#i am going to build a bread box to keep the bread within

[youcanthandelthetruth]

My uncle has been trying to get me into cast iron for years and I finally took a skillet last time I was at his house and just fried some eggs up in it

I didn't even eat eggs before but I think I am going to live on fried eggs from now on. I am energized I am satisfied my blood is full of iron I am going to start baking my own bread every week so I have toast good enough to put these eggs upon

[diegos-butt]

Electricity Chapter 1

Summary: For the first time in her life, Melody Williams is moving out of her hometown to Minnesota where she got a job as a crime journalist for the Minnesota Daily. But this city does not only have a new job for her to offer. What will happen when she crosses paths with detective Walter Marshall? Heads up, a little electricity is involved ✨

Walter Marshall x Melody Williams (curvy OFC)

Warnings: none

Wordcount: 2.5k

A/N: So, I wrote something for the first time 👀 Pls be kind haha. This is written with a plus size/curvy OFC in mind because all my curvy babes, like me, deserve some love 😘 

“Thanks for calling me. I will call you back with my decision soon.” I hung up the phone and stared at it in my hand. A woman from the newspaper in the city a few towns over had just called, telling me they were offering me a job at their crime department. I sat at my desk at my current job, a local journalist for my hometown newspaper. I started working there during college and they offered a job after I finished. I happily accepted, because that meant I could move out of my lovely parents’ house and start my own life.

As I sat at my desk I realized I had never really left this town, and I had always fantasized what it would be like to live and work in a different town. I loved my hometown, don’t get me wrong, but it is small and everyone knows each other. Every day is basically the same here. Miss Johnson walks her dog at exact 3pm, the Millers go to the supermarket at 4pm to buy dinner and the whole town eats at Al’s diner every Sunday.

Also, the men in this town aren’t something to write home about. The decent men are taken by the perfect housewives and the ones who are left, are the type of guys who you don’t want to meet in a dark alley. And unfortunately, no nice men have decided to move here in the last couple of years. The only guy I dated (we were only together for a couple of months) decided I wasn’t good enough and eloped with a pretty, skinny blonde bitch.

While the town doesn’t seem to change, neither does my job. I have been covering the local news for a couple of years now, and it feels like I have been doing the same thing over and over again. Nothing really happens here, and honestly it makes me feel stuck at my job. I feel like my job and this place aren’t helping me to move further. I want to learn more and see something else than this town.

Still staring at the phone in my hand realization washed over me. This was my way out. This phone call could change everything. Not thinking twice, I called the woman (I had forgotten her name, Stacy apparently) back telling her I was accepting their offer. This was my chance of starting something new.

In the weeks after the call, I quit my job and started looking for a new place. Luckily, I found a cosy, affordable apartment. Not too big, not too small. Perfect for me and only me. Not wanting to wait, I moved in quickly with the help of my parents and made the place feel a little like home.

It was a cute apartment with one bedroom and a tiny kitchen. I had everything I needed. A comfy couch, my kettle, my books, a tv for my binge-watching nights and lots of cosy blankets and throw pillows.

After moving in and settling down, I finally had a chance to decorate the place with a lot of fairy lights and plants. I stood in the middle of the living area, wiping some sweat of my face after moving around some heavy plants. Yeah, this is starting to look like home. I thought as I looked around the living area, satisfied with the work I did.

I sat down on my couch and looked at the clock on the wall. It was 8pm. I was tired and hadn’t eaten yet. Tomorrow was my first day at the Minnesota Daily and I couldn’t wait. I was a little nervous, but because I was so tired, I didn’t have the energy to be too nervous or to make dinner.

I decided to make a grilled cheese sandwich and go to bed early. Tomorrow was the first day of a new start and I needed to look good. Might need a full 12 hours of sleep if I want to look a little decent, I thought to myself as I stared into the mirror and noticed my messy hair and the bags under my eyes.

After I ate my ‘dinner’ (I decided two grilled cheese sandwiches counted as dinner), I went to my bedroom and picked an outfit for tomorrow. A simple jeans and a baby blue blouse would do it. Afterwards I brushed my teeth and removed my make up. I put on my pyjamas and fell asleep as soon as my head hit my pillow.

After parking my car in the parking garage underneath the building the Minnesota Daily is located, I checked my make up one last time in the rear-view mirror. No uneven eyebrows and no smudges of mascara. Let’s go make a good first impression.

I stepped out of the car and grabbed my purse. I walked out of the parking garage and made my way to the front desk where I was greeted by a friendly older looking receptionist.

“Hi, I’m Melody! It is my first day here and I was told to ask for Stacy,” I said.

“Welcome dear! I’ll let Stacy know you’re here! She’ll be here in a sec,” she said with a smile. I nodded and looked around. People were walking in and out of the building, most of them talking on the phone. They all looked like they were in a rush.

Stacy appeared within a minute. She was taller than me, and I’m not exactly tiny, and her long brown hair was tied up in a bun. She walked towards me with her hand reached out and I quickly took it.

“Hi, you must be Melody! I’m Stacy, but everyone calls me Stace. Come, follow me, I’ll show you where we will be working!” she said while we walked to the elevator. While the elevator brought us to the 8th floor, she asked me how my new apartment was and if I liked the city. Before I knew it, the elevator reached the 8th floor.

“Everyone, pay attention! This is Melody and she will be joining our department as you all know,” Stacy practically yelled the second we left the elevator. I already saw some friendly faces looking at me. “Hi, I am Melody, but please call me Mel,” I said while Stacy walked over to a desk and started to introduce me to my new co-workers.

After I met everyone from the crime department, I made my way towards my new desk. Everyone seemed friendly and there was a relaxed atmosphere. Which was a little surprising to me considering this was the crime department. I looked around and thought: yeah, I made the right call to accept this offer.

Yet, I had no idea what this town had to offer me. Or better said, who.

In the first week I worked there I became friends with some of my co-workers. Carmen Garcia practically forced me to go to lunch with her and Gia Park on my first day. They had both been working at the Minnesota Daily for a couple of years now and they were one of the few women in the department. So, they were glad I was recruited to give them another ally in the office.

While we had lunch, they informed me about everything I needed to know. “You seriously need to stay away from creepy Greg, he works for the finance section. Make sure you never go down there alone. He always looks at women like he wants to drag them into an empty alley,” Gia said while pretending to throw up.

“Oh, he is the worst! But Megan, the receptionist, is the best ever. She is so sweet and kind. If you ever need anything, just ask her and she will help you,” Carmen added.

“Definitely! And if you ever need free tickets for a sports game, just let me know and we will visit the guys from the sport section,” Gia told me with a wink.

“I will keep all of this in mind,” I said while taking a sip from my cappuccino. “but tell me something about yourselves!”

Next thing I knew Carmen and Gia told me where they grew up, where they went to school and how they ended up working for the Minnesota Daily. I noticed how easy it was to talk to these girls and we had a good laugh while they told me about their most recent dating disasters. I nearly spilled my cappuccino not once or twice, but thrice while Carmen told me about how she escaped from one of her dates through the bathroom window.

During my first week I spend a lot of time with them. I helped them finish their articles and I got to know them pretty well. Carmen is tough, but sweet and straightforward, while Gia is soft and has a very short span of attention while working. She has visited my desk every half hour just to “catch up”. But I didn’t complain. It was nice to have them as my co-workers, although they began to feel more like friends.

It felt like my life fell into place again. I was making new friends, and I did a pretty good job so far.  Still, sometimes I forgot to do basis tasks like getting groceries. So now I was parking my car in the parking lot of the grocery store.

As soon as I stepped out, I felt the cold chilly air around me, making me pull my leather jacket closer around my body. Hastily I stepped through the doors of the store just a few minutes before they would close. Quickly I grabbed a basket, knowing I should grab a cart, and started to walk through the aisles.

It was quiet inside, just a few people were doing some last-minute shopping like me. I waved hello to the woman at the cash register as I made my way to the first aisle.

So just the basics, some bread, apples, veggies, chocolate. Hmm maybe no chocolate. Okay yes, some chocolate. I deserve it today. What else, milk and cereal obviously. Girl gotta eat some breakfast. I thought as I threw some products in my already way too full basket and made my way to the cereal aisle. I walked passed the apples and picked some up, holding them in my hands.

Walking through the aisle I stopped in front of the many boxes of cereal. Above me I noticed a flickering lightbulb, reminding me I still needed to watch the last episode of Stranger Things. Maybe I should watch it tonight.

Staring at all the different kinds of cereal, I couldn’t decide which one I wanted. After a minute of just staring at the boxes lost in my own world, I grabbed one.

Except, I suddenly wasn’t the only one. Quickly I turned around and bumped into a warm, broad chest which made me drop the apples I was carrying. “Oh shit,” I whispered before I looked up into the most beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen and stared at the man. He had a beard and dark, brown curls. One of the curls dangled in front of his eyes and I had to fight the urge to not wipe it out of his face.

“It didn’t look like you were going to make a decision soon, so I just grabbed the one I wanted,” he said while crouching down to pick up the fallen apples.

“Oh no, no it’s fine,” I stammered, completely overwhelmed by him. “I guess I was zoned out there for a moment.”

While he was picking up the apples, I decided to take a quick look at him. He was a tall, big man wearing a dark blue sweater. Damn it, he is gorgeous. Don’t mind bumping into him more often.. no don’t go there, pull yourself together! I thought as I felt my cheeks burning all of a sudden. I couldn’t even remember the last time I talked to a man this handsome. Get it together Mel.

As he stood up and handed me the apples, I noticed how tired he looked. There were dark circles underneath his eyes, making me wonder when it was the last time he had a decent amount of sleep. Or if he ever had a decent night of sleep.

“Thank you for picking these up,” I said while holding up the apples, making them almost fall again. His reflexes were fast as he grabbed my elbow, helping me keep the apples balanced. The warmth of his hand made my legs suddenly feel a little weak.

“No problem,” he chuckled tiredly making me smile a little. “Maybe you should have gotten a cart instead of a basket, might be easier,” he said while still holding onto my elbow. He pointed with his other hand to my basket that was way too full.  

“You are probably right, but my stubborn ass thought I could carry it all, so here we are,” I answered with a timed laugh, feeling a little embarrassed. He looked at me with those blue eyes and I noticed he had a “don’t mess with me” vibe, that somehow made me feel safe.

As I looked at his hand on my elbow, I suddenly became aware of how close he was. I could smell his musky cologne. He noticed I looked at his hand, and he abruptly let go of me while taking a step back. I immediately missed the warmth of his hand.

“I, uh, I need to go. Take care and don’t drop those again,” he told me with a small smile pointing at the apples in my hands. He grabbed his own basket and started to walk away. As he walked away, I took a good look of him. He was a very muscular man, and I took a mental picture of his ass because that was a sight I did not want to forget. I must tell Carmen and Gia about this.

“I can’t promise that, but I will try my hardest,” I laughed, knowing I would probably drop them again soon. “See you around?” I asked him. Surprised by my own boldness I nearly sank through the floor out of embarrassment.

He looked back at me with those beautiful blue eyes and I felt a spark of electricity going through my spine. “I hope so,” he said with a smirk before he shook his head and turned the corner leaving me speechless in the cereal aisle.

I stood there for another minute while coming back to my senses. My cheeks stopped burning and I realized I had not embarrassed myself that much. I smiled to myself and pictured the smirk he gave me in my head. Then the announcement that the store was about to close in a few minutes blared through the speakers, reminding me I still had to collect some groceries.

Quickly I grabbed the rest of the groceries and headed towards the cash register hoping to see him one more time. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be found.

I paid for the groceries and walked to my car. Loading the groceries in the trunk I nearly dropped the apples again. Told you, I thought while closing the trunk. It was getting dark and colder outside so I wasted no more time and drove home.

While driving home I realized the mistake I made.

Damn, I should’ve asked his name.

•••

> Chapter two

Taglist: @keanureevesisbae

If somehow you want to be on my taglist, just let me know!

[silvercrystalwhump]

The Death of a Tyrant

Vincent Shield belongs to @ashintheairlikesnow

TW: antagonising, bbu content warning, owen grant

-

The lights shine down across the stage, three cameras spin and whirl in the shadows beyond. Vincent can feel the eyes beyond the camera watching every hair on his head. He can almost feel the millions of eyes on the other side of the lens.

Today was a long day of interviews for the first television show that he’s ever been in and Ann’s, the young actress to his left, first-ever adult role.

Vincent can almost feel her anticipation through his skin. The poisoned nostalgia freezes the air in his already tense lungs. The interview boasts eyes of venom and they are poised directly at him.

This interview was supposed to be about the show.

It turned into a drama cast very quickly.

“So,” The interview leans back, eyes scouring across Vincent’s face. He can feel the resignation behind his eyes. Simmering coals eat under him. Vincent can feel the question before it leaves his lips, “How has the recent tape release affected you, Vincent. It must be rather hard to deal with the aftermath of being forced to come out.”

Vincent pierces his lips. Watching the lens on the camera pointed at him shift, Vincent draws up the mask, “While I would rather we keep this conversation on Iscariot and the Strings of Time, I will say that there has been many people who have been very helpful during a time that has been definitely stressful.”

The interview looks almost disappointed, eyes dropping into shadows before perking up as the focus returns to him. Vincent can really tell in these moments that this man sitting across from him and Ann was once an actor. Every movement in his face is planned and Vincent can see Ann’s gaze trying to avoid his.

She’s not used to this.

“Vincent, how do you feel about the Director’s new Box Babe, Kat?”

There it is.

Vincent sighs, “Han and I have had a conversation about this. He did not want his decision to get in the way of professionalism. He is aware that I will not hesitate to contact the Commission if I see any sign of abuse.”

The interviewer pauses, waiting for more words to come. They do not.

Then, Ann laughs, shifting in her seat, “It looks like he pulled an Owen Grant, Kat looks so much like his ex-wife to the point where it’s almost uncanny.”

The air stills for a second as the words settle into the floorboards. The sound of the lights quietly can be heard above. Those few heart-chilling seconds seem to eat at the very fabric of his turtleneck. It suddenly feels just a little too tight.

The interview picks up again, “Well, I believe that all of us can say that we are looking forward to seeing how you two work together in this new dynamic.”

Vincent draws a smile onto his face with an invisible sharpie. Ann scrambles to scoop up her own as the camera does doubt pans out to view them all.

“Are you allowed to reveal a date?” The interview leans in, the side of his face away from the camera twitching slightly.

Ann nods and nearly bounces out of her chair. Vincent remembers the excitement when he was younger that came with being the one to say the date. He used to itch for it when he was with his old studio. Something else I’ve lost.

“The first episode will be available on Netflix on November 1st!”

The interviewer sits up straight and clasps his hands together, “I cannot thank you enough for your time out here today, thank you everybody for tuning in and we all anticipate the debut of Strings of Time.”

Vincent watches as the cameras are shut off and pulled away. He holds himself in the chair until all of the cameras have been pulled away and the interviewer stands. In one movement he is off of the stage and talking with someone. Vincent brings his hands on the armrests and pulls himself to his feet.

Vincent floats for the door, plans to go home, and just passes out on the couch already bubbling across his vision. He hates the air conditioning here.

Why did he have to get brought up?

Vincent adjusts his blazer and steps out of the recording studio. Regretting wearing a turtleneck, he makes his way towards his dressing room. The sound of his shoes clicking against the tiled floor echoes around him. Air catches in his throat as the faint memory of a different set of oxfords walks down a hall only a wall away from him. The memory tastes like Coke.

Just grab your paperwork and go home.

A hand grabs his arm, “Excuse me, Vincent.”

Vincent spins around, panic, like an ivy spreading up his veins. Ann stands behind him, looking a bit flustered, “I need to apologies to you.”

“For what,” Vincent asks, forcing his muscles to relax.

Ann smooths out the edge of her blouse and forces her eyes, “Once the words came out of my mouth I realized how insensitive it was to just… nonchalantly mention the Owen ordeal as um.”

“Hey,” Vincent says, “I- You were nervous I could tell, I’m not offended.”

“Yeah, but especially since his mother just passed and he’s going to be working with us I- it feels wrong, I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry, what!

“I accept your apology, Ann. Don’t think too much of it. This is your first gig since moving into adult acting, right?”

Ann nods, leaning back on her heels. It is painfully obvious that she is very new to interviews that ask unscripted questions.

“It’s alright,” Vincent reassures, “Honestly Ann, don’t stress about accidentally stumbling over words. It happens.”

Ann relaxes just a little, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay, thank you,” Ann smiles, letting gallons of air escape her tense lungs. She turns around and trots for her room a few halls down. As he watches her walk away the nostalgia hits him like a truck. The people-pleasing, the desire to be perfect, to be without controversy, makes him flash a piteous smile and shake his head.

He straightens his spine and turns around.

A very intense woman is standing behind him.

“Oh, hello,” Vincent nearly exits his skin as she draws her gaze up to him, “I didn’t realise you were there.”

“Vincent Shield, am I correct?”

Vincent nods, squirming under her very intense gaze, “Yes, you are.”

She holds out her hand, “Keira Harker.”

He takes her hand and shakes it, “Pleasure to meet you Ms. Harker. How can I be of service?”

“You’re known to be very active in the Pet Lib movement and you were basically responsible for the creation of the Commision correct?”

Where is this going? “I wouldn’t say that I’m responsible, there are many people who helped put in place the building blocks that would lead to the Commision.”

“I am aware,” she responds, holding her gaze firmer than Vincent does, “However you have a lot of knowledge about the underground and many of the safehouses.”

Vincent raises a hand, feeling himself freeze under the delicate mask, “Ma’am, everything I have done has been within the limits of the law. I can assure you all of my associates are also performing their actions under the law.”

Her face hardens and she takes a small step towards him, “I am not accusing you of breaking the law.”

I have just gotten out of multiple interviews and a press conference and in the press conference, I was called a felon at least four times. I wanna go home and eat Dmitri’s chicken and rice soup.

“All due respect Ms. Harker that is what this is beginning to sound like.”

Keira sighs and relaxes slightly, “I am asking for your help, if I were to accuse you of being a criminal that would not be very productive.”

Vincent lets his body de-tense but he is in no way relaxed, “My apologies Ms. Harker. I have been on the butt end of those accusations for a better part of today. Just on my toes.”

“I understand,” she responds, almost mimicking his behavior, “My brother was… voluntold to join the pet program. I tried everything in my power to find him and I found out that he was sold to the son of a very powerful senator.”

“He was sold to Owen Grant.” Kauri.

Keira nods, glancing over Vincent’s shoulder, “While I wish not to speak ill of the dead, now that she is deceased. I believe it will be easier to discover his whereabouts without WRU getting involved.”

The weight of her words start to weigh on him. If she is looking for her brother, how many others are now looking for their family?

“Well, I agree in that sentiment,” Vincent gestures forward, “If I can have a name, I might ask around to some more of my well versed colleagues.”

Keira reaches into her purse and pulls out a white card, “So, shall we keep in touch.”

“Of course,” Vincent takes the small card and glances down at the contact information, “We’ll be in touch.”

-

Vincent steps inside and can smell something good. He faintly hears Dmitri moving about his kitchen, making dinner. The aroma of fresh bread makes his house feel alive. Dropping his stuff at the door to his office, he floats over to the kitchen.

Dmitri stands in front of the stove, wearing a faded Kiss the Cook apron. Vincent finds a small smile blooming on his face as he steps up to him.

“Soup should be done in five minutes,” Dmitri asks as Vincent leans up onto the counter next to him, “How was the interview?”

“We cannot be doing that the night before an interview,” Vincent mutters and he fusses with the turtleneck. “I have been paranoid that someone has seen this all day.”

Dmitri smiles and chuckles, “Vincent you can barely see them, I highly doubt they would notice.”

“Dmitri, the media would go batshit if I had hickies in an interview!”

Dmitri swills the spoon around in the soup before turning towards Vincent, “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

Last night, probably one of the first where he was both sober and relaxed. Dmitri had showered him in deep kisses. The two of them practically laughed themselves to sleep that night. They were so close yesterday.

Vincent had felt so. damned. cherished.

“Yeah,” Vincent pouts slightly while he leans into Dmitri, “I didn’t but I did this morning.”

Dmitri laughs, his chest rumbling against Vincent. His finger rests on Vincent’s hips and drums on his belt.

Vincent squints up at Dmitri, “If we get caught because of stuff like that I’m going to wring your neck.”

Dmitri leans down and places a soft kiss on his curls. His breath brushes across the strands and Vincent’s muscles relax. “I would love to see you try, cariño.”

The oven buzzes and interrupts their little moment.

“There’s the bread.”

-

Dmitri and Vincent sit out on his back porch, eating chicken and rice soup and just enjoying the crisp fall air.

“Can I ask you for advice?” Vincent says as he dips some of the bread into the broth.

Dmitri nods and leans in, “Always.”

Vincent rests his head back on the back of the seat, “Let’s say someone approached you and asked you to help them find someone. This someone has been missing for years but you’ve known their whereabouts for a while now. You want to reconnect them but you’re just not sure about what said ‘missing’ person would think? But you also don’t want to just completely cut of the person who asked for your help”

“Ask them,” Dmitri answers as he sips at his broth, “I’d just ask because they may not want to. They could have been trying to leave a difficult situation and don’t want to approach those who could have harmed them.”

Vincent sighs and tries to melt back into his porch cushions, “But what if he tells me not to talk to her at all, how am I supposed to explain that to her?”

“Improv,” Dmitri shrugs, “Lie.”

“Lie to someone who’s looking for her family?” Vincent blinks, “Isn’t that just cruel.”

“How do you know that she’s looking for them to be kind?”

Vincent pauses and lets his eyes wander upwards towards the dusk sky. The sky matches the color of the bottoms of the trees. The reds and oranges ripple above him and a sinking feeling eats in his gut.

“I don’t.”

Dmitri takes a final sip of his soup and gives Vincent a gentle smile, “Just ask them first, they might just wanna meet her and do it themselves. All else fails, just give them her contact information.”

I don’t think Kauri will. “Alright, okay.”

-

Vincent stands at the door to the safehouse. The sounds of the town around him drape the porch in waves of white noise, masking the sounds from within. Reluctantly, he raises his hand to knock on the wooden door frame. His knuckles barely tap it before two sets of locks are unlocked and Kauri opens the door.

They make eye contact and Vincent watches Kauri’s expression shift.

“Make this quick, I have stuff to do.”

Kauri lets Vincent step inside the safehouse. The air of the interior feels heavier than before, solidified by the sound of the deadbolt locking.

“I’m so-”

“If the words I’m sorry leave your mouth at anypoint, I’m gone,” Kauri says as he walks over to the kitchen, “Just get this over with.”

Vincent follows in his footsteps, glancing over at Jake who lays asleep on the pull-out couch. The makeshift IV step sits on the table next to him, out of use.

Remind me to send Nat money over to cover that.

Kauri places his hands on the counter behind him and shifts his weight into it. Crossing his arms out in front of his chest, he looks up over at AJke before returning his gaze to Vincent.

He looks exhausted.

“How has-”

Kauri raises his hand and presses his fingers together, making a “close your mouth” gesture, “Cut to the chase, I have errands to run today.”

“Alright then. A few days ago I was approached by a woman named Keira Harker who asked for my help in finding her brother, Liam Harker, who was taken by WRU. She said that she thinks the person he was sent to was Owen Grant and, now since Carlotta is no longer alive, she can try and find him without her getting in the way,” Vincent says, leaning his weight into the kitchen table, “She gave me her contact information and asked me to help her in finding-”

Kauri spins around and opens the cabinet behind him. Pulling out a white bottle, he sets it down on the counter and mutters, “So she’s looking for me?”

“Yes.”

“What else did you say?” Kauri asks as he pours himself a glass of water, “Did you tell her where the safehouse is? If you did I swear Vincent I’m-”

It’s Vincent’s turn to interrupt, “No, I didn’t say anything. All I said is that I would keep in touch.”

“Good,” Kauri says as he pours two pills out of the bottle and into his hand, “Cheers.” Kauri tosses the pills into his mouth and tilts the glass of water towards Vincent before drinking.

“What are you doing?” Vincent asks, tugging some at the sleeves of another turtleneck.”

“Migraine meds,” Kauri answers, pouring the rest into the sink, “I get them when I hear Liam Harker.” Just like clockwork, Kauri winces and rubs his temple, “Just something else to deal with.”

“I’m sor-”

“I will leave until Nat gets back.”

Vincent purses his lips and watches Kauri walk over to the fridge. The air stills around them in the way the air in a freezer is still. Something hangs over the room, could be the tension, could be the unease, could be the new presence in their lives, Vincent can’t tell.

“I have her contact information if you want it,” Vincent speaks, trying to shoo away the stillness, “On your time.”

Kauri pauses mid-reach. He rests his forehead against the fridge handle and says, “I- maybe later. I have far too much on my plate right now, running to the safehouse almost by myself. Nats with Jameson at her house, Jake is still recovering, the whole issue with Chris and Laken, the Oly- I just can’t take on something else right now.”

“I get it,” Vincent nods, shifting his weight onto his back foot, “I’ll keep it if you want it when all of this blows over. But, if she does try to press me for information-”

“Pretend you have no idea who me, Nat, and Jake are,” Kauri answers while pulling out a plastic pitcher of what smells like cold brew, “If I ever decide to contact her I’ll deal with it, okay? I’m just not ready or have the time right now.”

Vincent leans back on one foot to try and see the clock on the wall, “Um. what time is Nat supposed to get here, we have money stuff I have to talk to her about.”

“Around four,” Kauri answer while pouring himself coffee.

The sound of the deadbolt unclicking sounds softly crosses the room. Kauri barely glances over his shoulder.

“Is Nat back already?” Vincent asks as he tries to see the door.

“Nope,” Kauri says, popping the p. “Just Chris.”

