#drinking bubbles 2 sundays in a row

[self-made-cages]

GOOD NEWS we've found a prosecco from Italy, we're good!

[bearybutch]

chrysalis 🦋

an introspective on growing up as a transmasculine butch lesbian without the words for it. that child carried me here; I turn finally to face him and say, now, I will carry you.

I wrote a lot about this piece on instagram, if you’d like a deeper read.

Image description below.

[ Image descriptions by page number, reading left to right in rows of three and two.

1: Two hands are shown reaching out to one another in a recreation of The Creation of Adam. The left hand is a child’s hand, with a caterpillar with markings arching off the top finger. The right hand is an adult’s hand, with a large butterfly atop reaching down to make contact with the caterpillar. Its wings have heart motifs. Above the black line art, cursive text reads “chrysalis”, and then block handwritten text reads “a zine by Teddy”. The background is white.

2: An androgynous child is shown, cuddling a panda stuffed animal to their chest. They have round cheeks, short fluffy hair, and are wearing costume butterfly wings. Text reads “little one.” below the child in handwritten font. The background is white, the line art is black.

3: A baby is shown swaddled in cloth, one eye open and looking at the viewer. A tag on their cloth reads scrawl that roughly says “4kgs - overdue”. Text reads “were you ever, though? you were born big.” in handwritten font in the lower left corner. The background is white, the line art is black.

4: A women’s bathroom door is shown slightly ajar, with the child shown standing, back to the viewer, in front of the door and holding the hand of an off-canvas adult. Text reads “so you never really stood a chance at the whole ‘little girl’ thing.” in handwritten font. The background is white, the line art is black.

5: The child is shown in a striped jumper, standing and shaking a bottle of fizzy drink with a black label. They are smiling widely with shorter hair and with round cheeks. Faded speech bubbles read a blocked out name, and text saying “Put the bottle down! Don’t - don’t shake it!” and “Haha - stop that! Come back here -“. Text either side of the child reads “you were delightfully, undeniably boyish.” in handwritten font. The background is white, the line art is black.

6: Several items are shown, including a spiderman-themed cake, two misshapen sticks, a naked barbie doll, and an old playstation 3 controller across the canvas. The main text reads “the signs were there. how nobody noticed, I’ll never understand” at the top and bottom of the image in handwritten font. Smaller text frames the items, reading “that time you got to choose between a barbie or a spiderman birthday cake” and “sticks that looked like lightsabers and blasters” and “piles of naked barbie dolls” and “lego star wars sundays with dads” to match each item. The background is white, the line art is black.

7: The child is shown, older, in a school dress and with the fluffy hair in matching pigtails. They are looking up. A speech bubble reads “Hey.”. Text above these two reads “but then - someone did” in handwritten font. The background is white, the line art is black.

8: The child is shown from behind in their school dress and hair in pigtails. An older student is shown, taller than them and face obscured by shadow. Text reads “what were you? six?” in handwritten font. The background is white, the line art is black.

9: A speech bubble reads “WHAT EVEN ARE YOU? BOY OR A GIRL?” in handwritten block font at the centre of the image. Text reads “One question you’re meant to know the answer to” across the top left and the bottom right of the canvas in handwritten font. The background is white, the line art is black.

10: The child’s eyes are shown up close, with concerned eyebrows and slightly more detail. A butterfly with its wings closed is shown above the eyes, and then a butterfly with open wings is shown below the eyes. In the very centre between the eyes, text reads “and” in handwritten font. The background is white, the line art is black.

11: The child is shown from the side, looking down at their hands, with their pigtail and school dress visible. Their face is missing several details aside from their round cheeks. Dotted outlines of butterfly wings are shown behind them. Text reads “you hesitated” above and below the image in handwritten font. The background is white, the line art is black.

12: Several speech bubbles are shown in a cluster. Different ones read “You’re too young to know what crossdressing is!” and “How did you find this in the library? I ought to complain…” and “Always ready to defend the underdog, aren’t you?” and “Clothes from the boys section won’t fit your body right.” in handwritten block text. Above and below the speech bubbles reads “therein laid the answer. but it would be lost to you, in what was to follow.” in handwritten font. The background is white, the line art is black.

13: The child is shown slightly older, naked and with their hair splayed behind them in almost a massive ink spill. Peonies and petals are spread across the child’s body, obscuring their nudity, and their hands cover their chest. They are crying and only have eyes visible now, missing their mouth, nose, and round cheeks. Text in the lower right corner reads “to your mounting horror, you bloomed early” in handwritten font. The background is white, the line art is black.

14: The child is shown from the side, their inkspill hair reaching their shoulders, a bra strap visible on their chest and a hand reaching across to cover it. A multitude of hands reach out behind them, trying to clutch at their shoulders. Text reads “the things which others wanted for -“ in handwritten font in the upper left corner. The background is white, the line art is black.

15: The child is shown from the front, reaching their arms up to cut off the left side of their ink spill hair with a sword. The sword cuts on such an angle that it is severing their left breast as well, and snapping the centre of their bra. Blood leaks down from the cut. Their underarm hair is depicted as flames. Their eyes are shut and they cry a single black tear, and still have no mouth or nose. Text reads “- you were eager to cast aside” in handwritten font in the lower right corner. The background is white, the line art is black.

16: Nine iterations of the child are shown from the neck up on the side, with multiple different haircuts getting shorter and shorter, until the fluffy bob cut has turned into a side shave with straight hair slicked back on top. Text reads “anything you did want you sought through compromise” between the nine busts, in handwritten font. The background is white, the line art is black.

17: A calendar is shown hanging on the wall, depicting December 2019. The top has several roses with December 2019 written in cursive font. The bottom has a grid of dates covered in crosses, with one date marked “GRADUATION” and outlined with a circle, as a countdown to that date. Text above the calendar reads “inching towards your own private prayer” in handwritten font. The background is white, the line art is black.

18: The child is shown, grown into an adult, curled in a fetal position in a bubble. Below the bubble, the adult is shown bursting out with a pair of butterfly wings behind them - like a fairy. The wings have heart motifs. The adult has shaved hair and straight hair slicked back, and remains with an androgynous body. Text around the bubble reads “the chrysalis that came after”, and text below the fairy adult reads “is not unique” in handwritten font. The background is white, the line art is black.

19: The fairy adult is shown kneeling, on the side, with their wings drooped behind them. They are crying and grimacing, hands outstretched on their thighs, in a vulnerable position. A hand from off-canvas reaches out to cup their jaw. Text behind them reads “the loathing which once sustained you” in handwritten font. The background is white, the line art is black.

20: A subtle recreation of the artwork the Birth of Venus is shown, depicting the fairy adult and two friends on the canvas. The fairy adult stands with their wings open, a hand on their chest and beside their genitals, with a visibly hairy body, slicked back hair, small cross earrings, and a gradient “DYKE” tattoo under their breasts. On their right, a trans man is shown leaning over with his arm across the fairy adult’s shoulders. He is hairy, with top surgery scars, a short haircut, and a double Mars tattoo on his shoulder. He also has butterfly wings. On the fairy adult’s left, a woman is shown, with a cropped bob of hair, a flame heart earring, and is wrapping her arms around the fairy adult’s arm. She has a large arm tattoo of a crying demon, a visible chest, and butterfly wings. Text reads “turned into love” in handwritten font above the three figures. The background is white, the line art is black.

21: The child is shown again in its original outfit, holding the panda bear to their chest with their costume butterfly wings on. They are looking up, almost as if there is a figure off canvas they are looking at. Text reads “I wonder, little one…” in handwritten font. The background is white, the line art is black.

22: The adult - who is Teddy, the artist - is shown looking down, wearing a tee shirt, a leather jacket, and jeans. He has their hands in their pockets, and are smiling softly. They have large butterfly wings with heart motifs, cross earrings, and tears in their eyes. Their hair is slicked back and messy, with short shaved sides. He has all of his features and looks complete and whole. Petals are blowing in the wind around them. Text reads “do you recognise me?” in handwritten font above him. The background is white, the line art is black.

23: The child is shown from the side, running towards the right of the canvas, with the panda in their arms. They look as if they are about to cry. There is no text. The background is white, the line art is black.

24: The child is shown in their outfit from the fizzy drink shaking page (a striped jumper and jeans with the costume butterfly wings), running across the canvas. The panda is shown discarded on the ground behind them. There is no text. The background is white, the line art is black.

25: The child has reached adult Teddy, who is kneeling to lift them into their arms. They reach out. Adult Teddy is shown on the side in his leather jacket, jeans, with his cross earring, and with his large butterfly wings. There is no text. The background is white, the line art is black.

26: Adult Teddy is shown holding the child in his arms. The child is shown with their back to the viewer, so their costume butterfly wings are on display. They have their arms around Teddy’s neck and are being held up in his arms. Teddy is wearing a leather jacket, jeans, and has his hair slicked back, with large butterfly wings behind him. He is crying, and his right hand cups the child’s head tenderly. Text reads “I love you. I’m not ashamed of you” above and below the art in handwritten font. The background is white, the line art is black.

27: Teddy and the child are shown pressing their foreheads together, both crying and smiling. The child has short, fluffy hair, round cheeks, and is wearing their striped jumper. Teddy has slicked back hair with shaved sides, black cross earrings, a leather jacket on, and tears falling from his eyes. He is shown tenderly touching the child’s cheek in comfort. There is a black butterfly between them with heart motifs on its wings. Text reads “you made such a beautiful butterfly” in handwritten font below the art. The background is white, the line art is black.

28: Teddy and the child are shown, back to the canvas. The child is riding on Teddy’s shoulders, gripping around his head for security. Teddy is reaching up to grip the child’s legs to keep them stable. The child is wearing costume butterfly wings. Teddy’s leather jacket parallels this with a butterfly wings pair embroidered on the back. They are walking away together, peacefully. Text reads “fin.” beside them on the right, with a blank butterfly beside it. The background is white, the line art is black.

End IDs.]

[skzsauce01]

Bird Is the Word

Synopsis: A series of drunk texts leads to one of the best and worst things that has ever happened to you. Or, Han Jisung is never going to let you forget the time you forgot the word ‘bird.’ College AU. Not a text fic but does include some texts.

Warning: alcohol, a lot of bird puns

Word Count: 8.1k

Pairing: fem!reader x Han Jisung

2:23 AM [Me]: sOS SOS SOS SOSOSOS 2:23 AM [Me]: I NEED HELPPPP 2:23 AM [Jisung Bio]: You okay?? 2:23 AM [Me]: YOU SMART HELPPPPP

2:24 AM [Jisung Bio]: Do you want me to call the police?? 2:24 AM [Me]: WHAT ARE THE FLUFFY ANIMALS THAT GO FLAP CALLED 2:24 AM [Jisung Bio]: Is this a code word? 2:24 AM [Me]: THEY GO FLAP AND EAT SEEDS 2:24 AM [Jisung Bio]: Do you mean birds? 2:24 AM [Jisung Bio]: Are you drunk?

2:25 AM [Me]: [blurry_photo_of_your_window.jpg] 2:25 AM [Me]: HERE LOOK 2:25 AM [Me]: YES BIRDS 2:25 AM [Me]: THANK YOU SOOOOO MUCH 2:25 AM [Me]: LOVE YOUUUUU

In your defense, you were drunk. And when you are drunk, your critical thinking skills disappear and are replaced by pure, uninhibited stupidity. It’s like some twisted Jekyll and Hyde situation, but only when you drink, you transform into this other version of yourself instead of suppressing it.

You mostly remember the things you have done and said while under the influence. The most embarrassing ones tend to be fuzzy. If it weren’t for the grainy phone video taken by Seungmin and your own voice cheerfully declaring that you had an idea, you wouldn’t have realized that you were the idiot who tried to make a chalk mural at the four-way intersection in the middle of the night. You didn’t even have chalk, but that didn’t stop you from drawing on the asphalt with a broken pen you found on the sidewalk.

Good thing Seungmin had the foresight to drag you back to the crosswalk before a car could come speeding by.

However, that legendary act of idiocy doesn’t even compare to this new one. Forget the fact that you could have died.

Your biology class just went over survival of the fittest using Darwin’s finches as an example. How in the world did you forget about the word ‘bird?’ Why did you think it was a good idea to ask the cute guy in your bio study group about “THE FLUFFY ANIMALS THAT GO FLAP?” And why, why, why did you insist on telling him that you loved him? The ‘THANK YOU SOOOOO MUCH’ was already enough.

Jisung is never going to let you live this down.

It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s not like you spent the entire Sunday morning knocking back glasses of water and wishing it was vodka instead. It’s not like you drafted about five different apology messages and deleted them all. It’s not like you have to see him in class tomorrow.

Really, you’re fine.

You go out of your way to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible, which probably means you are very conspicuous. Do normal people not wear hoodies and sweatpants to class now, or are you just overthinking everything? The two people in the row in front of you are wearing jeans, and the girl heading down your row has a polka-dotted dress on. A secondary glance at the girl tells you that it’s another member of your study group. Speaking of the study group, maybe you should find another one. Preferably one without Jisung in it.

“Morning,” Lia says as she takes the seat beside you. She sets down her purple water bottle on the floor with a light clink. “How was your weekend?”

Terrible, but you say, “It was fine. I finished up the readings and did some notes. How about you?”

“Those readings took me forever!” she groans. “I was trying to finish everything on Saturday, so I could go out on Sunday. Which I did manage to do, so it all worked out. I got a new dress!” She plucks at the bodice of her dress, and you finally take a closer look at the pattern.

They’re not polka dots. They’re freaking birds — swoopy doves with outstretched wings. Or at least you think they’re doves. Your lack of bird knowledge speaks for itself.

“It’s pretty,” you hollowly say. The universe seems determined to remind you of your texts. Lia’s face falters, and you realize your disdain came across as you lying. “No, it’s not like that! Just… bad experiences with birds. You look really nice in this.”

She brightens up. “Oh, thanks! What do you mean by ‘bad experiences?’ What happened?”

“Good morning, birdbrain!”

“That happened.”

Looking far too happy for a Monday morning, Jisung takes the other seat beside you. He has a cup of coffee stacked high with whipped cream and chocolate drizzle, and you wonder if his extreme cheerfulness is from the caffeine or from your impending public humiliation. Why did you have to pick this guy to have a crush on? Sure, he’s cute and smart and sometimes nice, but there are plenty of people who have those traits without his witticism.

Lia looks at you with more amusement than concern. “So what happened?”

You tell her about what really happened during the weekend, and Jisung laughs all the while, reenacting his facial expression when he received your first frantic SOS message. Meanwhile, you sink lower and lower into your chair, ignoring your tailbone’s cries of pain as you slide further down the thin cushion.

“You can’t hide forever,” Jisung remarks as he looks at your slumping form. “C’mon, it wasn’t that bad. And you were drunk anyway.”

Yeah, you were, but the whole thing is doubly embarrassing because of how much you want him to like you. The overenthusiastic, all-caps messages are normal whenever you text while drunk, but ‘I love yous’ and the even rarer ‘I LOVE YOUUUU’  are few and far between. Only six people excluding Jisung have received them: your parents, your best friend, and your statistics group project members because you accidentally sent the message to the wrong chat.

On the bright side, seven is a lucky number. It means absolutely nothing in this case, and it’s hardly relevant to how you’re feeling, but everyone copes differently. Yours just happens to be clinging onto any silver lining available for solace.

“Anyway,” Lia cuts in, saving you from replying, “you’re here early, Jisung.”

He shrugs and flashes her a playful smile. However, his eyes are focused on you when he says, “You know what they say: early bird gets the worm.”

You give him a pitiful attempt of a withering glare. “I hate you.”

“Okay, fine.” He tugs at the shoulder of your hoodie to motion for you to stop trying to melt into the ground and to help you up. “It’s ‘cause I knew you would be here early.”

You are calm, you are fine, you will not be flustered. He just teased you five seconds ago; you should not be this willing to forgive him under these circumstances. Nonetheless, you slide back up to a more normal sitting position and try to pretend that you are still mildly upset. His next sentences make that impossible.

“You guys want brownies? Felix was stress-baking again.”

One may call you easily swayed by food, and they would be right. Jisung lets you have a coveted corner piece, and you decide that he’s alright again. He stretches an arm in front of you to get to Lia, and you lean back to avoid bumping into him. It also gives you a clear view of his profile. Wow, is he pretty. Look at that jawline. Suddenly his eyes go wide, and his mouth splits into a familiar excited grin.

“Are those birds?”

“Yep,” Lia answers, looking over at you to check your reaction. She tries to hide her smile, but it’s clear as day. You’re not entirely sure what she’s going to say next, but you already know it’s going to involve your current least favorite animal species. “Pretty… dove-ly, don’t you think?”

At least you were right about them being doves. “I hate you both.”

Jisung laughs at her pun and holds out his palm for a high-five. “You know what they say: birds of a feather flock together.”

“I really hate you both.”

Your initial prediction that Jisung is never going to let you live this down is correct. When you meet your bio group again Thursday night to study for the upcoming quiz, Jisung brings lemon poppy seed muffins for seemingly no other reason than to tease you. His housemate is still stress-baking, and judging by the bird silhouette made of glaze, Felix is very stressed and very eager to indulge in Jisung’s ideas.

“They’re finches!” Jisung proudly announces as he sets one right in front of you. The stupid decoration on top mocks you, but the muffin looks and smells delicious.  

Hyunjin, who does not know about your current plight but does know about Darwin’s finches, appreciatively coos at them. “They’ve even got different beak shapes! These are so cool. Man, Felix must hate econ right now.”

“No kidding,” you mutter as you begin peeling off the wrapper. Felix must hate you as well because one bite of this is almost enough for you to forgive Jisung again. It’s that good. How are you supposed to stay mad at Jisung when he gives you free delicious food? “Forget college, he needs to be in culinary school.”

He smirks from across the table, and it takes a lot of willpower for you to pretend you’re unphased. “What if I told you that I made these?”

“Then I would call you a liar.” He better be lying. You do not need another reason to justify your crush on him.

“And you would be right.” He slides his plastic container down to Lia, who has just arrived and is eyeballing the muffins like a predator. “But I did help him.”

“It’s really good,” you admit. You continue nibbling on it, determined to make the muffin last as long as you can. “What part did you help him out with?”

“The birds on top. Turns out drawing them with runny glaze is hard. I gave you the prettiest one, so don’t get mad about the whole bird thing. It goes with what we’re studying too.”

“Fine,” you sigh as you fold the wrapper into halves over and over again. “But only because these are amazing.”

Hyunjin leans in closer, effectively popping the intimate bubble you and Jisung were in. “What’s ‘the bird thing?’”

Fortunately, Yeji has finally arrived, which gives you the perfect excuse to stop Jisung from letting another person know of your drunk texts. You make a big production of pulling out your notebook from your backpack and rifling through your pencil bag for a pen.

“Should we get started?” you ask. Lia nods and uncaps one of her many highlighters.

“I’ll tell you later,” Jisung whispers to Hyunjin, winking at you. You could cry, melt, die. You could do a lot of things, but you opt to stick your tongue out at him. So what if you’re being childish? You can barely concentrate on the real world after that wink. To Yeji, he says, “There’s snacks, if Lia hasn’t eaten them all yet.”

“Hey!”

Hyunjin laughs at her notorious sweet tooth before turning to Yeji. “He gave Y/N the prettiest one, so there’s probably only his fails left.”

“They’re not bad!”

Lia has only had two, so there are more than enough to choose from. Yeji peers inside the container before selecting the one closest to her.

“Is this a plague doctor?” she asks as she suppresses a laugh. “It’s got a top hat.”

Jisung shakes his head and groans. “You chose the worst one on purpose. It’s one of Darwin’s finches. You would have known if you studied.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t draw.” Taking no notice of Jisung’s affronted expression, she takes out the textbook the five of you split the cost to buy. “Okay, plague doctor cupcakes out of the way, what are the four main theories of evolution?”

“They’re lemon poppy seed finch muffins,” he clarifies.

“That’s not an evolution theory,” Hyunjin cheekily replies, earning him an elbow nudge from Jisung and a laugh from everyone else.

You end up answering Yeji’s question and reward your correct answer with another muffin. Besides them being addictive, you’ll need some energy for the rest of the study session if all this talk about birds persists. You select the most plague doctor-ish one out of the box, and Jisung notices.

“Seriously?” he pouts. “I give you the best one, and this is how you repay me? I thought you said you weren’t mad about the bird thing.”

You ignore the last sentence. “What? You’re not proud of these?” you say, mock astonished as you give him a good view of the glaze on top. “They look exactly like plague doctors.”

“I hate you.”

You smile and shrug before returning back into the discussion about Lamarckism. Let him get a taste of his own medicine.

Unfortunately, as promised and as possible revenge, Jisung tells Hyunjin about ‘the bird thing,’ and Yeji overhears since she is only two chairs away. You try melting into the ground instead, but Lia holds you in place as the story continues, so you are stuck reliving the memory. You knew Jisung wouldn’t let you forget, but you didn’t account for everyone else in the group finding out and joining in on the torture.

But thanks to Jisung’s brilliant idea to bring those spectacularly decorated muffins, he doesn’t go unscathed either. It’s a mediocre consolation prize, but you’ll take it.

All around, it’s a productive study session, if a bit long, courtesy of everyone’s unrelenting shots at you and Jisung.

Your study group splits off in three separate directions once you’re all at the library entrance: Yeji back to the on-campus dorms where she’s an RA, Hyunjin and Lia to the off-campus apartments a few streets down, you and Jisung to the bus stop to your apartments on the other of campus. There’s a few people already sitting at the bench, so you and Jisung stand under the streetlight nearby. A moth intent on reaching the light source rams itself repeatedly against the glass covering, and you tiredly watch it. You yawn.

“Not much of a night owl?” he asks. With no clever reply ready, you gently shove him towards the bushes, but he only sways at your push. He throws his hands up in surrender. “Alright, I’ll stop for today.”

“I’m really sorry for sending you that,” you say. You haven’t touched the chat between you and him since the incident. “And for not apologizing earlier.”

“It’s alright. Although I almost had a heart attack when you sent me ‘SOS’ like five times.”

You grimace as you remember your frantic texts. If you think back hard enough, you remember furiously tapping at your screen, trying to get his attention as quick as possible because you really, really, really needed to know what the animal that landed on your windowsill was called. Your housemate was in the next room over. You could have asked her instead, but no, you decided that Jisung from bio was the best option. Not even the group chat, just Jisung himself.

“Sorry again,” you weakly reply.

“It really is alright. Finding bird puns is my new favorite hobby now.” He wryly smiles. “I have so many more to try on you. You’re gonna love it.”

Is that endearing or annoying? Living rent-free inside his head isn’t terrible, especially since he seems to do the same in yours. You’ll probably have to endure lots more puns from him in the future, but for now, you’ll decide that it’s endearing.

The bus arrives, and you sit in the back with him. The ride to the apartment complex is quiet; only a group of people near the front are speaking to one another in low voices. Jisung makes no attempt at continuing the conversation, and you are content to stare out into the neon lights outside the window. You can see him in the reflection on the glass. The empty container devoid of muffins sits on Jisung’s lap, his phone placed face down on the lid. If it weren’t for all the other passengers on the bus, you would be convinced that it was just you and him, enjoying each other’s company.

You’re almost sad when you reach your stop.

“Do you want me to walk you to your apartment?” he asks as you step down to the pavement. “Yours is farther down, right?”

“Isn’t your place right here?” you say. You’ve seen him walk out from this particular complex several times while waiting for the bus. That’s not stalking. “You don’t have to go out of your way. It’s just a block away.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely walking you home.”

You hesitate a bit, but Jisung is already taking small steps in the direction of your apartment. A little more time with him doesn’t sound too horrendous right now. “Okay.”

Just like the bus ride, no conversation, which suits you fine. Jisung seems more enthralled by looking into the windows of apartment residents anyway. You can’t blame him, especially when it appears that someone is having their own mini rave in their living room. Once at the doors to your building, you thank him and tell him good night.

“No problem and good luck tomorrow.” His voice is softer at night, or maybe it’s because he’s tired as well.

Your tone matches his as well. “You too. See you in class then.”

“Good night.”

A few minutes after midnight, just as you’re about to get into bed, a message from Jisung pops up. Not Jisung in the study group, just Jisung.

12:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: Hey, I know you’re not much of a night owl, so would you call yourself a morning lark? 12:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: You’re always an early bird to class 12:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: Are you emu-sed? 12:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: :D

Well, he did say he would stop for the day. It’s technically the next day. You reply with an annoyed face before burrowing yourself under your blankets. There are other things to worry about, such as your quiz in nine hours.

You dream of birds, namely finches, that night. Thanks, Jisung.

“This is why I tell you to never drink alone,” Seungmin laughs. He picks up the last slice of pizza from the pan and folds it in half like the heathen he is before taking the first bite. “Bad things always happen.”

“To be fair, Ryujin was home.”

“In a completely different room from you.”

You groan and supplement your exasperation with an extra aggressive tear on your crust. “Okay, fine. I’ve learned my lesson. The point is, he won’t stop with the bird jokes, and I’m going insane.”

Seungmin, having been collateral damage from your drunken mishaps before, is unsympathetic. He still hasn’t quite forgiven you for the time you tried to make a Molotov cocktail in his kitchen. Look, the clickbait video you watched online promised that it would be a fun and easy science experiment, and your other self decided that it was a fantastic idea. Nothing bad happened in the end though since you couldn’t find a lighter. So, Seungmin, it really wasn’t that big of a deal.

“You have a crush on this guy. Why are you upset that he’s flirting with you?”

“He’s cute until he opens his mouth and starts giving me grief about birds.” You sigh as you remember the last text he sent: a photo of the sunset from his apartment window with the caption, A bird’s eye view of the neighborhood. On one hand, you were thrilled to have received a non-homework related picture. On the other hand, bird joke.

“You would do the same.”

“I know, but it still sucks.” You wipe your fingers with a napkin and amuse yourself with spinning the empty pan as Seungmin (slowly) finishes eating. “No more Jisung talk. How was your date?”

Seungmin turns flustered, just like you knew he would. “It wasn’t a date! I’m just her photographer. This is a business arrangement, nothing else.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say.”

“Hey, is that Jisung over there?” he asks, nodding over your shoulder.

“I’m not that gullible,” you sigh, though you can’t say you aren’t tempted. Seungmin loves to make fun of you, and he probably wants to get back at you for teasing him about the girl he’s been spending a suspicious amount of time with.

“Gull-ible?”

“Not you too," you plead. It's already awful with one person. To deter him any further, you continue, "Anyway, back to your definitely-not-a-date date—”

“Hey, Y/N, is that you?”

