#enamel look mug red

[inkdrinkerworld]

ugh beefy!james that does everything for you and spoils the life out of u but not for antiquated reasons he’s j so obsessed w you it gave him every love language x1000

yes omg!!! james is the perfect man to help you beat the daddy issues allegations

james likes spoiling you. he likes going out and randomly seeing things you’d like and just getting them for you.

so he does it.

at one point you’d been sure that james had gifts stockpiled just to give them to you.

but now, you’re just used to it.

he’d been on the road for the last couple of games, playing across the country and you’d missed him.

that didn’t stop james from getting you stuff though.

he came back to the apartment with an extra bag and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“james potter,” you start, a grin breaking out on his face.

“no c’mon, i missed you and everything reminded me of you. ‘specially in wales.”

you’d told james of the slight obsession you’d had with the country during your teen years, and like always he never forgot.

“alright,” you slide the casserole in the oven before turning to him. “i missed you too.”

he nods, all smug and self assured. he wastes no time setting the bag on the counter and taking out some stuff.

“i got you a new mug,” it was a red with a dragon handle- similar to the one on the wales flag.

“jamie,” you kiss his wrist. you’re unaccustomed to this- the gifts ‘just because’ but over the last two years, james had made it his mission to get you acclimated to it.

he likes spoiling you.

“there’s some journals too, moleskin or something,” he takes out four, and you notice that they’re embossed. “got one of shop keepers to do it for me.”

“please say that’s it,” james laughs then. he kisses you before pulling away.

“two more things,” he promises. “got this, from scotland,” it’s an enamel lily brooch and you gasp. it’s delicate and you’re not sure on what you’ll be putting it on but it’s lovely.

“james,” your arms are around his neck and your boyfriend is glad for his core strength at the surprise attack.

“angel, it’s nothing.” he says and you huff.

“s’not nothing,” you kiss his cheek and then just the underside of his jaw. “you always think of me, always. and i appreciate it.”

james coos, “i know you do, s’why i keep doing it. i like spoiling you, you deserve it.”

you nod, scratching the nape of his neck. “thank you.”

“got one last thing,” he says and you nod, “this one is small, but it’s for your keychain.”

james brandishes a little charm that looks strikingly close to the loch ness monster.

“james,” you start, your boyfriend setting your ass on the counter as he stands between your legs. “you’re the most thoughtful man i’ve ever met in my life.”

james blushes, his lips brushing against your cheek and jaw. “you deserve it. and you spoil me just as much.”

you frown and james rolls his eyes, “you always make me my favourite food, give me massages, bake all my favourite things and you always get me something from the bookstore’s charm stuff.”

“oh hush,” you say but james laughs, kissing you slowly.

“c’mon let’s go shower and have dinner together yeah?”

his hand massages the dough of your thigh, eyes boring into yours as he waits for your, “alright loverboy, let’s go.”

[celestialprincesse]

Mustang 🌵🏜️

The morning after dinner with Simon, you sit patiently on your porch swing, a chipped mug of coffee clutched in one hand, a pen knife balanced between the fingers of the other. Fortunately, the mornings aren't yet sweltering enough to wake covered in sweat and kick off the thin sheet from your bed. The sun still rises languorously over the horizon, and you wake with it.

Simon Riley is surprisingly pleasant, and you begrudgingly admit to yourself that Marlene had been right, perhaps you do need to get out more, meet new people, get over it. Perhaps you like him because he's like you. He's quiet, peaceful on the surface, undoubtedly roiling underneath. It's impossible to miss when you know the feeling so well. Tyres crunching on gravel snap you from your reverie, the black truck, some shiny new ford pulling in your driveway, cab doors swinging open to let its driver out.

"Nice." An appreciative eyebrow is raised in the direction of the truck, amusement barely hidden at its cleanliness. You struggle to imagine him spending meticulous hours cleaning the vehicle - when you do picture Simon Riley shirtless and suntanned, working meticulously to rid the truck of dust and dirt, you internally chastise yourself before walking down the rickety porch steps to greet him. "You left your pot." His gruff accent feels so odd to you still, so out of place whilst still being so somehow pleasant, sending shivers down your spine. "Shit. So I did." The enamel of your Dutch Oven is cool against your hands, chilled from the AC in his car. Still not used to the warmth, you suppose.

"You want a drink?" You hum as you wordlessly make your way back up the porch steps, Ness nipping at your heels as you usher Simon and the collie into your cozy kitchen, quick to shut the screen door behind you. "I got sweet tea, coffee, lemonade." "You got earl grey?" "Do I look like the type to have earl grey?" "Black coffee then, please."

Ness seems to like him. Good judge of character, you think. You hope. Maybe she likes him because of how similar he is to you, and you can't help but appreciate the newcomer as he pets the bicoloured ears of your pet. Your place is exactly how he pictured it'd be, cozy in a lived in sort of way, knickknacks scattered across the countertops and shelves and the occasional picture of what he can only assume is you as a kid strewn haphazardly. The coffee maker whirs quietly to life as you busy yourself with retrieving a plate of biscuits from the fridge, chucked in there to avoid the occasional fly that managed to get through the screen in the rushed moments where you failed to close it all the way.

"Biscuit?" "Just coffee is fine." "Your loss." You quip back, putting the plate back in its rightful place, by which time the coffee has brewed and you pour Simon a chipped mug full. "So, the fastback." Simon manages a little awkwardly, dwarfing your mug between his palms. "Ah, the elephant in my garage." The crappy joke makes you actually cringe, eyelid twitching as you angle your head back to the door, making your way to the garage, in which you pull the cover from the red painted mustang with an awkwardly executed flourish.

Upon assessing the car, Simon grunts out a quiet "Shit", turning to you with an almost concerned look. "You pay for this?" It seems weirdly as though he's mad, like anyone who charged you for this useless hunk of metal and rubber had committed some kind of sin, like they'd kicked a puppy or shunned god away. "No. No, guy said if I could fix it up it was mine." "Good. Cause it's worth fucking naught."

Simon spends the morning tinkering with the car. Pushes it out of the garage with pure brute strength so that he can look at it properly, says he'll fix your garage light whilst he's at it. When he appears at the kitchen door like a lost dog, cautious to shut the screen door, he can't help but appreciate the way you turn to face him, leaning the swell of your hip against the countertop. "The biscuit offer still open?" "You're fixing my shitty car and you already looked at my garage light. At this point I owe you more than just biscuits." You chuff.

The veteran can't help himself but to ogle your ass as you bend in front of your fridge to retrieve the biscuit plate, along with a jug of sweet tea and two chilled glasses.

"Prepared." "Ah, figured you'd get thirsty at some point."

There's something pleasant about the quiet of it all. Reminds him why he moved out here in the first place. The quiet nicker of horses and the sight of a beautiful woman making him lunch after spending hours out in the unforgiving heat. It makes him feel weirdly grateful, something he hasn't felt in a while. He's at your side as you rustle up some other food, something more substantial for a man of his size who's just spent four hours in the steadily boiling heat. He likes the way you don't flinch when a tentative arm slips around your waist to grab the glasses you'd set out on the counter, moving them to the table before returning to press his shoulder against yours.

"Need me to do anythin' else?" "Just stand there and be hot." Slips out before you can stop yourself, and your hand flies to cover your mouth, all whilst he stands, massive arms crossed against his chest with a smug. "Yes, Ma'am."

ᯓ★

Today felt like such a good day to write these two I promise I didn't forget about them!! I love them!! They're my emotionally wounded babies!!!

[rainbowfic]

You can:

use either or both prompts as given

use either or both lists for prompts

use the name of either or both lists as a prompts

complete as many or few days as you want

write, draw, craft, or anything else!

There's no deadline and this is just for fun. I'll reblog this with links to the lists if you want to explore.

What's RainbowFic? We're a community of original fic writers on Dreamwidth using prompt lists named after colors (for a very VERY loose definition of color). Our lists range include song lyrics, quotes from books and tv, themed words, contrasts, and a whole lot more (we have over 400!)

Text version of the list under a readmore

Text version:

Day 1: Royal Purple #11 Further beyond / Iceberg #12 Snowman

Day 2: Lilac #25 Freesia / Opera Mauve #20 Curtain call

Day 3: Lavender's Blue #2 Mermaid / Periwinkle #14 Enamel heart pendant from a garage sale

Day 4: Caramel #8 Gummies / Vert #16 As the lord/lady asks

Day 5: Midnight #6 Furtive / Psychedelic Purple #15 I know I'll never be the same

Day 6: Lotus #19 Truthfulness / Ignition Yellow #10 There are some nights I wait for someone to save us

Day 7: Green Go #21 Rideshare / Gold #12 The only way not to think about money is to have a great deal of it

Day 8: City Street #4 Highway / Greenstick Fracture #9 I got the velocity and now all I need is the mass

Day 9: Paprika #8 We've got something kinda funny going on / Harvard Crimson #14 Library

Day 10: Danish Red #2 The Snow Queen / Amaranth #5 Stars

Day 11: Pull Me Over Red #1 Parking ticket / Daffodil #5 Flowers

Day 12: Fluorescent Pink #19 It doesn't matter who they are, I won't forgive anyone who tries to stand out more than me / Parrot Green #13 Call

Day 13: Crane White #18 Tell your daughters do not walk the streets alone tonight / Spirits of Saturn #15 Overgrowth

Day 14: Cherry #12 Grapes / Skylight #4 Smoking on the fire escape

Day 15: Calcite #4 Soft/Hard / Burgundy #2 Varietal

Day 16: Yellow Submarine #17 The long and winding road that leads to your door will never disappear / White Opal #2 Dream

Day 17: Tigers Eye #8 Eerie empty spaces / Moonlight #1 Liminal

Day 18: Baby Blue #4 Sling / Red Dress #5 You need to find a new solution, adaptation or retribution

Day 19: Gunmetal #14 Crossbow / English Violet #3 Since I cannot prove a lover, to entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain

Day 20: Heirloom Silver #2 Heirloom / Brown #5 Brown bagging

Day 21: Coomassie Blue #1 Repressor / Folly #14 Relax, I saw it on TV

Day 22: Fuzzy Wuzzy #3 Hugs /Alien Green #6 This is where you pucker up and kiss my ass

Day 23: Fawn #4 Cat / Grand Ink #20 With a mug of hot tea and some Vicodin in my bloodstream, I look up from my book to watch the bugs outside the windows

Day 24: Royal Blue #2 Queen / Spirit Purple #19 Screw the binary gender system

[nongnaos]

Tagged by @puppy-phum 🥰🧡💜 to post 6 photos.

In order there's:

1. Gay Chef badge. Old workplace got new badges but the hilarity of a female chef called Gay made me very happy.

2. My cat, Vlad, sleeping while hugging me 🥺

3. A photo I took of a concert go-er wearing a pink rain poncho sitting on someones shoulders, I just really like the lighting and colour in this.

4. Went to Prague with some friends where we did an enamel painting workshop and I painted this mug! Very happy with how it turned out.

5. Giving my brother's mini chihuahua tiiiny belly rubs. She a fully grown rescue that's approximately the size of a large donut.

6. My brother, his fiance and I got temporary tattoos from an arcade, put the on and scratched around them so they look red, sent the photo to our parents to make them think we got matching skull tattoos to prank them.

Bonus tiny dog content (normal chihuahua on the chair and mini on the mat):

Tagging: @winnysatang @williamrikers @jjungkookiess @reformedcharacter @fluidsoul31 @isaksbestpillow but no pressure!

[idolatrybarbie]

series masterlist

pairing: marcus pike x alex dozie (fem!OC)

word count & rating: 4.5k | mature

summary: alex dozie, everyone.

tags: angst, takes place in 2014, complicated relationships, background american politics, some emotional violence/potentially triggering relationship dynamics.

notes: @atinylittlepain | extra! extra! read all about it: marcus pike, past, present and future pathetibabe.

