#he made a mask from Almond Water cans and bottles so no one knows he’s a spooky lil skelly guy

[afterartist]

You guys are never gonna guess what I just made

Unless you guessed ‘new AU’

Cause then, yes, you would have guessed what i made

Anyway meet my Backrooms sans AU lol, his name is Almond and he is an absolute hellion /aff

Note to self; DONT record yourself working on a prototype for the core if you have teleportation powers

[jamespotterthefirst]

The Viper (AU: Ethan x f!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Words: 1.5 K Warning: Cursing. Mentions of s e x Summary: Detective Ramsey is a step closer to capturing a notorious criminal. If only Miss Allende, a key witness, would cooperate.

Author’s Note: I am an idiot because the beautiful @beastlyinstrument sent me this AU prompt and I didn't know I was to write a fic. Anyway, once I caught on, I got right to work on this lol. Thank you so much for the prompt! Thank you immensely to @aestheticartsx for pre-reading!

When Ethan awoke that morning, he couldn't possibly predict he'd be punching Declan Nash square in the jaw. It was a long standing fantasy of his and finally, in the crowded, smoke-filled bar, Ethan had found a good enough excuse to do it. One minute, the lecherous pig was forcing his company on the visibly distressed blonde, the next Ethan was shoving him away and punching him with such spectacular force that Nash flew back into a storm of glasses, bottles, and furniture.

Ethan also never imagined his hand, red and swollen from the satisfying impact against Nash's leering face, would be tended to in a desolate dressing room by the loveliest woman he had ever set eyes on. Then again, his mind would require an exceptional measure of talent to invent the perfect arch of her brows, the graceful slope of her nose, the lush swell of her lips. And those eyes— almond-shaped, bright, and the most captivating shade of green imaginable.

Alluring green eyes that were currently meeting his, sending his pulse into an elated flutter.

“All better,” she informed him in that caress of a voice.

Something about the spark in her eyes as she watched him put in a comfortable and flirtatious lull, so much unlike his usual self. The same warm ease had blossomed in his chest when his eyes met hers from across the bar only minutes ago.

“Are you certain you're not a doctor, Miss…”

“Allende,” she supplied, red lips curling into a coy smile. “And no doctors here, just years of experience cleaning up messes. Though if they all looked as handsome as you, I wouldn't mind patching them up.”

She punctuated the heady little pronouncement with a wink that almost made his breath hitch. Ethan's good hand twitched at his side just as she moved away to a vanity. All he could do was watch as she placed herself in front of the lighted mirror, reapplying her lipstick with skilled precision.

“So what brings you here, Detective Ramsey? Don't tell me you just stopped by to defend my honor from the likes of Declan Nash.”

“Though an honorable pursuit, that's not the reason for my visit,” he said, their eyes meeting through the mirror. “I'm here to investigate the Kenmore bank robbery from two nights ago.”

Miss Allende hummed in acknowledgement but added nothing more.

“A reliable source claimed I could come here to find all the information I needed about the Viper.”

She raised her perfectly shaped brows at him.

“You think the Viper is a regular here?”

“It's what I'm here to find out.”

There was a pause in which she realized his intent. To his surprise, she laughed.

“And you think I'm the one who's going to rat the Viper out?”

When Ethan said nothing, only held her gaze steadily, she laughed even more still. This time, Ethan could hear an edge to the sound, something akin to fear.

“I'm not that keen on making enemies, Detective.”

In the silence that followed, she carefully brushed the platinum blonde curls that cascaded down to her shoulders. Those green eyes remained fixed on her reflection, and something told him she was studiously avoiding his eye. His instinct told him she was afraid, despite how masterfully she tried to hide it under the flirtatious veil. To his astonishment, his stomach clenched unpleasantly, the urge to protect her tightening his jaw.

Before he could think of a tactful way to continue his questioning, she rose to her feet, smoothing the front of the black dress clinging to her skin. “Now, if that was everything, Detective Ramsey, I really must be getting back to the bar. I'm due on stage in less than ten minutes.”

Ethan intercepted her before he could stop himself as she moved to the door.

“Please, Miss Allende—”

“Lilac.”

“What?”

“My name. You can call me Lilac.”

“That's—”

Beautiful.

He had never heard anything like it.

“Lilac. Anything you might know about the criminal known as the Viper will be of great help.”

Lilac paused, studying his expression for any trustworthiness she could cling on to. Ethan gazed back, acutely aware of how close their faces were in the silence. Something slipped in her guarded expression, revealing a small hint of vulnerability.

At last, she sighed.

“I can't,” she said in a quiet voice. “I'm not—”

“I will protect you.”

Lilac startled at that, as though she had seldom heard the words before. She swallowed, her gaze holding his as she considered his offer, something heavy and tangible pressing into the small space that separated them.

“You offering to be my bodyguard, Detective?” she asked in a sultry voice, the words dripping from her lips like honey. She added a coquettish smile for good measure, leaving no doubt that the mask was securely back into place. “I accept, but you don't need the job title to press me against a wall with your body.”

Ethan had no hope of pushing his point as a crimson nail traced the outline of his jaw. The slow, lazy line made his breath hitch, his mind racing with thoughts of her tight little body flush against his.

Fuck the wall.

He could bend her over that vanity, forcing her to look at him through the mirror as she whimpered his name.

Lilac shifted closer to him still, lips parted as her finger descended down his neck. The intent in her gaze told him she wanted the same thing. Ethan leaned in to capture her lips but something in the mirror caught his attention and made him pause.

Lilac blinked at him, befuddled by his sudden stony expression.

“What?”

Ethan said nothing, observing the stain on the skin of her back. It was insignificant, otherwise imperceptible if not by the slight shift in the fabric of her dress.

Yet, there it was, as present as any hard evidence he might find.

“You missed a spot.”

Lilac stepped away from him, puzzled.

“What are—”

“Tar is notoriously difficult to get off the skin, isn't it, Miss Allende?” His voice grew icier with every word. “But you knew that. Hell, you knew that two nights ago when you slipped on the Kenmore rooftop during the chase.”

“Fuck!” the masked figure had hissed as they hit the black substance coating part of the roof.

She continued to back away. “I don't know what—”

“Tell me, Miss Allende, did you research Kenmore before you decided to strike?”

“You're—”

“Did you know the rooftops were under construction before you led us up there in your hasty little escape attempt?”

Lilac finally halted her steps, keeping her eyes trained on Ethan.

Something shifted in her expression, like a mask falling to the floor.

Then, she smiled wickedly at Ethan.

“Very good, Detective Ramsey. Maybe you are as good as they say you are.”

There was a pronounced silence, steely blue eyes boring into effervescent green ones. In a blinding motion, they both moved—Ethan to restrain, Lilac to evade.

Their bodies were a flurry of limbs moving to strike or to defend. The furniture in the small dressing stood no chance against their skill, which Ethan was surprised to find Lilac possessed. She moved with admirable grace and precision for someone wearing stilettos and a confining, skin-tight dress. It didn't stop her from aiming a high kick at his head, which Ethan barely dodged.

“You're under arrest,” he grunted when he pushed her against a wall.

Lilac laughed in his face, her crimson lips only inches from his.

“You're cute when you're confident, Ramsey.”

In a swift movement, she freed her body from his hold, light and unassailable like the waters of a raging river.

More swirls of movement as they struck, blocked, and kicked, each paired with a breathless grunt or swear. At last, just as his technique descended into sloppiness, Ethan managed to press her against the wooden tiles of the floor. His hands pinned her wrists above her head, his knees digging securely against her hips.

“How did you know?” she asked between pants, still donning a devious smile despite her position. “That this is my favorite position to be in?”

Ethan stiffened as he held her, unable to look away from the rise and fall of her chest. It struck him then how fighting her was not unlike fucking her, just how they wanted only minutes ago. Before he could reign his thoughts in, she freed her legs, hitched them on his hips, and reversed their positions with trained strength and agility.

“Or maybe me on top is better?” she asked thoughtfully.

Ethan grunted, moving to free himself from her grasp, but she was surprisingly strong.

“It's a shame you're a damn good detective,” she continued. “We would've had so much fun together.”

As Ethan unsuccessfully tried to free himself, he saw Lilac's hands delve into her blonde curls until she removed what he now knew to be a wig. A downpour of glossy, dark hair fell past her shoulders, reminiscent of the dark braid he thought he saw in the darkness on the night of the chase. Even struggling and breathless as he was, his traitorous mind couldn't help but recognize how much lovelier she looked with dark hair.

“You'll never get away, Viper.”

Lilac laughed out loud at the use of the moniker, which felt so ill fitted.

“Even as talented as you are, I'm afraid you don't have all the facts yet.” She pressed a hot, languid kiss to his neck before using his own handcuffs to bind him to a nearby pipe. “But something tells me you'll get there soon enough.”

With one last charming smile, she rearranged her dark hair, hoisted herself onto the window, and vanished into the night.

_________________________

Author's Note: Y'all I don't know what this was lol. Thank you so much for reading this! It was so much fun!

A few notes:

The next chapter of my OH3 AU is almost done. Yay!

I'm almost caught up with replies and reading all the fics I missed out on the week I was gone. Double yay!

And (not to jinx myself) but I might finally sit my butt down to complete the next chapter of the Picta series (ages later oops)

Thank you everyone for being here, despite it being almost a month the OPH ended :( Love you guys!

*tags in a reblog

[honestsycrets]

Extra Hands [ Ivar x Reader, Ivar/Hvitserk Platonic ] VD7

❛ pairing | ivar/hvitserk, ivar x reader

❛ type | drabble for @youbloodymadgenius​ ‘s 1k event that I’m so, totally, late for. i’m so sorry that i’ve been slow, cat. i’ve been in a strange funk. other requests filled: you’ve never had a Valentine’s date and right, like you could do so much better. / You bet your ass I could.

❛ summary | hvitserk knows when his brother is nervous.

❛ tags | implied first date, modern ivar

“I dunno why you’re making all of these. Is that a homemade box?” 

Hvitserk picked the chocolate chunks out of Ivar’s drab vanilla cookie mix. It was the first time that he had tried this particular recipe. It was a painfully simple recipe of chocolate chip cookies, but that was the point. He made a note to use sea salt to give it some life. Who, after all, disliked chocolate chip cookies? Ivar gripped the wheels of his wheelchair, scooting himself around the kitchen. 

“Bro, this is a fuckin’ homemade box!” 

“Stop eating the dark chocolate,” Ivar lurched up, smacking his elder brother’s knuckles. Hvitserk sneaks his fingers back in to take three morsels back with him. “You’ll throw off the proportions.” 

“So what? It’s just for us, right?” 

“As if I would put this much effort into something for my brothers.” Ivar oils an ice cream scoop. He digs into the dough, scooping pieces that were-- of course, the perfect size. “It is for my woman.” 

Hvitserk about chokes on his chocolate morsels. 

“A girl?!”

“Yes, a woman, Hvitserk.” 

But you’ve never had a bitch for Valentine’s!”

“Don’t call her that,” Ivar bobs his head toward Hvitserk in a nod. He spent the better part of the afternoon in preparation for his date this evening. It was his first-- with a mother like his-- it had been previously impossible to date. But the ever-growing litany of questions that Hvitserk had for him began to pile up. 

“I gotta see this. Is she hot?” Hvitserk laughed, bouncing up and down in the question. “That why you’re making so many fuckin’ cookies? Chocolate chip cookies, thumbprint cookies, sugar cookies. Sweetheart, you can’t buy the necessities of life--err dick-- with cookies.” 

“Don’t Burton me. Why don’t you go fuck another one of your failed film students and leave me alone?” Ivar bit out. It was easier with his help, no doubt, but this was something he did with the express intention of seeing your smile. It had been years. Years that he spent changing your mind about dating your boss. He wasn’t about to ruin this now. 

Hvitserk swept the cookie sheet from the granite countertop and eased it into the oven. Ivar’s mind swims in the vast lake of his mind, wondering exactly how he could make sure that nothing went awry. It was, after all, his first date. 

“I just wanna see what she’s like. I mean, when have you brought a girl home? Suddenly you open up this publishing company, and bam, pussy.” 

Ivar looks at the other steaming cookies. They would have to cool first. His kitchen was perfumed with the scent of vanilla, almond, and delicious brown butter from the oven. Ivar eyes Hvitserk sharply, reaching for the glittery homemade box. “She’s not just pussy. She’s--” 

“Look at you being all romantic and shit.” 

“You are annoying me.” 

Sometimes, he wished he was an only child—most days. Today was one of them. His hands trembled around the box of delicate cookies. His brother’s expression was hooded for a moment before Hvitserk took the handles of his wheelchair, dragging him out of the room with nothing more but Ivar’s booming complaint. Hvitserk knew how much he hated it when he did this. It was like a mother dragging a child by the braids! 

“I’ll come check them fuckin’ cookies, don’ worry. What’re you gonna wear?” 

They come to a stop in Ivar’s room. He looks toward his crutches, settled on the wall, and decides to reach for them so that he could stand. Hvitserk rustles in his closet. He had a wealth of handsome suits-- it happened when you needed to impress a good author or attend an important meeting-- but they all seemed wrong. His practiced expression melts off his face. He thought it all through: the date, the dinner simmering on the stove, but when it came to himself. He dropped his eyes to the floor before returning Hvitserk’s look. 

“That suit, I suppose.” 

“That shit is ugly,” Hvitserk returns.

“Right, like you could do so much better,” Ivar hisses. 

 “Bet your ass I could. You gotta wear something hot. You want her to fuck you, right?”

“I told you--”  

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Not jus’ some pussy. But you wanna fuck, don’t you?” 

He would be lying if he said he didn’t. Something hot ends up being some black slacks that contrast against a burgundy button-up and a tight, black vest. He feels more exposed than he has in a while when Hvitserk comes back from taking out his last batch of cookies. He likes it-- and he hates it.

“That’s hot,” Hvitserk clapped. Ivar runs his finger under the rolled-up sleeves, noting how they formed to his muscles. “No way she doesn’t fuck you.” 

“This isn’t about that.” 

“It’s Valentine’s day,” he told him. “It has to be about that.” 

His phone trills. What he hates, but truly hates, is Hvitserk’s nosiness. He lurches toward it before Ivar could even move. He produces Ivar a decent nod. “She’s beautiful,” he flicks the phone at Ivar on his way out of the room. “Has a pretty smile, too.” 

His heart pounded in leaps in his chest. You must be here; already. He’s not yet put the cookies in the box. He makes his way toward the front door with the bundle of flowers against his chest, cognizant of the sound of a scratching spatula dragging across his cookie sheet. 

Well, Hvitserk is good for something.

Ivar isn’t sure of what the etiquette for Valentine’s Day is, but he could hardly care, knocking the door open to let you in. You slip in beside him, drawing your fingers over the v of his waistcoat. 

“Is this new?” you asked. “It looks… amazing.” 

Hvitserk, of course, is skittering somewhere inside. Ivar can hear the stifled giggle marked by the painfully unapologetic, I told you I could do better. You draw your head toward the inside, peeling the edge of your mask off. You roll your ruby red lipstick in, then out, and smile at him once again. 

“Is someone inside?” 

“Sadly,” he sighs as he hands you the flowers under his arm. “That is my brother Hvitserk. I don’t expect him to stay in the kitchen long.” 

Ivar lingers on the word stay. You laugh, drawing the flowers up to inspect them more carefully. It’s a full bouquet of romantic red roses: painfully cliche, but painfully Ivar. They are his favourite shade. 

“He’s kicking me out of my own kitchen,” Hvitserk calls back. You make your way into the house, drawing the bottom of your skirt lower: if you could manage such a thing. It wasn’t necessarily short: but the slit on the side of your leg was something Ivar knew Hvitserk would point out later. 

Evidence, he’d shout. Evidence of nothing, Ivar would say back. 

Your fingers graze Ivar’s free hand, clipping around the corner where Hvitserk stood with cookie crumbling in between his fingers. Ivar’s forehead creases, the anger bubbling up in his stomach into a roiling boil. At that moment you snatch Ivar’s hand, lacing your fingers together, and throwing cool water to the boil. 

“You must be her,” Hvitserk mumbles. “Ivar’s first date.” 

“First date? Really?” He’d kill him. He’d kill him, he’d drag him out to sea, throw his body over to the bottom of the pond and-- you lean up, planting a kiss at his jawline. “I like being the first.” 

“Yes. This is my older brother Hvitserk. He likes to eat anything he can get his grubby little fingers on. Including things that I did not make for him,” Ivar returns. He leans against the cabinet and slams his crutch on the countertop. At times his brother can be overbearing. Today, like most days, Hvitserk needed his company. Unlike most days, Hvitserk doesn’t have the patience.

“Why don’t you,” he rubs his twirls his hand in a spin. “...fuck off, Hvitserk?” 

“Ivar.” 

“Don’ worry about it. He’s just all wound up because he’s brought me home a girl to meet.” He wiped his chocolates fingers over his basketball shorts and extended his hand out— “Name's Hvitserk.”

“I heard,” you smiled, bringing the hand not cupping Ivar’s hand to squeeze his bicep. “You’re Ivar’s lit agent?”

“One of them.” 

“Ain’t that like— sexual harassment?” Hvitserk folds his hand back in, quickly catching on that you’re not a touchy type. At least, not with him. Fair enough. 

“Why don’t you take a bottle of wine to your room, Hvitserk?” Ivar grumbles. 

“Ain’t that for your date?” 

“We don’t need it,” you shout.

“Huh. Well if you insist.” At last, he folds, taking the bottle and a stolen plate of food with a bounce. Although he doesn’t say anything— he has that dopey smile. He waits until the door slams behind Hvitserk to exhale an apology. Ivar began to think that he would never leave. 

“I made those cookies for you.”

Your lips curl into a smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Hvitserk hollers something from the back room about having helped— and you pat his chest. His cheeks pinken as he looks over the dinner he’s made and the cookies he baked. His nosy Hvitserk— always killing his mood. 

“Take me to your room.”

“Hm?” he asks. “You’re not hungry?”

“Not for pasta.”

Oh. For once, Hvitserk was right.