Seungmin has his “I told you so” face on. After sending him a glare, which he promptly pretends not to see, you turn around, resting your forearm on the back of your chair. Jisung, holding a pan of oven-fresh pizza, smiles back at you.

“Hey,” you greet. He's wearing the same black and red sweatshirt he usually has on, but why does he look so much better in it when he's in a pizza place than in class or in the library? “How are you doing? How’s your Saturday so far?”

“I just woke up like an hour ago, so it’s been pretty good, I guess.” His eyes go to Seungmin, who is now sipping on his soda, pretending to not eavesdrop. “Is this your…”

“This is my friend, Seungmin,” you quickly answer. Other than the fact that you need to make it abundantly clear that you are available, there is no way you’re ever going to date Seungmin. Apart from the girl he claims to not be dating, he’s even more merciless when it comes to reminding you about your drunken ideas. You can’t pass the intersection without him nudging your arm. “Seungmin, this is Jisung. We have bio together.”

Seungmin nods like he hasn’t heard of Jisung before. “Hey, nice to meet you. So, do you guys learn about birds in bio?”

Jisung lights up like a Christmas tree, and you want to cover yourself with the pizza pan. Praying for the ground to swallow you up also sounds like a decent option. In the midst of debating whether hiding under the table would be too odd, you notice that Seungmin has finally finished his slice.

“We should get going,” you interrupt. You do not need Seungmin to start sharing other stupid things you’ve done. He’s about five seconds away from telling Jisung about the intersection chalk mural. “And you probably want to eat dinner.”

Jisung sees right through your act, but he lets it go. “Yeah, Felix is probably starving. See you on Monday?”

“Yeah, see you.”

You expect him to go to wherever Felix is, but he still remains behind you. With a lopsided grin, he asks, “Should I expect any quail-ity texts at 2 AM tonight?”

Seungmin laughs, Jisung laughs, and you stare at the ceiling, wondering what you did to deserve this. Surely there were other people you could have in your life besides these two jerks.

“Winner, winner, chicken dinner!” Jisung sings as you correctly answer his question. This week’s study session consists of a game show Jisung has created, and you almost want to believe that he put in all this effort just to say that phrase. “Another point for you.”

You sigh as Yeji slides a wrapped piece of candy towards you. It’s her turn to bring snacks, and though milk chocolate the size of golf balls are great, you’re still dreaming of those wickedly delicious cake slices Jisung shared with you yesterday. Hummingbird cake, he claimed, it was called. Bananas, pineapples, and pecans, all combined together to make a sweet treat. When you cheekily asked why his housemate was so stressed all the time — you really don’t mind. Sorry, Felix — Jisung cheerfully informed you that he made the entire thing himself. After you picked up your jaw from the floor, you stammered something about it being passable. Not nearly as good as Felix’s stuff, you said, lying through your teeth. Jisung, again, saw right through it but let it slide. See? Sometimes he’s nice. However, you did not need another reason to be attracted to Han Jisung, but here you are.

“Seriously, Yeji?” you mumble as you pull apart the blue foil. “You just had to pick the brand named after a bird?” It doesn’t stop you from popping the chocolate into your mouth though.

“They were on sale!”

While you and Yeji bicker about Dove chocolate and how the universe is conspiring against you, Hyunjin answers the next question correctly. Yeji absentmindedly pushes his reward towards him.

“No chicken dinner for me?” he asks.

Jisung shakes his head. “Your question was easy. You get a pheasant instead. Or a quail. Any bird smaller than a chicken works.”

“A hummingbird then?” you suggest. You really need to stop thinking about that cake. “But I hear those aren’t that great.”

“You already ate every single crumb of that cake I gave you!” Jisung says, but there’s not a drop of displeasure in his tone. In fact, he seems rather happy that you liked it so much that you remembered about it. “All my hard work gone in five seconds.”

“You made her a cake?” Lia gasps in disbelief, secretive note checking forgotten. She’s in last place with only six points, so no one cares too much about her cheating. “What about us? We’re your study buddies too!”

Hyunjin and Yeji chorus their agreements, and you realize that he only shared his cake with you. He followed you out of the lecture hall and gave it to you in a plastic container, so you assumed that he also hand delivered a few slices to everyone else. Never mind that he oh-so-conveniently had a fork with him. Never mind that he sat with you at a bench and watched you try a few bites before devouring it all. Never mind all that.

Wait. Does this mean he likes you too?

You fold and unfold your discarded foil wrappers as you contemplate over this revelation, sneaking glances at Jisung all the while. He looks… normal. Infuriatingly so. Same carefree smile, same arguments with Hyunjin, same lackadaisical chair leaning even though he fell backwards that one time. How is one supposed to tell if someone actually likes you when said someone is the same all the time?

Jisung promises to bring something for the next study session to make up for not sharing his cake and continues on with the review game like nothing has happened. However, those thoughts are still in the back of your mind when the session ends. You have gained five more pieces of chocolate and no further information as to whether Jisung is actually into you or not. As per usual, you and he head to the bus stop together. It’s more crowded than last week since it’s only eight.

“Did you have a pheasant time today?” he asks, pausing next to a hedge.

You keep your eyes on the asphalt instead of looking at him. It’s much easier to pretend you’re calm when you don’t have vision of his face. “I see you discovered pheasants recently. And yes, it was fun. Thanks for making it.”

“You don’t want to crow about winning the game?” When you grimace — you did kind of want to point out how amazing your score was but now you don’t — he quickly adds, “Okay, okay. But you’re going to ace that quiz tomorrow.”

And you simply say, “I know,” because you are and because you have nothing else prepared to say.

It goes quiet, and with only the sounds of cars racing by, Jisung abruptly says, “This is a little awkward now. Or should I say… hawk-ward?”

You groan and break your staring contest with the road to give him an exasperated look. A mistake because he’s smiling so wide, squirrels would be jealous of his cheeks. He has no right to be so cute after those jokes. “Why do I feel like you searched up ‘bird puns’ online and are trying to insert them in every possible scenario?”

“Because I did and because I am.” He sighs in contentment. “Those were the best texts I’ve ever received. I’m never letting you forget it.”

You were right about that, and now you have verbal confirmation from the man himself. Another mediocre consolation prize you will gladly accept. But for now, you say, “Well, toucan play at that game, plague doctor Han Jisung.” The only perk of hearing all these wretched jokes is that you are now rather knowledgeable about them. Thank you, Seungmin, for making that one a few days ago.

“They looked just like finches!” he protests, but he’s laughing along, head tilted back. He sighs again. When he turns to face you again, his eyes are soft. “That was a pretty good one.”

“Seungmin came up with it.” There’s a warm feeling spreading across your chest, constricting your air flow and making all your blood rush to your cheeks. It was one compliment; why are you like this? What are you going to do if he keeps looking at you like that? You swiftly go back to the road, counting the number of cars that pass by. One, two, three, four…

And a gray bus pulling up to the curb.

“Bus is here,” you uselessly announce. Jisung follows you into the growing crowd surrounding the entrance. He hovers behind you as the two of you wait for the people in front to board, and his presence is more palpable than usual. “There’s a lot of people today,” you remark in a vain attempt to distract yourself.

“Yeah, everyone’s heading home for the day.” He pauses dramatically before adding, “The birds are all going back to their nest.”

The joke successfully snaps you out of your haze. “That’s not a real saying.”

“I think it should be. It makes perfect sense!”

“You’re—” As the line shuffles forward, you try to think of something bird related, but he beats to the punch.

“Cuckoo?”

It’s almost impressive how much time he has invested in annoying you. Does it make you fall for him more? No, not really, or so you try to convince yourself. It’s strangely endearing, just like everything about him. You merely answer, “Yes.”

He chuckles and nudges you forward up the steps of the bus.

Even though there’s a little bit of daylight left, Jisung walks you back to your apartment building. You’re not upset by this, but where was this chivalry two weeks ago after the first study session? You teasingly ask him about it, and he turns bashful. How unlike him.

“I thought you lived in my complex, for some reason. You were always at the bus stop before me, so I assumed you lived nearby. I didn’t know until I overheard you and Yeji talking about it,” he says, hiding himself with his collar.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” you say, stopping in front of the walkway to your building, “see you tomorrow then. Thanks for walking me back. Good night.”

The Jisung you’re used to seeing, is back with a mischievous smile and yet another joke. “Good night-ingale.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and try not to seem too amused by it. He’s not charming, not even a little bit. “That was awful.” It’s the smile, you tell yourself. No one should have one like that. It has too much power.

“Yet I can see you smiling at it.”

Remain calm. You can do that. You’ve faked this before, so why is your head not cooperating right now? Jisung really needs to stop looking at you with anything more than a neutral face. It’s bad for you, like really, really bad. No witty remarks at the ready is typical, but you can’t even think of anything to say.

After an excruciating five seconds, you manage to stammer out, “Good night.” Cheeks aflame and your heart threatening to pop out of you like a cuckoo clock, you roughly yank open the door and bolt up the stairs. You have too much adrenaline in you right now. Waiting for the elevator knowing that he could be observing your twitchy movements, would be too nerve wracking.

Ryujin asks if you’re alright when she sees you hunched against the kitchen counter, out of breath and muttering to yourself.

“I decided to take the stairs,” you say, which only partially explains your dishevelled state. “I’ll be alright. I think.”

“I’ll get you some water. You look like you're about to collapse.”

Then your phone chimes with a new message, and you decidedly won’t be alright.

8:22 PM [Jisung Bio]: Did my nightingale pun quack you up that badly? 8:22 PM [Jisung Bio]: Was it that ducking good? 8:22 PM [Jisung Bio]: :D

8:23 PM [Jisung Bio]: Anyway, good luck tomorrow. Sleep well and sweet dreams, morning lark

There is no food in the fridge. Well, no proper food. A bag of spinach that expired three days ago but still seems okay, does not count. The same goes for the half empty jar of peanut butter, but Ryujin would likely disagree with that. There’s a reason why the jar is half empty. However, if you actually want to eat something for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow, you need to go shopping.

For some strange reason, it does not occur to you that you can run into Jisung at the grocery store. Jisung belongs in four locations: the bus stop, the lecture hall, the library, and the pizza place you saw him at last week. Not the dairy aisle on a Wednesday night.

“Hey.” You stop in front of him, basket at your feet and hands folded in front of you like the world’s worst defense. Heart, stop beating so fast.

Jisung looks up from his phone to search for the owner of the voice and brightens when he sees that it’s you. “Hey, morning lark.” He has taken to calling you that ever since he sent that particular message. You wish it produced another reaction from you besides pure bliss, but that is the price you pay for pretending to be still annoyed by his jokes. That’s how bad your crush on him now is; you are increasingly beguiled by the puns. “Oh, did you need milk?”

“Yeah.” You grab a blue carton with a picture of a smiling cow from the shelf and place it in your basket. In the meantime, you can’t help but peer into Jisung’s. There is a bag of chocolate chips and a packet of gelatin. “Is this stuff for tomorrow’s study session?”

He nods and grabs the same brand of milk as you did. You get a rush of excitement, much to your chagrin. It’s just milk, and this is the most popular brand too. “Yeah. Felix is trying a new recipe, so you guys get to have some of the failed ones too.”

“What is it? Cheesecake?”

“You’ll see,” he mysteriously says. Then he adds, “You’re gonna love it,” which immediately gives away the theme.

“It’s something to do with birds, isn’t it?”

“You’ll see.”

And when you do see, you’re wrong. Library food rules ignored, at each seat, Jisung has set a slice of layer cake topped with chocolate ganache, no bird motifs of any sort. You take your usual spot at the end of the table and find that yours is slightly larger than the others. Well, except for maybe Lia’s. He has to placate her sweet tooth and her disappointment of not being able to have hummingbird cake.

“Did I not get a message or something?” Hyunjin asks when he takes in the over-the-top display. “Is this a dinner party?”

“Isn’t this against the library’s rules?” Yeji asks as she surreptitiously looks around for any librarians. The surrounding tables of fellow students won’t care.

Jisung elects to not answer Yeji’s concerns. “This is tonight’s snack,” he proudly replies. “Also, Felix wants feedback on it.”

You cut a section off with the plastic fork and marvel at the airiness of the cake. It’s unlike anything you have ever had. The frosting in between the sponge layers is so light, and the ganache is so dark and rich. “This is really amazing. It’s so fluffy. Wow. Tell Felix that he really needs to consider culinary school.”

“Wanna guess what it’s called?”

“Isn’t this just an extra fancy vanilla cake?” you ask. You take another bite, but other than the chocolate ganache on top, you can only taste vanilla. “I don’t know. The… vanilla fluff cake?”

“Nope.” He leans forward, face inches away from yours, lips curled into a smirk, and slowly says, “Bird’s milk cake.”

This can’t be real. Birds don’t even produce milk. “No way. You’re lying.” Even as you say the words, they sound false to your ears. Jisung has made it his mission to find anything and everything bird-related for you, so you doubt he’s lying.

“It’s called this” — he holds up his phone screen — “in Russian. It translates to ‘bird’s milk.’”

Ptichye moloko.

“You convinced Felix to make this, didn’t you?” you say. What are the chances that Felix conveniently wanted to make bird’s milk cake without any nudging from Jisung? Absolutely none. You have never even heard of this dessert before, let alone by it’s Russian name, and you’re willing to bet that Jisung searched up ‘bird cake’ or something of that nature just for this. Maybe that’s how he found out about hummingbird cake too.

“It’s all for you, morning lark,” he cheerfully replies, winking at you. He leans back in his chair again, precariously balancing on the two back legs. “I knew you’d like it.”

Jisung is really not making this easy for you. Forget subtleties, he’s just shamelessly flirting with you now. And in the sanctity of the library of all places! In a poor attempt to save yourself from this mess, you unconsciously begin to slide down the chair, trying to shield your hot face with your raised shoulders. Lia notices this — one of the perks having sat next to you for nearly four weeks during lectures — and grabs your forearm.

“No melting,” she reminds you, “or else you’re going to hit your head on the seat again.”

“I wasn’t melting,” you protest as you wriggle back up. Slowly dying might have been a better descriptor. That wink shot arrows into your already fragile heart. “We’re gonna get in trouble if one of the librarians sees this.”

“Guess we should get started then,” Hyunjin says. Yeji, the only responsible one in the group, begins pulling out the textbook, and everyone laughs at her eagerness. “Not what I meant, but that too.”

After you’re done with the cake and while the others are preoccupied about the timeline of human evolution, Jisung whispers across the table, “Did you still like it?”

“Yeah. No hard feelings about the name because it was good,” you whisper back.

“I thought it would turn out like this, morning lark. I know you love free food too much to be mad.”

The nickname again. You rest your cheek against your palm in a vain attempt to tamp down the growing heat. “Can I get a different name, plague doctor?”

He’s not at all phased by his own nickname, which doesn’t bode well for any future snarky remarks from you. “What, you don’t like birds or something?” He blinks so innocently back at you that you have to stifle a giggle.

“Yeah, well, that’s the—”

“Hey, lovebirds,” Hyunjin interrupts, making you profusely blush and Yeji lightly laugh at the expression, “we’re gonna move on to the next section now. Is that okay?”

“It’s okay,” you reply even though you are most definitely not okay. Jisung, who you notice is uncharacteristically sheepish, echoes your sentiment.

It’s difficult not to stare at Jisung during the remainder of the study session. It seems to be true the other way around as well.

You’re sober when you read the messages, but you don’t think Jisung was when he sent them. Oh, how the tables have turned.

3:02 AM [Jisung Bio]: Good morning morning lark!! 3:02 AM [Jisung Bio]: Winner winner chicken dinner remember? So yes or no?

3:03 AM [Jisung Bio]: Or maybe yes or yes? 3:03 AM [Jisung Bio]: I really want to go on a date with you 3:03 AM [Jisung Bio]: Not lying I swear

3:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re always on my mind and every time I see a bird, I think about you 3:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: I bought grey goose because of you 3:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: [jisung’s_hand_holding_grey_goose_vodka.jpg] 3:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: I don’t even like it that much

3:05 AM [Jisung Bio]: You make me dizzy sometimes and I don’t know what to do 3:05 AM [Jisung Bio]: You’re probably sleeping so good night larky 3:05 AM [Jisung Bio]: Or morning

3:06 AM [Jisung Bio]: Fly high in your dreams!!!

He must have been wasted and under no responsible supervision because this is what you would have done if you were in his place. Does he not have a Seungmin in his life? Or a Ryujin? There’s a Felix, so where was he when all of this happened?

But forget about Jisung’s own problems.

He wants to go on a date with you. A real date, not a study date with three other people and fake quiz questions. If his words are to be taken literally, then one involving a chicken dinner. Possibly a rotisserie chicken from the grocery store, but a chicken dinner nonetheless.

He can’t stop thinking about you. All those bird jokes had you charmed, and all those cakes were baked with you in mind. They weren’t just for show. They were all about you.

You make him dizzy, which is hilarious because he does the same to you. He smiles at you so brightly, laughs so easily, and flirts so shamelessly that you never realized that you could ever make him feel that way.

And “fly high in your dreams?” You’re practically soaring in real life. Han Jisung, cute bio boy, plague doctor, pun enthusiast, surprisingly decent baker, wants to go on a date with you.

You, you, you!

While you alternate between hyperventilating and forgetting how to breathe as you process all this, three gray dots appear at the bottom of the chat. You clutch your phone as you wait. Apparently, your body is on the ‘forgetting how to breathe’ cycle.

11:14 AM [Jisung Bio]: I am so sorry about that. I was very drunk when I sent that

11:15 AM [Jisung Bio]: You can just ignore them or delete them 11:15 AM [Jisung Bio]: Highly recommend deleting 11:15 AM [Jisung Bio]: Also sorry if I woke you up

Your fingers hover over the keyboard. Should you answer him over text, call, or in-person? Is in-person too dramatic though? You feel like something like this is supposed to be done face-to-face, but he’s probably hungover beyond belief.

11:16 AM [Me]: It’s okay. A morning lark is always up early anyway :) 11:16 AM [Me]: Were you serious though?

11:17 AM [Jisung Bio]: Can we meet up in an hour? At the bus stop? I want to talk to you 11:17 AM [Me]: Yeah. Me too

The bus stop is neutral territory or maybe just the closest meeting spot you and Jisung have. If it’s supposed to be neutral territory, it most definitely is not since his apartment complex is right behind it. Despite his close proximity to the spot, you arrive first, so you make yourself as comfortable as possible underneath the sign, standing in its shadow. It’s silly when you think about it, but you wish you dressed in something nicer than a hoodie. In your rush to leave the apartment, you threw on whatever, but maybe you should have worn something prettier for this confrontation. Make Jisung go dizzy and gain a little bit of power from that.

This is even worse than when you had to face him after you sent your drunk texts. At least then it was just a middling attraction and not a full-on crush.

“Hey, morning lark. You’re early. As expected.”

“Hey. You’re… alive.”

Jisung is strangely fresh-faced, not a hint of hungover clouding around him. Why can’t you look like him after a night of seemingly heavy drinking? Where are the pinched eyebrows from the blinding lights? The ghostly gray face? The haunted eyes as one remembers all the incredibly stupid things they did the night before? Unfair. Completely unfair.

“Yeah.” He’s wearing his usual sweatshirt, but his hands are stuffed into its pockets instead of being out and about. He rocks back and forth on his heels. “Well, uh, I meant everything I sent. And I’m serious about taking you to dinner, so do you want to go on a date with me?”

You anticipated this. Why does it feel like you have just finished running a marathon? “Yeah, I do. I really want to.”

He smiles so brightly, the sun would be jealous. Correction, should be jealous. You don’t think you’ve seen a prettier sight than this since he sat down next to you on the first day of class and asked if you wanted to start a study group. He pumps his fist in the air like he’s a movie character, and you hide your laugh behind your hoodie sleeve. You’ve never seen him so happy before.

“How are you not hungover?” you ask as he raises his face to the sky, taking in the afternoon light, basking in the moment. He’s really living his movie character dreams. “You said you were really drunk.”

“I kind of lied?” he says, sounding more wistful than you would expect. When he looks back at you, you finally see dark circles underneath his eyes, but he is still as jubilant as before. “I was more tipsy than drunk. So, when do you wanna get that chicken dinner, winner, winner?”

It’s amazing how shy, excited Jisung disappears and how the usual casual, teasing Jisung reappears. That’s his Jekyll and Hyde moment, you suppose. And the switch is all activated by his one-track mind of bird jokes. How wonderful.

“Next week, after midterms? I’ve got two this week to study for. I should be free on Friday night.”

He enthusiastically nods. “Sounds good to me.”

2:57 PM [Me]: I’m done with all my midterms! Are you free tonight?

2:59 PM [Jisung Bio]: Free as a bird :D 2:59 PM [Jisung Bio]: Also congrats on being done 2:59 PM [Me]: I hate you

3:00 PM [Jisung Bio]: So chicken dinner? The restaurant next to the pizza place just opened 3:00 PM [Jisung Bio]: I heard it’s really clucking good 3:00 PM [Jisung Bio]: A hen out of hen

3:01 PM [Me]: I might actually kill you during our date

3:02 PM [Jisung Bio]: Don’t you mean 3:02 PM [Jisung Bio]: [flock_of_crows.jpg] 3:02 PM [Jisung Bio]: Murder :D

3:05 PM [Jisung Bio]: I’ll see you at 6? 3:05 PM [Me]: See you then

You do not end up murdering Jisung on your date, though you do come pretty close after you audibly ask the ground to swallow you up when he compliments your egg-cellent outfit.

“Swallow?” he slyly says. “Like the bird?”

Instead of committing a crime, you kiss him on the cheek, effectively silencing him. You’ve been waiting to do both those things for some time now, and look at you now, killing two birds with one stone.

Jisung turns a delightful shade of pink and mutters something about needing to get to the restaurant before it gets too crowded. All of his bluster from just five seconds ago is gone. You merrily follow him down the pavement, feeling a little bit like the cat who swallowed the canary.

Yes, you did search up bird expressions beforehand. Jisung will be Jisung, and like you told him before, toucan play at this game. You will not spend your first date with him being humiliated by his large repertoire of puns. Besides, if he retaliates like you expect him to, you will have the perfect excuse to kiss him again.

See? No fowl play at all.

Then he takes your hand into his, his warmth enveloping yours, and everything suddenly isn’t fair again.

And based on his all-too-pleased grin, Jisung knows this as well.

~ ad.gray

[cinnonym]

take the day off, get a massage (cause we've got this one all under control)

Written for Day 8 - Winter Solstice of 12 Days of Supercorp @supercorpbb

Read on AO3

***

9:15 am

“Golly, am I looking forward to this day.” Kara yawns and huddles closer against the curve of Lena’s back. Her breath tickles Lena’s neck, warm and comfortable. Lena hums.

“Four.”

“Hmm?”

“That’s the fourth time you’ve said this,” Lena murmurs. “Not that I mind.” She can feel sleep tugging at her eyelids once more and relishes in the thought that she won’t have to fight it. That she can succumb to the weight guiltlessly.

Kara doesn’t reply. She’s probably drifted off again already and will wake in half an hour with the same sentence on her lips once more. Lena smiles a bit about the predictability of it all, before a yawn overcomes her and drags her down with it.

***

9:51 am

“Golly,” Kara says, sleep still blurring her words. “I love this, I really do. What a good idea.”

Lena makes an affirmative sound, somewhere between a sigh and a purr. She hasn’t felt this relaxed in months, maybe even years. The warmth of Kara’s arm around her waist, the cold of Kara’s nose against her neck, what more can a woman ask for?

“I am starting to become a bit hungry though,” comes Kara’s voice from behind, and Lena has to suppress a chuckle as she rolls around to face her girlfriend.

“Of course you are.”

“Hey!” Kara’s eyes were still closed, but they open now, blinking slowly several times until all traces of tiredness have given way to a semi-offended glare. “It’s – “ she pauses and squints at the clock “ – more than two hours after my usual breakfast time. Of course my stomach is demanding attention.”

Lena lets out a laugh. “Demanding, huh? And that although you so dislike to be ordered around.”

Kara’s on her suddenly, pinning her down so quickly that Lena strongly suspects the involvement of superspeed.

“Damn right,” she says in a low voice, letting her gaze wander over Lena menacingly. Unfortunately, the effect is somewhat undermined by Kara’s stomach releasing a protesting grumble just then. Kara blushes, and just like that she rolls off of Lena again.

“Boss said no,” she murmurs, shrugging helplessly.

Lena grins. “Good thing we’ve got all day.”

“Golly, am I looking forward to that.”

***

11:38 am

The phone rings just when Lena is beginning to contemplate a nap. The sun still hasn’t peeked through the clouds once, and so it continues to be exactly the kind of dreary that you could wish for on a day like this. The kind of dreary that practically invites you to sleep.

But the phone is ringing, and that means Lena has to make a decision. She groans as she lifts her head from Kara’s chest to look at her.

“Reject or ignore?”

Kara shrugs. Her fingers are drawing lazy circles on Lena’s back, and she looks about as sleepy as Lena’s felt just a minutes ago.

“Maybe I’ll look who it is and choose then,” Lena decides, reaching for the vibrating device. It’s Jess, and apparently it’s not the first time she’s tried to get through to Lena. They have somehow managed to miss three calls, and if that isn’t proof of a dedicated sex life, then Lena doesn’t know. She chuckles quietly.

“It’s Jess,” she tells Kara, “for the third time.”

“What does she want?”

“I wouldn’t know.” The call stops. A small flutter of worry stirs in Lena’s stomach, even though she doesn’t want to feel it. Doesn’t want to leave the comfortable bubble Kara and she have created for themselves today.

Kara seems to sense where her thoughts are going, because she takes the phone from Lena and puts it on the nightstand again.

“No work,” she says sternly, “no outside world, and no leaving the bed unless it’s for food or bathroom breaks. Those are the rules.”

Lena bites her lip. She swallows the ‘What if’s’ that lie on the tip of her tongue. She banishes the thought of work to the remotest corner of her mind and kisses Kara on her collarbone instead.

“You’re right,” she murmurs, “they’ll get by without me for one day.”

***

2:01 pm

It turns out that Kara is much less relaxed when it’s her phone that’s ringing. Or maybe it’s the amount of calls she gets. But with every time her ringtone sounds out, she gets quieter and quieter, until at one point, she grabs her phone exasperatedly, turns it off, and tosses it into the armchair at the opposite corner of the room.

