#and what about food prices; people can swear up and down all day it's cheaper to eat health vegan food

[medicinemane]

You know, at this point I'm highly skeptical of things where people have a single simple solution to large scale problems that just calls for doing exactly what they think needs to be done and then everything is fixed

[angelicyoongie]

everything i brew, i brew it for you

⤷ 1.2k follower event request: Familiar!Seokjin x Witch!Reader + “I should’ve told you back then, but I didn’t want you to leave.” + Fluff/Angst ⤷ @softescapism�� said: seokjin x reader or OT7 x reader + prompt C8 + witch/familiar, fluff, sfw (hi! could you write a drabble/scenario/short fic for the follower event based on this, please? 💓) ⤷ word count: 2.1k ⤷ a/n: this is a little angsty in the beginning, but the ending is all fluff! i hope you like it!!

“There you are!” You grumble, snatching up a vial from the back of your cabinet. The little thing is covered with dust, the label yellowed with age and barely clinging on to the glass. But even then, there’s no mistaking the content. The shimmering pink powder inside makes you stomach flip uneasily, but you know it has to be done. You uncap the bottle before you can talk yourself out of it, carefully sprinkling the powder counter-clockwise into the boiling concoction in your pot. You can’t help but frown as it slowly turns from clear to bright pink, the stark colour mocking you as you throw in a pair of four leaf clovers with a little more force than necessary. The kitchen is quiet aside from the bubbling brew and the rhythmic tapping of your impatient fingers against the counter, your eyes resting nervously on the dark garden outside your window. You promised Seokjin years ago that you would never make this particular potion again, but you’ve run out of options.

You love being a potions witch, but truth be told, it’s probably the worst financial decision you could have made. All witches have to choose their niche the day they turn eighteen, and you, driven by the long list of potions witches in your ancestry, wanted to follow in their footsteps. What you didn’t account for however, is just how drastically the times have changed. Larger covens have started selling their potions online, making them in big batches to cut down on the cost and shipping them all across the country. There’s no longer a need for a town to have their own potions witch, not when you can get them delivered to your doorstep for a cheaper price. The mass produced potions are definitely not as potent as a singularly brewed ones, but it seems people care more about price than efficiency these days. Well, at least most people don’t care. And considering business has been dwindling so alarmingly fast over the last four months that you’re barely scraping by, there’s not a chance that you can lower your prices anymore than you already have.

You shake your head, trying your best to ignore the tendrils of guilt wrapping around your chest. As long as your familiar doesn’t find out about this order, there will be nothing for him to worry about. That's why you’re hunkered over the stove in the first place; desperately hoping that it will be done in time before he comes home. Tonight is Seokjin’s monthly familiar night with Hoseok and Namjoon, and the only window of alone time you have to make something like this. You murmur a quick incantation under your breath as you give the potion one last stir, watching as the pink brew slowly darkens to red. The sickly sweet smell that whiffs up from the cauldron almost makes you gag, but at least it tells you that the potion is almost complete.

You take a step back, throwing another glance towards the window as you count down the seconds in your head. Five minutes. That’s all you need. It’ll be finished, and you can finally hand over the love potion to your customer tomorrow. Despite your reservations and Seokjin’s hatred for that particular brew, it’s actually not that bad. It can’t force someone to fall in love, but it does make them more .. loose-lipped around their crush if they happen to have one. If anything, it’s honestly more of a rebranded truth serum. It does make you want to confess your feelings, and that’s also where the dubious morality of the potion comes in. Even if the person is already in love with someone, it still forces the recipient to act on emotions that they might not be ready to, or even want to share with their crush. You’ve turned down requests for this potion numerous times in the past, but this time, you truly can’t afford to. Seokjin might be older, but he’s still your familiar. Your responsibility. It’s not his fault that he decided to create a bond with you – a witch who can hardly sell enough potions to keep food on the table. You have honestly no idea how you managed to end up with a familiar like him, one that’s so utterly selfless and helpful. Seokjin’s guidance and assistance feels a little wasted on you, and you can’t help but think that your familiar should’ve ended up with a different witch. One that would actually be able to repay him properly for everything he does. You let out a deep sigh. You’ll just have to do better. Maybe you can try to set up one of those witchgram accounts Taehyung is doing so well on, after all, the ritual witch’s sales has been increasing.

The brew suddenly releases a puff of red smoke, signaling its completion. You hastily grab an empty bottle, scooping up as much as possible as you fill the vial to the brim. ”Shit, not yet,” You can suddenly feel the familiar itch behind your right ear, a telltale sign that Seokjin will be home soon. You scramble to turn off the oven as you hear your familiar open the back door, just about managing to shove in a cork at the top of the bottle and hide it behind your back as Seokjin steps into the kitchen.

”Hey! How was your night out?” You lean awkwardly against the counter, bottle digging into your back as you press it flush against your body.

”It was good,” Your heart flutters as Seokjin comes closer, the handsome features never failing to make your heart skip a treacherous beat. ”How was your night?” Your familiar raises an eyebrow as he takes in your awkward posture, the lingering scent of magic in the air betraying what you’ve been up to while he was gone.

”Boring! You know, just very normal and .. boring,” You wince. You breath hitches as Seokjin stalks closer, the frown tugging on his lips causing another wave of guilt to crash through you. You brain shuts down as he cages you in against the counter, and you swear you only blink before you find yourself staring at a red vial in front of your face, your hand grasping around air.

”I see,” Seokjin huffs, ”It’s so very boring and normal to brew a potion we agreed we wouldn’t sell.” As Seokjin stares down at the bottle with disdain before he places it on the counter, you can’t help but shrink against the wood, wracking your brain to figure out a good excuse. You can’t explain why you did it without exposing Seokjin to yourfinancial issues, and you have no plans of doing it – but, then you catch your familiar’s gaze, his kind eyes filled with saddened disappointment as he says, ”Y/n, why would you do this behind my back?”

The reason bubbles up your throat before you can stop it, the words bitter on your tongue as you blurt out a panicked, ”I had to! Business isn’t going well and we need the money, I couldn’t turn the customer away.” You register the flash of shock in Seokjin’s eyes, the purple tint around his brown irises brightening before he gets it under control. Your familiar runs a hand through his hair, leaving the dark locks messy and disheveled as he let out a deep sigh.

”For how long has this been going on?” You slump against the counter, adverting your eyes down to the floor as you mumble, ”Four months. I should’ve told you back then, but I didn’t want you to leave. I thought I could fix it before it became too much of a problem .. I just didn’t want to make you regret choosing me.”

Seokjin’s eyes soften, an exasperated huff of air leaving his lips as he places his fingers under your chin, tilting your head back up. ”Y/n, I would never regret choosing you as my witch,” Your familiar keeps his gaze locked with yours, his eyes urging you to understand the sincerity behind his words. "I just wish you had told me, we could have worked this out together much earlier.”

”I didn’t want you to worry,” You frown. "You already do so much by making deliveries and gathering ingredients, and I didn’t want to burden you more." You feel your breath hitch as Seokjin’s hand moves from your chin to cup your cheek, his touch gentle as he runs his thumb across your skin.

“That’s what I’m supposed to do as your familiar, Y/n. I’m here to help you and guide you, but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me when something’s wrong.” You know that, you really do, but it’s still hard to accept sometimes – the fact that you can’t solve everything on your own.

“I’m sorry,” You pout.

”I know,” Seokjin nods, a faint smile on his lips as he moves his hands to your back, pulling you into a hug. ”Just talk to me next time, yeah?”

”I will, I promise,” Your voice is muffled by the thick material of his sweater, but you know your familiar hears you as his arms tighten around your waist in response.

”Good,” Seokjin’s voice is fond as his fingers draw small patterns against your back. You feel yourself relaxing into Seokjin’s hold, your body melting against his as he rests his head on top of yours. ”How are we going to fix it though? I’ve tried almost everything I can think of. There’s nothing that beats low prices and convenience,” You sigh.

”Of course there is,” You pull back at the affronted tone in Seokjin’s voice, your familiar looking down at you like you personally offended him. Seokjin releases you from his hold, his hands flying up to cup his face as he says, ”I can beat that. This–” He points wildly at his face, ”–is sure to bring business in again. No one can resist the opportunity to glance upon this handsome face.” You snort at the expectant expression on his face, rolling your eyes so hard it feels like they’re close to popping out. As much as you like teasing Seokjin for his confidence, he’s not wrong. There’s no one in this town that can come close to Seokjin’s handsomeness, and well, everyone knows it. That’s the biggest reason you have Seokjin running errands and making deliveries, because it means he won’t have to deal with being ogled by all the customers that stop by. For all the banter and smiles he would flash at your customers, you could tell it made your familiar uncomfortable. You could see the way he gently tried to pull away when touches lingered a little too long on his arms, his ears stained a permanent red the days he worked out in the shop.

”Making money isn’t worth it if means you’ll have to do something that makes you uncomfortable,” You shake your head, ignoring the flutter in your chest as you grasp Seokjin’s hands, pulling them away from his face.

”I’ll be fine,” Seokjin says. It’s your familiar’s turn to roll his eyes as he sees the doubtful look on your face. ”I mean it. Please trust me just this once? I’ll let you know the moment it gets too much.”

You hesitate, using the extra seconds to search his face for any uncertainty. ”Fine,” You grumble. You owe it to your familiar to at least extend the trust he has given you back to him.

”Don’t look so sad Y/n, you know you’re the only witch that gets unlimited access to my handsome face,” Seokjin grins.

”Shut up,” You groan, pushing lightly at his chest. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck as Seokjin looks down at you, and you find yourself thankful that familiars don’t have enhanced hearing, otherwise your heart would’ve surely given you away years ago. Something flickers in Seokjin’s eyes, and your familiar’s grin turns heart wrenchingly soft as he ducks his head down.

”I do mean it Y/n, you really are the only witch for me.” You freeze as Seokjin leans in, your blood rushing in your ears as you feel your familiar’s plush lips press against the corner of your mouth. As your brain finally catches up to what just happened, Seokjin has already pulled back. The spot he kissed is burning against your skin, and you barely manage to make sense of Seokjin’s warm gaze lingering on your lips before his eyes flicker behind your back, eyebrow quirking as he says, ”Now, what should we do about that potion?”  

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[recurring-polynya]

soul reapers to get paid and their salaries are even quite high! if i remember correctly, lieutenants make around $7k while a captain’s salary is almost triple(nearly $19k)

(cont) that is if my conversion was right, in a JET interview kubo said captains make 2million yen, lieutenants - 700 000yen and an unseated officer - 200 000yen. but then again, i think the living cost in ss is much higher, i remember matsumoto mentioning that clothes in the living world are much cheaper

I have to say this is one of the liveliest discussions on Bleach meta that I have ever participated in on this website. I feel like I can definitively report that is is both fanon consensus and supported by the creator himself that Soul Reapers do, in fact, get paid. For the record, my husband, who started this, conceded days ago and I am sure has not thought about it since.

In any case-- I was very surprised by these numbers, and at first I thought that maybe they were in kan, the fictional currency used in Soul Society, rather than yen. I mean, $19k/year is a terrible salary (for those of you who are not American it is roughly minimum wage). I attempted to figure out the conversion rate between kan and yen once, and at the time, came to the conclusion that kan were worth somewhat more than yen, but I no longer have my scratch pad, so I cannot show my work. Looking at it again, they seem pretty close.

Then, just to get an idea, I googled the salary of a four-star general in the American military, which I thought should be a rough equivalent, and the article I found reported all its numbers in monthly salaries, which I am not used to seeing, but maybe they are more common in other countries. In any case, according to the article I found, the highest salary you can make in the US military is $15,800/month ($189,600/year), which is pretty close to what a Gotei captain makes. I realize that is a lot of money on an absolute scale, but that actually seemed shockingly low to me, in the sense that there have only ever been 246 four-star generals in the history of the U.S., but this is the sort of salary that, say, a C-suite executive might make. A president of even a public university can make 2-5 times this. Now, a career in the military comes with a lot of other perks-- free room and board, free healthcare, etc, but I think this is going to make a much bigger difference to the people in the lower ranks.

The more I thought about it, I do think this tracks, though. Gotei captains are immeasurably valuable and basically impossible to replace. One of the more chilling moments leading up to the Winter War was the part where Hitsugaya is basically like “we don’t know how many Arrancar Aizen has, but if it’s more than 10, we’re screwed” and then it cuts to Hueco Mundo, and Aizen is just surrounded by guys. So, yeah, it honestly makes perfect sense to me that captains are paid a “good living” but it’s insulting compared to the wealth of the nobles that live around them. I don’t usually have a lot of nice things to say about Byakuya, but I do want to emphasize that this has to be chump change for him. This guy definitely works out of a sense of duty, he is not in it for the Benjamins.

The vice-captain salary (~$84k/yr) comes closest to an O-4, which corresponds to a major or a lieutenant colonel, and usually entails about 10 years of service. I guess years count for less when you’re immortal, so I guess that works out. One thing that doesn’t fit is that in another interview, Kubo states that Renji’s sunglasses cost half a year’s salary, but their price is listed in the Bleach Bootleg as 84,700 kan. If a kan is roughly equal to a yen, this is wildly off. I will get back to this later. In WDKALY, there was some mention of vice-captains and captains being given “mansions” to live in (if they chose to). I absolutely cannot accept this fact as canon. I can’t. I mean, there are numerous omake about Hisagi trying to score free food out of Omaeda, yet this man lives in a mansion? And do not tell me he (or Matsumoto or Iba) would pass up living in a mansion if they had the option, even if the commute were an absolute nightmare. Maybe he can’t afford the cost of utilities and furnishings. I don’t know. Please, someone write me a sitcom of Hisagi and Kira living in giant mansions next door to each other, but it’s just like the Bluths living in the sample house in Arrested Development. [Aside: Renji would take the mansion, but he would turn it into an indoor soccer field and continue to sleep in the barracks search your heart you know it’s true]

Back on topic! The unseated officer salary of 200k yen/mo works out to an E-3, which is what an enlisted service member makes after a year. Everyone in the Gotei is considered an officer, and unseating people are awful, so, once again, this seems fine. Well, it seems shitty, tbh, but consistently shitty.

To really answer the question of “is this shitty?” though, we need to consider buying power. Earlier, I mentioned that Gotei service includes free room and board, and that alone is equivalent to a lifetime of wealth for someone from the lower Rukon. I mentioned earlier that I once tried to calculate the exchange rate between kan and yen using a variety of prices for various items. I wish I had kept better notes, because my main takeaway was that prices for things were not very consistent. A copy of the Seireitei Bulletin is 380 kan. Using a straight kan to yen to dollar conversion, that’s $2.80 (I am using 100 yen = $1 because it’s close enough, in case anyone was wondering). Sexy photo books of the captains cost ~$25. The budget of the Shinigami Women’s Association is $2500/year, and the Men’s is $900/year, which is roughly the cost of one pair of sunglasses. I think it must have been the sunglasses that threw me, because I kept trying to peg the cost of a pair of sunglasses to a half year’s salary. The club budgets are just honestly confusing because I have no idea what a calligraphy club budget should look like. It seemed... fine... that a club budget should be equivalent to half a year’s salary? To be honest, I think a kan should be roughly equal to a yen and the sunglasses are just priced too low. (Not a statement I ever thought I would be making).

The comment about clothes being cheaper in the World of the Living makes a lot of sense! Cloth in Soul Society is probably hand-dyed, rather than mass printed, and sewed by hand, rather than by machine. On the other hand, if you wanted goods made in traditional ways, it would be a lot cheaper to get in Soul Society. A chusen-dyed kimono is a luxury good in 2021, because you have to option to order a cheap t-shirt and sweatpants from Amazon. Everyone wears hand-made kimono in Soul Society because that’s what there is, so the price is going to be relatively lower. I do think that cost-of-living jumps sharply inside the walls of the Seireitei, and that it’s very common to do your shopping in the upper districts of Rukongai, where there are lot of highly skilled artisans making goods for the city-dwelling market. I figure that one of the few opportunities for upward mobility, aside from selling your soul to the military is to make enough money to buy your way inside the gates (either through overpriced business licenses, getting a noble patron, or by arranging a marriage to someone who already lives inside)

That being said, I have thought a lot about importing items from the WotL--shinigami usually travel through senkaimon, which do not allow for matter conversion, so they wouldn’t normally be able to bring anything with them. I imagine that it’s sort of a perk of the job that when you go on a mission where you have to go through a matter converter (which would include any time you are bringing a gigai over) you could smuggle back whatever you can fit in your kosode. It’s very strange which technology is adapted from the World of the Living (washing machines, treadmills, urinals) and what isn’t (coffee). In fanfic, it’s common to see shinigami wearing Living World clothing in their off-hours, but I don’t think that’s supported by canon or filler in any way. For my own fanfiction, because it’s fun and world-buildy, I like to pretend that Ichigo is a very popular figure after the Winter War and that World of the Living fashion, music, etc becomes popular, starting during the two-year timeskip, particularly among the younger denizens of the Seireitei, and that there are special bars and such that specialize in that kind of thing. Shinigami who have done extensive stints in the Living World are considered cool for their knowledge of such esoteric subjects as “rice cookers.”

I am done now! I swear! Thank you, everyone for reading all the way down to the bottom of possibly the nerdiest and most boring post I have ever made on this website! (wait, no, I just remembered the one on senkaimon transfer protocols. Second most boring.)

[b3k1720]

Tainted food : Jacob Frye

TW: mentions of death, poisoning, swearing and violence.

It was common practice in the Victorian era for grocers, butchers and bakers to substitute some ingredients in their food to save money or because certain things weren’t available.

But these things always lead to people getting sick...

Rebekah came home one afternoon with the groceries, everything from meat for dinner to milk for little Cecily.

“Emmett sweetheart go out to the garden and grab four carrots and six potato’s for me” she announced before putting down the bag and starting to put things in their proper place.

“Ok mum!”

Soon Amelia came in holding Cecily’s hand.

“Mum ceci says she’s hungry and I am to”

“I Hungry mama! The little two year old cried out.

Rebekah wiped her hands of on her apron as she hummed and shook her head,

“Alright you can both have a slice of this new bread” she told them before slicing off two pieces from the loaf, buttering it and giving it to Amelia,

The young girl placed her little sister in her high chair before sitting in the chair next and handing the other slice to the toddler.

“I got them mum!” Emmett shouted with excitement as he entered through the back door with the carrots and potato’s bundled in his arms, his hands and somehow his cheeks covered with dirt.

The boy dumped them in to the basin to be washed, Rebekah knowing he’d also be hungry prepared a slice for him as well.

But she stopped him as he reached for it,

“Ah ah! Go wash your hands and face before you touch that bread young man your father and I didn’t raise you in a barn” Rebekah sternly told him as she pointed to the door leading to the bathroom.

“Yes mum”

...................................

Before long all the children had eaten their snack

And as dinner was just about ready, potato, carrot and beef stew with a side of bread,

“I’m home!” A charming voice rang out from out the kitchen and down the hall leading to the mud room.

“Dada!” Little Cecily cried out with a shrill little voice as Jacob entered to find his family about to settle in for dinner, the table set and Rebekah about to dish out serves of the warm delicious stew.

“Hey little princess” he chuckled before placing a kiss on her strawberry blonde ringlets, causing the little girl to giggle.

Amelia and Emmett quickly jumped up from their seats to greet their father with a hug which was met with a warm tight hug from the assassin, he smelt of smoke and gunpowder.

And before sitting down he gave his wife an affectionate kiss and a charming smile,

“Stew tonight? You definitely know my favourite my darling” Jacob chuckled.

“It’s been your favourite since I first cooked dinner for you and Evie” Rebekah laughed as she sat down, her mind returning to years gone by when she was living in the train...in the reign of Starrick’s terror...

Amelia giggled at the romance of her mum and dad which caused Cecily to giggle without knowing the reason, poor Emmett rolled his eyes, it was all gross!

Finally all settled down the family began to eat, Making small talk about their days from the children about school and play with little cecily’s input of seeing a puppy which needed some translation from Rebekah.

“This isn’t the usual bread we buy” Jacob commented with a raised brow after taking a bite of his slathered with butter and a spoonful of stew on top. He couldn’t help but think it tasted powdery.

“No it’s not, the usual baker raised the price by five shillings and I heard from someone at the market a new baker set up shop and his bread is a bit cheaper” Rebekah sighed, the prices just kept rising!

“Oh well that’s alright I guess” Jacob shrugged but he still couldn’t help but feel cautious.

.........................

Through the next week Rebekah served bread and butter with every meal, making strawberry jam sandwiches for the children for their lunches, she even packed lamb sandwiches for Jacob which he did quite enjoy.

But as they went on with life...that’s when the troubles began.

Amelia, Emmette and cecily began to constantly complained of sore stomachs, little cecily cried every night from the pains.

Both Amelia and Emmette had to stay home from school after two days!

It was hurting both Rebekah and Jacob to watch their children cry, even now when Rebekah got the same cramps in her stomach causing her to curl over in pain, wincing and groaning as her stomach tightened during the household chores.

Even Jacob was now starting to get the pains!

