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[glassrowboat]

Silken Shadows (Pt.1). Pantalone.

Summary: You had many customers, many clients. Regulars even. They dragged you along to dinners, to drinks at bars as they chatted about something you couldn't care less about, and to parties of all sorts. All something that came with the job. What you weren't expecting, however, as you stood on the corner of a side walk cursing the chill in the air as you waited for the latest job to come pick you up was a Fatui Harbinger. Well, you were told it would be a big money job.

Word count: 4300+

Authors note: I'm not sure how long this is going to be, but probably less than fifteen chapters? But someone had to give this old man some love, so I took it upon myself.

Also, the reader is a hired date for anyone who needs specifications.

Link to series

Shards of glass sat around him like glistening stars as a pale light streamed in through the large windows of Pantalone's office. Nonexistent constellations were to be found in what was scattered around him in his own personal galaxy. Bits and pieces are as large as one's finger and others as tiny as diamond inlaid in a ring. The only difference being: it wasn't gold encasing a jewel that shined under every twist of the wrist as it reflected a candle's flame, but a wooden floor. One he had taken great pride in picking out once upon after first receiving this office.

Time had scratched its lacquered surface.

How typical.

Another thing he can't control. Just like the natural instinct to grit his teeth so tight, Pantalone can hear them grinding against each other in protest, crying out for some form of mercy.

It made his jaw ache. Yet his lips still twisted into a smile.

They had to.

Even if Pantalone couldn't help but want to physically recoil at his own image, his reflection in the glass at his feet. An aged label with yellowed spots attached to what was left of the bottle, an 817 vintage from Fontaine, the only thing blocking where his narrowed eyes would be in this warped copy.

All the while, one thought kept replaying in his head, repeating like a broken record slotted on a gramophone: that damnable woman.

--

Signora canceled on him.

Right before a banquet that was supposed to be quite the occasion at that.

It would have given him just the perfect chance to introduce the frosty diplomat, his fellow Harbinger, to a colleague of his. A man just as like minded as Pantalone when it comes to the exchange on mora. A fellow businessman, to put it in simple terms. Someone who also speaks in the turnover of gold from one hand to another.

A man who could prove beneficial to Pantalone had the right opportunity to familiarize himself but man but all the ‘Fair Lady’ had to say, in as arrogant sounding voice as she could muster, for that Pantalone was sure, was that she's being shipped away to Inazuma soon. For the gnosis in accordance with the last meeting's conclusion, of course.

That, however, didn't change the fact that she wasn't leaving right away.

There was time she could use, to leverage if she so wished, but now he was left with a tree that wished to bear no fruit. There would be no sweet taste of a win today, of another deal secured at this rate. What a wasted opportunity.

Not to mention, he was still expected to show up with someone on his arm in accordance with the invite marked with a check right on the box for a plus one.

All that right after La Signora didn't even bother to sit down, to go through the proper greetings and laybe even have tea with him to share this bit of information. Rather, she stormed in as Pantalone was drafting out a contract, unfortunately startling him in the process as the door slammed against the wall behind it. It was enough to have the ink scrawled out under his hand smudge as his hand curled around a black fountain pen at the idea that her uncaring actions would leave a dent in the drywall.

Surprise. It was never an emotion he cared for, but it was all he was being given today. Or at least that's how it seemed.

The floral scent of the ink he specially ordered to refill this pen the last time it emptied out from pages upon pages of tireless work that had led to an ache in his hand was the only thing to sooth Pantalone's otherwise swirling mind as he figured out where to go from here.

That here has led him to Columbina.

Her saccharine smile when he slipped into the music room was familiar, something he was as used to as a well-worn book as she held up a singular finger. Asking for one moment more.

The song on her lips quelled only when she was ready.

Besides, it would be unbefitting to ask her to stop with the nonsense already as her voice rose to the heights of the pure white room. One never cuts off the star of a stage, on or off of it. Columbina had a way of bringing the notes to life, of making any eye believe you could see the sheet music she had long since memorized to the point someone might just believe they could see those ever perfect lines of five weaving around columns all up until Columbina took her final bow.

Pink and black hair covering her face still as his hands clapped together, the metal bands wrapped around his fingers, causing a small ring each time they collided. “Wonderful as always, Damselette.”

“I am always exultant to have a proper audience.”

Her head rose from its low hang with a grace only she could have. Every action she took was akin to a bird flapping its wings to soar among the clouds. Fitting for a dove.

“As much as I would like to sit down and show you proper respect and courtesy, Columbina, I am afraid I am too short of time for such a luxury.”

The event is, after all, tonight at 8 o'clock sharp, and while Pantalone has always heard it's fashionable to arrive late, it was never a practice he appreciated others participating in. He wouldn't deign to be the outlier to such a basic rule when there was no need for such.

He didn't need to arrive late to get anyone's eyes to fall on him in rapt attention. The citizens of Snezhnaya knew what his time was worth. As for those who did participate in such boorish behaviors? Simply put, they were not worth the precious minutes that could be delegated elsewhere.

“First and foremost, are you otherwise preoccupied this evening?” Pantalone asked.

Columbina turned her back to him with ease, fingers fiddling with the sheet music before her as she scribbled something down he could not see. Not that it mattered. If it wasn't the very notes she was just singing, it would be an indent on the piece written in a language far older than he.

“Now, what would you want of me that requires I not be ‘preoccupied'?”

“That Marquess in the West, you and I both know the one, has come to the main city for a short reprieve and is holding an event.” As Pantalone spoke, he stepped further into the room, taking care not to scuff the white floors with his own black shoes. “One that does not require a show of a song, but I'm sure they would not deny it if you offered.”

A gentle series of clicks continued until he was standing beside her.

“So, you want me to act as your substitute plus one since the one you originally planned to invite canceled on you at the last minute. Is that it, Regrator?”

Her tone had Pantalone wanting to click his tongue, but he resisted the urge.

“A regretful circumstance I shall have to amend in the future. If you agree to my proposition, that is.”

“The Fair Lady truly pulled that lavish rug under you. Something I do not see often.”

Pantalone kept from looking down at her, instead keeping his eyes instead fixed on the musician's stand, his gloved finger ran over. It would be lace covered eyes and ribbons galore as usual. Nothing he hasn't seen before at every harbinger meeting or the times they cross paths through the ornate halls of the palace, most of which have him catching the sight of her scuttling into this very room.

The faintest layer of dust now coated his finger that had Pantalone itching to grab the handkerchief tucked away in his pocket to wipe it off.

The Damselette always did tend to scare the maids off.

“As stated before, I am currently lacking time. Your answer would be most appreciated.”

“Oh, right, that.” Columbina mused. “Steak dinners, champagne, maybe even chatter amongst people who are delightful company. Just like my plans for tonight with Arlecchino.”

Of course she didn't lead with that.

That means two possible options off his already lackluster list of those to invite along.

The last words Pantalone was given before he walked out with a bow of his head to the higher ranking harbinger was “I hope you find someone to fill the empty seat beside you tonight.” Only for the song to continue on like nothing happened, like nothing interrupted, like he didn't even come in at all.

He made sure to leave the door cracked open on his way out.

Sandrone was all the same, giving him a no. The only difference was she spit the words out like venom the moment his fist knocked on her workshop's door and she flung it open with a flourish, covered in oil and the finest grinds of aluminum that flew in the air. It had him cleaning his glasses off as he walked away.

Lenses punched between the fine fabric of his handkerchief as he went over what to do from here.

If it wouldn't reflect poorly on his image, Pantalone would just show up alone. Wave it off and say his date was busy. Yet here he is, arm twisted. Social expectations are truly the bind that holds us all as he couldn't simply message the Marquess on the fly with something along the lines of ‘I couldn't dain to bring a date after my plus one canceled on me.’ Signed the Ninth.

If it wouldn't come across as poor care for attention, bringing his most trusted secretary along would be a viable option. That is if that very employee wasn't a married man who was only just rambling about plans to take his partner out for dinner earlier this very day. It was their five year anniversary being married, as he recalled. He had even given the man a gift in congratulations.

The other two under his care were off dealing with some less than stellar business Pantalone couldn't afford to take them away from. At least not at this given moment in time.

Dottore would at least prove to be an entertaining option. One segment or another would likely get stuck along his side, maybe even the one with the pink bow tie, and it looks like he's ready to bite the finger off anyone who approaches.

No, best not.

Little options left. If any.

At this rate, his arm would get stiff as it's tugged and twisted into position.

Well, there's always the place a certain man, a debtor, mentioned last time. His whining was just the perfect pitch that made it hard to ignore as Pantalone's guards tore apart his shack of a house apart in an attempt at finding the funds he was due. Only a measly fifty mora that would prove no use in taking. One can not pay if they can not work as starvation tears them apart from the inside out. (or at least that's what Pantalone will say when the man stops showing up to work out of the blue). The excuse? He went to one of those houses in the area.

Exchange time for a woman's company. Nothing he hasn't heard before. Nothing he isn't familiar with. The Northland Bank served customers of all walks of life.

The name, however, was one that rang a bell in Pantalone's head. One that sold a woman's time over her body.

This is what he has been backed into? Truly?

Still, he called the guard that was stationed by the doors he just walked though, fingers snapping to get this individual's attention as Pantalone told them to find a messenger. The need to tell them to be quick about it would be nothing short of an unnecessary addition. They knew that well enough by now.

--

Steps filled the hall just as the creaking of loose floorboards did. They had long since needed to be replaced but actually getting around to hiring someone to do that had been waved off time and time again that everyone had since learned to simply live with being woken up in the middle of the night by someone trying to get a cup of water.

Loud and clear with each echo.

Making the hand that wrapped around your arm and pulled you up off the stool, just another thing you expected as a shrill voice cried out to get your attention. Scratched and broken from what was no doubt the cigarettes The Madame might as well switch out for her meals filling your ears while she jabbered about whatever had her coming to you this time.

That being: a job.

It was no wonder then why a wet rag was being shoved into your face, trying to wash- or better yet- scrub off the powder on your face. Messy blobs of green and pink having been painted on your eyelids the same way a crayon would a child's coloring book, only becoming more of a mess to handle at this treatment as your nose scrunched up as the fabric rubbed against you.

“Wash this shit off your face and give it a real try, kid. Don't know why you keep letting the bucket girl apply makeup on you.” That old hag barked out. In as good of a mood as any as she pulled her hand back to finally give your skin some reprieve. “And try to keep yourself lookin’ real good. This client has some big bucks to spend, and I don't need you messing it up like last time.”

“You always know just what to say.” You retorted as you snatched the rag away from her to wipe the eyeshadow off your face properly. Gently.

Even going so far as to lean down to get a proper view from the vanity and its cloudy mirror to make sure there wasn't a speck of makeup left.

“This ain't your usual crowd, kid, but you're going to high tail it out of here in your best dress and meet this guy two blocks from here so some carriage can pick you up.”

“Ahh, one of those guys. I'm on it. And do me a favor and don't bully the ‘bucket girl' while I'm out.”

It wasn't a surprise when the Madame threw a quick “no promises” over her shoulder as she left the room, leaving you to get ready. Brush already in hand as the door slammed shut. Most likely her doing, but you chose to think of it as a simple draft of wind as the bristles brushed through a soft pad of pink.

The same pink of the gloves you currently dawned. Fingers twitching with each passing minute to keep blood pumping through the digits you were breathing on, trying your best to keep yourself as warm as possible while standing at the usual spot for clients that needed to pick a girl up a few blocks away from the Marmeladova house.

Sure, they had their reasons, but it always came across as the clients having no sense of decorum for a freezing lady. A frozen tundra of a nation, yet they still expected you to stand on the street like a hooker trying to call in her five hundred for the night.

How charming.

Not.

It was when you were pacing back and forth, kicking up bits of powdered snow with every step, did the rolling of the carriages passing by on the street lead to one stopping right before you. Wheels turned stock still as the lines behind painted a clear path right to you. It's not an accidental pullover by some temperamental horses then. Though if you only looked, such a thought wouldn't have even crossed your mind in the first place.

A carriage with golden accents, horses with shining leather straps, a coachman in clothing that looked actually weather appropriate, and a Fatui symbol stamped right before you. Like the sign to a haunted house as the other girls drag you inside, claiming it will be fun, only for you to walk out annoyed and grouchy at the lackluster experience.

Something told you this wouldn't end that way.

A footman, or at least you assumed that's what he was when he was wearing the Fatuus emblem and one of those masks you see the soldiers wearing so openly while walking around without a single care in the world besides holding their heads high pulled the ornate door before you open.

A hand held out to help you up along the steps that had a nice coat of snow dusting them only knocked away by the heel of your boot while ducking inside the red velvet walls. Instantly, you could tell it was warmer in here from the moment you sat down. The thing probably insulated for what reason would you put yourself through the agony of the cold when you can simply buy your way out of it?

At least, that felt like a fair comparison as your eyes met those of a man you've only ever seen in the newspapers. Most of which were fished out of the trash from nicer neighborhoods to use as kindling, but that face was unmistakable.