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer​ @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia​ @beyond-the-ashes​ @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071​ @daughterofthenight117​ @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound​ @winchesterwife27​ @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer​ @medievalfangirl @sallydelys​  @bluearchersstuff​ @affectionrabbitt​ @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou​ @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage​ @tgrrose​ @cookies186​ @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim​ @msmorganforever​ @destynelseclipsa​ @soleil-dor​ @strangunddurm​ @superwolfchild-fan

[shy-violet-soul]

To Be Your Hero

Featuring: Henry Cavill x you, Kal Summary: He plays the hero, running to the rescue on the big screen & TV. But what happens when you need a hero? Warnings: discussion of injuries, emergency services, injured ready, angst, but lots of TLC fluff. Word Count: 3,300-ish

A/N:  Being a perpetually single woman, I’ve always had to take care of myself. It often doesn’t even occur to me to ask for help, because I’m so used to there not being any help. Recently, my own back injury left me helpless, & I was so grateful for the help that answered my call. It was a learning opportunity for me - those that came to my aid were so happy to serve me in my time of need. It was a gift for them to give the help, nearly as much as it was for me to receive it. And while this fic does take a romantic perspective, I imagine that even the little bit of public compassion & kindness the world sees of Henry Cavill is just a tip of the iceberg to how he would be to someone in need.

A/N 2: To the most precious and divine @thesassywallflower​ - bless you for helping me turn garbage into something palatable. All the hugs!!!

(photo from ScreenGeek)

The chill in the air nipped pleasantly at his nose and cheeks as Henry slowed his pace down to a brisk cool-down walk. He studied the Albert Memorial as he breathed deep, enjoying the burn in the bottom of his lungs. Maybe he’d stop at Pret a Manger, grab you both a morning treat. He smiled, thinking of the almond croissant you’d recently rhapsodized over. The smile drooped when he thought of you as he’d left you this morning. A menagerie of OTC and prescription painkillers, Biofreeze pain gel, and a half-empty bottle of water congregated on your nightstand. Saggy, sad room-temperature cold packs lined up painstakingly between your body pillow and your back. Even in sleep, pain still pulled a line between your brows. He hadn’t needed to feel your restlessness to know your sleep wasn’t peaceful; the careful way you held yourself, the tiny winces spoke your discomfort plain enough. 

Suddenly, thinking of your smile made stopping for an almond croissant very important.

Henry adjusted his mask as he approached A-315, glancing at his watch to estimate the potential line waiting for him. When his phone rang, Henry grinned when he saw your name on the screen.

“Good morning, love! How’d you sleep?”

“Hen-,” Your broken voice gave him pause.

“Darling? What is it?”

“Henry, I gotta call Emergency Services.”

His heart thumped hard, and Henry stepped to one side of the path. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

Through the line, he could hear your breath rasping in fast. Too fast.

“My back. I called the doctor. They said...call 999. I gotta-” With a sob, you hung up, and fear clenched his belly, prodding him to turn and sprint hard towards home. 

The meters and minutes stretched interminably before Henry burst in, vaguely aware of the ambulance out front. As he moved through the hall, calling your name, a chorus of voices rang out to him. Kal, his growls and whines all worried warnings. Strangers, their words conciliatory and urgent. And yours - an exhausted tangle of broken reassurances to Kal and pleas for help.

You lay on the couch, a limp sprawl but for the white-knuckled clutch of your hands - one on the cushion beneath you, one on the thick fur of Kal. Two paramedics, bags and cases open and ready, stood with hands outstretched, trying to placate his blessed boy. Kal, ever the valiant protector, was beside himself. Kal barked his alarm, nosing whimpers against your face as he both tried to guard you and comfort you.

“Kal! Place!” The stern, sharp order drew more whines, the dog weaving between Henry’s side and yours before he slunk to his bed. Relieved his master was home to take care of this calamity, the loyal friend still throatily making his unhappiness known as Henry rushed to your side.

“Darling, I’m here!” As he watched, agony ravaged you. Sweat shone in cold dark rings in her hair and collar. Fight and fatigue warred in the clutching grasp of your hand on his, tightening then trembling loose. The oxygen in your system tumbled from you in a chapped-lips, grey-skinned free fall.

“Sir, if you’d just step over here.” Henry heard one of them say. The next five minutes were a blur. As if from a distance, he watched while they tried and failed on one IV. Heard their calm, clinical observations about ‘pulse ox’ and ‘PVCs’. The only thing in sharp, acute focus? Your breathless cries and vacant eyes that he knew would be with him forever.

He’d never felt more powerless in his life. 

This wasn’t learning to sword fight or computer construction. This was his love, fighting an unseen enemy, an enemy he had no power to vanquish. He’d never really wished to be an actual superhero...until now. Because now, all he could do was watch as you fought this alone.

**********************************

Channeling his inner Witcher, Henry stealthily arranged the tray, then arranged it again before carrying it on silent feet to the lounge. Kal’s tail greeted him with awkward sweeps from his chosen spot. The very moment Henry had stood from ensconcing you on the couch, Kal had jumped up and oh, so carefully cuddled up behind your bent knees. No amount of treat promising had coaxed him from his guard duty. Even with the years of friendship between man and beast, Henry had been surprised and amused at how quickly Kal had switched loyalties. He’d been gentle, mindful and attentive since you’d walked in the door. Once he had carefully wedged himself between your legs and the back of the couch, the only part of his huge floofy self he’d moved was his ears. 

Comically, now he tried to wag his tail, the curled end flicking only inches as his ears swiveled in all directions. Henry felt more than heard the whine the faithful friend offered him.

“Shhhh!,” he hissed, pausing with his carefully set tray as his gaze darted between your face and Kal’s. Kal licked his chops in understanding and softly nestled his chin deeper into your waist. “Good boy,” Henry whispered his praise. As he bent forward to place the tray, a waiting spoon slid and tinkled sharply against the china saucer, the sound like a gunshot to his ears. Again, he froze - you sighed faintly, shoulder shrugging a bit, but otherwise slept on.

Moving with all the slow precision of diffusing a Mission: Impossible bomb, Henry eased the tray to the table he’d already moved to your side, allowing himself to relax a bit with that job done. Still not content, he drew the drapes to dampen both light and sound from outside before he fussed to ensure your toes were tucked firmly beneath your favorite blanket.

Finally, Henry let himself take a deep breath as he beheld his handiwork. A pot of your favorite tea, your pain prescription, a plate of your favorite biscuits, and a flower he’d shameless yanked right from his neighbor’s front garden rested on the tray. The light shone soft and silvered from the London grey afternoon, shrouding you in comfortable shadows. He’d swaddled you in pillows and blankets enough to bedeck a harem, as you’d sleepily chuckled at him as he had tucked you in. At this moment, you were pain free and at rest, & Henry couldn’t help the gladness that filled him. In that moment, you could both enjoy peace.

Until his mobile rang, the Royal Marines’ “Reveillie” bugling loud enough to raise the dead.

Niki Cavill’s name glowed happily up at him as Henry near levitated from his seat. Tapping madly to decline the call, Henry’s forceful efforts succeeded in freezing the screen but did nothing for the ringing. A movement from you caught his eye, and Henry didn’t hesitate. He turned and launched the offending device straight down the hall and out of earshot, praying that expensive case did its job when he heard it clatter against the floor.

“Did you just yeet your phone?”

Henry turned so quickly, his knee popped. 

“Hello,” he crooned, kneeling beside you. He couldn’t stop the smile that tugged a dimple into view as he took in your sleepy, slightly befuddled expression. “How are you feeling?”

Now, your own smile curved into view.

“I don’t hurt, Henry. I don’t hurt. I can hardly believe it!”

He well could believe it. Dr. Bolton, your spine surgeon at the Schoen clinic, had briskly informed him that your S1 disc had herniated ‘good & proper’, prompting the removal of ‘four large chunks’. Discussion went on about your abused sciatic nerve and possible long-lasting symptoms, but the overall message was clear. You’d been in terrible agony, recovery would be slow, but the successful surgery granted you a new lease on life.

Already, you were trying your pain-free wings. He watched while you cooed to Kal as you rubbed his ears, your smile widening with the newly easy flex of your foot back and forth. A wave of love swept up from his belly into his chest, threatening to squeeze his throat shut as he took in your happiness. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m so glad, love. You had me worried. Now,” he brisked out, turning to his happily situated tray, “you’ve had nothing since those awful crackers they gave you in recovery. It’s high time you ate a bite. I’ve got your favorites here,” he caught your attention to the tray. “Or, if you think you can manage it, I can put together a proper tea for you.”

The scent of bergamot and lavender had you humming as you dug an elbow into the couch, struggling to a sitting position.

“Oh, Henry! You got me more Victoria Grey tea!” 

Henry barely heard you as he tutted chidingly at your movements.

“Don’t move, you’ve only just had surgery! I’ll pour for you.”

Your side eye was softened by your smile as you gingerly scooted to sit up.

“I can’t drink it lying down,” you drolled as you filched a biscuit from the pile. “You look tired, sweetheart.”

It was his turn to side eye you.

“You, madam, are not to worry about me.” With proud aplomb, he handed you a steaming cup, perfectly sweetened and creamed.

“Henry, you don’t need to coddle me. Now, go get the phone you yeeted, come sit here with me and Kal, and we’ll watch some Hulu. One of my tumblr friends told me about an American show I, apparently, have foolishly missed for the last 30 years. Have you ever heard of ‘The Golden Girls’?”

****************

After pacifying Henry with two cups of tea drunk and refusing the fifth biscuit he tried to cram down your throat, you had drifted back to sleep listening to his chuckles as Sophia intoned ‘Picture it - Sicily…’. But those two cups, topping off the IV fluids they’d given you in the hospital, now strained your bladder far past the point of comfort. 

Lifting your head, you took in Kal snoring contentedly from his spot behind your legs, his head tucked over your side. Henry sat in the corner, cradling your top leg across his lap. His head lolled back against the couch, lips parted in sleep. Getting free of these two would be a chore. Prodded into action by sloshing liters of fluids, you slowly, carefully eased your leg up and off Henry. Then, you hit Kal’s weak spot - scritches right behind his ear. With a groan, he moved to wedge his snout between your back and the back of the couch...and kept on snoring.

Mission accomplished.

Delight stretched your smile wide, pinching unnoticed into your cheeks as you basked in the ease of standing up straight. You took care of business, humming under your breath as you washed your hands.

“What are you doing?!”

The demand, barked in a deep, drowsy gravel, echoed beautifully in the tiled space. You were convinced you levitated clear off the floor. Two sleepy bears stood in the doorway, and if dogs could scowl, you were pretty sure Kal’s matched his master’s.  Before you could stammer out a reply, Henry swept you into his arms, striding back to the lounge.

“What - my hands are still - Henry, put me down!” you spluttered, frowning at the dark drabbles your dripping hands left on his shirt. 

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he groused as he bent to deposit you back on the couch, Kal clicking his way behind. 

“Henry, I had outpatient surgery, not brain surgery.”

Dark brows drew concerned lines deep into his forehead as Henry carefully tucked you back into your blanket.

“I’ll get you another cold pack.” You kept your good natured sigh silent as you sent a chagrined smile after him.

“They told me to start moving about to help my recovery,” you called out above the sound of the refrigerator doors.

“Move about tomorrow,” he shot back. Before you could think up an answer, Kal boofed his own reply as he nosed worriedly at your face. In that deep voice you loved, Henry urged Kal out of his way as he gently slid the ice pack into place over your bandage. You watched as a corner of his mouth tilted in a barely-there grin as he finished fussing and fretting, and you smiled into the kiss he dropped on your lips.

Grunting as he sat on the floor beside you, Henry snagged the remote and leaned to steal another kiss from you.

“Now, you fell asleep before the funniest one so far. It’s titled ‘Break In’, and Blanche becomes very worried about a large vase and her mama’s jewels,” he explained as he cued up Hulu. Diverted, you didn’t think about his coddling again.

********

Three and a half days later, you were ready to coddle him. Right over a cliff. The man wouldn’t let you do anything! If you even looked like you were thinking about picking up a pillow - a pillow, for goodness sake - Henry was there doing it for you.

Admittedly, the first two days you were a bit off your pins. The anesthesia and pain meds packed a wallop, leaving you lethargic and fuzzy. And you weren’t about to complain about the sheer luxuriousness of having someone wash your hair. Rapture! For all you loved Henry’s adoring attention, the man was starting to look a bit haggard. Restless from the drugs leaving and entering your system, your sleep was fitful - and Henry was awake more often than not when you opened your eyes. You urged him to let you do for yourself as your energy and strength slowly returned. 

But the Cavill generosity, and Henry’s own innate goodness, had him running for you morning, noon, and night. He plumped pillows, arranged flowers, cooked up tempting treats, massaged your feet, and ordered the silkiest, comfiest pajamas you’d ever worn. He was every person’s romantic fantasy of a loving, dedicated hero.

And he was driving you bonkers.

When you stood up from the couch and paused, letting your equilibrium catch up with you, you caught Henry studying you seriously.

“What do you need, love?”

“Bathroom,” you mumbled around a yawn, snagging your water glass to refill on your way back. “Refill.”

“You’ve been up and about quite a bit today,” he observed, brow lined with concern. “How’s your pain?”

With an effort, you stopped yourself from rolling your eyes. Sort of.

“Henry, my pain is well managed. Remember, I stopped taking the hydrocodone last night. I’m not due for any paracetamol for another hour. I’m fine.”

You swore you could literally see his thoughts racing back and forth in his mind.

“Do you want me to carry you?”

This time, you did roll your eyes. “No, Henry! I don’t need you to carry me to the loo.”

Thwarted servitude practically vibrated off the man.

“I’ll refill your water for you,” he stated, getting to his feet. 

Whether it was the waning and waxing of pharmaceutical chemistry, post-surgical fatigue, the ever-increasing joy at your lack of pain, or a combination thereof - you couldn’t say. You snapped, pointing an imperious finger at him.

“Freeze, Cavill!” He blinked his befuddlement at your order, stuck halfway from rising off his chair.

“Wha...why? I was just going to get you some fresh water!”

“And I said that I will get it!”

“But, I only-”

“EH!” you cut him off, wagging your finger at him.

“If you just let-”

“NUH-UH!” Another jab in his direction.

“I was just going-”

“NUH-UH-UH!!!” Each syllable of your refusal was punctuated by a forceful stab of your finger at your beloved. Stymied, frustrated, Henry flopped down in his chair, arms flailing with exasperation. His genuine confusion sent your head thunking to the wall behind you as you prayed for patience.

“Henry. I love you. Truly, deeply, madly. But lately, you’ve been hovering so much you’re really strengthening the ‘madly’ part of it because you’re about to drive me out of my skull.”

Henry shot to his feet, honest hurt creasing lines into his forehead. “I’m not hovering, I’m helping! There’s a difference!”

“And I’ve already told you - outpatient surgery, not brain surgery! I was under for 45 minutes, they tweezed out the broken bits, and I walked half a dozen steps from the wheelchair to the car an hour later. And you literally just offered to carry me to the bathroom!” Your voice rose until you were nearly shouting. Henry turned half away from you, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration.

“You don’t understand,” he growled out. Your own frustration climbing, you flung your arms out in a questioning gesture.

“What? What do I not understand?”

The man rounded on you, stepping forward to yell in your face.

“I couldn’t do anything!” 

Nonplussed, you blinked. 

“Henry, you’ve been doing everything since I got ho-”

“Not now - then!” He turned back away from you, shoulders hunched as he fisted his hair for a moment. “When you called 999. You were in terrible pain, crying out because of it, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to help you!”

Silence fell between you like a wall as his truth crashed over you. Your memories of that morning were, understandably hazy. You clearly remember the pain overtaking every molecule of your body - your vision blurry and grey at the edges, unable to move without more agony, sweating like it was your job. You remember feeling both grateful and worried for poor Kal - worried for hurting him with how hard you gripped his fur, grateful for your loyal friend. You remember being honestly concerned that you were dying, and trying to pray.

But above all else, you remember the pure, unadulterated, consuming sense of relief when you heard Henry’s voice, felt his hand on your cheek.

Shame bloomed hot beneath your skin - you’d not given any thought to what Henry must have felt during those awful moments. So focused on surviving, then on healing, you’d felt gratitude for his help and care, sure. But not thinking that he’d had to watch your pain, unable to help you. 

Your Superman, powerless to help the one he loved.

Tiptoeing forward, you wrapped your arms around him, resting your forehead against his broad back.

“Henry, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about that.”

You rose and fell with him as he took a deep breath, muscles shifting beneath you. Clasping your hands in his, he lifted them as he pressed a kiss to each, wrapping them in his own against his heart.

“No, I’m sorry. I knew in my head I was overdoing it, but I just couldn’t bear to see you hurting again. Anymore.” He turned in your embrace, cupping your cheeks in his warm hands. Deep blue eyes poured a wealth of love and concern straight into your heart as he frowned beseechingly at you. “I would do anything for you, my love.”

Eyes prickling with emotion, your smile trembled a bit when you offered it, reaching up to kiss him tenderly before you brushed a wayward curl off his forehead.

“Can I go to the bathroom by myself?”

Henry snorted right into your face, hugging you close and smacking a kiss under your jaw, just where he knew you loved it. 

“Your request is granted, my lady. Allow me, your humble servant, to fetch you refreshment whilst you pee?”

You cackled in reply, shoving your glass into his hand.

“Thank you, my lord. I’m off to the royal chamber pot.” Tugging his face down to your level, you rubbed your nose against his. “Mayhap, upon my return, I’ll bestow a favor upon thee.”

His cheeky growl made you laugh as he nudged you down the hall.

“Hurry up, then! I’m in dire need of all the favors!”

Your chuckles wouldn’t be stopped as you headed to your destination, especially when Kal zoomy-ed past you in all his floofy glory. 

Recovery might be slow, but you knew you were lucky - not everyone had a hero of their own to help them.

[zoyalais-moved]

Serendipity

World: canonverse, post-kos

Ship: Zoyalai

Word Count: 1875

zoyalai movie watching as requested by @hannachen​

want one?

AO3

There was something charming about the palace gardens during the day.

Nikolai recalled as much from his childhood- this was the place he and Dominik snuck off to when the parties were too loud or Vasya and his friends had stolen a bottle and the drink had opened their eyes to all the ways they could hurt two young boys. 

He wondered if that made this a sad place. It didn’t feel sad, though the clench in Nikolai’s chest suggested otherwise. 

Whatever it was, it no longer belonged to two clever little boys. As if on cue, voices rose from beyond the trees. Nikolai ducked beneath a particularly low branch before stepping out into the field beside the lake, where a group of students were gathered around two forms at the edge of the water.

A young Suli girl in a blue kefta with pale embroidered cuffs had both hands raised over the lake, palms open as if beckoning the water to come. She was standing at least a foot away from the surface, on her tiptoes as if the added height might give her more power over the water. Beside her, Zoya was frowning. She hadn’t noticed him yet, and Nikolai paused to watch the learning session.

The girl’s face scrunched up, her hands shaking with some unseen effort. The lake remained unphased. 

“Anaya,” Zoya’s tone was sharp. And the girl’s cheeks pinked further at her name, brows furrowing as she struggled with it for a moment. All the children had turned their attention to the water’s surface, and after a brief struggle, a single ripple formed beneath her spread palms.

