#I wonder if anyone actually reads these custom ones. reply “draft if you did

[portobello1042]

Okay, y’all how’s this plan to avoid the conflict happening in the US.

•Step one: liquidise all your assets.

•Step 2: using your new cash, buy so much weed, like way too much.

•Step three: move to New Zealand.

It’s the perfect plan, right?

[heckyeahitsnick]

Her Soul is Like Magnolia

Written By: @heckyeahitsnick​

Pairing: Harry Styles/OC

Word Count: 20,979

Warnings: Some explicit/foul language

Summary: 

Magnolia “Mags” Rahman believes in hard science, has a tendency to stick her foot in her mouth, and is a lover of all things horror and Halloween. Harry Styles likes to toe the line between fact and fiction, strangers and friends, and normal and paranormal.  

Harry Styles has a ghost problem.

Mags has a Harry Styles problem.

An au where seeing is believing and everyone is trying their best to treat each other with kindness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Day 1: October 24th, a week from Halloween

“You’re stepping on my foot.”

Mags broke herself out of her stupor, visibly shaking her head. She stared at the person the voice belonged to, trying to orient herself and gather her bearings, and saw that it was her coworker, Liam. “Oh,” she murmured apologetically, “Sorry.” She was so exhausted at work, counting down the minutes until her shift was over at the campus bookstore so she could go home and curl up with Pumpkin, the adorable black cat she adopted only a month ago when it was love at first sight. Grad school was a vicious beast that she had yet learned how to slay. She probably hadn’t slept in the last 48 hours, busy with school, work, and occasionally binging B-rated horror movies on Netflix with Pumpkin. In her drowsy state, she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions, like accidentally charging the last customer the wrong price, shelfing the Twilight series under the Biography section, and stepping on her coworker’s foot. She was just so tired.

“Okay? Thanks for apologizing? But you literally haven’t moved. You’re still stepping on my foot!” He pointed at her white sneakers atop his (knock-off) Timberlands.

She gave him a playful glare and replied, “You’re so high-maintenance,” before shifting away from him.

“Okay, well, I just came to tell you I’m headed home a little early,” he paused to eye her with vague concern, “Are you sure you’re okay to close up?”

She snorted, “Does my answer even matter? It’s not like you’re gonna offer to close up for me.”

He grinned good-naturedly, “Yeah you’re right. Makes me feel like less of a dick though.” Putting on his coat and gathering his backpack, he quickly headed for the door as if the devil was chasing him, ignoring the peace sign Mags threw at his retreating figure. Probably eager to go home and chug some beer, or like start a fire, or whatever it was that boys like to do. Mags wouldn’t know. She couldn’t possibly even attempt to understand the male psyche.

Like for example, Mags looked at the only customer in the bookstore, frantically pacing through the aisles and muttering incomprehensibly to himself. His curly hair was tussled and frayed, not in the intentional bedhead way that some people, like her ex-boyfriend, styled it in an attempt to look good but actually coming off as a douche, but in a way that indicated he’s probably been constantly running his hand through it. Probably exam stress, she mused, considering the boy’s current state. He was tall too, she observed, but that was overshadowed by his hunched shoulders, head facing down, and of course the frantic pacing.

“Dude. Are you okay?” Mags called out in a voice slightly louder than usual.

No answer, as if he didn’t even hear her. She realized she should probably be a bit more cautious. The customer honestly was acting very strange. He could probably be planning to rob the bookstore. She was the only employee left, her slight build and big brown eyes (which her friends called doe-eyed but Mags herself considered to look more like a fish) weren’t enough to intimidate anyone. She laughed softly to herself. Like anyone would rob this bookstore. College students never paid with cash and Mags probably had negative three dollars to her name and an even lower will to live. If someone held her at gunpoint asking her to hand over her wallet, she’d probably wouldn’t be able to stop herself from bursting into laughter. Besides, he looked like a college student himself. An English major, she guessed, considering his pretentious wool coat and heeled boots. She did a double take. Glittery, heeled boots apparently. She would know, she’s dated her fair share of them.

You’re being so foolish, Maggie-Girl, she scolded herself with the affectionate nickname she gave herself and that no one (read: especially Niall, her roommate’s, Marisol’s, boyfriend) was ever allowed to address her as.

The draft Liam let in earlier caused her to shudder. Wrapping her yellow cardigan tightly across her chest, she longingly gazed out the window. The weather was the perfect crispy fall weather, with orange leaves littering the sidewalks and she sighed, wistfully thinking about the brisk air sure to greet her as she biked home. If only the boy would leave, she could be on her way!

She glanced at her watch and decided, screw her self-preservation. She stepped out from behind the check-out counter and headed towards the boy. He barely noticed her, continuing to drag his fingers frantically through the spines of the books on the shelf. Mags just now realized they were standing under the horror section of the store. Weird.

“Hey, um, dude. Are you okay?” She asked with a voice that she hoped sounded professional and confident but probably came across as a mix of “wow-I-don’t-get-paid-enough for this” and “maybe I don’t wanna die?”

Her presence seems to finally break him out of whatever trance he was in. He looked up at her, taking Mags aback. He’s kind of cute, she thought, if she ignored the bluish-purple bags under his green eyes and his pink lips twisted into a frown. Potentially a robber, possibly a murderer who likes to creep out female employees in bookstore by having a near breakdown in the horror section, sure, but at least he was nice to look at.

“What?”

Mags gave him an ironic smile in return. “Ah, you speak! Thank god. I was beginning to think your only talents were to burn a hole through the carpet.”

His brows furrowed in confusion, “What?” he repeated in frustration.

Maybe I gave him more credit than he deserved she thought to herself. Out loud, she said, “Look. Technically, we’re closing in 5 minutes. You looked like you needed help. What’re you looking for? Maybe then we can both get out of here.”

His eyes darted nervously to the side. “A book,” is his brilliant reply.

“Yeah? I figured?” She said, stretching out her word because at this point, who cared if the boy could tell she thought he was ridiculous. This was definitely a strange scenario and she wondered if her own sleep-deprivation caused her to dream up this handsome boy with vague answers and possibly three functioning braincells. She briefly had a thought that this was like a reverse You situation, where he was the Joe to her Beck, but she quickly stopped her overactive imagination “Any book in particular?”

“Yeah, um,” the boy quickly straightened up and looked her in the eyes, as if he finally came to the realization that he was coming off a little odd, “I’m looking for a horror book. Obviously. But like, something non-fiction? Like about, y’know. Ghosts.“

“Ghosts?” She cautiously prodded, “but non-fiction? Like…paranormal accounts?”

“Yes! Like, I dunno, spooky shit. Stuff, sorry. Paranormal stuff about like haunted houses,” His eyes brightened, and his word tumbled out faster with a tinge of hope. “Hey! You wouldn’t happen to have a How-To book about how to cleanse a house that’s haunted?”

Mags tried. She really did try. Not the fake trying like when she tries to make it to her 8 am class every Tuesday morning and ‘accidentally’ snoozes her alarm. Not even the fake trying she does when Marisol makes her do sit-ups at the gym for their weekly (read: monthly) workout and she taps out after 5. But even trying her hardest meant she could not stop the laughter that escaped her mouth.

“Haha, I’m sorry, what?” She laughed, her face in disbelief and amusement, clutching her stomach, “You want what? What is this? Did you end up watching too many episodes of Buzzfeed Unsolved ‘cuz honestly, I’m not sure you got the right bone structure to be Shane. You’re funny though, I’ll give you that!”

The laughter and words began to trail off because the boy, his face completely changed. The hopeful, pleading gleam that was in his eyes suddenly hardened in anger. Mags quickly tried to reign herself in, registering that he was not amused, and she’d accidentally offended him.

“I –“ She began, ready to start apologizing because she realized she completely read the room wrong.  “Forget it!” He cut her off, quickly stuffing the book he had in his hands back into the bookshelf.

“Whatever.” He peered at her nametag disdainfully, “Don’t offer to help if you don’t intend to, Magnolia,” spewing her name out like it was poison in his mouth.

“Wait! I’m sor – “

“Forget it. Sorry I asked!” He exclaimed, abruptly walking past her, his shoulders jostling hers and she whipped around to try and apologize once more.

But he left just as quickly as Liam did. Like the devil was chasing him.

Mags turned around and pulled out the book he had in his hands (and totally shelfed in the wrong place), trailing her fingers across the blue leather bound and golden imprinted letters. “Exorcism: Encounters with the Paranormal and Occult,” she muttered to herself, and then looked up at the door that the boy had exited from. “Nonfiction.”

She slumped against the bookshelf, mentally kicking herself. Why don’t you ever think before you speak?! She berated herself morosely. Had she taken a second to assess the situation, she would’ve registered his worried eyes and another emotion that she couldn’t quite place. Could it have been…fear? She eyed the book in her hand. What could that boy possibly be afraid of?

Her phone dinged with a text message. She pulled it out of her pocket and immediately groaned reading the message from Marisol.

Pumpkin just shat (shitted? shatted?) on the living room carpet J  Can’t wait ‘till ur home.

If Mags was an English major, she’d probably see an irony in this. Or like a metaphor, because she shat all over that boy’s concerns and like the shit was representative of like…. being a dick? But she wasn’t an English major. Obviously.

The only thing her soon-to-be-chemist brain could come up with was: well, fuck, isn’t karma a bitch.

_______________________________________________________________________

Day 3: October 26th - 5 days until Halloween

“Be honest with me. Am I gonna die?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Niall!” Mags exclaimed, shifting her backpack onto her other shoulder, “For the last time! I. Don’t. Know.”

“But look closely!” He pestered, shoving his arm into her face, whining. “Tell me this rash doesn’t look bad. It’s red! And like, rashy! And it itches, Mags, it itches so bad! I think it’s infected!”

She backed away from him and shoved the offending arm away, quickly muttering an apology to the guy in a suit and tie behind her, before facing Niall again with widened eyes (well, wider than usually because Fish Eyes, remember?). “Seriously, Niall, I really can’t deal with you before I’ve had my morning tea.”

“But I – “

She cut him off. “And rashes can’t be infected! Now can we puh-lease talk about something else? Anything else. I’ll literally discuss your sex life with Marisol right now if it means we can stop talking about your nasty-ass rash!” This time, she ignored the glare from the man in the business suit; she can’t be blamed for his eavesdropping.

While Niall, in typical Niall fashion (taking everything literally), began to recount a tale about his midnight rendezvous with Marisol, Mags let her mind wander. She impatiently tapped her foot against the floor, sparing another glance at her watch, while also giving her own mental nod of approval at the store’s festive decorations (fake spider webs and caution tapes that adorned the doors and counter). For a chain that had a slew of ridiculous redundant names for their drinks (she will always bemoan the fact that people don’t realize that a chai tea is literally translated to tea tea), they sure knew how to get into the Halloween spirit. The line at Starbucks was long she noted, and with four people ahead of them, she and Niall would be late for their lecture if things didn’t speed up. Mags just knew she should’ve made her own cup of chai this morning, but it never tasted the same as when her mom made it, and all it would do is make her more homesick.

Niall briefly interrupted her train of thought with a quick interjection, “Yo, Maggie are you listening to me,” to which she responded with a quick lie, “Yes!” followed by a “And don’t call me that!” with a soft jab to his ribs.

The gears in her mind shifted, wandering to the boy from the bookstore last night. She couldn’t stop thinking about him last night on her bike ride home, during her stern lecture with Pumpkin about the importance of using the litter box, all the way until she finally went to bed. What was he so scared of? She pondered while also still scolding herself for handling the situation absolutely in the worst way. Though she didn’t mean to, she doesn’t ever intend to come across as so rude and aggressive. She just had a knack for blurting out the wrong thing that made it hard for people to see that she actually had a heart of gold.

Well, maybe not gold, she thought. That was giving herself too much credit. To be sure, she interrupted Niall’s ramblings with a quick interjection, “Hey quick question. Would you say I have a heart of gold or like…a heart of bronze?”

He was used to her antics; his blue eyes didn’t even hesitate before meeting hers. “Are we using an Olympic scale? Like gold would be first place and like the kindest person ever?” Acknowledging her nod, he held his fingers to his chin, making the universal thinking face as he mulled over her question.

She barely heard his answer (“Maybe a happy medium, like a silver heart? You suck at first impressions but once ya get to know ya, you’re super sweet,” the blonde mused in the background) because something, or more like someone, caught her eye. She watched him walk past her, exiting the Starbucks. Her eyes locked in on a pair of glittery boots and trailed up a pair of black jeans, a burgundy hoodie, and finally, green eyes that looked even more sleep-deprived than last night if that was possible, until she stopped at the black beanie that did little to contain the escaping brown curls.

It was the boy! The boy from last night!

“It’s him!” She shouted to Niall, dragging him by the arm so she could catch the boy before he left, ignoring Niall’s cries (“Wait, we were next in line!”)

“Hey!” Mags shouted, ignoring the grimace of the man in the suit, as she chased after the boy with a disgruntled Niall slowly trailing behind. She followed the boy outside, desperate to get his attention. “Ghost boy!” she shouted, somewhat hysterically, “Wait!”

Finally, he turned around, just registering that the crazy girl running on the sidewalk was trying to get his attention. His eyes widened in surprised and then narrowed with recognition, as he frowned.

“I - What did you just call me?” He said, his voice huskier than Mags recalled.

“Um, I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name last night. I needed to get your attention! I needed to apologize.” Her eyes took in his appearance. He looked even more haggard than yesterday. His face seemed sunken in and his skin dull. He was still really handsome, if her heartrate was any indicator, but he looked worse for wear.

“Look,” she continued, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to like, laugh at you or anything. Let me make it up to you! I can probably help you find the book you’re looking for! My conscious is like, really annoying, and I couldn’t sleep last night ‘cuz I felt so bad and I looked up a shit ton of books about hauntings. Nonfiction ones! For whatever mysterious reason you need them for.”

His brows furrowed and his frown deepened, “What?” He shook his head from side to side, as if to shake away his confusion, “Look s’all good. It’s fine. I’ll figure it out on my own,” He turned as if to walk away before adding as an afterthought, “You curse a lot, y’know?”

Before she could even respond, she was interrupted again (which was probably a good thing because her knee-jerk response was to say “No shit sherlock”) by Niall coming to a stop beside her.

“Mags, what the actual fuck? We were next in line!” He bent over slightly, resting his hands against his knees as he paused to catch his breath from the strenuous five steps he took from the Starbucks door to where she and the boy were standing. He looked up and nodded, “What’s up, Harry?”

“Hey Niall,” the boy, Harry, said as he eyed the pair of them cautiously, like he didn’t want anyone to think he could be associated with them. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Wait, Harry!” Magnolia cried out, making immediate use of his name, “Seriously, tell me what’s wrong! I can help!” But her cries fell to deaf ears as she watched Harry walk off, his shoulders in his seemingly perpetual slump, one hand jammed into his pocket and the other holding his coffee cup as he crossed the street.

“So,” Niall began, “Couple of things to unpack here. We don’t have coffee, I’m a little more out of shape that I thought I was, and we’re definitely late for class so I suggest we should just skip it and grab some food.” He finally straightened up and looked at Mags, as if was an afterthought, “Wait. How d’you know Harry? Did you sleep with him?”

_______________________________________________________________________

Day 4: October 27th, 4 days until Halloween

On days like this, Mags truly does take a second to appreciate the finer things in life. The fall foliage that lined the paved pebble pathways on the university’s campus only contributed to the magical spell of October. As maple leaves fluttered downwind and the cool wind blew against her skin, she embraced the enchanting atmosphere of the autumnal weather, taking in the beauty as college students hurried past her, a colorful, warm blend of red scarves, brown coats, olive sweaters, and all. The breeze that blew through her dark hair didn’t even bother her, when usually she’d be grumpy considering how long it takes her to tame the thick, wavy locks into an acceptable amount of frizz. Despite having an o-chem midterm waiting for her, she slowed her pace to truly enjoy the bliss she was in. Mags paused on the cobblestone to close her eyes and breathe in the cold air, a small smile slowly forming on her face. Nothing could ruin the feeling of contentment that she was feeling right now and –

“What’re you doin’?”

A deep baritone disrupted her. She stands corrected. Maybe she could be bothered. She took a longer second to herself, keeping her eyes closed and steadying her breathing before planning to huffily face whomever (whoever? Whomstever? Times like this really made Mags rejoice at the fact she wasn’t an English major) decided to ruin her moment of peace.

The same voice let out a chuckle. “Hey, are you planning to open your eyes anytime soon?”

It took her a second, but Mags recognized that voice. Ghost Boy! Harry! She whipped around towards the voice, her hair following along and sharply striking her face and shoulders as she settled her brown eyes on Harry. She was so happy to see him, even if he did ruin the coming-of-age, dramatic introspective Bollywood moment she was having to herself. Magnolia gazed at him, taking the surprisingly peaceful silence between them to truly assess him. His green eyes peered back at her, glistening from the cold breeze, pronounced by the dark purple bags that seemed to have worsened overnight. His cheekbones jutted out just below, and lower, his pink lips settled in an expression she couldn’t quite decipher, but she’d guess wistful if she had to. He seemed to be in better spirits, dressed in a chunky caramel cable-knit sweater. Maybe it was how cozily he was dressed or perhaps it was the softness enhanced by his sleepy demeanor, but Mags was hit by a sudden wave of endearment for him. For a boy she hardly knew! She shook off the weird feelings that washed over her and broke the silence.

“Harry!” She quickly recalled all their past encounters and decided to approach this conversation with a little less well-meaning aggression and exuberance. “Harry,” she calmly tried again, “I’m so glad you’re here. I really, really need you to listen to me. I am really and truly sorry I laughed at you the other day.” He opened his mouth to respond, but Mags bulldozed on, not wanting to lose her chance. “I – look, I have knack for saying the wrong thing but I promise that I really want to help you with –“ She paused as she realized she never knew what exactly seemed to be plaguing him, but persevered nevertheless, “with whatever it is that’s bugging you. I pinky promise I can help - somehow!”

He broke into an amused smile, one that Mags couldn’t help notice was a very nice smile at that. “Pinky promise, huh?” He prodded, “That’s pretty serious for someone who quite literally just met me and doesn’t even know what my problem is.”

“Well, whatever it is, just tell me! I won’t laugh!” Mags pleaded.

“Do you promise not to laugh?”

“I promise!” She said solemnly, her face somber, nodding with earnestness.

“Do you,” he paused, inhaling a deep breath, as Mags leaned in closer to listen, breath baited, eyes unwavering, “do you pinky promise?”

“Oh!” She swatted at him with a free hand as she realized he was teasing her, as he stepped away laughing.

“Sorry,” he smiled, not looking the least bit apologetic, “Couldn’t help m’self.”

They shared a small moment, each looking at the other with their own, soft smiles before

Harry suddenly straightened up, his smile vanishing just as Mags began to welcome the sight. His tone sobered, “I did wanna say m’sorry for being kinda a dick to you. I’m dealing with…something right now and I really didn’t mean to take it out on you, Magnolia.”

“Mags,” she instinctively corrected, “Magnolia is reserved for customers that I don’t insult.”

“Mags,” he repeated wryly, “I like that. Well anyways, just happen to pass you and wanted to say that.” He gestured to the papers she had forgotten were clutched in her hands, “Anyways, looks like you’ve got a test on…” He trailed off, squinting at her neat penmanship of carefully copied formulas and calculations, “rocket science or quantum physics or whatever those horrible numbers mean. Just looking at it is giving me a headache. I’m sure you’ll do well though.  G’luck!” He said, turning to leave.

“No wait!” She was not going to lose another chance. Truly, she did feel awful about how she treated Harry, but also, she didn’t want him to go for reasons she couldn’t quite explain. She liked his presence and didn’t want the conversation to end just yet. “Will you seriously tell me what’s wrong? Please?”

He considered her, his guarded eyes boring into hers for what felt like eternity, not even breaking contact when a boy with rounded hipster coke-bottle glasses and a plaid coat bumped against her shoulder without so much as an apology (friggin’ English majors she briefly lamented).

“Yeah, okay,” he conceded, running his hands roughly through his brown curls, “You think I’m crazy anyways and it’s not like my life can get any weirder.” He pursed his lips as he formulated his thoughts. Mags tried to be patient, resisting the urge to check her watch because she did actually care about her grades and she did have a midterm to get to after all and Niall was such a push-over he wouldn’t be able to save her a seat for much longer, but she had to hear what he had to say. Just as she was going to (gently, she swears) prompt Harry, he broke his contemplative silence.

“Um. Okay so basically,” he stalled, scratching at his hairline before spewing out in anxious, bullet-fast speech, “I um, pretty-sure-I-accidentally-summoned-like-a-demon-or-ghost-or-some-evil-otherwordly-spirit-in-my-house-and-now-I’m-being-haunted.

Brown eyes blinked in his directions. To her credit, Mags remained composed despite her thoughts that ranged from what the actual fuck, this boy is psychotic to my minority ass is not equipped for this situation to aww he looks kinda cute when he’s nervous.

“Yes,” in reality is how she responded, trying to maintain neutral as she organized her thoughts, her voice robotic, “I understand.”

“Yeah, see, I knew this was a mistake. I didn’t really expect you to believe me,” his hopeful expression fading to disappointment, belying his words.

“No! Okay, yeah I don’t believe you,” she confessed, “but,” brandishing her speech with wild gestures, “I can help you prove that your house isn’t haunted! That’ll like give both you and I peace of mind! Not right now, because I really do have to go kick some o-chem ass but like, later tonight? Take my number, text me your address, and we can like ghostbust the fuck out of your non-haunted home!”

There was a brief moment of hesitation before Harry nodded in agreement, albeit reluctantly but hey, she’d take it, Mags quickly gushed out her cellphone number as Harry’s thumb clumsily attempting to enter each digit and keep up.

Mags raced away, peeking at her watch and sparing a parting glance at Harry and calling out, “I’m serious Harry, if I don’t get a text, I will haunt you myself! And I am way more annoying than a ghost!” He smiled fondly in response, “I don’t doubt that. I swear I’ll text you,”

“Promise?” she shouted, as she retreated further away from him to her awaiting exam.

“Pinky promise.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Same day, later that evening

Mags leans against the bay window in the living room, watching the rain drops splatter against the window. A cup of chai in one hand, a worn murder-mystery novel in the other, with Pumpkin curled up against her feet hidden under thick socks, she truly felt content. Marisol had thrown a quilt over Mags legs earlier as the former left for work. Mags was so immersed in the book’s plot she barely gave the other girl an appreciative smile but she was sure Marisol knew.

She was pretty sure she aced her midterm exam earlier that day (and Niall was fairly confident that he didn’t fail so it was a win-win for all) and she was able to make some progress with Harry. The curly haired boy, whom she met for the first time a mere three days ago, seemed to consume a lot of her free time and thoughts.

He was just so curious, and skittish, and he genuinely did seem scared of something. Mags was a firm believer in science, statistics, hard, factual data. Give her an equation to solve or a statistical analysis to decipher over an essay any day. Even if she wasn’t a believer, she knew better than to laugh at others, even if her actions didn’t always reflect that. She had never believed in Santa Claus, being Muslim and all, but she’d been the one to comfort Kevin Vo in the first grade when the classroom bully had tried to convince others that Santa was fictitious. Likewise, even though she didn’t truly know Harry, she did believe that something was scaring him, and she was determined to figure out what it was. But one thing was sure, she positively knew it was not a ghost.

Her phone rang out with a small chime, alerting her of a text message.

Hey, It’s Harry. Harry Styles.

Before she could respond, her phone dinged again.

Or as you like to call me, Ghost Boy.

harry!! im so glad u txted!!!

I keep my promises. Are you sure you want to come to my house that is DEFINITELY haunted?

yes i do wanna come to ur house that is definitely NOTT(!!) haunted. send me ur addy.

Once receiving his address, Mags began to root through her closet for a warmer coat and umbrella. She grabbed her keys, gave Pumpkin an affectionate kiss on her furry little forehead, and gave herself one last look at the mirror. She almost found herself reapplying her mascara and running a brush through her hair, but she fought the urge. This is what she always looks like, and she wasn’t sure why she cared so much about her appearance for this friendly little demonic (but not really) excursion she was about to partake in. Certainly, she’s looked worse before. Liam has seem her adorned in her older brother’s shapeless, oversized sweaters as she hastily arrived seconds before her shift and Niall had seen her when she hadn’t showered in days, bra forgotten, her clothes stained, and remnants of last night’s dinner on her face (although, granted it had been Finals week).

As her blonde companion came to mind, as an afterthought, she shot one more text to Harry; just as a precaution because as attractive as he was, she didn’t know him that well yet. Though she doubted his heart was anything but sincere and good, she had to be safe.

also im bringin niall. the more the merrier rite?? (((:

Niall and Mags stood side by side on the property, their sneakers and boots respectively crunching the orange leaves that littered the lawn, as they gazed up. The house was huge, intricate, a stark contrast against the cloudy gray sky, and beautiful. Hauntingly so. If she believed in ghosts, Mags could envision how one would think this particular house was haunted. The brown and orange wood that made the exterior seemed to indicate that this house could creak when it wasn’t supposed to, the broken shutters revealing that the house holds secrets from its past, the surrounding black iron gates emitting a foreboding sense of doom.

But, she knew how to deal with facts. And the facts were that this house was old as shit and old houses liked to creak. She was sure that Harry probably just had an overactive imagination, which she was here to quell.

“Holy hell, you’re tellin’ me that Harry lives here? In this friggin’ place?” Niall let out a low appreciative whistle, “I’m definitely gonna have to convince him to host a house party here.”

She snorted in response, “Right? He couldn’t have lived in shitty student housing like the rest of us?”

They made their way to the porch, carefully side-stepping planks of rotting wood and loose nails. As Niall knocked, Mags sent a quick text to Harry alerting him of their presence. She’d filled Niall in when she picked him up for this adventure, letting him know that Harry was scared that this house was haunted and that they, soon to be scientists, were going to prove that it was all just hodgepodge. Blasphemous.  A figment of his imagination. And of course, Niall was game, as he always was, his laidback and flexible personality among the many traits that Mags loved about the Irishman. The door creaked open, groaning under the movement of shifting wood, as Harry greeted them with an appreciative smile.

“Hey. Come in. Thanks for doing this, honestly,” he ushered them inside, into the house, “though I’m not sure how smart this idea is, or why you’d be more equipped to tell if this house is haunted more than me, considering one of ya have literally drank yourself into a drunken stupor and became convinced that Big Bird was a part of a larger conspiracy theory.”

“Falsifications!” Niall boasted, while Mags yelled in her defense, “Hey that was literally ONE time!”

Both Harry and Niall shot her a concerned look. “Right,” she realized, “You were referring to Niall because we just met and how could you possibly know that about me? Haha. Moooving on.”

Niall and Harry amicably bickered in the background and Mags wandered off to take in her surroundings. She had every intention of taking off her heavy coat as she surveyed the house, taking in the wood floors, antique furniture, mosaic windows, and high ceilings, but there was a chill in the air, despite the burning fire crackling in fireplace. She turned to question Harry about the temperature, and his eyes were already on her, watching her take everything in with an unidentifiable emotion. Recovering from his unexpected gaze, she questioned, “Why’s it so cold in here? Trying to save money on bills?”

Harry seemed validated by her question, “See! So you notice that too! No matter how much I crank the thermostat or feed wood to the fireplace, it is always chilly in here.”

Niall nodded sagely, “Ah yes. A very common indicator that a house is haunted,” which caused Harry to nod enthusiastically in agreement in having found his kindred spirit and Mags to shoot Niall a look of annoyance.

“Or,” she interjected, “It could mean literally anything else. Climate change can be linked to more severe, harsher winters and this has certainly been a record-breaking cold October.” This, in turn, prompted Niall and Harry to shoot each other a look, as if to fondly say they found her adorable. Huffing slightly, she continued, “Okay, Harry, let’s get down to business. What else is making you think you’re haunted? Tell me everything.”

Harry nodded, “It’s a long story. Let’s get settled on the couch, I’ll grab us some drinks. This is going to be an interesting evening.”

Wine in hand (and a beer for Niall), bodies settled, and fire crackling, the trio sat on the rug and couch, eyes on Harry. He cleared his throat, an odd hush falling over them as he began his tale, “Well, let’s start from the beginning. The reason I even can afford to live in this house is because Bertha, the old widow who owns the place. She used to live here and took a liking to me, so she charges me cheap rent after her granddaughter took her to another state to live with her.”

“Gilf,” Niall responded nodding, as Mags inquired, “Wait, how did you even know Bertha?”

“We played Bingo together,” Harry clarified, which raised more questions, but he didn’t elaborate, “Anyways, I lived here for about a month, no problems other than the usually leaky faucets and the sorts. But one evening,” he broke off, lowering his head to focus on the arms of his sweater stretched over his palm, his fingers twiddling anxiously.

He looks so sad and worried. Mags instinctively reached out and placed a comforting hand on his knee, the warmth of his skin felt through his jeans, causing Harry to look up as she smiled in reassurance.

“Right,” he persisted, “Well, one evening, about a week ago, my friend Louis and I were having drinks and watching horror movies, as a little farewell celebration because he was going to study abroad the next day. Getting into the Halloween spirit y’know? We were drunk and shootin’ the piss, and Louis suggested we hold a séance as he had a Ouija board in his car.”

“He just happened to have a Ouija board in his car?” Mags questioned in disbelief.

“He’s odd like that,” Harry explained, coinciding with Niall’s comment “Yeah, that checks out. Sounds like Louis!” Once again, reminding Mags that Niall was such a social person, and of course he somehow knew this Louis character.

“So we were just being stupid, lighting candles and asking the Ouija board silly questions and really just goofing off,” the sound of the rain grew louder, the droplets slapping against the wooden house and glass windows, prompting Harry to raise his voice to be heard, “And off Louis went to Brazil the next day to study abroad. And over the next few days, things kept happening.”

“Things?” Mags encouraged.

“Things like…I would hear sounds in the night. The wood creaks like someone is walking through the house and I hear strange sounds like scratching on the walls. The lights randomly flicker,” He takes in a shuddering breath, his hands absentmindedly pulling at a loose thread form his sweater in apprehension, “and I dunno, a painting literally fell off the wall in the dead of the night. That is not normal! Sometimes, there’s a weird smell in here, like rotten eggs, and it doesn’t go away no matter how hard I clean or how much air freshener I buy. It is always so cold in here and I haven’t been able to sleep in days, because I feel like something is just…watching me. If I can sleep, it’s only for a little because I’ll have nightmares, or I find myself waking up in the middle of the night.” Harry’s voice gets louder and louder, becoming more agitated and fearful as he recounts, “I can’t take it anymore, but I’m stuck here until the next semester but I’m not sure how much longer I can last.”

A quietness overtakes them, as everyone processes the story. Once again, Harry breaks the silence, “I dunno what we did that night, but I think. I think we definitely woke something.”

Mags stared at him, her heart feeling for him and she so desperately wished she could just give him the answers. Her brain was in overdrive, considering what could be source causing all the strangeness. Sleep deprivation can cause a lot of symptoms, her mind raced, delirium, hallucinations, your cognitive functions skewed because of being loopy. Because she believed, that while he may believe everything he said to be genuine, there were other plausible explanations. Ones that didn’t include the paranormal.

“Well, we’re here for ya mate,” Niall promised as Mags murmured in agreement. “We ain’t leaving ya alone tonight and we’ll be here to hear anything strange.”

Harry exhaled in obvious relief, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “Thanks mate,” he said, as Niall cheered and went off to grab himself another beer, leaving the pair alone, “And thank you, Mags. I just, can’t explain it, but I feel better just having you here.” Mags looked at him, the fire dancing in the reflection of his eyes. His words were sincere and made her feel warm despite the chill, alighting her nerves. “Of course,” was all she could muster in response, her voice thick with emotion.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Day 5: October 28th, 3 days until Halloween

The rest of last night had passed in a similar fashion. They watched a B-rated cult classic on the Sy-Fy channel, played a rousing game of scrabble in which Niall of all people emerged victorious (the winning word with triple points: craic), and just swapping stories about their lives. It was fun, and Harry had looked the most relaxed that she had ever seen him. But when they woke in the morning, the mood was somber. Niall and Mags hadn’t heard a single peep the entire night, sleeping peacefully until morning, leaving Harry to fret over two options: the fear that he had gone crazy or that they wouldn’t believe him.

Mags was quick to dissipate both fears, assuring him that she would go home, shower, pack herself a bag, and come back again after work. If anything, she knew just having someone there with him helped Harry sleep better than he had in days, and although Niall wouldn’t be able to make it as he had a date night planned with Marisol, Mags wanted to be there for Harry. Harry was kind, Mags discerned, the way he had draped a blanket over her snoring figure last night and had given Niall his extra pillow. And the way she felt when he looked at her? She couldn’t describe. It was unlike any feeling that not even her past boyfriends made her feel, and it was simply small touches and gazes. She felt like a Victorian woman in the early ages, having to fan herself at the slightest contact, becoming undone and exhilarated when Harry had reached to embrace her in a hug earlier that day, his sweater rising to revealing his tanned, taut stomach and a peek of tattoos.

She drifted through work in a haze. She barely could recall any of the customers and she wouldn’t be able to you what she and Liam chatted about throughout her shift. She would get off in the evening, since she was closing again, and Harry insisted on coming to pick her up so they could walk back together to his home. Pumpkin lazily stalked through the aisles of the store, darting between the shelves and under tables as Mags watched in amusement. Mags wanted to bring Pumpkin along for their sleepover, and Harry thought it was a great idea because in his words, “A black cat would totally be able to sense if something was off.” Her bosses were never in the store and she knew Liam didn’t mind Pumpkin’s presence, if the fact that he had spent the latter half of the day cooing at her pink nose and soft paws, giving her belly rubs and half his lunch to share was any indicator.

Though she knew she was being silly, she mused as she kneeled on the worn carpet and shelved a stack of books, she couldn’t help feeling the anticipation and nervousness that usually precedes a date. But it wasn’t a date. She was just feeling this way because Niall wouldn’t be there and it would be just her and Harry in that big old house, alone together. If she was being honest, she would admit that she did wish it was a date. She found herself drawn to Harry, his caring personality and really taken by his dimples and all. His husky, low voice stirred something deep in her stomach, and when she heard the baritone in his throaty voice, coated with sleepiness earlier in the morning? She felt flush and wonderstruck, all at once.

But it wasn’t a date. Facing facts is what she did best. It was just two people on their way to becoming friends, working to prove that his house was not being inhabited by any spirits, that’s all. Completely platonic, normal stuff.

When it was 8 minutes to closing, Mags began to make sure that everything was put away so she could leave on time considering there probably wouldn’t be any last-minute customers, noting that Pumpkin was now currently snoozing near the cash register. She was deep in thought, dusting a particularly dusty shelf, secretly becoming more and more excited at the thought of spending more time with Harry.

“Boo!”

“Holy shit!” Mags’ heart jumped out of her chest, as she whirled around in fear, only to be met with a laughing Harry, one hand outstretched and grasping the bookshelf, the other across his stomach as he doubled over in laughter.

“You’re an idiot!” She declared, without malice, shoving her shoulders against his. “Absolutely awful.”