“Lord Harbinger.” You found yourself saying as you greeted the figure before you. Your own words sounded like they were coming from another's mouth as they were drowned out by the curses flying across your mind. Faster than any bird in the sky or whizzing bullet as he greeted you back.

The shock of it all had you a reeling mess, but not enough so to miss the ice tune of Pantalone's voice as he said “A pleasure to meet you, miss.”

In the very least, this would give you a decent idea of where you stood in this dynamic.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Your hand was held out between you both on instinct, hanging there for a moment under the small lantern that lit the carriage with the curtains closed shut. Like a barrier to the outside world.

The shake was strong, sturdy, and his leather gloves did little to help you figure out anything about this man the public didn't already know.

An example being how he'd surely have a writer's bump. A man whose bread and butter is contracts surely knows how to hold a quill. How curious. Not as much, however, as the Lord Harbinger wiping his hand off on his jacket the moment yours left his. A folder occupying the other he was holding out to you.

“Read this over and try your best to memorize the names inside.”

With little to no choice otherwise, you took it from him. The folder failed to bend back under your touch as you opened it, not even when your gloved fingers rubbed the material between them as the names were run over again and again in your mind. Good quality, as he expected, as you took in the long list.

Far too long actually.

“I expect you to remember as much as you can, but I'll be there to assist you all the while.”

Your eyes flicked up to look at him, meeting his gaze over the folder. “Assist me all the while?”

“I am to be attending an event tonight. Do I need to piece out more for you, or can you truly not ascertain things for yourself?”

Something about his smile rubbed you wrong. You were once taught that if someone was truly smiling, out of joy, or some bull along the lines of being a happy person naturally, their eyes would have wrinkles creasing at the sides. His lacked that. Though it was hard to tell exactly if that was the case when they were closed.

But could a smile so freely given from a Harbinger be…? It's best not to finish that thought. He's still your client.

“Don't doubt me just yet. I haven't even had the chance to prove myself.” You said, matching his smile in turn.

“Then please, don't disappoint. First, however,” you could barely catch his eyelashes moving when the wheels started to turn again at the simple rap of his knuckles against the carriage roof.

Whatever that meant would prove little to mull over as you leaned back into the cushions.

--

You later learned that was him giving you a look, or as close to one as Pantalone could manage behind those thick spectacles of his you were tempted to break as he walked into a dress store, picked something off the rack, and stated it would be what you were going to wear tonight. No input from you, no double checking to see if it fits. Not to mention, the fabric had been irritating you from the moment it adorned your skin.

How you wanted to claim it rested upon your body like silk, but it was more like that one scratchy blanket you always get stuck with as everyone else steals the nice ones.

At the very least, it was pretty. Had a decent range of movement, too, as the Lord Harbinger dragged you along by the arm he interlocked with his as you were met with new face after face.

Some of the names you could recall reading only an hour prior, others not so much.

Giant grins.

Pretty women with ornate hair styles.

Champagne glasses.

The moment you picked one up, Pantalone plucked it from your hands and hissed as low as possible for only you to hear “I am not paying you to drink.”

This was nothing unusual, the event, that is. Pantalone is a whole other story, but you have been to many parties of all sorts during your time. This was just another rich boy party with underhanded remarks and fancy cheeses.

One that dragged on far too long for anyone's liking.

At some point during the night, you just barely caught the richest boy himself telling someone who asked about you that you were just a friend. One that he met through your father, a fellow businessman he had worked with shortly before the man unfortunately passed. How you're only back in town visiting. That he couldn't pass up the opportunity to bring you along.

And it kept like that until the point you were tempted to peel the bandages off the back of your heels after they had been slipping on you the past hour. Peeling from your skin like a piece of string on a fine shirt just begging to be pulled. The thought of them still plagued your mind as Pantalone bowed to the same man you were first introduced to that night again, an individual who took no shame in the jewels hanging from his tailcoat and the golden ring with some odd emblem on his pinky. Wishes of a splendid night on both their tongues as the two of you departed.

It was only when you were both back in that carriage, you suddenly have a lot more appreciation for as it gave you a chance to rest your aching feet, did any words pass between you two again.

Pantalone, a man who was short and concise with you, but had plenty to say to those folks in the hall as they stuffed their faces with meat as they all sat around tables covered in cloth the same thickness as the blankets you use every night. Who made it clear before you even stepped past the threshold of the mansion (though it looked more like a cheap attempt at copying the opera house's architectural style) that you would speak only when spoken to. Interrupting the few remarks you did say when it was just the two of you during those sliver of moments someone wasn't coming up to sing his praises.

It's not like you weren't used to being treated like arm candy. Maybe that's why you truly couldn't care less as he sat in the seat across from you without daring to break the silence, to say anything, until you did.

“I was right about you. You are a rather smarmy individual.”

His hand that had been messing with the fabric of the curtain blocking you both away from any prying eyes trying to peek inside the windows came to a stop with a soft sigh from his lips. Pantalone's hands still pulling it taught, the same way you did on a wrinkled shirt to see what it would look like perfectly pressed and ironed when he spoke.

“How does an escort like you even know that word?”

“How does a Harbinger like you end up with no options for a date besides one you have to hire?”

The second the question left you Pantalone's head tilted towards you in such a slow, deliberate manner you knew you should have kept your mouth shut. Unfortunately, knowing when to do that isn't a trait that comes as easily to you as it does others.

“What's your name again?”

You told him, shared it without second thought before you could take a moment to step back and recall he had been the one introducing you to everyone all night. He had known your name but asked anyway.

Well, you'll have to remember that trick for later use.

“It is an honor to properly be introduced to you, Lord Harbinger.”

With a smile, you held your hand out to him, repeating the same action as before. Two can play at this game, you thought as you waited for him to comply, to play along, and take it. And like a fool, even if it was just in good humor, he did.

If he was going to wipe his hand off again this time, you'll give him a damn good reason.

Your grip turned tight, unyielding, to ensure Pantalone couldn't simply pull away. Making sure, just as he might with each mora coin, he pinches between those fingers, that there's no possible chance to let it slip away as your lips pressed to one one of his silver rings.

It was cold against your skin, but no more biting than the words you were expecting as you silently dared him to say something.

Between the rocking of the carriage and the low light of the lantern between you two you couldn't help but notice that was the first time you've seen his eyes all night.

[cynoglav]

what art supplies do u use? i rly like ur doodles ....

first of all, thank you!

this is gonna be a long one. and hey, before I get into this: getting better tools does not make you a better artist. I'm serious. Please don't get things from this list to improve your art, and especially if they're just gonna languish in a drawer because you're afraid of wasting them. I love you and you deserve nice things, but they are not the key to becoming a better artist.

I've also had many, many years to collect and curate stuff. A lot of it I gave away to friends because I didn't use it. If you're new to this, don't worry about getting "all the best things". It's a little silly, and can hold you back.

Especially for sketchbooks, exploration and just messing around, quality stuff isn't necessary. if you're selling commissions or making stuff that will be hung up, yeah, quality matters, but it's mostly about how archival/lightfast stuff is, not price. you won't catch me with caran d'ache or prismacolor stuff, nuh-uh. Only one of these is good and worth the price, and spoiler, it's not the prismacolor.

also, if I catch you hanging up alcohol marker originals, I will personally come into your house and put them into a safe drawer. that shit fades, and fast.

with that out of the way:

digital: clip studio paint + wacom intuos pro medium (circa 2017?). Don't bother with wacom tho, a huion is just fine. I do recommend not getting a small one though, your wrists will thank you. I use whatever brushes i like atm, usually default or custom-made by me.

watercolor: a mix of roman szmal + renesans paints, because they're high quality and extremely local (and thus cheap!!) to me. Currently I'm using arches 185gsm cold press (100% cotton). I chose it over 300gsm because it's cheaper, and thus feels less precious, so I'm not afraid to "waste it", whatever that means. for brushes, I use a #6 kolibri pure red sable round and a really, really old #2 cotman round (111 series). I would recommend synthetics due to environmental and ethical concerns over how sable hair is harvested. I also have a #16 flat somewhere, but I have no f%$#ing clue where it is. Do note that watercolor is rarely a vegan medium, as the sizing in watercolor paper is usually gelatine. I'm sure you can do it, but idk how. for gouache i use the watercolors mentioned above + white gouache because I'm a rebel. I do have a renesans gouache set tho, and will use it up because I hate wasting things.

ink: winsor&newton black and white shellac ink. I discovered G-pen nibs like a week ago and they're my jam, but I used a LS40 nib before (too flexy). FWIW i also use a white sakura gelly roll for white highlights sometimes, and sakura pigma microns in various sizes and colors (usually 003, 01, PN). I also use regular fountain pen ink in a fountain pen because it's fun.

sketchbooks/paper: royal talens art creation. they are the superior affordable sketchbook, no contest. I love the 12x12cm size and A5 bound on the short side. I'm also using a 12x12cm sakura sketchbook with black paper for gouache doodles. for watercolors, I use 100% cotton as mentioned before, as that is the only medium I ever consider selling to people. Everything else I don't bother keeping archival, so it's in my sketchbook or on cheap-ass copy paper. go nuts.

pencils: I prefer a 2H for layouts on watercolor paper and a HB for sketching, usually either a faber castell 9000 (the dark green ones) because idk they make me happy and are nice and smooth. Usually it's "whatever" though. as long as it writes and doesn't scratch I can use it.

colored pencils: a 36 set of faber castell polychromos and i refuse to elaborate

misc. sketching supplies: uni nano dia color mechanical pencil leads. My #1 most used is pink and I plan on getting more colors. for normal mechanical pencil lead i use a HB refill in whatever brand i can find (I'm even less picky than with wooden pencils). All of these are in 0.5mm size. oh, and tons of misc. cheapo colored pencils I have laying around, like most artists. for erasers, usually it's "whatever" but I do carry several with me at all times. current faves are colored kneadable erasers (ooo pretty colors!!), milan tri jet, pentel hi-polymer in green, pentel hi-polymer slim. pencil sharpeners are also a whatever as long as it doesn't break my pencil, but I do really like the derwent long point (i have the mini, its cute) for cute accents of color i use whatever pastel highlighter i have at hand, or a crayola supertip. I sometimes also use alcohol markers, but rarely.

alcohol markers: copic ciao, but don't bother buying them. ohuhu has refills now and copics lost their only advantage.

acrylic paint: renesans flowacryl, but I do plan to switch to golden fluid at some point. this is exclusively for mtg alters, btw. in terms of brushes, I use a #0 milan round (golden taklon i think but idk and I don't have any at hand rn to check) and a #6 oval (it's flat but with rounded off corners) in whatever brand is available.

i think i covered it all! now go grab a pencil and copy paper, and have fun. this is a threat.

[penhero]

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[socialbrowse]

How to open a Stationery Shop

In a world that often seems dominated by screens and keyboards, the charm and utility of Stationery Shop persist. Opening a Stationery Shop is not just about selling pens, notebooks, and paper—it's about creating a haven for creativity, the place where the written word and artistic expression flourish. If you've ever dreamed of turning your passion for paper into a business venture, here's a step-by-step guide on how to open a Stationery Shop that inspires and captivates. It's a business that is available in big and small towns.

How to choose a Stationery Shop location

If you have your own space or want to rent a location, depending on the city or town size you may want to look at the following recommendations

Main Market shop:- Such a Stationery Shop covers customers in a wide area around it. These shops get much more frequent customers as people find it easily accessible. Such Stationery Shop need to keep a mixed variety of products like stationary and toys to get good sales.

Main road shop:- Such shops tend to be bigger in size with 1 to 3 floors. their advantage is the large variety of items they have as compared to the main road shop, this brings customers from all over the city to buy from you added facility like xerox machine and school projects items help in increasing sales of a Stationery Shop

Selecting the right location for your Stationery Shop is a critical decision. Aim for a spot with high foot traffic, visibility, and proximity to areas frequented by families. Consider the space size, storage requirements, and overall ambiance that will appeal to your target customers.

The layout of your Stationery Shop plays a crucial role in attracting and retaining customers. Create an inviting atmosphere that encourages exploration. Arrange your Stationery Shop in an organized and visually appealing manner, making it easy for customers to find what they want. Consider themed displays and interactive areas to enhance the overall shopping experience.

Types of Stationery Shop products

So, now you have a shop space for a Stationery Shop and you want to know what type of products to get for your Stationery Shop since the variety within Stationery is very vast we have categorized it in the following manner for ease of understanding:-Along with stationery products below is a small guide for buying toys, as most Stationery Shop keep toys to get additional sales.

