#Like I literally deep-cleaned my entire room and reorganized everything thinking that after that I wouldn't have to do much for the rest of

[pronounrespector]

[collectivefandomstuff]

Title: A Hindering Hand Type: Fanfic, crossposted to AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270097) Status: Complete. Chapter: 1/1. Fandom: DC/Batman Rating: T Warnings: Language. Beta: No beta we die like Jason Todd and also Damian Pairings: None. Word Count: 4k+ Genre: Humour/Comedy Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne. Summary: When Dick is refused the opportunity to coddle Damian, he decides to lavish his other siblings with his questionably helpful assistance. They are palpably ungrateful.

Excerpt: Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed him. 

”You have got to be kidding me.”

Jason stared at what used to be his perfectly clean kitchen; now a hollowed out shell of its former self. Cabinet doors were thrown open, his carefully organised supplies haphazardly shuffled around. Every single counter and parts of the floor was covered in flour, cocoa, and something wet and heretofore unidentified. He didn’t even want to look closer at the stove or the sink, both filled with sticky, clearly misused, pots and pans. There was a smell hanging in the air, the same one that had set his inner alarm bells off when he entered the apartment: burnt sugar and something that smelled suspiciously like rotten fruit. Jason took a deep breath to stop himself from just whipping out his guns and shooting at the mess. It would be cathartic, but ultimately unhelpful. Instead, he fished his phone out of his front pocket and thumbed through his contacts.

He got through two rings before the line opened.

“He got you too?” Tim said on the other end. His tone reminded Jason of Bruce, which was usually a clear indication that Tim was fucking done.

“How can he be this useless?” Jason ground out.

“He was raised by Alfred.”

“So was I. And you.” “Fine. He was spoiled by Bruce.” “uh-huh,” Jason agreed, daring to move into his living room. Thankfully, the carnage hadn’t spread there, though there was an oven pan, placed strategically in the middle of his coffee table. The contains looked like what Jason imagined “dubious food” in Zelda looked like in real life. “I have to stop hanging out with you,” he told Tim. “Why?” “I just made a video game reference in my head.” “Which game?” “Not the point.” “I mean-” Tim began, but before he got any further into arguing why the specific game was “of import” to the discussion -fucking dweeb -Jason cut him off: “I’m going to kill him.” Tim was quiet for a moment. “What did he do exactly?” “Hi Little Wing,” Jason recited from the note that had been stuck underneath his brand new fucking oven pan Dick you bastard that was expensive. “I made you some brownies!” Jason stopped to look closer at the brown sludge that he was pretty sure was stuck to the bottom of his new pan. Martha herself recommended it, Dick goddammit. “I hope they turned out all right! Don’t work too much! D.” There was a pause. “Did they turn out all right?” asked Tim. “No,” Jason gritted his teeth, “No, they did not.” “He’s really on a spree this week.” “Yeah?” Jason muttered absently, poking at the sludge with his gloved finger. It jiggled. Somehow, that made everything so much worse. “Mm,” Tim said, and Jason could hear the tapping of computer keys in the background which meant that he had about 30% of Tim’s attention. “He hit Cass and Steph a few days ago. I guess since Cass is staying there when she’s in town he thought it was two for one. Tried to do their laundry.” “Why haven’t they killed him?” “They’re working on big drug bust. So, no time.” “Well I have time.” Jason groused, already trying to reorganize his plans for the evening. He would need at least three hours to repair the damage Dick had done to his kitchen. “Good,” Tim said, his voice cold, “because so do I.” Jason stopped trying to figure out how many new appliances he would need to buy to focus for a moment. “What did he do to you?” Tim was silent for a long while, then: “He tried to clean my apartment.” Jason shuddered. On one hand, he understood the compulsion. His replacement’s usual idea “clean” was “nothing hazardous is currently growing somewhere”. Still, the only thing worse than Dick trying to clean was Bruce trying to clean. Or cook. Or do laundry. Or vacuum. The Batman he may be, but Jason had never met a more incompetent homemaker in his life. Once, Bruce had tried to dust a little and they had to call the fire department. “And?” He prompted. “He moved everything,” Tim said, deceptively calm, “and threw out at least thirty-four irreplaceable things.” Oh shit. There was a reason why Jason stomped down the urge to clean Tim’s apartment. He once moved an old magazine when the younger boy wasn’t even there and the next day he got received three upset calls and a computer virus for his trouble. “He re-organised my desk. My cases. My clues.” Tim continued to rattle off. “And he didn’t even manage to clean properly. I’m pretty sure he tried to scrub my TV with vinegar.” Jason bit his lip to keep from laughing. Looks like Tim got it worse. “Shut up,” said Tim grouchily. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were laughing at me.” How- Jason’s hand clenched around the phone. “I told you to stop putting cameras in my apartment.” Tim snorted. “So find them and take them down. Think of it as practice,” he said, lilting the word “practice” in the same way Bruce usually did. “You’re such a creeper.” “Says the murderous crime lord.” “At least I’m not a stalker.” “Have you checked your bottom cabinets yet?” Jason stilled at the sudden change of subject. “Why?” “Looks like the re-organising urge lived on.” Oh, he had better fucking not. Jason stepped back into his kitchen and, with the care of someone opening a bomb case, edged open the door to his pots- and pans cabinet. He came face to face with his toaster, nestled between a pasta drainer and three boxes of cereal that he had not owned this morning. It was the sugary shit too. “Son of a-” “I think he put your spatulas in the fridge,” Tim said cheerily. Jason was going to wring his little neck. Right after he had stomped on Dick until the unbridled rage in his chest went away. “This is why I don’t want any contact with this family for-” “You know why he’s doing this right?” Tim queried lightly. Jason frowned. “I don’t keep track of the family gossip, pretender. I have better things to do with my time.” Tim made an offended noise at being called “pretender”. “Fine. Then why don’t you try to make him stop and call me when he’s tried to clean your guns?” Jason rolled his eyes. The dramatics, honestly. Bruce 2.0. “Why is he doing this, Tim?” He asked reluctantly. Tim sniffed. “Damian told Dick that he wasn’t needed at the moment, which was the little brat’s way of trying to get Dick to take some time to de-stress, but obviously Dick took this to mean that Damian has cast him aside and considers him a bad parental figure.” Jason spent a good few seconds rethinking the whole “moving back to Gotham” idea. He could just… leave and never talk to this insane family ever again. It was entirely doable. Just, one little call to Roy and hasta la vista you absolute nutjobs. He sighed. “So we have to talk to the demon child?” He asked tiredly. “Yeah pretty much.” “I still think my first plan was better.” “If you kill Dick, the family will never leave you alone.” That was a surprisingly good point. Dammit. “Can I punch him a little?” “I’d encourage it.” “Hey,” said Jason suspiciously, “just what are you planning to do him exactly?” “Honestly?” Tim replied. “I’m going to send a false tip to the department of Agriculture, fabricate evidence, and make them recall his favourite cereal.” Jesus fucking Christ this family was a pizza bagel of crazy with a sociopath topping.

-

It took them a while to track down Robin during patrol, and when they managed to find him they were met with immediate resistance. Which, taking into consideration who they were, wasn’t all that surprising. “Calm down.” Red Hood said placatingly while he jumped out of range from Robin’s swords. “We just wanted to talk to you about N-” He dodged a batarang that was clearly aimed at his throat. Add psychopath topping to that pizza bagel. “Would you knock it off,” Red Robin snarled, spinning out of the way when Robin spun to aim a kick at his stomach. Hood seized the opportunity and darted in to restrain the tiny beast that, let’s be real, was absolute proof that Bruce should not be allowed to procreate. Robin thrashed in his hold for a good three minutes before he finally settled down, glaring murderously at Red. “What do you want?” Robin spat. Even when Hood could feel him literally vibrating with supressed rage, he still kept perfect syntax. No abbreviations here. Little freak. “We need you to call N,” Red said. He looked a little ruffled and more than a little miffed. “I will do no such thing,” Robin sniffed. “Think again,” Hood said in his ear, letting his voice drop into a menacing tone. “Look,” Red Robin said. His hair was sticking up at the back after the struggle and he looked real fed up with this. Hood could relate. “N is running himself ragged trying to prove he’s a good parent or something and you need to make him quit before he injures himself.” Robin stilled. “What would Grayson be doing that would cause him such stress?” “He’s cooking,” Hood drawled. “And cleaning,” Red added. Robin’s whole body tensed. “I will take care of it.” He declared imperiously. Hood looked at Red, who shrugged. Yeah, good enough, I guess.

-

It was not good enough, he guessed, Jason realised as he took in what used to be his living room, but was now a cut out of a living room no one would ever willingly ”live” in from Garishly Tasteless Designs Magazine. He had his phone up and dialling before his eyes had even swept up the full length of the dirt-yellow curtains. It took a while to get the full effect of them, because he kept getting distracted by the frills and the suspiciously Nightwing-esque pattern. “Yeah?” Tim answered on the other end of the line. His voice said he was knee deep in something and wasn’t really paying attention. Probably his revenge plan, which Jason was seeing in a whole new light right now. “He redecorated.” Jason’s voice was so low it was almost a growl. There was a pause. “It didn’t stop?” Tim sounded much more alert and aware this time. “No it did I just went out and bought this lime green couch myself from Blind, Bath and Beyond,” Jason snapped. He heard Tim groan into the receiver. “But we even talked to Damian,” his replacement whined. Like he had anything to complain about. His living room didn’t have- was that a fucking Billy the Bass? Jason was going to shove his guns so far- “I’m calling the brat,” Jason ground out before hanging up and redialling. Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed grimly. “He- you must be mistaken.” “Look, kid, there aren’t a lot of things I know, what with my not completing my formal education and all, but if there is one thing I will never unlearn it’s how to spot Dick Grayson’s fucking taste in fabrics.” “I see.” No, you little shit. You don’t see. Jason was the one who was cursed with seeing this absolute monstrosity of a- was that crystal?! “You said you were handling it,” Jason reminded him, firmly putting his back to the living room. Looking at it was bad for his blood pressure. “I do not understand.” Damian said seriously. “I specifically told Grayson to stop bothering you and go back to Blüdhaven where he could be of use.” Oh. Oh Damian. Jason resisted the urge to smack the phone into his face. Sometimes Damian’s age and social inexperience really shone through. Jason took a deep breath to keep from screaming. “Listen, Damian.” Jason said carefully. “Dick is feeling a little neglected right now, and what he needs, what we asked you to do, was to start hanging out with him again.” “-tt-” Damian was probably rolling his eyes. Jason could have Tim check later, he was sure the little creep had cameras in every building in the city. “That is preposterous!” “No,” Jason said dangerously, “it’s not. So now would you just call him and tell him you need help with your homework or something?” It was truly a testament to Jason’s level of desperation that he was willing to be this nice and patient. “Grayson needs to rest-” “Just FUCKING CALL HIM!!” Ok, so there was a limit to that patience. Oh well, he was only human. Damian, however, apparently thought that this was one indignity too far because the call disconnected. Jason glanced behind him and immediately regretted it. Porcelain figurines. Oh, how he missed the days when he was a big-name villain, and the only thing Dick did was fight him. In the corner, a cuckoo clock struck seven and a tiny robin popped out and chirped at him. Jason’s vision blurred with sickly green for a moment. Yeah, he was staying in a safe house tonight.

