#apples because for some reason apples are always relatively cheap

[capeswater]

i’ve decided to do an extreme budget wherein i don’t spend more than $20 a week on food and i just eat as much free stuff at work as possible in preparation for when grocery prices double sometime in the next four years

[sciencetechnologyandsoteriology]

This perspective isn't wrong so much as it's /a choice/ in how you see the world. It's internally consistent to understand the consumer market as forcing us to use its products and I absolutely get how you can see it that way, but I want to try to suggest an alternative viewpoint that will be more useful. As OP said - there are plenty of android headsets that have analog audio plugs. In fact, you yourself could manufacture an android handset with an analog audio plug. You couldn't get the 'latest' (last five years) chips, but actually it's all accessible and has relatively few high prices due to IP. So what this is talking about isn't "things advancing" as the entire world - it's "things advancing" as we experience things in the day to day. The whole thing about "day to day" experience is that companies that want to sell us stuff want us to buy that stuff. Getting us to do that doesn't stop at ads, it goes everywhere - and I DO NOT mean that in a "conspiracy" sort of way. Think back to that cheap, mid-market android phone you're making from five-year-old parts: by definition there's nothing exceptional about it. It uses all generally available components and, if you can make money on it at all, your profit is very similar to your competition (which is to say: low). Now...even if every single person on the planet buys your commodity phone you are still making some pidly...0.5% or whatever. At scale that is a LOT of money ofc (ask any commodity chip maker) but...since attention is scarce (people can't watch event that happens ever even if they want to) your "efficiency" for advertising is low. Because you don't have an "edge" that makes value your stuff higher. Now, let's talk about Apple! (No shade, I think they are a pretty good company all things considered) Apple has over a 50% profit margin on the iphone. Over! Look it up! Why can they charge so much? Because they're fucking Apple - they do a lot of stuff well and also people think well /of/ them. They get SO MUCH out of advertising. Where our commodity phone would be 99.5% cost, 0.5% profit - theirs is like 45% cost 55% profit! You make SO MUCH MORE per sale of that kind of product. Now the naive thing to say is "yah, that's why apple likes selling phones" BUT it is so much more than that - it is why EVERYONE likes selling apple phones. Most everyone who's in a competitive market (i.e. not apple - a store, a generic phone maker, etc) takes a very small % of profit. Mostly you just want to sell expensive things - and what things CAN be expensive? Products like Apple's. (As a side note - IMO the most convincing reason that Apple eliminated the audio jack is that it was an unregulated interface that companies like stipe used as an accessory interface. Remember the stripe credit card swipe thing that plugged into the audio jack? Apple didn't get a fee for that. They do get a fee for the one that uses the lightning port) So this is where we get back to the idea that you are being "forced" to accommodate tech - you are not being forced, it's that EVERY PLAYER in the game makes more money if you buy the more expensive product. They are ALWAYS 'better' for everyone along the "value chain" except for you. Now - this is the tricky part - Apple makes good stuff! Apple might be the right thing for you (or anyone) - but everyone else in the world would prefer that you buy the Apple product (or an even more expensive one). So FORCED? Are we children? Of course you mostly hear about new "shiny" expensive things because, truly, MORE PEOPLE BENEFIT IF THOSE THINGS SELL. Obviously the sucker is often you - who bought the expensive thing you didn't actually want - but there's no conspiracy. People rightly see that it would be nice in general for the shiny new thing to take off and get excited for perfectly natural reasons.

Unfortunately, because we live in a neoliberal hellscape, it's all on us: these high-value commodity products generally exist. The system pushes nearly every decision as far down the chain to the individual as possible. No one makes a ton of money telling you about "boring but good" products, but they can be found. This is what mutual aid can look like - helping people be efficient with money. Finding the specific thing you (or your community) needs because its in your interest. Product releases aren't technological progress. They're product releases. The technologies, for the most part, are accessible. You could access them! But lots of newer fancy stuff won't work. Your phone will be slow. You will probably have to do more yourself. That's what centering yourself looks like - you get less of what you don't want but you also might get less. Because other people would really benefit if you want what they are selling - and they benefit just as much if you are mistaken about actually wanting it.

[firstwatercapital]

The Rise of the Value Investor

For more than a decade, we have been living with TINA. This does not refer to an unwelcomed houseguest, but with “There Is No Alternative” in terms of investments.

What this means is that since the crash of 2008 and more so in the West, we have been living with low interest rates and in some cases with 0 per cent. Thus, excess capital has had very few safe and decently yielding places to call a home, especially if the owner was looking to make it work. Saving accounts and high-quality fixed income instruments have been typically low yielding and this has steered investors towards other riskier asset classes. Some might say that certain sectors have generally become frothier over this period as they attracted this capital. These sectors might include momentum stocks, growth stocks, pre-IPO deals and the like. A lot of these themes rely on a narrative and the requirement for a number of assumptions to play out, making these types of companies difficult to value and riskier. But these narratives can be convincing, exciting, and popular – for instance tech and fast-growing stocks that will “disrupt” and “change the world”. For the most part, many of these great companies are also generally available at premium prices with the hope that their story will unfold and value will be created. They may even be loss-making.

With value investing, the company’s intrinsic value generally exists, but the market doesn’t recognise it. As long as there is no value trap or miscalculation in its fundamental value, the play is that the market will eventually acknowledge its true value. Value stocks are generally associated with more traditional industries, cash generative or tangible industries, which sadly do not have as exciting stories as their prettier cousins.

However, the relatively smooth economic paradigm that we have been living in has been horribly impacted by a number of events that have knocked both demand and supply– the pandemic, conflict, supply-chain issues, the Fed and by “Dirtiest of all dirty words” – inflation. The last of these is putting pressure on central bankers to increase interest rates.

So why may rising rates lead to the rise in value investing? Here are some thoughts, but as always, I reserve the right to be wrong.

This is because, as rates rise, investors will need to price risk a bit more and they will have alternative, less riskier assets to place their money. It wasn’t that long ago that a savings account in the West used to give 5 per cent interest. Growth stocks also have a longer horizon and a number of assumptions when and whether they will in some cases even become profitable. Thus, with higher rates, they will be more heavily discounted as rates increase.

PE inflation can be evidenced with Apple, a great company with great products. However, if you simply look at the PE ratio, it has received a re-rating. In 2016, it was trading at 10.35x and at the end of 2020, it was 35x. That means even though its performance and earnings have grown, its valuation has increased considerably based on the perception of valuation. Currently, the PE has fallen to 24.5x, but what is to stop it falling further? Why not 20x, why not 15x, where it was as recently as 2019? What about loss-making companies like Zomato, which is valued at 11.8x sales. Why not 10x, why not 5x sales? Where does the buck stop and the penny drop?

Why wouldn’t a value play suffer the same fate? After all, the same investor may take out money from all types of stocks and interest rates impact most companies. The reason that value stocks are less likely to suffer the same fate as their frothier cousins is that their value is more tangible/visible and already exists in many cases. It is supported by an actual cash yield and also their PE ratios can be in the single digits (i.e. relatively cheap). If they were to fall further, the company might be effectively paying you in just a few years to buy their stock. Thus, there is a limit to how low its perception can go and given that the intrinsic value is already higher than the market, the share price may still rise, at least in theory

The views expressed are the authors own. Please consult your financial advisor before making any investment decisions.

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[jawllines]

“You’re really gonna go in there?” Y/N queries gently, and Harry only nods his head in response, reaching for the door handle. An urgent, delicate touch of Y/N’s hand startles him, looping around his wrist and dragging his attention toward her, “Shouldn’t we have a game plan if something is behind the door?” She asks, her hold on him tightening just a little, and Harry notes how soft her palm feels against his skin, “Like, let’s say we open the door and a behemoth is standing there, what do we do?”

“The only behemoth that could fit in this tiny room is the band from Poland, Babe, and I reckon they have better things to do on a Thursday night,” he retorts, clenching around the knob and tilting it down, “Now unless you want to hold hands in there. . .”

She lets go before he can finish, and he doesn’t have to look back at her face to know she’s irate. A small smile quirks at his mouth as he pushes his shoulder against the heavy door to aid him opening it, bracing himself to see something potentially horrid. . .

And there’s nothing.

or

Harry and Y/N are witches, they hate each other, and something’s coming

19K+ words

(A/N: Hiii!! So, I’ll be honest I know absolutely nothing about real witches at all, so what is in this story is not fact! it’s just an AU and doesn’t speak toward any of my real witches out there unless i accidentally got some things right. Happy reading, I really liked writing these guys I hope you like them just as much!!)

i.

It was dark. 

Both in the state of the sky and the feeling that slithered through Y/N’s body while she tended to the Brugmansia finally flowering in her garden. The shift in the air could have easily been inculpated by the cool breeze that blew past her face, shepherding clouds thick and heavy with autumn rain, but Y/N knew better than that. Those feelings typically bring her peace; the rattle of thunder soothes her aching bones while fat drops paint the pavement, wet the dirt to mud, and feed the drying grass.

This feeling made her bones rattle. It crawled beneath her skin like billions of tiny beetles unearthed within her vessels; her stomach churned, her shoulders were weighed down, there was a gnawing pain at her temples, so fierce she held her hand to them. The cold brass of her ring cools her heated skin. This feeling was vile, it was awful, for fuck sake what was causing it? 

She stood from her crouched position and slid back into her store. Technically, she’d closed about three hours prior so she should have been home well by now, but when she’d finally gathered her things in her duffle at 12, she looked out the back window and noticed some of her moonflowers had begun to bloom. There was a small part of her that had been reluctant to step outside at all, but she needed to greet them and water them, no matter the odd, unfamiliar troubling sense that had initially confused her. She ignored it -- she thought maybe she was just nervous to say hi to them, sometimes she was. 

(Flowers and plants hold a special connection with their caretaker, from a tiny seed to a flourishing garden, they place their lives in the care of the earth or a human. If not properly nursed, their wilted petals appear so quickly, a silent plea for water, or sun, or even a little attention -- Y/N found that plants liked a little attention. That’s why she spoke to them, she cooed and gave them well-wishes when she left them alone. They felt just a part of her family as any blood relative had, from the moment she had sliced the tip of her finger in a torn brush and the petal she’d touched afterward fused together her tiny wound. Her nan had always told her that maybe she was a bit closer to plants than others were, so she probably shouldn’t share this with kids in her class because they might be jealous of her (Y/N knows now her nan just didn’t want her getting picked on.) 

It was clear to her now that this feeling was a bit more than that when her goose pimples sunk back into her skin after stepping into the warmth of her store. Though it was not just because she had been keeping her shop pleasantly warm as the nights grow colder and longer; she kept herself protected in here. In between these walls lied a sanctitude that kept all evil out, in all manners, of all species, besides two. 

One of which is her bunny, Thumper, who in all ways but emotionally was her familiar. He was a ghostly white Holland lop, with big dopey ears that she slid her fingers beneath and flipped up and down in spare moments. She accuses him of being evil because he’s always nipping at her fingertips, demanding food with a stomp of his foot, and gives the silent threat that he’ll nibble on her plants if she really pisses him off (he stands by them, twitches his little nose and shows his two front teeth until she gives him what he wants -- it’s usually more hay). He’s nothing but a little, greedy nuisance that showed up on her step one day and hadn’t left since.

The other. . .well, the other was Harry Styles. 

Y/N liked most witches, no matter their point of interest. She knew that there could be a certain level of distrust amongst the syndicate -- hexes, and curses placed upon one another, but she tried to stay out of that -- she held no disfavor toward most of the others either. Everyone connected with things very differently, what she may connect with might not be that of what her neighbor connected with and that was okay. Her nan’s emotions had been in accord with the sea, and even though Y/N spent most of her life fearing water, she bore no judgment. 

What she does is done in the mind of good favor, of bettering oneself with the world around them in a way that would beneficial to not only them but the people in their lives. Open up otherwise closed eyes to the beauty of the spirit and soul they possess, and the beauty and soul that the world around them held. The town she had moved to at 20 was so rich in natural beauty, ponderosa pine and hemlock trees grew tall in an extensive, juniper green forest almost always clouded with thick fog, the soil was soft and fertile, the air was crisp and clean. She felt happy here and wanted the others around her to recognize how lucky they were to be in an area so free of sordidity. 

There was an empty shop up the brick road of the older part of town, that had been crowded in cobwebs, leaves that had blown in from the broken window, and animal droppings. Her nan came to help her clean it up (her mum had too, but she was dog tired after her workweek so spent most of the visit asleep on Y/N’s couch), and did something short of absolving the land so that she could grow a garden behind the store, in the clearing of 200 or so meters before it meets the mouth of the forest. She sold herbs, people came to her for intricate, meaningful bouquets with flowers that could not be found in just any store (and she was good to her plants, so if she asked very kindly, and sent them with a packet that produced a very special brew when dumped in the water, they would live very, very, suspiciously long), plants that would liberate people of their aches and pains so long as they tended to them, journals of reused paper, scrubs, oils. . .there were many things. She offered classes too, to help people learn how to better cater to their flowers.

That had been a year ago, so she was still finding her footing, but not six months into this happy reality she had created for herself, Harry Styles had come to town. It took nothing but a few minutes of coming to contact with him that he was a bad apple, and when the once sweet-tempered town had begun mottling with dark splotches, she knew for sure. Harry was like her, but his book of shadows had pages filled with wicked words of revenge, conjuring demons and letting them wreak havoc. His business was more under the cuff -- he posed as a writer who needed a scenery change for his work, but Y/N knew it had to be more than that -- but he did his bidding in the night, seeding through clubs, in alleyways, in the forest. . .if someone knew about Harry, it was because they knew a guy who knows a guy. 

And for some reason, unbeknownst to her, he refused to leave her be. 

This is why it almost makes sense that the bell of her store would jingle brightly no matter the fact she’d locked the doors hours ago, and her attention would be brought to the pest himself. He wore a sweater that threatened to swallow him whole, and baggy, holey jeans he rolled at the cuff showing off his bat printed socks, stuffed into grandpa-Esque loafers. The necklace he always wears around his neck (a small pendant that she had never gotten close enough to make out) is sat atop of his sweater today rather than hidden beneath it as it usually is. His hair is getting longer, more unruly with his warm brown curls than it had been when she first met him -- she really hadn’t known he’d had curly hair until the more recent months when it had started growing out. 

His eyes were always the same soft, crystal green that matched his character none, and a pawky smirk on his mouth as he dragged his fingers along the lavender jars placed on her shelves, “Shouldn’t you be home by now? I figure it’s past your bedtime.” He leans down like he is about to pick something up, and when Y/N peers over the counter, she sees him slide his hand beneath Thumper’s soft white belly and pull him up to his chest. That was another indicator that Harry was just no good -- he was the only human that he liked, and the little creatine didn’t even like her. 

“Shouldn’t you?” She flips it, continuing to gather her things so she could head home for the night.

“You know these are my typical hours, Babe -- everyone wants to curse someone at 1 AM, there was a study done in the east end.” He pets between Thumper’s ears as he sets him down on the counter beside the cash register, before he reaches out for the wooden crafted incense burners, “Have these cheap little things been selling any?” 

“Piss off,” she stuffs her phone into her purse, then flips through her things to make sure her wallet was tucked in there as well, “What do you want, Harry? I’m about to go home, if you wanted to come around to bother me you should have hours ago.”

Harry feigns a gasp like he does any time she curses, “Thought good little witches didn’t have such foul tongues?” He flicks the candle jar on her counter, an apple scent had been melting around the wick for the better half of the day, “I don’t want anything in particular, just passing through. You know you’re right in the way of the forest, don’t you? S’kinda of obnoxious when you’re trying to summon imps at the cave -- they hate the bloody “stench” of the flowers.” 

“Good,” she retorts, “You shouldn’t be summoning around here anyway, this area’s off-limits.”

It was barely an agreement but still an agreement nonetheless -- if Harry left her be, she would leave him be because Y/N wasn’t an idiot. If he wanted a fight, Harry could start one and he would fight dirty. All she asks him is to stay away from her store and her flat, and to keep away from certain areas of the forest where the soil was always soft -- in return, he would do his activities, sometimes he would need her flowers for different spells and she would turn a blind eye to what he was doing. She does a few gentle protection spells here and there but otherwise, he’s a free man to do as he pleases, just so long as he respects her request. He’d seemed perturbed by the conditions none -- had even chuckled and said as long as he let her keep her “pretty little flowers” he could get away with murder. 

A heavy, weary sigh leaves him, “Yes, I’m well aware,” he rolled his eyes before crossing his arms on top of the counter and tucking his face in his elbow,  “Gimme a moment though, it’s warm in here and I was freezing outside.” He muffles into his sweater. 

Y/N had almost forgotten what she had felt prior to coming back inside, but his words bring it clearly to the forefront of her mind once more. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, hearing the floorboards creak beneath her as she wondered if he’d felt it too. It couldn’t have been him -- no, he was powerful but by no means powerful enough to conjure up something like that. And she’d like to ask him, but Harry has never been someone who took her seriously -- he would just make a joke of it, probably, or tease her. It wouldn’t be worth asking. 

But the feeling that she’d gotten is chewing on her memory, so she asks anyway, “Hey,” she began and the only indication that he was listening to her is the fact his fingers stopped tapping against the wood beneath them, “Did you. . .when you were outside, did you feel that?” 

He picks his head up from the crevice of his arm, “You’re gonna have to be a bit more descriptive than ‘that’,” his brows are raised as he continues, “Are you talking about the new pleasant but cold breeze we’ve gained for autumn, or the gut-twisting odious one?” 

Y/N looks at him impassively, “The latter, idiot.” 

“Yeah, I felt it,” he ignores her insult, “What about it?” 

The skin between her brows pinches, “Are you not concerned? It felt. . .bad,” she couldn’t think of a better word to describe it, “I didn’t like it at all.” 

“Are you scared?” There is delight swimming in Harry’s gaze as he stands up straighter, “Don’t tell me Glinda the Good Witch herself is scared of a little frightening feeling? I thought you were tough as nails and all that, hm?” 

“Never mind, forget I even brought it up,” she tried to dismiss it, as she slings her purse over her shoulder and plucks Thumper up to sit him in the cradle of her arms -- she knew better than to ask him like she might get any comfort at all from his words. 

He steps up and in front of her before she could start toward the door, “Oi, listen scaredy-cat, I don’t know if you’re aware but I deal with shite like this all the time, which means I’ve got a few banishments spells up my sleeve. If it’s really something that awful, I’ll cast it back to hell, easy as that.” Harry follows close behind her as she exits the door, feeling the same shiver of fear slither through her body, “I do want to see what it wants first though.” 

“Of course you do,” she utters in disappointment, “Just keep it away from my garden, please.” 

“I’ll try,” he tells her just as she reaches her car before he dips into his pocket and reveals that he’d stolen a baggy of chamomile, “If I didn’t keep your precious garden safe, then I wouldn’t have anywhere to get enchanted chamomile, and it works lovely in a sleepy time tea, I’ll tell you that -- your lavender is shit though. Never puts me to sleep like it ought to.” 

She pops open her car door, “Stop taking stuff from the store, or I’ll start lacing it with laxatives.” 

“While you’re doing that, won’t you plant them Clathrus mushrooms? I reckon the imps would prefer them way more than the mums.” He looks serious -- not a trace of a joke laced in his features and somehow that leaves Y/N more irritated than if he were laughing at her as he spoke. 

Her response is blunt, “No.” 

“Listen --”

“Harry, I’m not going to plant mushrooms for the damn imps!” 

                                                         .                             .                          .

When Y/N had met Harry, she was angry. 

She had never been a very angry person. Seldom has someone or something truly has gotten so deeply beneath her skin that she felt the need to yell or grump about it -- mild irritation was never off the table, but true, unadulterated wrath and resentment? It was rare she ever felt the need to even make a snide comment. And that wasn’t to say she was better than anyone else, she was just mild-tempered and forbearing. . .it took a little more than a remark or two to make her angry.

But when she was angry, she was an amalgamation of vexation and fire, and there was no surer way to disrupt her peaceful demeanor than to compromise her flowers. 

The day had been uneventful up to that point. It’d been a week since Harry had moved into town and Y/N was surely feeling the negativity that followed in his wake, but she was focusing on maintaining the tranquil, idyllic environment that she had around her previous. As much as she would have loved to seek him out, ready to squabble, tell him off for bringing any dark energy into such a calm place -- she had to come at it pragmatically. She and her friend Niall (who wasn’t a witch but knew about her) had both agreed that while it was aggravating, they didn’t know him. They did not understand the depth of his power, or what he was here for, nor had they understood wholly what he was capable of. Y/N had felt his presence, but Niall had confirmed it after hearing the underground chatter of a dark witch who made promises to turn glitter to gold. 

She was on her way to her store. Though she was closed on weekends, she always went by to check on the flowers, water them, tell them about her day, and with her was Thumper who would be hopping around the grassy field and gnawing on the blades. It was very peaceful -- the time she spent with her plants -- so she always looked forward to it, but that day she was filled with trepidation as she parked her car. Something was off. . .not in the air, but with her flowers -- she could feel it deep in her marrow that they were in pain. 

So she huffed it to the back of the store, and there she found Harry, two of her purple vervains nestled against his palm. He noticed her before she could even think to say anything, and something short of relief had flushed through him, “Oh thank fuck, you’re here,” he sighs, referencing her garden with a wave of his hands, “I cannot for the life of me remember what hazel looks like.” 

“What the hell are you doing?” Y/N demanded, stomping toward him, but instead of shoving him to the ground like she wanted to, she dropped to her knees and caressed the remaining vervain, “Why would you pluck them like that? They aren’t ready!” 

“Ready? They’ve flowered haven’t they?” His brows had been tilted while his mouth dipped in a frown, “I need them for an incantation, figured you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed these two. Aren’t we meant to help each other out?”

 “You should have asked, you prick,” she pointed up at him, “And even if you had, I would have said no. I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’re really disturbing an otherwise pleasant place. I wish you would leave.’ 

Harry feigned hurt, placing a hand to his chest, “You wound me,” he mocks her, “Listen Glinda Good Witch, we all gotta get by somehow, yeah? Not all of us talk to plants or whatever it is you do. So do you want me to pay or --” 

“Those won’t work for whatever it is you’re trying to do,” she cut him off, “If it’s something with cruel intent, it won’t happen -- they were grown to do good.” 

“Which is exactly why I needed them from you,” he wiggles them in her direction, “Well, I need to get going. You’re awful in particular about a garden that is subpar at best. Wish you well, see you later.” 

Then he left. No guilt, no apology -- he just up and left, and Y/N was livid. 

(Later that night when she had explained the situation to Niall, he was nothing short of outraged, so they had tried to find out more about Harry. Anything about him, really, but he leaves a very little paper trail in his endeavors -- from public records they find that he’s 25 and from Holmes Chapel, and from a google search they find he has two books out, published online, and doing decently well. There was nothing else apart from that, he kept his socials pretty dry, and what he did post was nonsensical drivel.)

Y/N thinks about this, as she sinks into her tub, the burning water scalding against her skin. Harry had always driven her mad but he has never seemed half as angry as she was -- hell if anything he always seemed like he enjoyed it. 

He was just absolutely rotten. 

                                                           .                                  .                           .

Harry thinks Y/N is just absolutely rotten. 

There were many reasons that he had classified her as such, but namely what he was concerned about now was how she kept her shop closed on the weekends. 

Who kept their store closed the entire bloody weekend?

It wasn’t so much that he wanted to see her -- Harry actually found the girl quite plaguy. Her opinions on his practice were priggish, not unlike the others like them he had met in the past. There has always been an unfaltering stigma that was carried with what he did, one that was quite hard to shake within the factions of other witches that are sprinkled across the world. He’s seen as careless, cruel, greedy, and selfish -- he doesn’t practice magic for the love of the world around him, to feel a deeper, spiritual connection with the fecund soil that covered the earth, or with the water gently slipping past rocks along a stream bank. They look at him and see someone who shakes hands with the devil and ruins lives for a cookie. 

