#each time I have a paper due I start to think about every irrelevant thing

[alchemist-of-life]

I’m curious how binary cant work for admech since day 1. At first, I thought it’s just high speed alternation in frequencies of sounds to denote 0 and 1, just like how computer cable does with voltage. So I wrote a python script to convert natural language to binary code then to sound based on the idea (so that I can curse in binary in ttrpg). However, since the human auditory cortex can only distinguish sound about 20ms apart, the current commonly used binary coding method (Unicode) that requires 8 bits to encode for one letter (16 bits for one character in Mandarin) would make binary cant less efficient than natural language through the bare ear. As a result, binary cant users not only need vocal implants but also auditory implants to receive info (or perhaps cortex implants to decode). Based on these assumptions, binary cant would be able to happen in sound frequencies not perceivable by the original human cochlea so techpriests conversation can be extremely quiet. And more efficiently, just through data cables.

Or it could be the other way around, scientists might develop more efficient binary language without basing it on the symbol system of natural languages (I’m not that familiar with linguistics so I don’t know if this is possible or not).

However, the sound techpriests made in the game mechanicus doesn’t sound like my assumption. There are definitely more than 2 pitches used in the conversations (which makes it less binary...) and they seem to be faster than natural language. I still couldn’t figure out what’s happening here. Do the twisting pitches actually encode more than one bit? Is binary cant actually an analog signal encoding a digital signal? Or is the sound effect just mean to sound better for the game?

The binary curse program (turn the sound on!):

[rhenuvee]

Part of Me (George Weasley x Reader)

Request: hey i know you’re not taking requests right now but when you are i have a cute idea where the reader has a large freckle/ mole on the back of her neck and george (or fred) moves her hair out of the way and kisses it and the reader asks what he’s doing and he says “it’s like a little part of me on you” i feel like that would be soooo cute :))

A/N: @//anon I’m sorry if I took the request the wrong way :T

Taglist: @obsessedwithrandomthings

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To say you were having a bad day would be an understatement at the moment. You did not understand today’s transfiguration lesson at all, your DADA performance was terrible, homework just had to pile up on you the whole week when you originally had plans to go out with your friends and had to cancel. Snape was not pleased when you messed up your potion, which embarrassed you and made some stupid guys in your class laugh at you.

Right now you were focused on getting your pile of work so you could just fall on your bed and sleep it off. As you looked in the common room from the portrait hole, you stopped yourself from entering. From that angle you could see your boyfriend George sitting on the couch, but Fred and Lee were nowhere to be seen, which only meant he was waiting for you.

You speed-walked straight towards the stairs without making eye contact with anyone. But before you even reached the starts of the stairs, George’s eyes caught you the second you stepped in.

“Whoa, hey, love where are you going?” he asked standing up and following you and reaching to hold your hand loosely. You hoped he didn’t notice your uneasiness.

“Just to my room.” you said trying hard to be calm. It didn’t work. You thought it would’ve been silly to shed tears in front of your boyfriend, so it took your all to keep it in.

“I have a lot of work to do.” George was not one to be fooled, he could hear the slight shakiness in your voice. You watched as his face contorted into one of a mix between pleading and worry.

“(Y/n)...” he said quietly while trying to pull you to sit on the couch with him. You wanted to protest by saying you needed to do work and that’ll be it for the day, but with the amount of mishaps you had, you gave in and sat down with George.

“Tell me about your day sweetheart.” he said sitting closer to you so that your sides were touching. He kissed the side of your face, a little bit above the corner of your eyebrow. You could tell that he already knew that something was wrong seeing as he softly rubbed your waist. He seemed to do that every time you were tense, and it worked to soothe you.

“I wasn’t having a good day.” you bluntly said drawing your lips into a thin line. George did not like the sound of that.

“And why is that?” George tried not to give any hints of anger, it broke his heart to see his girl upset. You sighed, then remembering the mountain of homework due tomorrow.

“It’s not important George, it-”

“What was it? Was it Snape? Or that girl from your charms class? Or those ��stinkies’ you mentioned from potions? Did Fred prank you, because I will-”

Your giggle made George stop rambling about the possibilities. You laughed partially because he said the word stinkies. The first time those guys were mean to you, you got frustrated and it happened to cloud your vocabulary when you told George, and it stuck to him ever since. But you were glad even just to hear George know that these were exactly the types of things that made you sad.

“There’s a pretty smile.” he said smiling himself. You blushed, he never failed to compliment you in every way. You cleared your throat before answering.

“I guess... a mix? It’s irrelevant really, besides I’ve got a lot of homework to do.” you said preparing your papers and quill to begin. You didn’t see it, but you missed your boyfriend pouting as you chose homework over anything else.

“Then I’ll do it with you!” he said sitting more upright. “And then you can tell me what those guys said- wait it doesn’t matter because Fred and I will get them back anyway.” You smiled at how proud George seemed to be to plan it, and to cheer you up again.

Throughout the late night, you wrote and wrote. George helped you by thinking of the answers next to the one you were working on, so the time spent was halved. Unfortunately, potions wasn’t his strong suit so you had to deal with that on your own. You decided that it was okay, it wasn’t his homework to begin with, and plus, he seemed to get more tired by the minute.

You were hunched over the table and concentrating on your assignment. George was currently doing any little things to keep him awake and busy.

That was until he saw something peeking beneath your hair on the back of your neck. His curiosity (and boredom) led him to lightly sweeping your hair out of the way. You were busy yourself so you didn’t bother flinching. George discovered that you had a large freckle, and he’s never seen it before. He couldn’t help but grin as he thought of something and leaned in to kiss it. That, you noticed and turned your attention to him.

“George, what are you doing?” you said surprised of the place he kissed. He gestured to the spot on the back of your neck. You knew what he was talking about.

“It’s like a little part of me on you.” he said still grinning. You took in what he said and smiled widely. You weren’t sure if it was the fact that it was late or he was bored and loopy, but you could not deny that your boyfriend was the sweetest on Earth.

You both press your lips softly against each other and you move in sync. You hand went to cup his cheek, and his hand trailed after. His large hand engulfed your hand in his warmth. You were still a little giggly, you could tell he was too as you felt his lips curve upwards. As you pulled away with your noses still next to each other, you take in the close up view of his own freckles. You kissed the top of both his cheeks as that was where most of his freckles were, and he smiled giddily for the affection.

“Or maybe it’s a part of me on you.” you teased. George laughed.

“Don’t get cocky darling.”

“Me? You’re the one who started with it, so you shouldn’t get cocky.”

“I should, because I have the most beautiful girl to myself. See, we were made for each other.” he said pointing to his freckles and yours. You lightly pushed him for being cheesy, but you couldn’t help but smile.

For the rest of the night, you and George fell sleepier. You noticed how his eyes were slowly opening and closing, and how his chin rested on his palms desperate to be laying on a pillow. He eventually couldn’t take it and lay down on the couch. You felt bad keeping him awake for so late, so you didn’t bother waking him up.

“Georgie... I’m finally done.” you said sighing of relief. You turned to see your boyfriend looking like he passed out on the couch, remembering he fell asleep 30 minutes ago. You wanted to go upstairs and grab a blanket or a jacket for him.

“Darling...” his groggy voice mumbled. You thought he was still asleep, but guess not. His eyes were still closed, but his hand was lazily stretched out, trying to blindly see where you were. You realized this and guided your hand into his, until you could feel his fingers lace yours.

“Mm, are you done work...?” he asked softly.

“Yes Georgie, I’m sorry.” you said quickly not knowing how much longer he could stay awake.

“That’s my smart girl.” George was probably the only one in your life to ever call you smart despite doing work until midnight. You gushed at the words and kissed his cheek.

“C’mere, let’s go to sleep.” he said tugging you closer to him. Your heart fluttered at his sleepy state, and you couldn’t say no. You slowly shifted yourself into a position where you could fit onto the couch, with you against George’s broad chest, snuggled close to him. And with that, your boyfriend fell asleep for real this time, with his light snores filling the room. If Fred or Lee or anyone caught you like this, you’d be in for a lifetime of teasing.

But right now you had the opportunity to be next your boyfriend. And maybe that’s all you needed after a long day.

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Because I’m stupid I forgot to ask if any of you wanted to be added to the taglist. I write for 3 fandoms so please specify which ones or which characters!

[villainousshakespeare]

Putting It Back Together Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Adam/OFC

Rated M (will probably change to E) - Grief, angst, eventual smut, mention of characters dead before the start of the story, blood, slow burn

Summary: Since the death of his beloved Eve, Adam had been barely living, only alive due to a promise he made to her. Then one night he meets his new neighbor, a woman dealing with grief of her own. Will they help each other heal or drive each other crazy?

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @gorgeous1974 @maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1​ @poetic-fiasco​ @shiningloki​ @dangertoozmanykids101​ @bookworm-christina​ @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy​ @amwolowicz​ @delightfulheartdream​ @frostbitten-written​ @what-a-flammable-heart​ @tom-hlover​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @myraiswack​

If you would like on or off the tag list, please let me know!

Hunched over his desk, Adam scowled at the blank staff on the music composition page before him. In his mind he could hear the notes that he had composed two nights ago but when he tried to concentrate and write them down they refused to stay clear in his brain. Twice already he had crumpled up the dried out old paper and hurled it across the room. Now, after his pen scratched through another mistake, he swept the entire pile of paper off the desk.

Leaning back in his wingchair, he glared across the room. It was all the fault of that thing. There against the wall, clashing with his dark hued room, sat a garishly bright neon yellow tool bag. It was not just that it was an eye sore, though that was bad enough. Really, who in their right mind would purchase anything so hideous? It was the knowledge that it belonged to her. That horrid, sobbing girl who had cried all over him last night.

Adam suppressed a shiver as he remembered it. She had clung to him like a python, face buried in his chest has he flailed to find a way to calm her. He had been so startled by the way she melted into him he had not known what to do. He was no longer, he realized, used to experiencing any form of physical contact.

She was tiny. That had been his first, irrelevant observation. Her watery face had only come up to the middle of his chest. She was also surprisingly warm. Holding her felt so different, so very different than holding Eve had felt. His late wife had been nearly as tall as he was, and like him she lacked the blood pumping through her veins to warm her in the night air.

Blood. That was the next, unshakable realization. She was full of throbbing, pulsing blood. Adam could sense it coursing through her, adding a flush to her face and a beat to the chest pressed against his stomach. With her hair piled as it was on top of her head he could see clearly the blue tinted vein running down her long neck. Staring at it, he felt his animal side begin to stir within him.

It had been ten years since Adam had eaten from a living person. On that desperate night in Tangier it had been a matter of life or death, him or the young woman unfortunate enough to cross his path when he was literally starving. He had turned the girl, and Eve had done the same to her lover. They had given them immortality, curse or gift depending on your mindset. In the end, it hadn't mattered. Both of them had died along with Eve when tainted blood had been sold to them. Adam would have been dead too, had he not been out scouring a rare bookshop for a gift for his beloved.

Years later, the proximity of a carotid artery, just there for the taking, caused a physical sensations within him. Adam could feel his fangs fighting to descend. Alarmingly, he could also feel his cock hardening in his jeans. Live feeding was not the only thing he had gone without for years. The small woman in his arms, so helpless and so unaware of her peril, was all but begging to be devoured in all sorts of ways. He could imagine tearing away her clothes and sinking into her, first his cock then his fangs, as he satisfied his cravings upon her unsuspecting body. Had Adam been other than what he was, had he not had all of those centuries with Eve to civilize him, she would have been done for.

Instead, he had clumsily patted her on the back, eyes rolling in his head as he did so. He could not quite bring himself to mouth the platitudes he knew she would expect of him, but he did his best to bite back the sarcasm that was his defensive habit. She had lost someone herself, and while the pain of losing someone known only for one short lifetime could never compare to the loss he had suffered, it still touched a chord within him. He knew the deep, unending pain of love taken too soon.

When at last she had managed to breath regularly again, Adam had quickly walked her back to the hatch that led to her own home. She had uttered a ceaseless string of apologies that he neither wanted nor needed, and he had mumbled something inane in return, sounding for all the world like just another zombie. The relief he felt when he shut the hatch behind her had almost brought him to his knees. And yet...

She had been so very warm. So warm and so alive. Irritating and encroaching, yes, but her questions about his electric system had been intelligent, and her observations startlingly apt. He was used to zombies being disinterested, focused so inward on their own petty problems that they didn't see what was right in front of their faces.

Her face had been pretty, the thought ran through his head. A little older than he had expected at first, though they all seemed young to him. Big eyes, full lips, high, almost elfin cheekbones.

With a growl, Adam stood up and stalked over to the offensive yellow tool bag. He should have left it up on the roof. She would have realized it was missing eventually and gone back up for it. But the skies had looked threatening, and he didn't want her tools to rust. It was a matter of conservation, he assured himself. Not wanting to do something nice for a zombie. Certainly not that.

He obviously was not going to be able to concentrate with the hideous thing in his home. He would take it back over to her. The home she lived in had a double style doorway; if he was lucky the outer door would be open and he could leave it between them. No need to see her again. The last thing he needed was to be dragged into another encounter with her.

Pulling his leather jacket on without bothering with a shirt, Adam grabbed the tool bag and headed for his front door. Best to get this over with. Yanking open the door in his rush, he collided with something soft and with a shock watched the very person he had been hoping to avoid fall backwards off of his front stoop.

"Fuck!" she yelped, as she toppled down.

Adam blinked as she looked up at him from the ground where she sat inelegantly on her ass.

"Are you alright?" he asked as sense returned to him.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," she smiled unconvincingly at him. "Luckily I don't have too far to fall."

"I was going out and didn't expect you to be there," he mumbled.

He heard the accusation in his voice, but didn't seem to be able to help it. What the hell had she been doing there?

"Of course not," she blushed. "Um... would you mind?"

She held out her hand and Adam gasped. Her palm was scratched from breaking her fall, and a small pattern of blood was beading up on the skin. Instinctively he took a step back at the same time his head moved forward with a will of its own. The woman looked at him with confusion, and he forced himself calm down. Why the fuck hadn't he put on gloves?

Working hard to control the trembling of his hands, he reached out and helped her to stand. Hyper aware of the siren call of her blood he pulled his hands back as fast as he possibly could, hoping she didn't notice the way they trembled. Fortunately for him she seemed too concentrated on her own discomfort.

"Did you want something?" he asked brusquely when she had gotten her balance back.

"Not really. Well, I mean, yes. To... to apologize. For last night. For crying all over you. Sorry."

"No need," he told her "Forget about it. I have."

"Oh. Well, okay then," she stood for a moment worrying at her lower lip, and he noticed again how full her mouth was. "Were you going somewhere?"

"Out," he said tersely, old habits dying hard. As he saw her flinch, he made his tone soften. "Actually, I was going to see you."

"Really?" he eyes lit up, and Adam felt a panic that he could not place.

"Yes. You left this on the roof last night. I thought you might want it back."

"Oh," she said again, face falling once more. "Thanks."

"Think nothing of it," he said, grimacing. Why was she just standing there? "Well, see you."

"Yeah," she blinked up at him.

"Alright then."

Honestly, wasn't she ever going to move? Giving up, Adam gave her the closest he could muster to a half smile and turned back inside, shutting the door behind him in her face.

Only when the wood was solid between them did he shakily raise his hand in front of his face. There, crimson in the dim light of his apartment, was a smear of her blood. Unable to control himself any longer, he brought his hand to his mouth and desperately sucked the sticky liquid off, moaning with the taste of it. So fresh, so pure, so sweet.

Falling back on the sofa conveniently behind him, he realized he was hard again. Licking to make sure he had gotten every last drop, he stroked himself with his other hand. If he was picturing a certain set of wide eyes and lush lips, it was only because their owner's blood was still hot in his mouth. There could not possibly be any other reason.

***

Well, that had been an unmitigated disaster.

Lilly held the bag of frozen peas to her ass and tried not to dwell on how thoroughly she had humiliated herself. If that was an example of her improving her image she obviously needed to never leave the house again. She was not fit to be around other people. Certainly not fit to be around someone so flawless as her neighbor.

Good lord, when he had walked out the door and into her, it was like being hit with a load of bricks. Lying there on her backside staring up at him, Lilly had been almost stuck dumb by the sight. She had thought he was beautiful from a distance, or in the dark light of the roof. Standing as he was in a halo of porch light he was almost god-like. It did not help that his black leather jacket was parted to reveal a very well muscled chest and abdomen. Lilly's eyes traveled the length of him from the bob of his adam's apple, over his defined pecs and six pack, and down to the thin trail of hair and the vee that drew her eyes past the edge of his low slung jeans.

Sweet bajeebas, but he was perfect. She was hardly the same species. What had she been thinking?

The playing began sometime later that night, around midnight. Lilly was hunched of a jigsaw puzzle she had found in a cupboard. Her Grandmother had loved to do them, and Lilly had caught the bug. She had lost count of the number of nights she had stayed up obsessively putting them together, unable to go to bed until she had found just one more piece, only to see the sun rise as she finished it.

The wail of a guitar came through the wall, sounding plaintive and introspective. Lilly had been drawn to all of the music she had heard from him so far. His melodies were complex, and he seemed to favor minor keys. Her Grandmother would have liked it as well. No doubt she had enjoyed hearing the strains come through the thin walls. Certainly she would have preferred it to the fighting and drunken antics of the students that had always assailed them before.

Lilly found herself humming along to his playing. She loved music, even if she was self-conscious of her voice. Having a Grandmother who had made a career of crooning songs in smoky clubs made her all too aware of her own deficiency.

There was something so comforting about music. It was almost mathematical in the way it worked. Patterns created and repeated, only to be subverted and return in a new and unexpected ways. If the composer was good, that was. Her neighbor was very good.

Of course he would be good. God forbid he be less than perfect at anything.

So when he kept reaching the end of a delicate passage, only to end on a note that didn't quite resolve the phrase. Lilly could hear the frustration in his fingers clearly through the layers of sheet rock that separated them. At first it amused her; so he was fallible after all. Good. She allowed herself to take a superior pleasure in his failure.

By the time it was approaching two in the morning, she was ready to scream. She was over halfway done with her puzzle - a scene of Paris at night, all lit up - but was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate. Her gorgeous, grouchy neighbor must have played through the piece a hundred times, and every time it ended wrong. It was driving her insane. He was so close to finishing it. Every time he hit the not quite right note she felt her entire body twitch. She could only imagine how he was feeling.

It started one more time. Lilly held her breath, willing him to find what was right there, waiting to be put in place. The final phrase started, she scrunched her face, waiting to hear it fixed. The note he played was achingly close, but not quite what the song cried out for.

"Half a step lower!" she screamed out, unable to resist any longer.

The music stopped. Everything went silent on the other side of the wall. Now she had done it. Lilly could see him, glaring at the wall with that intense, closed off set of blue eyes. She was inordinately happy now that a solid hunk of material kept them apart. Any hope of a friendship developing between her and her haughty crush had surely been dashed now. And all because she could not control her stupid impulses.

After a stretch that seemed like forever, a length of time where Lilly died and was forced back into existence repeatedly, the music started up again. She made herself a small lump in the corner of her sofa, as if somehow she could hide even though it was impossible for him to see her. If she could have fit below the cushions she would have.