Spring. The temperature outside is mild. Rain showers take over the usual Lake Champlain gloom. It’s still sad outside, but at least there’s a little bit more substance to it. The sky is crying, and Alex can appreciate that. For how much it rains, she wonders if it is grieving.

Something—someone shifts in bed beside her. Opening her eyes slowly, it takes a minute for her eyes to focus. When an arm snakes around Alex’s waist, she doesn’t need to see to know who it is.

“Reg,” she croaks. Reg like register, or Reggie—that’s his name.

“Lex,” he whispers back. His breath tickles the shell of her ear.

“How long have you been up?”

“Hmm, ‘bout an hour,” Reggie tells her.

“And what time is it now?” Alex asks.

“Almost 6:30.”

Alex freezes, blood running cold. She twists out of Reggie’s grip, sitting up in bed to give him the harshest glare she can muster this early. Except she doesn’t have the time, so she only squints at him in vague annoyance before throwing the covers off her long legs.

“I’m supposed to be up at five,” she sighs. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You looked so peaceful,” Reggie smiles. It forces her to smile too, despite herself.

“Peaceful or not, I’ve got a seven o’clock class.”

Alex scurries into the bathroom, unwrapping the silk scarf around her head. Her straightened hair falls to her shoulders, choppy bangs bleached and dyed black at the ends. The rest of her hair shines with the bathroom light, a bright silver blonde reflecting everything thrown at it. She rubs a makeup wipe over her face, forgoing a decent cleanse in the crunch of time.

A shortened version of her usual morning routine goes as follows: deodorant, followed by a spritz of perfume; pinning her hair back as she smears on the slightest bit of makeup; throwing together an ensemble of decent-looking clothes while she scratches at her enamel with a toothbrush.

She doesn’t have time for contacts, grabbing her glasses from the nightstand. Reggie has done his due diligence in making her a coffee, black with two sugars. He hands Alex a bright blue travel mug and her brown leather carryall. It really does carry all—notes, pens, loose tabs of chewing gum. You name it, she’s got it.

Alex kisses him on the cheek, leaving a red-brown pair of lips on his skin.

“I’m going to kill you,” she says, all play.

“You’re gonna need a lawyer for that.”

“Point there. Know any good ones?” Alex asks. She smiles again, because Reggie makes it so easy, and says, “I’ll see you later.”

The walk from Cushing Hall to the law department’s cozy little building is a cool fifteen minutes. The rain stops as she makes her way, maneuvering around puddles in her short-heeled boots. Quaint boxy buildings surround her, the campus built like a brick maze between manicured lawns and concrete sidewalks. She can almost see a glint of sunlight reflecting against the clear windows as she passes them by.

It’d been a big swing choosing school out here; Vermont was far from the dusty heat of New Mexico and the warm arms of her mother. She’d turned down the acceptance to a community college right outside her hometown of Rio Rancho. It was a good school, Mrs. Dozie always told her. A Nigerian immigrant herself, she only wanted to see Alex succeed. It was good, sure—but Alex wanted better. The best. To be it, have it, live it; all of the above. Just over 100 thousand dollars in combined loans and scholarships later, she was set to graduate magna cum laude in a few short months.

The door opens at her pull, the floors still bright and sparkling from a lack of early morning foot traffic. A tangle of suits sit in the cushy lounge chairs nearby, hanging around. Business majors, maybe, waiting for their first lecture of the day. A check of her watch—a knockoff Calvin Klein her mother gifted her at the ceremony for Rio Rancho High’s class of 2010—tells Alex she is already late for her own.

She doesn’t have the time to notice the rain starting to pelt against the windows again, a light tingle in her ears as Alex speeds up with each step. When she reaches Rutherford Hall, she slips into room 104 with practiced silence. Alex takes a seat at the very back of the lecture hall, pulling a notebook and one pen from her varied collection, trying to catch up. When Professor Cartier takes a moment to switch between presentation slides, she pops a piece of gum in her mouth to chew.

Just a few more months, she thinks.

Professor Cartier calls on her to stay back after class ends. “Miss Dozie, if I could have a minute?” he asks at the front of the classroom.

Alex nods with a weak pull of her lips, swiping her things into her bag. She clops down the many steps to his podium with an iron grip on the leather handle. Standing tall in his impeccably tailored suits, Cartier was the only Black faculty member in the criminal justice department. Of all her professors, he is the man Alex holds in the highest regard. It’s not easy to get where he is.

They both start to speak at the same time.

“Please, go ahead,” Cartier says.

“I’m sorry for showing up late, I still got all of the content and I promise, it won’t ha—”

“Miss Dozie,” he says, stopping her. “Alex. You’re fine.”

The breath trapped in her lungs drains from her slowly. He’s never called her Alex, not in all her four years.  “Alright then.”

“I wanted to congratulate you,” the professor says.

“Well, thank you,” Alex says. “…for what exactly?”

“The scholars' brunch,” Cartier says it like it’s an obvious thing.

“I’m confused.”

“Don’t tell me they didn’t tell you?” At Alex’s silence, Cartier shakes his head with the suck of his teeth. It makes Alex chuckle lightly through her nose. Her mother has the same habit. “For your noted academic excellence, you’ve been invited to a scholars’ brunch with the mayor of Burlington.”

“Oh,” Alex says. She tries to look grateful, putting on a show of holding her hand up and clenching it in a fist of faux excitement. “Yay.”

“I know. Sounds pretty fuckin’ boring, huh?” Professor Cartier asks.

Alex laughs, a little uneasy, a little endeared. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Well, it’s a great opportunity, anyway. It’s less invitation and more expectation if you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Alex nods. “I can grit and bear a few tea sandwiches with Rob Yorkdale, Professor Cartier.”

“I’m happy to hear it.”

“When is it?”

“This afternoon.”

Fantastic. They must schedule it in the middle of a school day, on a Monday. Not like she has anything better to do! Oh, these hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt? Pfft, it’s nothing Mr. Yorkdale. Let’s talk about you, huh?

“You look more than thrilled,” Cartier says.

Alex schools her grimace into a neutral mask, raising her brows. Expectation, not invitation. “Do you think Professor Harris will mind me missing her ethics class?” she asks.

"I don’t think she’d even notice you weren’t there.”

Three and a half hours later, Alex wanders into the administration office. Dean Wesley is ready to greet her with a smile, parroting all the standard questions and statements lobbed at outgoing seniors: what a pleasure Alex is to have on campus and how much she will be missed, how Wesley does hope that she comes back for a visit indeed. By the time they make it to an unfamiliar conference room, it feels like the dean is practically pushing her out the door already.

The doors open together, revealing the other attendees of this lovely little gathering. Alex recognizes a few of them: Aditi Patel, second in their class this year, setting the curve for the past three. Rowan Michael's posh attitude and smug smirk disappear as Dean Wesley leads Alex inside the room, dated floral wallpaper and the lingering scent of dust surrounding them.

“Dean Wesley,” Aditi steps forward first, shaking hands with the older man as she gives him a polite, toothless smile.

Rowan stands from his seat, nodding as he spits out a clipped, “Sir,” with a nod in the dean’s direction. The others take their turns spewing polite greetings.

“It’s so nice to have you all here,” Wesley says.

“Sure,” Alex says. “Getting the gang together to celebrate our successes.” The sarcasm is lost on Dean Wesley, but Rowan shoots her a glare.

Alex has less of an issue with Aditi than Rowan, but she’s not exactly trading friendship charms with her either. Whatever. Weeks from now, they’ll never see each other again. She might as well have her fun.

It’s a few minutes of stilted small talk that Alex simply observes before the doors open again. Mr. Yorkdale waltzes through them, everyone standing at attention with his presence. Behind him, a couple of young men trail in. The guys from earlier, Alex’s hypothesized business kids. Her opinion of them as a collective goes up marginally; being the cronies of one of the wealthiest public servants in New England didn’t exactly notch them very high.

“Mayor Yorkdale!” Dean Wesley greets him.

The two men shake hands as the student crowd utters hellos in a polite cacophony. Alex’s attention slides over to the man standing just to Yorkdale’s left. Tall-ish with short dark hair, he is perfectly clean-shaven. He holds himself in a hunch, like he’s waiting for what’s next, grinding the heel of his shoe into the ground. Maybe it’s a nervous habit. When they make eye contact, the man smiles at her. She blinks, looking away again. Reggie flashes before her eyes, probably stealing her Netflix to watch Community before his 2:30 class.

“I’m so excited to meet and greet all of you,” Mayor Yorkdale says, addressing the scholars of this brunch. “Now, let’s eat!”

Like they were waiting in the wings, a flurry of cater-waiters have everyone seated with a plate at his command. In the organized chaos of everything, Mr. Cue Ball sits next to Alex. She doesn’t say anything, unfolding a pristine linen napkin and spreading it across her lap. Catering trays are wheeled into the large space, lining the walls before a short man and a tall woman make their way around the long table. Everyone is served with a choice of ham and cheese omelet or eggs Florentine, a slice of rye toast slathered with farm-fresh butter, and a tidy fruit cup of state-grown peaches and pears.

Cue Ball gets the omelet while Alex opts for the eggs Florentine…not that she’s paying him any mind. The mayor is talking, boasting about his accomplishments with almost seven years in office behind him. It will be another two years before the election; Alex won’t be living here, but if she were, she wouldn’t vote for him. She certainly didn’t the last time.

“So how is it?” someone asks. The question seems to come from thin air. Alex looks around for the owner of the voice, looking straight ahead and meeting Rowan’s sneer. Turning her head left, fork still in her mouth, she meets the smile of the mayor’s aide.

“I’m sorry?” she asks.

“How is it? The food,” he says.

“Oh, um—fine, I guess.” The yolk is globby against her tongue, sliding down her throat before Alex speaks again. “Sorry, do I know you?”

“No,” the aide shakes his head. “I’m Marcus.” Now she does.

“Alex,” she offers.

“So, Alex,” Marcus starts, keeping his voice a little lower as to not interrupt Yorkdale’s chatter, “what’s it like at Champlain?”

Are they really doing this? “Look, Marcus? I’m here to eat with the mayor. I’d like to get back to that.”

Marcus’ brows raise a little at her reaction. Alex can almost see the gears in his head turning. “My bad. Sorry,” he says. No smart line, no bitchy comment. An apology.

The simplicity of it, the genuine sentiment dripping from just three words has her cringing inside. He’s trying to be nice. “It’s good,” she says, popping a diced peach into her mouth with her fork.

“Pardon?”

“You asked what it’s like? It’s good,” Alex says. “Simple. Hard, but no one comes here without looking for a challenge.”

“Doesn’t seem like it would be difficult for you,” Marcus says.

“Hard isn’t difficult,” she shakes her head. Curious, she adds, “Why do you say that?”

“You seem up for it. You don’t strike me as the typical audience for the halls of an institution like this.”

Hm. Of course. Well, he isn’t wrong; Alex can count the number of Black staff and students at Champlain College on one hand. Still, the insinuation has her turning away again, tongue poking into her cheek. She ignores him for the rest of the meal, only politely passing the glass pitcher of orange juice to Marcus when it comes to their stretch of the table. He tries to hedge in a few more leading comments, but Alex stays silent. By the time they serve strawberry cream tarts, he’s caught the hint.

Breakfast finishes unceremoniously. The mayor shakes every student’s hand on the way out, his clammy palm engulfing Alex’s as she feigns a smile at him. As she walks out of the conference room, she can’t help but feel that the whole thing was an utter waste of time. Worst of all, she’s still hungry. The eggs were light, the toast dry. The fruit and tart might as well have been made of air.