The girl pulled back, gasping, and grinned. One of the children hooted.

“Don’t look so pleased, that could very well have been the wind.” Zoya’s sharp voice cut through the crowd. Ouch , thought Nikolai. He’d been rather impressed as well, but then Nikolai would never have the affinity for summoning of any kind, so that wasn't unexpected. 

The girl’s face fell, “but I did everything right!” she protested.

“Clearly not,” said Zoya. She moved to stand closer to the water and glanced at it before returning her attention to the girl, studying her for a moment. “You fear the water.”

A few chuckles came from the students, and the girl dipped her head in shame. 

“No partnership can be built on fear, Anaya. So long as you believe the water is your enemy, it will never be your friend.”

One of the students snorted, and Zoya’s sharp eyes found him in seconds.

“Something to say, Varlaam?” she asked with a raised brow. Nikolai was genuinely surprised when the boy responded. The look Zoya fixed with him could have crippled armies.

“Sorry Ms Nazyalensky, but we aren’t partnering with our abilities, we’re commanding them.” he corrected her, a cocky grin turning his lips. 

“I’m sure you commanded the fire to burn your arm and land you in the infirmary for a week, yes?” 

The boy’s face turned red and he scowled, stepping back as the children around him began laughing. Nikolai noticed for the first time that his blue kefta was embroidered with red. In fact, more reds and purples dotted the crowd of students, as well. 

Grisha, but no longer separated by order. 

“Power isn’t about command, it’s about partnership. Shared trust. Knowing that the other has your back as much as you do theirs,” Zoya was saying, her eyes traveling over each of the students in turn before settling on Nikolai. “Isn’t that right, Your Highness?”

The students startled, some gasping as they spun around to see Nikolai. An amused smile tilted his lips. She hadn’t glanced up once since he’d arrived, but Nikolai had no doubt that she’d known he was there from the start. 

He folded his hands behind his back, and addressed the students. “Certainly, but do keep in mind that being the one in charge sometimes has its perks. Such as now, when I tell you all to go back to your dorms and have cake. Do we have cake? I’ll ask the chef to make cake- something with almonds.”

A few of the students hooted, scattering off already, but Zoya remained unimpressed. 

“Says who?”

“The King,” Nikolai replied, before indicating the crown sitting on his head, whispering, “that’s me!”

Zoya rolled her eyes, but the little girl beside her laughed. Nikolai noticed that it was the same one who’d struggled to create a ripple and smiled at her.

“Anaya! I thought your performance was very impressive,” he said, watching her eyes go wide. “Go on now, you’ll continue on tomorrow.”

He watched her catch up to her friends, a grin on her face, and smiled to himself.

“Why did you say that? Now she’ll spend another week behind the rest of the class.”

“She deserved a little encouragement,” Nikolai said.

“From an Otkazat’sya ?” Zoya snorted, earning a glare from Nikolai. “What are you doing here anyway? I assume it's important, since you just dismissed my class.” she crossed her arms and raised a brow at him.

Nikolai tried not to notice the way her hair was falling out of its braid, but the loose strands seemed to call to him, and he had to fight the urge to reach over and tuck them away. 

He shrugged, “I thought you might like to have the evening off,” he said, wincing at his lack of a creative excuse. 

Genya would kill him if she knew.

She frowned, “why would I…” then realization dawned on her face, and her glare was back, full force, only this time it was aimed at Nikolai. “Genya put you up to this! Oh, for Saints’ sake Nikolai, I told you-”

“-not to do anything for your birthday, yes I heard.” he paused, “but this is completely unrelated, I promise you.”

She eyed him doubtfully, “what exactly is it?”

Now, Nikolai couldn’t stop the grin from spreading over his face, “a surprise.”

---

Zoya let her curiosity get the best of her, a mistake she only seemed to make with Nikolai. 

She tried to summon her usual irritation and snark, but Nikolai was grinning like a boy about to show off his new toy. It was a contagious sort of excitement that had her heart racing for unknown reasons.

“-it’s something David and I have been trying to perfect for months. Well, years, more like, but the focus on it tripled since…” his gaze slid to a maid crossing the hall and his voice lowered, even as he threw a smile her way, “well, you know since when.”

Since the Darkling returned and wreaked havoc on our door? As though she could forget.

A bit of her enthusiasm dampened with the reminder. He was still chained up in a holding cell, guards around every day, and either Zoya or Nikolai coming to check his bonds once a day. Still, his presence was unnerving, and she could almost feel it seeping into her happiness every day, tainting her world. 

You don’t get to take my family away , she thought, not again .

Zoya was so lost in her own thoughts that when Nikolai stopped in front of her, she walked right into him. 

He raised a brow, hazel eyes still dancing with the secret of whatever lay beyond the door. 

“Before you enter, you should know that while it wasn’t intended for your birthday, this might feel like a bit of a celebration. Entirely coincidence, I promise.”

“Coincidence?” she deadpanned. 

Nikolai grinned, “serendipity.”

She shook her head, pushing past him to the door. They were near the labs, and she could hear a faint sound of something playing- a record? She frowned, pushing it open.

Zoya wasn’t sure what she expected, but this was not it. The lights had been switched off, curtains shut. Someone shouted “surprise!”- Genya?, a second voice hushed her. Zoya could hardly see. Then a switch flicked on and a rectangle of light appeared on the wall, causing Zoya to frown.

She could now make out the blankets someone had spread on the floor of the empty guest room, and the forms of her friends in the dim light- Genya and David huddled together, Tamar with her head on Nadiya’s lap. And Tolya, who was sitting behind a large box-like contraption pouring light out onto the empty wall. 

Nikolai closed the door behind her, and Genya patted the place beside her excitedly. 

“Look- see that?” Nikolai indicated the box. “It’s a sort of record player- records from the Wandering Isle, they’ve got plays, performed on stage, and with a little bit of effort from David, and the wonderful Nadiya we managed to-”

“Nikolai shut up and sit! ”

Zoya startled at Genya’s voice, raising a brow. She couldn’t help the smile growing on her face as her eyes returned to the wall which was now playing a series of moving pictures- people on a stage, leather masks over some of their faces. She didn’t tear her gaze away as she settled beside Genya on the blankets, leaving room for a scowling Nikolai to sit at her right.

He shifted beside her as the pictures began to play, and it took a minute for Zoya to realize he was watching her reaction.

A small smile touched her lips, her gaze settling on him for a moment- eyes lit up with excitement, a grin on his face, hair slightly mussed. 

She leaned in closer as sound filtered in from some unknown source and whispered to Nikolai, “not such a bad coincidence, then.”

His grin amplified, and he beamed like a proud child. 

Genya shushed them, but the light allowed Zoya to make out the last word Nikolai mouthed.

Serendipity .

She rolled her eyes, shifting a bit closer to him and smacking his shoulder. Nikolai only laughed, causing both Tamar and Genya to spin back and shush him. 

Zoya hid a smile. She thought of her promise earlier, about not losing a second family. How was it that these people had once been strangers to her? And yet now she couldn’t picture a happy day spent without them. The woman who gave birth to her was absent, and Zoya felt no remorse towards that.

If Liliyana and Lada were here , she thought with a pang, it would have been perfect.

She let her eyes focus entirely on the moving pictures, but her mind turned up name after name, and Alina, and Mal, and Harshaw, and Sergei, and-

A brush against her arm jolted her back to the present. Zoya looked over to see Nikolai, eyes on the screen, a frown overtaking his face. Of course he’d known what was on her mind, had likely thought the same thing.

Nikolai had said he’d been working on a project since the Darkling’s return, and Zoya thought perhaps it was a weapon. But this was Nikolai , and he had developed something for his friends to relax, for the people he loved to take some time off and enjoy themselves, a little less stress and a few more smiles.

Her heart did something strange in her chest.

Without saying a word, Zoya let her fingers lace with Nikolai’s, squeezing once. 

Maybe he was right about that, maybe some coincidences were good ones.

[b4civility]

August,7

fanfic based on the “teenage love triangle” on Folklore, “Betty”, “August” and “Cardigan”. Still releasing new chapters, stay tooned! 

[NO WARNINGS] 

summary: Betty doesn’t realize she is touching James the first time she does so. James doesn’t realize she is everything he wants the first time he paints her sink red. Alisson doesn’t realize she wasn’t part of the plan. August slipped away like a bottle of wine, as quick as it could,staining everything it reaches.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 1: Betty 

Whenever I have to pack, my head gets cloudy. Always seems like I got everything I need, except that the Object That I Take For Granted But Actually Use Everyday stays behind, like a bath sponge or a coffee pot. I know this will happen, but get a bit of a headache every time trying to fight it. All the boxes in mu checklist are checked, but this anxious feeling still buzzes inside my head. 

‘Check under the bed to see if there’s something there’, mom says. 

I check. There is, but nothing that belongs to me. 

I am moving from a house of girls to another house of girls, but at least I get to have the unspoken individuality of my belongings, the entitlement to my schedule and to have “ I would rather not talk about it” or “I want to keep it to myself” as a legitimate answer this time around. My sisters are pretty sad about it- Skyler says she will miss my closet the most. “ So I am supposed to buy my own earrings now? How much do they cost? Do you try them on at the store? Is it ok if I get them wet by accident or will they be totally ruined?” she shoots at me as I finish packing my jewelry. “ Did you not care to not spill water on my earrings when you wore them?”, I ask, but she just looks away and plays with the ones that are in her ear, that are, too, mine. They are the silver with some dark green balls at the end. I stole them from a fancy boutique when I was 14, igniting my addiction to this accessory. I stole a couple more until the guilt finally kicked in,and then became an expert on finding cheap and not that bad ones at Aliexpress. I’ll just let her have it, looks better with her short hair than with my long one. Even though we have the same kind of curls, mine weren’t as defined as hers when I had short hair. A little bit shorter than the earrings, makes her look so edgy. She loves it. 

Eliza, in the other hand, despites my wardrobe, but worships my baking skills. One Sunday or the other we bake together, she makes sour doo biscuits and I bake a cake. This is our stack for the week, and then we try a different recipe for the dessert that day. We have a nice dynamic in the kitchen by now-she hates making cake but loves eating mine and I feel the same way about her biscuits, ans since both of us have a sweet tooth, baking is taken very seriously under this roof. 

The four of us get in the car, I get the backseat since Eliza is our official DJ (not that we gave her the title, rather she took it),plus, mom likes her by her side. Never have I ever sat behind the wheels when the entire family was in the car, for some reason mom would always get cautious about it when I asked if I could drive in these situations, even though I have been each and everyone’s chauffeur at some point. 

Tomorrow, at this very hour, I would be waking up to none of them. The closest thing to not being a sister I ever had was before I was seven, when Skyler wasn’t born yet, the bedroom was all mine and dad only had one volleyball player in our backyard. The closest thing I ever got to not being a daughter when he left. I was 12, Skyler was 5 and mom was in no condition to deal with her and our loss at the same time. Grandma was around a lot for the next 2 years. I couldn’t say the same about our mother, even up to this date. 

So I was reading her body expression, her smile at what my sister was saying about the music she chose, her thin neck, blurred by some hair strands that got out of her pony tale and eventually felt on her shoulders covered by her green cardigan, and how easily breakable her peacefulness appeared. Not because of my departure,no, she has been looking like this everyday since that last day. I don’t believe the other two ever notices that, not when they got their hands full with the colossal mess they make to get their older sister’s attention. It does work, I’m even moving houses because of it;college is just a social-acceptable excuse. 

Three hours later we have completed our journey from Mendax to Verum, the college town just 20 minutes away from campus. Five other girls were to live with me, none that I have met yet, but their facebook page tells me I got another Political Science major in the house, two English majors, a biology southmore and soon-to-be-graduated journalist. I sort of hoped I was going to be the first one to arrive so I could get my stuff in place first, not have all the stubbornness that run through my family’s DNA thrown at them as a first impression and possibly bake a Homecoming/Welcome/If My Words Fail Me At Least I Have This Going For Me cake. Plus, I own Eliza this last/ first moment, so I’d ask for her help. 

 The house was unapologetically pink. The pastel tone suited the wood-revested building very well, so much it felt like Barbie Dream House: College edition. The family house energy of it, the immense porch space, the spacious interior corridors,two livingrooms and the hugh gress space in the backyard were the opposite of what you would expect of a college girls’ residency, yet everything you wish they all looked like. Besides, this was a very prospect location for an off campus party, so I think I got the upper hand with this one. 

“ You are in a Barbie movie scenario for your entire graduation. I’m so jealous I can’t barely put it into words” Skyler said, staring at it, blinking as if she was waiting for it to disappear the next time she opened her eyes. “ Yeah,I will be sitting at the porch waiting to see if Ken shows up anytime soon,too.” I answered as I stood next to her, holding boxes. “Yeah, be sure to look very carefully for him at the massive Homecoming barbecue you guys are going to be having in this abnormous big backyard of yours”.So it was that obvious.” But don’t get attached to the first cutie you see, ok? Someone better could be just around the corner... ”. I don’t even want to imagine how her college years are going to be like. Probably a little cooler than mine; she always knows how to make a fun moment even funnier. Is it legal to bring your underaged sibling to a uni party? 

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you in mind whenever I get more-than-two-dates invested in someone here”

Did Skyler really thought that my next romance would just fall into my backyard, like that?  

Chapter 2: James 

The sound of the wheels rolling on the concrete always get people looking, even when you are far from them. Anyone in top of a skateboard becomes a model in a suburban street, whose streets turn into a red carpet filled with paparazzi. I try to say something like “good morning” or “hello” to whoever I am passing by in an attempt to make my politeness overcome the annoyance of the loud noise, and convince myself that it works. Somehow, I often end up in a situation where it would be better not to be seen: whether is when I am riding my board and I get loud or in places I shouldn’t be attempting to land a trick at, or when I am pointing my camera at someone, trying to get a picture without them noticing. As if it isn’t happening for the hundredth time, I awkwardly pause, try to wave at them so I don’t come out as a stalker and gesticulating an apology all at once. People generally frown and move some place else, as a anyone in their right mind would. But only my headphones come with me for the ride when I know I will be taking The Pink House road. Two years ago I was riding by for the fourth time in the same week - ok, that was pretty stalker-y - getting shots of the house, the thing that struck me at first, and then the feature that actually grabbed my attention: the girls. There were four college girls living there, all who seemed so bubbly,so full of life, so enjoyable to the eye, so hot. By that time I had the count in my head, and one of them was missing. Didn’t mind much, got some rather good photos of Claire, the only one that I(oddly,but actually) knew. We made out at a uni party that I had sneaked in to the year before. As soon as I looked forward, A bloody face jumped in front of me,screaming, scaring me enough so that I felt in the concrete, scratched an elbow and hurting my feet. 

“THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DON’T WEAR PROTECTION PADS!!!!! AND ALSO WHEN YOU ACT LIKE A CREEP FUCK,BASTARD!” 

As I pointed my head to the sky, the bloody shadow took away the mask, to reveal the fourth girl missing. “I-I-I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to.. I was just… The house, I-”

“Oh God ,it’s a creepy kid”, she said, throwing a hand to help me get up. “ So just because you are a cute teenager you think you can spy on stranger’s house like that?!?”- she said I was cute- “Yo, it’s no stalker”- kinda was- “just a random kid with a camera. Partially broken camera, you might wanna pick that piece up”. That was the day I met Inez. We got quite acquainted since that day, and photographing a place that you are allowed in got boring after the first two times so we just became friends.

I searched for her, but instead saw a brown girl istead. A new girl. Someone I was not ready to see. I stopped breathing the second she raised her head and I could see her almond eyes better, the spark on her cheeks reflecting the sun. The next thing I knew I had my face on the concrete, with the same elbow scratched, again. 

“Shit, are you ok? You're bleeding” she (yes, she!) said to me.

“I-I’m cool, I’m cool… you know,just...whatever, happens all the time and shit...” . My mouth doesn’t know how to work when my brain is in complete shock with the view, apparently. 

“You should at least wash it, your elbow could get infected, come on inside” she said, as she held my hand and arm very softly. You could see she was trying not to touch the injury much, but I swear I wasn’t feeling my entire body. 

Chapter 3: Betty 

“I suppose we should have a first aid kit here, somewhere…”- he’s painting my sink in red as the water runs in the wound. What a way to start. “Eliza, Skyler, help me; you go look if you find anything in the bathroom and you, keep at the kitchen cabinets”.

“It’s on the upper shelf, actually”, he answers.

It was.What the fuck?

“So you live here now?!?!” I hear a voice from behind that isn’t my mother’s. It’s the biology major,even though she is blonder than her facebook pictures.

“I-I-I just… arrived…. I’m sorry he… I was just...” Was I ever going to come up with the right sequence of words to explain that I, a girl she never met, had got into her house with a bleeding,also strange boy and two teenagers running wild looking through her stuff? The chances are beyond unlikely,at its best. 

“Not you, I was expecting you- I mean  him”, she arched her eyebrows.

“Inez ! long time no see, girl!”, he replies with a sort of laughing, trying to lighten up the mood. I wasn't understanding one bit of what was going on.

“ You couldn’t wait for the party so you just brought it right in yourself, huh? Look at the mess you made in my kitchen! You know, I am leaving here next year so you better make a good impression of yourself for the other girls if you want to keep falling in our doorstep and getting aid” 

“I don’t think I’m their first option but I can make it work, never smile at someone and didn’t get a smile back” he says softly, kind of taking advantage of it, as he smiles at Inez, and she tries to hold it, but smiles back. I smile a little bit too, but still- what the fuck is happening?!?! 

“ You believe that your white teeth will get you anywhere, don’t you?”

“It got me aid the first time I ever felt in your doorstep. Also got you letting me teach you how to skateboard,which was super cool” he started sounding a little bit more teenager-y. How old was he? 

“ I always wanted to skate, you just happened to have a skateboard”. The air in the room was decrisealing chaotic. What he did worked. 

“Oh, like we were the only two people here, I am so sorry; hi, I’m Inez, welcome home,Beatrice!” she turns to me, shaking my hand, with a relaxed smile on. 

“Thank you, you can call me Betty” He really softened the mood, the words even came out of my mouth normally. 

“Ok, sure. I was meant to be here earlier but I had a salon appointment. But you met the house mascot already,so that’s one thing out of the list”- she points at this skater, sitting on the sink- “ This is James, he’s around more than he should. Do you need help? with the boxes?” And then I remembered of my sisters, running loose around the house and my mom, probably on the car outside. 

“ My sisters and I got everything by the porch already, there aren’t many”

“Fine, I will just wrap up this skater’s arm in a band-Aid and then I’ll show you your room. Clem is your roommate. You are enrolled in political science too, right?”