He reached to end and after the slightest of pauses he played the note she had suggested. It sounded perfect. The chord rang out, slowly fading, and she felt a small smile fighting to exist on her lips.

The music stopped abruptly again, and for the rest of the night only silence greeted her through the wall between them.

[spectrumed]

8. book

I decided to start writing a book. A novel, it’s going to be fiction. It’s a big project. I dread big projects. I don’t feel as if I am ever able to complete them. It’s going to be left unfinished, why do I even bother? So many projects that I’ve started and never finished. I get an idea, then I can’t make myself do the actual work to make it a reality. Why do I think I can write a book when I can barely read books without becoming distracted and doing something else instead? I give up too easily. But, then again, do I really have it in me to produce something that is good? That people would want to read? Insecurity creeps in, telling me that I will fail. I fear failure. Of course I do, who doesn’t? Whenever people say that their greatest fear is failure, all I wonder is who out there is not afraid of failure? Is there someone out there with so much confidence that they absolutely do not in any way fear failure? Even narcissists technically fear failure, it is what leads them to such ridiculous overcompensation, putting on the facade of bravado to mask their actual dire sense of insecurity. Do not fall for the scams, no person is truly without self-doubt. (Well, I guess maybe psychopaths, but there’s a whole lot of things amiss with them.)

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve entertained myself by coming up with stories, fictional universes that I would populate with characters of my own invention. When I was a kid, what I really wanted was to become a comic book writer and artist. Well, in between other gigs I imagined would suit me, including at one point wanting to be a “singing farmer,” as I put it. Still, I’ve always returned to fiction and storytelling. There’s something about creating a world that lets you so fully distract yourself from all the stressful daily hullabaloo that goes on around you. Escapism, it’s fun, it’s therapeutic, I think. There’s a reason why humans have been telling each other stories for millennia, since even before we lived in houses. Back when we were all huddled around the fire, wearing our best comfortable animal furs, sharing tales of the hunt. Your uncle who once took part in killing a mammoth, the impressive beast nearly gorging him with its big tusks. How clever he was when he noticed that the mammoth had one leg weaker than the others, and used that to his advantage. How the entire hunting party banded together to bring the behemoth down, getting all that meat to feed their families with for months! Stories make you feel good. Like as if you have something to celebrate, even when you might be starving due to the more recent hunts not having gone as well. Damn that saber-tooth tiger that killed your uncle…

Storytelling is linked to acting. Both with acting and with storytelling you have to commit. Whatever you are doing, whatever role you are performing, you have to sell it. You may be on stage talking about that time you went scuba diving with your future wife, and how you encountered an oyster with the most magnificent pearl inside, and how you made a ring for the pearl and used it when you proposed to her. You have to sell it. You have to get the audience laughing, gasping, crying, going “aww,” feeling as if they were there with you that day. Of course, they don’t know it is all just lies. You made it up. It’s all fiction. But you committed, so they won’t ever know. Storytelling is a gift to others, people will appreciate you if you tell good stories, but you’re also kinda deviant. Even if it’s technically based on a true story, you’ve certainly added your embellishments. You’re a trickster, a devious individual. No wonder actors have historically been seen as dubious folks. They come into town, romances all the young women and men, telling them big tales of their lives on the road, and they can’t possibly know if you are telling the truth or not. You may just be lying. You probably are lying. Let’s be honest, you’ve probably not told a single true thing in your life.

I am bad at the hustle. No, I can talk quite well, and I can keep people’s attention for a long while. But I can’t be a huckster. Going out there, putting myself on the line hoping people will swallow my bullshit. I can’t really avoid speaking from my heart when I do speak. Or when I write, as I happen to be doing now. This blog has so far been thoroughly candid in places, in such a way I may come across like I’m at a confessional. Not that I have much evil to confess, but I can’t help but be transparent. I can’t flip into different kinds of personalities, each with its own schemes and plots, being some master manipulator, someone who you can never figure out what they're truly up to, or what they truly want. No, what I am is clearly written on my face. I’ve got one self, and it is the one before you. He’s hairy, and tall, and a bit of a dork. I am happy to talk to you, to engage with you, but I won’t be anyone but myself. I am me. I hope that’ll do.

Of course you are familiar with all those pick-up artists that plagues the internet. Or well, not just the internet. Go into any old-fashioned bookstore (where they store books on paper, not in digital code,) and you are bound to find some sleazy book written by a sleazy guy about how to sleazily seduce women. Those books don’t want you acting like me. According to them, seduction is all about manipulation. To figure out the very right thing to say to get women to fawn all over you. They don’t want you to be sincere, telling the truth as you see it. Nah, you gotta keep that stuff bottled up, deep down inside your soul, because most likely, your true self is ugly. It’s interesting how you can get little details from these pick-up artists depending on the sort of things they say, the tips they provide. The fact that all of them seem to harbour this festering misogyny is no big surprise, but every so often, you get these little glimpses of these people’s true worldview, one where power is everything, true love is a fallacy, and happiness is a lie manufactured by Hollywood to make us all into docile consumers. No wonder the “red-pill” so often leads to people taking the “black-pill.” First hucksters will lure you in, telling you that they’ve got the secret as to how to be a success, then when they’ve got you isolated, they reveal to you how truly misanthropic and bleak their actual beliefs are.

I am fascinated with cults, for much of the same reason why I am fascinated with storytelling. What is a cult leader if not just a great storyteller? They’re something like the modern day shaman, capable of spellbinding people with their weird idiosyncratic way of speaking. High-functioning people with autism are often said to have an idiosyncratic way of speaking. No, I am not suggesting that cult leaders are all somewhere on the spectrum, though it wouldn’t surprise me if some famous cult leaders did turn out to have been on the spectrum. However, for an autistic person to become a cult leader, I think they would have to be a true believer, and not some fraud just looking to scam others. Ultimately, no autistic person would want to surround themselves with people unless they truly do believe it is essential, to like, save mankind from damnation or something. It’s the difference between sincerity and insincerity. It is difficult for autistic people to be insincere, as insincerity requires a lot of social skills that autistic people struggle with. Having to juggle all these balls in the air, making sure you keep the big lie going, that you remember to change your behaviour depending on who you are speaking to in order to keep them from figuring out that you’re a bullshitter. Hollow people are great at being insincere. People like L. Ron Hubbard, the founder of the highly profitable cult that is Scientology, was at his core a hollow individual. He had no problems twisting the minds of the people around him, because he never felt a need to be sincere. If an autistic person were to become a cult leader, I can guarantee you that it wouldn’t be a profitable cult. Nah, autistic people aren’t in it for the money, we’re all about keeping it real.

Being a sincere person, surely I should be able to write a novel and make it feel earnest. Like it was delivered with passion, because I wouldn’t be able to write anything that wasn’t true to myself. Well, I do hope so. Having something I’ve made be referred to as genuine is something I see as a great compliment. I’m a student of art history, I’ve made some “serious” art before, I know how terrible art can be when it is not delivered with good faith. Sure, some art is cynical, or ironic, but even then, it tends to come from a real place. Good artists, even when they’re fully armed with the dada mindset, must believe in what they are doing. Whether they are doing it for a laugh or not, that’s irrelevant. Even if all you wish is to be silly and make something that is comical, you have to believe in what you are creating. Or else people won’t bother engaging with it. Why look at a painting by someone who is just interested in making money? Insincere artists do exist, and they can end up becoming quite successful, but ultimately, history won’t be kind to them. Damien Hirst comes to mind, heard he's into NFTs now.

Sure, I don’t like insincere people. Does that make me a bigot? Like, it’s not as if they can help themselves. It’s just who they are, spineless maggots with no soul. It doesn’t mean we have to hate them. No, no, no... I am just generalising. Don’t go thinking there’s just two kinds of people in the world, the sincere and the insincere. It’s not a binary. Most people are both, just like with introverts and extroverts, humans are complex. But there are definitely those that decide to feed into their insincere side, realising that it is often the key to success. Through insincerity, you learn to let go of self-doubt, you stop worrying so much about what others think of you, because you are never truly yourself. If they hate you, then so what? They don’t actually hate you, they just hate a role that you are playing. So what if you seduced that woman, made her feel as if you were the perfect match, then you ghosted her and completely forgot about her? It’s her fault for falling for your tricks. You were clearly just playing the game, being a super-seducer, she should have known better. By embracing insincerity, it’s like gaining a superpower. No longer do you have to care about the impact you have on others, no longer do you have to worry about what it means to be a social human being making choices that affect the others around you. Because you’re not the person they think you are. Actually, you’re not quite sure you’re the person you think you are… Who are you?

I’ve got the plot all laid out in my head for the novel. It’s going to be based in the fantasy world that I’ve been working on for the last few years. I’ve been working on this world for almost half a decade now, come to think of it. Why do I keep feeling as if I am never able to keep to a project, when I’ve clearly been working on a massive project all this time? Sure, it’s all just in my head, but it’s not as if most people have the kind of patience to keep going back to a single big project, even if it is just in their head. Not once, while thinking about my fantasy world have I been distracted and started thinking about cute puppies, instead. And you know how difficult that is. Maybe I am too hard on myself. Maybe I will finish this book, and maybe people will want to read it. Maybe it will even get a minimal number of angry reviews, like, I may get a book published without some folks trying to harass me into committing suicide for daring to think I can write. Some people may even be enthusiastic, blowing up my ego with great praise. Maybe someone will come along and tell me that they want to buy the rights to make my book into a movie or a television series. Maybe I will get rich? Maybe I will get famous! Woo! Success here I come!

Well, no, here I go being insincere. That’s not what it’s about. I should be writing this book because I want to write it. Because I want to prove to myself that I am able to write it. Sure, it’s not as if there’s not a little brain goblin inside my mind whispering sweet nothings about how one day I might turn out a real respected author. One with real fans that gets to do big book tours talking about how brilliant I am, how brilliant my work is, and how brilliant things are going for me. I am not going to pretend I don’t have the same aspirations for success that others have. Inside of me you will find the same greedy piglet of an ego hungry for more adoration and more validation that you will find in any person. Humans don’t know when to quit, we always want more. But I am at least safe knowing that I will never debase myself, descending to the same depths as those inhabited by soulless grifters who go through life abusing the trust of others in order to get by. I’m sincere, in the end. I always turn out sincere, in the end. I am a good boy.

And I am also really sexy. I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before on this blog, but I am really, REALLY, sexy. Like, you wouldn’t believe it. Oh, I am so hot. And if you follow and subscribe and hit that bell, I will teach you how you can be just as sexy as I am! And buy my book! And my merch! And my new single! And of course, my new cryptocurrency, by the name of “autism-coin.” It’s going to be a real success on 4chan, let me tell ya!

[abraxos-the-phantom]

Scum Disciple: Alpha Stage

Alpha, described by google as "...an exploratory phase. Beta means the features have been locked down and are under development (no other features will be added). More commonly: Alpha: Usually the first normally interact-able thing out (private or public use is irrelevant)."

And here are some of the highlights that I liked from the first few versions lol.

Fun Times in Gusu

Lan Xichen walked to quite a strange sight.

While normally he would have greeted the younger Nie with a smile, the image of the famous Wei Wuxian pouting as YunmengJiang’s young master and QingheNie’s second master grinned was a little too ridiculous for him to process without chuckling.

“We both know you aren’t actually going to tell Ming-shixiong,” Nie Huaisang chuckled at the shifted to pat the other.

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “I’m worried though.”

Jiang Wanyin had raised his eyebrow, making quite the image as he looked over his crossed arms, “You’re worried about your brother? QingheNie Sect’s Monster Head disciple? The Youngest Rogue Cultivator in the Generations? The Peerless Prodigy? I think you’re a little delusioned Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian’s nose crumbled at that, “They really call Gēge that? Such lame names.”

“I think brother called him the Crane Dragon once,” Nie Huaisang added. “When you and Ming-shixiong went on a Night Hunt.”

Wei Wuxian shook his head, “Forget it, that’s not what I’m worried about- it’s just. Gēge has never let me on my own like this before. He gets antsy.”

Nie Huaisang pursed his lips, “I can understand but- A-Xian, you’re one of his best students.”

“He just- he gets this look sometimes,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “He doesn’t talk about it but sometimes he looks at me and I’m pretty sure he’s seeing something else. I never asked because he always looks sad after.”

“Didn’t you grow up together?” Nie Huaisang frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ming-shixiong with anyone else besides the three of us but the other disciples.”

“He’s never talked to anyone except father, mother, myself, sister, and some of the disciples at our sect,” Jiang Wanyin said in agreement. “You guys didn’t meet anyone when your Brother was still Rogue?”

Wei Wuxian shook his head in Jiang Wanyin’s direction, expression slightly pinched still, “I wouldn't remember, and I know we’re close- but there’s some stuff I know he hasn’t told me. You guys realize that my brother is nineteen?”

Jiang Wanyin blinked, as well as several other disciples who were not so covertly listening into the conversation about the mysterious prodigal Cultivator of the QingheNie Sect. “He seems much older, I didn’t think anyone knew his actual age.”

Because that was the curiosity wasn’t it, for all that he was well-known, there was never truly anyone who knew Wei Ming, because he would never actually say anything about his past save for vague hints. One could ask Wei Wuxian of course, but the latter had the same result because of the mere fact that Wei Wuxian didn’t know much about his older brother either beyond his personality, likes and dislikes. Any years before Wei Ming had lived with his brother was knowledge he couldn’t even forget because he never knew in the first place. Nie Mingjue never asked, and neither did Nie Huaisang. It took Wei Ying meeting other children to realize that nine-year-olds never talked the way Wei Ming did. They didn’t know facts about monsters, and they certainly never talked about demons. Yet Wei Ming had extensive knowledge since who knows how long, and no one ever questioned it.

Whether that was because Wei Ming knew how to subvert the conversation or because they simply never asked, that was a question no one could really answer. Not even Wei Wuxian, for all that he loved his Gēge, knew where to start.

Sensing the sudden dip in Wei Wuxian’s mood, Nie Huaisang brightened as much as he could, “Well it doesn’t even matter does it? He’s your brother, he’s my teacher- and he scares my brother to boot.”

Wei Wuxian laughed, if a little weakly, “He told me he actually enjoys it a little.”

Jiang Wanyin winced, “Isn’t your brother known to your Sect as the Punisher?”

With an enthusiastic nod from both Nie Sect members, they proceeded to scare everyone else by saying, “300 copies of Consequence, 200 paces across the hills and back in three days and patrolls in three of the Qinghe protected lands by the end of two weeks!”

They silently cackled as the other Sect disciples paled at the prospect.

<page break heyho>

After gently teasing Wangji of his interaction with Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen bid his brother a good night as he suddenly remembered what he had sought the older Wei out for. The technique he used was quite unique and not among any technique he had some knowledge of, though granted it could purely be because he himself was not well learned in any but the Lan Sect style. Regardless, he was hoping to have a discussion about it and to possibly inquire if the older Wei would use his expertise to critique his own swordsmanship.

He was just about to do just that before he heard an audible thunk and grunt of pain from within the room Wei Ming had been assigned for his stay here.

Lan Xichen abruptly opened the door out of instinct, blinking in surprise to find Wei Ming wielding a brush in his hand and a paper in the other, dark eyes roving the entire wooden table with apprehension.

“Mn?” Wei Ming looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, Zewu-jun. I was under the impression you had retired for the night.”

“I had initially been hoping to discuss swordsmanship with you before,” Lan Xichen looked at the papers, elegant calligraphy lining each and every one save for the large stack of paper at the corner of the table. “I admit, however, that this seems to take my interest far more at the moment.”

“Ah, well.” Wei Ming gestured to the papers. “These are lesson plans, notes if you will- but plans all the same.”

“...Lesson plans?”

Wei Ming nodded seriously, “It’s important for a teacher to understand what they are teaching every day, so as not to leave anything important out.”

“Ah…apologies, considering the subject you are teaching I thought-”

“To be fair, the material I’m teaching does require less theory than practical. Had I been teaching something akin to a bestiary subject or perhaps even medicinal practices, I wouldn’t be as extensive as this,” Wei Ming once again gestured to the large stacks. “This is not the case however, as I am teaching fighting techniques. I also have to come up with tests and exams, sort the students into pairs for sparing purposes, note everyone’s strengths and weaknesses, formulate proper lectures concerning the techniques I am teaching- that sort of thing. Besides the fact that I’m considering adding other techniques so that my students are well informed.”

Though granted the stuff he was doing was easier than when he had been Qing Jing Peak’s head disciple, the paperwork for that Sect was monstrous because of the additional lessons for music and the tactitionary course. Both were a requirement as a disciple of Qing Jing, as they were the main jack of trades within Cang Qiong as their roles were both in support and primary fighters when it came to battles. This was especially true during the pseudo war between Lou Binghe’s forces and during the battle with Tianlang-jun. Shizun would normally do most of the work but with the absence of Lou Binghe, a lot of it arrived to Ming Fan and he didn’t have the heart to inquire about it.

After Binghe’s return Ming Fan just never thought to question it anymore, Shizun was happy and he got used to the workload. It wasn’t as if he never had help either, he took charge of the male disciples while Ning Yingying took charge of the females. After Lou Binghe soon took up some work every now and then; it’s just the way things were after...After.

Wei Ming blinked after returning from his thoughts, “Hundreds of apologies, may Zewu-jun repeat himself?”

Lan Xichen smiled, “Of course, I only wished to ask if you would be open to giving me advice on my swordsmanship? Nie Mingjue mentioned before that your advice had helped him improve his saber technique and I would very much like to also improve myself now that the opportunity is open to me.”

“Or perhaps Xichen-ge would not like to be left behind by his dîdi?” Wei Ming said with an amused smile.

At this Lan Xichen’s ears colored slightly even as he smiled neutrally, “That is also a motivation, but I believe no brother would want their younger brother to leave them behind.”

“Very well, when Zewu-jun is free; we shall spar.” Wei Ming’s lips quirked. “I would also like to know if my observations are correct.”

“Let us have this spar soon Teacher Wei, thank you for your time.” Lan Xichen stood and dipped his head slightly before exiting with a final ‘good night’.

<page break hey-ho>

“Gege what are you doing?”

Wei Ming was currently in the Lan Sect library, pouring over old books that amused him and greatly reminded him of some of the brighter moments in his past life. Namely: The Resentment of Chunshan. The book itself was poor in terms of accuracy, but amusing nonetheless. He and the other disciples found themselves horrified and amused by the story described within. Even more so when the Song of BingQiu became popular among the locals.

He was also starring an old map of the land, clearly looked into by someone considering the small hand-written notes in black ink. The penmanship was oddly familiar but Wei Ming couldn’t exactly remember where.

There was also an area circled, the name Cang Qiong Sect written in careful script.

“What do you think?” He asked absentmindedly, fingers brushing over the circled area. It was far from the other Sects, inaccessible due to the mountain ranges that circled it. If one tried, they’d have to do so by climb rather than sword. The air would be thinner; challenging even for a Cultivator.

He vaguely wondered if the land had changed so much as to the sudden growth of mountains around the Cang Qiong Sect area.