Harry lets them think as they wish, he has no patience to attempt correcting them. If they’d bothered to learn an inch about him at all before passing their judgment then they would have a clue about his true character, but the jury had already made the decision before Harry even realized he was on trial. They never really wanted to give Harry a chance, so he knew he would be hated no matter where he decided to reside. The pack mentality that they carry is the reason he has to move around so often though (more than any 25 years old was typically doing) he gets run out of a lot of areas because a group of soft witches decides he’s no good. 

That’s what drew him to this place -- there was practically nobody. He could sense when there were more like him loitering around an area, and made an effort to keep a decently low profile so that he could stay around longer (but they always managed to find him), but here, he only sensed one. That had been good enough for him to know this was the right move -- the beautiful scenery surrounding them; the soft bed of dirt that Harry’s feet would sink into easily; the dense, damp fog that covered the forest floor in the early mornings; the lush, green trees and how life seemed to remain there when it was meant to be waning in the colder months -- all of that, had only been a plus. 

When he’d met Y/N, he knew that she disliked him, but Harry had expected as much so it disturbed him none. If anything, he was delighted to have a purer witch than himself around, all things considered. There were no others that she could develop a hive mind with to drive him out of town, but she was no competition to the businesses that he provided, and when a decoction called for an obscure plant or an unsullied petal -- well, a Garden witch was not the worst kind to have nearby. She may be devout in her notions that Harry was a disagreeable, repugnant being, but she was good at what she did. Anything done with her plants was twice as effective as any other person’s flowers he’d used in the past, so it was necessary he bothered her often. 

She refused to sell to him -- something about her doing business with a demon, or whatever she’d said -- but so long as he doesn’t go and cut them from the stem himself, she helps him out. Will give him the plants he needs, and in return, he doesn’t taint certain areas of the town and the forest that she declared were off-limits. It was a spoken commercial agreement that both of them went by and because of it, their lives near to one another were comparatively peaceful to any other situation Harry has found him in prior. 

That didn’t come without its faults. They butt heads often, their bickering is nonstop, and Harry could think of many things he would rather do than have to stay in a room with her for longer than the ten minutes it takes him to get what he needs. It was fun to fluster her -- getting beneath her skin was an easy feat that he found a lot of joy in, and sometimes she gave him a run for his money. He always kind of liked making a normally mild-tempered person grump at him a little, if not for his impish ways, then so he could get to know them as their full self. 

So he wasn’t mad that she was closed because he particularly wanted to see her, no, he was mad because he was exhausted. Absolutely drained. The business was incredible when you’re the only dark witch willing to do some questionable, immoral things, but that also meant long nights and incredible emotional toil -- it wasn’t a walk in the park to conjure up a bloody demon! 

Ever since Harry had started this path, he’d had immense trouble sleeping at appropriate times, if he could fall asleep at all. He guesses this was what he gets in return for what he practices, and it could be worse so he doesn’t mind it too much, but it was still a hassle. It had been a good four years since Harry just had a good, peaceful night of sleep. 

Up until he had moved here, of course, because the same little garden witch that thought he was the devil incarnate, made a tea he could brew that set him right to sleep. Kept him asleep the entire night too, which had always been an impossible endeavor spanning back to when he was a child, but there was something about her chamomile -- hell, it really knocked him out. 

He tested his theory -- part of him thought that maybe chamomile was suddenly working for him, but no matter the brand that he tried, or the amount of tea he drank, none of it could compare to what Y/N’s did. When he visited her store, he took what he could to hold him off to the next time he came by. He hadn’t realized how low he was though when he had seen her last and she threatened to lace it with laxatives -- he should have taken two because he used his last bit the night prior to the one he’s suffering through right now. 

And he could have gotten more this morning if she didn’t close her stupid shop on weekends!

If Harry were not positive that he needed to rest, he wouldn’t bother to be trying. There was nothing worse to him than the laying in his bed and waiting for sleep that refused to come...it felt like he was being stood up by a date. It hasn’t happened often, but enough that Harry could match the feeling low in his stomach, indicative of discontent and sadness while he waited. . . . .and waited. . . .and waited. . . .and waited. 

It was useless -- the universe’s retribution for summoning spirits to the living world left him with what a doctor might diagnose as chronic insomnia, but none of the treatments did him any good. No mortal medicinal could soothe him of this ailment. So one would think he would be smarter about keeping a hearty stock of it at his disposal rather than one at a time, but Harry never claimed to be the best at planning ahead. 

And now here he was, staring at his ceiling fan whirl, his cat at his side while he contemplated if breaking and entering her shop was against his morals (he had a few left, surprisingly). 

God, she was so rotten! 

                                               .                                     .                                 .

“Have you felt weird lately?” 

“Hm?” Niall’s face scrunches up in confusion, his mouth stuffed full of noodles he just slurpped into his mouth, “Wha’ d’ya mean?” He muffles out, reaching over to her side of the table for a napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth.

The record store that Niall worked at wasn’t too far from Y/N’s shop so if her day wasn’t too busy, she would step away from the store for her lunch break and seek him out. It was never a planned ordeal; Y/N would stop off somewhere to get them something to eat and appear at his storefront, the sharp ding of the bell knotted on the door alerted him of her presence. He was always one of two places: in the back, tuning the old guitars the owner would bid on different websites, or he was in the front thumbing through the record baskets, organizing and reorganizing them by name. Sometimes he would be sat behind the counter, with his feet kicked up just beside the register but Y/N scolds him for that (he’s always wearing a dingy, scuffed pair of shoes that have no business seeing the light of day, let alone be shown off to others). 

His head would perk up, he would look toward the door, and his face would bloom into one of sheer delight as he would call over to her, “Oh, thank fuck! Thought I would go crazy if I had to listen to myself think for one more second.” 

Today was no different. She brought him ramen from the place three buildings down from his own, where she bends down a street that feels more like an alleyway and the door is hidden beneath a brassy fire escape. The owners were always very kind to her, and since she came often and tipped well, they would give her free bowls if they were in the mood. Y/N never liked the idea of a one-sided relationship with a business, so she always brought them herbs, and gardenias to plant at home (they were the husband’s favorite). She takes their fliers and posts them up in high traffic areas too, and when they have their business cards made and an extra hundred or so, she slips them in the paper baggies that she gathers her customer’s things in before sending them on their way. 

Niall was grateful. He did a little cheer, left his spot from behind the counter, and urged her to follow him to the back where the break room was located (if a customer came around he would hear the bell and duck his head out to greet them, but for the most part their Tuesdays were pretty uneventful). He told her he had sensed her coming so he already had two stools set out for them to sit on, and napkins placed in the middle of the table, but she’s almost a hundred percent sure they had been left like that last time she was here. 

Try as she might to let her mind flee from the dark, hazed feeling that had overcome her last week, she couldn’t. Even as she listened to Niall prattle about some Gibson Les Paul custom that the owner purchased a while back, she struggled not to wonder what it was that was worming itself into her brain; slick tendrils of dismay overcame her. The true, unadulterated, execrable feeling only truly hits her in the night if she is outside the safety of her home or her shop, but otherwise, it was memories of this haunting aura that struck her throughout the day.

She couldn’t place her finger on it though, what it could be. There are feelings she garners when Harry summons certain spirits, but she can typically tell when he’s doing that, and they’ve never felt so. . .evil, before. What Harry deals with is evil, sure, but this was so smothered in turpitude that she couldn’t make it out. Like spilling black ink over a letter written in blue. 

That’s why she asks Niall -- it feels too strong for it to be something only felt by her and Harry. It would also soothe her mind if someone had felt it as horribly and heavily as she did, considering it wasn’t affecting Harry enough that he would try to banish the damn thing before things went sour. 

“Like, do things just not feel. . .off, to you?” She didn’t want to feed him any impressions of what she might be speaking about -- she would like to know if it were true to him. Niall is sweet as he could be, but not always when it was appropriate; he would tell her he did just to spare her from feeling foolish. It’s why she thought berets were her thing for about a month when really she looked like a washed-up indie artist trying too hard (Niall had agreed they weren’t her best fashion venture, but he certainly didn’t think they were that bad). 

His face contorts in a pout as he mulls it over in his head, stabbing his fork into the noodles and catching a bit of pork on two of the pronks, “Hm, let’s see. . .” he looks like he’s spinning through a Rolodex, “I have not for the life of me mustered enough energy to have a wank in about a week, that’s some cause for concern,” when she responds with a blank stare, he holds his hands up, “Okay, fine -- Butternut was biting at the air when I took him on his walk the other night -- like. . .chomping at it, I was actually gonna ask you what that might be about.”  

Now, don’t get Y/N wrong, any other time Niall would have told her that his great Pyrenees puppy was yapping and chomping at the wind, she would have brushed it off. “Niall, you’re just going to have to accept that he’s going to be a big, sweet dummy when he’s older.” But she was so desperate for something, anything -- because if something felt it other than she and Harry, then she wouldn’t feel quite as crazy. 

“Sometimes it feels a bit like something’s watching me,” he tacks on at the end, taking the brown napkin from the stack in between them and dabs roughly at his mouth, “At night, when I’m walking Butternut, I get these chills but there’s no wind around.” 

Y/N leans forward, thankful, “Yeah?” she presses, “Is it like -- describe it. What does it feel like?” 

“Y’know, I do forget you’re a witch until times like these,” he leans back in his chair, a heavy sigh slides from his lips before he closes his eyes like he’s trying to place himself back at the moment, “I’ll tell ya what, it’s fuckin’ -- it’s a bit like I feel it right down to my bones, but then --” he opens his eyes, raises his closed fists and flicks his fingers out at her, “Poof, s’gone as quick as it came and I forget about it. My nan used to tell me that was the devil patting your shoulder, but if it went away quick s’because an angel kicked his arse out of there.” 

It’s enough, Y/N decides, so she nods and relaxes back in her seat, “Okay, good.” 

“Good?” His brows furrow, as he reaches for his can of soda and the aluminum can crinkles beneath his fingers, “Tell you that I get chills and you’re relieved? Should I be relieved too, or worried?” 

“It isn’t anything to concern over, I don’t think,” she explains to him, “If anything changes I’ll let you know.” 

Niall uses one of his fingernails to dig the dirt from beneath the other, “Did that Harry bloke muster some horrible demon up again?” His voice is laced with vexation. Niall wasn’t a hard guy to get along with -- he was loud and Irish, could chat up a storm about anything and everything, and while he could be scrappy at times, it was for all the right reasons. He was equanimous in most situations, even-tempered to a fair degree; if Y/N were in a situation where a cool, calm collected head would be the best approach then Niall was definitely the person she wanted on her side. 

(Like when they had to drive home from a day trip to the massive lake just north of them, but the roads hadn’t been pretreated for the icy sleet that gripped the pavement. He drove them the whole way on the windy roads with little traction from the tires to the road, and was still bobbing his head and singing along to Ed Sheeran on the radio). 

But Harry Styles? Oh, the mention of his name could dig right beneath Niall’s skin. Y/N would like to think that it was because he was so cruel to her, but she knows that there are two main reasons Niall is not too fond of him nor his craft. One of which is the fact that he slept with Liana (she happened to be one of Niall’s flings at the time -- there were plenty, but Y/N only remembered this one’s name because she shared it with a woody stem rooted to the forest soil that made for easy climbing), and the other, the fact that he had helped the captain of the opposing summer footie team with one of his enchantments to make them win. There are few things Niall cares for so deeply that he would dislike someone, but his sex life and his footie were two things a person just couldn’t mess up for him. 

“No, it wasn’t him this time,” she clears her throat, pushing the rest of her ramen around idly, “It’s a bit too strong to be his doing -- more sinister too. He conjures mostly petty demons; the little ones that don’t have much better to do anyway. This is something. . .I don’t know, it just feels different.” 

Niall sighs heavily, “Well, thanks for that, reckon I won’t be sleeping tonight,” he pushes the container away from himself to signify he’s done and when she takes a peek inside and sees nothing but a few noodles limp along the sides, “I like that you keep me in the loop, but sometimes I wish you would let me live in ignorance.” 

“You know, I would apologize, but you’ve gone into an in-depth description of your arsehole to me so I thought any boundaries and forms of secrecy were long gone by now.” 

His brows furrow features contorting into that of the same desperation he had come to her with two months ago, “Ugh, c’mon! You’re practically like a witch doctor or somethin’, I thought you would have a cream or something for it.” 

“You had a hemorrhoid, Niall, for fuck sake! Even if I were a “witch doctor” then I would never let you put anything that came from my plants on your filthy bum.” 

Niall stands, gathering their trash from the break room table but using his free hand as he passes her, he swats her shoulder, “You better be nice to me, or you’re gonna have to start eating lunch with Styles.” He steps on the level for the waste bin, throwing the trash in the bag, “Though I think you two would just end up hate fucking and the food would go cold.” 

“No,” she rolls her eyes, “I would never let that Gremlin near my naked body.” 

“Listen, I’m not saying I want the guy anywhere near your naked body,” he plops back down in his seat, “What I am saying is that you lot have such unbridled sexual tension it is practically palpable when I’m at the shop with the both of you. Maybe it’s ‘cos the two of you are the only witches, and opposites at that.” 

Y/N snorts, “Maybe if we were in some enemies to lovers film, sure.” 

   After they finish their break, and Y/N realizes that she’s been with him for a little over an hour, they make plans to meet up tomorrow for a movie and she heads out. The air was cool -- when she had made her way over here the sun had been glittering rays down that bathed the world in gold, but it was now hidden beneath an overcast of thick clouds. Rain always carried a familiar scent just before it started to pour and Y/N had forgone a jacket, so she huffed her way back, breathless by the time she made it up the hill and saw Harry leaning against her door. 

The sight of him makes her exhausted, but not in the usual way it does. He looks awful -- and typically he doesn’t! Y/N could admit that Harry was gorgeous; his hair always appeared soft, loose curls dispersed along the brunette strands, his eyes are a sea green, tender in his gaze when he wasn’t being an absolute prick and always bright (even when he was). His lips were pink, shaped perfectly, and his skin is typically smooth but even when he grows out his facial hair it still manages to look good. He had dimples. . .hell, Y/N would place a bet that he’d made a deal with the devil to look like that. 

But today, he just looked worn down, and exhausted, like he might not have slept the entire weekend. His eyes were closed, his hands were in his pockets and his chin was tilted down towards his chest. If not for the way his head perked up immediately when her foot crunched into the gravel pathway leading up to her store from the small parking area (that was more so a beaten down, once grassy area now just dirt with tire tracks in it), she would have thought he was asleep standing up. There’s relief in his eyes when they meet her own, which she isn’t used to seeing from him, “Thank fuck.” 

“You look horrible,” Y/N slides her hand into her pocket, pulling out her keys so she could unlock the door, “Budge over.” 

“I feel it,” he rubs tiredly at his eyes, “Go on and open up quickly then. Why the hell do you keep your store closed on weekends?” 

Y/N fits her hand over the knob, twisting it and shoving the door open with her shoulder. Thumper greets them at the door, nudging the top of his head against her ankle, “Do you work every night?” 

“No --” 

“I keep it closed on weekends for the same reason why you don’t work every night,” she heads toward the counter, settling her things down and reaching in for Thumper’s hay stash so that she could give him some, “What’re you here for? You usually come around to bother me later.” She chances petting at Thumper’s head for a moment, and since he was preoccupied with his hay he would allow it.

“Fuck!” Y/N startles, popping up from behind the counter, looking back up only to see Harry with wide, disgruntled eyes, “Where’s your chamomile?” 

Her brows dip, “I’m out right now, so --” 

“How the hell did you run out? Shit, what am I going to do now, hm? Shouldn’t you keep up with shite like this?” He’s going a mile a minute, he’s walking closer to her, distress was written all over his face and Y/N is alarmed to a fair degree -- Harry’s always seemed very collected and calm, it was seldom she ever seen him have more emotion than pure elation to fuck with her or displeased with her presence. 

“ -- so I’m going to make more today. What’s going on with you? Why are you so pissy over it?” She finishes her previous thought, watching as he leans against the counter, propping his face up with his hand and she could now more clearly make out the bags beneath his eyes.

He rubs at his temple with the finger closest to it, “The only way I can sleep is with your bloody tea,” he grumbled, “That’s why I come around all the time -- well, that and to fuck with you, but mostly the tea.” 

“Oh?” She reaches down, plucking Thumper from where he’d been positioned by her feet and setting him on the counter. He thumps his foot at her once but eventually makes his way over to Harry, sniffing at his chin before resting right before him. Y/N wasn’t necessarily doing it to be nice, but the energy he was exuding could really dampen the growth rate of her plants, and Thumper had a soothing way about him that drew all that negativity out. It was one of those odd little familiar powers that went unexplained for the most part. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” 

“Dunno,” he shrugged his shoulders, but the tension in them begins to dissipate as Thumper snuggles beneath his chin, “Reckon I pissed off some demon or summat -- usually it isn’t this bad. Without your tea, I can at least get to bed for three hours before waking up and catch cat naps during the day, but nothing was working this weekend. I think I’ve slept a total of two hours?” 

“Christ,” she tuts her tongue, but her brain starts churning, “Do you think it has anything to do with that. . .with that thing, that’s around? That feeling?” 

Harry huffs a sigh, “Fuck, here you go again -- Babe, listen, I can barely keep a coherent thought, so why don’t I just give you some money and you make that tea for me, alright?” 

“That’s no way to ask,” Y/N chastises him, and though she is already beginning to gather the supplies she needs so she could go out and harvest her leaves, she taunts him, “You’ll have to say please, or I might just decide to wait on this batch.” 

“Please,” he wastes no time in saying, “Pretty please harvest the chamomile so that I can sleep and I promise I’ll sit and theorize with you over whatever the fuck thing you’re feeling.” 

Y/N could go through the trouble of doing a blood binding with him to ensure that he wasn’t lying to her, but she felt that was a little on the extreme side so she took his word for it. She could easily harvest her chamomile here at the shop -- she had two doors behind the counter, one that led to her garden, the field, and the forest outside while the other led to a backroom that was made into a little kitchen area. It was easier for her to do things here rather than at home and have to risk tainting them in transport; for the best results to any enchanted item, one has to seal it immediately and it should only be reopened prior to use. 

She wouldn’t allow Harry to hover over her while she worked, so she sat him behind the counter and told him to not speak to any customers if they come through (“Wasn’t planning to,”) while she went to work. Y/N gave Thumper a look when he had started to follow her, and with a small thump of his foot (his way of saying Fine!) he hops himself into Harry’s lap and settles there. The tension once again eases from Harry’s features, soothing the pinch in his brow and the way his lips had been pursed in a frown. 

It was silent as she set to work, and save for a few customers who filtered in and out (at least a dozen of them, only eight purchased something but her Mondays were always pretty slow so that was expected), there wasn’t much to disturb what appeared to be a dozing Harry. He looked much more peaceful than she’s ever seen him, and for a brief moment she contemplates sending Thumper back home with him, but she shakes her head physically as if to expel the thought from her brain. What was she going on about? She would give him his tea and send the heathen on his way. No matter how empathetic she felt for him (she had struggled with issues sleeping when she was a lot younger), there was no need to go out of her way. . .even if she could admit that the sight of him cuddling with a bunny was a little too sweet not to be documented somewhere. 

She’s finished drying the leaves and carefully stirring them in the fine powder that she still had leftover from her last batch (there were many flowers from her garden ground up and enchanted with an incantation, which sounds like a simple enough task but the entire process took a little over a week -- the magic had to be purified several times, and the potential adverse effects had to be mollified. . . if she didn’t, instead of pleasant dreams of floating in clouds, her customers would be in an unsolicited astral projection) in a little over an hour. Y/N takes care to bag them delicately, adding a little extra in the two bags she would be giving Harry so that he would bother her less over it. 

By the time she’s retreated from the back preparation room, she finds that Harry is awake now, eyeballing her Intimacy and Romance section. When he sees that she’s returned to the front, he holds up the small, cardboard parcel, “I didn’t know you doubled as a Pulse and Cocktails.” 

“That’s a natural aphrodisiac,” she tells him, walking over to her empty chamomile shelf before she begins to fill it,  “You might want to take some so your partners will actually desire you for once.” 

“Oh, Honey,” he shakes his head, a look on his face almost like he pities her, “Don’ know a thing about how people desire me. Barely have to take my cock out for them to be gagging for it -- kind of how you are, but won’t admit it to yourself.” 

Y/N kisses her teeth, “Alright lecher, come and get your chamomile then,” she plucks the two remaining bags from the box she brought them in and holds them out for him, “You should look into some spells to combat that though -- if a demon is purloining your sleep, then it’s probably still hanging around and like deluging your flat with negative energy.” 

“Dunno’ if you know this, but I work with demons often, I’m always surrounded by negative energy,” he plucks the chamomile from her grasp, before reaching in his pocket and producing a small wad of cash that he places in her palm-- Y/N opens her mouth to decline it (she felt that his money was earned in a dishonest way and would not accept it for her flowers, because it felt as if she were disrespecting them. . .she would much rather give it to him for free), but he cuts her off, “Oh, hush and take the money. This is from a care package my Nan sent me, so it wasn’t earned in any rotten way, you spoiled brat.” 

She sighs, clutching the money in her hands, “You still better keep your end of the deal,” Y/N tells him, “I want to talk about this. . .whatever that feeling is, around here lately. And I want you to be serious about it!” 

Harry was already retreating, waving his hand up at her, “Yeah, sure thing, I’ll have my secretary get in contact with you --” 

“Harry --” 

“M’only joking. I’ll come around Friday.” 

                                                                     .                       .                         .

Later that night, with Thumper snuggled in her lap snoozing, Y/N looks into purging a home of sleep stealing spirits. 

She’s only curious. 

                                                             .                         .                        . 

Sleep comes gradually, then all at once, like the shift between summer and fall. 

Wind whistles past window sills singing shallow songs of change, while red apples ripen on their branches in the orchard during harvest season. The air grows colder in the mornings and at night, the day is still steeped in the sun’s benevolent kisses of heat at first until even that begins to wane. An aesthetic of reds, oranges, forest greens and golden hues occupy the minds of many as the leaves start to stain with color. Everyone waits with bated breath for true autumn to come around the corner. 

And when it does, it’s with a cold slap of air against the face when they step outside. The air carries that distinct autumn smell, the world is chilly enough for thicker jackets and long socks, rain comes in sheets during the evenings, and the colorful leaves that had drooped from the trees adhere to the concrete, or in matted piles on the forest floor.  Suddenly, the warm drink in everyone’s hand is a little less for the excitement and impatience for fall to begin, and more so to warm their cold palms from the onslaught of biting wind. 

It isn’t autumn, and then it is -- just like sleep. Harry’s awake one minute, and then he’s passed right out. 

Well, with Y/N’s help, bless her. Sure, she had been rotten before, but she made him a new batch and sent him off with two hearty bags full of tea that would soothe his worries and put his arse to bed. Plus, he had cuddled with her sweet little bunny Thumper for a while and he had a feeling the little bugger was exuding some sort of her soft magic unto him in the form of calming waves. When the rabbit sat in his lap, all the tension eased from his muscles and he sank into an otherwise uncomfortable chair like it was the softest mattress he’d ever been privy to. So by the time he came home, started the kettle, drank a mug full, and hot tailed it to his bed, he was asleep before his head could even quite hit the pillow. 