“I- I’m back and I have Laken,” Chris beams as he dashes past with Laken in hand, “Oh hi Vince.”

Vincent gives Chris a small wave, “Hi Chris.”

“Wait- is that Vinc-”

But Chris has already whisked Laken away before they could get the last words out. Vincent follows them with his eyes for a moment before looking back at Kauri.

Kauri looks relieved. A tired smile adorns his face as he takes a sip of the cold brew.

Vincent doesn’t ask, he puts enough of the dots together to know something just fixed itself. Good for them.

“Anywho,” Kauri chuckles, looking back over at Vincent, “A turtleneck won’t hide your sins Vincy.”

“Shit, how obvious has it been?!” Vincent panics and readjusts the hem of his shirt.

“I was just joking...” Kauri’s smile deepens as the mischief returns to his face. He gives Vincent a look over and sing-songs, “...So, what’s Dmitri like?”

“We just kissed Kauri!”

“Sure, and I just kiss Jake.”

“Kauri!”

[oftenderweapons]

White Wine + Spinach & Artichoke Dip + Chef’s Choice!!

Pairing: Seokjin x reader (nicknamed Angel)

Wordcount: 2.2k

Genre: drabble for Bangtan Bistro (details here); smut; established relationship

Rating: 18+

Tonight we’re serving

- White wine: Kim Seokjin

- Spinach and Artichoke Dip: smut

- Chef’s choice (Italian Wedding Soup — “Your waiter accidentally spilled a drink on you and keeps apologising profusely, even though you accepted his apology the first time he said it”)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: roleplay (waiter!Seokjin customer!yn), swearing, alcohol consumption, slightly dommy reader, sort of body shots (?) kinda (?), breast worship, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected oral sex (use dental dams ffs!!!). Serious talk here. Angel does a potentially stupid thing: alcohol, sugars and bacteria (all naturally contained in wine) can seriously upset your vagina (more precisely your pH and the bacteria that keep it healthy). Two important things to do if you happen to be dumb enough to imitate her: 1. Pee afterwards (after masturbating, after oral sex or penetrative sex, that’s good anytime you have some action down there) 2. Wash your vulva (the outside of your intimate parts and NOT the inside) with fresh water and specific soap. Sorry for the sex ed note, but I’m a strong advocate for educational smut. 

On a side note, since the word count is tight and I’m not ready to start some characters with a couple lines, I’ll casually put this into a Seokjin x Angel fic (check out Seokjin’s idol!AU masterlist — sksksk sorry for the self promo 😉)

Crediting my (unfaithful) fiancée @joheunsaram for beta reading (SHE LOCKED HERSELF OUT OF HER OLD BLOG, AND SHE’S BUILDING HER NEW ONE, PLEASE GO TAKE A LOOK SHE OWNS THE MOST ADORABLE JOONIE FIC)

Enjoy 💜✨

Sitting at your dinner table felt especially difficult tonight. Maybe because you were hyper aware of the white silk slip you were wearing, and that you had casually found it on top of your bed inside a refined cardboard box with a sophisticated golden swirl on the lid.

“Wear me to get undressed,” the small note inside read, your guts instantly fluttering at the thought. Seokjin’s handwriting spelled nothing but care and attention to detail. You knew his rushed writing and his careful calligraphy. From this detail alone you could tell he had plans. Elaborated ones.

Sitting at the table, you saw him suddenly emerge from the kitchen, in formal slacks and a white shirt, hair swept back, leaving his gorgeous forehead all there for you to see. “Good evening, miss. I’m pleased to see you have returned to our restaurant. I will be your personal waitperson for your stay. Here to serve all your cravings.” He smiled kindly, trying not to stare at your cleavage, gloriously exposed by the low neckline of the slip. The cream colour looked amazing on you. He was almost sorry for what he was about to do.

“Oh, that’s so kind of you. This restaurant does indeed have the best service.” You looked up at him with a polite smile. “And the cuisine is unrivalled.”

Of course it was. He was the chef. Although he liked playing a role, he didn’t like faking the food. He always looked it up very carefully. He had his cookbooks. And he had received a new one for his birthday. You had a vague idea of who might have gifted it.

“Would you like to try the chef’s special for the night? I am sure you will be absolutely surprised by it. And I mean in a positive way, of course.” He said, standing with his hands behind his back, which made his whole chest look broader. The two loose buttons at the top of his shirt were forming a small, inviting triangle of smooth skin, glistening under the kitchen lights.

“I’d love to try that. I am sure the chef knows what I like. He’ll sweep me off my feet.”

He looked at the floor with a small bow. “You will be entirely pleased, from appetizers to dessert.” He looked at you from under his lashes. “I will make it my personal goal.”

“Then, we shall begin.” Seokjin exited the room before coming back with a small basket of mixed bread, breadsticks and small bites of toasted bread. “I recommend a fresh, bubbly white wine. A lovely Pinot Gris from Neuchâtel. Fresh, well structured, flowery and on the dryer side. It will mix well with the vegetable-based menu of the night.”

You nodded, very interested — actually interested. Seokjin could play any part he wanted with proper research and dedication. He could probably impersonate a surgeon or an astronaut if he put his mind on it.

“Thank you for the detailed recommendation.” You smiled politely, watching as he opened the bottle and poured just one finger of wine in your glass.

You took a sip and nodded in approval. It was really something different. Seokjin had truly opened a new world to you, made up of International cuisines and niche wines, and finding pleasure in something as basic and necessary as eating and drinking. You doubted you could ever go back to your frugal meals after discovering all the tastes and textures he had introduced you to.

Like the Artichoke dip with scrumptious bacon crumbles on top you had eaten for appetizer. And the mushroom ravioli you had for your main course. Now you were staring at your empty glass, feeling slightly sorry at Seokjin, standing beside you and watching you eat. “May I have more wine, please?” You asked, looking at him sweetly.

With a courteous nod, he moved closer, taking hold of the bottle standing in the cooling bucket right beside you.

You didn’t pay much attention as he accidentally lost balance of the bottle and let his arm twist clumsily, the wine spilling on the front of your silk slip.

It was cold. Very. Especially since it had been cooling in iced water for a solid half hour. And it had been chilling in the fridge before that.

Your nipples hardened immediately, almost as quickly as apologies began to bloom from Seokjin’s lips. “I am so sorry, miss. This is unforgivable. I apologise with my whole being, this is unacceptable—”

You hid your smile quickly as you saw him grab a handkerchief and try to fix the damage, getting on his knees and trying to dab the liquid away. “It’s okay, it can happen. You must have been very tired and hungry.” You tried to sound calm, kind and compassionate, while all you wanted to do was grin and undo his belt.

“I am wholeheartedly sorry, miss, your poor dress, this is unforgivable.”

You tried to stay within your role as he pressed the kerchief to your arm, drying up the liquid.

“Stop apologising, dear, you’re already forgiven.” You said, looking down at him and noticing how his eyes stayed glued to your nipples. “Or maybe you would prefer earning my forgiveness?”

He nodded, averting his gaze and blushing.

You bit your lip at his rosy cheeks, asking yourself how he could reach such a level of impersonation.

“Maybe you could clean me up.” You suggested, pressing two fingers under his chin and making him look at you. “But it would be such a shame to dry it up when you could get a taste of how fine this wine is— and what a delicacy you have been serving all night.”

He looked at you, wide eyed, almost innocent as you took his hand and made him cup the cold, soaked silk covering your left breast. “Come on, you can take a lick, darling. Don’t hesitate.” You encouraged him, leaning forward, the naked skin just above the neckline meeting his gaze with cool, flowery-scented pearls of wine running down the curve of your breast and slowly soaking your dress.

Not entirely convinced, he shyly let the tip of his tongue peek from his parted lips, giving the tiniest lick to the fabric, acting oblivious to the way your skin sizzled at the thought of being met by his sensual touch.

He gave one more lick, collecting the liquid on the fabric that stuck to your skin and left no room for modesty, exposing even the usually hidden dark spots of your moles.

“You need to suck or you won’t get the real taste.” You said, his lips disappearing into his mouth as he tried to hide a smile. You were glad you still managed to get him out of character every now and then. Though that was rare. He is a professional, after all.

He moved closer to your skin, the wet kerchief plopping to the floor as his hand landed on your knee. You turned toward him, giving him more access as he stood on his knees and licked at the skin over your breastbone, looking into your eyes as the other hand lowered the top of your dress so that he could dip his tongue on the crevasse of your breasts. He slurped up the liquid lewdly, clicking his tongue. “Very fresh. Flowery, as the seller promised it to be. Absolutely delicious.” He grinned. “Perfect to pair off with more delicate meats.” He replied expertly, brow creased in acknowledgement as he explained. “Maybe we could try more delicate cuts.” He hinted before diving for your nipple, sucking it in his mouth from over the fabric, the stark contrast between the cold feel of the fabric and the hot saliva mixing up with the wine. The hand on your knee slid toward your thigh, gripping the soft flesh and spreading your legs open as the other hand came to help.

There was no more hiding at this point.

“Miss?” He called once his hand reached your outer hip, searching for the thong supposed to match the slip.

“Yes, dear?”

“Something’s missing.” He said, giving you a dirty look.

“I guess I’ll be the one who needs to apologise, after all.” You said coquettishly while he licked your other breast, sucking and biting to get as much wine as possible.

You knew there was a low chance of you being bruised or marked the day after — silk is a sturdy fabric after all — but the idea of finding such signs of passion on your skin got you impatient. “Maybe you could have a taste of the finest cut. It must be so frustrating watching people eat the delicacies and leave you there, standing.”

He nodded with a sorry look in his eyes before nuzzling his face against your breasts. “May I, miss?” He requested, so handsome and kind.

“Of course, darling.”

With a breathy chuckle, he parted your legs even farther apart, tugging the skirt up and finding your naked, wet cunt right before his hungry eyes. “A fine cut indeed, miss.”

“All yours to eat,” you purred, the low, sultry tone turning into a light moan as you felt his finger enter you.

“Creamy.” He murmured, drawing circles against your g-spot before lowering his face and taking a quick sniff. “The aromatic complex is overall round and well built.” He destroyed you by simply adding a slow, wide lick, parting from you and clicking his tongue a few times. “Salty… with just the right amount of sour. Deeply inviting. Aphrodisiac to say the least.” He growled between your labia. “I will gladly feast on it, miss.”

You smiled. “All you need to do is get started already.”

He did. He treacherously added one more finger, acting completely casual as he slipped two digits inside you and started teasing your g spot, rubbing it in a way that let you know he intended to make you explode in a matter of five minutes at worst, two at best.

To top it all off, his tongue swirled against your folds, giving neat, flat strokes from your hole to your clit.

You stared at the wine, knowing precisely that you shouldn’t do that, and that you were risking it. Nevertheless, he might call you Angel all he wants but he knew your true nature and you had hidden it for way too long.

With a devilish smirk, you stretched out your arm to the table, grabbing the bottle before holding his head in place, squealing once you felt his fingers go deeper as you scooted your ass forward, leaning back and transforming your torso in an awfully slippery slope.

Seokjin stared as you bunched the slip up, exposing your breasts to the chilly air, rubbing the freezing glass of the bottle against your nipples — one at a time — moaning once Jin started moving his fingers faster inside you.

As he hummed and you felt your edge crumble, you pressed the rim of the bottle to your navel and tipped the bottle downwards, a small rivulet running down all the way to your pelvis, while also getting caught on the crease of your belly and dribbling along your sides. The cold sensation gave you a chill that mixed with the fiery hot flame in your guts and made you lose your mind completely.

Seokjin was completely drowning in the sight and feel and sounds of you. You were giving small breaths that almost turned in whines when you exhaled too hard and too quick, your hips were undulating right against his tongue and his nose was perfectly slotted between your folds and his hand. He felt your high peak, your muscles pulsating as the cold liquid met his tongue, his mouth confidently switching to a sucking motion now that he knew you were turning more sensitive and he had to let your clit go. What he didn’t let go of was your g spot, devotedly worshipped by his soft fingertips while he focused on sipping all the wine away. There was maybe the equivalent of two glasses left inside the bottle, so he let you execute your foolish plan without worry.

Your eyes opened slowly as the wine stopped flowing, his fingers slowing down as your hand met his wrist.

You were ecstatic and aroused at the same time, especially once Jin cleaned his face with the back of his hand, eyes focused on yours.

“My favourite meal.” He murmured, licking his lips, placing his hands around your waist as he got back on his feet, kissing your left nipple, and then your right one on his way up.

“Let me clean up here. Get in the shower.” He murmured gently. “You owe me some apologies, am I right?” He provoked, dangerous warning lining his voice.

You weren’t in control anymore. “Yes, sir.”

[muwur]

haikyuu x otome: masterlist | rules

prologue

» synopsis:   a haikyuu x reader au where you, the player, are bound for university in a metropolis several hours away from home. hope and excitement are replaced with dread as you come to realize that juggling life as a student and a part-time employee takes a toll. from demanding classes to a ruthless manager, life just can’t seem to give you a break. that is, until you meet a certain someone who reminds you how to live and follow your dreams. somehow, when you’re with them, time stands still. maybe things are finally starting to look up. if only you could stay in those moments for just a little longer.

» gn reader

» ngl came out longer than i expected but thats ok LMAO,, them otome intros be unnecessarily long too mb; 3.1k words

» note: if u rllyy want u can kinda skip or just skim this, the gist is that you move in n meet like 3 ppl LOL

The train hummed as it zoomed through the landscape, leaving behind the familiar people, sights, sounds, and smells. Yawning, you rubbed your nap away from weary eyes and peered out the window. Just hours ago you had waved a bittersweet farewell to your town, friends, and family, who woke at the crack of dawn to send you off with tight hugs and teary-eyed wishes of good luck. 

Your heart lurched at the memory. You’d miss them. In an effort to part happily, you promised to come back for the holidays, call often, and hook your friends up with any cute people you just knew would match them. Glancing down at your phone, you smiled at the excited text messages from your friends. Your fingers tapped away at the keyboard in response.

‘Just woke up from my nap. I think I’m here!’

Outside, buildings scraped the clouds and their windows shined in the light of the afternoon sun. Cars honked, bikes swerved, crowds bustled. On one end of the block, a man on a ladder was painting a sign for his store, while on the other end , a street performer danced energetically in her black shoes. Smoke emitted from a food vendor’s stand, where a man skillfully flipped some meat and vegetables on a stove, even throwing his spatula into the air to entertain his customers. The city was alive. 

Stepping off the train, you clutched your belongings and felt a sudden rush of exhilaration. You were finally here. You intended to take a deep breath, in order to take in your first taste of this city’s air, only to stop halfway in a short hacking fit to expel train exhaust from your lungs. 

‘That was pleasant,’ you grumbled to yourself, still coughing as you made your way off the platform towards the street. Luckily, Lyft existed. And it was cheaper here! Within minutes of your order, a black Toyota pulled up in front of you. The driver smiled and stepped out of the car, their wavy brown hair bouncing against their shoulders. “Let me help you with those,” they smiled as they offered to take your bags and put them in the trunk. 

“Oh, thank you so much!” What a kind person, you thought as you opened the backseat of the car. Ooh.

On second thought, maybe you were too optimistic. Who knew a 10 minute ride could feel so long? It seemed at least twice that much when you were squished in the backseat with some handsy couple. Just your luck, someone was already occupying the passenger seat. Oh well, a minor inconvenience in the name of saving money. All you could do was shift closer to the door, fix your gaze outside the window, and try to ignore the strange purrs coming from your seatmates. A familiar building caught your eye and you let out a sigh of relief when the car came to a stop. You thanked your driver as you stepped out and pulled your bags out of the trunk. Looking back and forth from your phone to the townhouse before you, you had to admit the real thing looked a little more worn down than how it was advertised, but you couldn’t blame them. I mean, your pictures on instagram aren’t exactly the everyday representation of yourself, either.

Aged wood creaked as you hoisted your bags up the front steps. You tapped  your knuckles three times against the brown door and rang the buzzer to the landlord’s office. 

“Hello? Miss Q?” you asked, hoping the landlord you’ve been contacting for the last two months would answer. “It’s me, y/n, I let you know I’d be coming in today.”

No answer. 15 minutes, a few text messages, and a phone call later, still no response. You groaned. Were you at the right place? Looking back at the address of the building and your location, you were sure this was it. Did Miss Q happen to be out? Or was she napping and just happened to be a heavy sleeper? Maybe her phone died. Whatever the reason, you were stuck out here for the meantime. Shrugging it off, you took a seat on a dusty patio chair and started to scroll mindlessly through your phone to pass the time. Hopefully she’d reply soon. 

The screech of a vehicle coming to a stop caught your ear. You looked up to see that the mover’s van you ordered pulled up across the street. Well, at least your things arrived. You stood up and waved to the man driving the vehicle. Making your way to greet and thank him, you helped him unload your things and set them down on the free space in front of the complex, making sure to keep the pathways clear. Placing down the last of the things onto the ground, you wiped the sweat off your brow, tipped the man, and watched him leave.

20 minutes of that and still you remained stuck outside. The late summer sun was beginning to get unbearably warm. Sitting amongst your pile of things, you couldn’t help but groan inwardly at the thought of all the unpacking you had to do. On top of that, classes begin in a week, and you needed to search for a job as soon as possible to help pay the bills. 

“Erm, hello? Are you y/n l/n, by any chance?” a gentle voice asked.

Lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice anyone had approached you. He was a fairly tall boy with dark hair half pulled back into a messy bun. Freckles adorned his face, complemented by his soft brown eyes and warm smile. He wore a pair of white shoes, slightly distressed lightwash jeans that were rolled up at the bottom, and a loose fitting, olive button up half tucked into his jeans. In his arms was a brown paper bag with a loaf of bread peeking out. 

(I STAN LONG HAIRED/HAIRBUN YAMS SO HARD SO HE’S GONNA HAVE IT OK)

“Yeah, I am! Do you live here?” you responded eagerly, getting up to your feet.

He nodded with a smile. “I do! Apparently Miss Q’s sick and staying at her daughter’s place for now, so her daughter messaged me to help you get settled in. Let me put these groceries away and get your key.”

He disappeared into the townhouse, then returned a few moments later with a key dangling between his fingers. “Miss Q needs a better hiding spot for her spare office key. The plant pot is way too obvious. Anyways, I can show you to your room, now. I’ll help you carry your things up,” he offered.

“That would be great! Thanks again for all your help, otherwise I’d probably have been stuck out here all night,” you said, gently handing him a box to carry.

“Y-Yeah, no problem! Though, Tsukki might’ve let you in if he saw you out here, too. Oh, and my name’s Tadashi Yamaguchi, by the way. Some people call me Yams. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Yams,” you huffed in amusement at his cute nickname. “Call me y/n.” Carrying some boxes, you followed Yamaguchi into the building. Luckily you were on the first floor, second door on the lefthand side. He fumbled with the key, searching for the keyhole before turning the unlocked knob and opening the door. 

Much like the outside, the interior of the place was also outdated. You both stood in front of the quaint living area connected to the kitchen. In the back, you could see the hallway leading to the bathroom and your single bedroom. The plain, white walls of the room were illuminated by daylight coming in from the windows on the rightmost wall. You could overlook the worn couch and scuffed dining table, though, considering the place was fully furnished and leased at a great price. Miss Q had even told you both the kitchen and bathroom had actually been remodeled recently. 

Going back and forth to take your belongings inside, you thought to get to know your new neighbor. “So, how long have you lived here?”

He pursed his lips in thought and stacked the box he was carrying on top of another one. “Mm, only since the start of summer, actually. My friend and I came here to start university, and one of his favorite museums also happens to be in this city. We come from about 2 hours north of here, though. What about you?”

You set down a particularly heavy bag onto the floor with a grunt. “I’m from a place several hours west of here. I came here for school, too! Are you going to Central University, by any chance?”

“Yeah, I am!” he responded with pleasant surprise and wide eyes. “I guess we’ll be seeing each other on campus, too. Remind me to show you the closest bus stop you can take to get there.” A soft smile formed on his lips.

After finally taking in all your belongings, you collapsed onto the couch in exhaustion. Your eyes flickered over to the brunette, whose chuckle you could hear from across the room. “Long day?” he asked, settling into a spot next to you. 

Groaning, you replied, “I’ve been up since 5 am to do some last minute packing and catch my train.”

“Yikes. Sounds early.”

“Tell me about it.”

A comfortable silence hung in the air for a few seconds. Curious, he piped up with another question. “So, what made you decide to move all the way out here?”

“Hmm,” you began. “Well, I wanted to settle into a new, unknown place, y’know? Explore the world a little more and see what it’s like out here. Be on my own for the first time.”

Yamaguchi nodded thoughtfully in understanding. “I get you. My best friend and I kinda came here for the same reasons. We wanted to expand our worlds a bit. I’ve only been here a few months, and already so much has happened. You’ll definitely get to explore and experience a lot in this city. Things are always busy around here...” he trailed off, checking a notification on his phone that just dinged with a new message. His brown gaze flickered back to you. “Ooh, would you like to have a drink with my friend and I at my place? I live in the room right across from here. You seem like you need a break.”

You could feel your lips curve upwards. “I’d really enjoy that, actually.”

Thus you found yourself in your new friend’s apartment, sinking comfortably into his black beanbag chair, a bottle of cold lemonade in your hand. Taking another refreshing swig, your eyes traveled over to the blonde seated next to Yams on their tan sofa. You could hardly feel welcome when the first words that came out of his mouth after seeing you was a disgruntled “you brought someone here?”, which made Yamaguchi smack the back of his friend’s head.

“They’re our new neighbor, Tsukki! Be more welcoming,” he chided with a roll of his eyes. “Y/n, this is Kei Tsukishima. Tsukki, this is y/n.”

He rubbed the back of his head and glared at Yamaguchi. The blonde sighed, extending a hand out towards you. “Tsukishima. Nice to meet you, I guess.”

“Erm,” you tried to smile, “nice to meet you, too, Tsukishima. Just call me y/n.”

‘How is someone as sweet as Yams best friends with this dude?’

He couldn’t be all bad, you reasoned. Maybe he was just having a bad day,,, or always having a bad day. Regardless, even if your first impression was kinda substandard and underwhelming, you hoped you’d get along. He seemed like the type to need to get to know someone before warming up to them. 

You set the empty bottle atop their maple coffee table. Two hours had creeped by, consisting mostly of lighthearted exchanges between you and Yamaguchi, with a brief, occasional response from Tsukishima. He spent most of the time flipping through the pages of a novel and lightly tapping its hardcover to the beat of whatever he was listening to on his headphones. Yamaguchi suggested getting delivery from a Thai place he liked a few blocks away, and even insisted on covering the cost for you. 

“No, you really don’t have to..! I appreciate the offer, though,” you pleaded.

He shook his head, smiling as he tapped away at postmates on his phone. “Don’t worry about it.” He logged in both your orders and nudged Tsukishima with his elbow. “What do you want?”

Pushing up his glasses, Tsukishima leaned over to look at his friend’s phone screen. A few moments passed before he pulled away and said, “Pad Kee Mao sounds good.”

30 minutes later and there was a ring at the front door. A voice on the buzzer sounded. “I have a delivery for, uh.. Tadashi!” 

“Looks like they’re here,” Yamaguchi said as he stood up. You followed him out to the main entrance. Behind the door was a boy with tousled orange hair and bright brown eyes, carrying a plastic bag filled with takeout boxes. “Here you go!” he exclaimed as he handed you the order. He peered at the brunette beside you, his face scrunching in thought before lightening up with clarity. “Hey, you were with the guy I crashed into the other day! I-Is he okay by the way? Sorry, I was in a really big rush...!”

Eyebrows shooting up in surprise and eyes widening with familiarity, Yamaguchi nodded, “Oh yeah, I remember that! Don’t worry, he’s alright, just bitter and annoyed. I’m glad you seem to be okay, as well.” 

The redhead scratched the back of his neck sheepishly and looked down at his scuffed shoes. “Ah, thanks! Um, is he around? I’d like to apologize for yesterday...”

Yamaguchi smiled. “I’ll go grab him,” he said briefly before heading back to his apartment. 

The delivery boy sighed with relief. “Man, I felt really bad about that yesterday...” he muttered. He looked back up, his eyes brightening when they met yours. “My name’s Shoyo Hinata! People usually call me Hinata.”

“I’m y/n, it’s nice to meet you,” you smiled, offering your hand. He shook hands with you a bit too vigorously, and you nearly dropped the food held in your other arm. “Are you new around here?” he asked.

“Hah, is it that obvious?” you joked.

“Nahh, just a wild guess. You’re just really refreshing, is all! Most of the people I meet seem burnt out, but I don’t blame them. We’ve all got busy lives. Talking to you is nice, though! I haven’t learned any customer’s names, well, since I started working! Then again, it’s only been two months... Anyways, where you from? I was born and raised here.”

If anything, you thought Hinata was the refreshing one. A tad talkative, but refreshing nonetheless. He effused a radiance that matched his vivid hair. “I’m from *insert place here*, a few hours west of here. I just arrived today!”

Before he could give you a response, however, you both heard footsteps approaching. You could recognize Tsukishima’s voice muttering a low “let’s get this over with” from behind you. Now standing at the doorframe, the blonde towered over Hinata. His countenance displayed obvious annoyance. However, he maintained his composure, pressed his finger against the bridge of his nose, and sighed out, “What do you want?”

Hinata bowed. “I’m sorry I crashed into you with my bike the other day! I was rushing to volleyball practice and I wasn’t looking. It was my fault.”

Eyes narrowing, Tsukishima allowed several moments of silence to achingly pass before letting out a small huff. “Fine. Apology accepted.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turned around to return to his room. “Watch where you’re going next time, idiot. You’d better hope you don’t run into me again.” A door shut.

‘That was quick.’