By age:-

You will need toys for ages between 

0-3 - Baby products like these sell the most as every parent buys basic baby products like - walkers, prams, tricycles, or cycles at least once. Apart from these, products like building blocks, water teethers, and rattles all sell well in Stationery Shop

3-6 - At this age board games, card games like flashcards, electronic walking animals, and other electronic toys sell the most toys

6-12 - This is where remote control toys (R/c toys), Rubix Cubes, Helicopters, drones, and board games, dolls sell the most in the Stationery Shop

Return Gifts :

Some of the most profitable deals are made in this category, customers buy 20-100 pc of a single product or a combo mix of different low-cost products. It is good to have things like keyrings, stationery sets, balloons, and low-cost toys for such customers in your Stationery Shop

By Type :

Toys come in a wide variety, catering to different age groups, interests, and developmental stages in Stationery Shop

Stationery Shop products encompass a wide range of items that serve both practical and creative purposes. Whether for professional use, artistic expression, or educational needs, there's a diverse array of stationery products available. Here's a list of common types of Stationery Shop products:

Pens and Pencils:

Ballpoint pens, gel pens, rollerball pens, fountain pens, mechanical pencils, and traditional wooden pencils.

Notebooks and Notepads:

Blank, lined, or grid notebooks, spiral-bound notepads, and specialty notebooks for specific purposes (e.g., bullet journals, sketchbooks).

Paper:

Various types of paper, including printer paper, writing paper, specialty paper (such as watercolor or textured paper), and sticky notes.

Planners and Organizers:

Daily, weekly, or monthly planners, organizers, and calendars to help manage schedules and tasks.

Desk Accessories for your Stationery Shop:

Staplers, paper clips, tape dispensers, rulers, letter openers, and other items for organizing and enhancing desk spaces.

Folders and File Storage:

File folders, document organizers, binders, and filing cabinets for keeping documents organized.

Envelopes and Writing Paper:

Envelopes of various sizes and types, along with matching writing paper or letterhead for personal or professional correspondence.

Labels and Stickers:

Adhesive labels, address labels, and stickers for labeling and personalizing items.

Highlighters and Markers for your Stationery Shop:

Highlighters for emphasizing text, and markers in various colors for drawing, coloring, or creating visual aids.

Correction Tools:

Correction tape, correction fluid, erasers, and white-out for fixing mistakes on paper.

Stamps and Ink Pads:

Rubber stamps and ink pads for adding decorative or official imprints to documents.

Desk Calendars and Accessories:

Compact calendars are designed for desktop use, along with decorative accessories like paperweights and desk organizers.

Presentation Tools for your Stationery Shop:

Projectors, easels, and presentation boards for conveying information in meetings or classrooms.

Writing Instruments Storage:

Pencil cases, pen holders, and desk organizers for keeping writing instruments neatly arranged.

Scissors and Cutting Tools:

Scissors, paper cutters, and utility knives for cutting paper and other materials.

Arts and Crafts Supplies:

Craft paper, glue, colored markers, colored pencils, watercolor sets, and other artistic materials.

Calculators and Math Tools:

Basic calculators, scientific calculators, rulers with built-in measuring scales, and protractors.

Educational Tools for your Stationery Shop:

Compasses, protractors, rulers with metric and imperial measurements, and other tools for educational purposes.

Conference and Presentation Supplies:

Whiteboards, flip charts, and markers for presentations and collaborative work.

Technology Accessories:

USB drives, laptop stands, and other accessories that complement digital devices.

Note Card Sets for your Stationery Shop:

Sets of blank note cards for personalized messages or special occasions.

Office Furniture:

Office chairs, desks, and shelving units for creating a functional workspace.

These are just a few examples, and the world of stationery offers countless options to suit various preferences, needs, and creative endeavors. Whether you're setting up a home office, preparing for back-to-school, or nurturing your artistic side, the right stationery products can make a significant difference in organization and productivity.To buy toys and stationery products at wholesale prices you can go to 

Sellet.in and register to get the largest wholesale variety of toys at the best prices delivered directly to your Stationery Shop. Sellet sells to 1700 shops across 29 states and UTs in India already and it is one of the most trusted places for wholesale purchases of Stationery Shop.

Sales and Margin

The Stationery Shop has good margins in the retail business which is 20% to 70% on purchase value. As an example a product bought for Rs.20 will sell between Rs.30 to Rs.40. There are also some expenses like broken items, torn copy covers, and more such things which you have to account for.

Sales in the big city depending on the shop can range from 5 lacs to 15 lacs monthly. 

Sales in small towns can range from 1 lacs to 10 lacs monthly.

Shop after deducting all expenses can expect between 25% to 40% profit margin.

Diverse Product Offering: - Curate a wide range of Stationery products to cater to different age groups, interests, and popular trends.

Seasonal Promotions: - Plan and execute targeted promotions during peak seasons, holidays, and special occasions to boost sales.

Loyalty Programs: - Implement a loyalty program to encourage repeat business and customer retention.

Cross-Selling and Upselling: - Train staff to recommend complementary products and upsell higher-margin items.

Online Sales Channel: - Establish a robust online presence with e-commerce capabilities to reach a broader customer base.

Conclusion

Opening a Stationery Shop is not just a business venture; it's a celebration of creativity, self-expression, and the enduring appeal of paper. By following these steps and infusing your passion into every detail, you'll be well on your way to creating a stationery haven that not only meets but exceeds the expectations of your customers. Unleash the power of the written word and artistic expression, and watch your stationery shop become a cherished part of your community. The blank pages are waiting—it's time to write your success story! Thanks for Reading...

[indiancorporategift]

ICG are the best Corporate Wooden Ball Pen & Promotional Wooden Pen Gift sets Manufacturer, Importer, Vendors, Suppliers in Delhi, Noida, Gurgaon, India We provide complete range of Wooden Ball Pen, Wooden Gift Sets, Handmade Wooden Ballpoint Pens Gift Set, Wooden Curvy Pen, Vintage Pens, Wooden fountain pen. These  products are supplied in bulk quantities to Corporate companies in Delhi, Noida, gurgaon, India & entire world. Customization of  these products with clients logo printing is also our forte. Promotional Wooden Ball Pen, Wooden Gift Sets, Handmade Wooden Ballpoint Pens Gift Set, Wooden Curvy Pen, Vintage Pens, Wooden fountain pen - If you are seeking a profile-raising product that is both useful and easy to carry by your target audience, try our promotional Wooden Ball Pen that can be picked up in large numbers for a reasonable price. At any charity event that your enterprise has sponsored, or a business conference or a press meet, or at a corporate event, you could surprise your potential clients with these extremely useful Wooden Ball Pen. Corporate Wooden Eco Friendly Ballpoint Pen-While you gift them with something they can make use of on a regular basis you can also make sure you stay in their sight and hence in their minds. All you need to do is explore our extensive designs for corporate Personalized Wood Ballpoint Pen and pick up a design and a colour that complements your business or company profile

[sunder-soul]

Hi , I must say first that I love your writing and also there isn't a lot tom riddle x reader so having you writing for him is great . I was wondering if you could do something with Tom with a muggle s/o . I know it would be great because it's written by you . Love and thanks 💕 💖

Thank you so much, that’s really lovely 💖 I looooved this concept!!!! I actually have a full-length fic that I’ve juuust about finished on ao3/ff.net about Tom and a Muggle s/o, so y’all should let me know if you want a link to that.

Didn’t know if you wanted an established relationship or not so I just went with this, hope you like 😉

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. 

Something Elegant

Summary: A very beautiful boy walks into Muggle Reader’s bookstore and wants to buy something - but he doesn’t seem to know what. Reader is determined to crack the case, and best of all, the boy keeps coming back. Word count: 3.1k Content warning: none

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.    

The job doesn’t pay well, the shifts eat up almost all of your afternoons, the boss is a bit creepy, and Vauxhall Road is loud and smoggy – but working in Winstanley's Bookstore and Stationers has three main benefits. The store is beautiful, for one, filled from floor to ceiling with wooden bookshelves and prim, fresh texts with glittering silver and gold monogrammed titles. For another, it provides you with almost limitless time to read books on just about every subject imaginable.

The third benefit first walks through the door one gloomy summer afternoon whilst you’re lounging on the stool behind the counter, catching up on your English class summer readings.

“Welcome to Winstanley’s,” you say absently, finishing your paragraph before looking up. “What can I do for –”

You stop talking.

Standing before you is the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen in your life; tall and pale, dark hair that fell in distracting waves across his forehead, regal cheekbones, full lips, and a jawline that you didn’t think possible. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice anything strange about your abrupt silence, his dark eyes sliding around the store with a detached interest.

“Are… you looking for something in particular?” you force yourself to say in your best customer service voice.

“No,” he says in a smooth, medium-toned voice that makes you blink in disbelief. Even his voice is beautiful… “No, I was merely curious about the store.”

“Right,” you say awkwardly, “well, let me know if I can help.”

The boy just nods and turns away, strolling deeper into the store and out of sight behind one of the shelves. You give a long exhale as you look back at your book, shaking your head slowly. Being that attractive shouldn’t be allowed; he was most likely utterly insufferable because of it.

A few short minutes later the bell above the door tingles rapidly and you look up in surprise to see it swinging shut behind the boy. You had neither seen nor heard him pass you on his way out and you only just catch a glimpse of his dark head disappearing past the shop window and into the crowd on the street outside. You stare after him for a moment, feeling inexplicably disappointed, before frowning and returning to your text.

Two weeks later, he comes back.

“Oh, hello again,” you say brightly at the sight of him pushing through the door.

The boy gives you a slightly sharp look like he’s surprised you remember him. “Hello,” he says evenly.

“Still curious about the store?” you grin.

The boy’s attention has been caught by the glass cabinet of gleaming fountain pens. “Actually, I’m looking for something this time,” he says casually, leaning down to look at a very ornate golden pen that costs about two months of your wages.

“Oh? What are you looking for?”

“I’m not sure,” the boy murmurs.

You blink, a little surprised by his response. “Well, what sort of things do you like?” you probe, trying to get on track.

The boy straightens and turns to you, his posture very formal. “I’d like something… elegant,” he says quietly. There’s something strangely heavy about his gaze that you can’t place.

“Elegant,” you repeat, frowning as you consider his request. “Well, that’s a very elegant pen you’re looking at there.”

The boy’s expression darkens. “Unfortunately something that elegant is beyond my means,” he says coolly, looking away.

“That’s alright,” you say quickly, feeling strangely embarrassed, “I’d have to sell a kidney to afford one of those, and to be honest with you, they’re not even that nice to write with.”

“You’re permitted to use these?” he asks sceptically, arching a brow.

You look pointedly at the gorgeous black and gold fountain pen in your hand that you were using to doodle stars on your notepad. “Permitted might be a liberal term for it,” you say wryly, glancing back at him. “I was never expressly told not to use them.”

The boy’s lips twitch into a smirk before he turns away, wandering over to the display of a hundred different art pencils.

“Are you an artist?” you try again, suddenly determined to find exactly what he wanted.

“No,” the boy says frankly. “I dislike frivolities.”

You laugh once, very loudly, and the boy’s head swivels around as he fixes you with a very cold look. “Sorry,” you mutter, quickly looking down at your notepad to hide your smile.

It doesn’t work. “What exactly are you laughing at?” he asks sharply.

“Nothing,” you snicker.

“Clearly,” he retorts.

You chance looking up at him. “Do you… really think that art is a frivolity?” you ask slowly, failing to keep the amusement from your tone.

His eyes visibly narrow. “What else would you call it?” he demands.

You shrug and – biting your lip to keep the smile at bay – resume your doodling.

“This was a ridiculous idea,” the boy snaps, wheeling around and striding across the store towards the door.

“No – wait!” you say quickly, stomach dropping. “I’m sorry, I –”

But it’s no use. The bell tingles loudly as he wrenches the door open and he’s gone. You fall back onto the stool dejectedly with a sigh.

It all makes you even more extraordinarily surprised when, a few days later, the same boy pushes open the door mere moments before you’re about to close up the shop.

“Oh,” you say blankly, frozen mid-motion where you’re sliding the last of the new books onto shelves by the window.

A smirk briefly flits across the boy’s handsome features. “I trust you’ll resist the urge to mock me today,” he drawls nonchalantly.

“Depends,” you say automatically.

His eyes narrow at you again. Kicking yourself, you swiftly turn back to the shelves and start stocking books at lightning speed. “Anyway,” you say loudly, “have you decided on what you want?”

“Not a pen,” the boy says immediately. “I have plenty of… writing utensils.”

You shoot him a curious glance; the tone he’d said it in, and the ever-so-slightly strange phrasing almost made him seem like he was making some private joke. “Right,” you say clearly, “and no pencils either, of course.”

You can’t quite keep the quip from your tone.

“Do you intend on being at all useful?” the boy asks stiffly, not seeming impressed at your continued ribbing. “Or are you here just to ridicule customers?”

“You’re only a customer once you’re actually buying something,” you say with a grin, sliding the last book into place and heaving the empty wooden crate across the store to your counter. “Until then you’re just some boy loitering about my place of employment.”

“Well I do intend on buying something,” the boy snaps.

“Something elegant,” you nod, placing the crate beside the counter. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

The boy hesitates, his dark brows drawing together. “You have?”

“Yeah, I had a few ideas,” you say absently, pulling out the little square of paper you’d been making notes on. The boy had featured rather a lot in your thoughts over the past few days, and you’d had plenty of time to write down ideas for his elegant something.

