#in my great grandpas backyard

[smallboyonherbike]

idk if i've mentioned my very rich uncle on here before but he rents a private jet along with some other rich families and my dads gonna ride in it for the first time to go to family reunion in memphis w their cousins. and ofc PJs are rather despicable but also i'm like "dad make sure someone takes pictures" lmao.

now keep in mind my uncle lives in california and the rest of my family lives in DC area/east coast lmao. i have no idea if he shares the plane only w ppl in cali prob not but it's so absurd. but he also owns a condo in DC and like four beach houses on rehoboth so 🙄 anyways they also aren't inviting any of the spouses of the siblings bc the plane seats 6 and there's 6 siblings and i was like "okay but couldn't y'all just go commercial?" but my mom was like they said we're not invited so 🤷‍♀️ meanwhile i've never been to memphis and would like to go but ah well that's for the future i guess

[cadykeus-clay]

there is truly nothing funnier to me than the all work no play ghost hunting episode

[adhdbun]

Lads i am byuing a house

[steviescrystals]

there is no feeling worse in the world than missing your grandma :/

[julesnichols]

Brother got the VCR working so now we are watching one of our parents' wedding videos

[ryan-sometimes]

Recently I’ve been getting anons and comments doubting the validity of some of the stories I tell on here. There’s nothing I can do to convince you that the stories I tell on here are completely genuine. All I can say is that they really are. I only post the wackiest, most interesting or funny stories of my life on here. You don’t get much of the boring day to day stuff.

Truth is, I come from a very long line of crazy people. When my dad was in med school he and some friends planted a small homemade bomb in an abandoned bathroom at their university. His roommate stole a pancreas from the corpse lab and put it in a girl’s backpack. The entire med school was suspended because no one owned up to it. My uncle would sneak out at night with my grandma’s car and she’d find out because she’d check the mileage and see it’d gone up, so my uncle started driving her car backwards since that didn’t increase the mileage. He got arrested driving her car backwards on the highway to another town. My uncle would steal my grandpa’s shotgun, tell his friends to jump in the pool, and start firing it randomly at the backyard. My cousin genuinely had two weed smoking girlfriends who were also girlfriends with each other. My great uncle had an affair exposed by having his intimate photos and videos with his mistress sent to the family groupchat by people who stole his phone, all because they were salty that my aunt told them to go fuck themselves when they messaged her asking for money. My aunt took out all her life savings and moved to another state to build a bunker because she believes the apocalypse is coming, and she didn’t even take any of her children. I don’t know how to tell you this, but life is just stranger than fiction sometimes. The sample size of life stories you get on my blog are just the instances in which that’s true.

[delewlew]

i think the world of you: lando norris x black fem! reader

request: can i request something of the lines of love at first sight & ready to immediately pop out a ring with lando norris but the reader is kind of oblivious, thank you 🫶

tags: childhood friends to lovers, fluff

warnings: swearing, crying, slight angst?

author's note: my first request! thank you so much anon for sending me this lovely ask. i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it for you <3

"y/n, sweetheart we have something to tell you." the sparkle of joy behind your mother's eyes made you kick your legs under the table in excitement. you imagined what the surprise was, already trying to figure out how to celebrate your parents finally allowing you to get a puppy. the small yorkshire terrier puppy you'd seen at the pet store came to mind as you mentally rattled off names you'd thought of just in case. however, all of that disappeared from your brain when you heard your father say, "you're going to begin year 5 at a new school this year." the excitement in your face faded and your mouth went dry and pools of thick tears welled beneath your eyes. as if that wasn't a bad enough statement, your father continued, "and you'll be living with your grandparents! it'll be like when you go on holiday to visit them in the summer." the world around you stilled and for a solid three minutes you said nothing, the tears spilling from your eyes spoke for themselves.