“Y’know, for a girl who says she isn’t afraid of ghosts, you sure are quite jumpy.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m a girl, Harry. I have real things to fear. Like creepy men that come in here to harass me!”

His eyes flashed with amusement as he leaned against the shelf. “If you want me to leave, just say the word.”

Mags just smiled to herself in response, choosing to ignore his comment. “I’m almost finished up here and then I’ll be ready to go.”

“Y’know,” said Harry, his tone become dramatic and teasing, “This is where we first met. When you first accosted me here, in this very aisle – “

“I did NOT accost you! You have to admit you were acting so suspicious!” Mags exclaimed indignantly. She straightened out one of the books and wondered aloud, “But it’s a bit crazy innit? That we just came into each other’s lives a mere four days ago?”

“Crazy,” Harry agreed, his sudden low and husky tone causing Mags to look up at him. “Feels like I’ve known you forever.” His eyes caught her with an unrecognizable expression, and Mags stared back, unable to look away. It’s like she was in a trance. Harry takes a step towards her, closing the small gap between them, standing so close that she could feel the warmth exuding from his chest, could see the freckles that dotted his green eyes, could practically hear his heart beating in his chest. Now was it just her or was his heart beating very, very fast?

Another second passes between them and Harry brings up his hand, placing it affectionally against her cheek, as Mags impulsively nuzzles against his palm. He leans in, closing the virtually non-existence gap between, his eyes focused on her lips, and all she could think was Is he going to – Is this really happening?

“Please tell me you guys are still open!” An unfamiliar voice shouts, as a male college student races in, eyes frantic and voice desperate.

Harry and Mags spring apart, their bodies separating as they turned to face the newcomer.

“I’ve got a paper due tonight on a book that I haven’t read. Please tell me you’re open and that you have Shakespeare!”

“Y-yes,” Mags answered, her voice a little shaky as she avoids looking at Harry, “Technically, we’re still open for another 2 minutes. You said Shakespeare? Which one?”

The boy looks around, scanning the books in the aisle before answering, “William, I think.”

She lets out a huge sigh before finally looking at Harry. “I’m just gonna help this last customer and then we can lock up and head out.” “I’ll be waiting.”

She guides the customer to the classic literature section; On the outside, she was explaining how prolific of an author Shakespeare was but internally, she was still thinking about her interaction with Harry. They were already becoming so close. When people get close, Mags discovered from her 23 years on Earth, they find the things they like and appreciate about you. But it’s a double-edge sword. That kind of intimacy also reveals the unpleasant things, it gives the other an opportunity to see the all the little things that makes a person real. Real was messy and not always pleasant. What if Harry saw all the little things that made Mags real – her tendency to ramble, her need to always have opinions about everything that she often loudly expressed, her struggle to be emotionally vulnerable with others – and decided that she’s easier to admire from afar. It was always a fear of hers, one of those doubts deep within her heart that she’d never expressed, never spoken into existence, but that still dwelled profoundly within; the fear that the more you got to know her, the harder she’d become to love.

In the middle of asking the customer probing questions, and finally being able to deduce he was looking for Othello, she turned to look at Harry who was across the shop. Just like countless times before, she found that his eyes were already on her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Okay,” Mags twisted the key into the lock and pulled the door of the bookstore before turning to face Harry, “We are good to go.”

It took Mags seemingly forever to get the last customer checked out and out of the store. She and Harry seemed to have an unspoken agreement to not speak of whatever it was that almost happened between them.

Harry lifted the cat carrier up into his arms as Pumpkin let out an adorable little mewl, begging for attention. Harry stuck his finger between the bars, laughing as Pumpkin’s pink tongue darted out to lick his finger. “Well, how about this? We go drop Pumpkin off at my house and let her get settled. And then how about you and I go grab some dinner. There’s a diner nearby and I’m sure you’re famished,” Harry suggested, all the while playing with Pumpkin and not meeting her eye.

On the outside, Mags was cool, calm, and collected and she offhandedly remarked, “Sure” in agreement. But on the inside, she was a whirlwind of emotions. Dinner? Like a date? I’m not ready for this. I mean, I know I was just wishing this was a date but maybe I should have wished that I’d have the foresight to have changed into a top that didn’t have a coffee stain on it or to have applied some gloss before coming to work today. She felt so unprepared.

But then Harry’s looked at her when she responded affirmatively, his eyes shining happily and a broad grin overtook his face, and suddenly, she didn’t quite feel so panicked. It was as if he was nervous that she’d shoot his idea down. Anew with confidence, she stated, “Lead the way.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The diner that Harry had chosen was very kitschy, decorated in a way that heavy handedly embraced the retro 80’s vibe, with neon signs and polyester covers on the booths. The diner even got into the Halloween spirit, as evident by the fake bats that were hung all around the place, and the jack-o-lantern tablecloths covering each tabletop. Harry and Mags were seated across from each other, staring at the menu, as a male artist’s voice crooned from the juke box, singing about holding hands.

“So,” Mags began as she finished assessing the menu, “My options are either a hamburger or a cheeseburger. How ever will I decide?”

Harry laughed at her reaction to the limited food options. “What can I say? Don’t need really need too many options when everything tastes amazing.” Ordering a cheeseburger and coke for herself, Harry followed suit, and Mags inquired, “You come here often?” “Yeah,” Harry admitted, his fingers interlocked and resting atop the table, “I just really like the vibes. It’s also a 24-hour diner and I’ve been coming here more often within the past week, since I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

Right. Harry’s haunting problem. She’d almost completely forgotten, but she wasn’t really to blame. Was she really supposed to stay focused when she and Harry had walked to the diner, their arms intertwined, chatting about anything and everything? When he sat only a few feet across from her, trying to catch her eye but also nervously looking away?

“Hopefully, you can finally start getting some rest soon enough. Maybe we’ll finally be able to put this whole ghost business to rest tonight,” she suggested optimistically.

He gave her a sad smile in return. “Hopefully,” he said, his voice betraying the fact that he didn’t really believe that to be true.  

Her heart ached for him once more, so she decided to change the subject. “What song is this anyway? I kinda like it. It’s cute and – what?”

Harry regarded her strangely. “What’d ya mean who is this? It���s the Beatles.”

“Like the bug?” she joked, before quickly admitting, “I’m kidding, I know of the Beatles. I just don’t usually listen to this kind of music, now don’t go and have a heart attack,” she explained as Harry eyes had initially widened at her statement.

“So, what kind of music do you usually listen to?”

“I’m definitely a top 40’s kind of girl,” Mags responded, shifting in her seat. She thanked the waitress, who adorned a festive witch’s hat, as she set down their cokes and began to work on unwrapping her straw, planning to blow the wrapper at an unsuspecting Harry’s face.

“Top 40’s? What’s that?”

“Y’know,” she responded, “Like, the top 40 songs that are most popular on the charts. The songs that are always playing on the radio.” Harry held his hand against his chest, as if he couldn’t fathom anything worse. “You are so pretentious!” She laughed, “Those songs are popular for a reason!”

Harry laughed too, making sure to let Mags know that he was really just teasing her, no malice behind his mockery. “And just when I thought there was absolutely nothing wrong with you, you go ahead and admit to that.”

Mags couldn’t help her own smile from creeping across her face. “I’m far from perfect Harry.”

There’s a look of affection that seems to flash in Harry’s eyes and Mags flushes, not really sure how to deal with it. “Yeah?” he responds, looking down to swirl the condensation pooling at the bottom of his glass of coke, “Could’ve fooled me.”

The rest of their dinner passed by in a similar fashion. Comfortable jokes, casual conversations, and longing looks passing between them. It was the first time that Mags had ever seen Harry look truly happy. She decided it was a good look on him, and right then and there, she made a silent vow to herself that she would do everything in her power to keep that happiness. Even if it meant she’d have to face the devil himself.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Although Harry’s house was cold, it was still much warmer than the bitter icy wind howling outside. Entering his home, Mags immediately took off her shoes and coat, with Harry following suit. She looked to him to see where she should place her coat, and when he removed his dark peacoat and tossed it over an armchair, so did she. He was wearing a cranberry colored crew neck sweater, and he wore it well, leading Mags to ponder if his closets were just an endless supply of comfy clothes, each cozier than the last. Not wanting to be caught eyeing him, she shuffled into the living room, pausing to scratch Pumpkin under her chin, just like she liked it, and to drop her duffle bag onto the floor.

“There a bathroom just down the hall, if you’d like to change into your pajamas there,” Harry offered. He scratched the back of his neck, “I’m just gonna, um, go in my room and change into mine to give you some privacy. I’ll meet you back out here and maybe we can watch a movie or something?”

“Sure,” she replied, somewhat amused. In the bathroom, she changed into her pajamas, which consisted of an old Maroon 5 shirt she had from years ago and a pair of soft fleece pajamas. When packing earlier that day, she had briefly considered wearing something a bit more flattering, but she realized it was futile because she liked to be comfortable when she slept, let alone the fact she didn’t actually own any proper sleepover, her pajama wardrobe made of oversized promotional t-shirts unsuitable for public wear. She washed her face and turned to face her reflection in the mirror. She gazed at her big, brown eyes, droplets of water tinting the tips of her lashes. Her warm tawny brown skin seemed dull and washed out under the harsh fluorescent bathroom lighting. Her dark hair was due for a haircut, and in its windswept state, wasn’t doing her any favors. She swept back her hair into a high ponytail, the stubborn baby hairs quickly reclaiming their rightful spot by framing her face.

Mags was never one of those girls that couldn’t acknowledge that she was pretty (not that girls who struggled with their beauty were less than, everyone had their own struggles. Mags was a large supporter of girls and wouldn’t speak ill of her sisters). She found that she did quite well with the male population, garnering attention when she so desired, and sometimes unwanted attention as well (looking at you, creepy Walmart man that had the audacity to comment on her big boobs just because she wasn’t wearing a bra). But then men she usually gave the time of day weren’t men of substance. Usually, she sought them out for something physical sans the intimacy. But something about Harry had her feeling self-conscious, unnerved. Raw. It was like he was appreciating her outer beauty but also truly seeing her, erratic enthusiasm and all. And even more baffling? He seemed to like what he saw.

Mags broke out of her reverie and found Harry lounging on the couch, remoted aimed at the tv as he flipped through channels. He looked up and automatically offered her one of his signature smiles, “You look lovely,” he commented nonchalantly.

“Thanks,” she responded reservedly. She joined him, careful to sit on the other end of the couch and looked around. “Where’s Pumpkin?”

“I put her on my bed,” Harry confessed, “Figured it’d be more comfortable than the hardwood floor.” “You’re gonna spoil her,” Mags snickered, “She’s used to sleeping atop the rusty radiator in my apartment.”

Harry and Mags quickly decided they should watch a movie, both wanting to stay in each other’s presence for a little while longer but struggling to find the words to express as such. Picking a movie, however, was a more difficult challenge as Harry felt that he’d had enough horror in his life to last a lifetime and couldn’t bear to suffer through another horror film, prompting Mags to put on “To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before,” partially because she wanted to annoy Harry and partially because she just thought the move was really cute, okay? The joke was on her, because apparently Harry loved romance films and was really into the movie.

As entertaining as the movie was, both found their eyes wandering from the screen, looking at each other and quickly glancing away. Mags was very hyperaware of Harry’s presence on the couch, aware of his every movement. It was like her body was in tune with his. Meanwhile, Harry couldn’t help himself. He automatically gravitated to her, like he was seeking out warmth that only she could give. Mid-movie, they found themselves to be sitting side by side, practically no space between them. If Harry wanted to, he could reach out and enclose her hand with his.

And he wants to. And so he does.

And she doesn’t pull away.

They don’t speak, just hold hands, the only source of light illuminating from the television. Neither saying a word in fear of breaking the moment. Harry finds that for the first time in a while, he feels safe. Safe and happy. He hopes she feels the same way. 

Needing to hear her voice, to get some reassurance, Harry breaks the silence once again, his eyes never leaving the scene playing out on the television. “I don’t get this part. Why is Lara Jean so scared to be with Peter? She’s so hesitant when he obviously cares for her and she does too.”

“I think it makes sense. It’s pretty accurate,” Mags responds, shrugging slightly. “Yeah? Why’s that?” “Because,” Mags bites her cheek in contemplation, “Love is scary, y’know? And letting yourself fall for someone? That’s…well, it’s terrifying.” “Not if it’s the right person,” Harry said with all the sincerity of an honest man, before quickly adding as an afterthought, “And obviously, Peter is the right person for Lara-Jean.” “Right, for Lara-Jean,” Mags agreed a little too quickly, “But it’s still scary nonetheless. Some guys aren’t all that great. It’s hard. To trust someone else, to trust them with your vulnerability, to let them know every part of you, and trust them not to hurt you.”

Harry broke the spell. He no longer referred to the characters and implicated himself. “Y’know I would never intentionally do anything to hurt you, right? I…I care about you. You do know that, don’t you?”

As she peers up at him through her lashes and meets his widened eyes, she becomes mindful of how close they had leaned towards each other. She fidgets under his intense gaze, his green eyes piercing through her own. She feels the warmth of his hand on her thigh as he inches closer until his forehead rests against her. A loose stray curl tickles her cheek and his lips just barely brush against hers. She hesitates for only a moment before deepening the kiss, pressing her lips against his forcefully. He pulls away, his pupils blown and the smallest of smiles playing on his lips, and his eyes scan her face for reassurance. Whatever he’s looking for, he must find because he rushes to close the gap and his soft lips captures hers again. She responds eagerly and her hand cups the nape of his neck. His tongue lightly sweeps across her bottom lips before slipping into her mouth, making her hum in approval.

He gently pushes her back until she’s lying on the couch. He breaks the kiss for only a moment to pull off his t-shirt and toss it carelessly across the room before swinging his legs over her until he’s practically straddling her. One hand flies to his head, pulling at his curls as the other rakes it’s fingernails into his shoulder. She angles her head back and lets out a sharp intake of breath as he leaves a trail of wet kisses down her neck. She feels the hand resting on her lower back slide up and swiftly unclasp her bra. His hands explore her body until he’s palming her breast, grazing her nipple and rolling it between his fingers, making her gasp. Harry always thought of himself as an ass man, but now, in this moment, he has a newfound appreciation for breasts. Her tongue darts between his lips hungrily and he pulls his body closer to hers, grinding steadily. She can feel her whole body on fire, the tingling sensation spreading to the pit of her stomach. Her hands immediately go for the band of his pants, but she breaks away suddenly, and he outwardly moans at the loss of contact.

“What – What is it? Are we moving too fast?” Harry questions, panting rapidly.

Mags places a hand against his chest, as Harry allows her to push him upright and she follows suit, both now sitting up.

He would never forgive himself if he had pushed her and scared her away. “We can slow down. I didn’t mean to –“ “No, shhhhh,” Mags harshly shushed him. “Don’t you hear that?” And suddenly, they’re still, unmoving like stone. The house just as quiet as the two, the only sound filling the air is their own ragged breathing stabilizing. In the silence, just as suddenly, another loud creaking resounded against the wooden interior.

“Okay,” Harry said anxiously, his eyes wandering upwards from where the sound was seemingly coming from, “I heard that.” “Do you think it’s Pumpkin?”

“I’m gonna go with no, considering Pumpkin’s right there by the fireplace.” And sure enough, Mags turned to see her kitten had at some point, bounded into the room and found comfort beside the warm flames.

Then an even more frightening sound could be heard. Mags would describe it as heavy, a hefty thumping sound that was very different from something that could be explained away, like the light scurrying of a rat.

Harry would describe it as footsteps.

It was irrational. Mags couldn’t explain it. She didn’t know what making that sound, but she did know that the sound was frightening her. She couldn’t rationally chalk it up to the characteristic creaking of an old house or wood settling, the thumps were too loud, too sporadic. Logically, she knew she should use the flashlight on her phone and go straight to the sound source. But the fact of the matter is, she’s scared. 

Just when she began to steady her racing heart rate and begin to think she could work up the nerve to go investigate the sound, a sudden crash came from the other side of the room, causing her to yelp in surprise and clutch Harry’s arm in fear. One of the picture frames that Harry had hung on the wall fell on to the ground, the glass shattered from the impact. It just fell. Nothing to cause it, as if the material had literally leaped from the wall to its untimely death. “Fat load of good you are,” Mags glared at Pumpkin who, unbeknownst to the danger, was playing with a discarded bottle cap.

Harry put in quick work to shrug his sweater over his shoulders, and then taking care to ensure that Mags wasn’t too frightened. “Well, at least now you believe me?”

“Believe you?” Mags asked in disbelief, facing him “I more than believe you. I think, I think we should get outta here. Let’s just go stay at my place.” She frantically stood up, brushing her stray hairs from her face, trying to clear her mind so she could form rational thoughts. Harry stood up just as suddenly, standing next to her, holding her elbow and shoulder, pulling her towards him in a comforting hug. 

“We need to come up with a game plan,” she said, her breath slightly muffled as she nuzzles her face against his sweater clad chest. “I think it’s best if we just spend the night at my apartment. And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Harry questioned encouragingly. 

“We’re going to do whatever it takes. A cleansing. Research. Anything to un-haunt this house, because this shit? It’s scary.”

They both spared one last glance upwards, to where the sound was coming from, an array of emotions filling the room; frightened (Mags, because ghosts can’t exist, they just can’t. It transcends the rules of physical science!), agitated (Harry because how could he be so dense as to put Mags in danger, though he figures that once she sets her mind to something, there’s no stopping her), and confused (Pumpkin, wondering why the humans were looking up when she was right here, as she softly mewls from the lack of attention).

_______________________________________________________________________

Day 6, October 29th, 1 day until Halloween.

The sun filtered in through the linen curtains, illuminating the white sheets beside her, warming her skin and giving her a bronze glow. Mags slowly peeled her eyes open, immediately noticing Harry’s absence. His side of the bed was empty, and Mags wasn’t sure how to feel. Was it really just a few hours ago that her world was shook by the presence of ghosts? If science wasn’t solid, then what else was there to rely on?

Once they got to her place, they were both too strung-out and tired to do anything. They shuffled under the covers and slept in her small bed, sleeping together in the most innocent way possible. The only touching was the hand holding that occurred under the bed, which although much less risqué than what happened last night had it not been for the potential ghost encounter, the thought of which still made Mags warm and blush. Stretching out her limbs and gathering her relentless hair into a manageable bun, she created an itinerary for herself. Bathroom first. Find Harry, second. Figure out what happened last night, third. Although she wasn’t so sure about the last one. Did she want to figure out the ominous sound they heard or figure out exactly what happened between her and Harry last night? All she knew was, it was way too early for this.

Once emerging from the bathroom, she tuned into the sounds of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen, immediately deducing Harry’s whereabouts. She knew it couldn’t possibly be Marisol, because she’d never be up this early, and she knew she had spent the night at Niall’s place.

His back was facing her, his shoulders moving as he poured batter into a frying pan, Pumpkin nuzzling against his ankles. Mags didn’t even know they owned a frying pan. Marisol and Mags mainly lived off of frozen dinners, take-outs, and Niall’s generous discounts at the café where he occasionally moonlights as a waiter.

“G’morning,” she croaked, alerting Harry to her presence. She cleared her throat and tried again, “Mornin’, Harry. What’s all this?” “I’m making pancakes,” He turned, greeting her drowsy appearance, his voice thickened with lack of use, guttural and raw. “Ran out to the convenience store this morning and grabbed some ingredients. Figured we could both use a hearty breakfast.”

Mags hummed in appreciation, rubbing a sweater-clad fist over her dreary eyes, sleepily offering help which Harry firmly denied and directed her to sit at the small kitchen table. “Are the pancakes chocolate chip?” “Is there any other way?” Harry responds, smiling warmly at her sleepy antics. He sets a plate of scrambled eggs and chocolate chip pancakes in front of her, placing a bottle of syrup within her reach without her having to ask.

Mags suddenly felt out her element. She wasn’t used to this kind of treatment with any guy she had ever been with, and she technically hadn’t even been with Harry. Was she meant to kiss him in appreciation? He was so tender in everything he did, always putting her needs and comfort first. The situation was foreign to her, so domestic and comfortable that it made her feel uncomfortable. “Um, thank you – It all looks delicious,” she finally managed to stammer out.

Harry carried his own plate of food in one hand, his other opening the fridge to grab a carton of orange juice. Witnessing how comfortable he seemed to be in her small apartment made her unnerved, but it was also exciting. Thrilling.

As he sat across from her, their eyes met once again. “I figure,” Harry began, “I mean, I think that we should probably talk about what happened last night. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Mags agreed, nervously wringing her fingers, “Good idea. It…scared me. Um, I didn’t like it.”

Harry’s face blanched for a moment before he smoothed his features into an expressionless façade. “You didn’t?”

“Of course, I didn’t, it was just so…I don’t know how to put it. It all happened so fast, one thing after the other. It’s a lot to process.

Harry nodded slowly, gently, as if Mags was fragile and he was handling the situation delicately, although she couldn’t figure why. “It is a lot. And it was a bit fast. Maybe we need to just slow down and figure out what it meant?” He suggested nervously.

Mags eyed him in confusion, his apprehensive demeanor puzzling her, as she continued speaking. “It was just so unexpected. I didn’t think that was going to happen when I went to your place last night. It was so awful.” Harry’s brows furrowed together, looking wounded, as he murmured, “I mean, well me neither but I don’t think it was necessarily a bad th-“ “What do you mean you weren’t expecting it?” Mags probed, pausing to chew her scrambled eggs, “it certainly seems like you were positive that it would happen.”

Harry’s face, despite his efforts, flashed with hurt. “Well, I mean, I hoped it would happen but of course I wasn’t expecting anything. I just –” Abandoning his food, he rubbed his hands over his curls, then dropped them to rest against his knees, palms up as if pleading, “Look, I really, really like you and obviously it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way but I really thought - ”

“Who says I don’t feel the same way?” Mags questioned in confusion, wondering if perhaps Harry, as cute as he was, might’ve been a few screws short. Guess people truly can’t have it all.  

Meanwhile, Harry’s own face contorted in confusion, his voice borderline hysterical. “What do you mean who says, you says! I mean, you just said that you didn’t like what happened last night.”

“Right,” Mags nodded empathetically, “The noise we heard really scared me and I think it’s quite normal to not like the fact you have an actual fucking ghost in your house.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“Did you think I was talking about, whatever happened between us?” Mags clarified, gesturing at their bodies. When Harry offered a sheepish look in response, Mags smiled with fondness, putting her fork down on her plate. “You’re silly. Let me be clear. Ghosts? Bad. Harry and Mags? Good. I’m not sure exactly what happened between us last night, but I like you. I think it should happen again, minus the paranormal encounter. Not just the, erm, the touching part. The diner part. The talking part too. We can table that for now and come back to it when we aren’t in fear of lurking ghosts. We can figure that part out together.” The relief that washed over Harry couldn’t have been more evident. “Oh thank god, I’m so happy to hear you say that,” and when Harry was happy, Mags couldn’t help but think that the sun was trapped within him, warmth, comfort, and blinding brightness and all. “And um, what about the other thing? The ghost thing?” Mags beamed at him, at the 6-foot boy that towers in her small apartment but looks over at all five feet of her with concern and care, before replying, “We can figure that part out together too. I have a game plan.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After the tenderness and confusion of their morning breakfast, Harry and Mags got dressed for the day, each renewed with a determination to solve this ghost problem of theirs once and for all. It wasn’t just Harry’s problem anymore. Harry’s safety and happiness were now Mags’ priority as well. Cleaning up and getting dressed took a little longer than usual, as they spared moments to steal glances and accidental touches. By the time they made it out of her apartment, the sun was brilliantly shining in the sky, for once the skies clear of any clouds, and it was noon.

Mags truly did have an anti-ghost plan. And she intended to put it to use before tomorrow. It was as she explained to Harry, that tomorrow was Halloween, and everyone knows that on All Hallows Eve, the world between the paranormal and normal collided. Her extensive repertoire of horror movies led her to confidently assert that the if the dead were to roam the earth, then Halloween would be the best night to so do. She figured that now since science and everything she’s ever known has changed; she might as well rely on literature to guide them through this ordeal.

“So, first on our agenda is to seek out a priest,” Harry commented, eyes squinting at the sun, hand firmly holding hers. “Which church should we go to?” “Askin’ the wrong person here,” Mags chuckled while gesturing to herself, “Nearest mosque, I could help ya with. But church?” “Right,” he said, blushing despite her obvious joking tone, “Well, I guess we’ll have to trust google?”

Finding the church was easy enough. Getting the minister to believe that they weren’t pulling a prank was a little trickier. After much clarification and pleading, they left the church armed with some information.

“I dunno about you, but this bottle of holy water has me feeling a bit indestructible,” Harry joked, wagging the holy water tauntingly. Mags owns hands clutched the pewter candlestick holders and candles the church had generously donated to them. Though they had initially hoped for the church to interfere with their dilemma, the resources and tips they provided would just have to do. “Although,” Harry said, raising his eyebrows, “I must say, I’m surprised.” “Why? ‘Cuz I thought of such a brilliant plan?” “No. I’m shocked that you were able to last that entire trip to the church without swearing even once.” Mags opened her mouth, feigning offence, before shoving him. “So, what’s next?” Harry questions, after composing his laughter, “A psychic?”

“A medium,” Mags corrected.

“Oh, I didn’t know there was a difference,” Harry admitted good-naturedly.

“Me neither,” Mags confessed, but google sure did.

As they followed the GPS directions to the location of where the medium was located, Harry had another question. “How’d you pick this medium? Does she specialize in ghosts and exorcisms?” “Hmm?” She said, looking up, “Oh no, she just had the best Yelp rating.” She scrolls through her phone, thumbing through the device before presenting it to Harry. “And, she’s got a Halloween special going on right now. 50% off for her services. Pretty crafty of me, huh?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The medium, a woman named Clair LeMadeline, had looked relatively normal. Her red hair curled into define ringlets and her eyes were a piercing blue. She was wearing a simple pea blouse and black slacks. The only thing that was even considerably odd about her appearance was her green eyeshadow, bold and unnaturally glittery. She was a stark contrast from what Mags was expecting, which was a woman, possibly raven haired, with a crystal ball in a dark room with thick purple drapes.

Even more so, she had hoped the woman would be able to help them out a bit more. For someone who claimed to have a unique ability to hover between two worlds and a connection with spirits without a physical body, she wasn’t really helpful.

Mags recalled the only bit of information that was slightly useful. Clair had taken Harry’s hands into her own, hoping to get a ‘read’ on his aura.

“Ah yes,” she had said, her sharp nails outlining the lines on Harry’s palm, “I’m sensing something here. I see that recently in your life, you’ve come upon some suffering.”

“Yes!” Harry fervently nodded, with Mags reservedly watching from his side.

“Your future,” Clair continued melodramatically, her eyes tightly shut as she focused, “it’s blurry. Unclear. I see, red liquid. Lots and lots of red. It’s staining your shirt, dripping onto your shoes, there’s so much red.”

Harry’s face pales, dread overcoming him, as he frantically tightens his hold on the medium’s own hands. “Is it blood?”

“Hard to say, but my best guess is that it is indeed blood. Yes, I can see that. And, you’ve suffered a great loss. I also see here that you’re a widower.”

“Erm, no,” Harry confessed, pulling his hands back slightly, “I’ve never even been married. Way off base.”

The medium had looked slightly put out with that comment, “Well, I never. Surely you must’ve been married. With those dimples and a body like that, you’ve probably had your fair share of wives. You don’t have to lie to impress your little girly over here,” she harrumphed, gesturing towards Mags.

“Okaaay,” Mags announced, offering the medium a tight polite smile, “I think we’re done here.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“That was a waste of time,” Harry groaned. “She was obviously a scam artist. Also, I’m pretty sure she was hitting on me.” He glanced at his watch and groaned even more audibly, “And we’re running out of daylight. Halloween is tomorrow. What are we gonna do?”

“That woman certainly was…a lot of things,” Mags said, carefully choosing her words, “But she was surprisingly helpful.” Harry brows furrowed, his face distorting in disbelief. “Think about what she called you,” Mags explained, answering his unasked question. “She said that you were a widower.” “And you believed her?” He explained, “Mags, I’ve never – “ Huffing slightly, she interrupted his speech, “Okay, no. Obviously, I’m not an idiot. But that just got me thinking. Didn’t you say Bertha was a widow? Do you know anything about her husband? Maybe we can look into his death. Maybe his spirit was awoken by the Ouija board and it’s restless for some reason and unless we help him with his unfinished business, he can’t pass over to the other side.” “You’re a genius,” Harry commented, which prompted Mags to thank him and inform him with sincerity that it was all because she watched a lot of Buzzfeed Unsolved. “I don’t know much about her husband, but I know how we can find out more.”

And that’s how Harry and Mags found themselves standing on the steps outside the town’s public library. Harry’s idea was brilliant, Mags had to admit. The town newspaper always printed the obituaries for residents that passed. Older editions of the newspaper could be accessed using the microfiche. Even more promising was that if Bertha’s late husband had passed under unusual circumstances, the paper was sure to have done a story over it. But even with a great idea put into action, and their hopes and spirits renewed, Mags couldn’t help the nauseous pit growing in her stomach.

As they embarked up the steps, Harry looked over at Mags in concern. “You okay there? You look a little green.”

“Hmm?” She feigned ignorance, “No, I’m fine.” Harry opened the door, ushering her inside before stepping into the heated building. “Must’ve been something I ate.” “My pancakes have you feeling nauseous?” Harry exclaimed in concern.

Oops. Right, Mags had forgotten that the only thing she’d eaten today was Harry’s cooking. This was why she hated lying – she was bad at it.

“Hush, Harry,” is the route she decided to go with, “We’re in a library. We don’t wanna disturb the other patrons.” She gestured to the room, mentally groaning when she saw that the library was jam-packed with three other people, a young girl and her mother were fiddling on the computers, and an old man that was sleeping on one of the armchairs. Or, at least Mags hoped he was sleeping. One would think the library would be more popular on a Friday night.

Harry shot her another concerning look but chose to drop the matter, for now. In fear of being shushed again, he gestured to the circulation help desk, indicating that they should ask one of the library assistants where they could find the catalogued newspapers. As they approached the desk, Mags legs felt like they were heavy lead as she dragged them across the carpeted floor. She just needed an excuse to slip away for five minutes and then this upcoming crisis could be averted.

She stopped in her tracks, spinning around to face Harry. “I, um, need to go to the bathroom. It’s an emergency. Not that you asked,” She nervously chuckled. “Anyways,” she pushed Harry’s back towards the help desk, “Why don’t you ask where we can find the newspapers while I’m gone and I’ll just meet you there and – ” “Magnolia?” The voice came from behind her, just as smoky and honeyed as she remembered.

She froze in her tracks. This cannot be happening. I’m a good person she thought, I fast during Ramadan. I try to be nice to others. I’m fairly sure that I pay all my taxes. Why is this happening to me? Would it be too late for her to make a run for it? She could just tell Harry it was an emergency and then meet him back at his house once he acquired the information.

Just as she began to inch towards the exit, the voice called out again. “Magnolia, that is you! I thought it was. I’d recognize you anywhere. ” Ignoring Harry’s look of confusion, she turned around reluctantly. She looked at the other boy, his dark hair perfectly styled atop his head, not a strand out of place. His cheekbones sharp and proudly protruding, his lips slightly turned into a familiar smile. Unlike her, his brown skin didn’t seem to have a problem with dulling under florescent lights, as he was golden and glowing. One tatted arm reached out to embrace her in a hug, pulling her softly against his chest, before pulling back to get a look at her. “You look good,” he professed, looking at her intently form head to toe, “Beautiful like always.” From her peripheral, she could see that Harry certainly didn’t like that, if his body language was any indicator as he crossed his arms and shifted his stance to stand closers to Mags.

“Zayn,” she greeted, trying to modulate her voice and stifle her feelings of panic. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” “At the library?” Zayn questioned, “Where I work?”

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” She nervously answered. Just as she was going to grab Harry’s arm and steer them away from the upcoming train wreck, Harry himself piped up. “I’m sorry. Mags hasn’t introduced us. Who are you?”

Zayn looked at Harry, as if he just registered that Mags wasn’t alone. “This is Zayn,” Mags answered quickly, “He’s my –”

“I’m Magnolia’s ex-boyfriend,” Zayn interrupted, reaching over to shake Harry’s hand, muscles tightening, jaw clenched, “She and I used to date.”

“He knows what ex means,” Mags hissed.

“Oh really?” Harry responded, his face unreadable, “Funny. Mags actually hasn’t even mentioned you.” His emphasis on her preferred nickname was evident to both Zayn and Mags, because Harry was as subtle as horse. “I’m Harry.”

Mags, despite the train wreck happening before her very eyes, was relieved that Harry introduced himself. She didn’t know what title she would’ve given him. She didn’t even know what they were. They were in some weird limbo until this ghost mess was past them. What would she have said? Harry piping up saved her from the verbal onslaught that would’ve been sure to follow. Hi, yes Zayn, my ex-boyfriend who broke my heart, this is Harry, a boy that I almost slept with and really want to sleep with but haven’t yet because I was cock-blocked by a ghost. Anyways, can you point us to the non-fiction section?

“Um,” Mags spoke, breaking the palpable tension, “While we have you here Zayn, we could actually use your help with some questions.”

Ignoring Harry’s disgruntled expression and Zayn’s self-satisfied smirk, she continued on. “Aren’t you doing your senior thesis on like witchcraft or something of that nature?”

“It’s on magical realism and occult fiction,” He clarified, before giving her a sly smile, warmer and more comfortable than his smirk, looking more like the Zayn she knew. “Y’know, all that haram and Jinn stories that used to bother the hell out of ya.”

Despite not wanting to, she couldn’t help but smile in return. “Right,” she warmed at the mention of their insider, “Well, we could use your help. For your research, did you come across anything about how to perform an exorcism on a house that’s possessed by a ghost?”

Zayn, to his credit, didn’t bat an eye at her odd question. He was used to Mags’ antics. “Yeah, from what I’ve read, the best bet is to light some sage. Ask the ghosts what they want and try to get them what they need, and they’ll leave.” He paused as if he truly registered what he just asked her, and then eyed Harry suspiciously. “But I know you. You don’t believe in that kinda stuff.”

“It’s nothing,” Mags lied, wanting to end this conversation, like, five minutes ago. “Can you tell us where the newspaper archives are? Ones from like 10 years ago?”

Heading towards the corner of the library that Zayn pointed them to, Harry and Mags walked in silence. Unable to take it anymore, Mags spoke up. “So, that was Zayn. My ex-boyfriend. But you already know that.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Harry assured her. And it seemed like he truly meant that sentiment, his voice unwavering and genuine He didn’t seem the slightest bit accusatory, no hint of sarcasm lining his tone, which was so unlike what she was used to when she was dating Zayn. Not that she was dating Harry, but she and Zayn had a knack for being able to get under each other’s skin. Had the roles been reversed, Zayn wouldn’t have let that interaction go, hounding Mags for more answers to impossible questions until they’d inevitably get into another one of their infamous fights. Zayn was an English major, through and through, envious and passionate. He felt deeply as an artist and fought just as dramatically too.

