#This message was brought to you by: Procrastination

[syndrossi]

Recalling wistfully the good old days when I had a five-chapter buffer and the discipline for a one-chapter-per-week writing pace.

[pennamesareoverrated]

Tick, tock

The flow of time never stops Even when they're gone

Tick, tock

The day begins.

We set up the table We bring out the food

Tick, tock

We wait and we keep waiting

for people who won't return

Tick, tock

But still, we wait It's an endless wait

Tick, tock

We clear the uneaten dishes We clear our own plate

Tick, tock

We water their plants We dust their room

Tick, tock

The day ends.

We lie on their bed Lacking their scent and warmth

Tick, tock

Memories may fade but the body still remembers

Tick

Tock

Still we follow the ticking of the clock

Tick

Why were we doing this again?

Tock

Ah, there goes the clock. Time to take our places.

Loving them never really stopped

[aestherin]

KEEP MY HEART

goal 32: you but in meow

NOTE: i finally finished despite procrastinating hehe this was sitting in my drafts for more than a week help me 😭

You probably should have told Scaramouche that you have already arrived at the home address he sent.

If you did so, maybe you wouldn’t be outright welcomed by his mother instantly opening the door after a few knocks.

You’ve already seen her before during some of their games, albeit from a far distance. She looked pretty from afar, yes. But she was heavenly up close. With her long deep violet locks weaved into a simple braid, her perfect skin that gives no evidence of her being a mother of a boy already in college, and her electrifying eyes… you’re starting to realize where Scaramouche got the godly genes from.

“Good afternoon, uh— madam?” You greeted awkwardly. “I’m here to visit Scara, no, Kunikuzushi. He’s a… friend!”

At your introduction, the older woman let you inside their home and motioned you to sit on the sofa. She swiftly made her way back and forth the kitchen and provided you with a tray containing some drinks and some snacks.

You told her that she didn’t have to, but she only smiled in response. As she sat down in front of you, you started to drink from the glass, only so that you can find something to distract yourself from the awkwardness.

“So that’s why your built looked familiar. You’re probably the same woman I saw in the pictures with my son. You’re his girlfriend, right?”

You coughed.

Before you can even reply, Scaramouche’s mother motioned upstairs. “Nevermind that, I don’t want to keep you for long. My son’s room is upstairs, first door from the left.”

“Also,” she lightly muttered as you were getting ready to go upstairs. “Please do treat my son well. I’ve put him through a lot, you see.”

An apologetic smile was plastered on his mother’s face. Was this what Scaramouche meant when he was messaging you? Was his mother somehow enlightened and came to a realization about their issues? You wanted to know, but you didn’t want to pry.

Besides, the main reason why you came here was so that you could uplift Scaramouche’s mood.

��I will.”

Meanwhile, Scaramouche was cooped up in his room, restless. He’d admit it to no one, but anxiety was slowly creeping in his heart at your lack of replies to his message. Why did you suddenly stop replying? Were you getting to him safely? Did you somehow get lost and went to some place with no reception?

‘Damn it, I should’ve just picked her up,’ he thought.

‘Should I call her?’

‘But what if —‘

Three knocks brought his thoughts to a halt. “Kuni? It’s me, [Name].”

Of course it’s you. You're the only one allowed to call him that anyway.

Heavy and hurried footsteps stemmed from the other side of the door once you made your presence known.

“[Name],” he breathed immediately upon swinging his door.

You were welcomed by his disheveled yet still attractive appearance as well as the sight of his room — simple yet stylish with tints of mainly white, black, and blue. The room looked so cold, yet the comforts of his white bed helped it seem warmer. Apart from that however, a warm and furry feeling on your legs also welcomed you.

“Meow.”

You broke eye contact with Scaramouche and instead took a peek at what the little ball of black fur was doing below. His cat (as you assumed) was now cuddling you, purring restlessly against your feet.

“That’s weird.”

“Huh?”

“He usually doesn’t like strangers,” Scaramouche said.

He then eyed you as you crouched down to pick up his cat. “Well you see Kuni, they said cats tend to mirror the personalities of their owner.”

“Who the fuck even said that?” He raised his brow. “And even if that’s true, so what?”

“Well you like me, so of course Scarameow likes me.”

Scaramouche huffed. “Scarameow?”

“You didn’t give him a name, right? I feel bad not calling him anything, so I just thought of that on the spot.” You grinned. “Besides, it seems like he likes it.”

You cut yourself off by lightly poking the black cat’s nose. “Don’t you, Scarameow?”

The man just sighed at the approving purr of his own pet. He was left speechless by how easily his cat warmed up to you. It really weirded him out, considering that it was the very same cat that always just hisses at other people aside from his owner.

“But why that… horrendous name?”

You looked back at him only to flash a disapproving frown. “Horrendous? Isn’t it cute?”

“No.”

“What?” You gasped. “Can’t you see he’s literally a cat version of you?”

“It’s like he’s you… but in meow…”

He speedily brought his palm up to his lips in an attempt to conceal something. It was a poor attempt, however, as the muffled noises he tried so hard to stop forced their way out.

And for the first time in so long, he finally laughed.

KEEP MY HEART — scara x reader smau

previous . masterlist . next

NOTE: my reference for thinking of scara's bedroom haha >> [click here]

TAGLIST I (closed)

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[temporarywelcome]

Devil's Night, 1946 - James Patrick March

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Many years have passed since you and March have split up, meeting again in the Hotel Cortez when you need him to do a simple task he's been procrastinating on for years... distractions happen

CW: smut, porn with WAY too much plot, fingering, angry sex, p in v, possessive!james, dom!james (kinda), sub!reader (kinda), a slap to the cooter

A/N: they're both vampires it's mentioned like twice it really doesn't matter lmao. Pretend women have some more rights in 1946. I WAS SUPPOSED TO POST THIS ON HIS BDAY BUT ALAS... life.

________

The Hotel Cortez hasn’t changed in the slightest since the last time she saw it.

It still was bustling with guests and patrons, with loud chatter at the bar and silent gossiping in the sitting area. There was a couple seated in one of the love seats, holding hands, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears.

The sight made Y/N grimace. 

It reminded her of how things used to be. How things were between Y/N and James Patrick March, the owner of the establishment. They were practically glued at the hip, her painted black nails always gazing his skin, his hand always firmly on her lower back. Always together. In love.

That was long in the past. 

Striding towards the front desk, Y/N eyed the little receptionist up and down, “Hello, is Mr. March in tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the receptionist, her name tag reading Laura, replied. “He’s currently in a meeting in his office. How may I help you?”

“I wish to see him. Now,” 

Laura raised a brow, awkwardly clearing her throat, “He’s in his meeting, ma’am, he might take some time. If you’re in a rush, you can write him a message?”

Y/N rolled her eyes in annoyance, lips curling into a sneer, “Tell him to wrap it up. His wife would like to speak to him,”

____

Within minutes, Laura was ushering her into the office of James Patrick March. 

Like Y/N expected, as soon as James was aware of her presence, he had kicked everyone out of his office, eager to see her. He was seated at his desk, a cigar between two long fingers, wearing his usual white button down, black suspenders, dress pants, and shoes combo. To accompany it was his carefully gelled hair. Y/N remembered doing it for him every morning, a little bonding experience the two of you used to have. 

“It’s been a long time, my dear,” he finally said after a moment, his usual James March smirk appearing on his annoyingly handsome face, “I was beginning to miss you,”

“Hello, James,” Y/N replied, making no move to step closer to him, “It has been a very long time,”

“You haven’t aged a bit since the last time I saw you, dearest,” he complimented, rising up from his seat, “Just as ravishing as ever,”

“How can I age, James? You took that from me,” Y/N laughed bitterly. She adjusted her large black fur coat, eyeing the room. It was practically the same as before, “It’s been twenty years, James. Possibly time to renovate,”

“You’ve always been so kind, darling,” he strode towards her, taking her hand, “Now how may I assist you?” he brought her hand to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss to her knuckles. 

“Take a guess,” she snatched her hand back, slipping a hand into her designer purse and pulling out a neatly piled stack of papers. She walked to his desk, and being, well, a man, James’ eyes travelled to her ass, admiring the way her tight black dess esentuated her curves. He was snapped out of his thoughts when she slammed the papers down ont the desk. “Sign the papers,”

“Excuse me?” 

She looked at him over her shoulder, “Sign the damn papers,”

“What papers? I believe I don’t know what you speak of, my love,” he placed his finished cigar in an ash tray.

“Cut the act, James,” Y/N hissed, taking a pen from his desk. She turned to face him, holding it up, “It’s been twenty years. What’s the point of doing this any more?”

“Doing what?”

“James,” she clenched her fists, “It’s been twenty years! I want a fucking divorce!”

A laugh left him, a dark chuckle, “That’s what this is about? The silly divorce? And for a second I thought you missed me,” he opened up a cabinet and grabbed a bottle of scotch and two glasses, “You came to me on this day just to harrass me? On such a special day?”

“Special day?” she scoffed, “What’s so special about it?”

“Oh, my dear,” he brought an arm around her, leaning in,” It’s Devil’s Night,” he whispered into her ear, breath tickling her skin. 

“Ugh,” she rolled her eyes, “I remember. However, I don’t give a damn. Just sign the papers and I’ll be out of your hair,” 

“But I don’t want you to go,”

“But I want to go,” she shot back.

James shook his head, taking a drag of his cigar, “You really want to end a twenty year marriage like this?”

Y/N barked out a laugh, “We were only together for a month of it,”

“Yes, till you left me,” he snapped, sudden venom in his tone, “You didn’t even say goodbye. Didn’t leave even a note. Just some blasted divorce papers.”

“So you did get them?” she mused, digging into her bag and plucking out a cigarette, bringing it to her lips.  Despite his anger, James still immediately brought his lighter to her cigarette, like he always did when they were together. She glared at him, dropping her lighter back into her purse and taking a puff, “From that letter you sent fifteen years ago, I was quite confused.”

“Ah, what did I write in that letter again?” 

“Hm,” she pretended to think, “First, I had wrote you telling you to sign the damn papers. You then wrote back saying you never got any papers. You said I would just have to meet with you to sort this out.”

“And you never did,” he pointed out the obvious, politely holding out a glass of scotch for her, which she dd not take, “So why now? Why not continue on with how things have been?” 

“Because I don’t want to!”

“Well why?” he pressed, stepping forward, “What’s so different now than fifteen years ago? Ten years ago? One year ago? What’s so different? What is so-?”

“I’m engaged!” 

There went the scotch.

It fell from his grasp immediately, the glass shattering onto the floor like little puzzle pieces, “...Excuse me?”

Y/N groaned, holding up her left hand, revealing an golden engagment ring with a modest diamond, “I’m engaged,”

James gripped her wrist, examining the ring closely, “How pathetic! You don’t even like gold, you love silver. And this diamond! It’s practically microscopic! How could you settle for a man that not only can’t tell your taste but is poor?”

She rolled her eyes, “How materialistic, James,”

“It’s true! It doesn’t even compare to to the ring I proposed to you with,” To Y/N’s surprise, James yanked up his necklace, revealing the charm that was neatly tucked under his dress shirt. Two rings, one silver with a dark trim and a comically large ruby in the middle, a diamond on either side. The other ring was more modest, still silver, with small diamonds embedded into it. Her engagement and wedding ring. 

“You… you kept the rings?”

“Of course I kept the damn rings!” he scoffed, raising his left hand now. He was still wearing his wedding ring. “Of course I kept the only remembrance I had of the wife who left me!” 

“You turned me into a damn vampire!” she shot back, shoving him angrily, “Did you expect me to be happy with you?” 

“I wanted us to spend eternity together-”

“I didn’t even know you were a vampire!” she shot back, “And you just turned me without even asking me! F-Forcing me to drink your blood, I thought it was some devilish ritual!”

“It was practically a ritual to declare our love!” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Yeah, I felt so loved then. I was terrified! I didn’t know what you were going to do! You… You could have been planning some sacrifice or God knows what, I-”

His lips were then on hers, his body pushing hers against the desk. She gasped, feeling the sharp sting of the hard wood hitting her back. His hands went firmly on her hips, blunt nails digging into her flesh as he kissed her hungrily, her burgundy lipstick smearing all over both of their lips. 

She should have pushed him away. She really should have. Should have pushed him away and just fucking kill him to end this nonsense once and for all, but she couldn’t. Instead, her arms wrapped around his neck, kissing him back just as feverishly. 

“You made me wait twenty years for you,” he growled, lips leaving hers to find her jaw, then her neck, kissing and sucking on the skin with need. “Twenty years without you,”

“N-Not like you missed me,” she panted, fingers playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck. 

“How could you say such a thing? I have been patiently waiting. Have you ever seen any reports of the famous James March with a new mistress?” He tugged up her ebony dress till it was at her waist, pushing her onto the desk. He plucked the cigarette out of her shaking hand and discarded it into the ashtray. 

“Well, no-”

“Because there has not been any.” He said firmly, beginning to rub her through her lace panties. She whined out, grip on his hair tightening. “I have not touched a single other woman in twenty years while you've gone around whoring it up with all these other men who mean nothing compared to me,”

James took it upon himself to relieve her of her undergarments, his large fingers rubbing her swollen clit in tight circles, “Well? Who is he? Tell me about this bastard,”

“His n-name is William,” she choked out, hands going to his shoulders to ground herself, “He loves me very much,”

“Yeah? What does this William do for a living?” one of those long fingers slid through her wet folds and into her awaiting heat.

She bit her bottom lip, not just to stiffle her moans but to prolong her answer. “Um…”

“What does he do for a living?” James repeated, pushing in a second finger and curling them inside of her.

“Ahh! He's… A hotel owner…” She trailed off.

He stopped his movements, looking at her with wide eyes, “He's a what?”

“Hotel owner,”

His eyes darkened, “So my replacement is just some cheap copy?” he hissed, utterly offended, “For that you might of well have just stayed with me!” His fingers left her cunt, causing her to whine with need. “Shut up,” Next thing she knew, a large hand was delivering a harsh slap to her sex. 

She cried out, “James!”

“I said shut up,” he grumbled, hastily undoing his belt buckle and suspenders, pulling down the front of his pants and boxers, his leaning cock springing free. With one hand on her hip, he began to stroke himself, “Once I'm done with you, all thoughts of your cheap new fiance will be out the window.”

How the hell did they end up like this? She came here to demand for him to sign the damn divorce papers so she could marry the man she supposedly loved, yet here she was about to get her back blown out on her ex-lover’s desk.

James lined himself up with her entrance, slowly pushing in. He always started off gentle and romantic, but Y/N knew better. This was just the beginning.  “How does that feel, my love? Still thinking about that bastard William?” he said the name venomously. 

“N-No, James,” she whined out, legs wrapping around his waist as he began to thrust in and out of her, tantalizingly slow. He was teasing her, doing it on purpose. 