“Looks like someone was trying to look for the mythical Cang Qiong Sect,” Wei Ying peered over his brother’s shoulder. Tilting his head at the map. “Weird.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Eh,” Wei Ying shrugged as he sat next to him. “Cause it’s just a legend, no one actually knows if the Cang Qiong Sect is still around. If it ever was around. I mean- demons, the War- it’s described in pretty poetry and details, but other than that- most people write it off as a fantasy since no one’s ever seen it.”

Wei Ming considered the next question carefully, “What do you believe?”

“I think there’s some truth to it,” To himself, Wei Ying vaguely wondered why the sudden inquiry. His brother had no interest in the stories that were normally told to children, he had been busy at the time and Wei Ying only knew of it because the Nie Brothers held a rather large collection of the stories of the illustrious Cang Qiong Sect and one of their most famous Lords: Shen Qingqiu. Nie Huaisang had admitted that most of these were his brother’s, and he himself was promptly amused. Now he was starting to wonder. The stories of the Cang Qiong Sect were often used for the children of Cultivators as lessons, Lan Sect used it too if what was in the library was any indication- it was an impressive collection.

Though it did have nothing on Sect Leader Nie’s secret collection of nearly all the tales of the General from Qing Jing Peak: Huázháo-jun.

“Hm, perhaps,” Wei Ming noted non-committedly, shaking his head. “Let’s talk about what to do for tomorrow.”

“Mn! You should teach-“

[Fun fact about this one up here! In this version of the story, MF brings WWX's body up through the mountains to Cang Qiong Sect in the hopes that he could get help in reviving his brother, thereby re-meeting with his fellow disciples of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect]

[thedistrictsleepsalonetonight]

100 words (or people aren’t letting Jamie sleep but she doesn’t mind because she loves them)

The part Jamie is super mad about, is that if Peter Fucking Quint hadn’t existed, she would never have realized she was in love with Dani.

It is an irrational sort of exasperation, she knows, one that doesn’t even come halfway up the massive totem pole of problems that the man caused and in theory there are a lot more things she should have been mad at him about, she knows, but this, this tiny fact irks her most. She knows she should be madder about the fact that he was stalking them all at Bly Manor, that in his misguided belief that they, rather than he himself, had caused Rebecca to kill herself, he had attacked Hannah, and Dani and nearly kidnapped Flora but. Well.  

(Guess it is easier to be furious about irrelevant things. Jamie supposes if she gives an of the above things more than five minutes of thought, she really will start boiling over with uncontrollable rage like some sort of demented teakettle.)

It is certainly easier to loathe the fact that Peter Fucking Quint will now forever be a part of their love story, one that she might quite possibly be telling her children at some point.

(A long, long time into the future, she will be telling this to Dani as they sit in their apartment, eating pancakes together.

“Children?” Dani will ask her, one eyebrow raised, lips pressed together to keep from laughing. “I don’t remember agreeing to having children with you.”

“Who else are you gonna have them with? Edna from next door?”

“Edna’s already got a husband.”

“Oh, that’s what’s stopping you?”

Dani will roll her eyes, hard and Jamie will note that it is not exactly a denial)

*****

Things have barely settled down at Bly Manor after what they’ve collectively dubbed as “The Peter Incident”, when Owen proposes a sleepover.

Everyone knows why that is. He hasn’t been able to let Hannah out of his sight for more than a couple of hours ever since she was attacked by that rat bastard. Neither has Miles. The poor kid is so wrapped up in all sorts of guilt and anger (the latter directed at Peter) that he’s been trying to make up for it by helping Hannah when she’s cleaning. They’ve tried to talk to him, but in his very young head, once he gets an idea, it’s almost impossible to talk him out of it.

And so Jamie finds herself lounging on the couch, playing cards with him, Owen and Hannah while Dani’s gone to the kitchen to get them another helping of the giant chocolate cake that Owen had baked earlier in the afternoon. Flora’s already asleep on the giant rug in front of the fire, having tuckered herself out by making them all chase her around the hall.

“You’re cheating,” Miles says, eyes narrowed.

“I most certainly am not!” Owen replies, indignantly. “I’m Owen.”

Jamie groans, and immediately gets shushed by Hannah.

“Control this man, please,” Jamie begs. At this rate she’s going to end up forfeiting by chucking all her cards at him and that would not be optimal to her ‘Impress Dani by being really cool at cards’ strategy.

Hannah just smiles fondly at him.

“You two are the worst,” Jamie grumbles. “Completely absorbed in each other.”

Of course, the statement is completely devoid of sting because that’s the moment Dani walks back in again, arms delicately handling four plates loaded with cake, and Jamie loses focus.

(Okay, so sue her for not caring about a stupid card game when her girlfriend was walking. Or breathing. Or simply existing. Everything Dani does is a glory to behold.)

She’s wearing Jamie’s bomber jacket, a jacket that is entirely too huge for her delicate frame. The sleeves have been bunched up close to her elbows, so they don’t cover her hands and the end of the jacket falls somewhere approximately mid-thigh, and Jamie is so floored by her that she forgets how to breath. The air freezes in her lungs, a product of the strange things her stomach seems to be doing inside; the blood rushing through her veins speeds up in response to the overtime beating of the very smitten organ inside her chest, and it would not be an overstatement to say that Jamie disintegrates into an enamored puddle in her seat.

“Gross,” Miles whispers, and the spell’s broken.

Owen and Hannah laugh quietly in the background, but Jamie can’t see past Dani, can’t hear anything besides the gentle ‘Hi baby’ that is whispered in her ear as the girl of her dreams settles in next to her.

The game continues.

“I don’t even know why we’re even playing,” Owen says, a few rounds later. “I mean, Jamie’s probably going to win anyways.”

“What? Why?”

“I mean, I’m sure you have a spade!”

There is a lot of staring.

“Because,” his shoulders are already shaking in laughter, “she’s a gardener!”

Hannah sighs.

“Get it?”

Dani’s the one who ends up grabbing all of Jamie’s card and throwing it at him in the end. The idiot is still laughing.

*****

Jamie watches Dani follow a trail of chaos all the way up to her room from Miles and Flora’s, picking up all sorts of things lying around. She sits, cross-legged on the bed, wrapped up in the blankets, and smiles brightly every time Dani looks up at her.

“You could help, you know?”

“I’m sorry, I’m just the gardener,” she replies, cheekily. “I’m just gonna sit here, all warm and bundled up and watch you do the child-rearing blah.”

Dani sticks her tongue out. “I’m all warm and bundled up too. And just because of that bit of cheekiness, your jacket is now mine. You’re not getting it back.”

I don’t want it back, she thinks, feeling very much like a crumpled-up piece of paper at the precious sight of her girlfriend in her clothes.

“Only if you pay me in kisses for it,” she tells Dani, solemnly.

Dani raises an eyebrow, advances, very, very slowly until she’s right up to the edge of the bed, pushes at her shoulders, until Jamie’s lying down. And then in a flash, she’s hovering over Jamie, so close that all she can see is the intense, bright blue of her eyes, all she can feel is the comforting weight of Dani on her, and the steady in and out of her breath hitting somewhere on her neck.

Jamie shivers. “Oh,” she says, because her mouth is apparently only capable of forming single syllables in the moment.

“Tell me, Jamie,” Dani asks, very quietly, the small puffs of her breathing making her feel very dismantled, “where, exactly, do you want me to kiss you?”

(If anyone asks, no, Jamie does not pass out for almost a minute. Nope. No sir. That is definitely not a thing that happens)

*****  

Jamie is dreaming of flying through the village with steel wings, so it’s a surprise when all the people start hurling stones at her.

It’s the uneven tap-tap of the pellets hitting her wings that wakes her up, and even in through the groggy haze of consciousness, she realizes the sound, hesitant as it is, is actually coming from the direction of the door.  

Disentangling from Dani is a task. An arduous one at that, mostly due to the fact that she’s so warm that Jamie kind of never wants to leave. Also because her girlfriend sleeps like a koala, completely wrapped around her. Her leg was resting on Jamie’s thighs, and she had an arm thrown over her stomach. When Jamie finally manages to get out from under her, she makes a noise in her sleep that has no business squeezing at Jamie’s heart the way that it does.

She tiptoes to the door, opens it very quietly, and then immediately drops onto her knees, looks at a very small-looking Flora.

“What,” she asks, frantically checking for she doesn’t know what. “What happened? Are you hurt? Is Miles okay?”

Flora blinks up at her. “I had a dream.”

Jamie’s hands still and come to rest on Flora’s shoulders. “Uh huh.”

“A scary dream,” Flora elaborates.

Oh thank God, she thinks, and on the heels of that, Fuck Peter Fucking Quint. She gently pulls the door close behind her and picks up Flora in one fluid motion, carrying her towards her room.

“What was the dream about?” she asks, once, she’s deposited Flora onto her bed, and complied with her request to let her hold one of the dolls.

“Peter,” Flora says, her eyes wide and serious.

(From the bottom of her heart, fuck Peter Fucking Quint)

“Peter isn’t here, though,” she says, getting up from the bed and making a huge show of bending down to check under the mattress. She walks over to the closet, and pulls it open with a flourish, turning her head in an exaggerated motion from side to side to scan it. “See? Nothing.”

“Behind the dollhouse,” Flora points.

“If he were behind the dollhouse, your dolls could easily beat him up,” Jamie tells her, and Flora giggles. She checks, anyways.

“Jamie, I’m awfully sorry I woke you up,” Flora says once she’s next to the bed again, and Jamie feels an invisible hand nudge something into place around her chest at the look on her face.

“Well, I’m not sorry you woke me up, so don’t worry about it, okay?”

Flora smiles.

*****

When she walks out of Flora’s room, she nearly get another heart attack at the sight of Dani standing, motionless, just behind the door.

“Jesus fucking—” she gasps, hand on her chest. “What is with the members of this place trying to scare the fuck out of me?”

“You’re a giant baby,” Dani says, already falling into step beside her, hand instinctually coming up to wrap around Jamie’s waist. “And I thought I was supposed to be the child-rearing expert, huh?”

This is Flora, she thinks. She’s grown up in front of me. I’ve watched them shoot up like my roses. I’ve loved those buggers a thousand times more than any flower I’ve ever raised.  

“You’re an eavesdropper,” Jamie retorts, instead.

“And you’re a leavesdropper,” Dani announces, and immediately starts giggling. “Because you trim the plants.”

Jamie sighs.

*****

They stand by the window in the middle of the night, looking out over Bly Manor grounds. Jamie has dragged the blanket out of the bed, and wrapped it around them, as she rests her chin on Dani’s shoulder from behind.

“Has Owen worked up the courage to kiss Hannah yet?” Dani asks, as they watch them crashed on top of each other next to the fire burning near the lake.

Jamie chuckles. “I don’t think so.”

“What a loser.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she deadpans, pressing a quick kiss to Dani’s red cheeks. “Some people like taking it slow. Unlike others who propose sleeping together on the first date.”

Dani tips her head back, looks at her, her eyes bright and full of laughter. “You didn’t sound like you minded very much. In fact, if I remember well, you sounded a lot like—”

Jamie holds her palm over Dani’s mouth. “Shut up,” she says, blushing.

Dani maneuvers until they’re facing each other, presses her forehead to Jamie’s. “No regrets?” she asks, and the question is casual, but her eyebrows are drawn together.

Jamie smoothens her brow. “None.”

Dani kisses her. “Same. Every shitty thing Peter did to us, I’m — I’m still okay with it in some weird way because it led me to you.”

The girl of her dreams stands in her arms in the middle of the night, sleepy and earnest, and Jamie feels her world tilting for a minute. It settles on a new axis; the air shifts to make space for all the extra tenderness she guesses is probably pouring out of her right now; and Jamie realizes her world will never be the same again.

(There’s something finally prettier than the moon in her universe)

She opens her mouth, almost says three words.

“What?” Dani asks.

Jamie shakes her head. Too soon.

“Let’s go to bed,” she says, instead, and things are as close to perfect as they could possibly be.

[chenoehi]

Points about U.S. Election

(As I was typing this, Biden has taken the lead in GA but it’s still not called yet. Trump will undoubtedly demand a recount so if it’s really close a recount could flip it back for Trump.)

Just a little update from my previous post on the election results, although no one cares about my opinion. Rest assured, this is purely for my own sanity.

First thoughts:

1. Arizona being wishy washy throws a real monkey wrench in the wheels of this circus train from the perspective of Biden’s bid. It sounds crazy given how the Associated Press operates when it comes to elections (being very careful to call states too early) but the AP might have fucked up. Ironically, it would mean that Fox News, the only conservative leaning major network news outlet, also fucked up by calling AZ for Biden, an even more confusing fact when we consider that CNN, NBC, MSNBC, and other liberal leaning outlets have NOT called AZ for Biden. It has been amusing seeing conservatives on Twitter (particularly the trollish, nasty, insult-slinging ones—as opposed to normal every day conservatives) say fuck you to Fox News where Republicans have been tuning in to worship at the alter of Trump for the last four years. Politics always drives home what fickle creatures we really are. This is no offense to Republicans honestly. I have little use for broadcasters with their own shows who call themselves journalists. CNN, NBC, and MSNBC are in the tank for Democrats and Fox News is Trumpland. Fox News used to be more moderate when Bush was president but that’s been a lifetime ago. Now politics are even more idealogical than they were before, and the Republican voters are almost embracing Trump now more than they are embracing conservative values. Or at least that’s what I see in my corner of the deep red South, aka Tennessee. I digress. Point is, true journalists report the facts with no outward bias. These people are political commentators. I have a journalism degree. I wrote for my school paper and helped run it. I covered the 2016 election. I’ve met real journalists at AP and newspapers. Those people are not it.

2. In other news, Nevada may not even matter now if Biden can flip Georgia and Pennsylvania (which is happening in GA and may soon happen in PA if Biden can keep the upward momentum). That would make my points in the previous post almost irrelevant now. It goes to show how unpredictable this election has been, more so than expected. If Biden flips GA for good, Trump will have to win every other state (Alaska, North Carolina, Nevada, and Pennsylvania) AND flip Arizona back to gain just 269 electoral votes. If he fails to flip AZ or if he flips AZ and then loses just one other state it’s game over. If Biden wins GA and AZ still flips for Trump  because it was called too early, then his 253 electoral votes (sans the 11 that AZ gives him) will turn into 269. He will still have to win one more state to gain 270. If Biden loses AZ and then doesn’t win any other state outside of GA he has 269 votes, and if Trump wins all the other states (PA, NC, NV, AL, AZ) he has 269 votes. If that scenario happens, neither men will get the needed 270 votes and we are royally fucked. If you think Trump demanding a recount in Wisconsin with a 20k gap (SAME AS HIS OWN GAP IN 2016, TALK ABOUT HYPOCRISY, NOT TO MENTION 2016 ALSO SAW A 10K GAP IN MICHIGAN) is bad, and if you think it’s really bad that we don’t have a President-elect at almost 3 days post election, imagine the horror of a nationwide recount or worse.

3. No one has any fucks to give about Alaska and North Carolina, still. 

4. I really didn’t want to spend energy talking about Trump but I just find it so tragic that he wants the votes to continue to be counted in Arizona where the mail-ins are now turning it around in his favor, meanwhile in Pennsylvania and Georgia he tossed out lawsuits to stop the counting because there’s all this corruption and voter fraud because his lead is slipping due to the mail-ins and absentees. Oh, and he needed to move his people just a few feet closer to observe the ballots being counted, although if they’re close enough to read the language of the ballots then that constitutes an invasion of privacy. But everything is gravy in Arizona. #allvotesmatter. No disrespect to BLM, full stop. I find irony in comparing that phrase to this voting situation because Trump certainly wants conservative votes in Arizona to matter because it means something to him. Whereas, votes incoming from Fulton County in GA (Atlanta) and from Philadelphia, PA, and Detroit, MI—all heavily Black-populated cities—are being scrutinized and declared criminal. I find it tragically ironic, so I use that comparison here and elsewhere. I’m not making light of the movement by doing so (just to be clear).

Now, a break down of this shitshow:

What did we expect to happen?

Both camps thought they could win by a landslide.

Both camps have had their egos bruised.

We expected Trump to make accusations if he didn’t perform well or if he lost.

Trump already set the precedent for this behavior in 2016 when he complained that a loss then would be because the vote was rigged. Turns out, it wasn’t. And his paper thin margins were totally fine and not the cause of voter fraud and fishiness and he didn’t steal the election.

We did not expect him to go quietly into that night. The exact opposite of what happened in 2016 is happening now and Trump’s hypocrisy and immaturity is showing full force. Even some of his supporters are saying he’s whack. That’s bad, but then again, many Republicans have had concerns over his Tweets and rhetoric for the last four years and have done nothing about it. Consequently, he’s lost a lot of former supporters and I don’t even know what his cabinet looks like now. I digress.

Everyone expected Biden to carry most of the mail-in and absentee ballots and for Trump to carry most of the in-person votes.

That is exactly what has happened in pretty much all the swing states save for AZ.

Why is that?

Trump encouraged his followers to vote in-person during early voting periods and to turn out big on election day and specifically to not mail their ballots in or use absentee ballots. Meanwhile, Biden encouraged people to mail in their ballots to stay safe.

We always have some mail-ins and some absentees each election cycle but because of COVID this 2020 election means that we have had millions of these types of ballots this year, which are always more time consuming to process and count. 

In Michigan alone, 2/3 of the state cast mail-in or absentee ballots. Michigan was one of the states like Wisconsin where Trump’s early lead was dashed once the in-person ballots were finished being tallied. Unlike in Arizona, Georgia, and Pennsylvania, Michigan has ended up with a gap of nearly 150k votes for Biden and doesn’t yet appear to be subject to a recount. Meanwhile, Wisconsin went to Biden with a 20k gap but will seemingly be subjected to a recount. The former governor of Wisconsin (who is in the tank for Trump) even spoke out initially and said that unless they can uncover a severe degree of voter fraud or mishandling of ballots (transposed numbers, etc) then 20k is a lot to overcome.

What has happened? The Red Mirage and the Blue Shift.

Generally, in-person votes are the easiest and quickest to tabulate. Mail-in ballots and absentee ballots take longer because they take longer to be processed. Then there are provisional ballots, which generally take the longest because these are votes from people who might actually be ineligible to vote (possibly because of residency status or criminal history; for example, if the latter then their voting rights may have been temporarily suspended).

Key swing states like Florida, Texas, and maybe Ohio (but specifically FL and TX) were allowed to start counting their mail-in and absentee ballots early.

FL and TX saw Biden having an early lead before ultimately Trump gained the lead and won as soon as the in-person ballots started being counted. So, mail-ins and absentee ballots tallied first, in-person ballots tallied second in these states. A Blue Mirage, and then a Red Shift.

However, news commentators have long been discussing the following scenario: the Red Mirage, aka, the tallied in-person votes overwhelmingly skewing Republican being counted first and making states appear to be in Trump’s favor when in actuality Biden would win them in the end once mail-ins and absentees were counted last, causing the Blue Shift (aka the current shift we are seeing now in several swing states, but also harkening back to the 2016 election when Trump caused what was dubbed a “Red Wave” when he swept almost all of the swing states. Aka, now a Blue Shift nationwide).