“One day!” She exclaims. “One day, the darkest day of the year, and a Sunday at that! You’d think the criminals would stay at home voluntarily, snuggle up to their girlfriend maybe, enjoy a good 32 hours in bed, and just take. One. Day. Off. It’s not that hard, or is it?”

“It’s not,” Lena concurs, finishing one braid in Kara’s long and unfairly soft hair and starting another.

“I work the year round, every day. And night, mind you. Weekends, holidays, always. And I do it gladly. I do it selflessly. I do it with a smile on my face, even. But one day off. One day. Is that really too much to ask for?”

“It’s not.” Lena pauses her braiding to put a soothing hand on Kara’s head. “You’re just doing such a good job the rest of the time, people have forgotten how to take care of themselves without you.”

Kara leans into the touch with a sigh and a grateful smile. “Is it wrong that I kind of like how much they depend on me, even though it annoys me today?”

“Of course not.” Lena lightly scratches her nails over Kara’s scalp, drinking up the contented sighs that fall form Kara’s lips. “I think everybody wants to be needed. It gives us purpose. It gives us strength.” She leans down to press a gentle kiss to Kara’s forehead before she takes up her braiding again. “It’s one of the greatest paradoxes of humankind that this strength doesn’t suffice to sustain you. That you need breaks from being useful, lest your strength depletes.”

Kara nods, momentarily upsetting the row of braids Lena has already finished.

“I love you,” she says.

Lena smiles. “I love you too.”

***

3:45 pm

“I think my butt fell asleep.”

“I call your butt and raise you two legs.” Lena groans. “How do teenagers do this?”

“Do what?” Kara asks, giggling a little at the exaggerated noises Lena is making.

“Do this.” Lena gestures at the two of them, sprawled out on the mattress. “Lie in bed all day, barely moving, except to change the video game or whatever they occupy their brains with all day.”

Kara laughs, loud and hearty. “Rao, Lena, sometimes you are so odd.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Not all teenagers spend all their time in bed, dummy,” Kara says, and it’s only her fond tone that saves her from the pillow Lena almost hurdles at her. “I, for example, was a very active teenager.”

“You hardly count,” Lena retorts, sticking out her tongue when Kara narrows her eyes at her. “Because you’re always active.”

Kara wrinkles her nose, but Lena’s point holds. She huffs.

“What about you then, what did you do as a teenager?”

“I,“ Lena says dignifiedly, “didn’t experience an adolescence.”

“Lena, your adolescence was less than ten years ago.”

Lena sighs dramatically and rolls over, facing her girlfriend with a regretful stare.

“Tell that to my back pain…”

***

4:09 pm

“Isn’t it sad,” Kara muses, kneading Lena’s trapezius muscle with blissfully strong hands, “how it’s already getting dark again?”

Lena moans softly when Kara hits a particularly tense spot. “Is it?”

“Yeah.”

They are silent for a while, Kara moving slowly and methodically up and down Lena’s back, Lena shimmying in and out of consciousness. No phone has rung in over two hours, nobody has disturbed them in their self-imposed solitude, no rule has been broken so far. They are doing exactly what they’ve planned for the day, and it is nothing.

“What a good day,” Lena murmurs, “What a good idea.”

Kara gives her ass a squeeze, and Lena, well on her way to another nap, almost jumps.

“The hell?” She exclaims, which immediately earns her another slap. “What?”

Kara’s voice is a melange of amusement and indignation. “You forgot the golly!”

***

6:37 pm

They start speaking at the same time.

“It’s almost Christmas,” Kara says, and Lena murmurs “How am I already tired?” and then they look at each other and laugh.

“What did you say?” Simultaneously. “You first.”

Lena recovers faster, so she pokes Kara, who’s still laughing, between the ribs.

“Tick, your turn, please speak now.” She presents Kara her fist as a mic, which only results in another burst of laughter. Then Kara’s hand closes around hers, pulling her closer.

“Hello hello, can you hear me?”

Lena giggles. She feels carefree in a way she hasn’t felt in possibly all her life. “Loud and clearly. Please repeat your question.”

“Yes hello,” Kara says, pompous in a way that is exactly like on real TV interviews. “I didn’t so much ask a question as rather observing a fact. That fact being of course the upcoming holiday, namely Christmas.”

At this point they have to drop the act, because Lena is laughing so hard that the mic is shaking and “the connection seems to be bad, hello hello?” And Kara grins at Lena like she did when Lena first fell in love with her, wide and open and with her heart in her hands, ready to give it to anyone she thought worth fighting for. Even a Luthor. Even Lena.

“I’m looking forward to Christmas,” Lena says, but what she means is that she’s never liked the holidays much, until Kara came around and made them worthwhile.

And somehow Kara understands.

“Yes,” she says, “me too.”

***

8:52 pm

“There’ll be much work to catch up on tomorrow,” Lena sighs, playing with the thought of looking at her phone and deciding against it. “But that are tomorrow’s problems.”

Kara hums. She’s floating half an inch above the bed because she finds the mattress is too warm after bearing her body all day.

“I’m still looking forward to that somehow.”

Lena chuckles. “Yes, me too. Isn’t that weird? I thoroughly enjoyed today, but I couldn’t do it again tomorrow.”

“It’s about the – “ Kara forms the chef’s kiss gesture minus the kiss “ – purpose.” She turns on her side to look at Lena. “Or so a wise woman once told me.”

“Sounds very wise indeed. Did she also say something about the reason why I’m tired even though we did nothing all day?”

“Nope.” Kara pops the p, then lets herself fall back on the bed. “But here’s my theory: inaction is like negative action. And at the end of the day, it’s the absolute value that counts, minus or plus doesn’t matter. So if you’ve balanced action and inaction, you won’t be that tired, because they cancel each other. But if you have an overload of either action or inaction…”

“… you’ll feel about as exhausted as I do right now,” Lena finishes, her eyes already closed. “Seems reasonable. It’s compatible with my strength theory, I like that.” She yawns, and feels blindly for Kara’s hand. “Either way, all in favour of an early night, raise your hand.” She lifts their entwined hands off the mattress. “Whooo.”

Kara breathes out a laugh. “Also, if we go to bed now, then tomorrow will come faster.”

“Scientifically incorrect,” Lena murmurs, “but golly.”

“What?”

Lena snuggles into Kara’s embrace until all she can smell is Kara, and all she can feel is also Kara. She yawns again.

“Golly am I looking forward to tomorrow.”

[shipping-receiving]

Fictober 2019 Day 20: “You could talk about it, you know?”

Rating: T | Word Count: 4026 Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones Relationship: Jaime Lannister / Brienne of Tarth Tags: Alternate Universe – Office Notes: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

(read on AO3)

//////

Hello, dear brother. Father is dispatching me to the Stormlands this weekend to ‘talk some sense into you’. The old bastard won’t even let me go on a work day. Fancy spending the entirety of Saturday in my hotel bar for said talking of sense?

Jaime reads Tyrion’s text and sighs. Actually, he sighed as soon as he saw Tyrion’s name pop up on his phone screen, before he even read the text.

He knows he should be happy to see his brother—and he is looking forward to seeing him again—but it’s also a reminder of all the things left unresolved back in King’s Landing.

And there’s also the small matter of how he’s supposed to meet Brienne on Saturday, too.

If he asks Tyrion if he’s free on Sunday instead, his brother will definitely start asking too many questions. Questions that Jaime doesn’t want to answer, not over text. He won’t be able to say that he has a work thing, because Tyrion will just say that technically they will be meeting for work, since they will purportedly be having a conversation about the future of Lannister Corp. And he won’t be able to say that he’s meeting a friend, because as far as his brother knows, he doesn’t have any friends here in the Stormlands. He doesn’t even have any friends back in the capital besides Addam.

(In any case, it’s not like he’d want Brienne to be characterised as just a ‘friend’, even in an evasive text to his brother. He is quite sure by now, after the past four Saturdays, that he would like her to be more than that.)

As Jaime is contemplating the likelihood of Tyrion buying the excuse that he’s signed up for a Saturday afternoon pottery class, another bubble of text pops up:

And by ‘the entirety of Saturday’, I mean, from after lunch. I’m arriving Friday evening, but I have other activities planned in which you will likely not wish to partake, and I don’t expect to be awake till noon at the earliest.

Of course he has other activities planned. Jaime is just glad Tyrion has given up on asking him to join in on those activities.

And by ‘said talking of sense’, I mean, not. Obviously.

Not that Jaime expected anything else from his brother, but he finds himself feeling relieved nonetheless. Sure, he types, simply, see you at 2 pm. The usual spot?

Nothing but the best hotel in the Stormlands for the Lannisters, Tyrion replies.

Now, to text Brienne. Jaime considers telling her the truth—she knows the gist of what’s happening in King’s Landing, after all—but he’s been wondering for days if he said too much, back on Tarth. Not because he doesn’t want her to know, but because it’s just so… much. Even just the gist of it. Even without having explained his relationship with his father, or Tyrion, or—hells—Cersei. As if any of those three relationships, the last one in particular, could be adequately described in mere words.

Brienne had said she’d be happy to listen. But she doesn’t have any clue what she’d have to listen to, if he really told her everything. He’d never had to explain the family to anyone outside the family before. Even Addam has had a front row seat to the Lannister family drama since they were children. Jaime had never been put in a position where he’d have to explain. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that he’d been avoiding those positions his entire life. Now he finds himself actually wanting to explain everything to Brienne, though he’d really only spent four days with her, effectively. They hardly interact in the office, besides all the times he’s contrived to walk by her cubicle. He has a drawer full of useless photocopies to show for it.

He thinks of how easy it is to be around Brienne, despite the nerves—hers and his. He has an inkling that she might like him well enough. She laughs and rolls her nice blue eyes at him, and he may have caught her staring more than a few times, especially on Tarth, when he wore The White Shirt™. But he also thinks of how she stood up abruptly in the middle of the meadow, in what he thought was the middle of their conversation. We’re going to miss the sunset, she had said, though they had plenty of time.

It’s been days, and he still can’t figure out what had made her do that. It couldn’t have been the family stuff, could it? She hadn’t seemed perturbed when he told her. She’d only stood up when he told her he had been hurt that she had thought he looked average. What could possibly be so offensive about that?

Best to err on the side of caution, Jaime decides, and not tell her about Tyrion. He lies and says a client is in the Stormlands this weekend, and asks if she’s free on Sunday. It takes her longer than usual to reply, and he’s almost tempted to march over to her cubicle and just ask her in front of everyone. When her text comes through—I’m meeting Margaery on Sunday. Sorry 😕—he has a flare-up of that version of himself he thought he left in King’s Landing. Suddenly he feels quite inclined to fire Margaery Tyrell, though that wouldn’t change her plans on the weekend, he supposes.

Brienne only sent a slanted mouth face emoji, which seems to suggest that he should probably send a slanted mouth face emoji in return, but he sends her a sad face instead, the most pathetic one he can find. It’s an accurate description of how he’ll be feeling on the weekend, he expects.

On Saturday, Jaime walks into the hotel bar a little after two. He can’t see Tyrion on first glance, but he heads in the direction of the same booth they sat in the last time they were both in this bar. He expects his brother will already be there with two glasses of whiskey at the ready. Tyrion is unpredictable in many aspects, but in the aspect of hotel bars and whiskey, he’s a creature of habit. True enough, as Jaime approaches the booth, he sees Tyrion sitting there, already halfway through his own whiskey.

“Tyrion,” Jaime acknowledges, as he slides into the seat.

“Ah, Jaime.” Tyrion raises his glass in greeting. “How’s life in self-imposed exile?

“Oh, don’t make it sound so dramatic,” Jaime replies, as he rotates his own glass on the table. “I’m not even that far away. I half-expected Father to send Clegane to physically drag me back to King’s Landing.”

“Not a good look for the company, I’d expect.” Tyrion takes another sip of his whiskey. “Not-far-away as you are, Father has been even more curmudgeonly than usual since you essentially told him you’d prefer to spend the foreseeable future in one of our less important regional offices. How’s that going, by the way?”

Jaime exhales and lifts his glass to his lips. The liquid burns as it flows down his throat. “I thought you said we weren’t going to be doing any ‘talking of sense’.”

“I’m just interested in my big brother’s life, that’s all,” Tyrion says offhandedly. “I haven’t seen you in months.”

“Again, this office isn’t really all that far from King’s Landing. You could have come for a visit, even without Father commanding you to descend upon the Stormlands.”

Tyrion wrinkles his nose. “I find this region quite… what’s the word for it. Provincial. Too much sea, and grass, and wind, and so forth.”

“You still managed to partake in your activities, didn’t you?”

“There’s always something in every city,” Tyrion smirks. “But I’m still far too attached to King’s Landing, even though it has Father and Cersei in it. And our dear brother-in-law, now, who’s completely insufferable in his own Targaryen way. I’m still perplexed about how Cersei was planning to have him go through with that whole changing-his-name-to-Lannister thing.” He inches closer to Jaime. “By the way, I have my suspicions that he’s not being entirely faithful—”

“Stop.” Jaime places his glass down on the table with a bit more force than he should have. “I don’t want to know anything that isn’t relevant to how the business should be run here.”

“You know as well as I do, Jaime, that everything that happens in our family affects the way our business is run.” Tyrion tilts his head at him. “... You’re really not planning to come back?”

Jaime leans back in his seat, and addresses the light fixture above their table. “Not if I can help it. I don’t think it’s up to me, though, in the long term. Father will find a way, I expect.”

“Indeed.” Tyrion lifts his empty glass. “Another round?”

Jaime looks at the shallow pool of whiskey in his own glass, and nods his head. His brother signals to the bartender.

“I don’t know how you can stand it, Tyrion,” Jaime murmurs, as they wait for their drinks. Tyrion has endured far worse than Jaime from both his father and sister—for his physical appearance, yes, but maybe more so for having lived while their mother had passed.

“What can I say? I love drama.” And power, Jaime thinks, and strategy, and everything that comes with running a large corporation from its highest stratum. “And there are still many benefits to being a Lannister in King’s Landing. Benefits I intend to enjoy for as long as possible.” The bartender comes with two more glasses of whiskey, just then. “Anyway, who knows how things will go, with the company? I’m really quite happy to bide my time. Assuming you don’t have a change of heart, that is.”

Jaime chafes at that suggestion. “I highly doubt it. If I return to the head office, it will not be of my own volition.”

“Brother,” Tyrion says, gentler than Jaime’s ever heard. “You could talk about it, you know? With me.”

“Talk about… what?” Jaime vaguely remembers a time when they used to talk about everything, though Tyrion is some seven years younger. Then, things got so complicated. More complicated than they used to be, at least. It was all part of growing up, for a Lannister.

“I don’t know,” Tyrion shrugs. “Anything. Why you chose to stay here, of all places.”

“Our family isn’t reason enough?”

“Yes, sure, that’s why you’re not in the capital. But why here? Why the Stormlands? You could go off to Oldtown. Our office there is pretty much comparable in scale to King’s Landing. Or Lannisport, even. Father would be less annoyed by both of those, I’d think.”

“Since when do you care about how annoyed Father would be?” Jaime replies, and Tyrion tips his head in agreement. “Anyway,” he continues, “Oldtown doesn’t have—”

And then he stops. He didn’t mean to. He was thinking of her, at the back of his mind, and it just came out.

Tyrion is looking at him curiously. “Oldtown doesn’t have…?”

“Look.” Jaime is suddenly acutely aware of how every slight movement causes the leather seat to squeak beneath him. “You can’t tell anyone else about this.”

“My lips will be sealed now and forever,” Tyrion promises, drawing his index finger and thumb across his mouth.

“Okay,” Jaime sighs. “I’ve… met someone. I think.”

“A ‘someone’! And this is a dateable ‘someone’?”

“I think. I’m not entirely sure she’s open to it.”

“Still. A dateable ‘someone’ not mandated by Cersei!” Tyrion lifts his glass as if in toast. “I never thought I’d see the day!”

“She would very much not be mandated by Cersei.” Jaime doesn’t want to think about how much control Cersei used to have over his life. “She’d not even be approved by Cersei.”

“Interesting, very interesting. Maybe that’s why you like her so much.”

Jaime looks at him coldly. “I’d thank you not to reduce it to that.”

“Calm down, brother, I’m only joking.” They both know he wasn’t. “What’s she like, then? Miss Someone of the Stormlands? What’s her name? How did you meet?”

“Her name is Brienne. She works for us. At the Stormlands office, I mean.”

“Ah, an office romance.”

“I guess you could say that.” Jaime can feel the corners of his mouth curving upwards. “She’s tall. Taller than me, even. Eyes bluer than you’ve ever seen, and blushes far too often for her own good, but it’s… charming. She’s quiet at first, but easy to talk to, once you get her to open up. She listens to me—I mean, she listens to me talk, not that she obeys me, and it’s—it’s not just… it doesn’t feel like it’s because of our last name. She laughs at my stupid jokes, or tries her hardest not to.”

And then, Jaime remembers one crucial point he’s failed to mention. “Oh. And the first time we spoke… she punched me in the face.”

“She what?!” Tyrion is practically splayed across the table in anticipation of this story. How many whiskeys did he have before Jaime arrived? “Why the hells did she do that and why is she already the best person ever?”

“So I may have gotten drunk at an office party,” Jaime winces. “And I may have told her she was ugly.”

“Is she?”

“That’s—you’re missing the point. I shouldn’t have said that. It was cruel.”

Tyrion looks impressed. “Bra-vo, Jaime. You know what that is?” He lifts his glass—already empty again—in another toast. “Personal. Growth. The Stormlands must be rubbing off on you, though I don’t remember the people here being particularly known for their niceness.”

“Alright, calm down, brother. I’m not that much of an asshole.” He can feel its untruth as soon as the sentence is out of his mouth.

Tyrion gives him a look that says, you can be, as he signals to the bartender for another glass. “Why did you tell her that, then?”

“Look, I was drunk, as I said. Cersei—she sent me a barrage of very angry texts that day. And I heard—” Jaime pauses, and takes a sip of his whiskey.

“You heard…?” Tyrion encourages.

“I heard that Brienne thought I looked average,” he mumbles. Gods, this is embarrassing.

“No,” Tyrion exhales, all exaggerated dismay, and puts his hand to his chest in mock outrage. “You? Average? Say it ain’t so, Jaime.”

“Oh, shut up. She doesn’t think that, anyway, I found out later. But I insulted her, and… she punched me. Gave me a black eye. She has a mean right hook, actually.”

“Gods be good, I love her already,” Tyrion exclaims, as he takes his next glass from the waiting bartender. “When’s the elopement? Please let me be at the ceremony. Do it tomorrow, I’m still here tomorrow.”

“Hells, Tyrion, we haven’t even kissed. We haven’t even held hands. We’ve been out a few times, but I’m not even sure they’re dates.”

“How could you not be sure?” Tyrion is giving him a look that Jaime would be right to interpret as, are you both twelve years old? “They’re dates, or they’re not.”

“Okay, so they feel like dates, to me. But we’ve never actually… clarified.”

Tyrion plasters his palms to his face. “Gods, Jaime, I forget that you’ve never actually had to ask a woman out. You were the one that asked?”

“Not… exactly.” Jaime thinks of how Cersei had always just—arranged things for him. Things that never got very far, or lasted very long. “I may have asked her to show me around the Stormlands. We’ve been… sightseeing.” He swishes the last two drops of his second whiskey in his glass.

“I’ll take it ‘sightseeing’ isn’t a euphemism for anything. So, just regular tourist stuff, or…?”

“Mostly.” He thinks it’s probably wise not to mention how much cheese he still has in his fridge from that farmers’ market. “But she took me to her island last weekend.”

“Her island? Jaime, is she rich? Like, proper rich? Not that I’m recommending asking Father for his blessing for your union, but he’d be—well, I’m not sure he’s constitutionally capable of being over the moon. But whatever’s closest to that for the old bastard.”

“No, she isn’t rich. Her ancestors were Evenstars of Tarth, back when that title still existed. All her family has left now is a decent-sized house and the respect of the island’s small population.”

“Alright, we’re right back to the elopement then.”

Jaime needs another drink. “Tyrion, I was serious when I said we haven’t even held hands.” Hells, he needs two drinks. It’s his turn to signal to the bartender for another two glasses.

“Hmm. You think she likes you, though? Despite the punching?”

“I think we’re quite past that, if she actually brought me to her island.” Jaime shushes the little voice in his head that tells him otherwise. “But she’s—I don’t know what she is. Nervous. Afraid of something. Every time I feel like I want to—I don’t know, ask her out on a date, a proper one, or—or even kiss her—” Gods, he had wanted to kiss her in that meadow, “I just get this feeling that I shouldn’t. Part of that is, it’s me, I know, but part of it is just this feeling that she might… crumble. Collapse. If I even tried any of that.” Jaime leans back in his seat again, stretches out his legs under the table. “I tried to compliment her eyes, multiple times, and she would blush and thank me, but it also felt like… she wanted to dig a hole in the ground and hide there.”

“Right.” Some measure of understanding seems to be dawning in Tyrion’s eyes. “You said she was ugly, didn’t you?”

“I said I called her ugly,” Jaime snaps. “And I shouldn’t have.”

The bartender brings two glasses, and Tyrion helps himself to one before Jaime can protest. His brother hasn’t even finished his last drink.

“Okay, relax. I’ll work from the assumption that she’s at least plain, then. And you’re… not. Maybe there’s something in that that’s making her scared. You’re very—” Tyrion waves his hand over Jaime as he searches for the right word, and settles for: “You’re not average.”

“Wow, thank you so much for that glowing compliment.”

“Hells, you don’t need praise on your looks from your own brother, do you? You’re so beautiful, dear brother, the handsomest in the land, your golden hair glitters in the sunlight and your green eyes shine brighter than emeralds—”

Jaime shudders and holds up his palm. “Okay, I get it.”

“Jaime, take it from me,” Tyrion declares, spreading his arms. “Those of us who, shall we say, tend towards the unconventional, physically. We’ve faced cruelty our entire lives, intentional or not.” The brothers share a look, then; Jaime is more than aware of what Tyrion had to experience, not least from their own family. “It’s only natural that we treat the positive attention of other people, especially beautiful people, with suspicion. She’s probably just trying to protect herself, that’s all.”

“What should I do then?” Jaime groans. “Disfigure myself?” He lifts his glass to his mouth and swallows far too much whiskey in one go. How is this glass close to empty already? He doesn’t remember drinking from it at all.

“I’m—I’m going to hope you weren’t being serious, Jaime. And far be it from me to give you any advice on entering a committed relationship.” Tyrion stops for a while, as if to take a breath. He’s thought of Tysha, Jaime knows. It’s the only real relationship his brother has ever had, but their father had put a stop to that soon enough. She’s not good enough for the Lannisters, he had said. Not even for Tyrion.

“My advice would be,” Tyrion continues, after a beat, “give her some space to breathe, but not too much. Show her that you care, that you think of her, that she makes you happy. Encourage her—gently—when she shows any interest. Maybe actually ask her out on a real date, brother, if she doesn’t ask you first.”

“You think she might ask me first?” Jaime can’t imagine Brienne ever saying those words. Or even texting them.

“Who knows what’s going on in her mind. When are you next meeting her?”

“I was supposed to meet her today,” Jaime says, sadly. “But then you told me you were coming.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“She can’t make it.” He leans forward and bangs his head on the table. How many glasses of whiskey has he had again?

“Gods, you are far too devastated by this,” Tyrion laughs. “You’ve really got it bad, brother.”

“I know,” Jaime sighs into the woodgrain.

“Well,” Tyrion pats him on the shoulder. “Whenever you next see her in person. Ask her on a date, Jaime. Using that word. Clarity is key.”

“Okay. I will.”

Jaime sits back up again, and is overtaken by an urge to laugh.

“What now?” Tyrion must think he’s gone mad. Mad by way of Brienne. And also whiskey.

“I guess you did talk some sense into me, didn’t you? Just not the sense that Father wanted.”

“I suppose I did,” Tyrion chuckles.

They spend the rest of that whiskey-soaked afternoon together, until the afternoon stretches into the evening and into the night. It’s nice to do this, just the two of them, away from King’s Landing, away from the rest of the family. He even stays the night in Tyrion’s suite, though that might have been more a result of inebriation than any kind of brotherly bond.

He doesn’t text Brienne for the whole of Saturday, and he tells himself he’s giving her a bit of space, like Tyrion suggested. The truth is, Jaime needs the rest of Saturday to wrap his head around that whole conversation.

But Sunday comes around, and he has a few pictures from Tarth that he hasn’t sent her yet, including his favourite of the photos he took of her from that day. She’s standing in the grass against the blue sky, and she looks comfortable, human, nothing other than herself. Yet there’s something ethereal about her at the same time—to Jaime, at least. He wasn’t sure he’d wanted to send this to her at first—wasn’t sure how she’d react—but Tyrion said to let her know that he cares, and thinks of her, didn’t he?

So he sends it to her, along with a few other images, before he can ruin it by thinking too hard about it. Brienne doesn’t reply; probably busy with Margaery, he expects. He spends the rest of the afternoon trying to ignore his phone.

Then, around five, he finally gets a text from Brienne. It doesn’t acknowledge the photos, but this—this is better.

Hey, her text says. I know this is really last minute. But are you free for dinner tonight?

Dinner. Just dinner. That sounds very much like a date to him, though she didn’t mention the word. So she did ask him first. Assuming this is a date, of course.

As Jaime types his reply—he’ll pick her up at seven, he decides, he’s never done that before—he smiles to himself as he adds a happy face emoji to the end of his message. He thinks he’ll ask about it later, using that word. Is this a date, Brienne?, he’ll say. Maybe he’ll tuck her hair behind her ear as he does it, let his finger linger on her heated cheek as she blushes. As touches go, it might be nothing compared to a kiss. Or it might be far more intimate than a kiss could ever be. He’ll do it regardless. Clarity is key, after all.

“You could talk about it, you know?” Tyrion had said yesterday, and though he hadn’t meant it for this particular situation, Jaime thought the advice was sound. They could talk about it, him and Brienne—about sightseeing, and dating, and all the things that come after. They will.

But first, he has to pick her up at seven. She’s just texted him her address. He’s about to look up the route when his phone buzzes again.

See you at 7 😊

[elo-kodon]

Untitled Iwaoi Short Story #1

(Part 1 here)                             

                                                        PART 2

           “That was such a great dinner, Auntie! I’m completely stuffed, right Iwa-chan?” Oikawa exclaims happily, his voice carrying through the small house in bright, musical tones.

           Iwaizumi receives a short but painful jab to his side with Oikawa’s elbow. The movement almost makes him drop the dinner plate he’s scrubbing into the soapy water. He gives Oikawa a short, annoyed look before responding. “Yes, thanks so much!” he calls out hurriedly.