“Can he fill you like I can? Hit just the right spots like I do?” he continued, nipping at her earlobe, “I bet you don’t get this wet for him, bet he struggles pushing into you because he just doesn’t get you excited enough,” James smirked, both hands grabbing her waist as he sped up his pace, sliding in and out of her clenching walls with ease, “That’s never been a problem with me. You’ve always come to me with open arms… and open legs,”

“Oh, shut up, you bastard,” Y/N grumbled, nails beginning to dig into his back as he found a steady pace, hips snapping repeatedly against hers with each thrust. “We were never able to have normal sex, huh?”

“Well, you never stopped cursing me out,” he replied cheekily, hands going to her large fur coat, and sliding it off of her shoulders, “I think I got used to you berating me while I kindly pleasured you,”

“You got off on it, don’t lie,” she shot back with an eye roll, until he hit that perfect spot and she gasped, “Oh James do that again James please do that again-”

“Ah, that’s what I like to hear,” he mused, angling his hips to hit her G-spot over and over again. His hands went to the zipper of her dress, bringing it down so that the entirety of the garment was bunched up by her waist. “Much better,” he said smugly, leaning down to take a nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. 

“Ahh!” she whined, playing with her other nipple in pleasure, “Right there right here!”

He began thrusting into her faster, a groan leaving his lips as he plunged deep into her warmth, “Look at that, darling, your cunt is taking my cock so deeply, how greedy,” he teased, admiring the way she involuntarily clenched around his thick length with each thrust, swallowing his dick. 

“Greedy for your cock only, you damn bastard,” she cried out. Couples give each other such endearing or powerful names in the bedroom, but of course that had to be her favorite for him. Bastard. Even when they were madly in love, that was what she called him. “It always filled me up so w-well,”

“Really, darling?” he grinned, reaching a hand between their bodies and gently rubbing her clit. Her eyes snapped open and she whined, lips parting into the perfect “o” shape. “Filled you so perfectly? Then why did you try to replace me, huh? With some cheap copy? Sounds like we know who the real bastard is here,” 

The combination of his dick pounding into her and his fingers expertly rubbing her clit had her seeing stars. She dug her nails into his shoulders, head falling back as she moaned out in pleasure, giving him the perfect view of her breasts bouncing every time his hips met hers, skin slapping against skin. She wasn’t hearing a word he said at this point, digging her heels into his back, ankles locked, urging him deeper into her. Knowing she was still in her blood-red high heels turned him on even more, he used to always love seeing her in heels. 

“Damn you, you bastard, I’m going to cum!” she gasped, biting her bottom lip, “Damn you, damn you,”

James laughed, leaning his head down to bite her pulse point roughly, “You’re gonna cum all over your ex-lover’s cock, my queen? Cum all over my cock and make a mess of yourself? Do it, I dare you,” he lifted his head to survey her facial expressions as he continuously snapped his hips forward, drilling into her in abandon. He then reached out, his large hand going around her throat, and he didn’t even have to squeeze, she was cumming. 

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” Y/N squealed, cunt clenching around him one last time before he felt her thick fluids coat his length. 

“That’s it, my love, cum all over my cock, it’s my turn now, gonna fill you up, make you mine again,” he buried himself inside of her as he came, painting her walls white. Hips sputtering, he came to a halt, arms going around her waist, “All mine, no one else can have you but me,” he nuzzled her nose with his own, waiting for some movement. Signs of life. 

And then her gorgeous eyes opened, looking up at him tiredly, “I came here for a divorce,”

“Damn that divorce,”

“Damn that divorce,” she repeated, leaning her head on his shoulder. 

“Dramatic girl, leaving me all by my lonesome for twenty years just to come back to me,” 

Y/N hummed in response, closing her eyes, “Take that as punishment,”

James let out a soft chuckle, stroking her soft hair, “Have I been punished enough?”

“I suppose,” she pulled away from his neck to look him in the eyes, “Happy birthday, James,”

_____

how tf does one write dominate men sorry I usually like subs

[hellenicpagan7]

Me: Sees an abnormal number of owls everywhere I went for several days culminating in like 8 different owls at my local thrift store in one spot (mind you I never see owl statues there) . I bought the prettiest one and brought it home.

Me: pulls out tarot. Athena do you have a message for me?

Athena: stop letting self doubt stop you. You are good enough. Now finish the creative project

Me: (who has been procrastinating for months and having really bad self doubt and imposter syndrome issues.) thanks Athena okay I'll do it.

Me: Is more productive in one afternoon than I have been in months.

[pandoranbean]

i cannot lose you too

fem!metkayina!reader x tonowari

synopsis. tonowari had just granted jake sully and his family uturu with your clan, but you were anything but happy, or welcoming.

word count: 520

warnings/tags: angst, family death

music: 'til we die

na'vi translations: yawne - beloved; uturu - sanctuary, place of refuge; tsahìk - (a clans spiritual leader); ma [name] - my [name];

notes: just a little drabble for y'all while i'm procrastinating

“yawne, you need to calm down, you know stress is not good for the child.” tonowari said as he laid one of his large teal hands onto your slightly pertruding belly.

you huffed in annoyance. jake sully, the man who had brought the sky people against his clan one time already, had just been taken in by your mate, tonowari and your clan. although saying you didn’t like the idea of him staying with your clan would’ve been an understatement, you had to grant him and his family uturu. 

uturu, a concept said to be created by the great mother herself for those who cannot live in their home anymore and seek to keep themselves and their loved ones safe- that’s why it’s not greatly liked if the message spreads, that a clan has refused uturu to brothers and sisters from another clan.

uturu’s purpose was to be granted, and you knew it.

but you couldn’t help feel a pang of anxiety in your chest, which seemed to break through your hard and stern exterior you’d tried to keep up throughout all of this, since your mate wrapped his strong arms around you, holding you tight, but not too tight, so that he wouldn’t hurt your unborn. 

“ma y/n… i know you’re not fond of this, but you, as tsahìk should know we cannot deny uturu,” he spoke in a gentle voice, gently saying those words into your ear while keeping you close.

“i know, i know… i’m just so damn scared…” 

“i will make sure you and our children are safe, my love. i promise.” 

“and you?”

silence ensued. tonowari was caught off guard by your question, but not surprised you worried for his safety as well. when he spoke, he did so in a soothing manner, “i have survived so many things yawntu, i-” 

you cut him off by slightly pulling away and speaking a bit louder than before, “you’re not invincible, my love.”

“i am not… but i will keep us safe. i won’t let anything come near us.”

“you cannot endanger yourself, ma tonowari… i cannot lose you as well,” you said, while looking at him with a pleading expression.

your voice was quiet, weak, but most of all, scared and anxious, and he knew it was not good for you or the child. he pulled you closer again, just so close that he could hold you and feel the slight bump in your belly, resting your face against his broad chest, “you will not lose me, ma‘ muntxate. never.”

“the demons… they took my mother, my father, my sister… my dignity… they almost took me from you as well, ma tonowari…” 

his breath caught in his throat as he heard you repeating what happened on that fateful day 19 years ago, “don’t think too much about it, alright? you cannot change the past… i am here, with you. always.”

you looked at him again, your eyes close to tears, “i cannot lose you too.”

he laid his forehead  against yours, “you will not,” he reassured as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

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

thank you for reading! it's just a little drabble i had the urge to write but i still hope you appreciate it. the ring pt. 4 coming somewhat soon, i'm working on it, promise!

[phuljari]

social media au! part 7

summary : khushi is a model and influencer; arnav just seems to stumble upon her profile one day— not so much by accident. (or what if khushi fell in love at first sight?)

warnings : nothing, just enjoy me freaking out over my finals (no wonder i'm here procrastinating)

a/n : um happy new year? #IPK 13th Anniversary Fiesta @arshifiesta wrote this shi so hard i manifested this irl so me and khushi are both in the #cantgethimouttamyhead club but i'm just sobbing my eyes out

hellohibyebye

liked by arnavsinghraizada, anjaliiiii.r, hari_prakash, aakash_r, gulabo_devyani, payaliyaa, divalavanya and others

hellohibyebye kaam kare hum aur reshtwa kare nk babua 😘😒

nandiii mausi ji aap bhi naa 😭😭

anjaliiiii.r and the award for best roast of the year goes to 🏆

titaliya_k

liked by gulabo_devyani, arnavsinghraizada, aakash_r, hari_prakash, hellohibyebye, nandiii, anjaliiiii.r and others

titaliya_k feeling orphic🕯️✨

(yes i googled it. yes it means mysterious and poetic. no i will not stop.)

view comments

payaliyaa You and your fancy words! Just say you’re relaxing and we’ll believe you!

⤷titaliya_k jiji let me impress my man with my vocabulary!!!

divalavanya This aesthetic is EVERYTHING. 😍 Also, do I spy @/ardesignhouse’s perfume? 👀

⤷titaliya_k yesss

arnavsinghraizada The word you're looking for is 'ephemeral.'

⤷arnavsinghraizada Much like my patience when you steal my bath salts

⤷titaliya_k you bought lavender. you brought this on yourself.🙄

⤷nandiii Nannav and bath salts? This trip is giving all the goss

⤷arnavsinghraizada Why don't you ever fuck off?

arnavsinghraizada

liked by divalavanya, hari_prakash, preetika123, saritaraman, nandiii and others

arnavsinghraizada For peace. Or revenge. view comments

titaliya_k: You’re lucky you’re cute. ⤷ titaliya_k: Also, not him posting my flowers like they personally betrayed him 😭💜 preetika123 liked a comment

payaliyaa: Lavender? What is this? @/arnavsinghraizada blink twice if Khushi has taken over your account

amanmathur: Sir??

nandiii: Bro you folded like a fitted sheet and posted lavender 🫡 Shubash mere bhai titaliya_k liked a comment preetika123 liked a comment ⤷ arnavsinghraizada: No one asked you ⤷ aakash_r: Shabaash!! Shubash nahi 😭

aakash_r: Bhai just say you're in love already ⤷ arnavsinghraizada: No one asked you either ⤷ aakash_r: To be fair, I’ve been lighting Payal ji’s gifted sandalwood candle and reevaluating my life too ⤷ arnavsinghraizada: You lit it because your room smells like a gym locker.

hellohibyebye: revenge ka planning ya plotting me help chahiye ka bitwa?

⤷mahendrarudrapratapsinghraizada: Tum toh shut up hi karlo

user1: lover era yessss

user2: he's so girlfriend

Notifications (payaliyaa)

(1) new messages from aakash_r

aakash_r: Payal ji

aakash_r: Thanks for the sandalwood candle by the way

payaliyaa: You're welcome Aakash ji! Though you deserved some well needed pampering too after the stressful account hacking situation

payaliyaa: Also thank you soooo much for helping Khushi sort this situation, it would have been quite impossible without you!

aakash_r: Arey, no no Payal ji! Bhai did most of it

payaliyaa: Which he couldn't have without your support!

aakash_r: The situation was very stressful for you as well

aakash_r: So hope you enjoy the little treat :)

payaliyaa

liked by aakash_r, arnavsinghraizada, divalavanya, nandiii, anjaliiiii.r and others

payaliyaa De-stressing with matcha 💚 thank you @/aakash_r way too sweet and thoughtful!

view comments

nandiii: Well, my heart is in shambles and I ship these two

titaliya_k liked a comment

titaliya_k : soon you guys be matcha matcha too

aakash_r: You're very welcome Payal Ji! ⤷ hellohibyebye: itna mehenga giphat de diye bitwa?

divalavanya: Fancy schmancy

user1: girl this is pure gold, i savoured every drop of this!

user2: iced matcha lemonade anyone?

thekhushigupta

liked by hari_prakash, hellohibyebye, nandiii, anjaliiiii.r, arnavsinghraizada, aakash_r, gulabo_devyani, laxmi.ji and others

thekhushigupta simping on main (yes this is me fr and yes the previous post was not me posting on this acc so i have deleted it)

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saritaraman That knife is too close to your thumb

⤷thekhushigupta you know we love playing with danger on this side of the screen

payaliyaa: That is clearly not your chopping skills stop posing

⤷thekhushigupta diii let me pretend 😭

gulabo_devyani Chotte?

guptagarima Very good Khushi, cooking class ki toh bilkul jaroorat hai tumhe👌

nandiii Lowkey hungry rn

TBC maybe?

<previous> | <next>

[summertide-treehouse]

season 1 review im really dead on tumblr but expect alot of ninjago art asap.

It only took me a year ( don’t let me procrastinate on ts again ) but I finally finished Season 2 of my Ninjago rewatch, heres my review.

Similar to Season 1, there was a lot of things that I ended up liking more than I remembered even though there were some inconsistencies.  I think the pacing worked really well.  It did drag a little bit in the first few episodes, but it worked since they were still finding themselves again after Season 1’s finale, and the transition from Season 1 villains to Season 2 villains worked really well.  I’d probably have more to say if I didn’t stop watching half the season for almost a year ( I graduated and just.  Life </3 ) but from all I remember and wrote down, I definitely liked this season more than the last.

I know a lot of people don’t like Misako for their own reasons, same as Wu, but I loved Misako here, and her chemistry with Wu and Garmadon.  She is so smart and always brought a new and different approach to situations, and she always reassured Lloyd that his father does love him, even if its someplace far away.  It may not be important to a lot of people, but’s such a powerful message for me; having to confront a parent who’s harmed you when you don’t want too, but you need to anyway, and your other parent, who’s been hurt the same, stands with you without villainizing the other.   Misako and Garmadon themselves are so deeply tragic as well, there was absolutely love between them at some point.  I like to think there still is, but it’s clear they miss what they had rather than what they have, especially in Misakos case, since she told Garmadon that he “is not the man she married”, and although Garmadon still loves her the same, he doesn’t understand that he could never be a good husband/father, let alone a good person, by selfishly going through with the plans he was making, completely destroying the chemistry they once had.  It is SUCH a realistic dynamic that I’ve seen growing up.  There is love, they do not hate each other- but they are not good for each other, it can only be salvaged if the one at fault makes a positive change, but nothing can be done to fix the damage, even if things are at their best.  I think this ties into why Misako is so close to Wu.  I’m not a big Wusako person myself, but it makes sense why she would seek him out; he is the closest thing to what Garmadon once was, and there is absolutely security with him since she knows Wu won’t change the same way Garmadon did. 

On the topic of Garmadon now, I found his growth interesting.  I feel the same in Season 1, it’s kind of hard to root for his redemption since we are constantly seeing him regret and hesitate when it comes to fighting Lloyd, but as soon as his motives are questioned he goes through with it with more energy than before.  In spite of the venom, we’ve seen him fight it before, and not act on those urges, so there’s no reason he can’t when it comes to fighting Lloyd.  Although it’s a bit ‘bittersweet’, for lack of a better word, once he realizes the Overlord lied to him and takes possession over him, and seeing Garmadon finally take initiative and fight back was absolutely a real step in the right direction.  It should’ve been Lloyd or his family that should’ve been what convinced him, but it’s still a kids show, and the fact it was “destiny” made things a bit inevitable, so I don’t totally hate how that was his final straw.  I did enjoy how Lloyd defeating the Overlord was what cured Garmadon of the venom, I just think that’s too soon of a redemption arc for him.  With how long he’s been evil for, I don’t think he suddenly would’ve “felt good”, old habits definitely would’ve stuck that we should be able to see him work through to continue to make positive steps, but they make great headcannons even if its not canon.