It was the fact that Harry was nothing like Zayn that encouraged her to share. “No, I want to explain,” She insisted, as they carried a stack of newspapers to a table, ready to dive into their town’s obituaries. “Zayn and I, well, he and I dated for a good while. It was one of those things where, when it was good, it was really good, y’know? But when it was bad? It was awful.”

Harry encouragingly nodded, his green eyes looking to her in sincerity, letting her tell the story at her own pace. “Well,” Mags exhaled, “It was serious. One of the most serious relationships I’ve ever had. But it didn’t work out. Obviously. We were just too different. We both retreated when we were hurt and angry instead of talking things out. And it wasn’t just his fault, it was both of ours. It wasn’t anything dramatic or serious. We just broke up because we never really tried our best, never gave our best effort to fix our problems.” She recalled the months after the end of their relationship, Mags tried her best to hold it together, but it really did wound her. “The break-up still sucked though,” she admitted. She may act collected and composed, but when she does let someone into her heart, it’s different. If it wasn’t for Niall and Marisol, she wasn’t sure if she’d have gotten through it.

Harry placed his hand atop of hers, taking care to look into her eyes. “He’s the guy that broke your heart, isn’t he? The reason that you’re scared to be vulnerable with someone.”

Mags kept her gaze on the stack of newspaper, unable to meet his eyes, wordlessly nodding in affirmation.

“Well, thank you for sharing that with me,” Harry said earnestly, reaching over to put a finger under Mags chin, turning her face so they were looking at each other. “Thanks for being vulnerable with me.” Mags raised her gaze, smiling at the kindness of the boy who sat across from her, unsure how to respond.

She needn’t worry though because she didn’t have to reply. “Anyways,” he continued, “We have a ghost to get rid of. Let’s get to looking through this decade’s worth of obituaries.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As they started to head back to the house, Mags was a ball of nerves, filled with anticipation. The trip to the library had been a success. Mags was able to find Bertha’s late husband, Tom’s, obituary. It simply stated that he passed due to a head contusion, with no information on how it occurred. News must’ve been slow that week because Harry then found the real treasure: an investigative article that revealed more information about Tom’s death. They discovered that Tom and Bertha had gotten into an argument, over something silly as she had to remind him multiple times to check the circuit breaker in the basement. Tom had begrudgingly gone to do so when one the wires in the breakers shocked him with a small current of electricity. The electrical shock didn’t kill him, but it did surprise him enough so that he stepped back, falling over and hitting his head on the edge of his workbench. The death was quick and painless, the article assured readers, but Mags still felt awful while reading it. Poor Tom, she thought, and poor Bertha. Even more so, it was a bit unsettling to Harry that a death had occurred in the house in which he was currently living.

As they had prepared to leave the library earlier, armed with knowledge and a secure plan to conduct their exorcism, Zayn had caught up with them, giving Mags a bottle of sage that he had lying around in his office that he acquired during his thesis research.

Now, she and Harry trekked back to the house, loaded with goodies that would hopefully guarantee an end to the paranormal activities; bottle of holy water, pewter candlesticks, and a bottle of sage, not to mention everything that they learned throughout the day. As she mentally recounted the day’s hectic and odd events, she voiced her thoughts. “Wasn’t that medium funny? The things she so-called predicted about you were so wild.” Mags laughed, brandishing her speech with air quotes.

“Heh, yeah,” Harry said, uncharacteristically without elaboration. There was a small pause, and then, “Actually, she wasn’t all wrong.” “How’s that?” Mags inquired, wondering how much longer their walk would take. She was so ready to deal with the ghost. Especially now since she knew it was Tom and he probably didn’t mean them any harm.

“I actually, uh, well you know how she said I suffered a great loss?” Harry reached over to rub the back of his neck before continuing, “Well. She wasn’t wrong about that. My uh, my dad passed away. Not too long ago really.” “Harry,” Mags said, concern and sympathy and sadness all intertwined in her voice, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. We don’t have to talk about it.”

“We don’t,” Harry agreed, but then he looked at her. And if Mags had to guess, the look in his eyes showed that he felt comfortable with her. Safe. “But I want to. My dad was an okay guy, not the best husband but a good father. He passed quickly – cancer, but not painlessly. It was tough for my sister and mom. Tough for me too.” He cleared his throat, sneaking a peek at Mags before looking down at his feet. “I just, I wanted you to know that about me. I like sharing things with you. You’re easy to talk to.”

Usually, Mags was quick to stick her foot in her mouth. Her special talent of saying the wrong thing reared its ugly head when it was most unwanted and in the most awkward situations. But surprisingly, that didn’t happen this time. Mags took one look at how exposed and open Harry was, how he shared his sorrow and confided in her, and she knew exactly what she wanted to say. “He must’ve been a great father,” Mags noted, “To have helped raise someone as wonderful like you.”

They shared a smile. A small one that meant that whatever this was, whatever was happening between them, it was going to be big. The shared smile revealed that there were wonders and adventures yet to come between them. But it would all have to wait until after tonight, when they would finally leave Harry with a ghost-free home.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Harry unlocked the door to his house, they didn’t waste time in removing their shoes or coats and got straight to work. Harry began to burn the sage and Mags set the candle around the room, lighting the wicks and igniting flames. They worked in silence, the magnitude of what’s to come weighing heavily on their shoulders. When finished with their respective duties, they met back at the center.

Harry’s grip on the bottle of holy water tightened. “You don’t have to do this, y’know? I won’t hold it against you.” He was offering her an out, not wanting to put her in any unnecessary danger.

Mags rolled her eyes, before reaching over to grasp his free hand. “I’m not that easy to get rid of. I’m not going anywhere.”

Just then, the awful thudding and heavy footsteps could be heard from above. It was loud, the steps so heavy that it caused bits of wood shavings to fall from the ceiling. It was now or never.

“Hello?” Mags called out, her voice trembling at the unknown. “Is that you Tom? I mean Mr – “ “Bleakman,” Harry helpfully supplied.

Mags gulped, “Mr. Bleakman. If that’s you, can you give us a sign?”

Was it her imagination, or had the room suddenly gotten colder? The inside of the house seemed to be even more freezing that the harsh winds outside. It was chilling. Goosebumps began to dot her arms and an uneasy feeling settling around her.  She held her coat closer to her exposed neck, her grip tightening in Harry’s intertwined hand.

“Mr. Bleakman?” Now it was Harry giving it a go. “If you can hear me, I just want you to know. I’m Harry. Your wife, Bertha, rented this house to me. She’s a real sweet woman.” “They play Bingo together,” Mags offered.

“We did. We played a lot of Bingo together and – “ “Which isn’t a euphemism by the way!” Mags exclaimed, before mouthing an apology to Harry when he shot her an exasperated look.

“Right. Well, Mr. Bleakman. Tom. I was hoping that you could stop haunting this house. The thing with the Ouija board the other day? It wasn’t very cool of me and I won’t do it again.” The thudding didn’t stop. The cold air didn’t seem to warm. In fact, things began to worsen. Mags and Harry looked around just as the lights began to flicker, casting an ominous lighting around the room. Just as suddenly, the lights went out all together and everything was dead silent. In the dim lighting, with the candles their only source of light, Mags eyes struggled to adjust. A chill ran down her spine, causing her to tremble. She clumsily reached out for Harry, having let go of his hand earlier, and then let out an audible sigh of relief when his hand found hers instead, squeezing it once as reassurance.

The thumping sound stopped. The only sound that could be heard was their shallow breathing that seemed deafening in an otherwise silent room. They waited, breath baited, for something to happen. It couldn’t be that easy Mags thought. There’s no way.

And though she didn’t want to be, she was right. No sooner has she mentally expressed that sentiment that there was a loud smashing sound that came from the right of her, followed by a loud bang of something crashing to the ground. She screamed, backing up into Harry, who immediately pulled her behind him, trying to shield her from whatever danger that lurked. Before they could even question what caused that smashing sound, a sudden gust of cold air could be felt, causing Mags to shudder and simultaneously, and all the flames in the candles went out. They were trapped in pitch darkness.

The front door slammed open, and the pair whirled around to look at the entrance. A hooded figure could be seen, face hidden, a blunt object in his hand.

This time, both Mags and Harry screamed bloody murder.

The figure screamed back.

A voice thick with an Irish accent resounded in the room. “Why’re ya screaming?! It’s just me!”

“Niall?” Mags questioned desperately, while Harry shouted, “What’s wrong with you? You don’t just bust into someone’s home like that!” The latter’s voice sounding suspiciously scared in a falsetto.

As if this was a playwright and not reality, the lights flickered back on, almost on cue. The lights revealed that it was indeed Niall, as he pulled down the hood from his jacket and stepped into the room. The large object in his hand was just a scroll of paper, rolled up into a tight cylindrical shape.

Mags took long strides to cross the room and stand before Niall before not so lightly pounding him on the arm repeatedly. “What is the matter with you?” “Ouch!” The Irishman exclaimed, wincing and rubbing him tender arm. “I’m here because I’ve found the answer to Harry’s problem.” He was met with unimpressed stares. “Yikes, tough crowd. Look, why don’t you guys take a seat?”

Mags and Harry shared a look, and then walked over to the couch, sitting close to each other, practically on the same cushion, not wanting to be apart after what they’d just witnessed. Once settled, all eyes were on Niall, who physically claimed the center of the room.

“I have found the solution to this haunting,” Niall began. Mags noticed that he was using the same rambunctious, haughty voice he employed when he had to present a subject in class over something that he hadn’t done the reading on, but she ignored calling him out as he actually had piqued her interest. Could he truly have the answer to stop all this madness?

Harry hunched over and ran his palms across his face, and Mags instinctively reached out to rub his shoulders comfortingly. “Oooh! When’d this happen?” Niall asked excitedly, pointing at them.

Mags eyes just flashed in irritation.

“Right!” Niall exclaimed, as if he suddenly remembered he was in the middle of something important. “The solution.”

He began to pace the length of the living room rug, his hands tied behind his back, the rain droplets from his jacket dripping onto the floor. “I’ve been thinking long and hard about everything that Harry had said about this house. All the things that spooked him. I didn’t know what to make of it, so I did some digging of my own.”

He bent over and unfolded the roll of paper, and Mags and Harry reached out to hold opposite edges to keep it straightened.

“Erm, what exactly are we looking at here?” Harry questioned, his head cocked to the side trying to make sense of the white lines and measurements adorning the navy-blue page.

“I went to the town hall and asked for a copy of this house’s floorplan. You mentioned it was old, Harry, something in Bertha’s family for a while so I figured they would have it. If you look closely, right about here,” he pointed to a section on the paper of what Mags deduced was the living room that they were currently in, “that’s the room we are in right now. And if you follow the measurements of the floorboards, you’ll see that they don’t quite align.”

From Harry’s squinted eyes, it was clear he hadn’t caught on yet. But Mags had. The paper showed the square footage, measurements, and scales; Numbers! She was back in familiar territory! She excitedly traced the area that Niall pointed out. “Oh my gosh,” she whispered, “This bitch is built crooked.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed, exasperated at being out of the loop. “What is this even showing me?” Niall seemed gleeful at Mag’s realization, validating his findings. “The house, while structurally sound, was built crooked. The plot of land it’s on is uneven. The left dipping lower than the right. Which is why sometimes,” Niall threw his arm out to point at the right wall, splattering Mags and Harry’s faces with more water droplets that flew off his sleeve, “the painting from that wall falls off periodically.” They all looked to where he pointed. The sound Mags and Harry had heard moments ago, the loud banging in the darkness, had been a picture frame that fell off the wall. That’s all it was. Mags felt just the tiniest bit of air fill back into her lungs in relief.

“B-but,” Harry nodded his head side to side in apparent puzzlement, “But how does that explain the lights? We – “He nodded his head at Mags, “We found out that Tom, Bertha’s husband, had died while messing with the breaker in the basement. The flickering lights has to be his ghost.” Niall only patted Harry’s head in response. “Oh, you silly lad! If only that were true. In actuality, Bertha forgot to tell you that in the winter months, the house needs a scheduled appointment with the town’s electrician. The house is old, the wiring is faulty, and it needs a nice tweak now and then in the cold weather.”

Niall stood up once again with a flourish, one finger raised and poised in the air, “And how would I know that? Fret not Harry,” to which Harry deeply exhaled in frustration. “I looked up Bertha, found her granddaughter on Instagram. She’s a fittie by the way, has a boyfriend though. Real shame.” A swift kick to his shins from Mags got him to stop his harmless flirting and get back on track. “Right, so I reached out to her. She relayed that information to me. She also pointed out something else that she thought we’d ought to know.”

He treads to the other side of the room, to the wall that has four large windowpanes covered by thick, velvet drapes. Grabbing the curtain from one corner, he peels it back, loudly exclaiming “Ta-daa!”, his hands outstretched as if he was presenting something fascinating to them, a magician in front of an audience.

Eyes blinked back at him. “There’s nothing even there!” Harry exasperatedly noted.

“What?” Niall did a double take, and then chuckled to himself. “Oops, wrong window.” He repeated his same dramatic motions, this time uncovering a window with a large, crack on it. On the corner, was a missing shard of glass. “Bertha had been meaning to get this fixed. The neighbor’s kid accidentally threw a baseball through the window. She got really forgetful towards the end, according to her granddaughter, which is why she whisked her away.”

Mags nodded excitedly, “That’s what’s been causing the drafts.” She turned to Harry, eyes glowing with relief, “That’s why it always so damn cold in here. Your thermostat can’t compete with that.”

“Hopefully the flickering lights will offset how high your electivity bill is going to be,” Niall joked.

Harry seemed unconvinced. “What about that smell then, huh? It smells something dreadful in the kitchen and I’ve cleaned the place spic and span.”

Mags turned to Niall in wonder, looking at him in a whole new light, as if he was an all knowing being that held all the answers.

“Follow me,” Niall said, leading the trio into the kitchen while continuing his monologue. “I called up our dear friend Louis. Hard guy to keep track of, that lad, with the time zones and all. I told him about the smell, and wouldn’t you know it? Our friend remembered the fact that when he was here, he had drunkenly tried to make himself scrambled eggs for breakfast when you,” he pointed accusingly at Harry, “were passed out on the couch. What he actually did was drop an egg on the ground. In his drunken state, he simply just kicked the egg yolk under the fridge, like ice, and promised to clean it later.”

Niall leaned against the fridge, arms crossed dramatically. “As we know, no follow-through that one. He forgot to clean his mess. So that smell you smelt? The scent of rotten eggs? It actually was a rotten egg. Disgusting but true.”

“I –” Harry couldn’t believe it. Gently pushing Niall away from the fridge, he knelt down on one knee, sinking onto the cool tile. Sliding his phone out of his front pocket, he turned on his flashlight app and shined in under the fridge. Niall and Mags also leaned in to get a closer look. Audible gasps could be heard from all three of them. There, under the dusty and sticky tile bottom of the fridge, wedged between a dust ball and an expired coupon, was a broken, rotten egg.

Mags pinched her nose, unable to take the scent anymore. “Niall, you’re an absolute genius,” she complimented nasally.

Before Niall could bask in his glory for long, Harry interrupted once again. “You’ve explained the lights. The painting falling off. The cold. The smell. But,” his eyes bleary and red, his arms flailing in frustration “what about the sounds coming from the ceiling? The footsteps?”

He turned around and looked at Mags frantically for support. “Mags heard it too! The night that she stayed over and we – um, she just heard it too!” while Mags nodded feverishly in the background.

Niall looked away, breaking eye contact. “That’s the only part I can’t explain,” the blonde confessed, scratching his scalp. “But the blueprints show this house has an attic. Let’s all go search up there together.”

Emboldened by Niall’s other explanations, everyone geared up for their excursion, which really meant that everyone had their phones in hand, flashlights shining. Once again, Niall lead the way, stopping in the middle of the hallway. It was no wonder Harry had never noticed it before. There, on the ceiling, was a subtle outline of an attic door and a very small chain dangling. It was so high up that Niall and Harry took turns hopping and trying to reach the latch, while Mags didn’t even try, watching the boys struggle because she know her attempts would be futile. Eventually Harry was able to grab ahold of the chain and pull the attic door open, as the wooden steps fell along with it. Harry looked back at Mags, feeling a surge of affection for this girl that was willing to risk everything for him, and then looked at Niall, the friend who jumped through hoops to help a friend. Inspired by the love and support around him, Harry took the lead, climbing up the steps as Niall and Mags respectively followed.

“Please don’t be a creepy man that’s been hoarding and hiding in Harry’s attic for shelter,” Mags whispered, climbing the last steps “Because I WILL die of shock, and that’s a promise.”

Niall and Harry helped her up, and she stood upright. They each flashed their lights at different corners of the attic, trying to find something amiss among the dusty boxes of forgotten belongings and storage.

“Wait,” Harry whispered, pointing in the opposite corner. “Look over there. Something’s glowing.”

And sure enough, Mags saw it too. Something was glowing and moving. Two little round balls of light.

“I think,” Harry began, taking a step closer to the source when all Mags wanted to do was drag him back to safety, “Oh wow, it is.” “Is what?” Niall exclaimed, unable to handle the suspense.

“It’s a family of possums!” Harry cried in relief, “It’s just a mama possum and her babies. It’s not a ghost!”

“Awww,” Niall cooed.

The release that everyone felt was almost palpable, the relief tangible. There was no ghost after all! No otherworldly being! All of this was caused by a forgetful old woman, a drunk friend, and a family of critters.

Mags could almost cry tears of joy. Science was valid. Her whole wasn’t flipped upside down. Numbers were important, her beliefs restored. Rationale could explain everything unusual that had occurred within the confines of this house. Without being too dramatic, she could firmly declare that once again, her life had meaning.

She took a few minutes to herself to truly appreciate that there was no haunting before finally speaking up. “I hate to ruin the moment,” Mags said as Harry and Niall admired the critters, “but mama possums are very territorial and will attack if she feels threatened.” When neither Harry nor Niall made any intentions to move, she added, “And possums are at high risk to carry strains of rabies.”

“And that’s our cue!” Harry quipped, as Niall vehemently added, “Yup!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Day 7: October 31st, Halloween!!!

Mags beamed with content, relaxing every muscle in her body as she laid on the bookshop’s couch, her head resting on Harry’s warm thigh, his face partially obscured by a book, reading snippets from the murder-mystery novel she had started but never got to finish given how hectic the past few days had been. His other free hand was draped across her shoulder and chest, and Mags divided her attention, taking turns to hold his hand and running her fingers across his forearm, despite Harry’s constant claim that it tickled.

It was Halloween, the day that she had first anticipated because she loved all things horror and it was her favorite holiday, and then the day that she had started to dread when she believed that Harry’s house was being haunted by a ghost. Now, she was back to loving her favorite holiday again, the world was ruled by science, and everything felt right. And it truly did. Ever since last night, when Niall was able to demystify all of the strange occurrences, Mags felt lighter than she had ever before. She let out an exhale as she relaxed into her position, nuzzling closer to Harry as his low voice rumbled, reading aloud to her, and embraced the pleasant sound.

She was so comfortable, so relaxed, she felt could fall asleep right here and now. A little nap was well-deserved at this point, she decided as she closed her eyes contently, considering the hell she’d been through this past week.

“Do not fall asleep,” a voice demanded.

She inhaled deeply in frustration, peeling one eye open to see Liam passing by. He eyed her, irritated, though Mags knew he wasn’t truly annoyed. “You’re still on the clock, y’know?” Liam said, “Just checking in to make sure you’re all set to close up.” He paused to nod at Harry in greeting, because apparently it was really a small world and Mags had found out that Liam and Harry actually knew each from freshman year history class.

Mags sat up, running her fingers through her hair in a futile attempt to tame it. “I don’t understand why you always ask me that when you never offer to actually help close up.”

Liam laughed in response. “I’m nothing if not consistent.” He reached over to give Harry one of those boy handshakes that would always elude Mags. Why couldn’t boys just say goodbye normally? “Anyways, I’ll see you at Harry’s place tonight. I’ve got a wicked costume planned,” he concluded as a farewell.

It wasn’t hard for Niall to convince Harry that he should host a Halloween party at his house, to celebrate the fact that he wasn’t haunted, but also because it was a great excuse to bring everyone together and get drunk. Mags, always eager to wear costumes, agreed with his sentiments and thus, they were hosting a last-minute Halloween party with no invitations spared.

Mags twisted her body to face Harry, his eyes already on her. “I probably should get up and start to close up.” She straightens herself up, ready to check inventory and cash out the register. “Before another student comes rushing in last minute again. Or God forbid, an English major,” she jokes.

“Um,” Harry treaded cautiously, “You know I’m an English major, right?” “You’re a what?” Mags eyes widen in shock. “Nope. No way.” She shakes her head vigorously. “Absolutely not.”

Harry smirks in amusement. “Unfortunately, yes. Sorry to break it to you, hon.”

Mags froze, flabbergasted. She guessed she really did have a type. Karma really was a bitch. “I’m so glad you decided to reveal your major after the fact,” she joked, “Or else it might’ve been a deal breaker.”

“Oh!” She exclaimed, changing the subject, “Don’t forget! I’ll need to rush home and put on my costume before meeting you at the house.” “Ooh,” Harry resounded in excitement, “Can you pretty please bring Pumpkin with you? I haven’t seen her all day.” She rolled her eyes in response. “I’m beginning to think you’re only dating me for my cat,” she joked amicably.

And that is what they were doing. Dating. As soon as all the ghost nonsense was put to rest, she and Harry finally had the opportunity to address everything that happened between them. Though their coming together was unconventional, the feelings were real and strong, and they decided to give their relationship a try. Mags felt good about it. They way Harry made her feel made her think they were in it for the long haul and she was excited about their future holds.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Adjusting her halo that fell askew when she threw her head back to take a shot, Mags looked around the kitchen in happiness, the kind that fills your heart when you’re in a party, surrounded by close friends and loved ones, loud music thumping from a distance and filled with good vibes. Alcohol definitely plays a part too.

Suddenly, two tattooed arms reached out to envelop her, careful to avoid smushing her wings. She leaned her weight against Harry’s chest, allowing him to support her, as she turned her face slightly towards him. He lowered his head to her ears, his breath tickling her skin and making her blood rush. “You look so good,” Harry murmured, “I’ve got half a mind to call the cops on my own party so they can kick everyone out. Want you all to myself.”

Despite rolling her eyes, Mags couldn’t help the pleased smile that snaked across her face. “Easy there, I’m spending the night anyway.” She turned around so that her wings were no longer a barrier between them, wrapping her arms around Harry from the front, her face against his chest, as he placed his head affectionally atop hers, the wisps on her Halo tickling his cheeks.

Mags had chosen an angel as her last-minute Halloween costume, mainly because it was an easy outfit, but also because the white contrasted well with her golden-brown skin and this particular outfit did wonders for her boobs. A fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Harry, if the look he gave her when she first made her entrance was any indication. On the other hand, Harry had chosen to dress as a devil. Or at least, a very lackluster devil. He had a red sweater on earlier, but the warmth from the house crowded with bodies caused him to abandon that hours ago, and he was left with a white t-shirt, dark jeans, and a pair of devil horns hastily placed atop his mass of curly hair. It was mysterious the way the world worked. Just a week ago, she imagined that on Halloween she would be at home, watching the Scream movie series with Niall, Marisol, and Pumpkin, with a bag of Halloween candy to pass out to trick or treaters. And now, she was celebrating her favorite holiday with her friends and her boyfriend with a fun party.

As the Monster Mash played deafeningly in the background, and they were jostled from people entering and exiting the kitchen to get punch, they swayed to their own silent music, content to be lost in their world for just a moment.

A moment that was interrupted by Niall. “Seriously Harry? You were supposed to grab Mags so we could play charades!” To which Harry muttered an insincere apology. Niall turned to Mags, “It’s a Halloween version of charades. I know how competitive you get. You and Harry can be on the same team. It’ll be a true test of your love!” He declared, his speech slow and slurred.

Mags was game. “Oh, we are so gonna win!” She declared, already leaning into her competitive streak.

“Great!” Niall declared enthusiastically, his arms sloppily flailing in excitement. Unfortunately for him, and for Harry, Niall had forgotten about the cup he was holding and just emptied its entire content onto Harry. His white shirt was completely stained with red punch.

Niall avoided Harry’s harsh glare as Mags slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. “Oops! I’ll just let ya take care of that before our game,” he announced, adjusting his fake leprechaun beard before hurriedly making his exit.

“Great,” Harry groaned, dabbing his shirt with a paper towel in vain, “I have to go change my shirt.” Unexpectedly, Mags was hit with a sudden realization. “Oh my gosh!” She exclaimed in a tone of wonder. “You’re completely covered in red liquid.”

It took Harry a moment, but then his eyes flashed with recognition. “That crazy old psychic was right!”

Mags laughed at the absurdity of it all. “I wonder,” she began, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, “If she was right about two things so far, I’m starting to suspect that she was right to warn me. I’ll bet you are a widower! How do I know I’m not dating a married man?” She teased.

Harry just looked at her fondly in response, at the crazy girl that he called his girlfriend.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Buzz! The electronic buzzer resounded, indicating that Mags and Harry’s turn was over. She threw her arm up in frustration. “Seriously Harry? The word was Leatherface! It’s the killer in Texas Chainsaw Massacre!” “How was I supposed to get that?” He howled with laughter.

“I was pointing at Zayn’s leather jacket!” She explained, pointing at the boy dressed as a Greaser, “And I was miming a chainsaw!”

“A chainsaw?” Harry questioned, as Niall guffawed, “I thought you were chopping vegetables!”

Mags sat back next to Harry, arms crossed, and lips pouted in pretending to sulk. “It’s okay baby,” he comforted her, “We’ll get them next round.”

“You promise?” She teased.

His pinky reached out to capture hers. “Pinky promise.”

Mags had chosen a seat next to Marisol and Niall, her main competition in this game. She had squeezed Liam’s shoulder as she passed to get to her seat and shot Zayn a smile in greeting, noticing other familiar faces in the room. It seems that the people that she was the closest with had chosen to join the game.

Niall observed Mags and Harry tangled within one another, as she sat close to Harry, her back to his chest, his arm slung around her shoulders as they waited for their next turn. “You guys are so cute. We should go on a double-date!” He exclaimed, the alcohol causing his enthusiasm to increase ten-fold, “Marisol,” he called, turning to his girlfriend, “Let’s all get brunch tomorrow morning!” Marisol shared a knowing look with Mags, to say Gosh my boyfriend is so cute but such an adorable handful when he’s drunk. “Sweetie,” she began understandingly, as if she was speaking to a toddler, “Y’know I have church in the morning. The church on 3rd street holds their sermons really early on Sunday mornings.”

“Oh, the one with Pastor Mike?” Mags questioned, “He’s super nice!” Marisol looked over at her roommate in concern. “Why do you know that?” She questioned in exasperated confusion, the synthetic hair from her blue Coraline wig slipping over her eyes as she narrowed them at Harry suspiciously, who was busy playing with the ends of Mags hair, the long strands skirting against the small of her back. Marisol lowering her voice in a drunken whisper that wasn’t actually that quiet, “Is he trying to convert you?”

Harry looked offended at the accusation and Mags bubbled over in laughter, unable to explain to Marisol. She didn’t even know what’d she say. Yes, I know Pastor Mike is really kind because he helped Harry and I with an exorcism.

As Marisol and Niall got distracted because it was their turn, Mags turned to admire the mantle above the fireplace. When rooting through the basement for Halloween decorations, she and Harry had found a beautiful picture of Bertha and Tom. They felt it was appropriate to have it up, as a reminder of the love that once filled this house, instead of the horror they previously feared. “I guess I’ll have to go out and buy another frame,” Harry commented, following Mags eyes to see what got her attention. “Why’s that?” Mags asked curiously.

“For a picture of us, of course!” Mags shoved his arm playfully. “Harry, we’ve literally been officially dating for one day, why are you like this?” In turn, he dropped all pretenses of joking, carefully looking into her eyes. “When you know, you know,” he explained, his words firm and laced with adoration. He reached out to tuck a strand of her dark hair behind her ears, his actions tender and careful, his gaze unwavering. This time, Mags didn’t have to guess what expression was on his face, wasn’t confused about the look in his eye. As he ducked forward, dipping down to touch his nose against hers, she recognizes the emotion that all the signs point to: love.

Just as Harry’s lips are about to make contact with hers, Liam speaks up boisterously, gathering the attention of everyone in the room. “After this,” he boldly proclaims, his once carefully applied zombie makeup now smudged and his speech imprecise due to the effects of the punch, “we should all get into the true Halloween spirit by playing the ultimate spooky game.”

His proclamation is meet with cheerful jeers of encouragement and questions about what the game was.

“Great!” He all but shouts in enthusiasm, “I’ll just go and find us a Ouijia board.”

Time stood still. Everything seemed to move in slow-motion.

Completely in sync, their motions fluid and graceful, contradicting the amount of alcohol consumed between the three of them, Niall, Harry, and Mags jumped up from the couch in harmony, bellowing a resounding chorus of “NO!”

The End. (or isss iiiiiit?)

(Just kidding, it is.)

[nightingaleandtheredredrose]

Search for a Cookbook

Word Count: 5,628

Fandom: Ozmafia!!

Characters: Lynette, Silas, Manboy, Alfani, Hansel, Gretel, Scarlet, Caramia, Kyrie, Axel, Soh, and OTHERS???? 

Trigger Warnings: None

A/N: (PLEASE READ THIS A/N BEFORE READING THE STORY) This is just a fun, lighthearted fic that I wrote of my two babies so I could better imagine how they would interact with people around town! Also, just a heads up, this is a draft that I’ve kept for a couple of months now, so;;; um;;; The OCs/OC blogs I mention might not be as active as they were before;;; Or they’re just straight out dead;; And to those of you who know what it is, I mentioned the Carroll Famiglia like once for a small joke, but I’m not sure if that project was discarded, so please forgive any mistakes I make. Oh! This also goes for the OCs I included in this story! I tried to write in a good amount of other people’s Ozmafia OCs who would be, more or less, related to the plot. Unfortunately I couldn’t include everyone (b/c I also wanted to make sure each OC had more than one speaking line), so I’m really, really sorry to anyone I left out (T-T) And for those people whose OCs I did include, please forgive me if I accidentally made them OOC;; Since this author’s note has gone on for so long, I’ll give credit to these characters at the end! (^-^) NOW ON WITH THE SHOW!

Upon hearing the tinkle of a small bell and the creak of the door swinging open, Lynette looked up from the register to see who had just walked in. She beamed, delighted to see a familiar face. “Manboy! Nice to see you!” she exclaimed.

Before Manboy could reply, Lynette heard a giggle and the mess of blonde locks that had followed Manboy through the door finally popped up from behind him. “Hello, Lynette~” sang Alfani, cheerily waving at the now less enthused store owner.

“And… you brought Alfani… Wonderful…” The girl couldn’t help but let some of her uneasiness show. It wasn’t as if she hated Alfani, but rather she worried over how he spoke while he was outside of the salon. He had little to no filter, so the possibility of him accidentally letting an innuendo slip through his lips was too high. It didn’t help that the children’s storytime was starting in a few minutes either. Lynette especially didn’t want Alfani to recount any bondage experiences he’d had during The Lion and the Mouse, especially with that many innocent eyes and ears gathered into one room.

Silas wasn’t very fond of Alfani either. Alfani was too grabby, and Silas hated being touched. Thankfully, he was still in the back storeroom searching for the puppet dolls that were going to be used for storytime, but it would only be a matter of time until he came out.

While Lynette weighed the pros against the cons of locking her employee in the storeroom until this storm had passed, Manboy cleared his throat to get her attention. “Good morning, Lynette. I’m sorry to bother you, but I am in need of your services today,” he explained with a slight bow of his head.

Lynette tensed up at this. Her services? This early in the day? But she normally carried out her murders late at night to avoid suspicion.

Seeing her smile falter, Manboy was quick to correct himself. “Ah! Please forgive me, Lynette! I didn’t mean those kind of services. I just came to purchase a book from your store for a… client of mine.”

The smile that had almost slipped off of Lynette’s face reappeared again, topped off with a playfully raised eyebrow. After handing a purchased book to a waiting customer, she leaned across the counter and said, “Oh? A client you say? That was, ah, quite a pause there, Manboy. Sure you’re not hiding something?”

Manboy’s face flushed at the suggestion. Before he could respond, Alfani laughed and threw his arms around him. “My dear Manboy is gonna get a present for his secret sweetheart! Isn’t that cute? Hey, do you wanna know who they are, Lynette? It’s-”

“Al!” Manboy exclaimed before clapping a hand over Alfani’s mouth. “I’m sure Lynette already has her hands full running her bookstore, so we mustn’t take up any more time than necessary.”

Lynette pouted. Darn. She was always down for some juicy love gossip. But no matter. She’ll let it slide this one time for the sake of Manboy’s dignity. “So what’s the book called? I can go check if we have it in stock once you tell me,” she told Manboy, handling another customer’s purchase as she did so. 

“I believe it was called Cooking 101. It had a hundred and one recipes, so it piqued my client’s interest, but they just couldn’t get their hands on it due to their busy schedule. They intended to try some of the recipes out for an event that was coming up as well as just around the household.”

Lynette hummed in thought as she handed the customer their stack of books along with their change. “Now that I think about it, we did have a cookbook on display a couple of weeks ago. I’m guessing your lov- I mean- your client must have seen it while passing by one of our windows?”

Manboy managed a small smile. “They did admit that they saw it on the way to the salon, yes.”

“If you two are talking about Cooking 101, then sorry, but we ran out.”

Everyone looked up to see where the voice had come from. Alfani let out a small gasp and ran over to the newcomer. “Silas! So you were here! Give me a hu- Ow~!”

Silas kept Alfani at a distance by pressing his hand against his face, keeping that one arm extended to fight against the flailing limbs that desperately stretched out to reach him. “No way in hell,” seethed Silas.

Alfani let out a disappointed groan. “Geez, Silas. There’s no need to hold back, y’know. Just throw me to the ground like you usually do!” “There are children around, so I’ll have to refuse.”

“What, seriously? I thought we still had some at the back,” Lynette inquired.

“Miss Lynette, I can’t even tell what we have at the back anymore. It’s such a mess in the storeroom that I only managed to procure the beheaded lion and the dusty mouse.” Silas fished the headless lion puppet out of his apron pocket and tossed it to Lynette.

She in turn forlornly gazed at the poor doll, caressing the bit of stuffing that was sticking out of its now stump of a head. “Poor Mr Caramia. What’s the Oz famiglia gonna do without you now?” murmured Lynette. 

“Are you sure? Can you… check again?” Manboy asked, a hint of desperation in his voice as he did so. 

Silas looked at Manboy for a few moments before sighing, using his unoccupied hand to rub the back of his neck. He began to feel bad for him. “I’m sorry, Mr Manboy, but that was a bestseller of ours. It was especially popular among those in the mafia. Considering all of that, we more than likely have none left in sto-”

Struck by an idea, Lynette suddenly smacked her fist against an open palm. “That’s it! We’ll just ask those people to give us their copy! Easy peasy! We’ll reimburse them and everything! It’s just a book after all!” she declared.