“Yeah”

“Nice, I think you two will be quite a match then. James, get your board rolling outta here, you are done, you can stop scarring my new roomate. 

“ Thanks, ‘Nez” he hopped out of the sink. “ It was never my intention to scare you. Nice meeting you, Betty” he gives me a quiet smile, looking into my eyes just for a second before looking at the ground. He ran a little bit down the hallway, got on the skateboard and went out of sight. He had this boyish posture, stubborn, unaware of his own size. His broad shoulders moved along with his waist as he strolled away. It was nice meeting you,too,James.

[leonette-fossoway]

✦ ▓ AND WHO GOES THERE? oh, it’s just [ LEONETTE FOSSOWAY ]. some say [ HER ] resemblance to [ ANA DE ARMAS ] is almost uncanny, but the [ THIRTY ] year old has been in the capital for [ TEN YEARS ]. many suspect that they are the notorious [ NEUTRAL ] of the [ TYRELL ] family: perhaps that has made them [ SELF-CENTERED ] && [ JEALOUS ] of late, when they used to be so [ AMBITIOUS ] && [ GREGARIOUS ]. during the daylight hours, [ LEONNETE ] can be found working as a [ MAGAZINE EDITOR ], but when night falls over king’s landing, they are best remembered listening to [ ARE YOU SATISFIED? by MARINA ]. may the gods be with them in these dark streets.

Because I suck at Photoshop, my intro post is going to be ugly :P But I’m suuuper excited to introduce you to my modern-version of Leonette. I hope you like her! You can find some info on her below:

Don’t know if anyone has spent less time in the capital, but Leonette has technically been here for only the last ten years. She moved to King’s Landing to see if she can fulfil her dream - to become a journalist. Her family had never expected her to even consider that, they were big in the apple cider business, her father being the inventor of Fossoway apple cider. He wanted his company to be a family one, run primarily by people who shared a blood connection. Leo’s brothers were happy to live up to their father’s expectations and preserve the legacy. But not her. She wanted more of the world, not just ciders and apples. And she wanted to leave, desired to explore more of her surroundings, just by herself and see where her luck leads her.

As soon as she got her university degree in journalism, Leo put herself out there and started seeking jobs. The very first position that was offered to her was one of a columnist. She was given the chance to have her own weekend column in a magazine dedicated to relationships, fashion and beauty. She would first write about her general impressions of her everyday life in King’s Landing, until eventually she started feeling bolder and would even give out some tips to her readers. Her column was a popular one, many women finding her writing tone charming, sweet and funny. They enjoyed reading about her experiences and the opinions she held. Leo realized that while that magazine hadn’t really been her first choice for her journalism career, it had given her a platform and the chance to succeed. Who cared if it was more light-hearted, compared to discussions of a serious nature.

The columns would turn into articles and then edits of whole pages. Her bosses enjoyed her creativity and approach, they could recognize her talent and her influence on the magazine’s female audience. They started sending her to various social events and fundraisers, where she would represent the magazine. It didn’t hurt that the others also happened to find her quite pretty. At one of those events, she would meet the man who would become her husband.

Leo never thought that much about Garlan Tyrell or the Tyrell family in general. She was well-aware of the power they wielded and the fame and money that came along with it. But she was never one to sigh and faint in the presence of celebrities. She treated Garlan just like any other man she had ever met. She never understood why exactly he chose her and decided to pursue her. He did possess all of the qualities she desired in a man, so she let him get close and take her on various dates. He was someone who wasn’t wasting her time and she believed he could truly see her, for who she was and who she wished to become. He understood her goals and dreams, understood her worries and concerns. She could confide in him. It was only natural when he propose to her, it wasn't a surprise to anyone around them, it was the predictable growth of their relationship. Leo didn’t want to wait to become a married woman long, the engagement lasted only a few months and then they were married in a public ceremony, attended both by family, friends and the media alike.

Her success story didn’t falter though and she was promoted to the position of an editor-in-chief, the magazine granting her full recognition and control of the issues every month. Leo knows that the natural step, family-wise, would be to start her own family with Garlan, but she fears what would happen with her career if she were to get pregnant.

______

If curious, you can take a look at Leo’s stats here. Wanted connections are TBA.

STATISTICS.

full name: leonette valentina fossoway

moniker / nickname: leo

gender && pronouns: she/her

dob && age: june 1st 1990

zodiac sign: gemini

ethnicity: latina (cuban)

sexual orientation: heterosexual

romantic orientation: heteroromantic

mafia affiliation: neutral while in the tyrell family :P

occupational history: columnist, section editor, edtior-in-chief

financial status: comes from wealth / earned wealth.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

face claim: ana de armas

height: 5' 6¼" (1,68 m)

physical build: slim, yet curvy in all the right places ;) 

eye colour and shape: almond-shaped hazel-green eyes

hair colour and style: flowing blond hair (naturally brown), falling down her waist and shoulders

usual expression: composed yet friendly appearance, never unapproachable or reserved

accent and speech style: speaks with a foreign accent, favours short and simple sentences

distinguishing marks / characteristics: pierced ears

clothing style: simple, but pretty. very elegant and grand when in a formal setting

jewellery and accessories: enjoys jewellery quite a lot, but never overdoes it when in more everyday-looks

FAMILY:

father: russal fossoway

mother: laryss fossoway

siblings, if any: peytan and prestan fossoway (brothers)

extended relations: her husbands family (all the tyrells)

significant other(s): garlan tyrell (husband)

children: none

household pet(s): a small dog named brant

FAVOURITES.

colour: green

weather: warm and sunny, not too hot and too cold, the perfect weather for a short dress and not much else

food item: lemon cheesecake

beverage: cola or milkshake, whichever of these two she is in the mood for

time of day: day - more productive, more can be achieved

television genre: telenovelas :D

PERSONALITY.

hobbies: her secret hobby is cooking, especially desserts; imagine all sorts of cakes and cookies, also likes to experiment with different ice cream toppings

pet peeves: not being listened to, tardiness and loud, overemotional reactions; she also hates people crying in front of her as she never knows how to console them

phobias: bugs (hence she never goes camping), needles and failure

allergies: no known allergies

mbti type: esfp-a

enneagram type: 98% the achiever, 97% the challenger and 85% the enthusiast

positive traits: ambitious, gregarious, active and adaptive

negative traits: self-centered, jealous, gossiper and opinionated 

morning routine: once she wakes up, she washes her face and applies some moisturizers and day creams (got to look flawless and pretty), she goes on to have breakfast - usually eggs or some type of muesli with berries and nuts, afterwards brushes her teeth and puts on makeup to start the day

beauty routine: she uses a lot of day and night creams and face masks, also moisturizing ones to keep her skin hydrated, as it is a little prone to dryness; uses only the very best and expensive makeup brands as she’s very picky about what she applies on her face; keeps a rose water bottle in her purse for emergencies

sleeping habits: her sleeping schedule used to be all over the place, but she has been making efforts to improve it and make it regular; the only time she breaks it is when she has an important due date at her job.

living space && home: she is the owner of gorgeous penthouse apartment in the upper west side, but since she got engaged and then married, she moved in to live with garlan 

[iamfitzwilliamdarcy]

Title: His Father’s Heart

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne (some), and OCs

Summary: A priest must have a father's heart, and Fr. Todd has had a good example. Or, the one in which Jason is a priest and starts a school. (a03) 

Note: -shows up 4 months late with Starbucks and too many epigraphs- Happy (extremely belated) birthday to @catie-does-things!!! I finally finished this fic and have 9 pages of a google doc to give you <3 We discussed this once and then I just Ran with it (this fic is also how i learned there is no midnight Angelus???) 

Religion that is pure and undefiled before God and the Father is this: to care for orphans and widows in their affliction....

-James 1:27

“Without confidence and love, there can be no true education. If you want to be loved…you must love yourselves, and make your children feel that you love them.”

“The school was not the end; it was rather the instrumental means for improving the way of life.”

-St. John Bosco

The school that never was supposed to be started with three boys. 

Many would say it was Fr. Todd, who worked tirelessly for the crime, addiction, poverty ravished community he served. But Fr. Todd knew, and he knew God knew as well. 

The school started with three boys, huddling behind the dumpster in the alley adjacent to St. Maria Goretti Catholic Church. 

It was, when Fr. Todd reflected on it, the Hand of God, pushing them where they needed to be, beyond where they thought they ought to be. He was, after all, a diocosean priest, not of a teaching order, and kept plenty busy by the daily happenings of parish life. He had no room in his life for a school. 

He was, though, also very much his father’s son. 

And his father was not the kind of man to leave three, shivering boys in an alley because he was busy. Neither was the Lord, Jason reminded himself, who was in the least of these. 

So he squatted down beside them, enough of a distance they didn’t feel cornered but close enough that he was a presence. And said, “Good evening.”

They were clearly brothers, with the same almond eyes and thick black hair. Even the one whose was curly fit in the set. Hunger made their faces gaunt, but beneath it, if one knew how to look, one could see the same jawline, the same off center nose. 

The oldest one shifted to be in front of his brothers, glaring at Fr. Todd. “Go ‘way,” he said. “I know what you collar people do my momma told me and I say go way.”

Fr. Todd frowned, but kept his face and voice soft. “I promise,” he said. “I’m not here to hurt you. My momma warned me about dangerous men too.”

The boy continued to glare, not convinced. “I have food,” Fr. Todd offered, and the younger boys shifted behind him. Even the oldest betrayed himself with longing in his eyes, though he quickly masked it. “And a warm bed.”

The little ones were sold, but the oldest was smarter. He clearly wanted the food and the bed, but he didn’t trust a stranger.  

Smart enough, Jason thought. He himself hadn’t trusted Batman when they’d first met. 

Better the evil you know, right? 

Jason rocked back on his heels, thinking. “Stay here,” he told them. “I’ll be right back.”

He got up and quickly returned to the rectory. He called the Bishop, waking him up in the middle of the night. Jason, who had requested the exorcist more than any priest in the entire state, had earned that privilege. 

“Almost time for the Angelus,” he said cheerfully, before the bishop warned him about the optics of three boys staying in a priest’s rectory, then added a small lesson of what the Lord would do, contrary to the optics. 

He made a few sandwiches, snagged a couple of water bottles, dumped Fr. Dominic’s hot chocolate from the stove into a thermos, grabbed a blanket, pocketed his cellphone, and made his way back to the alley. 

He sat down, cross-legged, still enough distance the boys didn’t feel trapped. “Here’s the deal,” he said, handing out the sandwiches; the oldest boy didn’t stop the younger ones, but he still eyed the bread and meat in his hand like it was poisoned. “You can let me help you or I’m going to have to call someone else who can. 

“The cops?” asked the littlest one, and Jason nodded. “I can’t leave you out here. It’s going to drop below freezing tonight. I have a contact with GCPD, but I won’t lie to you, if we go that route, likely you’ll end up in a group home and the foster system, if they can’t find your mom or she isn’t able to take care of you.”

“She’s dead,” the oldest said abruptly. 

“I’m sorry,” Jason said. He knew what that was like, to find your mother dead, to have nobody else.  After a pause, he added, “When my mom died, my adopted father caught me stealing the hubcaps off his car.”

The middle one laughed a little and Jason smiled at him. “It was pretty scary, but he turned out to be a good man. He’ll help you, too, if you let him.”

“We don’t  need  help,” the oldest boy asserted. The sandwich seemed to give him strength and he glowered at Jason again. “I told you.”

“That’s not one of the choices,” Jason said. 

“Who’s your dad?” the middle one piped up. 

The older boy threw him a dirty look, but Jason answered, “Bruce Wayne.” 

The little one leaned forward, eyes wide, and whispered, “He knows Batman.” 

Jason whispered conspiratorially back, “So do I.”

That, more than anything, sold the younger two. Even the older, still wary, agreed to come back to the rectory with him.

Fr. Dominic was awake, grading papers at the table. He eyed the three small boys, smiled, and said, “I was so sure my hot chocolate went to a good cause and looks like I was right. Who do we have here?”

The oldest boy gave his younger brother’s a stern look, one that looked out of place on his young face, but they ignored him. The littlest piped up that his name was Joey and Liam was the middle and his biggest brother was Tucker. Dominic shook each of their hands solemnly, even Tucker’s, and then let Jason slip away to make a phone call.

Dominic was still awake when Bruce Wayne showed up in Lululemon joggers and a henley at the rectory and deposited a sleeping nephew into Jason’s arms.

“Since I’m a good Catholic and all,” Dominic said, “I won’t say there are too many kids. Just seems like a lot for a rectory at 1am.”  

“We’re night people,” Jason said apologetically, raising his eyebrows at Bruce.

“Dick’s sick,” Bruce explained as Johnny snuggled his head into the crook of Jason’s shoulder. “And Barbara’s out of town. I couldn’t get out of the Mansion without this one tagging along.”

He held up a bag and said, “It should be enough clothes for a couple of days. I swung through the store and got some toothbrushes too.”

“You’re a blessing,” Jason said, stepping back to let Bruce in. 

Bruce grunted in acknowledgement. Then muttered something about needing a throat blessing before he caught whatever illness Dick had come down with. It was, apparently, hitting him hard.

“St. Blaise’s Feast Day isn’t for a few months, but I think I know a guy who could hook you up,” Jason teased, shutting the door and following him towards the kitchen.

Dominic had gone ahead of them, and his grading had turned into discussing the religion test questions with the younger two boys while their brother watched from his place leaned against the counter.

Tucker eyed Jason and Bruce as they came into the room, and Tommy in Jason’s arms. “Who’s that?” he demanded.

“Nephew,” Jason told him. Jerked his head at Bruce as an introduction, but Bruce beat him to it, holding out a large hand and saying “Bruce Wayne.”

Tucker did not shake it, eyeing Bruce suspiciously. As Bruce dropped his hand, the kid said, abruptly, “My momma used to work for you. ‘Fore she got sick.”

It was the most he’d said after telling Jason to go away, and it was the type of thing Bruce would take personally.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t help her,” Bruce said after a moment. “I would like to help you now.”

When the boy didn’t answer, Jason gestured to the bag and said, “Bruce brought some clothes for you to change into after you clean up. You can take my room for the night, the bathroom’s attached.”

Tucker eyed them like he was waiting for the catch, but when none came, he abruptly moved away from the counter to usher Liam away from Dominic and snatch up Joey’s hand. He glared at the adults as he shut the door to Jason’s room behind them, as if daring any of them to try anything. 

“You were that defensive,” Bruce reminded him quietly, so that Dominic couldn’t hear. “When we first met.”

Jason knew. He’d been cocky and brash, but it had never really covered up the fact that he’d been a distrustful 11 year old who didn’t really know how to look out for himself. 

“I got ahold of Jim,” Bruce continued, louder. “Said he’d send a social worker in the morning but odds were in my favor of being able to foster while they sort it out.”

“Gordon can’t decide that,” Jason muttered, with a head shake, but the way Gotham rolled, the commissioner did have a lot of influence.

“Do you need me to stay?” Bruce asked. He glanced at Dominic, then took a step forward and settled his hand on Jason’s shoulder. 

Jason smiled at him. “I think I can survive on a couch for one night.”

“He slept on a cafeteria floor at last year’s high school retreat,” Dominic piped up. 

“Kid forgot his sleeping bag,” Jason said with a shrug, shifting his nephew’s weight. Johnny had crashed since getting here and was dead weight in Jason’s arms, drooling slightly on his shoulder. 

Jason caught Bruce’s eye, who smiled a little. They both knew Jason had slept on harder than a cafeteria floor before.

“I’ll come back in the morning,” Bruce said. 

Jason raised his eyebrows higher. “For Mass,” Bruce agreed. He paused, and added, “Alfred will send food I’m sure.” 

“Yes,” Dominic cheered quietly, raising a hand in victory. 

He rose to lay his hands on Bruce and Johnny with Jason, to offer them a blessing before they left.

“You know,” Dominic said thoughtfully, after they were gone, watching the closed door of Jason’s room, behind which the shower was still running, “those kids are smart. Think Bruce would enroll them at St. Xavier?”

Jason frowned. “It’s far from Wayne Manor. He’d do it, but I don’t know how the kids would like that commute.”

“Far from here too,” Dominic agreed. He yawned and stretched as if to prove his point. “Speaking of, I should get some sleep. Take my bed, I’ll take the couch.”

But Jason shook his head. “I want them to be able to find me if they need to.”

***************

 It took a long time for the boys to settle in with Bruce as a foster; the younger two settled better They’d had to switch out of their public schools because they were not districted there anymore. They hadn’t been to school in  a while anyway, Jason gathered. 

There was plenty of catching up for them to do, Dominic somehow found time to tutor them in between his own papers and gradings and other priestly duties. 

The boys, like the rest of Jason’s family, became a semi-permanent fixture at the rectory.  

*************** 

That was how it started. There was Dominic’s numerous mentions of St. Xavier being too far away, of the boys’ intelligence, the need for a more individualized approach that private school would afford.

There was the lady at the parish who sobbed to Fr. Todd one morning that she could not afford Catholic school and her district was not a good place for her children--no education, she said, just violence. She was scared they’d join a gang or start using drugs. St. Xaxier had scholarships to offer, but it wasn’t enough, and she had no way of getting her kids to school so far away. 

“St. Maria Goretti parish has always been in the thick of the throes of poverty,” Fr. Paul, the pastor, had said gravely when Jason had mentioned it to him later. 

There was the altar boy who tarried too long at the church after Mass, following Fr. Todd like a duckling, asking theological questions. He never wanted to go home and sometimes sat on the church steps doing math homework until Jason let him inside to pray. 

There was the 17-year-old drug dealer Officer Grayson picked up off the streets; Dick got him set up with a WE program but conditionally that he stop dealing and earn a high school degree, but going back to high school hadn’t put him in the best environment, and he was dealing again within the year. 

There was child after child, and family after family, who needed something more.  

***************

Cardinal Tolan was the one who first brought up the school. Fr. Paul was retiring, and Jason appointed pastor in his leave. 

“The Nashville Dominican sisters are looking in this area to open a school,” the cardinal said. “I think maybe St. Maria Goretti parish could be benefited by that.”

Jason nodded. “A boys school,” he said, as way of agreement. “We’ll need one for the girls as well. The Sisters will know what to do.” 

“We have a donor,” Cardinal Tolan added, thoughtfully. “I’m sure he has enough for two.”

“And boarding,” Jason said, thinking hard. “We’ll need housing for some of them. Students need to feel like it’s home.” 

Cardinal Tolan looked at him a long time, then said, “Truly, you have a heart after the Father’s.”

“I had a good example,” Jason replied, flushing a little. 