Why does all this matter to the accusations of voter fraud?

Prior to election day, the GOP (conservatives/Republicans) blocked certain key swing states from being able to count mail-ins and absentees early on. That means that all the ballots that were received in certain states during early voting periods and right up to election day (November 3rd) were unable to be counted until the day of the election.

This block happened in Pennsylvania, Michigan, and Wisconsin. I don’t know about Georgia, I don’t think this happened with GA but maybe.

So, unlike FL and TX, which leaned for Biden early on and then shifted, the opposite is happening in PA and GA, and we have seen Biden take MI and WI both.

Arizona is an anomaly because although Biden was expected to sweep a majority of the mail-in and absentee ballots, and has to a large degree nationwide, in Arizona it has been Trump who has taken a larger % of those ballots. Arizona is kind of a coin toss because Trump has a lot of supporters there, and it goes to Republicans most of the time. So Biden’s lead (and possible win) is surprising, but Trump is closing the gap slowly.

What are some things that people are forgetting?

One critical thing is that the USPS (U.S. Postal Service) fucking sucks.

It was reported either on election day or the next morning that the USPS misplaced 300k ballots. They were given more time by a judge to sweep their facilities to find these ballots (how tf do you lose 300k ballots in the first place).

The USPS has been noncompliant when it comes to this and other issues, causing several setbacks and problems.

Many ballots were delivered late. Republicans said that was fraud. They wanted to stop the counting of these ballots in some places. But as long as the ballots were mailed (aka postmarked) by election day then they are still valid, legal ballots. The USPS not delivering them on time is a separate issue.

Some of those ballots are for Trump and other candidates. Not all are for Biden. So he’d be costing himself votes too, which is counterintuitive.

Now, Trump has changed his narrative to ‘we want all legal ballots to be counted’. So I guess that means he’s cool now with the ballots being counted in AZ days after the election, just as long as they give him a change to win back the state.

Why are Trump’s accusations “dangerous,” hypocritical, and insulting?

Trump can turn a blind eye to his Hail Mary pass in Arizona and possibly Nevada this year (which he lost in 2016), and he can embrace the fact that he swept the election in 2016, won most of the swing states, many of which were expected to vote Democrat, and he can gloss over his paper-thin margins in 2016, which are eerily similar to this margins that Biden is now securing.

He can do all this because he won in 2016, and because he could win AZ and NV. But, he doesn’t like that he’s losing his lead in PA, and that he lost MI, WI, and currently the lead in GA. And of course it has to mean there was fraud and corruption if he’s losing right, because there’s no way he could lose in a fair election right? Because he’s so well-liked, right?

And I’m sure someone will point out that Democrats complained that the 2016 election wasn’t fair and that the result was influenced by the Russians and etc. etc. So Democrats are now hypocrites for calling Trump out on his bullshit statements with no evidence.

I agree that the “Trump didn’t win a fair race” argument is stupid, and that has been no more evident than it is right now obviously seeing that his popularity was no fluke. Biden is close to winning the race, but by a small margin. The country is extremely divided, and I don’t see that changing any time soon.

However, Trump is not really levying any specific accusations against Biden that I can see. What I’m hearing is Trump making vague accusations against the states, the election commissions, the polling offices, the people counting, and everyone that is specifically responsible for handling and counting the votes.

What is something that no one talking about, something that is incredibly hypocritical of Trump and Republicans to not point out in light of their accusations?

Alaska and North Carolina.

Why is neither Trump nor any conservative not pointing out how Alaska and North Carolina haven’t finished counting, or how NC has stopped counting and updating their votes for a whole day now? Why is no one saying anything about Alaska only having 50% of their votes reported 3 days after the polls opened? Where is the rage and conspiracy theories about those states and their stalled counting? Why aren’t they complaining about possible voter fraud in those states and worried something fishy is going on? Where are the lawsuits in Anchorage and Raleigh?

Oh, is it because everyone (including Democrats) knows Trump is going to win those states? Do we need an #allstatesmatter movement or something to get them to notice that we still don’t have any updates from them? (No offense to BLM, full stop.)

They don’t care about the issues in NC and AL. They only care about slow counting and fraud accusations in the states where their standing is subject to change. Meaning AKA, if the vote ends in their favor by a narrow margin of let’s say 1,000 votes then they’ll praise it as a win but if they lose the state by 20,000 votes like they did in.. oh, say Wisconsin this year, then they’ll claim voter fraud and demand a recount. Also like they have done in, you guessed it, Wisconsin. So, it’s OK if they eek out a win of 20k in Wisconsin back in 2016, and it’s OK if they eek out wins in Arizona and Nevada after Biden’s current lead, that’s not evidence of potential voter fraud, but if Biden gets a 20k win in Wisconsin this year that’s suspicious.

So Trump is fine with overtaking Biden with Hail Mary passes and narrow margins. He’s fine with all the mysterious votes for him that people are “finding everywhere” in AZ now (using his words he used to describe Biden’s gains). There’s no voter fraud going on in AZ where the mail-ins and absentees are still being counted like everywhere else, despite Trump and other Republicans complaining about the fact that votes are still being counted days after the election and that these ballots are bad in general. There’s no fraud in states where Biden initially had the lead after mail-ins were counted but is now seeing saw his lead shrink as in TX and FL, or in AZ where Biden (like Trump now in PA and GA) is seeing his early lead shrink now that mail-ins and absentees are being counted. There’s no fraud in AZ because Trump is the one gaining the advantage. And there’s also no fraud going on in Alaska where there is still only 50% votes reported or in North Carolina where 94% votes were reported before being delayed now a full day.

Quick question: do you see any Democrats or Liberals claiming Trump’s camp or the AZ counties themselves are purposefully locking that state up in his favor with mail-ins and absentees after seeing how many votes were needed for Trump to win it once the in-person ballots were tallied—as Trump so eloquently accused the Democrats and polls in PA, GA, MI, and WI of doing in his press conference yesterday afternoon? Because that’s basically what he said in his press conference. He made the accusation that they looked at the tally after in-person votes were counted, saw what votes were needed for Biden to win the state, and then suddenly they just started finding votes everywhere. Again, where are the watchdogs barking about people in Arizona and Nevada suddenly finding Trump votes everywhere? Suddenly, absentee and mail-in ballots are…good.

A summary of the hypocrisy and bullshit.

Trump wanted people to vote in person.

Trump said there was no way he could lose the election fairly. (Arrogance and also setting the stage for his legal arguments.)

Trump said that mail-ins and absentees were not trustworthy and basically they could be used to rig the election. (Also setting the stage for legal arguments. Again, we have always used these types of ballots in elections and everyone knows they skew heavily Democratic so if Trump says they’re not trustworthy all of a sudden and millions of people vote this way due to COVID, then we got ourselves a huge case of fraud.)

Trump fails to mention that a fraction of the mail-ins and absentees in every state are still for him or Independent candidates and that with each update his vote count also rises along with Biden’s.

He fails to acknowledge that in AZ the mail-ins and absentees are favoring him more than Biden and that they are the reason he’s gaining in AZ now, and he’s more than willing to say that counting should continue there and to take his gains as a sign he’ll win the state. And it totally doesn’t matter that this is a direct contradiction of his statement that mail-ins and absentees are tools for Dems to ‘steal’ elections.

The early Blue Mirage in states like TX and FL, where the mail-ins and absentees were counted early and the first votes leaned Biden, were followed by in-person ballots and leaned overwhelmingly Trump.

The Blue Mirage of Arizona is seeing mail-ins and absentees turn out to be not in Biden’s favor but rather in Trump’s favor, the opposite of what happened in TX/FL (and what’s happening in GA and PA).

All these shifts in Trump’s favor in states where mail-ins and absentees have either been giving the wrong overall impression initially because they were counted first (FL/TX) before shifting drastically for Trump once in-person ballots were considered. Because those states were allowed to count these ballots early and were not made to wait until election day to start counting.

The results of mail-ins and absentees in AZ are not what people expected and have ended up shifting now at the last minute for Trump after in-persons have been counted. No one is claiming that this last minute shift is suspicious.

Democrats will still most likely lose the Senate, where they only gained 1 seat, and their only hope of possibly winning the Senate is if they A. pick up more seats organically and B. if Biden wins then Vice President-elect Harris could cast a vote for the Democrats.

Democrats have not quite swept the House either. They will probably hold onto the House but they have lost 5 (count it FIVE) seats to Republicans and the one lone Independent seat was also lost to the Republicans so at this point the conservatives have gained a total of 6 (SIX) seats. Their representatives are also leading in a lot of places so they will gain bare minimum probably 10 more seats and there are only 34 left (according to AP as of this moment).

All of the Republican Congressional candidates are performing well, whereas Trump (the incumbent Republican President) is losing, and at the very best still performing poorly. Including losing the popular vote by 4 million votes. This is stunning because normally in this situation the congressional candidates would not necessarily outperform the incumbent president of their party.

Basically, if the Democrats really wanted to rig this whole election then they have done a very shit job of it. I would like to speak to a manager.

That’s it. I’m done. If you read all of this, you’re the OG. I hope some of what I said resonates.

[diagnosed-by-doyle]

MC who doesn’t speak much

“Scenario- Ikevamp Scenario with an MC that often holds their tongue when they speak because they’re use to being around people tell them what they say is irrelevant and so they’re either soft spoken or silent but often have a lot on their mind.”

I’m sorry this took me a few days to get to, anon. One of my professors moved up a due date by a week and a half.

Before I get started, I just want to say that you’re not alone in this. I’m always happy to lend an ear to you.