Already tired from the very thought of exercise, Silas grimaced. “Wait, Miss Lynette-”

It was too late; she was on a roll. She hastily stuffed her apron under the counter and grabbed her dark blue hood, slipping it on as she ran towards the door. She gestured for Silas to follow her as she ran in place at the doorway. “C’mon, Silas. You’re coming with me. Give Manboy the keys to the store too; he’s gonna be in charge today.”

Silas hesitated for a moment but then decided it would be best not to say anything. An argument with Lynette would never end, after all.

Instead, he nodded and tossed his keys to Manboy before following after Lynette. 

Manboy just barely caught the keys and shot a panicked look at the escaping shop workers. “Wait! Lynette! I can’t possibly-!”

“Sure you can! I believe in you, Manboy!” encouraged Lynette as she gave him an overly enthusiastic thumbs up.

“No, it’s not an issue with my self esteem that I’m referring to!”

“Oh! Then don’t worry about the fact that it’s a Sunday. Sales tend to dwindle towards the end of the day, so feel free to lock up early. You could just read the book on the counter to the kids since the puppets just kind of, y’know, died. I’m super sorry for having you do this on your day off, but I promise to have that book you want before today ends, okay? Byyeeee~”

“But still-!”

And before he knew it, the pair had run off to who knows where. Manboy sighed and rubbed at his temples. That Lynette… As flighty as ever. If he didn’t know any better he would’ve thought she was just doing this as an excuse to skip work.

Well… No, that was probably one of the reasons she took up his request. He shouldn’t get ahead of himself. But Lynette was also just too selfless for her own good. The fact that she set a solid deadline for the book retrieval was proof enough. Although there was still one more thing that was bothering him.

“How did she figure out that today was my day off?” Manboy wondered aloud.

“Hey, Manboy! Look at this!” Alfani was holding up the book Silas had left on the counter. He had opened it up to the page where the lion lay entangled in the hunter’s net, Alfani’s eyes shining just a tad too brightly for such a scene. “I could be the lion instead! All we need is a net!”

“... Thank you, Al, but for the children’s sake I think we should stick to just reading them the story from the book.”

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

1st Stop: Grimm famiglia

Peering out from behind her older brother, Gretel narrowed her eyes at the people who were browsing the bookshelves in the study. “How the hell did they get in here? Hey, Hansel, don’t tell me you let them in again,” she darkly murmured.

Hansel turned his head to look back at her and sheepishly smiled. “Aahh… No, not this time, Gretel. I actually don’t know how they got in unless…” He let out a startled exclamation and snapped his fingers as if he had just realized something. “I got it! There’s an age old tunnel beneath the estate, and they crawled in through that!”

“Actually, I just let them in. They asked me if they could buy back one of Scarlet’s books,” explained Florentia, leaning against a wall near the door. 

Gretel’s glower became worse. “And you let them in for such a flimsy reason?”

“Well… But they asked politely? They won’t do us any harm as far as I’m concerned.”

Overhearing their conversation, Lynette paused mid search to do a little fist pump. “Yeah, we asked politely! Ain’t that right, Silas?”

“Kindness rules,” Silas chimed in with a deadpan voice. 

“Shut up you annoying little bird and you overgrown broccoli head, and find your damn book before I egg your pathetic excuse of a store with my grenades.”

“...Sorry, Miss Gretel.”

“Sorry, ma’am.” And they resumed their search in a more frenzied manner.

Once this pair was dealt with, Gretel again confronted Florentia. “‘They won’t do us any harm’? How can you be so sure? That annoying bird just reeks of disaster (Lynette flinched when she heard this but continued to look through the books). Spending all that time around that cat lady’s place really dulled your senses.”

Instead of getting mad, Florentia’s expression brightened as she came to remember something. “Oh! That’s right! I need to go visit her estate before the day ends. Hmmm, maybe I’ll pick up the others on the way back-”

“Tch. She already stopped listening to me,” Gretel muttered before retreating behind Hansel’s back once more.

Her brother waved farewell to Florentia as she rushed to leave. “See ya, Florentia! I’ll tell Scarlet that you and the others will be late for dinner tonight!”

Florentia smiled and waved back. “That would be great! Thank you, Hansel!”

“Don’t get yourself killed due to your airheadedness.” “Pffft! I doubt I will, but I’ll keep that in mind, Gretel!”

“Hey, Miss Florentia!” Before she could turn the doorknob, Lynette had called out to her which caused her to look back.

“Yes, what is it, Lynette?” she asked.

Lynette gave her a playful wink and said, “Don’t have too much fun over there with Miss Pashet, okay?”

Florentia responded with a small laugh and a wink in return. “Don’t  worry. I have this all under control~” And with that last remark, she left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Silas and Lynette attempted to continue scouring the shelves but stopped when they heard the door opening. The person who had just walked in pushed back his red hood, sighed, and began with, “Hansel. Gretel. I just saw Florentia run by me and-” Scarlet stopped when he noticed that they had visitors. “Ah…”

Silas and Lynette awkwardly waved at the stunned caporegime. “Hey, Mr Scarlet,” Lynette greeted. Silas gave him a small nod.

“Thanks for letting us into your home, Mr Scarlet.”

Scarlet pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t get paid enough to deal with this. “Hansel, did you let them in again?” he asked.

“Eeehhh? First Gretel and now you? Geez~ It’s like none of you trust me,” Hansel said with a huff. He then folded his arms across his chest and turned away pouting.

Although Scarlet felt the need to bring up the other time Hansel allowed these two into the estate (which ended… badly…), he decided to let this go. “I’m sorry, Hansel. You know I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” Seeing that Hansel wasn’t going to turn around anytime soon, Scarlet gave up and spoke to Lynette. “Then if it wasn’t Hansel, was it Florentia?”

Lynette nodded and fidgeted with the ribbons on her arms. “Ah, yes! It was Florentia. She let us in so we can… Umm…” The longer she gazed at Scarlet, the more she remembered how he unknowingly rejected her confession months ago. She blushed in embarrassment and quickly turned her head to clear her throat. “SILAS. WHAT ARE WE HERE FOR AGAIN?”

Silas looked up from his place on the floor to answer. “Do you happen to have the Cooking 101 book, Mr Scarlet? We want to buy it back from you, so we could spice up Mr Manboy’s love life.”

‘Don’t be that honest!’ Lynette mentally reprimanded but forced herself not to say aloud. Instead she let the smile that was already on her face grow uncomfortably wider. Through gritted teeth, Lynette said, “That’s… right!”

“Cooking 101? Hey, Hansel, wasn’t that the book we blew up in our little experiment last week?” Gretel asked, causing Hansel to snap his fingers a second time.

“Ah! That’s right! The one with the weird cover! We used it as fuel for the fire...eheheheh, sorry, Scarlet.”

Upon hearing this news, Silas and Lynette made their way to the door. Time to search somewhere else. 

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2nd Stop: Oz famiglia

They were at a standoff. Granted, it was four against one (so it was a pretty pathetic scene) , but it was a standoff nevertheless.

Caramia stood on one side of the dining table while everyone else stood on the other. He protectively held his cookbook to his chest and gave his opposition a shaky smile. “Ca-Can we calm down just for a minute here?”

Despite his words, Silas and Lynette already had their hands up in the form of an odd battle stance, ready to grab the hardcover from his arms. There was a dangerous glint in Lynette’s eyes as she replied, “Not an option, Mr Caramia. I just spent two hours searching for a book that had already been blown up, so I don’t want to waste anymore time than I have to! Give it up already! … Please.”

Kyrie stood a couple ways off from this scene with his arms folded against his chest. He scoffed. “Just stop being the shitty idiot lion that you are and hand over that book of yours. It’s not as if your meals have become any less inedible because of it. Honestly-” His gaze darkened as he raised his head, a fist poised under his chin. “You’re acting like a pitiful orphan going to get their precious toy snatched by a gang of older children who are just waiting to beat you senseless. For amusement of course.”

“You could have just said I was acting childish! Ah, geez, why did you have to make it that dark, Kyrie?”

Kyrie huffed and turned to leave the room. “I’m terribly sorry; did I hear something? The cries of the pitiful orphan simply do not reach my ears~” And then he was gone.

Caramia sighed. “Well, I didn’t expect Kyrie to help me in the first place. But Axel! At least you’re on my side, right?”

The caporegime hesitated for a moment. He was debating between pointing out that fact that he was obviously standing on the side opposite to his don or staying quiet and obediently joining Caramia. His sweets were at stake here; Axel couldn’t afford another ban on his life source. Eventually, he decided to just let him down easy, also not finding it in his heart to lie to him. “Boss. As much as I hate to say it… Kyrie is ri-rig-righ-” Axel coughed. “You’re acting like a child. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

Everybody could see Caramia’s heart breaking before their eyes. He stumbled a few steps back, clutching at his chest with an unoccupied hand. This… Is this what betrayal felt like? His own men turning against him? With a hollow voice, Caramia asked, “Axel… How could you?” Then he gritted his teeth. “Why don’t any of you understand? This has become more than a book to me. It’s opened my eyes to new cuisines, it’s helped me perfect my old recipes-”

“What’s… going on here?” a voice called out from the kitchen entrance. Running a hand through her long blue hair in an effort to smooth it down, Nana stood in the open doorway with a flustered expression. Kyrie had told her that there was something she had to take care of in the kitchen; he implied that it was urgent so she ran all the way there, but she was honestly unsure on what to make of the scene before her. 

Lynette grinned. “Perfect timing, Miss Nana! Help us wrangle the book from your fiancé’s hands!” she said.

“‘Wrangle the book’? But why-?”

Caramia smiled as well. “Good afternoon, Amore mio. Will you please call them off? You know how much this book means to me, right?”

“Huh?! Ah, yes, but-”

This then prompted Lynette to turn an accusatory finger on Caramia. Deep down she knew that this was the time to stop, but she unknowingly got swept up in the rush of this senseless argument. “But does that book mean more to you than the very love of your life?!” Lynette placed a hand to the side of her mouth and spoke in a loud whisper. “Miss Nana! This is your chance! Try to convince him to let go of the book by using your charms!”

Nana was at a bypass. On one hand, she wanted to take her lover’s side. She loved Caramia after all, and all this fuss over a simple book just wasn’t worth it. On the other hand, though, Nana had become curious. How exactly did she measure up to that book?

Her curiosity won out in the end, and she stepped forward. Nana fiddled with her earrings as she asked, “Caramia… Please forgive me if it’s rude to ask, but how much does that book mean to you? I’m sure you may have had many wonderful memories with it, but…” She meant to continue, but her voice faltered, and her gaze slowly lowered to the ground in shame. Nana couldn’t do it; she couldn’t bring herself to guilt trip Caramia. 

She let out a small gasp when she felt someone’s fingers interlace with her own. Caramia had set the book onto the table and walked over to Nana in order to grasp her hands in his. He gave her a gentle smile. “Nana, you know you mean more to me than Cooking 101. It’s just a… silly… little… book.” He coughed before continuing, almost as if it had physically hurt him to admit that. “You mean the world to me, Nana. Please don’t ever forget that.”

With tears brimming in her eyes, Nana responded with a choked up, “Caramia-!”

“Now’s the time, Silas! Let’s grab the book while he’s distracted!”

“NO, WAIT! KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF THAT BOOK!”

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3rd Stop: Falada 

Silas and Lynette sat at a table in the Falada café. Lynette had her head in her hands while Silas angrily munched on his fifth salad. 

“I’m… really sorry that I made you go after Mr Caramia alone,��� Lynette began.

Silas shoved another forkful of lettuce into his mouth. “Don’t bother mentioning it.”

Lynette winced at his cold tone of voice. Yikes. She had really messed up this time. She had initially meant to snatch the book as well, but Silas had been the first to reach it. Unfortunately, this prompted Caramia to pounce on him like, well, a lion on meat, which ended in a few bruises and a dejected Silas and Lynette being shown the door. She sighed. “I’m sorry for being such an awful person, Silas. I know I should’ve stopped before things got out of hand.”

All she was met with in response was some miffed chewing noises. “Gah… How do I make it up to you, Silas? Do you want me to throw you an apology party or something?”

“Do we even have enough money for that?”

“I-I’ll take out a loan? That’s a thing, right?”

Their table shook when Liesl suddenly dropped a heavy book onto it, causing the pair to jump in their seats. Liesl brushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and sighed. “Here you go! Cooking 1001! You would not believe the stack of cookbooks and recipe sheets I had to go through in order to-”

“Wait. Cooking 1001? I’m sorry, Liesl, but we were looking for Cooking 101,” corrected Lynette.

Silas poked at the side of the thicc hardcover with the other end of his fork, marveling at how many pages there were. “There are 1001 recipes in here?” he muttered. “Who could possibly have that much free time?”

Liesl gave Silas a weary smile as she took back her book. “Apparently I do since I wasted a good thirty minutes trying to find the wrong book.”

“Been there,” Lynette remarked.

Liesl let out a little grunt as she readjusted the book in her arms. “Well, if it’s Cooking 101 you’re looking for, I would suggest the Stivali estate. I think I lent it to… Bercy? The cat boy with the earmuffs?”

Silas and Lynette nodded. Of course they remembered who Bercy was; they had placed bets on him when they first met him. They debated on what Bercy could possibly be hiding under his seemingly useless earmuffs. They still hadn’t figured it out yet, but Silas guessed that he was hiding a skin condition. Lynette, on the other hand, theorized that Bercy had a secret set of human ears in addition to his cat ones and that he wore earmuffs to save himself from embarrassment. 

“Yes, I lent it to him for the day. You could go pick it up from him, and pay me back when you two return with my book.”

Lynette quickly rose from her seat, throwing her chair back with a clatter. “Well what are we waiting for?! We need to get over there before the sun starts setting! C’mon, Silas!”

Silas shot Lynette a worried look as he also stood up. “Miss Lynette? Aren’t you also going to eat? We’ve been running around since morning, remember?”

“There’s no time to eat! Let’s go! Bye, Liesl! Thanks for everything!”

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4th Stop: Stivali/Boots famiglia

As the pair approached the castle-like estate, they heard a violent rustling  sound coming from above which startled some birds out of a tree. Both of them tensed, bracing themselves for an attack.

Seeing a flash of brown and green hurtle towards the ground, Silas warned Lynette to watch out. Lynette did so and quickly backed away from the tree, her fingers already wrapped around the handles of her daggers within her sheaths. She was aware of the Sunday Compromise, but she had no idea what she was dealing with. It was best to err on the side of caution just for now.

The cat lady who had just dropped in (ha) stood up from her landing position. The large bell in her hair jingled as she moved to draw her sword with narrowed eyes. “You there! Both of you! State your names, famiglia affiliations, and business before I cut you down!” she declared.

Lynette grinned and Silas relaxed. Oh, it was just Hazel. 

“Oh, c’mon, Hazel! You remember us! It’s Lynette and Silas from the bookstore!” Lynette chirped.

Silas gazed at the sword tip that was pointed at them with a bored look in his eyes. “You really shouldn’t be waving that thing around, Miss Hazel. The Sunday Compromise is in effect today.” ‘Plus it’s not as if you can actually kill us.’ was what he wanted to add, but it sounded too much like a challenge that Hazel would be more than willing to take.

This seemed to break her composure a bit. Hazel became red in the face and growled in frustration, resheathing her sword. “Fi-Fine. It doesn’t matter anyway. I could still beat you two in unarm- Wait, hey! You still haven’t given me your business, you spies!” she shouted, peeved that they had almost led her off topic.

Lynette raised her open palms in self defense. “We just came to pick up the cookbook Liesl lent to Bercy.”

Hazel shook her head. “No can do. Only the don can allow non-famiglia members into the estate. We put up pretty strict security measures to protect against intruders like you two.”

Despite how harsh Hazel’s tone had become, Lynette couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the implication that Pashet was out. “Oh? And where exactly is Miss Pashet right now? Out of the estate, I presume?” she teasingly asked, already having a good idea where the don could possibly be. 

The blush on Hazel’s face deepened as she became even more flustered. “Tha-That’s none of your business! The don’s whereabouts are highly classified informa-”

“Perhaps Miss Pashet is having an enjoyable time in town. Pulled along by a certain Grimm famiglia member, I presume?” suggested Silas.

“Mrow!! You two really are spies! Both of you better leave Stivali territory before I run you off myself!”

Watching Hazel getting ready to charge, Lynette urgently tugged at Silas’ sleeve. “Hey, did we buy any bread from Falada while we were there? That would be real handy right now,” she whispered.

Silas stared at her straight in the eyes. “You saw me eat five servings of salad, did you not?”

The two exchanged panicked glances before reaching a silent agreement, nodding, and making a break for it.

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5th Stop: Soh’s Food Stall

“And then we tried going over to the Adelheids, but Miss Heidi told us to go away too! Then Silas recommended we try the- the- What’s the name of that other famiglia? Y’know, the song famiglia?” asked Lynette.

“Are you referring to the Carroll famiglia, Miss Lynette?”

“Yeah, fa la la la la. Deck the halls. The Carol famiglia.”

“It’s a different type of carroll, Miss Lynette. With two r’s and two l’s,” corrected Silas.

“What, seriously? Well anyway, we decided against going there in the end. I didn’t think any of them would’ve bought that book in the first place. Some of them give me a bad vibe for some reason too,” explained Lynette with a shudder.

Silas and Lynette now sat at a table next to Soh’s food stall. The sun was already beginning to set, so Soh was in the process of packing up shop as he listened to their story. Lillian was also there, sitting across from them as she gave them a sour look over her cup of coffee. “Why did you even try to ask Miss Heidi to give you anything? All she gives us is work and cheap silverware to defend ourselves,” she bitterly remarked.

Well that explained why Lynette had often seen Lillian tote around things like forks while walking around town. Lynette had just assumed it was a cleanliness issue, like the forks at restaurants being too filthy to eat with.

Soh walked over to their table with his hands clasped behind his back. “Uwah, that sounds tough, Lyn-Lyn. So you were both running all over town just to find the book for Boy-Boy, huh?”

“Mmmm… But in the end we couldn’t find a single copy.” Lynette sighed. “Maybe I could ask some of the townspeople if they have the book? But where would I even start?”

Lillian furrowed her brow in concern as she watched Lynette’s face fall. “Why did you even take up the offer in the first place? Aren’t you already plenty busy with your bookstore?” she asked.

“Y’know how bad I am at turning down favors. It was also Manboy who had asked me for something. He doesn’t deserve any more disappointment. And the bookstore’s doing fine without us. Manboy’s watching over everything.”

Silas took a sip of his tea. “With Mr Alfani,” he added.

“Oh… yeah… him too…”

There was an uncomfortable silence that followed that was spent worrying about the bookstore’s reputation. Hopefully it would still be family friendly when they got back.

Soh broke the silence by cheerily announcing, “Well, anyway, I have a little surprise for you, Lyn-Lyn!”

“What is it?” 

“Eheheh, you’ll have to guess-!” 

Throwing her chair back with a clatter, Lynette growled, “DAMMIT, SOH, I HAVE BEEN TO HELL AND BACK-”

“Ah!! I get it, I get it! I’ll just show it you then, so calm down!”

With a grin, Soh brought out Cooking 101 from behind his back. “Ta-dah! Here, you can give my copy of the book to Boy-Bo- Whoa!” Lynette tackled Soh with a hug mid sentence.

Having underwent a sudden change of heart, she sobbed, “Thank you, Soh! Thank you so much!”

As Soh laughed and tried to politely wriggle out of Lynette’s iron grip, Silas nonchalantly leaned across the table to whisper to Lillian. “Kind of wish you were in Miss Lynette’s position over there, right, Miss Lillian?” he murmured, fully aware of Lillian’s crush on Soh.

Although she felt the urge to punch Silas for even suggesting such things, Lillian too had information she could use to her advantage. She raised her cup to her lips and cooly replied, “O-Oh? From your point of view, I would have thought being in Soh’s position would seem more favorable. Being that close to Lynette, I mean.”

Silas maintained his usual neutral expression but couldn’t help the sudden burning at the tips of his ears. “Touché.”

They drank their beverages in mutual embarrassment. 

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Final Stop: The Bird’s Bookshelf

By the time Silas and Lynette returned to their bookstore it was already nighttime. Thankfully they had enough time to stop by a gift-wrapper on the way there and handed the prettily decorated bag to Manboy.

He took it from them, his mouth slightly agape as he pulled Cooking 101 out of the tissue paper. “You actually found a copy…” he said in disbelief, causing Lynette to grin.

“Was there any doubt?” she replied.

“Yea. A bit :/”

“Ah, no, of course not, Lynette. Thank you both for getting this for me.”

While Manboy bowed to show his appreciation, Silas glanced over the man’s shoulder, trying to peer through the windows of the seemingly empty bookstore. “Where did Mr Alfani go? Gone with the wind?” he queried. 

“He got bored soon after you two left. Don’t worry; he didn’t cause too much trouble in your store.”

Lynette sighed in relief. “Thank goodne-” She tried taking a few steps forward but ended up stumbling instead. Huh? Why was she suddenly dizzy? She heard Manboy call out her name in worry, and she responded with a shaky nod as she tried to regain her balance. “Yeah- yeah- I’m fine. I ju-” Lynette lost consciousness mid-sentence. Silas barely managed to catch her before her face met the pavement below. He didn’t have the quickest of reflexes, but the way Lynette ran around all day while also skipping meals made him guess that this was going to happen eventually.

After he had hoisted Lynette onto his back, Silas bowed to Manboy. “Thank you for watching over our store, Mr Manboy. Good luck with your gift giving.”

Manboy hummed in thought as a response, smiling at the scene before him.

“What is it? Did you need something else?”

“Ah, no!” Manboy then smiled. “It appears you’ve become kinder, Silas. Back when you used to work at the sal-” Silas’ eyes widened. Images of looming shadows and bruising hands came to mind, causing him to cut Manboy off. 

“Please don’t ever bring that up. Not around here. Not ever.”

Although he was taken aback by Silas’ outburst, Manboy noted the pain that entered his eyes the moment he began to talk about the salon. He felt ashamed for even mentioning it. Of course that was a sensitive topic for him.  “I’m sorry, Silas. Please have a good rest of your evening.”

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Silas felt Lynette stir as he walked across the bookstore.

Her eyes opened halfway, and her voice was small as she called Silas’ name. “Yes?” he responded, stopping in place.

“Did I… do something good today? I felt like I was more of a nuisance than anything else,” she asked.

Silas moved to pat her head but decided against it. If he let her go, she’ll fall too. Instead, he settled for a light bump of the side of his head against the one that laid upon his shoulder. “You always are a nuisance. But you made Mr Manboy happy, so there’s that,” he replied.

Lynette hummed contently and more tightly wrapped her arms around Silas, startling him. “That’s good… that’s good… Thanks for everything, Silas. Especially when it comes to putting up with me.”

He tried to ignore the sudden racing of his heart as he answered back, “I’ve gotten used to it, Miss Lynette. Don’t worry too much about me.”

A/N: All canon characters belong to Poni-Pachet! I’m not going to @ the creators of the OCs I used b/c I don’t want to bother all of them, but I will of course still mention their usernames! Florentia belongs to yukinonshi (OC blog is grimm-casablanca), Nana belongs to lavendel080 (OC blog is marchenland), Liesl belongs to meilc, Hazel belongs to minoux (OC blog is house-of-fables), and Lillian belongs to quirkless-wonders (OC blog is bearwiththe-goldenheart)! Lynette and Silas belong to me! Thank you all for making such wonderful OCs; it was really fun trying to write for them! Thanks to anyone who read this whole mess as well! Y’all are the real MVPs today! (*≧∀≦*)

[vrepitsorrynotsorry]

Operation: Operational

Title: Operation: Operational Rating: G Pairing: Eventual Shotor, preHunkxShay discussion Characters: Shiro, Lotor, guest starring Hunk, Shay, Lance, Coran, Nyma, Matt, and unnamed others Author’s Notes: The eventual name of the bakery is terrible. I’m only a little sorry. It came to me as I was writing this, and I really hadn’t thought of anything else.

It was kind of like a reunion of the baking show where they’d met, except Shiro and Lotor both refused to have it recorded for broadcast. Initially, they had only invited a few of the others they had met during filming, but then those few told a few others, and suddenly, they had a larger work crew than they had ever anticipated.

There were some things, like rewiring and appliance installation in the kitchen and some minor carpentry repairs, that they would have to hire professionals to complete, but there was a lot of general cleaning and wall space that needed repainting.

“This flooring is hideous,” Nyma informed them with her usual bluntness. 

“We know,” Shiro agreed, “but that’s something we’ll have to work on replacing later. It’ll be expensive and require us to be shut down for a while, so we want to bring in some profits first.”

In fact, Lotor had offered to purchase new flooring, but Shiro still wasn’t quite comfortable with the amount of money the other man had already put into the project. 

“At least you’re painting over this awful wall color.”

The walls were a burnt orange that wasn’t really all that awful, but Shiro and Lotor both preferred a lighter palette that brightened up the space and made it feel more open. Unfortunately, it was taking an awful lot of coats to eliminate the orange.

Coran twirled one end of his mustache, not noticing he’d gotten some paint in it. “Oh, I don’t know. I find it interesting.” He’d also been fascinated by both the paint and the paint rollers. Shiro hadn’t bothered asking how Alteans did these sorts of things.

All of the non-Earthlings had needed a crash course in painting. Shiro was grateful they had a fairly large human turnout, or it might have been a little overwhelming!

Lotor was currently staring at one wall, head cocked to the side.

“How long does the paint need to dry between coats, again?”

“Lunch break!” Hunk declared, there was a general murmur of agreement, and all eyes turned to their hosts.

“Why is everyone staring at us?” Lotor asked quietly.

“It’s totally human tradition to provide people who help you move and redecorate and stuff with food,” Lance informed him before Shiro had a chance.

“Is that true?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s the tradition of all humans, but yes,” Shiro agreed, “it’s a common practice.”

Lotor shrugged. “Very well, I guess I’ll go pick up some food. Would anyone care to assist?” Hunk and Coran volunteered, and Shay also stepped forward and raised a hand timidly.

“Are you certain you want all the walls in one solid color? I know it’s your bakery, so the final decision is yours, but perhaps we could paint a mural on one wall?”

Lotor and Shiro looked at one another, and Lotor shrugged again. “I don’t see why not,” Shiro told her.

“Why don’t you come with us,” Lotor offered, “and we’ll stop by the hardware store for some more paint colors on our way to get food, and we can discuss what it will look like? We can message Shiro for final approval.”

Shay smiled and followed the other three out the new front door.

“Is it just me,” Lance asked after they were gone, “or does Lotor seem a lot friendlier than he was on the show?” There were several murmurs of agreement.

“I wouldn’t say he was unfriendly before,” Shiro said. “It just takes a little effort to get him to interact.”

“No, I think he’s different. You must be a good influence.”

Shiro shrugged off the comment and began mentally plotting out where furniture would go in the main seating area.

“Shiro’s different, too,” Matt remarked. “A little more confident. I like it. It’s more like I remember him from the Academy.”

Shiro chose not to respond to that, either, but it made him wonder. Was that true? He often looked back at his younger self as rather more irresponsibly confident than reasonably so. He’d certainly done some reckless things that made him cringe now.

Was any of it due to Lotor’s presence? His experiences with the Garrison had certainly opened his eyes to very real consequences of not thinking things through. Perhaps after losing his arm he had swung the other way and become overly cautious and afraid to take any sort of leap of faith. It was certainly true that he felt more comfortable approaching this new business venture with a partner instead of alone.

Although, it wasn’t as though Lotor exuded confidence, either. He was competent in many things, and he certainly stuck to his guns once he’d made a decision, but Shiro was certain Lotor would not have considered opening a bakery on his own if Shiro had not suggested it.

Wasn’t that how partnerships were supposed to be? Two people that could do more together than either could on their own?

He was pulled out of his musings when his phone rang. He answered the video call to reveal Lotor’s concerned face.

“Is something wrong?”

“Not necessarily,” Lotor answered cryptically.

“What’s up?”

“Well, Shay and I were talking about the mural, and I suggested putting it in the reading corner you and I discussed.”

Lotor and Shiro both appreciated a good book, and they decided it would be nice to put a few comfy chairs and some bookcases in one corner.

“That sounds great,” Shiro said. He wasn’t sure where this got problematic. “Are you having trouble coming up with a theme?”

“She liked the idea of a reading corner, but also suggested a children’s corner, and that a bright mural there would be fitting.”

Shiro contemplated this for a moment and nodded. “Yeah, I would be fine with that. Would it bother you?”

Lotor sighed. “I guess I realized on some level that a percentage of the clientele would have offspring, it’s just-”

“Ohmigosh!” Lance hooted from behind Shiro. “Lotor’s afraid of kids!”

“I am not afraid of children,” Lotor protested indignantly. “I am merely wary because I have very little experience in dealing with them. Ancients’ sake, I barely spent any time with them when I was one!”

Shiro had honestly forgotten they weren’t having this conversation in private, and he felt a bit of secondhand embarrassment for Lotor. “We really don’t have to set aside a space for kids specifically, if it makes you uncomfortable, and if we do, you wouldn’t have to go out of your way to interact with them.”

“That’s what Shay said. I suppose I have no serious objections if that plan is acceptable to you.” He still didn’t seem too happy about it, but Lotor wasn’t going to make a big deal of it, so Shiro supposed it couldn’t be that upsetting of an idea to him. “Given that the mural would be themed for the children, the question is: do we want it to be bakery or story themed?”

Shiro thought about it for a few moments. “I think kids might enjoy story references more than pictures of baked goods. Did you have any particular stories in mind?”

“Since the majority of our customers are likely to be human, I was hoping you would have some suggestions.”

Shiro’s mind went suddenly and unhelpfully blank. “Um...”

“I’ve got this,” Hunk’s voice assured from somewhere on Lotor’s end of the conversation. “We can even make it a combination of baked goods and stories.”

“Truly?” Lotor asked. “Are baked goods a frequent subject of children’s stories on Earth?”

“You’d be surprised,” Hunk replied, and then Lotor ended the call with assurances that he would keep Shiro updated.

When they returned with a variety of sandwiches for lunch, Shiro asked about Hunk’s suggestions.

“Why,” Lotor asked drily, “didn’t I know there was such a prevalence of violence and cannibalism in human children’s literature?”

Shiro blinked and had to process that for a moment. “‘Hansel and Gretel’, I’m guessing?”

“And ‘The Gingerbread Man.’”

“I keep telling you,” Hunk argued with a sigh, “that one’s not really cannibalism. He’s a cookie.”

“A sentient cookie, shaped like a small person.”

“Does this mean we still don’t have any mural plans?”

Lotor shrugged. “I have no issue with using these stories, I was just surprised by the content, given how judgmental many humans are about Galra culture.”

“We are pretty good at hypocrisy,” Shiro agreed. “So, is it just those two, or...?”

“There are so many options! I think we’re actually going to have to narrow it down a little.” Hunk began listing stories and counting them off on his fingers. “There’s ‘A Song of Sixpence’, ‘Little Jack Horner’, ‘The Muffin Man’-”

“Ooh!” Lance interjected. “You could put Lotor’s face on him.”

“No,” Lotor disagreed firmly.

Hunk’s face lit up at the suggestion. “Aw, come on! It’s totally fitting. We could put Shiro on a character, too.”

“What?”

“No.”

They finished the main wall painting after another meal and a late night. 

The mural, however, was clearly going to require more planning and time than just flat coats of a single color. Shay spent most of that first evening sketching out several drafts on paper. Over the next several weeks, as she had time to stop by, Shiro and Lotor picked a final design and helped sketch it out on the wall and with some of the less detailed painting in between setting up the rest of the bakery. Several of the others dropped by on occasion to help as well, Hunk especially.

As the artwork approached completion, Shay focussed on the finer details herself. If two of the characters bore some resemblance to the bakery owners and some others were familiar as well, it was at least subtle. Any additional helpers found themselves shooed away from the mural to assist Shiro and Lotor instead.

On this particular occasion, Hunk was helping Shiro arrange tables and chairs while Lotor assembled a storage rack and stocked shelves in the kitchen. It didn’t escape Shiro’s notice that Hunk almost spent more time watching Shay painting than paying attention to the seating arrangements. The older man didn’t say anything, though. If Hunk wanted to talk about it, he would.

Sure enough, while they were catching their breath after hauling in an especially heavy table, Hunk asked, “How do you know when a friend is more than just a friend?”

“I’m not sure there’s any one answer to that for every situation,” Shiro admitted after giving it a little thought. “The fact that you’re asking yourself the question is kind of an indication that the dynamic has changed, but not necessarily how much.”

Hunk arched an eyebrow. “That’s not a very decisive answer.”

Shiro shrugged helplessly. “I’m pretty sure you’re a better interpreter of what you’re feeling than I am.”

“I guess...” After a few moments Hunk let out a little scoff. “Kind of silly of me to come to you with that kind of a question, huh?”

What kind of reaction was that? Shiro took a deep breath and resolved not to be offended. Hunk wasn’t the kind of person who was deliberately mean unless you’d done something to truly get on his bad side, which was pretty difficult to do.

“Because I’m not currently in a relationship?” Shiro asked. It wasn’t like he’d never had a partner, but it had definitely been a while. 

Hunk gave him a long, blank look. “Sure,” he finally responded. “We’ll go with that.”

There was an awkwardly lengthy pause. “I’m going to go check on Lotor,” Shiro announced and left the main room at a speed he hoped didn’t look like a retreat.

He must not have put quite as much thought into schooling his expression because Lotor took one look at him and asked if something was wrong.

“Would you trust me to answer questions about relationships?” Not exactly an explanation, but he blurted the question before he could stop himself.

“More than I trust myself in such a situation. Why?”

“Somebody told me they thought I was a bad choice for it after I apparently answered a question badly.”

“Hunk?” Lotor asked. Shiro’s jaw dropped and Lotor laughed. “It’s a simple enough thing to figure out from the available information. It likely just happened, and the only others here to my knowledge are Hunk and Shay. I may not pick up on emotional cues very well, but even I can see how he looks at her when he thinks no one can see.” 

Shiro smiled back. He felt a lot calmer suddenly. Whether it was putting distance between himself and Hunk or Lotor’s soothing presence, he couldn’t say. “Well, when you explain it like that it does seem obvious.”

“If it’s not going to upset you again, may I ask what he wanted to know?”

“You mean you haven’t already figured that out, too?” Shiro couldn’t help throwing in a little teasing. Lotor just seemed to bring that out in him. “He wanted to know how to tell when a friend was more than just a friend.”

Lotor shrugged. “I would have been of absolutely no help with that one.”

“Not a lot of experience with changing friendship dynamics?”

“Not a lot of experience with friends at all.”

That was a depressing thought. Shiro quickly steered the conversation back from that particular emotional minefield. “At any rate, I told him that asking the question meant the situation had probably changed in some way already, but I couldn’t tell him in what way. He told me that wasn’t helpful and then said he felt silly for asking that kind of question to me.”

“Because you’re not currently involved with anyone?”

“That’s what I thought!” Shiro felt a small amount of vindication that Lotor had assumed the same conclusion, but Lotor had also said he wasn’t great at interpreting emotional things, so maybe he shouldn’t bank too much on that shared perception. “He didn’t act like that was it, though.”