He had to stop every so often when running over the roofs of London to console his stomach and take a break.

And soon enough the doctor was called in after Jacob came home in a fury but stopped by a massive cramp.

“My children are suffering, my wife is in agony and it’s now affecting my work!” he cursed at the physician who only nodded and checked everyone over.

After an hour he could make his diagnosis.

“I’m afraid I’ve had quite a few similar visits and complaints of stomach cramping, one little boy I visited was just buried this afternoon, poor thing was only four years old” he explained.

“Dear god” Rebekah gasped hugging her youngest child closer to her chest.

“What’s wrong with us?” Amelia asked as she hugged on to her father, trying not to cry out in pain.

“I’m afraid your all being poisoned...arsenic in this case”

The children looked confused as they hugged their mother and father, Rebekah was shocked and mortified!

Jacob saw red!

He had a sneaking suspicions of who was doing it as well!

Carefully he let go of his daughter and paid the doctor.

Then in such a chillingly calm tone asked for the address of the baker from his wife...

Then left the house immediately after throwing on his assassins coat.

.................

‘How dare someone hurt them, hurt my children, hurt my wife...” Jacob seethed inside his head as he stalked down the street.

His mind wouldn’t stop going back to the nights his poor children curled up in bed with them whimpering in pain...begging “daddy” and “mummy” for the pain to go away!

Once at the bakery Jacob didn’t wait for the baker to come greet him, he hurled himself over the counter and launched in to the kitchen.

The stocky man who reeked of yeast stood no chance against Jacob’s knuckle duster as they pounded in to his stomach.

“Where do you keep the arsenic you bastard” he growled in such a low tone he was only just heard by the mans cauliflower ears.

“W-What arsenic?”

Jacob snarled and punched him hard in the gut two more times, now he was coughing up blood.

“Don’t play dumb with me! The arsenic you’ve been using to poison your customers and MY FAMILY! WHERE IS IT!”

Now trembling and wheezing the baker pointed to a cabinet.

Once opened it revealed twelve small blue bottles filled with the deadly powder.

“I should slaughter you right here...and burn down your shop..” Jacob spat.

But before the man could utter another word the assassin knocked him out...then tied him up and dragged him out to an unoccupied carriage.

The carriage made its way to Scotland Yard and the baker made his way half unconscious in to Fredrick Abberline’s office!

“Abberline, when you go to the address you’ll see evidence of arsenic poisoning, if he doesn’t do life I’ll be back to slaughter the bastard” Jacob announced as he slammed the paper with the address on the desk along with the man.

“A-Alright then” in all his years of knowing Jacob he’d never seen him so...so angry..

.........

Soon enough time passed and the small family healed from the traumatic experience.

Rebekah never brought bread anymore and never again did so for as long as she lived.

Every week she baked her own with the children....

And if there any more reports of tainted food...Jacob was on to it...

@thatcrazycrowgirl @assassins-and-hidden-blades @nemo-my-name-forevermore

[beyond-the-mirror]

The Blue Eyed King’s Gift

Oof! After an eternity incredibly long time I’m finally back to writing! This one will be a three part fic to accompany the Fairy Tale AU one I wrote with Dante x Fem!Reader.

Can you guess which tale I got inspiration for this fic? I won’t include it in the tags for now, but as the story progresses you will start to get the idea of which tale it is.

Warnings: Slight violence against children. Don’t worry, it’s nothing too serious.

Story under the cut.

IMPORTANT EDIT: I decided to make this a four-part fic rather than a three-part, mostly because I realized that the second part may be a little too long to be included in just one chapter.

Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

............................. 

Part One

"(Y/N)!! Where the fuck is my breakfast?!!"

Your father yelled from his bed chambers in such a loud volume you swore the entire house trembled in fear at his wrath. Letting out a defeated sigh, you hurried up placing all the served plates and the warm teapot on the tray before heading upstairs.

Life hadn't been easy at all for you, especially these recent years. Ever since you had memory, your father has been a cruel man to both you and your poor mother, the only reason she had ended up marrying him was because of an arrangement both their families had agreed upon. He was the sole heir of his family's fortune, but needed to marry a woman in order to keep their status unblemished. Eventually your grandparents passed away and your parents received the inheritance, the only problem they didn't take into account was their son's unmeasurable greed and hedonism. Soon enough, your father had wasted pretty much all your fortune in alcohol, unsuccessful business deals and gambling, reducing all your family's possessions to merely a modest but still pretty chateau in the countryside and a few valuables.

You still cried at the memory of your mother wilting away on her bed due to a most terrible illness, the medicines she needed to recover were far too expensive, not that the price mattered much since your father wouldn’t even bother to pay for them anyways had they been any cheaper. Alcohol and gambling were far more important for the man than his dying wife.

"Finally! I swear you're doing this on purpose." Your father scowled from his bed as you placed the food tray on his bedside table. "Do you wish for your own father to starve to death? Talk about an ungrateful child. Get out of my sight already!"

You only resigned to silently nod before leaving, the harsh words from your father never failed to hurt you deeply, cutting down your heart so much you weren't able to mutter a single word to him.

A few tears threatened to escape, but you forced them down. A new day full of possibilities was right before you, so you wasted no time in collecting some of the many fruits and vegetables you grew by yourself in your own garden. This year had brought an exceptional harvest, your crops would certainly make a great profit at the town's market.

Unlike your father, the townspeople respected you and treated you with utmost kindness. Often would they offer their help knowing your situation, something that you would forever be grateful for. You promised to yourself that one day, shall your economy ever recover that is, you would repay them to the last penny for their unwavering support.

After another successful day at the town market you decided to return home, all your produce sold out and now replaced by a small satchel of silver coins, some of them spent in meat, spices and bread for cooking meals at home.

It was a simple life, but you were happy with what little you had. Now if only your father weren't so cruel and abusive...

.............................

"C'mon V! Let's explore over here!"

You were in the kitchen when a soft giddy voice in the distance caught your attention.

"Wait Nero! I don't think it's a good idea to stray further. What if Father becomes worried?" A second voice answered back.

Peering out the window, you noticed two little children playing not too far from your chateau's front yard. Both had pristine white hair, one of them seemed to carry a black kitten in his arms while a blue bird was perched on his shoulder. It was a rather endearing sight and an odd one too since they weren't familiar to you at all, not many people lived in the countryside area you resided in. Perhaps a family recently moved nearby without you noticing.

"Don't worry V, after all he sent Griffon and Shadow here to look after us. Look brother," One of them pointed at your residence with the small wooden sword in his hands. "I found a tiny castle!"

"Whoa, what a lovely house! Do you think a tiny princess lives there too?" The other brother pointed out. You couldn't help but giggle at their adorable antics as they approached your yard.

Reaching for some of the pastries you had bought earlier, you decided to grab a few to give to the brothers. You were about to reach for the back door when-

"GET OUT OF MY PROPERTY YOU BRATS!!"

As soon as you stepped out, you witnessed your father in a very drunken state harassing the poor children. "I SAID GET LOST NOW!!!"

You watched in absolute horror how he harshly grabbed one of the kids by his arm before throwing him to the ground, prompting his brother to wield his toy sword in an attempt to defend him, but ultimately failing as he was backhanded so roughly he too fell to the ground.

"NO! FATHER STOP!" You immediately sprinted to them, basically throwing yourself over harm's way as you shielded the children, pulling them away from your father's relentless attacks. Even the black cat and the blue bird that accompanied the kids had started attacking him, effectively helping you keeping the man at bay as you hugged the kids protectively.

"Damn animals, GET AWAY FROM ME!" The man struggled and flailed against the bird and the cat, missing every strike as he was too drunk and unfocused for their agility.

"Please father, you're completely inebriated and you will only hurt yourself and others. Just go back to the house, please?" You implored doing, your best to calm him down until he finally relented.

"Fine. Food better be ready soon though or you're sleeping outside tonight." His words came out slurred as he stumbled back inside.

Letting out a sigh of relief, you turned to the young twins in your arms, kneeling down before them to check for any wounds they may have gotten. The poor little ones were crying, a few bruises and cuts on their knees and faces.

"It's okay little ones, the bad man is already gone." Gently wiping their tears away, you comforted them until they calmed down. "Are you alright?"

"I-I think so... How about you V?"

"I... I’m fine. That man was so scary though."

A sigh of relief escaped you as you determined all the wounds were minor and merely superficial, nothing you couldn’t handle quickly.

"I'm truly sorry for what happened. Please come inside, let's get your wounds treated."

.............................

“Much better now, isn’t it?”

It didn’t take long for you to finish cleaning and disinfecting the boys’ wounds. Luckily yout homemade medicinal balm was already working wonders, their skin already healing considerably.

“Here! A gift for being the bravest boys in the world.” You handed each one the pastries from before. The brothers’ eyes began sparkling at the sweet treats before them, they didn’t hesitate for a second before grabbing them and taking a bite.

“Thank you so much lady (Y/N)! These are so delicious!” they happily ate their pastries, even sharing a bit for their company animals too.

“I’m glad you like them. And you don’t need to call me lady by the way, just (Y/N) is fine. May I know your names too?”

“I’m Nero!” The twin with short hair and blue eyes answered.

“My name is Vitale, or V if you prefer.” The twin with shoulder-length hair and green eyes replied. “Oh! And these are our friends Griffon and Shadow!” V hugged Shadow close to his chest while Griffon perched himself on Nero’s shoulder.

“A pleasure meeting you four! Does your family live nearby by the way?”

Nero nodded as he kept chewing on his pastry. “Our house is just north from here actually, but Papa doesn’t let us go out often.”

Oh?

“And why is that?”

“Well...” V started, looking a bit down. “Father is very protective of us, that’s why he only lets us play outside as long as we stay close to the house. But today we tried convincing him to let us go explore a little bit farther, it was difficult but he finally agreed as long as we promised we would be alright...”

“I really hope he doesn’t get mad at us after he finds out what happened.” Nero added worryingly. Their saddened eyes really plucked at your heartstrings.

You knelt down so you could look at them in the eyes. “Don’t worry my children. How about I write a note to your father explaining the situation? I’m not sure if this would help much, but at least he would know he has my word that no harm will come to you. And if that doesn’t work, I could always go and meet him personally to get to an agreement.”

“You would really do that for us?” They looked at you expectantly, and when you nodded your answer, their faces lit up in so much joy that they unexpectedly enveloped you in a hug. You chuckled before wrapping your arms around them, returning the hug.

.............................

Since the brothers wanted to continue playing, you allowed the children to stay for a few more hours while you finished cooking. You let them keep playing in your garden, a place where you knew your father wouldn’t spot them and risk another scene like the one before.

Politely excusing yourself to your little guests before leaving to deliver your father’s meal. Luckily this time he received his food without saying much of a word, a very welcomed improvement from this morning’s rant.

As you returned to your guests, you noticed they were looking at you in concern.

“(Y/N), is that man really... your father?

“Yes, he is. Why the question?”

The glanced at each other briefly before V continued “Why did he treat you like that? I thought fathers were supposed to love their daughters...”

To say the question took you a bit by surprise would have been a underestimation. You simply sat down at one of the wooden benches, not knowing exactly what to say.

The brothers sat down next to you, each one by your sides.

You fumbled with your words, tears already pricking your eyes before you managed to control them.

“I know he is not exactly a good man, he made many mistakes in the past that cost our family so much… But, despite everything, he is still my father. Maybe I’m wrong, but I want to think he still has a good heart deep inside. That’s why I can’t give up on him. I stay with him in hope that one day he would finally change for the better.”

You forced a smile so you wouldn’t make the children worry anymore about you, and yet they managed to see through your façade. Their little arms wrapped around your waist and hugged you, an attempt to give you some comfort for the pain you were going through daily.

A warmth unlike no other enveloped your entire self, maybe it was cuteness of the situation or the great empathy of this wonderful children felt for you, but it felt so soothing how peace seemed to overtake you at the moment.

It was strange, yet so familiar. Like a distant memory of better days gone by.

.............................

The sun was about to set in a few hours, so you decided it was time for the children to head back home before it became dark.

As you had promised the brothers, you wrote a note for their father apologizing for the incident that happened and gave it to Nero. You also packed a few slices of fruit in a pouch for them to snack on during their trip back home.

“Um (Y/N)... can we come to your house to play again some time?” V asked in a shy voice. Both he and Nero had so much fun playing and staying with you, for them it felt that they had genuinely met a new friend that day.

“Of course little ones. You can come here and play whenever you want, as long as your father agrees to.” You ruffled their pretty little heads, making the brothers giggle.

“We promise to visit as often as we can! Right V?”

The younger one nodded his head enthusiastically.

And so, Nero and V departed. It was odd, how the chateau felt a hundred times emptier without them despite just meeting them earlier.

They were both so sweet and innocent, you just hoped their father wouldn’t get angry after reading your short letter. It would be a shame if the boys got punished for something that wasn’t their fault.

Going back into the kitchen, you cleaned a bit before tending to the plants at your garden, wondering if your new friends would soon brighten your day again with their presence

.............................

At the throne of a majestic palace, an all-seeing orb conjured at his hand, a demon king watched over his two sons.

The day they were born, he vowed to The Creator above that he would always protect them, even if that meant giving up his own life, he would gladly pay the price if it guaranteed they would keep living theirs in peace.

His kingdom may not be a vast one, completely isolated from others, but the land was prosperous and peace reigned over everyone. The king knew his sons would grow safe and sound behind the powerful barrier that surrounded the kingdom, but he couldn’t help a small seed of doubt that gnawed at his chest.

He feared for the day curiosity would awake in the hearts of his twins. They would want to know everything about the outside world, their innocent minds not knowing how cruel and dangerous it could be. The king often taught them of the outside world through the many books and scripts in the royal library, but he was afraid that would not be enough for his children.

So when that morning they had insisted of going beyond the barrier, no matter how much he had prepared himself mentally for this moment, his heart still ached with worry.

But he wouldn’t take their freedom away. Doing so is one of the most horrifying acts one could bestow upon another.

So the king allowed them to venture beyond their home. He had to let them fly, not clip their beautiful wings.

However, as much as he wanted to trust his sons, his concerns were bigger. He tasked two servants to keep them company, knowing that their eyes would keep guard on them. Using his demonic power, he summoned an oracle that would let him watch over them from his throne.

He watched as they approached a small chateau outside the forest, they were happy and playing along the way which brought a smile to his usually stoic face.

That contentment was gone in an instant.

A drunk man stepped out of the house and attacked his sons, scaring them and making them cry.

The king immediately stood from his throne, his fists tightly clenched as his eyes filled with immeasurable wrath and ire. He was about to unsheath his own sword to open a portal and go there, ready to end the miserable man’s life, when another figure ran into the scene. A woman who shielded his sons from the attacking man.

And when he finally managed to look at her face, he froze, almost dropping the sword in his hand.

For she looked exactly like-

… No. It couldn’t be her.

And yet there was a tenderness in the way she treated them. The way her soft hands cleaned the boys’ tears and kindly healed their wounds. The way she offered them a few pastries with a sweet smile in her face and warm light in her eyes. It was rather endearing, how this woman gained his sons’ trust in just a few minutes.

Releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the king sat down at the throne once again, attentive to what the oracle revealed to his eyes.

Maybe the outside world wasn’t so dangerous after all.

[theeyesinthenight]

College Tips for Neurodivergence and Chronic Illness

Hey Everyone!I just wanted to talk for a minute about the stuff that I do to make college slightly easier to get through, and ask around for if anyone else has any advice.

Physically going to class:

1. Physical Calmness: Make a small physical maintenance travel bag that you carry with you EVERYWHERE. Include things like moisturizer, chapstick, cough drops/sucking candy, nail clippers, hair ties, eye drops, pain relief meds, sunglasses- anything that you frequently need to maintain you and your body’s ability to be calm. Sensory overload frequently becomes a thing on campus, and frequently overstimming on campus can make it really hard to want to go to class every day. I carry 6 ponytails, 2 chapstick, 4 advil, 4 sucking candies, 2 tampons, emergency ear plugs and earphones, gloves, moisturizer and sunglasses every day and I swear they make the difference between wanting to run crying out of my classroom and being able to hold on some days.

2. Make Checklists: Especially if you deal with executive function issues (like me!) you can build checklists for every day, repetitive tasks as well as normal to-dos to help you manage everything at once without forgetting anything. Don’t feel obliged to make the list pretty or perfect, just keep adding and refining the lists as you notice stuff you’ve forgotten or usually do. Write lists for literally everything. There is no shame to writing everything down. That being said, if you end up scheduling your days, always leave yourself an hour or two a day and like 10-15 minutes before crucial junctures so you aren’t stressed about running late and can actually unwind sometimes.

3. Eat: Some people will have meal plans, some will cook at home and bring stuff to school, but it’s absolutely fucking critical to chemical homeostasis (especially if you do what I do and wind up in class from like 10 am to 7 pm) to plan when and what you’ll eat- either by scheduling adequate meal breaks to go buy it, or packing it ahead of time. This is when lists can help: I remember to pack my lunch and snacks every morning or prep food for consumption when I get home only because I leave it on sticky notes on my phone when I go to sleep.  Just drinking coffee nearly made me have an anxiety related melt down my freshman year before I realized that the constant feelings of a racing heart were only partially because of anxiety and were also because of the sheer amount of caffeine in my system. Eating healthy is also important, and will make you feel even better than just eating, but now is not the time to put yourself on a starvation diet just to lose 10 lbs. Eating high protein has helped some of my snacky issues as well as generally gives me more energy, and making my own mealprep at home- even my own muffins and cookies- generally are more healthy for my than what I get in the store. Fruit, cheese, lunch meat (or sliced cooked meat) and pickles or olives in endless combination work great for me as mindless snacky food, as does homemade popcorn (either in a skillet or costco bags) because it’s dirt cheap and you can put anything from seasoning salt to furikake and shredded dried pork on it. If you need help figuring out recipes, feel free to pm me! I’m good at working with nutritional and budgetary restraints. Pancakes are kind of a universal good.

4. Give yourself permission to leave: If you’re triggered, or seconds away from panic, GET UP AND LEAVE. College classes are not the same as high school classes, and most teachers are perfectly fine with you getting up to get water, or go to the bathroom, or cry in the bathroom. Try to make sure you go back to class most of the time, but if you’re really that stressed, also give yourself permission to leave. 

5. Find a backup note system: There will be days that you cannot go to class. Accept this. Therefore, it is critical to find a way to make sure you always get the notes. Some colleges offer note taking assistance, some allow you to audio record lectures (check 1 and 2 party consent states first), and some leave you to your own devices, in which case, make a casual buddy to get notes from. You do not need to be besties with this person, Try to make sure you know how many days you actually have to go, and minimize grade damage when you can’t.

6. GET ENOUGH SLEEP. I cannot emphasize this enough; whether or not you’re taking medication, getting enough sleep is critical to pretty much everything that might be going on in your head- hormone issues, depression, autism, whatever. Your brain is going to be stressed out by the new environment and the additional, new problem solving that it has to do; help it make its best decisions. I literally wake up on less than 7 hours of sleep and consider selling my siblings on the black market. Don’t do it. 

7. Be careful about Caffeine; Some people are more or less sensitive to caffeine, or forms of caffeine, don’t develop a coffee addiction just because it’s in vogue. Matcha seems to have the most stabilizing caffeine affect on my brain of all the caffeine options, though tea still works universally better than coffee.  I also make my own “lattes” and cold brew at the beginning of the week and keep them in my fridge; a 2oz jar of matcha powder may cost like 60$ but it will make me about 90 cups of tea and last me two semesters especially if I mix in other kinds of cheaper teas in my morning; it’s certainly cheaper than starbucks- cups of latte come out to 95c and have about a third of the calories (which means I can drink more of them!) Which ties into;

8. Budgetting. You might be stressed out about money or make tons of tables and charts to try to deal with that stress; there are a lot of ways to cope with it, but my favorite method (and I still use a combination of these) for dealing with food and consumable stuff you need regularly like shampoo and soap or socks are: separate that money from everything else that you need to buy, then at the beginning of a semester 

Go to Costco, a particular kind of “exotic” grocery store, or a farmers market. Buy and then freeze meat, vegetables, and fruit (if you use them in baked goods or in yogurt) or get prefrozen meat- make sure you’re checking the price/lb or K for the cheapest, and bags of either rice, flour, boxes of pasta (cheap carbs) and oil- i recommend having canola, it’s utilitarian for frying with a high flash point. If your budget isn’t tiny, this is a great time to also get dried (or canned but I don’t like the texture) beans, and canned meat or sauce if you actually eat it. The key is to get cheap bulk things that will last for a semester or five, and that are always on hand.

Take the rest of your food budget out in cash. Separate it into bundles for “each week”, put them in your wallet, and return the change to the jar when you’re done. It was always easier for me to visualize how much spending money for food that I had when I physically had the cash; it meant I didn’t overspend and it also meant that I started making better “investment” decisions; I’d buy cinnamon sticks one week, or good olive oil the next, instead of dropping a couple hundred dollars on ingredients I might have never used.