           “Ohh it was no trouble at all boys,” Oikawa’s aunt says, gracefully gliding down the stairs in her long, summery-red pleated skirt.

           Once Iwaizumi had met Oikawa’s aunt, her sophisticated and bubbly personality was one of the first things he noticed about her. She gave the boys a warm hug, welcomed them in, and immediately turned to Iwaizumi. “Now Iwaizumi dear, let’s do away with the formalities for now. Why don’t you just call me Hisako? Goodness knows all my colleagues already do.” Hisako waved her left hand air in a quick flourish and lead the boys into her house. She showed Oikawa and Iwaizumi to their room upstairs. “I’ll leave you two to unpack for a while. I’ve got to head back downstairs to finish up dinner. Feel free to join me whenever you boys are ready to eat!”

           “She’s great, isn’t she?” Oikawa threw his duffel bag onto the ground, turning back to Iwaizumi proudly, “Mom says she’s a spitfire, but I like her a lot! She’s always been there for me, ya know?”

           Iwaizumi considers Oikawa’s past words as he continues to work on the last of the dinner plates. It’s no surprise that Oikawa would like her. Hisako had a lot of qualities that reminded him of his best friend. Their determined attitudes and boundless energy were practically the same. No wonder Oikawa was so excited to make the trip up here.

           Hisako calls out from the other room. “If you two are about done with the dishes, would you mind meeting me in the living room in a bit? I’d love to show you a few of my designs for the show on Sunday. Tooru, you also need to hear the rundown of the itinerary so you know what to expect.”

           Once the boys get done cleaning up, they join Hisako on her pink and blue floral patterned couch. It’s a cozy fit with all three of them, Hisako on the far left, Iwaizumi on the far right, and Oikawa snugly in the middle.

           Tucking a loose strand her wavy black hair behind her ear, Hisako reaches down to the side of the couch, picks up a thick shiny black binder and hands it to Oikawa to open. He carefully takes the huge binder from her and opens to one of the first tabbed pages.

           “So for this particular show, since it’s still only my second one, I really wanted to focus on kids’ streetwear. I’ve noticed that a lot of students like to have clothing that’s still modern and practical, but also wear things that fit to their own unique sense of style…”

           They spend the next half hour pouring through the thick and colorful pages of Hisako’s designs. Oikawa listens with keen interest as his aunt talks to them about her ideas and underlying concepts with model’s outfit. It seems like with each particular outfit and pattern, Hisako has a wonderful remark or funny story to recount on each model.

           “You see now why I wanted you to join me on this project Oikawa? I really need students with strong personalities, since the show’s main concept is based around stories of youth. So, this is where you come in…”

            Oikawa lounges back while he listens to his aunt talk about what she has planned for his design. He loves hearing about Hisako’s stories and inspiration behind everything, but he can’t help but wonder if Iwaizumi is starting to feel a little left out. Carefully, out of the corner of his eye, he slowly and surreptitiously directs his gaze to Iwaizumi. With Hisako’s voice still in the background, he puts his hearing on autopilot for a few moments while he stares at his best friend.

           Iwaizumi has his knees brought up to his chest, his hands wrapped around them as he gazes down at the sketch of Oikawa’s proposed design for the show. Oikawa’s breath hitches softly as he scans Iwaizumi’s face. There’s a fondness to the boy’s dark eyes, his lips are slightly pursed. It reminds Oikawa of how Iwaizumi used to look at him when they were children. But there’s also something else to it… With a confused realization, it dawns on him. Iwaizumi looks like he’s concentrating on something. Like he’s drinking in the design on Hisako’s drawing, trying to memorize the curve of each pencil marking, of each splotch of color on the roughly sketched pattern. Iwaizumi’s left hand reaches down to feel the small piece of fabric stapled onto the bottom right corner of the page. Oikawa catches his eye once Iwaizumi turns to pretend to look at Hisako.

           Iwaizumi locks the back of his jaw once he realizes Oikawa’s caught him staring. The pair lock eyes for a second. The light brown irises of Oikawa fixate on his own, like a curious tiger pup. Iwaizumi ducks his head down towards his lap, knowing that the heat traveling up his neck and onto his cheeks are definitely noticeable. “Stupid idiot…” he thinks.

           Goosebumps appear on Oikawa arms as he slowly averts his eyes. “Weird…Why did Hajime blush just now?”

           Guess he’d have to tackle that question later.

———————————————————————————————————

                                                       *Saturday*

           “Here you go!” Hisako sings out, beaming down at Iwaizumi and Oikawa, setting down a plate of pancakes and two tall glasses of strawberry-and-kewi smoothies in front of them. “Now, Tooru, dear, just so you know, I’m gonna be out at the office in town for the majority of this afternoon and the evening, so you’ll have to be in charge of making sure this young man,” she gestures to Iwaizumi, “gets fed a good dinner, okay? There’s a nice little market about a few miles still outside of town that you two can drive over to pick up whatever you’d like. I’d make dinner for you both but I need to stay late at the studio tonight so we can finish paperwork and make any last minute adjustments before the show tomorrow.”

           Oikawa nods eagerly and salutes his aunt, “Of course Auntie, you can count on me! Can’t wait to see my outfit in person tomorrow, I bet it’ll make all the girls swoon!”

           Hisako lets out a sparkling laugh, “Oh, I’m sure, Tooru.” She puts her breakfast dish in the sink, walking over to the front door to grab her sweater and her large canvas bag. “Hope you two have fun hanging out today! There’s a great beach nearby that you boys should go to if you have the time. I’ve got to run, take care now!” Iwaizumi and Oikawa hear the final few clacks of her shoes as she shuts the screen door behind her and walks down the steps of the front porch towards her car. They hear her engine start and then she’s off.

           “God, you really are a putz” mutters Iwaizumi, lightly smacking the back of Tooru’s head.

           “Not my fault you don’t know how to talk to women, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says as he attempts to dodge Iwazumi, but ultimately failing.

           Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and gets up from his chair. He didn’t feel like bickering with Oikawa today. He was in too good of a mood, plus he really wanted to go somewhere with Oikawa to play volleyball anyways.

           “Sooooo Iwa-channn what’s on the agenda for today?” Oikawa asks. He stands up from his chair and stretches out his tall torso, his arms almost touching the bottom of the fan in the kitchen.

           “Wanna do a practice match somewhere?”

           “Hmmm. Yes, but I also wanted to check out that beach Auntie mentioned. Not like we really have a beach back home.”

           “Why don’t we do both? We can set up a court once we find a good spot.” Iwaizumi suggested.

           “Ohhh a beach match? You’re on, mothman.”

           Iwaizumi lets out a small, soft “Dumbass” under his breath, then quickly runs up the stairs to grab their duffels, Oikawa slowly following up after him.

———————————————————————————————————-

           Oikawa’s high-pitched falsetto voice pierces Iwaizumi’s ears while he tries to keep concentrating on the winding road in front of him. He sings out another lyric of the weird country song that they happened to discover on the local radio a few minutes ago.

           “Joooooooooooleeeenne, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Puh-LEASE don’t take my maaannn. Even though you totally caaannn-“ Oikawa drawls out in a feminine, old-lady voice, intentionally fucking up the lyrics.

           Iwaizumi lets out another round of loud barking laughter. He forgot how genuinely funny Oikawa can be once he lets his guard down. But that usually only happens when it’s just the two of them together. He scrunches up his eyes, tears of laughter pricking at the outer edges of his eyelids. He’s laughing and smiling so much that his jaw is starting to get sore. “S-stop it you bastard, you’re gonna make me crash this damn car.”

           Oikawa grins over at Iwaizumi, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He turns back forward and smiles quickly to himself. He absolutely loves Iwaizumi’s laugh. The sound never gets old. “Damn, what a stupid song. Who the fuck is Jolene??”

           “I don’t-“ Iwaizumi tries to respond but is stopped by another round of laughter. “I don’t know man, but she’s got some issues apparently. I feel kind of bad for her, honestly.”

           “Eh, not bad enough,” Oikawa grins. “Since when does Japan have American country stations? Is this a new fad or some shit?”

           “I have no idea.”

           “Oh, Iwa-chan, there’s the turn up ahead!” Oikawa says hurriedly, leaning forward in his seat.

           Iwaizumi turns off the main route onto another small, dusty dirt road. As they make a couple more turns, the truck spits up dust.

           “Oh wow, is this sand?” Oikawa tries to squint through the yellowish haze.

           “I guess so. We must be close.”

           They head around a row of trees and then make one final turn. Iwaizumi parks in one of the faded parking spots, then kills the engine. It doesn’t take too long to unpack the bed of the truck. With both duffel bags slung around Iwaizumi and Oikawa carrying the net bag, they walk down a sandy path to the beach below.

           They find a good, flat area of sand and throw down their bags. Iwaizumi sets up the volleyball net while Oikawa takes off his flip flops. He unpacks the volleyballs, water bottles, and snacks.

           “Hey, ‘kawa, the net’s done.”

           “Lit.”

           Iwaizumi throws the net bag down near the duffels and Oikawa takes a couple minutes to mark the edges of each side of the court using a stick. He squints at the line on each side, then runs over to the other side to check the dimensions.

           “It’s fine, Oikawa. Let’s play already.” Iwaizumi drawls.

           “Fine, fine.” Oikawa takes his sunglasses off and perches them neatly in his hair. He picks a light blue volleyball up from the ground and walks onto his side of the court. Iwaizumi’s already on his side, hands on his knees, ready for Oikawa to start. Using only one hand, Oikawa swiftly throws the ball high up in the air. “You know I’m totally gonna win this match, right?”

           Iwaizumi snorts and smirks at Oikawa through the holes of the net. “Not on your life, pretty boy.”

———————————————————————————————————-

           Soaring through the air over the net, the small blue volleyball heads toward Iwaizumi’s side of the court. With the quickness of a puma and the grace of a warrior, the spiky-haired male crouches down and receives the ball. The volleyball bounces back upwards, over Iwaizumi’s head and the boy looks up. He ends up timing the comedown of the ball perfectly, executing a three step approach. Calf muscles tensing, Iwaizumi swings his arms back and jumps up in the air. With a look of fierceness set in his face, eyes gleaming, his right arm whips forward and sends the ball flying straight down towards Oikawa’s side.

           Oikawa dives forward and manages to keep the ball up, but only enough to the point where it flys forward underneath the net. His sunglasses fall down crookedly onto the bridge of his nose. He groans. He almost got a mouthful of sand from this last one.

           Iwaizumi lets out a snicker, “What was that about beating me again?” He grins, watching Oikawa pick his lanky frame up off the sand.

           Dammit. Oikawa was sure his past spike wouldn’t turn into a chance ball, but somehow Iwaizumi managed to receive and turn it into a downward attack. He watches Iwaizumi take off his shirt through the lenses of his sunglasses. Iwaizumi grabs his water bottle and takes a long drink of water, his other hand resting on his hip.

           What a cocky bastard. Oikawa mentally convinces himself that he’s not taking this moment to run his eyes down the frame of Iwaizumi’s body. Nope. Definitely not taking in his wonderful, tan shoulders, and his stocky biceps, and of course that stupid lovely six pack- Wait what the hell? When did Iwa-chan get so buff??  Has he been doing extra strength training on the side or something?

           “Ready to get your ass whooped again, Shittykawa?” calls out Iwaizumi.

           Oikawa dusts the sand off his knees, sweat dripping down his bangs into his face. He takes a few ragged breaths. “You fuckin wish, biiiitttcchh.”

           Iwaizumi is about to make a retort when he notices Oikawa’s fast panting, his chest heaving in and out to try and steady his breathing back to normal. His hair is drenched, his shirt covered in sweat. Oikawa glances down worriedly at the wrap on his knee, reminding Iwaizumi of his past injury. He hastily looks at his watch.

           “On second thought, you look pretty tired, Tooru. It’s getting close to dinnertime anyways. Let’s call it a match and pack up, yeah?”

           Oikawa lets out an annoyed huff but then concedes.

———————————————————————————————————–

           They arrive back home, laughing about another funny joke Oikawa said when they were on the road. Iwaizumi and Oikawa tramp up the porch steps and through the screen door, both letting out relaxed sighs when the air conditioning hits them. They head towards the kitchen counter. Iwaizumi turns around and tosses his water bottle quickly to Oikawa, Oikawa wordlessly catching it in his hand.

           “Take this back up to the room, then we can go to the market and get some food. I’ll make dinner tonight if you want.”

           “Uh…sure Iwa-chan.” He replies, hurrying up the stairs in a daze.

           He sets both he and Iwaizumi’s water bottles on top of the dresser in their room. He takes a minute for himself, grabbing a towel and running it through his locks of hair to get the sweat out. He’s about to head out of the room when his eyes naturally find their gaze to the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. He walks closer to his reflection, placing the towel around his neck.

           Oikawa inspects his appearance in the mirror. Eyebrows knitted together, he turns his face to either side, looking at his cheekbones. His wide, almond shaped brown eyes. His thin lips, still nicely rounded out for a guy’s mouth. He had okay teeth, straight and not too big.

           “Iwa-chan’s still prettier though,” he thought.

           He shakes his head, trying to regain focus. Bounding down the stairs to meet Iwaizumi, he realizes he left his flips flops somewhere in the living room.

           “Almost done Oikawa? I’m starving, we should head out now.” Iwaizumi calls from the kitchen.

           “One second!” Oikawa answers. He’s slipping his toes through his sandals he found underneath the coffee table when something black and shiny catches his eye. “Auntie’s binder?”

           He reaches over and slowly slides the binder towards him. He opens to a random tab and somehow manages to get to the exact design that’s supposed to be what he’s wearing for the show tomorrow. Running his fingertips over the drawing of his figure, it finally dawns on him. His eyes widen and snap up from the book. “I’ve figured it out! I know what I need to do!”

           “Seriously Shittykawa let’s-,” Iwaizumi walks over and stops to see Oikawa staring at the designs, “go…”

           Oikawa quickly looks up at him from his sitting position on the floor. “Oh Iwa-chan, uh-“ Iwaizumi notices his eyes flit away from him for a couple of seconds. It looks like he’s trying to come up with something to say. “Right, about dinner…uh, could you go on without me? I uh, have a stomach ache. I’ll just stay here. Pick out whatever, okay?”

           His wide orbs stare up at him nervously and Iwaizumi knows he made that last part up. “Sure….if that’s what you want…” he narrows his eyes at Oikawa. He just knows the little shit’s up to something.

           “It is, now please goooo Iwa-chaaann. Out, out, out!” Oikawa pushes him happily out the door, tossing his truck keys to him.

           When Iwaizumi’s finally gone, Oikawa sighs heavily and looks up at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was already 5pm. He does some quick math in his head, trying to see if he has enough time to leave and come back before Iwaizumi gets back home. It would probably take Iwaizumi about 20 minutes or so to get to the market Hisako had told them about.

           “There’s no way I can make it all the way into town and back without the chance of Iwa-chan knowing I was gone. Hm. Unless….yes of course! I’ll use that shortcut!”

           He grabs the house keys, changes into his running shoes, and sprints out the door. Instead of running alongside the road all the way into town like he usually would, he hops a small fence and takes a shortcut through the neighbor’s small forest. He ends up running through a wide barley field, the sun beating down on him in waves and his body starting to get sweaty all over again. The leaves of the plants in the field scrape against his calves but Tooru pays it no mind. He makes his way down to a large road on the corner of town. Once he crosses one of the main roads, he’s able to slip behind the main buildings and into a suburb which he knows will lead him to where he needs to be.

           He passes the last house in the long, narrow neighborhood street and makes another turn, leading to a small set of offices. He runs through the bronze double doors and takes the elevator up to the fifth floor, leaning back against the wall of the elevator to finally catch his breath. The door opens to a bright white hallway, giant black and white photos of models striking dramatic poses in different outfits line the walls. He gets to the end of the hallway and fast-walks into his aunt’s studio space. He scans the area and spots Hisako standing near her desk with two colleagues, leaning down and pointing to a areas on a printed photo with her pen.

           “Oh, Oikawa dear, I’m quite surprised to see you here. Where’s your friend, Hajime?” she asks curiously.

           Oikawa takes a deep breath, wringing his hands in front of him. “Yeah, about Iwa-chan… Auntie, I need you to help me out with a huge favor.”

———————————————————————————————————-

A/N: wooww wonder what happens next?? Yeah I meant to post this way earlier today since I was hella excited about it and I had already typed out the outline for this part but it ended up being pretty long lol. Anyways, thanks for reading, if you like the story so far let me know by liking and commenting on it! I’d love to hear what you think! Also stay tuned for Part 3 where we finally get to the day of the fashion show! 

Also if anyone knows how to get a quick AO3 invite/account set up, let me know. I’d love to be able to post this to that site as well. Thanks so much for all your likes and support for my first ever haikyuu fic!

-Elo

[tsgaspencolorado]

Scouted December Events // Aspen and the Roaring Fork Valley

A busy month calls for a full and festive calendar. Read on for a round-up of holiday happenings around town and in the valley.

Friday, December 13 // Aspen History Fireside Chat at The Little Nell Join AHS at The Little Nell for stories from Aspen’s past! Cozy up by the fireplace to hear about the neighborhood’s mining and skiing history, the hotel’s origins and legendary moments, and more. As part of The Little Nell’s 30th-anniversary celebration, this special program is presented for this ski season only. $15 adult / $12 senior / children 18 and under free / free for hotel guests

Friday, December 13 // History Ski Tour on Aspen Mountain On select Fridays at 11 AM and 1 PM you can learn about the amazing mining and ski history lying literally beneath your feet as you tour Aspen Mountain with a long-time local historian

Friday, December 13 // 4 - 6 PM // Holiday Tree Lighting in Downtown Basalt Merry on Midland takes place from 4 to 6 PM with the tree lighting and holiday festivities for the whole family.

Friday, December 13 // 5 - 9 PM // Kelly Peters Art Studio Opening TSG Aspen artist Kelly Peters opens Straight Line Studio with fellow artist Teal Wilson. Join them in Snowmass Base Village for art and a bit of bubbly to celebrate.

Friday, December 13 - Sunday, December 15 // Passapalooza Passapalooza grants access to all four Aspen Snowmass mountains for only $59 per day for skiers and riders who have a valid 2019-2020 pass from any ski resort in the world. Enjoy food and drink specials as well as interactive art and light installations in Snowmass Base Village and the Snowmass Mall. Head over to Aspen on December 14th for The Little Nell’s “Party Like It’s 1989” 30th Anniversary extravaganza including live music, ski films and more great deals on food and drinks.

Saturday, December 14 // Party Like It’s 1989 Party (like the year The Little Nell opened) from 3 – 9 pm for an après ski extravaganza. The party kicks off at Chair 9 with a DJ spinning from 3:30 – 7:30 pm. Starting at 6 pm, head Downstairs at The Nell where an ‘80s cover band will play hits from The Nell’s early years and the costume contest takes place with a chance to win a deluxe winter stay at the hotel. Enjoy complimentary appetizers and a cash bar serving drinks including '80s themed cocktails. Suggested attire: vintage ski apparel.

Monday, December 16 // History Ski Tour at Aspen Highlands On select Mondays at 11 AM and 1 PM, ski with a volunteer historian to learn about Aspen Highlands' "maverick," innovative, and unique past. 

Tuesday, December 17 // The Scout Guide Aspen Volume 7 Launches Keep an eye on your inbox! We sent out details on our pop-up party happening from 4 - 6 PM on the 17th in Aspen!

Wednesday, December 18 // World Snow Polo Championship Starts The glitz, glamour, and excitement take center stage at one of the world's top snow polo tournaments and only snow polo event in North America. In front of an expected sellout crowd and worldwide ChukkerTV audience, five days of events will be held during the final stop on the World Polo Tour. 

Wednesday, December 18 // 5 - 7 PM // Ice Bumper Cars at The Collective 16 ice bumper cars arrive in Snowmass Village and will be available on a first-come, first-served basis from 5 to 7 PM daily until January 2. $20 for 10 minutes per rider.

Friday, December 20 // 5 - 8 PM // Action in Africa 5th Annual Fundraiser Join Action In Africa for an inspirational evening at their 5th Annual Winter Fundraiser! This organization started at Aspen High School and has since grown into a national non-profit serving to educate and serve people in Uganda.

Friday, December 20 // 3 - 5 PM // Game of Stones at The Collective Curling comes to Snowmass with the Game of Stones curling series at The Rink in Snowmass Base Village! Teams of two will compete in a head-to-head elimination competition. The first team that reaches 10 points wins! Game of Stones will take place from 3 to 5 p.m., registration will occur at the ice skating rink prior to the event.

Friday, December 20 // Aspen History Fireside Chat at The Little Nell Join AHS at The Little Nell for stories from Aspen’s past! Cozy up by the fireplace to hear about the neighborhood’s mining and skiing history, the hotel’s origins and legendary moments, and more. As part of The Little Nell’s 30th-anniversary celebration, this special program is presented for this ski season only. $15 adult / $12 senior / children 18 and under free / free for hotel guests

Friday, December 20 // 12 Days of Aspen Begins The annual Aspen Chamber Resort Association event kicks off on Friday, December 20 with Santa and his reindeer on the mall from 2:30 - 5:30 PM and a free showing of The Polar Express at the Wheeler. With something for everyone leading up to New Year’s Eve (including fireworks!), this annual event is one not to miss. Get the complete calendar of events.

Saturday, December 21 - Tuesday, December 24 // All day // Holiday Market at Here House Stop by Here House, next to Local Coffee Aspen, and check out their holiday market featuring skincare, accessories, jewelry, photos, and home goods. There will be mulled wine and hot apple cider (plus, you can always grab a cup of coffee next door) and kids are welcome. Gift wrapping is available (score!), and members of Here House and guests of the St. Regis receive discounts.

Saturday, December 21 - Tuesday, December 24 // 2 - 4 PM // Santa’s Village at The Collective The North Pole comes to The Collective where Santa himself is available to hear the last-minute requests from girls and boys. Complimentary photos with Santa are offered daily regardless of which of his lists you may find yourself on.

Sunday, December 22 // 3 - 4 PM // Sake Tastings at Sake Try something new every week, presented by the in house expert at Sake.

Sunday, December 22 // 4:30 - 5 PM // Menorah Lighting at The Collective Celebrated the beginning of Hanukkah with a menorah-lighting ceremony and traditional prayer led by local, Alyssa Genshaft.  Stick around for some delicious food from mix6 while playing a few games of dreidel.

Tuesday, December 24 and Wednesday, December 25 // Christmas Eve and Christmas Day Dinners at The Little Nell Element 47 and Ajax Tavern are open with Christmas Eve and Christmas Day Dinners serving up holiday favorites. 

Thursday, December 26 // 3 - 4 PM // Wine Tasting at Slice Free wine tasting every Thursday through the ski season.

Friday, December 27 // 3 - 5 PM // Game of Stones at The Collective Curling comes to Snowmass with the Game of Stones curling series at The Rink in Snowmass Base Village! Teams of two will compete in a head-to-head elimination competition. The first team that reaches 10 points wins! Game of Stones will take place from 3 to 5 p.m., registration will occur at the ice skating rink prior to the event.

December 28 // 4 - 7 PM // Live Music with Chris Bank, Mark Johnson & Terry Bannon at The Collective The trio of Chris Bank (guitar/vocals) Mark Johnson (sax /percussion) and Terry Bannon (keyboards/vocals) have been performing together in the Aspen area for over 25 years dating back to the Little Nell, Syzygy, and more recently Casa Tua. They have also performed for many corporate events and weddings playing a variety of genres including rhythm & blues, jazz, funk, and pop. Whether you’re into sitting back and grooving or getting down on the dance floor this group is guaranteed to satisfy.

Monday, December 30 // Audi Ajax Cup Benefiting the Aspen Valley Ski and Snowboard Club’s 2,300-plus athletes, as well as its scholarships and programs, the Audi Ajax Cup features head-to-head slalom races on the storied run of Little Nell at Aspen Mountain. Cheer on the racers as they navigate the challenging course, and then stick around for an après ski party at the base of the mountain.

Tuesday, December 31 // 10 PM - 2 AM // The Dom Pérignon Party For their Pearl Anniversary celebration, the world’s your oyster at The Little Nell on New Year’s Eve with endless entertainment and bottomless Dom Pérignon. The all-inclusive ticket provides access to top-shelf liquor, sweet and savory bites, oysters on the half-shell, a gourmet cheese bar and more. The hotel’s transformation into a chic circus scene translates to entertainment flowing throughout the outlets with musical acts and acrobats. Count down to midnight as dancers light up the courtyard with a fire show leading up to the fireworks display over Aspen Mountain. Tickets are $650++ per person.

Tuesday, December 31 // 7 PM and 11 PM // Clicquot Cats The ultimate slopeside experience combines The Little Nell’s five-star service and Veuve Clicquot’s La Grande Dame champagne with coveted access to Aspen Mountain. Just three snowcats for up to 12 guests each are available for a choice of the 8 pm or midnight fireworks shows. First, arrive to a private Veuve Clicquot lounge in the Silver Queen Gondola Building replete with a DJ and drinks. Next, board your private snowcat to be driven to an exclusive seating area overlooking Aspen with chairs, plush blankets, and a glowing fire pit. Here, you’ll be greeted with front row seating to the fireworks show over Aspen Mountain, A dedicated server will be your host, serving champagne, caviar, blinis, and other savory delights. $12,000++ to reserve a snowcat, includes all 12 guest spots, plus food & beverage.

live. love. local.

[urdbell18]

Madamspellman Teacher AU Chapter 2: The One With the first Day That Came From Hell

Yay chapter 2! So I’m going to be posting new chapter every other Sunday/ Monday. Once again my lovely beta Mostlygay fluff helped a lot to bring you guys this chapter. Enjoy!

September the third marked the day that Zelda became a working mother.