the smile faded from your mother's face and she tried to console you, "sweetheart this is a great thing!" you swatted her hand off of your shoulder and shifted away from her, "no it's not. a great thing would be a puppy, not a new school. i don't want to live with grandma and grandpa i want to live here. there's nothing out there, it's kilometers on kilometers of grass!" your father chimed in trying his hand at explaining, "princess, this is for your own good. you just told us last night that your classes were to easy. your teachers have told us this new school will challenge you and it will be more fun! you even get to live at the school once you start year 9. isn't that amazing?" if you could have screamed and let out every cuss word in the book while living to tell the tale, you would have. instead you just sobbed harder, your parents tried to reason, "your grandparents have a dog too." but that only resulted in you running off to your room and crying yourself to sleep hoping that maybe they'd take pity and let you stay home.

you didn't get to stay home.

the entire ride out to your grandparents home was completely silent as you watched the large expanse of green leafed trees and bright grass for nearly 3 hours. now, your grandparents home wasn't entirely awful. for starters it was a georgian style manor house that sat a considerable distance away from neighbors which meant it was much quieter than your old london flat with your parents. the interior reminded you of the museums you visited for school trips by the amount of paintings that hung on the walls. the only difference was that instead of portraits of fair skinned women with flowing straight hair, these were paintings of women with rich dark brown skin that glowed when the sun shone through the windows. the entire home smelled of lavender from the countless rows of soft purple springs that bloomed around the perimeter of the home. the highlight of the move was getting your own bedroom that was nearly triple the size of yours back home. the first few nights you felt swallowed by what seemed like an endless sea of darkness rather than a new bedroom, but eventually you'd grown accustomed to the space. the last few days of summer break were spent running around the backyard with your grandmother watching you chase their old dog around until he grew tired and simply laid in the grass and you decided to cloud watch beside him.

when the first day of school finally came you had yet to grow an interest in the place. the building looked slightly similar to your old school which brought a slight sense of comfort. but that feeling was gone the moment your grandfather walked you inside and entered the school office. the headmaster was waiting for you with a boy who was a few inches shorter than you with light brown hair and a few moles dotted across his face stood beside the tall man. the boy's blue eyes were locked on you, looking you over with a kind of interest that exists for new kids being welcomed into a new place. the headmaster cleared his throat and greeted you, "good morning young lady, i am headmaster smith. we are happy to have you join us here at Millfield school. to help you become aquainted with the school we're pairing you up with another student who will show you around. unfortunately our female student has become sick so you will be assigned to lando instead." the man spoke for longer but you didn't listen to a single word, instead all of your attention was on the shorter boy.

the silence between you and lando was deafening, almost as if you were having a staring contest. you took the opportunity to turn it into exactly that, locking eyes with his. for a moment he seemed unaware of your challenge until he narrowed his eyes indicating that he caught on. a minute passed and your gaze was unwavering whereas his began to falter, eyes welling with tears until he finally caved and blinked causing you to smile for the first time that morning. his smile was big and toothy, like a kid who'd just grown in his adult teeth and his face hadn't quite grown into the change just yet. the tips of his ears and apples of his cheeks turned a slight shade of pink when you finally introduced yourself once you'd been dismissed into the hallway, and to class.

from that day forward you only blossomed in school from being extremely shy and reserved to being slightly more social with those in your class. for all of year 5 your tablemate was lando and you'd become quite close, best friends even.

rather quickly you realized a distinct difference between the two of you when it came to your studies. you worked hard and earned good marks while his attention wavered and his marks showed it too. when he was called on to read out loud he stumbled over his words and paused often, earning giggles from classmates that made him sink back into his chair and want to disappear. not one maths equation made any sense to him especially fractions because why the fuck would you need 'number parts' when whole numbers exist. when people laughed at him and teasingly taunted in singsong tones that he liked you, he'd turn his back to you and pretend you were strangers.