Do a similar bulk buy of products you know you use, and then leave the rest of that money- also in cash!- in a separate jar with a stickynote on top. When you have to use money for stuff from it, just stuff the receipt in the jar with the cash and do your accounting When You Have Brainspace.

I deal with other bigger accounting stuff over cards, but I try to limit one card to rent, insurance, school payments, big regular stuff that I autopay and always pay off, and one card to “emergency” stuff that I’m always working on paying off- think emergency dental work, car broke, etc. That one I do gig labor to cover when I can.

Anyone else, feel free to chime in! It’s super useful to have lists of tips and tricks!

[holyfuckthisfishcandrive]

Professors and Shortbread

First, Previous (Chap. 18), Ao3

Word count: 2186

Warnings: smoking, swearing, bones (talked about)

Roman woke up to someone violently shaking him.

"Wake up," Remus hissed. "Wake up, wake up, wake up, asshole!"

"What is it?" Roman grumbled, trying to shake Remus' hand off. "Fuck, Remus, it's like three am! We have school tomorrow, you fucking dick."

"Roman, I just realized something! Stop hitting me, this is important!"

Roman groaned and finally sat up.

"What is so important that you have to wake me up at three am on a school night?"

"It's more like four am, but that's beside the point," Remus waved off. "I just realized that Professor Logic is really fucking stupid."

Roman blinked at him exasperatedly.

"Okay," he said after a moment. "Mind if I go back to sleep now?"

"No, this is important! When I called him Mr Logic he complained, saying that he didn't go to school for years to get called Mister. If that's true that would mean that he's actually a Professor!" Remus whisper yelled.

Roman glanced from one side to the other than back to Remus.

"Yeah?"

"There can't be that many Professors in this city right? Especially not that many young, male, tall ones!"

Finally, it dawned on Roman what Remus was saying.

"So... we can try to find out his civilian identity," he mumbled and a wide grin spread over Remus' face.

"Exactly!"

---

Usually, Roman stuck around after rehearsal for a little while, chatted with the other members of the drama club or helped out with something while Remus goofed around with his friends in the club but on this Wednesday he and Remus grabbed their bags as soon as the bell rung and were the first ones out of the door.

They all but ran out all the way back home, almost getting hit by a taxi and earning a few looks and glares on the way.

The elevator ride was way too long in Roman's opinion.

They dropped their bags in their rooms,  Remus got the list he had created of all Professors whose addresses he could find in the phone book or on the internet and Roman put on his 'good kid' mask to ask Ma for a little money, pretending that it was just for him. She gave him a fifty-dollar bill. The money was for the subway and a quick lunch on the go and Roman was pretty sure that it was way more than they would need but better safe than sorry. He wasn't sure how much fast food would cost.

And just a few minutes after they had come home they were already on their way out again.

Most Professors lived downtown or at least near downtown so they first took a train downtown and went to a small Chinese place for lunch (which was a lot cheaper than Roman had expected).

Remus pulled out a map and they began marking down the addresses to see which route would be the best. Roman doubted they could check out all of them in one day but they would do their best  either way.

33 Professors was a lot for one city but Remus guessed it made sense since apparently here in downtown housing was cheap and the university was very close.

The first name on their list was Professor Jacobs.

They sauntered through the streets, using their map as a guide.

The house they ended up in front of was a trashy apartment building with at least five notes at the doorbell signs saying that the bells didn't work.

Roman pressed the Professors bell and turned to Remus.

"I'll do the talking, okay? Cause if we do find Logic I don't want you blurting out the actual we're here."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. Sorry, I'm honest."

He didn't really mean it, well aware of how many times he had gotten on trouble for blurting out the truth without thinking.

The door buzzed and the pushed it open.

"Who's there?" an old-sounding voice called and as he looked up through the stairs Remus spotted a man that looked like one of those fivehundred-year-old turtles trying to look down.

"We have the pizza you ordered," Roman called back.

"I didn't order any pizza!"

"Are you sure- Oh, my mistake, sir! I misread the name! I'm terribly sorry, have a nice day!" Roman did his typical Prince Charming smile even though the man couldn't see - It was simply part of the performance - and pushed Remus back out of the door. As soon as it fell shut the smile fell again.

"If that was Logic I'm eating Ma's hats," Remus said.

Roman snorted and Remus' grin widened at the real smile on his brother's face. They were too rare.

"Okay, who's next on the list?" Roman said and Remus crossed Professor Jacobs off.

The next door they rang at was opened by a young woman named Professor Jain who looked like the living embodiment of the muddle-headed professor cliche. Roman asked which apartment someone they had seen on the bell sign an L. Williams lived in, claiming they had found their purse and awkwardly thanked her when she didn't know. Remus glanced at the door across from Prof Jain's that clearly said Williams and tried not to laugh out loud.

They visited Professor Davis and Professor Brown, Professor Price and Morgan and Professor Underweather.

Too old, too fat, too much boob, too brown, too short.

It was around seven pm now and they had had seven flukes which somehow was both too much (because why couldn't they just fucking find that asshole? Remus lit a cigarette in frustration) and too little (because how could they only have stopped by seven people so far? It was already getting too late, goddammit).

"Let's do one more and then go home," Roman yawned.

"So whose last for today?" Remus asked glancing at the list Roman was currently holding.

"Some Professor Youngblood. About as weird a name as Underweather. Good news: it's just a block away."

They walked down the street and Remus watched the smoke from his cig curl and fade into the evening sky. A few times he tried to make rings but he still couldn't figure out how to. Maybe that was just a cartoon thing though he could have sworn to have seen it in live-action movies too. Were there YouTube tutorials on this kind of stuff?

"Here it is," Roman said and Remus blinked back to reality.

They stood in front of a simple townhouse. The most notable thing was the flower bouquet visible in one of the windows that looked like something Patton would make.

"Let's give it a shot," Remus said dropped his cig and extinguished it with his shoe.

They walked up the three steps to the front door and Roman rung the doorbell. It was only one with two names. Youngblood and Youngblood-Smith.

Probably a marriage, Remus thought with distaste and prepared himself for some old dick to open up.

The door swung open and to Remus' surprise, it was a teenager probably even younger than them who leaned against the doorframe and glared at them. His eyeliner was sharper and neater than Remus would be able to make it in a thousand years and his lips were painted in a nice shade of dark purple. Maybe Remus should ask him what brand it was. It looked awesome.

"What do you want?" the boy asked with a scowl.

Remus waited for Roman to answer with some kind of excuse or something.

Roman remained silent.

The boy's glare became darker with every passing moment.

At this rate, he probably wouldn't tell Remus what lipstick he was using.

Annoyed Remus glanced over at Roman to see what the fuck was keeping him from saying anything.

The look on Roman's face almost made him gag.

Roman stared at the boy in front of them like he was the most incredible thing in the world. Like he had put the stars in the sky or was made from pure moonlight or some stupid shit like that. He stared at him as he stared into the air when he had some stupid crush or played some lovestruck idiot. He stared like he was going to start waxing poetry at any second now.

Remus doubted he had even heard the boy speak at all.

So he would have to take the situation into his own hands.

"You don't happen to be Professor Youngblood, do you?" Remus asked.

The boy raised an eyebrow.

"Do I look like I'm a fucking Professor? I'm his son, dumbass."

"Is he home?"

"No, not at the moment. What do you want from him?"

The he/him pronouns were a good sign so far and Remus couldn't imagine this guy's dad to be a Doderer. The British accent, on the other hand, wasn't a good sign but Logic could probably cover his accent or something if he really wanted to.

Roman also seemed to finally be back on earth and not on cloud nine.

"We're students of his and we have a question about this homework he gave us," he lied before Remus could say anything.

"You are?" the boy raised his other eyebrow.

"Yes, we are. Do you happen to know if he'll be back soon?"

"Not sure," the boy shrugged. "If it's that important you can come in and wait though. I could also offer you some black tea."

"Really? Yeah, er that would be awe- I mean, that would be nice!" Roman agreed.

"What are your names?" the boy asked as he led them inside. He walked past a door that probably went down to a basement and a staircase up into a small living room.

"I'm Roman," Roman said with a small bow - Jesus fucking Christ was he going fucking insane over this guy?

"And I'm Remus. I'm the good-looking twin, obviously."

The Professor's son chuckled, hiding his mouth behind his hand. "Obviously."

"And what's your name?" Roman sounded like he was asking for a precious gift rather than a fucking name.

"It's Virgil. Do you take milk and sugar in your tea?"

"Milk in tea?" Roman asked confused.

"Yeah, sure!" Remus agreed. Maybe the milk would flake as it did in juice.

Virgil came back with two cups and poured them, giving Roman a little bit of milk anyway, saying that it would be way too strong otherwise and he couldn't allow Roman to drink it pure but somehow Roman didn't complain when Virgil stood over him to pour it in. God, he was being fucking gross and sappy.

Virgil picked up his own cup again and offered them some weird cookies he called shortbread even though they didn't taste like bread at all.

Remus dumped two in his tea - which sadly hadn't flaked - and mushed them around with his spoon.

For a few minutes, it was quiet until Remus got bored with the steady clicking of the clock hanging on the wall behind him.

"So, do you like bones?" he blurted out the first question that came to mind.

Roman looked at him with barely concealed horror but Virgil's dark expression lightened up slightly to both of the twins' surprise.

"I do. It's fun to find them and clean them. I have a few in a cupboard in my room I've found in subways and other places over the years."

"Really?" Remus lit up excitedly. "I collect them too! My favourite is a   near-complete snake skeleton with a rat skull stuck inside!"

"Wow! That sounds so cool!" Virgil didn't quite smile but he wasn't scowling anymore either. "I once found a dog jaw in a quite good conditiion. And I have this really nice possum skull."

"Ooh! Can I see them?" Remus asked bouncing slightly in his seat.

"Sure. Wait here, I'll go get them," Virgil stood up and left the room. Remus could hear him walk upstairs.

"He seems nice," he commented.

"He's beautiful," Roman sighed dreamily.

"Yuck."

"You get to rant about sexy people to me, I get to talk about crushes, that's the deal," Roman reminded him.

Remus rolled his eyes. "Fine, sure. But don't be too gross about it."

They heard Virgil come back downstairs.

He showed Remus the bones and gave him some tips when Remus asked how he had gotten them so clean.

"Oh, jeez it's almost eight. We should probably get going," Roman said after a while. "Maybe we'll get to talk to the Professor some other time."

Virgil seemed to study his face for a few moments.

"Yeah, maybe," he finally said and accompanied them to the door.

"Can I have your number?" Remus asked  holding out his phone. "Then I can send you some pics of my bones and stuff!"

"Sure," Virgil took it and typed something in. "Maybe we'll get the chance to talk again sometime."

The door closed behind them and Roman swirled around to face Remus.

"You got his number?!"

"Yeah, duh."

"That's not fair! Why did he give you his number and not me!"

"Well, I didn't drool over him," Remus shrugged.

Roman pouted the entire way to the train station.

Next

Taglist:

@patton-cake

[lideria]

Get to Know. | YangYang

Request: hiiiii ! i was wondering if it was possible to ask for a fluffy yangyang shows y/n around his hometown? sorry if that isn’t specific enough :( you have full creators freedom thank u so much ❤️

Author’s Note: So this is what it is, I tried my best, I swear I did. This was a concept I had never written before because usually I don’t.. write very descriptive things.. which is where things like this fall in- but I took on the challenge heheh On another note, this piece was cut in half as I haven’t been all too emotionally stable these past 3 days, so my apologies if this isn’t as good as what you hoped for. (And I know I have this excuse often, not being emotionally stable, but my condition really challenges me every single day and writing is the only thing that helps me forget about it a little, so please bear with me.)

Warnings: I THINK NONE? I guess if you’re German this might be like.. a bit weird. Mostly descriptive. There might be not-too-accurate representations, definitely contact me if you think something needs to be changed. Plus, English is my second language so there might be errors.

Word Count: 2.418 short-ish but long-ish

Genre: Fluff and literally nothing else

Hope you all enjoy, and I hope you all have a great time 💚 Stay safe, healthy, and happy xx

“You know what people say you should do if you wanna get to know your partner better?” YangYang asks you one night as you lounge on the bed together, looking at your phones, hardly speaking— waiting for the sleepy mood to come and hit you both so you could go to sleep. His voice sounds nowhere near tired, unlike you, whose eyes are barely open. “Mm I don’t know.” You mumble, even though you had not heard what the answer was to the question.

“Getting stuck in traffic or traveling together.” Answering the question for you, he turns his face towards yours to be met with your profile. Maybe only a quarter of your profile since your head was covered with the hood of your hoodie. “Neither of us has a car,” He adds brightly.

The words start to make sense only after a questionable silence. When you do, a feeling of surprise washes over you as you turn to face him as well. “What exactly do you mean?”

“Oh I don’t know,” The words leave him in a rush with a chuckle as if he is trying to laugh it off. But he is not, because he keeps speaking. “But I definitely don’t mean that we should rent a car when we could fly if you know what I mean.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, getting under the blanket and putting your phone aside. “Just go to sleep.”

To your horror, YangYang had been serious about his quick little fact check.

In two weeks’ time, he had barged into your apartment holding two plane tickets with a smile so wide on his face. Not only that, but he had told you to clear out your schedule for the upcoming break— because he would be taking you around anywhere and everywhere he had on his mind (and truthfully, anywhere and everywhere your budgets would allow for you to visit).

The concept came with its multiple ups and downs. Ups, you would be visiting four countries in four weeks without that much strain on your wallets and would have the chance to see places you have always wanted to; downs, most of the flights being layovers of all sorts so the prices would not have a great impact to your finances. And then there was a grey area, which held the fact that two of these countries were ones YangYang had lived in before.

There was nothing wrong with visiting places he had lived in before. This would give you an incredible chance of getting closer to him— perhaps on a level you would not quite be able to reach without doing exactly what you were about to do. It would provide a crystal clear window into his life before you, something more clear than his words probably ever could be. However, the idea still made you feel nervous to some extent. Most likely because of its intimate background, you felt like the magic of it could crumble with one wrong move.

But you do not give into that feeling. Having fun is the least you could do. Not that you have much other choice, anyway. Because YangYang, with lack of a better word, is an actual toddler about this whole ordeal.

The morning of your first flight that leaves to Taiwan, he meets you at the subway station you had agreed on with an excited smile on his face. One that does not falter even though the rain is about to soak him, and even when you pull him under your umbrella as you mutter if he is asking to get sick from the first second.

You share your earphones on the long ride to the airport. Checking in comes and goes in a blink of your eyes, but you barely make your way to the gates in time after spending way too much time in the food court and the duty free shops.

The plane is gigantic and crowded, which makes sense considering YangYang had said he could hardly find seats beside one another while purchasing the tickets. You get the aisle seat and he gets the middle— which would have been perfectly fine if the middle aged man sitting in the window seat did not keep excusing himself to the lavatory every other minute. Thankfully the flight is a relatively short one and not a red-eye because if it had been you are certain both of you would have lost your minds while cuddled up to each other over the armrest.

Taiwan is fun. YangYang takes you around everywhere he could remember spending time in, which does not end up being that many since he had only been a child while he lived here. He takes you to the ‘cliché’ tourist attractions (as he had quoted) around the island such as the temples and museums and the remnants of the Dutch colonization, and to the places that his mother suggests him take you that are more on the natural side, like geysers. You get to see the beautiful beaches and the parks and the people, more often than not walking around with their pets, the beautiful campuses and the nature, people riding around in their bikes and the crowds commuting on foot. The two of you take photographs, some only of sceneries, some you take of him and he takes of you, and some he kindly asks strangers of any age to take of you as a couple.

You do not dare to tell him, but his tourist-guide-like antics of teaching you about the history and trying to figure out exactly where you will go at what time is extremely cute to you because you love it. You love that he gets so serious about where he is from and wants to share every bit of it with you.

As per your traveling habits you pick up several souvenirs and get some of your favorite photographs printed, which end up being from the Dragon and Tiger Pagodas you had taken on a foggy day— something YangYang says the both of you could play with the colors and lighting of before printing. The two of you like to edit pictures, especially together, after realizing (early on in your relationship) that neither of you are that good in photography but are interested in it, at which point you took on a challenge to do better with each other’s support.

YangYang makes you eat the local food, which is one of your favorite parts about the whole time you spend there, and he does not hesitate to make you try things that you probably would not have tried if you were traveling alone. You end up falling in love with the food and the various teas this island has to offer, only maybe not the Chodofu.

A week in Taiwan goes by really fast that by the time you have to leave, you do not realize that you had ever even been there. It all feels like a dream and a part of you feels emotional; the two of you had been so extremely happy in Taiwan that staying there for longer really would not have bothered you, if it was not for your schedules.

“We have to come back,” You tell YangYang as you lean your head on his shoulder at the gate, waiting for your overnight flight’s boarding to start. He chuckles airily at your sleep deprived voice, making your head bounce a little. “You like it here?”

“I love it here.” The answer makes his smile widen. “Great weather and great people. And great surroundings.”

“Eh, I don’t know about great weather. I’d prefer it to be dry but that’s not something we could have in these months.” Shaking your head on his shoulder, you ignore what he says. “You’re just being ungrateful,” You say matter-of-factly, but he knows you are joking. “What more can you ask for when you have this many great things? You had me too.”

He plants a kiss in your hair after a moment’s pause, and mumbles. “You’re right.”

YangYang and you had tried to organize your trip in a way it would make sense, really. The two of you had looked at flight routes to determine where the other two countries you would visit could be, but the flight routes were mostly over Russia— so unless you wanted a tour of southern Russia you would have to hold off. And although the idea of Central Asia and Russia also interested you, the flight tickets would be expensive, when they would be much cheaper from Seoul. So in the end, the route became a zigzag of countries of your shared interests before flying over to Düsseldorf, the last destination of your trip.

The two countries in the midst of your trip had been a daze, most probably they were new experiences for both of you rather than only one of you. Most days you found yourselves to be extremely exhausted from getting lost countless times and in turn walking around so much, and from the language barrier that sometimes troubled you, and just getting to know whole new cultures. Not only getting to know them, but also adapting to them in the short period that you are there.

Sometimes there were instances where one of you were feeling more spent than the other, and in those instances you hyped each other up— by persuasion of food, music, affection, or other things— and in a few instances downright jumping on whoever’s lying on the bed and bear-hugging them until the subject had no choice but to get up.

Yet, two weeks pass by quickly with the density of your packed schedule and before you know it, you land in Düsseldorf airport.

And something in YangYang changes immediately.

As you pass through immigration and buy tickets to go on public transportation he looks more relaxed and in his element, like how he had been in Taiwan, yet somehow different. He actually knew the location of your Airbnb for starters, which gives you an immediate grounding and reminds you that this is the place of the better part of his rememberable childhood and adolescence.

When he takes the keys and speaks German to the house owner like it was the most normal thing he could ever do, it awes you, because yes you had known about his life in Germany but you did not see him speak German all that much. So it is wonderful to you that he can speak so many languages fluently (with a few mix-ups in between).

His behavior changes the feel of the trip as well. The way he is so laid back makes the days in Düsseldorf feel, well, daily. As if you had been living there with him. Because YangYang knows exactly where to take you this time, not counting the tourist attractions or other wonders.

In that city he knows where he should take you for a fun session of thrift shopping, making sure to take you to his favorite places, and his favorite restaurants. He actually runs into people, which is mind blowing. You encourage him to meet up with his friends and forget about just taking you to places at some point, which makes him really happy that you would even think of that, and he does what you say.

YangYang introduces you to his friends, most of whom can speak English since he had gone to an international school before, and the feeling of inclusivity warms your heart. By getting to know his friends here you feel even closer to him after seeing his home country and now, for the lack of a better word, his hometown. You get to see the way he laughs when he is here, you get to see his emotional changes, and how his thought process changes, and how his behavior changes. Although everything changes he is still YangYang— still him who makes witty jokes, who likes laughing all around, who likes jumping his leg up and down to the rhythm of the songs, who is a people pleaser and a mood maker.

And it makes you fall for him even more, if it is even possible. Perhaps what he had said before the trip started, getting to know your partner better because of traveling, was true. And in all honesty you wanted to travel more with him; run through the crowded airports in search of wherever your gate is, buy even more small jars of Nutella from duty free shops so you could taste test them to see the variations in the flavor and decide which country’s is the ultimate winner, sleep on the uncomfortable floor with your heads on your backpacks— anything. As long as the two of you get to be this happy together.

One sunny day in Düsseldorf around a couple days before your departure, after gathering even more souvenirs for your collection and he takes you to his favorite place that served fries (which, in Düsseldorf, there were a lot of those), he stops abruptly on the street after hearing the sound of the music.

He urges you to hurry up with his hand as his eyes widen and he skips in his place a little, and you do, walking to the source of the music and stopping when he stops right behind a crowd. You both can still see the middle, where a group of people maybe your age or maybe a couple years younger, are dancing.

“Why did we stop by here?” You ask. You cannot recognize the song and you are almost sure it is not in any of YangYang’s playlists, so you are genuinely curious.