“Let’s see,” you frown, peering at your list. “Oh! So, we got this incredible field guide in last month and it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen in my life.” You being number one on that list, you add internally as you wheel around and beeline for the book on the far shelf. “Here,” you call over your shoulder, pulling it out. “If that’s not elegant, I don’t know what it.”

The boy slowly approaches you, his eyes almost apprehensive as they fall to the book in your hands; pretty enough with crimson leather and gold leaf on the borders of the pages – but the real kicker was the cover. It had a circle of real semi-precious gems set around its title, gleaming and glittering colourfully under the lights of the store.

“What is it about?” the boy asks slowly.

“Sixteenth-century Russian agricultural practices,” you deadpan.

He shoots you a glare, and you roll your eyes. “It’s about gemstones, obviously,” you smirk, cracking it open and showing him the gorgeous watercolours of amethysts and rubies on the first few pages.

The boy looks momentarily interested and your heart skips a beat, wondering if you’d hit the nail on the head on the first try, but –

“I would prefer something more utilitarian,” he says smoothly, straightening again. “Is there something useful on that list of yours?”

There’s something almost challenging in the smirk shadowing his face.

It’s your turn to narrow your eyes, sensing a game emerging. “I see,” you say, suppressing a smile as you close the book and place it back on the shelf. “Well, what about…” – you quickly check your list – “a letter-writing set?”

The boy’s expression falls at once. “No,” he says flatly, looking away.

You blink at the abrupt change in his demeanour. “Is letter-writing also considered a frivolity?” you ask with a tentative hint of tease.

“If you have no one to write letters to, yes it is,” he says icily, his dark eyes flashing to yours.

Your stomach falls.

“Sorry,” you mumble, hastily looking back at your list just to avoid his gaze. “Um… well… we have these amazing pen cases, they’re really quite beautiful,” you ramble, rounding on your heel to the display case behind you. “That one’s my favourite,” you say quickly, pointing to a gleaming copper case with a series of pens and pencils displayed inside. “I like the colour – and I reckon they’re plenty elegant.”

The boy steps closer and you try not to notice his arm almost brushing yours as he stands beside you, examining the cases. “They’re too small,” he says softly.

You glance up at him and are met with the same challenging smirk re-emerging on his lips as he looks back down at you.

The game is back on.

He shoots down every single one of your ideas without fail. He doesn’t like the rosewood ink stamps, he barely even glances at the little golden compass you show him, and he only gives you a very dry look when you suggest a gorgeous enamel-handled pencil knife.

“It’s very late,” he says suddenly, frowning at the darkened window as you’re showing him the blue leather-bound Shakespeare collection. “When does this store close?”

You look up at the clock above the door. “Two hours ago,” you say casually, setting aside the books – he didn’t seem interested in them anyway.

The boy stares at you, visibly surprised. You shrug again, leaning on your elbows against your counter. He frowns again, slow and pensive. “I should go,” he mutters, looking away.

“Well come back, then,” you say, pointing at him with mock severity. “I’ll figure this out yet, you’ll not get away that easily.”

And he does. He comes back three times, in fact, and each time you can’t help but notice that he spends less and less time looking around the shop, and more and more time looking at you.

“Another unsuccessful venture,” you sigh dramatically, leaning back against your counter as the boy (you still don’t know his name, and at that point it felt weird to ask) takes slow steps towards you. “You really are the worst sort of customer.”

“My deepest apologies,” he smirks, “I didn’t realise that this was so torturous for you.”

“My boss thinks I’m the best employee of the century,” you drawl, inspecting your nails, “he can’t figure out why I keep staying late without pay.”

The boy’s dark eyes fall reserved and distant, and he turns to look out the window and the summer evening outside.

“I never asked,” you say quickly, trying to coax him back, “why do you want something elegant?”

The boy’s attention returns to you, his dark, intelligent eyes surveying you for a moment before answering. “I like elegant things,” he says quietly, “there’s something repugnant about the common-place.”

You wisely choose not to tease him about this comment.

“There isn’t a lot of elegance where I live,” he continues stiffly, turning away again, “that is, where I live during the summer. I’d like something to have with me whilst I’m here, a vestigial piece of…”

“Of?” you prompt gently after he trails off.

His jaw tightens. “Thank you for your assistance,” he says formally, giving you a curt nod as he makes for the door.

“See you later,” you call after him hopefully – but once again, he’s gone.

It’s the last you see him in a very long time. A full month goes by and the store gets busier and busier with students purchasing their school supplies for the coming term, and despite the influx of customers, you can’t stop the little swell of disappointment every single time the bell above the door chimes and it’s not him.

You can barely believe your eyes when you look up to find him standing by the door the Monday before school begins.

“Hello again,” he says evenly, making no acknowledgement of your open shock as he approaches your counter where you’re once again doodling with the expensive fountain pens.

“You’re back,” you say, astonished.

“I never did purchase anything,” the boy says casually, reaching out a hand and spinning the cap of your fountain pen around on the counter with his long fingers. “And I’m about to return to school, so this may be my last chance.”

You stare at him, frozen in place. He’s just as beautiful as the first time you’d seen him, but you can’t help but notice a strangely drawn, shadowed look to his face, like he hasn’t been sleeping. Suddenly, you jolt and throw down your pen.

“I’ve got it!” you shout, just about falling off your stool as you tear around the counter to the backroom. “We got them in yesterday!”

You yank the box from the cupboard and crack it open, grinning at the contents in excitement. Surely this was it. Surely he’d like this.

“Here,” you say triumphantly when you return to him, thrusting out your hand.

The boy arches a brow at what you’re holding out to him.

“A diary?” he asks cynically.

You roll your eyes. “Just take a look,” you say, holding it out a bit more.

He’s still for one more second, and then reaches up and takes it, flicking through the pages with an attentive eye. The diary is bound in black leather with golden corner-protectors, its edges clean, its pages ruled and cream-toned with simple, refined dates printed on each one. “It’s nice,” he says quietly.

The feeling of triumph swells larger – it’s the most positive response he’s had to anything you’ve ever showed him. “You can take that wherever you need a bit of elegance,” you say softly.

The boy’s eyes snap to yours in an instant, and your heart skips a beat.

“I’ll tell you what,” you add quickly, hoping that you’re not blushing, “I’ll even emboss it for you for free. Don’t tell my boss.”

“Emboss it?” he echoes curiously.

“Yeah,” you grin, holding out your hand for the diary and leading him into the backroom after he hands it to you. “Gold or silver?”

“Gold,” he says immediately.

You nod and begin setting up the machine with a sheet of gold foil. “What’s your name?” you ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

The boy’s eyes linger on your face for a long moment, making your heart stutter a bit when you finally look up at him.

“Tom,” he says quietly. “Riddle.”

Tom.

Trying to ignore your racing pulse, you start picking out the right letters and  arranging them in his name on the table when suddenly Tom’s long fingers close around your wrist. “Wait,” he says sharply. You freeze in place, heat erupting across your skin. “Are you going to put my name on it?” he asks, eyes fixed on his name laid out on the table.

“Yeah,” you stutter. His fingers haven’t released your wrist, his grip warm and firm.

Tom’s expression turns dark. “I don’t want that name on it,” he says caustically.

“Why not?” you breathe.

Something works in his jaw as he glares at the letters, but he doesn’t reply.

“Don’t you like your name?” you ask quietly.

“No,” he says icily. “I don’t.”

“I do,” you say thoughtlessly.

Tom looks at you. There’s a horrible second of silence.

“Do you,” Tom says quietly, not phrasing it like a question. You can feel your pulse under your skin as you stare back.

Suddenly, Tom exhales sharply and looks down at the box of letters on the table beside you. His fingers finally release your wrist and he deftly picks out a series of letters and adds them to his name.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle?” you read out once he’s finished. “That’s what you want?”

He nods.

You give him one last curious look before you set the letters into the machine and slide the diary into place, bringing down the handle of the machine and stamping his name into the black leather of the book.

You brush away the excess gold and turn to hand him the diary – only to stop still. Tom is still right beside you, much closer than you’d realised, his gaze dark and heavy again as he looks down at you. The backroom suddenly feels about a hundred times smaller.

“You know,” you whisper, “you’re a lot less insufferable than I thought you’d be.”

His lips quirk into a small, dry smile. “You thought I’d be insufferable?”

You nod. “Beautiful people are often pretty insufferable.”

Very slowly, a small crease appears between his brows. The sight makes you realise exactly what you’d just said, and your eyes widen in horror.

“I’m sorry,” you say hastily, thrusting the diary into his chest and stepping away. “I – I don’t know why I said that – I’m sorry –”

But Tom catches your wrist again, stopping you from slipping away. You watch, still wide-eyed as he gently pulls you back to him. “Interesting that you apologise for the compliment, and not for the implication that I’d be insufferable,” he says softly, looking amused.

“I’ve been insulting you since day one,” you manage to say, “compliments are new territory.”

Tom hums, his eyes roaming your face thoughtfully. He’s so close that your head is filled up with the way he smells, warm and musky and stupidly intoxicating, and you’re having to deliberately avoid leaning in closer. “Perhaps I’ll take the letter-writing set, after all,” he murmurs.

You blink. “I thought that letter-writing was a mere frivolity,” you say, lips quirking in a tentative smile.

“Only when you don’t have anyone to write to,” Tom says quietly.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

To request sequels/being tagged in follow-ups, leave a reply in the notes!  💖  

[mooshys]

hq + hogwarts house sorting

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

CONGRATULATIONS on your acceptance to HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY on JANUARY 16th, 2021. 

Below are the houses with which some of our finest students have been sorted into along with key characteristics pertaining to them. Each house is equal, but the one you are sorted into will hold a dear place in your heart as your housemates will be like your family. Feel free to get acquainted with the customs of each house in the days before the first term. 

I wish you all the best with your sorting ceremony,

AURORA

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

GRYFFINDOR ➝ daichi, ushijima, iwaizumi, aran, yaku, tanaka, nishinoya, hoshiumi, hinata, goshiki

HOUSE AESTHETICS ➝ freckles on your nose from sun exposure, the horizon seen from the top of a mountain, freshly squeezed orange juice, beat up sneakers from years of wear, wildflower bouquets, rubies on a crown, old movie tickets kept in your pocket, lightning storms in the summer, dirt paths leading you to a forest, apple pie baked in the morning, bandages wrapped around your fingers, cherry lip balm, fraying denim, popping of champagne bottles, t-shirts tossed to the side to dive headfirst into a lake, names carved on the trunk of a tree, mismatched earrings, stained glass windows with sunlight filtering through them

LOVE FOR A GRYFFINDOR ➝ forehead kisses, engulfing you in back hugs and rocking you from side to side while humming, singing along to your favorite song, a polaroid picture of you in their wallet, introducing you to their family with pride in their eyes, holding your hand tighter when navigating through a crowd, getting you a locket with a photo of you two as a birthday gift, saying “I love you” as soon as they realize

WHAT SETS THEM APART ➝ the ones willing to take the jump without knowing if the water is too cold or too shallow, the ones who stand by your side and fight for what is right, the ones who are not afraid of what others think, the ones who run to the ends of the earth for you, the ones who are fearless

SHENANIGANS IN THE COMMON ROOM ➝ bringing in plates of food from the great hall and creating different concoctions in the middle of the night, making giant pillow forts and chatting there until the early morning, sneaking out to the quidditch pitch to watch the sunrise

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

SLYTHERIN ➝ oikawa, tendou, semi, daishou, sugawara, atsumu, osamu, sakusa, futakuchi, shirabu

HOUSE AESTHETICS ➝ silver jewelry that never tarnishes, fur coats to keep you warm in the winter, the perfect red lipstick, dark chocolate covered strawberries, renaissance paintings, vines of ivy scaling castle walls, drips of wax from a candle stick, the sounds of an orchestra reverberating through an opera house, black turtlenecks, gold fountain pens, espresso from rome, leather gloves, crescent moons, head busts of roman emperors, wire rimmed glasses, silk, blackberries picked from your home garden to make jam, berets, flute glasses being held for a toast, gold cufflinks with a family emblem, pristine robes

LOVE FOR A SLYTHERIN ➝ banter going back and forth as flirtatious plights, making fun of cheesy movies together, gifts of jewelry for anniversaries, kisses on your neck, your perfume being their favorite scent, retreats to a winter cottage for vacation together, shielding you from the rain with their coat during an unexpected storm, whispering “I love you” in your ear in the middle of a crowd to see what kind of reaction you’d give them

WHAT SETS THEM APART ➝ the ones who walk in a room and command its attention, the ones who seize the day with an iron grip, the ones who know their talents and polish them until they shine brightest, the ones who walk with their heads held up highest, the ones who are exceptional

SHENANIGANS IN THE COMMON ROOM ➝ poker nights with sweets from honeydukes used as chips, wizard chess bets leaving some of the younger students broke after multiple heated game, putting toads underneath blankets as a prank and the perpetrators waking up with a jelly-leg curse