I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~

None of these sweet boys would ever tell you that what you have to say isn’t important, and they’re always happy to hear what’s on your mind.

~~~~~

Arthur:

With one look at you, he can tell that there’s something wrong. One way or another, he’ll get you to tell him.

When he finally does get you to tell him, he makes it a point to ask for your opinion on everything you do together.

He will try his hardest to get you to see that you can be yourself with him.

With his vampiric hearing, he can hear you even though you’re speaking quietly. But he doesn’t want you to feel like you have to be reserved with him. He’ll work with you to boost your self-confidence.

Comte:

At first, he thinks that being quiet and reserved may just be your personality. He quickly realizes that that isn’t the case when he’s talking with Leonardo about a ball and you look like you want to say something.

He encourages you to speak your mind whenever he sees you wearing that expression.

He’ll set aside some time every day for you and him to talk and have tea. He genuinely enjoys these times with you, so he wants you to relax and be yourself so that you can enjoy them too.

Dazai:

Your expression is familiar to him, so he has a good idea of what you’re feeling. He doesn’t need to coax you into talking about it since he already understands.

He’ll keep doing things that make less and less sense (i.e. appearing with a chicken in his arms). Eventually, he’ll do something so strange that you can’t help but comment--from confusion to laughter, he’ll take anything. It’s his way of getting your attention.

He’ll randomly appear next to you and tease a resident in hearing range. When he’s certain he has your full attention, he’ll ask you how your day has been and make conversation with you. As you start opening up, he will ask questions that require some thought instead of just pleasantries.

Once you realize that he hasn’t once told you that what you think doesn’t matter, you slowly begin to get more comfortable with the other residents.

Isaac:

He thinks that you’re shy just like him. When he sees you deep in thought one day, he will ask you what’s wrong. He finally catches on when you tell him it’s nothing. Anyone could see that there was certainly something wrong.

He’ll put his shyness aside to talk to you.

Your quiet, short conversations together are awkward at first, but you soon grow more comfortable with each other.

Since he spends a good bit of time teaching the children in the city, he asks you to come along. The children have lots of questions. “Is she your girlfriend? She’s pretty!” They bring you out of your shell when they start asking you questions instead.

Jean:

He doesn’t really go out in search of conversation, but he doesn’t mind talking to you. He intrigued by your soft-spoken words and can tell that you’re uncomfortable.

At first, he thinks that you just don’t feel comfortable around him. After living with you for some time and observing your behavior around the other residents, he realizes that your behavior with him is the same as with everyone.

From time to time, he’ll play cards with you in an attempt to get you to talk. When he finally feels that you are comfortable with him,  he starts approaching you more often when he notices you doing work around the mansion.

Eventually, the two of you have lengthy conversations. He’s happy when he feels like you’re enjoying yourself around him.

Since you know that he isn’t particularly outspoken, it warms your heart to know that he talks to you more than anyone.

Leonardo:

He notices that you won’t say much unless you’re asked a direct question. This happens while he’s doing research in the library while you’re cleaning. Your eyes locked with his a couple times, yet you never said anything. You were about to leave when he asked you how you were enjoying your time at the mansion. Your answer was very quiet, leaving him wondering if you’re upset about something.

Sometimes he pretends to be asleep so he can learn if that’s your usual behavior or if something is actually wrong. He peeks at you when you’re not looking, and he can tell that you never really say what you want to say.

He comes to visit you in your room one day. He wants to get to know you, and he teases you some in hopes that it will get you to be more easygoing and tease him back.

You frequently find him asleep outside your room. Maybe you’re afraid of living with vampires?

He soon proves to you through his caring actions that you can talk to him without fear of being told that your opinions don’t matter.

Mozart:

He rarely converses with the other residents, so he doesn’t usually see you unless you come to bring him Rouge or Blanc. He finds it a bit strange that you leave him with a quiet “You’re welcome” when he thanks you for the drink.

When you bring him his drink one random day, he asks you to sit next to him on the piano bench. After taking your seat, he’ll play for you the piece he recently finished composing. Once he’s done, he’ll ask you what you thought of it. An answer such as “It was nice” will not satisfy him. He’ll press you for details until you give him a satisfactory answer.

He starts to do this so often that you come to expect it once a week or so. You build up a mutual understanding with each other. Your opinion has become valuable to him. He finds that he wants to please you with each piece he creates.

Sebastian is surprised when he comes in search of you after you took such a long time and sees you talking to Mozart. Your closeness with Mozart leads Sebastian to ask you for details (He’s eager to write what you tell him in his journal.). Thanks to Mozart, you little by little become more confident with speaking your opinion to others.

Napoleon:

You’re assigned to wake him up after a few days of staying in the mansion. Needless to say, you’re shocked when he kisses you. After he finally wakes up enough to realize what he’s done and to who, he ask if you’re alright. After a simple “I’m fine,” he knows that you are, in fact, not fine.

Throughout the day, he tries to talk to you about it whenever he bumps into you. Finally, he tells you that you don’t have to pretend. You can say what you’d like with him.

After you finally give him an answer, he’ll take you for a ride on his horse as an apology.

From then on, he always makes an effort to talk to you and make you feel comfortable with him and everyone else.

Sebastion:

From the very beginning, he’s asking you about your interactions with the mansion’s residents.

He’ll accept your quiet, short answers at first. As time goes on, however, he’ll want more detailed answers. He believed you to just be shy.

Realizing that shyness isn’t the case, he makes time for daily “staff meetings”. These “meetings” exist so that he can get to know you. It’s hard to be in a new place without truly knowing anyone.

While talking to you, the two of you bond over experiences you had in your time (the future). He’s eager to know what your favorite things were and are. As you grow closer, the two of you start working on tasks together so that they can be completed faster. While you’re working the two of you talk to each other.

When the other residents appear, they’ll join your conversation. This is how you become more comfortable with everyone.

Shakespeare:

He finally gets to meet you at one of Comte’s balls. He wants a chance to get to know you, so he invites you to his house for tea and sweets.

He’s intrigued by you. You’re adorable in every sense of the word. He finds your soft voice endearing.

He’ll be a perfect gentleman when you come to visit. He’ll ask you questions about yourself and how you’re enjoying Paris and life in the mansion. He also asks for your opinion on his plays. He doesn’t push you for more answers, but you can tell he’s always happy when you give him some detail or start a new topic on your own.

He introduces you to his shady acquaintances. The introductions he gives of you show his admiration.

Once you realize that he’s nothing but kind to you, you’re more open to being yourself with him.

Theo:

His initial harsh behavior toward you only makes things worse. When you quickly leave the room without a word, he feels a bit confused. He’s used to people biting back at him whether they know him or not.

Comte and Vincent have to have a talk with him and explain that you’re sensitive. After that long talk, he comes to apologize to you. It’s a brief apology, but still an apology--something you’re not used to receiving.

He talks to you every morning at breakfast. He’ll even ask what you think about a couple of the articles he’d read in the paper that morning.

You notice that he’s a lot nicer to you than a lot of the other residents. He’s almost put you on the same level as his brother. Because of that, you decide that not everyone is like the people you’ve encountered in your past.

Vincent:

He always has some words of gratitude for you whenever he sees you. You work so hard that he feels it’s only right for him to show his appreciation.

His calming aura makes it easy to talk to him once he strikes up a conversation with you. He’s saddened that you don’t seem to say what’s on your mind, though. He can tell that something’s wrong.

He doesn’t feel like he should pry, but he lets you know that he’d love to listen to anything you have to say. He always shows you his finished paintings and asks what you think. If there’s a painting you really like, he’s more than happy to give it to you.

Every time he needs more supplies, he asks you to accompany him. While in town, the two of you stop take a break at a cafe that has the loveliest sweets. His smile is contagious.

He doesn’t say anything since he doesn’t want you to be surprised, but he’s genuinely thrilled about how happy you seem when you’re with him. He’s even more overjoyed when you start coming to him on your own once you’ve become comfortable with him.

[ihatecoconut]

4 Times People Found Out They Were Dating, And The One Who Always Knew.

1-      Jack

Jack was, to most people, pretty mild-mannered. The angriest most newsies had seen him had been during the strike, and even then, it wasn’t anything on how angry some of the other older newsies could get.

Some people said that he was mild-mannered thanks to the years of being in charge of the newsies, others argued that he was their leader because he was so calm all the time, but it was irrelevant really. Jack was calm. He was the one who broke up fights, he never started them unless he was defending someone.

This was the reason it was such a surprise when Jack and Race got into a heated argument one night after the littles had gone to bed.

“Jack, all the littles are asleep. You don’t need my help.”

“It’s not the point is it?” Jack hissed back, teeth clenched and very aware that raising his voice would wake them up.

“Then what the hell is the point?”

“You keep sneaking out! And don’t think I don’t know where you’re going, you’re sneaking over to Brooklyn every night, ain’t ya?”

Race didn’t see the point in denying it. “Yeah, I am, what’s it to you?”

“What’s it to me? You’re my second! Mine! If you wanna be Brooklyn so bad, you might as well stay there.”

“Maybe I will.” Race snapped, keeping his voice low, and then he turned and left, continuing his original path out of the lodging house, pausing to call back to Jack, “Don’t expect me back in the morning.”

*

Race was many things, a gambler, a newsie, but most importantly he was true to his word. He was not back in the morning, or the evening. Through the day Jack could put on an indifferent face- “I’m not in control of where he goes, he sells in Brooklyn anyway, he’ll be back this evening”- but when Racer was nowhere to be seen come sunset he began to worry. The littles sensed that, they knew something was wrong when it wasn’t Race who woke them in the morning, he would always tell them if he wouldn’t be there.

“I want Racer to tuck me in.” Rain objected. A chorus of ‘me too’s agreed with him and Jack found himself looking around the littles’ area hopelessly.

“He ain’t back yet kid, sorry.”

A couple of them started crying and Jack looked around desperately for help. To his relief, Albert and Crutchie had come in to settle them down.

Albert caught his shoulder as he moved out, “You need to apologise to him. He’s Manhattan, and we need him.

“I will. In the morning.”

Morning came and Jack bought less papers than usual, planning his walk over to Brooklyn and his apology to Race in his head. He managed to sell a few on the walk, stopped by one passer-by to ask where the boy he normally bought from was because he hadn’t seen him today or yesterday. Jack gave a quick and hopefully sufficient answer and walked on, behind him the man shrugged and opened his paper.

“Ay! Hot Shot!” Jack called, gratefully upon seeing Spot’s second, Hot Shot gave him a cold look.

“You ain’t supposed to be in Brooklyn.”

“I’m looking for Racer.”

Hot Shot stared at him for a couple seconds.

“I’m here to apologise.”

“He’s with Spot.”

“Thanks.”

Jack walked away, forcing himself not to glance back at Hot Shot despite the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck. Everyone knew Spot’s normal selling place; it was where his newsies could find him with a problem or where other boroughs could find him to discuss business.

The only problem was that Spot was nowhere in sight when he approached the docks.

Confused, Jack began to wander around, glancing around and listening out in case Spot had decided that he’d had enough of Race on his turf and was going to soak him. He glanced down an alley, saw two boys kissing and hurriedly kept going. It was weird, he thought, that Spot hadn’t gotten rid of the boys who used his selling spot as a make out spot.

“Kelly!” He turned at Spot’s voice,

“I’ve been looking all over for you two!”

Spot raised an eyebrow, Race was standing a little way behind him and his lips looked kinda swollen, and he had a bruise on his neck and- oh. Jack almost laughed, how had he missed that? This was why Race had been sneaking over to Brooklyn at night, this was why Spot was alright with him selling in Brooklyn.

“I’m sorry,” he found himself saying, before he’d even finished processing his stupidity, “I know you’re Manhattan, and I shouldn’t have accused you have being a traitor or anything, but I need you- I can’t run it without ya.”

“How sweet.” Spot muttered, but he shut up when Race moved past him to hug Jack.

“That was all I needed.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He paused and glanced at Spot. “I get it now.”

2-      Davey

Jack ran Manhattan and Davey had been his right-hand man during the strike, so he guessed it made a small amount of sense that some newsies from other boroughs assumed he was now Jack’s second. Most didn’t seem to care either way when he corrected them until he ran into Queens’ second. He couldn’t remember the kid’s name, and the kid only called him ‘Mouth’ so he wasn’t really interested in learning it.

“Ay, Mouth.”

“Hey.”

“I just want to tell ya that when I take over for Queens I wanna make a proper alliance with ‘Hattan, now you’re the second.”

Davey nearly told him that he wasn’t the second, that was still Race no matter what people seemed to think, but the kid’s attitude confused him. “Why not before?”

“Didn’t wanna when there was a risk of having to deal with the last one.”

“The last… second? Racer?

“Yeah, fuckin’ fairy, y’know?”

Davey did not, in fact, know, but he nodded anyway and didn’t correct the kid because he was a little worried about what his reaction would be. He found Les and Jack quite easily due to the amount of noise they were making and quietly explained what the kid from Queens had said to him, only saying that he apparently didn’t like Race for whatever reason.

Jack’s face went hard, and he nodded, smiling when Les turned back to them. “I’ll arrange a meeting with Queens soon.” Was all he said, and Davey relaxed, it wasn’t his problem anymore.

Or he thought it wasn’t. Not correcting the kid had apparently been a mistake because he had gone and blabbed to a load of his friends about how the Mouth was replacing the fairy, and it had got to Brooklyn, which was why an angry Spot Conlon had shown up at their lodging house demanding to speak to Jack. Both Davey and Race had got up when he had come in, but both been ignored.

Together they watched the boys argue from the window, Spot kept hitting his cane on the ground as if the emphasise a point.

“What do you think’s wrong?” Davey asked, knowing Race knew Spot much better than he ever would.

“Apparently some kid from Queens has been going around saying Jack made you second.” Race replied, “he asked me about it today.”

“Oh God,” Davey muttered, remembering the kid from a few weeks back.

Race turned his head to stare at him, “What? What did you do?”

Normally he would have been slightly offended by the accusatory tone in Race’s voice, but the guilt at maybe being the cause of this overwhelmed that and he quickly retold the conversation.

Race frowned, “He say why he didn’t like me?”

“Yeah… he called you a fairy. I don’t…”

“You don’t know what that means?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m queer.”

“Queer?”

“I like boys like most guys like girls.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

Spot’s anger suddenly seemed to make more sense. Spot didn’t hate Davey; he wouldn’t have this big of an issue with him being Jack’s second. He was angry on Race’s behalf.

When he saw Spot pull Race out of sight, just before he left, Davey waited until Race came back.

“So, Spot, huh?”

Race threw a cigar at him, “Shut up.”

3-      Crutchie

Crutchie walked in on them, there was no long build up to him finding out, he just refused to be distracted by Davey who knew exactly what Spot and Race were doing on the roof. (making out)

Davey knowing had been a slight relief to Race, he could tell one person the truth- who actually bought him a new shirt, why he had a small flower behind his ear, where he was gonna take Spot the few times he came to the Lower Manhattan lodging house rather than the other way around. And Davey had performed admirably in the position of confidant, even going as far as to distract anyone who made like they were going to wherever Spot and Race were hiding.

This time, he had failed. Crutchie wasn’t as easily distracted as the other newsies (neither was Jack, but he was still keeping Race’s secret) and he had noticed Davey’s pattern. He had also noticed bruises on Race after Spot had been by and was suspicious.

Slipping away from the group and making sure he was out of Davey’s eyeline, Crutchie quietly made it up the stairs, as quietly as one could when using a wooden crutch. Unfortunately, Race and Spot were very confident in Davey’s abilities and slightly distracted by each other, and so did not hear the crutch on the stairs or anything at all until Crutchie went “Oh my God!”

Yanking away from each other they both gaped up at him, trying to come up with some excuse for why they had been kissing. Crutchie gaped back and the roof was silent for a very long time.

Eventually Crutchie found his voice again, “Sorry, I’ll just, uh…” he backed away finding the door with his hand, “Carry on!” and then he fled, as fast as he could, sitting next to Davey and swearing that he would never doubt him again.

Up on the roof Race and Spot watched him go and immediately started laughing, great gasping laughs of relief and hysteria.

“It’s Crutchie. He wouldn’t tell anyone.” They reassured each other, “We’re safe.”

4-      Katherine

Katherine hadn’t really meant to become part of the newsies group, she had just been hanging around them because she was dating Jack, and after they broke up, because she was friends with Davey and his sister and the lodging house was really the only place she could meet up with them. Anyway, she accidentally had become part of the group and Race had taught her to play card games, she was pretty certain he let her win whenever she did, but he was a naturally nice person and they never did it for money between the two of them due to the huge imbalance.

Regardless of the imbalance, the three years between them, and the fact that they had almost no common interests, one year on from the strike, Katherine considered Race one of her closest friends. Weirdly, she found that he was also the person she went to for relationship advice when Darcy asked her on a date- Race was kind, slightly cynical, understanding of her confusion and supportive when she eventually decided that she did want to go on the date.

Three months into dating Darcy, it suddenly hit her that Race gave shockingly good advice, almost as if he were in a long-term relationship and understood personally. He was especially good at advice when Darcy had to move away to help his father with business.

“Are you seeing anyone?” she asked as they sat down at the back of the room for their private game,

“Like dating, a ghost or a shrink?” Race responded, grinning up at her,

“Dating.”

“Why miss Pulitzer, you are a taken woman!”

She threw her cards at him, “Answer the question, idiot.”

He sobered suddenly, “Why do you want to know?”

“You give advice like you are. To me, about Darcy.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“I am seeing someone.”

Sensing that he didn’t really want her to push the subject, Katherine nodded and picked up her cards again. Race did not, staring at the small table instead.

“It’s Spot.”

“What?”

“I’m seeing Spot.”

She blinked twice. Not selling papers meant that she only really spent time with the newsies in the evening and she wasn’t completely aware of the complex newsie politics, but… “The King of Brooklyn?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m impressed,” she told him, trying to steer the conversation back to the light-hearted joking he seemed to prefer, “that’s some catch.”

Race laughed and finally picked up his cards again, “For sure.”

 Later as she was leaving he hugged her, “Thanks Kath.”

 +1- Albert

Albert prided himself on being Race’s best friend, the first person to know when something was wrong or right in Race’s life, the first person Race told when he had won big at the races and he had spent years in that position. Years that he had spent learning Race’s body language, learning how to tell how Race was feeling at a glance and he could.

He could always tell when Race was unhappy or upset and would know what to bring to make him feel better- and the reverse, he could always tell when Race was happy, and about a week after the strike was settled Race had started coming home after selling happy every single day.

Curious, Albert had asked to sell with him at Sheepshead one day and had been accepted. Race chattered on, as usual, as they made their way across the Brooklyn Bridge and towards the races. They split up to sell- two newsies in one place sold less papers- and met up again for lunch, where they were joined by none other than his majesty himself, Spot Conlon. Albert’s first thought was that he had come to argue about Albert selling in Brooklyn, but Race’s explanation that the two of them just hadn’t spent much time together seemed to fly just fine, and Spot bought all three of them lunch.

Watching Race while he ate his sandwich, Albert finally understood what was making him so happy- it was Spot. Just Spot. Always Spot. And when Spot leaned in to brush a crumb off Race’s face, apparently having forgotten Albert was there, Albert relaxed, happy in the knowledge that his best friend was loved.

He watched the others find out, was the first one that Jack cornered to ask about it when he brought Race back from Brooklyn after their argument, watched as Davey protected them whenever they were in Manhattan and was thankful when Kath and Crutchie gave their acceptance in their own ways.

But, Race was still his best friend, his brother, and it was immensely satisfying to be able to give the King of Brooklyn the shovel talk.

[commonalex]

future ready

future ready by common alex

Listen/download: future ready by common alex

It was around three months after I've been fired. I didn't dare to talk about it much, but it wouldn't that much of a mystery for someone to figure out why the short chick with the plaited hair isn't on the cash register giving wrong change to the old ladies anymore. To be perfectly honest, I was pretty devastated that I managed to fail even at working at the supermarket, where all you needed to get a grip was knowing how to count, wearing an "Olga" tag like a war medal, and acting like everything's okay at all times. Maybe that's why I ended up sneaking into it like a thief that day, out of stubbornness. It was the last sense of routine I had while everything was going under outside the window.

I could barely get out the bed before four in the afternoon. And when I did, all I had planned was dragging my body before the tv to catch some telemarketing and dumb commercials until the sun was out again and I successfully forgot who I am and what I'm going through. Because what other choices did I have really? For the last two years I was jumping from one dead end job to the next, either until I get fired or until I quit. I was leaving on benefits and a sad amount of savings, and I was starting to accept the fact that this would be my life from now on. Like, what else did I really have to rely on? Studies? Big deal, the world wouldn't end with just one english teacher less. Friends? Don't get me started. Family? All I was left with was a mother with a mission to make me feel horrible every time we spoke on the phone because I wasn't bothering to go see her. But even if I did, what would I have to say to her? I was mentally collapsing. So I said "leave it for now" and kept the thought pushed back for later. That's the reason why on that particular day I didn't pick up whenever my mom was ringing this cherry ericsson I had at the time. It wasn't like I really needed to answer, I already knew everything by heart.

"Have you seen how this girl you used to hang out at school does lately, Olga?".

No, mom, I haven't. It's been like ten years since I finished school.

"She's studying this thing you used to like, she got settled, she even has her own house".

Well done for her I guess, and?

"And you?".

I don't know what the hell I'm doing with my life anymore, mom.

"But don't you ever think about your future?".

My long awaited future, huh? What a glorious future that was. It was so good, half of the people I used to know didn't make it halfway through.