-

It took for days of no progress and Tim having his entire coffee-stash replaced with decaf (“cheap decaf, Jason. Low-level, buy in bulk decaf.”) before they threw in the towel and went to the manor. The estate looked as menacing to him now as it had when Jason first saw it as a little kid from Crime Alley. It probably always would, no matter how many times he was back. If Tim was feeling apprehensive, it didn’t show. He just looked grumpy, like a particularly displeased cat. His replacement rapped his knuckles on the door and stepped back to cross his arms, frowning. He looked very intimidating. Like a squirrel with an anger management problem. The door swung open to reveal Steph, dressed in a t-shirt that Jason was pretty sure wasn’t supposed to be a splotchy pale blue. Her jeans looked new. “He’s not here,” Steph told them in a biting tone. “Who?” Tim asked. “Dick. Though for the record we have to come up with a new name for him because ‘Dick’ is going to be real ironic soon.” And whoa, Steph did know how to look properly intimidating. “What’d he do?” Jason asked her. Stephanie stepped back to let them inside. “There was an incident with a waffle iron,” she said icily. “He tried to cook?” Tim guessed, taking off his shoes. “He tried to laminate.” Steph corrected. Tim grimaced. “Is Damian here?” Steph snorted. “Damian is useless. We need to strike back.” She lowered her voice, her eyes cold. “And strike hard.” Damn, if this continued, Dick wouldn’t even be allowed back into Gotham. Actually, yeah he would. Only Batman could bar people from entering Gotham, apparently. Because Bruce was only one with any rights around here, that fucking- He was getting off subject. Also, not paying attention. “-alking to Dick,” Tim was saying, “trying to talk to him is a good way to make this worse.” “I wasn’t suggesting we talk to him.” Steph said, cracking her knuckles. Tim looked unimpressed, which frankly impressed Jason a little. Stephanie was scary. Not Batman scary but- Hang on. “Hang on,” Jason said, holding his hand up for emphasis, “Batman is the only one who can bar someone from coming to Gotham.” “What the hell is your point, zombie boy?” Steph asked, crossing her arms. “We don’t need to redirect Dickies attention back to Damian. We just need to redirect it. To someone.” Jason grinned at them and it probably only looked about 30% insane. “Someone with the power to stop him.” Understanding dawned on Stephanie and Tim’s faces. “Someone who deserves to have his clothes ruined,” Steph whispered reverently. “Someone who has time to redecorate because he doesn’t have a job,” Tim added gleefully, “someone who flounces into board meetings too late and does nothing.” “Exactly.”

-

Tracking down Nightwing turned out to be the easiest thing they’d had to do so far. He didn’t even try to avoid them. “Hey guys!” N smiled cheerily at them as if he hadn’t spent the last two weeks putting them through some kind of Donna Reed inspired psychological torture. “Nightwing.” Red Robin greeted coldly and, yeah, in costume the replacement could totally pull off intimidating. “Whoa, what’s with the murder faces?” Nightwing said, stepping off the ledge he’d been standing on and walking closer. Hood crossed his arms. “You’ve been busy lately,” he commented and even the helmet couldn’t filter away the unvoiced insult at the end. “I guess?” N replied. “Did you like the brownies?” Hood tried to remember that they weren’t here to beat him senseless. Based on Spoiler’s clenched fists it seemed like he wasn’t the only one struggling with that. “N,” Red Robin said with the calm voice he usually reserved for interrogating suspects, “we appreciate you trying to… help us.” On “help us” Red’s voice broke through the calm and straight into “I’m going to kill you and bury you in store-brand decaf coffee” territory. “But we really are doing fine on our own.” Nightwing pursed his lips. “You are all working so hard-” he started, but Red cut him off. “Yes, and that’s why we appreciate it. But we’re actually worried about someone else, who needs your help a lot more than we do.” Nightwing paused and Hood could almost see the gears in his head whirring. “Who? Damian?” “Not Damian,” Red said, because they all knew it wouldn’t work to say it was Damian, “B.” Nightwing crossed his arms. “You think B needs help?” And here was the fragile part of their plan. Hood cleared his throat. “B,” he said, trying to keep his tone civil, “works himself to the bone and he doesn’t accept help from any of us.” “He has Alfie though,” N argued. “Alfie is busy taking care of Damian, since you’re not helping him as much anymore.” Spoiler rebutted. And damn, blondie, good answer. “We struggle too,” Red said, “but we help each other, right guys?” “Uh-huh,” Spoiler agreed. “Right.” Hood lied, thankful that the helmet veiled his eyeroll. “You guys help each other out,” Nightwing said with obvious disbelief. “You.” “Red is always helping me with cases,” Spoiler said, “and studies and stuff too. And I help him with staying alive and acting like a human.” Red nodded. “And Red and I work together on cases,” Hood said truthfully. “And sometimes Hood makes sure I eat and stuff,” Red added, “and I help him with security.” “They also hang out and play video games and watch nerdy movies,” Spoiler revealed. The little snitch. “Really?” Nightwing said, looking between the three of them. “That’s great!” He shuffled around a little. “So, you guys don’t need me either, huh?” Oh god. Oh dear god it was the voice. The patented Richard Grayson sad-and-feeling-neglected voice. The voice that could inspire shame and guilt in the most hard boiled criminal. At least he was wearing the mask so he couldn’t give them the accompanying puppy eyes. “Well,” Spoiler said and Hood could see her wavering. She didn’t have the years of experience needed to withstand Dick’s manipulation. “But B does!” Tim exclaimed, dragging Spoiler to stand behind him. Good move. “And the little brat too, even though he doesn’t admit it.” Hood added. Nightwing bit his lip. “Look,” Red’s voice was genuine now, “we all really do appreciate it, but B and Dami need your help more. And frankly, the last time I saw B he looked dead on his feet. We’re all good. But he isn’t. He sleeps less than I do.” Maybe that was even true. Huh. Were they doing B a solid here? Wait, no. No they weren’t. It was recommended by Martha, Dick you absolute menace. “Ok, I hear you.” N said solemnly. “I just wanted to help out.” Martha. Think about Martha. “We know,” Red said, patting N on the back. It was really awkward. “Did I tell you B has started eating power bars for dinner?” “Wait, seriously?” Nightwing looked disturbed. “That’s so bad for you.” “Yeah,” Hood said as if he hadn’t watched Red do that at least three dozen times, “he’s really setting a bad example for li’l D, isn’t he?” He thought Red might have done the wave if he could have. Hood certainly wanted to give himself the wave for that stroke of genius. “Okay, I know you guys are manipulating me,” Nightwing told them drily. Shit. “But you have a point.” Oh thank Jesus. N stretched. “Well,” he said, “I’m going to make sure B doesn’t kill himself. And yes, I’ll stop helping you guys.” He shook his head. “You three should really open up more, you know?” They nodded, because at this point they would do anything to make him stop “helping out”. Red cleared his throat. “So, good luck, uhm...” Nightwing grinned. “I’ll stop, but you all have to give me a hug before I leave.” Fuck. N pounced on Red like a jaguar on a gazelle, completely ignoring the scandalised (and very undignified) “meep” Red let out. Hood turned around, ready to make a run for it. “If you leave before a hug I’ll make you dinner next time!” Nightwing called cheerfully, still holding onto Red Robin like he was a life vest. Triple fuck. Hood sighed. The things you do to not have your living room secretly re-decorated.

-

As awful as it was to get cuddled by Nightwing, it was all worth it about a week later, when Tim climbed in through his living room window for their bi-weekly movie night. This week: when the great go bad- The Godfather 3, X-Men: The Last Stand, and Matrix Reloaded and Revolutions. “I see you got rid of the ruffles,” Tim remarked. “You didn’t see that on your stalker cam?” “I’ve been busy watching Bruce lately.” “Oh?” Jason prompted, putting the pizza boxes on the coffee-table. “He tried to call me five times today,” Tim said. He walked over and got two beers out of the fridge. Jason sniggered. “It’s that bad?” “He’s only got one target now. B is about to break.” “Tell me more, tell me more,” Jason said, making himself comfortable on his new -fucking stylish thank you very much -couch. “Like, did he do something to his car?” “I can’t believe you just made a Grease reference, you absolute nerd,” Tim commented flatly. “Musicals are cool,” Jason told him. Because it was true and he would fight anyone who said otherwise. “Was Olivia Newton John your childhood crush or something?” “Who’s to say it wasn’t Travolta?” Tim gave him a deadpan stare. “Because,” he said drily, “unlike Dick, you actually have taste.” Jason mulled that over. “Touché." He shrugged. "Now tell me about B.” Tim looked up from where he was connecting his computer to the TV and grinned sharply. “You want to experience what the Germans call ‘Schadenfreude’?” “Hell yeah I do.” Tim hit a key on his laptop and the Cave flickered into view on Jason’s TV. At least, he thought it was the cave. “Is that?” “He re-decorated the cave.” Tim laughed. It was not a nice laugh. Jason approved. On the screen, Bruce had just entered through the door to the storage area and was making his way to the computer. Trailing after him with a plate of questionable looking sandwiches was Dick. Jason nabbed a beer from the coffee table and leaned back against the couch. “Oh we are so watching this tonight. Sofia can wait.” “I made a compilation of the past week,” Tim said smugly, picking up the other beer and folding himself into Jason’s new armchair. It was beige and, most importantly, neither pea-green nor suede. On screen Bruce collapsed into his new, avant-garde office chair and put his head in his hands while Dick chatted pleasantly in his ear. “You know,” Tim said thoughtfully while Dick re-arranged Bruce’s files, “sometimes I think he’s being purposefully bad at this.” “Why?” “Oh just,” Tim reached for the pizza and Jason handed him the box, “whenever he starts doing this, we all have to interact with each other to make him stop. Like how you and I only started hanging out to begin with because he kept breaking into our safe houses to make ‘breakfast’. Well, that and that time he gave you a haircut in you sleep.” Jason stilled with his beer halfway to his mouth. “He…” Oh god. “That’s totally what he’s doing isn’t it?” Tim looked at him over his slice of pepperoni. “Yeah, probably.” Jason slammed his bear down on the table. “THAT SNEAKY FUCKING BASTARD!” Jason glared at Tim, the proof of Dick's successful manipulation. He didn't even like the replacement. Why the hell was he hanging out with him? Stupid, meddling big brothers who ruin your life. "It's okay," Tim reached over and patted his hand, "I just confirmed that they're taking his cereal off the shelves this week." And yeah, that made it a little better, actually. "I still don't like you." He told Tim. "I know. Wanna watch Bruce find out that Dick redid his wardrobe?" "Yeah ok," Jason grumbled. Maybe, he admitted to himself only, the replacement wasn't all bad. The screen zoomed in on Bruce's expression as he came face to face with a sequined suit. Yeah, Jason thought, taking another sip of beer, not all bad.

[soybeantree]

pairing: johnny x reader

genre/warning: fluff, magic!au

word count: 3k

description: you hated him. his stupid face smiling. his stupid charisma that would always woo the customers - of which you had no doubt was aided by the use of magic. his stupid cousin - that you actually adored and would kill to have him even notice you, but who continuously chose johnny over you for assistance. and most of all you hated how your lungs forgot their one job whenever he was within 5 feet of you.  

a/n: from the essem: rosemary by moonlight universe. not necessary to read that first, but some things may not make complete sense.

"I'd like an iced caramel Frappuccino with low fat milk and a pump of pep. To go." The customer rattles off her order as she approaches the counter, never sparing you a greeting or even a glance. From her clean-cut bob to her khaki shorts and salmon button down, you know exactly how this conversation is going to go.