On Tuesday, her alarm went off at five AM. Vida whimpered but settled back down when Zelda turned it off. She showered and did her hair and makeup in the bathroom, usually she did all this at her vanity out of habit from when she shared the room with Hilda, but now it was to not disturb her daughter. So when she exited her room, shoes in hand to silence her presence, she was fully dressed, hair perfectly in place. Her makeup and everything about her was immaculate as she made her way downstairs for breakfast. At the hour still clinging to five she was the only one who was up, hard boiling an egg, placing toast in the toaster, and turning on the coffee machine. It didn’t take much effort and it was rather soothing listening to the bubbling of the water and the aroma of french roast coffee wafting in the air. At around six thirty Hilda came down, bubbly as ever, with Sabrina, still half-asleep, trailing behind her. Zelda was reading through the newspaper that came in the mail the day before. Sometimes it would be the local paper, but usually it was a paper from an outside source in another language. Mostly French or Russian, a hobby of hers that became a part of her routine, keeping the papers was new though. By seven, they would know if Ambrose came home, he’d come in a robe and slippers half desperate for a bowl of cereal. Zelda made her way back upstairs, she needed to be leaving for the school by seven thirty but she wanted to say goodbye to her still sleeping daughter. Vida was sleeping in the center of the bed on her stomach, still wrapped in her blankets and holding Oso by one of his fuzzy paws. Gently, Zelda fell to her knees by the bed where her daughter slept, pressing a kiss on the girls head.

“See you later my sweet girl.” Vida murmured a little and Zelda held her breath, fearful that she woke her daughter, but the girl settled down once again. As carefully as she did coming in, Zelda left, she made it to the door when her daughters voice stopped her.

“Mommy?” When Zelda turned back around, Vida moved so that she was facing her mother.

“Go back to sleep baby. Mommy has to go to work. Aunt Hilda will take you to school, I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“Okay. Love you Mommy.” Zelda couldn’t help the tears that stung her eyes, she just felt so much for her daughter, her precious little girl. Zelda went back and gave Vida another kiss, this time on her cheek. When they hugged, her daughter’s small arms felt warm and heavy on her shoulders.

“I love you too my darling.” The clock sounded the half hour and Zelda reluctantly left her daughters side, it wouldn’t look good if she was late on her first day. Hilda and Sabrina were waiting by the door, Hilda sent them off with a hug and a packed lunch.

Zelda made it with five minutes to spare. Before the holiday break she had everything already set up. Her first class syllabus as well this school year student planner were already set up on the desks, which she arranged in neat rows and attendance sheets on her desk, dated and ready to go. At the sound of the bell, students started trickling in, before the late bell rang she had all seventeen of her students for French 3, they made a strong impression on Zelda.

From there the day seemed to be going well. Her Russian and Italian classes went relatively well minus a poor freshman student who ended up in her class by mistake. It was at the start of period 4 when the day started to blow up in her face. At the end of third period she had to step out to use the restroom, it was only five minutes, seven tops, but when she came back her students, jocks by the look of their jackets, had destroyed her class room. Desks were pushed out of line and there were smudges on her black boards that weren’t there before, caused most likely by the football that was being tossed around. That same football smacked her right in the face. At least it got them to settle down. Despite the setback, and the stinging of her cheek, Zelda carried on like nothing happened.

“Alright students, listen up I’m only going to say this once. I don't like to repeat myself so if you miss it that’s on you. My name is Ms. Spellman and I am here to teach you Spanish not to be your friend, or your babysitter. I’m an educator here to educate a group of young adults, I expect you all to act as such. Which means I don’t want to see that football again in my class Mr. Grinwis, next time you lose it.” The whole class looked at him, he tried not to flush with embarrassment as he slouched in his seat hiding his football in his jacket. “By the end of the week I expect you all who didn’t read the supply list to have a composition notebook that will be used for this class and this class only. You will be leaving your notebooks in here, placing them in the designated bin for this class.” Zelda indicated the row of bins that sat on the window ledge behind her desk, each bin had a tab on the front that had the period and class. “Those of you who do not have a notebook by the following Monday will lose half a point everyday until you acquire one. Those who did read the supply list and already have a notebook will receive five extra credit points. By the end of class place your notebooks in the bin with your names written on them like they say in your syllabus.” Some of her students groaned while a few smiled, Zelda was already making notes on who was getting those extra credit points. “Now I won’t be going over the whole syllabus, I’m sure you can do that on your own, but these are some things I will point out…” She discussed the syllabus until the lunch bell, her students practically ran out of the room except Rosalind and Susie who lingered to place their journals, properly filled out, in the bin.

By then her cheek was killing her, she was hoping to avoid having to do it but it looked like she was going to the nurses office. The trip turned out to be a complete waste of time, the nurse asked her a bunch of questions before sending her with an ice pack and calling it a day. Zelda scoffed, making a mental note to keep aspirin in her desk, but couldn’t dwell on it. She was hungry for lunch. Lunch turned out to be a turkey sandwich with apple slices, sun baked chips, and a drink pouch that Zelda couldn’t confirm wasn’t for Sabrina. Zelda wasn’t going to complain. The ice numbed her cheek enough to get through most of her sandwich but by her apple slices it became difficult to chew let alone bite.

“That looks serious.” Mary Wardwell stood in her doorway again, this time to her private office where Zelda took her lunch, wanting some peace. “What happened?”

“Football to the jaw.”

“Boys.” The amount of venom in Ms. Wardwell’s voice would have surprised Zelda if she didn’t already know about her fellow teachers dislike for the football players. It was one of the reasons why Sabrina liked Ms. Wardwell. “Think that they can get away with anything. Here,” Ms. Wardwell held out a small white bottle. “I heard you might need these.” Aspirin, Zelda took two dry having finished the juice pouch. When she looked up ready to give back the bottle, Ms. Wardwell was gone leaving nothing behind but the smell of her perfume. For a moment Zelda thought she was delusional but she couldn’t have imagined the woman, the evidence was in her hands. Which led her to wonder, how did Ms. Wardwell learn about the forming bruise on her face?

“Auntie Zee are you okay?” Sabrina, it made perfect sense now. Rosalind and Susie were in her class when it happened, they told her niece and somewhere along the way Ms. Wardwell heard. Reassuring her niece took the rest of the lunch hour, but Zelda suspected that Sabrina still had doubts that she was truly okay.

Four o’clock could not be more of a relief for Zelda. She didn’t have anything to grade, first day of the school year and all, but Principal Hawthorne called a staff meeting when she was packing up for the day. It was a little irritating, she had cleaned and set up her black boards for the next day, her cheek was throbbing again, and all she wanted was to go home and be with her family, she missed her daughter terribly. Her irritation boiled to a seething rage when it became clear that the meeting was about football of all things. Mr. Hawthorne made it clear, in an off handed manner that just deepended her anger, that all staff members were to attend Greendale Highs first home game of the season which was this Saturday. It took him an hour to say this and she could tell that she wasn’t the only one that was not pleased with having to attend and having her time wasted with something that could be announced over the intercom or in a memo. Ms. Wardwell looked particularly murderous, she kept glaring, her eyes looked darker than their crystal blue color, and her fingers wouldn’t stop tapping against the long wood table that the teaching staff gathered around. She was the first to leave when they were dismissed, scowling in a way that everyone heard her as she walked out the door. Zelda was not that far behind her, gathering her things so that she could leave straight to her car, but Mr. Hawthorne asked if she could stay for a minute, considering what mood she was in he should be grateful that she planted her feet and placed on the most civilized smile she could muster.

“Was there something else you needed Mr. Hawthorne?”

“I just wanted to see how you were feeling after your first day. I heard about the um…”

“The football that was being thrown in my class and struck me in the face.”

“Yes, that. It looks quite painful.” Zelda didn’t need Mr. Hawthorne to tell her that. When she went to the bathroom not long after school let out she saw her own face and cringed. That blasted football hit her on the apple of her cheek, the bruise spread to look like she had a black eye and the color… no wonder her sixth period Chinese class wouldn’t look her in the face, it was ghastly, black and blue with a hint of red and her cheek swelled about half its normal size. “It was an unfortunate accident I’m sure?” That tone, it made her sick, because while it was an accident, if on the off chance it wasn’t it was going to be written as such and there was nothing she could do about that.

“Is that all Mr. Hawthorne? I’m tired and would like to start heading home.”

“Of course. Would you like an escort?”

“No thank you Mr. Hawthorne I can manage on my own.”

“Oh. Very well. What about Saturday? I know Greendale isn’t that big but did you need a ride to the game or afterwards?” A violent shiver went down Zelda’s back at the thought of being alone with Mr. Hawthorne, she didn’t like being alone in a room with him a car was just unthinkable.

“No thank you Mr. Hawthorne I’m sure I can manage. May I?” Mr. Hawthorne barely nodded when she, in a single swoop, took her case and coat and took her leave. When she glanced at her watch the time was four thirty, a whole half hour wasted, on something she didn’t care about when all she wanted to do was to go home and be with her daughter.

Ten minutes later Zelda was pulling up in front of Greendale Elementary, she remembered the building back when Sabrina was a student and it hasn’t change at all. Students waited with teachers as parents came in and out, most of them on foot, to collect their children. Students who had a sibling or relatives in the upper schools or in grade fourth or higher were allowed to walk home themselves, only with parental consent, at least that’s what Zelda remembered back when Sabrina was a grade schooler. Vida was waiting for her in the small school yard, supervised by a teacher as she and other children played on the jungle gym, swinging as high as her little legs could take her.

“Mommy!” When her feet touched the ground she ran over to Zelda. Hilda did her hair in pigtails they bounced like little springs. She scooped her daughter up, holding her close.

“Hello my darling, you have no idea how I missed you. Did you have a good day?” Her daughter just nodded, she was probably just as tired as Zelda was. Zelda located a teacher, another thing she remember from Sabrina was that only an authorized person (a list which was provided at enrollment) can take the child, if they were grade three or under one teacher would have a list of all the students and Zelda signed by her daughters name. Vida was asleep by the time Zelda placed her in her car seat, she looked peaceful, shadows of the woods and the leaves playing across her face as they drove home after a long day. Nothing felt better.

[chrrybeom]

mission successful | ksj

Summary →  Five minutes, it was just supposed to take five minutes. Instead you meet the biggest challenge of your disastrous week, and he just so happens to be standing  between you and the one thing you want most right now. Chocolate fucking milk.

▶ pairing → seokjin/reader

▶ genre → humour? angst? fluff? who knows.

▶ warnings → food mention

▶ word count  → 1.4k

PART 2

a/n: this is what happens when i’m craving chocolate milk and i see a gifset of jin’s love of it. may continue

“What do you think you’re doing?” You couldn’t believe what you were seeing in front of you, it was the absolute last straw. This whole week you had been worked to your limit, fail after fail with almost every plan you’d made on the side falling through last minute.

You had decided to go late night grocery shopping for junk food and drink. All you wanted was a little me-time, to sit back and relax on the couch watching bad teenage drama shows until you consumed your weight in sugar. The most important aspect of this entire thing just so happened to be being carted off the shelf by the handful. You’d been craving chocolate milk all week, all fucking week, and now some lunatic in ugly pyjamas (granted, you weren’t exactly dressed to the nines either) was the one thing stopping you from succeeding in your final mission of the week.

“What?” The chocolate milk hoarder had stopped his milknapping, hand wedged between the final two cartons on the shelf. He was looking at you like you were the rude one. He gave you a once over, as though your track pants tucked into your rainbow bed socks weren’t worthy of his time.

You crossed your arms, car keys jingling in your hand, eyeing off the chocolate milk loot in his arms. “You’re stealing my fucking milk.” You hadn’t anticipated being that rude, but then again you hadn’t anticipated anyone getting between you and your chocolate milk.

The man blinked, clearly taken aback. He grabbed the last two anyway, turning to face you fully. “I’m not stealing. I’m going to buy them, and its public milk property. Not my fault.”

“What can one man possibly need so much milk for?”

“Consumption. Enjoyment. Hydration. Taste.” He shook hair out of his face that had fallen into his eyes, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly. “And I’m a big man.”

You scoffed, “You’re barely six foot.”

He scowled. “What do you want with my milk, woman?”

“That is a sentence I never want to hear ever again.” His expression softened before he turned serious again. You tapped your foot. “I came here specifically for that milk in your arms. And I’ll be damned if I let some guy in gucci slippers take them from me.”

“They weren’t yours to begin with! And I’ll be damned if I let some girl with her pants tucked into her socks swindle me.”

“Ohh you are unbelievable.”

“Believe it. Can’t you just go to another store? Or I don’t know, get strawberry milk instead?”

You huffed out a laugh. “Are you serious? You don’t deserve that milk if you think strawberry can make up for the loss of chocolate.” His jaw clenched as he tried to suppress a smile. “Besides, this is the only local store that carries that brand.” You flung your arm out towards him, keys flying off your finger. They slid across the floor and hit the milk thief’s foot.

He glanced down at them and then back towards your angry form. You were so frustrated at this whole situation. It was just supposed to be a quick stop and grab. 5 minutes. That was all it needed to be. You just let the keys sit there.

“That’s why I came here to stock up,” he said matter-of-factly. He kicked your keys gently towards you. “Milk makes you violent.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as you went to retrieve your keys. The bastard started laughing at you as you picked them up. “Look, you have what, like, ten cartons there-“

“Fourteen actually.”

“You are really not helping.” You rubbed your hands over your face. “Can you spare me two?”

“How much?”

You mouth dropped in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He raised his eyebrows, pursing his lips.

“I don’t know your face is kind of naturally dopey looking.” It was his turn to gawk, a shocked smile appearing on his face.

“You are not helping your case.” You both glared at each other, though his was much more playful than the one you were giving him. “Plus, I know I’m handsome.”

“God, you are painful.” You bit your lips frustratedly, reaching out a hand. “Give me some milk.”

“Give me some money.”

“It’s not even yours yet!”

“Okay, bye bye.” He added the last two cartons into his arms and happily started to walk away.

“Wait!” He spun on his heel, cocking his head to the side. “I’ll pay. Four dollars, right?”

“Hmmm. Make it five.”

You were so close to ripping your hair out. You could’ve been back home on your couch by now. This asshole was really trying to overprice this? “That’s not retail price. Now who’s swindling who.”

“It’s a handling fee, plus you should pay for wasting my time.”

You clenched your teeth. “I should pay? For wasting YOUR time? Ohhhh, you are... something. I’m not even going to say it. All I needed was two cartons of chocolate fucking milk and instead I’ve been arguing with you for the past fifteen minutes. Go buy your fucking milk. I think strawberry sounds just fine.”

You turned back to the shelf. Your whole weeks’ worth of built up stress and anger were threatening to bubble over even more. Normally you weren’t so confrontational and blatantly rude, hell, you probably would’ve forced a friendly smile when you had first questioned him and settled for strawberry but it was the straw on the camel’s back. You should’ve just accepted your loss and hauled ass out of this stupid store and fallen asleep on the couch for the third night in a row, but now here you were, trying not to cry over chocolate milk in a grocery store at 9pm on a Wednesday.

You wiped the two stubborn tears that slipped down your cheeks and sighed. You had become that girl in her pyjamas that cries in grocery stores in front of strangers.

You felt something cold against your arm. You looked down and saw the brown carton of chocolate milk resting against your bicep.

“Here. I’m sorry.”

You quickly dabbed at your left cheek with the sleeve of your hoodie and hastily accepted the carton of milk.

He was rubbing his lips together, brow furrowed concernedly. “I shouldn’t have been so rude.” Two more cartons of milk were being placed in your hands.

“No, it’s my fault. I was a bitch.”

“We both were. Chocolate milk turns people into animals.”

You laughed. “Yeah, it’s just too good.”

“They should put a warning on the label.” You both chuckled before silence settled between you for what was probably the first time since engaging in -argument- conversation. He pursed his lips. “You don’t need to pay me. That was stupid. Do you want five?”

“Is this pity milk?”

“You did just cry in an empty store.”

You groaned. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“How could I? I don’t even know your name.” He stacked the other cartons in your hands, pausing to look you in the eyes.

You cleared your throat. “Y/N.”

“Well Y/N, I am definitely going to tell all my friends about this.”

You groaned again, this time knocking into him. You had both started making your way to the registers together, not sure if that had been intentional or not.

“I’m Jin by the way.”

“I wish I could say it was nice to meet you but frankly I kind of want to forgot this ever happened.”

“Hey, I get it. We’ve all been here.”

“You’ve cried over chocolate milk in a grocery store at 9pm on a Wednesday night?”

He scrunched his face up. “Well no, not exactly. It was a Sunday at noon in a food court, and they were out of pork ribs.”

You burst into laughter, and he joined in, laughing at both of your unfortunate happenings. “Who gets pork ribs at a food court?”

“Will you ever stop judging my food and beverage purchases? Or is this what knowing you is like?”

You were at the conveyor belt of one of the registers. He dumped his milk onto it right away and didn’t miss a beat as he gestured for you to put yours down with his as well.

“Oh no, you don’t have to I can pay for th-“

“Y/N it’s the least I can do. I made you cry, let me buy you chocolate milk.”

It was hard trying to justify saying no when he was looking at you so apologetically. You sighed. “Okay. But...” You grabbed a chocolate bar from the rack of things to tease customers with. “That’s for judging my socks.” He bit his lips. You were starting to wonder if that’s why his lips were so plump.

“Okay. Mission successful?”

You nodded. “Mission successful, Jin.”

PART 2

[margaretfrost]

October

Prologue: 

I’ve wondered many times what the shape of this month would take. Punctuated by pain like the bullet-hole smiles we used to shoot into paper plates on the lake as children, October has demanded as much as it’s given. I jumped at the first gunshot, unprepared for the noise and chaos a single email could bring into my life. A second gunshot was inevitable - these things always come in rounds - but I could see it coming. I was able to reach for the headphones that would dampen the ear-splitting crack of air. I prepared for the fallout, for the paper plate of my my heart to be ripped to shreds, and then I waited. I breathed deeply filling the space with a slow steady countdown. Ten days. Eight days. Three days. 10 hours. 2 hours. Bang,

Only this time, I didn’t panic. The pain was not explosive, but steady in a way that pain can only be when its expected. The month carried, as it always does. The bones have been set. Now all there is left to do is wait until I can walk again. 

Time, thou must entangle this not I. Tis too hard a knot for me to untie. - Twelfth Night

Part I 

Anonymity doesn’t suit me. I railed against the decision to hide behind a pen name, but then just as quickly accepted it and moved on, thinking about how much freer I might be with my proverbial pen - too free perhaps. 

The month began with grieving and singing and laughter and tears. My dearest Welshie had come to see for the weekend, and we ended up attending my local church. Coming out of the chaos that was September, I was exhausted and desperate for some respite. I wept as A prayed over me, covering me with words of hope and love - a balm for a wounded soul. I wept in the arms of L. I wept in the arms of my Welshie. This was church at its finest - to be seen, to be loved, to be safe to fall to pieces knowing that I would be picked back up again. 

And I was. By coffee and an almond croissant and a fond farewell to the Welshie.  

The week passes. I run. I write. I walk my dog. I glory in the beautiful weather - unseasonably hot for October. I see my friends. I settle into a rhythm - one that feels strange in its normality, but I don’t question it. It doesn’t even cross my mind to question it, as relief is the only prevailing feeling. 

The nights are longer not by the darkness but by the quiet. I tuck myself in my enormous green chair - the one deemed too ugly to display in the old place, which now sits proudly in my little living room - and read by a tiny lamp that’s propped up in the window. Occasionally, my dog will catch the reflection of the light and let out a howl as if intruders were upon us. I don’t quiet him anymore. Living on my own, I feel safer when his loud growls fill the house, emanating out so that I’m sure people several rows of streets over can hear him. 

The model comes to see me later in the week - he is a wave, bubbling sea foam, ever ebbing in and out. He moves like water, his hands always fluidly finessing his speech. I marvel at his beauty though like the ocean, I have no desire to possess it, but am content to watch it ripple, content to simply bear witness.

The weekend comes, though as a writer, a weekend by any other name just looks like a week. J visits and I find my words - my soul - spilling out and tumbling out like a small child trying to carry a very large glass of water. But he doesn’t seem to mind, spilling some of his own soul as well over baked cookies and iced coffee. He reads a poem that stops up my mind like hardened-honey so that I can think of nothing else for days. We walk endlessly in fields of copper and gold.

Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour. 

The ‘hour’ continues on into the evening as I spend time dancing and drinking with friends.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

My dear JM visits Sunday evening and it comforts me to see her curled up in my beautiful, ugly green chair, the candles illuminating her lovely face as we chat endlessly, like two dormice storing up secrets for the winter. 

So Eden sank to grief.

I write the next day, a Monday. I finish the day with new friends in a cozy pub, huddling together in our mutual faith. As we near the end of our time together, I check my phone. A host of texts - more than expected for the hour I’ve ignored the demanding blue light. 

So dawn goes down to day.

There, in all its impossibility is a text from Him, full-named as he is. My heart drops. No. It sinks. No. It stops. ‘I have reached a point in my processing when I need to speak to you directly.’

Nothing gold can stay. - Robert Frost 

Part 2

My hands shake as I dial numbers. My whole body is shaking - my legs as I dash home, my arms as I hold the phone to my ear and wait for B to respond. She picks up on the third ring and I spill out everything. I’m frantic. I’m erratic. I’m manic. I’m in shock. 

Even now, living this moment again is horrendous, I rush home and call Y. She is at my house within 15 minutes with candy. We sit on my living room floor and watch an episode of friends - an episode I am sure I will never watch again. The strangest, longest, hardest hour of my life passes as I sit by her side, chewing in strawberry laces, and waiting for an email that will say. 

Say what. Nothing good. A text like that can only mean bad things. But with no indication I am forced to wait. I shut my mind in a dark room and give it no light - not even the faintest candle by which to imagine shadows that do not exist. This is the hardest thing - to keep the speculation at bay, like persistent demons that bang on the doors of your mind begging to be allowed to grow in their phantom hood. 

The hour passes. The email arrives. I fall apart. 

I’ve known dark before, 

but not like this. 

This is cold, this empty, this is numb. 

The life I knew is over, 

the lights are out. 

Hello darkness I’m ready to succumb. 

- The Next Right Thing, Frozen 2

Again and again and again over the next 24 hours I fall apart, tearing at the seams. Again and again and again I pick the pieces and reassemble myself. No. I allow others to pick up the pieces for me as a I have no strength. I listen to the wisdom of others, with no wisdom of my own. My eyes swell so large they could be beacon fires - red hot, enflamed. 

Dear JM spends all of Tuesday by my side. She makes me a cheese toastie. She wraps her arms around me so tightly that I stop falling apart. By sheer force of love, she keeps me together and I start to find something resembling equilibrium. A tennis game in the evening sorts out the anger, and I cry in front of my tennis buddy for the second this year. 

She is kind and calm and wise. 

Wednesday I have a huge career meeting, that I float through with the support of my team. It goes brilliantly.

Thursday I see friends in Town. One after the other. The Ozzie, the Georgian, the fellow ex-Presby, then the two delights I met over the summer. I devote my full attention to them - what else can I do. Think on that for which I have no language? No answers? I head home heart heavy. But thankful for fellowship. 

I reply to the email at last. 

I’ve asked for a week more to process. I’m not even fighting for us anymore. I’m not fighting for Him. I’m not fighting for me. I’m fighting for time. 

TIME THOU MUST ENTANGLE THIS. 

Part 3 

’It feels like falling, it feels like rain, like losing my balance again and again.’ - Sorrow by Sleeping at Last

Mid-October brings thick fog - a pathetic fallacy but comforting all the same. There sits within me an uneasy familiarity with chaos so that even in moments of stillness I see the chaos lurking out my window and something compels me to press my face to the glass and reach my hand out and brush against it’s darkness with my fingertips. 

It beckons to me in whispers of illness in one that I care for. Though close in proximity, the chasm of silence could rival that of the Grand Canyon. I worry. Of course I do.

It beckons to me in the longing to be held. To be kissed. To be explored. To be touched. I settle instead for the warm embrace of a friend.

It beckons to me in the breaking of my own spirit. 

But this is where it falters, for in my utter brokenness I turn to the only One in whom I know my hope will not be put to shame. And so I break in relief - dawn to day, rain to sun, like coming alive. Chaos spasms uncontrollably as my heart fills with a song of joy I do not full comprehend, my soul with a peace that passes understanding. 

The time I’ve fought for reaches its end. The Love I want to fight for has reached its end. I weep.  I eat. I weep. I sleep. I weep. I hold my dog close. 

You've gone to a place I cannot find

This grief has a gravity; it pulls me down

But a tiny voice whispers in my mind

"You are lost, hope is gone

But you must go on

And do the next right thing"

But what is it? What is the next right thing? I ask this question of the fields that I run through. I ask this question of the thunderstorm that rages. I ask this question of the leaves that crunch beneath my feet. I ask this question as I run.

I keep running because I like how red my cheeks get in the cold morning air and I like how my lungs burn when I run up a hill and I like how the sweat on my back catches the wind and makes me shiver and I like how it sounds when my feet hit the pavement or how my ears fill with bubbling conversation as I run alongside whoever I’ve managed to drag with me. I keep running because even in the midst of defeat, there are sunrises, like this one, that fill my heart with the beauty of creation and my failures pale in comparison to the splendor all around me and I can glory in the freedom of my insignificance

How nature aquaints us, with the nature of patience 

- Seasons by Hillsong. 

I finally give up book two, if only temporarily. I turn my attention to my home, tidying for a winter of the soul and body. I speak at a conference about book one and it buoys me, but by the time I’m on the train home, I’m exhausted once more. I’m exhausted all the time now/

Be still and know that I am God. Wait for the Lord. Be strong. Let your heart take courage. Wait for the Lord - The Psalmist 

Part 4

The line between good and evil passes... through every human heart so that even in a heart overwhelmed by evil one bridgehead of good remains - Alexander Solznietzin 

In my own experience it is the same with hope and despair - when I search inside myself and see a great cavern where I had thought to find some light and I teeter on the sharp edge of shame, still some tiny vestige of hope remains. Close companionship, the hidden wonder of creation, even the ridiculous adorability of my dog pull me back again and again so that I am hard pressed on every side but not abandoned, struck down but not destroyed.

Words have always been my weapon, my ally, my friend, my enemy, my undoing. I have used words to bring form and shape to my emotions and thoughts. I have articulated ad nauseam until the world around me fit into place, brick by brick, as if through the magic of language that which was once broken might be made whole once more. But I’ve run out of words. The effort it takes to turn my back on that cavern even as my feet long to rush into it and hide, wallowing in the misery of darkness, has stripped me of that thing which I hold dear and my imagination runs dry. I must admit defeat, placing my creative endeavors to the side as the work of the moment must be healing, more demanding a partner than ever I’ve nourished.

And so the month ends in failure. Not the loud, catastrophic kind that makes its presence known to everyone within a ten mile radius. My failure does not come with a flashing neon sign drawing public disgrace. No, this failure is quiet, steady, and relentless. Like these rainy days that crept up on us until our streets were flooded. I stand in my life and let the rain of failure wash over me, soak into every pore. My feet sink into and it fills me from top to bottom.