YangYang laughs with what must be longing. “This is where I used to dance,” He does not look at you, eyes fixed on the group that kept dancing on with some handwritten signs and big speakers behind them, eyeing the white square that surrounded them. The square for street performers. Dancers, singers, anybody— but there was an unwritten pact for the days of the week on what kind of performer would be taking it and who, through endless group chat conversations of local artists.

He takes your hand into his and laces your fingers together without prying his eyes away, with you looking at his ever so bright face, one that you got to see for the first time. “Where everything started for me.”

[ilguna]

Tacenda - Chapter Fifteen (f.o)

Summary: you’ll never truly be free from the Capitol.

Word Count; 2.4k

Warnings; swearing, DEATH MENTION, torture

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

Before both of your parents had died, back in District Four, your family would have been considered ‘middle-class’ to a very thin extent. You guys weren’t at the bottom of the food chain by any means, and neither were you guys on top, but you were afloat enough to be considered middle.

You guys owned a nice two-story house with three bedrooms and two bathrooms. The house came with a very small yard that had that tree that you used to climb. You guys were always one of the first to receive electricity when it would have to be turned on, etc.

You guys never had to eat the food from the square. It’s not a bad thing to eat the food that’s provided there, it’s actually very helpful if you’re trying to go extremely cheap on some days. But eating food from the black market is taking a gamble, because there’s no telling what’s in the soup, or what had been mashed up. And it’s not like the people at the tables would tell you either.

It’s their ‘secret recipe’ and they didn’t want you to go around and tell everyone in the vicinity for a number of reasons. The food could have been made up of something that would be seen as ‘unfavorable’. If you go and tell everyone what’s in it, then that person running the table could lose the business entirely.

After your parents had died, you guys obviously weren’t able to afford super nice things anymore. You guys would be so caught up in trying to keep the essentials stocked, that Reed and Mox would run out of the money. So, with the very bare scraps that you would be able to get, you would head right to the square for those cheap meals.

They weren’t enjoyable sometimes, and you would voice that to the people you would buy from. But other times, they would end up making something particularly enjoyable, and you would let them know that too. You basically became their test monkey for new foods, and you told them how it was every single time.

Eventually, Reed and Mox had gotten ahead of their spending habits, which means that you guys wouldn’t have to eat from the market anymore, but you definitely had a lasting impact. Even though you didn’t have to, you would eat there sometimes and let them know. There was a hell of an increase in quality, people noticed it almost immediately.

They might have been making soups from bones and grass and dandelions from the fields, but it was good fucking soup either way. You absolutely loved their creativity, and you know for a fact that both you, and them had gotten a kick from being a critic and getting critiqued like that.

Even after winning the games, you had still gone to eat their food sometimes. It wasn’t because you wanted to humble yourself or some dumb shit like that. You would genuinely go to eat their food, because there wasn’t anything else to do. You didn’t want to be drowning in riches, and eating from the top quality bakers and the best butchers in the district.

You wanted some of their old fashioned soup, and you went there constantly. It was weird, being stared at like how you were. Watching the people that would have previously disregarded you, suddenly notice you like that. It was watching the sea part when you would walk inside of the building. Sometimes you even saw fear, since they were afraid you’d buy out the whole goddamn building with one months worth of savings.

Then they would notice that you would stop in front of the fucking stall, with the mashed up potatoes and meat. With vegetables that should be a crime to sell, with dandelion, grass and bones soup. And you would buy enough for one, and then sit around on the nearest stool just talking to the owners of the place, asking if they had come up with anything new.

Fuck, they even named a goddamn soup after you. They named one of your favorite creations that they had ever made, after you. Not because you had won the games, or you were a consistent customer, it’s because they genuinely enjoyed you. They were absolutely blown away by the fact that the fifteen year old with more money than she knew what to do with, would come by and eat there anyway.

You would take hours of your day just to sit there and talk, because it was overwhelming in the newly furnished victor house. Every now and then you’d pitch in and pay for someone if you were feeling particularly generous, because you had money to burn.

You miss it. You miss every aspect of that god awful building. You hated the smell of rotting fish before, but now it’s the only thing you can think about. The fact that it was almost always packed to the limit with people just trying to haggle and get their usual stuff but at a cheaper price.

You don’t know what you would trade to go back now. To go back and spend just a few more hours, sitting around in there and watching people go about their days. You would probably go around and buy things for people, because all the money in your account would go to waste when you die.

What you’re saying is, is that the food from the square is astronomically better than the shit that they feed the people in District Thirteen. Forget the ‘secret recipes’ that the old ladies used to protect with their lives, this shit is on a whole new level of a secret recipe. It’s downright inhumane to feed this to anyone.

“You’re picking at your food.” Finnick points out.

“Thanks, I didn’t know.” you give him a look, “You want it?”

“You know you need to eat, (Y/n).” he tells you, “It’s not going to get any better tomorrow, so stop messing with it before it gets cold.”

You roll your eyes, “Okay, dad.”

Finnick’s face scrunches up, almost like he’s disgusted with it. And then, he tilts his head, making a whole new face. Like he doesn’t mind it after all.

“Oh great, did I just find a new kink of yours?” you laugh slightly, ignoring the glances you get from the people around you.

He holds up his finger, placing his fork back onto the tray. Finnick doesn’t know what to think of this whole thing, “Hold on, I’m trying to imagine–”

You punch his arm, shaking your head at him as you go back to your food. Suddenly, you’re interested in it again! Who knew that it would be a valid form of escape?

Finnick is laughing, suddenly enjoying this. He goes back to eating too.

The sound of the Capitol’s anthem makes your head shoot up and the fork freeze in your hands. Your eyes search the room, looking for the source, and you end up finding it pretty quickly, the television sets that are on the wall. The logo for the Capitol comes in and it says ‘Capitol TV’ beneath it.

“Dinner and a show?” Finnick asks.

“I have a feeling this isn’t common.” you say, placing down your fork entirely, pushing the food tray back as you prop your head up against the table, “But I will enjoy it either way.”

Caesar fades in, and you do a little laugh, “Hello, good evening, and a big welcome to all of Panem. I’m Caesar Flickerman, and wherever you are, whatever it is you’re doing, if you’re working, put down your work. If you’re having dinner, stop having dinner. Because you are going to want to witness this tonight.”

You fake a yawn, and Finnick does it right back.

“There has been rapid speculation about what really happened in the Quarter Quell. And here, to shed a little light on the subject for us, is a very special guest. Please welcome, mister Peeta Mellark.” Caesar says.

Your mouth drops open slightly, and you can feel all the fun run out of your body at once. Suddenly, you’re no longer smiling, and you’re staring at the tv screen as if you’ve received the news that your mom just died again. You take in a shaky breath, and that’s when Finnick wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his body.

Peeta may not be your fiance, but he’s somewhat directly related to your siblings. Because they’re both in the same place right now. Lucky for you, Peeta looks healthy, like they haven’t touched a hair on his head. He’s wearing a white suit, and almost like he hasn’t been treated badly at all.

It raises hope, but along with hope, comes disappointment.

Caesar continues, “Peeta, a lot of people feel as though they are in the dark.”

You feel so horribly bad for Katniss right now.

“Yeah, I know how they feel.” Peeta says, Caesar laughs a little bit.

“Now, so set the stage for us. Talk us through, what really happened on that final, and controversial night.”

“Well first off, you have to–you have to understand that when you’re in the games, you only get one wish. It’s very costly.” Peeta says, he sounds calm.

“It costs your life.” Caesar says.

“I think it costs more than your life.” Peeta disagrees.

“How do you mean? What’s more than your life?”

Your laugh is hollow, “It costs other people’s lives. It costs your dignity and you’re sacrificing your entire personality.”

Finnick nods, “Because there’s no way you come out of the arena the same, no matter what.”

“Well, I mean to–to murder innocent people. That costs everything that you are.” Peeta says, and briefly raises his hand, “So you hold on to that one wish. That night, my wish was; to save Katniss. I should have just run off with her earlier in the day like she wanted.”

You look at Finnick, trying to recall any conversation like that between them. Like overhearing or something, but you come up with nothing. But it seems like Finnick has an answer for it, “Before we had gone to the tree, when they were sitting alone.”

And it clicks, because that would have been the perfect time to say it. Since it was the first time they had truly been alone like that in a while.

“But you didn’t!” Caesar says, “Why? Were you caught up in Beetee’s plan?”

“No, I was caught up trying to play allies. And then they seperated us and–” he pauses, “That’s when I lost her.”

“It’s so fucking hard not to be mad at him right now.” you cross your arms.

Finnick shrugs, “I mean, they could have been telling him to say this.”

“It’s raw emotion.” you lean forward a bit, out of Finnick’s arm to get a closer look, “He’s perfectly healthy, there’s no reason for him to lie. Playing allies my fucking asshole, what a joke.”

“And then the lightning hit and uh–the whole forcefield around the arena just blew out.” Peeta finishes.

“Yes, but Peeta, Katniss is the one that blew it out.”

“No–”

Caesar cuts him off, “You saw the footage.”

“No–she didn’t know what she was doing. Neither of us, knew there was a bigger plan going on, we had no idea.”

“You had no idea?” Caesar asks.

“No.”

“Alright, well Peeta, there are many who find this suspicious, to say the least. It seems as though she was part of a rebel plan.” Caesar proposes, and you watch as he does the basic, classic hand motions of ‘just saying’.

“What, do you think it was part of her plan to almost be killed by Johanna and (Y/n)?” Peeta looks tired of it, “Or to be paralyzed by lightning? No, we were not part of any rebel plan, we had no idea what was going on.”

“Alright.” Caesar does the motion again, “I believe you, Peeta Mellark. Thank you. Now, I was going to ask you to speak about the unrest but I think you might be too upset.”

“They’re patronizing him.” you laugh, “God, they’re treating him like a child.”

“No, no I can.”

“Are you sure?” Caesar asks.

“Yeah, absolutely.” Peeta turns towards the camera, actually staring into it now, “I want everyone who’s watching, to stop, and think about what a civil war could mean. We almost went extinct once before, and now our numbers are even fewer. Is this really what we want to do?”

The people around you aren’t so happy at this, and they’re looking at each other, almost appalled that he’s saying this.

“Now this could be rehearsed.” you tell Finnick, tilting your head.

“Kill ourselves off? Killing is not the answer. Everyone needs to lay down their weapons immediately.” That sentence doesn’t go over well with the people around you. You can’t hear the next couple of words because of how loud the shouting has gotten.

“Peeta,” Caesar leans forward, “Are you calling for a ceasefire?”

“Yeah, I am.” It gets louder, Finnick is beginning to slide off of the table’s seats, and you have a pretty good idea why, “I want everyone to stop, let’s end this violence. This is not the path–”

You’re out of your seat soon after, Finnick grabs your hand, and he begins to pull you away and out of the room. You watch as the room basically gets rowdier and angrier from what he’s saying.

Finnick wants to leave because he’s worried about your guys’ safety. It’s a safety hazard being around them, since you two had associated with him, and even halfway considered him a friend. It was a precaution, and almost a matter of time before they turned on you guys next.

“I don’t know about you.” you begin, “But I could really go for some peace and quiet right now.”

He looks at you, “Peace and quiet how?”

You smile a little bit, “A good fuckin’ nap.”

Finnick laughs, taking your hand and beginning to lead the way to your guys’ dorm–for a lack of a better word, “Sounds good to me.”

[max-is-really-okay]

Ink On Skin Chapter One

Ethan walked into his little flower shop with a soft smile on his face. His leather jacket had done its job of keeping him warm in the harsh winter outside. He sat behind the desk, ready for another slow day.

Set up beside him were flower arragements he lovingly called the ‘Fuck You’ bouquets. While no one did much research into flowers much anymore, he had put together a bouquet full of flowers which gave the message of hatred. He was proud of how much research he had put into them, even if they weren’t his best sellers.

There were quite a few pre-arranged bouquets for his customers, but there were also lists of flowers and their meanings for those who wanted to make their own. Ethan had spent weeks making the list and fighting with auto-correct.

He sat behind the front desk and took his jacket off, the sleeve of tattoos on his arm now showing to the world. He looked at his forearm, where his favorites were. One of the biggest ones was of a spider standing over a dead cthulhu type. Under it in cursive was just the name ‘Webby’.

He traced the picture with his black nail and pictured who had the tattoo. He had only gone into a tattoo parlor once, to get his ear pierced. His uncle Hidgens had surprised him for his eighteenth birthday by paying for it.

He never wanted a tattoo for himself. He had dealt with enough pain back when he was living at home. Ethan just didn’t see the use of having someone stab ink into his skin. The worries of infection always crept in when he even considered the idea. He was glad that his soulmate liked them though, they were badass.

As the day went on, at around noon he heard loud rock music coming from the tattoo parlor next door. He didn’t mind it, as it was his type of music anyways. He just nodded his head along to the beat as he cleaned up.

Ethan looked up when a nervous looking man walked in. He was tall and had casual business attire on. He was slightly bug eyed, but not unattractive. Ethan moved to stand behind the counter to get the man’s order.

“Hey. What can I do for you?” He asked the nervous man, leaning slightly over the counter and resting on his forearms.

“I want to get some flowers for my girlfriend. Well- not girlfriend. I’m asking her to be my girlfriend. That’s why I’m getting her the flowers.” The man rambled.

“Alright, and what kind of flowers do you want to get her?” Ethan asked, looking for a notepad in the mess that was behind his desk.

“Well I was hoping that you could help me with that.” The man admitted. “I don’t know anything about flowers, and I don’t want to make her one of...well something like that.” He nodded twords the ‘Fuck You’ bouquets. “But, I also don’t want to say I love you to her yet. Since- well it’s not like I don’t love her, she’s my soulmate, of course I love her, bu-” The man looked so nervous he might explode.

“I’m going to cut you off, pal. Don’t want you having a panic attack. I’m thinking of a bouquet with purple delphinium flowers, pink carnations, and gardenias. Very romantic and pretty.” Ethan suggested lightly.

The nervous man seemed to calm down and nodded. When he looked up, Ethan swore that if he hadn’t have cut him off the other would have started crying. “Yeah. That sounds good.” His shoulders relaxed.

“When do you want to pick ‘em up?” Ethan asked.

“Is Thursday too early?” He asked.

“Not at all. They’ll be waiting for you on Thursday, and you can pay me the eighty bucks then. Is that cool?” Ethan raised his eyebrows.

“It is more than cool.”

“I’ll need a name for the order.”

“Paul.”

“Alright Paul. See you on Thursday.”

Ethan watched as Paul left his store and smiled fondly. It was always nice to see when someone really cared about their soulmate.

He took inventory and put aside the flowers he would need for the bouquet. After he had the flowers set aside, he went through his little shop and took care of the flowers that needed it. He took the wilting bouquets off of the shelves and put them with the other sad bouquets in the ‘sale’ portion.

He looked outside and watched as people left the tattoo parlor next door to him. People walked out, and he imagined some of them as his soulmate. Maybe it was the nerdy looking guy with the bowtie. Maybe the girl with short blonde hair and glasses. It was hard to tell when everyone was wearing long sleeves.

There wasn’t much else to do that day. A couple on a date came by. A large muscular man with dark eyes and a small red headed woman holding onto his arm. The man smiled and bought her a reasonably priced bouquet of roses. She had kissed him.

Ethan smiled as they left, the sun setting. He pulled his leather jacket on and took a few tens from the register to pay for his dinner. He didn’t feel like cooking that night (he didn’t have anything to cook), and knew of a shitty coffee place that was always open late. He always made sure to eat at least once a day.

He walked outside and the freezing air hit his face. He looked over to notice the woman who owned the tattoo parlor next door locking up as well. He gave her the obligatory smile as he turned the key to lock the door.

Occasionally they would lock up at the same time. Sometimes she would have her little sister next to her, tonight wasn’t one of those nights. He didn’t know much about the other woman, other than that in winter she wore a big black jacket.

He turned to start walking, then noticed the woman walking the same direction as him. Towards the edge of Hatchet Field. Everything was cheaper there. “Where are you headed?” He asked as he noticed her match his pace.

“Beanies.” Was her short reply.

“Me too!” Ethan gave her a slightly goofy smile, which in turn made her lips turn slightly up.

“Well that’s cool.” She said.

Both of them walked quietly, and Ethan was nervous that he had creeped her out, but she kept walking beside him.

Soon enough, they got to the small coffee shop. Ethan held the door open for her and soon they were both in line at the small counter.

Ethan eyed the numerous pastries behind the glass, thinking about what he would want. There were quite a few options, all of which could make his mouth water since he had skipped breakfast and lunch.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard the woman in front of him swear.

“Shit. I’m a few bucks short.” She mumbled. She looked up at the barista who looked done with life apologetically.

“I guess I’ll just get the black coffee. Thanks.” She looked down and made a b-line to a table in the back corner.

Ethan stepped up and looked at the short barista “Um, whatever else she was trying to order, I’ll pay for it.” He said awkwardly, handing the other one of his ten dollar bills. This just meant that he would have a smaller dinner. “And I’ll get a large hot cocoa and a brownie.”

“That’ll be twenty five dollars.” She told him, giving him a quick and forced fake smile. Ethan nodded, giving her the rest of the money he had grabbed. He put the last five dollars into the tip jar.

He sat in an empty seat a few tables away from the woman who owned the tattoo shop. Her name was called first and she walked over to the counter. Ethan couldn’t hear the conversation, but he could hear a surprised tone coming from the woman who owned the parlor.

He looked back down at his phone until a hot cocoa was rather forcefully slammed onto the table. He looked up to see the woman holding her drink. It was labeled ‘Lex’.

“What the fuck man?” She asked, setting two plates down. One had his brownie and the other had the worst looking cinnamon roll he had ever seen. He took his brownie.

“I’m sorry?” He tilted his head.

“Why did you pay for the cinnamon role?” She asked.

Ethan wasn’t sure if she was angry, as she sat down at the seat in front of him and started eating. She still had her jacket on, as well as he did, but she had pulled her hair down. It was wavy and went just above her shoulders.

“I just wanted to be nice. And you look like you’ve had a long day.” He shrugged, taking a drink of his hot chocolate. It wasn’t good, as expected. He was pretty sure that they made it with water. Heathens.

“Oh. Well thanks.” Lex looked down, her shoulders relaxing.

“Where’s your sister?” He asked, just wanting to avoid silence for a bit longer.

“With her babysitter. I was booked solid today, and there wouldn’t be time to bring her out for lunch.” Lex told him, digging into her food.

“Want half of my brownie?” Ethan asked her, already cutting it in half. He was used to skipping meals.

“Thanks…” Lex eyed him suspiciously, taking the brownie.

“What?” Ethan asked.

“I’m not going to sleep with you, you know?” Her eyebrows went up.

“I didn’t think you were.” Ethan hated how squeaky his voice sounded.

“Alright then.”

“Alright.”

The two of them were quiet as they ate. Lex had a slight pink to her cheeks and Ethan didn’t know what to say.

They finished as the barista started closing up. Ethan made sure to thank her before leaving. He still held the door for Lex, who mumbled a ‘thanks’ as she walked past him.

He walked back to his tiny and shitty apartment and unlocked his door. He walked in and saw his cat, Greg, sitting next to his food bowl. As soon as Greg noticed Ethan, he walked up to him and started screaming.

Ethan chuckled and walked over to the beat up fridge, pulling a can of Greg’s food out. He pulled the lid off of the can and emptied it into Greg’s food bowl. Greg stopped wailing and began to eat, his fur going flat against his back. Ethan gave him a pat on his head.

When he was sure Greg was content, Ethan walked back to the fridge and pulled the only thing left out. He sniffed the expired milk before taking a long drink from the gallon. Greg looked over with a face of pure disgust before going back to his food.

“Don't judge me.” Ethan spat back. Greg did not respond.

He shrugged and walked back to the couch after he put the milk back into the fridge. It had a week left before he really had to throw it out based on the taste. He flipped on the lifetime channel and pulled his jacket off.

He smiled when Greg hopped onto the couch and into his lap. Greg was the ugliest cat Ethan had ever seen. He had been walking home from the auto shop when he heard meowing. He had searched for the noise, even though it was coming from an alley and pelting rain.

He found a cat with a flat face, mismatched fur, and mismatched cross eyes. He hid him under his jacket and brought him home. He promised himself that he would bring the cat to the shelter the next day, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Instead, after a few vet visits, Ethan had a cat.

He fell asleep with the tv on and said cat in his lap. He woke up at around three in the morning with a start and sweat down his back. His stomach growled and flopped and Ethan took a second to calm himself down.

He didn’t have nightmares often, but they sucked when he did. He stood up, careful not to wake Greg, and walked into the bathroom. He looked into the mirror and admitted to himself that he looked like shit.

He turned the shower on as hot as it would go and stripped down. He stepped under the stream of hot water and closed his eyes as steam filled the shower.

He washed his hair first, using his favorite lemon scented shampoo. He kept his eyes closed the entire time, just enjoying the hot water that was no doubt turning his skin red.

Too soon for his liking, he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around his waist and walked to his sink. He ignored the fogged up mirror and brushed his teeth.

He walked out and back to his bedroom where he swapped the towel out for a pair of red boxers and a shirt he was given by his uncle. It was bright blue and had the title ‘Workin’ Boys’ in large print. He wasn’t even sure what that was, but the shirt was comfortable.