The dining hall is packed at peak lunch hour. Alex makes her way into the line for the international foods station, hooking a white plastic tray under her arm. Dining hall staff are busying themselves all over the kitchen, one woman hauling ass to bring another tray of Alfredo tomato linguini to the service counter. When Alex gets closer to the front of the line, she greets them.

“Ladies, how are we doing today?” she asks easily.

“Runnin’ around like chickens without our heads, sweetheart. You know the deal,” Marlene says. “What can I get for you?”

“I’ll take some of that pasta if you don’t mind,” Alex says.

“Of course.” She nods, slopping a generous helping onto a porcelain plate. “Here you go.”

“Had breakfast with the dean and the mayor.”

“Ooh, hoity-toity. Fitting right in with that high society there, right hon?” another woman—Linda—asks.

“If only they knew how to cook.”

Marlene and Linda titter with laughter, smiling at her. This is the best part of her day. These women have kept her alive and fed for the past four years, keeping Alex sane on her worst days with their cooking. She thinks she’ll miss them the most.

Thank god, there is an empty table at the very edge of the dining hall. It’s just Alex and an empty chair across from her, away from the rest of the student body in a tight corner against the building’s far wall. She expects that someone will come along soon enough, asking to take the vacant chair to slide up next to their table. Spare parts, spare friendships that Alex hasn’t developed here. Sure, she’s got acquaintances—classmates she much prefers if she must take a pick of the litter. No one Alex feels a real affinity to.

Well, Reggie. She slides her palm-sized phone from the front pocket of her bag, thumbs flying over the smooth ridges of its buttons to send him a text.

What are you up to right now?

She places the phone on the table beside her tray, waiting for a buzz in response.

Surprisingly, it’s not some freshman with parents richer than God who takes the chair from her. No one takes it at all. The guy from earlier, what was his name? Marcus. He rests his right hand over the sturdy wood back of it, catching Alex’s attention.

“Anyone sitting here?” he asks.

Marcus doesn’t wait for her to answer, sliding the chair out to take a seat. Alex watches him carefully. He sets his tray down across from hers, chicken fingers and French fries in a pile on his plate.

He’s got a bad case of overconfidence. Sincere apology be damned, working at the mayor’s office has clearly gone to this guy’s head. She doesn’t say a word, watching him tear open a ketchup packet and squeeze its contents out over the starchy fries. When Marcus is done, he licks any remnants of the red sauce from his fingers.

Alex tries not to linger too long on the sight of his fingers in his mouth, focusing on the task at hand. He’s watching her watch him. He glances to the side, then cranes his neck to look behind him. Then he quirks his lip up, no teeth.

“Do I have something on my face?” Marcus asks.

At this, Alex smiles. She likes to play with her food first.

“Nope,” she says, popping the P. “You’re just fine.”

She twirls linguini noodles around the tines of her fork methodically, attention never breaking from the man in front of her. He shoves a few fries in his mouth at once. She only notices now that the sleeves of his pressed blue dress shirt have been rolled to the elbow, the expanse of his forearm bare. It draws Alex’s eyes to the rest of him. His shoulders are broad under the expensive linen, an extra button newly undone to expose a peak of his collarbone.

Her phone buzzes beside her. Alex ignores it.

“So, Marcus?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s it like working at the mayor’s office?”

Mouth half-full, he starts to answer the question. “It’s…good,” he says. With one word, he’s fallen right into her trap.

“Really?” Alex asks, taking another bite of pasta. She waits until she is finished. Chew. Swallow. Speak. “You don’t strike me as the typical audience for the halls of an institution like that.”

As she speaks, Alex watches ketchup drip off the end of a French fry already halfway inside Marcus’ mouth. It disappears behind the table, presumably landing on his pants by the way he groans.

“Shit,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, what did you say? Oh.” His brain seems to only be catching up now, realizing she’s taken his words from him.

“You know what, never mind,” Alex says. She picks up her phone and tosses it onto her tray, then grabs her bag.

“Where are you going?” Marcus asks.

“You can have the table.”

“Where’re you going to eat?”

This man and his fucking questions. “It doesn’t really matter to you, does it?” she asks.

“Why do you think that? I mean, better here than the bathroom.”

Their conversations seem to be circling each other. It’s frustrating.

Alex sets her tray back down a little too hard, the plate rattling against her baby blue Nokia. She sits again, crossing one leg over the other.

“Guys like you walk around places like this and get applauded for showing up. I would say I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you made it clear that you have—the same thing is not happening for people like me,” Alex says. “You pop out on Earth with a silver spoon up your ass just like the rest of them, but because you deigned to notice that I might be a little out of place here, we’re supposed to be…what? Friends?”

“I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t have to. It came as the expectation. Look, I’m sure you’re great and everything, but I’m really not interested in getting to know some jag who saw The Color Purple off-Broadway and thinks he can hang with the Black chick.”

“You’re wrong,” he says.

“Excuse me?”

“The silver spoon, you’re wrong. I mean sure, it’s there, but I wasn’t born with it. Certainly not a pleasure that it’s present,” Marcus says.

“Am I supposed to feel bad?” Alex asks.

Marcus chuckles, a harsh gust of air through his nose as his chest shakes lightly. He puts a chicken finger in his mouth. Chews. Swallows. Speaks. “You’re funny, you know that?”

“Hilarious,” she deadpans.

“I don’t know why they’ve got you here. Scholars’ brunch? Your talent’s wasted,” he continues. “We should get you a stand-up special.”

“We?”

“Yeah. A tight fifteen, you know, working the crowd. Who doesn’t love a beautiful woman telling jokes?” Marcus asks. Alex’s face grows hot, eyes glued to her pasta as he continues to talk. “You’re right. I can’t expect you to feel bad. Kind of a dick move of me. I don’t know you and you don’t know me.”

“Oh, I know you,” Alex says, sitting up a little straighter.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirms.

“Okay,” he says, pointing at Alex with a fry between his fingers. “So who am I?”

“Rich, for starters, but anyone who has eyes can tell you that. Harry Rosen button-down, authentic leather Prada lace-ups, but your pants… Banana Republic? My guess is you ran buck wild in Neiman Marcus and went a little over budget. That’s a 200-dollar haircut that you’ve let grow out so you know you’re getting the money’s worth, and maybe you’re hoping you can style it into bangs in a few weeks once it dips past your ears,” Alex says. “You didn’t want to come here today, and you don’t like working for the mayor, because the truth is…” She leans in closer now, voice barely above a whisper. “Deep down, you’re about as out of place here as I am.”

Alex sits back up again, playing with the blush pasta on her plate. “You’re just inauthentic.” When Marcus puts his other hand on top of the table, she sees it: the yellow-gold wedding band that circles his ring finger. And married, she thinks. Of course.

She finishes her food quickly, standing from her seat. Out of politeness—not that there’s much left—Alex offers him her hand to shake. Surprisingly, he takes it.

“Lovely to meet you, Alex…?”

“Dozie. Alex Dozie,” she says.

“Marcus Pike.” He drops her hand, and she walks away.

Very pushy, very proud, very married. Alex recites these things in her head as she drops off her plate and tray, and again some more as she leaves the dining hall. She finally checks her phone, a message from Reggie waiting for her.

Class was canceled, schedule is clear…come fill up my time for me?

Alex smiles down at her screen.

It’s another early morning when Alex is called into Professor Cartier’s office. His class has been canceled; an occasion never seen before in his fifteen years teaching at Champlain. When Alex walks past the threshold of his door, she can feel something off. He smiles when he sees her, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Miss Dozie, please,” he motions towards the seat across his desk.

Alex pulls it out, quickly sitting. “Professor Cartier, I don’t know what this is about,” she says.

“You’re not in trouble. We’re interviewing all of my female students this week.”

“Oh?” That sounds bad. Or if not bad, whatever the opposite of good is.

“It has been brought to my attention that my teaching assistant, Reginald Juneau, has been having a sexual relationship with one of my undergrads.”

“Okay…”

“I’m not asking if it was you,” the professor says. “But if you know anything, or there’s anything you’d like to tell me, this is a safe space.”

Alex’s heart pounds beneath her ribs. Professor Cartier…she can’t lie to this man. He’s a beacon in the department. She wants to be him one day; an accomplished Doctor of Law, a man who fought for what was right before coming here to help people like her learn to do it all over again.

She can’t lie, but she has to. The fallout if she came clean would be unimaginable. Alex didn’t come this far to have it all come crashing down like this.  She certainly can’t do that to Reggie.

 “I’m sorry, Professor. I don’t know anything.” It comes out easy, a lie that’s oil-slick the way it pours from her mouth.

“I figured you’d say that,” Cartier sighs. “You’re not the type to…” Whatever else he was going to say gets caught up in a vague handwave. The professor stands from his chair, ready to see her out.

“What’s going to happen to him?” Alex asks suddenly. “To Re—your TA?”

“Well, he’s under temporary suspension. Whatever results of the internal affairs investigation will determine whether he must leave.”

“But?”

Cartier shakes his head. “Even if nothing does turn up, the school isn’t in the habit of keeping on potentially…problematic staff members. Liability,” he explains.

“Oh, right,” Alex nods.

Her body goes numb, limbs operating automatically as she makes her way back to her apartment. How could this have happened? Did they get too comfortable? That can’t be it. Outside the confines of this room, they were never together. Nothing more to go off of other than pure speculation. Still, someone had. And now Reggie was going to lose his job.

Harsh knocks at the door pull her out of a fugue state. The sky is much darker now than it was the last time she checked. Alex makes sure to draw the curtains shut before she answers the door. Behind it is Reggie, of course it’s him. He looks mad. No—he looks angry.

“The fuck did you do, huh?” he asks, shouldering his way into the apartment.

Alex closes the door. “Reg—”

“Don’t start, okay? I know what you did, I just want to hear you say it.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Alex says.

“Yeah, huh? Then what’s this?”

He grips the back of her neck with a firm hand, pulling her close to a wrinkled piece of paper between his fingers. Through the tears, she can read the words Letter of Termination. It’s been signed by Dean Wesley.

“I didn’t do anything!” she says again. “I promise, Reg, I would never. I-I—”

“If you say you love me, so help me God,” Reggie spits.

“I would never do that to you. To us. Come on, Reggie, think about it for two seconds.”

“I’ve been thinking about it all day!” he yells. “You know what this’ll do to me, Lex? Ruin me. This will ruin me. All that work down the fuckin’ drain, and for what? A nice piece of ass.”

“Get out,” Alex says.

“What?”

“Get. Out. Of my apartment. Right now, Reggie,” she demands. “You think I’m guilty? Fine! Sure, I did it. Whatever you need to believe. Just get the fuck out of my place. I never want to see you again.”

Reggie huffs. “Can do, Lex,” he says, making for the door. He pulls it open, stopping at the last second. “Have a nice fuckin’ life.”

The door falls shut with a slam. Alex drops slowly to the floor, clutching at her chest as sobs wrack her body. Shoulders shaking, she huddles into a tight ball. Now, she’s alone. Alex is well and truly alone.

[ferrocache]

ok fic jumpscare. ftm!rosa. no tws

enjoy i guess .? if enough people want im might finish it. itll be a oneshot

Rosa found herself staring at her body in the mirror once again. This had started to become a regular occurrence. Everyday after getting dressed she would sit and stare at herself in the mirror. Something felt wrong... Something had to be wrong. But she didn’t know what. Maybe it was the clothes she wore, or maybe it was the way she carried herself, Rosa just couldn’t figure it out. After snapping out of the trance she had worked herself into she started to carry on with her morning routine. Slipping on her red blazer, with a couple enamel pins as decorations she took one last look in the mirror and headed on to the short walk to work.