The two things I hold dear in my life are now dead. I’ve pressed my lips to the corpse of my heart’s desire and breathed desperately, throwing my weight into pummeling the chest cavity. There’s even the tiniest ember of light in the eyes, and I think, I hope, maybe, maybe, maybe. 

But that is a question for another time.

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. - Rilke 

May you find in yourself a courageous hospitality towards what is difficult, painful and unknown. - John O’Donoghue 

But I cannot help myself. Even in defeat, I search for that Word. That one Word that would make everything better, that could restore the glory of shattered things. A Word that could find beauty in ashes and breathe life even into the wreckage of a human heart like mine. I would wait my whole life for such a Word. And when found, with what confidence could I agree that even in the darkest of times, one bridgehead of Hope remains.

[concerthopperblog]

At The Drive Inn with Collectiv Presents

It’s no surprise that when COVID-19 hit in the Spring of 2020, all music festivals and live music events came to a screeching halt. Event coordinators, live music curators, and festival promoters were left wondering how they could possibly continue their careers with an urgent requirement for society to quarantine and socially distance themselves from one another. As some venues and curators struggled to whether the storms of full quarantine lockdowns, others were taking the time to pool their brain power and collaborate on ways to pull through this trying time in a victorious light. Curators at Collectiv Presents took the model for Drive Inn Movie Theaters and flipped it on its head to create a revolutionary concert experience during a time where people are craving live music without the socialization portion of live events. Collectiv Presents is now piecing together a small schedule of live events in Chicago, Illinois and Atlanta, Georgia to bring the stir crazy festival family out of quarantine for a little bit of dancing and groovin’ in a safe, socially distanced environment. A full up to date schedule of their current events with ticketing information to each event can be found on their website.

As we mentioned above, these experiences are modeled after classic Drive Inn Movie Theaters. Each ticket reserves a space for 1 car and up to six people to insure current social distancing and safety standards for live events. To insure each group has the proper amount of space between one another, curators have set up a small pod beside each car to allow each group their own personal space bubble. Attendees are utilizing these pods to show off their best dance moves and flow art skills as they radiate six months of pent up festival energy. Unlike other Drive Inn experiences, its being encouraged that attendees bring their own food and drinks to limit any sort of foot traffic outside of their pods. Some of these shows are offering merch booths - however the general vibe of each experience is to set up camp in your own space and limit any foot traffic to and from the restroom areas. Collectiv Presents pulled out all the stops with high quality sound, lighting, and visuals to insure that every single person in attendance has the best time they have had all year regardless of where they end up in the field infront of the stage for viewing.

Ticket prices range from roughly $200 to $450 depending on the row being purchased for viewing. The up to date schedule with ticket pricing links can be found on the Collectiv Presents website. The Premium Viewing Areas are front row, directly in front of the stage and are running between $400 and $500 depending on the show and the artists performing. The next best row for purchasing runs around $280-$300, and the third best around $260. As mentioned above, curators have done an outstanding job with bringing in high quality audio, visual, and lighting set ups to in sure that all attendees experience a revolutionary live music event regardless of where they reserve a space at the venue. To stay up to date on more up coming socially distanced shows and events by Collectiv Presents follow them on Instagram and Twitter. Remember to wash your hands, wear a mask, and stay safe out there!

AT THE DRIVE INN BY COLLECTIV PRESENTS

Deadmau5 in Atlanta | Thursday, October 29, 2020

Omar Apollo in Chicago | Thursday, October 29, 2020

Deadmau5 in Chicago | Friday, October 30, 2020

Major Lazer in Atlanta | Friday, October 30, 2020

Deadmau5 Night 2 in Chicago | Saturday, October 31, 2020

Ganja White Night in Chicago | Sunday, November 1, 2020

Steve Aoki in Atlanta | Friday, November 13, 2020

Subtronics, Boogie T, Level Up Dub | Saturday, November 14, 2020

[itbeatsbookmarks]

(Via: Hacker News)

Act 1: Sunday afternoon

So you know when you’re flopping about at home, minding your own business, drinking from your water bottle in a way that does not possess any intent to subvert the Commonwealth of Australia?

It’s a feeling I know all too well, and in which I was vigorously partaking when I got this message in “the group chat”.

A nice message from my friend, with a photo of a boarding pass 🙂 A good thing about messages from your friends is that they do not have any rippling consequences 🙂🙂🙂

The man in question is Tony Abbott, one of Australia’s many former Prime Ministers.

That’s him, officer

For security reasons, we try to change our Prime Minister every six months, and to never use the same Prime Minister on multiple websites.

The boarding pass photo

This particular former PM had just posted a picture of his boarding pass on Instagram (Instagram, in case you don’t know it, is an app you can open up on your phone any time to look at ads).

The since-deleted Instagram post showing the boarding pass and baggage receipt. The caption reads “coming back home from japan 😍😍 looking forward to seeing everyone! climate change isn’t real 😌 ok byeee”

“Can you hack this man?”

My friend (who we will refer to by their group chat name, 𝖍𝖔𝖌𝖌𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖆𝖉𝖊) is asking whether I can “hack this man” not because I am the kind of person who regularly commits 𝒄𝒚𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 on a whim, but because we’d recently been talking about boarding passes.

I’d said that people post pictures of their boarding passes all the time, not knowing that it can sometimes be used to get their passport number and stuff. They just post it being like “omg going on holidayyyy 😍😍😍”, unaware that they’re posting cringe.

People post their boarding passes all the time, because it’s not clear that they’re meant to be secret

Meanwhile, some hacker is rubbing their hands together, being all “yumyum identity fraud 👀” in their dark web Discord, because this happens a lot.

So there I was, making intense and meaningful eye contact with this chat bubble, asking me if I could “hack this man”.

Surely you wouldn’t

Of course, my friend wasn’t actually asking me to hack the former Prime Minister.

However.

You gotta.

I mean… what are you gonna do, not click it? Are you gonna let a link that’s like 50% advertising tracking ID tell you what to do? Wouldn’t you be curious?

The former Prime Minister had just posted his boarding pass. Was that bad? Was someone in danger? I didn’t know.

What I did know was: the least I could do for my country would be to have a casual browse 👀

Investigating the boarding pass photo

Step 1: Hubris

So I had a bit of a casual browse, and got the picture of the boarding pass, and then…. I didn’t know what was supposed to happen after that.

Well, I’d heard that it’s bad to post your boarding pass online, because if you do, a bored 17 year-old Russian boy called “Katie-senpai” might somehow use it to commit identity fraud. But I don’t know anyone like that, so I just clumsily googled some stuff.

Googling how 2 hakc boarding pass

Eventually I found a blog post explaining that yes, pictures of boarding passes can indeed be used for Crimes. The part you wanna be looking at for all your criming needs is the barcode, because it’s got the “Booking Reference” (e.g. H8JA2A) in it.

Why do you want the booking reference? It’s one of the two things you need to log in to the airline website to manage your flight.

The second one is your… last name. I was really hoping the second one would be like a password or something. But, no, it’s the booking reference the airline emails you and prints on your boarding pass. And it also lets you log in to the airline website?

That sounds suspiciously like a password to me, but like I’m still fine to pretend it’s not if you are.

Step 2: Scan the barcode

I’ve been practicing every morning at sunrise, but still can’t scan barcodes with my eyes. I had to settle for a barcode scanner app on my phone, but when I tried to scan the picture in the Instagram post, it didn’t work :((

Maybe I shouldn’t have blurred out the barcode first

Step 2: Scan the barcode, but more

Well, maybe it wasn’t scanning because the picture was too blurry.

I spent around 15 minutes in an “enhance, ENHANCE” montage, fiddling around with the image, increasing the contrast, and so on. Despite the montage taking up way too much of the 22 minute episode, I couldn’t even get the barcode to scan.

Step 2: Notice that the Booking Reference is printed right there on the paper

After staring at this image for 15 minutes, I noticed the Booking Reference is just… printed on the baggage receipt.

I graduated university.

But it did not prepare me for this.

askdjhaflajkshdflkh

Step 3: Visit the airline’s website

After recovering from that emotional rollercoaster, I went to qantas.com.au, and clicked “Manage Booking”. In case you don’t know it because you live in a country with fast internet, Qantas is the main airline here in Australia.

(I also very conveniently started recording my screen, which is gonna pay off big time in just a moment.)

Step 4: Type in the Booking Reference

Well, the login form was just… there, and it was asking for a Booking Reference and a last name. I had just flawlessly read the Booking Reference from the boarding pass picture, and, well… I knew the last name.

I did hesitate for a split-second, but… no, I had to know.

Step 5: Crimes(?)

youngman.mp4

The “Manage Booking” page, logged in as some guy called Anthony Abbott

Can I get a YIKES in the chat

Leave a comment if you really felt that.

I guess I was now logged the heck in as Tony Abbott? And for all I know, everyone else who saw his Instagram post was right there with me. It’s kinda wholesome, to imagine us all there together. But also probably suboptimal in a governmental sense.

Was there anything secret in here?

I then just incredibly browsed the page, browsed it so hard.

I saw Tony Abbott’s name, flight times, and Frequent Flyer number, but not really anything super secret-looking. Not gonna be committing any cyber treason with a Frequent Flyer number. The flight was in the past, so I couldn’t change anything, either.

The page said the flight had been booked by a travel agent, so I guessed some information would be missing because of that.

I clicked around and scrolled a considerable length, but still didn’t find any government secrets.

Some people might give up here. But I, the Icarus of computers, was simply too dumb to know when to stop.

We’re not done just because a web page says we’re done

I wanted to see if there were juicy things hidden inside the page. To do it, I had to use the only hacker tool I know.

Right click > Inspect Element, all you need to subvert the Commonwealth of Australia

Listen. This is the only part of the story that might be confused for highly elite computer skill. It’s not, though. Maybe later someone will show you this same thing to try and flex, acting like only they know how to do it. You will not go gently into that good night. You will refuse to acknowledge their flex, killing them instantly.

How does “Inspect Element” work?

“Inspect Element”, as it’s called, is a feature of Google Chrome that lets you see the computer’s internal representation (HTML) of the page you’re looking at. Kinda like opening up a clock and looking at the cool cog party inside.

Yeahhh go little cogs, look at ‘em absolutely going off. Now imagine this but with like, JavaScript

Everything you see when you use “Inspect Element” was already downloaded to your computer, you just hadn’t asked Chrome to show it to you yet. Just like how the cogs were already in the watch, you just hadn’t opened it up to look.

But let us dispense with frivolous cog talk. Cheap tricks such as “Inspect Element” are used by programmers to try and understand how the website works. This is ultimately futile: Nobody can understand how websites work. Unfortunately, it kinda looks like hacking the first time you see it.

If you’d like to know more about it, I’ve prepared a short video.

Browsing the “Manage Booking” page’s HTML

I scrolled around the page’s HTML, not really knowing what it meant, furiously trying to find anything that looked out of place or secret.

I eventually realised that manually reading HTML with my eyes was not an efficient way of defending my country, and Ctrl + F’d the HTML for “passport”.

oh no

Oh yes

It’s just there.

At this point I was fairly sure I was looking at the extremely secret government-issued ID of the 28th Prime Minister of the Commonwealth of Australia, servant to her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and I was kinda worried that I was somehow doing something wrong, but like, not enough to stop.

….anything else in this page?

Well damn, if Tony Abbott’s passport number is in this treasure trove of computer spaghetti, maybe there’s wayyyyy more. Perhaps this HTML contains the lost launch codes to the Sydney Opera House, or Harold Holt.

Maybe there’s a phone number?

Searching for phone and number didn’t get anywhere, so I searched for 614, the first 3 digits of an Australian phone number, using my colossal and highly celestial galaxy brain.

Weird uppercase letters

A weird pile of what I could only describe as extremely uppercase letters came up. It looked like this:

RQST QF HK1 HNDSYD/03EN|FQTV QF HK1|CTCM QF HK1 614[phone number]|CKIN QF HN1 DO NOT SEAT ROW [row number] PLS SEAT LAST ROW OF [row letter] WINDOW

So, there’s a lot going on here. There is indeed a phone number in here. But what the heck is all this other stuff?

I realised this was like… Qantas staff talking to eachother about Tony Abbott, but not to him?

In what is surely the subtweeting of the century, it has a section saying HITOMI CALLED RQSTING FASTTRACK FOR MR. ABBOTT. Hitomi must be requesting a “fasttrack” (I thought that was only a thing in movies???) from another Qantas employee.

This is messed up for many reasons

What is even going on here? Why do Qantas flight staff talk to eachother via this passenger information field? Why do they send these messages, and your passport number to you when you log in to their website? I’ll never know because I suddenly got distracted with

Forbidden airline code

I realised the allcaps museli I saw must be some airline code for something. Furious and intense googling led me to several ancient forbidden PDFs that explained some of the codes.

Apparently, they’re called “SSR codes” (Special Service Request). There are codes for things like “Vegetarian lacto-ovo meal” (VLML), “Vegetarian oriental meal” (VOML), and even “Vegetarian vegan meal” (VGML). Because I was curious about these codes, here’s some for you to be curious about too (tag urself, I’m UMNR):

RFTV Reason for Travel UMNR Unaccompanied minor PDCO Carbon Offset (chargeable) WEAP Weapon DEPA Deportee—accompanied by an escort ESAN Passenger with Emotional Support Animal in Cabin

The phone number I found looked like this: CTCM QF HK1 [phone number]. Googling “SSR CTCM” led me to the developer guide for some kind of airline association, which I assume I am basically a member of now.

CTCM QF HK1 translates as “Contact phone number of passenger 1”

Is the phone number actually his?

I thought maybe the phone number belonged to the travel agency, but I checked and it has to be the passenger’s real phone number. That would be, if my calculations are correct,,,, *steeples fingers* Tony Abbott’s phone number.

what have i done

I’d now found Tony Abbott’s:

Passport details

Phone number

Weird Qantas staff comments.

My friend who messaged me had no idea.

Tony Abbott’s passport is probably a Diplomatic passport, which is used to “represent the Australian Government overseas in an official capacity”.

what have i done

By this point I’d had enough defending my country, and had recently noticed some new thoughts in my brain, which were:

oh jeez oh boy oh jeez

i gotta get someone, somehow, to reset tony abbott’s passport number

can you even reset passport numbers

is it possible that i’ve done a crime

Intermission

Act 2: Do not get arrested challenge 2020

In this act, I, your well-meaning but ultimately incompetent protagonist, attempt to do the following things:

⬜ figure out whether i have done a crime

⬜ notify someone (tony abbott?) that this happened

⬜ get permission to publish this here blog post

⬜ tell qantas about the security issue so they can fix it

Spoilers: This takes almost six months.

Let’s skip the boring bits

I contacted a lot of people about this. If my calculations are correct, I called at least 30 phone numbers, to say nothing of The Emails. If you laid all the people I contacted end to end along the equator, they would die, and you would be arrested. Eventually I started keeping track of who I talked to in a note I now refer to as “the hashtag struggle”.

I’m gonna skip a considerable volume of tedious and ultimately unsatisfying telephony, because it’s been a long day of scrolling already, and you need to save your strength.

Alright strap yourself in and enjoy as I am drop-kicked through the goal posts of life.

Part 1: is it possible that i’ve done a crime

I didn’t think anything I did sounded like a crime, but I knew that sometimes when the other person is rich or famous, things can suddenly become crimes. Like, was there going to be some Monarch Law or something? Was Queen Elizabeth II gonna be mad about this?

My usual defence against being arrested for hacking is making sure the person being hacked is okay with it. You heard me, it’s the power of ✨consent✨. But this time I could uh only get it in retrospect, which is a bit yikes.

So I was wondering like… was logging in with someone else’s booking reference a crime? Was having someone else’s passport number a crime? What if they were, say, the former Prime Minister? Would I get in trouble for publishing a blog post about it? I mean you’re reading the blog post right now so obviousl

Update: I have been arrested.

Just straight up Reading The Law

It turned out I could just google these things, and before I knew it I was reading “the legislation”. It’s the rules of the law, just written down.

Look, reading pages of HTML? No worries. Especially if it’s to defend my country. But whoever wrote the legislation was just making up words.

Eventually, I was able to divine the following wisdoms from the Times New Roman tea leaves:

Defamation is where you get in trouble for publishing something that makes someone look bad.

But, it’s fine for me to blog about it, since it’s not defamation if you can prove it’s true

Having Tony Abbott’s passport number isn’t a crime

But using it to commit identity fraud would be

There are laws about what it’s okay to do on a computer

The things it’s okay to do are: If u EVER even LOOK at a computer the wrong way, the FBI will instantly slam dunk you in a legal fashion dependent on the legislation in your area

I am possibly the furthest thing you can be from a lawyer. So, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you not to take this as legal advice. But, if you are the kind of person who takes legal advice from mango blog posts, who am I to stand in your way? Not a lawyer, that’s who. Don’t do it.

You know what, maybe I needed help. From an adult. Someone whose 3-year old kid has been buying iPad apps for months because their parents can’t figure out how to turn it off.

“Yeah, maybe I should get some of that free government legal advice”, I thought to myself, legally. That seemed like a pretty common thing, so I thought it should be easy to do. I took a big sip of water and googled “free legal advice”.

trying to ask a lawyer if i gone and done a crime

Before I went and told everyone about my HTML frolicking, I spent a week calling legal aid numbers, lawyers, and otherwise trying to figure out if I’d done a crime.

During this time, I didn’t tell anyone what I’d done. I asked if any laws would be broken if “someone” had “logged into a website with someone’s publicly-posted password and found the personal information of a former politician”. Do you see how that’s not even a lie? I’m starting to see how lawyers do it.

Calling Legal Aid places

First I call the state government’s Legal Aid number. They tell me they don’t do that here, and I should call another Legal Aid place named something slightly different.

The second place tells me they don’t do that either, and I should call the First Place and “hopefully you get someone more senior”.

I call the First Place again, and they say “oh you’ve been given the run around!”. You see where this is going.

Let’s skip a lot of phone calls. Take my hand as I whisk you towards the slightly-more-recent past. Based on advice I got from two independent lawyers that was definitely not legal advice: I haven’t done a crime.

Helllllll yeah. But I mean it’s a little late because I forgot to mention that by this point I had already emailed explicit details of my activities to the Australian Government.

☑️ figure out whether i have done a crime

⬜ notify someone (tony abbott?) that this happened

⬜ get permission to publish this here blog post

⬜ tell qantas about the security issue so they can fix it

Part 2: trying to report the problem to someone, anyone, please

I had Tony Abbott’s passport number, phone number, and weird Qantas messages about him. I was the only one who knew I had these.

Anyone who saw that Instagram post could also have them. I felt like I had to like, tell someone about this. Someone with like, responsibilities. Someone with an email signature.

wait but do u see the irony in this, u have his phone number right there so u could just-

Yes I see it thank u for pointing this out, wise, astute, and ultimately self-imposed heading. I knew I could just call the number any time and hear a “G’day” I’d never be able to forget. I knew I had a rare opportunity to call someone and have them ask “how did you get this number!?”.

But you can’t just do that.

You can’t just call someone’s phone number that you got by rummaging around in the HTML ball pit. Tony Abbott didn’t want me to have his phone number, because he didn’t give it to me. Maybe if it was urgent, or I had no other option, sure. But I was pretty sure I should do this the Nice way, and show that I come in peace.

I wanted to show that I come in peace because there’s also this pretty yikes thing that happens where you email someone being all like “henlo ur website let me log in with username admin and password admin, maybe u wanna change that??? could just be me but let me kno what u think xoxo alex” and then they reply being like “oh so you’re a HACKER and a CRIMINAL and you’ve HACKED ME AND MY FAMILY TOO and this is a RANSOM and ur from the DARK WEB i know what that is i’ve seen several episodes of mr robot WELL watch out kiddO bc me and my lawyers are bulk-installing tens of thousands of copies of McAfee® Gamer Security as we speak, so i’d like 2 see u try”

I googled “tony abbott contact”, but there’s only his official website. There’s no phone number on it, only a “contact me” form.

I imagine there have been some passionate opinions typed into this form at 9pm on a Tuesday

Yeah right, have you seen the incredible volume of #content people want to say at politicians? No way anyone’s reading that form.

I later decided to try anyway, using the same Inspect Element ritual from earlier. Looking at the network requests the page makes, I divined that the “Contact me” form just straight up does not work. When you click “submit”, you get an error, and nothing gets sent.

This is an excellent way of using computers to solve the problem of “random people keep sending me angry letters”

Well rip I guess. I eventually realised the people to talk to were probably the government.

The government

It’s a big place.

In the beginning, humans developed the concept of language by banging rocks together and saying “oof, oog, and so on”. Then something went horribly wrong, and now people unironically begin every sentence with “in regards to”. Our story begins here.

The government has like fifty thousand million different departments, and they all know which acronyms to call each other, but you don’t. If you EVER call it DMP&C instead of DPM&C you are gonna be express email forwarded into a nightmare realm the likes of which cannot be expressed in any number of spreadsheet cells, in spite of all the good people they’ve lost trying.

I didn’t even know where to begin with this. Desperately, I called Tony Abbott’s former political party, who were all like

Skip skip skip a few more calls like this.

Maybe I knew someone who knew someone

That’s right, the true government channels were the friends we made along the way.

I asked hacker friends who seemed like they might know government security people. “Where do I report a security issue with like…. a person, not a website?”

They told me to call… 1300 CYBER1?

1300 CYBER1

I don’t really have a good explanation for this so I’m just gonna post the screenshots.

My friend showing me where to report a security issue with the government. I’m gonna need you to not ask any questions about the profile pictures.

Uhhh no wait I don’t wanna click any of these

The planet may be dying, but we live in a truly unparalleled age of content.

You know I smashed that call button on 1300 CYBER1. Did they just make it 1300 CYBER then realise you need one more digit for a phone number? Incredible.

Calling 1300 c y b e r o n e

“Yes yes hello, ring ring, is this 1300 cyber one”? They have to say yes if you ask that. They’re legally obligated.

The person who picked up gave me an email address for ASD (the Australian flavour of America’s NSA), and told me to email them the details.

Emailing the government my crimes

Feeling like the digital equivalent of three kids in a trenchcoat, I broke out my best Government Email dialect and emailed ASD, asking for them to call me if they were the right place to tell about this.

Sorry for the clickbait subject but well that’s what happened???

Fooled by my flawless disguise, they replied instantly (in a relative sense) asking for more details.

“Potential” exposure, yeah okay. At least the subject line had “[SEC=Sensitive]” in it so I _knew_ I’d made it big

I absolutely could provide them with more information, so I did, because I love to cooperate with the Australian government.

I also asked whether they could give me permission to publish this blog post, and they were all like “Seen 2:35pm”. Eventually, after another big day of getting left on read by the government, they replied, being all like “thanks kiddO, we’re doing like, an investigation and stuff, so we’ll take it from here”.

Overall, ASD were really nice to me about it and happy that I’d helped. They encouraged me to report this kind of thing to them if it happened again, but I’m not really in the business of uhhhhhhhh whatever the heck this is.

By the way, at this point in the story (chronologically) I had no idea if what I was emailing the government was actually the confession to a crime, since I hadn’t talked to a lawyer yet. This is widely regarded as a bad move. I do not recommend anyone else use “but I’m being so helpful and earnest!!!” as a legal defence. But also I’m not a lawyer, so idk, maybe it works?

Wholesomely emailing the government

At one point in what was surely an unforgettable email chain, the person I was emailing added a P.S. containing…. the answer to the puzzle hidden on this website. The one you’re reading this blog on right now. Hello. I guess they must have found this website (hi asd) by stalking the email address I was sending from. This is unprecedented and everything, but:

The puzzle says to tweet the answer at me, not email me

The prize for doing the puzzle is me tweeting this gif of a shakas to you

yeahhhhhhhhhh, nice

So I guess I emailed the shakas gif to the government??? Yeah, I guess I did.

Please find attached

Can I write about this?

I asked them if they could give me permission to write this blog post, or who to ask, and they were like “uhhhhhhhhhhh” and gave me two government media email addresses to try. Listen I don’t wanna be an “ummm they didn’t reply to my emAiLs” kinda person buT they simply left me no choice.

Still, defending the Commonwealth was in ASD’s hands now, and that’s a win for me at this point.

☑️ figure out whether i have done a crime

☑️ notify someone (The Government) that this happened

⬜ get permission to publish this here blog post

⬜ tell qantas about the security issue so they can fix it

Part 3: Telling Qantas the bad news

The security issue

Hey remember like fifteen minutes ago when this post was about webpages?

I’m guessing Qantas didn’t want to send the customer their passport number, phone number, and staff comments about them, so I wanted to let them know their website was doing that. Maybe the website was well meaning, but ultimately caused more harm than good, like how that time the bike path railings on the Golden Gate Bridge accidentally turned it into the world’s largest harmonica.

Unblending the smoothie

But why does the website even send you all that stuff in the first place? I don’t know, but to speculate wildly: Maybe the website just sends you all the data it knows about you, and then only shows you your name, flight times, etc, while leaving the passport number etc. still in the page.

If that were true, then Qantas would want to unblend the digital smoothie they’ve sent you, if you will. They’d want to change it so that they only send you your name and flight times and stuff (which are a key ingredient of the smoothie to be sure), not the whole identity fraud smoothie.

Smoothie evangelism

I wanted to tell them the smoothie thing, but how do I contact them?

The first place to check is usually company.com/security, maybe that’ll w-

Okay nevermind

Okay fine maybe I should just email [email protected] surely that’s it? I could only find a phone number to report security problems to, and I wasn’t sure if it was like…. airport security?

So I just… called the number and was like “heyyyy uhhhh I’d like to report a cyber security issue?”, and the person was like “yyyyya just email [email protected]” and i was like “ok sorrY”.

Time to email Qantas I guess

I emailed Qantas, being like “beep boop here is how the computer problem works”.

(Have you been wondering about the little dots in this post? Click this one for the rest of the email .)

A few days later, I got this reply.

And then I never heard from this person again

Airlines were going through kinda a struggle at the time, so I guess that’s what happened?

if ur still out there Shr Security i miss u

Struggles

After filling up my “get left on read” combo meter, I desperately resorted to calling Qantas’ secret media hotline number.

They said the issue was being fixed by Amadeus, the company who makes their booking software, rather than with Qantas itself. I’m not sure if that means other Amadeus customers were also affected, or if it was just the way Qantas was using their software, or what.

It’s common to give companies 90 days to fix the bug, before you publicly disclose it. It’s a tradeoff between giving them enough time to fix it, and people being hacked because of the bug as long as it’s out there.