lando realized you were different from your classmates as well. when they laughed at him for misreading a text, you whispered the text along with him so he could recover quickly. when he didn't remember how to spell a word on those weekly spelling quizzes, you slid your paper to show him the answers. when he whined about not getting the maths homework, you realized he could understand fractions by drawing pizzas and dividing them into slices on his papers. when your classmates and his friends teased you both for being best friends with the opposite gender, you threw a punch that landed a kid in the nurses office and promised the other kids they were next if they ever teased you or lando again...they never did.

on weekends he was off karting which you'd learned about fairly quickly after getting to know him. he begged you to come to one race just so he could show off how good of a driver he was after you insisted he had to be bad, as a joke of course. however, the races overlapped with the days you'd spend back in london with your parents. on those days you watched what lando called "grand prix races" on sunday mornings with your father. your best friend told you he'd one day drive one of those big cars instead of the karts he drove on weekends. there were odd weekends where neither of you were away and those you spent at each other's houses. when he was at your house you both ran around barefoot in the soft grass, lavender wafting throughout the yard. when you grew tired of playing he laid his head in your lap and demanded you read him a book because he 'liked the way you said the words on the page' more than when he did. not even three chapters into the book he'd doze off on your lap, only to be woken up with small white dandelion's in his hair. on the days you went to his house, he'd show you his karts and watched in interest as you asked about every single detail until you ran out of questions.

these were the years that you cherished most in your childhood, long before worries of university or breaking into formula one. but those days arrived and you found yourself watching his races alongside his family on the days your parents allowed. he always seemed to drive a little better knowing you were watching him, yet he wasn't exactly sure if you knew that to be true. countless pictures hung on your bedroom wall of the two of you after one of his races or after you'd won a medal in whatever club sport you'd ventured into that season. academic and athletic certificates and ribbons littered your desk while trophies were on his.

by the time you were both nearing the end of secondary school lando left school to pursue racing more seriously. you'd been the most supportive of his friends when hearing about the change, yet another reason why he cherished the friendship you two had even more...even if he wished it actually was more. you kept in contact with him but watching him race in person had long been left in your childhood years. all of your life revolved around getting accepted into a good university yet you still tuned in every race online to see his results. however, by the time you enrolled in university and lando began in formula 2, contact had dissolved completely.

years passed and lando had broke into formula one while you'd successfully graduated university and earned a spot as an asset finance associate in one of the most prestigious investment banking companies in the world. every once in a blue moon you wondered what your old friend was up to which led to tuning into a race or two, holding your breath and clutching your heart every time something seemed risky. you'd seen some videos and pictures of him clubbing in whatever city he ended up in. drink in one hand and another on the waist of some woman with a shade of blonde or brown hair that fell over her shoulders in perfectly messy waves. those nights you'd just throw your phone to the side, not wanting to let him occupy more of the time you'd already given him.

what you didn't know was that his mind always found it's way back to you on those hot summer days that reminded him of his childhood. he'd found your instagram years ago and saved the username in his notes so he didn't have to risk getting blocked if he followed you because in his eyes you might hate him. he debated on messaging you through DMs but always shied away from it remembering that time you'd called it a tacky move back in high school. he only hoped that maybe you'd cross paths and then he could have a chance to see you again. however, there wasn't much of a chance that would happen...until it did.

you looked over yourself in the mirror of your apartment, the orange tweed set with a matching blazer was the center of your attention. the company you worked for was an official sponsor of the mclaren formula one racing team, and tonight was the annual charity gala. for two years you managed to conveniently miss out on the event due to getting sick and having to visit your grandparents back to back years. but this time everyone was well, so you had to attend, no exceptions.

the minute you walked through the doors of the ballroom you made a beeline to the first person you recognized, allowing no time to potentially be approached by your old friend. for the entire night you could feel his looming presence in the building and it made you want to vomit. seeing lando wouldn't be bad and you kind of wanted to see him, what you didn't want was to see some pretty blonde girl on his arm expecting an explanation as to why he knew you. part of you didn't know why that was, but you decided it was because you didn't want him to pretend you were strangers, or admit that he genuinely didn't remember who you were.