Lotor frowned as he considered the situation further. “Maybe he believes you’re in a similar situation? An ambiguous relationship you haven’t quite defined?”

They stared at each other until it began to feel awkward. Lotor broke first. “I don’t mean to imply that it’s true, it just seems a likely explanation.”

“No, it’s fine,” Shiro assured him. “That does make sense, now that I think about it.” Only, now he didn’t want to think about it. Then he remembered why he’d told Hunk he was coming back here in the first place. The upright pieces of the shelving unit had been assembled and the plastic stops for the bottom shelf had been snapped into place, but the shelves themselves were simply laid out on the floor.

“Do you need some help?”

“Yes,” Lotor readily agreed. “I think I’ll be able to manage after the first one or two shelves are in place, but I can’t seem to manage arranging the first one with only two arms.”

Shiro helped him get the first shelf over all four legs in an amiable silence.

“I think they’re different,” Lotor suddenly declared, seemingly out of nowhere.

“The...shelves?”

Lotor frowned at him, puzzled. “No. Friendly and romantic feelings. After all, those feelings don’t just disappear when you begin to feel more for another, do they? Someone becomes your friend because you feel an affinity with them for whatever reason, and I would expect you would continue to feel those things. I don’t think it’s so much a change of feelings as the addition or perhaps expansion of them. At least, I’d like to think it’s not a zero sum, either/or situation.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Maybe Hunk really should have asked you.”

Lotor brushed off the compliment, but Shiro thought he seemed just a little pleased by it. “My answer isn’t particularly helpful to his case, either. The truth is that he’ll have to work it out on his own.”

“Yeah. I should get back out there.”

Shiro walked back out into the dining area where he was immediately met by an apologetic Hunk.

“I’m so sorry! I’ve been sitting here thinking about how badly that comment came out. You give lots of good advice, really!”

“It’s fine,” Shiro assured him. “You were just frustrated with the situation and not being able to figure it out. I get it.” It was at that point that Shiro realized Shay was no longer in the bakery. 

“Where’s Shay? Did something happen?”

“No,” Hunk explained, “it’s just getting late, and she promised her grandma they could do some cooking together this evening.”

“Did you two, you know, talk?”

“Not yet.” Hunk shrugged. “I like being Shay’s friend. I’m fine being just that for now. There’s no reason to risk making things weird if I’m not even really sure what I’m feeling. Thanks for listening, though.”

“Yeah, no problem. I’m always happy to listen.”

“Same goes for you. You know that, right? If you ever want to talk, I’m happy to listen, too.”

“Thanks.”

They arranged the last table, and Hunk left for the evening as well.

A short time later, Lotor joined Shiro in enjoying the view of the almost completed dining area in the light of the setting sun.

“So,” Shiro asked after a while, “are you ready for this place to open?”

Lotor shrugged. “Yes and no. It will finally be the payoff for a lot of hard work and planning, but up until the point the doors open for business, it almost doesn’t seem real, just a beautiful dream I’ve built up in my mind. I hope it will go well, but I’m a little afraid of the possibility that it might not.”

“I know what you mean.” He wasn’t sure what he’d do with himself any more if the bakery went under. When it had been just a hypothetical fantasy, it was easy enough to tell himself it just couldn’t happen, but now he’d had a taste of what it could be like, and he really didn’t want to lose it. Lotor would probably leave to who knew where, and honestly, Shiro didn’t much like the idea of Lotor disappearing from his life, either. 

“Thanks,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence. 

“For what?”

“For agreeing to do this with me. For everything you’ve put into this already. For being you.”

Lotor gave him a puzzled frown. “Being me? I’m not sure that’s one for which you should be thankful.”

“Believe it or not, being around you when you’re calm relaxes me, too.”

Lotor laughed. “That’s just... What was that delightful earth saying I learned the other day? The swan analogy.” When Shiro raised an eyebrow he explained. “Everything looks serene on the surface, but under the water, it’s all chaos.”

“Guess we’re a couple of swans, then.”

When Keith found out they’d decided on “Swan Bake” as a name, he predictably rolled his eyes, but Shiro and Lotor both liked it.

[aion-rsa]

Brandon Sanderson’s Stormlight Archive is Built on the Shoulders of Giants

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When Brandon Sanderson wrote The Way of Kings, the first book in The Stormlight Archive series, he was ready to give up on publishing. Throwing away any ideas of what the market wanted, he decided to write something instead for himself. Now, 18 years later, Rhythm of War, the fourth book of The Stormlight Archive, marks Sanderson’s 25th novel (in addition to assorted novellas, short stories, and graphic novels), and something over seven million words of published fiction. He is, of course, not the only person who has enjoyed the epic fantasy saga.

That success was never a guarantee. Sanderson wrote 13 novels before he sold one: Elantris, in 2003. (It was published in 2005.) “The Way of Kings was number 13, the last of those unpublished books,” he recalls to Den of Geek. When trying to write for the market, he produced what he feels were some really awful novels, and beginning The Way of Kings was a way to return to the types of stories that he loved: big, chunky fantasy. “I love big epics,” he says. “I grew up on Anne McCaffrey and Robert Jordan and these really great, meaty epic fantasy series, which are my first love… I always wanted to do one of those myself.”

Rhythm of War continues the story of a war between humans and the parshmen (the singers) who are the native species of the world of Roshar. As powers of old have returned, the humans and the spren (magical spirits attuned to certain emotions or elements) have begun to reform the Radiant Knights. The singers have joined with powers to become the Fused, hosts to ancient souls in modern bodies.

The human cast includes Kaladin, a surgeon who became a soldier, benched at the beginning of the book due to his PTSD; Shallan, a woman with dissociative identity disorder who is also a master illusionist working in tandem for the heroes and a secretive spy enclave that claims to have answers to the universe; Dalinar, a Bondsmith who can heighten the abilities of others (among other gifts), and who struggles against pressures to become a high king; Navani, his wife, a queen who is more an engineer; and many others. This volume also reveals the pasts of singer sisters Eshonai and Venli as, in the present, Venli develops a secret plan for the singers’ independence, free from both human and the Fused. 

The spren are one of the most fascinating fantasy inventions featured in the series, and their role is even more important in Rhythm of War as Shallan and her partner, Adolin, try to form a treaty with the honorspren to aid in the war. The spren, especially those who have bonded with humans, are reminiscent of the daemons from Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials series, but they are also quite unique. Sanderson was partly inspired by Japanese kami, and the idea that everything has a spirit. In the world of The Stormlight Archive, the minds of people shape the energy of the world, the spirits that embody objects and emotions. By depicting the spren, Sanderson wants readers to immediately know they are in a fantastic world.

“When people have powerful emotions, they attract spren,” Sanderson explains. “They also fulfill a writerly need: a lot of times, as writers, we’re looking for [ways to] show, don’t tell.” The spren give Sanderson, he explains, a way to reveal the emotions of his characters without using cliched expressions and depictions, while at the same time heightening the sense of the world as fantastical. “It’s also just a lot of fun to write,” Sanderson adds.

Sanderson is well known for writing strong women. (In a favorite line from Rhythm of War, one character, trying to convince Kaladin to partner up, reminds him that he likes smart girls: “Is there really anyone who doesn’t like smart girls?” Kaladin immediately replies.) Sanderson’s inclusion of prominent female characters with agency as central protagonists in his work comes from the fantasy he grew up on: Anne McCaffrey, Barbara Hambly, and Melanie Rawn. The book that made him into a reader was Hambly’s Dragonsbane, which features a woman who gave up her career in magic to raise a family—a book that gave Sanderson insight into his mother’s own choices in life. When he finished, he recalls thinking: “Wait a minute, I think I just finished a fun story about slaying a dragon, and I think I understand my mom better.… That lesson stayed with me my whole life, and my whole career.”

Sanderson strives to create authentic depictions of characters outside his own experiences. “When I write characters, I try very hard to represent that character, and anything about them, as well as if that character could write, they would represent it,” Sanderson says. He hopes that when readers find a character they identify with, they read that character and think, of Sanderson: “Wow, he must be like me!” To do this, Sanderson relies on beta readers—especially in cases like Shallan’s dissociative identity disorder (DID). “DID is represented so poorly in storytelling,” Sanderson explains. “It’s really sensationalized a lot of times. I wanted to do it right.” It took many drafts and very patient beta readers to build Shallan into the fully fleshed-out character she has become.

While Rhythm of War has many moving pieces, it’s surprisingly accessible for readers who haven’t picked up previous volumes of The Stormlight Archive, while returning fans of course will feel right at home in Sanderson’s rich fantasy world. Sanderson intends all of his books to have a quality of completeness—he works to make sure that each novel has its own identity, and that the novels don’t blend in with each other. He did not design Rhythm of War with the intent that readers would pick it up first, but he’s pleased it also works that way. “I remember doing that as a kid,” he says, “not knowing the series even was a series, or not being able to find the first one, and being like, ‘Well, I’m just going to read this one.’ There’s actually a fun to that, a piecing things together.”

Readers who have been following The Stormlight Archive since The Way of Kings was released back in 2010 have been waiting eagerly (and patiently) for each volume; it’s been just over three years since the previous installment in the series, Oathbringer, was released. But, for some Sanderson fans, the wait for the series has been even longer. “Way back when I first sold Elantris,” Sanderson remembers, “my editor … said, ‘What else do you have?’” So Sanderson submitted The Way of Kings, though it was not quite ready for publishing—something the editor and Sanderson both agreed on. “Writing a 300,000-word novel is a special skill,” he explains, “and I had not practiced that specific skill yet.”

Somehow, Amazon got word that The Way of Kings existed and put up a listing for the title. As Sanderson became better known, he told fans that asked that he did plan to return to The Way of Kings, but in the meantime, fans started to post fake reviews for it, Sanderson says, complete with doctored customer photos. One fan created a book cover with an image of Elvis and a fake blurb from Terry Goodkind. Readers continued to express their eagerness with this sort of fannish love until the real version of The Way of Kings was published in 2010. (The fake listing has since been removed, after Sanderson made sure to take “copious screenshots.”)

Between the false listing and the publication, Sanderson worked on those skills to create a true epic. Part of the experience needed for such a creative feat came from taking on the final books of The Wheel of Time series after Robert Jordan’s death.

“I usually use the metaphor that I was like Sam carrying the Ring for a little bit to finish it off,” Sanderson jokes. “The Wheel of Time experience basically forced me to go to the writing books gym and lift weights much heavier than I was accustomed to.” (Sanderson’s work on completing the series led the current-in-development Wheel of Time Amazon television series team to enlist him as a consulting producer. He has read several of the scripts and given the team advice as needed. Though he is not able to reveal much about the project, Sanderson reports: “I really have enjoyed the process of enjoying with Rafe [Judkins], the showrunner, on the television show.”)

Working on The Wheel of Time book series helped Sanderson figure out what he wanted to accomplish with The Way of Kings and the subsequent books, avoiding some of the problems he’d identified in epic fantasy. With The Stormlight Archive, Sanderson explains, “I’ve tried to make it not feel slow. I’ve tried to make it feel like each book has its own soul.” 

As for the real series’ reception: “The fans just latched onto it immediately,” Sanderson says. The series itself has so many moving parts, it’s hard to make a good elevator pitch, so Sanderson claims the series’ fans had to already trust him in order to begin. He recalls the pre-internet days when readers never knew when a new book in their favorite series was coming out; now, with the immediacy and accessibility of the internet, Sanderson tries to be upfront with his readers that each Stormlight Archive book will appear about once every three years.

To “hopefully keep fans satiated between volumes,” Sanderson and his team have also included pages of original art, and beautiful front-paper and end-paper portraits in full color in the series. “Why is there not more art in books for adults?” Sanderson wonders. “Why do kids get all the art?” Including original paintings, diagrams, and illustrations reinforces Sanderson’s deep world-building. Reprints of the earlier books in the series have sometimes even had art added as readers have asked for more detail about particular aspects of the world.

Credit: Art by Ben McSweeney © Dragonsteel Entertainment, LLC

The series is planned to be ten books. “I do plan it to be two five-book arcs,” Sanderson explains. “Book five should bring us to a pretty major climactic moment in the series.” In the meantime, fans of Sanderson’s world can play in it themselves via the board game, Call to Adventure: The Stormlight Archive, which features over 150 cards with art based on the world. With so much world-building already done for The Stormlight Archive, fans may wonder if a tabletop role playing game, similar to the Mistborn Adventure Game from Crafty Games, based on another of Sanderson’s series, is in the works. “No immediate plans,” Sanderson says, “but I’m sure we’ll do one eventually.”

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Sanderson easily acknowledges the influences and inspirations of writers who have come before. “I have an advantage over a lot of the epic fantasy writers of my youth in that I got to read all of their books and see what was working and what wasn’t working,” he points out. But, in addition to building from other writers, Sanderson is dedicated to exploring the real world through his imaginary ones.

“Fantasy is wonderful escapism. This is why I love to read it,” he says. “But it is also a path to understanding other people. That’s what I love about fiction, and that’s what I love about fantasy in particular. It’s perhaps too lofty for me to aspire to change the world through my goofy fantasy novels, but I at least want to try to represent the world accurately so that, when you’re done with the book, if you’ve read about people different from yourself, you have come to understand them a little bit better.”

Rhythm of War is now available to buy wherever books are sold. You can find out more here.

The post Brandon Sanderson’s Stormlight Archive is Built on the Shoulders of Giants appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[nemrut]

Untitled W.I.T.C.H. story

As I watched Cornelia, Irma and Matt step out of the portal, I frowned.

“Where are the others?” I asked, as I moved to hug Cornelia.

“Hay Lin had to help out at the Silver Dragon, Taranee was dragged along by her brother for something and Will’s mom kinda drafted her to assist with something work related. Honestly not sure, Will was yelling about needing rescue from evil paperwork and running but I’m not breaking into her mom’s workplace again. Red is on her own.”

“I love your teamwork,” I said, “Always so encouraging to see the Guardians of the Veil stepping up and show why it was them that were chosen to safeguard Infinity.”

Matt, the abandoned girls boyfriend rolled his eyes as Cornelia shoved me with a snort. “Shut up, you ditched us more than once for a sale.”

“And am I a guardian, Cornelia? Do you see me wearing these ridiculous tights?”

Irma clutched her chest as if her heart had been shot, a look of betrayal on her face. “How dare you! Ridiculous tights? It’s the finest fashion and armor Kandrakar has to offer.”

Cornelia was equally outraged. “We deposed the last ruler of this planet and we’ll do it again,” Cornelia threatened with a smile and I laughed.

“So, what’s the plan?” asked Irma and leaned over the balcony to see a lot of construction going on. “What’re you building over there?”

I took a deep breath, knowing that this might not go over all that well.

“Phobos’ weird Star Gate thing, on a really small scale.”

Cornelia, Matt and Irma spun around looking at me, eyes wide and mouths open.

“I’m sorry, I think the last fold did something to my hearing. I could have sworn you said something like building a fold portal to earth.” Matt’s voice got a bit shrill which couldn’t have been good for his singing.

“Yeah, that’s the plan.”

“WHY!?”

“Look, guys, it’s very simple. Yes, I may be the Queen of an entire planet and have magical powers akin to a literal goddess, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss electricity or the internet. Or good plumbing. Or refrigerators. Or modern medicine. Or tampons, well, magic kinda makes that way more convenient actually, but for all the others who aren’t me, tampons would be neat. Which is most people here, basically everyone else. You know, modern technology and science. All the good stuff. I want it here. For me and for them. I’m a giver.”

“Why do you sound like a villain when you say it like that?” Irma asked raising an eyebrow which I ignored.

“I’m not going to steal anything or kidnap anyone. I am going to take gold and jewels from our treasury here, change them to earth currency and get a lot of books. Thankfully our languages are similar enough and the most difficult thing is coming up with stuff anyway. With that already handled, all we have to do is to learn how it is done and try to apply it here, without the mistakes that you people did, of course. Earth people are bad at this, you know. Would be cool to have everything without wrecking the planet and nature. Here I am hoping magic will do the trick.”

“You people?” Cornelia looked baffled and incredulous.

“That sounds great and all, but you really just want the internet back, right?”  asked Irma at the same time.

“Oh yes, so much. Movies, make-up, fashion, movies, games, music,  electricity in general. I need it back, guys!”

“You said movies twice. Also, I’m not learning how to build steam engines,” Cornelia said, crossing her arms. “As if I didn’t have anything better to do than uplift this backwater hellhole. No offence,” she hastily added.

“Yes offence but that’s not why I asked you morons here. If I wanted technical expertise, or any kind of expertise for that matter, I would have bribed Taranee here. No, you lemmings are going to, for now, work as my gophers. Take a few of my subjects and give them an earth crash-course until they know enough to make transactions.”

Matt took out his smartphone, pushed a few buttons and read something for a few seconds before he spoke. “I just checked my schedule and it seems I’m too busy for that Elyon. Looks like I’ve to do anything else but that. Sorry for that, would love to help but I really don’t want to. Solid talk we had and good luck.”

“What he said,” Irma pointed at Matt and Cornelia nodded.

“Hard pass, gorgeous.”

Well, it’s not like I expected them to be helpful, especially after they told me they had ditched Will the way Caleb had his mother in the necklace.

“Way to be helpful, guys. Here you are, lounging in the lap of luxury and privilege that is western civilization and refuse to do give even a little bit of time to help those in need. For shame.”

“Said the wealthy, magically powerful very much not elected monarch.” Irma wasn’t impressed but then again, she had always been a sharp one.

“Yeah, didn’t think you’d buy that line either.”

“Honestly, in all seriousness, that’s your long term goal? Get a few books and build stuff that is way above the technological level of this world? Never watched all that much Star Trek but seems to remember that it was a bad idea there.”

“Well, I’m going to be cheating a lot. With magic. Like, the portal thing is there so that the fold will be permanently open to allow for cables in-between worlds. So it will be less inventing the meridian internet but rather accessing the internet and electrical networks of earth.”

“That’s possible?”

“Well, I could plug in the charger of my phone with a fold between my bedroom here and on earth. And as long as the fold is open, I even get a weak wifi signal.”

“Aren’t you stealing internet?”

“Oh, is miss mind control trying to argue morals with me?”

“Objection retracted.”

“But no, I would have paid for the Brown house. Of course, if I want to set up things, would have to pay for other stuff but I would first need to research what I would need exactly. And how to make it so that no one wonders where it all goes to.”

“Imagine the whole different worlds thing gets blown because Aldarn was shitposting on Twitter.” Irma seemed amused at that and crackled after a few seconds thinking about that.

“So, you’re going to have your people toil away in order to give yourself access to youtube and facebook. What was the difference between monarchy and dictatorship again?” Matt asked.

“The difference is fuck you,” I replied, shooting him a cross glare. “And having electricity and warm water and modern sanitation and all that is going to help everyone as well.”

“Easy there, your majesty,” Irma was barely holding back her laughter. “You really have gotten quite demanding and bossy over the last few months.”

“What? No, I’ve not.”

“Elyon, sweetie, you have. It’s not bad or anything, but you did get a bit more-“

“Like Cornelia,” Irma helped her finish her sentence for which she was rewarded with a cute snarl.

I, on the other hand, was aghast. “I haven’t gotten that bad, did I?” my hands went to my cheeks.

“Oh, screw you two bitches! You wish you were half as awesome as me.”

“Who are you going to send to earth to learn earth customs?”

“Well, Caleb seems like a good choice. He already has a solid grasp on a lot of things and it’s not like he isn’t there enough. Might as well do something useful when he is there. You know, pleasing Cornelia should take only a few minutes, lots of free time afterwards.” Cornelia flipped me off, the rude tramp. “My parents are probably going to be the main people taking the helm on that one. They’ve lived there for years, they know it very well, they are already established and our house serves as a nice basis. And they’re adults, so, yeah, that tends to make things easier than having a seventeen year old try to do this shit.”

“What was this crap about us having to take care of newcomers then? Seems like we’re not needed at all.” Irma sounded confused.

“Well, it would be helpful. But truth to be told, I’d like your more…esoteric help. Mainly Will and Irma, really, so it’s too bad she isn’t here.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You wanted us to abuse our powers to grant you unlimited access to technological facilities and applications? Brainwash people and infiltrate computer systems? That’s what you wanted us for?”

“You make it sound worse than it is.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Elyon, you must have confused us for the Guardians of Corporate Espionage when we’re, in fact, very much not that!”

“You’re so dramatic,” I complained to Cornelia. “I know Irma uses her powers to let herself off easy with tests and oral examinations. How is that any better than me wanting you guys to fudge the numbers in order to help tens of thousands of people.”

“Oh yeah, you’re really desperate to give Aldarn and the rest of the Rebellion access to porn and catvideos.”

Matt, Cornelia and I laughed at that and Irma flashed us a confident grin.

“Oh boy, I would pay to see that, to be honest,” Matt said, not even trying to reign in his grin.

“Not going to lie, porn would be a huge success here,” I admitted, “think it definitely has potential as a business endeavor but we don’t want to go too fast. Folks are in some ways a bit more conservative. It’s a medieval setting, after all.”

“You know,” Irma started, “I always wondered how close they are to our world.”

“Well, racism isn’t really a thing between humans, seeing they are living together with countless other races and this world has been aware of Kandrakar and other worlds for quite a while. That said, it still very much exists with regards to shapeshifters and other life forms. Lurdens as well. And whatever Tracker was.”

“How come they still haven’t technologically progressed if Kandrakar has been connecting them to so many different worlds?” Cornelia wondered.

“Phobos didn’t make things easier on that regard but before that, no idea. Maybe they like the aesthetic?”

“Well, Kandrakar isn’t exactly high tech either,” Matt said, scratching his chin. “I mean, it’s pretty much monks in robes and aether and whatnot.”

“But mostly because they have magic, right? No need for an electric heater if you can just magic the right temperature and stuff. Light, communication, heat, whatever, everything can be done by magic. Why bother with technology?” I said. “Which is different to here, because not every citizen is a wizard or sorcerer. And no magic in the world can replace YouTube, so, yeah. I want this done.”

Really, it was like herding cats with them. Every time I had them to a teensy thing, they started complaining and bickering.

[ikkaku-of-heart]

Well, it appeared her barely-hidden sarcasm hadn’t scared off Captain Fancy-Pants. Seemed to amuse him more than anything, which Ikkaku found more than a little irritating. Almost as irritating as the fact that she couldn’t quite get a read on his intentions. Wasn’t he supposed to be looking for power-hungry sycophants to carry off towards glory or whatever? So why’d he single her out?

Despite her trepidation, she deigned to honestly answer his questions. Boss wanted her to play nice, but that didn’t mean she had to lie and make her colleagues look good. As much as she’d love to see half these assholes get drafted, she refused to do them any favors after what they’d put her through. “Of course I’ve been workin’ on it by myself. They barely let me touch the engines as it is,” she said, crossing her arms. Tossing a glance at her coworkers who were clearly trying to show off for their fancy visitors, she scoffed. She didn’t actually begrudge anyone needing help – she just hated that any offer she got was condescending at best and an act of sabotage at worst. And yet she still got everything done the fastest. “Maybe four hours? Think the average is six, not including coffee breaks.”

Which reminded her, she desperately needed one if she was going to continue working and chatting with Marines.

Something about his matter-of-fact statement about how easily he could replace a dirtied coat rubbed her the wrong way. Probably because she was bitter about her own “uniform”. Her outift wasn’t exactly modest, being a pair of denim shorts that barely covered her ass and hung low on her hips paired with a plaid shirt tied just below her bust to show off her waist and unbuttoned at the top to flaunt her cleavage. The outfit wasn’t her idea, but her boss’, specifically chosen to attract customers and “raise team morale”.

Old Ones she hated that son of a kraken’s whore.

“Well, we ain’t all got that luxury, but I guess I could recommend a good detergent if you need it. Every woman knows how get blood out of clothes,” she replied, fingers digging slightly into her biceps. It was a nervous tic, one she wished she could hide better, but she assured herself that everything was fine. Even if he did notice and start wondering, she had a solid alibi, and sharks had basically rendered the bodies unidentifiable.

Gramps had taken care of it. The authorities had declared it a boating accident. Case closed.

Getting to her feet, she quickly headed to the coffeemaker, intent on keeping him from prying into shit that wasn’t his damn business. “Want some coffee? It tastes like motor oil half the time, but it’s better than the rat piss it used to be.”

@ikkaku-of-heart answered [+]

Ikkaku jumped, having not heard the man approach. She’d been sitting at her workstation, trying to ignore the Marines that had sauntered into the dockyard like they owned the place. Joras had lately been attracting all kinds of folks due to the engine- and ship-repairing work they were slowly getting known for, but unfortunately, that included the Navy. Sure, business was business, but those white coats and arrogant expressions set her teeth on edge.

Though, mostly she was just biased because of who they made her think of.

She chanced a glance over her shoulder, noting the focused gold eyes, sharp jawline, tailored suit, and spotted hat. It was so, so tempting to reach over and “accidentally” press her grease-covered hand to the dangling ivory sleeve. Too bad she knew she had to play nice. He looked important, and the boss would dock her pay if she pissed off a potential customer.

“Not really,” she stated, eyes shifting forward as she tightened the last few screws. Even with a Marine looming over her, she refused to neglect her work. “It’s just a six-cylinder X15 diesel engine. Nothin’ special. Typical order for us, really, since most lobster boats use ‘em. I could build one in my sleep.”

It was stated as a fact more than a brag. After all, she couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t tinkering with some kind of machine, to the point where she was building her own generators and engines from scratch by the time she was twelve. Yet, the men on these docks didn’t care much about that. No matter how hard she worked, they never acknowledged her skills, seeing her as little more than a pretty face. Hell, if they weren’t so short-handed, they’d be making her work the front desk filing paperwork instead of utilizing her engineering prowess.

Job done, she turned in her seat to better look at the observing Marine, grabbing a rag to wipe off her hands. She let her gaze trail up and down his lanky figure, taking him in, before her eyes fell on his polished shoes.

“You’re standing in an oil puddle. Better watch your step, otherwise you might slip and get that fancy uniform all dirty, and wouldn’t that be a shame?” she said, though the way the corners of her mouth tugged upwards belied that she’d find that highly satisfying.

   A smirk at the way she jumps, the Marine Captain setting his jaw to suppress the low chuckle that sight elicits. He straightens, hands getting shoved into his pockets. Eyes focus on the woman, an eyebrow arching with her response. Gaze slides back to the engine, taking in the multiple pieces and tubes. The whole thing looks like a mad maze of metal to him. He can explain every human organ and its function but there is nothing here that is remotely familiar to him. She’s sitting here talking about what she is doing like it is the most natural thing in the world.

   Everyone else here is clearly attempting to show off, to draw his attention and perhaps get picked up by the Marine recruitment vessel. They know what he is here for and given the benefits of enlisting he knew to expect some people trying to earn his recommendation, but this woman has no desire for that. In fact, it seems like she isn’t interested at all. She’s not even looking at him as she speaks. It’s intriguing. Just like the ease with which she works. It’s almost surgical.

   “You’ve been workin’ on that by yourself?” he asks. Another thing of note. While all the men here seem to need some form of assistance she doesn’t. “How long has it taken you?”

   Too many questions maybe but an idea has taken shape. What Law wants to create one day needs an engineer he can trust and maybe he’s found the spark for that. The woman turns about, her job apparently done. His head tilts as she appraises him, the Captain making no motion to shift his relaxed stance or indicate he cares about her wandering gaze. Then comes that comment about his shoes.

   Law looks down at that puddle, an amused huff slipping from him. The sarcasm in her voice tells him she’d much prefer he did get his pristine coat soiled. Perhaps she doesn’t have a good opinion of the Marines. Maybe she sees him as just another rank and file self righteous piece of shit. Guess this is his chance to show her he isn’t, or that he’s at least a different type of shit.

   “Yeah, not gonna worry ‘bout that,” he says, head rising to reveal a wicked smirk on his features. “Got a whole damn wardrobe filled with these things. Kinda necessary considering how often I get covered in blood.”

[miachi-chan]

The Other Man//Hanbin Scenario (Part One)

This scenario is kind of different from the others that I’ve written. I’m so happy I’m done with this ‘cause it’s been in my drafts for the longest time already. 

This was inspired by the lyrics of their song, Just Go. So just saying now, this doesn’t have a happy ending. I hope you enjoy reading it. And I really do appreciate it when you press the like button or even send me feedback through my askbox to tell me you enjoyed it because I like to know if people actually read it and know what your thoughts are! Anyway, enjoy & sorry for any mistakes! <3

Word Count: 1,763 / ~4,000

Setting: Around the time between WIN and Mix&Match

From Hanbin’s Perspective

From the start, Hanbin knew that he was never going to be the only one in her eyes, much less in her heart. He knew that meeting him and getting to know him, perhaps even falling in love with him, wasn’t a part of her plan. She wasn’t a part of his from the start either because his team and their music were his top priority.

However there was some sort of fate that brought them together. That deliberately made them cross paths and touch each others’ lives. 

But as he thought about it deeper, for what purpose though, he couldn’t understand, when they weren’t going to last? When they both knew deep down that they didn’t even have a future together. How could the force behind fate be so cruel as to bring them together, affect each other’s lives, only to rip them apart?

When they first met, they were complete strangers who became closer to each other than they were with their own friends. She had approached his lonely figure, sitting in front of the view of the sun setting across the Han river with his headphones on. He remembered how astonished he was by how beautiful the sunset had illuminated her figure as his eyes laid upon her standing beside him.

“Are you okay?” 

She had asked him with a careful smile on her pretty face, a tinge of pink coloring her cheeks and the tip of her nose from the cold weather of autumn nearing winter.

The memory was crystal clear in his mind, and he could remember every single detail. He remembered her sweet and quiet voice that pleased his ears, those three words echoing in his head over and over. Her beautiful and mesmerizing eyes that never wavered as she looked into his. A small puff of breath visible in the air as she exhaled. Her small hand pulling up her scarf to block the cold gentle breeze of the wind. He remembered the near-orange sunlight shining behind and through her beautiful wavy hair that dangled as she watched him and waited for his reply. Of course, he could never forget her precious smile that never failed to cause his heart to squeeze in his chest, even just from memory.

Hanbin had carefully preserved the memory in his mind, constantly reliving the moment so as not to forget. It was a memory that he would never want to forget.

The two had sat together, and after a moment of what he realized now was comfortable silence between two strangers, she had suddenly suggested as they watched the sun sink further into the horizon,

“Since we are strangers who will probably never see each other again, what do you say we tell each other our deepest and darkest thoughts that we can never say to anyone?” 

It was an odd suggestion, he had thought, and the type of thing that Hanbin wouldn’t normally indulge himself in, of opening up to people about the things heavy in his heart. Especially to a stranger.

But for some unusual reason, he felt as if he could. Maybe it was because what he was holding in his heart was becoming too unbearable to suppress. Or maybe it could have been because she strangely felt like a warm enveloping blanket that felt safe enough for him to let himself go.

So Hanbin told her of his worries and doubts. He told her of how it was hard to be responsible for not just his own life, but 6 others as well. He told her how work was difficult at times and how he wanted to drop everything and run. Like what he was doing right now, separating himself from the pressure in hopes of regaining the purpose of everything up to this point.

And she sat there, listening attentively, without saying a word. He always appreciated how she kept silent and only offered supportive and encouraging nods as he spoke of his troubles. Instead of the empty words of reassurance that most people felt the need to say.

When he had finished, she told him about hers in return. And that was how he learned that there was another man in her life.

He was her first love, someone whom she could never forget. She told him about how they had separated. That he let her go and walked away, and since then she hadn’t seen him.

The girl told him about how it had shattered her heart, however the smile fixed on her face contradicted her words. Hanbin didn’t doubt her though once he saw the sadness and loneliness evident in her eyes as she stared at the view in front of them. He knew that look all too well. He had seen it in the mirror countless of times as he watched his own reflection after they had lost the survival program. 

She continued on about how his absence left a hole in her heart, drowning herself further into the bottomless pit of sadness and emptiness the girl had found herself in. Until a tear had escaped her eye which she hurriedly erased.

No words were exchanged between them when she had finished. Instead the two sat in silence, deep in their own thoughts as they watched the now darkened horizon painted with speckles of light across the river, and finding comfort in a stranger’s company.

Their parting arrived too soon when the girl had broken the silence and announced that it was getting too late.

She stood. She flashed him a genuine smile that one would think held no amount of sorrow, and thanked him for his time and company. And just like that, they bid each other goodbye. 

It was a simple and quick goodbye. At that time Hanbin had thought how unfortunate it was that they were never going to meet each other ever again. And how regretful it was that they couldn’t be friends when it felt so comfortable to be with her. And that maybe, a little thought rose in a dark corner of his mind, that this was finally his chance at love. Hanbin wasn’t the type to easily get close to someone after all. Especially to a girl. But it was easily discarded. The thought wasn’t even given a chance to blossom from the start, he knew.

Little did he know at that time that he would meet her again. Not just once but twice, like it was fate pulling them together. Once on the streets as they passed each other by. Twice when they met on the first floor of Hanbin and his group’s apartment complex. 

“Why are you here?”

She had asked him with eyes shining with wonder when he approached her after separating himself from his group waiting by the elevator.

“I could ask you the same question. I live here.”

Hanbin found out that the girl lived one floor below him, and he couldn’t resist thinking about how much of this was guided by fate’s hand. 

The both of them had walked to a nearby cafe to chat, and the conversations naturally flowed between them. Almost as if they were old friends who have always known each other.

It didn’t take long for them to become close friends, which was very unusual for someone like him. They were similar in a lot of ways. Like how she was a perfectionist as much as he was. How their humors meshed so well together that there was never a boring day. They were also two people who loved to stay indoors and would rather watch movies than go outside, although they both enjoyed taking walks to the nearby convenience store.

They also shared a lot of interests, like art and in music especially. She had told him one day that music was a big part of her life, and that she had been playing instruments since she was young. Hanbin admitted that his interest in her was piqued. Sometimes when he was making music, he would even ask her for her opinions, and she would seriously take it into account and give actual sincere critique.

She was easy to hang out with and fun to be with. It wasn’t a surprise when she got a long easily with his members. She had formed a close bond with the other guys too before he knew it. She liked playing video games with Bobby, and she enjoyed cooking like Yunhyeong of whom she spent most of her time with, learning recipes. She shared her love for eating with Donghyuk, and they would sometimes go out to try to new restaurants. She had deep conversations with Jinhwan, and she shared the same music taste and humor as Junhoe.

Sometimes the girl would hang out in their dorms when they weren’t busy, and watch movies or talk about whatever. There was even a time when she helped clean around the dorm because it was that messy, and Yunhyeong had begged her to help get the members to actually do chores, which she took the job seriously.

To Hanbin, she was a very fresh and comforting presence that was very much needed in his life. He hadn’t noticed how much he relied on her when she was by his side. Often times Hanbin would hang out at her apartment after working, and they would order food for a midnight meal and just be in each other’s company. He would instantly feel better after seeing her smile and hear her voice. But she would never let him stay long, saying,

“You need to sleep more, so go home and go to bed! Stop neglecting your health like this.”

Then she would push him out of her place and watch him walk down the hall to the elevator, waving at him as he stepped inside.