Contorting your cheeks into your best customer service smile and using your most pleasant tone, you inform her, "I'm sorry ma'am, but any drinks with magical add-ins must be consumed within the cafe."

Now, she glances at you, her wallet poised in her hand as her face falls into what you refer to as the entitled scowl. "Excuse me?"

“Any drinks with magical add-ins must be consumed within the café.” You repeat, despite the fact that you enunciated clearly the first time. To help with any possible confusion, you gesture to the bright golden script at the bottom of the menu which states the same.

The woman scoffs, and you inhale a deep, imperceptible breath. “Why?” Indignation laces the word and colors her cheeks red.

Many reasons. Most of which revolve around negligence and exploitation, but that explanation drags. Reminding yourself that you want this job and have jumped through hoops to get it, you dredge up every ounce of patience in your body. With a smile still in place, you say. “We strive to abide by the standards set forth within the Council’s Magical Charter. I would be more than happy to complete your order, but any drink with magical add-ins must be consumed on property.”

“I-“ You brace yourself for the entitled tirade, but the woman’s face melts into a bewildered smile. A glance over your shoulder reveals the reason. Johnny, your fellow barista, stands behind you, his cheeks pulled back by a swoon worthy grin. 

With a sigh, you step away from the counter and let Johnny work his magic. Quite literally. Johnny, like you, has the skill of enchantment. As a member of the Essem Family, he has had access to training and knowledge all his life. You on the other hand come from a no name family who has one grimoire passed down from generation to generation, and the two-page section on enchantment only works for curing melancholy. 

In moments, Johnny has the woman pacified with an iced caramel Frappuccino with low fat milk and no pump of pep, to go. She sends him another smile before she nearly collides with the door on her way out. After a giggle which Johnny echoes, she is gone, and you’re ready to vomit. 

"Did you add a shot of charm to your coffee this morning?" You ask as you resume your position.

Johnny flashes you a grin while raising a single smug eyebrow. "No, I'm just naturally this charming." You gag as you turn away which elicits a chuckle from him. “What, you don’t think I’m charming?”

“I think you are a talented witch.” You say as you reorganize your station. While leaning over the counter to schmooze the woman, Johnny managed to throw the entire place into disarray. You return the business cards to their holder and the pencils to their cup.

“You really think I’m using magic when I calm irritated customers?” 

A twang in his voice draws your attention back to him. Glancing over your shoulder, your stomach twists. For such a tall man, he can make himself appear so small. His shoulders hunch in as he fiddles with the ties on his apron. The posture throws his long bangs into his eyes, obscuring them from your scrutiny.

The answer to his question is “yes”, but the answer brews from a petty spite which you stoke every time Minseok, the café’s owner and the foremost expert on enchantment magic, chooses him as an assistant over you. The whole reason you strived for a position at the café was to become Minseok’s apprentice, but every day he chooses Johnny to help with his brews. While you enjoy blaming Johnny, you know the favoritism is due to the inclusiveness of the covens. After all, Johnny is Minseok’s cousin. 

“Since when do you care what I think? I thought I was just the hired help.” 

His head snaps up, the ties of his apron forgotten as he gazes into your eyes. The contact cools your spite, and it sours. Your stomach rolls at the discomfort, and you clear your throat and return to your reorganization.  

“Minseok doesn’t hire just anyone to help in the café.”

You know this. You badgered him for a job ever since Johnny told you about his cousin and his café. Minseok had been the sole employee for years after the café’s inception, hiring Johnny only when the café’s popularity grew. Eventually, the work became too much for the two of them, and rather than hire a qualified enchantment witch, Minseok had hired the girl with little-to-no skill who practically lived at the shop.

“Whatever.” You grumble as you throw another pencil into the holder. The force sends the jar spinning. It falls on its side spilling its contents across the counter. With a growl, you reach for the scattered pencils, but Johnny’s long arms reach around you. The pencils disappear into one hand as his other rights the holder before returning the contents. 

You duck out from under Johnny’s unintentional embrace, your cheeks burning. He has to be using his magic. You hold tight to this belief as you breathe to calm your racing heart. 

“Minseok likes having you here. You’re as detail oriented as he is.” Johnny nods to the front and back counters both of which have everything in their place and a place for everything. “I’m pretty certain you’re the only person in the world who understands his organizational method.”

“It’s not that hard. Ingredients are organized first by purchase date and then alphabetical. Supplies are..." You trail off as you catch sight of Johnny’s smirk out of the corner of your eye. “You really expect me not to think you’re using magic when you always seem to know exactly what to say to distract me?”

He shrugs, but his smirk only grows. “There are other reasons, I might know that.” Before you can question him further, the bell above the front door jingles. “Duty calls.” He tips his head to you before disappearing back into the brewing room. 

With a deep breath, you shove the conversation from your mind and rattle off the customary greeting as you turn to face the new customer. 

“Good morning, Y/N. How goes the grind?” You blink a moment as your brain registers that your cousin is here. She misses your confusion as she is too busy chuckling at her pun.

"It’s great. How goes your fruitless endeavor to start a school of magic?"

She scowls which brings a genuine smile to your face. "It's not fruitless. It's slow moving because covens are full of stuck up assholes who refuse to share their knowledge because of what? They're afraid it will diminish their power and their prestige. They need to get their heads out of their asses and think about how much better the world would be if we all worked together and shared our knowledge." 

This tirade is as familiar as the Entitled tirade. "And yet, you always get coffee at an Essem café?" You comment as you punch her order into the register.

"Minseok has the best coffee.” She hands you her card. “Everyone in the city knows that. Everyone in the world probably knows it too."

"But you're supporting the coven with the most stuck up assholes." You return the card to her.

"You're working at the coffee shop."

"But I don't have the same issues with them that you do." Not mostly at least. You would appreciate it if Minseok occasionally asked you back into the brewing room. 

She shrugs. “Did you place that order for here or to go?”

“To go?” You raise a brow. 

“I need it for here.”

“Why?” You stretch the word into two syllables. 

“Because I’m staying here.” Rolling your eyes, you adjust the order. "I'm supposed to be meeting up with Yuri." She explains as she checks her watch. "But, she's late as usual."

Your finger pauses above the register as you gawk at your cousin. "Yuri? As in the hedge-witch of the Stahn Family?"

"Yuri is much more than a hedge witch."

"Okay, whatever,” You hold up your hands, stopping whatever tirade she will surely start. “But she’s a Stahn and this is an Essem cafe?"

"Yes,” she crosses her arm, and there is no stopping this coming tirade. “Why is it so hard to understand what me and the Fantagios are trying to do? We want to create a world where people can see beyond their family covens and share knowledge for the benefit of the world."

Leaning forward, you shorten the distance between you and your cousin. The more heated she becomes the louder she gets. The customers have already started to side eye her, and the last thing you need is for Johnny and, especially, Minseok to hear her. "That's great and all. But your dream is not reality and you agreed to meet up with a Stahn on Essem territory. They're basically mortal enemies. This could end in bloodshed, and I could lose my job because I'm related to you."

"Calm down. Yuri wouldn't have agreed to meet here if she was worried for her safety."

You swallow your rebuttal as you hear the hinges of the brewing room door squeak. Your cousin’s eyes grow to the size of saucers, and you wonder why Minseok is delivering her coffee. He rarely leaves the brewing room, leaving all the deliveries to Johnny.

Minseok extends a mug to your cousin who whimpers a “thank you” as she takes it. She sips. Her cheeks flush, but whether that is due to Minseok or the heat of the coffee only your cousin knows. 

“Is it good?” Minseok’s question raises one of your brows. In the year and a half that you’ve been working for Minseok, you have never heard him ask a customer’s opinion of his work. Pink tinges the tips of his ears, and you have to refrain from pinching yourself. Maybe, this whole day has been a dream.

“It’s delicious.” Your cousin, the queen of social justice tirades, simpers.

The nausea from earlier returns as you suffer through the ensuing conversation. Despite your effort to tune it out, you hear Minseok comment on your cousin’s frequent visits to the café. She explains that you’re her cousin, which you wish she would have left out given what is about to happen, and that he makes the best coffee in the city. His whole ears brighten at the compliment, the red creeping into his cheeks. Surely, a customer is bound to come in soon and end this disgusting display of emotions.

“Y/N can keep you company while you wait.”

 Your name snaps your attention back to the conversation. You blink as you search your brain for the lead into the statement but find nothing. “What?”

 “I was telling Uko,” Your cousin must have introduced herself while you attempted disassociation, “that you can take your break early to wait with her.”

“Oh, I mean sure if you’re okay with that.” The look on Minseok’s face screams that he would be okay with anything that your cousin wanted. 

“Go ahead.” He motions for you to be on your way, and with a slight nod, you head into the brewing room which offers the exit into the main area.

Johnny, busy at a cauldron, eyes you as you walk past him and remove your apron. “Where are you going?”

“I’m taking my break.” You say with a shake of your head as you hang your apron on its hook.

A glance at the clock scrunches up Johnny’s face and puffs out his already large lips. “But, your break’s in an hour?”

“Listen,” you say, turning to face him completely. “I don’t know what I just witnessed out there.” You gesture to the door behind which you are certain the uncomfortable situation is continuing. “But, Minseok said go to break, so I am going to break.”

“What did you witness?” Johnny grabs a mortar and pestle from the counter and adds three pinches to his cauldron. A faint smell of strawberries wafts through the room bringing with it the image of sunlight fields and a gentle breeze. He’s brewing happiness. The ingredient he added was green. Was it an herb? A stone? A mixture of different things? “Y/N?”

“What?” Your mind snaps back to the moment as you remember that Johnny did ask a question. “Is your cousin dating anyone?” You ask rather than answer.

Johnny pauses mid-stir and stares at you. “No.” He draws out the word as he slowly starts to stir the cauldron counter clockwise. “Are you asking for a friend?”

Your eyes narrow at his tone. “No, I’m asking because he’s currently flirting with my cousin, and it’s gross.”

“What?!” His whole face lights up, and he nearly spills the cauldron in his haste to reach the door to the order counter. Sprinting across the room, you reach the door before he does and block it with your body.

“What are you doing?” You pant as your lungs struggle to refill.

“Our family, at least the cool people in our family, have a bet going that Minseok has a wife and two kids in hiding or that he is a celibate monk. I bet that he hasn’t found the right one. Now move, so I can prove I was right and win the bet.” He tries to shove you to the side, but you dig your heels in and refuse to budge. “Come on.” He whines, pulling his bottom lip up into a pout.

“If you want me to move, then you had better use your magic because this is already ridiculous enough.” Fortifying yourself for the oncoming attack, you blink in surprise when Johnny steps back with a shrug.

“I don’t need to. I can ask Minseok about it when he comes back here.” He returns to the cauldron. The potion has turned a putrid shade of green, and Johnny hisses as he tries to fix the problem. 

Staying would provide you valuable knowledge, but Minseok has yet to approve your assistance with the brewing. Staying also means you would witness the next installment of this non-thrilling saga.

Minseok and your cousin are still talking when you exit the brewing room into the main area. They probably haven’t even realized how long you’ve been gone or that their conversation was almost interrupted by an overly inquisitive mind.  

“There’s a free table over there.” You bust into the middle of a conversation about magical vs. non-magical cleaning products. 

“Right.” Your cousin looks to you, then back to Minseok. “It was very nice talking with you.” Her smile stretches across her face. “Maybe we could talk more later.”