an orchestra played soft classical music in the corner of the ballroom and you managed to duck away to the bar on the furthest side from the largest crowd of tables. you mindlessly tried to guess the composer of the classical piece while the bartender handed you a drink. a small tap on the back of your arm drew your attention behind you, and the sight nearly knocked the wind from your chest.

lando stood before you in a black suit with his white collared shirt unbuttoned at the very top. that same toothy smile you remembered from your childhood spread across his face, "y/n?" you were silent for a moment before taking a swig of your drink and responding, "lando, hi. what are- what are you doing here?" you rose to your feet and he hesitated slightly before allowing you to pull him in for a hug that he reciprocated. this hand rest on the small of your back while your arms looped around his neck very briefly until you realized the way this may look to someone watching the two of you. he laughed lightly and said, "i'm driving for mclaren, as a formula one driver now." you leaned back against the bar and sat back in your stool allowing him to sit beside you. it was now that you got a good look at him and god have mercy was he finer in person which you didn't think was possible.

those blue green eyes that stared into yours on that first day of school were brighter than you'd ever seen. his skin was tanned as if he'd just been at the beach all day before coming to the event tonight. his messy brown hair had grown longer into cinnamon toned curls that fell perfectly right above his forehead. he looked at you through thick brown lashes as he took in the sight of your matured face. no longer did you have those puffy baby cheeks that reminded him of a chipmunks, but now a more structured face that matched the rest of you.

he requested a water with lemon and you asked, "going easy tonight?" he shrugged and answered with a smirk, "i guess you could say so. how else would i look after you?" you laughed and replied casually, "i think we both know i can handle myself." he shrugged and answered, "yeah but it's what we do right? the BFP." he spoke the acronym out to where it sounded like 'Be-Fip' which made you set down your drink to throw your head back with laughter. you agreed, "oh yeah the Best Friend Pact- how old were we back then?" with a quickness you could only raise an eyebrow at lando answered, "nine.' there was a pause and he continued, "we made it after that time i realized you lied when you said you liked my new trainers." you burst into laughter again at the memory of those ugly ass neon yellow trainers he'd gotten after saving up his own money from a month of chores. you shook your head, "to this day those are still the ugliest thing you've worn." lando asked with a hint of teasing arrogance in his voice, "you've been keeping tabs on me?" you shrugged and took another sip of your drink before bumping his shoulder, "congratulations on miami." he thanked you and for a moment you saw a glimpse of your old friend, the one that came before all of this additional luxury for him.

the entire night the two of you talked about the current happenings in your life. hours flew by and eventually the gala ended meaning you both had to part ways. you pulled him into one last hug and he looked at you, "this time we're not losing contact. i swear i'll blow your phone up until you reply...in the most socially acceptable way possible of course." you agreed and hugged once more before he sent you home in a car he'd ordered for you.

months passed and you two did keep your word, you remained in touch constantly. a few texts here and there turned into a few times a week, then a day, which led to calls and facetimes which lead to accepting an invite to one race. slowly your presence in his life increased, you continued to hang out as friends, getting to know his small circle when they happened to be around. you noticed the way they glanced between you and lando, the way they whispered in dutch, french, and english which had you fully convinced they hated you. but based on the fact that their girlfriends were all friendly to you, maybe they just tolerated you for lando's sake? these days reminded you of the old ones, you finally had your best friend back.

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you looked out to where the sky met the sea, shades of tangerine and flamingo pink blurred into one another against the horizon with thin wispy clouds floating on the surface. the glittering water of the sea shimmered under the golden sun turning it a deep sapphire blue that bled into a shiny obsidian. you inhaled the warm sea salted air as you held lando's hand in your own to play with his fingers as conversation ebbed and flowed between you both like the waves that lapped on the hull of the yacht. he turned his head to still keep you in his line of vision as he watched you from behind. the long fulani style braids you wore fell behind your shoulders and down your back, the sun made your skin glow to a deep gold dipped in rich bronze that made you look like you'd been kissed by Ra himself.