It was so good. His dreams were pleasant, his sleep was heavy, and deep, and lasted around fifteen hours -- which in the grand scheme of things, made him feel a bit like a sloth, but he knew he needed it. He still couldn’t quite pinpoint what had happened that he just couldn’t sleep even a little bit, but he has no interest in investigating now that he had a full night’s (and partially day’s) rest. Plus, there was no time to do any exploring when he needed to make up for the work he’d missed in his time exhausted -- his powers are nowhere near as strong if he is tired, and it’s incredibly dangerous to be working with little sleep. He could mess up, and a mess-up could mean someone would likely end up possessed and -- albeit how interesting they are -- Harry’s intrigue with exorcisms ended after the seventh one he performed. 

After he woke up, showered off, and ate brekkie, he sat down with his kitten and they cleaned his crystals and a few amulets before he set on preparing some of his finer elixirs, that he always waited until he was down to the last drop to begin making more canisters of considering how extensive the process was. It would be easier if he had someone else to help out, but the only other witch within 160 kilometers of him, he wouldn’t label as the type all too willing to help him break into a blood bank. 

But he did have his kitten Oat. He was his little miracle -- Harry had been so sad when he learned that witches could have familiars, but the animal would come to him and he was supposed to just know. At that point, he’d been practicing for three years and the only feelings he could sense from any animal around him were fear and disdain, so he had thought that maybe he just wasn’t meant to have one. Which felt horrible. . .he loved animals. 

One day, when the chill in the air rosied his cheeks and the cardigan he sported did little to shield him from the cold, he was taking a walk in the forest nearby. He’d left the trail, but not because he was working. . .if he were honest, he thought that the garden that Y/N kept out there was quite magnificent. It flourished even in the winter, a meadow of flowers that’s petals never frost, and the ground never grew hard. There was an air around it that made him feel warm and pleasant, so he visited often without letting her know. Which was what he was doing, walking through the small path that she had created so that she could tend to them (he’d seen her water them once when he’d come unknowing that she was there to cater to them). 

And one moment he was looking at what he believed to be an oat grass, he heard a rustle from the bushes to his left that he looked toward (it was a bird flying away), and when his gaze returned to where it had once been, there a small kitten was laying. She was the kind of small that made his heart ache, with her eyes barely open as she yawned and stretched very wide -- she wasn’t there, and then she was. Harry always liked to say she was born from the soft soil of Y/N’s garden which was why her grey fur felt like clouds and she always smelled sweet as heliotrope. . .and, well, she smelled a lot like Y/N too. He may not be all too fond of the girl, but she did always smell nice. 

She hadn’t grown bigger than one of his boots, the tiny little thing, but not because she was malnourished in any way (Harry always made sure she was well-fed), he just thinks she’s finished growing. He couldn’t tell her breed, but if he had to guess she was some mix between a munchkin and a ragamuffin cat. Harry knows all familiars have their duties and special abilities, but he wasn’t quite sure what hers was -- he just knew that he loved her to bits and pieces, and couldn’t ask for a better little ball of fur to sit on his shoulder while he made coffee in the morning. 

What Harry did know, was that none of the demon’s he had ever conjured had ever bothered her, and she loved to be rubbed behind her ears. 

So Thursday night, when the town grew quiet and the air was still, Harry ventured out with his tote bag slung over his shoulder. It was easy to move about relatively unseen in a place like this, that wasn’t so big there were people constantly looming around the corners of every nook and cranny, but wasn’t so small that everybody knew everyone’s business. It was a pleasant in between, where he could snake through the mouth of the forest, walk a trail and end up on the other side of town without having been seen by more than a few critters. He typically made this journey relatively late, without a worry or stressor in sight -- it only took him about an hour and a half to get everything done. 

Today though -- today, he felt off. It hadn’t been immediately when he’d stepped outside, but after some time in his walk, goosebumps prickled his skin and the hair at the back of his neck stood on end. He couldn’t quite decipher what was making him feel like this when the wind hadn’t rustled the trees in a few minutes, but it put him on guard. He disliked the feeling and had only truly sensed it to this degree that night Y/N had originally questioned him about it. It was an unsavory sensation, and for it to even make him feel uneasy was saying something tremendous. 

He attempts to ignore it, even though it only grew stronger the closer he was to his destination. He weaves through the trees, stepping over the thick roots, crunching over fallen leaves, and appreciating the scent of autumn as he goes. It was a nice night, despite the chill that ran just beneath his skin. . .it was the kind of night that he might go out on his balcony and sip on his tea until he grew weary enough to step inside. Oat liked to sit outside with him, curled peacefully in his lap and resting without a care in the world (she made him feel not so lonely all the time, which he appreciated immensely). 

Harry was thinking about how that was precisely what he was going to do as soon as he returned home after he had emerged from the trees and walked through an expansive field, toward an old road that led him back into town and entered the blood bank (after melting the lock with one of his crystals). Though he sensed something strong when he was walking down the cold, dark hall. . .or someone that is, who --  before he could register their presence -- ran straight into him as they were peeling around the corner and nearly knocked him on his arse (but definitely knocked them on theirs). 

“Fuck sake!” He cried out, steadying himself, looking down at the assailant, “Watch where you’re going, mate, or you’ll -- oh, Y/N?” He pauses, confusion laces through his brain as he recognizes her, “What’re you doing here so late?” 

Y/N was on her bum, scowling at him as she gathered herself before flattening her palms to the cold, white tiled floor and pressing up to a stand, “I could ask you the same question.” 

“It would be a silly one if you did, ‘cos you and I both know what I’m doing for a living,” he watches as she swipes her bum of the dust adhering to her sweatpants -- he had never seen her so dressed down before, in a dark-colored hoodie that just about swallowed her whole. She appeared much less ferocious this way -- not that she appeared very ferocious before, but he is always intrigued to see typically put together people in their sleep clothes. . .he thinks it says a lot about a person. From Y/N’s choice of pajamas, he could tell that she probably kept her flat on the side of too cold because she liked to bundle up. . .she felt safe that way, he would guess, and he would bet 50 quid that there was bunny hair all over it because -- despite his grumpy tendencies -- Thumper loved a good cuddle.

“I felt it again,” she says after a moment, her voice only above a whisper, though there was no security here -- or anyone, for that matter since the place closes at 7 PM, but her eyes still shift around like she’s a high schooler ditching class and the headmaster's down the hall, “. . .that thing, y’know, while I was getting ready for bed, so I followed where it felt grossest and came to check it out to see if it led me anywhere.” 

Harry’s brows furrowed, “Well that was stupid,” he derides her, fixing the tote around his shoulder and shifting weight from one heel to the other, “What were you going to do if you found something, hm? Fight it off with your bunny and rose petals?”

Her scowl returns, “Piss off,” she utters before her gaze flickers to his tote and the reason he’s here becomes clearer to her than it had been before, “You shouldn’t be stealing blood. Isn’t that unethical?” 

“It’s either this or siphoning it from a live vein, Babe, and while I’m aces at plenty of things, I have not been properly trained to set up an IV. I only take the blood that’s about to expire anyway,” He nods down the hallway, toward the refrigeration where they kept all of the baggies, “You might as well continue investigating while we’re here because it’s coming from that way -- plus you can make yourself useful by keeping the door propped open for me.”

In all honesty, Harry expects more fight than he was given considering how often she seems to object to every move he makes, but she merely rolls her eyes and starts ahead of him. The feeling does grow stronger the further they descend into the hallway and he knows Y/N can feel it too, from the way she shuffles just a little closer to him, and he can hear her breathing hitch to a small halt as they stood before the door and it felt like it had all been focused just behind the door. As strong as the taste of frozen orange juice concentrate, it made his face pucker just slightly as he raised his fingers toward the keypad and began punching in the code. 

“You’re really gonna go in there?” Y/N queries gently, and Harry only nods his head in response, reaching for the door handle. An urgent, delicate touch of Y/N’s hand startles him, looping around his wrist and dragging his attention toward her, “Shouldn’t we have a game plan if something is behind the door?” She asks, her hold on him tightening just a little, and Harry notes how soft her palm feels against his skin, “Like, let’s say we open the door and a behemoth is standing there, what do we do?” 

“The only behemoth that could fit in this tiny room is the band from Poland, Babe, and I reckon they have better things to do on a Thursday night,” he retorts, clenching around the knob and tilting it down, “Now unless you want to hold hands in there. . .” 

She lets go before he can finish, and he doesn’t have to look back at her face to know she’s irate. A small smile quirks at his mouth as he pushes his shoulder against the heavy door to aid him opening it, bracing himself to see something potentially horrid. . .

And there’s nothing. 

Actually, as soon as they open the door, the dark, odious feeling that had been encompassing both of them disappears entirely. “Whoa,” Y/N pushes her hand against the door and keeps it open, taking one step inside of the room, “There’s a lot of blood in here.” His gaze flickers back at her, as she looks around, looking more intrigued than disgusted -- there was a lot of blood, 8 by 5-meter room just filled with it, so he could understand some of the awe. The more he returns, the less awe he feels, but he reckons that was to be expected. 

“There are about five other refrigerators in this building too,” he tells her as he lowers to his knees, cracking open his tote, “This one’s computers are easier to get into though, and doesn’t say the date and time the amount was changed so nobody knows anything is missing. Easy peasy.” 

Y/N nods, “Right. Stealing blood -- easy peasy,” she leans against the door, “What is it that you use it for?” 

“It really depends,” he murmurs as he pulls out a rack, counting out the baggies he needed, “Some demons like blood more than ash, so they come when called and are more willing to help you out when given a little gift. There are a few spells that call for it, and elixirs are twice as potent — sometimes I have to drink it, which is...unpleasant,” he hears her shiver, “—but it makes the outcome better. All in a day's work.”

“Oh wow,” Y/N hummed, “That’s...different. I think the weirdest thing I’ve had to drink for a spell was doe milk and I felt guilty the whole time. Like I was taking it from a fawn that needed it.”

Harry huffed out a laugh — Y/N was a soft little thing, comparing drinking blood to milk — sometimes he forgets how sheltered her world of magic is compared to his own.  It was easy to forget with all the spiteful words she could throw his way, but to see her out of her comfort zone. . .it’s refreshing. Not because she is less confident in her surroundings, but because she is more open to his own If someone would have told Harry they would be even remotely civil with one another in a room full of blood, he would have snorted before asking what they were snorting. 

“I oughta call you Bambi then.” 

He was on his last baggy of blood, checking the expiration date, and logging it into the computer when the dreadful feeling returned. Like a fly to rotting meat, it clings back to the room they were in tenfold. From behind him, a sharp clatter and Y/N’s squeal startles him to look back at her, “Harry!” She cried, pointing ahead of her, “The walls! L-look at the walls!”  

Harry follows her finger, watching as a thick, black substance oozes from the wall’s coving. When Y/N had noticed as much, she knocked down a stray IV pole that had been left in here, and it lay at her feet where the same black ooze had begun seeping up from the trim of the floors. In all his time doing what he does, Harry had never seen something so odd, nor had he ever felt something this grotesque overcome his being. It makes him act quickly, and while he doesn’t speak, he does fix his tote over his shoulder and practically jog the short distance to Y/N, knocking her out of the room, grabbing the door by the handle, and swinging it shut. He had hoped to seal it in there, whatever it was, but when they look down at the floor, the goo bleeds beneath the door and they both take a startled step back, “Oh fuck me,” Harry mutters to himself, shaking his head. 

“What the hell is this?” Y/N is panicked -- it’s very clear in her voice, and while Harry was a tad thankful not to be dealing with this alone, he can’t say that a soft which, who planted pretty flowers and made sleepy time tea was necessarily the backing he wanted in the event he had to exorcise a demon. He didn’t even have the proper tools for it. . .he didn’t know what he was exorcising, fuck sake --  “Harry, shouldn’t we --” 

“We need to leave,” he states, pivoting on his heel and hustling down the hall, Y/N was quick to scurry behind him, though she still murmurs some protest. 

“We shouldn’t just --” 

“Listen, unless you have any idea what that is and how to clean it, let alone banish it to hell, I saw we have a better chance through those doors than we do staying in here for even a second more,” he told her, holding out his hands to the crash bar, shoving the heavy door open, only looking back to make sure that Y/N had made it through, seeing that the black ooze had been following them before he promptly slammed the door shut. 

This was one of the back doors, so it spits them out to the graveled employee parking lot that dances along one of the many mouths of the forest that surrounded them. They’re both out of breath, adrenalin zipping through their veins in a tidal wave as their chests heave and they stare at the door. They wait for it to crawl beneath these doors. . .they wait for the building to either be overcome by sludge or combust from whatever sinister being had decided to preoccupy this space. 

But nothing happens. 

The wind picks up, the leaves rustle against the branches, and as if it were a gift from the Earth, the sordid feeling blew right away with it. 

“What the hell was that?” Y/N asks for the second time. 

Harry straightens out from where he’d been crouched, inhaling the cool air, appreciative to be in it. 

“Do you think for a second, with my reaction, that I have any fucking clue?” 

                                                        .                             .                              .

Y/N doesn’t have people at her flat often. 

Actually, apart from Niall and a few maintenance men, nobody had ever really come over. Not for any particular reason, really, and not because she didn’t want them to necessarily -- the opportunity just rarely arose, or more so, she didn’t often allow it to. If she were going to meet someone then she would meet them somewhere else, and they would part ways after they were finished (again, apart from Niall, who would simply follow her home, kick his trainers off, and head toward her couch which he had told her was simply the comfiest he’d ever been on). Her home was her humble abode. . .it was where she came to destress after a long day, and where Thumper sometimes waited for her debating whether or not he wanted to nibble her bathroom rug to shreds.

Not to mention she had plants growing here too, and flowers that she held dear to her, and while people are more reluctant to go touching what isn’t their business at a store, they are much less disinclined to give that same respect to her plants. Once Y/N had a maintenance man over to fix her faucet and she’d walked out from her room to see that he was caressing her snake plant’s leaves. She couldn’t blame him -- the plant had a very encompassing presence about it and had a way of drawing people in if they weren’t careful. . .hypnotized by the way it made them feel. All of Y/N’s soil and seeds are charmed with special incantations and concoctions that took her years to perfect, she would be disappointed if they weren’t causing people to leave all semblance of professionalism to even for a moment feel as if they were in a room with such clear air, their lungs felt renewed and they deemed it necessary to get closer. 

But then she had to apologize to her snake plant for nearly two days after! It had been so upset with her, she could feel it, so she started being even more careful about who she let in.  If she was going to go out of her way to have someone over, then there was a good reason for it. . .or it was Niall. 

And a demonic, gooey substance sweating from the walls of a blood bank, was well enough a good reason to have Harry over. 

It took some coaxing on her part -- he was convinced that they needed to just go back to their respective flats and go to bed, but Y/N was adamant in vetoing the idea. “We’re supposed to talk tomorrow anyway, so we might as well just go ahead and do it tonight -- and you are not leaving me alone after whatever the fuck that was!” 

After a good ten minutes, he finally relented as long as they could stop by his flat so he could get his kitten. Y/N hadn’t known that he had a kitten and thought maybe he would bring out some ragged-looking thing, but she was surprised to see through her windshield window that Harry was approaching her car with a small grey kitten. Her face contorts in the way everyone’s face might when they see something small and cute, “Look at her,” she coos once Harry opens his door, “What’s her name?” 

“This is Oat,” he answered, holding her out for Y/N to pet, “Be careful, she’s vicious.” 

Y/N pet at her head and Oat’s eyes shut as she nuzzled into her palm, “Oh yeah, what a panther.”

 Apart from the nerves that had already materialized from what they had seen in the blood bank, she was a little worried about inviting him into her home. When she visualized her safe space, Harry was not typically who she saw sitting on her couch when she came in from the kitchen, holding mugs of warm tea. Yet there he was, introducing Thumper and Oat to one another (who merely sniffed each other, then immediately cozied against her olive throw blanket on the end of the couch), and Y/N is handing him his steamy mug. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, immediately nursing the mug between his palms and lifting it up to his mouth for a small sip -- the steam disperses around his face in plumes, “And it wouldn’t make sense for. . .for whatever that is to just be a demon.” 

“What?” She inquires, taking her seat beside him on the couch, her body twisted so she was facing him entirely. Y/N had adjusted the temperature to something that would be a bit more suited toward having a guest -- when she’s alone, she keeps it ungodly cold so she has an excuse to bundle up in her clothes and blankets. There’s nothing like feeling safe in a cocoon of various fabrics with Buffy the Vampire Slayer on the telly. 

Harry strategically places the mug between his knitted socked feet, steadying it there as he begins to play with the thick, brassy tiger ring on his index finger, “Demons are strong, sure, but if they’re gonna be that strong there’s typically two reasons for it: they have already inhabited that area, or someone is controlling them behind the scenes. I would be more inclined to believe the prior, but I’ve been going to this blood blank for about a year now and unless there were some pentagrams I’ve missed or a gruesome ordeal that never made the papers in the past two weeks -- then there’s no reason for that to have happened at the hands of a spirit. Even a blood demon isn’t strong enough to make what happened in there happen, and they literally feed off the substance in the room.” 

“So you think someone summoned it or something? I thought you were the only one around here that did that?” Y/N probes, trying to look in his eyes but she keeps getting distracted by his rings -- how many did he have? She thinks he nearly has one on each finger, and he’s plucking them off and placing them on different knuckles as he speaks. Y/N wonders if it’s something he does in response to a stressor, like how she picks at her nails. 

“I’m the only witch that summons things around here, but not even I could conjure something that feels that vile.” He explained, fitting the last ring against his knuckle before he pops the bones in his fingers, and Y/N watches as the skin stretches and moves around the muscles in his hands,  “I think someone is trying to manifest something without the proper safeguards in place. . .the lack of protection charms, crystals, and spells can invite much more heinous creatures to the living world. They feed off shite like that -- naivety. . .thinking that any person could decide they’ll have a demon carry out a job for them. It’s easier for them to take advantage of them that way.” Harry exhales, running the pad of his thumb around the rim of the mug— she’s given him the one that has intricate, realistic drawings of beluga whales on it, not for any other reason apart from that one was her favorite and she liked to see it in use, “And with a full moon coming up? Recipe for disaster.”

“Oh shit,” Y/N holds her tea closer to her being, “That’s why the feeling is so profuse and disagreeable in the air then, ‘cos they aren’t containing it right? When I was looking into a little bit of what you do, I read that there are containment spells so the demon or spirit doesn’t have free range to do as it pleases, but the spell is dependent on the demon in question and the severity of its power.” 

Harry looked pleasantly surprised, “Yeah, that’s right -- what’re ya looking up what I’m doing for?” He settles into her couch, “Have you got a crush on me or summat?” 

If Y/N rolled her eyes any further back, she thinks they would have done a 360 in her eye sockets, “I fell down a rabbit hole the other night when I was trying to figure out why you couldn’t sleep,” an impish grin slides onto his mouth, “And not because I’m “in love with you” -- I just thought it would be interesting to know if your insomnia was the reason of a demon because that would mean one of my items combats against that and wins. My. . .most of my magic is based on prevention when it comes to dark things like that, not really to fight what’s already there.” 

“So your flowers don’t like -- I dunno, Little Shop of Horrors it?” He teases, motioning to her Hoya plant that had just begun to bloom for her, “I reckon when I think of plant magic, I think of you snapping your fingers and thorned ivy whipping around to slow assailants.” 

“No, none of that,” she laughs lightly, shaking her head, “They’re much too nice and gentle. . .they only want to help. And I’m rarely in a situation where I would need thorned ivy whipping around.” Y/N locks eyes with Oat for a moment, whose eyes close nice and slow before she reopens them and Y/N thinks she might just melt, “What do we do then? How do we stop it?” 

He slides a ring with teddy bears from his pinky and spins it between his forefinger and thumb, “There’s nothing to do -- if we don’t know who the problem is, then we can’t fix anything.” Harry shrugs his shoulders, and the action makes his already loose cardigan slide down his arms, revealing more of the cream-colored shirt he wore with Smokey the Bear on the front reading Only YOU! can prevent forest fires, “All we can do is wait for the next fucked feeling and hopefully run into the person causing -- oh,” Harry pauses, motioning toward her, “You’ve got a new friend.” 

Y/N’s confused, brows knitted until she feels a paw press against her shoulder and the telltale purr of a happy kitty. When she turns her head, she finds that Oat has snuck her way up to her, and is now attempting to perch on Y/N’s shoulder. She presses closer to the back of the couch so that she had a better footing, and in return Oat bumps at her cheek with the top of her head, “You’re so cute, stop it,” she murmurs, and when she takes a breath through her nose, she smiles, “She smells like my heliotrope flowers too! How are you the familiar of such a grumpy, cruel lug, huh?” 

“Oi,” Harry mutters, “I resent that. I’m not grumpy or cruel, you’re just rotten.” 

A retort plays at Y/N’s mouth but her phone screen lights up from where it’s sat on the coffee table and strays her attention. She’s confused -- the only person who would be messaging her this late was Niall but she’s almost a hundred percent certain that he was supposed to be out at the bar tonight. It is him though. 

Fuck me, have ya looked at the news? Is this that thing we were talkin bout? 

Harry is a nosy bugger, and after reading the message with her he reaches for her remote, “You told him about it?” He turns on her telly, quick to open her TV guide, “So he knows about you?” 

“Yeah, he knows -- turn to 3,” she tells him, and soon enough the local news is playing out, big bold letters on the blue band stretched across the bottom of the screen. 

MAN TO BE CHARGED WITH ATTEMPTED MURDER ON GIRLFRIEND 

He turned the volume up, so they could hear the news reporter who was on site. There was yellow caution tape stripped around a house, police lights, cops walking around in the back, and frightened neighbors who had left the comfort of their homes to investigate what was happening. The woman on screen had long blonde hair that whipped when the wind blew and muffled her microphone feed, her face set stony as she recounted the events as the police had told her, “. . .has no recollection of the event, and is claiming the “walls” were dripping in blood and demanding that he do it. Jacobs is being taken in for further questioning and pending a psychiatric evaluation -- his girlfriend Amanda Wilson is being rushed to hospital that’s all anyone knows right now. Back to you Tom...” 

“Oh, fuck sake,” Harry groaned, shaking his head, “Now this is a problem, problem innit?” 

“Was it not before?” Y/N takes the remote from him, turning the volume down, “Do you -- does that sound like anything you’ve dealt with? That would try hurting someone like that?” 

He presses his knuckles to his eyes, sighing, “Not that I remember -- I’ll have to do some digging. . .this is bollocks, you know how bad this is for business? Nobody wants to mess with dark magic when shit like this is going on.”

“Aish, don’t think so selfishly. People are in danger,” she tsks at him, “And we’ll need to -- what are you doing?” She asks as he removes his feet from where they had been on the couch, reaching down for his loafers like he was about to put them on. 

“S’getting late,” he responded, “I was g’na head home --” 

“No you’re not,” she told him, her face dropping in borderline disgust as he seemed genuinely confused with her, his face twisting, “We experience something like that, then see the news, and you not only want to separate, but you want to walk all the way home, alone, in the dark? No way, that’s too stupid, you’re staying here.” 

Harry’s brows dipped in, irritated, however, he did stop reaching for his loafers,  “But --” 

“Listen, we may not be fond of each other but I’m not letting you put yourself in danger,” she tells him, before adding quickly, “And you are fucking not going to leave me alone after that! Are you mad?” 

“I’m sorry, I thought I’d be doing you a favor without bothering ya with my presence. Never thought Miss. Good Witch of the North would want me breathing her air for too long.” He ripostes and it reinvigorates any distaste for Harry that had been easing throughout the night the more they spoke. He always did that -- always made her feel like she was some stuck up prick who never gave him a chance, but she would have if he hadn’t started out being such an arse to her. Sure, the circumstances they had met under weren’t fantastic. . .she snapped at him for taking her flowers without asking, but he could have just apologized -- could have said sorry, and they could have started over but he was immediately put off by her she presumes, because ever since he’d been nothing but cruel to her. His knocking her out of the room in the blood bank was probably the first kind thing he’d ever done for her, and she isn’t a hundred percent certain that she wasn’t just in his way while he was trying to get out. 