Although Rosa’s relationship with Artem was good, great even, she couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes. Nor could she look in anyone's eyes, lest they read her thoughts. She honestly felt bad for keeping her thoughts to herself, but she didn’t know how to put her feelings into words? How would you even go about describing something like this? She sped up her pace as she realised she had been standing still while thinking. To be honest, she found it embarrassing. Everyone else, especially in the NXX team, had their lives and themselves figured out, but why couldn't she? Was something wrong with her? 

She sighed as she walked through the office’s glass doors and gently waved to the receptionist before taking the stairs up to her desk. Papers had started to pile up on her desk, and multiple boxes of documents had accumulated around her workspace. She had been working on them but they just kept piling up and no amount of overnighters could make it bearable. Her colleagues had offered to help but she had declined all of them. She didn’t want to burden them with more work, not after she felt like she had started to weigh down on their good mood.

—

Eventually, Rosa was confronted. Artem had been keeping an eye on her and noticed that something was off. He had called her into his office multiple times but everytime Rosa had an excuse and needed to leave. "You've been acting.. Off. Is something going on that I should be aware of? You know that you can trust me, right?"Name glanced around to see if she could find a reason to leave, but eventually sighed as she slumped back into her chair.

 "It's just, well.." She paused, unsure how to explain. "I think that something might be wrong. I don't feel like myself anymore- I promise I'm not going insane I just.. Don't know." she blurted out the last part quickly and turned her head away to avoid eye-contact with her partner. Artem looked at her, noticing how her hands nervously intertwined with each other and the slight bouncing of her leg as she grew anxious. 

"I'm happy you can talk to me, but I'm unsure on how to help. It's not really my, er, field of expertise." He pushed his chair back and stood up. "You take 2 sugars in your coffee, right?" Artem gently asked before sliding his chair back into place and walking towards the coffee machine. Rosa hesitantly nodded and slightly loosened up her stiff posture subconsciously.

 "I just.. Don't feel.. Connected to who I was. I'm not really.. Rosa . I feel like a weird amalgamation of thoughts and feelings at the moment. I don't know what to do." Artem nodded, his back turned as he fiddled with the buttons on the coffee machine. Rosa sighed again. "I should probably go see someone about this." she muttered, looking into the rose-coloured mug that she had been given. Artem nodded again and sat back down. 

"Sounds like a good idea. If you need, you're always able to take time off from the firm and from the investigation team if it all gets too much for you. And also," He took a long sip of his coffee. "Please look after yourself." Rosa smiled slightly and nodded. 

"I will do my best, Mr Wing." 

—

It was 3am and yet she was still in a trance. The face that looked back at her from the mirror had distorted, becoming uncanny and much unlike her own. A pair of scissors lay on the bathroom counter caught her eye and before she knew it, she had cut her hair short. She shook her head a bit and pulled at the jaggedly cut strands, inspecting the damage before putting down the scissors and starting to sweep off the rogue chunks of hair that sat on her shoulders. Sure, it was a bit drastic, but it made her feel better.

She looked down and studied the way that her pyjamas stretched and folded across her body. It didn’t look right. Something about it was wrong.. Something always had been wrong, to be honest. Rosa had known this for a long time, but it never had started to drag her down until now. She flicked the lightswitch off and fell into her bed, loaded with blankets and stuffed toys she had gotten from her friends. Rosa thought for a while, about work, about the NXX investigation, about her life in general, and about what she was going to do tommorrow. She already had the day off, from Celestine insisting that Rosa take a break, but other than work there wasn’t much else to do other than chores. 

—

The rustling of the tree branches outside the apartment window woke Rosa up. The sun had risen, and it seemed about midday. She had planned to stay in all day and catch up on sleep, but after climbing down the stairs and discovering the fridge was empty except for a few day-old leftovers and some very sad-looking fruits, she very quickly changed her plan. Seeing her sorry excuse for a fridge she gently closed it and slowly climbed back up the stairs to put on clothes. It wasn’t anything fancy, just some sweatpants and a thick jacket as the wind had picked up. 

Staring at the aisles of groceries at the small shop nearby, she kneeled down to grab something before being interrupted. 

“Excuse me sir, did you-” The woman behind Rosa stopped abruptly and looked a bit panicked as Rosa turned around and looked at her. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry ma’am. Did you drop your wallet? I found one over there and was wondering if it was yours.” The stranger held out a red and gold wallet, with a rose embroidered on it. Rosa nodded and thanked the lady before going back to deciding what to buy. Something.. Felt right. Like all the pieces of a puzzle put together- But what was the puzzle? Was it being called sir? Was it having someone be kind?

The grocery store had been very quiet, since most people were working, but it still took a decent amount of time to grab everything she needed and check it out. There were some odd looks, reminding Rosa that she had, in fact, cut her hair very unevenly. Rosa noted that she needed to get it cut properly, lest she look like a failed craft project next time she saw a client. Only god knows what Celestine would say. 

Despite multiple reminders to clean up her hair, it completely skipped Rosa’s mind. That was, until, Rosa was called into a meeting after there had been progress on the current NXX case. Despite her best efforts, the attempt at a quick trim was no better than the original. Walking into the investigation team office was the worst part. Only Luke had shown up early, but that did not help. Immediately after Rosa walked in, the look on Luke’s face went from focused to barely holding back a laugh. After seeing the tired look on Rosa’s face, he attempted to hide his smile, but it was a little too much.

“Nice haircut, Watson.” 

“Thank you, Luke.” Rosa put down her bag and stretched before sitting down. Luke shuffled over and played with her hair. 

“It looks nice on you. Short hair.” Rosa put her hand on Luke’s to stop him from making her hair worse. 

“Do you think so? I cut it on a whim the other day. Not really sure if I like it or not.”

“It’s cute,” He petted her on the head and flicked his hand back before Rosa could slap his wrist. Luke leaned back in his chair and faced Rosa. “Reminds me of that time when we both tried to cut our own hair with safety scissors..? Back when we were little.” 

“Oh god, yeah.” She ran her fingers through it. “You think you can fix it?”

He shrugged. 

“I can try..?” He dug through his pockets and held up a pair scissors.

“Yes plea- Do you always have those in there..?” Rosa asked as she grabbed them off of him. 

“Yeah,” He gently grabbed a piece of her hair and inspected it. “I can work with this. I’ll.. Maybe move to the bathroom..?” 

[trans-lykanthropie]

See Part One

The weather the first mate was dreading continues unabated, and the atmosphere in the bridge is tense. The captain is striding the foredeck and laughing as the bow plunges down towards deep heaving waves, her oilskin seems to give her a curious, tall, hunching profile. The helmsman and first mate exchange worried glances. You are only worried about the engines for now, occasionally shouting down the speaking tube to the furnaces below and working the engine room telegraph.

A small figure wrapped in a raincoat crosses the foredeck and approaches the silhouette of the captain. From what you can make out through the lashing rain, the figure tugs on the captain's sleeve and shouts something in her ear. The captain doesn't move, seemingly reluctant to seek shelter from the growing tempest. Another shout from the figure, however, causes the captain to sweep the second figure up in a lift and carry her off in the direction of the crew's quarters. The navigator has gone bright red and is staring intently at her collection of maps, seemingly unaware at her inkwell sliding across the desk with the pitching of the ship. The first mate chuckles, seemingly relaxes, and mutters '...thank God she's got her distracted....'

The next day the sea is calm. You bump into the captain's steward on the way to the mess at four bells of the morning watch. She greets you jovially as she rubs White Cloverine salve into a curious arc of red marks on her lower neck, beneath her open collar. She seems remarkably energetic for someone who looks like she hasn't slept all night. Nobody at breakfast asks after her strange wounds.

Later you stroll the ship and talk to some of the passengers. Some comment on the rough conditions last night, others ask about the ship's progress to Port Boston. The severe and steely-eyed Madame F., clearly the wealthiest passenger aboard, icily remarks on the captain's absence from the table at dinner last night, asks if she means it as a personal affront to the guests, and interrogates you on 'why the engines sound so loud outside her cabin'. Confused and withering under her baleful gaze, you make a feeble excuse and leave for a safer part of the ship.

You find the captain gloomily watching the almost glassy ocean, leaning despondently on a railing with her chin on her hands. She looks like she hasn't slept either. She comments absent-mindedly on the 'boring weather', how there's 'too much sun', and on how you 'smell of coal tar and hot brass' before yawning. Was that a flash....fangs you just saw? You have no idea what she's talking about, but you ask the first mate about it later. They smile a little proudly.

"Oh we missed the worst of the storm for sure, but I think the captain's in a strop with me now. She'll forgive me soon enough mind."

The captain bounds through the door in her typical way and glares daggers at the first mate, who slyly comments on how splendid the weather is. She strides over to the navigator's desk, examines the charts, makes a sound almost akin to a growl, downs the lukewarm coffee-like contents of an enamel mug, and disappears below in a flurry of topcoat and that strange forest-like scent. The navigator makes the kind of noise you'd expect someone to make on seeing a cute animal. You reflect on how the dynamic of the bridge crew makes your head spin sometimes, as if there's a joke that you don't know the punchline too.

You've been meaning to ask the navigator why she keeps a lunar calendar pinned to the wall by her station. It's not the most pressing question you have.

[olivewinterleaf]

Chapter 2

(The Plan)

An unnecessarily heavily gilded horse-drawn carriage trundled through the granite-cobbled streets. Burning fossil fuels was for the lower classes.

Anyway, twenty horses later, Lord Rancidrimple had arrived at the museum, late as usual.

Emerging from the plush interior of the carriage, he was aided by an army of minions dressed in red velvet and wearing sinister blank masks over their faces, lest their true countenance offend the lord. The lord’s spindly body was then placed gently upon the red carpet that had been especially rolled out for his visit.

The tall, gangly lord tossed his golden hair to one side. He looked down upon Bulbous Bluster as though he were covered in excrement. Bulbous stood to attention in his peaked cap. As he held the door open, he tried to make himself taller. He failed miserably.

“Good morning, your honour,” he said proudly, over-emphasising the letter H, somewhat overwhelmed by the importance of the lord’s presence. “Your greatness, your illustriousness, your flawlessness...” he grovelled.

Lord Rancidrimple could only manage, ‘Grmph mornnn’, as he was too superior to speak clearly to lesser mortals.

Meanwhile, the army of minions removed the lord’s long minklet fur coat. This prompted another hair-tossing from the lord, culminating in an even higher position of his nose.

At this point, Pork-Rind arrived to escort Lord Rancidrimple to the meeting of the board of museum patrons, assembling today, as it did every month on the ninth day at nine of the clock. Except today was not the ninth day. And this was no ordinary meeting. This was a meeting that would change the world. Pork-Rind was beside himself with joy as he prepared to present his proposal to the patrons. Everyone was there - Sir Basildon Hornet-Nest, Lady Uphelia Puff-Powder...

He stood at the end of the long oak table and unveiled his grand plan.

A building to end all buildings, nay, a museum to end all museums. A museum that would be the envy of the world, attracting millions of visitors. There was one small problem. It would involve bulldozing parts of the present building.

Later, Lord Rancidrimple was being escorted about the museum. Gallery Attendant Sneerpot giggled to himself as he overheard the words ‘new’ and ‘building’ being bandied about in various combinations.

But it was mid-morning and it was time for Sneerpot to rush off for his tea break. His bald head whooshed past people in a blur of speckled flesh. He overtook everyone who got in his way between gallery and teapot, as though he were in some kind of hybrid walking-running race that no one else was aware of.

The other gallery attendants, who happened to be in the teapot room at the same time, groaned as Sneerpot appeared, seemingly followed by a cloud of dust that had gathered behind him.

“Bet you don’t know what I know?” Sneerpot teased, almost bursting into song. He was going to tell everyone what he thought he knew, no matter what:

“They’ve been having a meeting and that Lord Rancidface’s here. And there’s going to be a new building...” he could hardly breathe, with the excitement of it all, “...And we’re all going to have new uniforms and we’re going to be walking about with special portable receivers.”