Overall, I really loved the villains, all the character growth the Ninja and other characters go through, there was A LOT to unpack in this season and it was really fun.  You can really tell that Ninjago is beginning to discover itself here and I feel hooked into this show all over again despite me being a huge fan since 2018.  Solid 8.5/10

Also is it just me or did Kozu sound alot like Count Orlok.  I giggled everytime he was on screen

[cxffecoupx]

✧˖*°࿐ 2024 tumblr wrapped

as this year comes to an end, and we revisit the memories it brought, it's only appropriate that we go through this past year in this account. thankfully, i was tagged by @monamipencil in her tumblr wrapped post, which gave me the motivation to make this post (which i otherwise would have procrastinated on) that gives me the opportunity to share a glance at this year in writing.

before we get into it, i wanna take a moment to thank everyone from the bottomest pit of my little heart: followers; fellow creators who I always look up to; every anon who's sent me an ask, even if it's just to ramble; everyone who's read any of my work and who's shown love to them. what this account is right now, is all because of your support and love. so really, i love you with every single living cell in my body.

for some basic details:

this account was created on may 14 (counting the day of the first post), so it's been 232 days of cxffecoupx!

as of the moment i'm writing this, we have 762 followers — a truly huge family indeed!

i've posted 40 works (crazy to even think about that??)

made 326 posts all together (i do yap a lot).

made a few really good friends...

...and also realised i would like to post even more in the coming year

for someone as inconsistent as me, i sure feel very surprised at the performance this year (you can actually see how low I'd expected of myself lol), and i'm so so grateful to y'all for all your love.

now, for some post specific stats:

again, i've posted 40 works this year.

top fic of 2024 — [11:18 pm]; seungcheol × reader; 2k notes.

longest fic — realising they're in love with you; ot13 × reader; 1.4k words. here for you; joshua × reader; 1.4k words .

personal fav — (you can't make me choose btw my babies >:(!!) what 2 am with them looks like; ot13 × reader. cheol as a girl dad; seungcheol × reader.

top member — seungcheol (very biased, i know).

total word count of 2024 — (idk i need my laptop to check ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ; will update soon tho).

this is all about my writing and works. again, i would like to thank every single one of you who's taken even a little time out to read any of it; i seriously cannot express it enough, i really really mean it.

using this section to dedicate some special thanks and extra love to a few people:

@simpxxstan — no amount of words would be enough to thank you. for all the times you've patiently listened to my rants and silliest ideas. for every time you've approached me to share your own thoughts because that just makes me feel soo loved. for all the times you've supported and encouraged me, not just for all the caratlife related stuff, but also personal problems and struggles. for helping me get through this semester of master's while you were going through it yourself. if i could invent a new word to convey all the gratefulness i have towards you, i'd gladly use that right now.

@seungcheorry — one of the reasons cxffecoupx is what it is today. if it weren't for your support and guidance, i'd still be using my personal account and there would be no cxffecoupx. and although it all started like that, you've only continued to show your kindness by your ongoing support and love, even during difficult times for you. please know that i'll always be here for you to reach out to. always.

@wonuumelody — the first friend i made here. the first person who messaged me to tell me how much she liked my very first post. literally gave me all the more reason to keep posting, because if not for anyone else, then atleast for her. thank you so much for your kind words that day; it still keeps me going.

@ylangelegy — where do i even begin with kae? i found the account through a coincidence and it's been such a rollercoaster ride for me since then. tbh, i look up to them as someone i'd like to use as my guiding light when things get rough. when i feel like the words i write do not look pretty, they're always the first to show me that they are. and that it more than enough at the time for me. my personal cheerleader, know that i'm always at the bleachers, cheering you on too.

@monamipencil — this is such a whiplash for me because this person was someone i used to look up to since the beginning of my cxffecoupx days,,, and then one day she interacted with my posts???? ris starstruck moment fr because i could not believe my eyes. so this will forever remain a core memory for me. truly.

@hearts4hansol — ofc i need to mention my secret santa, the one who kept me so entertained this whole month of december and gifted me something so so special that it'll remain in a part of my mind and heart for as long as cxffecoupx exists. i want to apologise again for all the messages i haven't replied to yet, and also thank you for all the silent support you've given me 'anonymously'.

@mejaemin — my only nct moot here. she has a special place in the neon green section of my heart. i love you so so much.

plus a few other people i'm sure to have left out. please don't feel i've forgotten, because someway or another, i'm grateful for your love and your part in showing support that has given me fuel to keep going on. this also goes to all the anons who've sent in their requests (including those i havent yet responded to; i see them everyday and i will most definitely get to them).

resolutions for next year?

write more — seriously. even though i feel like 40 works for half of the year seemed surprising to me, i do hope to be able to post some good stuff i can feel proud of. it's a bit difficult, but i'll try my best to reach there.

work through the requests and drafts — i have around 10-15 requests in the inbox, and nearly 30-40 little drafts (one-liners mostly, a brief clue about the idea i jotted down earlier). i would LOVE to be able to work through those and finish them up. that would honestly be so satisfying omg.

as a sidenote to the previous two resolutions, i would like to finish winter wonderland — by posting the remaining two drabbles. i know i've been pushing it for too long now, and i hate it as much as you do, honestly. so i would love to get that done first tbvh.

interact more — come across more writing blogs and make more moots. it's always fun to talk to someone (i am like this only on the net). this would also allow me to read more variety of stories and possibly learn something from them.

on a personal note — do well academically, make more friends, (hopefully) find new love, travel and explore more... might add more to this bingo card.

with this, we reach the end of my 2024 tumblr wrapped (ended up a little too long, pardon). thank you so much for this opportunity to let me take a glance back at this year, to learn from my mistakes and do better next time.

(not really tagging anyone because 2024 is almost over now, but if she's up to it, then i'd love to see @simpxxstan do it + anyone else who's interested, (i'm a little nosy and) would love to see it!!)

the time here is 23:45.

signing off as cxffecoupx of 2024.

see you on the other side.

happy new year! i love y'all <3

[cafeinthemoon]

Ruins - Part XXIII

Chapter 23

Wordcount 2,3k

Title Part XXIII

Fandom Shummatsu no Valkyrie / Record of Ragnarok

Previous chapters

1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8 . 9 . 10 . 11 . 12 . 13 . 14 . 15 . 16 . 17 . 18 . 19 . 20 . 21 . 22 . Outtake

Symbols ⭕ . ➕ . 💛

Warnings: The continuation of their honeymoon ❤; non explicit sex; steamy in general

Tagging @holdyourwine @lilacshouko @shirayuki-ayumi @telvess @alecfromsaturn (If you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just leave a comment on this chapter or send an ask or a message)

N. A.: It's finally here 😭 The continuation of their deserved honeymoon! I've been struggling and procrastinating, trying to decide the amount of information I should include in this one, but I opted for little info and more ~action lol I wanted it to be one of those chapter where the characters are just relaxing and living their lives instead of being too worried about moving the story forward.

Hope you don't mind X)

As the kiss deepened, your mind wandered to all the things you’ve experienced with Hades, all building up and culminating in that one moment, when you were finally a couple. Fear, respect, protection, friendship, passion and love – everything he already represented to you, and everything you were willing to represent to him, was there, boiling and pulsating inside you, and pouring out through the gestures of your hands, your wet lips united and the heat of your skins, pressed together.

With his left arm wrapped tight around your waist, Hades brought you closer, his mouth wandering across your neck, your collar, your breasts, as you held on to him with eager hands: while your right one’s nails crawled on his back, your left was tangled in his hair. Suddenly, you felt his teeth brushing on your skin and started laughing; he laughed back in response, his breath muffled on your skin, tickling and provoking more laughter.

– You’re quite a teaser, my Lord – you murmured in his ear; then, moving away to look him in the eye – Is this the way you found to cease the tension of our first time?

Your husband brushed your hair behind your right ear, then held your chin with his fingertips, observing your face with a tender smile.

– Perhaps – he approached his mouth to yours, speaking over your lips – But it seems that it’s working, isn’t it?

Before you could think of a reply, he pulled you in a sensual embrace, lying on the mattress and making you lie upon him. You giggled, leaning your hands on his chest.

— You could say that.

The sight of his ecstatic face glued to you, surrounded by the strands of your untied hair, falling on each side, his eyes swallowing every inch of yours, the blush on his cheeks was just too much to you; the influence of Aphrodite’s potion, increased by your disposition, and you took the initiative by approaching yourself to him: holding his chin, you made him open his lips with your thumb, covering his mouth with yours, your tongue searching for his; on his part, things were just as heated: his hands, grabbing on your waist like claws, held on to you with strength, helping you to keep your balance, guiding you in languid, delicious movements.

The only thing you could think of was how much you loved Hades: you loved everything your senses could catch from him, from the softness of his skin under your touch, the thin layer of hot sweat forming on it, to the glow of desire in his eyes, his noisy breath, the firmness of his hands; you loved him to the point you didn’t want anything else: to give yourself to him, to live for him, to become everything he needed; you loved him, and wanted to melt into him, to embrace him, to devour him. And certainly, he felt the same, for soon he took over the situation, adjusting his grip on your waist and making you lie on the bed, putting himself over you and suffocating you in an even hotter kiss. You smiled over his lips when he moved them away for a second, and wrapped your legs around him, tightening his body against yours.

You felt that was the right instant. You couldn’t wait anymore.

– Take me – your voice came out as a sigh on his ear – Make me yours...

And he answered your plead, and took you at that moment. And it was when you understood you were born for this, for him, that you’ve never been complete by yourself, neither as a mere human. The pleasure of your flesh was equal to the ones of the heart and the spirit, the ecstatic feeling of fulfilling your purpose eating each cell of your body.

Somehow you sensed the smell of Aphrodite’s potion increasing as the act carried on, as if it had its effect potentiated by your natural feelings, and these latter empowered the potion in return as two complementary forces. Noticing this pattern, then, you started imagining what would happen if you introduced variations in your activity, so you tried to touch him in different manners; to your surprise, changes in the intensity of the fragrance were felt, as well as curious reactions from your partner: there was a moment, for example, when you caressed his ears the same way you did in the Secret Garden, several days ago, and his response came in a growl, then a muffled laugh in your neck, which provoked laughter in yourself. It was like among the potion’s many properties there was one that allowed you to identify and recognize preferences of your lover.

– You noticed that too, uh? – you heard him whisper – Clever girl.

You understood what he was talking about. He then pulled you tighter to himself, and you responded with a loud moan, and the smell increased again; your hands reached to his back, pressing on his skin as if he could disappear at any moment. You found yourself praying that it didn’t happen.

Please, stay forever. Please, never leave me.

You didn’t understand exactly why you thought of those exact words, but something inside you awakened, and you were convinced that, more than the ceremony led by Zeus-sama, this moment was your real marriage, when you gave everything you had to the man you loved: your body, your thought and feelings – your soul – and received the same from him in return. An understanding of the divine unison came to you with this: unlike the human one, which could be broken with the mere disappearance of feelings, a marriage between two gods would take much more to come to an end. But you knew you’d never want such thing, not with all the things you’ve experienced together until that point. Not only this, but somehow you knew – whether through the contact with his body or through a special exchange of thoughts – that Hades was feeling exactly the same.

And the conscience of this impregnated your physical body, and brought your senses to a state of climax. You felt part of your consciousness abandoning you, then found yourself holding on to him as you’ve never done before, mumbling incoherent words of love and attachment; you also noticed the same behavior from his part and, though you weren’t experienced in these types of things, you supposed he had his apex not so long after yourself. Suddenly, you felt something close to exhaustion, as if you just shared part of your vital energy with him, but it wasn’t like you were losing your strength: you were just becoming something more than yourself by joining him. You wanted to talk to your husband about this, but when you tried to move your lips, but you were too tired for this.

You’ve spent a moment together even when it was over, then Hades lied by your side and pulled you to him. You stood in silence, nestled in is arms, and never knew exactly when your mind slipped into the world of dreams.

There, you saw yourself in a familiar place.

It was a desolated landscape, surrounded by the ruins of what reminded you of a beautiful construction, raised in a remote past. Under your feet, the darkness of a sterile, brown earth, and above your head heavy clouds pushed away by cold winds, blowing through the red skies; through your skin were sent successive shivers, and you crossed your arms around your body to protect it. Yes, you’ve been there countless times, but it wasn’t but a dead world, unable to welcome lively you; the ruins were still the same, silently resting and not waiting for your touch – they didn’t belong to you, after all.

An ancient world with which you’ve never been able to find a connection...

Until you decided to turn and look. And then you found something you’ve never noticed in your other times there: the reminiscence of a high dome, indicating the spot where the construction’s entry once was. You took hesitant steps toward the arc and looked into it.

It was when you had the greatest surprise: looking back at you with a loving smile, there you saw Hades. You covered your mouth with both hands, not believing your eyes at first, but then all the hesitation disappeared and you ran to him, jumping into his arms. It felt like when you saw him for the first time, at Valhalla’s Library; it seemed to have happened a long time ago. The biggest difference, however, was the absence of fear in your heart, since you didn’t think twice before reaching to him. When he took you in his arms, you were invaded by what you could only described as true peace.

Little by little, you felt like you were falling asleep in your lover’s embrace in that dark world, only to slowly wake up in your honeymoon chambers, lying on your bed beside your husband. You looked up to him and noticed he was waking up at that very moment.

That time, you were able to speak.

– I had that dream again – you whispered – The dream about the ruins… It hasn’t happened since I’ve arrived at Valhalla...

– Interesting… – he caressed your hair in response – The same just happened to me…

Your heart skipped a beat when he revealed that: you didn’t understand how, but you already knew that.

He adjusted you in his arms to continue the conversation.

– Tell me… did something different happen this time?

Your eyes widened a bit and you stared at him.

– Yes! – you took a moment to recall the scenario – I’m sure I was back among the same ruins as before, but this time I saw some kind of dome near them… I approached and looked inside it… – you smiled – Then I saw you…

He smiled back.

– And then you ran to me.

– Yes, I did it – you completed his thought – I really did!

– It was the first time you saw me there – he said these words with a sort of relief, as if something that he has been waiting for too long finally came true.

– You’re right – you smiled – And because of this, it was the first time this dream brought me good feelings. Before this, I used to feel anxious about it.

He bent down to kiss your head, and you smiled.

– Tell me – you restarted – What do you think of this? Is this a sign that our purpose is close to be reached?