So she glowers at him as she pushes from her couch, “Sod off. I’ll get you some blankets.”

He almost immediately replaces the spot that her body had been with his legs, stretching out as far as he could and his feet flop on the arm of the sofa, “Reckon you should make me some of that tea though, so I can sleep.” He called after her. Thumper hops off and follows after her, while Oat finds her spot at Harry’s side and cuddles into where his cardigan’s extra fabric bundles. Y/N goes to the closet in the hall that leads to her bedroom, pries it open, and reaches to the top shelf where she keeps her extra blankets and pillows. Despite how irritated he makes her, she grabs him one of her heavier quilts, because even with her heat kicked up higher than normal her flat has very poor insulation, and the night’s into early mornings get pretty cold. She’s about to grumble at him that he better thank her for this and the bloody tea, but when she returns to the living room. . .he’s asleep. 

Harry just fell right to sleep. 

She’s confused -- understandably, she thinks, because she remembers how much of a fit he’d thrown about her tea and how she was closed on weekends so he couldn’t have any of it. Had whined how he wasn’t able to sleep without the tea, and she had only given him peppermint tea tonight, so there was no reason that should have put him to bed. 

Yet there he was, fast asleep with his arms crossed over his chest. 

 Tutting her tongue quietly, she unrolls the blanket she had chosen for him and strategically places it over his legs. She is careful to move Oat so that she doesn’t suffocate under the covers as she pulls them over, up to Harry’s chest before replacing her in the spot she had snuggled prior. She pauses for a moment before she leaves them, taking in a completely relaxed Harry -- not that he doesn’t seem relaxed all the time, but he’s just. . .calm. His muscles have melted against her couch cushions, his brow has soothed and his amaranth pink lips are soft and parted. Gentle, easy breaths slip through his mouth. . .Y/N thinks that she likes him like this. Not spiteful, or crass -- this Harry doesn’t seem to hate her. This Harry is warm and comfortable enough to just fall asleep on her couch. 

Thumper thumps his foot against the floor, his not-so-silent request that they go to bed and Y/N snaps out of whatever hypnotic state she’d been in watching him rest. She feels creepy but shakes it off, reaching down to pick up Thumper by his belly and cradling him to her chest as she leaves the living room, keeping her lamp on for him in case he wakes up to have a wee or anything. 

It’s when she goes to the kitchen to grab him a bottle of water to leave at the coffee table for him, that she can feel Thumper judging her. This is only confirmed by the way he is looking up at her when she looks down at him, his small, pink nose twitching, and she can just sense him repeating Harry’s tease of have you got a crush on me or summat? -- it’s not like he hasn’t questioned her before. She reckons if Thumper could actually speak and not just implant little thoughts of his in her head through whatever little bond they have, he would be very free with his accusations about who she might have feelings for. 

Y/N rolls her eyes. 

“No, I don’t,” she disagrees with him quietly, “What do you know about crushes, hm? You’re just a bunny.” 

                                                         .                               .                              .

It had been a while since Harry had worked. 

Though he was always hesitant to call it work, all things considered. Y/N had once described to him that what he did was lurk around seedy clubs and wait to be recognized by a sorry sap that wanted something they didn’t want to put much effort towards, and Harry can’t necessarily say she’s wrong.  He preyed on the lazy; men and women who couldn’t be arsed to obtain a goal without the help of a little magic no matter how negative, and Harry couldn’t really fault them for it. One, because sometimes goals are unattainable with literally anything other than a demon's help, and two because he gets a hefty wad of cash in his pocket for his trouble. How hypocritical could he be to deprecate their usage of dark magic when he is doing the same thing. . .when he relies on that more than anything, even the silly little romance novels he writes so that nobody questions where his money’s coming from. 

It was a Friday night, and since he was no longer tied to the commitment of meeting Y/N to discuss the horrible, no good, terrible thing that was slithering its way through town and apparently spurring bouts of attempted murder -- he was able to visit a club. Though Y/N had made him lock pinkies with her that morning, telling him to keep his eye out for anything suspicious that may or may not have led to the events from the night prior. 

Promise me that you’ll keep informed on what’s going on there, okay? And promise me that you’ll tell me about it. 

The club he’d visited was one of the more popular of the four he frequented, and within the walls, amongst the gyrating bodies in scant clothing and sweat-drenched skin, were many of his regular clients. One of which had been blowing up his phone for the past week telling him how he desperately needed help, and he needed it ASAP. Harry finally replied to his message with a simple time that he would meet him, and that they would discuss the cost once he’s explained what is being asked of him. This guy, in particular, wanted many frivolous things, and typically his requests revolved around wealth, though Harry thought he had more than enough. And while Harry could do a few simple spells that would bring the money gradually and don’t come with the dangers that a demon will, he refuses. Harry has always told each of his clients that a spell and a demon could do the same thing, but demons brought faster results, albeit potentially precarious consequences.

And when it comes to summoning, things can get a bit tricky. If the person who is summoning is the person who will benefit from the demon’s will directly, then it may come with a price, and that price may or may not be hidden between the lines. Especially when it is someone who has no clue about the actual process, offerings that could be made without including their soul for the taking, and spells that could be done that would protect them. After doing this for so long, Harry had developed and harnessed enough power that it was rare a spell every backfired or a demon ever bested him, but if Bradley Evans tried this himself, he’d be good as dead. 

This is why, no matter how this man grates every open end of his nerves with a dull blade, he continues to help him. Again, Harry gets paid an obscene amount of money for what he does, so he sucks it right up -- and it’s not as if this money is just for him. He has people to take care of, his own personal gripes with the smarmy, rich, meat-headed pricks that want him to summon Clauneck for a trip to the Bahamas matter very little in the grand scheme of things. 

He’s leaning against the far back corner, at a table that he’d claimed for the night and a cherry mango cocktail that wets his lips and stains them red. He really isn’t scouting for suspicious behavior like he had promised to, only because his mind had floated elsewhere entirely. Like how, after so long of only ever being able to rest with help of Y/N’s chamomile, he was able to fall asleep without the help of anything. He had asked her about the tea that she and he drank prior to him passing out unprompted on her couch, but she told him it was just a store-bought strawberry tea that was a guilty pleasure. 

It perplexed him greatly. He only remembers her demanding him to stay the night because she didn’t want to be alone (and if he’s honest, neither had he after the night they had), he remembers her standing and him stretching out on her couch, and he remembers asking her for the tea that would help him sleep. 

And then he remembers waking, feeling refreshed, and renewed. Confused, but reinvigorated, he had a wee before poking around in her kitchen for something to satiate his grumbly stomach. Y/N was still asleep -- he’d peeked his head into her cracked open door only to find her dreaming peacefully, relaxed, and content. As creepy as it felt to stare at her as she slept, he did watch for a moment. It was different to see her without the accompanied scowl he usually coaxed upon her face -- the blissful gleam that exudes from her now is the same that he sees when she’s tending to one of her gardens. 

He brewed two chai lattes in her Keurig with Oat on his shoulder like a bird and she woke as he was taking the second mug, setting it on her kitchen counter, “G’morning,” she yawned, Thumper hopping behind her, looking just as sleepy, “Did you sleep through the night? I made you a cuppa and kept it in the microwave in case you woke up.” 

His heart had lurched. . .a genuine clench that Harry had not felt in a while.

“Oh,” he blinked at her owlishly, “I slept just fine, but thank you.” 

“Mm, good,” she was so sleepy still, Harry remembers wondering if she was even fully awake speaking to him, “I  have sliced fruit in the fridge if you want, for brekkie.” 

It was a domesticated scenario that Harry had not been privy to.  

Had it been her flat? Maybe the plants that she had strewn about the room were all enchanted, singing sweet songs of sleep that lulled him to sleep without him knowing. All he could recall was feeling so unbelievably comforted and no matter how cold it was in that damn flat, he felt so warm. . .so warm, and it smelled so good, and Oat was snoozing happily at his side. Plus she had wrapped him in this quilt that was heavy and smelled nice -- he thinks, in that moment, he finally understood why babies liked feeling contained in a swaddle blanket. Regardless of what happened at the blood bank, and what they found out on the news, Harry felt safe in her flat. And he probably wouldn’t have left either, if he didn’t have to work. 

He’s so caught in his reverie, that Bradley’s arrival truly startled him. A clearing of his throat catches his attention, dragging his unfocused gaze from the crowd of dancers to Bradly, dressed in a Lacoste polo that thought was ugly but he would never say it aloud, “Oh,” he straightened up, bringing the rim of his glass to his mouth and taking a small sip of it, “Right then, what can I do for you? Another trip to Barbados?” 

Bradley shakes his head a little frantically, and it's only then that Harry takes in the actual appearance of him, that surpasses the Lacoste and zeros in on the panic that decorates his face, “I need like -- like a demon protector or some kinda spell or -- I don’t fucking know, or something.” 

“Oh --” his brows dip, “What’s wrong? Is something bothering you?” 

He starts to nod, then switches it to a shake of his head, and that morphs into a shrug of his shoulders, “I don’t know man, I just don’t feel -- I don’t feel safe. I wondered if one of those demons from before were like. . .after my soul or summat.” 

“Not possible,” Harry dismisses the idea, setting his glass down on the high round table, “When I work with them we make a spiritual, contractual agreement that they are bound to. If your soul was not on the table, then it will never be on the table -- it must be something else,” he thinks for a moment before a slither of realization stokes the fire in his brain, that sets the coals aflame and heats the cogs to a churn, “What -- explain to me what you’re feeling?” 

“Like something is watching me,” he blinked, crossing his arms on top of the table and leaning most of his weight onto it, the scent of liquor wafts over Harry’s face when Bradly breathes, “It’s heavy and. . .it’s like swimming in ink. It’s horrible and frightening, and I’ve never -- I’ve never been one to rely on vibes, but mate, they were bad. . .they were like -- vile. Vile vibes, man.” 

Harry thinks, while his description is repugnant, he knows exactly what he’s talking about, but there wasn’t much he could do. Harry can make protection spells that are generalized but he doesn’t believe that any of them are strong enough to fend off whatever this thing is. In cases like this one, sometimes dark magic is not good to fight dark magic, it can only make it grow and fester like a nasty, infected wound. He really did not want to try that out on Bradley. . .he may not be fond of the guy, but he didn’t wish anything ill on him. 

“You wouldn’t come to me for a protection spell, for something like that,” Harry begins, “You would need --” You would need Y/N -- is what is about to leave his lips, but it drops away. As much as it’s true -- as much as Harry knows that the reason he felt the safest he’s ever had in Y/N’s presence was whatever protection spells she had put in place and strengthened -- he couldn’t. The thought of sending someone like Bradley to someone like Y/N, makes him feel sick. “Give me one second, yeah? Stay here.” 

Y/N gave him her number that morning, telling him that it was silly for them to be unable to contact one another. Harry saved it into his phone and sent her a picture of Oat so that she would have his, but left it at that -- he had assumed, until this moment, that he would never have a reason to have her number. If he ever wanted anything from her he would just show up at her store. 

But here he was, scrolling through his contact list to find her, pressing her number and holding his phone up to his ear. It only rings twice before she’s answered it, “Hello? Is everything okay Harry, did you get a lead?” 

Harry laughs in disbelief, “What’re you, a detective?” He cleared his throat so he could speak over the music clearly, “I need you for something, and I’ll give you half. And before you get all high and mighty, it isn’t for anything bad -- one of my regulars is experiencing the same fucked thing we have only it’s more vile vibes opposed to blood seeping from the walls. Need a protection spell -- whatever you use for your flat and store.” 

She’s quiet for a moment, long enough that Harry questions if his service dropped, but her voice reappears.

 “Where are you?” 

Fifteen minutes later, Harry is flagging Y/N down to his spot in the club where he stood next to Bradley whose friends kept coming around wondering if Harry was his pull for the night. Her jumper with a printed bunny right in the center made him chuckle to himself -- it was more than clear that she had not planned on coming out tonight, and if not for Harry, he thinks she would have spent three more hours at her store tending to the garden there if not for him. When she sees him, noticeable relief makes her shoulders slump, and as she gets closer, she reaches into her pocket, “Thank god,” she called over the music, “I’ve been in here for three minutes and if I got knocked into one more time I was going to lose it.” 

She produces two things -- one is a tiny vial, with an unidentified green liquid, and the other is a small baggie of her tea. Harry takes both from her hand, “Thank you,” he murmurs, before dipping down closer to her ear, “Go over to that empty table near the bar, I don’t want this guy seeing you clear enough that he could ask you for anything ever again.” 

Though she was confused, she listened to him, slinking her way over to the table while Harry turned to Bradley who had been looking at his phone, before both were placed in front of them, “Thank you,” he tells him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. How much?” 

“850,” Harry says without batting an eyelash. Typically his business runs closer to the thousands but he cuts the guy a break since he’s scared.

“Each or what?” Bradley asks as he fishes his wallet from his pocket, flipping the leather open and beginning to thumb through his bills. 

“No, just 850,” he takes the bills from him, folding it between his fingers, “I shipped your crystals last week, did they come?” 

Bradley nods, a big grin on his face, “Oh, fuck yeah dude, I almost forgot! I already transferred you the money for them right?” 

Harry thinks it’s a shame that he doesn’t keep track -- he could really scam him if he wanted to, with these black crystals bathed in the water of Asmodeus (they increases stamina and aids them in not being shit in bed; it was a fucking full-day event to get Asmodeus to recognize the clear stream water, in an incubator that he checks every 15 minutes or so to see if the water has been touched red)  “Yeah, you sent double the amount ‘cos your buddy wanted some too, right?” 

“He loved them, mate,  he’s way less narky too now that he’s getting his dick wet.” 

Harry holds back a grimace, “Alright then, stay safe. You know how to contact me if you need anything.” 

Bradley bids his goodbye and Harry seeks out Y/N, who is picking idly at her fingernails and bobbing her head slightly to the music. When he gets close enough to her, he starts on his spiel as he waves the money toward her,

“Listen, Babe, you used your plants to help him, honestly you deserve way more than this -- a fucking Nobel Prize probably,” he holds it out to her, “Here.” 

She shakes her head, but not in the way she would if she were refusing it because she was disgusted by him -- no, instead she closes his hand around it again and presses it closer to his body, “No, no, you keep it, he’s your guy or whatever.” 

Harry tilts his head, brows knitted, “But they’re your plants.” 

“Yeah, but I would just feel guilty taking it from you so --” 

He sighs, counting out 450 of it, taking her hand, opening her fingers, and sliding the bills into her palm, “Even split then. If you’re going to utilize something precious to you to help someone like that fucker, you deserve a little compensation for it. “ 

Y/N must realize that he wasn’t going to let it go, because she finally folds it in her hands, slipping it into her pocket, “What’s with that guy then? Why do you not like him?” 

Harry can see it clearly; the image of his childhood self, his family struggling to make ends meet but going to primary school with the wealthier kids. The ones who laughed at his faded shirts, and holed winter coats -- who would ask him to their birthday parties and talk shit about the gift he’d scraped up coins for doing miscellaneous work around the neighborhood. He thinks about how he knew they would go home to kitchens full of food, and bountiful dinners that they would never appreciate, while Harry never took seconds because no matter how hungry he was, he made sure their bellies were as full as they could be. And Harry remembers how the headmaster did nothing to quell his worries because those kid’s parents could buy out the school if they wanted to. 

He sees it all, and he hears it all, and for a moment -- selfishly -- it makes Harry wish he had never given Bradley the protection spell at all. 

But he only shakes his head, “He’s just a prick,” he answers simply, before nodding his head toward the door, “Reckon we should get out of here, it smells like piss.” 

It’s always a little easier to leave the club than it is to enter it, so they’re out in the cool air soon enough. A small line had formed outside since Harry had been in there last, and as they step out, a group of three is let in through the rope chain that the bouncer is policing. This part of town is always bustling late into the night, so neither feel the cold brush of fear they have been when they’re out in the dark -- or at least the relaxed way Y/N is looking around tells him that she’s pretty content. 

“Do you want to get something to eat?” She asks him, pointing at the 24-hour diner right across the street, that had been strategically placed there because people who are drunk and high who just sweat out half their body weight love greasy food, “I skipped dinner today.” 

“What a coincidence -- so did I.” 

They got a booth in the far back corner, where the white and maroon tilted floor glistened wet from a recent scrub from the mop, and the air smells of lemon pine-sol. This along with the fact that the black leather seats were dusted of the crumbs that usually mottles them, Harry would assume that they had come just in time for their 12 AM clean up, where the first batch of besotted clubbers had left a mess and they were waiting for the second wave to come through. He didn’t miss the eye that the waitress had given them, looking them up and down like she was trying to decipher what state they were both in, but when neither of them wobbles in their stance, or slur through their words asking for a table, she relaxes and asks them where they’d like to sit. 

After they get settled and order their food (Harry convinces her to get one of their malted milkshakes with him -- his favorite was strawberry and after she confessed that she never had their strawberry malt, he was insistent on her trying it), Harry’s curiosity is suddenly piqued as he thinks of something he hadn’t thought of before, “How did you make it over to the club so fast, hm? Do you just have jars of this stuff made laying around?” 

Y/N sticks her clear straw in the icy glass of water she’d been poured, stirring it like there was anything to mix, and the ice cubes clink together soundly, “No, no, I actually don’t make protection spells unless I’m asked directly -- or usually that’s the case, but I was already in the middle of making some for you and me, so I had a little leftover.” 

“For me too?” Harry inquires, genuinely surprised by the concept that she would make him something to keep him safe. She nods though, like it was silly that he thought she wouldn’t have, only this time she reaches into her purse and retrieves two much larger vials with little cork tops, and one bigger bag of the dried leaves, accompanied by a smaller one tied with red ribbon. 

“I was doing some research while I was at work --” 

“You do a lot of research, don’t you?” He cuts her off and she nods. 

“Mhm -- and there’s this like. . .there’s this elder witch who lives an hour or so drive away from us who I think might be immortal, but that’s beside the point. She has this blog that I was scrolling through and she linked her email, so I messaged her and she sent me her number and told me to call her immediately.” She slides one of the vials over to him, along with the tree leaves, “When I did, she told us that we were in a little more danger than everyone else ‘cos like -- whatever this thing is could start trying to feed off of us, especially you. Said that we needed a potent protection spell, and I told her about mine. You feel safe in my store and in my flat right? Like -- like whatever that thing is couldn’t get to us?” He nodded, eyes fixed on hers, “So this is a version of that suitable for our bodies. The tea leaves are for your flat, and then this little bag here --” she points at the one tied closed with the small strip of red ribbon, “-- this is a tea version of it safe for Oat to drink.” 

Not only had she made him some, but she also made Oat some too? As much as he disliked her before, he can’t help how this warms his heart, zipping through his body and makes him feel just as safe as he did when he was wrapped in her quilt snug on her couch. Harry wonders if this is what she’s like all the time with her friends. . .he wonders if this side of her, that researches and makes protection goodies, brews him a cuppa just in case he woke up in the middle of the night and comes out in the depth of night to the seedy clubs she despises just because he called and asked -- if that’s what they get to see. If that’s what he would have seen had their meeting been any different. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking the vial and the bags, looking at them against his palm, “A lot. You didn’t have to do this for me.” 

“I did though,” she takes a drink of the water through her straw, “I may not agree with what you do but we’re the only two witches here and there is power in unity, even if our versions of magic are different. We have to be there for each other -- Thumper agrees, and that’s a lot coming from him because he doesn’t like much of anybody. . .he barely likes me,” she holds her hand up, the index finger of her other going from finger to finger as she lists off the ingredients, “So we’ve got fern, anise, leaves from the ash tree in the forest, fennel -- the nice old woman told me to hold off on the mugwort unless we’re planning on astral projecting or doing anything with divination, but if we felt that it was necessary we could wear a wreath of it around her necks. That’s an old wives tale though, I’m pretty sure.” She wiggles her fingers, “All that and a little bit of moon water, and we have ourselves a little protection spell! I dipped my finger in for a taste test and I’ll be honest, it’s awful and plant-y but I reckon we can toss them back like a shot and chase it with a sweet drink like juice or something.” 

It hits Harry that he gave Y/N very little credit for what she did, but now as he’s looking at something that she’d made specifically with him in mind, that wasn’t just a glorified sleepy time tea, it puts some things in perspective for him. Sure, she’s been a dick to him in the past, but he was a dick too, about her magic. While he isn’t going to start kissing the ground she walks on, he decides then that he’ll be more mindful of her craft. Plus, from the amount of time that they’ve had to spend together in the past two days, she’s tolerable when she isn’t on her high horse about him summoning spirits and ruining the town. She’s even helpful. 

“Thank you,” he repeats, “I really mean it, I appreciate this a lot.” 

Y/N smiles at him and it’s a smile that he’s never been gifted before. A smile that makes him smile back, as she places her elbow on the table and holds out her pinky toward him -- she’s big on pinky swears, he’s finding. 

“We’re looking out for each other, okay? I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine. . .I swear it.” 

Harry locks his pinky with hers without a second thought. 

[chaseatinydream]

sly san who sacrifices (ii) || c.s (atz)

➳ pairing: reader x choi san (ateez)

➳ word count: 2396

➳ genre: badboy au; fluff; angst

➳ synopsis: to the school, he may be a bad boy, the worst of the worst, but to you, he’s choi san, father of three cats, your best friend and ultimately, the boy you’re in love with.

>>>

The second you step out of the car, you can already hear the mewing of cats.

“Yobu!” You laugh as the tiny grey ragdoll leaps into your arms, fingers brushing its fur back. The tiny feline lets out a content mew and you press a kiss to its adorable nose. You love all of San’s cats, having helped him in taking care of each and every one of them, but you have a soft spot for Yobu in particular. After all, he’s the cat that had allowed you and Seonghwa, one of San's friends, to meet.

San looms up behind your shoulder.

“Yah, Yobu, that’s my friend, not yours.” He scolds the kitten sternly and you give San a flat look of exasperation. He doesn’t look intimidating in the slightest, not when he looks like he’s about to topple over any moment. Concern wells up in you once again and you call over your shoulder to Claude, who’s still at the car.

“I’ll bring him up, Claude!”

The chauffeur nods acknowledgement and before San can protest, you’re already pulling him into the mansion after you.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the grandeur and luxury of San’s home. A sprawling, lavish mansion made nearly entirely out of white and grey marble, and designed by a famous architect whose name you can’t quite pronounce, this place screams luxury and wealth. Built all for the sake of your best friend Choi San, only son to a globally successful business mogul and fashion entrepreneur, you sometimes wonder how cheap money is to people like them. San tries his best to make you forget the gap between the two of you, but other times, it’s near overwhelming for you.

You remember him asking you once, “Why would people buy knock-off goods when they can just get the real ones?”

You had never been so tempted to slap him.

The floor is cool against your bare feet and the helper bows to you as you drag San up the stairs to his bedroom. You’ve been here so many times you could your way around this mansion blindfolded, and the mansion is huge. Your best friend trails after you silently aside from the odd cough, and when the two of you emerge into his room, he merely flops onto his king sized bed with a tired groan.

He must have been really exhausted.

“I’ll go get some warm water and medicine for you!” You chirp and San merely lets out a tired noise of agreement, the sound muffled in the soft, downy pillows on his bed.

When you return with the essentials to make your best friend comfortable, San is curled up in his bed with his face buried underneath his Shiber toy plush, specially customized and hand sewn to look like Shiber. Tapping on his shoulder, you rouse him from his fever induced slumber.

“Hey, San, you need to drink some water and take your meds before you go to sleep.”