He looked at his uncomfortable bed and sighed before climbing under the scratchy blanket. He rested his head on the flattened pillow and attempted to sleep.

When Ethan woke up the next morning, he looked to see a new piece of artwork on his shoulder. He walked into the bathroom to get a better look at it, and his breath was taken away by how beautiful it was.

There was a picture of a beach with palm trees. The colors were bright and the sunset in the photo looked real. Underneath was the word ‘California’ in cursive. Ethan wondered if his soulmate lived in California.

He hoped not. While he planned to leave the state one day, he had barely made it out of Hatchet Field. He was living in the shitty part of Clivesdale, and he was already tight on money. He couldn’t imagine moving to California on his own to find one of the millions of people there.

He threw on a white shirt and a green flannel with jeans before walking out. Greg was still sleeping on the couch and only woke up when he heard the can of cat food being opened. Ethan smiled as his cat sat by while waiting by for his food, his tail swishing slightly over the floor.

Ethan left, making sure to lock the door on his way out. He made sure to remind Greg to hold the fort while he was gone. Greg seemed to understand.

The weather was a bit colder than Ethan liked, but it wasn’t too cold to walk. He walked into his flower shop and turned the ‘open’ sign on.

He sat, watching as people passed his window. At noon he saw Lex and her little sister walk by. Not even a minute later, the little sister walked in.

Ethan smiled at the girl. She had to be no older than nine. “What can I do for you?” Ethan asked.

“Lex said to give this to you.” She told him, holding up a ten dollar bill. She avoided eye contact.

“Well, can you do something for me?” He asked, and when she nodded he continued, “Would you please bring her this?”

He gave her a small pot with hydrangeas planted. Lex’s sister nodded and left to go back to the tattoo parlor. Ethan watched out of the window to make sure she got there safely. He was proud of his choice in flower. Hydrangeas could show thankfulness. They were also prominent in his ‘fuck you’ bouquets because they could also symbolize heartlessness. From what he had seen, Lex’s personality was somewhere in the middle.

He sat back and pulled off the flannel to look back at his arm. Whoever his soulmate was had an amazing artist doing their tattoos. He pulled out a marker and wrote on the arm with less tattoos on it.

‘Hello.’ he added a poorly drawn stick figure waving.

‘Hi.’ A response came fairly quickly.

‘I like your tattoos.’ He told them.

‘Thanks. I haven’t talked to you in a while.’

‘Stuff happened.’ He wrote.

‘What kind of stuff? Got a new pet stuff or lost a family member stuff’

‘Actually both.’ Ethan replied, biting his lip. He wasn’t really lying.

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Who did you lose?’

‘Parents.’

‘Oh. I’m so sorry.’ They told him.

‘Thanks.’

The two of them chatted idly until there was almost no room on his arm left to write anything. He pulled his flannel back on and looked at the time. It was about two and his stomach felt almost painfully empty.

Ethan stood up and turned the sign to ‘be back soon’ as he locked up. He stuffed his hands into his jean pockets and walked to a pizza joint nearby. He was surprised to see Lex and her sister sitting at a table.

He walked over with his large slice of cheese and sprite, sitting next to Lex. “Well hello ladies.”

“Who told you you could sit here?” Lex asked, giving a pointed and defensive look.

“Well when I paid for your meal you sat at my table, just returning the favor.” He replied, giving a cocky smirk.

When her sister didn’t seem to object, Lex let him stay at the table as they ate. Lex was eating hawiian pizza, making him wish he had a few extra dollars to do the same. Her sister had mushrooms and peppers littering her pizza slice.

Ethan talked to Lex’s sister a bit. He learned her name was Hannah and that she was ten. She was really into spiders and collecting buttons. He filed the information away for later, sure that he would find a way to use it.

They walked back to their shops together, all in a better mood than before because of the break for food. Before Ethan could walk back into his shop, Lex stopped him.

“Hey, um, thanks for last night. And the flowers. I guess.” She mumbled.

“No problem toots. Just what I do.” He smiled, walking back into his shop. Maybe if he didn’t meet his soulmate, he had options.

[jemappellesophie]

How I survive as an international student in England.

Being an international student in a country you’re not familiar with can be pretty overwhelming for most. How do I know? Well, I am an international student myself here in England. Hi! I am Sophie. Currently living in Lincoln, England. Today I’ll be sharing tips on how I survive (money wise) here in England xx

1. Buy less upon arrival.

Okay, I’ve been here for 3 years and I did the same mistake for 2 years straight. That is buying TOO many things all at once! 

Imagine you’re alone and you have a really long list of items you want to get from the store. May it be a vacuum cleaner, ironing board, kettle, blanket, duvet etc. Okay and imagine you buying all the things you have in your list all at once. Yeah, I did all of that. The moment I stepped out of the store carrying the items I got, I regret it instantly. You do NOT want to repeat the same mistakes I did.

Instead what you should do is categorise the items that are essentials first. The first day you arrive to another country is going to be super tiring for you. Now, you have to do the list before you arrive to your destination because you wouldn’t have the time to later. For example:

First Day:

-Duvet

-Bedsheet

-Pillow and pillow case

-Toiletries

-Shampoo, conditioner and shower gel

-Snacks 

Second Day: 

-Vacuum cleaner (if not provided)

-Kettle (if not provided)

-Mop

-Trash bags

-Kitchen Towel

and so on...

This will definitely lessen the burden of you carrying these things all at once and having a breakdown because you’re tired, sleepy and your body aches after a really long flight. However, if you do find yourself buying all these things in one go without realising, it’s okay. Just tell the manager of the store that you’ll be taking all the other things tomorrow and you’ll just bring the essential ones home first :)

2. Remind yourself that buying clothes from Primark won’t actually save up your money. Really...

Now, you here people tell you that Primark is cheap. 

“OMG you’re going to England? You have to shop in Primark”

“The things there are so cheap”

“You’re so lucky. England has primark”

True but deadly.

Yes, the things here are cheap but the cheaper it is the more tempted we are to shop even more. We tend to get overboard with buying things sometimes. Clothes, shoes, snacks, food. If you’re a student with a decent amount of allowance every month, I’d suggest for you to control yourself even with shopping in Primark. 

Take it from me. I bought a lot of things from Primark during my first year and had to survive with only £10 in my Wallet. I wasted so much money buying clothes from Primark. Yes it is cheap but if you don’t control yourself? It’s deadly, hun. 

However, if you got tons of bucks in your wallet... I guess it’s all up to you ;)

3.Poundland is going to be your bestie!

I mean for me at least. 

MOST of the things in there are £1.

If you want some snacks like crisps, chocolates, bread, cookies or all those munchies you’d want to have in your room... Poundland has it all. I always get my snacks from Poundland because it’s cheap.

I also got some of my stationaries from Poundland as well. Such as notebooks, pens, erasers, stationary holder. 

Although, you gotta be careful with your spendings here too. Certain items in Poundland costs slightly a bit more compared to let’s say... Tesco.

For example:

A chocolate chip cookie in Poundland would cost £1 and only 84 pence in Tesco.

You gotta keep track of the price and survey a few other places around town to see which saves up more money for you. As much as it is my bestfriend, I have to admit that other places has a cheaper price tag to it. Which comes down to the next tip.

4. Okay this isn’t much of a tip but here’s a list of shops you can consider on buying essential goods from. 

-Tesco

-Sainsbury

-Asda

-Aldi

-Wilko

-Poundland

But my personal favourite is Wilko, Poundland and Tesco :)

(By essential goods I do mean kitchen appliances, cleaning appliances, snacks, groceries etc.)

5. The temptation over buying food through delivery. Well, when the laziness strikes in.

DEADLY. 

I used to do this ALL the time during my first year and it is also one of the reasons why I would ended up with just a few pound in my wallet. I know, we all get lazy and tired especially during winter because it’s cold and it gets dark easily which makes us pretty sleepy and unenergised. 

But if you ever come across having the want of ordering food through delivery? Think twice. If you got extra cash, go ahead. But if you’re trying to save up? Think again. The cost of the food may be cheap but remember there are extra charges.Some shops would charge you if your order doesn’t reach the minimum cost of one order also the delivery fee might be expensive at the same time. They’re cheeky fellas okay. 

A burger could cost you £3 but the minimum order cost is £9 and the delivery fee is about £4. I once spent £20 on a set of cheeseburgers and onion rings. I swear :’)

6. My last tip is about ‘savings’

Okay, gotta give credits to my ex boyfriend for teaching me this.

Take out 30% of your allowance and that is your savings.

I get around £200 from my dad every month. Therefore my savings is £60 Thus, I only have £140 left to spend of the items I’ll be buying. 

This works for me for quite awhile because I SUCK at savings. However if you don’t want to limit yourself too much, maybe you can save up £10 to £20 per month. Or you start with £5 and every month you add up another £5 to your savings. For example:

January: £5

February: £10

March: £15

April: £20

Something like that... 

So, these are the tips I apply to myself for me to survive happily in England. I suck at giving tips but these are pretty useful to me so thought I’d share. Of course there’s more but I can only think of these for today haha. I’ll be sure to add more if I remember any. Goodnight :)

Love, Sophie xx

[azrcxlfatale]

under the cut you’ll find saint’s intro, its just a brief run down for now until i get bio pages up but it should help get a sense of the boyo all the same !! he is gentle and friend shaped is all i can say ajjdfg. THIS HAS NOW BEEN UPDATED WITH LIKE FIVE EXTRA LIL MORE CURRENT HEADCANONS! [ they r just like for his own growth nothing major has happened with saint and he’s still fundamentally the same as he was bc he’s always been a more laidback and less tragic muse but feel free to read em bc they do help contextualise how he’ll be career wise and with grandmami] : 

   CHWE SAINT: 

so for the best part of his life saint was raised with his ‘grandmami’ as he terms her, but she’s better known to the whole island as ajumma solmi. for this reason he’s very doting toward her and a real grandma’s boy. he bakes with her often and they can often be found on street corners selling cheap priced but some of the finest flowers to the citizens because it’s grandmami’s tradition and its mostly done in hope to uplift the islanders and bring joy to their day in a small way and act of love. 

when i say doting i mean doTInG, he will help her in and out of chairs, help her cross streets, hold the groceries for her as she crosses, open doors for her even if grandmami insists he stops fussing because ffs saint ur making me look ancient and i’ll have u know i am still fighting fit and could knock any idiot on his ass with a fliCk of my finger. ajdhf. she is v fiery, if saint is like the picture of elegance and good manners then grandmami is the sTARK contrast. she has one hell of a potty mouth and just a no time for ur shit attitude. if anything saint is keeping her in line, not the other way around. 

his quirk is warp gate. he rlly just uses it to entertain himself mostly and help give his pals quick escapes when a prank of some sort has gone wrong. he can basically create portals out of a dark fog which can either be emitted through his breath or openings at the end of his fingers which he can activate, anyone can also use his portals to travel so long as he’s given them permission.

he just exudes sunshine rlly. is well known round the island for his out of this world smile which has been known to charm many. he is a very eligible and sought after bachelor but saint is like...not interested mostly bc he just like has no romantic awareness ahdhfhf not bc he doesn’t want it. and also bc he doesn’t like the way it’s mostly super young girls and guys just like awestruck by him. it feels a little too much like he’s a collective childhood crush by his groupies so yeah he is OBLIVIOUS. 

very humble and incredibly polite. just really down to earth whenever spoken to but being raised by an elderly person kinda makes u a little outdated, for this reason saint is kind of demure and bad at conversation mostly due to the fact he can easily talk for hours about his plans for baking with grandmami later, the book he read her this morning, the lovely walk they took in that gorgeous spot which he rlly recommends etc but he is god awful at talking about like typical young people stuff. 

lot of ppl think he plays hard to get, this is not true, saint just fr does not know how to fuckin speak and is the most oblivious person in the world to how to flirt, he’s easily flustered but bad at knowing when he’s being flirted with or if this person is just rlly nice and is usually too shy and respectful to rlly push luck by flirting in response hfhfjkg. USELESS. 

very 70′s/80′s aesthetic bby boy, sweet summer child. he is obsessed with old classic black and white films, had a collection before he moved to the island which he misses like everyday but luckily he has memorised ten million quotes. also collected records. obsessed with anything retro, is a collector of gaming merch. but he didn’t get to sneak much to the island :-( the only thing he rlly snuck was a small record stash. liked roller skating, bowling, drive in movies. dresses very retro but refined and classy with lots of layering. rlly good knowledge of classic literature. 

most likely to find him at the arcade in the funzone now on the island, he is a master at all the games but esp the old retro ones, usually goes early morning or late evening so he can spend hours uninterrupted on them and beat his high score everyday a bit more. if not there then he’ll be at zen’s computer gaming instead. he likes all tech really but prefers retro, he’s still figuring out modern. before coming to the island he was rlly getting into VR. if he’s not in either of these places, he’ll be on the beach in a volleyball match or doing a jog. still v much into his sports. 

ultimate sike power cause people think he looks like ur typical jock fuckboy but jokes on u he is pure of heart and dumb of ass himbo just blessed with ethereal looks, he is the breed of good lil boyo and that is all. 

obsessed with milkshakes and popcorn at the diners if he’s ever there u can guarantee that is what he is snacking on or treating himself to. his weakness is churros he fucken thinks that shit SLAPS. he’ll do anything if the prize is churros.  sMH someone help his diet. also loves fiddling with the jukeboxes there ajdjd. 

has two pet geckos one is peach colored and called zelda, the other is black and white leopard spotted and named zeus and he also has a chonk of a fluffy grumpy white cat called yoshi. he is the best. saint is a huge animal lover but probably still not on nyx’s level of dog worshipper. 

weeb. not as big of a one as nyx but he likes haikyuu, kuroko no basket, given, fruits basket, free! and yuri! on ice. he is very into anything that is slice of life or sports anime. 

has the nickname ‘koda’ bc of the movie brother bear, nicknamed after the lil baby bear cause he just reminds people of a baby bear ahdhd. 

he studies art, spends half his life in the studio working, big art nerd. once he gets in the work mode, he just does not stop for anything but water and snacks and goes at it all day into half the night. usually does big projects bc he loves a challenge. mostly paints, sometimes sketches. u know those vids of people mixing paint colors like a swatch of gold and turquoise? saint fuckin loves those so bad unf he does that all the time to calm himself. 

still lives with grandmami currently, he’s looking at getting his own place bc everyone tells him if he ever wants to have his own life then he needs to but he’s just v anxious about leaving grandmami on her own bc she getting older by the day and she’s all he has sO she cannot get hurt!! 

also in a bit of a dilemma with his art bc he kinda wants to make something out of it, like maybe teach some classes sort of thing and use it more as a career but right now he does not have the confidence in his ability and is mostly just doing it for fun and as a calming thing ( he’s an idiot he’s rlly fucken good pls someone make him take himself seriously )

never cusses but does say bitchin a lot, only ever uses fuck in bed basically so if u ever hear him say it then u know something next level has gone down bc saint refuses to swear even if he stubbed his pinky toe.

looks like a cinnamon roll but HE FUCKS!! boy is a kinky freak however saint has no shame or embarrassment like he will discuss it as casually as a discussion of what to have for dinner not bc he is like lewd but purely bc to him its rlly natural and like another form of art and he does not get the embarrassment or secret nature of it all like it is just factual to him that we come into the world like that and ppl enjoy it sometimes ajsj. 

gardening enthusiast!! has a fascination with studying plants and insects tbfh. still uses 70′s and 80′s kewl kid slang like unironically someone help him pls. sjjdjf. cute bonus fact: has freckles all over his shoulders and down his back. UWU. 

COUPLE OF CONNECTION IDEAS OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD??: 

i would love for him to have a muse for art and/or to be someone’s muse. also and maybe interchangeably someone to kinda be his art mentor and be like saint u could pursue this fr if thats ur dream, then do it pls share this talent dont let ART DIE!!

someone he does gardening and insect studies with who gets his nerdy enthusiasm over it. 

a regular who gets flowers from him and grandmami, maybe he makes a special bouquet for them every day which always has a different meaning in the flower language bc he is soft like that ajjfl

someone who he can take on loads of cute lil platonic diner dinner dates bc he is a huge foodie as we can tell. this one is super fun like I imagine they scam tf outta restaurants that are over priced and for the elite by being like we all kno married couples or people getting engaged, celebrating anniversaries etc tend to get better deals on their meals. so he’s essentially doing this one bc he likes ur muses company and enthusiasm for food but also bc it means cheaper high quality meals for both and a guaranteed good time.

someone to nerd out with him over classic literature or films bc that would be hella cute

maybe someone who is also close with his grandmami and rlly loves spending time with her as well so he kinda trusts them to take care of her and trusts their judgement when they r like saint chill let the lady live okay go and do ur own shit akskf

he usually jogs alone but it would be cool for him to have someone to do that with and like table-tennis and shiz cause he just loves fitness activities and active leisure stuff too. 

maybe someone who is tryna teach him a little more about how to uH TALK LIKE SOMEONE HIS DAMN AGE AND STOP BEING SOME RETRO MAN STUCK IN MODERN TIMES AJDJD

UPDATES:

so a lot about saint hasn’t overly changed because like he just is and has always been a very wholesome laidback boyo but just a few bits of like additional info for his personal growth can be added:

he’s owner and manager of the florist now, grandmami is also there most of the time and handles a lot of stuff when she’s feeling up to it but with her getting more tired more easily from her illness saint needs to head everything really.

he grew up in a neighbourhood on hosu which like consisted of his entire street pretty much being full of his aunts and uncles so now like it’s a street just littered with all his tiny cousins who like to follow him about everywhere and play ball games etc on the street with him and kinda take it over shs. you can hear their joyful playing from like streets over it’s very cute.

his mother gave him up when she realised she was pregnant with him and too young to raise him and that it would hinder her from pursuing the life she wanted with his father. saint doesn’t hold any resentment for her choice, it only bothers him that his grandma has always had a serious illness since the early days of talks of her having no choice but to take him on and that despite this his mother allowed him to be left to her care and another burden on her when she was already so ill.

grandmami is now at a point where she’s hanging in there but she won’t have long left and saint is essentially now her live in carer till her final days which is hard af for him but he refuses to let it show. he’s not sure how he’ll function when he loses her. right now he’s trying to extend the florist business into a wellness one as well and more of an apothecary so he can keep himself stable and busy.

this is more just a cute fun fact but he’s a Christmas Eve baby. uwu lil boyo was born on the night before Christmas bc of course he was sdjdj.

[cenedrariva]

Our apocalypse comes softly

You see the reports on the news Angry people on twitter “A crisis! Armageddon! End of the world!” It doesn’t feel like the end of the world It doesn’t feel like a crisis It feels normal

You go to work, you come home The hours are longer than you’d like but you make enough to live You spend your free time relaxing That’s what you call it, at least Grabbing quick food and falling exhausted onto the sofa Netflixing

Sometimes you go out, sometimes you drink with your mates And that’s fun, that’s fine, that’s normal Sometimes late at night and drunk together, secret fears come out “Can I earn enough? What if they fire me? What if I can’t make rent? What if I can’t get food? What if I get sick and miss work?” “Well, you’ll always have a place on our sofa!” They smile and laugh, and you laugh too And when they whisper the same concerns you make the same offer It’s all normal, this is just what friends do

It’s a hot day again, and you’re grateful for air con You wonder how they did it back in the old days Back before electric fans and AC, how did they survive? Climate change, right? That’s what the experts say It couldn’t possibly have been much cooler, though. Could it? (you remember as a kid, everything was much greener) (that’s just nostalgia)

They say it’s an apocalypse, but they’re just fear-mongering You don’t live on an island, your home won’t flood (except for that bad flood, it was only a few years ago) You don’t live near the wildfires, your home won’t burn (but there’s been smoke haze for weeks, choking the city) It’s just fear-mongering, vegan hippie new age idiots Tree huggers yelling about saving the planet, they’ve been at this since the 60s and nothing bad has happened yet (if it was real, people would have done something by now)

You’ve been working minimum wage for years now It was only meant to be temporary, just while you sort out a better job You tried, you really did, you’ve worked at a dozen different places But they’re all the same, really Minimum wage with terrible customers, bosses who yell at you and fire people over facebook posts, and you feel your co-workers watching you, any one of them could report you to the boss “We all cry at work sometimes, just wipe off the tears and keep going.” It’s normal. Once you get a better job, things will be better

You swear bread used to be cheaper Chocolate too (you half-remember something about crop failures) (you half-remember something about monopolies) It’s just the way things are, you suppose Economic inflation and all that, food prices go up At least they aren’t like fuel prices, flipping from high to low and back every few days You hoard your chocolate and eat it slowly, save it for rainy days The price makes you wince

Rent keeps going up, utilities too, so you pick up extra shifts You get home and look for other work Not a better job, just something with flexible hours you can fit around your main one You’ll look for a better job on the weekend, when you have free time It never feels like you have free time Your friends recommend apps “You create your own hours!” “It’s delivering food!” “It’s basically like a taxi!” “I worked with them and saved enough for new headphones!” You wonder where your free time keeps going Everyone is rushed off their feet these days You don’t complain. It’s normal.