– I have no doubts about it – he replied – Now that we are together, things will certainly become clearer in the next days. We will have no problems figuring out what to do.

– I agree – you said – You know, I’ve never felt this peace before… It’s like I’m finally where I’m supposed to be...

Your husband’s response was to pull you tighter in his arms, as if he understood that you were talking about them. You closed your eyes, listening to his breath, your nostrils inhaling the smell of his body. After some time, you sensed something warm growing slowly in your lower belly, spreading to your inner thighs and the rest of your body, and though you had little experience in those things, you soon recognized the feeling, deepening as you turned your attentions the closeness of your bodies, your skins rubbing each other as you moved: you were desiring him again.

Without a word, you turned on your stomach, putting yourself over him, each of your legs on his sides.

– Please… – you whispered on his lips – Touch me again…

His response was quick: his hands grabbed your hips and brought you underneath him, rubbing his lips through your skin.

– Of course, little one – he murmured in your ear – Everywhere you want.

That time, you grabbed his hands, using them to explore your body. This audacious gesture took a smirk from your lover, who entered the game and let you do what you wanted for a while, until he decided you were having too much fun by yourself and took over the situation, grabbing you and taking you with even more intensity than the first time.

You ended up half awake on the mattress, more tired than before, while Hades lied his head on your chest. You kissed him and spent a moment caressing his hair. You weren’t sure how long you’ve stood there, but you fell asleep in the meantime, only waking up to the sound of the sheets moving, followed by soft steps on the floor and a door opening; a distant murmur of running water reached your ears, and you opened your eyes to find the bathroom’s door half opened, a yellow light leaking from it.

Despite being sleepy, you made an effort to leave the bed and walk toward the door, doing it slowly: as soon as you stood up, you felt an ache on your limbs and between your thighs, which seemed to increase when you moved too fast.

Did I exaggerate? Could it be that I’m still in process of transformation and not in my full strength?

You left those doubts aside when you opened the door and found your husband relaxing on the bathtub, the water at his chest’s height, the steam surrounding him. He immediately turned to the door’s direction when you stepped into the place, and a soft smile formed on his lips. You saw him stretching his right hand toward you in an inviting gesture; you accepted it and walked to the bathtub. You were wearing no clothes, only having your long hair to cover you, but no shame stopped you to move it away from your shoulders to enter the water. You lied on Hades’ lap, resting your head on his shoulder, the warmth of the water soothing your discomfort and leading you back to the calm state of unconsciousness.

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Chapter 2

Bruh. My back is HURTING from being hunched over my laptop lol. For some reason I've managed to shit out this next chapter at the speed of light, but I'm back at uni and deadlines are picking up so I can't guarantee another one for a couple weeks. ANYWAY - ALASTOR HAS FINALLY MADE AN APPEARANCE. Not in person yet, but he's here (in spirit). I also apologise to anyone not from Yorkshire, I've used some of our slang from there and it may not make sense, but MC's embracing her Northener crave for violence.

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 6800

Warnings: Period-typical sexism, Period-typical attitudes towards neurodivergency, Swearing, Descriptions of murder and dismemberment. MC'S RACE IS DEFINED DUE TO PLOT REASONS (also because she is based off my OC)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 >

PART 1: Chapter 2

Another box for my trinkets it's trinketville.

Meraki (Definition): To put something of yourself into your work. (Noun)

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Thursday, 7th November, 1929.

The first four months of your new apprenticeship had you thriving more than ever before since arriving in the US. The last time you had felt this joyous and satisfied you were nearly eighteen, the tickle of the long grass on your cheeks as you laid in the meadow at the height of spring, holding the bunch of wildflowers against the kaleidoscopic swirls of the evening tones of the sky above you, admiring the way the lowering sun hit the petals and the small bugs that floated around with its golden highlights. It was one of the few times you had managed to bring your racing mind to a stand-still; no voices; no random lines of songs in your head playing on replay; no worries about the chores you were procrastinating or the book your friend had recommended weeks ago that you were yet to touch. You remembered the feeling of the summer dress you wore, the texture of the leather messenger bag beside you gifted by the old woman who lived further down the lane of the village. She used to babysit you when your parents would travel to York days at a time for work or personal errands. You loved to skip down that lane, with your hand running along the rough stones of the ancient stone walls that lined the lanes of your little village you had spent your whole life in – also lining your mind with the cuts it gave you as you tried to climb over them with the twins over the years.

The routine of working at the repair shop had brought the blissful feeling of stability back, the hectic frenzy of travelling from hotel room to hotel room, checking your tickets a thousand times to make sure you were on the correct train platform, then checking again. You no longer had to worry about travel dates that would leave you feeling paralysed from doing anything else.

Mr LeBlanc had been an excellent teacher and manager, drilling skills into your mind since you stepped into the shop for your starter shift. It was certainly an experience: opening the double doors to a vintage collector’s dream, an antique emporium filled from floor to ceiling (and on the ceiling). Ralph had brought you behind the counter, to a room in the back that he gleefully revealed to be concealed by a door disguised as a bookshelf. The workshop hidden behind was every antique restorer’s sanctuary, and it was certainly yours. Drawers lining the walls filled with every tool that could file, chip away, or apply anything you could find. In the centre was a large wooden table – thick, sturdy planks covered in chips and splatters of paint and adhesives used over the years. This table would be the place you would spend the next four months, your hair tied back by a patterned silk bandana, Ralph showing you how to work with materials from wood to porcelain, metal to textiles. You would pour over books you had pulled from Mr LeBlanc’s bookshelves until late into the evening, until he sent you home with them in your bag, and you protected them with your life as you returned on the trams (or ‘streetcars’, as Americans called them) in the evening light.

Every Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, he taught you everything he could, and you absorbed it all at the speed of light, your mind soaking up every piece of information like a dry sponge. By month three you had been given the go ahead to work on your first object from a customer – a small, spindly regency era chamber table belonging to a local gentleman. All it needed was some chips to be filled and repolishing, allowing Ralph to be confident enough in your abilities to complete it correctly. Your results came out on top, both Ralph and the customer being satisfied with your work, and you received the praise gleefully, along with the hefty tip the gentleman handed you over the counter. To you, everything was going fine and dandy.

Until October hit.

Apparently there were plenty of warning signs, according to most. They knew this was coming, your aunt knew this was coming. It was what she had said when you sat with her on the steps of the front porch.

“Shops are going to start disappearing.” She said, keeping her gaze ahead as she watched the cars sputter by. “With the rate this is going, I’m going to have to pull the boys out of school and get them working – I can’t keep the walls of this house up by myself.”

It had sent chills down your spine when you had picked up a newspaper, the words ‘Wall Street’ and ‘Stock Market Crash’ staining the pages for weeks. You put your mind and body into helping Mr LeBlanc, desperate for him to keep his business up and running. Unfortunately, as prices dropped, less people wanted to splurge the extra cash on something nice and antique, so you both lowered prices where you could, even going to lengths to hammer fliers to every street-post that advertised restoration jobs for any household item, promising customers that they would save money on repairs instead of buying it new.

It worked more than you thought, and it brought in enough income for Ralph to scratch by. He was also grateful you hadn’t asked for a raise to cope with the financial crisis, flat-out refusing when he had tried to hand you some tips he had received.

It was just the beginning of December when Ralph had called the house phone as you were getting ready for work. Ollie had yelled up the stairs to tell you and you scrambled down in your work trousers with your nightgown still on. Grabbing the phone, you listened to a raspy Mr LeBlanc as he told you he had falling ill with the usual winter flu. Unfortunately, being 63 meant that he was more susceptible to the illness, and was unsure if he would recover. If he did, it would still take a while, so he had asked you that morning if you were capable of running the shop solo. You had instantly said yes, refusing to let any sidetrack be his business’s downfall, so, with your head held high, you walked to his house, picking up any essential documents that he said you would need, and kept the shop up and running to the best of your abilities.

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Friday, 6th December, 1929.

It was the Friday of the first week of December when you were an hour away from closing. You had been lucky that it had been pretty quiet the last few days, allowing you to settle into working your first ever Monday to Friday and getting to know the everyday things that were essential to keep the doors open. You had brought an armchair behind the counter – the gap between the counter and the wall was spacey enough for you to fit the chair and a small side table.

After not seeing any customers for over an hour, you had wandered off to the small side kitchen hidden by a Persian rug hung over the doorway to fetch yourself a warm cup of tea and a slice of carrot cake that Agnes had slipped into your lunch bag that day. Returning to the front, you placed the food and beverage on the side table, and sank into the chair, propping your feet up and delving into the book you had bought a few months ago.

Your eyes were drooping by the time you finished the tea and cake, and you rested your head on the back of the cushion, lowering your eyelids shut but remaining awake, knowing you had to get up soon in order to close in a half hour. Though the sudden sound of the shop’s bell chiming had you shooting out of your seat like a cat on a hot tin roof.

Scrambling to your feet, you scooted over to plop yourself on the counter stool, fixing yourself to look as presentable as possible as you faced the person entering. It was the mailman, stomping his boots to rid of the snow from the mild blizzard outside on the shoe rug by the door whilst holding a semi-large parcel under his arm. You recognised him from his rounds of the area, normally dropping off the odd parcel here and there for Ralph. Making sure the curls you had pressed into your hair overnight weren’t flattened at the back, you straightened out the silk scarf tied round the front of your head, flicking a curl out of your eye, and faced the man with a warm smile, to which he returned. He was a tall, young looking lad, older than you, but youth still shone in his eager eyes as he approached you.

“Afternoon ma’am,” he greeted, tipping his snow patterned hat. “I apologise for the snow on the floor, m’fraid the storm doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.”

You waved him off, assuring that you were going to be cleaning up soon anyway. He inquired about Mr LeBlanc’s whereabouts, and you explained that his illness wasn’t letting up any time soon.

“Shame,” he said. “I know you’re probably not getting overrun, but it still must be complicated being a young woman running someone else’s business – especially near Christmas, having to trek home in the cold and wet by yourself.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright.” You laughed with a shake of your head, trying to not let your frustration show at the thought of him doubting your skills because of your gender. “He’s given me everything I need, and I can deal with the weather just fine. Wet and cold is the norm where I’m from.” Changing the subject, you gestured to the half-damp parcel still under his arm. “Is that addressed to Ralph or the shop?”

As if suddenly remembering the reason he was here, he quickly hauled the parcel from under his arm and slid it onto the counter.

“It’s for the shop.” He explained, gesturing a gloved hand to it. “S’pose it’s a last minute repair for a Christmas gift or somethin’.”

Placing your hands on either side, you slid the large square box towards you. Standing up from the stool, you peered at the top. Brushing off the half-melted snow, you read the handwriting that ornately spelled out the address - this was probably another repair.

The parcel itself was probably the neatest you had ever seen anything wrapped. The parcel paper was thick and expensive, the water and snow running off without leaving any trace behind except for a slight sheen, and the edges were folded so crisp and perfectly shaped and flat you wondered if whoever had wrapped it was human. Tied round like a present was a thick twine, looping into a bow directly in the middle of the top. You admired the dedication of whoever had put in the time to wrap this, running your fingers over the corners only to jerk them back slightly as the folds were so sharp they felt like they were slicing at your skin.

Looking back at the mailman, you thanked him for the delivery, and hoped him safe travels back home. Tipping his hat at you, he turned away with a farewell, and the bell chimed again when he opened the door, dipping his head against the wind as he faded into the white wall outside.

When the howling wind finally allowed the door to shut, you began the closing routine, knowing that there wouldn’t be anyone else today with the severity of the weather outside. After locking the exits and pulling the shutters closed and the blinds down, you kept the shops lanterns on as you lifted the hefty parcel with a grunt and shuffled through the hidden doorway into the workshop.

Sliding it onto the table, you got to work opening it up, pulling the twine bow free and taking some small hand-held shears to slice open the glued down folds to reveal a cardboard box.

Pulling the thick brown paper and twine out from underneath, you chucked them onto the other workbench pushed against the wall to the right. Placing the shears down, you pushed your fingernails between the gap of the serrated cardboard and swung the flaps open. Inside was a lot of loose cotton wool, and you reached in, removing the protective layer and chucking it onto the table whilst simultaneously thanking whoever had spent their time padding the box out. This uncovered a semi-large shape swaddled in a maroon-coloured knitted blanket, and you reached your arms in deep to wrap around the object and haul it out.

Laying it on the table, you pushed the box and wool out of the way, and gently began unwrapping the blanket, mindful that some repair jobs may start out with several shattered pieces that you certainly didn’t want to accidentally drop an lose amongst everything. Coming to the final layer, your nails slotted through some of the holes of the knitting and clacked against what sounded like solid wood, and slipping the material off, you had your first look at your new potential project.

It was an old radio. Well, not that old, considering radios had only been in circulation for a decade or so, but it was one of the earlier models, the features you recognised from when you visited the county Mayor’s house when you were in your early teens. It was shaped with a resemblance to a cathedral arch, the wood panelling around the edge looking like pillars that began swirling and spiralling into gothic patterns the closer you got to the top. These patterns decorating the fine grated material that covered the speaker, and a few dials were situated on the bottom half, and you immediately noticed one was missing.

Pulling a stool over, you sat down to get a closer look, and you noted down the damages that came to light. It had obviously been looked after over the years, but, as always, people are prone to accidents, and this radio seemed to have gone through a few. Apart from the dial that was missing, there was a large split down one side, between two of the panels, and scratches and slight dents from where it had obviously been dropped. Grabbing your notebook, you jotted down your initial observations, before diving your hands into the left over cotton in the box to search for anything that could assist you.

To your luck, you found a small linen bag about the size of your palm, that you untied to reveal the missing dial and a few pieces of wood that had come off in some areas. Returning to your notes, you were just about to start a proposal form for treatment when something caught your eye. Looking over to the blanket you had put to the side, your eyes landed on a fancy looking envelope.

Reaching over, your fingers clasped around the paper, the material just as thick and expensive feeling as the parcel wrap, and you brought it towards you, careful not to elbow anything in the process, because if they could afford fancy radios and paper during this crisis, then they certainly were expecting you to repair this with equally expensive standards. Holding the paper up you read the loopy handwriting on the front of the envelope:

To  the Owner.

Turning it over, you pried the even fancier wax seal apart as gently as you could as to not ruin the paper, and opening the flap, you reached in to slide out a folded piece of parchment. Unfolding it, you began to read the matching, loopy words.

---

December 4 th, 1929

Dear Owner,

I do hope this package finds you well. I am delivering this fine radio to be repaired at your establishment, as it belongs to my dear Mother and I would be overjoyed to have it completed in time for Christmas. Unfortunately, it has suffered its fair share of drops and bumps, but from what I have heard from others in our beloved city, you should be able to do an excellent job. The outside is obvious with what needs to be done, but there are areas within the interior mechanics that require some repairs. Now, I would take it to the radio shop, but the man who owns it is oh-so unpleasant, and would take weeks to be returned.