***************

It was another two years before the school was built. The sisters moved in, Fr. Todd was appointed chaplain, and the first year saw only 15 students from 9-12th grade, Tucker among them. 

He’d been the most resistant to Bruce and Fr. Todd over the years, though Jason accepted that he loved as best he could. His brothers adored them, more than Jason anticipated. They’d become altar boys at St. Maria Goretti’s as soon as they’d been able, and had cried when CPS had finally tracked down an aunt nearby to take them in.

They stayed in contact throughout the years. They continued in their service as altar boys, and had dinner at least twice a month with Bruce. Jason usually joined, when obligations allowed him. 

When the school opened, their aunt enrolled Tucker, the only one high school aged, right away. Full scholarship, she’d told a bewildered Jason, who knew the diocese hadn’t been able to set up any scholarships yet. 

Leave it to Bruce, he thought ruefully. 

*************** 

By the time the schools were ready to open younger grades, Joey and Liam were ready for high school, and they joined Tucker, now a senior,  at Maria Goretti’s. The younger ones were still rambunctious, but Tucker had grown into a rather solemn young man. He frequently did his homework at Jason’s kitchen table, mouthing quietly to himself or asking Fr. Dominic to read over his papers, while the younger boys played sports or just waited for their aunt to be off work and pick them up. 

He graduated salutatorian with a full ride to Catholic University in DC. 

Jason, handing out diplomas at his graduation while the school secretary announced names, didn’t cry a bit when Tucker shook his hand, and then leaned in to whisper, “thank you.” 

He did look out and find Bruce, caught his gaze, and smile. 

Bruce understood.

***************

Two years later and new Masters degree to join the one he already had, Fr. Todd was appointed principal and chaplain of the school. He’d been involved from the start, as the parish pastor, but now he took even more responsibility. 

“Should’ve been a Salesian,” the cardinal teased, when he told Jason.  

Fr. Todd laughed and shook his head, “Maybe a Domican at that. But God saw fit to use a simple parish priest.” 

***************

Four years later, Tucker sat in his rectory, a month out from his college graduation.  

Bruce had been over for dinner but Tucker declined a ride home to his aunt’s. There had been something on his mind all night, Jason knew. He’d danced around the issue of a post-graduate career, awkwardly steered the conversation away from a Wayne Enterprise job waiting for him as soon as he said the word. 

It wasn’t until Bruce left, after exchanging a significant look with Jason, and Jason had poured them a rather heavy nightcap, that Tucker blurted out, cheeks flaming in embarrassment, “Will you wrote me a recommendation for seminary?” 

Fr. Todd lowered his glass and blinked at the boy in front of him. Now 22, Jason could still see the small defiant, malnourished boy that had huddled in his alleyway. Something like pride and warmth rose up in his chest. Had this been how Bruce felt, all those years ago, when Jason himself had given up the red hood for a white collar? 

After a long pause, Fr. Todd managed, “For here or for Mount St. Mary’s?”

Tucker looked up, surprised. “Here,” he said firmly. And still too much of a hooligan, finished what could have stayed unspoken, “obviously.”

Jason said, “Of course.”

He took a sip of his scotch, suddenly feeling the prick of tears at his eyes, and looking at the young man before him, remembered a little boy hiding behind a dumpster on a cold winter night, and then a little boy stealing hubcaps off the Batmobile, and then man God had sent him to save his life. 

[peacefulwriter88]

Sunday Showers

Steve Rogers x WoC, Curvy Reader

Warnings: Language maybe. Just some angsty fluff and some mentions of SMUT but nothing too serious

A/N: We just had a really nice rainstorm and I thought it would be nice to write some fluffy, cuddly time with Steve. Even though I could be persuaded to make this a part 2 that’s all SMUT because I’m all about Steve Rogers right now……

Summer hit the city with a vengeance that you didn’t think anyone was prepared for, least of all you.  It was the kind of heat that got under your skin, where even if you got naked you’d feel like it wasn’t enough to soothe you. You hated the heat. You hated humidity and you hated this feeling of never finding relief whenever you left your air conditioned small apartment, exaggeratedly moving from building to building to soak in the cool, artificial wind.

You were a Midwest girl, used to dry summertime where even though it may be unbearably hot, you could still go outside and enjoy the nice weather. When you had moved to New York, it had tested you. You had almost caved and moved back to your hometown, the city tucked away in the Rocky Mountains to find relief.

But then you had found a job with Stark Industries, then a few years later the Avengers and then a few years after that you had found yourself wrapped in the arms of Steve Rogers. So you tolerated the frigid winters, barreled through the humid summers because ultimately you were doing your dream job in engineering and design and you were in love with arguably one of the most pure human beings on the planet.

But not without complaint.

Steve, on the other hand, didn’t seemed bothered by any of it. Went for a run at 5:30 in the morning during any season, unaffected by the extreme hot or cold. Would still wear his leather jacket whenever he’d take you out for a ride on his bike when you both wanted to escape the city. Found it endearing when you complained that your ice cream had melted into your hand after two minutes because it was just that hot, not because you were a slow eater and the melting of it was inevitable.

You argued it was because of the stupid super serum that made him human being 4.0 – his body taking in outside sensors and evolving with them to accommodate the fact that he was built to be a soldier, to not be bothered by mindless things like the weather during a high stakes mission. You had to joke about it because all the other things he was capable, including his slow aging process would keep you up at night. Couldn’t imagine what it would mean in twenty years when your knees started popping and your naturally tight skin started to dent itself with wrinkles. No, that was a road you only wanted to explore when you had to be confronted with it. Cowardly sure, but the idea of death paired with knowing that it was going to evade the person you loved longer conflicted and scared the shit out of you.

So instead you focused on his inability to be heavily affected by the weather, complaining about how it was inhumane to make New Yorkers travel on the muggy subways because you always showed up to work a dripping mess. Refused to ride with him because you had to cling on to some semblance of your independence and didn’t want to be known as Steve’s girl. So you bitched and complained about, hitting that it was only June, June. What the hell were you going to do come August, when the heat was going to hit the city with a vengeance? And Steve always responded with misplaced pop culture references,

“This isn’t Raiders of the lost Khan, or the Wrath of the Empire. You can always opt into taking one of Tony’s town cars since I wouldn’t want to press you to just ride to the compound with me….”

You always responded with sticking out your tongue, wondering how you had failed him to mix three great nerdy movies of this century together.

This is what you’re thinking of as you look at the back of an almond butter jar, wondering how many artificial ingredients are in the generic versus the overly priced non generic. It’s Sunday, and the day had started off cool and humid. It was like breathing in the ocean, or wadding through a hot rain forest where the droplets were invisible. You and Steve always made a point to shop at the cute mom and pop store down the street from you together on Sundays, to plan meals and try to bring some form of normalcy to an otherwise non-normal life. Despite your insecurity about your curves, the way you were self-conscious about your thighs you had gone out in your favorite pair of jeans shorts, throwing on a crop top because at this point fuck caring about how you looked, you just needed relief. Cool, cool relief.

Steve was at your side, pretending to look over your shoulder and be interested in the ingredients you were comparing in both of your hands. Except his fingers were sneaking into the waist band of your jeans, placing soft gentle circles against your skin that would occasionally cause your breathe to hitch as he drew you closer to him, the subtle hint of his erection teasing your ass. Reminding you that he wanted to finish what you had started this morning, waking him up with his cock in your mouth as you blinked up at him innocently, relishing in the scratchy way he moaned under your control.

He had been gone for a week. So sue you if you wanted to show him how much you missed him. The problem was of course that you let him finish and he wasn’t able to reciprocate, getting more pleasure in getting you off. Instead you had changed into your short shorts, throwing on a top and insisting you both had to run to the store because you didn’t even have any milk for your cereal and what kind of woman can’t even make her man cereal for breakfast. Really, you were just a tease, knowing he’d go along but insatiably be unable to mask his lust for you, how much he wanted to show you how much he had missed you.

The fun was all in the chase.

“So what’s it going to be boss?” his voice is low and sultry, and you fall back into his firm chest, holding up the generic bottle while saying,

“If Tony has taught me anything is that corporations are totally after the man! It’s not only the same ingredients but this jar has less sodium.”

You place the overpriced jar back in its place on it shelf and Steve chuckles, taking his time to watch you as you push the cart down the aisle. Knowing he was probably checking out your ass, and a glimpse of your shoulder confirms it. His eyes are heavy lidden, the stormy slate that only infiltrates his irises when he’s in full blown lust. He bites his lip, shaking his head as he follows you.

“You’re going to be the death of me…”

You giggle, making sure to shake your ass a bit as you move onto the produce. You both continue this game of cat and mouse, you teasing him while making him make decisions with the groceries and Steve going along because deep down you know, just knew, that he loved it just as much until you’re in the checkout line, looking intentionally at the prices while Steve off handily starts chatting to Mr. Grinkowski, the small store owner and one of the few people left in Brooklyn that still owned the business he opened up forty years ago. It wasn’t like you and Steve were strapped for cash, you both made more than enough to survive the expensive neighborhood of even Brooklyn thanks to Tony and the Avengers, you had just grown up having to be mindful of  your spending and its intuitive to monitor your grocery budget.

You much rather spend any extra cash on a night out on the town with Sam or going shopping with Natasha. And Steve always benefited from your tipsy state or need to be him extra shirts he always seemed to tear through.

Win, win.  

Mr. Grinkowski and Steve are talking about some baseball game he was trying to convince you too (gross – watching men throw a small boy at a tiny stick sounded horrible in this weather. Alcohol or no), in the position he had been your whole grocery expedition while you cringed at any wave of humid air that wafted in when a customer entered or left the store. Bracing yourself for the block walk (yes, you were extra. Whatever you deal with the mess your hair turned into because of the thick, water molecules that accosted it) back to your place, wandering if you could convince Steve to give you a piggy back ride and imagining all the things you wanted him to do to you when you all hear it, the loud sound snapping you all out of your stupor.

It resonates within the store and for a second you brace yourself for a large demi-god to come barreling through the store ceiling, demanding that Steve join him to protect earth because some kind of asshole alien, or alien leader or whoever at this point wanted to make humanity its slave bitch. Again. You were tense for it, along with Steve who is now placing you protectively behind him but instead it’s a low rumble that tramples throughout the rest of the city, like a hoard of wilder beast let free.

Another snap of thunder resonates through the store and Steve relaxes as Mr. Grinkowski finishes with your groceries, a sigh of relief as he tells you the price. You throw in your card, starting the quick process of paying as he chuckles,

“Better hurry up and get home so you kids don’t get lost in the rainstorm…”

Steve starts collecting all the bags of groceries, balancing all heavy six bags with ease as he smiles,

“She’d just love that. She lives for summer storms.”

Mr. Grinkowski laughs as you finish paying, shrugging with a smile on your face.

“Any kind of relief from this heat.”

Steve tries to keep up with your slow gait as you walk the pathetic block home.The sky has become consumed by darkness, rumbling like an empty stomach and all you want to feel is one drop, one small drop of relief from the static humidity that still lingered in the air. Instead you are greeted with nothing, and give an exaggeratedly frustrated sigh as you start up the stairs to your 7th floor apartment.  

“It’s probably best we don’t get rained on with groceries. It could ruin half the things in here.” He says, throwing you that paternal look that has you rolling your eyes.

“Whatever. We’d just buy more after the rainstorm. It’s just soo hot.”

He chuckles as you near your door, and you hastily dig in his pocket for the keys, saving him the struggle to find the small collection of metal. Your hand brushes against the taut muscle, twitching from the gentle touch of your hand as you pull out your keys and you laugh as you pull out your treasure, shaking your head as you stick the key into the lock.

“You know, for someone who is supposed to be a straight, clean guy you sure are horny all the time.”

The door clicks, signaling it’s unlocked and you wiggle the doorknob, giving it a hearty two heaves before you stumble into your home, ignoring the way he laughs at the exaggerated way you always opened the door. But it was old, worn, warped and sticky and unlike him you didn’t have the strength of a thousand men. Just your thick thighs and hips to get you through.

“I haven���t had sex in almost 90 years, can you blame a guy when he has the opportunity to have it every chance he can with the woman he loves.”

Despite the adoration filling each word, his voice is low and almost inaudible and you turn, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his lips. Despite being with him for two years and knowing him for longer, Steve was still shielded when he spoke about the most intimate parts of your relationship. Unlike you – bold, outspoken and unafraid to speak whatever was on your mind – Steve was contemplative, strategic and thoughtful with the words he choose. Always showed you his affection versus voicing it and it still made you smile when he was vocal.

Steve responds to the way you are kissing him, the way you open your mouth to his tongue as he presses you and the groceries closer to his body and you feel his erection twitch again, stronger, and you smile against his lips. You can hear the first burst of clouds, releasing the imprisoned droplets as it slowly drummed against the window and you pull away, biting your lip.

There would be plenty of time for that later.

“We’ll have time for that later,” you say, another loud crack hitting the sky before you hear it hit. “Let’s not miss it.”

He gives a knowing smile, despite the way his eyes drink you in before he’s dragging the groceries to the kitchen. He only digs out one item, the two pints of ice cream and sorbet you had insisted you both would need at some point during the week while you walk to the window, trying to wedge the sticky frame open. Because everything in the old Brooklyn apartment was either wedged or stuck together. You manage to work it open an inch, then two, before Steve is behind you, easily grabbing the sill and pushing it up. You give him a frustrated look, elbowing him in his hard chest as you mumble,

“I could’ve done that.” Before you’re stepping out onto the fire escape. The rain is coming down in steady beats, cutting through the humid air and replacing it with a light, cool breeze and you take your time swaying up the three flights to the roof over your overly priced one bedroom apartment. Steve takes his time behind, you’re sure to ensure your safety while enjoying the view of your ass and following you to the edge where you easily find a seat, your ass automatically cold and stained as you swing your legs over the side. He finds a spot behind you, tucking you safely between his muscled thighs as his arms protectively wrap around you. He had found it odd, your affinity to want to stand in the rain, but always endured the wet discomfort because he knew the peace you received to be doused in the cold, wet rain. To get lost in the quiet music of the drops falling down to earth, soaking into everything it touched, cleaning it anew.

“I love a good summer storm.” You mutter, falling back against his chest and listening to the steady beating of his heart, the peaceful way his chest rose and fell.

“Me too.”

“It’s such good therapy. To stop for a minute and just get lost in the rain….” Your voice is lazy, drawling over each syllable and Steve nods as he rests his head on top of your own.

“It’s true. It’s nothing like taking the time to appreciate the little things that give you happiness.” He makes sure to give you a squeeze, drawing you closer and you wrap your arms around his own, holding him close as you both look out into the city. Drinking in the others love, not needing to say the words to know what lives between the both of you.  

You both stay like that for ten minutes, before more rain starts to pelt down and you finally give into Steve’s insistence that you need to head inside or you’ll catch a cold. He helps you down the metal stairs, making sure to easily catch you just in case you slip and as you crawl into your air conditioned apartment you can’t help your teeth from chattering, another cold shiver spreading up your spine.

“Ittttss… fucking…..freezzzzinngg….”

“That dirty mouth of yours,” Steve chuckles as he shimmies in, shutting and locking the window before frowning at the pool of water that’s found its way on the floor from where you’ve both entered and moves to the kitchen to grab napkins to mop it up.

“You were the one complaining about the heat. Now you get some relief and you’re too cold?”

He throws you a skeptical look as he finishes cleaning up and you shrug, pulling at your top that was getting itchy against your skin and throwing it into a dirty slump at the floor. Knowing he hated when you threw your clothes haphazardly but would be too distracted by the way your breast looked in the bra he loved seeing you in.

“Whatever. I’m going to take a nice, hot shower. Warm up my bones,” you throw a look his way. “Feel free to join.”

You barely make it to the bathroom before his strong arms are over you, already stripped of his shirt as he carries you to your large stall.

“Gotta make sure to get you warm so you don’t catch a cold.”

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ladyamandapanda12

[twistednuns]

September 2018

I spent the first week of September in Bali. I got my advanced diver's license and did my navigation dive with David in PadangBai. For the night and wreck dive I went up to Tulamben (and had the driver teach me how to open my chakras and read someone's aura - he even made me connect with my mother who wrote me an e-mail a few hours later asking if something was wrong because she had felt me very strongly) where I ate the very best tempeh satay skewers and fried eggplant at Warung Rusti (with a 90s playlist in the background - "Shalalalala!").

That night dive deserves it's own bullet point: It was the first time for me, I had never been under water at night before. After saying that I met real-life Gary (Spongebob's pet snail) I'll just include the message I wrote to a friend that night: Das war gerade so bombastisch. Mein erster Nachttauchgang, ich wusste überhaupt nicht was mich erwartet, und dann war das gleichzeitig noch ein Wracktauchgang - ich hatte das Wrack vorher noch nicht gesehen. Wow. Du steigst einfach nach Einbruch der Dunkelheit direkt am Strand ins Wasser und tauchst ab. Nach ein paar Minuten taucht plötzlich ein riesiger Schatten vor dir auf - die USAT Liberty. Könnte auf den ersten Blick allerdings auch ein Blauwal sein... Ich kann's gar nicht beschreiben. Du hast nur eine Taschenlampe dabei, auf einer Seite siehst du vage Schemen vom Boot das von hinten manchmal von anderen Tauchern angeleuchtet wird, auf der anderen Seite nur Dunkelheit, schwarze Tiefe. Das Allerbeste ist allerdings, die Taschenlampe auszumachen. Wenn man im stockfinsteren Wasser mit den Armen wirbelt, erzeugt man hunderte kleine Luftbläschen, die wie leuchtende Funken aussehen. Magisch! Hat das was mit Biolumineszenz zu tun? Muss recherchieren. Das ist so ein geiles Gefühl. Mitten im Nichts, in der Dunkelheit, um dich rum nur Wasser. Ständig am Überlegen, ob man nicht doch noch spontan Panik kriegen soll. Beim Auftauchen siehst du die Sterne über dir, den Mars, die Milchstraße. Vom Ufer siehst du das Meer an manchen Stellen milchig türkis aufblitzen - wo die Taucher tief unter der Wasseroberfläche das Wrack anleuchten.

Climbing a fucking volcano in the middle of the night. Seriously, climbing Mount Batur must be one of the most challenging things I've ever done. I wasn't ready for this. Getting up at 1am, only a weak flashlight against the darkness, shorts and a thin jacket against the cold. I got scratches, killed my knees, my lungs were angry as well. I fell. And I still don't know how but somehow I made it to the top. So I sat there, shivering, wet, in the thin air surrounded by clouds. Listening to Krishna Das because that's what I kept doing in quiet moments during my trip. So I witnessed the moon and the stars vanishing, the night growing fainter, the sunrise behind Mount Agung. Walking downhill wasn't any easier (I'll never be able to get the black earth stains out of my jeans) but I managed. My reward: an organic tomato for breakfast, straight from the field. And soaking in hot spring water at Toya Devasya. They had an infinity pool right in front of Lake Batur, just what I needed - even though I only started to notice how many of my muscles were mad at me.