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

HUFFLEPUFF ➝ asahi, bokuto, hanamaki, matsukawa, komori, yamaguchi, yachi, lev, koganegawa

HOUSE AESTHETICS ➝ picnic spreads in front of a sparkling lake, sunlight illuminating your irises, washi tape, amber gemstones held up to the sky, the last string of honey stuck on a spoon, letters from friends and past lovers stored in an old cookie tin, green pastures with cows grazing the land, roasted chestnuts, rows of tulips, lace sewn on your sleeves, wooden figurines, lazing underneath a willow tree, paint brushes, walnut brownies baked after dinner, sheen on the highest points of your face, seashells kept from the beach, fluffy clouds shaped like animals, cookies wrapped with parchment paper and tied with twine

LOVE FOR A HUFFLEPUFF ➝ groggily mumbling “five more minutes” in the morning before getting out of bed because they love the way your body is pressed against theirs, always making two cups of coffee in the morning, putting a blanket over your body when you’re sleeping on the couch, getting your favorite ice cream pint at the supermarket even though you didn’t write it on the grocery list, being the first one to text you on your birthday, showing “I love you” through remembering all the things that make you special

WHAT SETS THEM APART ➝ the ones who always stop and lend a hand, the ones who give up what is theirs if it benefits others, the ones who never forget your name, the ones who make the biggest sacrifice, the ones who are altruistic

SHENANIGANS IN THE COMMON ROOM ➝ sitting near the fireplace and roasting s’mores together, dance parties and clanking of butterbeer glasses to celebrate the end of exams, playing a game of pictionary instead of doing homework

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

RAVENCLAW ➝ kuroo, kita, kiyoko, kenma, hirugami, akaashi, suna, ennoshita, terushima, kunimi, tsukishima, kageyama

HOUSE AESTHETICS ➝ passing notes stained with coffee in secrecy, sugar cubes dissolving in a cup of tea, constellations telling stories from generations past, violets, blankets of soft snow seen outside your window, chunky boots, running your fingers across a velvet blanket, sleeping with a book covering your eyes from the sun, stardust, notes written next to your favorite scene in a play, gold trimmed letters, ink smeared on fingers, the tail of a cat swinging back and forth, telescopes, mascara smudged at the corners of your eyes, a scarf knitted by a close friend

LOVE FOR A RAVENCLAW ➝ two a.m. facetime calls talking about anything and everything until it’s silent on both ends and neither of you mind because time spent together is never a minute wasted, chaste kisses when passing through rows of shelves in the library, sharing your favorite songs with each other, reading a book because you offhandedly mentioned it once, falling down the rabbit hole and never wanting to escape, writing “I love you” at the corner of your notebook and waiting until you notice

WHAT SETS THEM APART ➝ the ones who pause and always pick the right words, the ones who devise plans like no other, the ones who try to understand everything the universe has to offer, the ones who will go above and beyond to change the system, the ones who are erudite

SHENANIGANS IN THE COMMON ROOM ➝ students gathered together with bowls of popcorn to watch a meteor shower, jeopardy games regarding historical magical figures being played with the stakes of winner getting their homework done by everyone else for a week, all nighters dedicated to deciphering ancient text

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

[astrolovecosmos]

For Fellow Astrologers 🌟

Aries: Red sheer curtains surround a heavy ivory table. A black astrology chart etches into the stone, customized for each reading. Later it disappears without a spec of dust & with a ting. Smell of cinnamon hangs in the air. Blood oranges & pomegranates in a sandstorm-hue bowl.

Taurus: Star charts stacked on a wooden stump. Tea leaves forgotten about. Inside a tree hollow, fairy lights dotted. Candles safely burning. Every reading comes with a snack or drink. Copper mugs, green ink, rose petals. A garden gnome outside wishes you farewell.

Gemini: Motley scarves & drapes scattered about. Palm reading posters, circle of tarot cards, flutes & hand-held harps. A skylight to crystal blue & white paint strokes. Chart readings done at a different place each time. Likes to draw them out by hand with a golden ink pen.

Cancer: In a cozy bedroom. Stormy always outside, making the pines dance. Sandalwood in the oil diffuser. Zodiac wheel tapestry. Readings done through zoom on the bed or at the handcrafted desk with few. Spells hidden away. Wool blanket over the mirror - how you enter and exit.

Leo: Golden statues of protection & blessing. Throne at the head of the room, readings recited or conversed. Orange blossoms fall from the ceiling frequently. A bejeweled quilt guest can use for comfort or a flute of champagne. Enter with an offering, even if simple or humble.

Virgo: Off the busy street. Flashing neon sign. Enter through beads, welcomed by flowery incense and succulents. There are plenty of balms and potions to look at and invest in. Traditional palm reading, astrology, tarot card set up. The back door... leads somewhere else.

Libra: Light colors paint murals on the walls. Sliding door open to a red stone patio. Inside or outside today? Plants thrive in their pots. Ambient music, dragonfly visitors, tiny fountains. Favorite charts hung or displayed on shelves. Messages come in on paper planes.

Scorpio: Waves crash against the porthole. There is distraction from the glow-in-the-dark chart being drawn and read. Crystal ball and cards off to the side. Scorpion and snake trinkets. Black tablecloth and tall melted candles of white and maroon. Loud and long silences common.

Sagittarius: Quiet but lively music in the background, purple, red, orange tints delight. Cushions to sit on the floor. Crystal ball and hand mirror in the center of the room. Readings are done with coffee stained paper. Lava lamp but little technology other than that.

Capricorn: Emerald flooring & mahogany walls, grand fireplace that flickers visions. Bat in a golden cage. Runes & sticks in a glass box. Blessed pottery. Behind the partition the reading takes place. It's all business, but sometimes sympathy requires cucumber sandwiches & tea.

Aquarius: Enter through a fog where deep blues & violets greet you. Ceiling sparkling with stars & floating UFO saucers. Your name written out in rainbows, charts always drawn a newer & better way each time. Here things are never on schedule but worth the patience & wonder.

Pisces: Meet below the wisteria flowers. Charts will be hand drawn or explored with a stick and mud. There can be fortune telling in bird baths, dream analyzation in the clouds. Seashells, charms, unicorn horns, and mermaid scales decorate a white picnic blanket.

[simp-for-spencer-reid]

Sugar With a Side of Coffee Ch. 15

Chapter 15: Learning to Live With Each Other Series Masterlist

“God damnit!” Cate scoffed when her power went out for the second time this week. It seemed like her apartment had started falling apart since winter started. First, it had been her hot water that would run out too quickly. If the too frequent cold showers weren’t enough, her heat would go out on her floor. And the cherry on top of everything else was her flickering electrical problem. It wasn’t her that was blowing the fuse, but one of her neighbors on her floor and Cate had had enough. After finding her phone on the bathroom countertop in the dark, she texted Marta before fetching her work button up. 

I’m gonna be late, power is out again. Ugh.

The lights flickered, before going off again. Cate felt Shrimp rub against her legs. He darted away when a drop from her wet hair dripped on his head. She collected her shoes and a bag of some overnight items. Cate didn’t know how much longer she could stay in these conditions. It wasn’t fair to Shrimp that she’d been staying at Spencer’s more and more. 

A beanie was tightly pulled over Cate’s wet hair as her winter boots sloshed in the wet snow that covered the sidewalk. Cold air nipped at Cate’s face as she tensed her shoulders to try and hide her face in her winter jacket. Despite having brought her car to Virginia from New Hampshire, it would take less time to walk than to drive and find parking.

She didn’t think she had ever been this happy to see The Empty Mug’s glass doors. Pulling one open, she stood in the entry way on the checkered tile floor. Customers were already lining up at the counter where Marta was taking orders and prepping coffee. Spencer was already inside the cafe, drink in hand. He moved quickly to Cate, pressing a chaste kiss to her cold nose. He scrunched his face at the temperature. He noticed her wet hair peeking out from the beanie.

“Hi,” Cate breathed out, “I have to finish getting ready upstairs.” Cate didn’t want to impose on Marta and her family by inviting him up, but it was about time he would be leaving to head to the FBI office. 

Spencer had gotten the impression that she did not want to talk about why she was late or why she was only half ready for work. She seemed frazzled and definitely disorganized. She had her own version of a go bag over her shoulder. It was hard not to half profile her when their exchanges were short. It helped him get a better idea of what was going through her head. 

“Okay, I’ll see you later?” Spence asked as she reached up and kissed his cheek as a passing greeting. 

“Yeah,” she confirmed, already bounding up the stairs. It was hard for Spencer to keep a respectful gaze on her backside since their trip back to Quantico in her car. He stole glances at her any chance he could get. She distracted him in the best way and after he tore his eyes from the doorway she disappeared through, he checked his watch and decided to get back on his way to work. 

Mondays in the bullpen were spent collected around someone’s desk catching up on everyone’s plans. As Spencer approached the team around Morgan’s desk, he was telling of his latest date, and how he was invited back to her house. JJ rolled her eyes at his story. Emily caught Spencer’s eyes as he walked up. Rossi smiled at him as he approached.

“Morning,” she greeted. “Welcome to Morgan’s Intro to ‘Swag’ lecture,” Emily joked as Morgan feigned being offended.

“Emily, be respectful,” Rossi started, “He doesn’t have ‘swag’, he has ‘game’” he jokingly clarified. 

“Alright alright,” Morgan held his hands up. Hotch walks in, interrupting their catch up. A new case was in. 

JJ sat across from Spencer on the jet, trying hard to stay focused on the file she had in her hands. Spencer could tell something was up by her fidgeting. She looked at him every minute almost on the dot. She wouldn’t meet his eyes if he looked back up at her. Finally, he was going to confront her, but she bit him to it, speaking first.

“How was your holiday?” she asked. It felt like a loaded question. 

“Great, how was yours? Did Henry and Michael get everything on their list to Santa?” Spencer only asked because when JJ addresses their letters, they are sent to his house, and he replies on special christmas themed stationary and he even gets into character with a little help from a special wooden fountain pen that he dips in ink. He tries his best to disguise his handwriting so that he can keep the facade a little longer. 

“Yes, I’m pretty sure they have every dinosaur figurine known to paleontologists across the world. Henry’s room puts the Smithsonian to shame. Michael’s room looks like a dinosaur themed carnival game prize booth exploded inside of it.” JJ laughed, before getting back on track. “Did you go somewhere special?” she asked, picking at the paper clips and brass fasteners on the file. 

And there was the other shoe that dropped. 

“You look like you already know the answer to that,” he replied. Spencer thought back to the holidays. He ran through everything that had gone on during his short vacation. He had flown to Vegas, then he had asked Penelope to get Cate’s home address, then he had flown to New Hampshire…

He asked Penelope to track Cate’s phone to get her home address. 

Of course she must have shared with the team that he was flying to visit Cate’s family for the holidays. 

“Penelope,” both Spencer and JJ spoke her name at the same time.                                                                                                                                                                       

“Things must be getting pretty serious for the two of you?” JJ continued, observing her friend’s face. 

“Yeah, I am taking this seriously. We both are.” Spencer told his friend, “I’m thinking of asking her to move in with me.” he confessed. JJ’s jaw dropped. 

“That’s a big move for you. Are you sure?” she questioned, wanting only the best for her friend.

“Of course. I know it seems quick, but I know her lease is up soon and I figured it’s a good idea for us.” Spencer tried to quickly summarize his decision so they could get back to the case. 

It was dark on the way home from the case on the jet. It was a rare occasion to be back in the same day, but it was a welcomed occurrence. Spencer couldn’t wait to go to Cate’s and be able to go to sleep by her side. His eyes felt heavy, but the short ride back to Quantico wasn’t long enough to be able to get in a good refreshing nap. 

The drive to Cate’s went by slowly and it felt like Spencer was getting stopped by every red light. He played with his tie and pulled his sleeves up to his elbows, trying to focus and stay awake. He could even feel his eyes shutting on his way up to her floor in the elevator.

He was not prepared when she opened the door for him in nothing but one of his work button ups. He felt his heart quicken and he felt the most awake he’s been in the past few hours. 

Giving a quick glance around her apartment, he first noticed the assortment of candles illuminating the space and then the wave of a mixture of all sorts of scents came around. Before he could even greet her, she pulled him by the strap of his satchel and into the doorway, closing it behind him. She swiftly moved one of her hands to his tie and pulled him down to meet her lips, kissing him furiously. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, holding her carefully. He didn’t mind one bit, but it came out of nowhere.

“Trying to warm up; it’s freezing in here,” Cate hushed out. She connected their lips again, but began dragging him back towards her room. 

“Do you think it has anything to do with you not wearing pants?” he panted as she fiddled with his tie and took his bag off his shoulder. 

“Stop talking and shut up,” he placed his hands on her face as he deepened the kiss.

“That’s the same thing,” he mumbled against her lips. 

“Just kiss me,” she pulled on his tie harder towards her. Once in her room, they stumbled their way down onto the bed. Spencer used his muscle memory to undo the buttons of her top while Cate did the same to him. As he slid the fabric off her shoulders, he could feel her weight shift. Then he felt her soft fuzzy fur against his arm. 