Hinata looked up to watch him leave and straightened his form again. Lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed, he crossed his arms across his chest. “Geez, what’s his deal?” Yamaguchi cast him an apologetic look. “Ah, he’s just like that. He appreciates the gesture, though.” 

A high-pitched ding caught your attention. “Ah, I gotta go make another delivery! It was nice to meet you all!” 

Quickly grabbing a bill out of your pocket, you stopped Hinata mid-step. “Wait! Here, please take this. Thanks for the food!”

He accepted the tip from your hands, looking back and forth between you and the money. “Wow, thank you so much! I really hope to see you around. Have a great night!” With a final smile and wave, he bounded off the porch steps towards his bike, hopped on, then disappeared down the street. 

After having dinner and exchanging contact information with Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, you thanked them for having you over and retired back to your room. Drained, you only had enough energy to make up your bed and unpack your bathroom essentials. You trudged into the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, weariness was evident in your dull gaze. ‘Ugh, I can’t wait to sleep,’ you thought as you turned the sink on. The cool water felt refreshing against your skin and livened your senses. You brushed your teeth before retreating to your bedroom and changing into a comfier pair of clothes. 

You checked the time on your phone. How was it only 11 PM? The darkness, coupled with your exhaustion, made it seem at least three hours ahead. You plugged the phone in to charge and set it down on the bedside table. ‘No need to set an alarm,’ you thought, ‘I just wanna sleep.’ 

You took a few minutes to stare at the dark ceiling overhead, thinking about all the new changes coming your way.  New faces, cool food, and exciting places. Hopefully you had some time these first few weeks to explore and familiarize yourself with the city. Excitement mixed with a prick of anxiety as you thought about how you could manage on your own. However, you had faith in your independence. You would be okay. Besides, there were friendly people out here like Yamaguchi, Hinata, and maybe Tsukishima who you could trust if you ever needed help.

It didn’t take long for you to drift off into a deep slumber. You lazily woke up the following morning, yawning with outstretched arms. ‘That was the best sleep I’ve had in ages,’ you thought as you sat up. It was half an hour before noon. The sun shone brightly through your windows, whose curtains were left undrawn. ‘Surprised that the light didn’t wake me up sooner.’ A loud honk made you jump in your seat. ‘Or the noise.’

You drew your legs over the side of the bed and took in the state of your room. Surrounded by stacked boxes and luggage, you were reminded what you came here for. Anticipation collected in your chest. This was the start of the life you’ve been waiting for the past few years. 

‘We’re gonna make the best of this, y/n.’

[bangtanoneshotsx]

Written in Icing-Yoongi

There was a local bakery down the street from your apartment. Along with their bread and pastries, they also made custom cakes—nothing extravagant, just a round a square cake with your message of choice. Somehow the simple cake with piped writing became pinnacle in your relationship with Yoongi.

   “Where’d you get the cake from?” Yoongi asked, using his fork to take another piece from his small slice. 

   “The neighbours gave it to me to welcome me to the building.” As Yoongi nodded, his cheeks swelled with cake, frosting covering his bottom lip. 

   “That’s nice, what’s he like?” Rolling your eyes, you took a seat next to him on the sofa, bringing your own plate.

   “She’s lovely.” Blushing, Yoongi shrugged, turning to find the television remote to turn on the TV. 

   Yoongi was your best friend. You had known each other since you were in diapers due to your fathers being best friends. Your fathers had always commented on how you two would get married. When you were younger, of course, that disgusted you, but recently the idea didn’t seem so bad. Ever since the last dance as a high school student, you thought there might be something more between the two of you. Something unspoken. 

You sat on the brick wall in your prom dress, your legs swinging as they ached from wearing heels for four hours. 

   “Thought I’d find you here,” Yoongi spoke, announcing himself. His shirt was now mainly undone, his hair pushed back with sweat as his tie lay sprawled across his chest. 

   “Yeah, I just needed some fresh air.”

   “It is boiling in there.” There, was the school hall where your prom was located. The senior year group was split in between the people socialising and dancing in the hall and the people grabbing a snack in the cafeteria. You had come with Yoongi, though you were quickly separated when Yoongi’s friend, Hoseok, grabbed him, pulling him to the photo booth your high school rented for the night. 

   “I know, it’s slightly cooler in the cafeteria but not much. You okay?” You gave a soft sigh, your shoulders dropping. 

   “Yeah, I’m just feeling sentimental I guess.”

   “Why?”

   “We’ve spent so many years together, but most of it was at school. I guess I’ll miss having you around.”

   “Hey!” Yoongi exclaimed, pushing you slightly. “What makes you think you can get rid of me?” Giggling, another sigh escaped you.

   “I should’ve known I wouldn’t be so lucky.” Sticking out his tongue, Yoongi chuckled.     

   “You know I’ll always stay with you. I love you, Y/N.” Your heart pounded at the three words though you knew they were meant platonically. Silence covered the two of you for a few minutes as you looked at each other. Your heart was the only thing you could hear as you swore you could see Yoongi’s cheeks flush red.

   “I love you two Yoongi.” Yoongi grinned, jumping off of the brick wall. Sticking his hand out, he did a slight bow.

   “Now, I think you promised me a dance.” With a breathy laugh, you took his hand, jumping down off of the wall and walking back inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoongi had been distant recently, busier than usual. While you were worried about his health, you knew it was nothing unusual. After university, he had gotten a job at a local studio as a producer. This meant that late nights and texts from you, making sure he was still alive became a regular thing. However, recently it had become more extreme, with him not even bothering to reply to your texts. Thankfully, tonight was your movie night, something you knew Yoongi wouldn’t miss. 

True enough, at seven on the dot, your doorbell rang. You opened the door to find Yoongi, holding a cake box that wore the logo of the bakery down the street.

   “What’s the occasion?” Red flushed to Yoongi’s cheeks as he shrugged. 

   “Celebrating hopefully.” With a raised eyebrow, you watched as he placed the white box on the round wooden table in your kitchen. With a sigh, he backed up, gesturing you forward.

   “Well, do you want to open it?” Slowly, you took a step forward, confusion still flooding your veins. With a pop, the lid became unstuck, lifting slightly until you pushed it all the way. A gasp left you as you read the piped writing. “Will you go on a date with me?” 

   “Yoongi?” You asked hesitantly, turning to face your nervous best friend. He wore a thin smile, his ears matching his red cheeks. 

   “Well?” A laugh escaped you as you brought him into a hug.

   “Of course!” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a couple of months since Yoongi asked you out via cake. Things were going well, but you weren’t quite sure what the two of you were. You knew you loved him, but you didn’t know what his stance on the relationship was. That is until Yoongi knocked on your door, a familiar white box in his hand. With a quick kiss over the box, you stepped aside, you allowed him to enter your apartment, placing the box once more on the wooden table. Yoongi was less nervous this time, though you could tell there was still some doubt within him. 

       “You okay?” 

   “Yeah, just open the box please.” You smiled at Yoongi’s desperation, purposefully slowing down your actions until you heard a huff from him. Once again, he had used the cake to ask you a question. This time, written in pink icing was “Will you be my girlfriend?” You could feel tears at the brim of your eyes as you wrapped your arms around Yoongi’s neck, placing your lips softly on his.

   “Of course.” He could only grin, relief flooding through him, as his pounding heart stilled. The night was spent together on the sofa, date plans forgotten as you both ate too many slices of cake, neither of you wanting buttercream for at least a month. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your cheeks were stained with tears, your head pounding and your stomach full of ice cream. A couple days ago you and Yoongi had your first big fight. Big enough that it caused Yoongi to storm out the door. He hadn’t texted you, not since that night. You knew that you both probably said stuff that you didn’t mean, that you regretted, but it still hurt to see him leave like that. God knows, what your relationship was now, all you knew was that you needed him back. Needed to speak to him, to tell him that you loved him. That you still wanted to be with him. The fight was caused by his late nights at the studio, his tendency to forget date nights and important events. But you would work something out, you had to. With the way it hurt just now, you weren’t so sure you could take the pain if he permanently left.

In the middle of your romantic film marathon, your doorbell rang. With a sigh, you placed your half-empty carton of chocolate ice cream on the table in front of you. Sliding off the blanket you wore around your shoulders and got up. Trudging to the door, you gave a sniffle, quickly checking your reflection in the mirror in your hallway. Your cheeks and nose were red, your eyes puffy and bloodshot. You looked a mess, but honestly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. 

Opening your front door, you found nobody. Cursing whatever teenager decided that game was still fun, you looked down only to freeze. On your doormat sat a white cake box, the logo from the bakery proudly on the front. Stepping out into your hall slightly, you looked around only to find it empty. With a soft sigh, your heart aching you picked it up, bringing it to the wooden table in the kitchen.

  “I’m really sorry, I still love you.” You found a smile breaching your lips for the first time in days as you took your phone, dialling the familiar number. 

   “Yoongi.” You spoke out, your voice cracking. As he gave a soft hum, you could hear the emotion in his voice. “Do you wanna help me eat this cake someone left for me?” You could hear a sigh of relief. 

   “Sure.” He whispered out quietly, the doorbell ringing a few minutes later. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you moved into your shared apartment, you threw a housewarming party. For the first time, the cake from the bakery didn’t have a question written on it, just a simple floral decoration. You had now moved away from the bakery. However, Yoongi insisted on still buying from there, arguing it was an important piece in your relationship. You had been together for three years, you wouldn’t say it had been easy, but it was worth it. The arguments were worth it when you came home to him when he surprised you when you heard those three words like it was the first time. 

Slipping off your flats, you pulled your hair ties keeping your ponytail secure, letting your hair flow. Shouting into the apartment, you were only met with your white cat, who lazily came to investigate, a yawn and a judgmental stare sent your way.

   “Nice to see you too.” You muttered, petting her quickly before going to the second bedroom that you had turned into a studio. Finding no Yoongi you pulled out your phone, finding a text he must have sent you while you were driving, saying he was going to be late. 

He arrived only ten minutes after you, his hair slightly damp from the rain that had just started. A white box from the bakery was in his hands. Greeting him, you placed a peck on his lips, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

   “Am I missing anything?” Shaking his head, Yoongi let out a shaky breath. 

   “Can I tell you something?” Nodding, you could feel your heart start to race as you tried to figure out what was happening.

   “Y/N, you know I love you. I’ve loved you since we were kids. Thankfully, I finally got the courage to say something. We’ve been together for a few years, and it’s naturally the next step. I mean, that’s not why I’m doing it, I really want to, but I don’t know I thought it was the perfect time, and it might not be the best way or most romantic way to ask you but... Y/N, can you just open the box?” Yoongi cut off his rambling with a frustrated sigh, the tips of his ears red. Lifting the lid of the cake box, you stumbled backwards as you read the piped icing. “Will you marry me?” Turning to face Yoongi to check this was real, you found him with a nervous smile, holding out an open ring box.

   “Of course!” With your arms around him, your lips on his and a new ring on your finger, you couldn’t feel any happier. Who knew that a simple bakery in the corner of the street next to your cheap apartment would become so important?

[kim-lexie]

‘start up’: week-by-week playback

here is a week-by-week playback of events from ‘start up’ and my unfiltered feelings. hope you enjoy! if you want to see somewhat cohesive thoughts on ‘start up’ check out my official review. here :) 

*spoiler alert*

ep 1

ladies and gents it’s going to be a good one. i loved being able to see this backstory to lay all the groundwork for the future of the drama.

his story is devastating as a young individual unable to make his way into the world and then making a way to find it isn’t how he expected and lost a real thing he had with the relationship with the her grandmother. but the redemption when he goes to see her again.

her family becoming broken. her sister severing the relationship and chalking it up to being ‘oh i made the better choice’. and her father dying while getting her chicken and trying to get an investment to not let his daughter go hungry and to bring his family together.

to him making up a character that got her through hard times. and then trying to find him again. this is going to be great. and i know i’m going to be devastated bc she fell in love with the other man to begin with, and now she will see this new person.

soooooo much happened and i’m clearly not ready.

ep 2

why? why do we lie? we know nothing good will come of it. if anything this jipyeong is who she loves. but why lie? literally you can own up to it and start over boo.

disappointed in our sweet grandma for lying to dalmi for so long.

her sister is awful. and so is this ‘mother’.

this man just wanted to start up his start up but he was like nah don’t want to help you even though i need you. feel in love with the girl in the letters and showed up bc of the goodness of his heart. hope he doesn’t get lost in the fantasy of it.

their business, samsan tech, is going to be wild and great and he missed his opportunity.

ep 3

her mother saying she is the same as her dad not having a plan is so wack, and makes me want her to slap her.

aren’t you curious? why aren’t you asking why i am like this? because that is my concept the quiet good looking type. i can’t with him hahaha

i love that he asked about the music box. i wish it was really him that wrote the letters, because this will be heartbreaking when she finds out.

‘it wouldn’t be bad to sail off without a map even if we got lost, if it’s with you.’

this kid, dosan, is too funny.

i cannot believe her ‘father’ just throw her under the bus and had her oppa takes over the Korean branch of her company that she formed.

dang it. girl quits her job because he started his own company

they got first place. is that enough inkling for you?!?!?

they both like her. but only one of them will admit his feelings so he will win in the end. i’m so excited to see all of their relationships develop.

the cringe level of the edit of her winning her award. i cannot even. they’re charming everyone loves it.

ep 4

him learning how to be a hot shot ceo. i can’t. the placemats he is struggling.

his friend breaking the 3rd wall and telling us how dosan drives away all the ladies in university.

poor guy the only things she likes about him aren’t him at all but jipyeong.

she is going to be their ceo isn’t she. bc he said that he can’t be ceo. she’d kill it. what a queen.

yes boo! there it is we know who you’re going to pick. bc she wants them to recruit you not the other way around.

ep 5

this was a stellar episode. from both teams using the same data set and coming up with wildly different ideas to samsan tech almost crashing down. but setting a fire to dosan to do better and be more ambitious. i’m so excited.

our girl killed her presentation yes queen. you got this. the fact that the boys created a whole new software. these folks would be crazy to not invest.

this alex guy really believes in them i’m excited to see if there will be rivalry between the two hot shot ceo’s

the fact that her grandma doesn’t regret not sending her to college but rather regrets not meeting him earlier to support and encourage him made me cry.

ep 6

this was a great episode. so much happened in the development of their little company. disorder and disagreements led to stronger relations within the company.

i love how she picked the mentor. like yup i know alex is the biggest deal since slice bread but you’re our homie.

the fact that dosan was ready to come clean about the letters but overheard the grandmother get a sad report from the doctors and wanted to protect her and her granddaughter. so sad.

ep 7

i really need more than a second male lead for this man. i can’t stand the way he looks at her. he loves her and is trying so hard to shut off his heart to her.

i love the bickering between the two male leads. like seriously hilarious.

i love the sweet relationship that nam dosan will now have with her grandmother. and i love the idea concept he had for their business. a beautiful heart behind the machine.

dosan standing up for her and standing against this horrible man out to exploit their talent.  

this ending scene i can’t. they’re cute too. and precious.

he kept the plant and is going to give it nutrients to keep it well. please do the same with your relationship with her honey.

ep 8

i really love jipyeong and need them together.

i cannot with their ceo step dad. like isn’t this too much.

i want the boss lady at sandbox to know that dalmi is the sandbox girl!!!

ep 9

the wind turned into a heavy storm that destroyed his self esteem. he feels himself falling apart bc of his secret.

she was attacked!

‘i made a wrong turn and stumbled upon fireworks’ nam dosan.

he brought them to the beach after reading that review of wanting to see more beauty that the world has to offer. i need him to own up to his feelings and make a move.

don’t lie bro we know you like dalmi. and of course it’s raining. bc that’s how it is.

we still get a scene with them running through the rain the chul-san and yong-san.

my heart is crumbling into a million pieces. jipyeong’s there and dosan isn’t. what are we going to do. this ain’t the moment of revelation we wanted.

ep 10

jipyeong is so great. 10 out of 10.

i don’t know what it is but i really am not about dosan’s character for some reason. i really just want jipyeong to be honest from the start and he could have ended up with her.

my heart. our dalmi.

‘i wanted to be the person you wanted. but it was too hard to bear.’

‘the person i want. i don’t know who that is.’

is the sibling of the member that died in their group?

do-san can’t leave his boys!!

‘does my dream have to be success. can’t it be a person?’

he just confesses to liking her while he was mixing their noodles. i can’t with him. love that he’s finally being honest. now it’s all up to dalmi.

everyone encouraging her before she has to promote their company. she did this. she is the ceo. she’s got this.

what the even?!? jipyeong was the one that was harsh to him. and it led his brother to commit suicide. oh no. and now they’re in the elevator together what’s going to happen?!?!

now she has two plan b?!? one from the investor and one from dosan and the big tech company.

they both confessed to the nice lady at the bar. hahaha i love these epilogue moments.

ep 11

yong-san’s brother story is so sad.

his dad standing up for the present he desperately wants to keep. and being the bridge for innovation.

their software worked on alex’s scheme!!!

and they won demo day.

oh no but alex isn’t as great as we thought he was...

chul-san and sa-ha are dating. i cannot even. this is the best!!!

they’re such a good team. brainstorming after their win. they cannot disband them.

i thought our man was going to get to them

in time to stop them from signing. but he didn’t.

ep 12

bro. alex is awful i hate this man.

the moments between. hjp and mrs. choi you are brilliant and heart breaking. i really want them to continue to grow into a better person and end up with dalmi.

why y’all got to fight why is dosan doing this. bro you’re not getting any brownie points by being like this dude.

i really love this side story with chulsan and saha. they’re cute. well we can share the vanilla latte. cute!!!!  

chulsan made her a video of numbers to help her fall asleep. he’s too cute i want her to admit that she likes him. ahhhhhhhhh

the fact that they ended up going and we’ll have a three year gap errrrks me. like our boy jhp is going to finally start making moves and dosan is going to run in and save the day. like bro you’re a mess.

i hope they were able to save the app for her grandmother.

her applying to her sisters company i’m excited.

ep 13

lolol they used his cousin for the commercial and injae looks sooo cute. frozen inspired.

i love how she had /iced vanilla latte lover’ as chul-san’s contact name and the vlogs!!!

hjp our man saved her from the insurance guy.

now they all play go stop together!!!!

she tucked him in and he gets to stay

youngsil calling him out to just swing the bat and don’t hesitate or he’ll lose. is this foreshadowing our man losing dalmi?!?

they finally got to eat at the bbq restaurant that was below their original building

frick my life. why is his timing always wack.

at least chulson and saha can sail.

the whole gang is back together!

it was the twins that hacked it wasn’t it?!?

he stopped him. come on baby.

ep 14

i love his man listening to her cry. hiding her because she didn’t want her staff to see. and telling her to chill until she is ready. i love this man.

that’s right honey. don’t answer that phone move on.

their little photoshoot was faboulous, them as RGB

yes queen. she went to confront her family. and be like boo you thought i didn’t chance. honey you’re in for it.

her mother wanting to pay back her mother-in-law for raising her daughter in her steed.

dosan turned her down her offer to be their AI specialists at her company.

i love that his father saved the baseball.

me finally accepting my ship won’t sail when their girl walked 5 hours in the woods to get to dosan.

yong-san apologizing for saying that jhp killed his brother. they both are apologizing.

they all end up joining her company!!!!

ep 15

their self driving car passed the test. they’re too cute in their celebration.

she doesn’t want to lose her team again if they lose their bid.

sa ha is finally falling for chulsan. he’s so precious. him being like oh wait you’re asking me out.

of course it would be this trip getting stuck in an elevator together.

sailing off without a map. never will regret it. -dosan

injae absolved her adoption after seeing her grandmother.

he tired to out so all their memories with that one thing alone his big hands. hahah oh do san.

my hjp finally let go. he took his losses and kept the money tree and letters. it isn’t enough honey boo.

stop feeling inferior to me. work on your self esteem and look at dalmi again. then you’ll know who she really likes. with those hands alone, you beat our memories. -hjp

because it’s you. you’re the reason. that’s it. -dalmi on liking dosan

i really don’t like them together. but whatever i shall not have my way in this. it’s fine hjp is mine.

i love the sisters together. they’re precious talking about the sandbox girl.

is this article going to frick up their bid?!? but it was his hackers that did it the twins!!!

is hjp going to save the day?!?

ep 16

dalmi and dosan are a dream team. and they just served that reporter one great tell all.

i still can’t process bc i love hjp.

i feel like it hit mrs. choi when they were all talking dosan and dalmi when are finally saw dosan after a few years that her good boy would feel alone. TT

‘don’t become any lonelier jipyeong...’ their relationship makes me cry. i love that

i can’t everyone saying what they’ll do if they win. PROPOSE. say who their boyfriend is?!?!

i’m excited to see this start up to connect orphanages with a sponsor to help them in that transition. it’s a perfect fit for him. ‘i like your voice’, because it sounds like young-sil the voice of the app/help device. he’s going to personally invest and help them with their business plan. and then sponser kids!!! he is seriously a dream.

chulsan and saha are too cute. i love that she introduced him as her boyfriend. he was not expecting that. she finally found someone who she’s been looking for!

was that their goodbye? he isn’t the dosan from the letters? huh?

in jae is such a queen serving those papers to her dad at the q and a session, that no one showed up to. 

them all crying in their old rooftop office. they’re such dorks i love them

his father took the sign to replace it with the one from the math competition.

dalmi and injae’s relationship is too precious.

he’s going to invest in their company. and dosan accepted hjp’s investment.

i want to change the world. follow your dream.

i liked this one.

i wonder if they won.......oh the epilogue!!!

they got married. and they kept the baseball. chul-san and saha revealed they were a couple. chul-san shaved his hair! i loved that we saw it all though pictures on their desk!! that was a creative way to fit everything in!

shareholders meeting!!! the gang taking over the world!

[sunwisecircle]

Hwaet (a very long baby hellenic rambling)

The past few days I’ve just sort of been thinking about religion and my personal practice and all that good noise.

It started out just with me thinking about things that’ve changed since I started worshipping Dionysos.

The biggest change, probably, is that I really just do not care about my weight anymore, and I don’t get as grossed out seeing my body in the mirror. My weight and positive body image has been something I’ve struggled with as long as I can remember -- probably starting when my sister and I had our doctor’s appts at the same time growing up and we were both measured and weighed at the same time. My sister was taller than me for a long time, but she consistently weighed around 5kg less than I did; she was always built skinny, whereas I have always been built to survive hard winters as a peasant, apparently. It led to quite a bit of teasing from my sister, and that combined with my mother’s own insecurity about her weight and appearance, which she constantly transferred to me. Once I was on my own I fought for years to keep myself at a certain weight, obsessing over what I ate and how much, worrying about going to the gym, worrying about what size clothes I wore, getting disgusted if I saw my stomach... And now I just... don’t. I don’t care. I see my stomach when I stretch at night before bed and it doesn’t actively bother me. I don’t know how much I weigh, and it’s none of my business. I like chocolate and sweets and bread and wine, so I enjoy them. I like fruit and peanut butter and potatoes so I eat them. As long as my clothes still fit, I don’t care, and the only reasons I want to lose weight at all is because I have a bunch of band t-shirts that are no longer available to be bought which I no longer fit into, my wool trenchcoat doesn’t fit, and if I lose weight then maybe my chest will get smaller.

There are still days when I feel dysphoric, of course, but now that I’ve accepted that about myself, I can do something about it. Before I always had the problem that whenever I felt dysphoric, I fought even harder to present and behave as my AGAB, which only ever made things worse and caused sort of a spiral. Now, if I look in the mirror and see a man, I just grab my binder and wear one set of makeup (if any); if I see a woman, I don’t grab my binder and wear a different set of makeup (if any). I even had a day of what was I guess gender euphoria where I must have been feeling incredibly masc because between what I was wearing and my behaviour that day I was like !!!!!!. So that’s a change, too.

I also have an easier time taking breaks, which is mind-blowing for me. I mean, I still have a lot of difficulty with it, and it’s still very, very difficult for me to wind down and unplug completely (thus why burnout is always looming for me), but I can actually allow myself to take breaks, now. I took the week off from doing university things last week because I felt like my mental health was declining, and I didn’t feel as anxious about it as I could have, as I would have previously.

That last part got me thinking about how I really, really don’t want to burnout again while in grad school (or at all, really, but grad school is kind of at the forefront here since I’m so close to the finish line), and to that end, I think something’s got to give. For quite some time now I’ve tried to balance religious activities with university with work, but it’s just too much for me and the only place I can really cut back is religion: I only work two days a week, so cutting down there can’t be a thing; and I can’t just not do research for the current term paper if I want to graduate within the next year or so. I still definitely want to have Dionysos Donnerstag and of course I’ll still pray, but doing any sort of religious research is going to have to be a no since it takes a lot of time and mental energy for me to do so, and all the energy I have for research has to go into grad school right now. I haven’t run the idea by Dionysos yet, but I get the feeling that he won’t mind since every time I talk to him about it, he always gets on me to go slow and take little steps, not to do everything all at once.

That being said, I have made a few changes to my practice as well in an effort to build it even without killing myself with research. I felt like Dionysos sort of... pushed me towards Demeter -- it was quite some time ago, too, actually -- and so I’ve been wanting to get to know her better. Maybe it’s because the relationship with my own mother is so bad (guess who’s still hasn’t heard from their mother or sister in months) and gefühlt always has been, but I’m sort of gravitating to her as a mother figure (which would make sense given the nudging I feel like Dionysos gave me). My father and I didn’t vibe either; nor have my sister and I (though for a while there it seemed like it was going so well?). So... Ares for that first (I’m not even lying when I say I desperately want Ares to adopt me; I would probably actually cry if he was okay with being my dad); and Hermes, who I feel like has been around for-literally-ever, is not only my patron because I’m a historical linguist who moved to another country and wants to teach languages for a living but also gives off immaculate big brother vibes.