Other times Hanbin would hang out at her part-time job at the little café near their complex, secluded in a little corner with his hood or cap on and his laptop and headphones, drowning himself in sounds to create something meaningful. She would bring him a cup of coffee and flash him an encouraging smile, then go back to serving other customers with her captivating smile and friendly personality which never failed to attract people.

People flocked to her, he noticed. People loved her. No doubt Hanbin had fallen in love with her too. He sometimes wanted to be more than what they were, but he concluded that friends was what they could only ever be.

Because the timing was just wrong. 

Here’s Part Two.

[hurtsy-fiction]

From the life of a tattoo artist

Benjamin David Foster was a tattoo artist for many years now. He had always been passionate about this form of creative outlet and at the young age of sixteen, he had started with his first tattoos. 

Of course, he had first of all tried it out on himself and luckily on places which weren’t visible in his normal everyday life because oh boy did they look crappy. Later, as he had gotten better at it, he had also tried it on some friends of his’, who back then thought it was just the coolest thing. Admittedly, when he saw those tattoos, of which he had been pretty proud at the beginning of his tattoo career, now, it made him flinch. 

But everyone starts from scratch, right? And to get better at what you do and love, you have to keep trying and trying. Sure, there will be lows and it wasn’t any different for Benjamin. He as well had had his times where he thought he’d quit. Difficult times where he had barely any money. But the passion for tattooing kept him going and look where he’s now. He’s got his own studio and people are so hooked by his style of tattooing, that he’s booked up for months in advance.  

Anyway, today he had a quite popular customer. Theo from the band Hurts. He wanted a bluebird on his ribcage and said he’d bring his friend and bandmate Adam with him, as emotional support.

Ben had put up his headphones, played his favourite music on full volume and started drawing some drafts. He had to admit that he had to look up bluebirds on google for that, as he had never actually heard of their existence in the first place. But oh, if only bluebirds were the weirdest thing he got asked to tattoo.

 Anyway, after some slight difficulties in the first attempt, he soon had finished some sketches he was happy with. As he looked up onto the clock, he saw that it was 10:27 am already. So he had just enough time to accredit himself a nice cup of coffee before his appointment at 11 am.

+++

The two men punctually arrived at the tattoo studio and Ben was nicely surprised. He had had some famous customers before and some had a quite diva like behaviour and were late without even apologizing. As if he wanted something from them and not the other way round. 

Anyway, this Theo and his friend seemed sympathetically to him already. Even though Theo did look a bit nervous, but who could blame him. After all he was about to be tattooed on one of the most painful spots one could even pick.

However, the man had shown his customer his sketches and the singer had quickly decided for the draft of the bluebird with his wings sprawled out. Pleased with this decision, as Ben liked this one the most as well, he prepared a stencil with the favoured motive while the two men already went into the tattoo room.

A few minutes later, he joined them and shaved the man’s fine hair from the chosen spot on his ribcage, before he applied the stencil. After the singer had checked and approved the position in front of the mirror, he took place on the comfy looking seat and Benjamin got a pair of disposable gloves and his needles ready.  

+++ two hours later +++

“Want me to hold your hand?”, Adam asked his mate, more jokingly than actually being serious, but in the next moment Theo had already grabbed one of his hands and held on to it tightly.

“Oh fucking hell.”, the man groaned and tried to breathe evenly, despite the pain.

Noticing his customer’s agony, Ben stopped tattooing and turned off the tattoo machine. He had already applied some numbing gel onto the reddened spot on the man’s body but the effect hadn’t really lasted long.

“You know, if it’s that unbearable for you, maybe we should just call it a day and set another appointment for next week?”, he suggested.

“To be honest, I’m surprised you could even take it that long as your tattoo is quite big and I’ve had people collapse at way smaller ones. The ribcage is an unbelievably painful spot to tattoo.”, Ben added.

“No!”, his customer quickly gave back.

“No.”, Theo repeated himself. “It has to get finished today. I won’t be in town anymore next week. We’ll head to Germany tomorrow.”, the singer replied through clenched teeth.

“Alright then. Just a few more minutes. I’ll try to make this as fast as possible.”, Benjamin replied and activated his machine again.

Honestly, he knew it weren’t just “a few more minutes” and the singer probably knew that as well but if he’d just say that often enough, they’d be done eventually.

Ben saw the pained expression on the man’s face as he set the sharp tip of the angrily humming machine to his skin again.

+++ 20 minutes later +++

“Oh my goooooood”, Theo groaned in pain and tormented his poor friend’s hand, which by now surely had no proper blood circulation anymore.

“Adam, please distract me.”, he mumbled through gritted teeth, his forehead sweaty and eyes tightly shut.

“What? How? What am I supposed to do?”, Adam gave back, having no idea how to help his mate and seeming totally overstrained with the current situation.

“I don’t know... Tell me something. Anything. A joke, what you had for breakfast- Fuck, I really don’t care just please do something!”, the singer almost sobbed.

The man was already shivering all over, the skin in the area of the tattoo heavily reddened. Ben quickly glanced at the singer’s friend and saw the despair in his face. He seemed helpless looking at his pained mate. Of course he wanted to help the other but what on earth was he supposed to do? Would a detailed description of scrambled eggs with bacon be enough to distract the singer from the pain? Very doubtable.

Suddenly Ben held his breath, as he saw how Adam leaned down and kissed his pained friend on the mouth. Quickly but gently. At that unforeseen action, he stopped his machine and noticed how Theo froze in an instant. His band mate’s face turned a bright shade of red as he hastily pulled back again, his free hand quickly coming up to cover his mouth and eyes wide open. He seemed quite horrified at his own action. 

However, said man’s anguished friend still did not move. Seemed like the rather unusual form of distraction really did help.

After Ben had shaken himself out of it and had finally set the needle to his customer’s skin again, he didn’t hear any curse or complaint or actually any other sound come out of the singer’s mouth. He almost seemed paralysed, his face seeming peaceful, the agony gone. Luckily, he was still breathing though and thus, the tattoo artist quickly took advantage of it and continued to finish his work. 

As he was almost done, he noticed the singer blink a bit irritated. Seemed like he was back to earth again.

“Thanks”, the man eventually uttered after what felt like an eternity, his face slightly flushed.

“Don’t mention it.”, Adam croaked, his voice a bit higher than usual and blushed heavily, avoiding to look at his mate.

By the way the man had said this, Ben thought to himself that what he actually meant was “Never, under no circumstances ever, bring up this incident.”

“I’ll uhh... I’ll just wait outside.”, the older man uttered and let go of Theo’s hand, which now had loosened it’s tight grip on his own.

+++

As the singer and his band mate had left the shop, Ben’s thoughts still lingered on them for a moment. He briefly wondered if the two actually were a couple but quickly dismissed this assumption again because they hadn’t seemed like that. Despite the kiss. 

There certainly was a great chemistry between them though, Benjamin could tell that, even after only briefly getting to know them. After all, you don’t take anyone to the tattoo studio with you. At least not when you’re sober and clear thinking. It had to be someone special, someone who’d most likely see you in pain and very vulnerable.

He also had to admit that, just visually speaking, they’d make a nice couple, actually. He couldn’t help but wonder if they’d ever talk about what had happened today or just remain silent about it. Maybe they’d even- Wait. God fucking damn it, he really needed to stop. Was he seriously starting to ship his customers? Bloody hell, he had definitely read too much Johnlock fiction the night before.

Benjamin quickly shook himself out of it and focused onto the artwork he was preparing for his next customer. The guy wanted a rotting looking zombie on his back. That’d hopefully distract him for a while.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

IF YOU BUILD SOMETHING TO SOLVE YOUR OWN PROBLEMS, THEN YOU ONLY HAVE TO FIND YOUR PEERS, WHICH IS USUALLY STRAIGHTFORWARD

Startups are that constrained for talent. The most common type is not the way Apple cares about the iPhone. And that's what the startup is in the same position; he doesn't have majority control of Microsoft; in principle he also has to convince instead of commanding. But while in some fields the papers are unintelligible because they're full of hard stuff he had to write a paper for school, if that will restrict you or make it seem like work. They always get things wrong. Like paying excessive attention to early customers, fabricating things yourself turns out to be the new way of delivering applications. But you should realize you're stepping into dangerous territory. The angel deal takes two weeks to close, so you should a consciously shift gears, instead of drying up, curiosity becomes narrow and deep.

What novice founders don't get is what insanely great morphs into as you roll the time slider back to the institutional investors who supplied it, because they're designed for growth, not adversity. Plenty of famous people do; in the short term, the quality of one's work is only a few percent of the world's population will be exceptional in some field only if there are a few people with such force of will that they're going to raise $200,000. It could only spread to places that already had a vigorous middle class. As long as you seem to be more than small and newly founded to be a great problem to have. I'm sure they argue, like all founders, but I have never once sensed any unresolved tension between them.1 When the idea is embodied in a company the founders could just walk away from.2 Partly the reason deals seem to fall through so often is that you know you're making something at least one customer wants.3 It will be easier in proportion to how much your town resembles San Francisco.4 Now most of your people will be employees rather than founders. But they don't realize just how fragile startups are, and this remark convinced me that Sarbanes-Oxley, few startups go public now. What are your abilities? Plus it would be so much less work if you could get all the great programmers collected in one hub.

You have to work hard in two dimensions. Fortunately the way to make existing users super happy, they'll one day have too many to do so much for their kids to go to work. Within a generation of its birth in England, the Industrial Revolution happened. It's obvious why investors delay. Even if it's the right thing to do, or know, things you're not supposed to. The stick-to-your-vision approach works for something like winning an Olympic gold medal, where the problem is well-defined. I did, and it wasn't here? Why can't defenders score goals too? If you look at the options available now, and choose those that will give you the most promising range of options afterward. In 1938 Buckminster Fuller coined the term ephemeralization to describe the increasing tendency of physical machinery to be replaced by apps running on tablets.

But I'm letting you in on the secret early. You can be ornery when you're Scotty, but not when you're Kirk. Sarbanes-Oxley. That's the nature of platforms. Not so much from specific things he's written as by reconstructing the mind that produced them: brutally candid; aggressively garbage-collecting outdated ideas; and yet driven by pragmatism rather than ideology. We suggest startups think about what they plan to do, or know, things you're not supposed to.5 This gives you maximum flexibility. You can find groups near you through the Angel Capital Association.

For example, while the VCs can afford to be rational and prefer the latter. This is generally true with angel groups too.6 So the way to make existing users super happy, they'll one day have too many to do so much for their kids to go to a school that didn't improve their admissions prospects. Startup School. It might seem that nothing would be easier than deciding what you like, but it turns out the rule large and disciplined organizations win needs to have a solid core of features, and a small but devoted following. Yech. And I agree you shouldn't underestimate your potential. If VCs fund you, they're not sure exactly who, will want what they're building. But as one VC told me after a startup he funded would only take about half a million dollars if they'll relocate to your city, and see what happens after a year.7 To be a startup, so don't compromise there.8

To get a complete picture, just add in every possible disaster. The other reason Apple should care what programmers think of them is that when you sell a platform, developers make or break you. That scenario may seem unlikely now, but it has been experimentally verified, in the initial stages at least, all you need is a great curiosity about a promising question.9 So for the next couple years, a good economy won't save you. If anyone could have sat back and waited for users, it was bad programmers. So are established companies, but they don't get blamed for it. If you want to achieve, and to pick a single user and act as if they were consultants building something just for that one user. Falling victim to this trick could really hurt you. It seems like the best problems to solve, because the economy is better before taking the leap?

Notes

7x a year, but as an adult. A single point of failure, just that if he were a property of the Garter and given the freedom to they derive the same in the less educated ones usually reply with some question-begging answer like it's inappropriate, while everyone else microscopically poorer, by Courant and Robbins; Geometry and the reaction of an extensive and often useful discussion on the matter. What, you're using a freeware OS?

The reason only 287 have valuations is that you'll have to pass so slowly for them, because such companies need huge numbers of users, at which point it suddenly stops. Only founders of the next three years, it could change what you're working on is a service for advising people whether or not, and we did not start to get the people working for me do more with less, is due to I. This is a trailing indicator in any era if people are magnified by the Corporate Library, the more accurate or at least bet money on the scale that has little relation to other knowledge. This is isomorphic to the other sheep head for a really long time.

Though most VCs are suits at heart, the same reason parents don't tell their parents what happened that night they were only partly joking. If you want to work your way up. I've omitted one source: government grants.

When I catch egregiously linkjacked posts I replace the actual lawsuits rarely happen. The first version would offend. In the thirties his support of the 800 highest paid executives at large companies will naturally wonder, how much they lied to them.

If PR didn't work, done mostly by hackers. The two 10 minuteses have 3 weeks between them generate a lot of face to face with the same gestures but without using them to act. To do this would give you such a discovery.

Applets seemed to us that we don't have to talk about real income ignores much of The New Industrial State to trying to make 200x as much effort on sales. First Round Capital is closer to the table. They want to get only in startups.

Because in medieval towns, monopolies and guild regulations initially slowed the development of new means of production is not so good. Html.

They'd freak if they were getting results. It's hard to prevent shoplifting because in their heads for someone to do it to get a personal introduction—and in a way to tell how serious potential investors are also the fashion leaders. So starting as a cold email startups. If you're doing.

Considering yourself a scientist. I'm convinced there were some good ideas buried in Bubble thinking. People who know the actual lawsuits rarely happen. The person who has them manages to find a kid.

Thanks to Jackie McDonough, Jessica Livingston, Paul Buchheit, the rest of the Python crew at PyCon, Evan Williams, Robert Morris, and Ed Dumbill for reading a previous draft.

[fesahaawit]

Reflections on a Year of Slow Living Experiments

Well, my friends, I can hardly believe we are days into the new year—and 2017 is behind us. Part of me wanted to let the date change without putting much energy into reminiscing and thinking about all that the year held for me. But I think that’s simply a combination of knowing it will always be the year I remember losing the girls + feeling excited for a fresh start. I can’t predict what 2018 will hold, of course, and I don’t like to put pressure on new calendar years and new beginnings. In saying that, I can’t deny that I’m ready to leave my sadness behind in 2017, and continue to move forward in general. Because even with all the sadness, I do feel as though I made some big steps forward last year—particularly when it came to my mental health.

It’s been interesting to look back at my first post from 2017 when I announced I was going to complete a year of slow living experiments. People still ask why I decided to start those experiments, and the only answer I can come up with is because I felt as though I genuinely needed to. My anxiety was at about a low-to-medium level, compared to what it would later climb to in March and April. But it was high enough then that I knew I couldn’t handle all the other messaging that filled my feeds before that new year had even begun. You know, the ones about how to be bigger (or skinnier), better, faster, stronger and richer. I couldn’t stand to read those messages, because I had enough to be anxious about. So, I decided to opt out of it all and simply slow down, instead.

I didn’t have a plan, before I got started. Instead, I had a general list of the areas in my life that I might consider slowing down and being more intentional about. Before the beginning of each new month, I checked in with myself + the list and considered which area of my life needed the most attention. And then I wrote out a list of intentions—not hard goals I had to stick to, but intentions for things I wanted in my life—and got started.

Things didn’t always go as planned. As an example, my plan was to complete 12 slow living experiments—one every month—but life (and anxiety and grief) took me down a couple unexpected paths, so I decided to opt out yet again. And that felt better. Since I had created this whole experiment for myself, I was allowed to change the rules, or simply opt out. So, that’s exactly what I did for the month of June after the girls died, and again in September when I decided my only intention was to spend 30 minutes outside each day. That’s what I could handle, so that’s what I did. As a result, I (mostly) completed 10 slow living experiments in 2017—and I would like to share some reflections on them all, in the event that it might help you plan for something similar.

Experiment #1: Slow Mornings

wake up naturally

make the bed

eat breakfast

enjoy my coffee

read a book (audiobooks work too)

I always knew I was going to start with the slow morning experiment—I just didn’t know it would end up being one of the most important experiments I would do all year. My list of intentions was simple enough. Each day, I woke up naturally (without an alarm clock), turned on an audiobook, made coffee and breakfast, and just relaxed a little bit before diving into work. It was so simple, but it was also such a treat. January was the month I finished the first draft of The Year of Less and it was a complete blur. I holed myself up in an Airbnb in downtown Squamish and was basically in isolation for five weeks, aside from going snowshoeing with Krystal once and having an old friend from high school over once too (and that wasn’t even until after I submitted the book). All I did was work—and enjoy my slow mornings. I’m happy to say this is something I’ve kept up with ever since, including making my bed every day, which was something I didn’t do often before. It feels good to start each day at a slower pace rather than rush into things, and it feels really good to crawl into a fresh-looking bed every night. Oh, and I read 5 books that month, which prompted a year where I read a lot more. :)

Experiment #2: Slow Money

set new financial goals for 2017

track my spending / make sure it aligns with new goals

change my budgeting strategy

change my investing strategy

analyze / find ways to reduce business expenses

bonus: file my taxes (or at least input all the numbers)

The idea behind the slow money experiment wasn’t so much that I would slow my money down (what does that even mean!?), but that I would do one big check-in with my finances overall. The intention was to simply make sure I was happy with how things were going and shift anything that felt like it needed a change. In February, I crossed most of these things off the list! But, as it often goes, things changed as time went on. For starters, I did NOT run a lean business. In 2016, my business expenses added up to exactly $14,000 and I wanted to attempt to cut that in half. Instead, I ended up spending $17,000 in 2017. This wasn’t a surprise, though. I track my business finances (invoices, payments, expenses, etc.) every month in FreshBooks, so I always know how things are adding up. There are only two financial decisions I regret (costing me about $2,300). Otherwise, it was all intentional (vs. impulsive) and I feel good about my final numbers. I’m just aware now that it will likely be impossible to ever spend less than $14,000 on my business. The one money move I’m extremely happy I made was the decision to start investing regularly. In an attempt to adopt an abundance mindset, I setup a weekly automatic deposit into my Wealthsimple account and have kept that going all year! (Though I did decrease the amount in the summer, when I wasn’t earning much.) Nearly one year later, I’ve learned I won’t run out of money—and that was a lesson I really needed.

Experiment #3: Slow Move

go through all of my belongings again / only pack what I want to keep

sell / donate everything I don’t want to bring with me

make a list of things I think I want to buy (like a standing desk)

settle into my new home, before actually buying anything

reach out and make plans with new friends :)

March was a tough month for me, personally (you might have guessed that if you read this post), but it finished on a high note when I moved to Squamish. At the beginning, I was definitely living small, having no couch or coffee table or desk or basically anything in my living space. But in June, I bought a couch. At the end of the summer, I pieced together a DIY standup desk (for about $450 vs. the $600-$1,200 you’d pay in stores). And I even commissioned my friend Amanda Sandlin to do a custom painting for me. I still don’t have a coffee table, but it’s not a priority right now (saving for my trip to the UK is). It’s taken almost a year but I really do feel at home here—not because of the stuff, but because of the life I’ve built and the friends I’ve made. For the first time in years, I’m not wondering where I can move to next. I just want to be here, and that feels really good.

Experiment #4: Slow Breathing

have slow mornings

do yoga 10x (short practices are fine)

meditate for 7 days in a row

listen to audiobooks/podcasts on this subject

go floating at the end of the month

At the beginning of April, I sat down to write a post about how I was going to do the slow work experiment next, but I couldn’t finish it. It felt impossible to string words into sentences and sentences into paragraphs about things that didn’t actually matter to me then. All I could think about was news I had received on March 28th that shot my anxiety up higher than I knew it could go. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t write or do any kind of work. Some days, the elephant on my chest was so heavy that I couldn’t even breathe. So, I decided to do the slow breathing experiment instead. Only I didn’t end up crossing much off this list. Instead, I published that post then read all the comments that poured in, and took all of your suggestions to heart—particularly the ones that asked if I’d ever considered talking to someone about this stuff. I had thought about it, but I had never taken action on those thoughts. Your comments helped me get the courage to. A few hours later, with the help of my friend Clare, I crafted an email to a therapist. She called me shortly after, and I started seeing her the very next day. I’ve written about this enough times now, I think, but want to make sure I say it again for anyone who is considering doing the same: therapy is the best investment I’ve ever made. It definitely changed—and saved—my life. And I will always be grateful I started it in April, because things got so much tougher in May.

Experiment #5: Slow Technology

do a 30-day social media detox (April 29th – May 28th)

figure out the role I want social media to play in my life

check / reply to email less often (also experiment with not checking on my phone)

figure out the role I want technology to play in my life (phone, computers, TV, etc.)

read from a book every day

With how much anxiety I was experiencing, May was the best month for me to take a step back from social media and attempt the slow technology experiment. And I know I’m not the only one who felt like opting out from it altogether this year. But I decided to log off all social media for a month and think about how I could have a better experience with it when I went back—because I didn’t actually want to quit it altogether, I just didn’t want it to always feel so negative. Like any social media detox, it came with the realization that I was addicted to my phone and I knew I wanted to have a healthier relationship with it too. But I ended up quitting early and going back online after Molly died (May 22nd) so I could share the news and also support my family while they shared it too. I don’t regret that decision. Because of the detox, I have kept Twitter off my phone all year, and even deleted the email app from it (until recently because the book launch has required that I be a little more connected). So, I do feel a lot better about how (much less) I use my phone now. I’m not even that great at replying to text messages anymore! The most important lesson I took away from that experiment was that, when it comes to social media (and technology as a whole), you’re allowed to create your own rules on how to use it. In fact, you should. I am continuing to do this, and made another big decision I’ll share with you later this month.

June – No Experiment

After both dogs died (Lexie on May 31st), I decided not to force myself to do a slow living experiment. Instead, I spent the first week of June in Victoria, then flew to Minneapolis to see friends, and drove all the way back from there with a friend + his dog. It was exactly what I needed.

Experiment #6: Slow Food

eat mostly* home-cooked meals

*eat out max. once/week at restaurants that use locally-sourced ingredients

swap out some ingredients for stuff that can be sourced in Squamish or BC

switch back to a vegetarian diet

eat slowly :)

After dealing with some of my grief, and then coming home from a two-week road trip throughout the US, it was obvious that my next slow living experiment should involve taking care of myself—and I decided to do that through the slow food experiment. Aside from slow mornings, this was the easiest experiment to complete. I loved walking to the farmer’s market every Saturday, buying local produce + eggs, cooking my meals, and only eating out at Fergie’s once a week. It felt really good to be at home, spend time in the kitchen and fuel my body. So, this one was easy. I even had a little fun and shared pictures of my simple kitchen + minimalist pantry. (I will say though that the contents of my pantry has basically quadrupled, as I’ve been cooking and baking more!)

Experiment #7: Slow Consumption!? Sure, let’s go with that. ;)

complete a 30-day shopping ban (August 3rd – September 1st)

do a small declutter/purge + take inventory of some of my stuff

organize my digital life (inbox, blog post drafts folder, files/folders, pictures, etc.)

do some values + goal-setting exercises

get back into alignment with myself :)

The slow food experiment was a huge success, and taking care of myself in one area of my life helped me realize I had to do it in another. See, grief has this way of causing you to shutdown a little. Maybe not completely. But you start to let things go, including some of the control you had. For the first couple of months after losing the girls, I found I was a little more impulsive in most areas of my life—but specifically with my spending. I wasn’t blowing hundreds of dollars or anything. I simply wasn’t being intentional, and that can eventually add up to a lot of wasted money. So, I decided to do a 30-day shopping ban. Not shopping for a month was easy, though I did make two purchases so I could complete projects I had started: some fabric to repair a blanket, and the supplies to finally make a top for my DIY standup desk. But not shopping for anything I didn’t need was easy, and it helped me stop thinking short-term and start dreaming about what I wanted again. The result: I realized I was done with doing small trips, and wanted to finally save and go on a big trip to the UK in 2018! On top of not shopping, I also decluttered my home + my online life, and got to the beginning of September feeling ready for a fresh start.

September – 30 Days in Nature

For this fresh start, I knew the one thing I needed more than anything else was to spend more time outdoors again. I documented this slow living experiment on my Instagram account.

Experiment #8: Slow Work

track how many hours I work every day (and how many per project)

set realistic expectations of what I can get done (with timelines)

explore other creative outlets (this could be fun – stay tuned!)

share how I slowly grew my blog (incl. dollars + blog stats)

share plans for what’s next :)

By October, I finally felt like I had gotten back into alignment with myself. The last piece of the puzzle was to find my focus with work again. Unlike April, when I would have tried to force myself to complete the slow work experiment (and really needed to focus on my mental health instead), I actually felt ready—and excited—to do it in October. And it’s not surprising to me that I got to the end feeling like it was another successful experiment, because that’s often what happens when you listen to your body and intuition, and focus on the thing that needs your attention. Anyway, I tracked my hours, and not only figured out how much I was working but also how long it would realistically take me to get projects done (which helped me make some executive decisions about which projects/ideas to let go of). I also started to dream big again and ask myself what I really wanted. I don’t have all the answers, but I know that 2018 will include more in-person, face-to-face time with this community, rather than just hanging out online. I also know I’m going to let go of one social media platform (you might notice I removed it from the top nav bar on the website), and spend more time on the one I enjoy the most. These two things feel really good to me. While my business is going to look different, in terms of how I make my money, all the decisions I’ve made were further examples of how I have grown this blog slowly (and my own way). (And speaking of how I make money, I also shared what it’s like to budget with extremely irregular income—including real numbers! For those who are curious, my total income for 2017 was around $76,000.)

Experiment #9: Slow Travel

spend a week in NYC (Nov 3-10)

spend a week in Toronto (Nov 11-18)

spend a week at home (Nov 1-2, 19-23)

spend a week or so in Victoria (Nov 24-Dec 3?)

enjoy downtime in every city :)

For November, I almost had no choice but to do the slow travel experiment—because I was gone for most of the month! In that post, I wrote about why I set travel intentions vs. make travel plans. I also wrote about how every good trip makes you appreciate home. <3

Experiment #10: Slow Evenings

no work / social media after 7pm

after work, write down the next day’s schedule / to-do list

no TV / phone after 8pm (and definitely not in bed)

read a book every night (probably in the bathtub)

create / practice / share my new bedtime routine

Finally, there’s one experiment I haven’t updated you on yet, and that’s the slow evening experiment. Even though I didn’t have a plan for which order I would do all of these experiments in, I had a feeling it would come full circle with this one—and I was right. Unfortunately, it didn’t really go as planned. I had a feeling it might not, because I knew how much work I had to do (and how stressed I was) in December. But I wanted to try it anyway, and can now share some of the results.

I will start by saying that while I had the freedom to work slowly for most of the rest of the year, that didn’t feel like an option in December. With my first book launch just weeks away, there was a lot of work that needed to be done. So the to-do list was long, and any extra task that was added to it seemed to double my anxiety. Then I started hearing that Amazon was going to ship it 5 weeks early and my anxiety doubled (or maybe quadrupled) yet again. In the process of trying to get that mistake corrected, I had a full-blown meltdown that I had to quite literally pick myself up off the floor from. (Note that I laughed at myself too, during this particular meltdown. But they are always eye-opening, aren’t they?)

The biggest problem was that I didn’t sleep much, in the first half of the month. I did have slow evenings, long baths, read from a book, etc. And I could fall asleep easily. But then I would wake up between 3:30-4:30am each morning and that was it—I was just up for the day (thank you, anxiety). I managed to get through the week, but noted that the two big meltdowns I had both happened on Friday mornings—likely because I was completely exhausted and my body was just shutting down by then. After a few conversations about this with close friends, I knew I didn’t want to remember the book launch as something that I hated. I was ok with it being busy, but I also wanted to look back and have some good memories from it. With that, I shifted my strategy and decided to cut back on a lot of commitments (and pressures I’d put on myself) and do things slowly. That had been working for me all year, and I have to believe it will work for me now and in the future.

As for the rest, I had good intentions with the no work after 7pm and no phone/TV after 8pm thing, in the beginning. But that also slipped away, as time passed and life changed. When there are only so many hours in a day, sometimes you can’t log off at 7pm, because it means the work really won’t get done. And when your best friend is going through a tough time, you don’t say, “sorry, I can’t talk after 8pm”. I have learned to create boundaries for myself and my relationships, but that will never be one of them. Now, even though it wasn’t a very successful experiment, the one thing I will consider a success is that I think about this every evening now. Just yesterday, I thought about how it was time to shut down my computer and have a bath and read a book. And the experiment is over. I don’t have to do this, but I now have the habit of at least thinking about it—and awareness is often what prompts change. So, overall, I am glad I at least attempted to do this experiment, and I think it’s one I’ll be considering how to bring forward in my future. Maybe after the book launches, haha.

So, that’s it! My year of slow living experiments is complete. And I hope it’s been obvious to anyone reading this, or anyone who was following along all year, but the goal was never to complete each experiment perfectly or cross anything off a list. It was simply to slow down, check-in with myself and consider which area of my life might need a little more attention. At the end of the day, that’s all I was doing: paying attention to what was causing me any kind of anxiety or stress, and then giving it the time + attention it needed to feel better. If you attempt something similar, I hope you’ll come at it the same way. <3

Reflections on a Year of Slow Living Experiments posted first on http://ift.tt/2lnwIdQ

[trendingnewsb]

How Email Open Tracking Quietly Took Over the Web

"I just came across this email," began the message, a long overdue reply. But I knew the sender was lying. He’d opened my email nearly six months ago. On a Mac. In Palo Alto. At night.

I knew this because I was running the email tracking service Streak, which notified me as soon as my message had been opened. It told me where, when, and on what kind of device it was read. With Streak enabled, I felt like an inside trader whenever I glanced at my inbox, privy to details that gave me maybe a little too much information. And I certainly wasn’t alone.

There are some 269 billion emails sent and received daily. That’s roughly 35 emails for every person on the planet, every day. Over 40 percent of those emails are tracked, according to a study published last June by OMC, an “email intelligence” company that also builds anti-tracking tools.

The tech is pretty simple. Tracking clients embed a line of code in the body of an email—usually in a 1×1 pixel image, so tiny it's invisible, but also in elements like hyperlinks and custom fonts. When a recipient opens the email, the tracking client recognizes that pixel has been downloaded, as well as where and on what device. Newsletter services, marketers, and advertisers have used the technique for years, to collect data about their open rates; major tech companies like Facebook and Twitter followed suit in their ongoing quest to profile and predict our behavior online.

But lately, a surprising—and growing—number of tracked emails are being sent not from corporations, but acquaintances. “We have been in touch with users that were tracked by their spouses, business partners, competitors,” says Florian Seroussi, the founder of OMC. “It's the wild, wild west out there.”

According to OMC's data, a full 19 percent of all “conversational” email is now tracked. That’s one in five of the emails you get from your friends. And you probably never noticed.

“Surprisingly, while there is a vast literature on web tracking, email tracking has seen little research,” noted an October 2017 paper published by three Princeton computer scientists. All of this means that billions of emails are sent every day to millions of people who have never consented in any way to be tracked, but are being tracked nonetheless. And Seroussi believes that some, at least, are in serious danger as a result.

As recently as the mid-2000s, email tracking was almost entirely unknown to the mainstream public. Then in 2006, an early tracking service called ReadNotify made waves when a lawsuit revealed that HP had used the product to trace the origins of a scandalous email that had leaked to the press. The intrusiveness (and simplicity) of the tactic came as something of a shock, even though newsletter services, salespeople, and marketers had long used email tracking to gather data.

Seroussi says that Gmail was the ice breaker here—he points back to the days when sponsored links first started showing up in our inboxes, based on tracked data. At the time it seemed invasive, even unsettling. “Now," he says, "it’s common knowledge and everyone’s fine with it.” Gmail’s foray was the signal flare; when advertisers and salespeople realized they too could send targeted ads based on tracked data, with little lasting pushback, the practice grew more pervasive.

“I do not know of a single established sales team in [the online sales industry] that does not use some form of email open tracking,” says John-Henry Scherck, a content marketing pro and the principal consultant at Growth Plays. “I think it will be a matter of time before either everyone uses them,” Scherck says, “or major email providers block them entirely.”

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That's partly to do with spam. "Competent spammers will track any activity on your email because they tend to buy entire lists of addresses and will actively try to rule out spam traps or unused emails,” says Andrei Afloarei, a spam researcher with Bitdefender. “If you click on any link in one of their messages they will know your address is being used and might actually cause them to send more spam your way.”

But marketing and online sales—even spammers—are no longer responsible for the bulk of the tracking. "Now, it’s the major tech companies," Seroussi says. "Amazon has been using them a lot, Facebook has been using them. Facebook is the number one tracker besides MailChimp." When Facebook sends you an email notifying you about new activity on your account, "it opens an app in background, and now Facebook knows where you are, the device you’re using, the last picture you’ve taken—they get everything."

Both Amazon and Facebook "deeplink all of the clickable links within the email to trigger actions on their app running on your device," Seroussi says. "Depending on permissions set by the user, Facebook will have access to almost everything from Camera Roll, location, and many other logs that are hidden. But even if a user has disabled location permission on his device, email tracking will bypass this restriction and still provide Facebook with the user's location."

I stumbled upon the world of email tracking last year, while working on a book about the iPhone and the notoriously secretive company that produces it. I’d reached out to Apple to request some interviews, and the PR team had initially seemed polite and receptive. We exchanged a few emails. Then they went radio silent. Months went by, and my unanswered emails piled up. I started to wonder if anyone was reading them at all.

That’s when, inspired by another journalist who’d been stonewalled by Apple, I installed the email tracker Streak. It was free, and took about 30 seconds. Then, I sent another email to my press contact. A notification popped up on my screen: My email had been opened almost immediately, inside Cupertino, on an iPhone. Then it was opened again, on an iMac, and again, and again. My messages were not only being read, but widely disseminated. It was maddening, watching the grey little notification box—“Someone just viewed ‘Regarding book interviews’—pop up over and over and over, without a reply.

So I decided to go straight to the top. If Apple’s PR team was reading my emails, maybe Tim Cook would, too.

I wrote Cook a lengthy email detailing the reasons he should join me for an interview. When I didn’t hear back, I drafted a brief follow-up, enabled Streak, hit send. Hours later, I got the notification: My email had been read. Yet one glaring detail looked off. According to Streak, the email had been read on a Windows Desktop computer.

Maybe it was a fluke. But after a few weeks, I sent another follow up, and the email was read again. On a Windows machine.

That seemed crazy, so I emailed Streak to ask about the accuracy of its service, disclosing that I was a journalist. In the confusing email exchange with Andrew from Support that followed, I was told that Streak is “very accurate,” as it can let you know what time zone or state your lead is in—but only if you’re a salesperson. Andrew stressed that “if you’re a reporter and wanted to track someone's whereabouts, [it’s] not at all accurate.” It quickly became clear that Andrew had the unenviable task of threading a razor thin needle: maintaining that Streak both supplied very precise data but was also a friendly and non-intrusive product. After all, Streak users want the most accurate information possible, but the public might chafe if it knew just how accurate that data was—and considered what it could be used for besides honing sales pitches. This is the paradox that threatens to pop the email tracking bubble as it grows into ubiquity. No wonder Andrew got Orwellian: “Accuracy is entirely subjective,” he insisted, at one point.