Opening his eyes, he gave a small shriek and moved to cover his exposed chest as Shrimp laid down between them, loafing. Cate threw her head back laughing, as she pressed Spencer’s shirt together over her chest.  Spencer watched her. He loved hearing that laugh. The tension between them was broken in the best way. 

Spencer laid on his back, Cate pressed into his side. They had a blanket thrown over them, but Spencer could feel Cate’s skin against him. It was cold in her apartment, he had deduced that the heat must be broken or some sort of malfunction in her building. If anything, it prompted him more to ask her. She shouldn’t be living with no heat in the winter. A wave of confidence surged through him.

“Do you want to move in with me?” He began to play with his fingers. He stared at her ceiling as the silence grew between them. She placed a tentative hand on his.

“Are you serious?” Cate finally answered. 

“I- yeah I am, but I don’t want to pressure you or anything,” Spencer licked his lips, a million thoughts running through his head. 

“You want me to move in with you?” Cate clarified, now sitting up, putting her weight on her elbow to properly look him in the face. 

“Yes,” Spencer breathed out, the million thoughts seemed to stream out of his head when he looked at her, “I want you to live with me.”

“Okay,” Cate couldn’t help the smile growing on her face. “I’ll move in with you.” Spencer grabbed her face in his hands and guided her face to his, kissing her with all of his excitement. 

The next morning, Spencer and Cate went over technicalities of moving in together and a time frame of moving her things to his apartment. Her lease wasn’t up for another two months, but the two wanted to be organized and make the move as smooth as possible. 

It made Spencer look at his apartment in a new light. When he was home, he imagined how some furniture from Cate’s apartment would fit in- both literally and stylistically. He knew the first thing he would get rid of would be that god-awful uncomfortable red thing he called a couch. He really hoped her sectional would fit up the apartment stairs; he hoped he could clear up a corner in his living room for the matching chair. 

And of course, there were discussions on properly acclimating Shrimp to Spencer’s apartment. Cate was adamant on ‘Shrimp proofing’ his apartment before her cat finally made the move. It was decided that Shrimp would be the first to officially move in. Shrimp no longer had to deal with the cold temperatures of the lack of heat and being left alone in Cate’s apartment. 

It was a bit of getting used to on Spencer’s part of living full time with a cat, but he was glad it was with Shrimp. Spencer wasn’t fond of the litter box in his small bathroom, but didn’t want it somewhere like the living room- it was moved to a corner in his office. The grain of the litter that Spencer now found everywhere made it hard to focus. Cat toys littered the floor of his apartment, which was a bit of a contrast to his typically clean area rug.

In Spencer’s small closet of a pantry, he now had to get used to the container of Shrimp’s food. Cate used to keep it in the bag, but Spencer convinced her to put it in an airtight container, spewing facts of keeping it from going stale and such. 

Speaking of his pantry, it had come to get over filled as Cate began to store more food at Spencer’s house. Cate was a notorious snacker and she had plenty of boxes of little crisps and snacks to feed the entire BAU team. It hadn’t really bothered him except for one time:

He had come home from work a bit early and was ready to relax with a good book. The previous case still had a hold on him, consuming his thoughts. Cate wasn’t in the common space of his apartment, her usual spot on the sectional was empty. He could hear her favorite show playing from his bedroom. Normally, he would’ve been distracted by the cute way she laughed as the show played on her phone screen and her hair messily thrown up in a bun. This time, his attention was drawn to the bag of chips laying next to her on the bed.

“What are you doing? You can’t eat on the bed!” Spencer had made a grab for the bag, but Cate held it up. 

“Relax!” she closed the bag, getting out of bed to go put it away. While she was in the kitchen, Spencer was brushing crumbs off the bed.

“Now there’s crumbs all over the bed!” This was the last feeling he wanted: to feel remnants of chips scratching his skin when he was trying to get to unwind. 

“Spence, I’ll get it, don’t worry. I’ll get it.” Cate repeated, coming back to the room and placing a hand on his back to calm him down. “I’ll get the vacuum and I’ll clean it up.” Spencer finally turned to look at her. Cate could tell he was upset, and could tell a case might’ve been a bit rough. 

He wasn’t totally innocent, though. Cate realized he began to shadow her around the apartment. He wasn’t quite used to sharing a space with someone else. If she left her dirty dishes next to the sink, he was right behind her, placing them into the sink. If she was doing laundry and putting towels away, he went in after and folded them to his liking, putting them in the order that he always put them. He was constantly rearranging things behind her, like the throw blanket over the back of the couch, or remaking the bed after her. She had confronted him about it when she had confirmed she wasn’t just making it up in her mind. 

“If you don’t like the way I do things, you can just say so,” Cate told him, circling back into their room after she had made the bed. She watched him re tucking the sheets and fluffing the pillows.

“You don’t do it wrong, but studies show if you make sure the sheets have no creases under the comforter, you’re significantly less likely to get bed bugs. And if you keep the pillows at this angle, they keep their shape better and it’s better for your neck while you sleep,” Spencer spoke, waving his hands animatedly. 

“Okay, so show me how you do it,” Cate asked. That day, Cate and Spencer spent it laughing and making and remaking the bed. Cate would tease him, making up fake specifics as to why she made the bed her way. 

After the first few weeks, they both learned  to live with each other. They started to compliment each other’s ways of living: Cate became more tidy and Spencer became a little less uptight. Spencer grew to love having Shrimp around full time, all of what came with being a pet parent. 

Shrimp would follow Spencer around the apartment like he’d lived there all his life. While Spencer enjoyed his home brew of what Cate took home from The Empty Mug, Shrimp could be found sitting by his ankles. Spencer learned all sorts of cat facts, and would share with Shrimp the difference between a cat’s eyesight and that of a human. Shrimp liked watching Spencer talk, though his focus was often on the doctor’s long hair that framed his face. 

Cate came home one night from The Empty Mug, meeting Spencer and Shrimp in the kitchen. She watched Spencer talk Shrimp through the growing process of kittens and their weekly stages and milestones of development. Shrimp was sitting on the floor, looking up at Spencer. Cate bent down, calling to Shrimp with kissy noises. Shrimp didn’t even break his gaze with Spencer, merely pointing an ear and flicking his tail towards Cate. 

“Traitor,” Cate muttered, walking over to Spencer, wrapping her arms around his middle, “He’s my boyfriend!” Cate said down to her cat. She could feel the rumble of Spencer’s laugh. Spencer pressed his nose to the top of Cate’s head, breathing in the smell of the coffee shop. 

The next morning was something Spencer could get used to waking up to forever. Cate was in his housecoat, singing quietly while making toast, having since given up on trying to cook anything else in fear of setting the smoke alarms off like before. Shrimp was sitting on one of the island stools, watching intently. Cate grabbed two mugs from his cabinet, his favorite navy blue one and her own that she brought from her old apartment- an orange one with a cat's face that resembled Shrimp. 

Cate jumped when she noticed Spencer, leaning against the doorframe to his bedroom, watching her with a smile on his face. 

“Good morning, handsome.” she smiled, handing him a homemade coffee of his usual order from the Empty Mug. “Sugar with a side of coffee for your sweet tooth.” Cate placed a kiss on his lips as she passed the mug to his hands.

[wndpens]

11 Reasons Why Personalized Pens are the Best Gifts in 2022

When it comes to choosing a pen, there are many things that you need to consider, such as its material, design, and cost. Let’s discuss why personalized pens are the best gifts and how they can help you make your brand stand out from others in 2022.

They're more memorable than other gifts. People will never forget personalized things.

Each pen is a work of art. Each personalized pen is engraved with a message, name, or logo, making it unique and special for the recipient.

It's an excuse to get creative. You can design the pen with your own custom logo, engrave it with a message, and even wrap it in gift paper that matches the theme and color of your company.

When you give someone a personalized pen, they’ll know you put thought into their gift.

Build your branding with a universal gift perfect for all kinds of occasions.

The gift is customized to the person you're giving it to. It’s the perfect mix of practical and sentimental.

It's a thoughtful gift that shows you care. That you are willing to go the extra mile for someone.

Custom wood pens come in any shape and style you could imagine. We offer pens in all shapes, sizes, materials, and colors.

They're great for milestone events. You can get a classic ballpoint for graduation or an intricate fountain pen for a job promotion.

If you’re looking for a gift that will be unique, personalized, and memorable, then custom wood pens are the best choice.

Your loved one will always be able to find it when they need it because of the engraving. They are great gifts for people of any age or gender.

If someone in your life loves writing, consider getting them custom wood pens that they can keep forever.

[hereisleo]

unsolvable equations

w/ s.mg ft. j.yh

g/ non-idol!au, friendship

a.n/ something that stems from listening to eden’s discography while on the train, peak nostalgia hour

t.w/ none

In the drowsiness of four in the morning, Mingi sat in his chair, hunched over various papers, textbooks and notes. His hand continuously wrote lines upon lines of numbers and symbols. What started as a liked subject in high school had plunged him into the depths of a sophisticated system. He remembered his teacher saying talent was a pursued interest. Here he was awake at four instead of sleeping, he couldn’t stop until he figured out what was waiting for him at the end of the massive equation. The small desk lamp flickered, he knew soon the batteries needed replacing again. He could have bought a new lamp but there was no other light source he would rather work with this late.

The door of his room crack opened and a mop of messy brown hair peeked inside. Mingi sat up and winced, his back cracked after being in the same position for far too long. “Ya, still up?” His roommate and best friend of many years came in. A steaming mug of a mysterious beverage in his hand. “Milk and honey, it’ll help you sleep,” he placed the mug on the desk’s only clear spot, a coaster blocked off part of the wooden surface. It was purposely reserved for instances like tonight. “Thanks, Yunho.” Mingi smiled and sipped the night treat as he watched his best friend fall into his bed. Yunho pointed at the lamp, voice laced with sleepiness, “You’re still using that wretched thing?” Mingi gasped in mock offence and clutched his heart, “Wretched thing? My precious baby?! You’re the one who gave me this loyal babe. How dare you!” Yunho’s chuckles were muffled by the pillow, his cheeks rose adorably.

He noticed throughout the years, Yunho’s facial structure stayed the same. The squishy cheeks he couldn’t seem to shed became what Mingi called ‘Yunho’s health scale’. No sound came from his long-standing roommate and Mingi turned his attention to the compact yet worn lamp. Scratches and tiny dents littering the metal surface were hidden by stickers of countries he had flown to for his work. The wretched lamp ate its batteries faster than Mingi could fill his thick hardbound notebook with numbers. He picked up his pen, a well-loved Pilot Custom Heritage 92 demonstrator fountain pen from his mother, the only one he used upon receiving it. Mathematical equations and numbers were as concrete as it possibly can but Mingi was anything but.

The grey ink sloshed back and forth in the converter. He was once asked, “Why grey ink?” It reminded him of the wooden pencils he started out with, the shade of childhood on paper and the stains on his fingers and hand from the graphite. Before the ink had a chance to bleed onto the paper, a click of tongue and rustling sheets were enough for Mingi to cap his pen. He drained the rest of the milk while it was still warm and headed to bed. He occupied the empty space beside his friend, mathematics could wait. He won’t be seeing his friend for sometime after tonight. He took one last look at the lamp, reminding himself to remove the batteries and pack the device into his bag. The body heat radiating next to him was the last thing Mingi felt as the grips of dreamless sleep overtook him.

The aircraft intercom crackled to life, Mingi recited the pre-flight announcements from rote memory. He straightened his grey suit jacket and made his final round of safety checks. Once he sat down, he inhaled and exhaled methodically. He hated takeoffs and landings, the years in this field still didn’t completely curb his fear of height. He wished his friend was here to hold his hand. Alas, it was a moot thought. Yunho who pursued a career in the entertainment industry was back in Seoul at the company, recording or dancing or both and he who chased after his dream to be a flight attendant was in a flight bound to Spain. He proudly presented the wings he earned the same time Yunho was set to debut. The eventful night was spent in excited screaming and future prospects before it mellowed out to sombre conversations. Two friends lying on the floor, eyes memorising the ceiling of the house they wished to visit more often. How far they had come in their lives.

Mingi closed his eyes and flooded his mind with numbers from his hardbound notebook, fingers writing the continued equations on his thigh. He would transcribe them later. The equation he bred was lauded as innovative by the professors of the university. They did express their concern over the complexity and the possibility of it not being solvable. He knew. He thought of it prior to presenting his rough draft but he wouldn’t settle for second best. Solvable or not, it was his and his alone. Having no closure was closure itself and he needed to know what lay beyond it, disappointing or not. The image of the compact lamp flickering and the mug of milk and honey flashed to the forefront of his mind. Yes, he would be fine.