Later, I went to Ubud where I took part in a cleansing/blessing ceremony at the Holy Spring Water Temple, Pura Tirta Empul. We got green bathing sarongs and made an offering before we got cleansed and "talked" to the spirits in the pool. In the afternoon we met a Balinese healer who basically only confirmed what I already knew. I must be on the right track, I suppose. Later I talked to Alex from the UK on the backseat of our car while the others had coffee. We were born one day apart and felt that there were a lot of similarities in our biographies. He asked me for advice on his panic attacks and what he could do about the mask he keeps wearing so that nobody gets to know the real Alex. It felt like a therapy session but I loved how open you can be around a total stranger.

Ubud treats: daily massages, affordable lash extensions, health food everywhere (Smoothie bowls! Veggie wraps! Goddess bowls! Oh, and Gelato Secrets, not healthy at all but delicious), a successful ring quest (good luck trying to find gold jewellery in Bali... but in the end I managed to find a gorgeous ring with a bluish green stone) and a whole day in a batik workshop where I learned the traditional technique from locals. Worth mentioning: the little girls dancing for us at the healer's place - especially the goofy, chubby one with her puppy and the girl in pink who would exaggerate the traditional eye movements and made me laugh / Riding a scooter - this time as a passenger on the back. The gorgeous view of the countryside north of Ubud. / Talking to the Canadian newlyweds about the NHL while having lunch with a view over the rice terraces. /

Magic for Humans

The stories Richard and Star Wars in Benedict Wells' new short story collection Die Wahrheit über das Lügen.

Silence. Thank you, ear plugs. I don't leave the house without Ohropax and a good book.

Children of Time by Adrian Tchaikovsky. More or less the first science fiction book I've ever read but MAN that one is SMART. It's a take on human culture, mirrored by a tribe of very unexpected sentient animals. Worth mentioning: my new Kobo e-reader and OnLeihe (where you can get e-books from the library).

So I'm officially an adult now. Every single thing on this list is true for me. I don't really know why I'm putting this on my Things I Love list since it is pretty scary but at the same time I feel weirdly good about it.

Seeberger's trail mix salty/fruity with rhubarb, banana chips, almonds, peanuts, cranberries and physalis.

Celebrating autumn - even though I had a beautiful summer I'm kinda looking forward to sweater weather, crinkly leaves, gothic novels and pumpkin soup.

George Harrison with a beard and long hair was such a gorgeous human being. Listening to his songs on repeat at the moment.

Spending a day at the Isar with my students. We made a fire, they tought me how to skip stones (no talent) and after a while we couldn't bear the sun anymore so we just hopped into the river in our underwear. We walked along the gravel bank and allowed the water to carry us back to the others. I had such a good time.

What a musical conductor actually does on stage - such an interesting video, especially after many seasons of Mozart in the Jungle.

I know I've probably already said it but this recipe is absolutely delicious. Perfect for autumn. Not bad either: spelt crepes with a creamy chanterelle/champignon filling.

Finally finding a way to do a shoulder stand in yoga class even though my stomach muscles aren't strong enough.

Spending the evening with Manu. Who thinks I'm prettier without make-up. Who played with my hair. Who cooked for me. Who looked gorgeous that night. I mean, come on, open denim shirt over a hairy chest, wavy hair in a man bun with loose strands - that's just unfair. He played the guitar and we sang together. Trying to find a good duet to perform on Thursday (karaoke night!), ending up singing along to every weird song we could think of.

Nursing a yellow bell pepper plant back to health.

Sitting under a blanket outside, a captivating book on my lap, Dunkelgrün fast schwarz, watching the clouds being blown away by the warm autumn winds, flying leaves, deep in thoughts. The smell of family dinner in the air, the light fading away. A sense of longing in combination with melancholia and thoughts occuring on a meta-level, probably the result of too much writing, reading, dreaming, spending time alone.

A matte top coat turns Essie's Bahama Mama nail polish into pure velvet. I love the look and feel of it. So much more elegant and understated than shiny polish.

Give up comfort

My first karaoke night in Munich at Keg with Manu and Bibi. Performing together - my favourite was Because of You by Kelly Clarkson even though we were really bad. The atmosphere was pretty great. There were a lot of Brits around, probably because of the Oktoberfest. Folks were swinging a huge double-ended dildo around, we all danced with each other and I taught everyone German swear words. The good kind. After a few beers I just walked up to Manu (and Bibi!) and we started kissing. I kissed a GIRL and I liked it! Being thirty and somewhat confident is such a blessing. A lot of people kept saying that Manu and I should be a couple. Promising! Especially the girl who sang the Adele songs (and nailed it - voice twins!) was shipping us. Daw.

Dinner at Lena and Obi's wedding location. The waitress showed us around. I feld very grown-up asking questions and acting all responsible and busy.

Going shopping with Lena, trying to find a wedding dress for her. Falling in love with the coats at Zara. Unfortunately I still need to lose some weight in order to buy my clothes there.

Wondering how people actually perceive me. Sometimes I get the feeling that they see me as an angry feminist. But while being a feminist is totally fine with my - I guess I gotta work on my anger issues.

AnderART festival at Odeonsplatz - singing Wonderful Life with Ian, Jens and the GoSingChoir!

Meeting Manu L. at the Alcest concert. I liked talking to him that night. It was only the two of us and I liked how honest he was. And that he gave me a new, less emotional perspective on the whole deal with Frank.

Wearing black jeans, my new checked shirt, dark-rimmed glasses, a huge, soft grey scarf. Doc Martens. A headband.

Treating myself to a 100ml bottle of Byredo's Super Cedar perfume. I smell damn fine now.

On a Friday morning there was a cat downstairs in the subway station. She hung around at a corner and permitted me to pet her. She even jumped a little to meet my hand halfway. Very good start into the day.

[patricia-von-arundel]

The Boarding House AU: Elsa & Christmas

Rating: T

Summary: Shardsverse AU. After escaping a death sentence, and forced to come to terms with the idea that she can never return to Arendelle nor see Anna again, Elsa finds herself in the unexpected position of sharing a room with a poverty-stricken young scholar of magic…

Part I: Elsa & Alarik

…And according to tradition, the one who finds the almond will be the next to marry. 

Alarik was quite sure he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. And he’d made some very big mistakes. Elsa - just Elsa now, something she would probably have to adjust to just as he would - was tiny and wide-eyed and clearly terrified. What he had to try very hard to hide was that he, too, was on the verge of panic.    He waited until she was sure she was asleep. Then he put down his pen, closed his books, and gave over to hyperventilation. When that proved insufficient, he turned instead to pacing, carefully avoiding the squeakier floorboards. The room was frigid, the coals down to embers, but he didn’t want to add more in case the light - or heat - disturbed her. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Finally, exhausted by fear and shivering and the stresses of the day, he gathered up the spare blankets - kept for the dangerous cold of January and February - and managed a restless, dozing sleep until dawn. When the weak light woke him, he went immediately into what might, with luck, become a new routine, before the fear could grip him once more: he straightened and tucked his shirt in, ran a hand through his hair - for all the good that would do - and tore a strip from a discarded sheet of paper to write a quick note, in case Elsa woke before he returned. He went out into the cold morning, shivering despite scarf and gloves and coat, in search of breakfast. He usually just ate whatever was leftover from dinner the evening before, or nothing at all perhaps more often, but they had finished the bread and cheese and milk, and it seemed cruel to not have something for Elsa. He returned home half an hour later with a quarter pound of salted bacon, several half-price rolls from yesterday’s baking, and two small twists of brown paper: one of butter, the other of tea leaves. The butter was an indulgence, but he would water his ink for a few days to make up for it. Elsa was still asleep when he returned, and he wondered how long it had been since she’d had a full night’s rest. She looked very small and very peaceful, curled up on her side with her hands folded against her chest, blankets kicked off and her hair a pale, heavy fan around her. Despite the fear of the entire situation, he found himself feeling strangely, strongly protective of her - and of the trust her sister had placed in him. He was poor and weak and terrified, but he would do everything he could for her, until a better, safer - cleaner - place could be found for her to go. He used scrap wood and paper, now, for the fire, because it needed only to last through breakfast. He rarely allowed himself fires during the day. If it was too cold to go without, he went to the university, where reading room hearths blazed, or, on holidays, to church. He was not a believer, but he always wondered how many others found faith in the warmth of packed bodies and spent breath. While the fire built up, he took the bucket down to get clean water from the pump, for tea and for washing. When he got back, Elsa was sitting up, knuckling one eye like a sleepy child. When she saw him, she bit her lower lip. He stopped in the doorway, uncertainty holding him firmly as nails through his shoes. “Oh. Uh… Good morning.” “Good morning.” Her voice was thick and raspy with sleep. “Would you like some breakfast?” She blinked once, and again, before nodding. So he came in, set the bucket down, got to work. Bacon over the fire in one pot, water for tea in the other. Single plate and cup set out for her - with the butter; he could do without - and the milk bottle of the night before and the smoothed wax paper from the bacon for his own setting. He gave them each two rolls, leaving four more for lunch or dinner. Elsa, he noticed from the corner of his eye, had crawled to the end of the bed and perched there cross-legged, watching him work. But she said nothing, and so neither did he. He used his spoon to flip the bacon - he’d gotten lucky, for the price he was able to pay; it was a good cut, and was cooking very nicely - then took the pot of boiling water off the fire and sprinkled the tea in it to steep. “Almost ready,” he said. She was still watching, elbows on her knees and chin on her hands, but she didn’t reply. She didn’t seem to say much at all, but he didn’t know if that was a result of the fear and stress of the last few months, or just a natural reticence. All he knew of her, really, came from letters written several years before, the last arriving when he was just about to reach his twenty-first birthday - and some few days after newspaper headlines had reported the tragic loss of King Agdar and Queen Idunn of Arendelle. The king had never described his elder daughter’s appearance, or much of the personality now so masked by fear and self-doubt. Instead, he had written of her intelligence, her keen mind for mathematics, her quick wit. The letters had spoken of her consuming fears - but in all, his love for her had shone through. And now here was word made flesh, watching him cook her meager breakfast. Had Agdar known the real Elsa? Had anyone? Would Alarik? “Breakfast is served,” he said, putting plate and cup on the table. Elsa got down from the bed, walked the few steps across the room, picked up plate and cup, and sat across from him on the floor. Her raised eyebrow invited him to try arguing. He didn’t. Nor did he object when she took half the butter - cutting neatly through the middle - and placed the rest, still in its unwrapped twist, at the edge of his waxed-paper plate. She was a queen, and his training on aristocratic etiquette went deep. But more than that, he didn’t want to object. There was something to this silent exchange that sent warmth through him, as fleeting, perhaps, as a full belly, but nonetheless, he would take it. It was nice - he had shared no more than a rare meal offered to university staff in a very, very long time. Elsa was quiet, but it was already obvious she saw everything, actually listened to words spoken. It was likely learned of necessity, but regardless, he liked it. He liked her. “How did you learn to cook?” she asked as they ate - and there was genuine curiosity in her voice, beyond mere polite query. “I had to,” he said. The butter was good on rolls - he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had butter. “It was that, or starve.” He felt himself grinning, but could do nothing to prevent it. Elsa nodded, eyes focused on the food before her. “That makes sense. I should have known without asking.” Her hair was still loose, her feet bare despite the bone-deep chill. She looked painfully vulnerable. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly. “It was ridiculous, really. I was 16 when I left home, and the first thing I tried was spitting meat on sticks, which I’d probably read about in a ‘true story of most miraculous survival’ in one of the ladies’ journals my mother occasionally bought. It didn’t go as well as I probably hoped.” She was still looking down, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “It took me longer than I like to admit to think back to what I’d seen in the kitchens at home. I still had some money then, so I - Is something wrong?” She was squinting at her cup of tea. But her eyes rose to briefly meet his, and she shook her head. “No - I’m sorry. Go on.” “I should have saved some milk. Or sugar - I don’t know if you take sugar.” Another quirk at her lips. “Not half as much as my sister does.” But then it was gone, like shutters closed over her face. “It’s not that. I’ve just… never had it with the leaves still in it.” “Oh. Yes. You get used to drinking around them, I’ve found.” He added “strainer” to the mental list of things to save for. Maybe he would just start watering his ink as general practice. She took a tentative sip of tea. “It’s good. What kind is it?” “It’s rare. It’s called ‘whatever was left over at the tea shop when the new stock came in, sold as a mixed jumble to Mrs. Herrdrehl for her dry goods stall’. You’ll never taste exactly the same again.” She actually laughed at that, and he felt absurdly proud of himself. Breakfast finished and dishes washed- and wax paper crumpled and shoved in his pocket to be tossed in the first midden heap he passed - he said, “So, um… clothes.” She reddened slightly. “I’m fine in this. Really. I don’t feel cold much.” He resisted the urge to ask more about that - she wasn’t here as a research subject. And maybe he would have a chance to ask later. She was wearing a dark blue dress over a brown shirt and brown stockings - not as fine as what she probably wore at home, but still unlikely to last for a long time if worn repeatedly, a lesson he had learned quickly while wearing his own “practical” clothes from back in Geatland. They might not be silk and satin, but they were still designed with the mindset that accessible repair or replacement would be available. Clothes bought here were thicker cloth, rougher weave less inclined to unravel or tear when caught. He had never bought women’s clothing, of course, but assumed it was likely similar. And she would need some - living here, unfortunately, she would need some. But he didn’t know how to tell her that. It ashamed him, suddenly - all of it. This part of the city, the boarding house, his room - the squalor and clutter, the constant smell of smoke and old cooking and damp wood and mildewed bedding. She still had no real understanding of the world in which she had landed - the world in which he had invited her to land. But the realization would come for her, as it had for him. He would never forget the helpless tears that had come when he realized he would have to sell several cherished books, some of the few he had carried through many years of wandering, in order to pay his rent. In living this far down, there was no grace period, nor were there sympathetic landlords. He had sold his books, paid his due, and returned to that summer’s meager quarters to cry again. Yes, Elsa would realize - but if he could prevent it, it would never be so harsh as that. Even if he had to sell more books to make sure, he had been here long enough to not feel the loss quite as deeply. He would do what was necessary. “Why don’t we just go have a look?” he asked. “I mean, if you don’t mind, it’s up to you, but… there’s a pretty nice market square, not far from the docks, so there’s usually… a lot to look at.” He knew nothing about women’s clothing, much less what might appeal to her. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay locked up in here all the time.” He saw her shoulders hunch, just perceptibly, and realized what he’d said. But before he could apologize, her eyes - clear and blue and firm - met his. “Yes,” she said. “That would be fine - going out to look.” Resolve in her eyes - but there was a tremble in her voice. Once more, she bit her lip. She wore the cloak and gloves in which she had arrived - and even without her earlier admission, he might have suspected that wasn’t due to the December chill. Still, most of the skittishness of the day before was gone; in place was a mask: serene face, straight back, gloved hands folded before her. Among women hard-bitten early by poverty and desperation, clutching threadbare shawls with chilblained hands and usually surrounded by hordes of red-faced children, Elsa was going to stand out no matter what she did, pale and unblemished and imperious as she was. If it helped her to walk like a queen, he didn’t see that it was likely to make the situation any worse. The marketplace was packed, far more so than was usual mid-morning, and it was only when he saw the butcher’s sign, advertising holiday specials, that he realized Elsa had arrived only a few days before Christmas. She seemed as oblivious as he had been, but judging from the way her brows drew down, she was deliberately taking in as little as possible, in order to maintain control. King Agdar had written that even as a child, crowds had been difficult, and she had fled more than one social event as temperatures dropped and frost trickled out beneath her feet. “We don’t have to stay long,” Alarik said, leaning close to make himself heard over the chatter of shoppers and sellers alike, but careful not to touch. Elsa just nodded. She stayed close by his side as they ventured deeper. He went first to a stall where books were sold - and bought. He wandered for a bit, pretending to browse, hoping something would catch Elsa’s attention long enough for him to do what was necessary. She stopped by a shelf of gothic novels, looking around to make sure it was all right to do so before sliding one out to glance through the pages. When he was fairly certain she was absorbed - she was hardly blinking, her lips parted - he went to conduct his own business. He glanced back more than once; she was reading each time. But when he rejoined her, she said, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to do that.” She was still looking down at the open book. “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s… necessary more often than you might think. And they’re usually still here when I have a little extra again.” “I can’t imagine why.” He burst out laughing, loudly enough to draw disapproving looks from several others. Well, let them - laughter caused no harm, and Elsa looked pleased with herself. Se glanced a last time at the page before her, then closed the book and returned it carefully to its place on the shelf. Alarik looked back at the bookseller, who nodded. They spent the new few hours trying to figure out buying her new clothes - Alarik had never bought clothes for anyone but himself, and Elsa had never bought clothes at all. He finally convinced her he didn’t mind paying for two new dresses - a lighter blue, a bit more expensive, but it was obvious she liked it, and a deep green - and a new bodice very similar to the old. “I’ll pay for them,” Elsa said repeatedly, something close to panic in her voice; she was clenching her gloved hands together at her chest. “Or… or Anna will. I’ll write to her, in your name.” “I don’t mind, it’s fine,” he said, but she was clearly not going to drop it, so he finally added, “You should write to Anna anyway - as you said, in my name.” But Elsa bit her lip and fell silent, and there were some walls she had built that he knew he could never, at least for the moment, get around. She was quiet and withdrawn on the walk back to his - their - little room, but once there, she untied the twine holding together her bundle of clothes, folded each item tight and neat, and placed them on the trunk at the end of the bed. She looked, he thought, very pleased. He was glad. 