Minseok’s smile is more subdued than your cousin’s, but it’s more than what you witness on a typical Tuesday. “Yes, I would like that.”

“Minseok.” Johnny’s head pops out of the brewing room. “I need your help with something.” The stench of rotten fruit leaks through the open door. Minseok mutters a quick apology before disappearing into the brewing room. 

You take a seat at the free table, a smug smile on your face. Your cousin is slower to take her seat, her smile still in place. “Is this really the first time you’ve met Minseok?” You ask when she finally settles in her seat.

“Yes,” she answers though her eyes remain on the brewing room door. “He had already graduated when I started high school. I heard about him from the upperclassmen, but they did not do him justice. He is one fine man.”

“Gross. Can you take your thirsty ass and get out of my place of work?”

“You work in a coffee shop, a place where thirsty people are literally supposed to come.” She quips back, finally glancing at you.

“Please, people don’t come to cafes because they’re thirsty. They come to work, socialize, or take aesthetic photos, and maybe sometimes for caffeine.” 

Before she can formulate a rebuttal, the bell above the front door jingles, and in walks the reason for your cousin’s visit. In your disgust, you had forgotten the threat to your job. Panic races through your veins as your attention shifts to the counter. You wish for all the luck in the world, but luck abandons you. Instead of Johnny coming to greet the new customer, Minseok emerges once again. Habit controls him as he smiles and gives the customary greeting. Only after the last word leaves his mouth does recognition register in his eyes. 

"Yuri." The name is a question and a greeting.

The hedge-witch tilts her head a fraction of a degree in the semblance of a nod. "Minseok." She returns the greeting. You wait - breath held, heart racing - for the coming altercation.

"Kyungsoo's been looking for you. He seems to be worried about something. Is everything okay?"

"You can mind your own damn business." She huffs, her arms crossing over her chest.

You flinch, but Minseok chuckles. "I'm merely a messenger."

"Well messenger, you can tell Kyungsoo - and please make this verbatim - 'I'm fine. Thank you. You can suck my dick'."

Minseok jots the message down on his guest check book, glancing up at Yuri when he finishes. "Anything else?"

"No, that's all."

"Would you like to order anything?"

"Hell, no. I'm here to meet with someone." She glances around the shop. 

You shrink down in your chair, hoping to avoid detection, but your cousin shreds that hope. She waves her hand, drawing both of their attention to you two. Minseok’s eyes rest on you for a moment before shifting to your cousin. 

Yuri returns the wave as she walks to your table. "Hey Uko, sorry I'm late. The potion needed to brew a little longer this morning than I anticipated. I blame this muggy weather. It's messing with everything I make. Is this your cousin?" She nods to you as she plunks into the last of the three chairs at your table. Uko nods her head. "Nice to meet you."

"You might not think it's so nice. She works here."

A hiss slips out as Yuri shakes her head. "Why must the young always be corrupted?"

"Don't worry. I might not have a job for much longer." You sigh as you push yourself out of your chair. "Breaks over. I’ll find out soon enough if I do or not."

"Minseok might be an Essem, but he's not going to fire you because you have a connection to me.” Yuri assures you. “If he does though, let me know and I'll kick his ass." Yuri grins, showing all of her teeth, and you chuckle despite the anxieties waging war in your stomach.

Walking back into the brewing room, you grab your apron and slip it on while keeping your back to Minseok and Johnny. With a deep breath, you turn to face them. Johnny stands over the cauldron which is a deep forest green and simmering pleasantly. You breathe in the smell of strawberries and hope the happiness has rubbed off on Minseok who is standing beside Johnny and whispering instructions. 

With a glance up, Minseok pats Johnny on the shoulder and walks towards you. Lifting leaden feet, you meet him by the door to the ordering counter. 

A volley of words waits on your tongue, but they retreat when Minseok asks, “Can you give this to your cousin?” The “this” he is referring to is a folded scrap of paper.

You take the paper, nodding as you slip it into the back pocket of your jeans. “Sure. What is it?”

A small smile lifts his cheeks, and his voice is soft when he says, “My number.”

You choke on your response, and you can hear Johnny chuckling as you attempt to regain your breath. Minseok offers to get you a drink, but you wave off his concern. “What?” You finally manage to get out.

“I forgot to ask for your cousin’s number when we were talking.” He pouts. “I was hoping you would give her mine and tell her she can text me whenever.” 

“Sure.” You pause before asking, “Should I go back to work now?”

“Of course.” His response is instantaneous and a flood of relief washes through you. “And thank you.” He adds, the corners of his mouth quirking up. With a nod, he returns to Johnny’s side. 

Exiting the brewing room, you shake your head. On the plus side, you still have your job. On the negative side, your cousin might start dating your boss which may not be a complete negative but it definitely isn’t a positive.

[musetotheworld]

Kara/Nia The two of them take Nia's mom's ship to Naltor. It's a two week trip each way. Both of them are crushing hard on the other, but think it's one sided.

“And you’re sure everything will be okay while we’re gone?”

Nia turns to her luggage to hide her frown as she overhears Kara once more asking Alex about how safe Earth will be in their absence. And she gets it, she does. Ever since Supergirl came out, the world has been nearly ending on a regular basis, most often with Kara right there on the front lines holding it back. Being away for a month has to be a scary thought.

But really, does Kara have to sound so…desperate?

Ever since Nia’s dream about returning to Naltor, Kara has wavered between excited to go and desperate to stay, and Nia doesn’t know what to think at this point. She could go alone, but she’s never been off the planet. She’d barely made it out of the country, never mind the solar system. And she doesn’t have any experience with flying spaceships.

So when Kara’d offered to join her, Nia accepted before thinking things through. And she was grateful for Kara’s help, really she was. Without Kara and Brainy, her mom’s old spaceship would probably still be sitting under a tarp with no fuel and an outdated navigational system. Not the most helpful after a warning she could lose her powers if she doesn’t return to Naltor within the year.

No, Nia is grateful Kara is coming along. Her help will be invaluable, especially since Naltor has a yellow sun like Earth. But she wishes she’d thought about the implications a bit more before accepting, particularly the thought of being stuck on a tiny ship with Kara for two weeks at a time.

Usually, Nia would jump at the chance to spend time with Kara, even knowing her crush is likely to make things awkward if she can’t keep it under control. She knows how awkward it can get when a straight woman realizes another woman is crushing on her, and there is not enough room on that ship to deal with that for a month. Even if they do have their own small rooms, Nia will go crazy if she had to stare at the walls for that long. And Kara is claustrophobic, so it’s not like Nia could claim the main areas for herself either.

Unfortunately, it almost seems like Kara’s already figured out about Nia’s crush. The way she keeps asking Alex about whether Earth can afford to be without two superheroes at the same time stopped feeling like reasonable caution a long time ago. Now it just feels like an avoidance technique.

Even Alex has been a little snippy the last few times Kara asked. At least, Nia assumes she has. Each time the question comes up she tries to be somewhere else, but there have been a few pointed looks that are definitely older sister annoyance. And no matter how many times the topic comes up, Kara still hasn’t changed her mind.

“Is this everything?” 

Nia jumps at the question, falling face-first into a pile of her things. Thankfully it’s the bedding and not the food crates, but it’s still not the image she’d like to present right now. How is Kara, literally the least sneaky person Nia’s ever met, able to move that silently?

Kara looks as embarrassed as Nia feels, and it takes longer than it should to untangle herself from the bedding. That might have something to do with Kara’s help, but Nia is resolutely not thinking about it right now.

“Um, yeah, this is everything,” Nia says when she’s finally back on her feet. “My mom had a few old Naltorian robes that I went ahead and packed, but they’re a bit bulky. Other than that it’s just a few outfits for the travel time.”

Hoping her blushes cool quickly, or that Kara at least assumes it’s only about her clumsiness, Nia turns back to the mess she’d made and begins to pack it back up. She really isn’t going to survive a month of this, is she?

***

Kara’s torn between using her super-speed to load the ship and taking her time. On one hand, getting out of her sooner means no more stares from Alex because Kara’s avoiding potentially uncomfortable situations. But on the other, loading faster means alone on the ship with Nia faster, and Kara’s not ready for that one yet.

Rao, why didn’t she think things through before offering to take Nia to Naltor? She’d been doing so well at avoiding any situations where she might blurt out something stupid like “I think you’re really pretty” or something equally disastrous. 

She doesn’t even know if Nia likes women that way! With the vast array of human (or half-human, in Nia’s case) sexualities, Kara’s never been good at figuring that one out. She hadn’t known humans even had limits on their attraction until her senior year when everyone started to talk in hushed voices about the new teacher who happened to be gay.

And now they’ll be together on Nia’s ship for at least a month, which beats Kara’s record for keeping her mouth shut about anything by at least three weeks. On Earth she usually manages to blurt things out to Alex or James, but on the ship it’ll just be her and Nia. What’s she supposed to do then?

In the end it’s a moot point as Alex, J’onn, and Brainy all help with the loading. With five people carrying boxes, it takes no time at all before there’s nothing left but the farewells.

“You’d better keep things safe while we’re gone,” Kara tells Alex as she pulls her sister in for a hug. 

They have a comm unit set up to allow some communication, but no one is entirely sure it’ll last stand up to the distance they’re going. It’s an outdated model for an outdated ship, and even when it was new it hadn’t been top of the line. They think it will reach Naltor, but the possible presence of anomalies along the route make it impossible for even Brainy to guess. Which means it’s entirely possible this will be the last time Kara can talk to her sister for a month.

Alex smiles at the teasing when she pulls back, reaching to squeeze Kara’s arm. “We’ll take care of everything, don’t worry. You just take care of yourselves. And maybe use this opportunity to actually talk about a few things, hm?”

Ducking away from yet another reminder of Alex’s opinion, Kara takes a deep breath and looks for Nia. She’s talking to J’onn and Brainy closer to the ship, and Kara heads over to join them. At least around other people Alex usually doesn’t tease her too much.

The rest of the goodbyes are quick, and before Kara quite knows it they’re out of the atmosphere and heading towards open space to engage the drives. It doesn’t take them too long, and thanks to Brainy’s updates the auto-nav will handle most of the piloting.

As the drive kicks in, Kara sits awkwardly for a moment before pushing up from her seat. “I’m, um, I’m gonna go get settled in.”

It’s not the most graceful of exits, but it works. And with the trip taking two weeks just to make planetfall, things will be a lot more comfortable if they settle in properly. Digging through suitcases for a month does not sound like a good time.

Getting things unpacked takes a few days, but Kara knows she can only stretch the activity for so long. She’s already almost said something three different times while they were preparing their meals together, and it’s been barely half a week. There is no way she’ll get out of this without making a fool of herself, but that doesn’t mean she can’t try.

Maybe if she reorganizes the pantries for a bit…

***

Putting down her book with a sigh, Nia wonders where Kara’s gotten off to now. It’s such a small ship, but somehow Kara’s managed to avoid her practically since they took off. Other than a few meals together, Nia hasn’t seen the other woman. And even at those meals Kara was withdrawn, avoiding conversation and running off as soon as they finished.

She’s debating whether to suck it up and just ask Kara if something’s going on when a loud thump echoes through the ship, followed by a smaller ‘ow.’ In an instant, Nia is up and heading towards the main areas. At least there are only so many places Kara might be.

Her heart is racing when she skids into the kitchen, taking in the sight of Kara sitting on the floor pouting, boxes of their rations scattered around her. Nothing seems broken, on Kara or their food supplies, but beyond that it takes her a moment to understand what she’s seeing.