Apparently, a new war has started There are always wars going on but this one involves an ally nation There are recruiters everywhere, it seems You have no interest in the military, no interest in the war You’re tired a lot, and when you’re free you’re socialising best you can Group dinners, throwing your money together to make feasts instead of sad little plates You don’t have time to think about distant wars (you keep it in the back of your mind) You don’t want to hurt anyone (free accommodation, free food, a regular salary) But just in case everything goes wrong, it’s nice to have a backup plan

Fruit is so expensive now, veg too How can anyone stick to a diet like this? (webMD says you aren’t getting enough vitamins) (that’s why you’re always exhausted) It feels like months since you last had something other than an apple Berries always cost more, but this is ridiculous And half the time they’re not even in stock anyway (what happened to avocados?) You miss raspberries (what happened to all the bees?) You buy gummy bears The packet says they contain authentic fruit juice They taste authentically like gummy bears But that’s still close enough to fruit Sort of

The fires are bad this year, but they’re bad every year (they didn’t used to be) Towns destroyed, places you’ve heard of, places nearby (people huddling on beaches to escape the flames) The smoke haze is choking the city, everyone’s wearing face masks (the sky is orange most days) But it’s been like this for weeks and you need to get to work (can’t afford to lose your home air con) The smoke makes your eyes itch, makes you sneeze You ignore it One of your friends has asthma attacks each time they go outside They were fired for calling in sick too often You want to bring a little extra to the next group dinner, make sure they’re getting fed The group feasts seem smaller than they used to You must be remembering wrong This is normal

On the news, people are weeping So-called climate experts passionately arguing for clean energy As if anyone has the time, the money to do that (they’ve been asking for years) Activists calling for monopolies to be pulled down (you just want to sleep) Shorter work hours, higher wages, higher corporate tax (oh, if only) They call it a crisis (it’s always a crisis) They say we’ve crossed a tipping point (yet another tipping point) They’re wrong (if they were right, someone would have done something) This is just normal This is what normal is

[langblr-o-kebek]

How to feed yourself cheaply when you live alone

It can be so frustrating and difficult to get used to living by yourself. Apparently cabinets don’t come magically stocked with spices and you have to buy things??? with money???? So here’s a few things I’ve learned along the way along with some links to other great posts that have information along this subject too.

1. Secretly assassinate a relative and collect inheritance

2. Find a sugar daddy

If 1 and 2 are options then the rest of this post is worthless to you, if they are not options, keep reading.

Your first visit to the grocery store Buckle up because it’s going to be the most expensive one

You need to stock your kitchen since you are not a roach and can’t just eat the wooden cabinets. Every kitchen should have some combination of the “basics” which will be your non-perishable pantry items-those things that your parents house seemingly never runs out of. 

The Basics

-Rice -Pasta (+any other grains you might like such as couscous, wheat berries etc.) -Flour -Sugar -Brown sugar (if you’re into baking like I am) -Baking Soda -Baking powder -Spices (for example, cumin, cayenne, oregano, basil, paprika, etc.) -Salt and pepper -Oats -Boullion or cans of stock -Cans of soup/packets of ramen -Coffee/tea

I suggest you buy these kinds of items in bulk if possible. If you have the space to store them, they will last you forever and items like these can make a meal that is supposed to be 1-2 servings into somethings thats 4-6 which I’ll explain later. Also, buying in bulk is cheaper per pound/100 grams (whatever system you’re using) so in the long run, you’ll save lots of money by buying one fat ass sack of rice a year instead of 15 every few weeks. Check your area for bulk stores, places that sell spices and grains by the weight. This will save you cash and can be more eco-friendly if you’re able to use your own bags/containers.

Tips for meals

It is so much cheaper to cook a larger amount of food at a time than making something for each individual meal. This is because for the most part, you can’t buy ingredients sufficient for one serving at the grocery store and you don’t want to buy something you’ll only use once and then the rest goes bad and bye-bye money. Making a meal that will last you 3-4 days is not only cheaper, but also saves time since after the initial cooking, all you have to do is reheat a little at a time later. You can take this a step further and use grains like rice, pasta and couscous to “cut” the food thereby doubling the amount of servings you have. Below are some really easy recipes that I use that last me days.

Things you can make at home for cheap

HUMMUS! Bc it’s a great snack, filling, healthy and is stupid expensive at the store and stupid cheap and easy to make.

-1 can of garbanzo beans -2 T of tahini (you can leave this out if you want, tahini can be expensive) -1 T lemon juice -1 clove of garlic, minced -Cumin, paprika, salt, pepper

Literally throw it all in a food processor and blend. If it’s too thick, you can add more olive oil or save some of the water from the beans and add that as well. If you do that, less salt will need to be added. If you use dried beans that you’ve soaked and shit you will need more salt.

If you don’t have a food processor, you can heat the beans up and smash it by hand, it’s more effort and it may be chunkier but it works. Same goes for immersion blenders.

Fun ways to shake this hummus up

-Roasted Red pepper: Chop 1/3 C of roasted red pepper and add. Replace some of the olive oil with some of the juice from the pepper jar.

-Roasted Garlic: Instead of mincing a garlic clove, expose the head of the garlic (lol) and rub with a little olive oil, making sure it gets into the cracks (lol). Wrap in foil and roast at 400 degrees (~200 C) for 30-35 minutes. Garlic should be nice and soft when it’s done. Roasted garlic is sweet instead of biting like raw garlic so using a whole head is okay and you won’t die when you eat it.

-Artichoke heart+black olive: Chop up one can of artichoke hearts with however many chopped black olives as you would like

-Pesto: Add in at least one tablespoon of pesto

Now the question is, how do I eat my hummus and the answer is, there’s actually a billion ways

-Put it on a sandwich or wrap! -Dip celery, cucumber, carrots, peppers in it! -Eat it with pretzels or tortilla chips OR if you’re a cheap bastard like me, make your own tortilla chips by cutting up some tortilla rounds, brushing them with olive oil, sprinkling them with salt and bake at 350 for 10ish minutes. I usually put mine into the oven right when I turn it on and pull them out when the oven is preheated bc I can’t be bothered to actually figure out a proper cooking time. Whatever, this is way cheaper than buying chips and they’re more filling. You can also make tortillas, it’s cheap and simple, I find they taste better, but it is slightly time consuming. Here’s a recipe. -Eat it with a spoon wgaf you live alone no judgement.

Coffee Creamer

Hell yes you can make this at home. The basic is about 1 3/4 cup of milk (whatever kind of milk, the more fat in the milk the creamier the creamer) and 14oz of sweetened condensed milk. You can also add in a few drops of any sort of extract/honey or some sprinkles of cinnamon/nutmeg whatever suits your fancy! Here is a bunch of variations. Also put 1/4 of a teaspoon of cinnamon per cup of coffee in with your coffee grounds in the filter for a cinnamon scented coffee.

Popcorn

Well, we all knew this one. But honest to god it is so much cheaper and healthier to pop popcorn using a bag of kernels than it is to buy a box of microwave popcorn. Just pour some oil and a tablespoon of butter into a large pan, add the popcorn and cook covered over medium heat. As soon as the kernels start to pop make sure you start jiggling the pan to keep them moving so they don’t burn and ruin your pan. I’m pretty sure you can put the kernels in a paper bag in the microwave too. Throw salt on it, or even cinnamon and sugar cuz why not.

RULES FOR GROCERY SHOPPING

1. buying in bulk saves

2. Don’t buy in bulk if you can’t use it all before it expires-like yeast! Most expiration dates are pretty generous and you can actually continue using the product beyond the date (this amount of time varies, please for your own safety please google it). Yeast is the only food I know of that is true to its expiration.

3. Avoid superstores when possible. Most of the time, you’re paying for the convenience. Superstores are often more expensive because you’re paying for the convenience of doing all your shopping in one place. 

4. Ethnic markets are almost always cheaper-especially for trendy things like Coconut oil (so cheap at indian food markets!!) Find Chinese, Arabic, Indian, Mexican food markets around you and split up your shopping accordingly. 

5. MAKE YOUR OWN BREAD, it can be very easy. Google it.

6. Off brand is just as good as the rest

7. Coupons, grab them in the front of the store if available

8. Just because something is a good deal doesn’t mean you have to buy it. I don’t care if orange juice is on sale, I don’t drink a lot of orange juice. You know what’s cheaper than something being 50% off? Not buying it at all. It costs $0.00 to be smart. 

9. Don’t make grocery shopping a habitual thing. By that I mean don’t go grocery shopping every Sunday or whatever. Go grocery shopping when you need to go grocery shopping. If it’s been a week but you can wait 4 more days, wait 4 more days.

10. Don’t buy fresh herbs, grow them. A packet of seeds is cheap. Plastic pots are cheap. Potting soil can be cheap if you can find a place where you can buy by the weight instead of a massive bag. Plant the seeds according to the packet. Things like basil need to be watered often. Things like rosemary and thyme are okay chilling a couple of days without it. Read the packets and google it. Also it’s so rewarding to watch your little baby plants grow. An herb garden costs $10 dollars at the most to make. Fresh herbs at the grocery store cost $2-6 per package. Fresh herbs make meals taste a million times better I swear to god it’s the best thing you can do for yourself. Growing herbs also helped me with my depression so bonus.

11. If shopping at a super store, as much as possible stay out of the “middle”. What I mean is, things you buy should come from the sections closest to the wall-these include the produce, meat, dairy and frozen vegetables. All the processed foods are in the middle and though some can be cheap, they’re not filling and you end up buying them a lot. Doing things like making your own hummus can keep you out of the middle aisles and it’s healthier. Things from the middle you may need though are tea, ramen, grains, soup, peanut butter. 

12. Plan your trip. Thoroughly look through your fridge and cabinets to see what you’re out of. I even keep a little white board on my fridge where I write what’s in the fridge and what’s run out. Write down what needs to be replaced/what you need for the next couple of meals. Do not stray from the list when shopping.

13. Go to Marshalls or Winners or whatever equivalent for things like olive oil, K cups if you have a Keurig (oh fancy fancy) and cool pink salt. They also have other kinds of oils like sunflower and avocado, and even sometimes protein powders. It’s way cheaper there and you can buy a liter sized bottle of olive oil for like 7 dollars when it would cost at least twice that at a grocery store. 

14. Do not have the same grocery list every week. Prices of things change, your list should reflect that. If you’re wanting to get some sort of fruit for a snack, don’t get apples every week. Get whatever is in season. The prices of fresh produce in stores and markets will reflect what’s in season (i.e. the cheapest things). Lucky for us Bananas are always in season and are a super cheap snack that people forget about. I often wait until they’re ripe, cut them up and freeze them to make smoothies. 

15. Don’t be afraid of tofu. It’s cheap as hell and once you learn how to prepare it, can be a fantastic substitute for animal proteins if meat/fish are too expensive.

16. Don’t forget, so many foods can be frozen. If something is crazy on sale, don’t be afraid to buy more than usual if you are able to freeze it. Here’s a list of things that can be frozen. TBH here, in Canada, I buy those big 3L bags of milk and store the little baggies in the freezer. 

Finally, go to Goodwill stores and thrift shops to find kitchen appliances, dishes, and cookware for cheap! The best 7 dollars I ever spent was on a crock pot. These stores have so many items that last FOREVER, like a good pan, or a classic cafeteria.  Don’t think you can’t cook because you can’t afford the equipment. Kitchen equipment doesn’t have to be a huge investment.

That’s all I have for today. Good luck out there guys.

[agritecture]

Can High-Tech Indoor Agriculture Transform Local Food?

CONTENT SOURCED FROM EDIBLEBROOKLYN

On one of those unseasonable 40-degree days this April when there was soaking ice-cold rain followed by umbrella-wrecking wind, the weather inside a miniature indoor farm near Manhattan’s City Hall was balmy.

Farm.One CEO and founder Robert Laing (pictured above), in a black chef coat and jeans, surveyed the plants perfuming a 1,200-square-foot growing space, formerly a bicycle gym, in a building that also houses a veterinary clinic, a doggy swimming pool and Atera, a two-star Michelin restaurant serving dinner for $275 a plate. Space-saving expandable library shelves were lined with dozens of hydroponic plants grown in a water-based nutrient system instead of soil: snap peas, green sorrel, lemon basil, red mizuna, lemon gem marigold.

“Here’s one of my favorites,” Laing said, picking a leaf and a tiny flower snugly tucked beneath rows of bright LED lights. “It’s called “nepitella,” a flowering herb from Tuscany. Italian chefs are excited to see it in New York City because sometimes they haven’t seen it in years. It’s a little bit minty—the flowers have a powerful flavor for something so small.”

Laing specializes in selling such rare and unusual herbs, greens and edible flowers to mostly high-end restaurants—from Le Turtle on the Lower East Side to Daniel uptown and Atera upstairs. Those restaurants’ chefs are willing to pay a premium for hard-to-find produce harvested and delivered the same day.

“The growing climate in New York is difficult,” Laing said. “So chefs here really have a tough time getting rare produce—they have to ship it from miles away and by the time it gets here it’s not at its best. I really wanted to create a way to grow interesting things in the heart of the city year-round.”

In a town of eight million, Farm.One is part of a rising movement to cultivate produce where large numbers of people live by using high-tech systems and smart greenhouses placed at grocery stores, in basements and even inside cargo vessels. Leading restaurants have embraced these futuristic farms for a range of reasons, including variety, ingredient quality and virtually unlimited availability in all seasons.

Critics, however, question whether high-tech farming in confined spaces will be destined to cater only to elite restaurants, especially considering the much bigger national marketplace flooded with cheaper produce from California and Arizona. Chefs also debate taste. Some are grateful to have local hydroponic produce to flavor their dishes in all seasons. Others swear the produce is inferior to herbs and vegetables from a dirt farm with the characteristic flavor of the soil where they grow.

There are also questions about what will happen if these indoor urban farms really take off, including whether they might undercut local farms on the metropolitan fringe. “The need to protect and preserve that open space is real,” says Dan Barber, the chef and co-owner of Blue Hill in Manhattan and Blue Hill at Stone Barns in Pocantico Hills, New York, and one of the pioneers of the farm-to-table movement. “To divert from that in any way seems to be a lost opportunity—even though I see the excitement of doing some salad greens in a shipping container.”

Urban farming business and distribution models vary almost as widely as the types of plants being cultivated. Farm.One’s website recently listed about 18 different types of produce ranging from a 10-count of yarrow or marigold leaves for $5 available to online customers to papalo (an ancient Mexican herb similar to cilantro) starting at $8.75 an ounce for restaurant orders only.

“We’re doing this at the high end because that’s where we know we can make money and have a sustainable business,” Laing says. He envisions expanding Farm.One in New York and in other cities with a continued focus on providing produce to restaurants and being a model to make such produce more accessible to consumers. “It’s really cool to think in a city like New York there are thousands of spaces like this,” he says. “The technology is there. I think the applications can spread.”

Indeed, technology is the central focus of most city farms. Smallhold, founded in 2017, pre-grows gourmet mushrooms that are finished in restaurants and a grocery store in leased climate-controlled cases lit by blue fluorescent lights and monitored and operated remotely by the company’s growers in Bushwick. Also located in Brooklyn, Square Roots, recently launched by Kimbal Musk (younger brother of Tesla boss Elon Musk) and his partner, Tobias Peggs, is helping young entrepreneurs use the latest innovations to farm in cargo vessels; a 320-square-foot container can purportedly supply about as much produce as a two-acre farm.

Gotham Greens, with locations in New York and Chicago, uses automation and sensors that can detect light levels, carbon dioxide, temperature and humidity to operate four rooftop hydroponic greenhouses producing about a dozen types of lettuces and herbs. The greenhouses represent 170,000 square feet of combined growing space.

In 2014 the company opened a greenhouse atop a Brooklyn Whole Foods—the first commercial-scale rooftop greenhouse integrated into a supermarket. “Our growers are harvesting, packaging and then the product goes down to the store,” Gotham Greens director of marketing Nicole Baum says. “We’ve reduced food miles to food footsteps.”

Despite those lower transportation costs, investors are concerned about the profitability of so many start-ups. “Most urban farms are costly and therefore their prices are higher than what one can pay at a grocery store for a field-grown product trucked across the country,” says Dan Pullman, managing partner of Fresh Source Capital, a company investing in local food and agricultural systems. “You’ve got to make money on this stuff. Otherwise it doesn’t work.”

Baum said Gotham Greens’ prices are competitive with local and organic lettuce brands, about $3.99 for a 4.5-ounce container. Still, the company is a small-scale producer vying for consumers faced with a financial decision: pay the price for local organic, save 50 cents by purchasing a well-known organic brand, or a whole dollar for conventional greens from California or Arizona.

“There is always a consumer who will pay for value,” Pullman says. “Gotham may be in a good position because they’ve got loyal regional markets, but replacing lower-cost producers will be tough.”

A puree of Gotham Greens’ basil spinach currently stars on one of the atbreads served in Gramercy Tavern. “They’ve given us access to harvested greens in even the cold weather months,” executive chef Michael Anthony says. “That makes for exceptional high quality from a restaurant perspective.”

But some chefs say hydroponic lettuce will never rival the taste of lettuce grown in the earth. “I’ve never tasted any hydroponics that I think are really that delicious,” says Dan Barber of Stone Barns, which grows some of its lettuce in a nearby greenhouse and sources more from local farms. “Sure, the quality in terms of the way the product looks and the yield can be more consistent by being contained because you’re not subject to the whims of nature—but that doesn’t mean it’s better.”

What’s more, Barber adds, “the side effect of the excitement about indoor farming takes away from the investment and intellectual capital in creating systems for agriculture that are still very viable surrounding major metropolitan areas.” For him, it’s important to preserve the farmscape, healthy agriculture and organic philosophies based on sustainable land use and feeding the soil, not just the plant.

Dave Chapman, owner of Long Wind Farm in Vermont, is on the board of the Real Organic Project, an organization created to challenge the USDA’s recent decisions to certify hydroponic produce and scrap rules about animal welfare. While he’s not opposed to hydroponic farming—“some of my good friends do it”—he wants the methods to be transparent so consumers understand the produce isn’t grown in soil. “This is happening,” he says. “We can’t be food fascists—don’t grow that way! As long as farmers are being honest about how they’re growing, people will decide over time what they think.”

If the glow of LED lights in pockets around the city is an indicator of how much New Yorkers appreciate freshly grown local produce, the urban farming trend may continue to spread. As long as those farms are profitable, entrepreneurs will invest, restaurants will buy—and diners will clean their plates.

Produced in collaboration with the Food & Environment Reporting Network, an independent, non-profit news organization.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

the rule of cool (part 1)

[peter parker x reader]

author’s note: yaaaay this is finally done! spent the last week or so writing it. this idea came out of nowhere but it’s probably the most fun story i’ve written. big ups to my cousin (i know you’re reading this lol) for helping me develop the plot because holy hell it went everywhere. hahaha hope you all enjoy

also tried to post this as one giant post, and while chrome and my phone’s browsing app (safari) handled it just fine, the app kept crashing, so i’m posting this in 2 parts. so sorry if you saw this before 

word count: 10,167

PART TWO

some foreword stuff: never played d&d before, just did some research, so please don’t judge me lol. also do y’all recognize the reference in the first paragraph. i think ya do(;

FRIDAY

When Peter Parker leaves the premises of Midtown High School that bright Friday afternoon, there are only two things on his mind: the thrift store and his latest Dungeons and Dragons campaign.

As he leaves the station after his short subway ride, there is an extra spring in his step as he walks to the end of the block. When the crosswalk sign turns green, he’s quick to cross, and soon his ears are filled with the sounds of the city: the whoosh of cars zooming past, the hum of the above-ground subway as it slides along the tracks. Peter grabs his iPod from his pocket and puts his earphones in. His playlist is on shuffle and the first song to greet him is the electronic rock so characteristic of Ratatat, and the smooth synths and electric guitar elicit a smile from the boy almost automatically. It feels like he’s in a movie. The breeze is cold against his face as he continues on down the street.

As he approaches the corner of the current street, he can see the windows of the thrift shop, and if he should gaze inside from there, he’d see the front half of the store, which houses most of the clothes (and he says “most of” because the baby clothes are kept near the back with the toys—yes, he’s got the layout of this store memorized. He’s been here enough times). But he doesn’t stop to look inside, for there’s no need, and walks past those windows and turns the corner. He’s quick to arrive at the entrance, where above the glass double doors hangs a neon sign, some of whose letters flicker intermittently, as though they may go out at any moment. They’ve been like that for a long while though, so perhaps they won’t go out. Those bulbs must be awfully resilient.

Peter’s well acquainted with this shop. It’s on his route home and besides the dumpsters, is a primary source for his retro tech. While finding things that still work is a toss-up when searching via dumpster diving, at least in the thrift store, what’s there functions, albeit slowly most of the time, and practically on the brink of death from how old and outdated the software is. It’s still something to work with though, and garners much less stress. If he didn’t have a budget to adhere to, he’s sure he’d wipe the shelves clean of whatever was there, but since he does have a budget, thrift store or not, he still needs to pick and choose carefully what to buy.