Andrew did, however, unequivocally say that if Streak listed the kind of device used—as opposed to listing unknown—then that info was also “very accurate.” Even if pertained to the CEO of Apple.

If Tim Cook is a closet Windows user (who knows! Maybe his Compaq days never fully rubbed off) or even if he outsources his email correspondence to a firm that does, then it’s a fine example of the sort of private data email tracking can dredge up even on our most powerful public figures.

"Look, everybody opens emails, even if they don’t respond to them," Seroussi says. "If you can learn where a celebrity is—or anyone—just by emailing them, it’s a security threat.” It could be used as a tool for stalkers, harassers, even thieves who might be sending you spam emails just to see if you’re home.

"During the 2016 election, we sent a tracked email out to the US senators, and the people running for the presidency," Seroussi says. "We wanted to know, were they doing anything about tracking? Obviously, the answer was no. We typically got the location of their devices, the IP addresses; you could pinpoint almost exactly where they were, which hotels they were staying at."

This is what worries Bitdefender's Afloarei about malicious spammers who use trackers, too. “As for the dangers of being tracked in spam, one must keep in mind the kind of people that do the tracking, and the fact that they can find out your IP address and therefore your location or workplace,” he says. Just by watching you open your email, Afloarei says spammers can learn your schedule (“based on the time you check your email”), your itinerary (based on how you check mail at home, on the bus, or so on), and personal preferences (based on where they harvested the email; say, a sports forum, or a music fansite).

Because so many people can be looked up on social media based on email addresses, or their jobs and locations, Afloarei says it’s "pretty easy" to correlate all the data and track someone down in person. "Granted, most spammers are only interested in getting your credit card or simply getting you infected and part of their botnet, but the truly devious ones can deduct so much information besides all that."

"I always wonder when a big story is going to come out and say that people broke into a house because they used email trackers to know the victims were out of town." – Florian Seroussi, founder of OMC

There’s one more reason to be wary: Email tracking is evolving. Research from October looked at emails from newsletter and mailing list services from the 14,000 most popular websites on the web, and found that 85 percent contained trackers—and 30 percent leak your email addresses to outside corporations, without your consent.

So, if you sign up for a newsletter, even from a trusted source, there’s a one in three chance that the email that newsletter service sends you will be loaded with a tracking image hosted on an outside server, that contains your email address in its code and can then share your email address with a “large network of third parties.” Your email address, in other words, is apt to be shared with tracking companies, marketing firms, and data brokers like Axiom, if you as much as open an email with a tracker, or click on a link inside.

“You can have tens of parties receive your email address,” says Steven Englehart, one of the computer scientists behind the study. “Your email hash is really your identity, right? If you go to a store, make a purchase or sign up for something—everything we do today is associated with your email.” Data brokers have long stockpiled information on consumers through web tracking: browsing habits, personal bios, and location data. But adding an email address into the mix, Englehart says, is even more reason for alarm.

“This kind of tracking creates a big dataset. If a dataset leaks with email hashes, then it’d be trivial for anyone to go see that person’s data, and people would have no idea that data even existed,” he says. “You can compare it to the Experian data leak, which exposed people’s social security numbers, and could cause fraud. In my mind, this leak would be even worse. Because it’s not just financial fraud, but intimate details of people’s lives.”

Given the risks, perhaps what’s most striking about the rise of ubiquitous email tracking is how relatively quietly it’s happened—even in a moment marked by increased awareness of security issues.

"It’s shifted. It’s more and more used in conversational threads. In business emails. This is what scares us the most," Seroussi says. "One out of six people that emails you is sending a tracker, and it’s real life"—not marketing, not spammers. “It could be your friend, your wife, your boss, this number is really mind boggling—you give up a lot of privacy just opening emails."

After the Great Tim Cook Email Tracking Incident, I left Streak on. I’d found, grudgingly, that it was useful; it was sometimes more efficient to know when sources had read my email and when I might need to nudge them again. But because I was using the same Gmail account for personal and professional use, I ended up tracking friends and family, too. That’s when I saw how starkly tracking violates the lightly-coded social norms of email etiquette. I watched close friends read an email and not respond for days. I saw right through every white lie about email (about not receiving it, or it getting stuck in the spam folder). Sure, it’s occasionally nice; you can get a rough sense of how many people read the latest update to the weekend plans on a thread, and you can feel confident that your brother isn’t blowing you off, he’s just really bad at reading email. But it mostly serves to add yet another unnecessary layer of expectation onto our already notification-addled lives, another social metric to fret over, and another box to click on feverishly whenever it arrives. Not to mention a tinge of surreptitious digital voyeurism.

"Most consumers don’t understand just how much information they are giving up." — marketing consultant John-Henry Scherck

Clearly, this is a situation that the tracking outfits want to avoid. They’ve kept mostly to the shadows, harvesting useful sales data and email open rate info without causing too many ripples; the last thing they want is for their products to be deemed invasive or spyware. This, however, puts them in a deeply awkward position: In order to stand out amongst a burgeoning field of email tracking services, they need to tout their accuracy and ease of use—while somehow giving the public the impression the data they’re soaking up isn’t a threat.

As the number of easy-to-use, free tracking products proliferates—some email clients are beginning to simply ship with tracking features, as Airmail did in 2016—we’re going to have to contend with a digital social landscape where there’s an insurgent mix of trackers and trackees. And, increasingly—anti-trackers.

If you don’t want people to know your precise whereabouts whenever you glance at a specially priced offer for a cruise featuring your favorite 90s alt rock bands; if you’d rather Facebook not harvest your device data every time a former high school classmate inveighs against Trump in a comment on one of your vacation pics; if you’re the CEO of one of the top technology companies in the world and you’d rather not be associated with using a rival’s product—you have options.

A host of anti-tracking services have sprung up to combat the rising tide of inbox tracers—from Ugly Mail, to PixelBlock, to Senders. Ugly Mail notifies you when an email is carrying a tracking pixel, and PixelBlock prevents it from opening. Senders makes use of a similar product formerly known as Trackbuster, as part of service that displays info (Twitter, LinkedIn account, etc) about the sender of the email you’re reading. Using these services, I spotted more than a few acquaintances and even some contacts I consider friends using tracking in their correspondence.

But even those methods aren't foolproof. Tracking methods are always evolving and improving, and finding ways around the current crop of track-blockers. “It’s a fight we’re having over the last couple of years,” Seroussi says. “They can’t counter all the methods that we know—so they get around the block by setting up new infrastructures. It’s a chase, they’re doing a job.”

To prevent third-parties from leaking your email, meanwhile, Princeton’s Englehart says “the only surefire solution right now is to block images by default.” That is, turn on image-blocking in your email client, so you can’t receive any images at all.

OMC has found dozens of novel methods that newfangled trackers are using to get your email open info. “We found 70 different ways where they use tracking,” Seroussi says, “Sometimes it’s a color, sometimes it’s a font, sometimes it’s a pixel, and sometimes it’s a link.” It’s an arms race, and one side has an immense advantage.

When Seroussi debuted Trackbuster in 2014, he was expecting a few hundred downloads. Within hours, he’d had 12,000. People who knew about email tracking—often trackers themselves, ironically—were eager for a way to quash it. Still, other trackers are furious with what the track-blockers are doing. “We receive death threats,” he says, more agitated than angered. It’s the wild west, after all. “They’ve been trying to destroy us for two years.”

Scherck, the marketing consultant, thinks that Google could up and kill email tracking altogether. “I do think public opinion could turn on email tracking, especially if Gmail started alerting users to tracking by default inside of Gmail with pop ups, or some native version of Ugly Email,” he says. “Just look at how consumers have turned on Facebook for their advertising. People absolutely hated that Uber was buying data on who was using Lyft from Unroll.me.” It would only take a strong enough nudge. “Most consumers don’t understand just how much information they are giving up,” he says.

If Google and the other big tech firms won’t budge, though, Seroussi believes the problem is serious enough to warrant government intervention. “If the big companies don’t want to do something about it, there should be a law defining certain kinds of tracking,” he says. And if nothing is done at all, Seroussi thinks it’s only a matter of time before email tracking is used for malign purposes, potentially in a very public way. “I always wonder when a big story is going to come out and say that people broke into a house because they used email trackers to know the victims were out of town,” he says. “It’s probably already happened.”

As for me, I was tired of all the tracking. After a couple months of ambiguous insights, I didn’t want to know who was opening my emails and not replying anymore. I didn’t want to wait, strung-out-like, for a notification to ring in a response from a crucial source. I didn’t want to feel like I was breaking the rules of whatever slipshod digital social compact we’ve got; my semi-spying days were done. I deleted Streak, and left Senders running—and kept a screenshot of Tim Cook’s Windows on my desktop as a souvenir.

Related Video

Security

Worried About Your Weak Passwords? Here's How to Fix Them

Look, we get it. Remembering dozens and dozens of different passwords for different sites is next to impossible. But that doesn’t mean you should be reusing your passwords. That’s just asking for trouble.

Read more: http://ift.tt/2B3jbmG

from Viral News HQ http://ift.tt/2p0Fm8K via Viral News HQ

[mindthump]

You Give Up a Lot of Privacy Just Opening Emails. Here's How to Stop It http://ift.tt/2C3zQEQ

"I just came across this email," began the message, a long overdue reply. But I knew the sender was lying. He’d opened my email nearly six months ago. On a Mac. In Palo Alto. At night.

I knew this because I was running the email tracking service Streak, which notified me as soon as my message had been opened. It told me where, when, and on what kind of device it was read. With Streak enabled, I felt like an inside trader whenever I glanced at my inbox, privy to details that gave me maybe a little too much information. And I certainly wasn’t alone.

There are some 269 billion emails sent and received daily. That’s roughly 35 emails for every person on the planet, every day. Over 40 percent of those emails are tracked, according to a study published last June by OMC, an “email intelligence” company that also builds anti-tracking tools.

The tech is pretty simple. Tracking clients embed a line of code in the body of an email—usually in a 1x1 pixel image, so tiny it's invisible, but also in elements like hyperlinks and custom fonts. When a recipient opens the email, the tracking client recognizes that pixel has been downloaded, as well as where and on what device. Newsletter services, marketers, and advertisers have used the technique for years, to collect data about their open rates; major tech companies like Facebook and Twitter followed suit in their ongoing quest to profile and predict our behavior online.

But lately, a surprising—and growing—number of tracked emails are being sent not from corporations, but acquaintances. “We have been in touch with users that were tracked by their spouses, business partners, competitors,” says Florian Seroussi, the founder of OMC. “It's the wild, wild west out there.”

According to OMC's data, a full 19 percent of all “conversational” email is now tracked. That’s one in five of the emails you get from your friends. And you probably never noticed.

“Surprisingly, while there is a vast literature on web tracking, email tracking has seen little research,” noted an October 2017 paper published by three Princeton computer scientists. All of this means that billions of emails are sent every day to millions of people who have never consented in any way to be tracked, but are being tracked nonetheless. And Seroussi believes that some, at least, are in serious danger as a result.

As recently as the mid-2000s, email tracking was almost entirely unknown to the mainstream public. Then in 2006, an early tracking service called ReadNotify made waves when a lawsuit revealed that HP had used the product to trace the origins of a scandalous email that had leaked to the press. The intrusiveness (and simplicity) of the tactic came as something of a shock, even though newsletter services, salespeople, and marketers had long used email tracking to gather data.

Seroussi says that Gmail was the ice breaker here—he points back to the days when sponsored links first started showing up in our inboxes, based on tracked data. At the time it seemed invasive, even unsettling. “Now," he says, "it’s common knowledge and everyone’s fine with it.” Gmail’s foray was the signal flare; when advertisers and salespeople realized they too could send targeted ads based on tracked data, with little lasting pushback, the practice grew more pervasive.

“I do not know of a single established sales team in [the online sales industry] that does not use some form of email open tracking,” says John-Henry Scherck, a content marketing pro and the principal consultant at Growth Plays. “I think it will be a matter of time before either everyone uses them,” Scherck says, “or major email providers block them entirely.”

That's partly to do with spam. "Competent spammers will track any activity on your email because they tend to buy entire lists of addresses and will actively try to rule out spam traps or unused emails,” says Andrei Afloarei, a spam researcher with Bitdefender. “If you click on any link in one of their messages they will know your address is being used and might actually cause them to send more spam your way.”

But marketing and online sales—even spammers—are no longer responsible for the bulk of the tracking. "Now, it’s the major tech companies," Seroussi says. "Amazon has been using them a lot, Facebook has been using them. Facebook is the number one tracker besides MailChimp." When Facebook sends you an email notifying you about new activity on your account, "it opens an app in background, and now Facebook knows where you are, the device you’re using, the last picture you’ve taken—they get everything."

Both Amazon and Facebook "deeplink all of the clickable links within the email to trigger actions on their app running on your device," Seroussi says. "Depending on permissions set by the user, Facebook will have access to almost everything from Camera Roll, location, and many other logs that are hidden. But even if a user has disabled location permission on his device, email tracking will bypass this restriction and still provide Facebook with the user's location."

I stumbled upon the world of email tracking last year, while working on a book about the iPhone and the notoriously secretive company that produces it. I’d reached out to Apple to request some interviews, and the PR team had initially seemed polite and receptive. We exchanged a few emails. Then they went radio silent. Months went by, and my unanswered emails piled up. I started to wonder if anyone was reading them at all.

That’s when, inspired by another journalist who’d been stonewalled by Apple, I installed the email tracker Streak. It was free, and took about 30 seconds. Then, I sent another email to my press contact. A notification popped up on my screen: My email had been opened almost immediately, inside Cupertino, on an iPhone. Then it was opened again, on an iMac, and again, and again. My messages were not only being read, but widely disseminated. It was maddening, watching the grey little notification box—“Someone just viewed ‘Regarding book interviews’—pop up over and over and over, without a reply.

So I decided to go straight to the top. If Apple’s PR team was reading my emails, maybe Tim Cook would, too.

I wrote Cook a lengthy email detailing the reasons he should join me for an interview. When I didn’t hear back, I drafted a brief follow-up, enabled Streak, hit send. Hours later, I got the notification: My email had been read. Yet one glaring detail looked off. According to Streak, the email had been read on a Windows Desktop computer.

Maybe it was a fluke. But after a few weeks, I sent another follow up, and the email was read again. On a Windows machine.

That seemed crazy, so I emailed Streak to ask about the accuracy of its service, disclosing that I was a journalist. In the confusing email exchange with Andrew from Support that followed, I was told that Streak is “very accurate,” as it can let you know what time zone or state your lead is in—but only if you’re a salesperson. Andrew stressed that “if you’re a reporter and wanted to track someone's whereabouts, [it’s] not at all accurate.” It quickly became clear that Andrew had the unenviable task of threading a razor thin needle: maintaining that Streak both supplied very precise data but was also a friendly and non-intrusive product. After all, Streak users want the most accurate information possible, but the public might chafe if it knew just how accurate that data was—and considered what it could be used for besides honing sales pitches. This is the paradox that threatens to pop the email tracking bubble as it grows into ubiquity. No wonder Andrew got Orwellian: “Accuracy is entirely subjective,” he insisted, at one point.

Andrew did, however, unequivocally say that if Streak listed the kind of device used—as opposed to listing unknown—then that info was also “very accurate.” Even if pertained to the CEO of Apple.

If Tim Cook is a closet Windows user (who knows! Maybe his Compaq days never fully rubbed off) or even if he outsources his email correspondence to a firm that does, then it’s a fine example of the sort of private data email tracking can dredge up even on our most powerful public figures.

"Look, everybody opens emails, even if they don’t respond to them," Seroussi says. "If you can learn where a celebrity is—or anyone—just by emailing them, it’s a security threat.” It could be used as a tool for stalkers, harassers, even thieves who might be sending you spam emails just to see if you’re home.

"During the 2016 election, we sent a tracked email out to the US senators, and the people running for the presidency," Seroussi says. "We wanted to know, were they doing anything about tracking? Obviously, the answer was no. We typically got the location of their devices, the IP addresses; you could pinpoint almost exactly where they were, which hotels they were staying at."

This is what worries Bitdefender's Afloarei about malicious spammers who use trackers, too. “As for the dangers of being tracked in spam, one must keep in mind the kind of people that do the tracking, and the fact that they can find out your IP address and therefore your location or workplace,” he says. Just by watching you open your email, Afloarei says spammers can learn your schedule (“based on the time you check your email”), your itinerary (based on how you check mail at home, on the bus, or so on), and personal preferences (based on where they harvested the email; say, a sports forum, or a music fansite).

Because so many people can be looked up on social media based on email addresses, or their jobs and locations, Afloarei says it’s "pretty easy" to correlate all the data and track someone down in person. "Granted, most spammers are only interested in getting your credit card or simply getting you infected and part of their botnet, but the truly devious ones can deduct so much information besides all that."

"I always wonder when a big story is going to come out and say that people broke into a house because they used email trackers to know the victims were out of town." - Florian Seroussi, founder of OMC

There’s one more reason to be wary: Email tracking is evolving. Research from October looked at emails from newsletter and mailing list services from the 14,000 most popular websites on the web, and found that 85 percent contained trackers—and 30 percent leak your email addresses to outside corporations, without your consent.

So, if you sign up for a newsletter, even from a trusted source, there’s a one in three chance that the email that newsletter service sends you will be loaded with a tracking image hosted on an outside server, that contains your email address in its code and can then share your email address with a “large network of third parties.” Your email address, in other words, is apt to be shared with tracking companies, marketing firms, and data brokers like Axiom, if you as much as open an email with a tracker, or click on a link inside.

“You can have tens of parties receive your email address,” says Steven Englehart, one of the computer scientists behind the study. “Your email hash is really your identity, right? If you go to a store, make a purchase or sign up for something—everything we do today is associated with your email.” Data brokers have long stockpiled information on consumers through web tracking: browsing habits, personal bios, and location data. But adding an email address into the mix, Englehart says, is even more reason for alarm.

“This kind of tracking creates a big dataset. If a dataset leaks with email hashes, then it’d be trivial for anyone to go see that person’s data, and people would have no idea that data even existed,” he says. “You can compare it to the Experian data leak, which exposed people’s social security numbers, and could cause fraud. In my mind, this leak would be even worse. Because it’s not just financial fraud, but intimate details of people’s lives.”

Given the risks, perhaps what’s most striking about the rise of ubiquitous email tracking is how relatively quietly it’s happened—even in a moment marked by increased awareness of security issues.

"It’s shifted. It’s more and more used in conversational threads. In business emails. This is what scares us the most," Seroussi says. "One out of six people that emails you is sending a tracker, and it’s real life"—not marketing, not spammers. “It could be your friend, your wife, your boss, this number is really mind boggling—you give up a lot of privacy just opening emails."

After the Great Tim Cook Email Tracking Incident, I left Streak on. I’d found, grudgingly, that it was useful; it was sometimes more efficient to know when sources had read my email and when I might need to nudge them again. But because I was using the same Gmail account for personal and professional use, I ended up tracking friends and family, too. That’s when I saw how starkly tracking violates the lightly-coded social norms of email etiquette. I watched close friends read an email and not respond for days. I saw right through every white lie about email (about not receiving it, or it getting stuck in the spam folder). Sure, it’s occasionally nice; you can get a rough sense of how many people read the latest update to the weekend plans on a thread, and you can feel confident that your brother isn’t blowing you off, he’s just really bad at reading email. But it mostly serves to add yet another unnecessary layer of expectation onto our already notification-addled lives, another social metric to fret over, and another box to click on feverishly whenever it arrives. Not to mention a tinge of surreptitious digital voyeurism.

"Most consumers don’t understand just how much information they are giving up." — marketing consultant John-Henry Scherck

Clearly, this is a situation that the tracking outfits want to avoid. They’ve kept mostly to the shadows, harvesting useful sales data and email open rate info without causing too many ripples; the last thing they want is for their products to be deemed invasive or spyware. This, however, puts them in a deeply awkward position: In order to stand out amongst a burgeoning field of email tracking services, they need to tout their accuracy and ease of use—while somehow giving the public the impression the data they’re soaking up isn’t a threat.

As the number of easy-to-use, free tracking products proliferates—some email clients are beginning to simply ship with tracking features, as Airmail did in 2016—we’re going to have to contend with a digital social landscape where there’s an insurgent mix of trackers and trackees. And, increasingly—anti-trackers.

If you don’t want people to know your precise whereabouts whenever you glance at a specially priced offer for a cruise featuring your favorite 90s alt rock bands; if you’d rather Facebook not harvest your device data every time a former high school classmate inveighs against Trump in a comment on one of your vacation pics; if you’re the CEO of one of the top technology companies in the world and you’d rather not be associated with using a rival’s product—you have options.

A host of anti-tracking services have sprung up to combat the rising tide of inbox tracers—from Ugly Mail, to PixelBlock, to Senders. Ugly Mail notifies you when an email is carrying a tracking pixel, and PixelBlock prevents it from opening. Senders makes use of a similar product formerly known as Trackbuster, as part of service that displays info (Twitter, LinkedIn account, etc) about the sender of the email you’re reading. Using these services, I spotted more than a few acquaintances and even some contacts I consider friends using tracking in their correspondence.

But even those methods aren't foolproof. Tracking methods are always evolving and improving, and finding ways around the current crop of track-blockers. “It’s a fight we’re having over the last couple of years,” Seroussi says. “They can’t counter all the methods that we know—so they get around the block by setting up new infrastructures. It’s a chase, they’re doing a job.”

To prevent third-parties from leaking your email, meanwhile, Princeton’s Englehart says “the only surefire solution right now is to block images by default.” That is, turn on image-blocking in your email client, so you can’t receive any images at all.

OMC has found dozens of novel methods that newfangled trackers are using to get your email open info. “We found 70 different ways where they use tracking,” Seroussi says, “Sometimes it’s a color, sometimes it’s a font, sometimes it’s a pixel, and sometimes it’s a link.��� It’s an arms race, and one side has an immense advantage.

When Seroussi debuted Trackbuster in 2014, he was expecting a few hundred downloads. Within hours, he’d had 12,000. People who knew about email tracking—often trackers themselves, ironically—were eager for a way to quash it. Still, other trackers are furious with what the track-blockers are doing. “We receive death threats,” he says, more agitated than angered. It’s the wild west, after all. “They’ve been trying to destroy us for two years.”

Scherck, the marketing consultant, thinks that Google could up and kill email tracking altogether. “I do think public opinion could turn on email tracking, especially if Gmail started alerting users to tracking by default inside of Gmail with pop ups, or some native version of Ugly Email,” he says. “Just look at how consumers have turned on Facebook for their advertising. People absolutely hated that Uber was buying data on who was using Lyft from Unroll.me.” It would only take a strong enough nudge. “Most consumers don’t understand just how much information they are giving up,” he says.

If Google and the other big tech firms won’t budge, though, Seroussi believes the problem is serious enough to warrant government intervention. “If the big companies don’t want to do something about it, there should be a law defining certain kinds of tracking,” he says. And if nothing is done at all, Seroussi thinks it’s only a matter of time before email tracking is used for malign purposes, potentially in a very public way. “I always wonder when a big story is going to come out and say that people broke into a house because they used email trackers to know the victims were out of town,” he says. “It’s probably already happened.”

As for me, I was tired of all the tracking. After a couple months of ambiguous insights, I didn’t want to know who was opening my emails and not replying anymore. I didn’t want to wait, strung-out-like, for a notification to ring in a response from a crucial source. I didn’t want to feel like I was breaking the rules of whatever slipshod digital social compact we’ve got; my semi-spying days were done. I deleted Streak, and left Senders running—and kept a screenshot of Tim Cook’s Windows on my desktop as a souvenir.

[fesahaawit]

Reflections on a Year of Slow Living Experiments

Well, my friends, I can hardly believe we are days into the new year—and 2017 is behind us. Part of me wanted to let the date change without putting much energy into reminiscing and thinking about all that the year held for me. But I think that’s simply a combination of knowing it will always be the year I remember losing the girls + feeling excited for a fresh start. I can’t predict what 2018 will hold, of course, and I don’t like to put pressure on new calendar years and new beginnings. In saying that, I can’t deny that I’m ready to leave my sadness behind in 2017, and continue to move forward in general. Because even with all the sadness, I do feel as though I made some big steps forward last year—particularly when it came to my mental health.

It’s been interesting to look back at my first post from 2017 when I announced I was going to complete a year of slow living experiments. People still ask why I decided to start those experiments, and the only answer I can come up with is because I felt as though I genuinely needed to. My anxiety was at about a low-to-medium level, compared to what it would later climb to in March and April. But it was high enough then that I knew I couldn’t handle all the other messaging that filled my feeds before that new year had even begun. You know, the ones about how to be bigger (or skinnier), better, faster, stronger and richer. I couldn’t stand to read those messages, because I had enough to be anxious about. So, I decided to opt out of it all and simply slow down, instead.

I didn’t have a plan, before I got started. Instead, I had a general list of the areas in my life that I might consider slowing down and being more intentional about. Before the beginning of each new month, I checked in with myself + the list and considered which area of my life needed the most attention. And then I wrote out a list of intentions—not hard goals I had to stick to, but intentions for things I wanted in my life—and got started.

Things didn’t always go as planned. As an example, my plan was to complete 12 slow living experiments—one every month—but life (and anxiety and grief) took me down a couple unexpected paths, so I decided to opt out yet again. And that felt better. Since I had created this whole experiment for myself, I was allowed to change the rules, or simply opt out. So, that’s exactly what I did for the month of June after the girls died, and again in September when I decided my only intention was to spend 30 minutes outside each day. That’s what I could handle, so that’s what I did. As a result, I (mostly) completed 10 slow living experiments in 2017—and I would like to share some reflections on them all, in the event that it might help you plan for something similar.

Experiment #1: Slow Mornings

wake up naturally

make the bed

eat breakfast

enjoy my coffee

read a book (audiobooks work too)

I always knew I was going to start with the slow morning experiment—I just didn’t know it would end up being one of the most important experiments I would do all year. My list of intentions was simple enough. Each day, I woke up naturally (without an alarm clock), turned on an audiobook, made coffee and breakfast, and just relaxed a little bit before diving into work. It was so simple, but it was also such a treat. January was the month I finished the first draft of The Year of Less and it was a complete blur. I holed myself up in an Airbnb in downtown Squamish and was basically in isolation for five weeks, aside from going snowshoeing with Krystal once and having an old friend from high school over once too (and that wasn’t even until after I submitted the book). All I did was work—and enjoy my slow mornings. I’m happy to say this is something I’ve kept up with ever since, including making my bed every day, which was something I didn’t do often before. It feels good to start each day at a slower pace rather than rush into things, and it feels really good to crawl into a fresh-looking bed every night. Oh, and I read 5 books that month, which prompted a year where I read a lot more. :)

Experiment #2: Slow Money

set new financial goals for 2017

track my spending / make sure it aligns with new goals

change my budgeting strategy

change my investing strategy

analyze / find ways to reduce business expenses

bonus: file my taxes (or at least input all the numbers)

The idea behind the slow money experiment wasn’t so much that I would slow my money down (what does that even mean!?), but that I would do one big check-in with my finances overall. The intention was to simply make sure I was happy with how things were going and shift anything that felt like it needed a change. In February, I crossed most of these things off the list! But, as it often goes, things changed as time went on. For starters, I did NOT run a lean business. In 2016, my business expenses added up to exactly $14,000 and I wanted to attempt to cut that in half. Instead, I ended up spending $17,000 in 2017. This wasn’t a surprise, though. I track my business finances (invoices, payments, expenses, etc.) every month in FreshBooks, so I always know how things are adding up. There are only two financial decisions I regret (costing me about $2,300). Otherwise, it was all intentional (vs. impulsive) and I feel good about my final numbers. I’m just aware now that it will likely be impossible to ever spend less than $14,000 on my business. The one money move I’m extremely happy I made was the decision to start investing regularly. In an attempt to adopt an abundance mindset, I setup a weekly automatic deposit into my Wealthsimple account and have kept that going all year! (Though I did decrease the amount in the summer, when I wasn’t earning much.) Nearly one year later, I’ve learned I won’t run out of money—and that was a lesson I really needed.

Experiment #3: Slow Move

go through all of my belongings again / only pack what I want to keep

sell / donate everything I don’t want to bring with me

make a list of things I think I want to buy (like a standing desk)

settle into my new home, before actually buying anything

reach out and make plans with new friends :)

March was a tough month for me, personally (you might have guessed that if you read this post), but it finished on a high note when I moved to Squamish. At the beginning, I was definitely living small, having no couch or coffee table or desk or basically anything in my living space. But in June, I bought a couch. At the end of the summer, I pieced together a DIY standup desk (for about $450 vs. the $600-$1,200 you’d pay in stores). And I even commissioned my friend Amanda Sandlin to do a custom painting for me. I still don’t have a coffee table, but it’s not a priority right now (saving for my trip to the UK is). It’s taken almost a year but I really do feel at home here—not because of the stuff, but because of the life I’ve built and the friends I’ve made. For the first time in years, I’m not wondering where I can move to next. I just want to be here, and that feels really good.

Experiment #4: Slow Breathing

have slow mornings

do yoga 10x (short practices are fine)

meditate for 7 days in a row

listen to audiobooks/podcasts on this subject

go floating at the end of the month

At the beginning of April, I sat down to write a post about how I was going to do the slow work experiment next, but I couldn’t finish it. It felt impossible to string words into sentences and sentences into paragraphs about things that didn’t actually matter to me then. All I could think about was news I had received on March 28th that shot my anxiety up higher than I knew it could go. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t write or do any kind of work. Some days, the elephant on my chest was so heavy that I couldn’t even breathe. So, I decided to do the slow breathing experiment instead. Only I didn’t end up crossing much off this list. Instead, I published that post then read all the comments that poured in, and took all of your suggestions to heart—particularly the ones that asked if I’d ever considered talking to someone about this stuff. I had thought about it, but I had never taken action on those thoughts. Your comments helped me get the courage to. A few hours later, with the help of my friend Clare, I crafted an email to a therapist. She called me shortly after, and I started seeing her the very next day. I’ve written about this enough times now, I think, but want to make sure I say it again for anyone who is considering doing the same: therapy is the best investment I’ve ever made. It definitely changed—and saved—my life. And I will always be grateful I started it in April, because things got so much tougher in May.

Experiment #5: Slow Technology

do a 30-day social media detox (April 29th – May 28th)

figure out the role I want social media to play in my life

check / reply to email less often (also experiment with not checking on my phone)

figure out the role I want technology to play in my life (phone, computers, TV, etc.)

read from a book every day

With how much anxiety I was experiencing, May was the best month for me to take a step back from social media and attempt the slow technology experiment. And I know I’m not the only one who felt like opting out from it altogether this year. But I decided to log off all social media for a month and think about how I could have a better experience with it when I went back—because I didn’t actually want to quit it altogether, I just didn’t want it to always feel so negative. Like any social media detox, it came with the realization that I was addicted to my phone and I knew I wanted to have a healthier relationship with it too. But I ended up quitting early and going back online after Molly died (May 22nd) so I could share the news and also support my family while they shared it too. I don’t regret that decision. Because of the detox, I have kept Twitter off my phone all year, and even deleted the email app from it (until recently because the book launch has required that I be a little more connected). So, I do feel a lot better about how (much less) I use my phone now. I’m not even that great at replying to text messages anymore! The most important lesson I took away from that experiment was that, when it comes to social media (and technology as a whole), you’re allowed to create your own rules on how to use it. In fact, you should. I am continuing to do this, and made another big decision I’ll share with you later this month.

June – No Experiment

After both dogs died (Lexie on May 31st), I decided not to force myself to do a slow living experiment. Instead, I spent the first week of June in Victoria, then flew to Minneapolis to see friends, and drove all the way back from there with a friend + his dog. It was exactly what I needed.

Experiment #6: Slow Food

eat mostly* home-cooked meals

*eat out max. once/week at restaurants that use locally-sourced ingredients

swap out some ingredients for stuff that can be sourced in Squamish or BC

switch back to a vegetarian diet

eat slowly :)

After dealing with some of my grief, and then coming home from a two-week road trip throughout the US, it was obvious that my next slow living experiment should involve taking care of myself—and I decided to do that through the slow food experiment. Aside from slow mornings, this was the easiest experiment to complete. I loved walking to the farmer’s market every Saturday, buying local produce + eggs, cooking my meals, and only eating out at Fergie’s once a week. It felt really good to be at home, spend time in the kitchen and fuel my body. So, this one was easy. I even had a little fun and shared pictures of my simple kitchen + minimalist pantry. (I will say though that the contents of my pantry has basically quadrupled, as I’ve been cooking and baking more!)

Experiment #7: Slow Consumption!? Sure, let’s go with that. ;)

complete a 30-day shopping ban (August 3rd – September 1st)

do a small declutter/purge + take inventory of some of my stuff

organize my digital life (inbox, blog post drafts folder, files/folders, pictures, etc.)

do some values + goal-setting exercises

get back into alignment with myself :)

The slow food experiment was a huge success, and taking care of myself in one area of my life helped me realize I had to do it in another. See, grief has this way of causing you to shutdown a little. Maybe not completely. But you start to let things go, including some of the control you had. For the first couple of months after losing the girls, I found I was a little more impulsive in most areas of my life—but specifically with my spending. I wasn’t blowing hundreds of dollars or anything. I simply wasn’t being intentional, and that can eventually add up to a lot of wasted money. So, I decided to do a 30-day shopping ban. Not shopping for a month was easy, though I did make two purchases so I could complete projects I had started: some fabric to repair a blanket, and the supplies to finally make a top for my DIY standup desk. But not shopping for anything I didn’t need was easy, and it helped me stop thinking short-term and start dreaming about what I wanted again. The result: I realized I was done with doing small trips, and wanted to finally save and go on a big trip to the UK in 2018! On top of not shopping, I also decluttered my home + my online life, and got to the beginning of September feeling ready for a fresh start.

September – 30 Days in Nature

For this fresh start, I knew the one thing I needed more than anything else was to spend more time outdoors again. I documented this slow living experiment on my Instagram account.

Experiment #8: Slow Work

track how many hours I work every day (and how many per project)

set realistic expectations of what I can get done (with timelines)

explore other creative outlets (this could be fun – stay tuned!)

share how I slowly grew my blog (incl. dollars + blog stats)

share plans for what’s next :)

By October, I finally felt like I had gotten back into alignment with myself. The last piece of the puzzle was to find my focus with work again. Unlike April, when I would have tried to force myself to complete the slow work experiment (and really needed to focus on my mental health instead), I actually felt ready—and excited—to do it in October. And it’s not surprising to me that I got to the end feeling like it was another successful experiment, because that’s often what happens when you listen to your body and intuition, and focus on the thing that needs your attention. Anyway, I tracked my hours, and not only figured out how much I was working but also how long it would realistically take me to get projects done (which helped me make some executive decisions about which projects/ideas to let go of). I also started to dream big again and ask myself what I really wanted. I don’t have all the answers, but I know that 2018 will include more in-person, face-to-face time with this community, rather than just hanging out online. I also know I’m going to let go of one social media platform (you might notice I removed it from the top nav bar on the website), and spend more time on the one I enjoy the most. These two things feel really good to me. While my business is going to look different, in terms of how I make my money, all the decisions I’ve made were further examples of how I have grown this blog slowly (and my own way). (And speaking of how I make money, I also shared what it’s like to budget with extremely irregular income—including real numbers! For those who are curious, my total income for 2017 was around $76,000.)