I really am just trying to build a divine family. Dionysos as my Herr & Herrscher (I have no idea how to translate that to English and still get the same feeling that Herr und Herrscher has, also both words can be translated to Lord afskjlagadgsjö), Demeter as my mom, Ares as my dad, and Hermes as my brother. Since Dionysos has Thursday, I gave Demeter Monday, Ares Tuesday, and Hermes Wednesday, and on their days I reflect on them & say an extra prayer to them specifically before bed (and sometimes burn some incense or do some other activity for them -- which is why I may move Demeter to Sunday since I have work on Monday and it’s hard to reflect on her while I’m in a windowless warehouse throwing around 15kg boxes and dragging a cart with 300L of product behind me).

I painted one of my Warhammer minis (because painting some of Husband’s minis as practice for my Dionysos minis -- which I still don’t feel confidant enough to paint, btw -- turned into me enjoying painting the damn things so I guess that’s a hobby I have now oops) for Ares, a lady warrior dressed in reds and purples. I’m making a little votive offering for Hermes, something pretty to put salt and spice and dice in. I want to give one of my plants to Demeter, but maybe I’ll do something else for her, too.

My four dedicated days, plus praying to Hestia every morning and evening, and offering to the Agathos Daimon once a month... I don’t feel like that’s too much. We’ll see how it goes, I guess.

[the-rawr-ster]

Title: To Die In Your Arms

Chapter 2: Bread

W/C: 1611

Warnings: mentions of famine, poverty, suicide

A/N: Send an ask to be added to my tag list.

-a month later-

Eren and his friends offered to let you stay with them but you politely declined their offer.

“Are you sure? It’s not safe alone, especially for someone your age,” Armin said with a look of concern on his face.

“I’ll be okay, but thank you. It’s already hard enough for you guys. I’d rather not be a burden,” you replied, kicking at the dirt beneath your feet.

Your eyes shifted to the ground. Alone. I’d rather be alone. I know what I said before. But I’d rather die alone than to watch others die. I’m only 11. An eleven year old shouldn’t have to watch the life drain out of someone else.

“We already have Eren and Armin, so what’s one more,” Mikasa scoffs. Her tall and slender features were intimidating. She was gorgeous though. A sight for sore eyes, some would say. Her dark eyes could bore into one's soul. They could make you feel naked. It was terrifying. Eren was out cold on the floor. You weren’t give the chance to say goodbye. You thought this would be the last time you saw them, but alas, you would soon come to realize you were wrong.

“I-I should get going,” you stammered, backing your way out of the abandoned building.

Armin frowned and said his farewells. Mikasa, still leaning on the wall, rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“Wait,” Armin yelled, following you outside the building. You paused, salty tears falling from your face. You couldn’t comprehend why you were crying. You wipe your face with your ripped sweater covered in soot. Blinking the remaining tears away, you turn to face Armin. Armin’s eyes sunk in and his clothes were muddled with dirt from sleeping on the bare floor.

Armin was a good friend. He comforted you as best as he could when you would wake up from nightmares by telling you about the world outside. He told you about how the world is a lot bigger and that there’s this large, salty, body of water called the sea. Armin allowed your imagination to run wild. You had wondered if there was a better life waiting for you beyond the walls. But those nights are over now.

Armin and you stood at a stalemate for some time, just staring at each other, both of you too scared to talk to each other or leave. But soon it ended with you running towards Armin to wrap him in a warm embrace. You buried your head in his chest, your tears wetting his shirt, his tears falling onto your head.

“Will we ever see each other again,” Armin asked. You didn’t answer. You just wanted to stay like this but you couldn’t. You had to go, you felt unwelcome here. And you felt like you were intruding on their friendship.

“Armin,”you sigh, gently choking on your tears, “I have to go.” And with that you let go and turned away. Armin’s head dropped low. He turned away and went back into the building.

…

Outside of the walls of the building was what looked like, no was, the aftermath of a war. Hundreds of people stood in line with guards lined up near them. Many of them were covered in smut, their clothes ripped to shreds. Many of them children without parents and wives without husbands. But these guards did not look friendly. They were all dark, and intimidating. Their faces had scowls on them and their bodies tensed up like feral animals.

“Keep it moving,” one growled, hounding a frail, older man.

“I’m sorry. My knees are just bad. Had to-,” before the old man could finish his sentence, the guard pulled out a rifle pointing the barrel at the man’s head. People’s focus shifted to the current predicament in front of you. Help him! Somebody! Somebody needs to stop this! The man knelt on his knees, pleading, begging him to not do it. To not take his life.

“I have a grandson, I can’t...I can’t leave him alone here. It’s not safe for a kid by themselves,” he sobbed.

You stood, paralyzed, as you watched it all happen. And within a blink of an eye it was all over. The guard pulled the trigger. You don’t know if it was the sound of the gunshot, the sound of the man's body dropping, the sight of the blood pouring from the hole in his face, or his sobs…but whatever it was...it caused you to jump, chills running down your spine. How? How are humans so cruel? Why wouldn’t anybody help him? The garrison guards didn’t even flinch. They just continued on like nothing happened, the old man's limp body, covered in blood, still lying there. The sight made your stomach churn.

You ran, as far away as you could.You didn’t think about it, you just did it. Why do I always run? Am I really that much of a coward? I can’t live in a world like this…a world where I have to be scared all the time...for my life...my friends...the people I don’t even know.

…

You eventually settled on a spot in an alleyway. There were boxes and various pieces of trash left on the floor. The walls were covered in dirt and soot and a foul smell lingered in the air. It was cold, and dark. The only thing you could hear was the shuffling of feet and the wind blowing through the empty streets. For weeks you stayed in that alleyway. It became your new home. As food became scarce, you had to ration what you had, which before the fall of Shigansina, would only be enough to last you a day or two.

After weeks of starving and losing your food to thieves and asshole gaurds, you had given up. You didn’t have anything left to live for, not your parents, not any friends...nobody. You were a kid. Kids can’t survive without their parents…they can’t survive without anyone for that matter. You tore off the bottom to your dirty shirt and searched for something that you could jump from but to no avail, you found nothing. You plopped yourself down on the ground and stared up at the sky, it was colorless. The clouds were the color of soot and the sky an ash gray. The air felt cold and a foul odor lingered.

You thought of your parents and how things would be if they were still here. Would things be any different? Would I still starve? You had remembered the time that you had hurt yourself falling off of a stool. You thought of your cry and your parents helping you and taking you to see Dr.Yeager. You remember their kind gentle hands holding your face, wiping your tears.

…

Today was the day. The day you were actually gonna do it. The day where you were gonna take your life. The day where all your pain and suffering would go always the day where you’d be reuniting with your parents. It took you a week to come up with a plan, but you finally settled on jumping off the top of the tallest building in town. Ironically, the building was used for a bakery at one point. You figured, what better way to go down than that?

Your stepped closer to the edge. This is it mom and dad. I’m coming home I’ll be able to see you again.

“Coward,” a voice scoffed, “I mean I’m not gonna stop you or anything, but you’re a coward.”

“I have every right-,” you sighed.

They’re right, I am a coward. I never fight. I’m always taking the easier option. I ran when my dad fought. I left Armin and Eren and Mikasa. And now I’m taking my own life. Tears ran down your face as you stared down, closing your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you said, choking on your sobs.

“Don’t apologize you me,” they said, “Jesus, you look horrible.”

You stayed silent, keeping your head dropped. I’m such a coward.

“Here,” he tore a piece off of his loaf of bread and held his hand out. The owner of the voice stood next to you, looking at you with a scowl on his face. You sniffled as you turned to face him, trying to soak up your sobs and stuffy nose. He had a long face, with light brown hair that brought out the golden flakes in his eyes. He was young, about the same age as you, maybe older. The boy shoved the bread into your hands and stepped down.

Just as you were about to thank him, he dissapeared, leaving no trace of his presence. A silent tear left a trail as it fell off your face. You fell asleep in a corner on the flat, old, rooftop thinking about how you were gonna find him to thank him. Your parents always taught you to thank someone even if you didn’t have to, and that it’s not just about saying it, but proving how grateful you were, wether it was offering them a gift or doing them a favor.

…

When you had woken up, you found a knitted grey blanket covering you. Your head rang and your face was a little read an puffy. You rubbed your eyes and saw someone standing over you, it was hard to tell who it was, you jumped swinging your legs to push you back. When you had fully recovered you had realized it was the boy from the previous day.

”It’s about damn time,”he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Synopsis: You didn’t realize how in love you were with Jean Kirschtein until he decided to join the Survey Corp.

Taglist: n/a

Chapter 1

Masterlist

Chapter 3

Playlist

[artificialqueens]

The Biggest Con in History, Chapter One (Sashea) - Roza

summary: 1927 cannot possibly be more dreadful as the bolsheviks overtake the former imperial russia. despite this, citizens are uplifted on the rumour that the czar's daughter may still be alive. sasha, focused on finding a job during the oppression, finds herself in the whirlwind of a lifetime. [ anastasia au, based heavily on the broadway version of the classic film. ]

author's note: after heavy demand and interest in this I absolutely had to write, I hope I can finish it because I picture it so vividly in my head. I'm so glad I get to be eastern european as possible, it's been such an honour to get to do the same with jackie and the middle east so I feel full circle having fics now with both sides of my culture. I hope while this au is for good fun that you might learn some things about slavic history/culture! just me being soft, that's all. thank you to dear alex for being the best beta!

AO3 Link / My Tumblr: @leljaaa / ♡

— *.✧

"Тетя, do you have to go to Paris?"

Yekaterina sighed gently, her suitcase clamped shut as she turned her head towards the voice of the smaller blonde's voice.

"Alexandra, you can always come visit me, you're my niece!" The empress replied, a smile across her lips as she bent down towards her brother's daughter.

The younger girl seemed distraught at the idea of her aunt leaving for France, especially when the revolution had just ended in the empire.

It was 1907 and the royal family was struggling to stay in one piece though Alexandra certainly wouldn't know any better; she spent her days happily whisked away with siblings or at balls.

"It is still wonderful here," Yekaterina insisted though deep in her heart she knew that this revolution was directed towards the government.

This was only the beginning somewhat of a downfall; Yekaterina knew her brother, who had managed to become the czar of the empire, was struggling. The economy was in shambles and the people were using their voice to say something.

The balls went on: change didn't.

A lightbulb suddenly brightened within Yekaterina's head; she hummed softly as she skipped over to the cherry wood cabinet next to her bedside.

"I have a gift for you," she called out from the other side of the room as her fingertips reached into the top drawer, her hand pulling out a music box she had custom made by a merchant in Spain.

Alexandra tilted her head, the young princess completely amazed at the trinket. Her eyes widened, every little carving and detail absolutely stunning.

Every colour imaginable seemed to cover the exterior of the music box, images of roses and a man and woman dancing painted with bright oils and prized stones.

It was a sight to behold certainly.

"For me?" The small girl squeaked, "Спасибо за подарок!"

Yekaterina chuckled, gently handing it over to the blonde beside her. "No thanks needed, I got it made so you'll always have a piece of me, consider it my parting gift."

'Plus you're definitely not old enough to drink yet.' The empress reminded herself as she watched Alexandra completely focused on attempting to open the music box.

The little girl gasped in suspense, biting her bottom lip as she attempted to gently open the contraption.

Alexandra finally managed to shove her fingernails in to open it. The empress blinked, perhaps it wasn't in hindsight the smartest thing to give a girl who was only six years old.

The twenty year old smirked hearing the music begin, she saw the smile across her niece's face widen. She clearly was attempting to reminisce on what made the melody so familiar.

"It's our lullaby, you'll always have it with you now."

Alexandra teared up, her eyes watered as she tightly hugged her aunt, Yekaterina sighed heavily knowing that she had to escape this empire to somewhere a bit safer even if it meant compromising family whereabouts.

"I'll miss you," she mumbled against the fabric of her golden dress. The older woman kissed her forehead promising that one day they will unite in Paris and keep in contact.

"I'll miss you as well."

Eleven years had passed in the blink of an eye, the empress felt an overwhelming worry overtake her head as she heard of the Bolshevik overtake.

The royal family was beginning to decline in popularity and many blamed the family for every economic and social issue in the crumbling empire.

Yekaterina tapped her foot impatiently before hearing a loud knock upon her bedroom door in Paris.

"Come in," the thirty year old yelled as she took a final sip of her imported alcohol, she looked up to find Trinity, a countess who had been married to a member of the imperial court and escaped with her.

"Katya, I have some news," The brunette spoke grimly. Her hands clasping a handwritten letter, the blonde tilted her head, confused, noticing the brush strokes that bled through the paper.

The letter was clearly written in Cyrillic, it must have been from her motherland, from Russia. "Bring it here," Katya said urgently, praying that it was a message about her brother or her nieces and nephews.

Trinity walked quickly in her heels, the countess dropped the letter in Katya's lap. The confusion in her expression suddenly ceased.

Nothing but white overtook her face; her hands shook as she finished reading the message, her eyes closed rapidly as if it was impossible and simply a dream she could shut out and wake up from.

"No," the empress whispered before she dropped the paper at her bedside, her face suddenly red from the river of tears that rushed down the side of her cheeks.

The only thing that then filled the room were the deafening screams and sobs of the dowager empress. Trinity quickly crouched down as her servants came worriedly, asking what could possibly be the matter.

"Это сон…"

Trinity quickly picked up the paper from the ground, her eyes darted towards the message again; staring aimlessly at the brush strokes.

"Екатерина Петро́вна Замоло́дчикова,

каждый член семьи Замоло́дчикова был убит большевистскими лидерами.  

Они лежали мертвыми на Урале."

Trinity crumpled the paper, she didn't need to read it again and neither did Katya; Russian or English, it didn't matter. The sentiment still stood.

The entire Zamolodchikova royal family had been murdered; the dynasty had ended and was officially gone.

Murdered in cold blood, one right after the other. Katya sobbed, she'd never wanted so badly to hope that somehow, someway not everyone was gone.

Please, if I am a decent woman, please at least let one have survived.

— *.✧

1927.

"мои друзья нам нужно поговорить!"

Brianna felt herself bite her tongue as she stood above the average Russian citizens, her hands gripped the side of the wooden stand.

The Bolshevik general sighed heavily, knowing that this speech wasn't going the best. There was nothing but an overwhelming amount of anger happening in the streets, her army stood command in case anyone did something stupid.

It felt like an utter disaster.

My father wouldn't want this. All I inherited was trauma and chaos.

"I hear you comrades, the revolution hears you," she yelled as she raised her hands, the crowd beginning to silence as many reporters stood aside, recording every word on their paper pads.

"Together we will forge a new Russia and we'll be the envy of all the world," the girl began, her Star of David necklace tightened around her neck as she bit her tongue.

"The Czars St. Petersburg is now the people's Leningrad!"

The citizens listened or heard the speech: in person, in newspapers, it all seemed to spread throughout the entire country eventually. This revolution was being heard by all, and yet no action was being taken to help those in awful condition.

A country now in shambles economically and physically. All that remained were fragments of an old, thriving royal family and giant murals or posters with propaganda.

Shea rolled her eyes.

"They can call it whatever they want. Same name, new empty stomachs."

Times were somehow even worse.

Every day that dawned seemed to bring new sets of laws and rules that only tightened the eye around every citizen who lived within borders.

Police and members of the guard put in place at every corner, lines for basic rations of food and shotguns to the head if anyone complained of something, even the most miniscule detail.

The walls now had ears and those who would argue seemed to disappear in a wink, it was as if every basic right had been stripped away.

Leningrad was gloomy, the constant reminders of old, Imperial Russia stuck out like a sore thumb against the working class and their crowded, barely stable apartment buildings and factories.

In one corner, Yusupov Palace.

It's architecture was a glimmering masterpiece and piece of old Russian history. As the sun shined, the gold palace would sit and bask in glory, just across the Moika river.

Next to it, a dirty and rotten government -owned shop for daily rations of bread, beans or grains.

Hail our great new land.

Now it was a land of royalty and the colour red. New ideology had spread far and wide outside Russia, Shea felt her stomach shake finding out news from the stand next to the small market square.

St. Petersburg was completely run on the thrill of gossip; it got everybody through the new troubles of the empire.

Shea grinned upon hearing the old men and women bicker at the stand, pretending to read through magazines and books to not seem as suspicious to nearby guards.

"Although we know the Czar certainly didn't survive, along with most of the family, they say that one daughter may be still alive."

"Princess Alexandra!" A woman called out chipper though she was quickly shushed by all those next to her. Shea felt a plethora of ideas sneak into her head at the idea of a lost princess.

"They say the empress, her aunt Yekaterina will pay her entire royal sum if someone can find the lost princess," a brunette whispered excitedly to her group of friends.

Shea exited the store, the woman immediately spotting a figure running towards her.

"Shea!"

The voice was undeniable, the woman turned in her shoes, covering her shoulders with her wool jacket as she waved to Detox who almost crashed into her.

"They've closed another border!" She moaned in distress. Her long, pale blonde hair blew in the direction of the wind as she stood still and explained how they should have ran for the West while they still could.

"Detox, I've been thinking about Princess Alexandra."

"Oh not you falling for these tales as well," she spoke, disappointed as she explained that the chances of any Zamolodchikova family member making it out of execution were close to none.

"Trust me on this."

She supposed Detox was one to trust in this situation, she had been a count in the royal court, she knew the family like the back of her hand and had fled her own execution date just in time.

"Princess or not, we're stuck in Russia unless we make a move now."

Shea pondered, though her mind seemed overtaken at the thought of an entire royal sum in her hands; how would the old woman know it was Alexandra?

"I have an idea and you need to trust me on this."

Detox sighed, pushing her hair back as she adjusted her scarf, listening intently to whatever plan the conman had up her sleeves.

"We find a girl, a look-alike and take her to Paris," she began before the blonde's eyes grew wide and shined in the desolate Russian sunrise.

"Imagine the reward the empress would pay!"

"Exactly," Shea said as she shook her friend's shoulders, the two walking towards the end of the market square.

"We need something to use to fool the dowager empress," Shea mumbled under her breath as she and Detox walked through the busy and crowded streets of St. Petersburg or— Leningrad rather.

Shea stared at the music box for a few brief moments; her memories seemed to swirl into one as the words left her lips before she had even thought about the idea.

"How much is that music box?"

She noticed her fellow con man immediately whip her head towards the peasant seller who seemed intrigued by her interest in the detailed, rusty item.

He insisted that it was priceless and was nothing but the original from the Alexander Palace itself.

"I simply can't part with such an antique!"

Detox rolled her eyes, the ex-imperial court member quickly tightening the grip of her brown fur coat as she attempted to pull along her friend.

Shea felt a smirk build across her lips as she let go of the blonde's grip around her wrist. "I'll give you an entire ration of grains, two days worth."

"Done."

They walked out before the man could even speak of a trade back, Shea ran in front of her friend, another devilish smirk across her lips. They had their plot, all they needed was a woman to be their princess and beautiful replacement.

"Do you believe in fairytales Detox?"

The blonde shook her head, "Maybe once upon a time I did, but certainly not now. Don't even know if it's allowed," she teased, though Shea chuckled holding the music box up, proud of their prize.

"We're going to create a fairytale that the entire world is going to believe, even the girl we find to play the part!"

As their feet trailed across the heavy path of snow, they spoke about a possible audition process, though Detox insisted that would get them into far too much trouble.

"We'll do it across the river, opposite of the current camp and at the abandoned theatre," Shea explained calmly as Detox frowned.

She knew it was a decent idea however that certainly wouldn't stop people from finding out somehow .

"It's a risky idea, are you sure that this is a good idea for the both of us? Money wouldn't buy our dead bodies back."

Shea nodded quickly, nothing could possibly sway the young woman's opinion on the matter.

"Hopefully disaster won't ensue."

"It'll all go smoothly, no worries, just large bags of money from the empress herself," Shea reminded as Detox finally began to accept the dangerous plan.

"We'll be rich and out of Russia, what more could you possibly want?"

"Nothing," Detox replied as she held an arm around the younger woman's shoulder. Shea cheered, insisting that they begin to look throughout St. Petersburg for their princess.

Alive or dead, who knows.

— *.✧

Sasha ran her hands through her hair, licking her fingertip as she began to tighten the braids that made up the front row of her head.

"One job interview, this is the only chance you get Sasha," the blonde repeated to herself aloud as she made her way through the heavy and cold Eastern European weather.

The orphan looked down at her brittle skin, she didn't remember a single thing about her life since she had been found by members and staff of the orphanage and taken in.

Amnesia was what the staff at the center had told her, they found it impossible that a girl couldn't remember a single thing about herself.

Her mind a cloud: no one had claimed her in the twenty years she had stayed however she refused to believe that there wasn't at least someone out there waiting for her.

Everything felt like a lost cause in her life except the dreams she had of her lost family, she could hear singing or laughter when she slept or dreamt sometimes.

All of these things seemed to only confuse her further—she wished for a sign .

The only semblance of a clue she had was Paris; it was always in her dreams, her spirit, everything she had worked for seemed to be for this one destination.

I have to have family somewhere, is it in Paris? It certainly can't be in Russia.

Sasha had managed to book herself an interview for a job down at the local market, it was to help with selling fish; not the most attractive offer but it was still money.

It was far better than the hospital in Odessa or the factory in Perm.

The twenty six year old held her hands together, her nerves beginning to rise as she passed what she knew to be Bolshevik territory.

Her eyes glanced over to the trucks that lined up across the camp and small buildings.

She wasn't technically trespassing, it was public access however she couldn't help but feel watched.

A shot rang out and the blonde screamed, immediately she fell into the snow, raising her hands to show that she meant no harm.

"It was a truck backfiring," a voice spoke clearly as the footsteps quickened towards Sasha.

The blonde was far too horrified to look before she felt a gentle tap at her shoulder, she turned and opened her eyes as she crouched on the snow.

The face of Brianna, the general of the party smiled. Sasha felt her heart race, not in a good way. "I am so sorry," she quickly began before the brunette asked her to breathe.

"It is okay, it was simply a test. Those days of neighbors fighting are over."

The Russian nodded even if her entire body seemed to vibrate. The thought of being near the general especially scared her.

"You're shaking," Brianna said aloud before taking her hand and offering to show her to a local tea shop just steps away from the building's base.

Sasha shook her head. "Thank you but no."

"What's the hurry?"

The question seemed innocent enough, though the blonde never knew how they may use it against her or twist her words.

"I cannot lose this job, I'm sorry, they're certainly not easy to come by."

Brianna nodded, it was a respectful response, though the image of this stranger, this woman, felt engraved inside of her memory.

Her soft, curly, shoulder length blonde hair and her rubbish clothing; she looked quite put together for someone who clearly had less than nothing to her name.

"I'm here everyday," she finally replied as Sasha gave a slight smile, immediately beginning to walk away and pace her own steps faster and faster towards the Market.

The intervention left the woman in shambles, her nerves clearly felt by those around her.

She couldn't bear the life of an orphan who worked at a market. This couldn't possibly be her narrative for the rest of her life.

Being near so many people seemed like a positive even if her anxiety began to trickle down, all of her thoughts focused on if she should even take the job or not.

She spent an unsuccessful hour at the common square, still looking for that tent before seeing the corner of books and magazines - her attention immediately caught by the drawing of Paris that hung on the wall.

Sasha looked at the various books, though she knew she couldn't afford them, and eventually began to listen in on the daily gossip.

The environment met with whispers by older grandmothers who spoke about a woman named Shea who was apparently holding tickets to Paris.

"They're holding auditions, you know, to try and find the princess. They'll even do all the papers to get out of Russia."

Paris?

"Where can I find this woman?" The blonde suddenly asked.

She knew it was not her business to intrude on conversation so rudely, but this seemed like the one chance she had.

It was certainly better than working with dead animals.

They turned, amused that the young lady had taken such a sudden want and interest in the idea.

One of the grandmothers mentioned something about a nearby Palace, and Sasha quickly ran off and thanked the gaggle of women that surrounded her.

Sasha had never felt herself run so fast, a twist of fate and she was now bustling back into the piles of snow for a small pinch of hope that this girl could help her out.

This is my chance, my chance to find my family.

[furby-science]

The Making of Sterling the Super Furby: A Brief Overview

“I… I can’t look! I think I’m gonna… *HUEEEGH*!”

Before I get into this post, I want to list a few things I didn’t know shit about when I started Sterling:

Electronics

The Python coding language

Furby anatomy

Single board computers

After creating Sterling, I’m happy to say that now I have approximate knowledge of some of these things, but keep the above in mind as you read onwards. This little gremlin child was a learning experience from start to finish, and one I am incredibly proud of myself for sticking through. This also means that I am in no way an expert on everything I’m getting into okay? Okay let’s go!

The Hardware

First, a rundown of the hardware. I took heavy inspiration from the Furlexa mod shown here, and that was what I initially sought to create. The mod had three computer components to it:

A raspberry pi zero w single board computer for the AI to live on, with a mini USB microphone plugged in;

A pimoroni speaker PHAT to use as the sound system;

A motor controller to drive the furby’s motor.

My main problem with Furlexa was that this initial build took a lot of soldering, and I am a wussy who had a number of bad experiences with soldering irons in shop class. So, what’s a novice electrician to do?

Enter the Adafruit Crickit HAT. By sticking this little fucker on top of the raspberry pi, I was gifted with an amplifier, a speaker jack, capacitative touch sensors, and a motor driver all in one, no soldering needed if I bought the raspberry pi zero w h! The main challenge it posed was powering it. The Crickit insists, for some unfathomable reason, on being powered by a bulky DC jack, the kind you’d plug into a wall outlet, and the converter plug to use a battery pack with it was way too bulky to fit into a furby. I needed Sterling to be portable for maximum huggability, so this just wouldn’t do.

