debriefings that poured in from his newly selected recruits - Percival had to promote three new Junior Aurors to replace the workload Tina had handled by herself; in hindsight, he certainly couldn’t fault her efficiency.

           “Smith, close the door on your way out.” Percival barked at his latest hire. Charles Smith was a short young man with freckles and wavy blonde hair, too young and hopeful for this line of work. Percival was satisfied enough with him though. Smith’s attempts to impress had saved him some extra paperwork and another headache with the Madam President, but his clumsy wand work though - that just left a bad taste in his mouth.

           “Sir?” Merlin’s beard, couldn’t he take a hint and leave?

           “What now, Smith?” Percival tapped a quill against an ornate inkwell before signing various documents, some things he liked to do the old fashioned way. Giving undue time to his wide-eyed juniors once dismissed was not one of them.

           “Is it true? I mean…did you save Tina Goldstein?”

           Percival’s head and shoulders slumped over, quill stilled in his hand. He gritted his teeth and debated the ramifications of turning Smith into a pigeon. With a calm, deep breath he sat back in his seat, folding one leg over the other, and neatly placed his quill back in the inkwell in one decisive longsuffering movement.

           “What about Goldstein?” He glanced over at his liquor cabinet and then to the clock.  Merlin, he needed a drink.

           “Well, the girls were all in a tizzy this afternoon at lunch, sir. They were listening to the mailroom talk about how Tina Goldstein fell over the railing. You know, the one by the elevator?” Charles brushed his hair back, set down his paperwork and raised his hands into the air, seemingly miming out this heroic event. Percival hadn’t taken Smith as one for theatrics. This day needed to end. Was he still prattling on? “She was holding onto the railing,” He looked over to Percival with frightened eyes. “Percival, help!” He mimicked Tina, and not at all well in Percival’s opinion - he really didn’t think anyone who knew Tina Goldstein would believe she cried out like some damsel in distress. “You grabbed her just before she fell, saving her life!” Smith’s bright blue eyes lit up like firecrackers, full of awe and admiration. “I want to be just like you, sir. She would have died, that’s amazing. I’m really honored to be working with you.”

           “Charles.” Percival rapped his fingers on his desk, schooling his features so as not to look too scathing and incur further rumors and visits from Picquery. “Did Miss Goldstein inform you of this?” He’d have her head for this. Not to mention the fact that any basic cushioning or levitation charm from himself or a passerby would have saved Tina’s life – had she indeed actually fallen from the railing – and it bothered him to no end that people were gossiping about him with some silly story that didn’t even make sense in the first place, had they stopped to think about it. Which they clearly had not. What kind of witches and wizards was he working with?!

           “No, sir. She hasn’t been seen in the cafeteria lately, or the usual break rooms I’m told,” Charles picked up his files and leaned forward to whisper, as though letting his boss in on some highly classified information. “No one sees her around much since the demotion, and she eats down in the wand permit office or leaves and heads to some No-Maj joint. You would know that though.”

           Would he know that? Percival rested his fingers against his mouth, considering this new information about Tina’s activities, which he hadn’t paid too much mind to himself. How had an icy boot turned into a life or death rescue? “Thank you, Smith. You may go.”

           “No, thank you, sir. You saved Miss Goldstein. I really admired her work with childr—.”

           “Please leave.” Percival was exasperated as he waved his arm toward the door, restraining any tempting wandless magic that might have otherwise propelled the eager boy out with force.

           Charles’ eyes widened. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. See you tomorrow, sir.” He clutched the paperwork to his chest, bowed his head, and fled Percival’s office.

           Percival poured himself a shot of firewhiskey and drank it back - Tina Goldstein would be the death of him. He grabbed the delicately carved glass bottle and brought it over to his desk, waving a hand to shut his ajar office door, blocking out the activity of his department as most began to head home for the evening. With a slow sip and recline back in his chair again, he cast a Muffliato whilst completing some paperwork. He just wanted some peace and quiet to think.

           His mind wandered to Tina’s skirt, and the way she let him run his hand from the small of her back over her buttock and down her leg. His finger catching in the run of her stockings and the hint of soft flesh exposed. The more he thought about it, the more he focused on the tremble in her knees.

           An hour passed and half the bottle of Ogden’s had gone with it, his face was flushed from the alcohol and his mind had traveled to more carnal desires. Graves tugged his tie off and unbuttoned the top half of his shirt. It was one of those nights. He took a slow drag from a cigarette and let his eyes roll shut as a hand drifted down to his trousers.

           He imagined that he was back at home, with no more work to worry about. The loft space was large with minimal furnishing, but art deco in design. Simple, clean, and without the memories and nosey house elves that came attached to the vacant Graves family home that he barely found the time to go to any more. This was his place, and he could see it now in his mind’s eye - against the far wall a large glass window spanning from ceiling to floor, below it a gray, herringbone couch with drink cart and glass coffee table. Percival glanced out of the window with a view over Lower Manhattan, the Woolworth Building illuminated in the distance - MACUSA always in view one way or another. He had slipped off his belt and pulled his shirt free, ready to relax for the evening and enjoy himself.

           “Percival?” A female voice called out and a hand knocked at the door.

          Frustrated in more ways than one, he tugged his front door open with darkened eyes, poised to berate whoever had come calling for disturbing him, but it’s Tina, in a far skimpier version of what she’d worn to work this morning, something he couldn’t really imagine her ever wearing in reality—possible lover. No, reality wasn’t the point of this, and he banished those thoughts away, focusing himself back on the scene playing out in his mind.

           She looks up at him, her eyes sad and regretful, and her hair damp with snow.

           “Do you want a drink, Goldstein?” He walks across the room and pours two glasses before she has time to answer.

           “Whatever you’re having.” Her voice sounded sultrier than usual, purposeful.

           Percival turned around as her coat slipped over her shoulders and fell on the floor. “You shouldn’t be here, Tina.” A warning. Percival stirs the drink with his finger, and takes a sip, strong.

           “I’m sorry that I’m a disappointment to you.” Tina takes the other glass and drinks down the bourbon with ease. His dark intent gaze falls to her blouse; thin white silk, her nipples hard from the cold. “Reinstate me, you know how good I am.” She seems bold suddenly.

           “No.” His denial is earnest as he turns to take a seat on the couch. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his legs, glass cradled in hand. This is for her own good.

           “I’ll do anything…” She murmurs and drops to her knees before him.

           Graves’ breath is labored as he rocks back in his chair. He strokes himself through his pants. He imagines Tina’s hands coiled around him, mouthing wet kisses through the fabric of his pants.

           “We can’t.” He murmurs through a clenched jaw. Caught up in the fantasy, his fingers fumble for the buttons, unpracticed but eager like he imagines hers would be, giving him better access to his erection and sighing at the relief of skin to skin. “Tina…”

           “Sir?” Tina knocks on the door, her head peaking through.

           Graves’ eyes flash open. On reflex he falls forward in his chair; the springs screeching as he pulls his legs swiftly under his desk to hide his exposed cock. His hands slap hard against the desk, elbow knocking over the firewhiskey bottle, spilling the remains across his open case files, soaking through a week’s worth of paperwork. He utters a muffled curse.