Outside things were a bit more casual that the deep existential turmoil that was described by the news at the time, yet I was indeed shocked by that eerie amount of silence that was stretching through the cold winds that was piercing my purple coat. I could hear a tv screaming from two blocks away and the screeching roars of the phone lines echoing around the city, but there was barely any human voice left. I was only catching some mumbles and grunts here and there as I was jumping out of fear every time I had to turn around a corner. So it was just like everyday Athens, only with a little more of snow and fear of getting mugged. My social atrophy made me feel like I was being chased as the surrounding landscape was rapidly being stripped from anything that was reminiscing of a typical day. Like, that was the first time I ever saw people looting kiosks and butcher shops. I only managed to see like three to five people with their backs hunched, covering their faces while carrying those huge gray tv screens with the vhs player still attached or fifteen bags of chips, with their eyes moving around uncontrollably. All I had in my mind seeing these scenes was the word "brutalization". Maybe because all this time I wasn't fully aware of what was going on, or maybe because the news told the truth for once.

I snuck from the side door where the staff entrance was, because all the glass on the front of the supermarket was smashed to pieces and I didn't like the thought of my hands sliced open. It was a mess on the inside and the aisles stood empty like sad metal canyons. People must have broke in trying to get all the toiler paper and canned foods left in the previous weeks. From the expired milk bottles at the back to the unstoppable static noise of the refrigerators in front of me, there were all those special little touches to make me feel like I was working in this hole of a job again. And no, I did not bother searching for supplies. Instead, I walked around like I was out shopping with my mom, opening the boxes of the diabetes flavored cereal that no one bother to take, just to steal their toys. I also found a bunch of unopened boxes of the supermarket's very own faux chocolate milk (yes, the one with the dark industrial waste left on the bottom) that was probably expired as well. But, I was a lady, right? So I took some of them to the cash register, because Olga ain't no petty thief. I got around my place of work and scanned the bottles to find out that they cost something less than three hundred and seventy-five million. "Luckily, I don't have to calculate any change now", I thought. Never before have I ever experienced such relief while being there. I was sitting in the same place I was rotting for hours before the world turned to shit, and I was patiently waiting for a huge line of old ladies to pop out of nowhere just to ruin my vibe with their pension money bills. I almost started to miss all of those stuff. This must meant that things have really turned to shit.

The new millennium have begun just like any other year, against the disappointment and secret eagerness of some people. All that screaming about the revelation, the second coming of Satan, the aliens, and the revolution of the machines faded miserably as the days went by and absolute destruction was not to be seen. Yet, at least. Because the first planes that crashed mid-flight in South Africa and Indonesia didn't appear before the end of January, but all were like "okay, technical problems". And when missiles were accidentally landing on Iraqi cities, people were like "well, what to do, technical problems yet again". Only when the bank deposits got erased people started to cry and run like headless chickens. Young people now would call me cynical, but you had to be there to see it. It was crystal clear that people had all of their hopes and dreams for tomorrow stored into a single digit of a computer. A kind of tomorrow which was now failing to promise anything anymore in front of millions of simultaneous personal bankruptcies. Then the reactors in Italy exploded due to a system failure and tomorrow officially died. This tomorrow that we were told would bring everything to us, from cancer treatments to all of Britney's music stored in a tiny mini-disc. From flying cars to underground metros. From huge tv screens for each living room to the giant digital information highway better know as the INTERNET. Nowadays all of these sound so silly, but the pain in the faces of people from the betrayal of their dream did not seem to go away. Until mid-February, everyone lost their minds. Those who saw all of this coming ran away in fear of the new Chernobyl to leave the rest of us behind to die. Shops, services, offices, all ceased to have any actual reason to exist in from of the impending disaster. All you could see around anymore were padlocks, deflated bodies on the street from people that couldn't take it anymore, and some shadows of people left to wander like animals while pretending to be alive. Maybe that's why the tv was constantly playing commercials and other irrelevant bullshit during all of this, it was the last useful thing they could show to the people that were preparing for the grand finale.

But that grand finale wasn't so tangible for me. Everyone had this type of end predetermined, but this panic of theirs seemed more like a slightly less shallow version of the preexisting self-preservation to me. I wasn't convinced by those who screamed that the world was over simply because it already happened to their world. Like, just as Rome wasn't built in one day, their illusions weren't shattered overnight. I mean, at that time the supermarket was filled with those obnoxious promotional banners featuring the new slogan that was everywhere lately, before things change for the worse. They had the "FUTURE READY" catchphrase in large white letters that spread noisy and ridiculous lacking any particular meaning as everything was collapsing. What future exactly was that slogan referring to? The future in general, as a concept of time and space? They wouldn't have thought that out that much. Was it the future of humanity from now on? I wouldn't be so concerned for this with all those rich fucks that had already kissed as goodbye from their shelters, we were far from being extinct and in maybe less that ten years we could wake up with someone like Will Smith ruling the world. No, the catchphrase probably meant that future with the flying cars and the internet. The future only fools would believe it would come (and yes, people actually believe that). That future we lost just as fast as we were promised for it.

So in short, we were crabs in a bucket, pulling each other down in excruciating depths. This wasn't living nor surviving; we more or less kept on functioning like bio-robots with depression. But for me, things weren't looking so grim. "Look at me", I would say, "I reached twenty-nine and haven't done crap to be proud of, I drink expired chocolate milk and I'm secretly glad the world is ending because every day was borderline unbearable for me anyway, so how good would the future be for someone like me?". Nowadays the denial of any form of reality in this reasoning stands out, but at that moment I was reaching redemption. I was now reassured by the thought of the end, acting like a barrier that could block this endless loop that was running relentlessly against me. "So finally", I said to myself, "let's calm down once and for all". I was spinning around in the cashier's chair like a silly kid and was finishing up the bottles of milk like there's no tomorrow, while convincing myself that once everything goes to hell, my torment is over.

My phone’s vibrating through my coat cut me off the carefree twirling around my craziness. "Mom" was flashing on the screen again, but by that point I couldn't be bothered for explanations. Still, the dialogue kept running automatically like a script inside my head.

"I just can't get you. Do you keep on acting unbothered by the world? Even now? Who are you trying to convince anymore, Olga? Me? Because I know you have roughened up out of fear".

Well, truth is I was actually fearing you would start with that kind of shit again.

"You are getting more and more difficult to talk to. You are basically denying something we both clearly see at this point".

We seem to say the same exact thing, ain't that something? I guess I was kinda doomed from the start to be and look just like you.

"You really do me dirty with all these conclusions you're drawing out of anger".

Okay, so what? Did you get upset?

"Why are you angry at me, Olga? Can I hear you say it, just for once?"

I don't have the time for this thing again, mother, I need to enjoy my remaining days over here.

"How much do you think this will last for you? When will you stop stalling and start looking after you and your future again, Olga?"

What future do I have, really, are you kidding me?

-Are you talking to yourself, ma'am?

I almost slipped out of the chair. I had never experienced such horror before. I was barely held off the bench to help me  get up again slowly with my heart sinking to my stomach, only to see a little girl with plaited pigtails looking at me half-frightened. She wasn't over nine years old, judging by the face and the childish dress she wore under this puffy purple coat.

-Why are you here? Where are your parents?

-Over here, come and take a look! But mom told me not to talk to strangers!

That of course made zero sense to me. Just like it made zero sense for a child to be left alone in a destroyed supermarket with the sun setting outside. I asked for the girl's name, nothing. I asked again, she hid her puzzled frown behind her pigtails trying to playfully imitate my posture with her hands on my waist.

-I'm Olga, I work here. And you?

She started to say something and suddenly changed her mind, running like hell to the back. I was confused thinking how would I look like to someone who saw me chasing a little girl in there, but then I reminded myself that probably nobody would be left to live to the end of this month, so I wouldn't be considered crazy for too long. I began running under the flickering ceiling lights and with each step I had to swallow my vomit. This little girl felt sorry for me in the end and stopped to wait for me at the end of the far right aisle, leaving one sleeve of her huge coat to stick out on purpose. I approached with an awkward smile and glanced at the strange grace she had on her face, with those weird baby hair that can't be caught for nothing in plaits pointing upwards. Despite my awkwardness, the girl stood unworried and expressionless as if I put her on timeout. I asked her name again. She slips away from a second time and runs like the wind, squealing something at lime while zigzagging the aisles.

-You should probably pick it up!

My phone was stabbing my pocket. It was "Mom" yet again, but I really wasn't in the mood for "Mama". I had to pick up my lungs from the floor at the top of my priorities, because this little devil wasn't running but galloping like a damn horse. I finally caught up with her in the aisle with the products of the day and tightly grabbed her by the shoulders. The little devil screamed and was banging her feet in pain. My hands had been too coarse for people after all this time.

-Hey, ma'am, did you get angry? I was just playing with you.

-I'm don't have time to play right now, please go to your mom.

-But I told you, My mom's right here.

"Where is "here"?

With just one finger sticking out of the sleeve, she pointed to the right middle shelf at the end of the aisle. She put her finger before her mouth to stop me from talking and I followed her on tiptoes. When we approached the end of the aisle and my eyes got used to the darkness I saw a woman laid inside the empty shelf. She was in her sixties and wearing an old black nightgown with holes on it. From her short hair down to her nails, there were ice flakes stuck everywhere as if she was just found buried in the snow. Her face with her eyes closed was carrying such an expression of pain and torment. I was so weirded out that something made me want to follow those ice streams that filled her skin's scratches with my fingers, however her body felt so stiff I jumped back. She looked more like a porcelain doll than an actual person.

-Ma'am Olga? Are you alright?

I threw up all the chocolate milk I drank. My body got the chills and my teeth were trembling so much that my breath was coming out in sharp puffs in front of the flickering lights of the refrigerators. I must have look like shit, because I scared the little girl for good and made her get five steps back from me while I was going crazy and trying to clear my eyes from the shock.

-Why is she here?

-Nobody wanted her. Nobody called to take her.

I didn't pay much attention. I pulled out my cherry ericsson to call for help, but the chaotic hum of the phone lines echoed in the aisle before I even put the phone to my ear.

-Who put her here?

She was just staring at me. I asked again and again. She let her lower lip half open. I grabbed her by the shoulders like before and she pulled out a choked scream due to my clumsiness. She started crying and feeling loose in my hands. It was then that I felt like something broke inside me and I crawled away from her because she would pass out in any second just by looking at the state that I was. I sat on the floor watching her wipe her tears from a distance, all while fixing her plaits and stressfully straightening the dress inside her coat. Every now and then she would throw these incoherent excerpts from conversations that seemed weirdly familiar, waiting for me to remember the answers I had given to each of the discussions. I felt sick, like my insides would explode at any moment. My mind was working overtime and I started seeing red. I understood, but I did not want to accept it.

"But how?" I was saying again and again. I can't just live through this stuff. I was thinking that maybe that's it, we are officially past this tomorrow. Maybe that was the end of the world and the time I had at my disposal. Only instead of cloud islands or pits with flames I was stuck inside this supermarket with a little girl and a dead woman. Was this fitting? Not really. It might be considered symbolic, but still not at all subtle. That's why I was stuffed with anger and distress. I couldn't digest what to feel after all that I saw. And what was the meaning of all of this? To make me feel remorse? To help me maybe? But how? So many questions hanging above my head I began to feel like I was melting from the uncertainty. Luckily, the little girl found some courage to pick me up from the floor.

-You still don't recognize her, do you?

-I recognized her just fine the first time.

-Are you sure, ma'am Olga?

-I don't know, what do you say?

-You tell me.

-We have to get out of here, kiddo. We can't get through it like this. Even now, with everything else going to hell with us.

-Do you really want me to come with you?

-I don't know. Maybe I want to, maybe I should.

The phone started screaming again. It was dimming "Mama" with small flakes of ice filling its broken tiny screen. The girl bent down and put this in my palm with no emotion on her face. I answered it. I waited for an eternity so thin you could fit it inside a moment like this. "Hello? Mom?". Eventually the same confusing static noise creaked from the other side of the call, and I stuck there waiting through the buzzing to find her smoker's coughing that she used to do before starting to complain about how I constantly forget about her. Waiting just to tell her that I was here, I was fine, and the world might not end there. Maybe, somewhere, somehow, there's even some future we can fit in it.

-So are we ready now, ma'am Olga?

-Ready for what?

She pointed at the banner hanging from the ceiling.

-Future ready.

I didn't catch my mother's voice at the other end of the line, of course. I hung up and weakly threw the phone on the shelf where the woman was laying, just to hear its dying snout. This felt way more fitting.

-Nah, not really. But it probably does not matter right now.

-But. I'm scared.

-I'm scared too, being in here and all.

-So when will we be back? When everything was normal again?

-"Normal" may no longer exist. We'll just have to see. For now, get up.

-You know better, ma'am.

-Ma'am my ass.

The little girl glanced just once at the self with the phone on and continue to walk with me, with her palm lost and warmed up somewhere inside my own palm. An analog clock on the wall pointed somewhere after nine o clock and the sky was bruised from the clouds that were pouring snow on everything around us. I put my hand with hers in the pocket of the miserable purple coat and lifted our hoods to escape the cold on the way home. I don't really remember how long we walked with our backs hunched over somewhere between the white and the gray. I only recall that we took the long way home, like a punishment of some sorts.

Thinking that I would never hear again the saltiness in my mom's voice was my most bitter torment. I never thought of such a possibility. I always had in the back of my mind that she would find a way to defy any rule of the universe, just so she could care for me. That's science fiction, after all. It seems I was holding on to my illusions for so long, so waking up hurts like hell even today. And if my mom died, I believe she must've left with that pain and concern during her last moments. "Look at me now", I catch myself saying here and there "I avoided her only until I had to mourn her". Until then, the only thing I had on my mind was working on what I should say when I would get asked about her, only to answer that we "fell off" with no emotion. What exactly happened to fall off with her would be like unnecessary little details. Still, to this day, that's exactly what I tell people when it's being brought up. I can't talk about it without sinking in remorse. I can't get the right words to come out anymore, not even by force.

Of course I tried to find her. Especially with the years that were to come upon me, I needed this to have my mind calibrated just to not go crazy over the batshit hysteria that was building up inside of me. Deep down, though, I knew I didn't have the courage to look at past trauma anymore, and I was secretly hoping I would never fine here. Maybe because the end of the world not coming anymore, at least as I thought it would, and now I have to live with it forever. Maybe because the worst that could have happened to me in the end was the postponement of the apocalypse. And this falls heavily on my shoulders to this day. Every day I have to justify why it was worth it to stay behind, either as punishment or by luck, trying to convince myself that there is something left to do with the leftovers of my future.

[cxmetery-gates]

OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS - DARK!TOM HIDDLESTON

CHAPTER FIVE: COFFEE AND TINDER

SUMMARY: Lynn and Gabriel have a heart-to-heart talk about her last lover, with Gabe offering barely-legal suggestions. WORD COUNT: 2.45k NOTES: Gabe is probably my favorite character WARNINGS: dark!tom hiddleston, teacher!tom hiddleston, mentions of past relationships, break-up talk, h*tler reference?? never thought i’d write that

OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS MASTERLIST

THE SOUND OF A BELL alerts the classroom that the period is over. Everyone had been already packed and ready to go minutes before Mr. Hiddleston even began wrapping up his lesson. Even when I suffered through chemistry or dragged my deflated soul through finance, I never thought of putting my notes and pens away so soon. I know more than one student saw the icy glare I sent across the room but, most importantly and unfortunately, I also know nearly all of them didn't catch the slight disappointment in Mr. Hiddleston's tone.

I truly despise most people.

From the moment class started, it's been so unmistakably clear how much he loves what he teaches, that he enjoys what he spent thousands of dollars on just to show people how great literature is. I understand that all too well— save the going into debt part. Teachers are often times so mundane with their knowledge, not realizing how the way they present the information affects our understanding and interest in such. This is why high school teachers are stereotyped as people who just want a paid summer vacation. However, Mr. Hiddleston really put effort into his theatrics, like his lecture was a play. People with a teaching degree should teach in this way— why else go penniless willingly? The overall excitement was entertaining. And for that, I have to give the man some credit.

"Alright, guys. We'll be diving into the second part of this lecture tomorrow. Have a good one, you are dismissed." I don't think Mr. Hiddleston needed to announce the last blip of his closing statement. As I said, people are so rude.

Ellie begins to shove her notepad and other items into her bag after our teacher finishes speaking, reminding me of my kind company. I, on the other hand, am scrambling to take the last bit of notes, trying to relay any possible concepts mentioned on to paper. While there might not have been much depth in today's class, jotting down every last tidbit of information could be life or death. Or perhaps I'm just anal-retentive when it comes to note-taking. By the time I finish the note, Ellie is already standing.

"Girl, hurry up. We gotta go!" She drags out the last vowel of the last word humorously.

I wave my hand at her, flipping pages and dodging paper cuts. "Go on without me. I'll be fine," I say, remembering that Ellie's homeroom is on the first floor and the farthest down the hall.

Rolling her big brown eyes, she sighs, walking backward. "I'll miss you poppet. I love you." Her fake British accent is terrible, but I don't bother enlightening her. Perhaps the slight discoloration in her cheeks and how fast she dashed out of the room was due to finding Mr. Hiddleston in ear-shot of her terrible accent. I bite my lip, forcing myself to look away out of sheer second-hand embarrassment.

Once all my belongings are together, I turn to leave.

"That truly was an awful mockery," Mr. Hiddleston says in my direction from the whiteboard. His long toned arms wipe the marker away as I begin to walk past him.

I chuckle. "I'll let her know you said that."

Mr. Hiddleston fakes a groan, placing the eraser on the marker tray then turning to face me with those oh-so-charming eyes. There's no other way to describe them other than mesmerizing. "Oh, don't tell her I said it. I like being liked."

"Being 'liked' is the least of your worries with these girls," I mumble, mostly to humor myself. However, I must have been louder than anticipated. The innuendo is heard and doesn't fly over his head.

A titter of a laugh is heard from the man, and I now regret the words I mumbled. "So I have been told," he replies, making a slightly uncomfortable face. I can't blame him; anyone would feel incredibly awkward if teaching a class full of people who would sell both kidneys just to see them without a shirt.

Not in my dreams would I have imagined having a conversation with Mr. Hiddleston about how everyone wants to nail him. While such a phrase hasn't been explicitly noted, I have a feeling both our minds are in the same gutter. And with that recognition, an awkward heat embraces me. I press my lips together tightly and offer a shrug. "I think the proper thing for me to say is good luck."

Seeming to take my word, Mr. Hiddleston passes me a smile. I can't read what the meaning is, but I'll take it nonetheless with a cough to clear my throat. "Ah, well, as much as I love juicy gossip and scandals, I've got a stuck up prune for homeroom, so I definitely need to get going." I send him a wave, making my exit as awkward as possible.

"Warntz?" He asks.

My nose wrinkles at the name. It eve sounds terrible, almost as terrifying as Trunchbull or Umbridge. "You betcha."

"Good luck, Lynn. You've got two minutes."

I want to give another sassy remark, but the teasing look I find when I look over my shoulder sends my body into another blush. Muttering something close to 'whatever,' I decide that leaving is for the best, even if that means awaiting an angry, shriveled up raisin.

══════════════════

Exiting the high school front doors a few hours before the final bell is like the biggest sigh of relief and 'sucks to be you' to everyone else. An arm wraps around my shoulder, one I embrace kindly.

"So, we've got an hour on our hands," Gabriel reminds me, hinting we'll have to come back to grab Ellie and River. As he speaks, I toss my head back on his toned bicep. I swear he works out too much for an unpopular loser. "What would you like to do?"

I groan, dragging my chin down to my chest. "Why do I have to decide? You know I hate making decisions."

"We're taking second lunch here, Lynn. It isn't life or death, you weirdo," Gabe chortles.

"Can we just go get a coffee? I feel like I'm about to pass out." For effect, I pretend to faint, nearly going complete limp before his arms can hoist me back up.

Rolling his dark eyes, my partner in crime pulls a set of keys from his pocket, swinging the lanyard around his fingers while we head towards a tattered white truck being held together by zip ties, duct tape, and love. "You and Elle with your coffee addiction."

"Could be meth," I retort.

Snorting, Gabe slips a key into the slit on the driver's side. I stand on the opposite, sending a humored smile. "Yeah, as if that's any worse."

We make it to the local coffee shop in no time. Luckily for us, the lunch rush hour in this town ends just as we hit the road if we avoid the main highways that is. Gabe's truck and the coffee shop have a similar aesthetic: crowded, old, falling apart with an overwhelming sense of home and personality. I can't count how many times I've broken down and received well off advice from him in both locations. It feels safe here and being around him. Gabe's like the much older brother (by a month) that I never had. We're both complete, utter assholes to each other about 60% of the time, enforcing the sibling-like bond we have.

"Thank you," I say sweetly to the barista as he places my cold brew in front of me and Gabe's hot chocolate in front of him. Mimicking my gratitude, Gabe gives his thanks as the employee shuffled away, awkwardly patting at his frizzy hair.