"i could fall in love like this." the statement made lando sit up, all of his attention on you, "what?" you hummed softly, "yeah, bring a girl here and they'd fall for you a million times over." lando felt that same frustration settle in his mind, he'd been trying for months for you to get the hint that he was in love with you without him having to say it exactly like that. curiously he questioned, "you think so?" you nodded in confirmation, "yeah that girl we met in the club that one night? maddie? magui? she'd love this." lando swore his eye twitched when he heard it but he ignored it.

you scooted back slightly and patted your lap for lando to rest his head in the same spot he always had. the soft brown curls on his head threaded through your fingers as he looked up at you, "do you...love this?" the way your eyes didn't even look down as you replied, "yeah reminds me of the old days we'd run around barefoot in the grass and play with the dog until sunset. instead of going in we'd watch the sky turn different colors and we'd keep running around until my grandma had to drag us inside." lando smiled at the memory and added, "and the next week at school we'd be covered in bites and itching like crazy." you sighed and admitted, "i miss when we were in school together." he looked up at you and asked, "how many spelling and maths answers do you think you gave me?" you playfully smacked his leg remembering that you really did help him cheat his way through secondary school.

lando sighed once more and asked, "do you remember that time you punched that boy Rhys?" he could see the wheels turning in your head as you tried to remember, but the minute you did your eyes lit up and you let out a watery laugh, "oh my god- i do! it was because he kept bullying you and insisting that you were in love with me. you never even stood up for yourself so i decided to do it for you." lando shook his head, "can you blame me? i was a head shorter than everyone and all those kids were double my weight! i didn't stand a chance." to be fair he was completely right on that part, if he'd been the one to throw the punch he would have lost, badly.

you finally looked down at lando and he admitted, "it wasn't a complete lie anyways." when you didn't respond he continued, "they only ever teased me about it because it was true. neville and tommy knew me since we were in nappies, they knew when i was crushing on someone. of course since it was grade 5 they told all the guys about it which is how it ended up that way." again, you remained silent and then laughed, "i know you love me so it's fine." lando's heart stopped and his stomach sank to his feet until you simply hummed, "mmm i love you too." again, it was that stupid silly little careless easygoing tone that reminded him that you weren't picking up on what he'd been putting down for so long. it was when you spoke up that he nearly snapped, "and since i love you i'm telling you now that you need to get that girl's number up and ask her out on a dat-"

"i don't want her! i don't want to go on a date with that girl or any girl that you've sent me on social media. i've met them, and i know people who know them. i don't want them okay?" the outburst caused you to push him off of your lap, scooting inches away leaving space between the two of you. the last thing you ever want to do is upset the people you're close to so you proceeded with caution, "i'm sorry i didn't realize i was being overbearing with it. i didn't ever ask what you wanted...so what do you want lando?"

lando answered, "i want to be with someone i can run barefoot under an oak tree with until we're covered in mosquito bites. i want someone to read to me until i fall asleep, i want someone who will tell me every single detail about their day. i want someone who will insist i let her dance in the rain and complain that she got sick as if i didn't tell her she would, i want someone who will visit my races and ask every single question to an engineer because she genuinely wants to understand what i do. i want someone i can watch the sun change colors with until there's nothing but midnight sky and stars. and if you haven't realized i mean you. i want you, y/n. it's always been you since the day i met you in grade 5 when you came in with those plats and more bows and knockers in your hair than you probably needed and you had a staring contest with me before i even knew your name. i've loved you since you taught yourself about karting from books because you wanted to know what i liked without making me explain it all the time. i've loved you since you threw pudding on amelia's blouse and told her you'd feed her entire family to goblins after she told me i'd never make it into formula one and it was your 3rd day of knowing me. and i know you're thinking it so yes, i'm actually in love with you and no i'm not misunderstanding the way i feel. i think the world of you and there's not a day that goes by where i don't want you around me. it's you and it's always been you and i genuinely don't understand how you've been so oblivious to it all but now you know, and please just promise me that even if you don't love me in that way that we can still be friends because i can't lose you."