“New uniforms, eh?” Attendant Stinkleton wheezed as he waddled to a chair with his large white enamelled tea mug. His enormously round stomach got in the way of everyday activities such as walking and talking, especially as the rest of him was quite small.

Sneerpot continued, “Yep. There’s going to be bottle-green shirts and yellow ties. Cravats for the women...”

“I am NOT wearing a green bottle!” Madame Pluchette shrilled.

“You’re just making it up. The privileged over-classes have been threatening us with new uniforms for years!” said a small male attendant, whose face changed colour depending upon the circumstances, and was apparently named Boil. He was semi-Chameleon, hence his tendency to change colour. Also his hair was raised in a sort of frond.

“It’s true! Why else would they be having a meeting that isn’t on the ninth? They never have meetings unless they’re on the ninth day and ninth hour. That’s always the way here!” cried Sneerpot.

No one could argue with that.

All the attendants were soon back at their posts.

The hours passed. A steady trickle of visitors came and went, displaying various levels of interest in the works of art and objects of historical significance. While, simultaneously, the attendants displayed varying levels of drowsiness, for it was against the rules to think. As far as the attendants were concerned, the most interesting thing about the museum was that the later in the day it was, the slower time would pass. So that by 10 minutes to closing, time had stretched to a point where it would actually take an hour to pass - time having somehow been distorted. And within that distorted 10 minutes, there would be more visitors than in the rest of the day put together. Funny that.

It was the following morning and the attendants were carrying out their duties, as was their lot in life. If you were deemed to be of the attendant class then that is what you did - the lot that other people would rather not do if they could possibly avoid it.

Attendant Cypher scratched her crop of bark-coloured hair. Then, methodically, she began waving a long stick about various display surfaces, obscured as they were by a layer of dust. The fluffy end of this stick supposedly picking up the particles from said surfaces. But all it did was move the dust slightly to one side so that it could creep back at some later date and create more work for future generations.

Stinkleton had a huge mop in his hands but it was strangely still. His hands were placed upon the mop as though he were pushing it, but the mop was immobile. On closer inspection, one could see why. His head was cocked at a peculiar angle, his greasy comb-over gradually unravelling, his face expressionless. On even closer inspection, past the large thick glasses he wore, his eyes were tightly shut. Stinkleton had apparently mastered the art of sleeping while standing.

Sneerpot barged past and rushed down to his own allotted gallery with a sloshing bucket of water, eager to begin mopping everything he could. Nothing was safe. Not even Stinkleton, who, more often than not, smelled like he could do with a severe mopping.

Meanwhile, a steady trickle of academia drifted through the museum, rather earlier than was usual, arousing the attention of Sneerpot. He lurked behind the glass cabinets so that he might better analyse the situation and arrive at another unwarranted supposition.

His bald head blended rather well with the collection of ancient Southern alabaster pouring pots inside the cabinets, such that he was barely visible. Not that it mattered much: attendants were not supposed to be noticed by those that were more elevated in life. That was why they were attendants.

In any case, there was definitely something going on. Why else would all the academics be heading in the general direction of Pork-Rind’s office? Why else would they all look so nervous and irritable? Sneerpot smirked to himself as all sorts of scenarios formulated in his mind.

Professor Argyle Bucket rushed through, flustered and sweaty. The back of his crumpled shirt hung out of his baggy trousers and grey tufts of hair stood on end all over his head, matted as they were by years of neglect. His bow tie was crooked too.

Sneerpot craned his head from behind the cabinets. “Good morning, Professor Bucket. How are things today?” he said with a light hint of mockery.

The professor didn’t answer. He waved his hand about and grumbled.

“Oh dear, Professor. I hope there’s nothing wrong?” Sneerpot’s voice grew louder and more sarcastic as the professor rushed away towards the offices.

All were finally present. The head of each department sat around a large table. It was heavy oak with stout legs and it was combined with matching chairs. The furniture was much too large for the room it was in, and it was a bit of a squeeze to get everyone around it.

There was Dr Travinion Wingnut, Custodian of Eastern Artefacts. He took up a lot of space by his mere presence. Not because he was overweight but because of his rugged good looks and forceful character. His slightly sunburnt jaw jutted out handsomely. In contrast, the rather thin Dr Dyspepsia Horsenffiffin, Custodian of Southern Artefacts sat very compact next to him, long grey hair and big glasses emphasising her small, thin body.

Fligbert Bimblecrumb, Custodian of Northern Artefacts sat at the end of the table, hoping no one would say anything to him unless it was about Northern art or a closely related subject. He sat in a warm glow of tweediness, his woolly hair reflecting a woolly-headedness, which was a common trait amongst the academic class.

And of course, the Custodian of Western Artefacts, Professor Argyle Bucket, who sat fuming at this enormous waste of time. He had better things to do than to pander to the whims of the new director, supreme or otherwise. Of course, the fact that he didn’t get the directorship of the museum for himself had nothing to do with it.

At last, Pork-Rind walked in.

He placed a large folder of papers on the table and opened it before speaking: “I have called you all to this meeting to announce an important development in the history of this museum... After consultation with the university and the board of museum patrons, I am happy to announce that my plans for the museum have been approved.”

“Your plans?” asked Fligbert, with a certain anxiety.

Followed swiftly by Professor Bucket booming, “What bloody plans?!”

“My plan - henceforth to be known as ‘The Glorious Plan’ - to reconfigure the entire museum, as I have deemed the museum, in its current state, to be wholly inadequate,” he snorted. “This will of course involve demolishing parts of the building and an extensive refurbishment,” he added, matter-of-fact.

“You mean vandalising the building!” screamed Dr Wingnut, face red with anger.

“It is unfortunate that a substantial part of the building must be demolished, but it is obviously in the way,” Pork-Rind added, in an arrogant manner.

Fligbert fidgeted nervously. “But what will happen to the collections?”

Pork-Rind waved his hand as though this was a minor consideration. “They will be temporarily moved, of course.”

“Never mind that!” shouted Professor Bucket, “Have you not considered the enormous risk you are putting the collection under?”

Dyspepsia cringed at the wrangle being caused by all this, and spoke quietly: “After all, perhaps there might be more room for all the artefacts that can’t be displayed at the moment.”

Pork-Rind smirked. “Ah yes. That brings me to another point.”

Fligbert gulped, “There’s more?”

“The collection will be re-arranged into a new way of displaying artefacts. This will involve commissioning a firm of consultants-”

“-WHAT?!” Professor Bucket fumed.

“This meeting is at an end!” declared Pork-Rind as he slammed his folder shut. And with that, he quickly retreated.

Meanwhile, the attendants had finished cleaning the galleries. They were now streaming down to the basement via a succession of stairs that meandered pointlessly down to a baffling series of gloomy corridors and shabby doors. The way was dimly lit by a string of naked bulbs due to the lack of windows. This was all rather confusing unless you had been an attendant for some time, especially as the doors were in the habit of shuffling themselves around so that they were in a different position each time.

It was one of these doors behind which was the teapot room. And it was in the teapot room that the attendants had their tea and regulation biscuit before re-emerging into the galleries, wearing their frayed red blazers. It was only then that Security Officer Bilious Bilberry would be ready to open the museum to the public.

Attendant Seed was sitting on the chair in the bottom of the Red Gallery that housed Northern artefacts. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Director Pork-Rind approaching. Seed quickly hid some small pieces of paper he had been doodling upon, and promptly stood to attention.

Pork-Rind swanned about the gallery, escorting the small group of ladies around the museum. This exclusive group consisted of women of a certain age. The sort of women who have time enough on their hands for intellectual pursuits such as fund-raising and being a friend of the this-and-that.

As Pork-Rind passed, he gave Seed a hard stare. Followed by another hard stare beginning at Seed’s riotously wiry copper hair and terminating at his pungent feet - a result of the plasticated shoes he had taken to wearing lately.

Seed seemed to be unaware of Pork-Rind’s disapproval and greeted him with nervous, stilted speech, eyes glazed over with the effort it took to form the words into a coherent sentence, hands shaking as he tried to ingratiate himself with the director...

Later, in the Bronze Gallery, Stinkleton sat in a corner, picking his nose rather insistently. Pork-Rind appeared with his entourage, pointing out some of the Northern sculptures housed in glass cases, while droning on about provenances. Until an overwhelming stench reached his snout as he passed close to Stinkleton. Pork-Rind’s eyes narrowed as he glared at him.

It wasn’t Stinkleton’s fault. He was after all, genetically predisposed to smell. Why else would he be named Stinkleton?

Next on Pork-Rind’s tour, was the Green Gallery full of Egyptoid artefacts.

“Why, it’s the Director! What a lovely surprise! Come to see how it all works then, sir?” mocked Sneerpot.

Pork-Rind was not amused by Sneerpot’s impertinence, and ignored him, addressing the group of ladies:

“Now, as you may have come to realise from our little tour, that the galleries are somewhat difficult to follow. This is one of the many reasons for the proposed redevelopment...”

Sneerpot’s prominent ears were visibly flapping in the direction of Dr Pork-Rind’s voice...

Rather than being in her allotted gallery, Madame Pluchette had taken it upon herself to get acquainted with the ladies. After all, she was a lady too. She handed out some leaflets as a vehicle to introduce herself. Before Pork-Rind had realised, she had not only included herself in the group, but had taken to interjecting at every opportunity, professing herself to be an expert, in a small way, on Southern sculpture and offering her assistance.

Dr Hector Pork-Rind grimaced as he tried to smile through his seething dislike of these attendants. And especially Madame Pluchette.

The day passed as usual with little incident.

For the attendants it wore on, punctuated by the occasional visitor query, which made little difference to the daily inertia. They were always the same queries.

There was the: ‘I’m going to ask that attendant a question they can’t possibly know the answer to, so I can feel smug and superior’ visitor.

There were two approaches to this situation depending on whether an attendant did, in fact, know the answer or not. However, many of the attendants were disinclined to ‘know’ the answer, on the grounds that they didn’t get paid to ‘know’ anything. Indeed, attendants knowing anything was actively frowned upon by the academic and administrative classes.

Then there was the: ‘Did you know there’s a misprint on that label?’ visitor. Then the visitor would either give a potted history of how they happen to know that there’s a mistake or launch into a tirade of accusation as though it had been the attendant’s personal blunder.

And the: ‘What ever happened to the dinosaurs? I’m sure they were here. When I was last in this gallery, 27 years ago...’. They had clearly got their museums confused.

All this would be interspersed with: ‘Where’s the toilet?’, ‘What floor am I on?’ and the classic, ‘I want to get out of here! Where’s the exit?’.

Of course, no day would be complete without the ‘last-two-visitors effect’. At closing time there would be two visitors lingering in a distant gallery, only leaving reluctantly at the last possible second, and then only very slowly moving towards the exit. But not without stopping at every artefact on the way out, and then prolonging the agony by stopping to leaf through various pamphlets at the information desk. Only after being told once again that the museum is closing, do they leave. Having arrived 15 minutes before closing time, they do so most indignant that the museum is closing and not remaining open especially for them.

Still, all in a day’s work.

Behind his small, round spectacles, he blinked and squinted. Much to Museum Administrator Humffrey Twink’s surprise, late that afternoon he had suddenly found himself administering no more. It had been decided by Pork-Rind to appoint him to manage the new Glorious Plan instead - what ever that was. Nevertheless, he was now the Glorious Plan Building Project Supervisor. But Humffrey Twink didn’t like surprises. He liked permanence and continuity. That is what the Imperial University of Nonagon stood for: no matter how the world changed, Nonagon was always there, the sun never setting and always forever well. But now things were changing and who knows at what cost? A new administrator possibly taking his place, bringing new-fangled ideas, no doubt. Humffrey adjusted his spectacles, buttoned his brown corduroy jacket and folded his almost-but-not-quite matching trousers into cycle clips. He cycled home to the village of Binbury on his bright red bicycle, his chestnut pudding-bowl hair wafting furiously in the breeze, as he fostered a simmering resentment with each turn of the peddles at having been pushed aside so cruelly by the new supreme director.