We both take a sip and visibly relax. "So, the first day of our last year of high school." Gabe is also the mom friend. "Tell me, dear, how were all your classes?"

"Oh, dearest mother, I feel so content with my choices," I reply with a vintage accent, acting as though my voiced popped in from the 1920s. "How ever will I pick a favorite?"

Wiggling his brows, Gabe replies, "I hear someone landed themselves in the hottest teacher's class."

Prompting to return to my normal voice, I roll my eyes, a huff expelling from my diaphragm. "He's definitely a piece of eye candy, I'll tell you that."

"Took four years to figure that one out? I didn't realize unobservant you are." Taking a pause, Gabe brings to smirk widely. "Maybe that's why you haven't asked River out yet."

My eyes grow wide, my skin goes red. Looking at anywhere other than Gabe's eyes and smirking lips is a must. "I don't know—"

"Lynn, everyone knows."

"Sure, but he doesn't." I pause. "Wait, does he?"

"Dude, no, of course, he doesn't. He still thinks you're heartbroken over Trinity."

Ah, yes, Trinity. Who knew a happy year and two months could be wholly demolished beyond reconciliation in a single weekend? Certain not I, as I have spent the past three months moving on and over the ordeal. An annoyed grunt leads my cheek to rest in my fist. "He thinks I'm not over it?"

Gabe leans forwards. "None of us do, Lynn."

I stay silent.

"What happened... you didn't deserve that. Hell, Hitler wouldn't have deserved that. Probably."

"Weeeeell—"

"Point is, I know you're still trying to find a way to heal. You've done a damn good job, duh. But River thinks you're still in love with her."

"Ugh. I'd rather eat hairy horse shit than see her ever again."

Gabriel nods, "I was hoping that would be the case."

Knocking my knuckles on the wooden table, I let out an exaggerated sigh. "Man, I'm tired."

"You know we're all here for you, right?" Gabe asks, leaning in just a few inches. I want to roll my eyes, tell him that he worries too much, but I can't. I can't tell him, not because I want him to shut up or to change the topic, but because he knows me. To Gabe, I'm an open book.

I run out of words to say relating to the topic. The breakup is old news, everything following the incident becoming irrelevant memories and irreplaceable time. I'm kidding myself when I say I've moved on entirely because Gabriel is right: I haven't. Sometimes my thoughts get stuck on what I could have done better or what I should have done to convince her to stay. Despite these annoying blips, I know deep down that it was inevitable, that her consistent cheating and the emotional manipulation would only surface for everyone to see in due time. If they hadn't— which I tried to keep from happening— I have a gut-wrenching feeling I'd still be in the situation. I had a feeling Trinity and me wouldn't last, but it wasn't until after things ended did I realize how well she had me wrapped around her finger. It's taken months to find my way out of her web, but I now face the scary journey of recovery. Thankfully, the process has not been as hard as I anticipated. After all, living two cities away certainly helps.

"Yeah, I know. I'm still going through the motions. I just want it to speed up, you know?"

Smirking and pulling his hand back, Gabriel replies, "Maybe a Tinder will help?"

My nose wrinkles at the mere consideration. Hooking up, dating apps, meeting strangers behind a phone— not really my thing. "Nah, I'll pass on that offer, thanks."

"Suit yourself."

"Hmm, maybe I'll look into a sugar daddy site. Money from older men might make me feel a bit better."

Gabriel takes a sip of his hot chocolate, grinning. "Well, you have an interesting way with teachers. If you're struggling in a particular class, maybe that little fantasy of yours will come true."

"Oh yes, I can't wait to hop on Mr. Riley's seventy-year-old dick."

"Mhmm, yummy."

At this, I bark into a laughing-while-painfully-cringing fit. Never being a fan of the phrase "yummy" and having it tied to a man that's so old he's basically decaying, I find every part of this new conversation revoltingly hilarious. I guess my sudden outburst of laughter caught Gabe off guard, staring at me with a shocked grin and fixing the infamous beanie he wears. I couldn't count how many times I've seen him without; you can't count to zero.

"It really wasn't that funny," he says with a small hiccup of laughter in his voice.

I settle myself now that I feel the eyes of everyone in the coffee shop staring. "You're right, but something about it made me crack." I flip my phone over to check the time. "Should we be getting back? They've got twenty minutes left."

Gabe nods and lets out a content sigh. "Yeah, I guess so."

We decide to chug the rest of our beverages quickly— now room temperature and not as satisfying— before heading back out into the world. Away in the parking lot, the truck seems to beckon us to its forty-year-old, duct-tape-bound seats. As Gabe unlocks the truck doors, I let out a content sign and stare up at the sky. Above, the sun beams down on us and, like an idiot, I managed to look directly into it. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust but by that point, a dark cloud rolled over the blinding, distant star.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

TAGLIST:

@khadineberry​

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE TAGGED, LET ME KNOW!

[always5hineee]

Hell and Back- Chapter 4: Preliminaries (Trials 2-5)

Chapter warnings: Mild language

Word count: 1401

-----

       As they all looked down at their screens, the next trial popped up fairly quickly. As Y/N hit the start button, one thing changed. Rather than the regular space beneath the text, there was a new string of words. Drop-Out Fee: $50. Hmm. So there was the first drop-out fee.

       "That seems like a lot of money for the second trial." Luhan commented idly.

       "Yeah..." Chen agreed. "If it increases by fifty every round, that's like a million dollars."

       "Actually, that'll only be five thousand dollars by the end." Kyungsoo corrected.

       "Whatever, imagine doing math. Anyway, it looks like we're in this for the long run now." Chen continued.

       "Guys, look at the second trial." Kris called their attention, reading it out loud. "Pick a location for trial 3... That's it? That doesn't seem difficult at all."

       "I mean, I expected them to be easy at first, but really?" Baekhyun agreed. "At this rate, we'll have our wish by the end of the day." Shrugging, Y/N tried to get them back on track.

       "So, where do we want to go?"

       "You think they'd tell us what the challenge is before we pick a location." Chanyeol muttered, a bit annoyed with the game. "Who's the limited power?" Looking down, Luhan answered him.

       "Oh... it's me."

       "Telekinesis?" D.O. wondered. "Maybe it involves moving something. We should pick a location that has stuff that's easy to move."

       "Or we just go wherever." Kris muttered.

       "Take this seriously! We don't want to be detrimental to our progress later on!"

       "Who cares? It's literally the second trial-"

       "What about we stay in the practice room?" Suho offered, trying to defuse them both. "Except for some of the speakers, everything's super easy to move, and we're familiar with it. It's not too small, we can all fit comfortably, and there's access to windows and water and everything we might need. Sound good?"

       No one really had an objection, so they chose to move onward with that plan. Looking at the controls, Y/N noted that there was a 'Choose Location' button where the 'Start Round' used to be. Selecting it, a smaller pop-up appeared. Are you sure you'd like to submit your current location for Trial 2? She pressed Accept, watching as the pending trial boasted completion.

       "Well... are we starting trial 3?"

       "I don't see why not." Suho allowed her to press the next button. As she was starting to get used to , the words faded away to give leave to new ones. "Trial 3: Break Items" Underneath, the italics read Each person is required to adequately destroy one item of their choice. You will have thirty minutes to do so. Moving on, it also read, Drop-Out Fee: $50 and Restricted: Luhan

       "So you can get restricted two times in a row?" Luhan asked, waving his hands, a bit annoyed.

       "I guess. It makes sense that they'd choose you, though. Assuming we had picked a more difficult place, you could just lift stuff up and slam it into the ground." Kyungsoo pointed out.

       "Sure,  but you could probably crush stuff up just as easily." He argued.

       "It doesn't matter, it's not like I'm the one picking. Let's focus on completing the trial. We have-" He looked down to check. "Twenty-nine minutes and fourteen seconds left."

       "I don't wanna break anything in here!" Baekhyun panicked. "All our instruments and stuff are valuable, and they have memories!"

       "Do you think it would count if I just set off the explosive and destroyed a bunch of shit?" Kris asked, joking of course.

       "Why are you already trying to blow something up?" Sehun asked, irritated.

       "All of you calm down!" Y/N said putting her hands out as she watched the group go wild separately. "No one has to destroy anything important. And there definitely doesn't need to be any blowing things up. There are definitely plenty of pencils, sheet music, old cups- useless stuff in here."

       "Oh. That's actually a good point." Chen thought. Reaching over to pick up an old napkin, he tore it apart into little pieces, letting it flutter to the floor. A small counter appeared next to the bar. 1/13. This was going to be more simple than even she had expected. They all found something irrelevant to rip apart, from a plastic bag to a pencil with a flat eraser. Kris was still mildly disappointed that he had no opportunity to use an explosive, but at least they had no troubles. They completed the challenge with 24 minutes remaining.

       As it disappeared, she thought about bringing up the ease at which they were continuing, but she didn't want to run it into the ground. She simply pressed the continue button. After all, they had been mentioning it for every trial. She could only hope that the next trial proved just as-

       "Ew!" Kai said in disgust. It had been a while since he'd chimed in, but apparently the new challenge was not to his taste. Looking down in concern, she read it out.

       "Eat a piece of the object you have just destroyed. You do not have to ingest the full object, and it is of no matter whether you swallow it whole or chewed up. You have fifteen minutes." Sure enough, the counter was right there, ticking down. Not only that, but the restricted power was Kai's. He was already complaining about it.

       "What were you gonna do, teleport it into your stomach?" Chen asked laughing, pushing Baekhyun playfully in the shoulder to get him to join in on the joke.

       "For real, as if you could even aim for it properly!" He said back, sending the two into another fit of laughing.

       "Guys, stop." She reprimanded them for what had to have been the millionth time. "We only have thirteen minutes-" She looked down, noting another changed number. "Wait, who already ate theirs??"

       "Me." Luhan said nonchalantly.

       "Are you serious?" Kai asked, looking like he wanted to throw up.

       "Man, it's not that hard. Literally just swallow it like a pill. Tao's the worst off, he had a pencil." As they looked to him, though, he was in the process of swallowing a tiny chip of wood, sending the counter up again.

       "It's not worth the trouble, just do it." Kai, being the drama queen he was, made a fantastic theatrical performance out of having to eat a little piece of the paper he ripped up, but they finally managed to get him to do it. Watching as the trial cleared, she looked to the next one.

       "Trial 5: Switch clothes." She read out loud.

       "Excuse me?" Sehun asked curiously. "With who?" Pointing to the phone, Suho answered his question.

       "It says, 'For each person, each piece of clothing should belong to a different team member, excluding those wearing two undergarments'" Breathing a sigh of relief, Y/N was happy to hear that she wouldn't be put in too awkward a situation.

       "I call Y/N's-" Lay started to ask with a laugh.

       "No!" Suho cut him off, trying to get everyone in order. "We just need to go by size. Everyone who's closest in size should just kind of pass off clothes, okay?" This mostly made sense to them. For instance, Kris and Chanyeol traded pants because they were of similar heights. The shirts didn't matter as much, although Kai had to switch twice due to a size issue. While it was uncomfortable, it was complete.

       "Alright, let's-" Y/N started to say, before looking confused. "Wait... where's the start button?" When she clicked out of the current tab trying to figure out what was wrong, a pop-up banner covered her screen.

       Congratulations! You have completed the preliminary trials. Welcome to Round 2!

       "Round 2?" Tao asked, confused. "It didn't say this was categorized by rounds."

       "Look at the description, though." Suho pointed out. Reading it, they picked up a few important piece of information.

       Round 2 will consist of 26 trials, two for each player. If a player cannot continue or chooses to drop out, the trial will be delegated to another player and the initial failed player will be penalized with the drop-out fee. Other players may help the active player, but one will be restricted as per earlier game rules. Round two will end after trial 31.

Go to Chapter 5

[jihyosforehead]

can we pls have dubchaetzu fluff please

i like how super polite u were and said please twice omg absolute cutie uwuuu (also im so sorry this has been sitting in my inbox for 72 years)

…

“hey dude, did you need to grab any food?”

chaeyoung looks up from her laptop to peer at nayeon.

“what?” chaeyoung asks, sheepishly.

“i asked if you needed to buy any food. you know, from the line?” she says patiently. she throws a hand behind her, and chaeyoung’s eyes follow the movement; jeongyeon and momo are waving so frantically at them that they’ve begun to cause a scene.

“nah, i brought something from home. it’s leftovers day,” chaeyoung tells her with a bright grin, happiness coating her voice. nayeon is completely unable to help herself from patting chaeyoung’s head affectionately. she leaves with a final head pat, storming over to grab momo from backing into a group of bystanders.

chaeyoung pulls out her lunchbox from her bag and a small blue post-it note flutters down to rest on the table in the most dramatic way possible. black ink lettering the paper in careful, delicate strokes.

chaeyoungie,

i think you’re eggcellent :)

there’s a drawing of three eggs in a sizzling frying pan with smiley faces.

a goofy grin creeps across her face and doesn’t leave even when she’s home in bed, staring at the ceiling.

…

dahyun sighs heavily. she was so run down from assignments and homework. there was a six page essay about like? space or something? a group assignment about pollution. and her personal favourite: studying for the end of unit chemistry test. but for now. dahyun is going to eat some lunch.

sana and mina are sitting across from her chatting. or flirting. who knows with these two sometimes. dahyun is eating in peace. dahyun is chewing. dahyun is enjoying her chicken. dahyun is not thinking about homework -

“what’s that, dahyunnie?” sana asks suddenly, ending her train of thought. dahyun looks up at her mid-chew, making a confused noise.

sana snatches a blue post-it note at dahyun’s elbow and her eyes scan over it quickly and then holds it to her chest and sighs theatrically. mina shaking her head exasperatedly before handing the note over.

dahyunnie,

all you knead is love.

under it, is a drawing of a bag of flour kneading a ball of dough.

dahyun somehow powers through her study guide and gets started on the essay.

…

saturday morning finds chaeyoung two hours into an eight hour shift at the local music shop. it’s been a really hectic day, an almost unending stream of customers keeping her occupied since opening.

“excuse me do you have this poster in stock?” “well, can you check in the back?” “why don’t you carry one direction vinyls?” “by the way, someone knocked down the display stand with all the christmas CDs. yeah i didn’t see.”

she barely had a second to breathe. and plus her co-worker had called in late so now chaeyoung was behind on inventory.

but.

it’s leftovers day again and chaeyoung is looking forward to her ham and cheese sandwich. but mostly she’s interested in the strawberry tart she’s going to eat for dessert. there’s another blue post-it note, this time it’s stuck to her apple.

chaeyoung grins widely at the familiar careful, black lettering.

chaengie!

i’m soy into you. :D

there’s a carefully drawn piece of sushi and a bottle of soy sauce directly under it.

chaeyoung feels her day immediately brighten, warmth tightening across her heart. a shitty customer isn’t a match for a truly solid pun.

…

there isn’t really a word to describe how much dahyun detested group assignments. her team members had all conveniently forgotten to email their drafts by the agreed on date.

“dahyun i’m sorry, i just haven’t had time” “i totally forgot about that my bad” “i had practice all week!”

and now. they were running behind. (not really).

but they were running behind according to dahyun’s very well put together, well-crafted, truly excellent planning board! (they were two days behind). she’d have to completely overhaul it and adjust everything.

(the assignment wasn’t due for another two weeks).

dahyun slumped in her uncomfortable plastic chair, pretending not to look put off by how animatedly her group members discussing something completely irrelevant over their uneaten lunch. she pulls out her juice-box with a huff, stabbing the straw in aggressively. she yanks out her cutlery and a blue post-it note floats out gently behind it. dahyun snatches it out of the air, brows furrowed.

dubu!!

i lava you!

there’s a picture of a volcano with red lava spilling from the top to form a heart. dahyun feels her frustration leave, warm affection in its place. okay so maybe, she could probably loosen up her deadlines. maybe.

dahyun’s definitely seen this pun. it has chaeyoung written all over it. 

…

chaeyoung’s perched at the edge of her seat, munching absentmindedly on carrot stick, occasionally dipping it into an unidentifiable sauce. it tasted vaguely like mayonnaise and pickles but it was kind of good so she’s not really going to question what’s in it. instead she’s typing rapidly at her laptop, sighing every few minutes.

she was so so so behind on the written section of her portfolio. she’s not really sure why she left it last minute knowing full well she had a whole twenty pages of her own work to analyse. she chews more aggressively at her carrot sticks.

jihyo pokes at her shoulder. hard.

“you have to relax.”

“i can’t!” chaeyoung tells her, obscurely aware that she sounded very panicked, “i have so many words to shit out! and so few minutes to shit them out in!!”

jihyo gives her a deeply unamused smile. chaeyoung can’t find in her to care that she’s cursed in front of her mother.

“you’ll be fine,” jihyo says, firmly. “when’s it due anyway?”

“in two days!”

“you’ll be fine.” jihyo says, sounding completely unconvincing. chaeyoung leans back in her chair and stares at the ceiling. “here, eat something.”

she’s digging in chaeyoung’s bag and then holds out a banana and a neatly packaged container of salad. there’s a blue post-it note stuck to the lid.

chaeng

i’m always thinking a bao you :P

there’s a picture of three baos, lined up in a row, with tiny pink hearts between each one. jihyo’s lips are twitching into a smile at chaeyoung’s enamoured expression. chaeyoung thinks dahyun’s really outdone herself this time.

(chaeyoung hands in her portfolio in on time and also gets a 97%).

…

dahyun’s aware of the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. she’s in the bathroom, back against the door, breathing heavily. like she’s escaped a murderer or something. She catches her reflection in the mirror and her hair is sticking up in sixteen different directions, she’s got a weird green stain on her collar and she’s holding a bar of chocolate protectively against her chest.

she’s locked herself in a room away from screaming children. okay. so the children were her cousins. but. they were screaming and she needed a break. there were only so many times she could watch the elmo’s world theme song on repeat. it’s ingrained so deeply in her brain that if aliens kidnapped her and wiped her memory completely, she’s sure that the elmo song would still be embedded in there somewhere. like a sesame street sleeper agent.

and also she wanted to eat her chocolate in secret. if she’d learnt anything, is that kids take the sharing lesson very seriously. especially when it comes to chocolate. especially when it comes to dahyun not sharing her chocolate. there’s a blue post-it note stuck to the back of the packaging.

dubuuu !

you always make me hap-pea :o

there’s a drawing of three peas in a pod and an almost ridiculous amount of emoji faces surrounding the picture. dahyun feels her heart swell at least three sizes. the kids are somehow easier to face.

…

tzuyu watches chaeyoung stick another blue post-it note into her journal, gluing it down to the page carefully, tongue sticking out in concentration. she tries not to notice the intensely deep affection warm her entire body when she notices that the entire page are those post-it puns she’s been giving secretly. chaeyoung’s filling in the blank spaces, seemingly at random with pops of purple and green and little drawings of cookies and yoda.

dahyun is tilting her head to one side, blonde hair falling down her back with her movements; kind of like a puppy, tzuyu thinks, her nose scrunching up at how adorable the sight is. and she tries not to notice the affection grow when dahyun holds both hands up, her index fingers and thumbs forming an L-shape, lips jutted out dramatically, one eye closed, she’s crouching on the floor.

dahyun’s spent the whole afternoon rearranging her blue post-it note collection, and blue-tacking her favourites to her wall.

tzuyu’s aware that dahyun thinks chaeyoung’s been giving her the post-its. and vice versa.

(but she’s completely unaware that dahyun and chaeyoung have known it was her from the second a dopey, proud smile crossed her face when they first showed her their post-it notes.)

they think tzuyu’s proud, dopey smile is their new favourite thing.

right up there with tzuyu’s heart.

[sign-from-god-complex]

Caretaker

Summary: Autistic! Sides! Logan is a little too caught up with his work and Patton reminds him to look after himself first.

Pairing: Platonic logicality

Warnings: Food mention and that’s it I think!

Tag list: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard

A/N: I know this isn’t a whole lot on its own, but I wanted to do some autistic sides content so I thought (read: hoped) it was good enough. I was thinking I could (over time) write one for Patton taking care of/helping each of the sides in different ways and then one of them all helping Patton, cause I love stuff like that.

AO3 Link

"Logan? When was the last time you had something to eat?"

Logan looked up from his laptop blankly, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room. He was aware Patton had said something, but he wasn't 100% sure what exactly it was he had said, his mind far too caught up in his work.

He'd had the perfect idea for his astronomy paper earlier that morning, right in the middle of drinking his first cup of coffee, and had immediately wrapped himself up in getting it all written out and edited. The fact that the paper didn’t need to be handed in for another month was mostly irrelevant. It would certainly be useful to be a little bit ahead of the other students, plus this idea was far too good to let slip away regardless of the due date.

"I'm sorry, what was that, Patton?" Logan adjusted his glasses, semi-absentmindedly taking in his roommate’s form in the partially darkened room.

Patton was sitting upright in the armchair across from Logan—presumably indicating a serious discussion—leaning forward slightly—likely to show engagement in the present conversation, potentially also to appear less intimidating—and giving a—reassuring? kind? worried?—smile. All relatively common body language displays from him; nothing too out of the ordinary.

Logan wasn’t entirely sure when he’d arrived in the position he was in but, taking into account Patton’s almost constant sensory seeking and the lack of stim toys or blankets in his possession, Logan would assume it hadn’t been long.

"I asked when you'd last had something to eat, Lo," Patton said, tilting his head to the side—curiously? interestedly?

Logan hummed, returning his gaze to his paper, only vaguely continuing to pay attention to Patton. "Virgil brought me a chocolate bar not too long ago."

He skimmed the paragraph he’d just written, quickly refamiliarising himself with the point he was attempting to make.

"And did you eat it?"

There was something in Patton’s tone that made Logan pause. Of course, he'd eaten it! …hadn’t he? Chancing a look down at the table in front of him, Logan caught sight of the whole, still wrapped chocolate bar Virgil had brought him—sitting in plain view of Patton. Oh.

"It would appear not."

Logan watched as Patton sighed, scrunching up his face a little—in pain? annoyance? really, he had no idea—before speaking again. “Lo, I know you’re still kinda hyperfocusing but do you think you could come with me to grab some food?”

“Why would you require my companionship in order to eat?”

Patton screwed up his face again and Logan had a distinct feeling that he wasn’t grasping something that was vital to his understanding of this conversation. Truthfully, that was how Logan felt about most conversations, however, this was something beyond the realm of his regular confusion.

“Sorry, I didn’t phrase that well.” Patton began to scratch lightly at the chair he was sitting on. Logan’s mind immediately latched onto the sound, almost entirely blocking out Patton’s next words. “I meant, can you come with me so I can get you something to eat? Please?”