I am sure you would be happy to take on this challenge, for my mother’s sake, and that you will do a splendid job.

Regards,

Mr A. Boudreaux

---

You blinked. Then furrowing your brows, you read it again. And again. Did this guy want you to not only fix up the look of his mum’s radio, but magically know the ins and outs of radio technology? You shook your head, then did a quick once-over of the words scrawled onto the page. Yep, he wanted you to do a Frankenstein and completely resurrect the old thing.

Placing you elbow on the table, you rested your chin on your palm as you stared at the wall covered in tool across the room. There was no way you could do this, not without Mr LeBlanc still ill – though even if he was here, you didn’t know if he had any knowledge on radios. Sighing, you rubbed at your face tiredly, not caring if you smudged the mascara on your lashes, it wasn’t like anyone was going to walk in on you with panda eyes anyway. Letting out a prolonged groan, you came to the final decision of what to do.

Trudging back into the shop, you quickly made yourself another cup of tea, before snatching some of the letter paper and an envelope from under the counter. Slumping back onto the stool in the workshop, you placed the paper in front of you whilst reaching into one of the drawers attached to the table to grab a pen, then, taking a moment to think of what you were going to say, you began writing.

---

December 6 th, 1929

Dear Mr Boudreaux,

Thank you for your enquiry. As much asI would love to fulfil your request, there are some issues regarding certain stages of the repairs. Mr LeBlanc, who owns the company, has taken ill this last week, and it is not yet known when he will recover, and I am the only member of staff he has employed at the moment. Unfortunately, I am not experienced in radio mechanics, and strongly advise that you come and collect the radio and take it to be repaired at a radio shop.

The radio can be returned here for outer repairs, but I am afraid that is the only option I can offer you at this time. The radio will be ready for you to collect from 9am on Monday morning. I do apologise for the inconvenience.

Regards,

---

Signing the first letter of your name, along with you surname, you read over what you had written. Satisfied, you sealed it in the envelope and got to work wrapping the radio back up. Quickly taking a candle, you took a peek in between the crack in the wood, the light shining on the innards. You definitely had no chance of fixing that, if the absolute mess of dislodged coils, wires and metal pieces inside said anything. Reluctantly you placed it back in its box wrapped up and padded with the cotton, before taping it up and re-glueing the parcel paper and twine back in place. It was a shame that you had to reject the request, the payment for the repair would have benefited you and Ralph quite a bit, and it made you feel awfully guilty to prevent someone’s gift for their mother, but it was out of your control. So, with the guilt hanging over your head, you pushed the parcel into the corner under one of the tables on sale.

Doing one last round of the shop, you extinguished the candles dotted around and flipped the light switches off except the main one by the door. With your coat and gloves on, you made sure the scarf was wrapped tight round your neck before grabbing your bag and did one last sweep of the place. Glancing in the corner, you took one last lingering look at the sorrowful parcel that sat under the table, but quickly snatched your eyes away, and grabbing the keys, you flipped the final light switch and stepped out into the cold, looking for the nearest post-box with the letter grasped in your hand.

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

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Monday, 9th December, 1929.

Monday came rolling round as usual, and you began your usual weekday routine of washing and dressing yourself before heading downstairs for breakfast. Scooping some scrambled eggs onto the toast on your plate, you trudged from the kitchen to the dining room, the slap of your bare feet on the tiles echoing through the wide hallway.

Shuffling through the doorway, you sat opposite Ollie, who, by the looks of it, was still waking up as he shovelled buttered toast into his mouth with his head still lying sideways on the table. Reaching over, you slapped the handle of your fork against his ear that stuck out from between his loose, dark curls, and he let out a whine as he sat up to face you with one eye glued shut, the other barely open, bread hanging from between his frown.

“You’ll choke eating like that.” You said as you scooped egg into your mouth.

Ollie dropped the toast from his mouth onto his plate. “Good.” He mumbled. “S’better than Miss Sammie droning on and ooonnnn about nonsense.” He flopped his head back on the table.

“Well enjoy it while you can.” You snorted. “If this crash gets any worse Mum will be pulling you both out to find jobs. And I know you two wouldn’t last a day in the workplace.”

He jerked his head back, scrunching his face in offence. “Like you would be any better.”

You deadpanned. “I’m currently working 9 -5, Monday to Friday, dumbass.” You jabbed back in annoyance, throwing a piece of crust at his forehead.

“Shit, forgot about that.” He grumbled, but perked up suddenly. “Yea, but you’ve only been working full time since last week!”

You chucked another crust. “Running a shop full time on my own – something I’ve never done before??”

“Still.” He retorted, shrugging his shoulders.

You had opened your mouth to retort, but stopped halfway as Allie’s voice echoed through from the kitchen.

“There’s been another one!” he called out, almost excitedly, the thumping of his feet vibrating through the floorboards as he practically sprinted into the room with the morning newspaper grasped firmly in his hands. The two of us jerked back as he slammed it onto the table.

“Amuver!?” cried Ollie, voice muffled by food, though he quickly swallowed it. All evidence of his tiredness now gone, he snatched up the paper and brought it right up to his face. “It’s barely been a week!”

“I know!” Allie replied, his voice rising in volume every time he spoke. “At this point it could end up happening every month!”

You looked between the two of them confused since you couldn’t see what Ollie was reading. “What could happen?” you asked, perplexed.

The two of them froze, turning to stare at you. Their eyes darted to each other, before Ollie lowered the newspaper and spoke.

“…The murders?” He revealed, as if it was the most obvious thing.

You blinked, then looked between the two, more confused. “What murders?”

“What!?” Allie cried, bracing his hands on the table as he leant over it, eyes wide. “You’ve been gallivanting round town for seven months and don’t know about thee murders??”

You leant back slightly at the sight of your cousin’s crazy expression, and slowly shook your head. “I’m uh – not one to read the newspaper often.” You explained sheepishly.

He gaped, clearly shocked at your lack of knowledge about the subject. His head whipped to where his brother sat, and his hand reached out and snatched the newspaper from Ollie’s. You quickly moved your breakfast out of the way, saving your food from being flattened as Allie slammed the paper down and began aggressively prodding at the headline on the front page. Swatting his hand away, you read the giant words printed above a photograph of a lake you didn’t recognise.

‘BARRISTER FOUND BUTCHERED ON EMBANKMENT’

Suddenly intrigued, brought the paper closer to read the front column.

Tragedy strikes again in New Orleans as the remains of county barrister, Paul Morgan, were found on the embankment and in the water of Lake Cataouatche by visitors to the area. Morgan was reported missing last Wednesday by his wife, Martha, when he failed to return home for two days after a night out on Monday with his colleagues. It was reported that Morgan’s body was dismembered, and his head took several hours to locate. However, certain body parts are still missing, therefore the lake has been closed off to the public for the foreseeable future. Police are calling in and searching for potential suspects, and give their condolences to Paul’s close family and friends, stating that they are working overtime to bring the killer to justice and prevent any further deaths. Due to the nature and severity of the crime, it is possible that this is another victim of who the public dubs ‘The Bayou Butcher’. The Sheriff strongly encourages people to stick to an early curfew and remain indoors after nightfall, as the safety of the public cannot be guaranteed at this trying time. (More on Page 5)

You went to flip through, but the paper was pulled out your hands by Ollie who wanted to read it.

“You know what I’m thinking?” Allie hissed excitedly as he lowered himself onto the chair at the head of the table between you both. “This could be another Axeman!”

Ollie gasped, eyes sparkling. “Shit, it could!”

You perked up. “Another Axeman? How long has this guy been around?” you asked as you brought your breakfast back in front of you.

Allie turned to you, eyes shining in excitement. “The first body was found in 1927 – and the rest have been popping up every 2-3 months, but this is the first time there’s been two in less than two weeks!”

You narrowed your eyes in thought. “How do you know it’s all one guy?”

At this question he seemed to get more excited, practically vibrating in his seat as he gestured to his twin. “Ollie and I have been collecting newspaper clippings on every murder that’s happened, and we’ve tried to eliminate any outliers – like, different weapons, ones that are bleedin’ obvious who did it – the rest all have the same MO: they never find the whole body.” He yammered on at light speed, emphasising each word with a loud thump of his finger prodding the table. “Sometimes it’s not obvious, I think they try to throw the police off by going for something small – like a finger – but there’s always something missing, and we know it’s them.”

You frowned. “Them?”

He shrugged. “Could be a woman.” You raised an eyebrow. “What!? I don’t discriminate! Women can be scary!” You slowly sat back in your seat, staring your cousin down. He pointed at you as he looked at his brother with wide eyes. “See!? You wouldn’t be surprised if she dragged a body in?”

Ollie swallowed the food he was chewing. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she caused the second Great Fire of London because someone stole her food.” He said nonchalantly, before casually returning to his toast.

“Exactly!” cried Allie. “No wonder the government wants you all nice and buttoned up in a strait jacket!”

Dropping your fork with a clatter, you looked up at him in shock, mouth hanging open. He froze, quickly realising what he had said, and his face slowly scrunched up as he cringed.

“Too far?” he squeaked meekly as he glanced at you. “Sorry.”

Pouting, you glared silently before picking your fork back up.

A few moments of silence passed, before Ollie decided he had experienced enough of the dampened mood. “You know,” he began, catching your attention again. “We think the body parts aren’t just missing for the sake of it.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head, intrigued again.

He looked you directly in the eye. “We think they’re eating them.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Oo yummy, like a cannibal?” you queried, eyes darting to Allie, who perked back up, nodding. “So… there’s a cannibalistic serial killer running around New Orleans?”

Allie pointed a finger. “Serial killer, yes. Cannibal, possibly. We don’t actually have any proper evidence for that. I’m also going to skip the ‘yummy’ part, cuz I know you would never willingly consume human flesh.”

“You would be correct,” you confirmed with an amused smile, before glancing at the two. “Has mum ever suggested that you two should consider joining the police force?”

All you got were two matching cheshire grins in response.

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

After cleaning up your food, and disappointing the twins because no, you didn’t bring your serial killer books to America with you, because you didn’t want to be judged by the luggage inspectors on the ferry, besides, Jack the Ripper got a little boring after a while.

Even though it was interesting to learn about the current events of the city you were staying in, the subject of said current events did end up putting you on edge when you travelled to work that morning, with you clutching your bag a little tighter, and intensely staring down anyone who looked at you a little odd on the tram. It even got to the point where you had stepped off the tram, and spent the ten minute walk between there and the shop glancing down any alleyways as subtle as you could, even though you knew you would spot anyone against the white snow that reflected the morning sun into your poor, suffering eyes anyway.

Unlocking the shop doors, you stepped in, stomping the snow off of your boots on the mat before picking it up and shaking it off outside. Crossing the threshold of the room, you ducked under the rug into the kitchen, shrugging off your scarf and coat and hanging them up on the pegs.

You were just dusting off the old grandfather clock that was slotted between the shelves of smaller antique clocks when a knock echoed through the shop. Jumping slightly, you lowered the feather duster in your hand and looked over your shoulder to see the same mailman from Friday waving at you through the window in the door, his smile growing as you made eye contact with him . Placing the duster down, you quickly strode over to the door, twisting the locks before pulling it open and sticking you head through the gap.

“I do apologise Miss,” he began after you said hello. “I hate to interrupt you whilst your still getting ready to open, but my boss handed some priority mail to me – said I had to get it to you as soon as I could.” He held a letter out in front of you.

Frowning, confused, you slowly reached out and took the letter from his hands. “Okayyy…” Turning the letter around you came across some very familiar hand writing:

‘To Mr LeBlanc’s Employee.’

“Oh god.” You groaned quietly, your shoulders slumping. This could turn out to be quite nasty if this was going the way you thought it would.

The mailman glanced between the letter and your very prominent grimace. “Is everything alright?” he asked, concern shining in his eyes.

“Yea! Yea,” you breathed, glancing around the street with the dwindling hope that your client would show up to pick up his parcel, but the letter in your hand said otherwise. “Everything’s fine. Just some very small business issues.”

He glanced at your face again, and went to open his mouth, but hesitated, seemingly switching what he was going to say. “Well, uh, I hope everything goes well, ma’am. I’ll see you around?”

You nodded, still staring down the street. “Yea, sure. See you around.” You said distractedly. Quickly giving him a strained smile, you stepped back to close the door, and the man tipped his cap at you again before strolling away.

Walking over to the counter, you slumped onto the stool with a groan, chucking the letter down in front of you. Leaning your elbows on the surface, you rested your forehead against your palms as you glared at the words inked onto the paper. The way it was addressed to you already screamed passive-aggressive, and you hated confronting anything or anyone with a passion, and you certainly didn’t want to confront this Boudreaux guy because you denied his mum a Christmas present. With a loud whine, you slammed your head onto the counter before blindly patting the surface until you felt the thick paper and slowly dragged it towards you. Sitting back up, you held the seemingly innocent envelope in front of you, and stared at it for a couple more moments, before you couldn’t take it anymore and tore it open.

---

December 7 th, 1929

To the Employee of Mr LeBlanc,

I hope this letter has found you in post haste. I am deeply upset that you lack the skills of radio repair, after all it is a growing medium that most should be learning at this point. Therefore I have come to the conclusion that I will refuse your rejection. The fliers you put out stated very clearly that you could repair ANY object, and it would be very disappointing for people to hear that it no longer has that skill to offer, since the only other option for radio repair during these trying times is a very unpleasant experience with that owner I mentioned.

I do hope my Mother’s radio will be fixed on time, I do hate to disappoint her. If Mr LeBlanc does not recover within the period, or you have any queries about the repair, please call the number I have written below.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Best Wishes,

Mr A. Boudreaux

---

If your mouth hung open any further than you would be catching every insect that resided in the swamps surrounding the town.

Was this guy fucking for real??

You scoffed slightly. Then again. Eventually you scoffing spiralled into manic laughter as you guffawed at the audacity that this man thought he had. With wide eyes, you slammed the paper down back onto the counter, staring over at the wall because if you looked at those words any longer you would probably end up tracking this man down so you could shove his mother’s radio up his ass along with the fat metal rod that apparently already resided there.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed back the stool and stood up, deciding you needed you reset your mind before the first customers came in. Marching back to the kitchen, you spent the next five minutes sat in the middle of the floor, waiting for the kettle to boil as you very angrily stuffed the blueberry muffin you had brought in your mouth. You glanced at the clock and pouted as you realised you only had 15 minutes before you had to put on your best customer-friendly expression despite the metaphorical grey cloud that thundered above your head.

Thinking for a moment, you shot back up, chucking the muffin case as you strode back through to the counter, and snatched the letter up, marching back to the kitchen over to the rotary phone on the table in the corner. Picking up the handset, you pressed it to your ear as you spun the number written out on the paper in front of you.