He grumbles a little but still complies, sitting up in the bed to face you with a pout, hair mussed from tossing about on the bed. You press the glass of warm water to his dry lips and he tilts his head back to drink, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows it all greedily. Concern wells up in your chest as you look at his pallid face.

He’s probably a lot more sick than he’s letting on.

But that’s just like San, you sigh under your breath as you watch him drink thirstily, rubbing at the bags under his eyes. You wonder why he hasn’t been sleeping enough. Has he been out clubbing again?

You don’t really want to think about the answer.

When that’s done, you grab the pills and tear out two tablets for San, holding them out for him to take. “For your fever. You should be fine when you wake up if you just take a couple of these.” You tell him as you set the now empty glass on his bedside table, but you don’t feel him take the pills from your hand, so you turn around to glance at him.

He stares at you expectantly.

You stare back, befuddled.

“What?”

“Well, aren’t you supposed to put them in your mouth and kiss me like in those movies?” San’s wearing a shit eating grin so wide that you’re not sure whether his brain has really been fried or if he’s just plain crazy. You stare at him in horrified disbelief for a second longer and he merely continues grinning at you like a cat that just got the canary, seemingly pleased with how red your face is becoming. “I’m not eating those on my own, they’re bitter, you know.”

Your mouth falls open at the sheer audacity of his words. Where on earth had they come from?

Then you shriek and clobber him hard over the head with a pillow.

“Ow! Ow! Yeowch! Stop hitting me, woman!” San yelps, scrambling away from you as fast as he can with the blankets tangled around his legs. You chase him with the heavy pillow held high above your head, bringing it down on his head again and again, intent on beating out the stupidity in him. He’s not nearly fast enough in this ill state and before he can reach any relative safety, you’ve already grabbed him by the ankles and are dragging him back to you.

“No! Spare me!” San thrashes about comically, trying to wriggle his way out of your grasp much like an actual cat, but you sit on his back, firmly trapping his flailing arms under your legs and then proceed to attack his sides with an assault of furious tickles.

“Aieeeee! Mercy! Have mercy on me!” Screeches fill the air, San’s voice getting increasingly high pitched when your fingers move to his armpits. Only when he’s crying and shouting and laughing weakly through tears all at once do you finally pull off him, smacking him over the head one more time for good measure.

“That’s for saying all those stupid comments!” You shout at him breathlessly, still flushed from a combination of exertion and embarrassment. San sits up next to you, still choking on a few final exhausted giggles, red streaked hair thoroughly mussed from the little roughhousing the two of you just had and the biggest, fondest grin on his face.

You hate how your heart just melts at the sight.

To distract yourself, you shove the pills into his mouth with one hand and San obediently crunches them down this time, watching you intently as you wring out a few damp towels next to him, gesturing for him to lie down. His heart warms in his chest at the sight, and when he closes his eyes, sometimes he just wishes that he could be the right one for you instead–

He purges the thought from his mind before it can go too far.

“Here you go, San.” Your voice is gentle for him, soft, sweet, innocent, a polar opposite to everything he is, so familiar and warm.

He counts it a blessing that you still remain at his side despite everything he’s done, no matter how many tears you shed over him and the times your heart has been rent in two because of his misdoings and fights.

He lays back down on the pillows, eyes shut tight against the sight of your face hovering above his. But as if you’re trying to tempt him unconsciously, you move his head into your lap and he nearly goes rigid in a panic.

“I’ve been talking to Seonghwa a lot recently, you know. He’s a great friend.” You tell him absentmindedly as your soft fingers brush the hair on his forehead back. Something in him twists, a sense of satisfaction that his carefully laid plan is falling into place, but also something darker, something more selfish, a certain sort of gut wrenching emptiness that he doesn’t want to think too much about.

San is still your best friend.

And that’s all he’ll ever be to you.

The cool cloth rests against his forehead and he sighs at how good it feels against his heated skin, but it probably has to do more with how your hands are gently kneading against his temples rather than the actual cloth itself. Upon hearing his little exhale of comfort, you glance at his face with a content smile, shaking your head with some kind of exasperation and warmth settling deep in your chest.

“Are you close to Seonghwa-oppa, San?” You ask as your fingers thread through his hair and he presses into your touch, for some reason desperately craving the feeling of your skin on his. He wants to treasure every last time he gets to be close to you like this, because it might come to an end all too soon.

Why does it hurt?

“He’s a nice guy. Boyfriend material.” San has never had to force a smile around you and it feels wrong on his lips, brittle like cracked glass against his skin. You are the one person he would never want to lie to, but if it’s for the sake of you and Seonghwa’s happiness, who is he to stand in the way?

“Yeah! He’s nothing like you.” You laugh cheerfully, teasingly bopping his nose with a finger and San barely manages to hold back a flinch at your words, his expression twisting in pain as if you’ve just shoved a knife into his chest straight. Honestly, he’d rather you just do that instead, it’d probably hurt a lot less.

“San? San, are you alright?” You frown in concern, bending down to glance at his face. The tips of your hair tickle his face gently and he can feel your breath against his cheeks, and maybe, just maybe, he wants to reach up and just pull you down to him–

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He lies again through his teeth. Maybe if he lies enough times, the pain in his chest will go away. Some part of him wants you to call him out on his deception, but you’ve always been too innocent for the things of this world and San is perhaps just a little too good at hiding his true feelings behind a carefully painted mask. “So, what were you saying again about Seonghwa?”

And he watches your face light up as you chatter animatedly to him about one of his best friends, Park Seonghwa, wondering why his chest hurts so much even when your eyes shine with excitement and joy.

He’s a selfish bastard, and he hates it.

He really needs to get the two of you together before he does something he regrets.

[guessimjoiningthespidermanfandom]

Hell and Back Pt. 2

Peter Parker x bisexual!reader

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Peter Parker x black!reader 

Peter Parker x villain!reader 

Warnings: Language, hospital mentions, mentions of drug abuse, allusions to suicide, allusion to self harm, self deprecating thoughts, a gun, mentions of knives, mentions of the dead, anxiety, signs of abuse, abusive and toxic relationships, and fainting.

Word Count: 6.1k 

Songs: Pleaser-Wallows, 505-Artic Monkeys, Sweater Weather- The Neighborhood, Daddy Issues- The Neighborhood, Paper Planes- M.I.A, We come running- Youngblood Hawke, Young dumb and broke- Khalid, Do I wanna know- Artic Monkeys, Break the Rules- Charli XCX

“I smiled, I know as much as we get into petty arguments or try to annoy each other on purpose but I’d go to hell and back for those girls. And that’s exactly what I was going to do.” 

A/N: There might be some typos and grammatical errors sorry for those, I you want to be added to the Taglist just message me about or comment it. I’ll have a google form for it soon. 

Series Masterlist   Previous Part   Next Part

When I saw my little sisters, that all went away. Sure I still called them a lot but nothing could compare to actually seeing them in person. Sapphire launched herself into my arms and I stumbled back a bit.

“I missed you too,” I said.

I hugged Aaliyah too. When I entered the apartment I heard voices. My dad’s and some feminine voice. 

I walked in to find some woman who couldn't be older than 25 in my kitchen. Talking and laughing with my dad. I didn’t want to assume anything or start a scene so I just went into my room to catch up with my sisters. 

We were talking about some kid who gave me a DMT pen once and I was tripping balls which I probably shouldn’t be talking about, but I want them to feel comfortable enough to come to me. Makes it easier to keep them safe. 

Our dad opened the door and hung in the doorway.

“Hey… Y/N do you mind coming here for a sec?”

“Yeah sure…” 

I stepped out of the room. 

“Is something wrong?” It wasn’t often that he initiated a conversation that would end positively.

“No,no, not at all, I just want you to meet someone,” 

When I entered the kitchen the same woman from before was still there. My dad walked over to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. 

“This is my girlfriend, Camilla” 

I knew it . I knew it! I was trying not to be hostile toward her every problem I had was towards my dad so I smiled and waved to her.

“Camilla this is Y/N,” he pointed to me. 

“Well I’ll let y’all get acquainted,” He said before leaving the room.

I sat on the kitchen island and waited for her to say something first. 

“Look, I would just like to put it out there that I’m not trying to replace your mom in anyway.”

“Thanks I appreciate it,” 

“Also, are you okay now?” She asked in a low voice.

“Huh?” I questioned.

“Your dad said you ran away,” Of course he did “and I saw the news with your school at the Washington Monument.” So I guess she knew more about me then expected. Not surprised she was the one to ask me and not my so called dad.  

“Thanks for your concern but I’m fine, and sorry to cut this conversation short but I’m drained.” 

“Oh, okay, have a nice night,” 

“You, too,” 

I didn’t have time to think about anything. I just made it back to my room and face planted onto my bed. My whole being was sore including my brain. I didn’t have the energy to change my clothes, to shower, to think about my dad being a pathological liar or anything else that happened today.

I was awoken by my dad. I didn't know how long I slept but the sun was out. I can’t remember the last time I was able to sleep while the sun was up. 

“Hey we’re going out, for family bonding and I want you there with us,”

Family.

We ain’t ever been a family before why start now. Is what I really wanted to say but I sucked it up because again I hadn’t seen my sisters in a while. 

The movie was really boring. If we’re being honest. 

I pulled Aaliyah and Sapphire aside as my dad and Camilla were deep in conversation. 

“You know how I was staying at Wade’s house right?” 

They both nodded.

“What did dad tell you about this,” 

Sapphire just shrugged and Aaliyah was the one to post.

“I dunno he didn’t say much like usual he just kinda said you just left,” 

I felt my jaw tightening as I processed her words, my fist clenching by my side. 

“Oh, oh okay,” I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth a couple times “Well I just want you to know I’d never leave y’all without a very good reason, and I never won’t come back,” 

By the time we got back to the house it was around twelve since we watched another movie and went to a restaurant. Then got ice cream. This is the most money my dad could’ve possibly spent on me in a long time. I mean he didn’t because I didn’t get anything and bought my own ticket. I didn’t want him to be able to use the fact he bought me stuff against me. I’d gotten tired of the “after I’ll I’ve done for you,” excuse. 

I couldn’t sleep. No matter what I tried I couldn’t sleep. I tried NyQuil, melatonin, and even tea. The tea really did more harm than good. 

This was an extremely stupid thing to do so don’t follow my lead but I was bored. 

I grabbed a lot of useless shit from the floor of my room and made my way to the roof. I poured hand sanitizer on it and set it on fire. Putting aside the fact that it was really weird the fire was oddly beautiful. I sat there watching it for a minute before stomping it out. 

I was going to text my friend Carmen but I realized she was supposed to be asleep and I didn’t want to get her in trouble. 

I ended up scrolling through Zillow for a while then that turned into me applying for like four jobs. In which turned into me making spamming multiple friends saying we needed to hang out.

While I was on Zillow there was a relatively cheap apartment in Queens. Which was close to my school. It kept drawing me in for some reason. I bookmarked the tab.

Before I knew it the sun was up. I figured if I couldn’t sleep I would go on a walk to the park. 

When I got back to the complex everyone was still asleep except my dad who walked outside like he was waiting on me. He grabbed my arm, squeezing it tightly. 

He basically told me I looked like a prostitute. I was running so my sports bra and leggings were actually pretty appropriate. He said that I was probably going out to fuck people and that’s where I always was. I opened my mouth to defend myself.

“Actually I was just going to the-“ I was cut off by a sharp sting on my cheek. 

He fucking slapped me. Hard at that. He then grabbed my arm even tighter than before dragging me into the house.

 I don’t know what hurt worse my face or that fact that I wouldn’t be able to blame him being drunk on all the times he’d hit me before. He was just an ass.

  By the time I made it back to my room it felt like my body was burning itself from the inside out. My face was red and so was my arm from my elbow to almost my wrist. To try to cool myself down I took a cold shower and took some Tylenol. 

I still couldn’t sleep but tonight it was because it was so hot. I really needed a fan in my room. It was already 6 so I just decided to get a head start at the school. Not without taking pictures of my bruises before covering them with green concealer and foundation. I wore a hoodie for good measure. 

I felt dizzy and decided it was probably best not to skate at the moment and I’m 90% sure I fell asleep on the subway.  Apparently we had an art project due which I had no idea existed in the first place so I wasn’t going to that class today. Even though I did truly love Ms. Kramer. I was just gonna skip and go to Bri’s class. Which just happened to be chemistry. 

I wasn’t surprised Mr. Cobwell asked no question when I walked in. I ate lunch in his class a couple times, he was chill. He continued on talking about Quantum Theory. 

I made Flash move from his seat next to Bri which he immediately did. I guess he was scared of me now. 

“Hey,” I said, placing my non bruised side of my face on the desk.

“Hey,” She whispered back. “What class are you supposed to be in?” 

“Art,” 

“Why are you there? You love art,” 

“I’m not feeling it today,” 

“Alright,” she nodded.

“Lemme use your AirPods,” 

She reached into her bag handing them over going back to taking notes. That didn’t last long.

“What ya watching?” She asked.

“Bad Girls Club,” I smiled knowing she liked this show. 

“What season?” 

“7,” I whispered because now I felt too weak to waste my energy on speaking. I placed the phone on my lap and she took the other AirPod and before I knew I class was over with Tasha throwing trash everywhere.

I figured I was feeling sick because my blood sugar was low or something so I drank some Apple juice at lunch and called it a day.

Now time for Physics. I hate physics. Why would science ever require so much math? 

It was so hot. Like on the face of the sun, hot but I couldn’t take my hoodie off because I felt like I’d sweat my foundation off. 

“Are you okay?” Peter asked me “You look pale,” I swear if he doesn’t learn to mind his business.

“I’m fine,” I told him, not sure if I was trying to convince him or myself, I gestured to his notebook. “Do your work,” 

“Alright fine,” he said reluctantly, glancing at me once before getting back to writing whatever we were supposed to be doing down.

 I pulled my hoodie back over my head and sat up in my seat about to try to do my work again. But it was so hot and I was so dizzy that I couldn’t focus.

The world began to swirl and I knew the switch in my brain was going to flip off. I just didn’t have time or enough energy to tell anyone. 

When I woke up I was in a bed in the nurse's office and the first thing I noticed was I didn’t have my hoodie. Shit. I used to make fun of people for passing out because how does your own body clock out on you? Until it started happening to me like last year. 

I went into the bathroom and sure enough the giant bruise on my cheek and arm were kinda visible. 

Again shit.

I patted my forehead with a cold paper towel because the nurse’s bathroom actually had paper towels unlike all the others, before the nurse came back. 

“Hello, Are you feeling okay?” 

I nodded. She smiled down at me before giving me water and checking my temperature. 

“You have a fever,” she said after looking down at the thermometer “We called dad to come and pick you up but we got no answer. Is there anyone else that can come and take you?” 

I shook my head, not trusting my voice. 

I drank some more of the water before speaking up. 

“I have a friend who’s at this school she could maybe drop me off?” 

“I’m not sure if that’s allowed,” she said. 

“You know what? Go back to class, get your friend and come right back.”

I pushed off the bed and headed out of the nurses office surprised to find Peter sitting on the bench outside it. 

“Are you okay?” He asked me again 

“Yes I’m okay” I nodded. Apparently I wasn’t as okay as I thought because I almost tripped over my leg trying to move. But Peter immediately reached his hand out to stabilize me. And I don’t know why that made me as angry as it was but I said “I don’t need you to help,” harsher than I need to. 

“Sorry,” I said calmly almost immediately after. 

“It’s okay,” He said scratching the back of his neck.

“If you don’t mind me asking where’d these bruises come from,” 

“I fell,” was all I said. He looked skeptical but that was all he was going to get, I didn’t need CPS all up in my business. That’s also payback for him lying to me about “cat scratches”. 

“Can you do me a favor?” I asked.

“Yeah, anything,” he said. 

“Can you go get Briana from Mr. Dell’s class for me?” 

“Yeah I’ll be right back,” he said before sprinting down the hallway. I giggled at his giddiness. It was still extremely hot everywhere my body was tingling. 

Bri ran towards me 

“Oh my god are you okay,” 

“I’m fine, I just need you to talk to the nurse with me real quick,” 

She apparently didn’t have her car with her today so she was a no go. 

“I’m sorry girl,” she said, pulling me into a hug. 

“It’s okay, go back to class now,” I said.

“Alright feel better,”

I walked back out of the office to find none other than Peter still waiting there.

“So what happened?” He asked.

“Looks like I’m walking home,” I smiled sarcastically. “Yay,”

“I can walk you home,”

“No, thank you” 

“I insist,” I laughed again 

“I still think that word is funny,” I said.

“Okay, now let me walk you home,” 

We were walking in no general direction. No one but MJ and Bri know my address and  I’d like  to keep it that way. 

“Wait, you need food,” He claimed.

We ended up at this place called Delmar’s Deli. I’d passed it a couple times while walking home and during my less legal “hobby”. I really wasn’t hungry at all. I took all of like two bites from my sandwich claiming I’d take it to go before throwing it away. It wasn’t bad, it was quite good, actually I just wasn’t hungry. 

“My aunt is a nurse at an emergency room, she can check you out,” I hate anything that's anything like a hospital at all brings terrible memories, but I didn’t want him to know where I lived so I agreed. I’d ditch him then.  

It took us a while to get there but by the time we did I had to stop and catch my breath. He offered to walk me home and got me food. What a Spiderman thing to do. I’d say I had much solid proof to go on by now.  

“Peter!” The gorgeous brunette woman came over to the waiting room “What are you doing here don’t you have school?” 

“Yeah but my friend-“ When her eyes ghosted over to my face she cut herself off. “Oh my God are you okay,” she referred to my bruises “What happened to you?” 

“Did Flash do this to her?” She asked Peter and I had to stifle a laugh at that. I wish he would try to lay a finger on me. 

“No, she just told me she fell, we’re here cause she fainted and I don’t know if the school nurse is very capable of actually helping,” 

Is this a new thing Peter just decides to randomly worry about me for no good reason and forces me into taking care of myself. Because I hate it. 

“Oh, ok,” She nodded her head. “Grab one of those questionnaires over there,” She pointed to the sign in table. “Are your parents going to come too?” She asked and I shook my head. 

She and Peter moved over to the side and started talking about something I had no interest in. I grabbed the questionnaire and sat on the edge of the closest seat.  

1. What’s your age?

That’s easy 15.

2. Specify your race 

African American of course.

3. Select your highest level of education

Some high school

4. What’s your marital status? 

Single never married. Unless you count that un-ordained wedding I once had.

5. Specify your employment status

A student. 

6. Have you ever been treated in an emergency room (specify age)? 

Yes, as a child. 

7. Have you ever been rushed to the hospital? If yes, do you remember why?

Okay wow. Yes. 

I sat on the cold bathroom floor, vision blurry from tears forming in my eyes. 

“Y/N, you okay in there?” I heard my brother ask after lightly rapping his fingers on the door. 

“Yeah, I’m okay!” 

No I wasn’t. I wasn’t okay at all. In fact I was the farthest thing from okay. I glanced down at my thighs, you could see cuts from the night before and scars peeking out from underneath my shorts. I was sobbing at this point. 

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure if it was for myself or to everyone I knew I’d hurt by this. I already had the headache. I was just waiting for the rest of the pills to kick in. 

I was holding onto the sink for support when the left side of my body started to feel tingly. The whole situation felt hazy. I was shaking hard before I fell, taking almost everything on the sink with me. 

My head hit the bathmat and I could feel my heart slowing and hear my breath become shallow. I heard the doorknob jingle and that was the last thing before a feeling of true bliss and peace took over my body. 

I could hear screams and sirens and I knew I was in an ambulance. Slowly I awoke with wires all over my body and an IV in my wrist. My limbs were dead weight, I couldn’t move. 

A single tear fell from my eye alerting me off my surroundings. I quickly came back to myself. I made up the excuse of a family emergency and left.

I ended up halfway across the city. Then in Brooklyn visiting a friend. 

I knocked on the window of Aaron’s apartment. I could see Miles sitting on the couch.

“How’ve things been over here?” I asked once I was settled on the couch as well. 

“Uh, pretty tame, and you?” 

“There was that whole elevator stunt and I almost fucking died which was fun.” 

“Forgot you never take anything seriously,” He rolled his eyes. 

I laughed in response “Well one of us has got to be fun for us since it’s clearly not you,” 

“In celebration of me not dying I’m making sundaes,” 

“Alright,” He said leaning back on the couch. 

“Hey uh, When’s Aaron coming back?” I asked, getting the whipped cream out of the fridge.

“I’m not sure,” 

This is actually like really fucking dangerous. Like it could kill me. It’s just I was already in pain and had a headache. I also wasn’t thinking. I’d already made the sundaes. I turned around so Miles couldn’t see what I was doing before I- Okay I’m not going to do this. Get it together God you’re acting like an addict. The amount of people who’ve died from inhalants were insane. There it is again death. 

“Drawn anything new lately?” I asked, wanting to get my mind off of the topic of death that seemed to be plaguing my brain lately.  

“Some small sketches,”

I got the text that’d I been waiting for. I’d been talking to Aaron for the past few days. I’m not sure how Miles would feel about that. So I haven’t said anything. 

But I got the text. 

Staten Island Ferry 3pm

I immediately popped up from the couch.

“I have to go like right now, it’s an emergency,” 

I sprinted towards the door almost running into the punching bag in front of me. 

“Y/N-“ 

It’d been a week and things were looking up. I had a great day yesterday without the use of any drug. But nothing good ever lasts too long. I didn’t have to worry about that now. What I needed to worry about, was getting Peter to stop falling on his ass. 

I tried not to laugh at him and failed. 

“It’s not funny,” he said, pulling me down with him as I reached out to pull him up. Soon he was laughing too. 

I felt a vibration in my pocket and saw that Aaron texted me. 

hey the results from the search came in.

what???? don’t play with me I’m on my way right now. 

“Uh hey I gotta go sorry,” 

“No it’s fine I probably should get home too,” He pushed off the ground reaching down for me. 

“Do you wanna do this again tomorrow?” He asked a hopeful glint in his eye once we were both on our feet.

“Yeah sounds nice,” I smiled.

“Okay,” He nodded.

“Okay,” I echoed heading off. 

Ned was being fucking stupid.

“NO!” I slammed my hands down on the table “You don’t stab anyone especially if you plan on using bleach to clean up the blood. At least use vinegar and lemon,”

“Okay, jeez,” he said reeling back, “How would you do it then?” 

Before I could say anything MJ spoke up

“You could just use a needle full of air in between their toes, Their heart would fail” 

“Orrr,” I said spinning around on top of the table towards Ned. “You could overdose them on potassium and by the time the police get there the potassium in their blood is back at a normal level,” 

“Yeah that works too,” MJ stated going back to whatever she was drawing.

“You guys scare me,” Ned muttered making me smile. 

“Where’s Peter?” I asked and Ned pointed across the room. 

There he was sitting by Liz. It was cute I knew about his little crush on her. I’m sure the whole school did. Glad it’s working out for him. However that did not stop the pain in my stomach. 

I got up from the table because suddenly I did not want to be at school anymore. 

“Where are you going?” MJ looked up at me.

I shrugged. In all honesty I had no I idea where I was going. Somehow I always end up at Wade’s house when I don’t know where I want to go. He wasn’t home but I had a key. I can’t remember if he gave it to me or I stole if we're being honest. 

Clearly I hadn’t passed by a mirror in a while because damn. I look terrible. 

My eyes were red and circled with a dark hue from lack of sleep. I still had a yellowing bruise on my cheek. I was pale. I looked to be on the verge of death. 

I looked frail, like at any second I’d just fall apart. 