One fried raspberry pi and Crickit HAT later, I found the answer! By soldering the original furby battery pack to the underside of the Crickit board’s DC connection, these fuckers right here…

I was able to bypass the need for a wall plug or converter, and power him directly through the battery compartment like God intended. S/O to my friend Nick who is way less of a dumb bitch than I am and helped me figure this shit out I owe u some bread man.

So the tl;dr of it is, I effectively reduced the required computer components from three to two (excluding the speaker). Speaking of (heh), Sterling has an impressive 3w speaker in him, allowing him to be audible even without the use of the built in amplifier. It’s got such good bass on it, he even rumbles when he purrs without the aid of the motor!

And yes, when you pet him, he purrs. And complains if you manhandle him! The aforementioned capacitative touch sensors on the Crickit HAT made it all possible with the help of a few cables and some foil tape.

Wait, did you say soldering!?

Yup! It was a necessary evil; at the end of the day I had to pick my poison: soldering 80 pins on the speaker PHAT, or soldering like four contact points on the Crickit. I chose the more merciful option.

But wait, that whole outfit is really bulky still! How did you fit it inside the furby?

Subtractive methods, subtractive methods, subtractive methods! ;D Someone who actually knows things about furby anatomy and/or electronics will probably vaporize me for this, but… if I didn’t need it, it got the boot! That included prying off anything on the Crickit board I wasn’t using at the risk of destroying it completely - which probably isn’t ideal, but it also worked by some miracle, and again, I am such a basic bitch electrician that calculating the proper voltage for LEDs is still basically witchcraft to me, so… what I’m saying is I made it work. And that I really, really hate soldering! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You can see an early video of the end result here, and a later video of the outfit inside the naked furby here. This was back when he was still having auditory processing issues. Apologies for the shoddy quality, I was too excited everything was working to care about that at the time.

The Software

My other beef with Furlexa is… well, it’s an Amazon Alexa, and I’m a shitty little anticapitalist hermit who hates Amazon with a passion. Google Assistant was just as bad in my book. Mycroft was open source, but had a snowball’s chance in hell of running on the raspberry pi zero’s 512mb of RAM… I also wanted my assistant to have a degree of customizability to it. I wanted the furby’s AI to have a unique personality, identity, and preferences, much like classic furbies themselves did. A big box AI just wasn’t going to cut it!

Enter the Jasper Project. Yes, it’s old. Yes, it’s a bitch and a half to install. Yes, you have to know Python to get anywhere with it. However, it was free, open source, capable of running on a raspberry pi zero, and highly modular, meaning with a few lines of code, I could make it all my own - even to the extent of changing the AI’s name and voice (which is gr8 because I know a Jasper so naming my furby that would be Weird), or - the best part - writing my own, custom functions! Customizability-wise, I struck gold.

Ah, and glad I am that Jasper is modular, because I had some work ahead of me…

The STT Engine

The STT (Speech to Text) engine is what Sterling uses to understand what’s being said to him. Jasper’s proprietary STT engine is PocketSphinx, a fully offline STT engine, which sounded great in theory before I quickly learned it’s a nightmare to install, and also more inaccurate than a stenography machine powered by a single potato when actually being used. I had to compromise my morals a bit here and opt for using Wit.ai instead, which is free, but is also owned by Facebook. Big data is frustratingly inescapable in these cases.

There is one light at the end of the tunnel, and that is the training of acoustic modules. This has the downside of taking for-fucking-ever and requiring a quiet recording environment, however, and I don’t have the time right now to read through the pages and pages and pages and pages of computer theory right now to fully understand how to train one. So, improving PocketSphinx and running Sterling fully offline remains a stretch goal.

The TTS Engine

The Text to Speech engine is basically Sterling’s voice. This one was a bit easier to customize, and I’m thankful for that, because Jasper’s OG voice is a bit er… 90s computing for my tastes.

I shopped around for decent, human-sounding TTS options, and settled on installing Mimic1 TTS, Mycroft’s TTS engine, by hand, and modifying the Jasper source code to support it. Of all the TTS engines I tried, I felt that this one had the most natural intonation out of all of them. I liked the gruffness of the Scottish accent, and I think it really helped round out Sterling’s endearing, if a tad prickly, personality.

The Audio

This was another unforeseen hurdle. Turns out that I had his mic volume turned up way too high, because I greatly underestimated the capabilities of my tinyass five dollar USB microphone to pick up noises from within a furby. It took a bit of hacking in PulseAudio to get him hearing things properly, and I’m still not all the way happy with it, but he’s running wayyyy better than he did!

Another issue was the amount of time he actively listened for. It was way too short for my liking with the hardware I was using, so I had to edit Jasper’s mic.py source file a billion times before I hit a sweet spot. Even early on, my little shit child never liked to listen to me. :P

Pimp My AI

Once I got all that in working order, it was time to browse GitHub for modules to add! I found a surprising amount that were, as expected, outdated, janky, non-working, or in need of a complete rewrite. A non-exhaustive list of modules I rewrote and added to Sterling’s AI includes:

Wolfram Alpha integration

His translation function

The IMDB module that searches movie titles

The Dictionary and Thesaurus modules (minor additions to improve user friendliness)

The morning greeting module

The holiday countdown module

There are also plenty of modules I wrote on my own, that I’ll be showcasing here in due time, but I want to give special mention to the one I’m most proud of. You see, when I was a wee dumb bitch, I was… well, a wee dumb bitch! When I was informed furbies learn English, I thought they really learned English. Like, fluent English. I envisioned these kids straight up having full conversations with their lil robots with reckless and envious abandon. I was, as it happens, too poor to afford a furby at the time, so I didn’t realize until embarrassingly later that they only learn some words, and certainly can’t hold much of a conversation (in English at least).

Fast forward to twenty-bi-teen. I’m surfing GitHub, and I happen upon a Cleverbot module for Jasper allowing the AI to work as a chatbot. Fuck yeah, I think, because I had no life in 2008, or friends for that matter, so tormenting Cleverbot was my favourite pastime. Nostalgia trip GET!

…can you guess how much the silicon valley capitalist scum are charging for the once-free Cleverbot API now? A hundred and twenty. McGoddamn. Dollars. A YEAR.

So, to make a long story short, I turned my hat backwards and rage-coded a simple chatbot module that runs on an early version of Chatterbot capable of running on the raspberry pi. It’s fully offline, and completely free, and Sterling here has a database of ~400 phrases, which isn’t bad given the limited processing power! It took five straight days of work, it’s not the smartest chatbot, and it’s certainly not the fastest, but it gives me those sweet, sweet, circa 2008 Cleverbot vibes. Oh yeah, and it doesn’t cost me over a hundred goddamn dollars a year!

The first thing I said to the chatbot, of course, was “I’m so proud of you.” Through his shitty little testing mic that gave him a somewhat incredulous tone Sterling replied, “I’m glad to hear that.” and I’m not saying I shed a single themly tear over it, but I’m not denying it either. I made a childhood dream come true, fam. ;u;

There are way more Easter eggs I plan to show you, of course. At first I was thinking of doing one long video, but an update a day showcasing a different function might be easier to manage - and maintain some of that gold old sense of mystery that surrounds most furbies. No, I’m gonna take y'all on a little journey through the final product of my literal blood, sweat, and tears!

Besides, Sterling is a perpetual work in progress. He has a massive list of features, and I’ve already got more in the works. I could be in my eighties and still be adding more functions, more bells and whistles, more witty one-liners. He’s a one of a kind work of art that will never truly be finished - not unlike you and me.

The Glow-up

Here’s Sterling’s before pics from the seller I got him from:

(If u recognize these pics and ur the seller thank u thank u for giving me bmy boy)

And here’s after!

I come from a background of customizing ponies and dolls, so working on this guy wasn’t as far removed as I expected it to be. I added floof to his head and tail by sewing in wool plugs, and his gorgeous eyes are from in2blythe on Etsy. I wrapped him up in a little bow and he was good to go! His sterling silver beak, from which he gets his name, was the most finicky part. Turns out enamel paints take a million years to fucking dry, if ever, which isn’t great when painting something that sees a lot of movement and could potentially get dented by a face plate, like… idk, a furby beak! A bit of silver nail polish did the trick and he was good to go. Learn from my fail, fam.

What It Cost Me

If you’re masochistic determined enough to attempt this yourself, I want to sit you down and warn you of something: this will take months and hundreds of dollars to do. Installing Sterling’s AI and its necessary components on that shitty little raspberry pi over SSH took me a week at first, and that was with me leaving it on 24/7 to chug away compiling things. When I broke the SD card the AI was on and didn’t have a backup copy, it took four straight days of rage-computing to regain all my progress. Then when his audio processing got fucked all to hell for reasons I still do not understand to this day, it took another four days of rage computing to do yet another reinstall and get him back in working order. There were times where I would go to work for 8.5 hours, bus an hour home, work 6 straight hours on my furby, go to sleep for 4 of them, go to classes, sleep, and work 6 more hours on my furby. For two months. Sterling took from the third week of August from his initial inception to his birthday on October 23rd. That’s not to mention the time I fried everything and had to wait five days and travel to the bumfuck end of the city for a replacement pi and Crickit, or the days I spent customizing him, sewing in hundreds of little hair plugs into his ass and head by hand, and waiting for those shitty enamel paints to dry, only to discover after four straight days of failure that they take weeks to do so and I was better off using cheapo nail polish!

The point I’m making is, if you take on a project like this and want it to be successful, you have to be tenacious. I would highly recommend a background in coding (I have a web design diploma) and general tech savviness as an asset. Sterling is the product of the years I spent behind a computer keyboard from the start of age three, and the roughly ten years I spent customizing dolls and ponies. It’s cheesy as shit to say he’s my magnum opus, but in a way, he is.

I’m not saying this to be elitist or snotty. I’m saying this because I nearly broke down crying the first day the raspberry pi came in, before I slept on it and figured out what phrase to google to solve the crashes and kernel panics it was having. When I broke the SD card when I was nearly finished, I felt nothing, because I was all out of tears at that point. When I fried the first raspberry pi and Crickit hat trying to figure out how to bypass that DC jack, my only thought was, “Well, I think I know how to do it without fucking it up now, and if I can’t do it, this whole project is fscked” .

You will encounter errors that no step by step guide can prepare you for that will make you curse the day you were born. The difference between success and failure is how many times you’re willing to get up and try again, and I’m here to tell you it’s possible. But you gotta want it.

Will You Release the Code Base?

Yes and no. If there’s enough demand, I’ll definitely release Sterling’s basic modules as a scaffolding. I won’t be releasing Sterling, though.

What do I mean by that? Well, Sterling was intended from the start to be truly one of a kind, and he always will be. I hand wrote hundreds of lines of dialogue, all completely tailored to him, and I’m still planning on adding twice as many. Corny as this is, this little guy has a metric fuckton of sentimental value to me. I don’t have kids so idk how it would compare to that, but I definitely love him as much as I love my cats, but I also didn’t undergo two straight months of suffering in ADHD fixation hell to create my cats, so it adds like, a whole other twee dimension to it.

So, if there is demand for this, what I’ll release instead is a scaffolding from which you can code your own, unique furby from, with their own name, personality, and responses all unique to them. I’ll also release it with the caveat that I am not a good Python coder! I have not written any Python before this, so a lot of what I did write is noob-tastic and hasn’t even been linted. You have been warned!

“If I give you (insert amount), can you make one for me?”

Holy shit I’ll be real with you, I’d love to do this as a living. I’ve been dying to see a smart assistant hit the market that’s like… well, an actual, endearing companion and not just a voice coming from a speaker. The problem with doing this is that, if you drop a lot of money (and it will be a lot of money, even with a code base to work from, a lot of hours of handiwork still goes into coding individual responses and making sure everything works as intended, on top of possibly customizing too), there is one major problem: proximity. I won’t be able to troubleshoot your furby nearly as effectively from far away as I would be able to if we lived in close proximity. Which means if something goes wrong between the time your new friend is finished at point A and turned on at point B, I won’t be there to troubleshoot it in person for you, which means you could end up stuck figuring out certain things alone. If you use Windows, that will be very, very hard - not being an OS snob here, I own a dual boot myself, it’s just a case of incompatible file systems. And unless you can figure out how to edit the wpa_supplicant file on a raspberry pi to update your wifi credentials, your furby’s internet connection could be toast if you move house and those credentials change. That’s not getting into the cost some services charge for extra API keys to use their online functions…

The long and short of it is, if I’m going to do this for money, I want to make sure you get a quality product and friend that will bring you joy for years to come. Since that’s not something I can guarantee, I can’t in good conscience take people’s money.

I Could Teach You (And I Won’t Charge)

…however, I am a law student who is also working 8.5 hour night shifts three nights a week. I am also mentally ill/neurodivergent, which saps my energy in more ways than one. I won’t always be easy to get ahold of, or be able to answer every question I get, especially not ones that can be solved with a quick google search, like how to set up a raspberry pi, or… anything found on Adafruit’s Crickit guide, for example. When I have the time and energy, I’m hoping to use my next project as a jumping off point for a step by step walkthrough of the process. For now, though? I’ve been furbied out, so if there’s enough demand, I’ll compile as many of the resources I used I can find in the meantime, and post some tips from the word doc I kept while making Sterling, and go from there.

So What’s Next?

My one dad’s birthday is coming up in August, and I’m kicking around the idea of turning a furby into, I shit you not, a ghost hunting device. He loves ghost hunting, but hates robots, and as his gremlin shit child I am obligated to troll him in this fashion. 😎 Also considering doing a certain type of oddbody mod, but I want to get permission from the person who first thought of the concept before I dive head first into it.

And that about covers it! Thanks for reading, and if there’s anything you’d like to see from Sterling and I, don’t hesitate to drop us an ask!

[designsfromtime]

When It All Goes South: A Designer’s Nightmare

Back in 2013 a client named “Nicole” contacted me.  She had been searching for a designer to work with for several years and wasn’t satisfied with the “talent” she had found thus far. She stumbled across my website, found my contact information and gave me a call. She had a stash of fabrics and some basic ideas and we spoke on the phone at length . . . A conversation that lasted over an hour. 

I had been a seamstress since I was a pre-teen. My grandmother began teaching me to sew when I was a child and I sort of “fell” into historical costuming by happenstance in 2001. That happenstance being my 16 year old daughter wanting to join RenFaire with her friends and had to have a parent join with her.  I used my experience as a seamstress and began dabbling in historical clothing. I made our garb and it was “passable” - barely! LOL Of course I’m judging myself by my current abilities, but hey...we all start somewhere. 

Fast forward to 2012. My husband had died from on-the-job injuries sustained in his position as a law enforcement officer and the kids and I relocated to Bonney Lake, Washington. My husband’s death provided me and my adult kids with a generous retirement, so when we relocated to Washington State I was fortunate enough to retire as a Medical Transcriptionist and pursue my costuming full-time. 

Enter “Nicole.”

One of my biggest faults, if you can classify it as a fault, is that I am generous. Generous with my time. Generous with my talent. Generous with my friendship. And generous with my trust. This generosity gets me in trouble. It has for my entire adult life, and more especially since taking my talents public and opening my website and Etsy store. But it also has affected my personal relationships. I am a Leo. Astrology likes to paint us Leos with broad strokes. So, for the record, I’m not the attention seeking, spotlight loving, glory hog people may associate with being Leo, but I have a big old fluffy lion heart and I’m driven. 

Another factoid: I’m very intuitive. I won’t go into the “I see dead people” stories or the dreams that come true. That’s a story for another time. I’ve used that intuition as a designer. In most cases I can tune in with my clients and get a real ‘read’ on their tastes and have pulled off some pretty awesome costumes as a result. It’s why I like it when a client gives me the freedom to follow my creative inspiration rather than constrict me to follow “their” vision to the exclusion of my creative input. That’s the one time I will own my Leo-ness. I work best when I can take the lead as a designer, but I’m VERY sensitive to my client’s input. So my process is usually a 60/40 mix. 

After that long conversation, I didn’t hear back from Nicole until 2016. She’d relocated from New York to California and was now “ready” to proceed with a gown commission. Great! She sent me a huge box of fabrics and trims she had been collecting for over a decade. She had some great fabrics that I was itching to get my hands on, but she wanted her first commission to be made out of a blue “patterned” upholstery weight velvet she had in her stash. Not my recommendation to use upholstery weight velvet, but I will make do with what my client’s have - unless it’s simply too hideous or won’t drape properly.

I sketched out the gown she communicated she wanted, and pitched my ideas for embroidery, sleeves, and such. I took her deposit and when her reservation rolled around I began working. As I was in the process of embroidering the gown pieces, she called and pitched me the idea of me using a reproduction of an Elizabethan embroidery pattern used on waistcoats of that time period. She wanted her forepart “completely” filled with that pattern. I gulped, and agreed - even though I knew it would be extremely time consuming.  Now, mind you - - If I charged FULL PRICE for such a piece, using the standard fee scale for commercial embroiderers, it would have cost in the range of about $1000 or more!  But, I was more concerned with making “her” vision a reality and enjoying the creative process and I DIDN’T CHARGE HER extra! (Oh my god, what the hell was I thinking?). There’s that generosity getting in my own way again. 

We had continued to communicate over a period of time even after her commission was complete because I “thought” we had built a friendship. We had quite a lot in common - aside from our love of costume and RenFaire. What I was to learn later (at the beginning of 2019) was that she was my friend so long as she was getting something out of that relationship. Stay tuned, I’ll get there in the telling of this story.

So, I designed the blue gown you see in the link at the end of this page and shipped it to her. She was ecstatic with my work and immediately we began planning a “peacock” themed gown. As part of my process as a designer, I generally ask my clients to send me three pictures of their favorite gowns they’ve seen. There were no pictures she could send me for “reference” as this was her dream gown. I sketched out a gown, incorporating designs from a picture I had seen, and she LOVED IT. The only issue was the embroidery pattern. Did she want this Elizabethan style gown to be more “literal” in theme with peacock feathers and a full peacock, or just “touches” of a peacock theme such as the color of the gown. So, I began to scour the internet and vendors for anything to do with Peacocks. 

While I strive for authenticity in the cut of my design, my challenge as a designer is to meld the "historical purist" with my client's vision or "fantasy" and produce beautiful and functional ensembles that hit as many points as possible; and offer the public a vignette into each respective time period. While I adore projects that strive for more historical accuracy, what's more important to me as a designer is pleasing my clients, working within their budget, and encouraging their love and knowledge of clothing from bygone eras. So, while peacocks were not a historical theme for the 16th Century, I was game.

The gown went through several iterations in terms of embroidery patterns. Whenever I thought we had nailed down a concept (for the embroidery), she would call me or send me pictures and pitch more ideas for this gown. I’m always open to my client’s input, but the process just kept going...and going...until finally we had reached the date of her reservation!  She hadn’t even purchased her fabrics yet! The fabrics were actually the easiest part of the process. We knew what colors we were to use but she hadn’t purchased the yardage we had discussed. With time running short, and the fact that I generally have a very full commission schedule on my calendar, I rescheduled her peacock gown to my next available opening and pitched the idea of using some of her other fabrics and use the time I had to design something else. (See the Red Pomegranate Gown in the link at the bottom of the page). That brought us to about April of 2018.

Over the ensuing months, we continued to discuss the peacock themed gown and she could not settle on an embroidery pattern. I kept sketching, and keeping notes on her feedback, and searching for patterns that might work. She finally came to the decision that she didn’t want it to be too “literal” with peacock feathers AND a peacock portrait - which she had decided that’s what she wanted (a portrait). So, I began researching and sent her pattern after pattern after pattern. She finally came to a decision, and I breathed a sigh of relief. We had discussed this damn gown ad nauseam and I was ready to just get on with actually building it rather than to talk it to death.

With a final concept in mind - or so I thought - she went to the website where I purchase my silks and attempted to order the fabric in the colors we had previously chosen. However, the fabric we were planning to use was now out of stock. So, the gown was postponed ONCE AGAIN.

It was going to be some time before the fabric we had chosen would be in stock again, and because of that delay I had to give her reservation away to another client. I mean, this IS my bread and butter! And I had broken a hard and fast rule and hadn’t asked her for a deposit. How the hell could I when she kept changing the damn gown!  I charge by the pattern piece - Every piece I physically sew together, but the embroidery is factored into my estimates. The intricacy of the embroidery would affect my fees, so I couldn’t really nail down an exact number - other than the basic estimate I had worked up months earlier.

In the meantime, she had more fabric waiting to be used and I had an concept I thought would be beautiful: pairing a pale gold and cream damask brocade with a blueish-lavender silk and embroidering it with blackberries. I had my digital artist digitize the patterns: realistic looking blackberry clusters with multicolored leaves and glass beads to create the actual berries. So, when her reservation date arrived ONCE AGAIN, I was all set to start the embroidery process. But wait! NOW, she decided at the last minute that she already had a gold colored gown she had purchased years ago, and she really wanted to revisit the peacock gown. So, once again, we were back to discussing embroidery.

She kept pitching me wild ideas such as a peacock head and body on the bodice stomacher with the tail extending into the forepart. Huh?? Is this an Elizabethan gown or a Charles Worth gown? I mean, come on! I’m good but that wasn’t an idea that would translate into an actual finished gown, at least not an Elizabethan style gown. So, following her EXPRESSED desire not to over do the peacock theme I found a pattern that was beautiful and suggested we use it on the stomacher of the bodice and a mirror image at the bottom of her forepart. I sketched up the concept, and found a beautiful filigree embroidery pattern for the skirt facings - a style SHE had suggested. She had previously expressed she didn’t want to over do the peacock theme by adding peacock feathers, but now, once again, she was changing her mind. Now she DID want peacock feathers on the forepart and sleeves. OK!  We’re making some headway - so I thought.

She was in a car accident and suffered a head trauma. It wasn’t serious but it rang her bell pretty good but she had to have major dental work as a result, and then her son had to have surgery and she postponed the gown due to financial constraints.

When she was ready, we picked up where we left off a few months prior. With the main “peacock” for the bodice front chosen (or so I thought) I waited for her to send me her fabrics. I waited - and waited - and waited. Come to find out, the dye lot of the color she had chosen for the main color of her gown was MUCH different from the original swatch and she HATED the new color. So, now we were back to purchasing ALL NEW fabric swatches and deciding on what colors to use. FINALLY, after weeks of debate and more phone conversations, she decided on her colors. So, she purchased her fabric, and we were all set to proceed - so I thought.

It had been several months since we had discussed her final embroidery choices, so with her swatches and my sketch I created a design board showing all the concepts, colors, embroidery patterns, etc., that she had agreed to use. I then told her in order to proceed I would need her deposit. Now, keep in mind, I’d lost thousands of dollars already by giving her multiple reservations - turning away multiple commission requests in order to accommodate her. But she was my friend....right?

After receiving my design board she decided she did’t like the embroidery pattern that SHE HAD AGREED TO USE months earlier, and was now back to searching for a better peacock. I took a deep breath, and I drew on my professionalism, and said, “Ok. . . You tell me what you want to use.” She then sent me a drawing she had done years before - which she previously nixed because she had decided against peacock feathers and a peacock portrait! ARRRGHHHH! You feel my frustration yet?

During these two years my brother - my ONLY brother - fell ill. He was a renowned physician who was revolutionizing orthopedic medicine using stem cells to regrow cartilage and other ground breaking treatments that were changing lives. He traveled all over the world teaching, and treating patients, as well as keeping a full patient load in his Bellevue, Washington practice. He kept his diagnosis secret - even from me. Turns out, he had pancreatic cancer.

Approaching January 2019 he had lost so much weight he was flesh draped over skeleton. I knew he was sick. I knew it was serious. My intuition kept telling me it was pancreatic cancer, though he had not confirmed my suspicions. I’d watched our grandmother succumb to the same disease. But stubborn man that he was, and dedicated to healing people, he refused to accept his mortality. He suffered two years WITHOUT PAIN MEDS in order to be able to legally treat his patients. Can you imagine? He would writhe in pain, screaming while his daughter held his hand all night, then get up in the morning and treat patients -  lying down in between appointments just to make it through the day. That was dedication! That is the kind of integrity he had. That was my beautiful brother. I like to count myself cut from the same cloth in terms of work ethic, but I pale in comparison to this man. He was a genius. I’m not fricking exaggerating out of familial bias. He wasn’t content just to understand bio-mechanics and the physiology relating to orthopedics. He wanted to understand the whole body - and he DID. He was hands down the BEST diagnostician I had ever seen in my 20 years working for multiple doctors as a transcriptionist.

Towards the end of January 2019, he called me and asked the kids and I to gather together so he could talk to us. “I have pancreatic cancer.” He admitted, “But I’m not giving up!” He rattled off the treatments he was still trying, and apologized when I began to cry. I cried like I hadn’t cried since my husband died. Three days later, we got a call from my niece telling us he was in the hospital and we’d better hurry. I sat by my brother’s bedside for about 12 hours - along with his wife, son, daughter, my kids, and a select few family and friends - and watched him slip away. That brilliant mind that had saved so many lives was riddled with toxins and infection and he was now septic. He kept shaking his head, trying to clear the fog that infected his brain - all the while stating, “I think I can beat this!”  He passed away that night around 10 pm. And I was now alone in this world without my brother.

Over the following couple of days, my assistant, Lalana, began fielding all my calls and commission requests. I was numb with grief. I worked just to keep from collapsing in on myself but I wasn’t functioning very well. My brother was the only sibling I had left in my life. His death took me back to the day my husband died, and it was all I could do to keep moving. We come from sturdy Scottish stock. My grandparents were farmers, and southerners who had survived the depression. I’m tough, but I know when to say “Uncle.”