It rang for a moment, and you tried to picture the man who would – hopefully – receive your call. You expected to hear the gruff voice of some 50 year old, that would start yelling down the line about how incompetent you were, especially when he found out you were a woman, before you heard a crackle as it was picked up and a polite and much younger sounding “Hello?” came through.

You froze for a moment, your vision of some rude, old guy whooshed away at the voice of a much younger, more spritely man, and you pictured someone like the mailman, until you heard a louder, drawn out “Hellooo?”, the man on the other end seemingly becoming amused at your lack of response.

Snapping yourself out of the character builder you had in your mind, you quickly spoke. “Hello, do I happen to be talking to–”

“Oh, I am sorry, my dear.” You blinked as you were interrupted. “But I do believe you’ve accidentally called an American number!” The man said chipperly, though there was a condescending undertone – his amusement clearly growing at the thought of your apparent mistake. You guessed it was when he heard your accent.

“I- what?” you stammered down the receiver.

“Oh you poor thing.” He simpered over the line like some fake grandma comforting you after you tripped over. He was clearly having fun – you could just picture the fake pout he was putting on. “Like I said, I’m afraid you have the wrong number.”

No, this was definitely the right one. His attitude over the phone matched his attitude in the letter precisely.

You could hear him being to move to put the phone down, and you quickly called out. “WAIT NO!!” you cried, on the verge of an outrage. “I definitely put the right number in! Now, am I or am I not speaking to a Mister Boudreaux?”

“Oh! Do pardon me.~” He practically sing-songed. Oh, so now he was willing to listen? “Yes that is I, and to who do I owe the pleasure to be called by an English dame such as yourself?” the fake flirtatious tone had you picturing the faceless man laid on his front, kicking his legs as he twirled the coil between his fingers. You pushed that amusing thought down, however, when you caught sight of the piece of paper in your hand.

“I got your letter.”

“Ah,” It was like a switch was flipped, the man’s tone darkening slightly. “I see.”

Rereading the words this guy had put down, you could barely control yourself, and you pictured the time your mother had marched you down the lane to the house of a boy in your school year. That boy had given you a large bruise on your forehead, and instead of telling you that he did it because he fancied you, your mum decided to give him and his family the verbal lashing of your life. ‘I’m not raising you to snap at the slightest pressure like those London lasses, my love’, she had said, ‘You’re gonna go down kicking and screaming like it’s the last thing you’ll do’.

And that’s exactly what you’re gonna do.

“Right,” you began, your Yorkshire accent coming on full force. “I’m gonna need you t’ open yer lug ole, lad, cuz I dunno how you lot do customer service over here in America, but bein’ passive aggressive t’ someone who’s literally done nowt to deserve the absolute shite you’ve just given me makes you out t’ be a right knob’ead, you hear me?” You reprimanded. “If you don’t get your arse down to the shop by the end of the week, I’m putting ya mum’s radio down as unclaimed and selling it t’ the next person I see!”

You quickly slammed the phone down, too fuming to hear anything that Mr Boudreaux had to say. The only reason you felt a little guilty was that you knew nothing about this guy’s mum – she could be the sweetest woman in the world, and you just up and went and threatened to sell her possession! Though, with the way her son behaved, you would be surprised if she turned out to be just like him. Ugh, then you would be dealing with two of them.

Letting out a sigh, you picked up the phone again, instead dialling the phone number pinned to the corkboard on the wall. It rang for longer this time, and when it picked up you received a very loud coughing fit. When it died down, you finally spoke.

“Ralph I need your help.” You groaned, plopping yourself down on the spindly chair next to you with a defeated sigh.

“I’ve got the worst customer in the world.”

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

Does uh, anyone want more memes?

I hope you've enjoyed what I've given you so far, and I do apologise for the sudden dialect change, I was desperate for MC to finally speak the way I do lol. See you soon for Chapter 3!!

Please let me know if you want to be added to the Taglist!

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*feeds you content a lot earlier than I thought*

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[fordohyon]

THE SECURITY HAS A CRUSH ON YOU?

PT.1

pt. 2!

PAIRING - maknaeline!xikers x fem!reader

TAGS - fluff

WARNING(S) - lmk if theres any, lmk if there are errors as well!!

wc - 2.2k, each member around 300-400

req by - @junghoonateezzanti

a/n - finally 🙌🙌 ive finished it!! sorry it took a while (like really really long), but i am now not procrastinating my reqs and doing them! Very long overdue!!

정훈

JUNGHOON

Since you've been dating, Junghoon has only seen you without makeup or minimal makeup. It's not that he thinks you look ugly, though he's seen you buy some and paid for a few. Your cousin's wedding is in about 3 hours, he knows about the wedding and you've talked about going together. Buzzing from your phone echoes throughout the room confirming that you called him. "Babe...? Isn't it too early?" Evident in his voice that he had just woken up. "Sorry, did I wake you up? Though, are you sure you're gonna come with me? I mean, it's your first time meeting my family and it's during a wedding." Your boyfriend hums as you babble,

"Of course..! We've talked about it, honey. I wouldn't say things I'm not sure of, okay? I'll be there, I'll bring my suit and things too." He voices, affirming you.

Your doorbell rings while you scramble to find your dress, your boyfriend messages, telling you he's at the door. Treading to your door and hearing your boyfriend calling out your name you open it instantly, "Hi honey, you look good." He mumbles whilst you kiss him. "Thank you... You'll be dressing up here?" You question him, making sure what you heard a while ago was right.

"Yes, I brought my suit and everything," Junghoon confirms with a warm smile, holding up the garment bag. "I thought it would be more convenient to get ready here together. Plus, I wanted to spend some extra time with you before we head out."

As you let him into your apartment, you notice a flicker of concern in Junghoon's eyes. Sensing his unease, you gently touch his arm and ask, "Is everything alright, Junghoon? You seem a bit off."

Taking a deep breath, he hesitates before speaking. "Well, I have to admit, I've been feeling a bit... insecure about it lately," he confesses, his voice hardly above a whisper. "Remember the security guard at my workplace who has a crush on you? it made me wonder if I'm not appreciating you enough."

Surprised, you reassure him quickly. "Junghoon, don't worry. I love you, and I'm committed to our relationship. I appreciate your concern, but my heart belongs to you.

Relief washes over Junghoon's face. "Thank you for understanding," he says gratefully. "I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page. I trust you completely, and our love is strong."

You pull him into a solace embrace, whispering, "Junghoon, you mean the world to me."

A sense of reassurance, you both get ready for the wedding. You take your coat, ready to go.

You both attend the wedding, your family asks about your boyfriend and invites him to dinner. Of course, he says yes.

(might make an imagine/drabble about the dinner with your family cs I've been missing junghoon a whole lot lately)

세은

SEEUN

He was already at your place before you were even thinking about getting ready for your date. "Babe...? Are you going to dress up in front of me?" He asks you, you who completely forgot about having Seeun over and about to take your towel off. "Get out... Please" You mumble meekly. "I'll tell you when I'm done!" you shriek at him, voice slightly shaking. As Seeun stumbled out of the room, his mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions. Jealousy surged through him, fueled by the sight of you preparing for your date in a way he hadn’t seen before. His extroverted nature had always made him feel confident, but now he found himself questioning his desirability.

Inside the room, you were left feeling a mix of vulnerability and confusion. The situation escalated beyond what you anticipated, and you desperately wanted to explain yourself to Seeun.

Outside, Seeun's heart sank as he realized the impact of his jealousy on your relationship. He berated himself for allowing his insecurities to overshadow his trust in you,

he gathered his thoughts and knocked gently on the door. "I'm sorry," he said softly, his voice filled with remorse. "I let my jealousy get the best of me." Taking a deep breath, you opened the door and looked into his eyes.

"I understand that seeing me dress up caught you off guard," you began, your voice filled with empathy. "But please know that you are the one I love and have chosen to be with."

Seeun's eyes softened as your words sank in. Realizing the significance of trust and communicatio. "I love you," he said earnestly. "I don't want my insecurities to come between us."

you both chose to set aside the tension and focus on strengthening your relationship. You promised to communicate openly, sharing your fears and insecurities.

You walked out of the room, leaving behind the misunderstandings and doubts that had momentarily clouded your love. As you went on your date together.

유준

YUJUN

Yujun was known for his contradictory nature—extroverted at heart but held back by shyness. You’ve been dating for several months. Sharing a deep connection, Yujun’s insecurities are about to be put to the test.

You had plans to attend a special event. It was the first time Yujun would see you get dolled up, as you usually preferred an easier look to do. As he waited for you to finish getting ready, his mind wandered to the security guard he had noticed at their previous outings. The guard always seemed to cast longing glances in your direction, and it fueled a growing jealousy within Yujun.

As the minutes ticked by, Yujun’s anticipation mingled with anxiety. When you finally came out of the bedroom, he was struck by you. The sight of your radiant beauty, accentuated by carefully applied makeup, took his breath away. But it also stirred up a storm of conflicting emotions within him.

Amid this internal struggle, the doorbell rang. It was the security guard, who had come to escort them to the event. Yujun’s heart sank. Throughout the evening, Yujun battled his insecurities. As he observed the guards’ charming and confident demeanor, he couldn't help but compare himself to the security guard. Doubts gnawed at him, whispering that he wasn't enough for you, that you deserved someone more outgoing and self-assured.

Sensing Yujun’s unease, you pulled him aside, her eyes filled with concern. "What's wrong, Yunjn?" you asked gently, your voice sufficed with care.

Stumbling to find the right words, Yujun finally mustered the bravery to convey his feelings. "I'm sorry. Seeing you all dolled up tonight... and the way he looks at you... I can't help but feel jealous. I worry that I'm not enough for you."

As you reached out to hold his hand, your eyes softened. "Yujun, I understand your concerns, but you mean the world to me. Your shy nature and extroverted heart are what make you so special. I fell in love with the person you are, and nothing can change that."

As Yujun listened to your words, he felt a glimmer of hope. Seeing that his envy was rooted in his insecurities and that you had chosen him for a reason.

As the night progressed, Yujun made an effort to entertain in discussions and showcase his extroverted side. With you by his side.

ฮันเตอร์

HUNTER

Hunter found himself in the midst of a whirlwind of emotions. He had been dating you for quite some time, and your relationship had always been filled with understanding and support. However, tonight was different. It was the first time Hunter had seen you put on makeup, and it ignited a spark of jealousy within him.

As Hunter watched you carefully apply your makeup, he couldn't help but feel a pang of insecurity. His mind drifted to the security guard, whom you had encountered earlier that day. He exuded confidence and had a character that seemed to draw people in effortlessly. Hunter couldn't shake the feeling that you might be attracted to the guards' charming nature.

When you finally emerged from the bedroom, Hunter's breath caught in his throat. You looked breathtakingly beautiful, your natural features enhanced by the subtle touch of makeup. His heart swelled with pride, but at the same time, a wave of self-doubt washed over him.

As they prepared to leave for the evening, Hunter noticed that the guard would be at the event. A surge of jealousy coursed through Hunter's veins as he observed the guards' friendly banter with you during the walk there.

Sensing Hunter's inner turmoil, you gently took his hand and gazed into his eyes with concern. "Hunter, what's troubling you? You seem distant tonight."

Hunter hesitated for a moment, then finally found the courage to express his feelings. "Seeing you so beautiful tonight and the way the guard interacts with you... I can't help but feel jealous. I worry that I'm not enough for you."

Your understanding softened your eyes. You tenderly caressed his face and talked with an earnestness that never wavered. Hunter felt a weight lift off his shoulders as your words sank in. "Hunter, please know that, I love you and there's no one else I'd rather be with. Just be yourself, and that's more than enough for me." As your words sank in, Hunter felt a weight lift off his shoulders.

예찬

YECHAN

Yechan had been dating you for quite some time, and your relationship had always been filled with experience and excitement. However, tonight was different. It was the first time Yechan had seen you put on makeup, and it kindled a storm of clashing emotions within him.

As Yechan watched you carefully lay on your makeup, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of insecurity. His mind wandered to the security guard they had encountered earlier. He had an undeniable charm, and Yechan couldn't shake off the feeling that the guard had developed a crush on you.

As you finished getting ready, you turned to Yechan with a radiant smile. Your beauty, enriched by the touch of makeup, took Yechan's breath away. But alongside the admiration, jealousy began to eat at him, threatening to overshadow their evening.

As they prepared to attend an event together, Yechan's unease grew when he realized that the guard had been assigned to escort them to the event. The thought of spending the night in the guards’ presence intensified Yechan's jealousy, and self-doubt started to cloud his mind.

Seeing the anguish on Yechan's face, you grabbed his hand and drew him away. "Yechan, is there anything wrong? You seem standoffish."

Yechan paused, not knowing quite how to say what was on his mind. But he understood that their connection depended on honesty. "Seeing you so beautiful tonight and the way he looks at you... I can't help but feel jealous. I worry that I'm not enough for you, that I can't compete with his charm and attention."

You cupped Yechan's face gently and your eyes softened. “His charisma may draw attention, but it's your light that shines brighter than anybody else's, Yechan. I like your gregarious demeanor and your capacity to make everyone around you feel special.” You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper.

"But most of all, I admire your kind heart and selfless nature. You make me want to be a better person." Yechan's cheeks turned a light shade of pink as he smiled bashfully. "I never knew you felt that way," he murmured. You smiled back, feeling your heart flutter at his sincerity. "Well, now you do."

[goldeneyedgirl]

Ficmas Day 6: Divorced Jalice

Dog Update: Clementine is tick-free and has resumed being extremely dramatic <3

Hello lovelies. I had a change of heart today and thought I'd offer the people what they want: Divorced Jalice. We've got a few mixed scenes from throughout as I try and piece this together as an actual fic (most likely a series of shorter fics than a singular large one, but the process is ongoing.)

I hope you enjoy it (and yes, part 2 of the STL AU is coming ASAP ;))

(and because I made two banners and picked the silly one, here's the serious one as well.)

--

Thanksgiving comes like clockwork, and Jasper somehow manages to dodge most of the planning - he sends a message to the group chat that he’s bringing a fruit pie and rolls from a bakery close to his apartment, and Esme is happy. He knows there will be hell to pay when Rosalie gets a hold of him, but he’ll cheerfully pay that price.

Winter appears out of nowhere, and the temperature crashes. It’s a particularly cold start to winter, which he appreciates - there’s something about the holidays being snowy that makes them better. All his best holidays had snow.

He doesn’t see Alice as often; she doesn’t walk over to meet him at the park cafe as often, isn’t enthusiastic about any of the outdoor fairs and activities. Jasper’s mostly confused by her lackluster responses, because she used to love ice skating and tubing and holiday markets - she’d drag him out every weekend from November through to January.

Instead, they text. A few times they meet for food, but always indoors and Alice always catches an Uber, even from a couple of blocks over. But he doesn’t ask. She looks frailer in the cold weather, even underneath layer upon layer of clothing. He starts offering to bring lunch over because it’s so cold, and a couple of times she actually takes him up on that.