“So, we found out how long I can store yellow sun radiation,” Kara says as Nia stares, trying to take everything in. “That’ll be useful in case I decide to shift all the pantry boxes at once on the way back.”

Brushing aside the spike of worry that comes from Kara not having powers, Nia edges carefully into the kitchen. “And why were you reorganizing the pantry?”

When Kara just shifts uncomfortably, Nia feels her stomach drop. Oh. Of course it wasn’t just her imagination, and Kara really was avoiding her. She’d tried to keep her crush hidden, but obviously she’d given something away and now Kara is afraid to tell her the attraction isn’t returned. Kara’s too nice like that, sometimes.

Well, Nia won’t be the one to make her feel bad about this. It’s her crush, her problem, and it’s not fair to have Kara spending hours trying to find something to do just to avoid her.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” The way Kara’s head snaps up at her words isn’t the most reassuring, but now that she’s decided to do this, Nia powers on. “I’ve tried to keep things under control and avoid making things awkward, but it’s obvious that it hasn’t worked, so I’m sorry. I’ll try harder, but you don’t have to rearrange the pantry just to avoid me and my silly crush.”

“Wait, you have a crush on me?” 

Nia pales as Kara’s words sink in, and she realizes she’s misread the situation entirely. And managed to give away her secret anyway. That’s such a Kara move…

“We can totally forget everything about this conversation. I’ll just let you get cleaned up in here.” Making a hasty retreat sounds like the best option here, and Nia is almost out the door when she hears Kara scramble to her feet.

“But I have a crush on you!”

Silence. Nia freezes in the doorway, and Kara doesn’t say another word behind her. For long moments, Nia doesn’t know if words exist anymore. Let alone the right words.

When her brain kicks back in, Nia turns slowly back to Kara. She’s strangely thankful to see Kara looks as flustered as she does. At least she’s not alone. In more ways than one, she realizes.

“So, I have a crush on you, and you have a crush on me?” Kara’s nod gives Nia the courage to continue. “And we were both trying to hide our crushes?” Another nod. “And that’s why you’ve been avoiding me, not because you realized I have a crush on you and it made you uncomfortable.”

“I wish I’d realized you had a crush on me, it’s been so boring trying to find things I can do on my own. There are only so many ways you can organize your stuff when you’re on bare essentials.” Kara’s embarrassment is fading, and Nia swallows hard when she steps closer. “But now we know.”

“Now we know,” Nia echoes, waiting to see what Kara will do next.

Maybe being stuck on this ship for two weeks won’t be such a bad thing after all.

[moon-yeongjun]

We’re not saviors if we can’t save our brothers || Moon Bros

Summary: This is all the way back in November when Jun first receives the call from Tae that their father is dying. 

TW: panic attack, talk of death, cancer

@moon-yeongtae

TAE:

If Tae never had to look at roasted seaweed packages again in his whole entire life, it would still be far too soon. His Appa had found an outlet selling them in bulk and he’d decided to buy them all up and turn them for a profit. Now they were the MoonLight Special and Tae had to painstakingly stack them up on one of their end displays every couple of hours. Because his Appa had been right. People loved seaweed. 

It was at times like these that he wished he was doing literally anything else. He would even rather be doing homework or sitting in detention or feeding the fucking chickens and he hated that chore. Those fucking chickens were just so gross and dirty. He always stepped in their shit and they would run around his feet and get in his way like they had a death wish. Stupid birds. 

Even if they were kind of cute. 

Tae shot a glare over at the back of his Appa’s head as the man helped bag groceries for a customer. So dumb. Why did he have to work here every stupid day? His Appa even had his Eomma here today cashiering. It was like this Market /was/ the family. His Appa cared about it more than he cared about them. 

Tae was hit by an overwhelming urge to throw all of the seaweed onto the floor and go stomping out of the store. He didn’t even know where he wanted to go. Just anywhere but here. 

Maybe he would go see Nemo. 

Well, maybe he would text Nemo and ask if he could see him. It wasn’t like he could just go marching into the hollow and knock on Nemo’s door. He was way too big for that and also he didn’t know where it was. 

Nemo would make him feel better, though. He always did. Because Nemo was a cool breeze on a summer day. He was bright and bubbly whenever the fog threatened to settle around the day. Tae had gotten used to having Nemo around--used to his warm presence pressing up against his own anger and sadness and making them feel less real. Or at least further away. 

Tae stacked the seaweed and listened to the hum of the refrigeration unit a couple aisles down. The seconds stretched out in front of him, thick and goopy like molasses, and he trudged through, huffing as he went. 

Only two more hours and he could go ho—

“Yeong-tae!”

His Eomma’s voice sliced through the lazy atmosphere like sharp steel and when Tae looked up, blackness started to creep in around the edges of his vision. 

It was only the sound of his Eomma’s voice, yelling again, that reminded him to breathe while his world was crumbling beneath his feet. 

“Call an ambulance!” 

But Tae couldn’t do anything. He was frozen. Stuck. He tried to move his hand to his pocket--he thought he had--but when he tried to grip his phone, he realized his hands were still full of seaweed and his Appa was still lying on the floor, not moving. He didn’t even look like he was breathing. 

Appa is feeling a little sick right now, but everything will be okay. 

Are you going to tell Jun? Is Jun coming home?

No, Tae. Jun is busy with his studying. We shouldn’t bother him with this. Appa is alive and breathing and he’s going to be fine. 

Okay, Eomma.

Breathing.

“Hey. Hey kid, are you okay? Hey.” 

Tae was aware of something shaking him--a gentle hand on his shoulder. When he looked up (how had he gotten on the floor?) a woman was looking down at him, her brow furrowed in concern, and she held a phone to her ear. 

“Yes, I need an ambulance to Moon Market. A man has collapsed.” A pause. “No, I don’t know him. His wife is with him. I don’t know if he’s breathing.” 

It was suddenly too hot. Beads of sweat rolled down Tae’s forehead and into his eyes, stinging. He needed to get out of here. He needed to move. Why couldn’t he move? God, if his legs would just move he could run and run and maybe he could run fast enough and turn the world backward on its axis and maybe this would’ve never happened. Maybe his Appa would be yelling at him to stack the seaweed better and he would be grumbling and oh god were those sirens? 

Just like that, Tae’s body remembered how to move. He also remembered Jun. He remembered how Jun didn’t know Appa wasn’t feeling well and maybe this sickness was worse than his Eomma had said. Maybe it was really bad. Maybe their Appa was—

Tae shot up like a rocket and ran for the back office, nearly tripping on scattered seaweed. His fingers fumbled in his pocket for his phone as he ran. 

Jun. Jun. Jun. 

Each thud of his heart. 

Each slap of his feet. 

His fingers found the contact right before he slammed the office door shut and he listened to the ring. It drilled into his panicked brain and he collapsed into his Appa’s chair, his legs shaking and his chest heaving. 

“Answer the phone, Jun,” he begged. “Please, God, let him answer the phone.” 

 JUN:

Jun was working

This was not surprising to anyone, least of all to Jun himself, whose last vacation had been an extended weekend home to Swynlake through Easter Monday roughly seven months ago, during which he still technically had worked---helping Eomma with the Easter Dinner, working with Abeoji to put down a fresh layer of mulch over the garden, and weeding around the tomatoes and strawberries from 5 in the morning to well past noon. Working with his hands in this way had nevertheless been a break for Jun’s brain, if nothing else. It was his brain he used here in the pediatric ward and his brain that only shut off when he was asleep, and occasionally between the hours of midnight and 3 in the morning, when he logged onto Overlands and decimated the enemy army with his biotic rifle. 

But right now it was 4pm and Jun was supposed to work until 11pm tonight after which he needed to pick up food for Tiffany before she began the night shift. They were scheduled for a dinner date in the cafe on the first floor of the hospital. He would get home around 11:45 p.m., where he would probably pass out, since he was scheduled to work from 8 to 8 tomorrow. 

Jun kept this calendar in his mind at all times. If it was not in the forefront, it was in the back, as he reviewed blood tests and reorganized this charts and bounced from room to room—

This schedule did not account for a 4pm call from his dongsaeng. 

He’d been on the way to a patient’s room. He was fifteen minutes behind all his appointments, which he knew was quite annoying. But when the phone rang with his special Tae ringtone, he’d nearly smacked right into a bathroom door as it opened. 

Tae hadn’t called him from his phone in...

Jun couldn’t remember. Ever? Possibly ever? Ah, and that meant whatever it was, it was not good. A thousand horrible possibilities flashed through his brain as he ducked into an empty room at the hospital: Tae having been arrested for some public disturbance and needing bail money, Tae having hijacked a car and driven it into Atlantis Lake and needing money for the damage, Tae stranded in Bristol needing Jun to wire him money— 

“Tae-yah,” he answered the phone in a rush. “Agh, I’m in the middle of a shift, what did you do now?” 

 TAE:

 The phone rang and Tae was trapped. 

He was trapped in this sort of space where nothing was happening yet everything was going wrong around him. It was like he was pushing and pushing to do something and the brrrng of the phone held him back. It laughed at him and told him how useless he was--how utterly useless. And Tae knew it was right. That incessant ringing knew his darkest secret. He was helpless. There was nothing he could do to make any of this right. 

He couldn’t fix his Appa. 

He couldn’t make hyung answer the phone. 

He couldn’t—

Jun’s voice came over the line, low and rushed, and all of the breath in Tae’s lungs was pushed out in a shaking sob. When had he started crying? 

“Hyungie.” 

It was more of a whine than anything really. He sounded so small and scared. He was so small and scared. “Hyungie, help. I don’t know what to do.” 

 Jun:

Hyungie.

Before Jun could say anything else, his brother’s breath hitched across the line. And as easily as that, Jun felt himself time-travel— leap back years and bridge the distance, so it was himself and Tae in the front yard, Jun holding a sobbing Tae to him as he gently cleaned dirt off his scraped knee. It was the first day of school, Tae’s tears dribbling down his cheeks, clinging to Jun’s trousers. It was Jun leaving for Oxford and Tae refusing to talk to him until the train pulled in and Jun took the first step toward it. Hyungie, he’d cried out to him. Hyungie, wait! 

The letters on the chart in Jun’s hand all blurred together. The hospital murmur bled into cold static. 

He couldn’t hear anything but his brother. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Tae-yah, what’s going on—” Jun’s eyes darted toward the door he’d left ajar. He reached for it, pulling it shut. “Deep breaths, yeah? Deep breaths for me. Can you tell me if you’re okay?” 

Please tell me that you’re okay. And Eomma, and Appa, and Sky and Star and Sunny… The pager at his waist went off, but Jun ignored it.

 TAE:

 Now Jun sounded worried and Tae panicked even more. Jun wasn’t supposed to be worried. Jun was supposed to know what to do all the time. Jun was his rock--his constant--and he never wavered, but his voice went cold and calculated which meant he was scared. Jun was scared just like Tae. 

“I’m—” he gasped into the receiver. “It’s--we called the ambulance and I dropped all the seaweed, hyungie. I was supposed to be organizing it. Appa said organize the seaweed Tae-yah and I was doing that and then everything crashed and Eomma was screaming for an ambulance and Appa--hyungie, I don’t think Appa was breathing.” 

His Appa hadn’t been breathing. 

Tae couldn’t remember seeing the rise and fall of the man’s chest. “I was so mean to him, hyung. I talked back to him and what if it was my fault? What if I did this?”

 Jun: We called the ambulance. 