It was so unfair. My bones dragged down my body. The pieces of my soul that were mined out and removed from my mind. There’s a hole leaving me forever longing and I cannot fill nor feel. Hiraeth, a beautiful word for a ugly feeling. longing for a home that I never truly had, a home in which I’d never return. I would like to drift to where my spirit lies. It’s in the eyes of you and me and everyone in between. Drifting on a small boat in the sea. Viridian. Yes! That's the place I would like to be, that's where my soul lies yes you see.

 I kept punching his punching bag over and over again. Until I was on my back on the floor begging my lungs to allow air into them with Time (Is) by Solange playing on loop. Something put it into my head that I had to kill Vulture. I’d never directly killed anyone but that was gonna change. Having people killed or knowing someone was going to kill someone and not doing anything about isn’t killing anyone in my book, but I’m sure it would be in Spidey’s

That’s literally Liz’s dad though…

Okay maybe I’d just get him locked up. Great now I gotta be a snitch. That’s new. I showered not even caring about my hair now my curls were sticking to my face. I was freezing now though. I didn’t know whether to be glad that my body wasn’t on fire anymore or be upset that I was covered in goosebumps. 

Wade’s laptop was sitting right there on his bed. I was only taking a shower but, I think I should be allowed to watch Netflix and he wouldn’t mind, I was already on his account anways. 

After like 3 episodes into this random show there was a folder that was calling to me for some reason. 

It’d be okay to take a sneak peek. I thought to myself. 

I clicked on it and it was locked. I guessed the password in like three tries. He’s really gotta up his password game. It opened to multiple folders, one with my mom's name. Okay I had to click this then. 

I opened it which opened to more folders one titled ‘In Case of My Death’. 

Okay, okay cool my mother has had a video of what to do all if she died all along. This would’ve come in handy five years ago. 

There were three videos with the names of myself and my sisters. I clicked on mine then paused it. 

Then unpaused it again. 

I couldn’t do it. Okay, yes I could. I played it again. As soon as I heard the beginning of the word “hi”. I shut the computer off. I couldn’t do this. Couldn't do it because I was weak, I couldn’t handle myself. I was stupid and weak and a fucking disappointment. Guess my dad had been right all these years. I knew there was always some truth to the words he spoke only a matter of time until I started acknowledging it. 

I don’t remember coming home to the apartment. And I definitely don’t remember writing all over the walls of my dad’s room. But I had a marker in my hands and it looked like a toddler had gone to town. 

Holy Shit 

He was actually going to murder me, in cold fucking blood.  I trashed, the living room area, his room, and then mine. I was not coming home tonight. Looks like I’d need to find a new home now. At this point that sounded like a pretty solid plan. 

I text my sisters a quick text ‘stay at grandma’s house tonight dad is going to pissed like Super Sayian mode’ before grabbing my go-bag which was: a bag of the essentials, like hygiene a couple shirts, shorts, hoodies, pants, and of course the flash drive can't forget the flash drive. 

The flash drive that’s driving me crazy. I’d yet to open it though.  I knew I was crazy because I did all this while fucking sobbing.

I wandered around for hours. Making my way to Brooklyn, Manhattan, Harlem, AND actual New York City.  

Somehow I still ended up at Olivia’s door at the end of the day. I honestly believe we were soulmates. Most people don’t know you get many soulmates in a lifetime. I think Olivia and I would be the karmic kind. A karmic relationship is meant to help you grow, but it is never meant to last—it's often playing out a bad experience from a past life. I’m guessing I hadn’t grown yet because here I was.

She opened the door after a second. I’m surprised she did because I used our special knock so I knew she knew it was me. 

“I can’t fucking do this anymore,” I screamed in her face. 

“You're the one going off and being secretive and shit, like you’re scared I’m gonna hurt you or something,” she yelled walking up the stairs. 

I followed after her, 

“Maybe you would hurt me. I don’t know you are insane,” I said, tears brimming my eyes. 

“Just because you have fucking daddy issues, doesn’t mean you have to carrying them into every part of your life,” 

“I have daddy issues?” I screamed soon turning into me choking on a laugh making an unhinged noise “Oh, I have fucking daddy issues, now? Oh, okay,” I nodded. 

“Your parents didn’t even fucking want you,” I pointed at her. “At least my mom stuck around before she died,” 

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” 

“Yeah well right back at you,” 

“You’re fucking psychotic! Literally you’re so much like your dad and you don’t even know it, You’re trying to please him and he doesn’t give two shits about you, Wake up Y/N! Wake up.” 

“I’m hard on you because I love you so much,” She claimed, but her love was suffocating. 

“Oh yeah? I asked “Well i don’t know how much more of this ’love’ I can take,” 

“Fine then,” She screamed. 

“Fine,” I said before she slammed the door in my face leaving me standing out in the cold crying. 

That wasn’t even the worse we’d said to each other. It was the first but not the last time we’d break up either. I do believe we loved each other though in our own twisted way. Well at least I know I loved her. 

“Hey,” She said softly as she could sense I was due to break at any second. My cheeks were probably tear stained. 

“Hey,” I whispered back. 

“Are you okay?” She asked. 

“No,” I shook my head. One thing I liked about her is I didn’t have to fake it around her, because masking my real emotions was so draining. At least I didn’t have to do it with everyone. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

“No,” 

“Okay,” she said softly “My parents aren’t home, so you don’t have to worry about them,” not surprised. 

I nodded before she grabbed my hand bringing me inside.

“I missed you,” she said stroking my hair as I laid on her bed, my head in her lap. 

“I missed you too,” I wasn’t lying my head drifted to her from time to time. It wasn’t that I wanted to get back together I just missed her presence.  

She smiled sadly at me running her finger over the bags on my eyes. 

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” She quotes.

“Yeah well, ’m not queen or princess and definitely don’t have a crown, so we don’t gotta worry ‘bout me,” I said. 

“You’re a princess to me,” I gave a genuine yet tired smile at that.

“You can go to sleep, it’s okay,” She said.

That was the first time I was actually able to fall asleep and without medicine or having to go on a walk or do anything really. 

I woke up in the bed alone only to find Olivia sitting at her kitchen island eating spaghetti. 

She smiled when she saw me coming into view. 

“Sleep well?” She asked.

“Yeah surprisingly,” How long had I been asleep for I wondered.

“It’s 10 pm,” She said, still being able to read me. 

I made my way over to her and sat across her.

“So what’s really going on with you miss Y/N?” She questioned. 

I shrugged “I don’t know, nothing,”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself? Cause I’m not buying,” 

I explained to her how my dad was being weird and how I wanted to move out now. How I had pretty much vandalized the house. How I found the video of my mom. Just everything. Well maybe not everything I didn’t tell her about Vulture because I feel like she’d try to do something and I didn’t want her to get hurt. 

“Oh wow, damn... holy shit. Are you gonna watch your moms video?” She asked. Huh I hadn’t thought about that.

“I mean of course I will, yeah,” I nodded “Probably, I don’t know I’m scared,”  

“Wouldn’t you rather just push the fear back and watch then wonder the rest of your life what it says.” 

I sighed. Can't argue with that logic.

“I’m assuming you came here because you need a place to stay?” She said. 

“Yes, I need a place to stay just for a while but I don’t want it to seem like I’m just using you I can find somewhere else,” 

“Now it’s fine stay as long as you need but my dad gets back at the end of the month and we both know he doesn’t like you,” She chuckled at the last sentence and I laughed too. 

I was on the ferry heading towards Staten Island now. I knew the sale was for these weird alien shits but that's pretty much all I knew. I figured I’d sort of “out bid” the buyers then get rid of everything. By outbid I mean straight up steal. Some guy in a white pickup truck is officially my target. Thorn was still on hiatus. Meaning no knives unless you count the pocket knife I always had on me, no suit. I did have a trejo though, you know just in case. I couldn’t help my mind from drifting to Pop Smoke’s “I got it on me”. I let out a small laugh.  

I was hiding behind some car waiting for a crack in the plan to slip in. 

That was until Spiderman showed up. It’s like he had a sixth sense to ruin all of my plans. 

Shit 

Well abort mission. Just as I started walking around to get to the side of the boat. The van I was next to had Vulture literally coming out of it. I knew it’d looked familiar. 

I made it up to the top deck looking down on everything unfolding. So a quick rundown,  the FBI was here, meaning Tony Stark or someone with government clearance probably did something because I highly doubt that Spiderman, the Spiderman that I’ve seen hit a window like a bird while swinging, had any government clearance. 

See now I was looking to find a good time to make my escape. That was until that purple alien shit started spewing stuff beams of light through the ship. And fuck, I look away for one second and the new Shocker guy was gone. I turned around and saw he was running in another direction. I chased after him the rubber of my sneakers squeaking on the deck. 

I jumped down onto Shocker’s back sending us both to the floor before he pushed me off. I was definitely going to be sore tomorrow and I’m pretty sure I heard something pull in my leg. 

He jumped off onto the Vulture and I knew I couldn’t do anything anymore. Not like I was just going to shoot them down in public. I saw the light shooting down the middle of the ferry. I was gonna make a run for it but the loud squeal noise was so loud I fell over. Soon I was slung back into what I think was a bench not entirely sure I just knew it hurt like a bitch. 

I’m pretty sure I feel unconscious for like 30 seconds. 

But that was enough because the boat had already split in half and I couldn’t get to the deck or a lifeboat. However Spider-Man was frantically trying to get it together. 

I was trying to be hopeful because everything was looking up, as the parts of the ship got closer together but I think we all know the saying ‘what goes up must come down’ 

Over the ringing in my head I could assume that things were fixed because people were cheering. One thing that comes from cheering is movement and if I learned anything from the elevator it’s that moving in a very unstable metal death box is not a good idea. 

The ship was falling apart again until it wasn’t. It was pushed back together by I could only assume would be our government clearance guy Tony Stark. I looked out the window and yep there he was. 

As soon as I got on solid ground I called my sisters.

“Hiii!” I exclaimed. “Where are you, are you okay?” 

“Yes we’re fine, and where at grandma’s house like you told us to go to where else would we be,” I could almost hear the eye roll in Liyah’s voice. 

“Okay little Miss attitude stay there until I can feel everything out with dad,” 

“Alright,” 

“Okay I love you guys,” I said, getting a small “love you too” from Sapphire. 

“I know,” was the response I got from Liyah. I almost gasped the audacity of this child. 

“Say it back,” 

“Say it back,” She mocked, evoking laughter from both sides of the call. 

“Okay love you too byeeee,” She said hanging up. 

I smiled, I know as much as we get into petty arguments or try to annoy each other on purpose but I’d go to hell and back for those girls. And that’s exactly what I was going to do.

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[arthurhwalker]

reMarkable 2 Review

I had some requests for a review of this device, and I am glad to oblige in this case. I've been closely following digital pen stylus tech for about eight years. I'm just old enough that I still need to handwrite a lot of things to tap into my creativity, but greatly dislike clutter in my life.

The reMarkable is for the person that writes enough by hand to fill several notebooks a year. For someone that wants the tactile and somatic component of writing on paper to associate with their process. The new reMarkable 2 does basically what the reMarkable 1 did; faster, better, and with a much improved piece of hardware.

If you've read my previous review from May 2018, you know I basically raved about the first generation reMarkable. I had a few criticisms of the Gen 1, and a lot of that has been addressed with the Gen 2.

Support & User Experience

I've used a reMarkable tablet continuously for almost three years. I've never had a support issue with one. The software is updated regularly, features added, and user experience improved with each iteration.

There is really no comparisons to be made with that kind of uninterrupted usage. No smartphone, tablet, or computer you ever own will be that reliable. A 3-4 year old Thinkpad, running Linux, is about as close as it gets to that level of, switch-on-and-use, every day, without fail feeling.  

The reason is that the reMarkable 2 is leveraging the most reliable hardware, user input methods, stylus technology, and operating system basis available. My fear has always been that my reMarkable wouldn't be as reliable as a regular piece of paper, and a good pen. So far, that fear has never been realized with the reMarkable 1, or 2.

Pen Stylus Input

The majority of what one picks up and uses will be Microsoft Pen Protocol (MPP) stylus tech, with Microsoft Surface Products, or Wacom AES (Active Electrostatic) like that found in a lot of Asus, Dell, Lenovo, and so forth. The older Wacom EMR (Electromagnetic Resonance) is used less frequently, and usually only with their own products, or a version thereof with Samsung Phones and Tablets.

Of the three options, Wacom's EMR is still the best.

That's what you'll find on the reMarkable Tablet, and if you get their Marker Plus (it's the black one) it has the magical EMR eraser tip opposite the drawing point. There is no better pen stylus experience, for general use, sketching, handwriting capture, tilt sensitivity, and so forth.

The Marker Plus is $50 more than the regular Marker. It is worth it.

What if you're like me, and you have a drawer full of pen stylus products? Products that include the legendary Excalibur stylus pen that came with the Thinkpad Tablet 10 Gen 1, and worked with the EMR capable Thinkpad Yoga S1 from 2013? The one with the eraser tip, and sweet felt tip point? Will that stylus work?

Yes. Yes, yes it will.

However, the reMarkable Marker Plus just feels better. It's heft (19g) is perfect, eraser tip rounded to feel like the real thing, and tips that degrade gracefully without marking up the screen. Buy. The. Marker. Plus.

The Hardware

The manufacturer says that the reMarkable 2 gets 3 times the battery life of the 1, is 2 times as responsive (relative to rendering digital ink), and is the world's thinnest tablet at 0.19". Mostly, this is all of this seems to be true. Also, as mentioned before all the new Marker Plus has a built in eraser, all the new accessories snap together with magnets, and it charges with USB-c.

The screen is capacitive touch capable now. No more page turning buttons, and you can swipe down from the top to back out of a document or folder. You can turn pages with the swipe of a finger now. It takes a second to get the gestures down, but they're crisp and reliable once you do.

The tablet runs off of a dual core ARM process (a good thing, in my opinion).

My only quibble is that it is supposed to be able to connect to both 2.4GHz and 5.0GHz WiFi, but so far I've only gotten it to connect to 2.4. It might be something with my specific router, and I'm not sure if my experience is typical.

On the lower left hand side of the tablet there are 5 connection points. This suggests that the tablet may have the ability to connect to other accessories in the future. If reMarkable added a Plain Text Editor, and a keyboard cover to the reMarkable, I would be over the moon.

There is no evidence that they will do this, but a guy can dream. Having what's basically an e Ink Typewriter this thin and light would be the ultimate for this writer.

The Software

It is much the same experience as the reMarkable 1 with a few new additions.

You can convert your handwritten notes into text, cursive or block letters, and share by email. There is support for 33 languages.

With a Google Chrome plug-in, you can read web articles and pages on your reMarkable. If you're already battling with eye strain from looking at glowing screens all day, this is a nice feature.

Reading large PDFs and eBooks is still not crisp and snappy, but it is a vastly improved experience when compared to the reMarkable 1. Large graphically intense documents can be navigated without it taxing your patience. What I store on my reMarkable is vastly different now because of how much improved document handling has become.

I find the small sacrifice in speed rendering pages worth it, compared to the eye strain I get reading on other screens.

More pens, features, page templates, and ease of organizing have been added incrementally over time. With regard to the core functioning (Linux Based Codex OS) of the device, the manufacturer has only ever improved and supported the reMarkable.

Aesthetics

The reMarkable 1 was good for what it could do. It wasn't a bad looking product, but compared to the reMarkable 2, it was a rough prototype. Most tablets do not feel as nice in the hand as the reMarkable 2.

Rubber no-slip nubs on the back, rounded edges, satin finished glass and aluminum, make the tablet itself feel like it's from the future. I bought the Polymer Weave Book Folio, a step up from the regular Folio. A close friend got the same device and marker options as I did, but opted for the Premium Leather Folio.

Definitely, get the Book Folio, and if you can scrabble together the extra money, get the premium leather. That's my only regret is that I didn't spring for the best accessory offered. Is the Polymer Weave good? Absolutely, worth the $99. It is rigid, will protect your investment, and it's very classy looking.

My friend who picked up the Leather Folio is a graphic designer, and has greatly informed my sense of aesthetics over the years. She says the Leather Book Folio is well worth the extra. She is, most certainly, correct.

So, yeah, if you're going to get a reMarkable 2 and want a slightly used Polymer Weave Book Folio (mine), I'll let it go for cheap (so I can atone, and get the leather version, ha ha).

Value

The reMarkable 2 doesn't have a web browser, app store, Merge Dragons, audio player, or other third party applications. It won't replace your iPad, or Android Tablet. It will replace all the paper, notebooks, and pens in your life. This is especially true if you have a small scanner (like a Doxie), and leverage reMarkable's Smartphone app and cloud sync feature.

This tablet is for people that like paper, a lot, but don't want to carry it around or keep track of it. It is for people that fill 8-12 Moleskines a year, and mark up hundreds of pages of documents, for themselves, and others. It is for people that tap into their creativity by writing things down, sketching diagrams, and making lists.

The act of holding a pen or pencil against paper is a cognitive trigger, built into their implicit memory, every day, for years, that allows them to do their things.

$399 will buy a decent Samsung or Apple branded tablet, but neither of those is designed to emulate the experience of writing on paper like the reMarkable 2 tablet is. The reMarkable 2 will run you $399, a Marker Plus $99, and a Polymer Weave Folio $99, bringing it all to almost $600.

Unless you lurk reMarkable's website, and wait for a promotion. They did run a promotion for their pre-order, and will likely do something similar within a year of release. It is my recollection that the manufacturer ran at least two promotions for the Remarkable 1, and the savings were significant.

If you don't need one right this minute, check the website every week or so, their Amazon Store edifice, and whatever other options they have for your region.

Competitors

In the last few years, reMarkable has only acquired more competition in the e ink Tablet market. That competition varies depending on where you live in the world. In the US, no one makes a thing that directly competes. I looked at other products, didn't see anything that made me pull out my reMarkable 1 and make a list of pros and cons for comparison.

That isn't to say there isn't a better thing for your use case, but there wasn't for mine.

Final Thoughts

If I didn't drive this point home earlier, I'm going to make it now. The reMarkable 2 will not replace your laptop, mobile OS (iOS/Android) Tablet Device (meant to replace your laptop), or Smartphone. There isn't even a calculator app on the reMarkable 2.

The Remarkable 2 will replace the pens, pencils, highlighters, notebooks, and print outs cluttering up your daily carry bag, desk, and life. It's a digital paper option, not a personal computing option. When used for that purpose, it is exceptional, and well worth the investment.

[purplesurveys]

868

Favorite beverage: Just your good ol’ cold water. If I wanna treat myself I’ll get milk tea. When was the last time you had ketchup? Ooh I don’t remember...it would probably be 3-4 weeks ago. Or whenever the last time we had lumpia was, because I like drowning that shit in ketchup. Have you ever had a red hotdog? Yeah frozen hotdogs is a favorite snack here and they’re usually red. We usually have them for breakfast, it’s served in parties, it’s in every school caf, etc. What is the most recent gift you've been given? So my uncle has his budding cooking business and sells different dishes everyday. His most recent bestseller is burnt basque cheesecake and while I’ve always wanted my own because it looks SO good, I just haven’t had the money to allot for it. I was really surprised when my grandma called me up today and told me she had ordered an entire cake for me as a graduation gift :) I asked my dad to pick it up from her place this afternoon and it’s crazy delicious.

Is what you're wearing comfortable? Yeup, now that it’s cooler. I sweated through my top when it was hot earlier though, and that wasn’t a comfortable situation at. all.

Did you leave the house today? Nah. I did step out to help my dad with the groceries, but that was it for today’s adventure. Are there bumper stickers on your car? No. If I wanna put stickers on my car I would rather have them on my rear window, and not directly on my car. Are you watching tv right now? What? The dining room TV is turned on but I’m not watching; my dad likes to have it on to listen to the evening news while he cooks dinner. Are you wearing anything blue? Nope, it’s all black for me today. Do you have a job? Not yet. Is your car messy? No. There’s really no reason for it to be, I’ve only driven out once since March. When did you last have whipped cream? I...can’t recall, actually. We don’t have whipped cream at home and I don’t think I ever ordered anything with whipped cream on it shortly before lockdown. How far away is the closest house? 10-20 steps away, depending on how big your stride is. What street do you live on? I’m not dropping that on here. The most I’ll tell you is that our streets are named after tropical cities, haha.

What is your favorite flavor of smoothie? Used to not like smoothies 100% because of the presence of fruits in them, but thanks to my friends Apple and Ed introducing me to Go Salads I’ve come to really like their Breakfast Smoothie – which, after looking up their menu just now, has apple, banana, cinnamon, oats, coco sugar, chia seeds, greens, and soy milk. Are you dating anyone? Yes ma’am. What color is you computer? Silver. Do you own an iPod? What color is it? Technically I still do but only because I haven’t thrown it out. It’s a blue iPod Nano. What is the most recent picture on your phone/camera of: A photo of the aforementioned burnt basque cheesecake. I was planning to post a Facebook status to promote my tito’s business and show my support, so I asked my sister to take a few aesthetic shots of the cake for my post to look presentable. Have you ever shot a gun? No. I’ve shot a fake one that belonged to Athenna’s dad, which he used for like target practice or something. What temperature is it? 31C.

Do you know anyone with a third nipple? No but Harry Styles has four, HAHAHA. There’s your random fact for the day. What do your parents do for a living? My dad’s an executive sous chef and my mom’s a secretary in her specific department in the hotel she works in. Both have always been in the hotel and restaurant industry. Have you ever had a pet that had babies? No. We’ve avoided female dogs because we know we’re not capable of caring for newborn puppies, so instead of potentially being reckless owners we’ve just not had female pets altogether. Which grocery store is closest to you? A local mall chain that has their own grocery, SM. Do you have a hamper in your room? Nah, my parents prefer a general hamper in the bathroom. Do you know anyone that's a nurse? Yes, I have several aunts and as far as I know, one cousin :) I feel really bad for them especially in these times, but they’re such strong people and they just keep powering through and powering through. Do you know someone with the name Alaina? Not that I can recall. What color is the blanket on your bed? Off-white. What are your parent's middle names? No thank you. Have you ever broken a bone? Never. Do you wear braces or glasses? I wore braces in high school, and I’ve had glasses since Grade 5. What color are they? I picked a different color for my braces for every monthly visit cause it made me feel quirkly; my glasses’ frame is dark brown. Are you currently reading a book? Not currently, no. When did you last get your blood drawn? Ughhhhh, cringed reading this haha. Last May when I needed to get a blood test done. Have you ever done hard drugs? Nopes. How many contacts are in your phone? I just know I have a lot, but Apple doesn’t tell you exactly how many and I don’t feel like counting all of them right now. Does your toilet have a seat cover? It has a lid cover, but not a seat cover. What's currently on your grocery list? My dad did the groceries today so we’re pretty stocked rn. What things do you take with you everywhere? My glasses, car and house keys, phone, wallet. Do you know someone that is/was over 100 years old? Gab’s great-grandma was like 106 or 107 by the time she passed. Was your HS principal a girl or a boy? Girl. I went to an all-girls school so it would honestly be a little peculiar if we had a male principal. Have you ever eaten a raw egg? Nah. I wanna try it out though, just for funsies. Do you own any rings? Gab got me this cheap ring for the shits and giggles, but I stopped wearing it when it started turning pink and smelling weird. So no.