He asks her about her Thanksgiving plans and she just says that she doesn’t really celebrate it anymore.

“That was always a Cullen thing; my family was more about Black Friday shopping,” she says, nibbling at the noodles he brought her. “I’m more of a Christmas girl.”

That does put a dent in his plans, so he procrastinates until the week of to ask her to the Cullen’s for lunch. They wouldn’t mind, they’d be happy to see her.

‘Thank you for thinking of me, but no - I’m recovering from a cold and am very bad company right now. Say hi for me.’

Simple, to the point, but polite. Jasper’s more disappointed than he thought he’d be, because he never really expected her to accept.

The look of disappointment on Esme’s face when he walks in alone with his pie and rolls makes him feel both protective of Alice and very exposed.

Esme waits nearly ten minutes after he walks in to ask - “Alice had other plans?”

There are eight settings around the table, just like old times.

And there’s a thought that’s been nagging at him for weeks as he followed the group chat plans for the Thanksgiving-Christmas-New Year season. That for all his family's requests for her presence, to speak with Alice and spend time with her again, none of them seem to be reaching out even though she'd shared her contact details with them.

“I didn’t know you’d invited her?” It’s a passive aggressive response, and childish as fuck, but he doesn’t care.

“Oh, no, I just thought… I didn’t want to be pushy. I didn’t feel it was my place to reach out to her,” Esme said. Well, now he feels like an asshole.

“She’s recovering from a cold, I don’t think she’s doing anything today but resting.” It’s a flimsy peace offering but all Esme needs - the illusion that Alice can’t be here, rather than Alice didn’t want to be with them, is a distinct difference.

“Make sure you invite her for Christmas Day, okay?” Esme brandishes a mixing spoon at him before resuming cooking.

//

She’s supposed to meet Jasper at the park, and they’re going to a movie.

Alice’s surprised to find him playing basketball with Emmett - she’s not sure that she’s seen him do that since they started college - but she waves them on and takes a seat. She’s got a new client, and needs to get preliminary sketches done.

But she cannot help watching the game - both Emmett and Jasper were always athletic, but Jasper was entirely disinterested in team sports through high school and college. There’s also a sense of camaraderie and fun that she thought was long gone from Jasper. He’s happy and he’s playful and it’s wonderful to see. She always missed that part of him.

Jasper is laughing at something Emmett says, as he peels off his shirt and she’s glad she’s got her sunglasses on because she’s turning red. He’s gained muscle since she last saw him shirtless, and it’s a very good look for him.

So are the tattoos that wrap around his torso and down one arm. He’d always talked about getting one before, but then he’d joined the corporate world and dismissed the idea. She wishes she’d bullied him into it now, because it suits him way too much, and her mind is wandering back to before the divorce, before her heart trouble, before when they were happy, and mentally envisaging him with tattoos, and ugh, she’s in so much trouble now.

(Shit. What a time for her sex drive to return. It hadn’t been an option or an interest for so long, and now she’s here, picturing her ex husband hovering over her with that grin that always meant she was going to have a really good time, her fingers tracing the lines of ink on his torso as he gives her his very best and shit, shit, shit. They’ve had this talk. She’s doesn’t want to go back to that place. She can’t. The only thing that she’s ready and willing to give is her friendship. And no matter how good he looks, and how good she knows he is, it won’t change her mind.

Except…)

She’s already talked to her therapist extensively about Jasper. He wasn’t even the reason that she went to therapy - her doctor strongly recommended it because of absolutely everything that happened to her. She was supposed to be in therapy the entire time, for all the surgeries, as well as the support groups, but it had seemed stupid and pointless when she was on her own with no one else around to see the tears and the tantrums. She hadn’t wanted to spend the precious free time she had outside of the hospital talking about being in the hospital.

She’d put it off for six years. Now she’s forced to play catch up. And her therapist is… nice? If that’s the right word. The woman is no-nonsense, and her questions are always brutal - why resume a friendship with Jasper? Why immediately accept his apology that day they met up? Why fall back into old patterns? What does she want to change and what does she need to change? Does she think that’s a realistic expectation? What changes has she already made?

The doctor would give her that withering, exasperated look if she knew how Alice was staring at her ex-husband right now.

(The problem is that she’s spent so much time in hospitals and in surgery over the last few years that she knows a lot more about anatomy, and has an appreciation for how bodies fit together. Watching the shift and pull of Jasper’s muscles as he steals the ball from Emmett is not in any way helping her make good decisions, but it’s doing wonders for her imagination…)

“Ready to go?”

She looks up to find Jasper standing beside her in a clean shirt, and she fumbles trying to put her sketchbook and pencil back in her bag. “Sorry, daydreaming,” she murmurs, but Jasper stares at her for a moment before offering her his water bottle.

“You’re red, too long in the sun,” he says, frowning. “Don’t let me keep you waiting next time, okay?”

She nods, taking a sip out of the bottle, but Emmett’s behind him, giving her a narrow look and shit, if Emmett - who has always had an uncanny ability to pinpoint anything anyone wanted to keep a secret - figured out that she was having thoughts about Jasper, it would absolutely get back to Rose.

And Alice hadn’t really spoken to Rosalie yet. Or Bella. There had been a few dinners she’d been invited to - she’d attended less than half, but mostly because she didn’t have the energy to leave her apartment - and the conversation was polite and friendly. Rosalie would ask a few leading questions, but someone - either Jasper or Esme - usually neutralized the conversation.

She doesn’t have the energy to talk to Rose or Bella yet because she’s knows how it’s going to go - uncomfortable, mostly. She’s never had to establish boundaries with the expanded Cullen clan - Bella did, with varying success - and she’s not sure how to do it, beyond avoiding the conversation.

“I’m good,” she said, hoping she sounded better and she wasn’t as red. “I don’t mind waiting for you to finish your game.”

Fucking tattoos. Ugh.

—

Alice was exceptionally clear with her boundaries and expectations this time around - friends. Nothing else. He’d asked, and she’d said no.

And it wasn’t unexpected. It hasn’t been that long since they started spending time together. There’s clearly a lot that’s happened to Alice since she left, and she’s not ready to discuss that with him. They stick to a lot of safe subjects, things that don’t make her respond with an edge in her voice, or with simple conversation-ending responses.

(He’s got Rosalie in the background, half-demanding an explanation that he cannot give because he doesn’t know anything. She’s thinner and quieter, and he doesn’t really understand how she fills her days. There have been a couple of times that she’s alluded to being sick, but from what he remembers of her family history - depression and asthma mostly - there’s nothing that he can confidently say would cause this version of her. Then there’s Esme, desperately wanting to welcome Alice back into the fold, to the bi-weekly family dinners and the holiday lake trips and group vacations. Bella asks after her awkwardly but kindly, and it’s Edward who pointedly mentions that Bella would love to get coffee with Alice, but he doesn’t understand why Bella doesn’t just ask Alice.)

Peter says that he just needs to let Alice have her boundaries and her autonomy. Respect this version of her and don’t try to recreate the wife - or the dynamic - that he had in his twenties. And sure, that seems reasonable and kind of obvious.

Except she’s still the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. She’s still Alice, and he’s loved Alice since he was twelve years old. He wants it to be easy between them again, where she won’t tense up if he touches her, where he can hold her hand and hold her, and it’s something they both want.

He talked it over with Peter a few weeks ago. And Peter was definitely laughing at him.

“So you want tips on how to seduce your ex-wife?” Peter asked with a grin.

“That’s not what I’m asking.” He’d been annoyed at the time because it wasn’t… except it was.

“When was your last relationship?” Peter asked directly and it’s easy for him - whilst Charlotte dumped him for dealing and the blossoming addiction, she’d been willing to make things work when Peter started rehab and recovery, and was determined to make a change. She’d been there from the beginning, every single step. Peter never had to worry about balancing brand new relationships with being in recovery. But Peter had also never cheated on Charlotte or been such a dick to her as Jasper had been to Alice. There was a lot less baggage for them.

“Long term or…?” Jasper took a swig of his soda.

“Any.”

“Maria. Had a couple of dates after rehab but they weren’t…” He was bored and lonely, and it had been a mutual one-night thing. “That’s it.” There haven’t been any dinner or movie dates, anyone he had the motivation to build something with. He’s a hell of a lot more loyal to Alice now that they’re divorced than he was when they were married.

“Huh.” Peter looks surprised at that but shrugs. “That’ll score you some points.”

“You two are idiots.” Charlotte appears from the kitchen, her mangy old cat in her arms. “The only date you’re going to get Jasper is one with a restraining order.”

“I told him to respect her boundaries!” Peter looks insulted.

“The bar is in hell,” Charlotte drops into a chair. “Jasper, I’m going to say this as the partner of an addict who gave him a second chance: she owes you nothing. The best thing you can do is be the perfect respectful friend she’s asked you to be. No flirting, no jokes about 'dating', and absolutely no thinking that sex with you will convince her. Your dick is not magic.”

“Char,” Peter has a hand over his eyes and Jasper’s taking a long drink of soda to avoid having to say anything.

“I’m not finished. Don’t make work for her - emotional or physical. You said she quit drinking coffee-“

“How long were you eavesdropping!?”

“-the last hour, hush. Don’t bring her a coffee. Bring her whatever you saw her drinking. The emotional labor of declining the coffee and the physical labor of consuming or disposing of the coffee is just work for her. Pay attention to her, and the little things. You want her to be more transparent about what she’s been through? Own your shit. Be transparent. It’s about give and take.”

“Wait, Char, you’d know what the scar is.” Peter lunged forward, placing his hands on both of Charlotte’s knees, the cat fleeing at the sudden movement. “Jasper cannot figure out what the scar is, right down the middle of her chest.”

“She covers it up a lot, with clothing,” Jasper admitted.

“Have you asked her?” Charlotte asked flatly.

“No?”

“That feels like a great first step. ‘How did you get that scar?’ If she’s comfortable with you knowing, she’ll tell you. If she’s not, she won’t.”

“Char,” Peter whines, drawing out the last syllable of her name.

“Don’t whine. If Jasper wants a healthy relationship with Alice, he will communicate with her like an adult. Besides, a scar in that position could be a lot of different things - skin cancer, organ transplant, injury… There’s a lot of different reasons, and without seeing it, it’s just a wild stab in the dark.”

[moonshynecybin]

Can't decide on a specific scene but i'll take anything you have to say about i'll meet judgement by the hounds bc at this point i have re-read it so many times ...

the thing about ill meet judgement by the hounds is that literally no concrete planning went into writing that thing. i was up against a deadline for a grad school assignment i was procrastinating like NOBODY'S BUSINESS had two panic attacks that week (unrelated to school!!) and then flew to bath with my roommate spur of the moment. posted that ch2 late at night zooted on my anxiety meds and and woke up to some LOVELY messages that i read on a bus when i was pulling away from the airport. insane experience. i didnt even want to give it a chapter two right away i was like IM BUSY. and then i wrote it immediately.

BUT to actually talk about the fic. like you asked <3. i actually had this idea that i wanted to follow marc's pov (at that point i had only written vale) and get inside his insane headspace leading up to his arm surgery and then be like. wouldnt it be crazy if vale was there and wanted to reconcile a bit but he was also kind of avoiding SAYING THAT. wouldnt that make marc feel EVEN CRAZIER. marc marquez saw trap simulator. inside you there are two wounds one is valentino rossi and the other is your fucked up arm. anddddd 2022 seemed like the ideal place for a rosquez reunion to me! like. dramaturgically. marc is on the brink. vale has just retired (easy to get a reason for him to have an epiphany regarding marc, made even easier bc marc pov means i never have to explain it in depth !)

and the thing about this fic is that it was supposed to be. A LOT longer. go race by race until his surgery and have them talk a lot more. change a little more gradually. but uh. ive already said my life was insane at that time and i got excited and fucking SENT that badboy. (again. i was lightly tranquilized.) which i think MOSTLY makes it better but the pacing is still little wacky. anyways i do think of the scene i cut where marc talks to alex all the time but i think i also fully deleted it! dont write fic under the influence! i also cut a BIG scene of them at the french GP where vale brings marc a sandwich and makes him eat it. it should also be noted that i was doing SO much journalism research about this period and i found a bunch of WILD quotes from marc that i compiled into a small insane vision board of them to ground my fic in his crazy way of conceptualizing his life. that i apparently also deleted while zen-ed out. so

more stupid behind the scenes under the cut

actual plot summary (my "outline") that i wrote out at the top of my google doc complete with typo:

Thinking about how absolutely distressing it would be for Marc pre surgery or right after if Vale tried to reconcile. Early 2022 before surgery decision and post Vale retirement

Scenes of Vale like. earnestl y talking to him. Marc represses a panic attack every time. race by race?

and here's what i had written for aragon, which is full of lines i just thought of with NO context or structure like this part would NOT take off the ground. you might notice some of them get repurposed later in the fic:

III. French GP, 2022. P6.

Marc’s still not out of the habit of reaching for him, apparently. He looks— God. Marc’s head hurts just looking at him. He could swear he has defenses from this, from how Marc can feel where he is in every room they’re in together. He guesses somewhere in the last few weeks he’s lost them, again. Just another thing he used to be good at.

despite everything, Marc can feel himself relax, with Vale here. The warm heat of him sharing space. He used to feel like this all the time. Vale to his left. His arm, casual and pain free, on his right. Now he's scarred all the way down both sides.

He remembers when he was a kid and he met Vale. How he had winked at Marc and said, I'll look out for you, cradling the toy car that Marc had brought specifically to give to him in his hands. How Marc had turned it over in his brain for years. I'll look out for you.

Marc bargains with himself

Marc does stupid, stupid things when Vale is in his life. He knows this. Going to the ranch is a bad idea. the press alone, if anyone finds out, would feed the paddock journos for years. It would be stupid— risky

Someone needs to tell him not to race. calm him down. Usually, it’s Álex. 

MORE OUTLINE: Vale brings him a sandwich and Marc wants to cry, terrible race. They watch a movie its very Valentino voice lemme take care of you !!! but no talking about their past lmao. maybe arm

Genuinely terrible race. That one stat about alwasy finishing top 5 or crashing. Vale like actually gets him to talk about his arm which gets no where fast (guest alex?) and riding misery begins to reach a tipping point

[kaiia-archive]

[AN : WIP but no major plot elements will change after posting, feel free to have a read and do reach out or comment if you have questions or thoughts! Critique is welcome, however note that there will be grammatical errors since this is a work in progress. Posting mainly to motivate myself to continue as well as a way to become more comfortable in putting my work out there since its been an issue for me past years! Original work]

Orn - The singing trees - [CHAPTER ONE ]

It began in the shapeless hours between night and early morning when the piece clicked into place. I suddenly opened my eyes up as if summoned, reaching into the half-awake haze of my mind to feel it again. Nothing concrete, but alive and of great importance, pulsing, breathing. Similar to a hum, distinct yet indescribable like a dream you forget upon waking. I had remembered that feeling and I knew where I had felt it before. It was that strange, impossible song behind the cabin where I spent my adolescence. Emanating from the trees or maybe it had been dancing in between them, perhaps it was sung from a part of the earth that only opened when nobody was watching. I couldn't see it but I knew it was there for I had felt it once, and now I was determined to feel it again. This was the missing piece to my installation that I had been searching for, if I could harness this feeling it could breathe life into my creation. My methods were based on intuition and it was the way I preferred to work, still being left in the dark by the creative part of you was hard. Now a guiding light had shown on me and as I awoke I felt as if I was willing to follow it until the end of the world.