Icy panic gripped Jun, cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. 

Appa said organize the seaweed—

Everything crashed—

Eomma was screaming— 

I don’t think Appa was breathing. 

After his hal-meoni had died, Jun had stopped having nightmares. He had stopped dreaming altogether. Either he slept like he was dead, buried so deep in exhaustion he couldn’t even remember falling asleep, or he didn’t sleep at all. His exhausted eyes stayed peeled awake, like someone had nailed them open. He stared at the ceiling or he logged on with half his brain into an Overlands server, where he killed the after-midnight hours by adding new rooms onto his growing fortress, building block by block one click of his keyboard at a time. 

If he had nightmares though, they’d come to him like this phone call. They would be about his family— about Abeoji and Eomma and Tae and Sky, Star, and Sunny. He wanted desperately to sit down, and he looked at the patient’s chair near the computer screen, and then at the examination table, where his eyes found a wrinkle in the sheet paper stretched across it. Something about that wrinkle grabbed him and he couldn’t look away. He stepped toward the table, smoothing his hand over the wrinkle like he could iron it down. 

He did not know how to deal with nightmares, you see, he was desperately out of practice, but he knew about the body, and what to do— he knew what to do, he was a doctor, he knew what to do. 

“Tae-yah, no, no, it’s not your fault,” he told his brother very calmly. He pressed down on the wrinkle of the sheet. “You didn’t do anything, but I need you to listen to me. We can help Appa together. Can you do that with me?” He had to go home. He had to go right now. Jun tugged the sheet of paper, the paper crinkling as he began to straighten it out. He kept talking. “I’m coming home. I am coming right now, but until I get there, you must be hyung, okay? I’ll stay on the phone with you-- go back to Appa, can you check his pulse for me?” 

The paper was straight now, the wrinkle just a faint line, like a pencil mark. Good enough? Good enough.

He had to go home.

Yes, he had to go home. 

Jun swept out of the examination room, his chart still tucked under his arm, his hand pressing his phone still close to his ear. “Is there a pulse? Is the ambulance there? Talk to me, Tae-yah.” 

 TAE:

It suddenly got very hard to breathe as Tae's throat closed around Jun's words and his palms started to sweat. There was no way he was going back out there. He couldn't do it. Even if he wanted to his body was frozen solid, incapable of moving from where it had burrowed away from all danger. 

Jun spoke again and Tae shook his head, a whine slipping through his lips. "I c-can't move, hyungie. I can't do it. Appa was bagging groceries and he was fine. He's fine, right? He's going to be okay." 

A million miles away he heard his Eomma calling his name. She was calling for him to come. Why did nobody understand that he couldn't move? 

"Come home, please. I need you to come home. Why aren't you here? I need you, hyungie. Please." And now he was sobbing into the phone, his words barely coherent. 

 Jun:

There was a good chance that Abeoji would not be okay. Every worst case scenario presented itself to Jun as he sped through the clinic toward the front desk, the other half of his brain split off and thinking about the steps it would take to get home. The two were in precarious balance: medical disaster on one side, and everything that he needed to do on the other. And so Jun thought resuscitation-- chest compressions-- need to be doing chest compressions-- as he simultaneously thought-- cancel on Tiffany, reschedule my appointments, book the train, I need Tiffany to water my plants-- 

Tae cried on the other end, each gripping sob like the buffering wheel on Jun’s macbook. It got in the way. It was not helpful. With each gasp of Tae’s breath, Abeoji could have no breath at all. 

A brain could last six minutes without oxygen. 

“Yeong-tae!” Jun snapped-- loud. The receptionist startled the front desk and looked up at him.

The phone left his mouth for one moment. “Family emergency, cancel all my appointments, tell Dr. Karev-- page Dr. Schmitt to cover--” 

He brought the phone back to his mouth. “Yeong-tae, listen! Stop crying. Stop it. Go to Abeoji right now and do what I say.” His voice then softened. “If you do exactly what I say, Abeoji will be okay. Eh? Would I lie to you? I’m a doctor. Go, now.” 

 TAE:

 Chaos. 

So many thoughts, fears, what-ifs and if-onlys scattered around haphazardly over his consciousness. His Appa was dying. He couldn’t stop it. His Appa was dead. He couldn’t fix it. Tae’s body flooded with warmth--everywhere except for his chest. His chest was ice cold and his heart hammered at his ribcage, threatening to break out. He was going to be like that dude in Alien--just a giant gaping hole where his chest used to be and he would deserve it because he was letting his Appa die. 

He couldn’t--

Jun’s voice, sharp and clear, cut through the fog in his head. Suddenly, Tae’s lungs remembered how to breathe and his feet remembered how to move. Jun was a doctor. Jun knew what to do. Jun wasn’t here but Tae was here and Jun was yelling into his ear--telling him to do something that might help, something besides hyperventilating. 

Appa would be okay, Jun said, if Tae could just listen and maybe Tae wasn’t always the best listener but he could listen now. He could listen to Jun and save his Appa. 

His feet carried him back onto the sales floor and toward the register where his Appa lay on the floor, his Eomma shaking him and screaming. 

“Eomma, move,” Tae said, his voice hard and cold.

“Hyung, tell me where to start. I see him. I’m so scared. You have to tell me what to do.” The fear was in his voice again, but he could be stronger than his fear. He could hold it back until his Appa didn’t need him anymore because Jun was there. His brother was helping him.

 Jun:

Jun knew every way that this could go terribly wrong. He heard each one, repeated ad infinitum, in the harsh voices of every doctor who had supervised him. This IS life or death, they’d bark after exercises that went less than perfect. There is no room for error. You make a mistake, someone dies. You make a mistake, someone dies. One more time-- say it-- you make a mistake, someone dies.

This mantra, on a loop, pushed Jun faster out the door. His brain opened like a textbook. 

He could only hope that their abeoji’s heart had not stopped-- that Tae was overreacting. He could only hope that Pride University’s hospital would be there within the next few minutes, not only to save Abeoji, but to save Tae-yah as well.

You make a mistake, someone dies. 

“Check his pulse,” he said it again. “Make sure he is breathing, make sure his heart has not stopped. Feel his wrist for the heartbreat, Tae-yah. If you don’t feel it, you will do chest compressions, one hand on top of the other. You must use all your strength, Tae-yah, when you do this, do you understand? All of it, do not be afraid to hurt him.  I will help you keep count.” 

 TAE:

 Feel his wrist for a heartbeat. 

Why was his heartbeat in his wrist? Why couldn’t Tae feel his neck or his chest or--Tae needed to listen to Jun. He needed to do exactly what Jun said because if he didn’t his Appa could die. 

“No, nononono,” Tae whimpered. His fingers pressed into the skin of his appa’s wrist, trying to feel something, anything, that would tell him that he was alright, but Tae didn’t feel anything. Was he doing it wrong? That had to be it. He had to be doing it wrong because his appa wasn’t dead. He just wasn’t. It was impossible because appas don’t die. Appas live forever. 

“Hyung, I don’t feel it. I don’t--he’s not dead, hyungie he’s not!” The last part of his sentence came out as a screech, searing his throat painfully. “He’s not he’s not he’s not. NO. Okay no. He’s--let me just--” 

Tae leaned forward, placing his face right up close to his appa’s face, ignoring the fact that maybe he wasn’t his appa anymore. Maybe he was just a body. And that’s when he felt it. A tiny puff of air. 

“JUN!” He screamed. He screamed it again and again. “He’s breathing! I felt it! Jun, he’s not--he’s--tell me what to do now. What do I do? He’s not moving but he’s breathing. It’s really light.” 

 Jun:

Jun looked up at the sky and let out his own breath.

Finally. The last few minutes had torn through Jun’s life like a bullet. Now his brother’s scream of joy was a wall he crashed into. Time stopped again, just as it had when the phone call came, only now maybe it would stay still like this, just long enough for Jun to figure out what to do next. All those important steps, all these things he had to do, they must be organized-- 

At least his abeoji was breathing, at least his heart had not stopped, at least Jun still had a father. He was not alone, even if he stood apart from the world, one figure paused standing in the middle of the parkway. Even then, his brother wept in his ear, Jun could hear the sirens on the other end-- the ringing of the Moon Market’s door as it opened--and his father was still alive. These were blessings. Jun must count each one, the same way he counted his grams of sugar and counted to ten with his young patients when drawing their blood.

When time started again, he was thinking of those little patients of his, so brave in the face of ten seconds of pain.

It was an old lesson, but a true one. You can do anything for ten seconds.

For the next ten seconds, Jun was going to go to his car. The ten seconds after that, he would turn it on and pull out of this parkway. On and on, he would build a road home to Yeong-tae and his family out of individual ten-second blocks. And at the end of this road, he’d greet his father again. 

“I can hear the paramedics. Liten to them, Tae-yah,” instructed Jun. “I’ll be there soon, yes? Listen to the doctors, hold Eomma’s hand. Give me an hour, Tae-yah, and I’ll call again soon.” One hour, sixty minutes, 3600 seconds. Count to ten 360 times. 

“Saranghaeyo, Tae-yah. You’re brave. You can do this.” 

The phone clicked off, and Jun began to count to ten.

-

Hospitals were never quiet.

Train rides could be. Taxis often were. Swynlake’s streets, especially in the evenings, were often more full of crickets than people, and the spaces between the whirring allowed for plenty of time to think and prepare. In every step of his journey, Jun had used all this quiet space to create a list and then execute it. His plants would be well-tended by Tiffany; his shifts were covered; a real estate broker was contacted and his flat’s listing was already posted on a website. He called movers and he wrote his resignation letter on the train, then cracked his knuckles as he stared at the send button, before finally saving the letter as a draft and stowing his laptop away. All these steps Jun arranged like a game of chess, until he arrived at the hospital and the noise blasted through him again. 

Machines beeping and chuggering and screeching; crying down the hall; footsteps on the tile; phones ringing off the hook.

 It was all very familiar to Jun, who knew how to cut right through it and find his abeoji’s room number and the name of his doctor, all before he found his family.

But this was another thing on Jun’s list: find out what was wrong. Because no matter how busy Jun had kept himself on the journey here, the lack of answer stretched wide. It was the ultimate hole that he kept falling down. His abeoji was sick-- badly, badly sick. He hadn’t known. Eomma kept it from him, confessing to him only now, over the phone, that she and Abeoji had decided to keetp this secret together, that it was best he did not know because he was doing so well in his program. You know how he is about these things, Eomma sobbed. He didn’t want to worry anyone. He said it would get better. But the treatment. Not working. Getting worse. Help, Yeong-Jun, you must, I don’t understand what they are saying to me. Help, please.

So he hunted for answers, and after cornering his abeoji’s oncologists, Jun bullied his way into his father’s files. He flipped through every listed appointment. He studied page after page of test results from blood work, his eyes tracking the rising and falling of his white blood cell count. He looked at the scans and then he went to the radiologist and barked at him until he explained them to Jun, then explained them a second time. 

Jun did not need to be an oncologist to know that the picture assembled from these disparate pieces was dire. 

He did not need the doctor to tell him, but still he asked. Still he asked, what have you tried so far? And then is there anything else we can do? 

And then, and only then, did Jun find his family in the waiting room. 

Eomma lifted from the chair first and rushed toward him. She was a tiny woman-- no taller than 5’2, like his three sisters. She clutched him as a fresh wave of tears filled his eyes. 