slowly you brought your hands up to reach out for him, "c'mere." you pulled him into your arms and he tucked his head into your neck. he basked in the comfort of your embrace, the heat radiating off of your body slowing his racing heartbeat. you pressed a kiss to his temple and breathed out, "okay..." he pulled away with a look of worry that he'd messed everything up but you continued, "no it's not bad. i just- okay. i love you too. you're my favorite person and you always have been, probably always will be unless rihanna comes out with another album then you're bumped to #2. but i love you and i promise you didn't mess anything up because i know what's going through your head. this is just a lot right now and i'm willing to do this- us if we can just take our time. i want this to work and i want to be with you but-" lando cut you off seeing you start to fidget uncomfortably, "it's okay, that's perfect actually...that's perfect." he pulled you back into his arms and kissed your forehead, "it's perfect, you're perfect."

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the end.

[whimsimille]

PSHYCHOCHROMIA

Seo Moonjo (Patient) x Reader! (Doctor)

Chapter 1: Hues of grief

"Motherhood is owning a second heart that beats outside your own body. It's joy, yet sorrow," mused Grandma Anastasia Song, a poetess with a first name as American as the apple pie from the small bakery down the lane and a surname as Korean as the homemade kimchi fermenting in the earthenware pots in her backyard.

She held Ae-ra close to her flaccid chest, completely absorbed in the pixelated murmurings of an old video from three weeks ago—a precious moment captured right inside the delivery room named "Ae-Ra's Grand Entrance!"

Though the image was shaky and Min Ju had, thankfully, skillfully avoided anything too anatomical, Anastasia saw your sweat-slick hair sticking to your forehead, heard your desperate cry, "I am doing it!" when one of the nurses urged you to push, and noticed a few droplets of blood on the surgical cloth—not many, but enough to create what her mother would have described as a "beautiful spectacle." Naturally, in English.

“A second heart, huh?” Sneering, you felt the spring in the tattered velvet armchair dig into your thighs while you watched as she moved in her rocker to become more at ease. With the hand she wasn't using to hold your daughter, she took another bite out of the freshly baked cookies that were cooling on the side table.

Gooey filling seeped down her chin and the delicate crust crumbled under her teeth and spattered in Ae-ra’s blanket as she rocked both of them—it tasted exactly how Mrs. Johnson's made them back home. Some tastes never really left her mouth or heart, even if she has been absent from America for decades.

“Yes, it is. A child means another heart. It expands to make room for all that love. And when they leave, well, it shatters a little too." She mused between bites. In the already hardened fabric of her sweater, there were small crusts of biscuit glued by saliva.

Once the recorder hummed to a stop and the grainy footage ended for the fifth time, you crouched in front of the vintage TV, fingers trembling slightly as you took out the video tape, taking care not to disturb the old thing.

“So, yes, you must be ready, dear. Your second heart is bound to stop beating very soon.”

Your breath stopped.

What?

Suddenly, the quaint house, with its worn-out red bricks and peeling white paint, felt too quiet, too still. The cheerful chirping of the sparrows nesting in the ancient birch tree outside, the rustling of the leaves in the wind that carried with it the scent of blooming azaleas, the distant laughter of children playing in the park down the cobblestone path—everything was drowned out by the deafening silence in the room.

Swiveling around, you observed Anastasia cradling Ae-ra, running her thumb, sticky with the remnants of the chocolate-covered cookie, over the tiny lines of your daughter's palm as if she were a cartographer mapping territories on a yellowing parchment. It was unsettling how calm she remained while predicting such a dreadful fate for her great-granddaughter.

"What happened, Halmoney? Is something wrong with Ae-ra?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Grandma reassured you. "It's just... time. Life is fleeting, my dear. It's like the wind blowing through a field of wheat: constant movement but soon gone before we know it."