Logan blinked. He shut his laptop, recognising this was something he should appear slightly more involved in, even if he wasn’t entirely sure of the reasoning. He desperately wanted to continue working on his paper—he was halfway through a really interesting train of thought that he didn’t want to lose—but he owed Patton more than that.

“Why?”

Patton didn’t look offended by the question—he knew Logan wasn’t being snarky, he was genuine.

One of the best things about having entirely neurodivergent or autistic roommates was, despite them having their own difficulties and strengths, they were at least all aware of the things the others struggled with.

For example, Virgil had the most trouble with verbal communication, as well as having issues with becoming easily emotionally overwhelmed. Because they knew this, it resulted in the three of them being more cognizant of situations that could prove to be challenging to Virgil, or for that matter, any of them.

The level of communication in neurodivergent circles, Logan had found, was infinitely superior to the level of communication in neurotypical circles—something he personally appreciated a great deal. It was impossible to comprehend what people were trying to get across if they didn’t simply say what they meant; he didn’t understand this obsession neurotypicals had with making conversations more difficult than they needed to be.

“I’m worried about your wellbeing, that’s why,” Patton replied, pausing his scratching to pick up a stim toy from the table in front of him, “You haven’t eaten all day.”

“All day?”

Logan frowned. That seemed like a curious choice of words. After all, it could only be… What? 12 pm at the lates-

“Lo, it’s 8 pm.”

Ah, there it was.

At the revelation of the amount of time that had truly passed since he’d sat down to begin his paper, Logan abruptly became more aware of his surroundings, almost as if being pulled out of a dream. The appearance of the room, though once so hazy and unimportant, was forced into clarity and Logan had to take a second to process.

It was dark. He had noticed it was dark and yet he hadn’t until this exact moment realised the significance of that. It was also quiet—good for his focus, presumably not very good for his awareness—so he could assume that Virgil and Roman had retired to their own rooms.

His alarms had probably been going off all day and he hadn’t paid them any attention in the slightest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had something to drink. Was it that coffee this morning? His throat was so dry, he was lucky he didn’t have a headache.

Patton’s concern seemed infinitely more warranted now.

Logan furrowed his brow, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. “I see.”

“Mmhmm,” Patton hummed. He threw the stim toy back onto the table before bouncing up out of the chair and over towards Logan. “So, you okay to come and get food with me now? I might even throw in some Crofter’s for dessert…”

If Logan wasn’t already prepared to accept Patton’s suggestion of food, the mention of his samefood certainly would have been enough to get him there.

He wondered, with enough convincing, whether Patton would make him Crofter’s waffles for dinner. Normally Logan felt very strongly about only eating breakfast foods for breakfast, but considering this entire day had been a disaster as far as routine was concerned—and if Logan thought about that for more than a second his chest started to tighten and his hands started to twitch—he supposed he might as well ask.

It would throw his whole week off, no doubt, but quite honestly, he felt like today was going to accomplish that whether he ate waffles for dinner or not. And at the present moment, Logan was willing to risk it regardless, solely to obtain a fraction of the comfort Crofter’s waffles brought him.

He stood up from the couch, wincing slightly at the way his muscles protested the movement. Despite all the work he’d managed to get done, staying in essentially one position for over ten hours definitely had its disadvantages. “Yes, Patton. That would be ideal.”

Logan threw in a, “thank you,” for good measure—it always paid to show gratitude to people when they were doing you a favour, and Patton appreciated good manners.

It was the kind of thing Logan had come to realise was quite important when sharing a living space with someone. He couldn’t say he had been all that polite in the past, but every time Virgil left his dirty dishes in the sink or Roman woke him up by singing Disney songs in the hallways, Logan understood Patton’s perspective just that little bit more.

Patton lit up at the response, his face breaking out into a grin and his whole body doing a small wiggle—happiness; that one Logan was absolutely sure of. He’d had enough exposure to Patton’s pleased stims to be able to recognise them when they happened.

Plus, he may or may not have whole sections of his notebooks dedicated to his roommates’ stimming habits—as well as sensory preferences, triggers and anything else Logan deemed important—but that was neither here nor there.

“Good,” Patton said brightly and before Logan even noticed he was moving he was grabbing a hold of Logan’s hand and pulling him into the kitchen.

[disneylanddirectioner123]

Heart-In-A-Box

I could get used to this, instead of saying hello, i just AHOY here and AHOY there. ANYWAYS. This is for  everyone who didn’t get a Valentines Day gift or don’t have a Valentine AT ALL. Don’t worry though, I have some Spidey Spice Doritios and a small thing of Ben & Jerrys if you wanna share with me. I KNOW, I WAS ALONE ON VALENTINES DAY. (Don’t rub it in, I’m emotional :( I’ll change my mind.)

However, I did get a nice smelling bottle of Sea Scrub peel off mask. Now I’ll smell like Ariel!!! :D

I also got a red Birds Of Prey shirt and some small cookie biscuits. BUT. 

I just wanted to make this imagine for everyone who didn’t get the Valentines Day that they wanted, and of course because of the title: IT’S A DADDY PATRICK IMAGINE!!! Brace yourselves! This may get a little bit spoopy!!!

—

IMAGINE #2

Title: Heart-In-A-Box

Pairing: Patrick Hockstetter x Reader

Word Count: 

Theme: Valentine’s Day.

For: Anyone who had a sucky Valentine’s Day, but for this imagine, I’ll put my name: Jae. (You don’t have to put up with my name :) Do what you want! You do you honey!!)

Warnings(?): Anatomy (guts, body parts, blood, etc.) A butchery, Just blood. IMAGINE WILL PROBABLY BE THE CRINGIEST YOU’VE EVER READ IN YOUR LIFE.

Scene: Reader is having a terrible Valentine’s Day. Nobody has given them a Valentine so they’re feeling left out, resulting in them to focus on schoolwork. On a field trip to the local museum for a science class, Reader slowly starts receiving Valentine’s gifts from a green eyed admirer. 

PLAYLIST: 

1. Love Hurts by Nazareth

2. Every Breath You Take by The Police

3. Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden

—

The sound of other students in the hallways of Derry High annoyed Jae.

It was the dreaded day; Valentine's Day.

Pink, white and red littered the entire school and it made her sick. What a way to rub in the pain that she was gonna be YET AGAIN alone on Valentine's Day.

Students, mostly pathetic little middle schoolers wore dumb pink and red outfits as they scurried around, giving each other bouquets of flowers, boxes of chocolates, and cringeworthy love letters.It seemed that someone, probably someone from the student body or arts committee wanted to make Valentine's Day this year special, hence why everyone was wearing either pink or red. Some idiots even came dressed as angels, pretending to shoot people with arrows.

It was disgusting.

Jae was probably the only girl wearing a different colour. As she walked over to her locker, students stared at her and snickered.

"Looks like she has no Valentine." "She'll be a loner forever!" "Happy Valentine's Day Jae!" "What a LOSER." "Don't you mean LOVER?"

She barged through the laughing students, shoving a making out couple off her locker. After opening her locker and scrunching up some hurtful Valentine's Day cards from some neanderthal jocks and prissy skanks, Jae grabbed what she needed for the field trip to the museum. Her anatomy class was going to the museum as a part of an assignment on individual parts of the body.

Jae couldn't wait to get to the museum. As well as getting away from all these morons, it was no secret that Jae took a close interest into anatomy class. Her father was a butcher and her mother was a nurse so it wasn't her first time seeing blood and guts, whether it was a bonus help that she learnt about the nifty things that went on inside the human body, much to the other students' horror and disgust.

"So," An obnoxious voice rang in her ear followed by a loud POP!, "who ripped your heart out?" Greta smirked as she leaned against Jae's locker. Jae rolled her eyes, out of all the days that she didn't want to be tormented, today took the angel cake.

Enough was enough. Jae turned to Greta with a fake sad expression.

"You. When I saw you making out with Sally Mueller in the bathroom," she fake sobbed, "it broke my heart in two. How could you Greta?!"

Gasps erupted throughout the hallway followed by mean and taunting chants of "Greta likes girls." With an angry huff, Greta stormed off with all the attention now focused on her.

Jae's anatomy classmate, Beverly Marsh approached her locker in the direction of where Greta charged from. "Jeez, didn't know you and Greta were-"

"I'm not. I just got sick of her. Thought I might do some rumour spreading of my own. Anyways," Jae changed the subject onto the exciting excursion ahead, "what's your project about?"

"Feet and legs and what makes them work."

Jae nodded, not wanting to continue the discussion, due to her bored and slightly irritated tone. "You?"

"The heart." Jae responds, rolling her eyes at the ironic theme. Beverly gave a small smile before looking behind her. Her face dropped, scurrying off with a quick; "See you on the bus."

Instead of the cliche turn around, Jae shrugged before following Bev out to the bus where her anatomy class were waiting.

If only she did turn would she have met her green eyed admirer that would soon spoil her silly in the weirdest of ways.

---

After the lame presentation which was both interesting yet extremely irrelevant to Jae, the anatomy teacher granted the class permission to do individual exploring, where the students could either get something to eat or explore other parts of the exhibit.

Jae had her eye on the heart exhibit; it was a maze where there were info cards, hanging and touchable props and video diagrams on all walls. It looked like fun.

So, being a lone ranger, Jae headed directly to the heart maze. But she wasn't the only one.

It seemed that a certain someone had his green predatory eyes for Jae. Patrick Hockstetter was fascinated by her. He followed her around town and the idea that she was working on the anatomy of the heart made him fall for her. He loved that she liked what people would call macabre, he loved that she had an IDGAF attitude yet how devoted she was to her anatomy class. He loved that she was an all out badass.

And don't get him started on her beauty. She was SO MUCH prettier than the other girls of Derry. Her hair was so shiny and when he sometimes stepped behind her at the cafeteria and managed to smell her hair, her hair smelt like strawberries and cream and her skin smelt like the seaside.

He always thought of himself as a smooth operator, yet when it came to Jae, he couldn't muster up the balls to ask her out.

Patrick Hockstetter the chicken.

He didn't like the idea of that going around especially in front of his crush.

So since Valentine's Day was today, it was his chance.

He stood a decent feet away and got out the crumpled love note he was gonna pass to her on the bus. In his neatest writing, which was still messy, he wrote;

"WILL YOU BE THE FIRE TO MY LOINS? LOVE P.H"

As disgusting and cringy as it sounded, Patrick tried to be poetic and literate as he had caught Jae reading the novel "Lolita" on regular basis when the teacher forced him to go into the library instead of loitering with the other members of the Bowers Gang behind the gym. Wrapped in the paper was a small animal heart; in particular a chicken heart.

He clenched the paper, trying not to rip it or squish the heart. Patrick wasn't gonna chicken out now.

He scrunched it up and flung it at her. It hit her, the heart fell out of the paper and splatted on the floor and as she turned around, he disappeared into the other entry of the maze.

---

When she got to the heart of the maze, her eyes bulged as she saw a giant squishy heart in the centre that could be touched. She loved the idea of an interactive model. She pulled out her polaroid camera and took a photo of the model as she had been doing so through the maze.

When she checked the picture she noticed a tall figure in the background but it was blurry so she couldn't determine who it was. Right next to the model was an info card, basically explaining the model was a photo opportunity and that it instructed kids to not climb on the model. There were two small plates; one with another heart; this time a dog heart and the other plate with a small heart cake, there was a note attached that said; "Dissect me? P.H"

This was the second note that she had received from 'P.H'. It was probably some stupid jock playing a prank on her. She knelt down at the little block with the info card nailed to it, grabbing her pocket knife and visciously stabbed it, noticing jam bleeding out of it. There was no way she wasn't ruining the dog heart.

"What is it with people today?" She yells, "Why me of all people to prank on Valentine's Day?! I bet you this is how you're gonna get me! You're gonna jump out and say; 'Ha Ha! Just kidding ya!' Well i'm not as dumb as you think, so knock it off!!!"

Patrick was watching the whole sight, obviously amused and a little hurt that she thought he was messing her over. Patrick crouched down next to her, coughing to get her attention. As soon as she looked at him, she pieced everything together;

PH=Patrick Hockstetter. The hearts= Rumors of him kidnapping and killing animals.

When she turned to him, he sat down beside her and pulled out a small heart shaped box. He really wanted to give her this gift but wasn't sure how she'd react to seeing the gift. "I got this," He rasped as he held out the box, "for you."

Cautiously, she took the red box and lifted the lid. Inside was a heart. She picked it up to check if it was real. It was. It was bigger than the dog heart. His next two words made her slightly shudder.

"It's Human."

"Patrick, How'd you get it?" Jae asked, raising an eyebrow. On the inside she felt weak.

Instead of answering her, he lunged at her, planting his lips on hers. His lips were a bit slimy and chapped and although he did have a bit of bad breath but it didn't matter. Jae may or may not have had an attraction to him due to his mystery. She really liked him but everyone always kept her away from him. This was a dream come true.

"Pat," She asked when they departed from their soft kiss,

"Where'd the human heart come from?”

[lizeng]

A Checklist for Interaction Designer in a UX Design Project

After designing for all 3 platforms (Web, iOS and Android) on every project for almost 2 years, I think it’s worth to note down some of the key interaction checklists that usually help me think during a product design project. As a designer who has a visual background, these interaction states help me dive deep into considering all the details of how a user interacts with a digital product. As some of my friends who are considering entering into the UX field, I thought these can be helpful starter tips for them to think about interaction in a design project too. Now let’s take a look, what kind of interaction should a product designer consider in a UX design project?

Default Display

This is how the product or elements would look like before the user interacts with it. As a designer, I usually consider how it looks and the overall layout. But in some conditions, for example, dropdown forms, I have to consider the default selection from the list of options. And that default state matters because it can be the most common options users would choose, or it is a default option based on accurate data (e.g. location, timezone etc).

Hover State

Another important aspect to consider for Desktop based products is definitely hover state. It is not only the visual change (e.g. hover over a button will bring a different color), but also in many ways it reflects the action a user can take. Something worth to think when considering a hover state:

Is there enough visual cues? (Consider highlight in color or shapes)

Would a user understand what actions to take? (Consider tooltip)

Are there any options a user needs to know before clicking? (Consider dropdown menus)

Whenever thinking about hover state, it’s always important to consider Mobile Web Responsive display. Because there is no hover state on mobile, it’s important to show every action the user can take right at the default state. So considering Mobile Web Responsive during hover state can be very helpful for web developers. 

Clicked State

Usually when clicking happens, a user can be taken to any pages or state depending on the need. 

If the interaction still happens on the current page or elements, it’s important to highlight where the user is at or what they can do on the current page. For example, an input bar will be highlighted when a user is at focus mode after clicking to type. The rule of thumb is that a user knows exactly what has just happened after clicking. The worse interaction is that nothing happens after a user clicked, that can cause a lot of frustration.  

If the interaction takes a user somewhere else, like a completely different page, always consider if that fits the expectation of the user. For example, some tricky sites can place a huge download button (as ads) on a video converting website. After I accidentally clicked on it, I came across some irrelevant page which is something I don’t expect at all. So, as a result, I will for sure to close the webpage and consider it a bad experience.

Loading State

This is a state a lot of inexperienced interaction design can often ignore. Especially when the clicking interaction involves bringing in some data to the user right away, a loading state is necessary in case the system cannot load that fast. Some common examples are: any numbers the system is calculating, any URLs the system is trying to recognize, any validation (username and password) the system is trying to go through, any new info entry (uploaded a resume or doc) that takes time to parse, and any list items (a list of comments or blog articles) the page is trying to load, etc.  

Waiting Period

A common sense all designers need to know is that users are impatient. Especially when it comes to waiting for something to happen after an interaction, no one has even 10s. Of course that requires the back end to be fast, at the same time, as designers, we need to consider the waiting state in case the system requires a longer waiting period. 

If the waiting period requires a user to stay on the page without closing, there should be a very obvious countdown, allowing a user to know how long exactly they are going to wait for. If not a timer countdown, at least an estimate with a loading bar. The best is to avoid waiting at all, simply let the system work in the back, and the user doesn’t even have to notice the time it can take.

If the waiting period is not controlled by the system alone, but rather by some outside circumstances, as a designer, we should communicate it clearer to the user right on the page. This happened when I was designing for a notification system on iOS. After the user takes some action, it is not up to iOS to approve certain things, not the App itself. So, I had to design a state to let the user know we are in the waiting period and we will notify them once it’s been approved. This can be true for any other product that involves human interaction (e.g. recruiter checking a resume) or validation from another source that’s not controllable from one end alone.

Error State

Always remember to design for an error state because this is something engineers will be asking all the time. It’s easy for us as designers to consider the perfect experience, but a lot of times, things can go wrong. What will happen when things are going wrong? What if the system cannot recognize certain patterns? As simple as someone entered a wrong password, an error state can also expand to system or data failure. If this doesn’t come natural, always ask the engineer team what can possibly go wrong for a specific interaction. They usually have a much better idea what the different scenarios are, and having a meeting to talk about it also helps.

Scrolling State

This usually involves a list of items on the page that’s long enough to scroll. When considering scrolling state, we often have to think about what stays the same, and what scrolls away. In some cases, the scrolling state can allow some elements to change positions or sizes based on the needs. Whenever the page gets long, consider how a user would see the content at the very bottom, and how the scrolling interaction would affect the way they consume the content. 

Browser Breakpoint

As a visual designer, I always strive to make the best layout on a page. However, designing for a digital product can be very different compared to designing for paper. Different from a fixed size paper, the web browser’s size is dynamic. Here I am not only talking about the different screens and devices (E.g. HD screen, regular web, ipad, iphone etc), I am also talking about how people can change their browser size anytime on one single screen. Whatever I designed has to fit in any size when the browser changes. So, whenever there’s a page full of content that goes across the horizontal view (e.g. tables, calendar, modules), consider different layouts for different sizes of browsers. That requires us as product designers to know what are some key browser breakpoints. Here is a list of what I have been using: 

HD Desktop: 1440px

Desktop: 1309px

Tablet Large Size: 1076px

Tablet Medium Size: 933px

Tablet Small Size: 828px

Phone Large: 620px

Phone Medium: 420px

Phone Small: 375px (or Android 360px) 

Image Cropping

I used to think image is an easy component in design because a lot of the images are standard sizes people take from their phone or camera. However, after designing for a system that involves a lot of images displayed in various areas in different sizes. I started to consider the image and its size, a giant beast in the world of products. 

When it comes to image, there are several things we have to consider as designers. First, no matter what kind of image size or shape the user upload on the website, we have to think about auto cropping. It’s easy to think just fill the image up in the square or circle we designed for the product, but we see many sites have stretched images due to bad design. As designers, we don’t want to distort the image, so cropping is the best option, but how to crop and what are the rules behind it? It’s important to communicate what is the safe area (after cropping) to the users, and we can achieve that through image preview. The safe area helps users understand how the image will be cropped so they can add text or design in that image without getting it cut off. 

Another thing to consider after cropping the image is the ratio display. Especially when designing for products that involve a lot of image display, we cannot just give random height and width numbers to engineers. Because we talked about the browsers size can change, and different platforms can display different sizes of images, it’s important to define some image ratios that engineers can stick to no matter what platform it is. Here are some common ratios that I have used in my design: 21:9, 16:9, 3:2, 1:1. 

Numbers, Time and Date

This is a simple one, whenever designing with numbers, always consider the max number of digits. It’s easy to think of numbers with the common 2-3 digits. But what is the max number we can show on the specific component? How would that affect the element’s design, the visual display and the interaction? Always consider the maximum first and the minimum version comes easy. 

This can also relate to time and date display. I remember this very well when I was designing something that has a creation date on it. Due to limited space, I have to consider fit “Created 3 weeks ago” within a very small area. This element seems simple, but it actually has many cases:

Created 30min ago (Max: 59)

Created 4 hours ago (Max: 24)

Created 5 days ago (Max: 7)

Created 3 weeks ago (Max: 4)

Created 2 months ago (Max: 12)

Created 3 years ago (No Max)

Each unit (min, hours, days, etc) should have a max count, and at that point it turns into the next unit. Also, due to the limited space, the repeated info like “Created” and “ago” can be eliminated. So in the end it looks like 30m, 4h, 5d, 3w, 2m, 3y. This is just a simple example to consider the different variations, always consider what the max number would be in those different cases. 

Max Text State

This is the same as numbers, always consider what’s the max number of lines, or characters that can be displayed as text. Or should there be a limit when it comes to display. If the text runs over the limit, what will happen? 

This could involve in default display mode, or during typing mode, or after typing mode. The common solution is to truncate at a limited line or character, add character count during typing, or display error messages when it’s over the limit.

As a product designer though, always consider the max state for text display, but don’t forget how the regular text display and minimum display when communicating with the engineers. And if there are special cases combined with other element variations, don’t forget to mock them up in the design, so engineers can see it as crystal clear as possible. 

Those are the interaction checklists I would go through myself and I would recommend other beginner product designers to go through whenever they are designing. I summarize it as a learning for myself as get more and more familiar with the interaction world, and I hope it can also bring value to my fellow designer friends who are considering UX design as a career in their next move.