If you were to get a new puppy what would you name her? We did get a new puppy! ;) But should we get another, the name will depend on the puppy’s attitude and overall vibe. That’s what we did with Cooper, who was named after Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory because he had been a smartass from the very first minute we played with him. Have you eaten fruit today? No. What about milk? Even more nope haha. I can’t have it all the time. What letter does your state start with? We don’t have states. My province starts with the letter R. Could you list all 50 states? I’ve listed them down on countlesssssss occasions but I always only come up with 35-45 states. I’ve observed that the ones I always forget about are the states in the middle of the map/country-ish states hahaha. What about their capitals? I know a good number of the states’ capitals, but I’ll still undoubtedly do worse. What internet browser do you use? I’ve been on Chrome for the longest time. Do you know anyone that lives in Wyoming? I don’t think so. Do you smoke cigarettes? Yes, starting this year lol. Which person you know has the most unique name? I’m sure I know more unique ones out there but the first names that came to mind are friends of mine named Bernadean, Jeuel (pronounced Jay-well), and Jabes. Oh and I also have an aunt named Marheedoll. Do you know someone that's missing a limb? I don’t think so, no. Do you have facial hair? I do not. Are you a bad person? Not when it comes down to it. I have my petty moments though. What was the last swear you said? I almost yelled the word puta in front of my dad earlier, but I slurred the word and made random noises to avoid saying the full thing haha so it kinda went like puuuuutehshahjskhf. Have you ever called the police on someone? No. What is the most amount of pets you've had at one time? Three – one dog and two birds. When did you last check your email? Last night. I wanted to check if I received any email from the college. Have you ever had a 3rd degree burn? Nope and that sounds so painful, I never want to sustain one. Have you ever ridden in an ambulance? I haven’t. How long is your hair? Right now it reaches only my collarbones. I had it cut fairly recently, so it’s still on the shorter side. Do you lock your doors at night? The doors on the first floor. Does your bedroom have a lock? It does but my mom is such a big sissy about locks and says that “there’s nothing to hide/be private about” since we’re all relatives. She really shouldn’t have gotten a lock for my room if I wasn’t allowed to use it anyway... What do you have at your bedside? I have a rattan trunk that stores all my childhood knickknacks like board games and encyclopedias; then on the other side is a drawer with my home clothes and other knickknacks on the lower drawers. I got some hoarding tendencies from my grandma, so a lot of the stuff I keep in the drawer really has no reason behind my keeping them until today. How big is your bed? Not big at all, it’s just twin-sized. I am so investing on a big-ass bed when I have my own place. Do you know someone that was murdered? I didn’t know her personally but an alumna from my old school got stabbed to death. I don’t know the details but I think she got stabbed because she had gadgets on her, which makes you an easy target for criminals here. The only reason I know her is because my school would do tributes for her from time to time, so I really can’t tell you anything more other than she was stabbed. Do you know someone who's pregnant? I don’t think so. Do you wear a watch? Used to, but I kept losing them. What was your first pet? A pair of goldfish. How much jewelry do you own? Not a lot. The ones I do wear are technically my mom’s too; she just likes sharing them with me. What is the closest purple thing? Probably the ube halaya in the fridge. Green? A piece of Cooper’s toy. What time is it? It isssss 8:43 PM. What is your ideal profession? Lawyer. How tall are you? A little over 5 feet. Have you ever gotten x-rays? Probably once when I was a kid, then around two or three times before I started college. Do you wear gloves in the winter? I imagine I would but we don’t get winter. Do you consider yourself smart? Academic-wise, yep. I’m good at tests and memorizing and I generally enjoy reading educational content. Are you good at algebra? Yeah but I wanna keep it at algebra and geometry lol, I don’t have the patience for calculus and trig. What color eyes are the prettiest? I’ve always loved green/olive green eyes. Are your teeth straight? One of my front teeth protrudes a bit, but that’s all my fault because I lost my retainers back when I still had to use them. My teeth are otherwise fine. Do you like chocolate milk? LOVE IT Do you own a bike? We own a family bike and I’m free to use it, I just don’t because I don’t know how lmao Are you taller than your mom? No. I thought I’d grow taller than her because I had an intense growth spurt at one point, but it never happened. Have you ever been engaged? No. What, in your opinion, is the ugliest name? I’m not a fan of names that end in -leigh, but I don’t think they’re ugly names.

[hooksteam1]

A boob job is the most common cosmetic treatment that we will certainly see done in today's society. This is not just because the results can be cosmetically pleasing,

There are several benefits that include breast enhancement. They include what you can do for yourself physically and economically. However, if you have a trouble recuperating from the surgical treatment you are mosting likely to need to make some changes to exactly how you live. The procedure is not really complicated, but you do have to go via particular post-op tasks and also undertake various other surgery-related tests to make sure that every little thing goes as expected. You will certainly discover that the surgical procedure is not very intrusive as well as you will certainly not have to deal with scars or other body scarring. There are numerous benefits to having a bust augmentation. If you have had bust implants before you will certainly really feel like you are going to shed a part of on your own. You can be certain that you are going to be rather sore for a few weeks after the surgery. You ought to go to the doctor at least 3 weeks after the surgical treatment to make certain that the injury does not open up.

Breast augmentation is among the most common plastic surgery in America. It is the most effective method to look even more like a lady. Plastic surgery has actually always been highly practiced considering that it was uncovered that females with bigger busts are typically much better mediators, more courteous, as well as have more social skill. There is no doubt that it has actually transformed the charm of several. To improve your appearances you can undergo surgical procedure called augmentation. This is a surgery that will enlarge your breast size by more than two inches. It functions like a bust lift where your busts are injected with saline water. The advantages of getting this sort of treatment is that you obtain a make over and it is really budget-friendly and also cheap. This is the method to improve your appearances and to get a life-changing adjustment. Today ladies want to have busts that are larger than the usual ones. As they are bigger they give a more younger seek to the woman. A great means to achieve this goal is via surgery. You might be required to experience this procedure to ensure that you have a genuine appearance that can turn heads anywhere you go.

It is essential that you recognize the facts regarding cosmetic surgery prior to you undergo this procedure. You require to consult your medical professional before you enroll in the surgical treatment. Your doctor must be able to offer you a suggestion of what to expect during the whole surgical procedure. There are some dangers associated with the surgical procedure, that is why you need to safeguard on your own from them at all expenses. It is important that you are notified and you must find out about the feasible risks. An usual problem when females opt for this procedure is skin cancer. Make certain that you recognize concerning it and take needed precautions to stop it. No issue what your factor for obtaining a bust enhancement, you can do it in the Huge Apple if you are willing to place in the effort. Here is what you need to understand concerning bust enhancement New York City. This procedure utilizes a laceration and needs the individual to have bust lift surgical treatment. There are likewise the non-surgical bust enhancement choices available. These treatments call for no surgical procedure and also you can have your breasts enhanced without having any type of type of tools. How much does breast enhancement cost? Make sure that you do all the study you can in the past making your decision on where to obtain your new busts. Bust augmentation, for a lot of ladies, is one of the most complex treatments they'll have to go with. The procedure of getting a huge, boosted breast can be very difficult and also not worth the anxiousness when you do obtain one. It's great to bear in mind that there are plenty of factors why you may want to obtain a bust enhancement done. Do you assume you will gain from having a bigger bust? Whether you get the surgical procedure done in New York City or someplace else, you will certainly need to prepare yourself for it. Breast Augmentation NYC Results consists of having sufficient breast augmentation to fill your implants without triggering any kind of pain. You will likewise require to ensure that your skin looks realistic and also is at the very least partially facial. Already, you will certainly have currently spent several thousand dollars and you'll require to discover if it deserved it. The state of your skin and also nails is something that is likewise something you will certainly require to think about when considering obtaining a boob job. If you're intending on having people take a look at your busts, you will certainly need to make certain they don't hurt. Make certain that the hair on your body does not show too much and that you do not lug about huge gold rings. Overall, you will intend to see to it that you get every one of these points done before you have the surgical procedure done. Choosing a plastic surgeon for boob job in Manhattan is as straightforward as it gets. There are so many superb specialists and centers located in Manhattan. Despite which one you decide to choose, be prepared to invest a great deal of money and time to obtain the results you desire. If you have not yet had your breasts improved, make sure you recognize all the options offered to you. If you have actually had breast enhancements performed in the past, then you currently know how pricey as well as time eating it can be. This is why it is best to begin researching the opportunities as soon as possible. To discover a New York City plastic surgeon to perform your breast enhancement, the first thing you require to do is to check out the Manhattan Clinic. You ought to make certain that they concentrate on the breast enhancement process. As discussed in Breast Augmentation NYC Before & After Photos , there are many procedures that can be carried out on breasts. A breast enhancement specialist in Manhattan need to be able to help you choose which treatment you would certainly like. This will certainly save you from needing to choose from a listing of options. An expert in Manhattan will certainly also be able to suggest you a respectable as well as popular New York City plastic surgeon. They need to also recognize any surgical errors you may have experienced in the past. Once you have actually discovered a New york city City cosmetic surgeon, you will require to spend time preparation. This is particularly true if you stay in New york city City. If you stay in an additional city, you will certainly require to make numerous trips simply to schedule a consultation with your doctor. If you prepare in advance, it will certainly be much easier to situate a competent plastic surgeon that can help you produce the busts you prefer. A breast enhancement is the most typical cosmetic treatment that we will see done in today's society. Both guys as well as females of all ages can get a bust augmentation, as well as this is one of the reasons why it is the most preferred procedure. You will certainly discover a number of NYC cosmetic surgeon who execute breast augmentation for females of all sizes and shapes. Each has their own specializeds as well as specialty. You can find a thorough list of the leading cosmetic surgeons in New York City that can do this operation. If you are considering this treatment, see to it that the doctor has experience with breast enhancement treatments. If you do not discover someone from New York City who can provide your requirements, you can simply ask your pals, relative, or associates concerning their experience with the physician. It is always great to figure out their expert accomplishments as well as the complete satisfaction degree that they have had from the surgical treatment. Many guys will also think about obtaining a breast augmentation, and in fact there are some who get it for not simply the appearances yet additionally due to the fact that they want to be extra confident with themselves. This treatment can help them lose those extra pounds that they constantly appear to be carrying about. When you discover that you are qualified for a breast augmentation, you must make sure that you have everything all set, including the surgical procedure. Be prepared to take some days off from work, as well as take a while to think things over. Remember, this is a lifetime change and your life will certainly alter after the surgery.

[luckylq57-blog]

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The parking lot is about as big as the grill tiny."I love my vegetables," one regular told me, "but I've got to have red meat."Krug's, in a famed Newark neighborhood known more for its Spanish Portuguese restaurants, bars and cafes, is that kind of place.The neighborhood bar has been around 80 plus years, but it's still a relative secret. One could argue it took its home city a while to recognize it as a landmark; last month, the city of Newark installed a street sign at the corner of Wilson Avenue and Napoleon Street that reads Krug's Tavern Way Cheap Jerseys from china.

[i12tws-blog]

Airpod wireless headphones would be an environmental tragedy

According to Apple's description, these wireless headphones are designed to give users more freedom by freeing them from tangled wires. White in color, i12 TWS Airpods have sensors that allow them to automatically manage audio and open microphones for phone calls. They have an H1 chip which would promote a faster and more stable wireless connection when you switch from one device to another or when you make phone calls. There are also touch controls on the headphones to start or pause music. According to Apple, these headphones provide more than 24 hours of battery life and 15 minutes of charge are enough to listen to music for 3 hours.

Having been presented to the public for the first time in 2016 during the launch of the iPhone 7 and 7 Plus which came out without the 3.5mm jack, these headphones can be used transparently with the devices of the firm, including the iPhone, iPad, MacBook and Apple Watch.

Part of the slogan "Think different", Apple has strongly marked the technological world with the family of products "; i;" like the iPhone, iPad, iMac, and even the iPod to name a few. To stand out from the competition, Apple has long worked on its image to combine its products with perfection and beauty. Ever more attractive slogans. Products with an attractive design (even if it is relative) coupled with above-average features. All of these features have enabled the company to set premium prices for its products. Helped by an effective marketing campaign, Apple is now able to charge consumers quite high sums for so-called premium products. And the prices of new products are always going up.

For many users, owning Apple’s products means acquiring neat, beautiful, expensive, but most importantly, products that make a difference. And AirPods are no exception even if they are not the most expensive on the market. In France, the model with standard box is sold on the Apple Store for 179 euros and 229 euros for the model with wireless charging box. Compared to other wireless headphones, the price of Airpods could even be quite reasonable. Sol Republic headphones, for example, cost as much as $ 730. Other companies, such as Sennheiser, sell wireless headsets for $ 300. Bose sells its pair of Bluetooth headphones for around $ 200.

But having a pair of all-white Apple-branded headphones gives some users a distinctive sign of superiority or richness. A user by the name of CrispViolet speaking on a forum declared this: "I go to a very spoiled school, it is partly for this reason that I wanted AirPods, in this way I would integrate better;". For others like the LaJethro user on Twitter, owning AirPods embodies "wealth" like this photo of Kanye West holding her Apple computer.

Airpod: cheap headphones sold expensive and synonymous with ridicule, for some users

When Apple describes its Airpods on its website, one of the selling points put forward is wireless connectivity. But dissecting the components of the device, these selling points do not hold water, according to some people. Indeed, Jim Kardach - an Intel employee now retired who gave the name "; Bluetooth;" - told Motherboard that Bluetooth was designed to be a "wireless feature of the people" because Bluetooth functionality is so cheap. Kardach named Bluetooth technology in honor of Harald Bluetooth, a Viking king who ruled Denmark in the first century AD. According to Kardach, the objective of Bluetooth technology was to bring together the radio, cellular and digital technologies, as well, that the Bluetooth king united former Denmark and Norway, thus creating a Scandinavian kingdom. However, companies that want to sell luxury often sell Bluetooth technology as if it is expensive. And, according to some people's analysis, this is what Apple would highlight in its promotional video: the luxury associated with wireless.

While many brands opt for subtlety by stepping out of the black earbuds and without the antenna, i12 TWS Airpods are all white with highly recognizable antennas. For some users, far from inspiring wealth or the bourgeoisie, these Airpods look more like the head of a toothbrush stuck in their ears.

[sohmariku]

RIKU’S RANDOM LIFE: BACK FROM JAPAN & SOUTH-KOREA

I safely made my way back home yesterday. Compared to last year, this year’s flight was as enjoyable as it can be, but yeah... not being ill does most certainly make a flight a 100 times better. Strangely, this probably was the first time in my life I was actually happy to go home. Not that I didn’t like my time in Japan, it’s just... when I left I was already emotionally overloaded and not having sufficient time to myself for three weeks didn’t make things any better. Thus, I’m glad to be home and have some time to myself. And it might also be related to the fact that most places I wanted to go were left in a state of devastation by Tyfoon no.19, so... I kind of ran out of things to do.

So now it’s time to look at the damage that’s been done (to my wallet). Spreading everything I bought out on my floor I can tell I once again bought too many things. Some things were rather expensive, other things were surprisingly cheap...

NENDOROID HAUL

When I left for Japan, I was planning to buy two new Nendoroids to add to my collection, Sengo Muramasa and Ishikirimaru. Which I did in Akihabara. Then, as it happened, Hachisuka was released right as I came to Japan. Though I didn’t buy him instantly, I returned to the shops the next week to get him after all. Then, I also ran into Kasen Kanesada. He was relatively cheap and... I guess I felt my Sayo just needed a friend. At the same time I also found the petit version of Hachisaka for a couple hundred yen. Had to get him too! While shopping in Nakano I ran into a very cheap Taikogane. He appeared to be in perfect shape, so I had to get him. Before I left for Japan I had noticed one of my Kashu Nendo’s faces had lost an earring and by chance I ran into a separately sold face. Also bought a random (funny) face. And in Machida I bought the random patient body.

MANGA HAUL

I didn’t buy that many manga in the end. First of all I caught up with Rengoku ni Warau, because I like the series and would like to have it complete. Then, at some point I was in a funny mood and decided I needed Dororo. Somehow managed to find all volumes in the Book-Off. Also found the Touken Ranbu the Movie novel right there at a ridiculously low price, so just took it. Kuroshitsuji vol.28 was a surprise purchase, because according to my Manga Inventory List I already owned the volume. Except, it was released in 2019 and last time I came to Japan was 2018. Just checked our Manga library and discovered what went wrong. I seem to have mistaken vol.18 for vol.28... That’s what you get when they count in these ridiculous ways...XVIII or XXVIII... I also seem to have vol.18 double, that’s probably why I didn’t notice before.

TOUMYU/SUTE HAUL

The Mihotose 2019 and MusuHaji blu-rays had been on the to-purchase list from the very start, but due to other expenses it wasn’t until the very last day. I only did purchase MusuHaji in the end, because I had to withdraw money from the ATM and didn’t want to withdraw only 2000 yen. (The amount I actually needed) It wouldn’t make sense considering the fees I’d be paying. So, I withdrew 9000 yen and purchased MusuHaji. (Instead of ordering it online later...) Surprise purchases were the Be in Sight and Kodou singles. I wasn’t planning on getting them, but they were cheap. Same for the bromide, postcards and can badge.  The Mihotose novel was something I only decided to purchase quite late, because well, I’ll be back to subtitling Mihotose, might as well get the official script this time.  The pen light eventually became a necessary purchase, because I had forgotten to bring my pen lights to the show and... I needed a pen light. Plus, it has new colors, so... I kind of needed it either way. Thought it’s not pictured, I also got one of the Kisho Hongi scarves. (Tonbokiri colors)

BLU-RAY/DVD HAUL

None of this was really planned, but since it was super cheap I couldn’t resist bringing it. I’m mostly happy to find the Bakumatsu Rock blu-ray at such a low price (2800 yen). Since I saw the show in the theater I’ve been dying to see it again, but I didn’t really have spare money to buy it at full price. What mostly surprises me about the other discs though, they’ve never been opened and I managed to buy them at those bargain prices! It’s a mystery...

KOREA HAUL

This is my (Daiso) Korea haul. While in Korea I somehow haven’t had any real opportunity to go shopping. Or maybe I just didn’t feel like it. So, the one time I had some minutes to spare I hopped into the Daiso and tried to find something to bring home.Of course, I ended up with socks... the one thing I absolutely don’t need, but... they are so cute!!  And of course I had to end up with cat toys! I don’t even have a cat yet, but I do have a load of cat toys, so why not add to that? xD (I’ll be getting a cat very soon though!) The only things that didn’t come from Daiso are the chocolate-filled marshmallows, got those at a convenience store.

FIGURES

For two years I’ve owned Yasusada, for two years I’ve been looking for Kashu. I found them as a set in Nakano. I bought them as a set in Nakano. Now I still have a lonely Yasusada. Guess the search continues... Or I need to find a new home for my spare Yasusada. ^^;;

More little cuties I simply couldn’t leave behind. Luffy was just a figure I got by chance. I don’t follow the series really, but I tried the gacha anyway. The little figure was one of two A-prizes. They also had B and C prizes. I had lots of luck that day.

GACHA GACHA

Lots of little things I got from the gacha machines. I just can’t resist these! The little fan came in the treasure chest. I adore the little gacha machines. (Didn’t add stickers to the blue one yet) And I’m just overall happy with the results...

DAISO JAPAN HAUL

Can’t skip Daiso in Japan. Once again, I got myself more socks. Four pairs in total, two pair not pictured because I wore those and they are in the laundry. Got some craft goods that might come in handy. Some skin peel and the candy my mom came to like while she was in Japan (as a present for her). 

FOOD HAUL

As always, I end up with some random food. The Touken Ranbu Manju were a gift from a friend. The white envelope thing is a tea given to us by random elementary students from Shizuoka. The purple bag contains apple-pie flavored kitkats. I got my favorite potato&bacon cup-a-soup. Some dark chocolate snickers. Obviously I couldn’t forget about some Black Thunder bars either... anyway, just lots of random food.

RANDOM

A tea cup from Odawara castle, little squirrel/cockatiel magnet from Machida squirrel garden. A random Seigaku tennis ball. One Piece magnet. Neko magnet (from daiso). Other Touken goods. Some mask (also from One Piece) I still need to assemble and won by beating the Usopp game in One Piece Tower. A little konnosuke figure to decorate my earphones... and some yellow washi tape I got for free when shopping at Lashinban for some reason. The Saiyuki bromides were gifts given to me.

POKEMON

Last but not least, we increased our clear pokeball collection. Last year we got the squirtle, this year we expanded with Lycanroc and Alolan Raichuu. It’s all random what you get. I had hoped to get others, but these aren’t bad either. ^^

---

And that’s the full haul. It’s really quite a lot, but I don’t regret any purchase. ^o^

[wakeuphealthy]

11 Women Who Hate To Cook Share Their Go-To Weeknight Meals

To discover the hack-packed, low-lift recipes that keep the cooking-averse satisfied, we asked millennial women who hate to cook to share their go-to weeknight meals. Ahead, you'll find our favorite responses. These meals could inspire even those who enjoy cooking because, let's face it, we all have nights when we don't have the energy to spend too much time in the kitchen.

Spinach, sausage, mushroom, white bean sauté

Occupation: Writer  Age: 41  City: Portland

Why do you like this meal? It's easy to prep, has a quick cook time, and contains solid protein and veg.

What is the recipe for this meal? 1 pound bulk chicken sausage 1 can cannelini beans 1 cup fresh spinach, coarsely chopped 1 cup mushrooms, diced 1/2 cup onion, diced 2+ cloves of garlic, diced Crumble and brown chicken sausage in pan, along with onions and garlic. Add spinach and mushrooms and cook until al dente. Add beans and spices to taste. Simmer for 10 minutes before serving.

Where did this recipe come from? It's a quick recipe my ex (a chef) threw together.

Pimped-out Top Ramen

Occupation: Social media specialist in digital marketing Age: 29     City: Los Angeles, CA

Why do you like this meal? It's always good and you add whatever you have in your fridge.

What is the recipe for this meal? Top Ramen Packet (shrimp, chicken, or really any flavor), a teaspoon of butter, cheese (sliced preferably), salt, pepper, green onion, Sriracha, spam (if you have it), seaweed flakes or seaweed, and an egg.

Where did this recipe come from? My grandma would always add an egg to my top ramen when I was a kid, and all the other additions have been from whatever I had in the kitchen. Butter was a tip from Kylie Jenner. Cheese is my newest addition and it's sooooo good. It makes it creamy.

Rice, tofu, and veggies

Occupation: Graduate student    Age: 22      City: Bethlehem, PA

Why do you like this meal? It's easy, quick, vegan, and healthy.

What is the recipe for this meal? Frozen steam bags of any vegetables (I usually use peas, corn, carrots, green beans, and mix them together in a bigger bowl) Frozen steam bag of brown rice (take as much as needed of rice and veggies for one meal and save the rest in the fridge) Firm tofu, sliced into small squares, seasoned with black pepper and nutritional yeast Mix a serving of rice, tofu, and veggies together in a bowl Flax and sesame seeds sprinkled on top

Where did this recipe come from? It's my own creation.

"Poor Man's Dirty Rice"

Occupation: Librarian    Age: 23     City: Boise, ID

Why do you like this meal? It's super quick, simple, and really flexible.

What is the recipe for this meal? Cauliflower rice, ground meat, and salsa. I usually use two bags of rice and cook those in a pan. In a separate pan, I will cook some ground meat — usually turkey or beef, but it can be anything. Then, when both are cooked, I mix them in a pan and add a few tablespoons of salsa, a little salt and pepper, and maybe some garlic powder.

Where did this recipe come from? It's a family recipe.

Scrambled eggs and veggies with cheese

Occupation: Journalist    Age: 22      City: Davenport, IA

Why do you like this meal? It's super cheap and reasonably healthy, especially since I go so heavy on the veggies. I'm trying to limit my meat intake and most of my attempts to meal prep vegetables have ranged from mediocre to sad, so I also appreciate that it's fast enough to make fresh each time.

What is the recipe for this meal? Two eggs, whatever chopped vegetables you wants (I like kale and tomatoes, a Brussels sprouts slaw I buy pre-cut, or even butternut squash), fresh (or not) herbs, and cheese. If the vegetables are hard, cook those first, otherwise scramble the eggs and add the vegetables at the same time. Add the herbs or any other greens and cheese toward the end. Lately, I've been using smoked cheddar with parsley or Brie and rosemary. I usually try to have an equal amount of vegetables and eggs, but the texture is definitely better with more egg than roughage. I'll add toast or an extra egg if I'm especially hungry.