Binbury, so called because it was near the site of the municipal dump, was one of nine villages upon which the city of Nonagon had, over the time, slowly encroached. Nonagon itself had grown from an ancient settlement, with steep hills and cascading waterfalls, into a bustling city that soon made a reputation for learning throughout the land. One small school had evolved into a great seat of learning, accommodating some of the biggest arses in the intellectual world.

Over the centuries, it had acquired a mélange of architectural gems.

The centre of Nonagon was mainly in the fondanté style. Its distinctive feature of bonbon coloured façades and florid ornamentation made a splendid contrast to the streets, recreational areas and hills dense with trees. Other parts of the city were more often than not in the grand morphiloquent style - a vulgar architecture associated with old utility buildings and basic dwellings. And of course, the more contemporary antimorphiloquent style.

Humffrey Twink looked over his shoulder as he approached Binbury. From the top of the hill, he could see Nonagon’s bloated domes above the horizon, reflecting the almost setting sun with their gold and silver gilding. The sky had turned a comforting shade of pink with a few mauve clouds progressing slowly across it. He breathed a sigh of relief as he realised that the rest of Nonagon was still forever well.

He arrived at a small gate and pushed his bicycle over the short, narrow path to the cottage he called home. His identical twin brother, Halibut, greeted him.

Halibut happened to be the administrator of the Imperial University of Nonagon Centre for Scientific and Mathematical Querying. He was home earlier than usual to attend to the latest addition to their small collection of rare orchids, which was at a difficult stage in its development and therefore had to be treated with the utmost care.

They retreated into the cottage where the inside was covered with random acts of wallpaper in colours of varying persuasions. A couple of overly puffy brown leather armchairs in front of a log fire furnished the front room.

A collection of assorted objects of interest almost overwhelmed this room. Cabinets full of mineral and crystal specimens were wedged into every available space. Halibut was partial to a bit of tourmaline.

Every horizontal surface available was covered in an array of prisms, pendulums and perpetual machines. Mobiles and wind chimes hung obtrusively from every ceiling, glittering and pinging in the draught emanating from the back of the cottage, where the door had been left open into the garden and to a small tropical house.

Humffrey sank heavily into one of the armchairs and recounted to his brother what had happened to him. It was generally agreed that a trip to the Lime Barrel was in order, to calm Humffrey’s nerves.

Next door to Caramel Cup Teahouse was Lime Barrel Lodge, a local public house serving the population of Binbury almost exclusively. It was in the grand morphiloquent style and thus appeared somewhat bloated. The acid green interior put one in a mood to get pissed almost immediately with an evening’s absorption of alcoholic beverages.

A very large fireplace slowly burned away wooden logs, giving off a warm orange light as they smouldered away to embers till closing time...

[westfall-faith]

What does Faith's house look like?

The Westfall plains stretched out like a rumpled blanket beneath a sky that seemed impossibly vast. A lone farmhouse stood defiant against the wind's relentlessness, its weathered paint whispering stories of countless sunrises and howling nights. Once, a fiery red had adorned its clapboard walls, but time and the elements had stripped it bare, leaving behind a patchwork of sun-bleached wood and the occasional stubborn ember of crimson peeking through.

The white blades of a windmill turned languidly with the breeze that stood like a lone sentinel across the field.  Closer to the house, a horse barn leaned comfortably against the afternoon sun. On occasion, you might hear the stomping of hooves or a hungry whinny. 

Two steps deep, a small front porch boasting a rocking chair offered shady respite from the Westfall heat. The screen door rattled against its frame with every gust of wind.  While its paint was peeling in curls and its mesh held an occasional tear, it was oddly welcoming – always left  slightly ajar as if in perpetual invitation. Pushing through it, a visitor would be greeted by the scent of wood smoke, sun-warmed linens, and a hint of fresh-baked bread.

Inside, the living room was a haven of function, practicality, and worn comfort. Sunlight, filtered through lace curtains and onto a threadbare rug of faded floral patterns. A well-worn sofa, its stuffing escaping in valiant puffs from worn seams, sported a patchwork quilt crafted from countless squares of mismatched fabric. Each patch held a story, one that Faith would gladly tell you about if ever asked – a forgotten childhood dress, a favorite shirt worn thin by a long-gone father, and scraps of fabric gifted to Faith by a cherished friends.

A rocking chair, its wood darkened with years of gentle swaying, sat near a stone fireplace and promised relief for aching legs. The smoke stained hearth hinted at crackling warmth that would chase away the chill of a Westfall night. Above the fireplace, a mantelpiece displayed a collection of mismatched seashells, a souvenir from a trip to the distant coast Lewis (Faith's father) had surprised her with decades ago. Each shell, nestled amongst faded photographs and a chipped porcelain teacup, held a memory of a life lived fully. 

Branching off the living room were two modest bedrooms. The one to the left, undoubtedly Faith's, held a simple wooden bed adorned with a crocheted bedspread in shades of sunshine yellow and sky blue. Beside it, a nightstand painted robin-egg blue and crackled just the same, held a leather bound book with its pages softened from countless readings. “Psalms of the Light” scrolled across the creased spine.  A dresser and a clouded mirror stood lonely against the wall. Faith had nothing but memories to hide and those wanting to pilfer her dresser drawers would find nothing but letters tied with faded ribbon, a collection of mismatched buttons, and a worn photograph of a younger Faith with a mischievous grin.

Across the hall, the guest room held a similar sense of worn comfort. A dull white daybed lay covered with a patchwork quilt similar to the one in the living room. A worn rocking chair beside the window offered the perfect vantage point to watch the sunset over the distant plains. A shelf above the bed held a collection of well-loved books – classic novels with cracked spines, worn volumes on gardening and horse care, and a dog-eared copy of Anetta’s (Faith’s mother) favorite poetry collection.

The heart of the house, however, was the kitchen. Sunlight streamed through a window above the sink, illuminating a wooden table with mismatched chairs. Its surface, scarred with countless knife nicks and heat rings had undoubtedly hosted many meals. Open shelves displayed chipped mugs adorned with that same floral pattern Faith seemed to love so much, enamel plates, and scratched crockery. 

Beyond the house, nestled discreetly amongst a grove of cottonwood trees, stood a small outhouse. Its weathered boards and creaky door promised privacy. A single, open window high on the back offered reprieve from unpleasant aromas. 

Further out, a small graveyard marked the final resting place of loved ones. Lewis and Anetta Dorman lay side by side, their headstones carefully etched with their names, dates of birth, and dates of their passing. A simple bouquet of wildflowers, forever frozen at the peak of beauty (probably by some enchantment)  rested on Anetta and Lewis’s headstones. Surrounding them lay simpler markers: A rusty horseshoe (for a horse named Rusty), a porcelain dog figurine (for a faithful mutt named Scout), and a cracked teacup (for a mischievous calico cat named Callie). 

[moongothic]

Okay so I have a ton of misc shit bookmarked on my wishlist and I wanted to go through some of it, just for the fun of it, and I kinda just wanted to share some of these cute/neat things I’m never going to buy but still yearn to own

So come along with me and enjoy this bit of *~window shopping~*

This “Green Witch Mushroom JewelryBox” from MysticumLuna is so pretty??? Like I sure as hell don’t need it, but it’s so pretty man

In similar vein, from the same small shop, this Cosmic Coffin Ring Tray. It’s so fucking cute. Like you know I love designs that’re like 90% black with small white decals and this is exactly that, but also with a cute theme of itty bitty moons and stars (you’re gonna see a lot of that btw be prepared)

🍄 Mushfwoom 🍄 This absolutely adorable purse from Maobabie is just. Oh my god it’s so cute. It’s so fucking cute. It does come in multiple colors but I’m basic and like the red, you can’t go wrong with a red mushfwoom. Not sure if I’m sad or glad that I don’t need it, since I already have a purse and don’t need more, but like. Mushfwoom cute

This hat from The Oh No Shop is sold out so I’m never getting one but everytime I see it I lose my fucking shit (there’s also a goth enamel pin in the same vein and I love it so much)

Rogue and Wolf has these Voyager Mugs and I absolutely want an entire fucking set of these. They’re so pretty, but also, THEY’RE LORGE, which is what I need for my evening dose of choccy milk, BUT THEN!! THEY’RE ALSO dishwasher+microwave safe. Like. What more could you possibly want. They’re fucking perfect. I want a whole set

Also from Rogue and Wolf, these La Lune mugs. Also stunning, also dishwasher+microwave safe. Like I’m almost tempted to try to sell all the dishware I already have just so I can replace them with these. Because I love them. They’re so pretty.

(They also have super pretty plates but they don’t ship them outside of the UK so even if I could afford them I wouldn’t be able to buy them 💔)

These would cost an arm and a leg (they’re expensive to begin with + shipping from Australia to Europe + customs/taxes), they’re not microwave+dishwasher safe (understandable due to the gold), AND they’re sold out, so never in a million years would I even get these, but god. GOD. LOOK AT IT. This is the Stay Wild Moon Child teacup+saucer combo from QuirkyCupCollective and it is stunning. I can’t even bring myself to delete the bookmark for this thing because it’s so fucking pretty. (There’s also a white version of it) (Also pretty) (This shop has so many other absolutely stunning things, like. Fucking hell man)

Ngl there was a lot of shit on Killstar that I saw like 8-10 months ago that made me go like “fuck that’s cute” that I ended up wishlisting but all of it sold out so RIP my Killstar wishlist lmao (it’s for the best anyways) (It was mostly some bags) (They do have lots of cute dining ware but almost none of it is dishwasher safe so they’re just not worth it imo) (And I want my clothes plastic free)

Anyway that moon shelf is really pretty and I want it. You’re following “moongothic” what were you expecting from me, of course I want a pretty moon-shaped shelf

This god damn absolutely precious pin from Sugarnova

And I do have like a million other things on my wishlist but I gotta stop somewhere, like I have a ton of misc enamel pins and art prints and stickers saved too (and I didn’t even include stuff I’ve seen and saved on Instagram, like I was only going through shit I’ve bookmarked...), we’d be here forever if I tried to go through all of it (also some of the things aren’t available because they’re from small businesses and the shops are closed)

(There’s also some comics and art supplies and cds and god. I want a cute CD player so bad but LIKE I SAID, I NEED TO STOP SOMEWHERE)

Anyway thank you for window shopping with me, it was nice and relaxing (and I got to purge some things out of my bookmarks that I wanted 12+ months ago but don’t anymore so that’s nice

[toko48hargavendor-blog]

Gelas Enamel Jogja O896~6848~722O[wa]