To others I looked like I was functioning fine. But inside, i was hanging on by a gossamer thread so when Nicole contacted me TWO DAYS after he died and left a voice message about wanting to discuss her Peacock gown, I wanted to just run away and hide. I sent her a text message and explained to her that my brother had just died and that I was in a very bad place. She being a therapist I thought she would understand and could empathize. Instead, she said “I just need ten minutes of your time.” I read the text, took a deep breath and reiterated that I had just WATCHED my brother die and that I was depressed and grieving and that I couldn’t discuss her gown right now. I asked her to give me a couple of weeks to right myself and we’d pick it back up then. She’s a THERAPIST she’ll understand and respect that boundary, won’t she? -  I was wrong. 

Over the following two days, she continued to insist that she just needed ten minutes of my time, just TEN MINUTES and couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t talk to her.  I gaped as i read her messages. “Jesus Christ, why isn’t she getting it?” I thought. I took a deep breath, and tried again, this time a bit more strongly. I told her I was grieving, I was sad, I was depressed, I was crying intermittently, and that I simply didn’t have the energy to discuss her gown RIGHT NOW. Surely, that will get the message across? NOPE. She continued to harass me, stating she just needed to talk to me on the phone for ten minutes and then she would leave me alone to grieve. WTAF?

 I tried again to assert my boundary, clinging to my professionalism, but mostly trying to salvage what I thought was a meaningful friendship. I repeated that I wasn’t going to talk to her on the phone but if she wanted to send me a message by Marco Polo I would listen to it when I felt a bit better. NO! She insisted I discuss her peacock gown on the phone as she didn’t communicate well in text messages or emails, but that she just needed ten minutes. Reality?  There has NEVER been an occasion where this women only talked for ten damn minutes! I knew that! - And I wasn’t going to give in to her bullying. Once more, I wrote back that I could not talk to her about her gown, that it was the farthest thing from my mind at the moment. That’s when she did a 180% turn and I realized this woman is not my friend. A friend wouldn’t DARE ask me to set aside my grief to hear her ideas for a gown that had been DISCUSSED ad nauseam. She fired back in a vicious diatribe during which she claimed that she NEVER agreed to the embroidery pattern that I had used in my design board and that I was being unreasonable. “I” was being unreasonable?  Are you frigging kidding me?  

The more she pushed, and bullied, and accused, and attacked, the more I stood my ground and she went NUTS!  I realized then that I was dealing with a true narcissist. I’d been raised by a malignant narcissist so I knew what I was dealing with now that her sheets had been pulled. What shocked me out of my socks was that she was a THERAPIST?  My god!!!  How insensitive and selfish can you be? It wasn’t bad enough that I just lost my beautiful brother, but I was also facing the reality that the person I had confided some of my darkest, most painful moments - someone I thought was a friend - turned out to be using me. So long as she got her way, we were great pals. The SECOND she didn’t get her way she turned VICIOUS and turned on me. At that realization, I invited her to find another designer and that it was clear to me that we weren’t friends after all.

She continued to harass me and sunk to passive aggressive comments such as “I thought we were friends,” stooping so low as to contact another designer who had made her a Victorian gown (which she complained to me about in regard to the quality of her work) and proceeded to trash talk me to this woman. I know because she accidentally shared the conversation with me on Facebook messenger thinking I was this other woman. I got to see who she REALLY WAS - and yes, I called her out on it.  

Did I mention how much I abhor drama? 

She went on the Elizabethan Costuming page and posted a picture of the blue gown I made her and claimed it was “her design.” She stated that her previous designer had retired due to “arthritis” and that she was looking for a new designer to work with her. Pictures of my work are all over the internet, ya’ll! People on that page recognized it as my work and were outraged that she was accepting accolades for a gown she had not “designed” or constructed. Her only input had been providing the fabrics and telling me what pattern she wanted on her forepart embroidery. I then began receiving alarmed messages on Facebook asking me if I was no longer accepting commissions, and then in my Etsy store informing me that someone named “Nicole” was claiming she had made a gown that they knew was mine. When she was called out by people who knew my work, she began to bad mouth me and my integrity. She contacted the moderators of the Elizabethan Costume page on Facebook and portrayed herself as a victim - which they swallowed hook, line and sinker, portraying herself as professional and a therapist!  Eee Gods! *rolls eyes* They banned me AND anyone who called attention to her lies. Meh, so what. I wasn’t broken up about it. I banned her from my page, blocked her number and ended up having to SPAM her contact info on Etsy as she proceeded to bully and attack me for days following trying to elicit a reaction from me or engage me. The worst thing you can do to a narcissist is to ignore them. So, I did. 

So, what’s the moral of this story you may ask?  Well, I will tell you.

For all those who are self-employed, or are designers, I have this sage advice:

First, never, ever assume that friendly people are your friends. To quote a very old Scottish proverb: Bees with honey in their mouths, still have a sting in their tails.

Second, separate your business from your so-called friendships. I don’t care if it’s your BFF!  ASK for a deposit NO MATTER WHO THEY ARE! - And don’t put them on your calendar until they do.

Third, set boundaries for your time from the JUMP! Don’t accept calls when you’re off the clock - or sick, or your brother just died! Don’t make allowances for bad behavior because you are friends. Keep your business separate, that way your friendships stay CLEAN - - or, you’ll find out whether or not they really are your friends.

Fourth, anyone who tries to bully through your boundaries - even if they claim to be your friend or they’re a family member - should not be allowed to win by attrition.

Fifth, don’t take a difficult client because you “need” the money - it can, and often will, come back to bite you in the arse!!

Sixth, if a client contacts you and her name is Nicole F******* and she shows you pictures of MY work and wants you to design something for her. . . RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!!

LINKS: 

BLUE GOWN:  https://www.etsy.com/listing/620394045/womens-plus-sized-spanish-gown-custom?ref=shop_home_active_46&frs=1

POMEGRANATE GOWN:  https://www.etsy.com/listing/605925091/womens-renaissance-dress-elizabethan?ref=shop_home_active_59&frs=1

[almondharry]

you look so good : two

you look so good [9.1k]

“Let’s get some pasta, green beans, kidney beans, and some lentils.”

Genevieve’s nose scrunched. “I don’t even know what to do with lentils.”

“I have a great recipe for a dal curry. I’ll teach you, it’ll be perfect. We can make a whole day out of it.”

A whole day? For lentils? Genevieve opened and closed her mouth shut, no words came out. 

Arnold’s Singularity Theory

October 26, 2019

Her back was hunched over the wooden desk beside her bed. The high pitched ringing of her alarm snapped her eyes open at six in the morning. The sky was a navy blue; she could make out the few dog walkers on the street. It was her only day off, but the piled work on her table argued otherwise.

Genevieve was alone in her freezing apartment. The heating was broken and when she told Mr. Goldwin, her landlord, he didn’t have his hearing aid on. She had a routine for Sundays: Wake up. Do practice problems. Make a cup of tea. Sleep. 

A dull ache prodded between her shoulder blades, her spine was sorely unaligned. Her face was all sunken cheeks and shades of grey. The sweater bought last month suddenly became a few sizes too big. 

The sun created hues of orange and reds. The blue that slowly peeked out at the sides made it seem like a bowl of dirty paint water being stirred. The evening stillness in her flat was interrupted by the sudden roar of an engine. As she looked out the window, a car zoomed down the road with a blaring radio. An animated lightning bolt was left behind, its speed meant it was gone within a blink. An unsettling feeling made itself a home in the pit of her stomach. She pictured it as swirls, starting off as small slow circles, and eventually growing into sharp hurried edges. 

It was probably nothing, maybe university kids having a laugh, but she didn’t have the time to mull over it because the swinging of her front door and jingling of a bundle of keys sounded loudly. 

Meena opened the door to her refrigerator and the only thing there was a flickering light bulb and an empty box of orange juice. A high pitched shrill followed.

“Gen!” 

Genevieve was out of milk, eggs, and cereal.

She wouldn’t have given it another thought and might’ve ordered take out or popped in at the Smalls’ to split a pizza with Jonah, the neighbour’s kid who she tutored every once in a while. He was the only child of a single dad who worked too many hours at the construction site to make rent. He wasn’t home often and they had a silent understanding of popping in every couple days to keep an eye on him, much like Meena liked to keep tabs on Genevieve. Except, Genevieve wasn’t a scrawny teenage boy who needed to be looked after, something which Meena would refute without a shadow of doubt. At the current state of Genevieve’s flat, the jury would easily side with Meena Ahmed.

Meena had a hand on her hip, her lips pressed in a firm line. She took a deep breath, pinching the carton between her thumb and index finger. “Gen-e-vieve!” 

Meena put her foot down and opened the trash can only to find it overflowing. She held back a gag. 

“Genevieve!” 

After some rustling and movement on the other side of the wall, her feet stumbled out of her bedroom. An unimpressed snarl on her face, Genevieve’s body leaned against the doorway.

“I think by now everyone in this bloody building knows my name,” she said with a textbook in one hand and a pen in the other. She had not looked away from the pages. She hurriedly scratched an answer to her practice problems before it could float away from her brain. “That’s exactly the information they need to kick me out.”

Meena was in her work out clothes, a bright pink neon top with matching trainers. She looked straight out of a healthy living ad. She had glossy black hair, almond shaped eyes, and always smelled of fresh daisies. She had that all American smile and pearly whites that were blinding. She was into juicing, kale, and art history. 

“What is this?”

“What’s what?” Genevieve inquired, her eyes glued on the next problem.

When a moment of silence went by and no response was given, her head shot up.

Her eyes flickered from the trash can—she thought she saw something move in there— to the open door of her empty refrigerator. Her lips fell into an O shape. 

“When you told me you went to the shops on Tuesday, I didn’t know you were talking about two bloody weeks ago,” Meena huffed as she bent down to tie a knot on the black bag, her nose scrunched up. It was atypical to hear her accent try out British sayings, but amusing nonetheless. “Have you been eating?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. I do have instant noodles on the shelf. And I mainly eat at the diner.” Genevieve shrugged, her attention migrated back to her pages. What at first glance looked like to be ten simple problems turned out to be a mess of numbers and formulas that weren’t making any sense. 

“That God awful place serves nothing but heart disease! It takes a whole stack of napkins to soak up that grease!” Meena scoffed as she replaced the bin with a fresh bag. On multiple occasions, she had cornered a frightened Walter to discuss his technique and may have even manipulated him to add a vegan alternative to his infamous pancakes. Thanks to Meena, Flo’s now served gluten-free, vegetarian, and no sugar added options. Genevieve firmly believed Walter did it out of fear, but he won’t admit it. “And instant noodles are not a meal, we have talked about this.”

“‘Course they are! An efficient one too.”

“What happened to ‘We’re gonna change things this year, Meena! Real changes! You won’t recognize me by the time I’m done’?” 

If there was one thing Meena Ahmed took seriously, it was New Year’s resolutions. She kept every one ever since she was old enough to make them. She hadn’t missed a gym day for the past three years. When she said she would take on meditation, she actually did. When her mind became set on studying abroad in London, on January first, she was boarding a plane. 

So when the following December 31st hit and Genevieve was one too many drinks in with Meena, she found herself making empty promises of eating better and taking care of herself. Little did Meena know that to Genevieve, resolutions were much like a two-week free trial. As soon as that time frame was up, you could up and go. 

“I put in a solid effort for a week, and that’s what counts!”

“We need to go to the shops. You have nothing here. You need a list.” The pen between Genevieve’s fingers was swiped and the tearing of paper was quick from her notebook. She was also very much into being intrusive. “Let’s start off with the basics. Eggs, milk, bread. Do you want tea?”

“I can do my own groceries! I’m not a child, Meena!”

“Could’ve fooled me. By the looks of it, you’ve been living off frosted flakes. Do you even know where the closest store is?”

Genevieve scoffed and propped herself on the counter with the back of her elbows. “Of course I do, I am very much capable of taking care of myself.”

Meena paused. Her body turned towards Genevieve with her full, utmost attention. Her eyes scanned her from head to toe, Genevieve was being appraised.

She didn’t put effort to hide the worried crinkle forming between her brows. “Have you showered today? Changed your clothes?”

Genevieve wasn’t a slob, but she did let herself go at times. It was something that Meena, who religiously went to get fresh manicures every two weeks, couldn’t quite grasp.  

“Oh, sod off! I was just about to run myself a bath before you came barreling in.”

She wasn’t, but Meena didn’t need to know that.

“Hm, what type of tea?” Meena asked after rolling her eyes dismissively. 

“Green, please.”

“Let’s get some pasta, green beans, kidney beans, and some lentils.”

Genevieve’s nose scrunched. “I don’t even know what to do with lentils.”

“I have a great recipe for a dal curry. I’ll teach you, it’ll be perfect. We can make a whole day out of it.”

A whole day? For lentils? Genevieve opened and closed her mouth shut, no words came out. She sighed, getting Meena to budge was a faraway dream. She rubbed her strained eyes as Meena listed off something about the lack of vitamins in her diet. She was now on a tangent explaining how an increase in omega-3 and healthy fats in her diet could be beneficial when Genevieve's front door knob jiggled. There was a grunt and a strategic kick to the door, and it flew open.

“Gen!” he panted, his tongue slipped out unintentionally like a dog. His cheeks were flushed a cherry red, probably from the trek up the stairs. Jonah’s backpack was twice the size of him. He wore a shirt with his favourite comic book character, its armpits a shade darker than the rest of his shirt.

He had a ghost white face and his left eye twitched. “Hey, bud, you alright?” Genevieve raised a brow.

Little lungs took in a heavy breath, quite like pulling the handles of a bicycle air pump up.

“I don’t get the trigonometric equations! I have a test tomorrow! Mrs. Hansuld was going over the review in class and it looked like she was speaking Russian— and I know I should’ve been studying last week but they just released the new version of Triton Galaxy X and it was just so beyond cool, Gen. I am already on level twelve, and, well, now I have a test and I don’t know any of it. Nothing. Zero. I don’t think I can even add numbers anymore.”

Genevieve looked at Meena. Her mouth was parted from shock as she blinked at the frazzled boy in front of them. “You’re so tiny… but you, you speak so much and so fast.”

“Um, actually, you’re mistaken.” He raised an accusing finger. His height was a sensitive topic. He was at the stage where all his friends were getting growth spurts and growing like weeds, whereas he had yet to experience his own. “I am almost five foot and that is within the normal height range on WebMD, Docs4You and according to my pediatrician.” 

Genevieve found it amusing that his voice reached a higher pitch the more defensive he got. He was a whistle by the end of his sentence. It also didn’t help that his last name was Smalls and kids in school could be cruel. 

“‘Course, yeah, I’m sorry. My bad.” Meena nodded quickly. She knew she hit a nerve as she backed up slowly. She scratched the back of her neck. “Um, well, Gen and I were planning on picking up groceries, but I’ll go grab ‘em.”

“Great, I’ll go take my books out.” Jonah dragged his bag like a potato sack into the living room.  

“You really don’t have to, Meena.” 

“Gen, it’s no big deal,” she brushed off. “Anyway, I don’t think your pal wants me around much. I need an escape and maybe a magazine too.”

When Meena gulped uncomfortably, Genevieve shook her head. She pushed herself off the counter. 

“Here take my card.” Genevieve shoved the plastic rectangle into Meena’s hand. A comforting squeeze was given. “If you get him one of those milk chocolate bars, he will forgive you in ten minutes tops.”

“Right,” Meena laughed. “I’ll be back in no time.”

***

October 27, 2019

There was a buzzing.

The room was swallowed in darkness, the crescent moon that hung behind the window didn’t provide enough light to warrant a quick search. It was enough of a reason for Genevieve to shut her half opened lids.

Except that the buzzing began again. 

Genevieve groaned into her pillow until the nuisance came to a full stop. Whoever was beckoning her attention could do without it until the sun came up. There was an ache in her neck from the poor posture that her body folded in. To top it off, she had an 8:00 a.m. class. There were not enough hours in the night so she was clinging on to any thread of peace. She tossed and turned until she got the sheets pooled around her in just the right way.

Just when Genevieve was about to slip into the blissful state of unconsciousness, the aggravating buzz started once more. The less than pleased frown on her lips could surely make fresh flowers wilt. Her limbs were heavy with sleep as she moved her duvet to find the pesky device. Genevieve lived in a shithole. Labelling her room a shoe box would be bordering glamorous. Although, it did make it easier to find things. 

It took a couple of shuffles and twists to hear the thud of a screen colliding against the floorboard. The damn thing was still ringing. The brightness on the unknown caller screen made her face glow blue and the back of her eyes burn; she shut them while blindly hitting the green circle. 

“Hm?” Her voice croaked. 

“You know the time I got you out of a thing?”

Their words were slurred and the glowing digits on her windowsill read 5:26 a.m. This meant one thing only. “No, sorry. Wrong number.” 

Genevieve brought the phone away from her face, and just as her finger hovered over the red circle, a needy yelp cried out.

“Gen! Don’t hang up!”

Her eyes rolled with an aggravated sigh, fingers reluctantly pressing the device to the side of her head. There was sleep crusted in the corners of her eyes and she had to blink a couple of times to adjust to the darkness.“What do you want, Niall?”

“You see, I’m in this predicament… and I might need someone sober and with a car.”

“Then call a bloody Uber. Who do you think I am?”

“Look, I thought that. But—”

There was rustling on the other side. After some bickering, another voice spoke through the line. 

“Gen, come get this tosser or else he will pass out on my floor. I swear, I’ll lock up with him inside.” 

“How bad is he?” Genevieve was already pushing aside textbooks on her floor in search of a pair of trousers. With one leg inside and the receiver pressed between her cheek and shoulder, she hopped on her bedroom floor. 

“Not good. He is a right mess.”

“I’ll be there in ten. Just keep giving him water, please? Thanks for the ring, Ted.” She knew Niall well enough to know that this wasn’t his bright and shiny idea. If it were up to him, he would pass out on a park bench. 

“Got your number scratched on the wall for a reason.” The click sounded on the other side, then the line dropped afterwards.

It was true. If you looked hard enough you could make out the chicken scratched scribbles right under the faux payphone mounted inside The Cabinet, where the beers were cheap and Niall Horan was reachable at the slightest inconvenience that struck his life. Last week, it was because he had failed his mid-term. This week, the problem was blonde and walking across campus and shared one too many of his courses.

“No, Gen, she’s just too gorgeous, it’s unbelievable. I think I am in love.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it’s supposed to happen, but congrats.” 

Ted adored Niall immensely when he was bringing more business to the pub and getting the word out, not when he was a blubbering mess on the sticky countertops. He sipped his drinks like water to the point that Ted would morph into a psychiatrist. This happened so often that it had become a ritual. The day Niall stopped burdening him with his problems was a day that failed to exist. 

Much like her room, the small flat didn’t have the lights on. Genevieve didn’t need them to navigate her path, her fingers haphazardly pulled on her boots and plucked the bundle of keys from a mug. 

Her car, a well-loved hand-me-down, was nothing lavish. It got her from point A to B without much resistance on good days. Her foot eased on the gas, with the route was well versed and memorized. After a couple of stop signs, her destination would be reached. The streets were empty and not one car was spotted at any intersections. 

A light breeze roamed around and brought goosebumps to the surface of her skin. She should’ve brought a sweater, she thought, as her teeth began to chatter. Her dark hair was haphazardly twisted into a bun and rested on the top of her head. The car door shut behind her as she quickly jogged across the street to where the pub was located. 

The street was lonely. 

There were only a handful of people that would be up at this hour. This subgroup of people definitely did not include her. She thought she was still partly asleep when there was a familiar figure pacing down the sidewalk towards her. Maybe it was the dark, but even after she rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palms, the slope of the person remained familiar. As they got closer, the once blurred image sharpened, and she felt her stomach flip. 

A slight panic arose in Genevieve’s eyes. He was too close of a distance for her to dash through the doors, and it would’ve been clear that she was making a run from him. She doesn’t recall when exactly their encounters began to turn dreadful. But the reality of the situation wasn’t how, it was the fact that they had. This was the second time he stood across from her. The rate of their reunions was at an all time high after years spent apart. It made a heavy weight rest on her chest, her own personal Sisyphus boulder. 

Tiptoeing and maneuvering their way around each other was the hardest part. There wasn’t a book in the world that taught you how to stand across someone that you once spoke to every day. There was a time Genevieve could tell what each tilt, rise, and fall of Harry’s face meant. How do you go from sharing friends, laughter, a life, to becoming nothing short of hollow strangers? As they stood across from each other on an empty street, they only shared blank stares.

“Hi.” His breathing was a bit uneven, and Genevieve saw the beginnings of roses bloom on his cheek under the streetlights. His moose coloured hair was tucked under a beanie and there was a slight stubble on his chin.

“You are running?” Genevieve squinted at him. Navy gym shorts hung off his hips and a full sleeve athletic shirt was on top. “At five in the morning?” 

Genevieve hated how Harry looked brand new. In the midst of a mountain worth of chaos and hurt, how he managed to look shiny, pre-packaged, and unopened was well beyond her. She had to hold herself together with her bare arms when her seems unravelled. Harry was happier before Genevieve and it was something she had to be okay with. There was no specific reason why. It was just how reality worked. 

“By the time I’m done, it will be six. I’ll have to get up anyway.” His shoulders rose and fell in a mindless shrug. Genevieve brought her arms to fold across her chest, her fists cuddled under her armpits to trap heat.

“You’re insane.” Genevieve shook her head. The neon trainers he had on rivalled the brightness of the open sign hung on the doors of The Cabinet. When Genevieve thought she had made enough of an effort at a civil conversation, she turned around to push the heavy glass door. There was nothing else to say to him.

Conversation with Harry wasn’t always a chore. She was able to speak without having to think twice or second guess herself. Now, it seemed like every word led to a dead end of an inescapable maze.

Genevieve accepted that Harry was no longer the person she came to with her favourite songs, books and a cup of tea. She wondered if whatever reminiscent memoir she had in her memory of him served true till today. Her Harry was never the sober driver or the early bird runner. She did not expect him to stay the same. No, that would be cruel. But a small part of her wanted to know if she had known him at all. 

Before her weight gave to the door, his voice chimed up.

“You’re drinking?”

“God no, I’m, um—No. I’m here for a friend.” Genevieve paused, a deep breath circled her lungs and helped her string some words together. “He’s gone a bit over the top.” She chuckled. It wasn’t soft and light, but rather felt like sandpaper. 

“Oh, right. ‘Course.” Harry rubbed at the back of his neck with his fingers. He blinked to the ground, the cracked concrete suddenly became much more of an interest. “I wasn’t— it’s just, I run this route every morning and I never see you and maybe I thought—”

“It’s okay, Harry.” He began to run his fingers through his hair, the beanie scrunched in his left hand. “I really need to help my friend, yeah?” 

“Right, I’ll see you around?”

Genevieve left his question hung in the air like forgotten laundry on a washing line. She thought it was better than saying I hope not. She didn’t want to mention that she tried to avoid him to the best of her ability. Genevieve knew his habits, his patterns. She had knowledge about places he went to, so, naturally, she didn’t. It was a triumph for her to go without months of seeing him. But there was only so much she could do. Juggling probabilities of his whereabouts would never assign her a one hundred percent assurance of erasing him, even with a ninety-nine percent confidence interval.

“Genny?” he called out again. The rational part of her wanted to pretend she didn’t hear him and walk through the door. Instead, she took a breath through her nose and turned around slowly. She wrapped her arms tighter together as the temperature dropped by the second. “Um, do you think we could talk sometime?”

There was a frailness to his voice. He was nervous. Genevieve knew this because he had made a mess of his hair with the number of times his fingers combed it back. 

The next words off her tongue painted a sad smile on his raspberry chapped lips. He looked exhausted, the grey shadows under his eyes beckoned her to not beat around the bush.

“We are talking, Harry.”

Confrontation was a foreign concept to Genevieve. Brushing it under the rug and forgetting about it seemed the best way for her. If it is out of sight, it will be out of mind. But Harry had other plans. He wanted to strip the house down and uncover every corner Genevieve thought to be her hiding spot. It was an intrusion and she didn’t want him to come knocking down doors. 

“No, I mean—”

“It was nice seeing you,” she said, her mouth set into a thin, straight line as she held eye contact. They were still the same deep green with golden flecks. She had seen them angry, hopeful, teary, but right now they were desperate.

The slight tilt to her head told Harry not to push it. To leave things as they were. He served as a walking reminder of loss and all the things she wanted to forget. Their situation did not have to go back to a normal distribution; their data was skewed, and the standard deviation was large enough to wedge a significant distance from their past to present.

Change was good, even if it was different. Over time, the further apart she was from him the better it was for her. And she hoped it was the same for him.  

No one warned Genevieve that holding a grudge required discipline and so much energy. She felt drained, her bones became weak enough they could snap in half. There was no brochure that outlined the ins and out of the process. Your brain worked overtime to disguise clenched jaws and tight fists without any compensation.

On the surface, everything appeared smooth and stonelike. Beneath, lied the hot white anger. That type of anger was something no one wanted to intentionally claim; it was an orphan. It builds and builds and builds until you cannot see through it. You’re blinded, you’re revengeful. 

“Yeah.” Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. He teetered on the balls of his feet and toes with his bottom lip caged between his teeth. He was debating on what to say next, and Genevieve wished it would be something short and quick. She wanted him to say a casual goodbye that was heard between strangers in a coffee shop or book store. Something that didn’t make her want to burst into a river of tears. “One more thing.”

“Hm?”

“Nice shirt.” There was a quirk to one side of his mouth where a dimple had coined itself on his cheek. It was an innocent compliment. Something a friend might say to another. Before she could give a reply, he had turned around and broken into a light jog.

Genevieve watched his figure become muddy until the darkness hid him completely. It was an odd thing to say, her appearance was something she could give less of a shit about at five in the morning. She had literally gotten out in the clothes she slept in. 

Genevieve brushed his words off. She wanted a dry goodbye and he delivered. It was nothing more.