His fellow flight attendant squeezed his shoulder with a slightly worried smile. The plane had reached a stable altitude. He smiled and told her softly he was fine and thanked her for being concerned. He unbuckled the seatbelt and helped with drinks distribution. Somewhere way at the end of the aircraft, he heard a baby wailing. As usual, he would go up to the parents and ask if it was acceptable for him to help their soothe the baby. Most would be relieved to place their babies in his arms, Mingi understood, there was nothing wrong in wanting a little respite, there was nothing to feel guilty. He gently took the infant into his hold and walked up and down the aisle rocking the babe, mumbling sweet nothings. He didn’t come back to their seat until the baby was fast asleep.

The Spanish sun blazed in winter. Mingi shed his outer coat, leaving him in a simple long sleeve shirt. The green pastures of the highland stretch for miles all around him, flocks of sheep grazed and bleated without a care in the world. He trudged up the dirt path toward the quaint cottage. He couldn’t travel with his friend last time but it didn’t stop Yunho to list all the places he had been all over Spain, Mingi was equipped with chicken scrawl writing and badly drawn structures and maps on the postcards. They made sure none of them was neglected in any way. Two differing personalities yet they knew how to take care of each other without saying a word. Time truly flew without waiting.

Red brick walls greeted him at the end of the path, the metal gates creaked open with a push of his hand. The reclusiveness of the location swept Mingi into a whirlpool of nostalgia. Passing by the abode and around to the spacious back garden, the blue expanse of the Mediterranean Sea in the distance embraced him. The groundskeeper found him drifting off in the hammock, the sun blanketing him in warm rays and the wind brushing through his hair in loving strokes. He deciphered what the keeper told him in accented English, if he had come here years before, he would have blurted out his iconic line from the Australia trip, “I cannot English.” He thanked the keeper and pretended he didn’t almost trip from getting out of the hammock. The sheepish smile on his face and the mirth dancing in the keeper’s eyes were enough for Mingi to know he wasn’t slick. He stayed outside until the sun set below the horizon. The golden hues gilded the area and Mingi imagined if this was the shade that was perpetual for the gods at Mount Olympus, if this was the same sight Yunho witnessed. The Mediterranean Sea shifted into a pool of liquid gold then to abysmal black when the sun spun to the east.

A pack of AA batteries sat ready to use on the wooden desk beside the four-poster king-sized bed. Of course, Yunho knew Mingi would forget the batteries for the lamp, half the world apart and he was still being taken care. The baggage check security confiscated the batteries because he didn’t remove them beforehand. He had been doing this a lot recently, losing himself in reminiscence. The keeper called him down for dinner, classic Spanish dishes graced the table and Mingi was fed until he couldn’t. An amicable conversation of the cottage’s history, the highlands and each other’s lives lingered in his ears. He couldn’t help but to close his eyes from time to time, savouring the Spanish accented English. He was sleepy by the time he returned to his room with a pot of Lady Grey. He drew open the off white curtains and left the windows ajar. The moon was full and bright, it seemed closer than when he was in Seoul.

He should get some sleep before jet lag settled in but he gravitated to the posh wooden desk. If he was his younger self, he would pick the bed, no hesitation. The Mingi now was even surer of himself, the passion simmering under his skin and lighting his eyes were no longer hidden under a pretence of foolishness. He was still the “work smart and my way” Mingi everyone knew yet the refined confidence oozing from his presence turned more heads and the sharp intelligence landed him in the opportunities of his dreams. He placed the batteries into empty slots and flipped the switch. The room was dimly lit by warm white light. The nib of his fountain pen glided across the white pages, spilling grey inks in numbers and symbols from memory. The wind came through the open windows and ruffled the papers. Mingi didn’t sleep until the blue hour descended and the birds said good morning.

The Seoul winter welcomed him home and the summer of Yunho’s affection wrapped him tightly in its embrace. His friend had come to pick him up from the airport, Yunho in his street clothes and Mingi still in his grey uniform. The metro ride to their shared apartment was spent by telling each other the adventures they were up to while apart. His heart warmed at the mention of their shared place being too empty without him. The feeling was mutual when Yunho was on world tours. Occasionally, they would be lucky enough to be on the same flight. Mingi dragged his suitcase into his room and collapsed onto the bed. He felt blanket being draped over his shoulders and a hand patted his head, “Goodnight and sweet dreams.” There was much to do after this. Yunho started to unpack his suitcase, the crunching of plastic bags didn’t bother him. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier and he didn’t know when he gave into the clutches of a well-rested sleep.

February, the coldest month of the year, the last Friday of his time at Seoul National University. He came to the contentment of the unsolvable as the tassels were moved from right to left. The finale of the current chapter had arrived. Mingi ran toward his friends, the seven who he held dearly to his heart, the seven who accepted him for who he was. The winter wind bit his skin and the sun was hidden behind the clouds. The blue-and-black robe swung from his movements and the cap fell off his head. The equations were not meant to be solved. There was no right answer for it. Only the progress mattered. Show the work. He was thrown into the air amidst cheering. At that moment, Mingi knew he had reached his closure. The sunlight broke through the coverings. The equations mutated itself, as cold as these numbers could be they were novel. Life was never meant to be solved.

“Dr Song Mingi!”

[elementenchanter]

Discreet Ideas for the Elemental Altar

Not all witches can have things to represent the elements which are obviously “witchy” but still want to do an altar. Here are some ideas I’ve come up with in which you can discreetly make a little altar that is special to you.

Earth: A potted plant, which should fare well indoors, small “earthy” statues, maybe one of a fairy as an example, fake flowers (yes, I know, but I believe fake flowers can get your point across and look beautiful, and they will last as long as possible), rocks (they are such a simple earthy thing to place on the altar and you can say that you’ve gotten into rock collection as an explanation!)

Some things I have on my altar for Earth that can pass as discreet include: miniature statues of cats, a wooden crafted wheelbarrow with flowers on it that was gifted to me, and stones (mentioned earlier).

Why I didn’t mention salt: I believe salt [regular table salt, himalayan pink salt in their original state] would be a little harder to explain. The first thing someone might think is at the end of the day, these are kitchen items and have no business being in your room, for example. However, if you were to have a himalayan pink crystal lamp, which are very popularized, you could explain that. I’ve seen heart shaped miniature pink crystals sold where I work, and even a miniature zen garden including himalayan pink salt. Those could be explained because of how popularized they are, regular salt, perhaps not (in my opinion).

Regarding Crystals: Crystals are easy to explain, as I’ve seen many of my customers who just like crystals to like them, and not because of their metaphysical properties. You could absolutely put crystals such as jade, emerald, and hematite to represent Earth on the altar.

Air: Feathers (try to find good feathers that have fallen off of birds in your area, bring them home and clean them. You can say you’re doing a craft such as making a quill pen, or you collect feathers that look good. Please look into local laws about feathers, especially if you have exotic and protected birds around your area, you don’t want to get into trouble), fake feathers (yes, again, I know, but there are craft stores that sell good quality fake feathers. Get yellow ones since yellow is one of the colors that represent air!), wind chime (they sound lovely and can easily be explained. You can hang it up around the altar and get one that you love the most!), pictures of clouds, something that represents a wind storm (such as a picture of a tree struggling against the wind, or craft from fake flowers a depiction of it [take off some flowers so that the ‘stem’ is only there and keep some flowers on to represent wind being able to rip the flowers off].

Some things I have on my altar for Air that can pass as discreet include: feathers from pidgeons I’ve collected off of the ground and a quill pen. I do have incense as well in which the smoke can represent air to a degree, but I don’t include it because I am thinking of the witches who can’t burn incense.

Crystals: Citrine, topaz, blue chalcedony, lapis lazuli.

Fire: LED candles! (I know of many witches who even use LED candles in spells or as a substitute for actual candles either to be discreet or because they cannot burn actual candles. To me, it is totally fine if you do this and it can be explained for safety reasons or decorative reasons), pictures of fire, such as a campfire, cinnamon sticks (arrange them in the shape of logs for a campfire theme), craft fake pepper flakes out of red construction paper and place it in a cup and place it on your altar.

My Fire representation includes candles, because I am able to safely burn them, as well as burning incense, so I cannot give any examples from my personal altar that are discreet, because, as I said, there are some witches that can’t do either of those things. If there are any other Elemental Witches who have discreet representations on their altar, please tell us!

Crystals: Fire agate, garnet, tiger’s eye, amber.

Water: Let’s say you can’t have a jar of water on your altar, or a chalice with it. Let’s say it’s not safe (by an electrical outlet, jar could fall and break, etc). There’s still ways you can represent water discreetly. Seashells (especially if you live by a beach). Don’t forget about the store-bought ones, either, but many have said that the seashell industry is a bit bad. Try to get them from ethical sources (if there are any witches who have any, please tell us!) Plastic jar containing sand, or a plastic cork bottle where you can place sand in (there’s kids kits for exactly that, and you don’t have to be above buying them, either). Pictures of streams or fountains, and any aquatic animal.

Some things I have on my altar for Water that can pass as discreet include: statue of a mermaid, seashells (mentioned earlier), sand I’ve gotten from the beach, statues of dolphins, little bottle with an anchor charm on it.

Crystals: blue topaz, sapphire, aqua chalcedony.

Spirit: If you don’t practice with Spirit, that’s okay, but there are ways you can incorporate Spirit as well. Since Spirit is non-physical and exists within all of the Elements (”universal”), to me, you can represent it by placing anything cosmic on the altar, such as miniature statues of stars, pictures of the cosmos, etc, or you may draw a spiral. Other qualities about Spirit include it representing the will, consciousness and soul, so if you wanted to, you may find pictures that mean that to you.

I represent Spirit with a white candle on the altar, and you can get a fancy LED candle and decorate it with the colors of Spirit (white, violet, black) so you know it’s for Spirit.

Crystals: clear quartz (the best starter crystal to have and easy to get), diamond (try getting herkimer diamond), black onyx.

[penhero]

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[justwritesome]

a vacation, perhaps

(part 3)

Hinojima. That's the island where Konoha stood. Unlike the main island of Okinawa Prefecture, which have been urbanized, the island remained untouched from the changing times. It's practically a middle of nowhere.

The only evidence Madara knew that he hadn't travelled back to the past were the mini-Airport, the telephone pole they just passed by and the dingy truck he'd been riding for fifteen minutes now.

So far, Madara is just seeing a lot of trees. The bustling and convenient city of Tokyo spoiled him, the Uchiha realised. Besides the occassional trips to the mountains of the countrysides in his youth as a college student indulging in the hobby of Falconry, he never had to leave from the civilization he's used to. And whenever he travelled to Okinawa when he was young with either relatives or schoolmates and friends, they never strayed from the main island where the popular tourist spots they had visited.

Madara had stepped foot in the island for the better part of half an hour, but his gut instincts told him this trip would definitely be different from his previous trips.

"Madara-san?" The driving pink-haired woman called him from his thoughts. "Can I call you Madara-san?"

"You're already addressing me as such." Madara replied blandly.

Sakura made a face while staring down the road, "Whatever. I'm Sakura Haruno. Or is it Haruno Sakura to you?"

Madara felt the corner of his eye twitching at her nonchalance. For someone whose job is supposed to be amicable and polite, she's a real impudent one.

"Anyway, I need to drop by real quick in the marketplace before I take you to the place you're going to stay at." She added as she made a turn the right.

"What? Why? Can't you do it in your own time?" Madara inquired as he frowned at the girl's professionalism.

Sakura scowled. What did he think she's doing?!

"I'm already doing it in my own time!" She snapped, uttering those words through gritted teeth. "It seemed to be you're mistaking me for a servant or the hotel's staff, but I assure you Uchiha-san, I'm only doing Sasuke-kun a favour."

After that, Sakura harshly stepped on the brake pedal and removed her seatbelt to get out of the truck. Madara watched her marched towards the wooden fern green gates, which made him realised that they arrived in the small village of Konoha. He pondered if he should follow her to the village, but it's hot outside, so he decided to stay put inside the truck. He's going to be in this island for two weeks. He will just visit the village after he settled down in his temporary lodging.

For now, he will work on the paperwork he couldn't read properly because of all the jostling from the uneven roadway of this island.

xxx

Sakura gently placed the beige eco bag in her hand to one of the six red stools in the Ichiraku Ramen Stall before dropping the two sacks of rice from her shoulder to the foot of said stools.

"You looked like you're about to explode." Kakashi commented when he saw Sakura sliding to the seat beside him.

"No, I'm not!" Sakura vehemently denied as she reached for the cold glass of water beside the bowl of ramen in front of the silver-haired man.

"Hmm..." Kakashi hummed. "Are you Outer or Inner?"

"I'm Sakura! There's no difference!" She insisted, having the urge to raise her fist at him as she quenched her thirst.

"Of course. Of course." Kakashi nodded, placating the young woman. "So, did you already take your meds? It's for your own good, you know?"

Sakura grimaced at the scolding tone he's using. Like she's a petulant child, refusing to eat her leafy green veggies. Kakashi, on the other hand, just kept smiling with his eyes while the lower half of his face was covered with medical mask. She glowered at nothing before pulling her pill case from her hip pouch, popping a white tablet to her mouth and biting it with a crunch.

"It never failed to amaze me how you can chew that bitter pill like it's chitose-ame, Sa-ku-ra." Kakashi nonchalantly remarked at the pink-haired woman.