Barangkali ini merupakan tulisan tentang gelas enamel jogja yang tengah dikau butuhkan. Tempo ini era tehnologi kian maju, rentang tidak lagi problem bagi seseorang senantiasa bisa berbincang dg orang beda pada berbagai daerah lebih-lebih di bagian dunia. Kecanggihan ilmu pengetahuan ini serta membuat mudah kita guna mengakses berbagai informasi apapun serta dimanasaja kami terletak. Cuma dg memakai network, kita bisa menemukan artikel yg kita inginkan. Pada website tersebut insan yg memakai untuk riset, tugas sekolah misalpun terbatas mendapat wacana anyar dapat mengakses bahkan berkontribusi lagi banyak dengan meninggalkan pandangan dibagian yg telah disediakan atau menghubungi melalui nomor yg udah tersedia. Kerajinan pernikahan gelas berevolusi trend pada penduduk waktu ini. Oleh-oleh yg berbentuk gelas dengan print nama pasangan beserta gambar ilustrasinya berevolusi oleh-oleh gelas yang unik dan berkesan. Gelas oleh-oleh pernikahan selain mendapatkan berbagai faedah serta kegunaan, serta memiliki desain yg unik serta lucu. Gelas berikut ini dapat berevolusi keliru esa opsi kamu bagi gelas oleh-oleh perkawinan. Ragam kerajinan gelas kerajinan gelas hari ini mempunyai variasi bagus dari segi tampilan warna dan model pengemasan. Gelas sovenir pernikahan sekarang memiliki bentuk yang aneka tentang gelas bulat, gelas mug, gelas cangkir, gelas tinggi, gelas sexy serta gelas cembung maupun yg berbentuk seperti gelas biasa. Warna di gelas souvenir nikah juga beraneka ragam dimulai sekitar gelas bening warna, gelas bening dan ada lagi gelas dg berbagai motif. Gelas ini pun didesain dg lucu dan apik bagi produsennya. Pembahasan guna penanda oleh-oleh dan ilustrasi yg disematkan mempunyai sebagian pilihan desiain yang tentu membuat mudah kamu dalam memilih sovenir gelas berikut ini.

harga gelas kaleng bandung

Untuk ibukota negara serta metro metropolitan, pasti harga produk-produk disana lagi hemat ketimbang wahana beda sebab langsung dari pabriknya. Salah satu barang yang digemari bagi masyarakat dari metro beda merupakan kerajinan gelas hemat di jakarta yg biasanya digunakan dia-dia yg berada di lokasi guna kerajinan kawin. Pada dasarnya gelas hemat ini sama dengan yang lain, hanya sekedar pada jakarta tipenya lebih variatif dg harga relatif miring. Ini adalah tulisan tentang souvenir pernikahan gelas jadul. Penuh penyebab kenapa orang membutuhkan artikel ini, kayak untuk penelitian, mandat madrasah atau memberikan tambahan wawasan. Pembahasan berikut ini dibikin supaya insan - insan yang membutuhkan informasi semacam berikut ini, dapat menemukan dg kilat dan praktis. Diera kemajuan teknologi, kau bisa menemukan informasi berikut ini, sembarang waktu dan dimanapun. Asalkan terkoneksi dengan network. Oleh karena itu kau dapat mengunjungi web ini kapanpun kamu ingin. Kamu serta dapat memberikan opini pada kolom komentar / bisa men-japri kami melalui nomor yang udah terlampir.

enamel mug yellow

Gelas adalah alat yg menunjang keperluan pangan insan yang digunakan untuk daerah minum. Di acap gelas tersusun sekitar bening, akan tetapi terdapat juga gelas yang terdiri dari plastik, kayu serta tanah kenyal. Gelas yang tersusun dari bening umumnya transparan, namun terdapat serta gelas yg berwarna, dicetak print, dan diberi hiasan. Andai dibandingkan dg cangkir yg mendapatkan pegangan, gelas biasanya pula puncak, tidak menggunakan pegangan, serta dapat menampung lebih lanjut cairan.

[vendor22hargagrosir-blog]

Cangkir Blirik Jogja O896.6848.722O[wa]

Terkait kapan anda menginginkan informasi cangkir blirik jogja juga sangat beraneka. Karena separuh orang memerlukannya segera, namun terdapat pula yang tidak terlalu terburu2. Apapun sebabnya, di sini kamu dapat mengintip informasi ini secara bebas. Kakak tidak perlu membelanjakan duit, kecuali jaringan internet dan listrik. Apalagi kecuali makalah cangkir blirik jogja, anda pastinya bisa melihat bermacam koleksi makalah lain yg berhubungan. Tidak berlebihan jika separuh netizen berlama-lama menjelajah situs ini. Pabila ingin menghubungi penulis, segera saja whatsapp di angka yang sudah tersedia. Menyerahkan oleh-oleh yg berfaedah ialah keliru tunggal istilah terimakasih anda kepada para tamu. Memang terkadang tamu tidak demikian menghiraukan sovenir yang kau berikan, akan akan tetapi memberikan sovenir yang cantik dan mempunyai daya sebagai lagi harapannya memberikan kesan tersendiri untuk para tamu misalnya kerajinan gelas. Kayak souvenir yg perlu dipilih dg cermat, menentukan undangan kawin serta begitu. Tampilkan kreativitas dikau dg menyerahkan kesan unik pada design serta warna undangan perkawinan anda. Misalnya anda menuliskan undangan pernikahan kau pada satu buah kipas, hal tersebut akan memberi kesan tersendiri serta kali kipas itu difungsikan oleh karenanya manusia tersebut akan terkenang acara spesial kamu yang sudah disebutkan. Jangan hingga undangan dan oleh-oleh acara kamu, bagus kawin misalpun ulang tahun hanya harapannya bertahan sebentar dan berakhir di lokasi sampah.

enamel mug safety

Gelas ialah benda yg kami acap jumpai tiap-tiap hari oke di rumah maupun di daerah – daerah lain yg memerlukan gelas. Gelas berikut ini juga memilki arti yakni satu buah tempat sebagai minum, biasanya gelas berwarna transparan tetapi lanjut juga gelas yg dibikin denga berbagai ragam warna. Gelas tersusun sekitar bahan yg lumayan kuat, umumnya materi ini tak mampu bereaksi dg material kimia lainnya dan bukan akan aktif dengan biological yang terbentu dengan permukaan yang cukup halus dan kedap cairan, dari pernyataan yang sudah disebutkan gelas sangat pas dan banyak difungsikan pada berbagai bidang eksistensi. Laman berikut ini adalah laman yg memuat wawasan tentang berbagai macam produk produk gambar cangkir jadul. Begitu banyak hal yang menjadikan wacana berikut ini sangat dibutuhkan. Mungkin untuk anak sekolah, penelitian, tugas misalpun cuma bagi mengandung tempo luang aja. Situs ini begitu pada sarankan supaya orang simpel pada mengakses produk yang dimaui. Adanya ilmu pengetahuan yang kian kompleks saat berikut ini, orang sangat mudah guna menemukan sesuatu yang mereka inginkan. Tiada terkecuali orang-orang pedalaman, dia-dia serta dg mudah mempunyai apa yg mereka inginkan, karena sumber tehonologi udah tercecar dianeka tempat mana saja. Sebagai itu, silakan baca web berikut ini, dimanasaja / waktu sembarang waktu, sebab wacana ini begitu ringkas, jelas, praktis dipahami, dan tak memakan penuh saat. Pabila kamu mau menyediakan saran misalpun kritikan, silahkan tulis di tabel pandangan, karena kita senantiasa berdoa teguran atau masukan dari kau, supaya pengetahuan berikut ini selanjutnya lebih baik. Atau anda serta bisa men-japri kita dengan cara telfon sms pada nomor yg telah tersedia pada laman situs kita.

gelas seng

Gelas ialah benda yg kita acap jumpai tiap-tiap hari oke pada rumah maupun di lokasi – tempat lain yg mendambakan gelas. Gelas berikut ini juga memilki arti yaitu satu buah ajang bagi minum, biasanya gelas berwarna bening namun lanjut serta gelas yg diproduksi denga berbagai macam warna. Gelas terdiri tentang materi yg lumayan kuat, umumnya materi berikut ini tidak dapat bereaksi dengan bahan kimia lainnya dan tak harapannya aktif dengan biological yg terbentu dengan permukaan yang cukup halus serta kedap air, sekitar pernyataan yang sudah disebutkan gelas amat pas serta banyak difungsikan di berbagai bidang kehidupan.

[sarikumala03]

Gelas Enamel O896-6848-722O[wa]

Apabila anda tengah menggali pembahasan mengenai gelas enamel, anda berada pada web yg benar. Cepatnya kemajuan it akhir-akhir berikut ini menyebabkan bagus pada seluruh pihak. Putra-putri madrasah, pelajar perguruan tinggi, ataupun rakyat bisa dengan praktis menemukan informasi yang dia-dia inginkan. Tidak usah repot-repot datang ke suatu wahana untuk memiliki pengetahuan mengenai tempat tersebut. Janji dapat terkait dengan jaringan www, dimanasaja kita cukup kita bisa menggali seluruh wawasan yang kita perlukan. Web ini secara sadar kami bikin bagi menyediakan berita-berita guna sebagai keperluan penelitian, tugas pendidikan, / yang lainnya. Pandangan / saran yg membangun sangat kita butuhkan demi kemajuan wawasan yg kami ulas Keunggulan sifat-sifat gelas yang sudah disebutkan memungkinkan barang-barang gelas digunakan guna menunjang keperluan sehari-hari meliputi barang setengah sehingga maupun produk gelas yg siap oleh karena itu. Contoh produk produk setengah sehingga adalah lempengan bening, pipa bening, benda kaca berongga untuk materi membran serta penyaring, dan benda keperluan rumah tangga. Laman ini berisi ulasan mengenai enamel mug wedding favor yg penuh diinginkan insan sehingga melimpah pula yg membutuhkan wawasan dari pembahasan tersebut, mengapa demikian. Karna dari ulasan, seorang insan dapat memenuhi kebutuhan penelitiannya, bagi hulu referensi tugas makalah di perguruan, serta yang paling penting seorang insan akan mempunyai referensi baru dan wacana yang luas. Niat dibikinnya ulasan ini supaya insan yg tengah mencari referensi bisa mengunjunginya dg singkat. Sains pada era globalisasi waktu ini telah begitu kedepan dan canggih, setiap manusia dapat menemukan pengetahuan tentang aneka dasar. Tidak pandang di desa maupun di kota asal ada jaringan online dan alat yg menopang, orang mana saja dapat mengakses serta membaca pengetahuan ini. Sehingga, sembarang waktu, dimanasaja, kamu bisa mengakses situs ini. Apabila kau memiliki pendapat / komentar beda, silahkan tulis opini di tabel yang udah terlampir / dapat menghubungi kami ke nomor yang udah tercantum di tempat ini

Grosir Gelas Enamel Jakarta

Sovenir gelas dove adalah salah satu macam souvenir yang mewah dan mampu dibilang souvenir gelas ini mempunyai biaya jual-beli yang cukup mahal untuk satu buah gelas dengan beberapa variasi gambar pada sampingnya. Tapi, bukan seluruh gelas dove ini dibanderol dengan harga yg mahal, terdapat serta gelas dove yg dibanderol dg harga yang muat hemat, serta kamu mampu mengakses sebagian ragam gelas dove ini di toko-toko souvenir yg bisa dikau temui dibeberapa daerah disektar anda. Selain tersebut, untuk dikau yang ingin mmebeli gelas dove, anda juga mampu menghadiri sebagian warung perlengkapan dapur atau rumah tangga yang biasa ditemukan pada sebagian market tradisional. grosir gelas enamel jakarta ialah tulisan yang barangkali sedang kakak telusuri. Tentu saja, karena grosir gelas enamel jakarta ialah informasi yang amat penting untuk diketahui. Selain anda, barangkali terdapat banyak orang yg turut membutuhkan informasi ini. Kami berharap, makalah kilat yg ada di sini dapat bermanfaat bagi kamu. Jangan lupa supaya kamu meninggalkan komentar terkait grosir gelas enamel jakarta di bagian bawah ini. Sayangnya separuh bagian daripada kabar yg mana terdapat di situs ini masih dalam proses. Makanya, andaikata kamu butuh menunggu supaya mendapatkan informasi lengkap sekitar ongkos grosir gelas enamel jakarta yang dikau perlukan. .