The next few days were peaceful, if often more than a little bit awkward. He rarely did much besides work - he had no money for anything else - but it seemed uncouth to bury himself in books and notes when Elsa was there, quiet and uncertain and so very, very alone. But it was hard to tell how much engagement she wanted. Occasionally, she would participate in something almost like normal conversation, but those moments were rare - usually, she answered questions politely but succinctly, and was all but silent otherwise. After the single trip to the market, she also showed no inclination to go out again, though her usual place in the room became sitting on the edge of the bed, where she had a view out the little window to the street below. It took her little time to adjust to the schedules of the neighborhood, so that she saw the departures of the dock and factory workers at dawn, the return of some for lunch, and the appearance of street vendors with questionable meal-stuffs for all the workers trudging home in the frigid dusk. He watched her sometimes, then - he just couldn’t help it. Her eyes grew bright and her cheeks flushed, like a delighted child. For those few minutes, he caught a glimpse of an Elsa happy, carefree, part of a wider world. But he seemed incapable of finding a way to draw it out otherwise. He wasn’t sure how to phrase even his own activities - wanting her to know she was welcome to come out with him, but not wanting her to feel forced, he settled for just stating his intentions, though “I’m, uh… going to get lunch now” was still far from optimal. She usually just nodded. Then, one morning, she ventured a question from her usual perch by the window: “Where is everyone today?” He glanced out at the empty street, then realized: “Oh - it’s Christmas Eve. The factories are closed today and tomorrow.” “Christmas Eve?” She was still looking out the window, down at the cold, silent street. “I missed my birthday…” “When was your birthday?” “Last week.” And she lapsed once more into silence. He went out in the evening to buy dinner as well as things for the next day, when even the street vendors would be scarce. Money was running low - he’d need to take on tutoring again, come spring - but he bought what he needed, regardless. There were always more books to sell. Christmas morning came with bells and shouting in the streets, and Elsa almost smiling as she watched the neighborhood children - usually as dour and rough as their parents - laugh and toss balls of wrinkled paper and run deftly along the slick cobblestones. They ate well - sausages and lutefisk and cabbage, and he’d bought rice pudding for dessert. Elsa was quiet, but seemed happy enough, even laughing when she found the almond and he pulled from his pocket the tiny marzipan pig.    “Anna always won,” she said. “Even though she didn’t like marzipan.” “Do you?” “Yes.” But she broke the pig in half, so that he got some, too. He almost lost his nerve on the last thing, putting it off, wondering if it wouldn’t make sense just to sell it back, and hope to get even half of what he’d paid. The sky was growing dark when he finally said, “I, uh… I got you something. Just something small.” She took the paper-wrapped parcel in both hands, a strange, almost pensive expression in her eyes. “Thank you. I… I appreciate it very much.” She pulled the paper away with slow, careful hands, then was still for quite some time, staring down at the book’s cover. Then, to his surprise, she started to laugh - true, deep laughter that made her eyes water and her cheeks brighten and one hand rise quickly to cover her open mouth. He grinned - he couldn’t help it. Maybe she hated it, but regardless, she was laughing. She was happy. “I’m sorry,” she finally said, wiping her eyes with the back of one gloved hand. “It was very thoughtful. I just didn’t know you were paying that much attention when…” “When you were doing the same thing to me?” She nodded. She was still smiling. She put the book on the trunk, next to her spare clothes - all that she owned in the world, now. She looked at those things frequently, as if reassuring herself they were still there.

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

The OC challenge!

I have this fascination with OCs, and I wanna learn as much about them as possible, so I made this challenge up!

I tag @myriadimagines - who I already know has awesome OCs - and @melody-of-scream, who got me intrigued with an aesthetic and also is really clever so I know her OCs are gonna be awesome! XD And possibly @steverogershield? If she would like to? I know this is long, guys, so ignore it/take your time if you want. XD Actual tag/get to know my characters below the cut!

Phase One - Introduction

How many are there?

8. (I know, a lot. XD)

What are their names?

Lynn Graham, Ryan Alswood, Luke Griggs, Layla Jordan, Chanda Hassam, Ezra Moore, Cole Simmons, Sung Dokgo.

What's one word you'd use to describe them?

Lynn: Authoritative.

Ryan: Maternal.

Luke: Rough.

Layla: Soft.

Chanda: Sassy.

Ezra: Random.

Cole: Hurt.

Sung: Strong.

What do they look like?

Lynn: Red hair, Scottish, tall, built like a lighthouse.

Ryan: Tanned, long sandy hair, short, stocky, American.

Luke: Hulking, white, brown hair, originally from Russia, calloses and scars.

Layla: Very white, blonde hair, American, blue eyes, soft shape.

Chanda: Brown skin, originally from Israel, piercing dark eyes, purple hijab, small.

Ezra: Dark hair, American, pale skin, green-blue eyes, stupid crooked grin.

Cole: Tall, dark hair and eyes, originally from France, olive skin, scars.

Sung: Olive skin, Korean, curious expression, fidgeting hands.

Any illnesses/disorders/disabilities...?

Sung is autistic, many - if not all of them - suffer from PTSD, and Cole has depression.

Who's your favourite?

Can't pick between my babies. :|

Who is most like you?

Ezra's sense of humour is very similar to mine, so... :P

Do you ship any of the characters you're talking about here?

Lynn/Ryan. Layla/Luke. Ezra/Cole.

Phase 2 - Getting to know them

Who gets angry-drunk?

Luke (scary), Lynn (even scarier), and Chanda (scary but hilarious because she's tiny and can't walk straight.)

Who gets sad-drunk?

Cole (poor baby), Layla (sobs over everything), Ryan (cries about how beautiful everything is.)

Who gets happy-drunk?

Ezra (do not take your eyes off drunk-Ezra for a single second XD), and Sung (starts talking to everyone really animatedly about his special interests, but it's hard to understand because he slurs his words.)

How do they interact with a romantic partner?

Lynn: She probably wouldn't notice if anyone had a crush on her, and she tries to keep people away from her. However, she would be very protective and slowly open up to someone she likes.

Ryan: Absolutely head-over-heels puppy love. Seeing to their needs and listening to everything they say.

Luke: A bit rough around the edges, but he'd be a sweetheart to his partner, even if he embarrasses himself.

Layla: A complete romantic, she'd love special dates and walks, and little gifts, rose-petals and all that.

Chanda: She's asexual and aromantic, so. XD

Ezra: Terrible pun Comic-sans Valentines, terrible pick-up lines, slaughtering his signifigant other in Mario Carts... but offers them candy to make up for it.

Cole: Has trust issues higher than mount Everest, and is very tentative in any new relationships. Awkward second-guessing mostly.

Sung: Actually amazed someone's attracted to him and would be a blushing mess, avoiding eye-contact, and would talk a lot to make up for it, generally being adorable.

What do they do for fun?

Lynn: Fun is not a word in her vocabulary.

Ryan: Surfing.

Luke: Just chilling at his place, probably having a beer.

Layla: Painting/target practice.

Chanda: Watching The Office.

Ezra: Playing video games.

Cole: Still learning how to have fun.

Sung: Watching Steven Universe.

Do they like/want kids?

Lynn: Does not want kids. She suffered a miscarriage due to a physically abusive partner when she was younger. Never wants to go through that again.

Ryan: The entire squad are basically his kids, but he would love kids of his own some day.

Luke: A bit awkward around kids, but gradually warms up. Any kids of his would probably be accidents, but happy ones (after he got over the 'what if I break the baby’ stage. XD)

Layla: Adores kids, actually is a kindergarten teacher on the side. Would love some of her own.

Chanda: No interest in kids.

Ezra: Loves kids because he is a big child himself... but knows his limits and is aware of how bad a role-model he would be to his own kid and of the fact he can't even keep a Tamogotchi alive.

Cole: Very awkward around children, but secretly wants his own one day.

Sung: Loves kids and would 100% pester his partner about having them. XD

Do they own pets (if so, what kind?)

Lynn: No pets

Ryan: A mutt named Rusty.

Luke: Has a work/guard Rottweiler named Tank.

Layla: A cat named Kitty (in her defence, she was five when she got it) and three rabbits.

Chanda: A mouse... for her computer. :|

Ezra: The most ugly-ass cat you've ever seen in your life, one he found on the streets and brought home, appropriately named Chewbacca.

Cole: Doesn't like animals.

Sung: A service Lab named Amethyst.

How do they handle pain/sadness?

Lynn: By putting on a mask made out of a glacier and getting shit done.

Ryan: With an unspoken sadness, but he tries to help others before himself.

Luke: With a hell of a lot of anger.

Layla: Cries until someone makes her pull it together.

Chanda: Blank in front of others, but once she's alone, she breaks down.

Ezra: Doesn't show it in 'normal' ways, but tends to pace, talks fast/slur his words, and become more defensive, and/or has a panic attack.

Cole: Will be angrier and more offensive than usual, and then when he's alone he'll probably cut/burn/smoke/drink/have sex to distract himself.

Sung: Probably has a meltdown, but feels worse afterward.

What are their best traits?

Lynn: Intelligence, fairness, good leadership.

Ryan: Intuition, charisma, compassion.

Luke: Determination, honesty, straight forward.

Layla: Kindness, gentleness faith.

Chanda: Passionate, clever, wise.

Ezra: Comic relief, loyal, perceptive.

Cole: Great military mind, brave, smart.

Sung: Commitment, energy, open heart.

What are their worst traits?

Lynn: Too frigid.

Ryan: Gets caught up in emotion.

Luke: Has a massive temper.

Layla: Lets things hurt her too easily.

Chanda: Can be very dark and bitter, like the coffee she drinks.

Ezra: Doesn't take anything seriously.

Cole: Generally an asshole.

Sung: Too trusting.

Foods: Are they a tea or coffee person? Do they eat meat or are they vegatarian? Spicy or mild? Sweet or sour?

Lynn: Doesn't drink anything but water. She eats whatever. Can eat the spiciest stuff without breaking a sweat. Sour.

Ryan: Both. He tries to eat vegetarian as much as possible, but accepts slip ups with a shrug. Mild. Sweet.

Luke: Coffee. Doesn't eat anything but meat. XD Spicy. Sour.

Layla: Tea. Was practically born a vegan. Tried to eat curry once, got three bites in, drank an entire bottle of almond mild, and never tried again. Sweet.

Chanda: Black coffee. Eats vegans for breakfast. Hates spicy stuff because she hates sweating. Sour.

Ezra: Too much coffee. Eats only candy. XD Mild; doesn't like his food trying to kill him. Sweet 110%.

Cole: Whisky. Eats whatever's in his fridge, meat or veg, spicy or mild. Sour like his attitude.

Sung: Likes tea; it calms him down. He tries to be vegetarian, but fails. Likes the idea of spicy stuff and keeps on trying, even though he doesn't like it. Sweet.

<Insert your own questions and answers here!>

That’s enough for me. :P

Phase 3 - FREEFORM! Write a story about them (Are they from different worlds; how would they interact if they met up?) Make aesthetic board(s) for one or many. Have a snippet of dialogue between them. Maybe quotes from each of them? Whatever you want!

Da:

[divinespairings]

Do what you have to do

Summary: It was supposed to be an easy hit. Alayne had watched him for weeks and in that time her target stuck diligently to his routine. But if he is as boring as she thinks, why is it that she finds him disposing of a body?

AO3 Prologue

Chapter 1

The sweet scent of almonds greeted Alayne as she pulled open the rich mahogany door.

“Ah, my sweet Alayne,”

Petyr rose from his chair and made his way to Alayne.

“You have been on so many missions lately I feel like I hardly get to see you.”

His cold soft hands grasped her face. Alayne knew her muscles were starting to tense. She could feel her breathing stop altogether.

“Well,” Alayne said, “Moldova country took longer than we thought.”

The hands on her face tightened for a second and she wondered what he saw. She is skilled at deception. She could wear facial expressions like masks and wield tone of voice like a deadly weapon or a sweet song. But he taught her. He taught her how to disappear into the shadows to collect whispered secrets. He taught her how to shine so bright the crowds would miss her slight of hand. So if anyone would be able to see through Alayne’s sweet nothings to the unease underneath it would be him.

“Little bird,” the use of Alayne’s code name made her cringe. She’s spent enough of her life as someone else. Has enough false names, she does not need another.

“I have a very important assignment for you.”

Petyr stepped back and walked towards his desk. Sitting on top was a folder. He grabbed it and handed it to her.

“His name is Jon Snow. Our intel tells us he is working on something that is a threat to national security. If possible bring him in. If not grab his work.”

Kill him. That’s what he was saying. The thought turned her stomach. She’d killed before. It was a reality of the job but all of her past kills had been self-defense. All but the first she thought.

“He is in Michigan. You leave in the morning.”

Before Alayne could start towards the door Petyr reached out and grabbed her hand, his thumb rubbing her knuckles.

“I can trust you with this right?”

~*~  

Alayne stared at his hand for all of 2 seconds before grabbing it and flipping him over. He landed on the ground with a loud thud. A second later Jon pushed himself up with a groan and held his hands up.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Alayne clinched her fists and pulled them to her face. “Really,” she cocked her head to the side, “because the dead body next to you is really encouraging.”

At her words Jon dropped his hands. His whole body seemed to curl in on itself. As if his last bit of energy had left him.

“The gun you have holstered doesn’t really inspire trust either. But enough blood has been shed tonight. I don’t want there to be anymore.”

For a moment Alayne wanted to believe him. From his downturned lips to the bags under his eyes to his steady voice, she could not find any signs of dishonesty. Tiredness yes, maybe even a little bit of sadness. But dishonest? No, she did not see that anywhere. But then she reminded she had thought he was a boring recluse. Clearly, her intuition had not been working this assignment.

Jon must have seen something on her face because in that moment he surged forward and picked up the shovel.

“He attacked first. I was just defending myself.”

“Well lucky for you he can’t refute your story,” Alayne started inching her hand closer to the gun she had holstered to her side. “Since he’s dead and everything.”

Jon let out a weary laugh, “Well, you’re not wrong.”

They both moved. Alayne pulled the gun but he was already in front her. Grasping her wrist and tossing the gun away.

“But you don’t know the whole story,” He tilted his head and looked at her. His grip still firm on her wrist.

“What do I need to know? A man is dead. What can justify that?”

For a moment everything about Jon softened. From those downturned lips to those sad, tired eyes. Something about her words spoke to him. It made Alayne want to stop. To see if maybe he was haunted by the same ghosts she was. But she didn’t. She had learned long ago to shut those ghosts up.

She slammed her head into his and broke his hold. Alayne reached for the gun. Before she reached it Jon knocked her to the ground. She turned over and saw him standing above her with the gun in his hand. Alayne rose unsteadily to her feet and watched him with wary eyes.

“Don’t act like we are different Alayne.”

She saw his hand a second before she was on the ground. Slightly disoriented and with a ringing in her head.

She could hear the sound of his distant footsteps as she slowly pushed herself up. Between the punch to the jaw and the fall to the ground, Alayne was having a hard time stringing her thought together. Through the fuzzy mess, two thing were clear. He knew her name. And he was better than her.

Once Alayne’s head cleared she made her way back to the house. Between the attacker and Jon’s head start, she doubted she would find anything. Still, she had to try. Returning to Littlefinger with her mark alive and free would be bad enough. She didn’t want to picture his reaction if she returned completely empty-handed.

Alayne passed quickly through the wrecked kitchen and up the stairs to Jon’s office. When she got to the top she stopped in her tracks. The upstairs had not been touched by struggle. There was no upturned chairs. No broken furniture. No papers scattered about. No, the room was completely empty.

Any lingering doubt left Alayne in that moment. Jon had known someone was coming. He had prepared for it.

Alayne felt her stomach drop. Her eyes started to burn. For one second, She let the fear flood her body. Felt her heart pound and her hands shake. Then she tucked it away. In a nice, neat box in the corner of her mind. And let anger take its place. Jon Snow would not escape her that easy.

~*~  

Deciding to go after Jon Snow was one thing. Actually going after him was another. With no leads and a lack of understanding of her target, Alayne found herself at a grimy 24-hour gas station with a useless gas pump and a broken window. She needed time to plan her move next and a place to ditch her car. And at 02:00 there were few places that wouldn’t look twice at a girl covered in leaves with a shiner on her jaw.

The door dinged as Alayne stepped into the tiny store. The cashier glanced up and looked her over once before looking back down at his phone. Alayne made her way down the candy aisle briefly picking up some lemon cookies before heading to pick up a pack of water bottles and power bars.

Alayne was fishing some cash out of her pocket as an old truck pulled up to the gas pump. The movement made her stop. She knew they could be a tourist. Someone just passing through. But after the night Alayne had she did not want to take any chances.

She walked to the bathroom hoping to hide out until they left. As she was closing the door she heard the annoying ding of the door. Alayne let out a sigh. It seemed she would be stuck standing in a sticky puddle of old pee for a while.

“Do you happen to something to wash the windshield with?”

For what felt like the million time that night Alayne felt her heart stop and her body freeze. She knew that voice. Had heard it not even an hour early. Alayne didn’t know whether to scream in victory or frustration. Here he was. The person she was looking for and she was stuck in a pile of piss.

She heard a grunt that she assumed was the cashier.

“Okay, then. I guess not.”

Alayne waited for the door to dink before stepping out of the bathroom and making her way to the parking lot.

He must have heard the stupid ding because he started to turn as soon as she walked out the door.

His eyes widened for a second and Alayne reviled in the fact that she surprised him.

“Well, hello again,” she said with a smirk.

“Look before you go all she-wolf on me give me a minute to explain.”

Alayne slow nodded her head, “Right so you can punch me again.”

Her words made Jon flinch as if the thought unsettled him. Good, Alayne thought, it should.

“No,” Jon said, “because you’re looking for something. I can help you. We can help each other.”

His eyes were steady on hers, waiting for an answer.

“How do I know I can trust you? Alayne asked not wanted to seem too eager. The fates had seen to place him in her path. She was not about to scare him off.

“I’m not asking you for trust. I definitely don’t trust you,” he took a breath before continuing, “I'm just saying a partnership would be mutually beneficial.”

“Okay,” this time it was that Alayne that stepped forward. Alayne, that put out her hand. Jon eyed it for a moment before grabbing it. His grip was firm. His hands rough and warm. For a second Alayne swore his sad, downturned mouth ticked up just a little.

“What now?”

[ok-ak]

A Grateful List.

A List of things that have made me happy as of late– [bc I’ve gotta do something other than complain about my melodramatic emotions sometimes ya feel? 🙃]

1. Daniel Caesar’s new album! (sounds like love 💕)

2. Narcos is back 9/1! (the best Netflix original series, fight me; also anything cartel related i’m IN THERE)

3. Insecure. It just makes me happy. & it gives me something to look forward to on otherwise gloomy sunday afternoons

4. I have a second round interview Tuesday! (not necessarily sure I want this position, but it’s His will not mine, right??)

5. The Flash. The show and its fandom are beautiful lambs and I would marry Candice Patton and Grant Gustin separately and together forever, amen.

6. All this new Frank Ocean content being released consistently bc ?? ITS FRANKLIN!!!! LOVE OF MY ENTIRE LIFE

7. My new “Bean There, Done That” water bottle gifted to me by my closest friends. the little things 😭

8. My relationship with my closest guy friend. He got a girlfriend and subsequently lost his entire mind, but we are finally making our way back to a new normal.