But, well, this was kinda a special case. Qantas was going through some #struggles, so it was taking longer. Lots of their staff were stood down, and the world was just generally more cooked. At the same time, hardly anybody was flying at the time, due to see above re: #struggles. So, I gave Qantas as much time as they needed.

Five months later

The world is a completely different place, and Qantas replies to me, saying they fixed the bug. It did take five months, which is why it took so long for you and I to be having this weird textual interaction right now.

I don’t have a valid Booking Reference, so I can’t actually check what’s changed. I asked a friend to check (with an expired Booking Reference), and they said they didn’t see a mention of “documentNumber” anymore, which sounds like the passport number is no longer there. But That’s Not Science, so I don’t know for sure.

I originally found the bug in March, which was about 60 years ago. BUT we got there baybee, Qantas emailed me saying the bug had been fixed on August 21. They later told me they actually fixed the bug in July, but the person I was talking too didn’t know about it until August.

Qantas also said this when I asked them to review this post:

Thanks again for letting us have the opportunity to review and again for refraining from posting until the fix was in place for vulnerability.

Our standard advice to customers is not to post pictures of the boarding pass, or to at least obscure the key personal information if they do, because of the detail it contains.

We appreciate you bringing it to our attention in such a responsible way, so we could fix the issue, which we did a few months ago now.

I couldn’t find any advice on their website about not posting pictures of customer boarding passes, only news articles about how Qantas stopped printing the Frequent Flyer number on the boarding pass last year, because… well, you can see why.

I also asked Qantas what they did to fix the bug, and they said:

Unfortunately we’re not able to provide the details of fix as it is part of the protection of personal information.

:((

☑️ figure out whether i have done a crime

☑️ notify someone (The Government) that this happened

⬜ get permission to publish this here blog post

☑️ tell qantas about the security issue so they can fix it

Part 4: Finding Tony Abbott

Like 2003’s Finding Nemo, this section was an emotional rollercoaster.

The government was presumably helping Tony Abbott reset his passport number, and making sure his current one wasn’t being used for any of that yucky identity fraud.

But, much like Shannon Noll’s 2004 What About Me?, what about me? I really wanted to write a blog post about it, you know? So I could warn people about the non-obvious risk of sharing their boarding passes, and also make dumb and inaccessible references to the early 2000s.

The government people I talked to couldn’t give me permission to write this post, so rather than willingly wandering deeper into the procedurally generated labyrinth of government department email addresses (it’s dark in there), I tried to find Tony Abbott or his staff directly.

Calling everybody in Australia one by one

I called Tony Abbott’s former political party again, and asked them how to contact him, or his office, or something I’m really having a moment rn. They said they weren’t associated with him anymore, and suggested I call Parliament House, like I was the Queen or something.

In case you don’t know it, Parliament House is sorta like the White House, I think? The Prime Minister lives there and has a nice little garden out the back with a macadamia tree that never runs out, and everyone works in different colourful sections like “Making it so Everyone Gets a Fair Shake of the Sauce Bottle R&D” and “Mateship” and they all wear matching uniforms with lil kangaroo and emu hats, and they all do a little dance every hour on the hour to celebrate another accident-free day in the Prime Minister’s chocolate factory.

calling parliament house i guess

Not really sure what to expect, I called up and was all like “yeah bloody g’day, day for it ay, hot enough for ya?”. Once the formalities were out of the way, I skipped my usual explanation of why I was calling and just asked point-blank if they had Tony Abbott’s contact details.

The person on the phone was casually like “Oh, no, but I can put you through to the Serjeant-at-arms, who can give you the contact details of former members”. I was like “…..okay?????”. Was I supposed to know who that was? Isn’t a Serjeant like an army thing?

But no, the Serjeant-at-arms was just a nice lady who told me “he’s in a temporary office right now, and so doesn’t have a phone number. I can give you an email address or a P.O. box?”. I was like “ok th-thank you your majesty”.

It felt a bit weird just…. emailing the former PM being like “boy do i have bad news for you”, but I figured he probably wouldn’t read it anyway. If it was that easy to get this email address, everyone had it, and so nobody was likely to be reading the inbox.

Spoilers: It didn’t work.

Finding Tony Abbott’s staff

I roll out of bed and stare bleary-eyed into the morning sun, my ultimate nemesis, as Day 40 of not having found Tony Abbott’s staff begins.

This time for sure.

Retinas burning, in a moment of determination/desperation/hubris, I went and asked even more people that might know how to contact Tony Abbott’s staff.

I asked a journalist friend, who had the kind of ruthlessly efficient ideas that come from, like, being a professional journalist. They suggested I find Tony Abbott’s former staff from when he was PM, and contact their offices and see if they have his contact details.

It was a strange sounding plan to me, which I thought meant it would definitely work.

Wikipedia stalking

Apparently Prime Ministers themselves have “ministers” (not prime), and those are their staff. That’s who I was looking for.

Big “me and the boys” energy

Okay but, the problem was that most of these people are retired now, and the glory days of 2013 are over. Each time I hover over one of their names, I see “so-and-so is a former politician and….” and discard their Wikipedia page like a LeSnak wrapper into the wind.

Eventually though, I saw this minister.

Oh he definitely has an office.

That’s the current Prime Minister of Australia (at the time of writing, that is, for all I know we’re three Prime-Ministers deep into 2020 by the time you read this), you know he’s definitely gonna be easier to find.

Let’s call the Prime Minister’s office I guess?

Easy google of the number, absolutely no emotional journey resulting in my growth as a person this time.

When I call, I hear what sounds like two women laughing in the background? One of them answers the phone, slightly out of breath, and says “Hello, Prime Minister’s office?”. I’m like “….hello? Am I interrupting something???”.

I clumsily explain that I know this is Scott Morrison’s office, but I actually was wondering if they had Tony Abbott’s contact details, because it’s for “a time-sensitive media enquiry”, and I j- She interrupts to explain “so Tony Abbott isn’t Prime Minister anymore, this is Scott Morrison’s office” and I’m like “yA I know please I am desperate for these contact details”.

She says “We wouldn’t have that information but I’ll just check for you” and then pauses for like, a long time? Like 15 seconds? I can only wonder what was happening on the other end. Then she says “Oh actually I can give you Tony Abbott’s personal assistant’s number? Is that good?”.

Ummmm YES thanks that’s what I’ve been looking for this whole time? Anyway brb i gotta go be uh a journalist or something.

Calling Tony Abbott’s personal assistant’s personal assistant

I fumble with my phone, furiously trying to dial the number.

I ask if I’m speaking to Tony Abbott’s personal assistant. The person on the other end says no, but he is one of Tony Abbott’s staff. It has been a long several months of calling people. The cold ice is starting to thaw. One day, with enough therapy, I may be able to gather the emotional resources necessary to call another government phone number.

I explain the security issue I want to report, and midway through he interrupts with “sorry…. who are you and what’s the organisation you’re calling from?” and I’m like “uhhhh I mean my name is Alex and uhh I’m not calling from any organisation I’m just like a person?? I just found this thing and…”.

The person is mercifully forgiving, and says that he’ll have to call me back. I stress once again that I’m calling to help them, happy to wait to publish until they feel comfortable, and definitely do not warrant the bulk-installation of antivirus products.

Calling Tony Abbott’s personal assistant

An hour later, I get a call from a number I don’t recognise.

He explains that the guy I talked to earlier was his assistant, and he’s Tony Abbott’s PA. Folks, we made it. It’s as easy as that.

He says he knows what I’m talking about. He’s got the emails. He’s already in the process of getting Tony Abbott a new passport number. This is the stuff. It’s all coming together.

I ask if I can publish a blog post about it, and we agree I’ll send a draft for him to review.

And then he says

“These things do interest him - he’s quite keen to talk to you”

I was like exCUSE me? Tony Abbott, Leader of the 69th Ministry of Australia, wants to call me on the phone? I suppose I owe this service to my country?

This story was already completely cooked so sure, whatever. I’d already declared emotional bankruptcy, so nothing was coming as a surprise at this point.

I asked what he wanted to talk about. “Just to pick your brain on these things”. We scheduled a call for 3:30 on Monday.

And then Tony Abbott just… calls me on the phone?

Mostly, he wanted to check whether his understanding of how I’d found his passport number was correct (it was). He also wanted to ask me how to learn about “the IT”.

He asked some intelligent questions, like “how much information is in a boarding pass, and what do people like me need to know to be safe?”, and “why can you get a passport number from a boarding pass, but not from a bus ticket?”.

The answer is that boarding passes have your password printed on them, and bus tickets don’t. You can use that password to log in to a website (widely regarded as a bad move), and at that point all bets are off, websites can just do whatever they want.

He was vulnerable, too, about how computers are harder for him to understand.

“It’s a funny old world, today I tried to log in to a [Microsoft] Teams meeting (Teams is one of those apps), and the fire brigade uses a Teams meeting. Anyway I got fairly bamboozled, and I can now log in to a Teams meeting in a way I couldn’t before.

It’s, I suppose, a terrible confession of how people my age feel about this stuff.”

Then the Earth stopped spinning on its axis.

For an instant, time stood still.

Then he said it:

“You could drop me in the bush and I’d feel perfectly confident navigating my way out, looking at the sun and direction of rivers and figuring out where to go, but this! Hah!”

This was possibly the most pure and powerful Australian energy a human can possess, and explains how we elected our strongest as our leader. The raw energy did in fact travel through the phone speaker and directly into my brain, killing me instantly.

When I’d collected myself from various corners of the room, he asked if there was a book about the basics of IT, since he wanted to learn about it. That was kinda humanising, since it made me realise that even famous people are just people too.

Anyway I hadn’t heard of a book that was any good, so I told a story about my mum instead.

A story about my mum instead

I said there probably was a book out there about “the basics of IT”, but it wouldn’t help much. I didn’t learn from a book. 13 year old TikTok influencers don’t learn from a book. They just vibe.

My mum always said when I was growing up that:

There were “too many buttons”

She was afraid to press the buttons, because she didn’t know what they did

I can understand that, since grown ups don’t have the sheer dumb hubris of a child, and that’s what makes them afraid of the buttons.

Like, when a toddler uses a spoon for the first time, they don’t know what a spoon is, where they are, or who the current Prime Minister is. But they see the spoon, and they see the cereal, and their dumb baby brain is just like “yeA” and they have a red hot go. And like, they get it wrong the first few times, but it doesn’t matter, because they don’t know to be afraid of getting it wrong. So eventually, they get it right.

leaked footage of me learning how to hack

Okay so I didn’t tell the spoon thing to Tony Abbott, but I did tell him what I always told my mum, which was: “Mum you just gotta press all the buttons, to find out what they do”.

He was like “Oh, you just learn by trial and error”. Exactly! Now that I think about it, it’s a bit scary. We are dumb babies learning to use a spoon for the first time, except if you do it wrong some clown writes a blog post about you. Anyway good luck out there to all you big babies.

Asking to publish this blog post

When I asked Tony Abbott for permission to publish the post you are reading right now while neglecting your responsibilities, he said “well look Alex, I don’t have a problem with it, you’ve alerted me to something I probably should have known about, so if you wanna do that, go for it”.

At the end of the call, he said “If there’s ever anything you think I need to know, give us a shout”.

Look you gotta hand it to him. That’s exactly the right way to respond when someone tells you about a security problem. Back at the beginning, I was kinda worried that he might misunderstand, and think I was trying to hack him or something, and that I’d be instantly slam dunked into jail. But nope, he was fine with it. And now you, a sweet and honourable blog post browser, get to learn the dangers of posting your boarding pass by the realest of real-world examples.

During the call, I was completely in shock from the lost in the bush thing killing me instantly, and so on. But afterwards, when I looked at the quotes, I realised he just wanted to understand what had happened to him, and more about how technology works. That’s the same kind of curiosity I had, that started this whole surrealist three-act drama. That… wasn’t really what I was expecting from Tony Abbott, but it’s what I found.

The point of this story isn’t to say “wow Tony Abbott got hacked, what a dummy”. The point is that if someone famous can unknowingly post their boarding pass, anyone can.

Anyway that’s why I vote right wing now baybeeeee.

☑️ figure out whether i have done a crime

☑️ notify someone (The Government) that this happened

☑️ get permission to publish this here blog post

☑️ tell qantas about the security issue so they can fix it

Act 3: Closing credits

Wait no what the heck did I just read

Yeah look, reasonable.

tl; dr

Your boarding pass for a flight can sometimes be used to get your passport number. Don’t post your boarding pass or baggage receipt online, keep it as secret as your passport.

How it works

The Booking Reference on the boarding pass can be used to log in to the airline’s “Manage Booking” page, which sometimes contains the passport number, depending on the airline. I saw that Tony Abbott had posted a photo of his boarding pass on Instagram, and used it to get his passport details, phone number, and internal messages between Qantas flight staff about his flight booking.

Why did you do this?

One day, my friend who was also in “the group chat” said “I was thinking…. why didn’t I hack Tony Abbott? And I realised I guess it’s because you have more hubris”.

I was deeply complimented by this, but that’s not the point. The point is that you, too, can have hubris.

You know how they say to commit a crime (which once again I insist did not happen in my case) you need means, motive, and opportunity? Means is the ability to use right click > Inspect Element, motive is hubris, and opportunity is the dumb luck of having my friend message me the Instagram post.

I know, I’ve been saying “hubris” a lot. I mean “the willingness to risk breaking the rules”. Now hold up, don’t go outside and do crimes (unless it’s really funny). I’m not talking about breaking the law, I’m talking about rules we just follow without realising, like social rules and conventions.

Here’s a simple example. You’re at a sufficiently fancy restaurant, like I dunno, with white tablecloths or something? The waiter asks if you’d like “still or sparkling water?”

If you say “still”, it costs Eleven Dollars. If you say “sparkling”, it costs Eleven Dollars and tastes all gross and fizzy. But if you say “tap water, please”, you just get tap water, what you wanted in the first place?

When I first saw someone do this I was like “you can do that? I just thought you had to pay Eleven Dollars extra at fancy restaurants!”.

It’s not written down anywhere that you can ask for tap water. But when I found out you could do that, and like, nothing bad happens, I could suddenly do it too. Miss me with that Eleven Dollars fizzy water.

Basically, until you’ve broken the rules, the idea that the rules can be broken might just not occur to you. That’s how it felt for me, at least.

In conclusion, to be a hacker u ask for tap water.

FAQ

Why is it bad for someone else to have your passport number?

Hey crime gang, welcome back to Identity Fraud tips and tricks with Alex.

A passport is government-issued ID. It’s how you prove you’re you. The fact that you have your passport and I don’t is how you prevent me from convincing the government that I’m you and doing crimes in your name.

Just having the information on the passport is not quite as powerful as a photo of the full physical passport, with your photo and everything.

With your passport number, someone could:

Book an international flight as you.

Apply for anything that requires proof of identity documentation with the government, e.g. Working with children check

Activate a SIM card (and so get an internet connection that’s traceable to you, not them, hiding them from the government)

Create a fake physical passport from a template, with the correct passport number (which they then use to cross a border, open a bank account, or anything)

who knows what else, not me, bc i have never done a crime

Am I a big bozo, a big honking goose, if I post my boarding pass on Instagram?

Nah, it’s an easy mistake to make. How are you supposed to know not to? It’s not obvious that your boarding pass is secret, like a password. I think it’s on the airline to inform you on the risks you’re taking when you use their stuff.

But now that you’ve read this blog post, I regret to inform you that you will in fact be an entire sack of geese if you go and post your boarding pass now.

When did all of this happen?

March 22 - @hontonyabbott posts a picture of a boarding pass and baggage receipt. I log in to the website and get the passport number, phone number, and internal Qantas comments.

March 24 - I contact the Australian Signals Directorate (ASD) and let them know what happened.

March 27 - ASD tells me their investigation is complete, I send them a shakas gif, and they thank me for being a good citizen.

March 29 - I learn from lawyers that I have not done a crime 💯

March 30 - I contact Qantas and tell them about the vulnerability.

May 1 - Tony Abbott calls me, we chat about being dropped in the middle of the bush.

July 17 - Paper Mario: The Origami King is released for Nintendo Switch.

August 21 - Qantas emails me saying the security problem has been fixed.

September 13 - Various friends finish reviewing this post <3

September 15 - Tony Abbott and Qantas review this post.

Today - You read this post instead of letting it read you, nice job you.

I’m bored and tired

Let me answer that question,,, with a question.

Maybe try drinking some water you big goose. Honk honk, I’m so dehydrated lol. That’s you.

honk honk honk honl

Yeah, exactly.

I wrote this because I can’t go back to the Catholic church ever since they excommunicated me in 1633 for insisting the Earth revolves around the sun.

You can talk to me about it by sliding into my DMs in the tweet zone or, if you must, email.

[bamby0304]

The Hart: Chapter One

Summary:  When Lizzie was just a few months old, she lost her father. Fifteen years later she lost her mother, and then her sister. Now in her early twenties Lizzie spends her days and nights hunting things and saving people. When the Winchesters meet the bright eyed and bubbly blonde they don’t realise what they’re in for… and neither does she…

Part Sixteen: God’s Will

Masterlist

Warnings: Back to nothin’, sorry...

Bamby

EPOV

"So you're interested in joining the parish?" Father Reynolds asked as we followed him into the church.

"Yeah, we just don't feel right unless we hit church every Sunday." Dean answered, sounding a little too casual.

Father Reynolds nodded. "Where did you say you lived?"

"Premont, Texas." Dean told him. Sam agreed next to him.

"Really?" Father Reynolds came to a stop and turned to us. "That's a nice town. St. Theresa's Parish. You must know the priest there."

Sam was stumped, but Dean was right there, answering with confidence even though he was wrong. "Sure, Father O'Malley."

I laughed, pressing a hand to his arm as I shook my head. "Excuse my boyfriend, he's a bit of a jokester. Father Shaughnessy found it amusing, though it took some time."

The look Dean gave me at the word boyfriend did not go unmissed by me. I usually used Sam as my pretend boyfriend or fiance or whatever, but this time was different, and Dean couldn't quite hide how he was feeling about that fact. The slight cocky grin lifting at the corner of his lips. The amused glint in his eyes. He was pleased with himself.

"Father Shaughnessy." Father Reynolds nodded. "I know him well."

My smile widened. "Then perhaps the next time you see him... could you tell him he's in the prayers of Elizabeth Hart?"

"Of course." Father Reynolds gave a nod, a small smile of his own on his lips. "You'll all be a welcome addition. We could use some young blood around here."

"Listen, I gotta ask you, no offence, but the neighbourhood..." Dean shrugged, leaving the sentence unfinished, knowing the priest knew what he meant.

"It's gone to seed a little, there's no denying that. But that why what the church does here is so important. Like I always say, you can expect a miracle, but in the meantime, you work your butt off."

"So true, Father." I nodded. "Though... we heard about some murders."

"Yes." Father Reynolds's face fell as he spoke. "The victims were parishioners of mine. I'd known them for years."

"And the killers said that an angel made them do that?" Sam asked.

"Yes. Misguided souls." Father Reynolds shook his head in disappointment. "To think that God's messenger would appear, incite people to murder. It's tragic."

"So, you don't believe in those angel yarns, huh?" Dean looked a little pleased to see someone agreed with him.

But Father Reynolds was quick to correct. "Oh, no, I absolutely believe. Kind of goes with the job application." he pointed to his collar.

"Father, that's Michael, right?" Sam gestured to a painting on the high walls of the church.

"That's right." Father Reynolds nodded. "The Archangel Michael with the flaming sword. A fighter of demons. And a holy force against evil."

As we all turned away from the painting, Sam spoke again. "So they're not really the Hallmark-card version that everybody thinks? They're fierce, right? Vigilant."

"I like to think of them as more loving than wrathful. But, uh, yes, a lot of Scripture paints angels as God's warriors. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, glory of the Lord shone down upon them-"

"And they were terrified." I finished. "Luke 2:9."

Father Reynolds turned to me again, smiling lightly, pleased with my response. "Exactly."

DPOV

As we walked out of the church, Sam and Liz stood either side of Father Reynolds while I stayed back. I was confused. How the hell did Liz know all of that stuff about angels, and the bible? How did she know Father Reynolds from Texas? As I wondered I noticed some candles and flowers by the steps of the church. It was like a shrine.

"Thank you for speaking with us, Father." Sam nodded to Father Reynolds.

"It's my pleasure. Hope to see you again."

Before he could leave, I stopped him. "Hey, Father, what's all that for?" I gestured to the shrine.

"Oh. That's for Father Gregory. He was a priest here."

"Was?"

"He passed away right on these steps. He's interred in the church crypt."

"I'm so sorry for your loss." Liz laid a gentle hand on Father Reynolds's arm. "When did he pass?"

"I'm sorry, as well. He was a good friend..." Father Reynolds nodded, patting her hand. "He died two months ago. He was shot for his car keys. I didn't even have time to administer his last rites. But like I said, it's a tough neighbourhood. Ever since he died, I've been praying my heart out."

"For what?" Sam asked.

"For deliverance. Form the violence and the bloodshed around here. We could use a little divine intervention, I suppose."

Sam and I shared a look then, both of us hearing the same thing in his words. With a smile back on my face, I nodded to Father Reynolds. "Well, Padre, thanks. We'll see you again." I shook his hand.

After he shook mine, then Sam's and then Liz's hand, he then headed back into the church, leaving us on the steps looking at the candles.

"Well, it's all starting to make sense now." I noted, moving to the shrine for the murdered priest. "Devoted priest dies a violent death. That's vengeful-spirit material right there. And he knew the other stiffs because they all went to church here. In fact, I bet because he was their priest he knew things about them nobody else knew."

Liz nodded, grabbing a photo that was placed with the candles and flowers. "I gotta agree with you on this one, Dean."

I gave a short nod. "Thank you."

"Then again..." Sam started. "Father Reynolds started praying for God's help two months ago, right? About the time all this started happening."

"Come on." I shook my head. I could not believe Sam. "What's your deal?"

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I'll admit, I'm a bit of a skeptic, but since when are you all Mr 700 Club? Seriously, from the get-go, you've been willing to buy this angel crap. I mean, what's next, you gonna start praying every day?"

"I do." he answered simply.

It took me a moment to realise what he said. "What?"

"I do pray every day. I have for a long time."

That was a shock to me. "The things you learn about a guy. Huh..." recovering, I gestured back to the church. "Come on. Let's go check out Father Gregory's grave."

EPOV

As we headed for the church crypt, I walked side by side with Dean in silence. Though the tension that had settled between us suddenly, spoke a million words. It wasn't about the sex, either. Something else was bugging him.

Finally, he turned to look at me. "How'd you know all that stuff about the bible? And who Father Shaughnessy is?"

"I did a job in Premont a couple of years back, and had some help from the priest. He knows me and what I do." I explained.

"What about all the bible stuff?"

I gave a simple shrug. "I'm from a religious family, Dean."

He looked surprised. "You're religious?"

"Well, no. Not really. I mean, I used to do it all. I went to a religious school, church every Sunday. Prayers at the dinner table before eating, and by my bed before I'd go to sleep." I looked down at the ground as we walked. "But once I started hunting. Once I lost everyone I cared about, I kinda just... stopped."

His surprise turned to curiosity. "Why?"

Shrugging, I looked up at him again. "Because I didn't have anything left to pray for."

There was a look in his eyes. A look of sympathy and understanding. Despite the fact he didn't know about my past and everything I'd been through, he still knew I'd lost my family. That's usually the way most hunters became hunters.

I knew about Dean and Sam's mum. I knew about their dad. I knew about their upbringing. I knew it all- or at least most of it. So I knew, the understanding and sympathy was not false, or a way to cover up pity. He really did know what it was like to lose people who you loved and cherished. So did Sam.

Speaking of which... he was being awfully quiet.

Turning around, I realised Sam wasn't following us anymore. "Sam?"

Dean looked behind us as well a frown forming when he noticed his brother was gone. Shaking his head, he headed back to find him.

SPOV

I felt someone shaking me as I lay on the cold, hard ground of the church crypt. It wasn't until I heard Dean's concerned voice that I woke up properly.

"Sam! Hey!" he shook me.

I groaned, looking up at my brother as he knelt by my side, looking down at me, his hands grasping my jacket. Sitting up, I took my time to regain my balance as I looked over at Lizzie who stood behind Dean looking equally worried.

"You okay?" she asked, voice small.

"Yeah." I answered, looking away as my eyes noticed that large angel statue in front of me. "Yeah." I repeated, smiling. "I'm okay."

"Come on." Dean stood and helped me to my feet. He made sure I was steady before we started to leave the crypt and headed for the chapel.

"Wait here." Dean told Lizzie as he directed me to a room off the side of the chapel. Once we were inside, he closed the door as he spoke to me. "You saw it, didn't you? Didn't you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Dean, I saw an angel." I smiled, feeling perfectly fine. In fact. I felt great.

He didn't respond, he just stepped away as I took a seat, and pulled out his flask. "All right. Here." he offered me the flask.

I shook my head. "I don't want a drink."

With a shrug, he took a drink himself. "So, what makes you think you saw an angel?"

"I just... it appeared before me and me just... this feeling washed over me, you know? Like peace. Like grace."

"Okay, ecstasy boy. Maybe we'll get you some glow sticks, and a nice Dr Seuss hat." he joked.

But I didn't find any of this funny. "Dean, I'm serious. It spoke to me. It knew who I was."

"It's just a spirit, Sam." he insisted, moving to the benches in the opposite row and taking a seat. "Okay? And it's not the first one to be able to read people's minds. Okay, let me guess, you were personally chosen to smite some sinner. You just gotta wait for some divine Bat Signal? I that it?"

I gave a short nod. "Yeah, actually."

"Great. I don't suppose you asked what this alleged bad guy did?"

"Actually I did, Dean. And the angel told me. He hasn't done anything... yet. But he will."

Chuckling lightly, both amused and not, he stood back up. "Oh this is- I don't believe this."

"Dean, the angel hasn't been wrong yet. Someone's gonna do something awful and I can stop it."

"You know, you're supposed to be bad too, Sam." he countered. "Maybe I should just stop you right now."

I was getting pissed off and defensive now. "Dean, I don't understand. Why can't you even consider the possibility?"

"What, that this is an angel?"

"Yes. Maybe we're hunting an angel here and we should stop. Maybe this is God's will."

Sighing, he moved back to the benches. "Okay. All right. You know what? I get it. You've got faith. Hey, good for you. I'm sure it makes things easier." he took a seat again. "I'll tell you who else had faith like that. Mum. She used to say when she tucked me in that angels were watching over us. In fact, that was the last thing she ever said to me."

Now I felt a little guilty... "You never told me that."