[harga204jual-blog]

Cangkir Teh Jadul Ö896-6848-722Ö[wa]

Laman berikut ini bermuatan pembahasan tentang cangkir teh jadul yang melimpah dicari insan oleh karena itu penuh pula yg mendambakan referensi tentang ulasan yang sudah disebutkan, mengapa begitu. Karna sekitar ulasan, seseorang dapat memenuhi kebutuhan risetnya, guna dasar referensi mandat makalah pada pendidikan, dan yang paling penting satu orang akan mempunyai wawasan baru serta pengetahuan yg luas. Bidikan dibuatnya pembahasan ini supaya orang yang tengah menggali wawasan bisa mengunjunginya dg ringkas. Ilmu pengetahuan di orde globalisasi tempo ini udah amat kedepan dan canggih, setiap orang bisa menemukan wacana sekitar aneka dasar. Tak pandang pada desa maupun di kota asal ada network online serta alat yang menopang, siapa aja bisa menemukan serta membaca wawasan ini. Oleh karena itu, kapan saja, dimanasaja, anda bisa menemukan website berikut ini. Andai kau memiliki pendapat / opini beda, silahkan tulis opini pada tabel yg telah tersedia atau dapat menghubungi kami ke nomor yg udah tercantum di sini Berikut ini ialah ragam gelas yang lazim ditemui pada lanjut rumah. Manfaatnya, terkait dg keperluan owner rumah bagi “menyambut” tiap-tiap tamu yang datang. Itu sebabnya, cangkir kerap bersanding dg teh maupun kopi–dan jarang sekali dengan minuman macam lain seperti sirup / lebih-lebih alkohol. Musti dipahami, pemfungsian jenis gelas pribadi tidaklah bisa sembarangan. Semakin tidak sama macam minuman, makin berbeda lagi ragam gelas yang difungsikan. Beriringan majunya era, kebutuhan akan berita-berita ke aspek kebutuhan / kehidupan kian pesat. Salah satunya merupakan produk grosir gelas enamel jogja. Kita faham bahwasanya barang-barang hari ini berikut ini kian lanjut dan bervariasi. Oleh karna itu, tulisan kali ini akan mengangkat tema tentang grosir gelas enamel jogja alasan mengapa artikel berikut ini diperlukan karna berikut ini merupakan salahsatu elemen utama untuk sebagian kalangan. Jadi informasi mengenai ragam-ragam produk dan manfaatnya diinginkan mampu menolong menyumang lanjut insan yang tengah menggali informasi atau referensi anyar terkoneksi perihal yang sudah disebutkan. Bisa juga membantu para mahasiswa atau pelajar yg sedang menggali material untuk riset, mandat madrasah / aja menggali hiburan sebagai yang suka mengamati. Begini guna yg lain serta agar pemirsa lagi cepat mempunyai pengetahuan yang diburu. Karena pada jaman teknologi kali berikut ini begitu mudah mengakses pengetahuan tentang yg mana aja hingga menuju pelosok kampung pun, janji bisa terhubung dengan jaringan www serta memiliki alat bagi mengakses online. Dengan demikian para pembaca mampu mengunjungi website berikut ini kapan saja serta dimanasaja dikau ingin. Pemirsa juga bisa membuat berkembang / memberikan masukan lagi lanjut andai memiliki komentar, pandangan, / pendapat edan maupun opini beda tentang ulasan yang kami tulis. Pemirsa mampu membuat sampai / menginput pandangan, bantahan, ide-ide pendapat dan sepertinya pada kolom yg sudah tersedia. Bisa juga menghubungi kita lewat nomor yang sudah tertera pada web berikut ini, yg dapat kita cukup dan kita majukan dalam penyajian artikel berikutnya agar lagi bermacam serta cocok dengan selera pembaca.

Enamel Tin Mug Wholesale

Musuh penting peralatan dapur enamel adalah karat. Karat ini muncul jika lapisan enamel terkelupas akibat tergores atau jatuh. Oleh karenanya susunan gampang guna merawatnya adalah melakukan jangan sampai terbentur atau jatuh. Sesudah dicuci dg cairan sabun hangat, segeralah tiriskan serta lap hingga benar-benar kering. Sebab, air yg tersisa pada sela-sela peralatan mudah menimbulkan karat. Jangan lupa, bagi menyimpannya di tempat yang kering ya! Laman ini memuat pembahasan mengenai enamel tin mug wholesale yg melimpah diburu orang sehingga penuh pula yang mendambakan pengetahuan tentang artikel yang sudah disebutkan, kenapa demikian. Sebab tentang artikel, seseorang bisa memenuhi keperluan penelitiannya, guna modal wacana mandat makalah pada perguruan, dan yang paling utama seorang insan akan memiliki pengetahuan anyar dan pengetahuan yg luas. Keperluan diciptakannya pembahasan berikut ini agar orang yg tengah mencari pengetahuan bisa mengaksesnya dengan singkat. Tehnologi di orde globalisasi waktu berikut ini telah begitu maju dan canggih, setiap orang dapat menemukan wacana dari aneka hulu. Tidak pandang di desa maupun pada kota asal ada jaringan online dan alat yang menyokong, orang mana aja bisa menemukan serta membaca wacana ini. Sehingga, kapanpun, dimanasaja, dikau dapat menemukan situs ini. Apabila kau mempunyai pendapat atau pandangan beda, monggo tulis komentar di kolom yg sudah terlampir atau dapat menghubungi kita ke nomor yang udah tercantum pada sini

[roguedruid]

R.E.P.O. Necromancy Division Blues

@rayshippouuchiha Congratuations, you won my insomnia’s hyper fixation for the night. There was one big benefit to working at the REPO organization, Assistant Necromancer R.D. mused, standing at the side of the big vat of ‘mysterious red fluid’ (Probably the Hemo-divisions spare blood they stole from medical storage. Or janitorial returning lost fluids again. One of them. Until he had a Blood Mage step in and check, he wasn’t planning to touch it.)

R.D. took a deep swig from the oversized coffee mug in his hand- shaped from the bones of one of his earliest failed experiments, the sealed skull of a fire demon kept the chai latte perfectly warmed, without being scalding.  Where was he? Right, big benefit of working at REPO. The dress code, and the loose definition thereof. As long as it was mildly modest, wasn’t an active safety hazard, and didn’t flash unmentional bits at random people who didn’t want it, meant that being called in, literally from his bed, meant he only had to grab his non slip work shoes and a lab coat before getting summoned in. He glanced down at his vibrant fuzzy pajama bottoms: covered with the gaudiest blue, green, and teal shark print, and the loose black and gray lab coat and black band shirt that completed his ‘3AM’ appearance and then looked back up and took another swig of chai. “Boss!” looking over, R.D. tracked his personal assistant: Benny B. Ones, the gleaming white bone and carved enamel designs flickering as the skeleton tumbled and jogged around the room, ducking around a cart of bone fragments that an apprentice osteo member was transporting. “Benny. Why am I here before noon.” The skeleton reached into his ribcage and flicked through a binder that was stapled to the left side of his spine. “We’ve got several memo’s from upper management, specifying both intern policy, recruitment drives, and the plans for the Inevitable Lich Conversion Drive.” “The ILCD is still on standby. Fatality rates are low enough that we don't need it yet.” R.D. flipped through the memo’s with only mild concern. “And if we don’t get enough Interns, those rates aren’t gonna stay steady. Medical keeps taking anyone with general healing abilities and the flesh crafters, considering they run the HRT and Body Customization wing, which is making the reconstructive procedures for the actual dead people a nightmare. Trying to get three Necro-specialists to work on the same problem at any point in time is a bitch.” Benny nodded, and rummaged through the various pouches and files in his chest, before pulling out what was very clearly an incident report: considering the edges of the paper were laminated with bright yellow and black hazard print. “And there’s also this!” Taking the report, R.D. gave it a long look, skimming over the basics until he hit the actual ‘Incident’ description… before pausing. “Why the hell do we have the reconstructed remains of six T-rexes in the first place? And who let the Bone Crew at them?” Sighing, R.D. folded the paper up and started marching through the hallway towards the Graveyard warehouses, gaudy Pj’s leading the charge while his labcoat gave a melodramatic ‘swoosh’ behind him. “I swear, it’s always something here.”

[frogsmulder]

Simulacrum

a character study of immortal Scully, in a deep dystopian future inspired by Das Ding by @teethnbone for my a-level coursework as such no names only pronouns; about 800 words; rated g; cw implied major character death; tagging @today-in-fic

Sputtering, she awoke with a start, latching onto her clinical surroundings and chalky bedsheets. Something was different; she felt it in the pit of her stomach where she usually feels nothing. Running a hand over her face, she collected her consciousness and pieced together the puzzle between her nightmare so long ago and the now. Rarely did she muse on her past: so many regrets. She felt much deceived by her unconscious state to spring it on her as such. She lifted herself from the military style cot of the refugee camp, stepping barefoot onto the concrete ground, away from neighbouring survivors and towards the silence of the utilitarian kitchen. She winced as the coffee-substitute machine spurshed into life. She looked out of the grey porthole whilst she waited, losing herself again in the dream.

She first spied the signs of aging in her husband as one first comes to notice tiny threads of silk spider webs aloft in the corners of the ceiling in one’s old home; a hint of the delicate lines capturing the light of the morning sun out of the corner of one’s eye. He smiled at her one morning—over something as mundane and as trivial as a cup of coffee—tiny creases around his eyes bore shadows in his skin in the autumn sun, time weaving its inevitable web around him. His smile that warmed her that autumn morning instead delivers a pang of guilt, shot straight to the heart in its cold, lonely comparison.

She watched the snow drift over the ground buried some feet deep. It was nothing like she had witnessed this close to the earth’s equator and a sardonic voice lingers in the back of her mind, hissing sentiments that the world is as cold as her muscles in her memories and her heart. Nothing lived forever—not even the world—except she.

Clasping her hands together, she continues her dream.

Her fingers slipped around the calloused planes of his hand resolutely—not yet desperately—as they stood before the window, watching the red and orange leaves tumble and fall. He made a comment about the crimson of her hair in the vibrancy of the leaves, and she replied with a remark about the creaking of the old wooden frame of the window and his aging joints, her words muffled in the depth of her coffee mug, her smirk creeping around the sides.

Hindsight had twisted her memory like the prick of a thorn protecting the desirable rose to be picked, like a wasted summers day, like the bittersweet coffee that she had drunk that very morning.

She remembered his face fondly: kind hazel eyes, the quick quirk of his lips, scratchy beard that grazed her skin when he hugged her closer, nuzzling his affection. These things were constants she remembered, untouched by time constructing itself upon his face. His character remained, shone through the web of age, through the gaps in her memory. Yet these she knew but could not picture—like ideas: simple phrases she had to remind herself—but the true detail of his face was lost forever to her. A dark intangible shadow in an infinite fog.

“What are you thinking?” the ghost whispered in her ear, although she only heard it in her mind.

“How much I wish I could remember, my love.”

He moved with a gust of wind like a ghost around the quiet room of the camp kitchen, rustling the ancient paper posters, crumbling away from their tacks. She took a sip of bitter coffee from the enamel tin cup, dichotomously cold and hot, her fingers freezing, her tongue burning. The cup was unforgiving and impersonal, a far cry from the old, loved cup that she had held in her memory centuries ago. She missed that cup.

It wasn’t often nowadays that she had such intrusive thoughts. The simplicity of the cup she held in her hand left her lacking, wishing for the feeling of warmth, that dim sensation that lurked at the back of her consciousness. And with that old almost forgotten feeling, she wished to lean against his shoulder; feel his heat and strength and love. Wishing for that complexity of the human spectrum of expression and emotion where she had been reduced to the cold beat of survival.

Her brow pinched in disquiet defeat, she slowly closed her eyes against the world and sighed. “I wonder, if I had tried, if I could love you still—know what that means: to love.”

She shivered when she felt a familiar cool presence pass through—his hands gently resting upon her shoulders as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. She rested her head against the cushion of cool air to the side of her—tried to imagine.