Now in retrospect I think the idea might have been carried into my dreams by the early spring birdsong. I always seem to forget how early the sun rises in the spring here, and somehow always forget how to sleep through it. Being awoken by birdsong and sunlight sounds great but it really isn't, at least when you're extremely dependent on keeping a planned sleep schedule. However the events of the days following would steer me away from comfortable sleep regardless of the early spring sun.

The soft illuminating streams of light that poured through the window reflected on my phone screen as i brought it up to my squinting sleepless eyes. 5 am, 15 % battery, two unread messages and a notification from my calendar. Realising trying to go to sleep again would be fruitless I crawled out of my bed, emerging as a cocoon into the kitchen still wrapped in my cover. After realizing i was out of any kind of caffeine i sat down defeated by the kitchen window. I twiddled with the box of half empty lentils as i pulled out my phone again staring blankly at the screen. I was stalling, i knew i was but that feeling only made the task at hand more difficult. I thought multiple times to just scrap the idea and find some more doable, less mentally tasking solution. Opening up my messaging app I tapped search, it stayed like that face up on the table for a while like a beacon shining up at the broken kitchen lamp above. Obviously i already knew at this point that the whole thing might stir up unwanted emotions or put me into situations I had been trying to stay out of for my own benefit but the temptation of finally solving the final piece of my project deterred me from just turning my phone of and leaving it. Maybe it was the thought that he'd never answer that help me take the next step. I typed his name in the search bar and he appeared as I knew he would. Going into the chat log i saw a message from 6 years ago, from when he last tried to reach out. I inhaled, strained, and held my breath as I sent the message.

“Hi sorry for contacting you this early but I was wondering if you still had access to the cabin on Orn? or if you know who I should contact:)”

I exhaled, satisfied i had fought my doubt and not let this end up another endless procrastination. The dopamine of the whole ordeal had at least made me slightly more awake. I stood up and decided to check if perhaps my roommate had an unguarded bag of coffee I could borrow from. Fortunately for me, less for him, he did. I reached into the sink, careful to not touch the sink slurry at the very bottom and pulled out a cup. Right as i did a buzz startled me making me drop the cup that landed with a not so satisfying twomp, instinctively i tried to catch it but only managed to drag the palm of my hand against something sharp.

“fuck”

After almost putting my hand in my mouth I took the kitchen towel and hastily wrapped it around my now bleeding palm as I hurried to the kitchen table. I stood over the display leaning over the table supporting myself with my non wrapped hand, i don't know for how long I stood contemplating my next move.

05:13 “Hi, happy to finally hear from you! No need to contact anybody else, i'm actually at the cabin right now so when do you want to swing by? Ill tidy up a room for you, do you want your old one or maybe you can take my and moms old bed? I'm available whenever! /Lots of love Dad”

It felt like a betrayal, like I was secretly conspiring against my mothers side of the family. I mean I would let them know but I also knew they wouldn't be happy about it, but I wouldn't cower and hide from them, even though I sensed that it would bring them more pain than good. I picked up the phone.

“Oh good to hear!” I hesitated but I clicked send.

“I was thinking i coul-” I contemplated an appropriate response. Deepening my frown I tried to come off as nonchalant as possible as to not try to make a big deal out of it. As it wasn't the first time we would see each other since they took me in.

Before I had a chance to figure something out a new message popped up.

“Sorry if I came off too strong, replied to fast haha. But its really no pressure if you want we don't even have to talk about, you know everything, Ill stay out of your hair and you can do your things”

Rex jumped up on the table beside me and nudged my hand, sometimes I swore he could sense my emotions before I knew I was experiencing them myself. Still fully focused on crafting my reply, I stroked him along his back to which he purred in response. I took a moment to just ground myself with his presence.

“I was thinking some time in the week maybe? Are you out there by yourself or with Filip?” I finally typed out and sent.

The thought of contacting Filip had crossed my mind, but somehow contacting my estranged father seemed like a more reasonable choice. Filip, dads brother, was the only family i had left on my fathers side and unlike my father i was certain he wouldn't go along with my request. The few times we had met he always had something unreadable in the corner of his eye and I don't ever think he had spoken to me directly. It reminded me a lot of how Granpa treated me when they first took me in to live with them and I suspected that Filip, like grandpa, blamed me for what happened that night in the woods. This of course was something completely unspoken, but if im honest, somewhere i blamed myself too although i didn't have the faintest idea of just what it was that would blame myself for. I was five when it happened, and even then I didn't seem to know.

My screen lit up “OK! Check the ferries, they only go all the way on Monday and Wednesdays out of season, write to me when you know when you're coming! / Love dad!”

I put a thumbs up on his message and looked over at Rex who leaned on my arm looking up at me as if he too was wondering what to do next. I gave him an inquisitive look.

“Yeah I know, i don't know what to do about that either. Monday wont work, and i won't be able to get a catsitter for you tomorrow on such short notice” I tried explaining to Rex, although I knew he wouldnt indulge me with an answer.

I stretched my arms and put the phone in the lining of my underwear.

That night I had arranged with grandma to come over to them for dinner. I made a point to myself to have that conversation with them before i left for the cabin as to not feel more guilty about the ordeal. Although the guilt was something i knew took root in their opinion which throughout my childhood was something they had, as guardians to, made me inherit indirectly. Maybe it is because i knew the feelings for my dad stemmed from them that i was willing to reconsider them, or at least try to form an opinion I knew was entirely my own. This is what churned in my mind as i sat on the buss with my eyes fixed on the sucsessions of the stations counting down toward the one id unwillfully get of at.

Grandpa opened the door and i stepped onto the woven hall carpet, he offered me a hanger for my coat which i took with a smile.

"I’m in the kitchen dear!” I heard grandma call accompanied with the clanging of a pan.

”She's glad you came over, she grows more worried each day since you moved out.” Grandpa said as he aligned my shoes with theirs on the hall mat, something he always made a point to do and something I never remembered too. He was orderly in that way unlike my grandma, and although it sometimes felt like a passive aggressive jab, i had chosen to view it as a form of unspoken affection.

Of Course i was glad i had moved out but sometimes when i sat alone at night i missed the smell of her herbal tea blends that would seep into my room. The walls were thin and she would always put a kettle on after she had heard me crying. That was her way of reaching out a hand, showing her presence, and although she wasn't the best at advice she just had a way of listening.

As I came into the kitchen she got up of her chair where she was sitting in front of the stove.

”It's good to see you again!” She said embracing me.

”And your hair, its so long now!” She took a step back and swept her fingers through some strands careful not to entangle her hand in a knot.

”Oh but deary are you getting enough sleep?” She moved her hand towards my face and just as I was to discourage her grandpa stepped in.

”let her breathe Agnes” my grandpa interjected as he made his way into the kitchen.

She met his gaze and then looked back at me. ”Yes yes, of course, sorry!”

Agnes had been raised to be a housewife in the traditional sense, and although it is nothing she would outright admit the dynamic between them had come to mirror those values. Grandpa didn't talk much but when he did voice an opinion agnes would be quick to agree. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing as i never saw it leading to any bigger issues but i sometimes felt that she was hesitant to speak thoughts of her own, especially if they would oppose those of his.

”It's okay really” I assured her as I sat down at the kitchen table.

She quizzed me as she made the final preparations for dinner. As if she had a list prepared she managed to squeeze every last drop of information about my current life out of me.

To me it seemed trivial but to her i could tell she lived precariously through my reaccounts, I guess she hadn't gotten out much recently. As she finished up setting the table we had ended up talking about my current project. She was the one who had introduced me to art and thanks to her that seed she planted in my childhood was starting to grow into the beginning of a career.

She had made this french stew with mushrooms, bacon bits and chicken. I dont remember what its called now but she gave me the recipe a while back. I think it was French, it had a french sounding name atleast.

”So how do they grade you? It must be difficult, grading personal works, I mean” She sat down at the table as grandpa joined her.

”I mean I guess they grade how much you apply yourself in a way? Motivations and process and that kinda thing i think but I don't know really” i answered looking out of the window at the short end of the table.

Outside a moth bounced around the streetlight casting a soft haze on the street below. I read somewhere that they mistake them for the moon, unable to fight their instincts to fly parallel to it trap themselves in a perpetual loop. Betrayed by their body to bash into the cheap imitation again and again until their wings gave out.

I felt like a fraud too, grandma had kept me from remembering what i came here to do. As much as i would love to sink back into the distraction i needed the weight that mauled within me to lighten, even if it was only for my own benefit.

”I’m going to the house.”

The clattering of cutlery seized in an instance, stale silence lay heavy between us. Grandpa appeared inhumanely still with his eyes still fixed at the plate. Grandma looked at me lips pressed tightly together, transfixed at me as if she was searching for something to decipher behind my eyes.

”What do you-” Grandma broke the silence but I cut her off before she could finish. I already knew what she was going to say, I had heard this conversation in my head on repeat since this morning.

”I’m going to the house, the house on Orn” I said again.

Grandma closed her eyes and took a deep breath, when she met my eyes again they were softer than before. A few long seconds went by before she spoke again.

”We're just worried…” She spoke softly.

”I know that and I understand you want what's best for me, but at some point you have to stop sheltering me. I almost feel like it's more for your sake than my own at this point” I stated determined, not trying to let on the frustration that i knew was at risk of bubbling up. Though i know she knew me too well not to notice.

Her eyes searched my face yet again, she was assessing me. Grandpa still sat unmoving faced down, avoiding my gaze as to not loose his composure. His hand still steadily gripped the fork with a small, but noticeable quivver.

”Im just visiting for a short while, I need it for the project im working on, you know the one I told you about? and…” I continued

”Do you remember what happened last time you brought this up?” Grandma spoke.

I unwillfully recalled to the best of my ability but barely remembered more than what had been written in the doctor's notes.

”Yes” I lied. Pausing to choose my next words carefully

”I have been working through a lot of stuff as you know. Last time they basically said there really wasn't anymore they could do for me, and that was last year i mean- I know what's real” This was a half truth. Maybe I played up my psychiatrist's words to be slightly more in my favour, but not enough for it to count as a lie.

”We really just don't want you to fall back into that place again sweety, we can see how much it hurts you” Grandma retorted.

”And like I said; I understand where you're coming from, but I'm 21 now, I've moved out, I have worked through stuff. And honestly your inability to even talk to me about this kind of- it doesn't really fucking help me either!” I really didn't intend to get worked up but it was proving more difficult than it did in my head.

Grandpa put the fork down slowly laying his hand flat on the table, at the slightest movement grandma had turned her attention to him as a dog awaiting command.

”Tone.” He said in a strained but clear voice.

My frustration sizzled inside me like a glowing ember trying to burn its way through my guts and escape out my mouth.

”Im going” I said now looking directly at grandpa, staring daggers into the baldspot of his downturned head. I wanted him to look at me, I needed him to see me and not disregard me by diminishing this to a childish tantrum.

”And since you wont tell me anything about dad either im going to go hear it straight from the source!” I knew it was unfairly put as soon as the last syllable left my lips.

He stood up abruptly with a force that shook the table. Stew spilled painting the tablecloth beneath, grandma let out a surprised yelp. For the first time since we sat down, he met my gaze. I expected to meet something aggressive coated in resentment but what I saw was a warning, he had made his point but it was clear it was rooted in something other than hate. Something he couldn't, or didn't choose to communicate lingered its way in between the cracks of his facade for just a split second. Then he was gone, I heard a door close down the hall.

[mindbreadcrumbs]

Words are so limiting of everything of my being I'd want to express. Conversing and bringing information from one being to another, with the norms we have in this world, its so compacted.. if you're not vastly underdeveloped in social interactions, you'd know that if one were to ask how are you, they're not going to be wanting a 30 page paragraph, explaining your whole brain structure and way of being, the systems and connections into that and such.

And that is understandable. I'm not any different. This is an example that is spanned across in many things socially.

Words and sentences are like the tip of the iceberg, there's so much under it.. under the surface with connecting dots, experienced and whatnot.

Poetry is beautiful cause it's able to be interpreted in many ways, it's mysterious and compacted, brought with analogies that make it easier to bring your own being into it and feel relatable or more understanding of a certain part of yourself.

People take interest when it's able to be interpreted to themselves, understandably so. They see that there's depth in you, but they don't see what depth. It's like throwing a rock in a well, you know it's deep, but you won't see the whole world inside it and that's again understandable.

The systems in our brain, the defense/coping mechanism, the fact that we're all radically ourselves and call it freedom when it's more like getting specific fuel on an unknown train that is heading to who knows where but you keep getting the fuel and continue to be upset when you can't.

And we will call it one's personality.

Even with self awareness there's radicalization. And when I mean radicalization I don't mean the biggest part but it can be of all forms of intensity, it's biased but it's biased cause we are the being we are. It's wrong. For example, if I were to make this paragraph about like the wrongdoings of society and hate in that direction, that's quite radical in a way. It's also biased. I'm an observer, I make the connections and I will be wrong. My eye is not pointed a direction in order to get some of that biased fuel we talked about.

I'm an contradiction, I am malleable, tangible and my foundation is one of self awareness. I lack ambition and do not feel limited internally to a point where I'd have to seek external structures to form around me and feel a certain way about myself. Is this probably coping? Yes, do I feel pride for lacking ambition, No quite the opposite. Do I think that that is my only reason for this foundation of self awareness, no there's always many things in play, many things in considerstion, there's no final answer, but that doesn't mean there doesn't have to be answers and further discoveries. I don't know.

I have made a big paragraph and I'm not satisfied, everything I've said here will is just a small speck of the things I'm wanting to say or in the way I want to say it. This speck is formed in a specific way and I know it will be interpreted differently than I would have it in my head.

+ I don't even know how Tumblr works and if this will be seen at all, this is fueled by ADHD meds and a sense of loneliness that the compaction of conversing gives someone. Also I am procrastinating.

The conversing of myself will be utterly imperfect but I'll do it imperfectly and this message will be that. There's still so much more, but I will stop for now.

It's not beautifully compact like poetry, it's not gonna be able to be applied too much to you. It's not gonna make too much sense when you're just reading the words, it's not gonna give a clear view of who I am as a person and if you think you do, I'll prove you wrong if I'm able to, not just to prove one wrong ofcourse. It's me unadulterated.