Peter grabs hold of the handle of one of the doors and steps inside. It’s still early for many people to be on their way home, much less thrifting, so it’s quiet inside the store. Self conscious that his music may now be too loud, he turns it down a little and takes out one of his earphones, so that in his right ear remains the beloved neo-psychedelia and in his left is the thrift store’s music which sounds an awful lot like something you’d hear in an elevator.

He makes a beeline for the back of the store, passing all the clothing racks along the way. The screeching as customers push the hangers along the metal rod never ceases to hurt his eardrums, and he suppresses a cringe at the uncomfortable noise. The fluorescent lighting illuminates the electronics section like a sort of beacon, a quest marker telling him he’s found what he was looking for. He almost swears this aisle smells and feels old, but he can’t quite describe how. It’s a musty air, antiquated but almost charming as his eyes rove over the treasure trove of ancient technology. Or maybe he’s trying too hard to be poetic and it’s really just dust and he probably shouldn’t be inhaling it because—

“Achoo!”

—because that.

Peter sniffles and lets out a cough as he starts taking a closer look at what’s on the shelves, sifting through all the electronics. There are cassette players, some floppy disks, some film cameras. He never really has anything specific in mind when he’s searching around, which now that he thinks about it, can get dangerous, since everything looks so exciting and he just wants it all, but he can’t spend all his money at once, never mind the fact there’s no way he could carry all of it home.

There’s an old Macintosh monitor that catches his eye farther down the aisle, and he makes a beeline for it. It’s just the monitor by itself, no keyboard or mouse. it’s bulky as hell and the screen is tiny and he’s falling in love with the thing the longer he studies it. He turns it around until he can find the sticker with the price, and he deflates a little when he finds it’s practically all the spending money he’d allotted himself for this week’s thrift store trip. He’d have liked to leave the store with more, but this is much too good to pass up, and out of everything else in this section, it’s the only item he’s not sure will be here the next time he comes by.

With a determined breath that signals he will buy only this and not get sidetracked by the other hidden gems here, at least not today, Peter picks up the monitor, caught a little off guard by the weight of it. He cradles it in his arms as he walks over to the front registers. There’s only one open because there aren’t many people, but luckily there’s only one person in front of him.

His eyes roam around the store as he waits, since he doesn’t exactly have a hand free to get out his phone to keep himself occupied. He can hear the cashier reminding the lady paying that all sales are final, and he immediately recognizes the next song his iPod plays purely based on the familiar low-tuned riff, one that’s almost menacing. When the drums come in, beat consistent and deep, he nods his head slightly in time with it.

It’s not long until the woman finishes her transaction and leaves. Peter doesn’t notice because his eyes have dropped to a sleek black pen sitting in a bin nearby, perched almost perfectly atop some random items—CD’s, pouches, so on and so forth. Given the fact it looks so out of place there, it seems someone had decided last minute not to get it and set it down while waiting in line. Peter glances at the monitor he holds and readjusts it so he can carry it with one arm and reach out to grab the pen with his free hand to take a look at it. It’s cool to the touch, and he carefully maneuvers it, turning it upside down so he can twist the mechanism between his index finger and thumb to bring up the tip of the pen. It reminds him of the Mont Blanc Tony sometimes writes with, except this one is much, much cheaper. Peter rotates the pen until he sees the sticker with the price—it’s about $463 cheaper than the Meisterstück Classique model, in fact.

Well, Peter had just lost one of his favorite pens the other day. He’s pretty sure it’s just somewhere hidden in the mess in his room, but he hadn’t had the chance to go looking for it. And this one isn’t terribly expensive; if he bought it, he’d still leave here today under budget. He purses his lips as he thinks, twisting the mechanism again to retract the nib.

“Sir, I can take you right over here whenever you’re ready,” the cashier remarks, and Peter turns to look at her, then glances at the pen. Why not. It couldn’t hurt.

He leaves the thrift store with his new monitor in one arm and the pen tucked away in his pocket. He’s determined not to lose this one this time. Despite being cheap enough to replace should he do so, it still looks pretty sleek. He’s extra careful as he walks the rest of the way home, lest he stumble and drop the monitor. There isn’t any room in his backpack to put it. Today he’d had to bring home quite a few books for the weekend’s homework, and his bag would need to be mostly empty if he wanted to fit this bulky unit in it.

It doesn’t take long for him to arrive at his apartment building, and he rides the elevator alone. There’s a ding to signal his arrival on his floor, and when he’s at his front door, he fishes his key out from his pocket. The apartment is empty since Aunt May doesn’t get out of work until 5. Peter tosses his key into the bowl by the door before kicking the door closed with his foot. He goes straight to his bedroom, setting the monitor on his desk. He heaves a sigh of relief when he's alleviated of the weight. It hadn’t been a problem holding it at first, but it seemed to get heavier the longer he’d been holding it. He’d really like to start taking a more in-depth look at it, but a glance at his watch tells him he doesn’t have time to do that.

He pauses the music on his iPod and takes out his earphones, tossing the device onto his bed before shrugging off his jacket. The others will be here soon, which means he should probably be putting snacks together. He walks to the kitchenette and wonders if there’s still anything left or if he should try to run down to the corner store really quickly. He rifles through cabinets and the fridge and comes up with a couple of bags of family size chips and the liter of soda from last session. These will do for now. They might end up wanting to order pizza, since they hadn’t in a while.

Peter sets the food out on the dining table and switches on the lights in the living room. A large piece of graph paper sits in the center of the coffee table, and on it are drawn seemingly random shapes connected together. Four pieces of paper rest on each corner of this map, one for every party member. The die are arranged in a line in front of the dungeon master’s screen, ready for use. It was Peter’s turn to host the current campaign, and the setup has been sitting in the lounge since they started just a few weeks ago. Fridays are the normal meeting time, the day where it’s a guarantee that everyone is available, but if they can squeeze in an extra day, they make it happen.

In half an hour everyone has arrived and they’ve situated themselves in their spots around the coffee table. They pick up right where they left off. They’re still in early game, so they’re all relatively low level, but they’ve done a good bit of exploring, as evidenced by the map.

Aunt May comes home around 5:30 and greets them with a warm hello. Peter lets her know they’ve just decided to order pizza. It doesn’t feel like it takes too long for it to arrive, but that’s probably because they’re so engaged in the current adventure, as the party has found itself in a dungeon slightly too high level for them currently. Ned, as current dungeon master, had decided to make the new campaign a bit more challenging, so this probably shouldn’t have come as surprise. They take their time moving from room to room, and aren’t even halfway through the dungeon map when they call it quits for the night, since it’s getting late.

When it’s just Peter on his own again, he puts away the snacks and leftover pizza, then tosses the now empty liter bottle into the recycling bin. A glance at the clock on the wall tells him it’s almost midnight. He contemplates finally sitting down to look at his new find from the thrift store, but at that very moment, he yawns, signaling to him that perhaps he should just go to sleep for now. He wouldn’t want to fall asleep in the middle of working.

———

MONDAY

Unsurprisingly, the weekend is gone in a flash, with all the homework and saving civilians. Monday morning rolls around and it is dark outside when Peter’s alarm goes off. He groans and hits snooze, rolling onto his back and staring at the metal supports of the top bunk as he tries to wake up. His eyes are only half open when he finally gets himself to stand and head to the bathroom, and his yawn is so big he almost feels like a snake unhinging its jaw in preparation for a meal. Mondays suck.

Everyone in first period is practically still asleep. That’s no surprise. Peter drops down in his seat and rests his head on his propped up hand, which probably isn’t the best idea because he finds his eyelids sliding closed and he’s on the brink of dozing off. It’s only when the bell rings to signify the start of class does he jolt awake, just in time for his teacher to step inside the room and set his laptop case on his desk.

The next fifty minutes Peter spends in and out of consciousness, doing his best to stay up but finding it hard to fight against the heaviness of his eyelids. It just feels so nice when he closes his eyes and maybe he can get away with doing it for just a few seconds—no, he knows he can’t. If he lets his eyes close now, he’ll be out like a light. With a yawn, he sits up straighter, digging out his new pen from the pocket of his jeans. He might’ve been more awake if there were notes to be taken, but so far it was all just things he needed to listen to, and without any way to keep his hands busy, it was easy to get bored and then sleepy.

There are a few blank pieces of copy paper tucked into his notebook he’d stuffed in there specifically for times like these. He grabs a piece and pulls it out, setting it atop the still blank page his notebook is open to. He sits there for a moment, actually alert and staring at the board, but he’s not quite paying attention. He’s wondering what to draw. Well, he supposes he could draw the teacher… But he’d already done that. Multiple times in fact. This class in particular is rough because not only is it first thing in the morning, it’s incredibly boring. And there were only so many times and ways he could draw caricatures of his teacher. Where had he put those pictures anyway? Make that another thing to find in the mess of his bedroom, the aftermath of what Aunt May jokingly claimed was a hurricane.

Well, there’s Neoma.

At this point Peter’s surprised he hadn’t actually drawn her yet. He’d created her as his character for the new campaign, and it’s been long enough that it probably should’ve crossed his mind to draw her. But you know what they say: there’s no better time than the present. Even if he is sitting in class and should probably be paying more attention to what’s so interesting about the author’s metaphor in line 27 of the poem.

Drawing is successful at keeping him awake until the bell rings. He doesn’t get the chance to return to the piece until lunch time, when he’s finished eating early and there’s ten minutes left until next period. He’s so focused on the task that he doesn’t notice Ned leaning over to look at the paper.

“Why’d you give her white hair?”

At this question, Peter pauses and looks up at his friend. He shrugs. “I think it looks cool. And in a fantasy setting, naturally white hair doesn’t seem like such a big deal.”

Ned laughs. “True.” He goes back to studying what Peter’s completed so far, which is almost everything. All that’s really left is the smaller details on her mage robes. “She’s pretty. Is she based off someone?”

Even though the answer to that is no, Peter can’t help the way his cheeks warm at the teasing. He hadn’t even seen her in a dream, the way all those corny romance novels always seem to have the male and female leads brought together by fate because one had seen the other in a dream. He’d come up with Neoma all on his own. She’s the first one of his characters he’d drawn, strangely enough. And he doesn’t think too hard about how she looks when he does, but with every line he lays down on the page he finds her to be perfect.

“She’s not,” Peter responds finally. Ned’s still wearing a small smirk which betrays the fact he doesn’t totally buy it, if only so he can continue teasing him. But luckily he doesn’t push it.

“Will you draw the other characters too?” Ned inquires.

Peter looks back down at his drawing of Neoma. “I could. Maybe Caligari.” Caligari is the primary antagonist of the current campaign, one that Ned had introduced to the party early on. He had destroyed a whole city for not bowing to him, right at the start, when the group was too weak to do anything but watch. It had angered them all, that was for sure, and it drove them to get better and take their time leveling up for when they finally encounter him. Of all the campaigns Peter has played, this villain has made him the angriest. Nothing maddens him more than being powerless to stop those who are wrong, those who kill people that can’t defend themselves. Perhaps that’s why all his characters had had some sort of alignment with good, whether lawful, chaotic, or now neutral, as Neoma is.

“You could probably illustrate the entire adventure.”

Peter chuckles as he tucks his drawing away. The bell rings. “Maybe I can get a job as a children’s book illustrator,” he jokes.

There isn’t much of Neoma to finish drawing when he arrives home. When she’s done, he contemplates starting on Caligari right away, but decides he should probably get his homework done first. But after homework, there’s dinner, then getting ready for bed, and it’s quite late when he finally gets the chance to grab another piece of copy paper and sit at his desk. He pushes aside the tools he’d used to tinker with his web shooters yesterday, clearing a comfortable amount of space. He’s really come to like his thrift store pen. The ink glides on smoothly for a secondhand writing instrument. It makes him wonder why anyone would give it up in the first place. Surely it was worth more than the $2 he’d bought it for.

The light of the lamp is what illuminates the page in front of him, and Caligari is just about complete when 1 AM is twenty minutes away. Peter yawns and glances out his window, where he can see skyscrapers and the blinking lights of planes flying among the clouds. It’s quiet on the streets. He thinks he can fall asleep right at his desk, but he knows his neck and back will hurt like a bitch come morning if he does, and his bed is only three steps away.

With a tired sigh, Peter stands and tucks the drawing in his notebook. He then stores the pen in his backpack before he switches off the lamp and ambles over to his bed, falling onto it none too gracefully. As he pulls the sheets over himself and rolls over, getting tangled in the blankets, he wonders which character he should draw next. He doesn’t bother neatening the blankets out. He’s asleep before he can even consider doing it.

———

TUESDAY

Tuesday morning is a repeat of Monday. The alarm hurts Peter’s ears and he can’t suppress a groan as he hits snooze. Based on the way there’s no light bouncing off the walls, it’s darker outside today than it was yesterday morning. He looks at the time on his phone, squinting against the bright light, to confirm that it is indeed the time for him to wake up. His eyes slide closed and he sighs heavily at seeing that yes, it is time to get ready for the day. Why couldn’t it be Friday already?

He sits up so he can look out the window, but his heart all but jumps from his chest when he sees a figure standing there, back to him. He shuffles off his bed in a panic, but given that he’d spent the night tangled in the blankets, his feet get caught and he falls off with a thud. His web shooter is sitting on the nightstand and he throws it on quickly. He stands, feet apart and bracing himself should he need to fight. His heart is beating rapidly and his veins pulse with adrenaline, because he becomes aware of multiple things at once: there’s an invader, Aunt May is also in the house, and he needs to get rid of this person quickly and quietly.

He doesn’t say anything, just stands with web shooter at the ready. The commotion prompts the figure to turn to him, and he almost doesn’t believe what he sees. Scratch that, he doesn’t believe what he sees.

“… Neoma?”

Your hair is the color of a cold and cloudy morning. It’s perhaps the most immediate giveaway as to your identity, and the boldest feature, which is why Peter notices it first. But then he takes in the rest of what you wear, and he questions whether or not he’s dreaming. You’re donning mage robes, along with the bulky scarf which sits around your neck and conceals your face from the nose down. Your eyes are a piercing blue, brows drawn together as you study him, which make your scrutinizing gaze all the more nerve-wracking. Your arms are crossed, and you slowly bring a hand up. Peter tenses the moment you move, since he’s still not sure if you’re going to attack.

But you don’t. You pull the scarf down and fully expose your face. “You know who I am?”

Peter hadn’t necessarily imagined a voice for you when he’d first made you. That’s a little challenging to begin with, making up a voice. He could’ve assigned you a voice of someone he knew, but he didn’t feel it was right to even do that, not when the rest of you was his own creation. So when he hears you speak, he’s not left disappointed nor does he find his expectations fulfilled. It’s just… you. It’s soft, a contrast to the firm expression you wear as you wait for his response.

“U-Um…” Peter stutters. His arm is still raised, palm up and ready to shoot webbing should the need arise. “I do.”

Your eyes drop down to the web shooter. “I mean you no harm. You can sheathe your weapon.”

Peter glances at the contraption around his wrist, contemplating for a moment if it was a smart idea to lower his arm. Well, it is clear you’re telling the truth considering you haven’t attacked yet, and as the one who’d created you in the first place, he knows you need no staff to carry out spells, just your hands, which are crossed currently, and your stance is relaxed. He slowly does as you say, then takes a moment to assess the situation.

You’re not a home invader. That’s good.

You’d been somehow brought into his universe from your own. That’s not good.

Peter is having a very hard time processing the situation. You’re standing in the middle of his bedroom in mage robes, looking like you’re about to go to a LARP session in Central Park, for goodness’ sake! Is he completely certain he isn’t dreaming? Should he pinch himself for good measure? Why are you here? How are you here? He’s wondering now if he should skip school today to get this sorted out, but he knows he can’t, because there’s a test they're reviewing for in history and he really needs to show up. He runs a hand through his hair, his textbook tell that he’s stressed, as he surveys you. You remain in your place, watching him like a hawk.

“Where am I?” you inquire.

“You’re in, uh… you’re in New York. Queens, specifically.” He doesn’t know why there’s a need to specify. You don’t know what New York is anyway.

“That name isn’t familiar to me.”

“Which is expected, because you see…” Peter trails off as he walks to his closet, finding whatever smells clean and pulling it out, because he does need to get ready. “You’re not in Galerion.”

Your brows furrow. “Inter-universal travel? I thought such magic was only speculation.”

Peter's less inclined to call it inter-universal travel considering your universe isn’t actually real. But he doesn’t know what it could actually be, and right now inter-universal travel is an adequate answer until he finds out more. He knows that sooner or later he’ll need to tell you the truth. He’s surprised that you haven’t freaked out at the notion of being dropped in the middle of a new world, but you are a mage. Magic users deal with the seemingly impossible all the time, their powers giving them the ability to manipulate reality itself if that’s their goal. Even so, it will be difficult for you to come to terms with the idea that your world isn’t real, that there is no Galerion. So for now he plays along, if only to keep you calm. There’s no way you’d believe him if he told you the truth right now, and you might actually lash out then, and he is in no way equipped to deal with magic.

“Apparently it’s not,” Peter states, smiling nervously.

“So you were the one to cast the spell? Because it wasn’t me.”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t cast it either. I’m just as in the dark as you are.” Wow. He’d said “cast” in the context of casting a spell. It feels like he’s role-playing. If he weren’t so shocked at your presence he might be excited.

“Who are you then? You’re not a wizard or a sorcerer?”

“My name is Peter, and… no, I’m neither of those things. I can’t use magic.”

“Well if it wasn’t you, then we must find who did this.” You start to walk to the door, but Peter moves to stand in front of it.

“You can’t leave.”

You frown. “Why not?”

Plenty of reasons. Where do I begin? “Well… my aunt’s out there. And she’d freak if she saw you.”

“She has no knowledge of arcane magic yet you do?”

“Basically.” Peter shrugs. To say that he has knowledge of any sort of arcane magic is definitely a stretch. What he does know he’d acquired from playing a role-play game! He deals with the physical, not the mystical. Though he supposes what meager information Dungeons and Dragons has given him is certainly better than nothing, if anything. “Just… wait here for a second, okay?” Thankfully, you listen to him without complaint, sitting on his bed as he leaves and closes the door behind him. He skips the shower this morning, settling for washing his face so that he can get back to you quicker. When he pads down the hallway back to his room, he hears Aunt May call out.

“Peter, I’m leaving now!”

“Okay!” he replies. “Have a good day!” He stays where he is until he hears the front door close, and once it does, he rushes the rest of the way to his room. You’re still sitting in the same spot, hands folded on your lap. Your gaze slides to him.

Since you’re the only two occupants of the apartment now, when he opens the door, he leaves it open. He stands in the frame, and the two of you watch each other for a moment in silence. And then he claps his hands together loudly. “We’re gonna get this sorted out. Later.”

Your brows furrow at this statement, and you watch as he walks around the room, grabbing his jacket and his backpack. “What do you mean later?”

“I need to go to school. Like, really need to go.” Peter slips his jacket on, zipping it hastily and squashing down a curse when he pinches his finger. “Just stay here. I’ve got books and video games. Knock yourself out. But you can’t leave the apartment. Magic is… It’s not common here. You can’t just go asking people about it.”

You tilt your head. “Magic governs reality itself. I don’t understand how it isn’t common.”

“This is a conversation we can have when I get back, all right? There’s food in the kitchen. Try not to make a mess.” Peter looks at you with a raised brow, as if to ask if you’ve got all that. He’s relieved when you nod slowly, still not complaining. Out of all his D&D characters that could’ve been brought to life, he’s glad it was the mage. The paladin and the ranger might be demanding he help them this instant, caught in a panic as they might be.  

Peter passes by the living room on his way to the front door, and pauses to glance at the coffee table. The game is still set up. He quickly crosses the small distance to it and picks up all four character sheets, tucking them into his backpack for safe-keeping. Then he folds the DM screen carefully, to make sure he doesn’t see what information is written on the inside, then sticks it between some books on the shelf. He can’t have you finding any of these items.

———

He’s jittery the whole day at school. His mind is buzzing too much for him to concentrate, and he thinks maybe he should’ve just missed today, since all he can think about is the fact a mage is in his apartment right now and while you’d been compliant earlier, who’s to say you’d actually end up listening?

Actually, he supposes that would be him.

He had been the one to design you. He’d given you traits, flaws, ideals. And assuming you really are Neoma from his D&D campaign, then all those aspects should be the exact same. It’s now that he realizes he really does know you. He knows the way you think, the way you act if things don’t go your way. He knows everything. He’d gone through the current campaign as you, your own personality, not his own, dictating his decisions. Reasonably he should be able to predict your next moves, but he’s less sure of it now that you’ve become an actual person, your own person, and maybe what’s written on his character sheet is correct, or maybe you’re completely different, and the only thing he’d gotten right was your name and your class. That’s why he was more inclined to play along with you earlier.

The implications of being totally wrong about you give Peter a headache to consider, for it’s just more stress on top of the fact you’re here in the first place. For all he knows, you could’ve left the apartment and sought out whoever had done this. But where could you possibly start? How far would you even get looking like that, clad in mage robes? He’d told you magic wasn’t common here, but would that stop you? Would you cast spells regardless?