Experiment #9: Slow Travel

spend a week in NYC (Nov 3-10)

spend a week in Toronto (Nov 11-18)

spend a week at home (Nov 1-2, 19-23)

spend a week or so in Victoria (Nov 24-Dec 3?)

enjoy downtime in every city :)

For November, I almost had no choice but to do the slow travel experiment—because I was gone for most of the month! In that post, I wrote about why I set travel intentions vs. make travel plans. I also wrote about how every good trip makes you appreciate home. <3

Experiment #10: Slow Evenings

no work / social media after 7pm

after work, write down the next day’s schedule / to-do list

no TV / phone after 8pm (and definitely not in bed)

read a book every night (probably in the bathtub)

create / practice / share my new bedtime routine

Finally, there’s one experiment I haven’t updated you on yet, and that’s the slow evening experiment. Even though I didn’t have a plan for which order I would do all of these experiments in, I had a feeling it would come full circle with this one—and I was right. Unfortunately, it didn’t really go as planned. I had a feeling it might not, because I knew how much work I had to do (and how stressed I was) in December. But I wanted to try it anyway, and can now share some of the results.

I will start by saying that while I had the freedom to work slowly for most of the rest of the year, that didn’t feel like an option in December. With my first book launch just weeks away, there was a lot of work that needed to be done. So the to-do list was long, and any extra task that was added to it seemed to double my anxiety. Then I started hearing that Amazon was going to ship it 5 weeks early and my anxiety doubled (or maybe quadrupled) yet again. In the process of trying to get that mistake corrected, I had a full-blown meltdown that I had to quite literally pick myself up off the floor from. (Note that I laughed at myself too, during this particular meltdown. But they are always eye-opening, aren’t they?)

The biggest problem was that I didn’t sleep much, in the first half of the month. I did have slow evenings, long baths, read from a book, etc. And I could fall asleep easily. But then I would wake up between 3:30-4:30am each morning and that was it—I was just up for the day (thank you, anxiety). I managed to get through the week, but noted that the two big meltdowns I had both happened on Friday mornings—likely because I was completely exhausted and my body was just shutting down by then. After a few conversations about this with close friends, I knew I didn’t want to remember the book launch as something that I hated. I was ok with it being busy, but I also wanted to look back and have some good memories from it. With that, I shifted my strategy and decided to cut back on a lot of commitments (and pressures I’d put on myself) and do things slowly. That had been working for me all year, and I have to believe it will work for me now and in the future.

As for the rest, I had good intentions with the no work after 7pm and no phone/TV after 8pm thing, in the beginning. But that also slipped away, as time passed and life changed. When there are only so many hours in a day, sometimes you can’t log off at 7pm, because it means the work really won’t get done. And when your best friend is going through a tough time, you don’t say, “sorry, I can’t talk after 8pm”. I have learned to create boundaries for myself and my relationships, but that will never be one of them. Now, even though it wasn’t a very successful experiment, the one thing I will consider a success is that I think about this every evening now. Just yesterday, I thought about how it was time to shut down my computer and have a bath and read a book. And the experiment is over. I don’t have to do this, but I now have the habit of at least thinking about it—and awareness is often what prompts change. So, overall, I am glad I at least attempted to do this experiment, and I think it’s one I’ll be considering how to bring forward in my future. Maybe after the book launches, haha.

So, that’s it! My year of slow living experiments is complete. And I hope it’s been obvious to anyone reading this, or anyone who was following along all year, but the goal was never to complete each experiment perfectly or cross anything off a list. It was simply to slow down, check-in with myself and consider which area of my life might need a little more attention. At the end of the day, that’s all I was doing: paying attention to what was causing me any kind of anxiety or stress, and then giving it the time + attention it needed to feel better. If you attempt something similar, I hope you’ll come at it the same way. <3

Reflections on a Year of Slow Living Experiments posted first on http://ift.tt/2lnwIdQ

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Reflections on a Year of Slow Living Experiments

Well, my friends, I can hardly believe we are days into the new year—and 2017 is behind us. Part of me wanted to let the date change without putting much energy into reminiscing and thinking about all that the year held for me. But I think that’s simply a combination of knowing it will always be the year I remember losing the girls + feeling excited for a fresh start. I can’t predict what 2018 will hold, of course, and I don’t like to put pressure on new calendar years and new beginnings. In saying that, I can’t deny that I’m ready to leave my sadness behind in 2017, and continue to move forward in general. Because even with all the sadness, I do feel as though I made some big steps forward last year—particularly when it came to my mental health.

It’s been interesting to look back at my first post from 2017 when I announced I was going to complete a year of slow living experiments. People still ask why I decided to start those experiments, and the only answer I can come up with is because I felt as though I genuinely needed to. My anxiety was at about a low-to-medium level, compared to what it would later climb to in March and April. But it was high enough then that I knew I couldn’t handle all the other messaging that filled my feeds before that new year had even begun. You know, the ones about how to be bigger (or skinnier), better, faster, stronger and richer. I couldn’t stand to read those messages, because I had enough to be anxious about. So, I decided to opt out of it all and simply slow down, instead.

I didn’t have a plan, before I got started. Instead, I had a general list of the areas in my life that I might consider slowing down and being more intentional about. Before the beginning of each new month, I checked in with myself + the list and considered which area of my life needed the most attention. And then I wrote out a list of intentions—not hard goals I had to stick to, but intentions for things I wanted in my life—and got started.

Things didn’t always go as planned. As an example, my plan was to complete 12 slow living experiments—one every month—but life (and anxiety and grief) took me down a couple unexpected paths, so I decided to opt out yet again. And that felt better. Since I had created this whole experiment for myself, I was allowed to change the rules, or simply opt out. So, that’s exactly what I did for the month of June after the girls died, and again in September when I decided my only intention was to spend 30 minutes outside each day. That’s what I could handle, so that’s what I did. As a result, I (mostly) completed 10 slow living experiments in 2017—and I would like to share some reflections on them all, in the event that it might help you plan for something similar.

Experiment #1: Slow Mornings

wake up naturally

make the bed

eat breakfast

enjoy my coffee

read a book (audiobooks work too)

I always knew I was going to start with the slow morning experiment—I just didn’t know it would end up being one of the most important experiments I would do all year. My list of intentions was simple enough. Each day, I woke up naturally (without an alarm clock), turned on an audiobook, made coffee and breakfast, and just relaxed a little bit before diving into work. It was so simple, but it was also such a treat. January was the month I finished the first draft of The Year of Less and it was a complete blur. I holed myself up in an Airbnb in downtown Squamish and was basically in isolation for five weeks, aside from going snowshoeing with Krystal once and having an old friend from high school over once too (and that wasn’t even until after I submitted the book). All I did was work—and enjoy my slow mornings. I’m happy to say this is something I’ve kept up with ever since, including making my bed every day, which was something I didn’t do often before. It feels good to start each day at a slower pace rather than rush into things, and it feels really good to crawl into a fresh-looking bed every night. Oh, and I read 5 books that month, which prompted a year where I read a lot more. :)

Experiment #2: Slow Money

set new financial goals for 2017

track my spending / make sure it aligns with new goals

change my budgeting strategy

change my investing strategy

analyze / find ways to reduce business expenses

bonus: file my taxes (or at least input all the numbers)

The idea behind the slow money experiment wasn’t so much that I would slow my money down (what does that even mean!?), but that I would do one big check-in with my finances overall. The intention was to simply make sure I was happy with how things were going and shift anything that felt like it needed a change. In February, I crossed most of these things off the list! But, as it often goes, things changed as time went on. For starters, I did NOT run a lean business. In 2016, my business expenses added up to exactly $14,000 and I wanted to attempt to cut that in half. Instead, I ended up spending $17,000 in 2017. This wasn’t a surprise, though. I track my business finances (invoices, payments, expenses, etc.) every month in FreshBooks, so I always know how things are adding up. There are only two financial decisions I regret (costing me about $2,300). Otherwise, it was all intentional (vs. impulsive) and I feel good about my final numbers. I’m just aware now that it will likely be impossible to ever spend less than $14,000 on my business. The one money move I’m extremely happy I made was the decision to start investing regularly. In an attempt to adopt an abundance mindset, I setup a weekly automatic deposit into my Wealthsimple account and have kept that going all year! (Though I did decrease the amount in the summer, when I wasn’t earning much.) Nearly one year later, I’ve learned I won’t run out of money—and that was a lesson I really needed.

Experiment #3: Slow Move

go through all of my belongings again / only pack what I want to keep

sell / donate everything I don’t want to bring with me

make a list of things I think I want to buy (like a standing desk)

settle into my new home, before actually buying anything

reach out and make plans with new friends :)

March was a tough month for me, personally (you might have guessed that if you read this post), but it finished on a high note when I moved to Squamish. At the beginning, I was definitely living small, having no couch or coffee table or desk or basically anything in my living space. But in June, I bought a couch. At the end of the summer, I pieced together a DIY standup desk (for about $450 vs. the $600-$1,200 you’d pay in stores). And I even commissioned my friend Amanda Sandlin to do a custom painting for me. I still don’t have a coffee table, but it’s not a priority right now (saving for my trip to the UK is). It’s taken almost a year but I really do feel at home here—not because of the stuff, but because of the life I’ve built and the friends I’ve made. For the first time in years, I’m not wondering where I can move to next. I just want to be here, and that feels really good.

Experiment #4: Slow Breathing

have slow mornings

do yoga 10x (short practices are fine)

meditate for 7 days in a row

listen to audiobooks/podcasts on this subject

go floating at the end of the month

At the beginning of April, I sat down to write a post about how I was going to do the slow work experiment next, but I couldn’t finish it. It felt impossible to string words into sentences and sentences into paragraphs about things that didn’t actually matter to me then. All I could think about was news I had received on March 28th that shot my anxiety up higher than I knew it could go. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t write or do any kind of work. Some days, the elephant on my chest was so heavy that I couldn’t even breathe. So, I decided to do the slow breathing experiment instead. Only I didn’t end up crossing much off this list. Instead, I published that post then read all the comments that poured in, and took all of your suggestions to heart—particularly the ones that asked if I’d ever considered talking to someone about this stuff. I had thought about it, but I had never taken action on those thoughts. Your comments helped me get the courage to. A few hours later, with the help of my friend Clare, I crafted an email to a therapist. She called me shortly after, and I started seeing her the very next day. I’ve written about this enough times now, I think, but want to make sure I say it again for anyone who is considering doing the same: therapy is the best investment I’ve ever made. It definitely changed—and saved—my life. And I will always be grateful I started it in April, because things got so much tougher in May.

Experiment #5: Slow Technology

do a 30-day social media detox (April 29th – May 28th)

figure out the role I want social media to play in my life

check / reply to email less often (also experiment with not checking on my phone)

figure out the role I want technology to play in my life (phone, computers, TV, etc.)

read from a book every day

With how much anxiety I was experiencing, May was the best month for me to take a step back from social media and attempt the slow technology experiment. And I know I’m not the only one who felt like opting out from it altogether this year. But I decided to log off all social media for a month and think about how I could have a better experience with it when I went back—because I didn’t actually want to quit it altogether, I just didn’t want it to always feel so negative. Like any social media detox, it came with the realization that I was addicted to my phone and I knew I wanted to have a healthier relationship with it too. But I ended up quitting early and going back online after Molly died (May 22nd) so I could share the news and also support my family while they shared it too. I don’t regret that decision. Because of the detox, I have kept Twitter off my phone all year, and even deleted the email app from it (until recently because the book launch has required that I be a little more connected). So, I do feel a lot better about how (much less) I use my phone now. I’m not even that great at replying to text messages anymore! The most important lesson I took away from that experiment was that, when it comes to social media (and technology as a whole), you’re allowed to create your own rules on how to use it. In fact, you should. I am continuing to do this, and made another big decision I’ll share with you later this month.

June – No Experiment

After both dogs died (Lexie on May 31st), I decided not to force myself to do a slow living experiment. Instead, I spent the first week of June in Victoria, then flew to Minneapolis to see friends, and drove all the way back from there with a friend + his dog. It was exactly what I needed.

Experiment #6: Slow Food

eat mostly* home-cooked meals

*eat out max. once/week at restaurants that use locally-sourced ingredients

swap out some ingredients for stuff that can be sourced in Squamish or BC

switch back to a vegetarian diet

eat slowly :)

After dealing with some of my grief, and then coming home from a two-week road trip throughout the US, it was obvious that my next slow living experiment should involve taking care of myself—and I decided to do that through the slow food experiment. Aside from slow mornings, this was the easiest experiment to complete. I loved walking to the farmer’s market every Saturday, buying local produce + eggs, cooking my meals, and only eating out at Fergie’s once a week. It felt really good to be at home, spend time in the kitchen and fuel my body. So, this one was easy. I even had a little fun and shared pictures of my simple kitchen + minimalist pantry. (I will say though that the contents of my pantry has basically quadrupled, as I’ve been cooking and baking more!)

Experiment #7: Slow Consumption!? Sure, let’s go with that. ;)

complete a 30-day shopping ban (August 3rd – September 1st)

do a small declutter/purge + take inventory of some of my stuff

organize my digital life (inbox, blog post drafts folder, files/folders, pictures, etc.)

do some values + goal-setting exercises

get back into alignment with myself :)

The slow food experiment was a huge success, and taking care of myself in one area of my life helped me realize I had to do it in another. See, grief has this way of causing you to shutdown a little. Maybe not completely. But you start to let things go, including some of the control you had. For the first couple of months after losing the girls, I found I was a little more impulsive in most areas of my life—but specifically with my spending. I wasn’t blowing hundreds of dollars or anything. I simply wasn’t being intentional, and that can eventually add up to a lot of wasted money. So, I decided to do a 30-day shopping ban. Not shopping for a month was easy, though I did make two purchases so I could complete projects I had started: some fabric to repair a blanket, and the supplies to finally make a top for my DIY standup desk. But not shopping for anything I didn’t need was easy, and it helped me stop thinking short-term and start dreaming about what I wanted again. The result: I realized I was done with doing small trips, and wanted to finally save and go on a big trip to the UK in 2018! On top of not shopping, I also decluttered my home + my online life, and got to the beginning of September feeling ready for a fresh start.

September – 30 Days in Nature

For this fresh start, I knew the one thing I needed more than anything else was to spend more time outdoors again. I documented this slow living experiment on my Instagram account.

Experiment #8: Slow Work

track how many hours I work every day (and how many per project)

set realistic expectations of what I can get done (with timelines)

explore other creative outlets (this could be fun – stay tuned!)

share how I slowly grew my blog (incl. dollars + blog stats)

share plans for what’s next :)

By October, I finally felt like I had gotten back into alignment with myself. The last piece of the puzzle was to find my focus with work again. Unlike April, when I would have tried to force myself to complete the slow work experiment (and really needed to focus on my mental health instead), I actually felt ready—and excited—to do it in October. And it’s not surprising to me that I got to the end feeling like it was another successful experiment, because that’s often what happens when you listen to your body and intuition, and focus on the thing that needs your attention. Anyway, I tracked my hours, and not only figured out how much I was working but also how long it would realistically take me to get projects done (which helped me make some executive decisions about which projects/ideas to let go of). I also started to dream big again and ask myself what I really wanted. I don’t have all the answers, but I know that 2018 will include more in-person, face-to-face time with this community, rather than just hanging out online. I also know I’m going to let go of one social media platform (you might notice I removed it from the top nav bar on the website), and spend more time on the one I enjoy the most. These two things feel really good to me. While my business is going to look different, in terms of how I make my money, all the decisions I’ve made were further examples of how I have grown this blog slowly (and my own way). (And speaking of how I make money, I also shared what it’s like to budget with extremely irregular income—including real numbers! For those who are curious, my total income for 2017 was around $76,000.)

Experiment #9: Slow Travel

spend a week in NYC (Nov 3-10)

spend a week in Toronto (Nov 11-18)

spend a week at home (Nov 1-2, 19-23)

spend a week or so in Victoria (Nov 24-Dec 3?)

enjoy downtime in every city :)

For November, I almost had no choice but to do the slow travel experiment—because I was gone for most of the month! In that post, I wrote about why I set travel intentions vs. make travel plans. I also wrote about how every good trip makes you appreciate home. <3

Experiment #10: Slow Evenings

no work / social media after 7pm

after work, write down the next day’s schedule / to-do list

no TV / phone after 8pm (and definitely not in bed)

read a book every night (probably in the bathtub)

create / practice / share my new bedtime routine

Finally, there’s one experiment I haven’t updated you on yet, and that’s the slow evening experiment. Even though I didn’t have a plan for which order I would do all of these experiments in, I had a feeling it would come full circle with this one—and I was right. Unfortunately, it didn’t really go as planned. I had a feeling it might not, because I knew how much work I had to do (and how stressed I was) in December. But I wanted to try it anyway, and can now share some of the results.

I will start by saying that while I had the freedom to work slowly for most of the rest of the year, that didn’t feel like an option in December. With my first book launch just weeks away, there was a lot of work that needed to be done. So the to-do list was long, and any extra task that was added to it seemed to double my anxiety. Then I started hearing that Amazon was going to ship it 5 weeks early and my anxiety doubled (or maybe quadrupled) yet again. In the process of trying to get that mistake corrected, I had a full-blown meltdown that I had to quite literally pick myself up off the floor from. (Note that I laughed at myself too, during this particular meltdown. But they are always eye-opening, aren’t they?)

The biggest problem was that I didn’t sleep much, in the first half of the month. I did have slow evenings, long baths, read from a book, etc. And I could fall asleep easily. But then I would wake up between 3:30-4:30am each morning and that was it—I was just up for the day (thank you, anxiety). I managed to get through the week, but noted that the two big meltdowns I had both happened on Friday mornings—likely because I was completely exhausted and my body was just shutting down by then. After a few conversations about this with close friends, I knew I didn’t want to remember the book launch as something that I hated. I was ok with it being busy, but I also wanted to look back and have some good memories from it. With that, I shifted my strategy and decided to cut back on a lot of commitments (and pressures I’d put on myself) and do things slowly. That had been working for me all year, and I have to believe it will work for me now and in the future.

As for the rest, I had good intentions with the no work after 7pm and no phone/TV after 8pm thing, in the beginning. But that also slipped away, as time passed and life changed. When there are only so many hours in a day, sometimes you can’t log off at 7pm, because it means the work really won’t get done. And when your best friend is going through a tough time, you don’t say, “sorry, I can’t talk after 8pm”. I have learned to create boundaries for myself and my relationships, but that will never be one of them. Now, even though it wasn’t a very successful experiment, the one thing I will consider a success is that I think about this every evening now. Just yesterday, I thought about how it was time to shut down my computer and have a bath and read a book. And the experiment is over. I don’t have to do this, but I now have the habit of at least thinking about it—and awareness is often what prompts change. So, overall, I am glad I at least attempted to do this experiment, and I think it’s one I’ll be considering how to bring forward in my future. Maybe after the book launches, haha.

So, that’s it! My year of slow living experiments is complete. And I hope it’s been obvious to anyone reading this, or anyone who was following along all year, but the goal was never to complete each experiment perfectly or cross anything off a list. It was simply to slow down, check-in with myself and consider which area of my life might need a little more attention. At the end of the day, that’s all I was doing: paying attention to what was causing me any kind of anxiety or stress, and then giving it the time + attention it needed to feel better. If you attempt something similar, I hope you’ll come at it the same way. <3

Reflections on a Year of Slow Living Experiments posted first on http://ift.tt/2lnwIdQ

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Reflections on a Year of Slow Living Experiments

Well, my friends, I can hardly believe we are days into the new year—and 2017 is behind us. Part of me wanted to let the date change without putting much energy into reminiscing and thinking about all that the year held for me. But I think that’s simply a combination of knowing it will always be the year I remember losing the girls + feeling excited for a fresh start. I can’t predict what 2018 will hold, of course, and I don’t like to put pressure on new calendar years and new beginnings. In saying that, I can’t deny that I’m ready to leave my sadness behind in 2017, and continue to move forward in general. Because even with all the sadness, I do feel as though I made some big steps forward last year—particularly when it came to my mental health.

It’s been interesting to look back at my first post from 2017 when I announced I was going to complete a year of slow living experiments. People still ask why I decided to start those experiments, and the only answer I can come up with is because I felt as though I genuinely needed to. My anxiety was at about a low-to-medium level, compared to what it would later climb to in March and April. But it was high enough then that I knew I couldn’t handle all the other messaging that filled my feeds before that new year had even begun. You know, the ones about how to be bigger (or skinnier), better, faster, stronger and richer. I couldn’t stand to read those messages, because I had enough to be anxious about. So, I decided to opt out of it all and simply slow down, instead.

I didn’t have a plan, before I got started. Instead, I had a general list of the areas in my life that I might consider slowing down and being more intentional about. Before the beginning of each new month, I checked in with myself + the list and considered which area of my life needed the most attention. And then I wrote out a list of intentions—not hard goals I had to stick to, but intentions for things I wanted in my life—and got started.

Things didn’t always go as planned. As an example, my plan was to complete 12 slow living experiments—one every month—but life (and anxiety and grief) took me down a couple unexpected paths, so I decided to opt out yet again. And that felt better. Since I had created this whole experiment for myself, I was allowed to change the rules, or simply opt out. So, that’s exactly what I did for the month of June after the girls died, and again in September when I decided my only intention was to spend 30 minutes outside each day. That’s what I could handle, so that’s what I did. As a result, I (mostly) completed 10 slow living experiments in 2017—and I would like to share some reflections on them all, in the event that it might help you plan for something similar.

Experiment #1: Slow Mornings

wake up naturally

make the bed

eat breakfast

enjoy my coffee

read a book (audiobooks work too)

I always knew I was going to start with the slow morning experiment—I just didn’t know it would end up being one of the most important experiments I would do all year. My list of intentions was simple enough. Each day, I woke up naturally (without an alarm clock), turned on an audiobook, made coffee and breakfast, and just relaxed a little bit before diving into work. It was so simple, but it was also such a treat. January was the month I finished the first draft of The Year of Less and it was a complete blur. I holed myself up in an Airbnb in downtown Squamish and was basically in isolation for five weeks, aside from going snowshoeing with Krystal once and having an old friend from high school over once too (and that wasn’t even until after I submitted the book). All I did was work—and enjoy my slow mornings. I’m happy to say this is something I’ve kept up with ever since, including making my bed every day, which was something I didn’t do often before. It feels good to start each day at a slower pace rather than rush into things, and it feels really good to crawl into a fresh-looking bed every night. Oh, and I read 5 books that month, which prompted a year where I read a lot more. :)

Experiment #2: Slow Money

set new financial goals for 2017

track my spending / make sure it aligns with new goals

change my budgeting strategy

change my investing strategy

analyze / find ways to reduce business expenses

bonus: file my taxes (or at least input all the numbers)

The idea behind the slow money experiment wasn’t so much that I would slow my money down (what does that even mean!?), but that I would do one big check-in with my finances overall. The intention was to simply make sure I was happy with how things were going and shift anything that felt like it needed a change. In February, I crossed most of these things off the list! But, as it often goes, things changed as time went on. For starters, I did NOT run a lean business. In 2016, my business expenses added up to exactly $14,000 and I wanted to attempt to cut that in half. Instead, I ended up spending $17,000 in 2017. This wasn’t a surprise, though. I track my business finances (invoices, payments, expenses, etc.) every month in FreshBooks, so I always know how things are adding up. There are only two financial decisions I regret (costing me about $2,300). Otherwise, it was all intentional (vs. impulsive) and I feel good about my final numbers. I’m just aware now that it will likely be impossible to ever spend less than $14,000 on my business. The one money move I’m extremely happy I made was the decision to start investing regularly. In an attempt to adopt an abundance mindset, I setup a weekly automatic deposit into my Wealthsimple account and have kept that going all year! (Though I did decrease the amount in the summer, when I wasn’t earning much.) Nearly one year later, I’ve learned I won’t run out of money—and that was a lesson I really needed.

Experiment #3: Slow Move

go through all of my belongings again / only pack what I want to keep

sell / donate everything I don’t want to bring with me

make a list of things I think I want to buy (like a standing desk)

settle into my new home, before actually buying anything

reach out and make plans with new friends :)

March was a tough month for me, personally (you might have guessed that if you read this post), but it finished on a high note when I moved to Squamish. At the beginning, I was definitely living small, having no couch or coffee table or desk or basically anything in my living space. But in June, I bought a couch. At the end of the summer, I pieced together a DIY standup desk (for about $450 vs. the $600-$1,200 you’d pay in stores). And I even commissioned my friend Amanda Sandlin to do a custom painting for me. I still don’t have a coffee table, but it’s not a priority right now (saving for my trip to the UK is). It’s taken almost a year but I really do feel at home here—not because of the stuff, but because of the life I’ve built and the friends I’ve made. For the first time in years, I’m not wondering where I can move to next. I just want to be here, and that feels really good.

Experiment #4: Slow Breathing

have slow mornings

do yoga 10x (short practices are fine)

meditate for 7 days in a row

listen to audiobooks/podcasts on this subject

go floating at the end of the month

At the beginning of April, I sat down to write a post about how I was going to do the slow work experiment next, but I couldn’t finish it. It felt impossible to string words into sentences and sentences into paragraphs about things that didn’t actually matter to me then. All I could think about was news I had received on March 28th that shot my anxiety up higher than I knew it could go. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t write or do any kind of work. Some days, the elephant on my chest was so heavy that I couldn’t even breathe. So, I decided to do the slow breathing experiment instead. Only I didn’t end up crossing much off this list. Instead, I published that post then read all the comments that poured in, and took all of your suggestions to heart—particularly the ones that asked if I’d ever considered talking to someone about this stuff. I had thought about it, but I had never taken action on those thoughts. Your comments helped me get the courage to. A few hours later, with the help of my friend Clare, I crafted an email to a therapist. She called me shortly after, and I started seeing her the very next day. I’ve written about this enough times now, I think, but want to make sure I say it again for anyone who is considering doing the same: therapy is the best investment I’ve ever made. It definitely changed—and saved—my life. And I will always be grateful I started it in April, because things got so much tougher in May.

Experiment #5: Slow Technology

do a 30-day social media detox (April 29th – May 28th)

figure out the role I want social media to play in my life

check / reply to email less often (also experiment with not checking on my phone)

figure out the role I want technology to play in my life (phone, computers, TV, etc.)

read from a book every day

With how much anxiety I was experiencing, May was the best month for me to take a step back from social media and attempt the slow technology experiment. And I know I’m not the only one who felt like opting out from it altogether this year. But I decided to log off all social media for a month and think about how I could have a better experience with it when I went back—because I didn’t actually want to quit it altogether, I just didn’t want it to always feel so negative. Like any social media detox, it came with the realization that I was addicted to my phone and I knew I wanted to have a healthier relationship with it too. But I ended up quitting early and going back online after Molly died (May 22nd) so I could share the news and also support my family while they shared it too. I don’t regret that decision. Because of the detox, I have kept Twitter off my phone all year, and even deleted the email app from it (until recently because the book launch has required that I be a little more connected). So, I do feel a lot better about how (much less) I use my phone now. I’m not even that great at replying to text messages anymore! The most important lesson I took away from that experiment was that, when it comes to social media (and technology as a whole), you’re allowed to create your own rules on how to use it. In fact, you should. I am continuing to do this, and made another big decision I’ll share with you later this month.

June – No Experiment

After both dogs died (Lexie on May 31st), I decided not to force myself to do a slow living experiment. Instead, I spent the first week of June in Victoria, then flew to Minneapolis to see friends, and drove all the way back from there with a friend + his dog. It was exactly what I needed.

Experiment #6: Slow Food

eat mostly* home-cooked meals

*eat out max. once/week at restaurants that use locally-sourced ingredients

swap out some ingredients for stuff that can be sourced in Squamish or BC

switch back to a vegetarian diet

eat slowly :)

After dealing with some of my grief, and then coming home from a two-week road trip throughout the US, it was obvious that my next slow living experiment should involve taking care of myself—and I decided to do that through the slow food experiment. Aside from slow mornings, this was the easiest experiment to complete. I loved walking to the farmer’s market every Saturday, buying local produce + eggs, cooking my meals, and only eating out at Fergie’s once a week. It felt really good to be at home, spend time in the kitchen and fuel my body. So, this one was easy. I even had a little fun and shared pictures of my simple kitchen + minimalist pantry. (I will say though that the contents of my pantry has basically quadrupled, as I’ve been cooking and baking more!)

Experiment #7: Slow Consumption!? Sure, let’s go with that. ;)

complete a 30-day shopping ban (August 3rd – September 1st)

do a small declutter/purge + take inventory of some of my stuff

organize my digital life (inbox, blog post drafts folder, files/folders, pictures, etc.)

do some values + goal-setting exercises

get back into alignment with myself :)

The slow food experiment was a huge success, and taking care of myself in one area of my life helped me realize I had to do it in another. See, grief has this way of causing you to shutdown a little. Maybe not completely. But you start to let things go, including some of the control you had. For the first couple of months after losing the girls, I found I was a little more impulsive in most areas of my life—but specifically with my spending. I wasn’t blowing hundreds of dollars or anything. I simply wasn’t being intentional, and that can eventually add up to a lot of wasted money. So, I decided to do a 30-day shopping ban. Not shopping for a month was easy, though I did make two purchases so I could complete projects I had started: some fabric to repair a blanket, and the supplies to finally make a top for my DIY standup desk. But not shopping for anything I didn’t need was easy, and it helped me stop thinking short-term and start dreaming about what I wanted again. The result: I realized I was done with doing small trips, and wanted to finally save and go on a big trip to the UK in 2018! On top of not shopping, I also decluttered my home + my online life, and got to the beginning of September feeling ready for a fresh start.

September – 30 Days in Nature

For this fresh start, I knew the one thing I needed more than anything else was to spend more time outdoors again. I documented this slow living experiment on my Instagram account.

Experiment #8: Slow Work

track how many hours I work every day (and how many per project)

set realistic expectations of what I can get done (with timelines)

explore other creative outlets (this could be fun – stay tuned!)

share how I slowly grew my blog (incl. dollars + blog stats)

share plans for what’s next :)

By October, I finally felt like I had gotten back into alignment with myself. The last piece of the puzzle was to find my focus with work again. Unlike April, when I would have tried to force myself to complete the slow work experiment (and really needed to focus on my mental health instead), I actually felt ready—and excited—to do it in October. And it’s not surprising to me that I got to the end feeling like it was another successful experiment, because that’s often what happens when you listen to your body and intuition, and focus on the thing that needs your attention. Anyway, I tracked my hours, and not only figured out how much I was working but also how long it would realistically take me to get projects done (which helped me make some executive decisions about which projects/ideas to let go of). I also started to dream big again and ask myself what I really wanted. I don’t have all the answers, but I know that 2018 will include more in-person, face-to-face time with this community, rather than just hanging out online. I also know I’m going to let go of one social media platform (you might notice I removed it from the top nav bar on the website), and spend more time on the one I enjoy the most. These two things feel really good to me. While my business is going to look different, in terms of how I make my money, all the decisions I’ve made were further examples of how I have grown this blog slowly (and my own way). (And speaking of how I make money, I also shared what it’s like to budget with extremely irregular income—including real numbers! For those who are curious, my total income for 2017 was around $76,000.)

Experiment #9: Slow Travel

spend a week in NYC (Nov 3-10)

spend a week in Toronto (Nov 11-18)

spend a week at home (Nov 1-2, 19-23)

spend a week or so in Victoria (Nov 24-Dec 3?)

enjoy downtime in every city :)

For November, I almost had no choice but to do the slow travel experiment—because I was gone for most of the month! In that post, I wrote about why I set travel intentions vs. make travel plans. I also wrote about how every good trip makes you appreciate home. <3

Experiment #10: Slow Evenings

no work / social media after 7pm

after work, write down the next day’s schedule / to-do list

no TV / phone after 8pm (and definitely not in bed)

read a book every night (probably in the bathtub)

create / practice / share my new bedtime routine

Finally, there’s one experiment I haven’t updated you on yet, and that’s the slow evening experiment. Even though I didn’t have a plan for which order I would do all of these experiments in, I had a feeling it would come full circle with this one—and I was right. Unfortunately, it didn’t really go as planned. I had a feeling it might not, because I knew how much work I had to do (and how stressed I was) in December. But I wanted to try it anyway, and can now share some of the results.

I will start by saying that while I had the freedom to work slowly for most of the rest of the year, that didn’t feel like an option in December. With my first book launch just weeks away, there was a lot of work that needed to be done. So the to-do list was long, and any extra task that was added to it seemed to double my anxiety. Then I started hearing that Amazon was going to ship it 5 weeks early and my anxiety doubled (or maybe quadrupled) yet again. In the process of trying to get that mistake corrected, I had a full-blown meltdown that I had to quite literally pick myself up off the floor from. (Note that I laughed at myself too, during this particular meltdown. But they are always eye-opening, aren’t they?)

The biggest problem was that I didn’t sleep much, in the first half of the month. I did have slow evenings, long baths, read from a book, etc. And I could fall asleep easily. But then I would wake up between 3:30-4:30am each morning and that was it—I was just up for the day (thank you, anxiety). I managed to get through the week, but noted that the two big meltdowns I had both happened on Friday mornings—likely because I was completely exhausted and my body was just shutting down by then. After a few conversations about this with close friends, I knew I didn’t want to remember the book launch as something that I hated. I was ok with it being busy, but I also wanted to look back and have some good memories from it. With that, I shifted my strategy and decided to cut back on a lot of commitments (and pressures I’d put on myself) and do things slowly. That had been working for me all year, and I have to believe it will work for me now and in the future.

As for the rest, I had good intentions with the no work after 7pm and no phone/TV after 8pm thing, in the beginning. But that also slipped away, as time passed and life changed. When there are only so many hours in a day, sometimes you can’t log off at 7pm, because it means the work really won’t get done. And when your best friend is going through a tough time, you don’t say, “sorry, I can’t talk after 8pm”. I have learned to create boundaries for myself and my relationships, but that will never be one of them. Now, even though it wasn’t a very successful experiment, the one thing I will consider a success is that I think about this every evening now. Just yesterday, I thought about how it was time to shut down my computer and have a bath and read a book. And the experiment is over. I don’t have to do this, but I now have the habit of at least thinking about it—and awareness is often what prompts change. So, overall, I am glad I at least attempted to do this experiment, and I think it’s one I’ll be considering how to bring forward in my future. Maybe after the book launches, haha.

So, that’s it! My year of slow living experiments is complete. And I hope it’s been obvious to anyone reading this, or anyone who was following along all year, but the goal was never to complete each experiment perfectly or cross anything off a list. It was simply to slow down, check-in with myself and consider which area of my life might need a little more attention. At the end of the day, that’s all I was doing: paying attention to what was causing me any kind of anxiety or stress, and then giving it the time + attention it needed to feel better. If you attempt something similar, I hope you’ll come at it the same way. <3

Reflections on a Year of Slow Living Experiments posted first on http://ift.tt/2lnwIdQ