The nonchalance in the silver-haired man may seemed indifferent, but there's a hint of concern and clinical scrutiny in his tone.

"Yeah, well, always be amazed."

Since she was twelve years old, Sakura had been staying in this island. It was to hide the dirt in her family: her. Beside the fact she's a bastard child of the family's illegitimate son, she also have another her inside her head and was diagnosed with split personality disorder. At pre-teen, it was decided that Sakura had no hope to marry because of her apparent mental disorder.

Like, she could care about that, really. The voice in her head had helped her in many ways than her own flesh and blood could before she met her bond family.

"One miso and chasiu ramen on the go for you, Sakura-chan."

Teuchi smiled at the friend of his favourite hyperactive blond customer. His ramen is one of the reasons Uzumaki Naruto was persuaded to live in this remote island in the first place. The main reason was to help and accompany Sakura, one of his childhood friends, of course.

Sakura stood up from her seat and placed the appropriate bill on the counter before taking the ramen take-out from the old man and putting it inside the eco bag she deposited Sasuke's tomatoes and Sai's ink bottles and sticks along with the things one of the guests in the hotel had asked of her to procure.

"I'm leaving! See you tomorrow, Kakashi. Ah! Sasuke's uncle also arrived. He's with me in your truck." Sakura informed him, noticeably calmer than before.

"Alive and in one piece, I hope." Kakashi teased.

"You can always hide the body." Sakura quipped back.

"Always nice talking to you, Sakura. I will come up there when I have time later." He told her before turning his back to eat his ramen.

Sakura sceptically looked at Kakashi. His later may mean tomorrow or the next day bearing ridiculous and over the top excuses simply to troll people and to put them off. She left the ramen stall with her purchases. Before she could completely step away from the place, the silver-head man reminded her with a holler,

"Also, don't forget to eat! You're not you when you're hungry."

xxx

Madara was about to sign his signature of approval on the last paper in one of the files he'd been working on when he saw a flash of pink in the corner of his eyes. He looked up from his work and saw her.

She's carrying two sacks of rice on her one shoulder and a large beige eco bag in the other hand as she walked out of the village's gate with no difficulty. He felt his lips parting slightly at the shock of seeing this delicate-looking, pink-haired woman of five-four lugging two sacks on her left shoulder...

How exactly strong is she?

Madara closed his eyes and firmly shut his lips, arms folded over his chest. She could probably bench press him with that kind of strength. He concluded.

He opened his eyes to look behind him- at the tinted back window to observe her feat of strength: she unloaded the two sacks in the back of the truck with ease before pulling the latch to close it.

When Madara saw her coming near the door of the backseat, he hurriedly turned around and stared at the paperwork in his hand. He discreetly observed her pushing the eco bag beside his own travelling bag before she closed the door. His dark eyes drifted to the fountain pen in his hand and he became conscious that his grip on it had tightened.

Just as Sakura settled down once again on the driver's seat, the older Uchiha was signing on his paperwork before arranging them and putting them back inside his suitcase. Sakura coughed lightly to gain the older man's attention. Madara looked her way and saw that her face, flushed from the heat outside and from something else.

That something else is probably because of the thing or two in her hand, which she thrusted in his direction, seemingly abashed.

"Here, Madara-san." She whispered, but loud enough for him to hear.

The sudden change in her mood intrigued him. What happened to her between the period she'd gone to the village? Did she realised the error of her ways?

"Thank you, Haruno." Madara said with a tint of amusement in his eyes, taking the paper box and pineapple juice in can from her hand, their fingers brushing briefly.

Sakura almost squeaked at the contact, but she refrained herself from doing so. But inside her hear, Inner Sakura yelled at the hotness of this Uchiha. They're all hot to her.

Sakura cleared her throat to stop herself from blushing bright red. Sure, the voice in her head helped her a lot when she was a young girl being bullied by her so-called playmates in pre-school and early grade school because of her bizarre appearance and the fact she's a child from a reputed family, but born out of wedlock... However, this is too much!

"There's no bento left and I couldn't get you a proper lunch beside ramen, but that stir-fry bitter melon and inarizushi would hopefully do to fill you up a bit. It's nothing special, but Akimichi-sama cooked the most delicious food here in Konoha." She babbled awkwardly to drone out Inner's perverted ramblings before Sakura bit her lips and started to pull over from the gate to drive him to Fire Kitsune's.

Madara removed his dark obsidian eyes from her lips before opening the box when she said his favourite food. Upon seeing the four pieces of inarizushi beside the stir-fry bitter melon separated by baran, Madara chuckled inwardly. This woman is after his own heart. Giving him his favorite food in their first meeting, albeit without her knowing it is his favorite food, is quite endearing. And added by that display of strength, despite her mood swings and temper, Madara would like to get to know her better after he's finished with this sham of a business trip.

xxx

"Welcome to Fire Kitsune's Hotel & Resort, City Boy." Sai greeted Madara with a fake smile pasted on his pasty face. "How can I help you?"

The older Uchiha's jaw tightened at the person inside the receptionist box of the three-storey establishment. His attempt to pronounce the "city boy" in the English Language sounded like "shitty boy". What kind of place is this? Did Itachi seriously think a partnership with this place will benefit their company?

The treatment of the staffs to their guests were rather appalling. Seriously. Well, he's not that certain for what the other guests thinks, but he would like to speak for all of them.

"Sai! Stop giving people nicknames. It's not appropriate!" Sakura chided as she dropped a brown paper bag with the ink bottles and stick inside it in front of him.

Sai continued smiling as he rummaged the paper bag. Upon seeing the brand of the ink sticks, he faced Sakura and bluntly said,

"What's not appropriate here is the wrong brand of this ink sticks you bought, Ugly."

Sakura was about to open her mouth to retort at Sai when Sasuke appeared at the wooden staircase of the ryokan.

"Sasuke."

"Madara-ojisan," Sasuke coolly greeted back his relative as he stepped down the stairs, taking his sweet time.

Some of the women guests in the hall who just came from the man-made hot springs of the resort sent their pink and red heart eyes at the cool and hip Uchiha when they saw him. Naruto left the kitchen he often manned with Chouji to see the commotion in the lobby. When he saw Sakura in the midst of the dark-haired Uchihas and Sai, his blue eyes immediately landed on the box of instant ramen inside her foldable eco bag with his Ichiraku ramen.

The automatic response to this, is what followed:

"Sakura-chan~!!" Naruto blissfully called as he tried to embrace his sister in all but blood when she remembered to get his ramen from Ichiraku. It almost skipped his mind because they're slammed from work.

Sakura briskly stepped away, so Naruto crashed and fell on the wooden floor. His face first. Sasuke sighed inwardly when he saw the arrival of comedy skit between his friends. Before they could even begin their antics again, in front of his uncle no less, Sasuke told Naruto that the noodles in his ramen will get soggy and that he shouldn't leave the kitchen with Chouji when Ino or Sakura wasn't around to help. After that, Naruto went back to the kitchen with his ramen take-out and his instant ramen in his arms- a look of utter joy on his face.

Sasuke visibly sighed before looking at Madara again, "I'll show you to your room, ojisan."

Before they left, Sasuke's eyes landed on the package of ripe tomatoes Sakura had withdrew with Hinata's parcel. Seeing his attention on the fruit, the pinkette beamed while folding her eco bag to store it back inside her hip pouch.

Madara gazed at the beautiful and bright smile on her face, noting the faint dimple on her cheek. The strands of her silky pink hair cascaded down her pale neck and barely touched her shoulders. He studied the three young adults with concealed interest in his eyes.

"Ino and I made a good harvest!" Sakura happily exclaimed, her forest green eyes shining. "When you and Sai are done with your shifts later, come down with Naruto to pick up the pineapple and watermelon we planted this season to share with everyone here."

The faux smile on Sai's face significantly dropped, but his expression lightened and softened genuinely when he and Sasuke saw the guileless and peaceful smile on their precious friend- almost sister's face.

This is what they wanted to protect when they all resolved to join Sakura here after college and left Honshu.

Sasuke subtly smile on his own way as he gestured for his relative to follow him. The older Uchiha knew he hadn't mistaken the determination burning in the eyes of his nephew and the rude boy in the reception box.

Maybe agreeing with his cousin, Mikoto, to take this vacation otherwise known by his scheming relatives as business trip in Okinawa will not be tedious as he had first thought.

part 1 || part 2

[pollylynn]

“I thought you were a writer. What happened?” —Ronnie, Private Eye Caramba! (7 x 12)

Title: Why We Fight Rating: T WC: 1000

His mind is too busy for sleep, even after a couple glasses of wine and time well spent ensuring that his second customer of the day is well and truly satisfied. It’s too alive with smoldering lines of dialogue from the lips of Sofia Del Cordova, with Ronnie the lobby guy’s hunched demeanor and low-key greed, with Pam the restroom attendant’s sharp eye for personality, relationships, intentions.

He rests a palm on her spine, feeling the smooth, steady breath between her shoulder blades, then slips from the bed into his study. His hands reach instinctively for his laptop, but he hesitates. He pushes it aside in favor of a fountain pen and a good pad of paper. He switches on the neglected desk lamp, angling the shade so the spill of light licks out over the desk. He sits, nib poised over the elegant, lined sheet, and waits to see how this will shake out—how the plot points and character quirks will make their way out into the world.

Nothing comes at first. He doesn’t expect that. It’s a mystery writer’s gold mine, or it will be once he strips away the tedium and less than glamorous aspects, and he wonders what his damned hand is waiting for.

He taps the expensive nib at the upper left of the first line. He lets the weight of the pen carry the barrel around the back of his thumb, then catches it on the palm side. He fidgets and sketches and doodles, and even though there’s still a clamor of things about the case he wants to capture before they fade, nothing he thought he was thinking about will come.

He shifts gears. He takes his eye off the page and lets it fall where it will, somewhere in the  middle distance. He lets it drag down the glass wall to the outside world and sweep along the narrow seam of deeper shadow at the bottom of the door to the bedroom. He lets himself study the back of his own hand without intention until the pen seems to move of its own volition.  

Pink bunny.

That comes out first. He doesn’t know what it means. He lets himself not know. He moves the pen, or the pen moves itself, and the word Locket comes out. Ring. Her mother’s ring, underscored several times, circled reverently. He jumps back and forth in the timeline—Grocery Bag, Drop Key, Blue Butterfly, Broken Keychain. By the time Brag Book makes its way out of his pen, he has an idea about the idea.

He’s thinking about evidence, objects, things, and the way people connect to them. He’s thinking about the way they link people to one another and how they’re infused with meaning, with motive, with significance that shifts in different kinds of light. He adds Rhinestone to his haphazard cloud of words, then with the fond memory of its balance in his hand, Magnifying Glass nearby.

He gets a little scene out of that. The sound of the crystal tumbling on the scarred surface of the wooden desk as it comes loose from the purse, sudden intuition, confirmation, insight, followed hard on by the appearance of his femme fatale. He gets his Maltese Falcon moment down on paper, everything right up to the bait and switch—the worthless purse and the key to the dreams of three different women, the nightmare of their killer.

He gets the mechanics of it down and one or two quick-stroke emotional beats, but for all its familiarity, he doesn’t quite understand it. He doesn’t quite grasp where the moment will go or why it matters.

“You’re not out here being your own muse, are you?” She’s a heart-stopping silhouette in the bedroom doorway, right on cue.

“Definitely not.” He holds out a hand to her and the words are like punctuation dropping in to make sense of the scattered mess he’s committed to the page. “You are the once and future muse.”

“Damn straight,” she says smugly as she drops into his lap. She shifts the weight of their bodies to swing the chair around. She steals a peek at the desk. “Pen and paper. Old school.”

He shrugs, tracing the continuation of an idea down the bare expanse of her thigh with busy fingers. “It’s what was working tonight.”

“Writing working?” She rests her head on his shoulder. She lands a sloppy kiss on the underside of his chin and settles in for the story, whichever one he wants to tell.

“Yes and no,” he says. The no is a surprise and part of the solution to the problem of the page. He’s figuring out in real time which story it is that he intends to tell. “I was just thinking through the case.”

“Your first case.” She lands a proud, sloppy kiss on the underside of his chin.

“My first,” he echoes, though he’s not thinking of it that way tonight. Not exactly. “I thought I was just looking for a purse, and then I thought I was looking for a really expensive purse, and then it was a fake and . . .” He trails off, then starts up again, the words coming in a bashful rush. “I think I did good today.”

He feels his cheek grow hot, and he’s glad of the cool press of her skin against it. He’s glad for the cover of darkness.

“Of course you did good,” she tells him with a sleepy laugh. “You do the job, you do good. That’s how it goes on the best days.”

“That’s how it goes.” He peers over the top of her head to the mess of thoughts spilled out on the page. He sees objects—things—fixed there and the meaning they make holding everything together. He understands better what he wants to do with the P.I. business and why. He understands that it’s what he’s done alongside her for years. “You’d think I’d know that by now.”