As he thinks more about this, he exhales slowly, resisting the urge to groan. This is not a good week, and it’s only Tuesday.

Ned notices how fidgety Peter is during history. Come lunch time, he decides to bring it up.

“Hey, you doing okay, man?” he begins.

Peter freezes and glances at his friend, wondering if maybe Ned knew, somehow, what was going on. “Yeah.” Peter nods and shrugs. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Really? You looked like you were barely focusing in history earlier…”

“Just been a little stressed lately, that’s all.”

“Is it”—Ned leans closer and lowers his voice—“Spiderman?”

“No, it’s not.” Peter shakes his head and hopes Ned doesn’t try to question him further. Right now this is an issue only between him and you and it will remain that way. “I’m fine, Ned. Really.”

Ned doesn’t look very convinced, but thankfully, he doesn’t say anything more. “If you say so.”

The end of the school day doesn’t arrive fast enough, it seems. Peter is gone as soon as the bell rings, rushing like mad back to the apartment. It feels like the subway takes even longer to arrive today than usual. The first matter of business was to get you out of those robes. If you were to go searching for the perpetrator of this whole ordeal together, you certainly couldn’t stay in those clothes. You’d stick out like a sore thumb. He decides he’ll stop by the thrift store. He’s definitely going to go over budget for this week, after buying that Macintosh monitor and now clothes for you. He’ll just need to go dumpster diving more often the next couple of weeks to make up for it. That’s no big deal.

When he gets to the thrift store, he slows down as he approaches the door. His hand is poised on the handle, and through the glass he can see those clothing racks which rest in the front half of the store. He purses his lips. The clothes in there will be cheap, no doubt, and he’d considered just buying a bunch of different things that look like they could fit you. He looks down the block, where not much farther is his apartment building. It would be much better if you were here, to try things on. He really doesn’t want to have to guess and potentially end up with too many extra clothes that don’t fit.

His hand drops from the handle. He resumes his walk back to the apartment. When he gets there, he stills at the front door as he tries to listen for anything going on inside. It’s quiet. He’s not sure whether or not to panic because it could mean you’d listened to him and you remained in the flat, waiting for his return and keeping yourself occupied with the books or the video games he had (well, maybe not the video games, it’s not as if you know what those are). It could also mean you’d left, maybe through the window. He’s several floors up but with your magic, getting down wouldn’t have been a problem. When he unlocks the door he hopes desperately it’s the former.

He ends up being right. You’ve stayed. But what he wasn’t expecting was to come home to  you casting a spell in the middle of his living room.

He freezes momentarily when he sees you sitting there on the couch, legs crossed and eyes glowing a shade of white to match your hair, before he remembers to shut the door behind him.  He does it quickly, and the loud thud as it clicks back into place grabs your attention. You close your eyes and when they open, they’re normal again. Your blue eyes are wide in surprise at his return, which had interrupted your task.

“What were you doing?” Peter asks worriedly. He starts glancing around at what he can see of the apartment to see if there’s any indication that the spell, or any you could’ve casted earlier while he was out, had messed it up in any way. Because he’ll need to put it all in order before Aunt May came back. This prompts him to look at his watch: he’s got 2 hours before she’s home.

“A clairvoyance spell,” you explain. “Nothing dangerous. I’ve been trying to detect any other mystical presence. It could be the source of what’s happened.”

Peter nods as he digests this information. It makes sense for you to know clairvoyance. It’s one of the spells he had—you had?—begun the campaign with. It’s low level, simple. “And? Anything?”

You shake your head with a frown. “Nothing.”

Peter sighs. It isn’t entirely unexpected. It was too much to hope that it would be as easy as that. “We’ll get it figured out, I promise. But for now, we need to get you into some new clothes. You can’t stay in your mage robes.”

You look down at what you’re wearing. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“No one wears anything like that.” Unless they’re role-playing, he wants to say, but he stops himself because how would you know what that is?

“All right…” you trail off. “So what do I wear instead?”

“We’re going to buy some right now. But let’s get you into a more… normal-looking outfit before we leave.” He motions for you to follow him to his bedroom, and you wait on his bed as he searches around his closet for anything you could wear. He pulls out his Midtown High School sweatshirt, which has been freshly washed and hung up, but takes slightly longer finding bottoms for you. Eventually he pulls out a pair track pants.

“Here.” He hands the two articles of clothing to you. You take them but look at them as though they’re something alien. “They’re gonna be a little large, but it’s better than nothing.”

You set the clothes down on the bed and stand up. You shed your scarf, tossing it to the side. The soft bundle lands with a quiet plop. When you begin to undo the ties of your tunic, Peter sputters. “I’ll, uh… I’ll wait outside,” he tells you, and before you can say anything, he rushes out, closing the door a little too hard on accident. He takes a deep breath as he tries to ignore the blush on his face.

While waiting for you to change he searches the shoe closet for sneakers that might fit you. He takes a look at what Aunt May has and finds an old pair of red Chucks she clearly doesn't wear anymore, seeing as they were all the way in the back. The red is dull and the laces are gray—the signs of a well-worn pair of shoes. He turns the shoes over in his hands to look for the size as he walks back to his room. He hears the doorknob twist and he stops short in the hallway when you open the door and come to stand in the frame.

As expected, the clothes are large for you. The shoulder seams of the sweatshirt are way past your own shoulders, and the sleeves are much too long. You’ve tried to pull up the material to prevent it from covering your hands, the excess fabric bunching up at the bends of your elbows. You have the same issue with the track pants, which you’ve folded at the bottom a few times so you wouldn’t trip. Peter can’t help but think how cute you look like that. He’s never had a girl wear his clothes before but now that he’s experiencing it, he discovers he enjoys it a lot.

“Are you all right?” you ask, brows furrowed in concern, and that’s when he snaps out of his train of thought.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Peter laughs nervously. “I found these. Tell me how they fit. They’re my aunt’s.” He hands you the shoes, which you’re able to slip on without having to untie them.

You wiggle your toes. “They fit fine. Your aunt won’t mind if I borrow them?”

“No, she doesn’t wear them anymore. She won’t even notice they’ve gone missing.”

You take a few test steps, getting used to the feeling of them on your feet. They’re definitely a change from your normal boots. “Okay.”

The moment the two of you step out of the apartment building, you pause to take in your surroundings. It’s not as bright outside now but it isn’t any less magnificent. The buildings here are so unlike what you have in Galerion. You lower your gaze to the streets when you hear the whoosh of cars, your brows furrowed as you watch the unfamiliar machines travel down the roads. The stoplights flash red and yellow and green and they bounce off the cars waiting at the intersections. At the end of the block, the crosswalk sign turns green and while you can’t hear it, Peter can pick up the sound of clicking, a signal for blind pedestrians that it’s safe to cross. He studies the wonder on your face as you look in awe at everything, even though to him this block is nothing exciting. He sees it every day.

“This is incredible,” you breathe out.

The statement makes Peter smile. “It’s just a small bit of what New York has to offer, believe me. Come on.” He gently sets a hand at the small of your back to guide you down the sidewalk.

When you arrive at the thrift store, Peter pulls the door open for you, and you blink a few times as you adjust to the fluorescent lighting. You follow him to the clothing rack, but when you get there, you stand still, not entirely sure what to do. He picks up on this quickly.

“Just find anything you like,” he explains.

You nod slowly, eyes roving over the numerous racks of clothing. He smiles encouragingly, and you start to walk down the first aisle, running your fingers along the clothes that hang there. Peter watches you for a moment to make sure you’re okay before he pulls up his jacket sleeve to look at his watch: 4:30. There’s an hour until Aunt May should be coming home. That should be enough time.

He wants to look at the electronics aisle just for fun, but knows he can’t let you out of his sight since you don't have a phone and he can’t risk having a lost mage running around New York. He tucks his hands into his pockets and he waits. He doesn’t even notice the smile that creeps onto his face as he watches you, and it widens when you make your way back to him, armed with several articles of clothing.

“All right, now you have to try these on.”

“You can do that without buying them?” you question, trailing behind Peter as he walks toward the changing rooms. He finds an empty one and holds an arm out to let you know you can head inside.

“I’ll be waiting right here,” he informs you.

He’d forgotten his earphones this time around, so he’s stuck listening to more of the screeching as hangers slide along the metal racks. He sighs as he stands there, analyzing the current situation, if only to help block out the grating noise. You’re under the impression you’ve been transported from your universe to his, and that isn’t the case. You’d simply been brought to life—and by what? By who? Peter has never felt so confused. He might be Spiderman and he might deal with far beyond what the normal teenager does, but this kind of stuff, it’s not something he’s even remotely familiar with. Whenever he does find what or who did this, what is he supposed to do then? There is no “home” to send you back to, as you believe. Did that mean you were stuck here? How could he possibly break that kind of news to you?

“Everything fits fine,” you comment as you open the door, clothing bundled up in your arms.

Peter forces a smile onto his face. “Great. Let’s get these paid for.”

The same lady is working the register as the last time he was here. You wait patiently behind him as he pays, eyes glued to the type of currency they use. There’s no gold exchanged. Peter pulls out a plastic rectangle and inserts it into a small machine. That’s all you’re really able to follow. He tells the lady thank you after the clothes are bagged and he picks it up before you leave the store.

“So… what did you do today, while I was gone?” Peter asks as the two of you walk back to the apartment.

You shrug. “I took a look at some of the books you had.”

“And?”

“They’re interesting. Certainly different from all the spell books and tomes I studied in Galerion.”

It sounds strange for Peter to hear you say this, to talk about this realm of yours like you truly do live there. “You were a student?”

You nod. “I was a wizard’s apprentice before my companions and I left to hunt for Caligari. Caligari is a ruthless monster who’s decimated city-states without batting an eye, and we aim to defeat him, no matter what it takes.”

The more you say, the more Peter comes to understand. This matches his character sheet perfectly. You learned magic as an apprentice before Caligari destroyed Rimmen, as recounted by Ned, the current campaign DM. It seems you’d come to life with the background Peter had given you and what they’d covered in the adventure so far. It makes sense that you truly believe you’d been transported from there to here.

“What’s that?” You stop walking to point at the pizza joint, with its neon sign and a poster of a pepperoni pizza which advertises some special deal for “a limited time only.”

“Pizza,” Peter says matter-of-factly. He glances at you and the curiosity in your eyes is hard to miss. He looks at his watch again: 5:20. At this point, they’ll be late anyway. So he smiles, corner of his lips tilting up. “Come on, I’ll buy you a slice.”

You wait for him at the table in the corner, the plastic bag filled with your clothes sitting on the floor next to you. The lighting in here is brighter than what had been in the thrift store, and it glares off the table tops. There’s a little girl a few tables away staring at you, and you smile softly in hello. The woman across from her whom you assume is the mother sees this and smiles back.

“I think she was looking at your hair, that little girl,” Peter remarks as he sits down across from you. He has a slice of pizza on a paper plate which he sets in front of you, along with a cup of water.

“Is there something wrong with my hair?” you ask, reaching up to feel if there are any unruly strands.

Peter chuckles. “No, but it’s white.”

“Is that strange here?” You try to pick up the slice of pizza but feel awfully clumsy doing so, using your fingers to support it as you bring it to your mouth.

“Usually the only people that have white hair are old.”

You take a bite of the pizza, and when you pull it away, some of the cheese stretches. Peter watches in amusement as you try to break the string, and when you finally do, you’re able to set the slice back down on the plate.

“How is it?” he asks.

You swallow and grab the water. “Greasy.”

“Sounds about right.”

It’s almost 6 PM when the two of you return to the apartment. When you’re at the front door and Peter’s unlocking it, he glances at you. “I need to see if my aunt is there so just wait for a second, okay?” You nod and remain where you are, holding your bag of clothes, as he steps inside He doesn’t see Aunt May in the lounge, nor the kitchenette, but he can see light peeking out from the crack at the bottom of her bedroom door. Silently he walks back out to you and motions you inside.

Stay quiet, he mouthes, and you’re swift and light on your feet as you walk to his bedroom. You set the plastic bag down by his desk and turn around to face him as he enters behind you and closes the door.  

“So where will our search begin?” you inquire, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Is there a library we can go to?”

“We have libraries,” Peter begins as he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on the back of his desk chair, “but they don’t have tomes or anything like that.”

“Right,” you say, remembering what he’d say this morning. “No magic here.”

Peter smiles slightly. “Exactly.”

“So what do you use to research?”

“The Internet. There’s all kinds of stuff there.”

“Brilliant.” You clap your hands together. “And where is this ‘Internet’?”

Peter walks over to his desk to pick up his laptop and hold it up. “It’s here.”

Your brows furrow. “But that’s so… small.”

“The Internet isn’t physical. It doesn’t need a lot of space.” He sits next to you and opens his laptop, and your eyes are glued to the screen attentively. He opens the browser and goes to an online newspaper, showing you the array of articles that appear in seconds. He sneaks a glance over to you and you’re clearly very enamored with the piece of technology. It’s almost endearing. No one ever gets this excited about the power of the Internet anymore.

“May I?”

It takes a moment for Peter to understand what you mean, but when he does, he immediately says of course. He balances the laptop on his lap as you set your fingers on the trackpad, and your smile widens when the cursor on screen moves along with the movement of your finger. You follow what he did and tap the trackpad once to open up articles, and you might be skimming them, you might not. He speculates you’re too caught up in the wonder of it to really try to read.

“Since this is already here, we can begin our search tonight?” Your hand leaves the trackpad and you return your attention to him.

The smile on Peter’s face drops. “Not quite. We still need to know what to search, and right now we don’t know anything. I think I might know someone who will that I can talk to tomorrow. But in the mean time…”

“No research.”

“No research.” Peter shakes his head.

You sigh, and it’s rife with dejection. “If we must.”

“Sorry.”

At this, you smile a little as you glance at him. “Don’t be. We can’t make morning come faster. Only the greatest of magic users can manipulate time.”

He stands to set his laptop back down on his desk. “I have some work I need to do for school. Will you be okay while I do that?”

“I’ll be fine.” You stand and walk over to the shelf where his books rest. You run the pad of your index finger along the spines. “You have many books and I have the time to read them.”

“Great.” Peter smiles. He settles down at his desk and pulls his backpack next to him while you settle down on the bed with his copy of Down and Out in Paris and London. He'd bought that book for an essay earlier this year, but he’d never finished it, stretched thin as he was with his other homework and patrolling Queens. He distinctly remembers getting to page 84 three days before the essay was due, giving up on it, and writing the paper with what meager knowledge he had the night before the due date. He got a 95%.

The homework for tonight moves slowly. Peter’s history review notes are all over the place, due to his inability to focus in class. He’ll need to ask Ned if he can look at his notes tomorrow. He ends up saving English for last because it’s just more poems and if he tries to read them now he’ll fall asleep immediately. At least with chemistry it requires him to be actually write, and that can keep him awake. He’s halfway through the problems assigned for the night when he hears you shuffle around.

He looks back over his shoulder to see you’ve set the book down next to you so you can lean over to grab the camera he has sitting on the nightstand. He’d bought it a couple of months ago, and he has an extra pack of film stored in the drawer, but he hadn’t even gotten through the first pack. He sets his pencil down and settles for watching you, to give his mind a break. You turn the thing over in your hands, locating the viewfinder and putting it against your eye.

“That’s a Polaroid camera,” he pipes up, and you set the camera down to look at him. He moves to sit on the edge of the bed and gently takes the camera from you. You scoot up to be closer, as you’d been leaning against the pillows. “You use this to frame the picture”—he points at the viewfinder—“and when you take it, it comes out here.” He turns the camera around to point at the slit in the front.

Your eyes are concentrated on the camera, and you can’t help but smile. “I know you’ve said there’s no magic in this universe but I’m inclined to disagree.”

Peter smiles softly. “Here, I’ll take a photo of you.” He’s adjusting the light meter when you speak again.

“Why not a take one of both of us?”

Peter doesn’t look up immediately but when he does his smile is wider due to the idea you present. “I can try, but no promises that it’ll come out well.” He turns the polaroid around so it faces the two of you, and he leans his head to the left to motion you closer. You slide over, shoulder to shoulder with him, and he hopes he’s angling the lens correctly to get the two of you in frame properly. You glance at Peter to find him smiling, so you grin at the camera as well, and then suddenly there’s a bright flash which momentarily obscures your vision.

“Sorry,” Peter apologizes as he lowers the camera, which now begins buzzing as the photo slides out.

“Do they all flash so brightly?” you ask.

“The older ones do. You can turn that off in newer cameras.” He grabs the photo carefully. Since it’s fresh, it’s still blank, and you point this out.

“There’s nothing there.”

“It needs time to develop, so you store it somewhere dark.” He puts the camera back on the nightstand and stores the photo in the drawer.  

“How is the school work?” You motion toward the desk, which has since become a mess of papers and textbooks. Peter follows your gaze and sighs as he too studies the materials on his desk.

“Boring. Slow. Tiring.” He shrugs.

You laugh. “I felt the same with all the work my mentor would assign me. Studying late into the night and waking up early to train in the field. It was frustrating, but it was worth it.”

Peter smiles. The way you stare at the far wall, as if remembering memories not called upon for a long time, he could swear that maybe everything—the realm of Galerion, your training, the destruction of Rimmen—was real. The way you act, the memories you have, the expressiveness in your eyes and the softness of the smiles you grace him with… It is all so real. As he considers this, it’s now him who’s having difficulty coming to terms with the idea that your very being is made up. You’d been a figment of his imagination. And now you sit here before him, in his Midtown High School sweatshirt and his track pants which are much too large for you. This morning he wondered if he was dreaming. He knows now that he isn’t.

It's another couple of hours until he’s just about finished with his homework. He pauses momentarily to roll his neck, stretching the muscles after having looked down at his work for so long. You’d fallen asleep a while ago. Peter puts his homework away in his backpack and makes his way to the bathroom to get ready for bed. It’s been a long, very confusing day, and he can’t help the sigh that escapes him when he showers.

Before he leaves the bathroom, he grabs his jeans which he’d left on the counter and empties the pockets before he tosses them in the hamper. He grabs his wallet, some change, and his pen. He carries all of this with him to the room. The first two things he sets on his desk, but the last he starts to put away in his backpack. He’s tucked it into the front pocket, but then he pauses. He pulls it out and studies it, rotating it in his hand. The expression on his face shifts to one of realization. He stands slowly, and his eyes slide from the pen to you.

What else could it be?

You popping into existence the day after he’d drawn you is too much of a coincidence. You looked just like the drawing, right down to your clothes. Peter huffs and rubs at his temples. A pen is basically the cause of the entire ordeal. It’s no ordinary pen, that’s for sure, but what had it been doing sitting in a secondhand store? It’s very clearly a magical artifact that shouldn’t be there, yet it had been. He supposes this could’ve gone worse. Someone else could’ve taken it, set such things into motion, and not known how to deal with them. Peter won’t deny that despite his inexperience with magic, he’s still better equipped than most. He’s glad he hadn’t decided to draw a dragon or something. The notion of a pen he found in a thrift store being this powerful is kind of ironic, he can’t help but think.

If this pen is what’s started it all, you aren’t the only one it’s brought to life. Peter had drawn Caligari as well. When he remembers this, he almost wants to punch himself in the face, never mind that he had no way of knowing the powers this pen held. Although he wasn’t too far into the D&D campaign, he knew a fair amount about its main villain, and he knew that at this point your companions were still too weak to face him—you on your own, even more so.

He walks up to his window and gazes outside as if he’ll see Caligari standing there somewhere.  But he knows he won’t. New York is large and, well, who’s to say he is in New York anymore? Had he gone somewhere else, to a new state even? There’s no way to track him, and with his shapeshifting abilities, he could be practically anyone. Was he laying low for now? Peter would’ve expected Caligari to wreak havoc the moment he’d spawned, yet there hadn’t been anything disastrous reported. Aside from you showing up, it was a normal day—as normal as a day like this can get, anyway.

Peter glances over at you. You’re hugging a pillow to your chest. Had Caligari sensed you at all? You hadn’t sensed him after doing your clairvoyance spell, but then again, you may not have the precision to detect more powerful mystical beings, early on in the game as you technically still are.

With a sigh, he turns off the lamp and goes to his closet, digging around for some extra blankets. There’s no room on the top bunk from all that he’s stored there, and he’s too tired to move any of it. He grabs one of the extra pillows from it instead before laying down on the ground, doing his best to get comfortable on the wooden floor. To clear more space he has to push aside clothes he’d haplessly thrown around. He really should clean up his room.

Once he’s finally settled, he stares up at the ceiling, the blood rushing to his head so forcefully he has to close his eyes for a moment. There is now an actual threat out there somewhere in New York (hopefully, which is strange to say, but it’s the best case scenario because at least Peter can reach him), and he's the cause. It won’t be fun seeking out that help he’d mentioned to you earlier, but he has no choice.

A heavy feeling bubbles in the pit of his stomach. He rolls onto his side, staring at the pile of clothes to his right and listening to the sound of your breathing. This is not a good week.

PART TWO