Where did this recipe come from? It's really just scrambled eggs.

Cilantro-lime rice with chicken apple sausage

Occupation: Graduate student     Age: 23     City: Orange County, CA

Why do you like this meal? Super easy and lasts for about three days.

What is the recipe for this meal? Cook cilantro lime rice packet from target, cook chicken apple sausage, then mix together!

Where did this recipe come from? I came up with it through sheer desperation of something easy and lots of time roaming around Target.

Soy chorizo burrito

Occupation: Graphic designer    Age: 22    City: Washington, D.C.

Why do you like this meal? It's packed full of protein, is quick to make, can be eaten warm or cool, is easy to store for later or meal prep, and contains simple ingredients.

What is the recipe for this meal? Half a link of soy chorizo (from Trader Joe's), 1 egg, 1 flour tortilla, 1 cup of mashed avocado, olive oil, hot sauce for taste (I prefer the Mexican Valentina brand).

Where did this recipe come from? My boyfriend is Costa Rican, and he makes burritos that are to die for. Since I don't eat a lot of meat, this is an adaptation from what he makes.

Spaghetti with a green salad

Occupation: Temporary receptionist   Age: 25  City: Vancouver, British Columbia

Why do you like this meal? It is relatively easy to make and there is enough pasta for at least two other meals.

What is the recipe for this meal? Boil water; start cooking extra lean ground beef until completely brown; add dry pasta to boiling water and cook for 8 minutes, occasionally stirring; add tomato sauce to the cooked ground beef. When the pasta is al dente, you can drain the water and put the pasta in a strainer. Prepare a green salad to go with the spaghetti dinner.

Where did this recipe come from? It is a family recipe but I am sure there are many online recipes for spaghetti.

Rice and chicken with sauce

Occupation: Teacher   Age: 28    City: Dallas, TX

Why do you like this meal? It's incredibly easy to make, balanced, and fast. Almost every part can be store bought, so the only thing left to do is heat it up.

What is the recipe for this meal? There are several options for the rice. I'm Korean, so I like a sticky rice. There are companies who sell a microwaveable bowl of rice - that's the easiest way. You can also, of course, just make rice (easy, but time-consuming). Two cups of water per one cup of rice.

The chicken can either be mixed in with the rice or eaten separately. Take some diced chicken (whenever I buy chicken I dice it and separate it into different Ziploc bags, so they're easy to freeze and thaw as needed) and put them in a pan. Optional: before putting them in a frying pan, cover with flour. This will make them crispy. I put flour in a bowl and toss the chicken around in it. I'm sure you could add egg and whatnot, but this is the easiest way. Once that's done, I heat up some oil in a frying pan and then add in the chicken (if there's flour I try to use a little more oil so it can "fry").

Once the chicken is fully cooked, I add in store-bought General Tso sauce mixed with water, about a 1:1 ratio. Target carries several kinds of General Tso sauce, as does any other grocery store I've looked into. The Panda Express brand is one of my favorites. Once the sauce and water are in there, I swirl everything around to mix and let the sauce simmer. I wait until most of the water has evaporated and the sauce is thick. At this point, you can add in the rice. Add a little more sauce as desired and serve!

Where did this recipe come from? It mostly came from a love of Chinese takeout, rice, and easy dinners.

Mashed cauliflower and tofurkey Italian sausage

Occupation: International PR     Age: 26     City: Brooklyn, NY

Why do you like this meal? It's super easy, quick, and relatively healthy.

What is the recipe for this meal? Mashed Cauliflower: 2 Tablespoons of butter 1 bag of frozen riced cauliflower or medium head of cauliflower 1 cup water 2-3 cloves of garlic 1/2 teaspoon salt Pepper to taste Directions: Add butter and finely chopped garlic gloves in a 4 quart pot over medium-high heat and add cauliflower once the butter is almost melted. Sauté cauliflower for 3-5 minutes until it becomes a little lighter in color. Add in the water and bring to a boil. Once boiling, cover the pot and cook about 10 minutes. Reserve 1/8 of a cup of the cooking liquid and drain the remainder. Purée the cauliflower with food processor or hand blender.

Veggie Italian Tofurkey Sausage: Heat one link with olive oil over medium heat for about 10 minutes.

Where did this recipe come from? I adapted the mashed cauliflower from a couple of recipes.

Instant noodles with all the (some) trimmings

Occupation: Journalist    Age: 30    City: London, England

Why do you like this meal? It's balanced, tastes great, and ridiculously easy.

What is the recipe for this meal? Chop up some vegetables like peppers, broccoli, pak choi, Chinese leaf. Boil water on the stove, add vegetables and a protein like eggs, prawns, or chicken. Once the vegetables and protein are almost cooked, add a packet of quality, authentic instant noodles like Mama, Indomie or NongShim to the pot, with all their accompanying seasonings. Once everything has been cooked to your desired texture (I would recommend al dente noodles over soggy noodles), you're done. You can vary the proportions of noodles, vegetables, and protein according to your dietary needs.

Where did this recipe come from? I learned it from family

https://www.yahoo.com/lifestyle/11-women-hate-cook-share-200500925.html

[lansdellicious]

Experiencing Raymonds

Given the relatively small population of St. John’s and environs (just over a quarter million people, give or take), we have a lot of restaurants. What we don’t have in abundance is fine dining; in fact, Raymonds might be the only one in the province. Despite having eaten at a lot of restaurants over the last few years, we have avoided Raymonds for a few reasons: it’s far from cheap, the menu is not published in advance, and it can be hard to get a table there. I had precisely zero experience with a tasting menu before the night, and I was slightly concerned that multiple dishes would be something I didn’t like. As you may know if you’ve read any of my reviews here before, I have been trying to expand my tastes somewhat. A recent promotion at work gave us the excuse we needed to celebrate, so we bit the bullet and booked the table. We had no idea what was waiting for us.

A caveat: Raymonds is not for everyone. While the staff are incredibly accommodating and patient in explaining the menu options and ingredients, the choices are relatively set. There’s a five- and seven-course tasting menu, and a three-course menu that is somewhat à la carte. If one of the courses is something you just can’t eat they will try to make a substitution, but ultimately it’s down to the chef. The price is also high: the five-course menu is $125 per person, with an additional $80 if you go with the wine pairings (selected by the in-house sommelier and manager Jeremy Bonia). Not an everyday outing, that’s for sure. 

We went for the five-course option, which actually ended up being more like eight courses by the time all the extras were provided. As adventurous as I wanted to get, I couldn’t stretch to trying scallops so we were able to substitute them for a beef option (more on that soon). We opted against the wine pairings this time, though I think when we go back we’ll take that plunge too. 

You can tell a meal is going to be something special when the bread and butter they bring you to open the palate is better than most appetizers you’ve had, ever. House-made sourdough would have been great on its own, but it was served with whipped house-made smoked butter. I had never before had smoked butter, and now I am ruined forever. All future butter will either be smoked or inferior. I could have eaten it with a spoon.

This was somehow the beet dish, a beet and apple salad with ricotta, toasted red fife, and a topping of both beet and apple “glass” and some sort of hardened foam that melted in your mouth. I really don’t know how to describe this, except for “total tongue assault”. The combination of flavours and textures made every part of the palate sing. The apples were tart and crisp, the beets had their characteristic sweetness but were also pickled, the ricotta was exceedingly light and creamy, and the red fife gave a nutty undertone. The “glass” on the top was made from the juices of the apples and beets used in the dish, somehow turned solid and wafer-thin. If you can picture the thin film of ice that forms on puddles just as the temperature drops below freezing, that’s the texture. The flavour was intense with a subtle smoky, almost ashy taste that worked so well with everything else. The bread-looking stuff on the top was the foam that served almost as a tuile, and added a really light and airy crisp. When the waiter explained the dish as if he himself had conceived of it, I knew this was going to be unlike any meal I had ever had. 

On to the pasta course, a moose ragout on orrechiette with more ricotta and finely-diced carrot, topped with a toasted breadcrumb. In the 20 years I have lived in Newfoundland, I have had so many people tell me that I would love moose. So I dutifully try it and dislike it, until the next person tells me that nobody else knows how to cook it and I should try it the way they cook it. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

Now I can legitimately say that nobody else knows how to cook moose. This was tender almost to melting point, with a hint of the earthiness that had been overpowering and off-putting to me before. The ricotta here was of a different texture and flavour than in the previous dish, and it gave an excellent additional dimension to the dish. The pasta was pleasantly al dente, and the whole dish felt like a warm hug from the inside. High-end comfort food if you will. Although I did really enjoy this, I didn’t get the intensity of flavour from the ragout that I expected. It needed a bit more punch and depth I think. Sarah loved it more than me, but I still really enjoyed it. 

Left to my own devices I would not normally order ribeye this rare. It was served in a veal and chanterelle jus (not the last time we will see chanterelles tonight) with a parsnip puree and charred broccoli and leeks. I just...I have no words. If you watch any cooking shows you have heard the term caramelization, but I never really fathomed how important it was until I ate this. No fancy seasonings, no special sauces, just a depth of beefy salty flavour that seemed so wonderfully natural. The jus added even more depth to the meat, and almost seemed to bridge the gap between the beef and the vegetables. The parsnip puree was perfectly smooth and slightly sweet, and the charred leeks in particular were beautifully done. “Meat and two veg” might be a British cliché for Sunday dinner, but this was that old chestnut rehashed and mastered. 

Lamb three ways was up next: loin on the left, tenderloin on the right and lamb belly underneath. The loin was a touch disappointing and lacking in flavour, although the tenderloin made up for it. Both cuts were greatly enhanced by (yet-again) perfect caramelization. Sarah loves lamb and enjoyed hers much more, but her loin looked less fatty than mine so that may have been the difference. 

I had not even heard of lamb belly before (as a meal, obviously I know lambs had bellies...), and it was an interesting offering. Definitely less fatty than the more common pork belly, but with a flavour that was actually pronounced. It was glazed with a black apple glaze and garnished with unripe blackcurrants, but the flavour on the glaze was either too subtle for me or just didn’t come through. I don’t remember what the jus was but it was delicious. On the side we had more parsnip puree and sliced celeriac. I’ve seen celeriac in supermarkets before and it did not look appealing, but the flavour was like parsnip with a hint of celery. Probably because it is related to them both. 

Next up we had a “pre-dessert” as our waiter Julian called it - blueberries poached in brown butter with a chanterelle and blueberry pound cake, chanterelle meringue (!!) and chanterelle ice cream (!!!). Again, something I would never in a million years ordered on its own. Who’d even think of chanterelle ice cream? That said, this was a surprisingly good a refreshing amuse-bouche before the dessert. I am not normally a fan of blueberries, but they were good here with the brown butter. Pound cake is almost always delightful, and the addition of chanterelles almost seemed to lighten the usually dense cake. The real treats though were the meringue and ice cream. Sarah isn’t a big meringue fan but even she really enjoyed the lightness of it, and the ice cream had such a clean and subtle flavour that I finally understand the term “palette cleanser.” A bonus course, you say? Don’t mind if I do!

It’s not often I have to google an ingredient, but I had never heard of sea buckthorn before. One of the things mentioned in the description was that its flavour is enhance by something called maltolactic fermentation. Lactic, as in milk? Well that’s helpful. It was served as a curd, topped with a streusel and milk sorbet. The flavour is very hard to quantify: it reminded me of passion fruit, sour orange, mango and bakeapple all at the same time. The milk sorbet did wonders to mellow the tartness of the berries, which Sarah found stronger than I did. Definitely a unique flavour, but one I really want to work into a cheesecake somehow. To cap the meal off (in addition to our coffees), a lemon verbeena salted caramel was served, A delightful little treat to send us home.

Aside from how much I enjoyed everything, I think the biggest surprise to me was that despite the small serving sizes I was pleasantly full at the end of the meal. The service was impeccably friendly and helpful, not at all snobby as once could be forgiven for thinking. The decor really is reminiscent of every high-end restaurant you’ve seen on TV, complete with waiters with one arm in the small of their back. If you have an occasion to celebrate and/or the income to manage it, you owe it to yourself to visit Raymonds, It is not a meal you eat so much as it is a food experience, and I am a more rounded person for having done so.

Now to plan the return trip...

[digital-culture-blog]

Photography Has Changed...

One hundred years ago, photography was obviously not nearly as common as it is today. Photography was on the rise in the early twentieth century, and although it was far cheaper in the 1920s than it was in the beginning of the invention of photography nearly eighty years earlier, it still was not cheap. The cost of the most popular camera in the roaring twenties, the Kodak Brownie, was $5.90. This sounds like a dream price for a camera, even by today’s standards where, adjusted for inflation, this would be about $75.68. 

Kodak Brownie Target SIX-20 box camera by Kevin Stanchfield

However, just because photography wasn’t as expensive didn’t mean it was easy. Photographers had to spend time manually focusing their cameras to get the correct shot and developing film for hours on end to get the perfect print. Fast forward to today, a full century later, where we can pull a device from our pocket, aim it at whatever we’d like, and a tiny camera will automatically focus to the subject and the lighting. Then that photo is saved in a digital landscape, no developing and printing required. Frankly, we’re spoiled. 

In the last decade or so, photography has taken on almost an entirely new meaning in the art and technology world. Never before did people have access to relatively high quality cameras the way that we do today. Because of this, photography itself has changed. Twenty years ago, if you wanted a photograph of yourself, your family, or anything else, you had to either own a physical camera, or get in touch with someone who did. Taking images of yourself by yourself (what is today known as a “selfie”) was not as simple as looking at a screen that fits in the palm of your hand, it required the set-up of a tripod and a shutter-release system or self timer. Not to mention the subject likely couldn’t see themselves or what the image looked like in the process of taking it. This idea was especially true of those using film, as they likely wouldn’t see the results for a few days, so there was no room to see what the image looked like immediately after taking it to go back and make adjustments. 

All Hail Queen Stevie -A photograph of Fleetwood Mac singer Stevie Nicks that she took herself using multiple mirrors- via Little Golden Age on Wordpress

Lovely, a Self Portrait -  Image by Author

All of this begs the question: what is considered “art photography” in a time where anyone and everyone is essentially a photographer? Does a photograph that’s taken on an iPhone have any less artistic value than a photograph that’s taken on a high-powered Canon?

Let’s start with one of the main arguments for why the answer to that question might be yes: the quality. The iPhone X and Xs, the two newest iPhones released to the public each have a 12 megapixel camera. This has offered some of the best resolution in photographs that Apple users have ever seen. However, a Canon Rebel T3i, a common camera for amateur to professional photographers, offers 18 megapixels. For those that may not know as much about megapixels, this is a huge jump in overall resolution. A photograph taken with a high-resolution camera will produce an image with much more detail, and in cases of printing, will be a much higher quality print. This may not matter to someone that’s just posting an image on Facebook or Instagram, but that could play into what constitutes a piece of art from just a regular photograph. Sure, a photographer may post their images on Facebook or Instagram just like anyone else, but if an image taken with a cell phone and an image taken with a DSLR camera were hung up next to each other in a museum, for example, there would be a jump in quality between the two. 

Color may also play into this equation. In a broad sense, an iPhone camera tends to “blur” colors together, ultimately assuming the colors it sees as it displays them. A DSLR camera is much more exact in the colors it “sees,” often times making the final image have much richer, more true-to-life colors.

iPhone X vs DSLR – Side by Side Comparison! - DavidPlays on YouTube

As you can see in the image above, the colors taken by the DSLR camera are much richer. Although we, the viewer, are not actually there and cannot see what this waterfall looked like in person, it’s safe to say that the image on the right is likely much more true to life than the image on the left. The greens and the red in the rocks specifically point to how a higher-powered camera can produce a much more quality image.

However, there is always a counterargument to every argument. In this case, one could bring up the fact that color, quality, and whatever other qualities a DSLR camera has to offer may not matter at all. 

Take, for example, the photographer Francesca Woodman. She was a famous photographer known for her self-portraits during the 1970s and 1980s. This was during a time when film photography was the greatest form of photography that man had ever known, and although color photography was available, Woodman chose to shoot in black and white. A handful of Woodman’s images are grainy due to film quality, out of focus, or contain blurred objects. Yet, she is still considered one of the greatest fine-art photographers of the twentieth century. 

The Long Exposure of Francesca Woodman via Elizabeth Gumport

Why? Because of the content of her images. Not just the subjects in them, but the meaning behind them. Deep down, fine art photography is really more about the meaning behind the image rather than the image itself. If an artist can defend their work and give it true meaning and depth, there is no reason why a blurry film photo has more or less fine art quality to it than an extremely sharp and colorful photograph of the same subject. This may plague the fine-art photographer that spent thousands of dollars on a camera set-up that’s destined to get the perfect shot, but their image can be worth just as much, or even less, than a photograph taken on a disposable camera bought at Wal Mart for less than ten dollars. It’s all about the meaning behind the image and the artist who takes it.

The Worst Image with the Best Meaning - Image by Author

In the end, what constitutes “fine art photography” is in the eye of the beholder. Photography is now a medium that’s available to almost everyone across the globe, for better or worse. What we, the viewer, are responsible for is determining if the meaning behind the photograph is worthy of the image itself.

[makistar2018]

The Economics of Taylor Swift's 'ME!' and Music Videos In the Digital Age

5/13/2019 by Steve Knopper

Sources estimate Swift's big comeback visual cost seven figures to make.

The hissing snake exploding into butterflies, the dozens of dancers in pastel-colored suits, Brendon Urie floating through the sky with an umbrella -- none of these effects in Taylor Swift's "ME!" video were cheap. Music-industry sources estimated its budget in the seven figures. figures. But thanks to the new music-video economy, Swift’s label, Republic, could make up that money over the next few months; the video has been streamed 162 million times so far on YouTube, which, according to one source, means $150,000 to $250,000 in label revenue.

"I don't think they were penny-pinching on that one," says Bob McLynn, manager of Urie's band Panic! At the Disco, adding that he has no knowledge of Swift's video costs.

Labels are shelling out as much as ever on certain videos, in part because they now generate advertising revenue on their own -- compared to MTV, which famously paid nothing. But whether the videos generate more money for artists and labels overall is a tricky calculation, since fans who view a certain video for free on YouTube may then be less likely to stream the song on a more lucrative paid service such as Spotify or Apple Music.

In the MTV era, big-budget videos were almost always worth the financial risk for major stars, since heavy rotation meant a smash hit and lucrative CD sales. Today, these kinds of videos come out 10 to 30 times per year, estimates JP Evangelista, senior vp of content, programming and marketing for Vevo. "ME!" has been streamed on Vevo more than 100 million times in its first week, generating roughly $90,000 to $150,000 in revenue for Universal-owned Republic, sources say.

YouTube pays out roughly $1.50 for every 1,000 views, according to data released by the RIAA in 2017 -- significantly less in royalties than either Apple Music or Spotify, which emphasize audio tracks, not videos. By those calculations, $190,000 would have gone to Swift for the 127 million views of "ME!" as of early May, and nearly $550,000 to Ariana Grande for her 365 million views of "thank u, next." (Lyor Cohen, YouTube’s global head of music and a former longtime label executive, estimated revenue at roughly twice that, but the revenue depends on many variables, like overseas income and whether an artist agrees to certain kinds of ads.)

For non-superstars, though, music videos are simply costly promotional tools. "The money you earn on visual content doesn't match up with the money you put into it, by and large," says John Fleckenstein, RCA Records' co-president. "There's a monetization aspect to it, but it isn't like, 'We should make five videos because we're going to make a boatload of money.'"

Music-video costs range from $2,500 (for an indie-label project) to $700,000 or more (for a pop superstar like Swift, Grande or Drake). Vince Staples' 2018 video for "FUN!" cost roughly $200,000, says his manager, Corey Smyth, although it has just 3.7 million YouTube views. "It's worth it," he says. "They're all calling cards. You don't know what's going to hit and what's going to go viral." Country stars spend $30,000 to $250,000 per video, according to Erica Rosa, royalties director for Nashville business-management firm Flood, Bumstead, McCready and McCarthy. "I saw one in the pop world that was around $850,000," she says. "I almost fell out of my chair."

Dave Meyers, who co-directed "ME!," once said his typical video budget in the late '90s, the end of the MTV era, was $1 million. (Neither he nor Swit's reps was available for comment.)

Labels generally front the money for videos, although artists are frequently charged for the expense until they make enough in royalties to recoup the costs. If artists believe in high-cost projects, they occasionally add their own funds beyond their labels' expense ceiling. "Videos are as important as they've ever been," says McLynn, who manages Sia and Fall Out Boy and has made videos from $10,000 to $200,000. "When you're rolling out a bigger artist, you want to double down -- you want to make sure you have everything you need, so you up the budget."

Music and video execs say the idea is the most important factor in determining whether to green-light a big-budget video. Beggars Group put up funding for FKA twigs' new "Cellophane," depicting the singer floating through the air with a winged dragon and has 3.3 million YouTube views. "That video has to exist in order to fully kick off the project," says Gabe Spierer, the indie label's vp of content and strategy. "It's an example that justifies big spending on a video."

"The artist's vision is usually paramount," Fleckenstein says. "Some artists have extremely specific views they want to get across that can be elaborate and difficult to produce and therefore can become expensive." Adds Lyor Cohen, a top label exec in the MTV era who is now YouTube's global head of music: "When you're void of great ideas, you try to blow up Rolls-Royces for production value. But when an artist and the label work hard to come up with a great concept and execute it, that's the real ingredient of video success."

Labels often calculate potential YouTube revenue when creating video budgets, then work backwards to figure out how much they can spend. "It does allow them to feel more comfortable commissioning higher-cost videos, knowing there'll be some return on their investment," says Vevo's Evangelista. But few videos are hits: "The cost-benefit analysis is about controlling for the likely reality that [the video] is a relative footnote -- unfortunately," Spierer says.

In the old days of MTV and CDs, just about every major artist had to make an expensive video to launch a new single. After Napster and file-sharing forced labels to slash their promotional budgets, according to Smyth, spending dropped to $15,000-20,000 per video; now that streaming has returned growth to the business, he says, "We're in a middle ground."

While MTV-era directors such as Hype Williams and Spike Jonze could focus exclusively on music videos, at least until they broke into feature films, today's directors have to supplement their income with non-music projects. New York duo BRTHR has directed videos for Travis Scott, the Weeknd, Charli XCX and Lil Pump, but, says the team's Kyle Wightman, "To even survive, we have to be doing commercials." Adds Alex Lee, his partner: "The money we make from music videos is honestly nothing. It's about 15 percent of what we make [from commercials]."

Although Specter Berlin recently directed Rammstein's over-the-top "Deutschland" video, which is packed with lasers, period costumes and elaborate, controversial scenes depicting the holocaust, he's frustrated labels won't spend more money in a time of big-budget Netflix and HBO projects. "It's a great time for music videos and there's no reason why the budgets are not going up," he says. "It's convenient for the music industry to say, 'Hey, this is a young artist shooting a music video and we only have $20,000.' If everybody does proper work, nobody's going to make anything." Adds Tony Yacenda, who directs videos for comedian-rapper Lil Dicky, including recent charity single "Earth" and 2017's "Pillow Talking," which reportedly cost $700,000: "Nobody views it as the endgame. [Videos] allow you to create something fun to watch that shows you have style and a voice -- but it's not going to be your payday."

Swift's "ME!" is one of the big-budget exceptions. "I don't think you should spend $500 grand on something you think is going to come and go -- that's for a certain type of artist," says Smyth, Staples' manager. "Taylor Swift was almost in Tron. Her glam is probably my budget."

Billboard