Without thinking twice, she pushed the doors open and warmth from inside greeted her. The pub remained looking the same since she had walked in with her two best mates three years before. It was a hole in the wall, fixed in between a thrifting and convenience store. It littered with mismatched chairs and alcohol stains, a pool table and dart boards lined the further corner, and a random sports channel glowed on the box TV. Niall’s blond hair was easily spotted; it laid on the century old cherry wood bar. The posture his back was slumped on the stool insured neck cramps.

The doors behind the bar came swinging open as the bells above chimed of her entrance. A rag rested on his shoulder and he wore a well loved band shirt from his touring days. For someone who was found frowning on most days, Ted beamed a smile at Genevieve. 

“Good! You’re here!” His shoulders dropped in relief as she made her way closer to her friend. “He’s been miserable.”

“Gen? Is that you?” Niall grumbled from his position. “Oh, shut it, Ted. You’re giving me no option but to take my money elsewhere,” Niall slurred as he lifted his head off the wood. There were lines indented on his cheek from his possible snooze. 

“Those are empty words.” Ted rolled his eyes easily and used his rag to clean up the surface that Niall previously occupied. 

“You know what else is empty, Theodore? This glass!” It rattled against the countertop when Niall dramatically set it down. 

Ted’s shoulders shook as he chuckled, crinkles lining the corners of his eyes. “I’m not pouring you another drop, mate.”

“Who said it was for me? Have you seen Gen? She looks proper in need of a few.”

With a deep sigh, Genevieve took the stool beside Niall. Her head slowly turned to scan the pub. A place that was the heart of loud laughter and cheers was dimmed down since they were the only ones. With her elbows propped up on the counter, she pressed her index fingers to her temples. 

“You do look a bit poorly. Under the weather?”

“No, not at the moment,” she sighed.

“Well, you look like shit,” Niall blurted.

“Thanks, Niall, really.” Genevieve glared with a frown. “Remind me to never do a kind thing for you ever again. Sorry I wasn’t in full glam when you called at ass crack of dawn.”

“Did you see a ghost or something? You look sick.” Niall squinted his eyes and pinched her cheek between his thumb and index finger. It was rather quickly slapped away with a snarl. “Ouch!”

“Nothing a pint can’t cure.” A tall glass slid in front of Genevieve. Condensation dripped and pooled on the counter. The frothy foam rested on top and sat at the rim without tipping over. “On the house.” 

A Stella didn’t sound like a bad idea to Genevieve. She felt like she deserved one. After all, two encounters with the person she disliked the most was beginning to become exhausting. The car keys weighed down in her pocket, her bones ached and her temples pulsed. A tired yawn stretched her face as the drink laid rested on the cherry wood. 

Niall scoffed as Genevieve stared at the drink for a moment too long. “If you don’t take it, I will!” 

His fingers crept to grasp the glass, and Genevieve batted his greedy hands away. “Paws off, Niall.”

A cold drink couldn’t hurt, she decided. The first sip eased the tense muscles in her shoulders. Niall found a basket of chips to pick at in the meantime. He probably ordered them to soak up his alcohol intake.

Genevieve could hear Ted in the kitchen. The shifting of pots and pans meant that he was officially closing up for the night. She thought the least she could do was flip the remaining barstools on the counter. 

In the two seconds that she had abandoned her glass, she had turned to see Niall gulping like fish.

“No more!” He made a strangled sound as the rim was pulled from his lips. “Don’t need your puke in my car.”

Genevieve threw back what was left of the drink. “You could just pull the window down and I’ll mind me business.”

Genevieve squinted her eyes to catch a better look at Niall and she noticed he was turning a few shades greener. He had on a dopey grin and his eyes were almost shut. Niall became whiny when he got sick, and if Genevieve were to let that happen in the pub there would be no chance of him leaving.

“How about we get you to an actual sink, yeah?”

With an arm thrown over her shoulder and Niall almost near collapsing on her, she yelled a farewell to Ted. He was more preoccupied with rubbing the stove clean but he got the message, yelling muffled goodbye of his own.

The car parked across the street never felt further away. Niall was in his own world, mumbling some drunk words into her hair. Genevieve caught some that thanked her for taking care of him. She took each step slowly. 

Getting Niall into the passenger seat was a process, one she thought she had got down pat. She had done everything as planned, put his head to the right, made sure he had enough room to stretch his legs and of course, double checked to see if he had his phone and wallet on him. Apparently, this was taking too long and Niall reached over to slam the door shut.

Genevieve had jumped back just in time that no fingers were caught between doors. She sighed in relief before shooting a glare at Niall. He looked at the fabric that stretched from her stomach. “Oops?” 

Genevieve rolled her eyes at Niall, who burst into giggles because it turned out everything was more hilarious at 5:00 a.m. She tugged at the material.

It was old and ratty. It was two sizes too big and hung off her frame, there were stains, holes, some she never remembered putting in herself. It took her a moment, with the fabric bunched between her digits, the gears in her brain set into place. The sharp intake of breath hit the back of her throat and the air on the street suddenly froze.

***

October 27, 2019

“It’s stupid, Gen.” The clicking of a game controller didn’t halt. The animated character on the screen ran towards a glowing torch. Jonah adjusted the headpiece he had on over his ears, probably muting himself so the other kids wouldn’t hear Genevieve lecture him. Beside him sat a bowl of finished popcorn on the sofa, like his player two, and unpopped kernels rattled every time he enthusiastically surged towards the TV screen.  

“This is due in two days, Jonah,” Genevieve emphasized. She had unzipped his backpack. His agenda was hard to read, his chicken scratch writing almost made Genevieve mistake a significant date for scribbles. It was for his English class, something that he had yet to mention, which Genevieve found odd because he always told her about his school work. Okay, it was more like Genevieve made sure he told her, but same thing regardless. “How are you planning on starting and editing and finishing it?”

She knew better than to talk to boys in the middle of a game. There was no use. Her experience regarding it only went one way, everything went in one ear and out the other. It was fascinating, really; their eyes would glaze over and for a short ten minutes the real world wouldn’t exist. They would become so immersed in whatever universe was in front of them. It had been once explained to Genevieve as almost the same thing as reading a good book, but with the exception that the player was put in charge of the main character’s decisions. 

His tongue poked out at the side and the Playstation keys were innocent victims to his quick jabs. His shoulders deflated when the message on the screen informed him of the scoreboard. He grumbled something under his breath before his miniature joystick highlighted the option to opt for another round. “I’ll edit it while I’m writing it.” He shrugged mindlessly. 

“I’m being serious.”

“I am too.” 

“What’s up with you? You usually love finishing your assignments for Mrs. Yu’s class.”

“Look how stupid the prompt is,” Jonah grumbled. Genevieve’s fingers were already pulling out a crumpled rubric and pressing it flat so it stayed without folding in on itself. Eyes scanned the short blurb of instructions which Jonah soon summarized. “Pick a month and personify it. What type of pretentious—”

“I think it’s very neat. Creative. Have you selected a month yet?” 

“Sure.” His flat tone said otherwise.

Genevieve rolled her eyes at his antics. “If you don’t spend enough time on this, she will give you an easy fifty. That will bring down your average and universities look at that. What will you do then?”

She reached over to the table to take a sip from her water bottle.

The Smalls residence was the same layout when compared to her flat, so it didn’t take long to get familiar to it. Granted, it was more furnished and had Jonah’s gaming consoles already hooked up to use. The latter being the deciding factor of Jonah’s executive decision to procrastinate his work for another week. Usually, Jonah would pop in after school to Genevieve’s, but she had just returned from a shift at the diner and his door was cracked ajar.

Like many days, his father left for the construction site and wouldn’t be back until after dinner, and the only appliance Jonah knew how to use was a microwave. Genevieve had some food which Walter packed for her and it was more than enough to share with a growing boy. His diet was worse than hers. He could go weeks on Pop Tarts and Twizzlers from his cafeteria vending machine. Plus, he wasn’t bad company to have around. 

“Easy. Play the dead mum card. Works like a charm.” 

Genevieve spluttered the water out, coughing since it had gone down the wrong tube. 

“Jonah!”

Her jaw went slack and her eyes widened, a slight worry arose. She wasn’t well versed on the ins and outs of parenting—she preferred to see him as a younger sibling— or child trauma, but even she had a hunch that there was something troubling and incredibly off about the way he had referred to the passing of his mother so nonchalantly. 

“What?” Jonah asked, dumbfounded. 

“You can’t just say stuff like that!”

“‘Course I can. You have no idea the amount of pity and sympathy they throw at your feet. At first, I despised it, because obviously I wasn’t a knocked over puppy like they were making me out to be.” His character on the screen jumped to deflect an obstacle. A triumph smile was the direct result. “But then, I was like what the hell, you know? Like if it’s there already, why not play my cards right and score some sort of advantage from it?”

Genevieve blinked. She tilted her head to attempt understanding his analogy. 

“Well, that sure is one way to look at it,” she said after a short pause. “But I am not gonna let you do that to Mrs. Yu. Something tells me you’ve already done it one too many times.”

He paused his game and finally turned to her, giving her more than his side profile at last. A hellish grin split his face. “How else do you think I got a month extension on that book report and a perfect score on our last quiz?”

“I don’t know… I had assumed hard work and honesty?”

“Wake up, Gen! This is the real world and the rules are different in this game!” 

“Alright, bud, you’re cut off from this game.” Genevieve pushed the power button on the TV remote that laid limply to her right. The screen became black with a click. Jonah’s back hit the backrest of the sofa, the bouncy cushion slightly propelled him further before absorbing his weight. “Let’s at least get started on a rough copy, how does that sound?”

He groaned with his head tilted back and eyes shut. “Excruciating, torturous, maybe illegal.”  

“I’m asking you to get a start on your project, not abducting you.” His pace to grab the rest of his belongings from the table two meters away from him could rival a snail. “Now, do you have a month in mind?”

“I was thinking maybe like February, December, or even October.” He opened an empty page in his notebook and clicked the top of his mechanical pencil to give away some lead. “Because, like, it will be easy to build a character off them because they all have some sort of festive holiday thing to them.”

“That’s a great start. But don’t you think it’s a bit expected? It is a creative piece, so let’s maybe brainstorm something out of the box. Try picking a month that doesn’t have a holiday attached to it.”

He sighed deeply through his nose. The thought of putting in a smidge bit of effort was like pulling teeth.

Jonah had started to doodle in the margins. He drew three tallies, evenly spread, and added another row of them. He then connected them in a way which Genevieve recognizes to be the symbol on a superhero’s chest. 

“August?” 

Genevieve swallowed a bug.

“Why did you pick that? What significance does it have to you?” Genevieve doesn’t miss a beat, it aided to mask her surprise. 

“Well, I don’t know!” He throws his hands up exasperatedly. “You said pick one, so I did.” He pointed out, his tone reminded Genevieve of how a middle schooler says “duh”. 

“Come on. Think a bit.” 

“It’s like... sort of like the last month of summer and it brings in fall. Which is the season where we witness life slip away, but barely because it happens so slowly.” 

Genevieve’s heart swells for two reasons. Jonah was a bright kid, well beyond his age. It was something he hid and purposefully tried his utmost best not to let shine through. Genevieve had guessed the reason behind his reluctance was mainly because Jonah was at that age where he just wanted to fit in and not stand out like a sore thumb. But every once in a blue moon, he would slip up. When he allowed himself to think out loud, his ideas lined in a way where it wasn’t just the tip of the iceberg anymore. The depth gave away his brilliance. 

The first time Genevieve was left speechless by him was when he analyzed one of his favourite comic book characters with an intensity that put the burning sun to shame. Then again when he asked her to edit his essay on a world issue. And once more when he asked her how to approach a girl in his science class that he clearly fancied. Genevieve tried to define this tendency of his as a recurring variable in Jonah’s equation. 

In many more ways than one, August held an importance like no other to Genevieve. It was a month that was easily overlooked because it was caught in a war for attention between the summer months and upcoming winter holidays. Its propinquity to strong competition was something that made it easy to forget. If it was a person, she was sure it would be a quiet boy around her age. Probably with a penchant for befriending girls and breaking hearts so slowly that you don’t even know it’s happening. 

Genevieve hummed in agreement with Jonah. 

“Go on.”

“Let’s say if I were to go with this month, I wouldn’t focus on death because that would be something colder, like December or January or like the first snowfall.” His pencil sounded against his notebook. A string of notes were effortlessly coming together as Jonah continued. He suddenly stopped writing and his face scrunched in thought as he stared at the blank TV screen with as much focus that could convince you it was on. “I think August is knowing you’re losing someone or something without the assurance of finding them again... and letting it deliberately happen.”

“Isn’t that almost death?” Genevieve raised a brow. 

“Almost, but not quite.” He tapped his pencil to the metal like coils that ran down the side. “August is loss, parting away. You know, something along the lines of donating old clothes, a friend becoming a stranger, even placing car keys somewhere different.”

Genevieve knew exactly what he was talking about. She couldn’t really describe the feeling of losing a friend in words with sharp precision. It was the same as repeating a word again and again until it came to the point you deluded yourself into thinking it belongs to another language completely.  

Jonah peered up, awaiting a response or another prompt to further his development. Instead, Genevieve smiled sadly and shakes her head. 

“What?!”

“Nothing.” She laughed softly, a bit winded.

There was just something about him that was light years ahead. Something so pure and good and applaudable that made you think about the character that so many adults lacked and how it was sitting in front of you in a corked up bottle of a preteen boy. He had lost his mother, his father wasn’t around, he didn’t have many friends at school, and he picked the month of August. He had hit the nail on what it was so eloquently that Genevieve could burst into tears. But she refrained, instead opted to narrow her eyes jokingly his way.

“You’re just too smart for your own good, is all.”

That night she went to sleep thinking about August.

How he probably wore wrinkled shirts so effortlessly, with his hair in a gentle disarray. People would make a note to comment on his ridiculously long eyelashes, but she favoured his eyes. They were round and shiny and reminded her of a cloudy marble, the colour of slate. He was charming but had an air of coyness about him that was inviting and deliberate. With skin the colour of oat and a smile like rain, it came or it didn't, he was a knockout. She hypothesized the variable that contributed to his allure had less to do with his looks and more with how he made you feel. 

He made you feel wanted, he made you feel like you were someone. 

***

October 31, 2016

It didn’t take long for Genevieve to spot him, his back was slouched against the red brick wall of a tall building. A pair of old wayfarers sat on the bridge of his nose and his arms pretzeled over his chest easily. His jaw went slack then tight, this pattern repeated like clockwork until Genevieve got close enough to notice he was working a piece of gum lazily. With his head tilted to the sky and one leg crossed over the other, he was imitating textbook boredom. 

“Do you have it?” Dried leaves crunched beneath the sole of his boots as he unravelled his legs and stood up straighter than before as Genevieve’s figure approached near. She could tell he was raising his brows, but they didn’t make an appearance, still hidden behind his frames.

“Yeah.” Genevieve dipped her index finger and thumb to the front right side pocket of her jeans. It took some wiggling to pluck out a piece of metal, smooth on one side and teeth jagged on the other. The metal was warm when dropped into his open palm. “Why the sudden need for it? Have you finally taken up my advice on actually locking your doors yet?”

It was natural for him to give Genevieve a spare key, a strategy that had served him well on multiple occasions. He had lost his more than once within the span of the first two months of getting his flat. This habit had come to a point that recovery was not an option; he preferred to keep his door unlocked anyway. Genevieve pointed out it was a safety hazard, but he liked to call it being efficient. In between locking himself out or forgetting his own key, Genevieve was a dependable solution.

“Not quite, don’t get too ahead of yourself.” She had seen his long black eyelashes hit the inside of his sunglasses, a clear indicator of him rolling his eyes. “I need it for a friend. He doesn’t have a place to stay for a while, and I offered the couch. Are you done with your lectures for the day?”

“I’m afraid not. Got one more and I’m free,” Genevieve sighed defeatedly. She shifted her bag from her right shoulder to the left. Today, she only had her laptop and one textbook, but the strap of her bag still created red dents on her shoulders from the weight. “Did you end up going to your tutorial?”

He gave her a look that was enough of an answer. His glasses rose on his face as a result of him scrunching his nose up in disgust. The tips of his mouth pulled downwards as sourness glazed his features. 

“If it’s before noon, I’m not going; you know this, Genny.” He rubbed his nose with the back of his finger. “Can I tempt you to skip by offering the first round at The Cabinet?”

“It’s like…” Genevieve glanced at her wrist watch. “One.”

“I’m not hearing a no.” He grinned, a smile pressed deeply into his face. “Come on, Gen! You’ll get to meet my pal too. I think you’ll get along really well. And Ted is offering half off today. It’s a win-win. What could be more important than good company?”

“Dynamic Systems Differential Equations, unfortunately.” The course name was a mouthful and her dull tone was enough insight into what it was like.

“That sounds like a migraine.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” She laughed sans humour already picturing the formulas needed for her practice problems. “Speaking of migraines, what are we doing as costumes for Hannah Morton’s party?”

He squinted his eyes and paused for a moment. Migraine Morton was a nickname that stuck onto the bottom of your sneaker like chewing gum. “Is that tonight?” 

“Well it is the thirty-first of October.” Her arms stretched to gesture towards the building she had exited from. “Do the carved pumpkins and the stick on ghost figures not make that obvious enough?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” He winced in reply to her previous question. A fingernail scratched at the corner of his forehead. “I was thinking of piggybacking off whatever you’re dressed as.”

Genevieve’s brows creased and her head tilted. “What do you mean?” 

“If you’re Frankenstein, I’ll be the doctor.” He pointed to Genevieve and then to himself. “Bonnie, Clyde. Sherlock, Watson.” 

“You want to go coordinating? Isn’t that a bit…”

“What?” He prompted with a laugh spluttering from his lips. It was fresh and bright, and Genevieve didn’t know exactly when it would stop sounding like this. He had amusement glittering in his gaze, there was a youthfulness about him that was so prominent and bold. He leaned closer. “Are you too cool to go coordinating now? Don’t tell me you can’t sit beside me at the lunch table too.”

It was ironic because they both knew Genevieve had always chose him to split her fruit roll-up candy since pre-school. In return, he would never pick up the red smarties whenever they shared a pack because those were her favourite, despite the number of times you told her the colour doesn’t affect the taste. 

“I don’t know, a bit coupley? I mean, it worked well when we were eight. Would you think Hannah would mind?” 

To this, he scoffed.

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. Why would she?”

“She’s clearly into you, like a lot, and I don’t want to get in the middle of that. And I hear she’s going around saying that she’s your girlfriend.”

He closed his eyes gently and breathes out a sigh. “She’s not my—”

“I know that! You know that! But does she?” 

His phone buzzed and the question hung in the air until his fingers stopped their dance on the screen. He looked over her shoulder as if waiting for someone. 

“Doesn’t matter, she will soon enough.” He shrugged, his voice was distracted and far away. And that was one thing about him that Genevieve couldn’t shake off no matter how hard she tried. He broke hearts knowingly, and did it anyway. “What time do you want me to come pick you up?”

“I’m done with class at five. I’ll have to stop by Party City at six, then do my modules so that will take me till nine, then I—” Rolling tires sounded loudly against the pavement as they approached behind her. The closer they got, the less time she had to finish her train of thought. The radio was a few notches down from its max setting.

“Be ready at nine. No later.” He gripped her shoulders with both hands, brought her close and pressed a messy kiss against her hair. He smelled of cigarettes and toothpaste and beer. 

“No, I won’t be, I have to do my laundry and—”

“Great. Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” 

And he was gone. He opened and shut the passenger side of the beat up Honda Civic in two seconds. The driver was familiar to Genevieve, it was another blonde, not Hannah, with thick eyeliner. She was a regular turn up at every monotonous party thrown each weekend. She had seen her get too close to him on more than one instance. He convinced Genevieve to poke in at a few, but the scene was like a broken record and her lack of interest dwindled in them too quickly.

It once even prompted her to bring her textbook to do practice problems to keep her from falling asleep as drunk students lit up a joint around her. Every once in a while he would trap grey smoke in his cheeks and blow it directly on her face to elicit a scowl, something he found beyond hilarious when his inhibitions weren’t intact. 

The girl’s hair was knotted and she had a less than pleased demeanour, probably nursing a hangover of her own. She stomped her foot down on the gas. He didn’t even have his seatbelt done before their bodies lurched backwards and the car zoomed out from the parking lot of the mathematical sciences department building. The radio became only a faint sound away the longer Genevieve stood there. 

By the time she got to Party City, the student working behind the counter gave her an apologetic look. All the decent costumes were sold out. He led her to the back of the store where the remaining costumes were kept. Being a university student meant she couldn’t break the bank for something so trivial. In the plastic bin lied a pair of fangs and a deflated witches hat that had a tear near the rim. There were masks, but she would be better off by taking a paintbrush to her face. 

She sighed deeply, her lips pursing in thought. It was obvious her plans of coordinating were a dream far away. That was until she turned around. 

A long hat cowered in the corner. It had thick red and white stripes, she pictured it with eyeliner drawn whiskers and a cat ear headband from last year. Maybe even a red bow around her neck. What really sealed the deal for her was the red shirt hung on a hanger right above it. It had a white circle right in the dead centre. The font within the circle was a recognizable outfit from a famous children’s book character. Bonnie and Clyde, Sherlock and Watson, and now Cat in the Hat and Thing 1.

The relief that came along with not trying to maneuver creating an outfit at home was enough to get Genevieve to run to the till. Arts and crafts were not her strongest suits.

The same guy’s eyebrows shot up, surprised at her quick decision making. He shut his latest issue of Men’s Healthy Living and leaned his weight off his elbow. He scanned the items and Genevieve handed him the crisp bill. Before he could finalize the sale, Genevieve thought back to the couch friend that would be accompanying them tonight. Did he have a costume? Inferring from the fact that he didn’t have a roof of his own, a lousy Halloween costume was the least of his worries. But Genevieve found her feet trailing back towards the shop and grabbing the shirt that said Thing 2. The guy added it to her final bill and packed her belongings in a black plastic bag. 

He was late and Genevieve was thankful that her laundry was dry and folded neatly. 

---

© 2019 almondharry All Rights Reserved

Okay, I think I’m done introducing the main characters. We have quite the cast list, don’t we?

Let me know what u think! I’d love to hear your favourite parts and predictions!

Thank you eriza @booksncoffee for the banner! 

Thank you so much to my wonderful betas @adoremp3 @haaaaaaarrry @drivingmekiwi @at-least-im-1 Ayesha and Hamna! Without them, this would be a jumble of fucked up grammar bc I write at 3am. If you want to beta, shoot me a message!

Tag list: @infinitiae @sortaanonymous @sydneysuit @wonderonrepeat @confusedkiwifan @mylifeisatoilet @awomanindeniall @guccikingstyles @verorax @stylesfics-xx @stylishmuser @at-least-im-1 @mellamolayla  @thursday-iminlove @kizsyou @brassharry @kizsyou @thursday-iminlove @blue-eyes-freckles-and-a-smile @Hollydays @la-peonia

[softhaos]

INKIGAYO SANDWICH

pairing – byun baekhyun x reader

genre – fluff, humor, idolverse

description – baekhyun has a crush on you, wants to give you his number and the only discreet way to do it is by slipping it into an inkigayo sandwich. but here’s the thing: you’d rather jump off a cliff instead of eating one of those nasty slices of bread. alternatively, yes i actually wrote a fic based on the meme someone end me

warning – one (1) instance of the word ‘shit’

word count – 2.1k

author’s note – this wasn’t supposed to exist until an anon went ahead and deadass requested this and i can’t believe i invested time in this and i didn’t bother giving a cool title,, anyway i love the boys from yg treasure box and i have a soft spot for mashiho and junkyu so expect a cameo from them here 

The first time it happens, you brush it off.

You don’t know if it’s because YG was probably on drugs upon making his decision or because he rather invests more time and money into his newest boy group (it’s most likely the latter) that your promotion time overlaps with your agency mates’. Then again, the first reason might also be true because a handful of famous artists who already established themselves in the industry are also having a comeback this month. Naturally, there’s no way for the debuting boy group to achieve their first win given the competition.

It really takes a miracle to win against Monsta X, Twice and EXO combined. With those monster groups active at once, you doubt that you’ll get a win this time. Although you are signed under one of the most promising entertainment companies in the country and debuted two years ago, you still have to struggle a little bit more than the rest at YG since you’re a soloist. After all, it’s no secret that soloists generally need longer to build up a consistent fan base.

Right now, everyone’s sitting in the cafeteria at Inkigayo. Most of them, including you, finished performing their stage for this week’s episode and are currently resting. While everyone sits with their respective group members, you sit beside Chungha whom you’ve befriended quite a while ago. It’s nice and comforting talking to her since she relates to your problems as a soloist to every extent.

The two of you are engrossed in a discourse about puppies when someone approaches your table. Mashiho, your labelmate as well as a member of the YG rookie group, smiles unsurely at you. You figure it costs him a lot of nerves to be standing in front of you judging by his red ears. A quick glance to the table where the rest of his members are sitting and indiscreetly following his every step is enough of an indication that he was probably forced into this.

“Uh, you haven’t eaten at all ever since recordings have started, so I thought I should give this to you,” he explains and tries to keep his voice as stable as possible. With that, he places a wrapped sandwich on the table and bows his head a little to show his respect.

“That’s–” your eyes flicker to the food and back to him “– very considerate of you, Mashiho. Thanks a lot.”

Taking this as his cue to leave, Mashiho bows down once more before he shuffles back to his table and earns a reaction from his bandmates.

You carelessly poke the sandwich a few times before you focus back on the conversation with Chungha. “So as I said before…”

Your voice dies down once you notice that she’s raising a brow at you.

“I thought you didn’t like the Inkigayo sandwiches?” she asks after a moment of silence.