"What's to tell?" he shrugged. "She was wrong. There was nothing protecting her. There's no higher power. There's no God. I mean, there's just chaos and violence. Random, unpredictable evil that comes out of nowhere, and rips you to shreds. So you want me to believe in this stuff? I'm gonna need to see some hard proof. You got any?" when I didn't respond, he went on. "Well, I do. Proof we're dealing with a spirit."

DPOV

The three of us were kneeling in front of Father Gregory's grave where a vine like plant was growing outside, above it and through the window to drape over it.

"It looks like-"

I cut Sam off. "It's wormwood. Plant associated with the dead. Specifically the ones that are not at rest." I looked around to the other graves. "I don't see it growing anywhere else, except over the murdered priest's marker. It's him, Sam."

"Maybe." he just wasn't going to let this angel thing go.

"Maybe?"

"Dean, I don't know what to think."

"Fine." Liz shrugged, standing up. "Then let's summon him."

Sam looked up at her. "What? Here? In the church?"

That's not a bad idea... "Yeah." I nodded, standing up next to her. "Yeah, we just need a few odds and ends and that seance ritual in dad's journal."

Sam laughed. "Seance, great. Hope Whoopi's available."

"That's funny, actually."

Liz just rolled her eyes at both of us. "Look, if Father Gregory's spirit is around then the seance will bring him to us. If Dean's right and its Gregory, we put him to rest. But if Sam's right and it's an angel, then nothing will happen."

"Exactly. It's one of the perks of the job, Sam. We don't have to operate on faith." I noted. "We can know for sure. Don't you wanna know for sure?"

EPOV

As I stepped out of the small corner store, I couldn't help but smile at Sam as he looked through the bag of things we'd just brought for the seance. "Dude, all right, I'll admit, we've gone pretty ghetto with spell work before. But this takes the cake." he shook his head. "I mean, a SpongeBob place mat instead of an alter cloth?"

"We'll just put it SpongeBob-side down." Dean shrugged, a grin curling up at the corner of his lips.

I laughed lightly, shaking my head as Dean and I continued for the car.

He looked over his shoulder to make sure he could speak without being heard by anyone else, before he gazed down at me. "I've been thinking-"

"About casual sex?" I grinned.

The look in his eyes, the way they darkened slightly, I knew my words had him instantly thinking about our morning activities. "God... you're going to be the death of me."

"At least you'll go out with a bang." giving him a wink, I bit my lip, drawing his eyes down to my mouth.

"You are so lucky Sam's here." was all he managed to mumble before his brother grabbed our attention.

"Guys, that's it."

We turned to him, but it was Dean who spoke. "What?"

Sam pointed to a man standing in front of a car and about to cross the road. "That's the sign."

"Where?"

I looked over, but couldn't see anything. "Sam, what do you see?"

"A light. A bright light. Right there. Right behind that guy. That's him. We have to stop him."

Right then, the man began to cross the street. Sam was moving in an instant, ready to follow the guy... or kill him. Either way, both Dean and I knew we couldn't let him go. Not when we weren't a hundred percent sure what he was going to do to the guy- or if the guy was even guilt, or what thing we were dealing with in the first place.

"Wait a minute." Dean grabbed Sam's arm, stopping him.

Sam looked down at Dean's hand holding him. "What are you doing? Let me go."

But Dean wasn't budging. "You're not gonna go kill somebody because a ghost told you to. Are you insane?"

"Dean, I'm not gonna kill him." Sam insisted. "I'm gonna stop him."

"Define 'stop', huh? I mean, what are you gonna do?"

Sam watched as the guy got in his car. Turning back to his brother, be practically begged. "Dean, please. He's gonna hurt someone. You know it. You both do." he noted as he looked to me. "Lizzie, please."

Sighing, I looked into his pleading eyes and nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

"Thank you."

Dean let go of him, the three of us stepping up to the Impala. Dean unlocked his door and got in, but left Sam's and mine locked.

Sam looked through his window to his brother. "Dean. Unlock my door."

Ignoring him, Dean turned the car on. "You're not killing anyone, Sam." he turned to me as I looked at him expectantly.

"Let me in."

Shaking his head, he put the car into gear. "I got this guy. You take Sammy, do the seance. Watch my brother."

Seeing no point in arguing, I stepped back and let him drive away as Sam watched him go. "Don't worry, Sam. He's not gonna let anything happen and you know it." I assured him.

Kneeling in the crypt, I found it more eerie at night. Especially with our candles glowing, and everything for the seance ready. I'd almost asked Sam if we could have the SpongeBob-side face up. Sam lit the final candle and grabbed his father's journal before he began to read the Latin incantation. As he came to the end, he lifted a powered we'd mixed together and sprinkled it over the black candle he'd just lit, extinguishing it.

"What are you doing?"

We spun around to see Father Reynolds standing in the door way of the crypt.

This is not good...

"What is this?"

Sam and I were lost for words. We couldn't manage any reason or excuse, but at the same time we knew we had to tell him something so he didn't call the cops on us. Just don't say witchcraft, ghost or seance...

Sam closed the journal and stood suddenly. "Father, please. We can explain. Um... actually, maybe I can't. Um…" for a moment I really did think he was going to save us. Walking closer to the priest, he tried again, "This is a seance."

Yep, we're screwed.

The priest was not happy. "A seance? Young man, you're in a house of God."

"It's based on early Christian rites, if that helps any." Sam shrugged, trying to get the priest on our side. It didn't work.

"Enough." the priest grabbed his arm. "You're coming with me. You too." he pointed a finger at me.

I stood and followed them as the priest lead Sam out. "Father, please, you have to hear us out. I can explain. Just wait a-"

A bright light filed the room, causing me to stop talking and causing the priest and Sam to turn back to the room.

"Oh, my God." Father Reynolds' mouth gaped open. "Is that... is that an angel?"

"No, it's not." Sam answered. As I looked to him, I could see disappointment written on his face. "It's just Father Gregory."

As if his words were a trigger, the bright light faded to reveal Father Gregory standing by the candles and journal we'd left on the floor next to his grave.

Father Reynolds could not believe his eyes. "Thomas."

"I've come in answer to your prayers." Father Gregory smiled kindly, until he noticed Sam. "Sam. I thought I sent you on your path. You should hurry."

Sam gently shook his head. "Father, I'm sorry, but you're not an angel."

"Of course, I am." Gregory insisted.

"No. You're a man. You're a spirit. And you need to rest."

"I was a man. But now, I'm an angel. I was on the steps of the church. And I felt that bullet pierce right through me. But there was no pain. And then suddenly, I could see... everything. Father Reynolds, I saw you praying and crying here. I came to help you."

"Help me how?"

DPOV

I'd followed the guy just like I said I would. First, he took me to a house where he picked up a woman and gave her the flowers he'd been carrying. Then he set off again. I had no idea where he was going, but I stuck to the job. Staying close enough so I could see him, but not so close that he'd notice me.

As he rounded a corner, I soon did the same, but the car was nowhere to be seen. In the brief time it took for me to turn into the street, he'd managed to disappear.

"Damn it." I hit the steering wheel out of frustration as I began to slow down and look into every drive way, needing to find this guy.

SPOV

Father Reynolds stepped closer to Father Gregory's spirit. "Those murders... that was because of you?"

"I received the word of God. He spoke to me, told me to smite the wicked. I'm carrying out his will."

"You're driving innocent people to kill." Father Reynolds tried to explain.

"Those innocent people are being offered redemption." Father Gregory turned to me then. "Some people need redemption. Don't they, Sam? Elizabeth?" his eyes swept over to Lizzie.

I had no idea what he was referring to when it came to Liz, but I was sure- when it came to me- he was talking about whatever was inside me. This thing in me that causes the visions...

"How can you call this redemption?" Father Reynolds asked.

"You can't understand it now. But the rules of man and the rules of God are two very different things." Father Gregory explained.

Lizzie stepped up. "Those people you offered redemption. They're locked up. They will be for the rest of their lives.

But no matter what we said, Father Gregory didn't seem to understand. "No, they're happy. They found peace, beaten their demons. And I've given them the keys to heaven."

"No." Father Reynolds shook his head. "No. This is vengeance. It's wrong. Thomas, this goes against everything you believed. You're lost, misguided."

"Father. No, I'm not misguided."

"You are not an angel, Thomas. Men cannot be angels."

Father Gregory's smile fell as his face turned to confusion. "But... but I don't understand. You prayed for me to come."

"I prayed for God's help." Father Reynolds corrected him. "Not this. What you're doing is not God's will. Thou shalt not kill. That's the word of God."

DPOV

By the time I found the car, it was almost too late.

The guy had parked in an alley way. I'd left the Impala at the other end so they couldn't hear me coming, before I closed the rest of the distance on foot. As I neared the car, I could see the guy grabbing at the woman, leaning over to her, a knife in hand. She struggled and screamed, trying to fight against him.

Moving to his window, I used the butt of my gun and smashed the glass. Grabbing the guy, I punched him in the face and slammed him against the steering wheel, knocking him out. Reaching in, I unlocked the door so the woman could get out.

She scrambled out of the car, crying. I climbed over the hood to help her, closing her door and grabbing her arms as I made sure she wasn't hurt.

"Are you okay? Are you okay?" I asked, sound more urgent the second time.

"Thank God." she cried.

The car started suddenly. I only had time to grab the woman and pulled her away from the car before the guy drove off in a hurry.

"Damn it." I needed to go after him. Turning to the woman again, I looked down at her. "Are you sure you're okay? Do you have a cell phone?" she nodded. "Call 911." I told her as I started backing up for my car. Once I was inside, I turned the engine on and sped off.

SPOV

I looked to Father Gregory with sympathy. He was confused, but he didn't belong here anymore. "Let us help you."

"No." there was fear in his voice.

Father Reynolds was gentle as he spoke. "It's time to rest, Thomas, to be at peace. Please, let me give your last rites."

Father Gregory didn't say anything. After a moment or two, he simply nodded.

With an answer, Father Reynolds began. "Oh, holy hosts above, I call upon thee as a servant of Christ, to sanctify our actions this day in fulfilment of the will of God." he made a cross in front of him.

Gregory began to flicker. The fear in his eyes grew. "Father Reynolds?"

Father Reynolds gave him a kind smile. "Rest." listening, Gregory knelt before him as Father Reynolds continued. "I call upon the Archangel Raphael, master of the air, to make open the way. Let the fire of the Holy Spirit now descend, that this being might be awakened to the world beyond."

Father Gregory was bathed in a bright light, and as it faded so did he.

DPOV

I was in the middle of chasing the guy through roads and around corners. This time I wasn't letting him get away. Not when I knew what he'd do. But as we neared some traffic lights that were green, another car that should have stopped- seeing as they were oncoming traffic- didn't. A pick up in front of the guy I was chasing swerved to avoid an accident.

As the pickup sharply turned, a thin and long metal pole came flying out of the back of his vehicle. It flew through the air, heading straight for the guy I was chasing. The pole penetrated through the window of the car, causing the guy to come to a stop.

Even though I couldn't see it, I knew... I knew the rode had killed him.

I slammed on the brakes, stopping beside the guy's car. Getting out of the car, I looked around at the scene before me. "Holy..." walking around, I peered in through the window to see the damage.

Sure enough, the rode had pierced right through him. He was dead.

EPOV

I sat on Dean's bed, looking down at my chocolate as Sam packed his stuff. I was already packed and ready to go. I'd gotten straight to it the moment we got back. Seeing as neither one of us had said a word, I actually finished faster than I normally would have.

There was a look in Father Gregory's eyes when he'd looked at me. I saw how he'd looked at Sam when talking about redemption, and how some people needed it. But as he turned to me, he looked exactly the same, as if whatever Sam had done or might do, I was the same.

The door to the room opened as Dean stepped in, taking one look at me before looking to his brother. "How was your day?"

Sam sighed, not looking away from his bag. "You were right. It wasn't an angel. It was Gregory."

Shaking his head, Dena pulled out his flask and took a drink. When he was finished, he offered it to Sam, who took it and took a drink as well.

Lowering the flask, Sam looked down at it in thought. "I don't know, Dean. I just..." he took a deep breath and sat down, "I wanted to believe, so badly I'd... it'd so damn hard to do this, what we do. All alone, you know. And there's so much evil out in the world, I feel like I could drown in it. And when I think about my destiny, when I think about how I could end up..."

"Yeah, well, don't worry about that, all right? I'm watching out for you." Dean assured him.

Sam looked up at his older brother then. "Yeah I know you are. But you're just one person, Dean."

I jumped off the bed and headed over to him. Placing the chocolate on the table I gave Sam a smile as I sat down next to him. "You've got me, too."

"Thanks... but I needed to think there's something else watching too, you know? Some higher power." Sam shrugged, giving a light laugh. "Some greater good. And that maybe..."

When he left it there, Dean asked, "Maybe what?"

"Maybe I could be saved." Sam answered, his eyes tearing up. I reached over and grabbed his hand for support. "But, uh," he laughed again, trying to lighten the mood, "you know, that just clouded my judgement. And you're right. We gotta go with what we know, with what we can see, with what's there right in front of our own two eyes."

Dean looked away. "Well, it's funny you say that."

Sam looked up at him confused. "Why?"

"Gregory's spirit gave you some pretty good information. The guy in the car was bad news. I barely got there in time."

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"Is everything okay?" I added.

"He's dead."

"Did you...?" Sam left the question hanging there.

"No." Dean shook his head. "But I'll tell you one thing. If... the way he died, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I never would've believed it. I mean, I don't know what to call it."

"What?" Sam pressed. "Dean, what did you see?"

"Maybe... God's will."

Bamby

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[jaaaaamiiiiie-blog]

Encountering Religious Life

According to my birth certificate, my birth religion is Pentecostal. A type of Christian religion that worship God with all they might and cry their hearts out to the Lord. As a mere child, I don’t know anything about it. How can an infant have a knowledge about serving God and offer his life? When I am a toddler, about 3-4 years old, I can still remember my mother taking us out into a Muslim church. This church is located at my younger sister preparatory school. As far as I can still remember, our mother instructed us to bow down our heads with knees on the ground, in such a young age I know that movement is a sign of showing respect. Rows of long mahogany chairs with bibles in front. I can still feel the peaceful ambiance where they will silently pray while I look at the surroundings, filled with windows with weird sequences on it. As a child, I don’t really have a care about the church and all I wanted is the candy that I’ll get after the mass. Months had passed since then when my mother suddenly left us. I was told that we were asleep that time after exhausting ourselves playing at the old playground. I can’t even reconcile if ether we had receive a lullaby or a kiss on the forehand before she left us. Just like a bubble that pops out, she was gone. Ever since that day, I always see my father’s lonely face yet instead of drinking liquor and being depressed, we started to attend a Roman Catholic church. That time, I was very confused. A big church with a huge bell and a crowded place full of people gathering suddenly appeared in my naked eyes. Then my grandmother talk to me, and explain that we should not attend Muslims church for it can lead us to the same path that my mother chose to. Roaming my eyes in every corner of the church then stopping for a while to look at the man on the center whose talking words that aren’t even familiar with me. People suddenly standing and talking same phrase of words, holding out each other hands and lining up to a line to eat a tasteless white bread. With my immature mind, I started thinking about that bread. All that rounds up in my small head is why- why would they line up for a piece of bread? Then I figured it out, that bread had a name- ostya. For 1 to 2 years, I started to have a liking to this bread. I am excited to fall in line but that’s all. When I was about 5-6 years old, my father left us to work abroad. I cried thinking why would he left us? How about my younger sister? How should we live? And that’s how my grandmother starts to live with us. At the opposite street, there is a little church in there. My relatives spent their weekends there, wearing colourful formal clothes. When I started to take my first step in there, it was a blissful moment. You can hear the drums, piano and guitar music with different vocal voices. Such a wonderful church I thought. Very different from the past churches I went to. Years had passed and I turned 13. My father announced that we will go to Rizal and live in there with our new house.at first, I am contented with how things flow with us. But then I started to be curious, to seek out a church that can filled up my Sunday’s night. The one day, my auntie with her family invite us to attend a certain church- JIL. It was a small church, but a cheerful one. I make friends and started to learn how to worship God through dancing. Singing worship songs and started to read bible. As I progress, the church also progress. It started to renovate and have a big number of attendees. I am happy, so thrilled, so dedicated. This church develops my relationship to God and it makes my heart flutter. And this is how I end my journey in encountering religion.

[noheroes-allowed]

philly 11.10

it’s always sunny :)

fuck being away from Ithaca messes with my brain. like I forget all about school and get out of the campus bubble. and realize that I really did not make college fun for myself.

I love chinatown. I was really insecure speaking chinese because they could probably tell I’m not fluent. but I still loved it. I felt proud when I could answer back to them. I also completely splurged on bakery items when I said I would try to control myself. all the cash I had in my wallet has just been going to bakery food. dinner was nice too. I wish I had more duck though. like I wish I could’ve bought a whole ass duck. but it would’ve been impractical because it would’ve been too much. I got tofu and fish instead. it was pretty good and when they brought out the bowl I thought it was too much but I practically finished it. oops.

fuck I’m so tired. I’m gonna finish this tomorrow.

back. we bought a mango smoothie and a passion fruit drink. I kept thinking the mango was going to taste like peach for some reason. I wish we put less vodka in the smoothie bc I kinda liked it. I wish we left earlier too. but I guess if we left earlier we wouldn’t have met tom and berry? idk. it worked out though bc we snuck onto the balcony. also when tom and berry came into the kitchen my face was hella red. and I didn’t want them to see how tipsy I was so I didn’t talk to them besides pointing out the wine opener in the sink. even though I thought berry was cute oops

lmao laughing at myself for going I’m not rich and then changing my mind in like .2 seconds and spending $55. it’s ok though bc I’ve been wearing it the past two days oops. everyone was so young at the concert too. like a lot of them looked like high schoolers. there were so many people already there. like I think they were lined up since the afternoon bc there was a tiny crowd in the background of the bon iver poster photo I took in front of union transfer. lmao I really thought this was the concert I would be front row in but I couldn’t have been more wrong. I felt bad squeezing through people already there oof. I wish we bought vip.

but I’m so glad we snuck onto the balcony. ryan and stella were nice. lmao ryan was trying to give me advice on school and I was just like oops looks like I can never escape. he had good intentions though and his advice was good about cs minor and masters. I think they said they’d been dating for four years. he’s meche and she’s nursing. they bought us hard apple cider but it spilled. sad.

charlie burg was good. I listened to a couple of his songs on spotify and liked his vibe. but spotify only said he would be at the boston show so I didn’t expect him to be there. he’s 21 and lanky. I’m listening to his stuff now and like his first album over his third so far.

JEREMY. omfg the concert was so fucking short. jeremy why would you do this to me. I’m sad he didn’t play every day. SO fucking close but he chose to play circles instead. which is funny that I’m a little jealous about bc circles was like in my top 3 over the summer. also prepping for the concert made me love wildfire and better off. and fucking oh mexico. some of my videos didn’t turn out well bc the lighting was off but at least I have audio. can’t believe he touched their hands. can’t believe that girl got to hold his mic. gah. I screamed so fucking hard and slammed the railing with my hands so fucking much. I apologize retroactively to ryan and stella for being annoying lmao.

fuckkk last sunday was so fun. like there was just so much fun in the span of such a short time.

I’m so happy my friend knocked on their door. I wanted to drink wine with them since they got back to the airbnb but I didn’t think they would be so welcoming. I ate two of their oreos and one of my pastries. we played mario party and I came in last. I played as boo again like that one time over the summer. and then they kept calling me boo and it was so funny. I tried doing math and calculating expected values of the dice each character had but I was too drunk and couldn’t add lmao. it was really fun when I won mini games and tom was like how is boo winning. I bet she lied about not playing before. I stole tom’s coins with a special object. the extra bad luck space redistributed 30 coins from me and I said it was like socialism. my friend said something and then berry said no you’re perfect. so wholesome. and then later she was like oh I can fit my hand in a pringles can but I thought everyone could do that. but berry tried and was like yeah I can eventually. it’s like sex. and then in my mind I was like haha that’s not wholesome. they spent like $60 something on their airbnb and had a bigger room than us. and we said it was unfair and they asked how much we spent and she said $7 and they were like bitch wtf. omg

also I was kinda bummed when the game ended and tom said he would take a shot and then go to bed. and then me and berry were conspiring by the door to get the other two to hang out more. ahh. we got orange juice but it was moldy lmao. there’s orange juice downstairs in the fridge. would you tell on us if we drank it. how would you even tell like leave a note. ahh. berry was ready to go to a corner store to get soda but I hate soda so he was gonna get juice. the place had a latino owner apparently or something so me and tom were like oops looks like we can’t go. in reality though I just didn’t want to get dressed lol.

tom and berry say I fit my personality well. or I’m very sure about my personality. I don’t remember how they worded it but. they also said I would survive a horror movie. they asked if I had a bf and I said I didn’t but I was trying lol. and then I was like wait no I’m not even trying. and they were like one day you’re gonna get a guy who appreciates you. who is gonna like your personality and go up to you and think you’re cute. and you’re not even gonna need to try. bc not trying ends up better than why you do and try too hard. I said my acne doesn’t help and tom was like I didn’t even notice your acne. which hm. we were drunk but they were nice. berry went outside for a smoke and he smelled like cigarettes and I kinda like it. for some reason I’ve been liking that smell recently. tom was really tall when we hugged lmao how does it feel to have such a smaller person hug you. like it’ll just feel like a scrawny child. idk I’m glad we all met.

the city that does sleep.

[fuck-customers]

So I wait tables and have my fair share of horror stories, but this one is still fresh in my brain because it occurred just this past Friday night. All week this restaurant serves breakfast all day, with the exception of Fridays. On Fridays we can only serve pancakes, sausage, and bacon because of our fish fry. We have a sign on the door, a sign on the front host area, and a note on our "Featured Items" board that states "Breakfast items, except for pancakes, sausage, and bacon, are not served after 3 P.M." on Fridays only. On top of that, it's rare for the restaurants in this area to even serve breakfast at night, let alone on a Friday night. 

So this last Friday I got a new table (we do a rotation, not sections) and I was over as quick as I could be, which in this case was right after they sat down. So...service was quick. They (husband and wife) ordered two coffees and when I came back with their drinks they said they needed another minute to look at the menu. So I scurry off and find something else to do, then come back and ask if they are ready to order. The wife attempts to order chili, which, on the menu, states "In season only." I quickly apologize and inform her that we stop selling chili in April and start up again in autumn because it's only a seasonal item, WHICH, as I mentioned above, is stated on the menu. Her husband laughs like this is the most ridiculous concept on the entire planet. "No chili after April?! What?!? What kind of rule is that?" As if I was being a complete dope, as if this was MY policy, as if I was personally responsible for withholding the chili. I apologize again and the wife looks at her husband and says, "You better go ahead and order then," while setting her menu aside. 

"I'll have the Tater Tot Toss." (Don't worry, this isn't a restaurant chain so that name probably won't stand out to anyone). As he said this, he slapped his menu shut and pushed it away from him, then leaned back and crossed his arms like he had just done a great service. 

"Oh I'm so sorry, we actually can't do that either. We can only do pancakes, sausage, and bacon on Friday nights because of our fish fry. Every other night we do breakfast all day except for tonight. I'm sorry." I say all of this as politely as possible. I am always, always, ALWAYS bubbly and have a smile on my face with customers, and I try my hardest to resolve issues and explain things clearly so that they get exactly what they're expecting. I go out of my way to make sure people get what they want or need if it is in the realm of possibility and I have never once been intentionally or unintentionally rude to a customer. But this guy blows.

"Well we're just going to have coffee then," says the husband. At this point I'm like "Oh, haha," and start to ask if they would like some more time and apologize again because I've had situations before where people JOKE with me about not ordering anything because they wanted breakfast but then they look at the menu again and order something else. I've never had anyone storm out on me because they couldn't have breakfast and no one has ever been rude to me about it either, so of course I didn't go right into problem solving mode because I thought the situation was still lighthearted. My bad. 

"I'll just give you a tip and pay for the coffees," he says. The couple starts standing up. "Since half the menu is unavailable. Here's a couple bucks," he spits at me while throwing $2 on the table like he's throwing slop at a pig. 

"Oh, I, uh, I--" I start trying to untangle the situation, try being helpful. I start looking for their check even though I didn't have one for them yet because I never got the chance to punch their coffees into the computer. Their exit was happening so fast and the man had gotten aggressive so quickly that I didn't have time to say much at all besides "Oh, I, uh, I--." 

"We'll just pay for the coffees up front. I'll talk to the manager on the way out." And he was gone, out of my sight. I didn't know what to say. I was incredibly embarrassed because there were a lot of other customers around and I didn't want them to think I had done something awful to these people. I understand the situation must have been frustrating to them, being told TWICE in a row that they couldn't order something, but we do have signs and notes about these things for a reason. 

I went up front and asked my manager what happened. She said that they started screaming at her, said their server was rude, and that our restaurant just lost two customers that had been coming there for five years even though my manager tried to explain to them our policies and tried offering them something else to eat. They stormed out. Of course my manager didn't believe them about me being rude because all of my coworkers know that I'm a very polite and bubbly employee. I went back and thought about everything I had said and done while interacting with this couple and still can't figure out what I did to make them think I was rude. Maybe it's because I didn't do more to stop them from storming out?? I have no idea. I literally didn't have time to react to this guy leaving like that, especially because his aggression went from 0 to 100 so fast. 

So now I would like to point a couple things out. First, if they have been coming to our restaurant for 5 years, they should know our policies by now. Second, no matter what they said or did, they weren't getting their breakfast or chili because those are the rules that us servers and managers did not make up. Those are the rules THE OWNER put in place, and those are the rules that have been in place since the restaurant opened. Third, we are an incredibly busy restaurant. On Saturdays and Sundays we have lines out the door, our whole restaurant was full at the time they were there, and even on weekdays we tend to be very, very busy. So... did they think we were going to care about losing two customers? Out of the hundreds we get weekly? Fourth, like I said, I have no idea how I was rude to them in the slightest. They acted like I made up those rules and was personally restricting them from having the food they wanted. Even if I wanted to give it to them, I couldn't. And finally, I am incredibly horrified that a grown man was acting like that and literally having a tantrum for not being able to have breakfast on a Friday night or chili in the spring time. Shit, I've been to restaurants where they don't have any soup at all this time of year. I apologized to my manager for them screaming at her and I just really can't wrap my head around two adults being that immature. If he was so quick to freak out about not having breakfast for dinner, I wonder how he treats his wife about little things at home. I hope she's safe.