“You look so skinny,” she said, because this is what mothers say to their children when they cannot control anything else. “Have you eaten? There’s food here. There’s pizza in the cafeteria--”

“Eomma.” Jun rubbed his mother’s shoulders. “We should all sit down.”

He looked up, his eyes meeting Tae-yah’s. He’d come home in the beginning of the summer but the past few months had still added another inch to his brother’s frame. Or was it just the taekwondo that made him look bigger? Jun was struck every time he came home by just how much changed without him. He kept waiting for his baby brother to come toddling around the corner, shouting his name.

That boy was long gone now.

[memorytile0-blog]

Studio Tour!

Hey everyone!

It’s been over a year since I moved into my new house, so you know what that means – time for an updated studio tour!! Yeahhhh!!

Same as with my last delay, I kept putting off sharing this room with y’all because I really wanted to feel like it was “done” first. Even though, realistically, nothing is ever finished in my home – I’m always moving things around! I had a little kick in my pants via a Sewing Space feature over at Tilly & the Buttons , which forced me to suck it up and take the dang photos already. What you’re about to see is my studio in it’s natural state – it’s tidy, but not show-room perfect (i.e., I really should reorganize my fabric shelve, but, priorities).

While I was compiling the photos for this post, I ended up falling down a pretty deep rabbit hole of my past studio spaces. You may not be aware of this, but I’ve had a dedicated sewing room in some shape or form since 2006. My tastes & decorating have definitely changed a lot over the years, which I personally find pretty interesting! I think it’s also relevant as a lot of people comment on how well-organized my space is – which, it should be, I’ve been working on it for over 12 years! 😛 So before we jump into the NEW studio, I want to share a little bit of my evolution first!

Apologies in advance for the poor photos – it looks like my photography skills have also evolved, at least a little 😉

2006: My very first dedicated sewing space, back when I lived in Midtown in Nashville TN. I loved that apartment so, so much and stayed there for several years – it was a beautiful old building with crazy cheap rent. I eventually couldn’t handle the poor maintenance or the noisy bars getting built up around me, so I moved… but not before moving my sewing room all over this one apartment. First stop was in what I think was the dining room – or possibly a small servant’s quarters (it was a 100+ year old building right by Vanderbilt with a layout that suggested this might have been the intention). It was a VERY small room – like I’ve had bigger walk-in closets than this space – but it was perfect for a tiny sewing set-up.

Also, if you are curious – the dress I’m wearing is New Look 6557, which was the first proper sewing pattern I made by myself and I made DOZENS of that dress lol

2007: Still in the same apartment in Midtown, but I moved shop into what was the bedroom (with my bedroom in the living room, and the tiny dining room being a sitting room). My ex boyfriend and I painted the room orange, and then he claimed it for his office (a bold move considering he never paid any rent). As soon as I kicked his ass out, I reclaimed the room for myself. So this is my “fuck you” sewing room haha. I also got Amelia, my cat, around the same time – for the same reason 🙂

Very little of this room is still in my possession! I have all new sewing machines and furniture. The only things I still have are the desk chair and that Little Prince poster. Also, lol at another New Look 6557 being on the dress form. And, yes, I had 4 irons. I did a lot of dumpster diving at Vanderbilt University back then and irons were a popular thing to throw away I guess.

2008: Decided I was DEFINITELY worth the biggest room in the apartment, so I moved my studio to the living room (and took back the bedroom for, well, my bedroom). This room was massive and I looooved that space so much. Painted it green, which in retrospect… not my best idea. I built a makeshift long table out of some old cabinets and a piece of plywood covers with peel and stick tile. And I upgraded my machines – I still use both of those today! Actually found the receipt the other day while I was cleaning out my files; I bought them at the end of 2007 :3

For funsies, here’s a photo of me at that time – scene hair and all! I made that dress with knit fabric from Walmart haha

2009: Same room, with some updates! I repainted the entire thing bright turquoise (which became “my color” as far as studios are concerned!), as well painted my furniture. Got a cutting table (just one of those cheap ones from Joann’s), some new storage, and made curtains. This was taken over Christmas, hence the sparkly tree (which I still have today!)

2010: Ok, last one! This is the saddest looking photo ever, ha, but it’s literally the only one I have! I ended up moving out of my Midtown apartment and in with a friend who lived in South Nashville. He never used his living room, so I took it over as my sewing room! I had to work around the existing furniture, but I made it work. Lived here for about 2 months and then I moved to East Nashville to live with my BFF.

Other sewing spaces have their own blog post! 2011: Yellow Sewing room in East Nashville, TN 2011: Pale Blue sewing room in East Nashville, TN 2012: Giant Turquoise sewing room in West Nashville, TN 2015: Oddly Shaped Turquoise sewing room in Kingston Springs, TN 2017: Apartment sewing room in West Nashville, TN

Whew! Ok, this post has gotten long already and we aren’t even at the good stuff yet!

Anyway, here is where I am today! I moved into this sweet 1935 Tudor in 12 South/Nashville a little over a year ago. It’s a wonderful house + neighborhood and I really love living here. I use the second bedroom as my studio – it’s very small (just barely 11′ x 11′), and there are two doors, plus a closet, which made furniture arranging a little bit of a challenge! I had to take a lot of measurements and draft up a few room layouts before I figured out a good fit for everything, but it was definitely worth it.

The back half of the house was originally carpeted, and before I moved in I negotiated with the landlord to have the carpets removed (they were gross. Not, like, “ewwww carpet, gross” but like “10+ year old covered in stains gross”) and we were both delighted to discover the original hardwoods underneath. I also had her paint the walls a bright white, which really helped the overall vibe of the room. Before I moved in, this house was dark and dirty… it’s pretty fabulous now, though. I love it so much.

Also, because this comes up often – yes, I move a lot. I’m a renter, and my city is unfortunately going through some growing pains with skyrocketing rents + half the affordable houses either getting bulldozed (to build more $1M houses) or turned into AirBNBs (do not even get me started on the tragedy that is AirBNB over here, omg. It is a big, big problem and I encourage you if you visiting a popular city like Nashville to be very weary of any AirBNB that clearly is *only* an AirBNB and not someone’s home). I would love to buy and stop moving, but right now it just is not feasible. I like to think I’ve found a great long-term home here, but this is an expensive/trendy neighborhood so fingers crossed my landlord doesn’t try to turn it into a short term rental or sell it to the highest bidder.

Details about all products (including furniture & decor) are at the end of this post!

Here is the studio when you enter through the hallway in the back of the house!

As full of a view of the room that I could get!

The back wall (facing the door you enter through) holds all my sewing machines. I built the long table with IKEA components (this will be a running theme in this room haha), because I wanted to house all my machines on one single table that I could just roll down in my chair. There are lots of drawers which is great for storing notions and supplies. The windows get a lot of light and a very pretty view, but there are several mature trees in front so I also get some privacy.

Another view of the table and machines. You can also see part of the side porch through the window.

Above the machines, I hung lights for some extra brightness in the room. True story – I rarely use these lights, as I realized immediately after that the main overhead light could hold 3 bulbs and 2 were blown out. I replaced all the bulbs with super high wattage daylight bulbs and HOLY SHIT BRIGHTNESS BATMAN. It’s like high noon in this room now, all the time! It’s amazing!!! Y’all can have your ~ambient lighting~ all you want but I am all bright, all the time haha

Looking to the left of the machines, this is where I keep my bookshelves that hold sewing/knitting/art books, Papercut Patterns, and knitting supplies. All my yarn fits in that one big basket 😛 I also keep WIP patterns in the magazine holder on top of the bookshelf. Over the book shelves, I hung two long wall shelves – the boxes store swatches, zippers, and lingerie supplies, and the top shelf is purely decorational. Those plants are fake as fuck, btw.

Here’s another angle – thread racks, an extra stool, and a lamp that rarely gets used (again, daylight lightbulbs are the BOMB you guys).

If you continue down that wall to the left, you’ll end up back at the door in which you entered. There is a door in the middle of the wall that leads to the side porch. This is where my dressform lives. I wasn’t crazy about the large blank wall, but didn’t want to spring for wallpaper (or bother painting… I like painting, but I’m not a fan of painted accent walls and I didn’t want to paint the entire room), so I bought these wall stickers on Amazon and made a dotty wall! It makes me so happy! 🙂

So, going back to the machines and swinging right – you will get my fabric stash! Really thought about reorganizing this for the photo (it actually does need to be sorted and culled), decided not to haha. My old shelf that I’ve been using since 2009 wasn’t going to fit in this room, so I passed it on to a friend and bought something a little more modular. This area holds my fabric, PDF patterns, embroidery and art supplies, and my snap setters.

Next to my fabric is my ironing station! I started out in this room with a proper ironing board, but I desperately needed more storage so I swapped it out for a tabletop ironing board. I can’t take credit for this – I totally took the idea from Jasika as she made the exact same thing. It’s perfect! I padded out the top of an IKEA kitchen island with a few layers of cotton batting, then wrapped fabric (it’s Robert Kaufman Essex linen, specifically, if you are curious lol) around the whole thing and stapled it down. The station has drawers that hold ironing supplies and camera equipment, and shelves to hold my current projects and my Cricut Maker. The bucket of fabric next to the table holds scraps that are too big to throw away but not big enough to justify putting back on the shelf.

My iron is a gravity feed iron (I’m still using the same original one I got back in 2012!); the tank is suspended from the ceiling with a heavy duty plant hanger. Rather than keep the iron on my table, I found a small metal shelf on Amazon (used to house tv speakers) and attached that to the wall. This frees up space on my board, plus makes me feel a little less wigged-out about having an iron on top of cotton + wood. Over the station, I have a hanging light that is plugged directly into the same power strip that powers the iron. This way, I always know if the iron is on or off – and I never leave it on by accident!

The ironing station my cat’s favorite place to perch (second favorite is behind the sewing machines), so she can look out the window! I have a really great back yard, but unfortunately my crappy back neighbors tore down the entire tree line that separates us so I now have to stare at their house instead of beautiful green trees (and now no privacy! Boo!). Also, unfortunately for them, this has not deterred me from changing directly in front of that window haha

Next to the ironing station is my desk! This is where I get all my work done, unless I’m sitting on my porch (which is equally pretty great). On the wall beside my printer is where I hang my rulers, as well as an inspiration bulletin board and my fabric swatch board (where I keep track of the fabrics I want to sew next).

Next to the desk is the tiny closet. Sorry about this picture – this was the only way to not make it loo horrifying haha. I keep the rest of my patterns in here, organized in boxes. PDF patterns that I am working on are hung with clips on a small tension rod, and rolled PDF patterns are stored in a small trash can on the floor. I also keep supplies for my other job in here, on the top shelf. Rather than stack things, I built shelves with plywood so this closet is basically a giant shelf behind a door.

For more info about how I organize my patterns, please check out this blog post!

One side of my cutting table has drawers (holding pincushions, muslins, extra interfacing scraps, and lesser-used sewing tools) and bins (holding swimsuit fabric and… well I just realized that other bin is empty lol it was holding a WIP that I finished).

The other side of my cutting table holds all my scissors, and more bins (boxes have leather scraps and silk scraps, bins have classroom supplies and supplies for when I need to take my machine on the road for my job).

Finally, under the table is space for a big trash can and a rolling kitchen cart, which I use to hold sewing supplies and general art supplies.

Some detail shots:

This wall makes me so happy! That jar is holding all my broken/used needles and pins.

These lights make me happy, too! I could only find them in black, so I spray painted them gold.