“I don’t,” you respond, “but that boy was terrified and I didn’t want to break down the rejection to him.”

“You never talk to him! How should he know that? Plus, he’s your labelmate, so he’s bound to do things like this more often.”

“That's only the case if the main producer gets the idea again of letting two of his artists come back at the same time and release their records within the same week,” you deadpan before you push the sandwich towards her direction. “Here, you look like you could use some food and unlike me, you actually enjoy this monstrosity.”

The second time it happens, you break it down.

You didn’t mean it seriously when you said that YG would do it again, but he really came through with it. Surprisingly, your next comeback is slotted four months after the last one. Unfortunately, so is the rookie group.

You have nothing against the treasure box group, but it’s really frustrating seeing that you’re promoting at the same time again and are competing against big artists, again.

It’s not Monsta X, Twice and EXO this time. However, BTS and Sunmi aren’t easy to beat either. Surprisingly, Chungha is also on Inkigayo as the special MC alongside Byun Baekhyun.

During break time, you’re glued to each other in the cafeteria while your rookie labelmates are chatting enthusiastically with NCT and Baekhyun who decided to join them.

“You know, I heard from a little birdy that someone has a crush on you,” Chungha singsongs as you sip on your water.

“And who might that be?” you play along, fluttering your eyelashes in a playful manner.

“A certain Byun Baekhyun–”

You almost choke on your water.

“I honestly regret telling you who my celebrity crush is,” you mumble in a low tone and take a careful glance at your surroundings. However, nobody seemed to have noticed your sudden outburst.

“Hey, it’s not a bad thing!” Chungha retorts.

“Stop teasing me about this!”

“Okay, I admit I like to do that, but this time I’m not. I swear! Look, rumor has it that he’s actually a shy guy when it comes to asking somebody out–”

While Chungha is immersed in explaining herself, Junkyu walks up to you. You’re startled for a second when the rookie idol arrives at your table, but one glance on his hand holding the infamous sandwich is enough for you to tell where this is going.

“Junkyu, as much as I appreciate your thoughtfulness, I’d rather not have a sandwich right now. I don’t, uh, like the taste a lot,” you start before Junkyu gets the chance to say something.

The said boy opens his mouth several times but no sound escapes his lips. In the end, all he says is “Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware of that. I’ll keep that in mind.”

With that, he rushes back to his group. Chungha gives you the look that is equivalent to “are you serious?”

You just roll your eyes at her.

The third time it happens... it's a wild ride.

YG or whoever is in charge of scheduling your comebacks finally got a grip on themselves – probably after realizing that the stocks were dropping. For your next comeback, none of your competitors are from your label.

However, YG or whoever is in charge of scheduling your comebacks must love to set your comeback dates while monster groups are releasing their latest title track too. This time, you're running up against EXO. Again.

Oh boy.

Sadly, Chungha is neither promoting at the same time as you nor is she invited as a special MC for Inkigayo, meaning you’re all alone in the cafeteria. Sure, you could sit next to GFriend, but you’ve never really interacted with them before.

Ultimately, you decided to seclude yourself from everyone and sit by yourself. You're so concentrated on your phone that you fail to notice that someone occupies the seat in front of you until they clear their throat. You look up finding no one other than Byun Baekhyun sending you a polite smile.

Your brain stops working. This is a dream – this must be a dream. There's no other logical explanation for this scenario. Maybe you shouldn’t have insisted on sleeping only four hours a day.

However, you know that this is not an image in your brain, not a daydream, but a reality. Baekhyun is seriously sitting in front of you as you feel the heat rush up your cheeks and tint them red. The only somewhat cohesive words you can form are, “Uh, um, hi?”

Amused by your perplexed reaction, Baekhyun chuckles. “Hey,” he finally says and goes straight for the kill, “you look like you need something to eat. I got this for you.”

With that, he slides an Inkigayo sandwich towards you. You scrunch your nose at the sight of the three slices of bread and everything between in the wrapper.

“I mean, I’m flattered, I really am,” you start off slowly as you push the food back towards him, “but I don’t necessarily digest this really well.”

“Honestly, who does? It tastes like shit,” he deadpans and returns the sandwich to you.

“Chungha does,” you respond intuitively and send it back to him, “I don't know if you still remember her but she once had an MC segment with you.”

You may have a teeny tiny crush on him but you definitely haven’t reached the point of infatuation where you’d accept that disastrous food creation from him. For all you know, he might sit in front of you forever, waiting for you to eat that thing.

Baekhyun looks genuinely surprised for a second, but then he musters up an overly tense and exaggerated smile. “Oh well, she’s then the exception. But for real, take this sandwich.”

“I said it once and I’ll say it again; Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t want it.” you grit your teeth and return his overly tense smile with one too.

“Just take it!” he hisses.

“You said yourself it tastes like trash, so why should I accept this?”

“Because my number is in it, goddamnit!” he shouts and suddenly a few pairs of eyes are set on you two.

Not many have witnessed your bickering, but the ones that certainly have are Baekhyun’s bandmates who collectively have second-hand embarrassment written on their faces.

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”

Baekhyun looks at you as if you were a ghost until the realization hits him. “Wait,” he slowly starts, “you really don’t know?”

“What don’t I know?”

His jaw drops and you’re suddenly wondering if you’re really hallucinating. Seeing how clueless you still are, Baekhyun clears his throat and explains in a suddenly much quieter tone, as if the shyness took over him.

As it turns out to be, shyness and embarrassment really took over him judging by the incoherent words and stutters that emerge. “So, uh, the thing with the Inkigayo sandwiches are, uh– you know how nobody likes them?”

“I mean, we’ve already established that with the exception of Chungha, of course.”

“Y-yeah, of course. Of course, we already went through that. I’m a dumbass,” he laughs nervously before he continues. “Anyway, so, the only reason why people only take them is to slip their numbers into them and yeah…”

You put the pieces together and it suddenly dawns on you. 

“Oh.”

“And uh, I may have heard from a little bird that you like me? And uh, I kinda have a crush on you too? I’ve been crushing on you for several months, in fact?”

Not really believing what he just said, your eyes widen at him. But once Baekhyun sees your shocked stare, he desperately tries to take back his statement, “Okay, maybe I went ahead of myself assuming that you have developed a crush on me–”

“Is that why two of my rookie labelmates wanted to give me that sandwich?” you interrupt him, to which he nods subtly.

“Well, you were promoting at the same time and I thought it’d be weird if I suddenly came up to you. We never had any reason to talk to each other anyway. Besides, it’s way more natural if people from the same company do that.”

“And because they’re not active this time, you decided to take things into your own hands?” This is starting to get amusing, you figure. So, you grin at him playfully and silently chuckle at him as he's at the loss of words.

“Almost,” he confesses and rubs the back of his head. “I lost a bet with Sehun. He would’ve delivered this to you if I had won.”

“But you didn’t,” you point out.

“Yeah, I didn’t,” he repeats as if dazed. Judging by how distanced he looks, he’s probably reliving the bet he had going on with Sehun. Whatever it was, it certainly didn’t look too bright and you don’t think it’d be appropriate to pry.

“But hey, I’m glad you came over,” you mumble and hope he didn’t catch your words. However, you’re proven wrong as Baekhyun snaps out of his daydream and stares at you in disbelief.

“Wait, so what Chungha said is actually true? That you’re– you know, on me–?” he asks.

“She what? Wow, so much to her promise of keeping it a secret,” you deadpan and take the mental note to strangle her someday. Then you add, “But yeah, it’s true.”

Baekhyun, still not seeming to understand the situation at hand, looks at you incredulously. As if a tiny flame of hope ignited in his mind, he suggestively shoves the sandwich right back at you with a soft smile planted on his face.

“I take it that you might give me a call?”

“Possibly,” you reply as you peel the wrapper off. For now, you ignore the foul stench of the sandwich as well as the slight blush on your cheeks.

That’s a lie. You’re definitely giving him a call.

[librarian-of-orynth]

OK JURDAN HC. so Jude has an old Walkman/tape recorder, and it’s really special to her. she listens to it whenever she’s really upset or needs it. she hasn’t shown it to anyone, but one day she shows it to Cardan. it has a bunch of old classic rock 70s songs on it, and at first they’re just listening to it. then a slow song plays and cardan’s all like “let’s dance.” And eventually “hey Jude” by the Beatles comes on AND CARDAN FRICKIN LOSES IT AND HES ALL LIKE “JUDE, DEAR, THIS IS YOUR SONG.”

okay omfg i love this so much BUT I wrote it as a fic I hope you like it!! 

“The mortal world is fascinating,” Cardan said, beaming up at Jude. 

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve been here for an hour, Cardan. What could you possibly have found that would be so fascinating?” 

Cardan shook his head at her, not understanding. This world…he hadn’t expected mortals to be so…savvy. It’s not as though a world without magic couldn’t be impressive, but, well, Cardan certainly hadn’t expected it. And it even seemed like–like they were more advanced, what with their giant metal boxes that moved (Jude told him they were cars, but that word meant nothing to him, and she refused to explain, anyway), their methods of playing music–how could they store so much music in a little tiny device!–and even the way pictures formed on what Jude told him were televisions. He’d never seen anything like it, and for Jude to tell him it wasn’t surprising?! 

Oh, Jude. 

Sure, she’d been born to this world–and had visited with her sister plenty of times–but how could this all seem normal? Cardan figured she’d be so used to Faerie that this was as foreign to her as to him, but instead, she seemed to be the expert. She navigated the world with ease, unafraid. And sure, she lived in Faerie with a similar bravery, but even he knew that she still felt a level of fear there. She wasn’t as relaxed, as comfortable, there. Here, though, her shoulders relaxed, she lounged on the couch with no fear of her things being stolen or her hair being knotted by a stray faerie looking for some trouble. She didn’t even have her sword with her! Normally, Jude kept it strapped to her side at all times. 

But here…she didn’t seem to need that. There was an ease to living here. At least, for mortals. 

For Faeries it was harder, as though the mortals knew how to protect themselves against the despite not knowing of their existence. 

Iron was everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. In the buildings, in the so-called cars, their jewelry, hell, it was even in some of the water! It left Cardan feeling eternally uncomfortable. And grateful that the house they were staying in was some sort of log cabin from when Jude was young. 

It wasn’t just the iron, though. There was salt, too. In everything. Their meat was seasoned with salt almost always, according to Jude. So were the vegetables. Even the desserts! As soon as they got to the cabin, Jude opened the cabinet and plopped a salted caramel candy into her mouth–without offering him one, of course. Instead of sweets, Cardan had a nice snack of bread and butter. 

And promptly spit it out, realizing there was salt in the bread, too. 

Sorry, Jude had said sheepishly. As though she didn’t know there was salt in it. But Cardan knew better. They might be on better terms as of late, but she still loved to trick him. To mess with him. To lie to him. If she got a good laugh out of it, too, that was another plus. 

She hadn’t laughed this time, but he saw a smile creep up on her lips, as though she’d had a feeling there was salt and fed it to him anyway. 

This world was not meant for him. Or any Faerie. However Vivi lived here, he had no idea. There was nothing to eat, to drink, to enjoy. At least, not for him. 

Regardless, there was something fascinating about the endurance of the mortal world and their technologies. Sure, he wouldn’t vacation here by any means, but staying here for a day or two…could be fun. There was so much to see, after all. 

“Cardan?”

“Hmm?” 

“You’re staring.” 

“Am I not allowed to stare at your beautiful face?” he purred, moving closer to Jude. 

“You’re staring at the television,” she replied blandly. 

“…oh.” Cardan shifted, taking his eyes off of the pictures moving across the screen. It was harder than he wanted to admit, though. The story, the pictures telling the story…it was all so fascinating. He knew if Jude hadn’t awoken him from his trance, he likely would’ve stared at that television, thinking about it–and the mortal world’s ways–all day. 

“How is it that despite not having magic, mortals produce things like this–” he pointed to the tv “and those–” he pointed outside, to the cars lining the street. 

“They had to adapt,” Jude said, taking a box out from under her bed, “mortals didn’t have magic to rely on–to help them. So instead, they had to help themselves. Machines, technology, art…all of it developed because there was no magic.” 

“But how,” Cardan wondered. 

“Brain power. How about an example. Once upon a time, we had to play instruments to hear music. We couldn’t record it, couldn’t store it anywhere. To hear a song again, you had to find a musician. I’m going to fast forward here a bit, but after that, you had record players, and then tape recorders, like this one.” She held out her hand, showing him the device. It was fairly bulky, with a few buttons and a space to put something inside, with a pair of headphones attached at the top. 

“Tape recorder?” 

“Well they were actually called Walkmans, back in the day. This one–this one was my mom’s. Before she was killed.” 

“May I…”

Jude smiled. “You can see it. If you want. I’ll even put a tape in for you.” 

Cardan held his hands out, waiting, while Jude placed a rectangular object inside of the device. He took it from her gingerly, being sure not to crush it between his hands. He wasn’t about to ruin something of her mother’s. He knew how much it meant to her that she still had this–a memory of her and her past. And of Madoc’s cruelty. 

But he had no idea what to do with it. So he turned it over in his hand, inspecting the device. The buttons had odd symbols that he couldn’t figure out. Two lines. A sideways triangle. Two sideways triangles facing one way, and another two facing another. A square. What was it all for?

“Jude, how do I use this device?” 

She laughed. “Put on the headphones and press the single triangle.” 

He did as she said, and music came flowing from the Walkman into his ears. Cardan’s eyes went wide. How did this work? He decided instantly that he needed one of his own. 

The music was unlike anything he’d ever heard. No lute he’d ever heard sounded like that! As though…as though it were releasing lightning with every note. And the drums were so complete. Was one person doing all of this? Jude once told him that drummers in the mortal world had drum sets. Was this what drum sets sounded like? 

And then there was the voice. All gravelly and like nothing he’d ever heard in Faerie. There, one needed skill to sing for the folk–they needed to hit every note, let their vocals cascade over the audience. This was…not so beautiful. But Cardan found that he enjoyed it–he needed something different nowadays. 

“This is like nothing I’ve ever heard before,” Cardan said, amazement in his voice. 

“I guessed as much,” she said, chuckling. “The next song’s my favorite. My mom used to sing it to me every night.” 

At that, Cardan stood and held out his hand, putting the walkman in his pocket. “Then shall we?” 

Jude furrowed her brows. “Shall we what?” 

“Dance, of course. If you will do me the honor?” 

“I can’t exactly hear the music, Cardan. How am I going to dance?” 

“Like this.” He waved his hand, and the music began to fill the room. “Better?” 

“Fine,” she huffed, and took his hand. 

Hey Jude, don’t make it bad

Take a sad song, and make it better

Remember to let her in your heart 

Then you can start to make it better

The song filled the air, surprising Cardan with every word. 

“Hey Jude?” Cardan said, eyes wide.

“Yeah?” 

“Is this song about you?” 

She laughed. “No, no. It’s by the Beatles. My mom used to tell me it was, though.” 

“She was lying?” 

“Of course. I wasn’t even born when the Beatles wrote this song.” 

“Oh. This is a beautiful song.” 

Cardan wasn’t lying. He loved it. He wanted every bard in Faerie to learn this song, to play it when he asked. He wanted to listen to Hey Jude over and over again, until the court demanded he stop. And then he wanted to hear it some more. 

“I think it is, too,” Jude said, and rested her head on Cardan’s. He placed a kiss on her forehead. 

They remained like that, her head on his, his arms around her, dancing until the song was over. Eventually, Jude pulled back and looked at Cardan, who was grinning. “What?” she asked. 

“This is your song, Jude.” 

“I didn’t write it.” 

“It’s still yours. Your mom gave it to you, and now you’ve given it to me. And I will bring it back to Faerie, for all to hear. To enjoy.” 

“Cardan, I don’t think–” 

“It’s a beautiful song. As beautiful as you are. And our world–our home–should learn of its beauty. Of your beauty.” He moved closer, taking her hand in his. 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, given that I’m–” she pointed to her ears, to the rounded tops. 

“They must know. I am done letting them walk all over you. Treating you like you are nothing. You are their Queen. They should be honoring you.” 

“Cardan, they won’t, though. I’m mortal.” 

“We can try, Jude. Try to make them see you as I see you.” 

“You didn’t see me like this before,” Jude grumbled.

“That was years ago, Jude. It is ancient history. If not for them, would you allow me to bring the song home for you? For me? I would certainly love to hear it again.” 

Jude thought for a moment. “Fine. But you’ll teach it only to bards within our court. And you won’t tell them why you want them to learn it.” 

“Deal,” he said, sealing their agreement with a kiss.

Cardan did as he was told. He taught only the bards within their court Hey Jude, not explaining why, and telling them to keep it a secret. But you know what happens when bards love a song are told to keep it a secret. Word spreads, songs spread, and soon, every bard in Faerie knew the words to Hey Jude. 

[everly-kindred]

Eve’s Diary - Entry #53

Date: 12th of March, 2027

Dear Diary, 

I’m trying to write in you more frequently, like I said I would, so here we go! 

I wanna say first off that I did a big tarot reading like I said I would, since Ostara is coming, in precisely a week! But I’ll put my translation of the cards down at the bottom, after I write about everything else. 

I’ve been having a lot of dreams about frogs lately, and it reminded me of when my Gran took me to this rose garden. There were this big stone rings, like giant hag stones, and my Gran told me they’re called fairy stones and that hag stones can be held up to your eye, and if you look through the hole, you’ll see faeries. She’s a muggle, and that’s a legend that has existed for centuries, for them. 

I wonder if they really do see faeries… What happens if a muggle comes across a faerie? Like… our kind of faeries? I should ask the Care of Magical Creatures professor next chance I get.

Anyways, this garden was sort of a like… loop within a circle shape, with little bridges going over these ponds with fountains, and the whole thing was surrounded by a little stone wall, and filled with benches and rose bushes and little trees. It was a tiny park, but beautiful. And I remember there were so many frogs, and I spent ages trying to catch one, while my Gran relaxed on a bench and read her book. Sometimes she’d stop and laugh at me, though, especially when I almost slipped in the pond for probably the tenth time that day. It was a good day. 

Did you know that frogs lay eggs and the eggs float in clusters on top of the water? I wonder what would have happened if I scooped up some of the eggs and water and kept it in a jar… It was this weird, greenish yellow slime, with little black dots in each center. I think tadpoles are rather cute, actually. 

Well, my frog dreams reminded me of that. I still need to ask Gallo what it means. Maybe it’s just because it’s been getting warmer? The snow and ice has started melting, and it’s been looking like it might rain.

I’ve been doing watercolors and sketches, and I’ve thought about getting on my broom and flying high enough that I could sketch all of Hogwarts. I think that’d be a rather magnificent experience, don’t you? Terrifying, too. I’d want someone else there to catch me if I lose balance and fall. It’d likely be best done on an extra thick, sturdy broom. 

The other thing that’s been really pressing on my mind lately is the gold cauldron in the potions shop, in Hogsmeade. I can’t remember if I’ve already written about that in you, but I’ve been daydreaming about it for months! Well, I day dream about a lot of things - wand making, bread… well, baking it and other things, the stories I want to write, making cute music boxes… But the gold cauldron especially! I want to save up for it, which would be very rewarding… It would also be rewarding to win it in some sort of competition, though. 

Though, the fountain outside of the Great Hall was sort of… whispering to me in a weird way. Like, I was drawn to it. So I took my last galleon and I wished for the gold cauldron! I hope it was worth it… I was also kind of thinking about rabbits and fairies at the time too, though, so I hope I didn’t muddle it up.

Something odd and… kind of nice happened the other night, which motivated me. I was running from Peeves (he was trying to dump mud on me) when I ducked into the dueling room, and came across one of the girls in the dueling club there. Her name is Briony Boggs, and she’s a Gryffindor. We got to talking, and she told me how my wand needs me for guidance, and I have to lead it. That I need to be confident with it for my spells to go off, and if I think I’ll fail, I will. So I’ve been trying to change the way I think about things ever since. 

As far as what’s actually been happening in school, I’ve been going to my classes like normal. Though, of course, classes aren’t normal by usual standards. Something weird is always happening, but that’s just how it goes isn’t it? The ravenclaw boys were fainting in herbology… I think they don’t wear their earmuffs on purpose when handling mandrakes. I successfully cared for this plant called moly, though! I didn’t overwater them and I wasn’t too rough with them or anything! 

In Defense Against the Dark Arts, we talked about different subjects and how they might be used in defending oneself from dark wizards. My anxiety was too high during that class, though, I didn’t hear much of what was said and I don’t remember a whole lot of what I did process. Basically, as soon as I walked in, Vikander told me to stay after class. I thought it might’ve been because of my clothes, because we had a really odd notice from him to wear house pride stuff instead of uniform and… some people wore uniform and said it’s because they were told by him to be careful of sudden odd changes of behaviour… or something like that.

Anyways, it wasn’t about that, though. He wanted to ask me about my vision. So I went up to his office, and the Healer and one of the Phoenix girls were there, Nicole I think. And he took off his glove which seemed to be like… alive or something. And his hand was all burned but I did my best not to stare. Then he put his hand on my head and asked me to think about the memory of the vision very clearly, so I did. I guess he has some sort of… mind reading magic when he touches people’s heads? I dunno. I got hot chocolate out of it, though. So that was cool. I wonder what he thought of the vision… How he felt when he saw what I saw, especially the part with him in it. 

I went to dragonology, and we talked about how dragons are similar to seekers - specifically Viktor Krum. I was a bit distracted, though. Did I mention that Professor Eastwood’s eyes are orange? It’s the most… unique eye colour I’ve ever seen! And, I mean, Blightly’s eye is all red and scarred, and Dracheblume has purple eyes… Plus there are a few people with two different coloured eyes at the school, too. But his are orange and like… glowing. 

In Artificer club we made a thing called a PMRA which is this like phonograph with legs and it moves and dances around and plays music and can record stuff for you! We built them and then Bonnie cast the spells for me to enchant mine, and also Marigold and this Gryffindor boy named August’s. 

You can feed the PMRA sheet music or give it records to play. I went to the music room and grabbed some sheet music for Celestina Warbeck and the Weird Sisters, and also some of the Beetles and Peter Paul and Mary… Oh, also the Mamas and the Papas. It’d be cool to build up a music collection for it! 

For now mine sits by my dorm bed, and I have it play music very quietly for me at night. Someone in the dorms is a bit of a snor-er and someone else talks in their sleep… I’ve been told I also talk in my sleep. Well, mutter more like. But occasionally I’ll be sleeping and then some girl a few beds away from me will start muttering strange things like… especially food related things. She must dream about lasagna an awful lot. 

There've been some glitter pranks around the school, too. If you step on a trigger on the ground, you get splashed with this powder paint, and it gets everywhere and passes so easily onto other people, so some students (lookin’ at you, Peach) will go around and purposefully try to spread it. I think it’s funny, even if it’s messy, but when have I ever been a stranger to messiness? Most of my clothing is covered in paint stains…

It’s funny timing, though, because the ministry is now in the school. They’re investigating the forest. Apparently, a bunch of students were caught there, and now there’s all these aurors and occasionally Minister Merriwether walking around. The scary thing, though, is that apparently they’re putting a barrier up around the school, and if you cross it, you’ll… disintegrate? I wonder if that’s painful… I imagine so. I hope the animals know to stay away from it. 

Anyways, that’s all I can think of to catch you up on, so that means it’s tarot reading time. I think I’ve done this spread before, perhaps last spring? It’s a six card spread and you make it in the The first card asks what I ‘need to decay’ or rather what I need to let go of. For this, I drew the Emperor. While he represents masculinity and a leader, he also represents a giver of sorts… So either there is a masculine presence in my life that I need to let go of, or I need to stop… providing for other people? I don’t know. This one didn’t make sense to me. I’ll have to think about it. I don’t think I’m particularly giving, and if I am, I don’t see how I’d be too giving… 

Second one asks what will ‘fertilize me’ which actually means what do I need to learn from. I drew the five of swords reversed. This card, in reverse, would mean something like the desire to be mean, maybe because of wounded pride. So perhaps I am to learn from a moment in which I wanted to be mean instead of kind? Maybe it means I need to learn from any desire I might have to act when I’m angry. I’m not sure. I’ll keep it in mind though and treat it like a warning for the future. 

For the third card, it asks what will ‘nourish me’ which is what I can look forward to. I drew the Chariot. The Chariot is a card of control and victory so… I’ll try not to jump to conclusions or assumptions about what that means and jinx myself. (butboydoIsurehopeit’stalkingaboutquidditch)

The fourth card asks how I ‘burst forth from the earth’ or rather what seeds I should plant for the future. For this, I drew the Magician. I’ve had this card before, and it seems like it shows up a lot in my readings. So as we know, this means power, concentration, dedicating myself. Focusing on strengthening my… smarts and wisdom and stuff. So the seeds I should plant are the seeds of learning, which makes a lot of sense since… I’m in school and all that. 

As for the fifth card, it asks how I ‘grow tall’ which means what skills I should be focusing on and improving. The deck gave me the ten of swords. This card is a card of deep suffering and sadness, so if I’m needing to focus on a skill and building on it, perhaps it should be the skill of… healthily expressing sadness? I guess I do bottle stuff up sometimes.

And finally the sixth card asks how I will ‘blossom’ or rather where I need balance, and for this, I drew the nine of wands reversed. This card is a card of encouragement, confidence, and facing down fear, so maybe it’s telling me that I need to balance out my anxieties and my defeated attitude with bravery and courage. So that I am realistic and honest with myself, but also willing to take a risk and push myself to my full… potential?

Anyways that’s my reading. It felt good to get back into it and do a big one for once. I’ve just been pulling one card or doing three card readings everyday or every other day. My back hurts from sitting over my diary and writing, so I think I’m gonna lay down and go to bed.

Much love, Everly

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