9. Removal of the toxic guy™ (a male?? that is toxic?! groundbreaking!!) from my life. We haven’t spoken in months and it was the hardest and best thing that’s happened to me.

10. A curly hair routine that has finally managed to tame my curls. I JUST WANNA THANK GOD AND ALSO THE BABY JESUS IN THE MANGER.

11. Coffee. I’ve perfected my coffee blend. Getchu some Mocha Nut Fudge k cups and Almond Joy creamer and boss up. you’re welcome.

12. My recent visit to Chapel Hill. I love my alma mater SO MUCH YOU DONT EVEN KNOW (or maybe you do, God is a Tarheel idk what else to tell u)

13. My graduate degree. I’ve been harping recently about how much post grad life SUCKS. but i have to take a millisecond to be thankful that i actually did it! i graduated! from columbia! with a ivy league masters degree. something i used to dream about. baby steps 😎

14. The promise that Fall holds. I’m gonna miss the warmth of summer and being a tan goddess ,,,but alas.

15. This summer/ years’ music is general. Melodrama? Blonde? Khalid’s Album? H.E.R.?? i’ll bless you with my spotify if ya want it

16. The prospect of visiting NY soon. Who would of thought that I, ME, Ashley (???) would miss NY. Crazy, but i do. Hopefully I can visit and bop around the city like a happy muffin soon.

17. Healthy Life. my mother and i have been on a clean eating (for the most part, bc in gonna eat tacos wherever whenever however ya feel?) and exercising kick and its made my energy and mood go up slightly and anxiety go down slightly. like i’m still an exhausted anxious mess by a notch lower. flames.

PS: i’ve been using the Nike Training app and i absolutely love it. it’s changed the GAME.

PPS: Yoga with Adrienne on YT. Bc…Yoga with Adrienne.

18. A grande iced vanilla coffee with cream and one pump of classic syrup and my new, much cheaper and slightly healthier drink. *~growth*~

19. Smash box bb eyes concealer, Milani Luminoso Blush, Becca Highlighter (not champagne pop bc, as I mentioned before, still in bronze goddess mode)

20. Target $2 face masks. WATTBA.

that’s all for now, 💕💕💕

[dotheflip-blog]

Sweet Moments

Y/N wakes up to Tom making pancakes after everyone crashes at the party. A sizzling skillet can make for some sweet moments.

Tom Holland x Reader

(Be gentle, please! I’ve literally never written an imagine before)

1800+ words

You crinkle your nose as a familiar scent crawls into your nasal cavity. Groggily, you lift your head and slowly open your eyes to a living room covered in sleeping bodies and beer cans. You can barely recall the events that took place at the Holland’s annual house party. Every year, it’s bigger than the years before it. The living room alone looks to cover the entire neighborhood. You laugh to yourself, imagining the fun you must’ve had when a distant sizzling noise grabs your attention. You twist your head and notice the kitchen light just barely peaking through the almost shut door. Curious as to why someone would be awake at 4 AM steals your attention as you make your way towards the light.

You peak your head through the door to see that of Tom Holland flipping a pancake without a care in the world. His chestnut curls hang over the pan as his face holds pure concentration for making the perfect pancake. The kitchen door lets out a slight creek and your cover is blown.

“Oh, I didn’t know anyone was awake!” he exclaims, shooting a smile that leads his eyes to wrinkle.

A pain comparable to being shot aches just behind your forehead. Your hand instinctively moves to cover it, showing your obvious discomfort.

“Was some night, huh?” he snickers while reaching to grab a teapot off the counter, “Here, have the best hangover tea ever created. Trust me, I’ve tried them all.” 

You manage a smile as you take a seat at the edge of the island counter-top. Tom pours your cup as you observe his messy set up consisting of flour going everywhere except the mixing bowl and batter smeared across the granite.

“What are you doing up this early?” You mumble while taking your sip.

“Jet-lag,” he shrugs, “My body can’t seem to get used to all these different time-zones.”

You nod, recalling all the months Tom isn’t home. The two of you have been next door neighbors since you were six. Spending every day outside together quickly turned into seeing Tom every few months with his growing career. You couldn’t help but miss having him around.

“A busy man lives a busy life,” you shrug playfully.

A smile creeps through the corners of his mouth as his eyes soften onto yours, “Yeah, but I can’t help missing home.”

You feel your face flush as you try to cover it with the tea mug. His almond irises are just as captivating now as they were out on the swings all those years ago.

“A-Anyways,” you attempt to switch subjects, “why pancakes?”

“Because of you, believe it or not.”

You choke on the tea in which he lets out a laugh lighter than a cloud. “Me? Why me?”

“You don’t remember? How could you!” His eyebrow furrows like a sad puppy.

You give him a hard look before remembering the summer of you two playing chef in the mud as kids. When it was Tom’s turn to make you a pretend creation, all he would serve were mudpies which he called “pancakes”. They never truly looked anything like pancakes but you played along and pretended to scarf every last one down because his mudpie pancakes were always five stars.

“Your famous mudpies!” You let out a laugh as he rolls his eyes.

“I’ve told you a thousand times, Y/N! They were pancakes!” 

“Well I think that one is definitely a mudpie now,” you nod towards the one Tom has been ignoring since you walked into the kitchen.

Tom’s face turns pale as he remembers what he was even doing in the first place. He scrambles to flip the pancake to an exposed layer of char. Tom groans as you snicker at his failure. 

“Even with your new celebrity life, you’re still the same Tom.”

“No, those acting classes definitely taught me how to perfect pancakes. If they didn’t I don’t know what I was paying them for. I’ll be writing a strongly worded letter- I promise you that,” he jokes as he tosses the blackened pancake in the trash and pours a new one into the skillet.

You watch patiently as his concentration returns. He gets a good hold of the skillet and flips the cake twice successfully. His eyebrows raise as if he’s just as impressed with himself as you are. Tom looks to you for approval like that of a little kid. 

“Maybe your acting classes did teach you something after all.” 

Tom finishes the pancake and slides it on a plate in front of you. “There, try it.” 

“Without any syrup?”

“How are you going to know if I’ve perfected genius if you smother it in syrup?” 

You grin at his clever answer before diving into his fluffy creation. It wasn’t the greatest you’d ever had but that goofy look he had waiting for your reaction was practically begging you to be head over heels. You stand up straight in the same way you did when you played the food critic as a child.

“Zees,” you tap into your horrid french accent like that of Ratatouille, “Zees is incredible! Five stars!”

He looks to the invisible crowd and immerses himself in pride as he bows, “It’s been an honor serving you, Madame.”

“Oui, but can you do zees a second time? Zat is zee question.” 

He chuckles as he already motions to the pancake batter, “You bet your ass I can do it as many times as you like.”

Before you knew it, Tom had made five perfectly round pancakes stacked on-top of each other. You pretend to judge their height, touching the center to measure the amount of fluff. 

“Sir Tom of Southwest London,” you swivel off your stool and reach for the Reddi-Whip inside the fridge, “I reward you with zees, my country’s most prized possession, the whip of reddi”

Tom holds out both hands as you move to give him the can. Just before it reaches his finger tips, you remove the cap and bend the nozzle toward his face. The puffs of cream cover his face as his mouth and eyes dart open in shock. You burst out laughing at the sight. Tom quickly wipes the cream off his eyes and snatches the bottle from you. You instantly back away and run to the other side of the island counter-top.

“Don’t think you’re getting away from me, Y/N!” He playfully threatens.

“ Sacré bleu! You can not attack your critic!” 

“Watch me!” He bends the nozzle across the counter in your direction. You easily dodge. He then rips off pieces of one of the uneaten pancakes and tosses it in your direction, landing directly into your hair. Tom takes this moment of distraction and dashes around the corner of the island. You let out a shriek as you run away.

Tom’s laugh as he chases you in circles is so heartwarming to hear. Even though he hasn’t been around, you made sure to always watch his interviews. Every one of them held fake smiles and forced laughter. You knew that wasn’t Tom. This was Tom. This twenty-one year old child chasing you with a can of Reddi-Whip. This boy who stole your heart making mudpies and always waiting for your approval. This-

“Ah!” You hear a loud thump and realize Tom’s body isn’t in sight anymore. “Ouch, that hurt a lot.” Tom groaned in pain as you rushed to the other side of the island to see Tom laying on the tile. You fall to your knees to get a better look

“Are you okay?! Did you break anyth-”

Before you could make out another word, whipped cream covered your sight. Tom’s cackles alone could’ve been cloaked in evil. 

“Told you you weren’t getting away from me this time!” 

You wipe the cream away to see Tom’s face red from laughing and his eyes doing the crinkling thing you always loved when he looked at you. Your stomach turns to butterflies as your heart melts. He has you right where he wants you every moment you two are together. His invisible tether keeps your love for him from venturing away. 

“That’s your specialty, isn’t it?” You smile softly, “Bringing me back to you.” 

Tom’s face travels from laughing to surprised, and then to serious. Your eyes follow Tom’s movements as he shuffles onto his knees to face you head-on. Before you can question what he’s up to this time, his lips crash into yours. His hands cuff on your whipped cream covered cheeks as your mind rushes blank. Your body tells you to kiss back and you obey. His mouth tastes like the sugary cream, which oddly enough, is how you always imagined it to taste. His curls fall onto your forehead as you bring him closer. A moan escapes his teeth in response. You giggle into his mouth before pulling away. His smile is brighter than ever before. You take a moment to collect yourself before letting go of his shirt. Your cheeks are burning and your heart feels like it could implode any second.

What just happened? There’s no way that just happened!

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.” He shyly pushes back his curls.

“You’ve been wanting to do that?” You scoff in happy disbelief.

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs followed by a gleam, “I love you.”

In that instant, your whole life fell apart- in the best way possible. Your theories of getting stuck with someone you hate, living a boring life with them. All of your thoughts broke at the utter of those three measly words. Tears began to weld as you remembered that this is real. Tom, the boy next door known for making top of the line mudpies, just told you he loved you.

“And I know you love me too,” He chuckles, watching your eyes water. You can’t manage words or else you’ll truly cry so all you give him is a rapid nod. “I should’ve told you all those years ago, but.. I was afraid. My career was beginning. If I told you, I’d be broken leaving your side even for a second,” He buries his hands into his face in an attempt to mask his blush, “I know I chose a horrible time to say it with me in the middle of filming Spider-Man. It’s just you.. Looking at you.. Like this.. I just couldn’t help it-”

“Tom,” you interrupt with tears streaking down your cheeks.

“Yes?” He peaks at you through his fingers.

“Say it again.”

“Which part?”

“Say it again.”  You had to hear him say it again. You had to make sure he truly said it.

A smile stretches across Tom’s face as he sits up straight with confidence. “I love you, Y/N.” 

You lay your lips onto his once more as your tears brush onto his cheeks. He pulls back and picks a piece of pancake out of your hair before putting it into his mouth. He lets out a soft giggle and makes eye contact with you all the while.

“What’s so funny?” You question.

“You’re right, my pancakes are five star quality.”

[almondbiscotti]

WFH Day 4: 9 April 2020

6.somethingam? – Housemates gives me a peck before he leaves for distancing ambassador work. I vaguely remember saying something to him and he says something back.

7.00am – Woken up by alarm. This time, I turn the damn thing off instead of snoozing.

8.27am – Jolted awake dear Lord I’m going to be late for work!! Wake up strangely tired. Remembered I was having a ridiculous dream where I was trying to decide on an outfit for a wedding of a sec school acquittance and nothing fit me and Sabrina (hello I know you read this) was trying to help me but seriously how to help a situation like this. Is this my body telling me I need to lose weight cos GOD DAMN IT.

8.28am – Boss checks in in the dept group chat reminding us we have a VC later at 10.

8.29am – I check in and acknowledge her text

8.30am – The bed is so comfy homg. Scroll scroll scroll through social media. Find Instagram post of girlfriend (think it’s fiancé liao) of an ex-boyfriend. Awww they’re sweet together. I’m happy for them. Really, I am. Random thought that people who over share their relationship on social media usually aren’t in great relationships flash across my mind. Realise who the heck cares, it’s all inconsequential to me.

9.03am – Finally get out of bed. Do the usual biz in the toilet. Should I make coffee or tea today? I’m enjoying the slowness at the start of the day before I go crazy at work because my to-do list is growing quite exponentially. I deserve this!

9.19am – I should probably put a bra on. The problem with VCing the same group of people most of the time is that you have to change your clothes. :/ I can’t wear the same cardigan every time or they’d think I’m weird. Would they think I’m weird? This is a damn first world problem I know. I know I know I know you come back and judge me when you have no first world problems.

9.21am – Contemplate showering. I usually shower in the morning before I leave for work but now with WFH, there isn’t really a point so I don’t. Usually shower in the afternoon though, cos it gets so damn hot. Of course, I also shower in the evening before bed. WHY AM I TALKING ABOUT SHOWER HABITS!?

9.22am – I shall make coffee. Oh and water the plants!

9.36am – Open all the windows in the house cos air flow is important.

9.40am – Hey Google, play Spotify.

9.41am - Homg Treacherous by Taylor Swift is really my jam. The song brings back a gazillion memories for me. Also, I miss the Housemate. ☹

9.43am – Wonder if I could get away with no wearing a bra since VC doesn’t show my chest anyway.

9.44am – Decide it’s not worth the risk and put on the damn bra. And a cardigan.

9.55am – WHY IS MY STOMACH BEING WEIRD GOD DAMN ITI HAVE A VC AT 10AM

9.59am – Fastest bowel movement of my life.

10.00am – Boss asks to delay VC to 10.10. God damn it.

10.10am – VC.

10.44am – VC ends. GOT MORE WORK HOW IS WFH BUSIER THAN WORK FROM OFFICE DEAR GOD

11.10am – Send out email to staff with stuff I owed them. Feels good flexing some of the muscles from my ACTA training. 😊

11.11am – Feels damn shiok to tick one thing of my ridiculously long to-do list n

11.13am – OKAY WORK WORK WORK WORK.

11.44am- WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING MAHJONG AT THIS TIME. I THOUGHT NO MORE SOCIAL GATHERING I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL CALL THE POLICE

12.41pm – I should make lunch.

12.42pm – Realise that housemate and I are running a little low on toilet paper. We actually legit have to go buy toilet paper. 

12.50pm – Make lunch! Lunch shall just be ramen noodles cos I’m really lazy.

1.00pm – OMNOMNOM Noodles are great. I added some veggies, egg and sliced cheese and it was really good.

1.01pm – Watch an English YouTuber as I eat. She lives in the countryside in England and she has a massive field as part of her property and I AM SO JEALOUS.

1.16pm – Done with lunch! I’ll wash the dishes later. NOMNOM PEAR! 😊

1.20pm – Okay fine I’ll wash the dishes now.

1.32pm – WORK WORK WORK. Seriously I think I’m more productive with WFH than in Office.

2.21pm – Video call with the tablemates! Ahhh so good to see these 2 girls 😊

2.22pm – HOUSEMATE IS HOME! I also rush to close all the windows and blinds in the toilets cos Housemate wants to shower.

2.30pm – After an extremely quick catch up with the girls, it is clear we’re all quite busy so we basically just camera on to occasionally look at each other but mostly we’re just doing out own work. It’s still nice. 😊

3.11pm – Call with the girls end because I wanna go collect mask from the gahment.

3.15pm – Walk to the collection point near my place to collect 2 masks, one each for housemate and me.

3.18pm – WHY ARE THERE SO MANY KIDS OUT PLAYING WHATEVER HAPPENED TO STAY AT HOME?!

3.19pm – I walk extra fast and try not to breathe lest any of these brats are contagious. Also, loud children disgust me.

3.23pm – Masks collected! I got the black ones! Really quick and easy.

3.30 pm – Pop by NTUC on the way back to grab shampoo and toilet paper. THEY RESTOCKED OYSTER SAUCE! Grab a bottle of that. And some fish pancake ice cream for my mother. and Magnum for Housemate. (And me. I love almond magnum)

3.31pm - DAFUG WHY IS THERE SO MUCH TOILET PAPER IN NTUC?! Also, I can’t find a single set of plastic tissue paper packets. You know, not the boxed kind, the plastic pack kinds. Actually, there aren’t many tissue boxes available. Are people hoarding those now? 

3.32pm - STILL NO BLOODY ONIONS AVAILABLE AT NTUC. WHY ARE PEOPLE HOARDING ONIONS?  

3.36pm – JESUS HOW DID I SPEND NEARLY 60 BUCKS AT NTUC!

3.37pm – Realise the shampoo and conditioner I use is very expensive. :/

3.45pm – HOME! Unpack everything. My freezer is really full.

3.52pm – SHOWER! Dear God I’m sticky and gross.

4.07pm – Play a game of Cookie Run on my phone. I love Cookie Run.

4.15pm – I should prep for my 4.30pm VC. Put on a bra, change my top. Fiddle with my hair. Argh my hair is an animal.

4.23pm – Sent the email I needed half a day to prepare for out. Phew.

4.30pm – VC!

5.30pm – VC ends. Happy to have made a good match between a MA and a dept. 😊

5.40pm – A flurry of emails! Go go go!

6.10pm – Okay done with the emails! Phew. My shoulders really ache.

6.11pm – Pluck some vegetables from the garden for my Mom. I’m seeing her to pass her some groceries today.

6.36pm – Reach Mom’s place, pass her the goods. She complains I’m late (I was supposed to be there at 6.30pm) She made fried rice for me! And cut some melon too! YAYYYYYYYY HAPPY TIMES

6.52pm – HOME! Fry eggs and opened a can of sardines to go with the fried rice. I add onions, sliced chili and a bit of mirin to the sardines. Makes it extra good. Normally I’ll add some lime juice too but I have no lime. I’d grow a lime tree but for some reason the limes I’ve bought were all seedless. O.o

7.02pm – SHOWER! Ahhh I have a webinar I signed up for that started at 7!

7.11pm – NOMNOM and watch NUS Webinar on Covid-19. Housemate eavesdrops and decides it’s interesting and watches with me.

7.30pm – It’s really quite interesting! We cast it on the TV so it’s bigger and easier to see the slide details.

8.something pm – Webinar ends! I’m gonna tune in for next week’s session. I’M LEARNING SO MUCH!

9.01pm - See email that my CMB sent. Argh, bad news. :( Email also reminds me I haven’t reported my twice daily mandated temperature readings yet. 

9.20pm - JESUS MY COMPANY’S VPN IS SO FRUSTRATINGLY SLOW I JUST WANT TO TELL YOU MY TEMPERATUTRE

9.32pm - FINALLY! I’m in. 

9.33pm - ALL DONE! :) 

And there ends WFH Day 4! 😊