Embroidery designed and stitched by me 😛 😛 😛

Ok, so almost done! Finally, here are the links to sources for furniture & other stuff. Most of the things in this room are either from IKEA, or secondhand. Spoiler alert! Also please be aware that a lot of these links are affiliate links, meaning I will get a small commission if you click them and end up purchasing something. Just a head’s up!

Wall paint color: Seriously, I have no idea. White?

FURNITURE: Sewing machine table: ALEX drawer unit + LINNMON table top Vintage desk chair: Thrifted Cutting table: 2 KALLAX shelves + LINNMON tabletop + 2 KALLAX drawers + 4 KALLAX casters. Scissor rail is BYGEL RAIL + s-hooks Fabric Shelves: HEJNE shelving unit Bookshelves: thrifted Ironing Station: FORHOJA kitchen cart + metal dvd wall shelf Printer table: KLIMPEN drawer unit Writing desk: Nashville flea market Desk chair: Nashville flea market, spray painted gold and white Wall shelves: EKBY JÄRPEN / EKBY BJÄRNUM Turquoise utility cart: RÅSKOG Dressform: Professional female dressform with collapsible shoulders (also: full review here!)

ACCESSORIES & DECORATIONS: Yellow & white storage boxes: DRÖNA Large white storage boxes: IKEA, discontinued (these are similar) Small white storage boxes: IKEA, discontinued (these are similar) Fake plants: FEJKA Industrial paper roll: Given to me when my old job (advertising) was downsizing and clearing out the art room! Ceiling light (over ironing board): KNAPPA Ceiling lights (over machines): Geometric Light bulb cage pendant (spray painted gold) + Edison light bulbs + HEMMA cord set DMC thread organizer: thrifted Thread racks: given to me by Elizabeth Suzann, but here are some similars on Amazon- thread rack + serger thread rack Sewing room art: Joanna Baker, via Madalynne giveaway “I’ve Made A Huge Mistake” chalkboard sign: Custom made by Kaelah Sewing machine print: Madalynne Polka dot stickers: Gold polka dot wall decals Baskets: thrifted & spray painted gold White floor lamp: NOT floor lamp White desk lamp: Another score from the art supply room cleanout at my old job Small turquoise/white stool: Nashville Flea Market White cutting mats: The Shop Company White deer head: Gift from Elizabeth Suzann Snap setters (only people people always ask!): Purchased secondhand from Elizabeth Suzann

Ok, I think that’s all! Hope you enjoyed the tour 🙂

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Tags: sewing room, studio

Source: https://lladybird.com/2018/09/07/studio-tour/

[meditatemoremedicateless]

Help!: My Girlfriend is Cute and Popular

Prompt:  Victoria can't seem to do anything mean when Max is around, and it begins to affect everyone's perception of her as Queen Bee ... I may have gone a little off-prompt for Wardfield fluff I’m sorry.

Part 3: “A Trick, a Treat”

Things had been super weird since their talk in the photography room. Once Victoria dropped her bullshit, she fell apart for a few minutes to confess what Max guessed resembled the truth. Victoria liked her. She wanted to take responsibility for her own feelings and get over it. Max thought that was very mature.

And, well, it was starting to make things weird. Victoria was obviously uncomfortable with Max (and, apparently, Dana) knowing. At the very least, she was uncomfortable with the risk of exposure for her dirty little secret, because she’s stopped being mean to Max and Dana around campus.

Almost.

It seemed like Victoria was stuck in her old cycle, and it always took her a second to realize how the scales had changed. More than once in photography Victoria had turned to Max after she’d given an incorrect or dismissive answer, only to freeze, stare at Max awkwardly for a moment, and look away.

Well, from what Max could tell, it was an improvement, and nobody really seemed to notice. Not until Victoria approached while she was talking to Kate.

It was the normal gang: Vic, Taylor, and Courtney, emerging from the main classroom hall’s girls’ bathroom while Max and Kate talked in front of the trophy case. As they passed by, Victoria let out a, “Hey losers,” not even pausing to create a formidable wall.

Except, unlike normal, Max replied, “Oh hey Vic.” And that made her stop in her tracks, Taylor and Courtney taking a step ahead before they realized she’d stopped, and they all pivoted to look back at Max. Courtney put on a glare for Max and Kate’s sake, but Taylor just looked at Victoria, unimpressed.

“Oh.” Victoria said, as if she suddenly realized who she was talking to. “Right. Sorry.” And though Courtney and Taylor visibly recoiled from the unexpected apology, Victoria just turned again and kept walking.

“What was that about?” Kate asked as she turned back towards Max, brushing some of the renegade strands of her hair behind her ear.

“I have no idea,” Max lied. If Kate didn’t believe it, she made no sign of it, and those two continued on.

Unfortunately, those five hadn’t been alone in the hallway. Victoria had tread on treacherous ground, and she’d slipped. At the other corner of the intersection, Brooke and Juliet stood discussing something over Brooke’s tablet, though their focus evaporated as soon as Max called back to Victoria. Victoria and her posse hadn’t noticed them, and Max didn’t even recognize the danger of them being there until later.

“Later” being that night, when Max was laying off the edge of Dana’s bed, scrolling through her phone while Dana sat far more comfortably against the wall, answering messages on her Facebook. Max had no way of knowing that one whip! from Messenger was any different, not until Dana spoke up.

“So, Juliet wants to know what you did to make Victoria scared of you,” Dana said, looking up from her computer, pausing her continuous clacking.

“What?” Max asked, unwilling to put in the effort to push her torso back onto the bed.

“I’m not sure, that’s all she said.” A brief pause. “Here, let me ask.”

Dana typed so fast it was scary, leaving more lull than typing when she was focusing on a conversation. Maybe a minute later, though, and she said, “Apparently, you and Victoria had a confrontation in the hall today, and you leered her down and she backed off. Apparently the school’s abuzz that you neutered her. What happened?”

“Oh,” Max replied, “nothing.”

“Eh?” Dana asked, apparently unconvinced.

Finally, Max tossed her phone onto the bed and pushed herself up cross-legged. Dana’s hair was down again, a messy flop only too thin and long to call a bowl cut. Max couldn’t quite put her finger quite on why, but the way Dana’s appearance fluctuated so much throughout the day - clean and neat before practice, made-up and warm afterwards, fluffy and messy in her pajamas before bed - appealed to her a lot. She wasn’t sure whether it was the consistency or the variation, but it made Dana . . . fun to look at. 

Max scratched the back of her head, her recent undercut having left her itchy all the time. “No, I mean like, literally nothing. I think she was going to be rude, but then she just apologized and left.”

Max didn’t quite expect Dana’s giggle, the way she covered her mouth and closed her eyes as she did. It was more reserved than normal, but also . . . to something Max didn’t quite read as funny.

“Uh . . . what?” Max asked.

Dana waved away the question, although she answered, “Oh, god, nothing. I just didn’t think my threat would work so well.”

“Wait, wait, hold up.” Max scooted herself across the comforter, sitting knee-to-knee with Dana, the laptop between them. “Threat? When did you threaten Victoria? Why?”

“Ugh, I dunno, like a week ago? Or . . . last Monday, I think?”

“Why?”

“Well, I mean. She’d been following you around a little and taking pictures.”

Max blinked. “She what?”

Dana cocked her head to the side. “Oh. I thought she would have mentioned that when you two talked. Yeah. I told her to chill out, tell you how she felt, and then leave us alone.”

“Wait, so . . .” Max paused, trying to significantly reorganize the past week or so in her head. “Wait. So did she write that letter because of you?”

Dana’s answer came slowly. Her eyes darted away from Max towards the door, and she raised a hand away from her keyboard to rest on her cheek, smooshing her face a little (a lot). Her answer came quietly, too. “Maybe.”

Silence.

Max reached out for Dana’s upright arm and pinched her.

“Ow!” Dana whined, recoiling.

“You knew somebody liked me and you didn’t tell me? You . . . you goblin!” Max reached to pinch her again, but this time Dana only caught her hand, bringing her fingers close enough to kiss. Which she did, of course, in an attempt to quell Max’s righteous fury. It worked, even if Max kept making pinching gestures in the air after she’d given up.

“Yeah, I did.”

Max finally gave up her pinching entirely, settling instead for an exaggerated pout before plummeting down on the bed.

“But Daaaannnnyyyyy,” she whined. “Crushes are so fun and cute and I didn’t know about Victoria until it got weird.”

Dana managed to snort and smirk at the same time, closing her laptop and sliding it off her lap. She waddled on her knees over to Max and climbed on top of her, folding her arms as if she had something to be stubborn about.

“Well I’m sooorrryyy that you’re just soooo popular. I got you a cute-ass confession letter instead of just lamely telling you so, you know what?” Dana started to poke Max’s sides, which were so ticklish that she immediately began to squirm, futilely attempting to bat Dana’s hands away as she started to giggle. That put a smile on Dana’s smile, even as she pinched her face to show how serious she was about her tickle dominance. “Be grateful you little punk.”

“Okay okay okay okay okaaayyyy,” Max said, finally managing to free her body enough from the prison of Dana’s legs to grab ahold of Dana’s wrists, ending her torture. The side of her face squished in thought while she shrugged. “I mean, it was pretty cute. You haven’t written me any love letters.”

“Oh yeah?” Dana leaned down, relying on Max to support her what with the constrained wrists, bringing her into a deep kiss. Max let go of her wrists quickly in favor of her waist, and Dana brought a hand up to Max’s cheek, feeling the movement of her jaw under her thumb.

When they broke, Max’s breath was perhaps a little more ragged than it ought to be. It was so easy to get her excited.

“Okay, fair,” Max said, convinced that that settled everything.

Dana returned upright, though her hands fell to Max’s belly instead of across her chest. “Besides, I only messed with her because she was acting weird. Normally, if someone likes you, I just go on with my day, but with her-”

“Wai wai wai wait. Normally?”

“Yeah.”

“Who else likes me? How do you even know this?”

“Question 2: being friends with Juliet fine-tunes your gossip monitor. Question 1: Warren, duh, and Justin. I’m pretty sure.” Dana looked around the room for half a second before adding, “Plus, Justin like, told me. Before he realized I’d swooped you.”

“No way.”

Dana leaned down, pecking Max’s nose before bobbing back up. “Way.”

Max shook her head, but then looked up dead into Dana’s eyes. “No, I mean, do you know what this means?”

Dana tilted her head to the side, even if it just got her hair somehow more in her face.

Max raised up her hand to start counting on her fingers, though “1″ started with a pointer finger jab at Dana: “A hot jock. A geek. A stoner skater anarchist dude. And the Queen Bee.” After she hit four, Max opened up both hands, wide like her eyes. “Babe, I’m universally popular. I’m like one or two short of a harem. I’m-”

“Oh no,” Dana interjected, cupping her hands over her mouth in horror. “I’m dating a anime protagonist.”

Max figured that this was probably not the appropriate moment to mention that she had time powers. Instead, she just laughed awkwardly. “Y-yeah, you sure are.”

Dana shook her head, wiping her hands under her eyes as if weeping. “I think that means I’m gonna die.”

Now it was Max’s turn to snort. The comparison brought on a surge of ego and confidence, however, and Max grabbed Dana’s waist, flipping them over so that Max now sat on top.

“Don’t worry,” she said, pulling up Dana’s shirt and lowering herself to kiss her belly. “I think it’s more of a ‘cheap thrills’ sort of show.”

Dana giggled at first, slipping into a satisfied smile as the tickling sensation gave way to more tender kissing. “I’m all right with that.”