Ae-ra cooed softly in her great grandmother's arms, blissfully unaware of the weight pressing down on your heart. She kicked her little legs playfully and batted at the lacy edge of her baby blanket, giggling when it swirled around her face like a cloud.

You watched as Anastasia smiled tenderly at her, wrinkles crinkling softly around her eyes, before they focused on the bright autumn leaves rustling outside. "Your grandpa is waiting for her in the afterlife now," she said quietly, "and soon she must join him."

Dumbstruck, you stood there, words failing you. Your mouth opened and closed in a futile attempt to voice your disbelief, much like a fish gasping for air on dry land. Your stupor was broken only when you felt the front of your blouse getting damp. Excess milk seeped through the fabric, making you look like a dairy cow in the middle of milking.

It was past time to feed your baby.

"For heaven's sake, don't say such things, Halmoney!” You exclaimed, clenching your chest in an attempt to stem the flow. Jesus, that was fucking painful.

Anastasia simply chuckled at your reaction, her wrinkled face crinkling even more at the corners.  "You're as stubborn as your father, my dear. Always quick to deny what you don't want to hear. Just like that time when he refused to believe his favorite tree in the backyard had to be cut down. But truth, my dear, is like an ocean. It's vast, endless, and you cannot simply fence it off."

Then she turned her attention back to Ae-ra, her expression softening. "Now, come on, take Ae-ra and feed her. Unless you want your breasts to swell up like balloons. Believe me, you won't get to do this for longer.”

Inspired by the Sisters of the Harvest Moon, a group of women who, like the ancient Druids, found divinity in the waning of the moon and natural cycles, Anastasia's eccentric beliefs had their origins. They believed that mirrors were doorsway to fucking entire dimensions and that a child who looked too long into an old Venetian mirror would be blessed—or ill-starred, depending—with dreams of the future. The Sisters left an imprint on your grandmother 's life, seeping into her from 10 and extending well into her Doc Martens-clad teenage years until 18. They wore ropes on their belts—to beat, not to measure—and they never saw a child's ear in their way that they didn't want to twist.

Perhaps that’s why you didn't let out the primal scream building in your chest at that moment, your almond-shaped eyes wide as saucers. Because, in the end, her childhood was made out of convoluted beliefs and harsh discipline, and she wasn't predicting the death of your Ae-ra out of some perverse pleasure. In the end, she wasn’t trying to make you lose your grip on sanity; leap across the room and yank out the collection of vintage hair pins—an assortment of pieces from the 1950s, studded with tiny pearls—that were failing to control the silver curls haloing around her head in a style that would've made Einstein proud.

In the end, the old woman was fucking right.

It was June, the third year without your baby, and you were throwing up in a bed of hyacinths as if trying to expel the grief lodged deep within you.

You only knew they were hyacinths because Mom had some planted in your garden back in Jeju, and for days she talked about how the landscapers from the local 'Kim's Gardening Services' put them in lopsided. You didn't know flowers could be lopsided. That's what you thought about as you sat there in the dirt, staring dizzy at the flowers, wet and blue and bright.

Outside Westlake Psychiatric Ward, an iron and gray monolith with no dreams or aspirations, the hyacinths had been planted.

It was located in the oldest part of Gonjiam Hospital. The original Victorian-style brick building had long been surrounded and swallowed by larger and generally uglier extensions and annexes. "The Caged Mind Asylum" was at the heart of this complex. The only indication of the dangerous nature of the occupants was the row of security cameras perched on the fences like vigilant birds of prey.

At the reception, every effort was made to make everything seem quite friendly: ample blue sofas, rustic and childlike paintings and drawings of the patients hung on the walls. It looked more like a garden to you than a forensic psychiatric hospital for jailed people whose families had abandoned them because they could not afford the hefty cost of adult diaper changes and the fact that, besides being criminals, they were out of their minds.

It's strange how quickly we adapt to the frightening world of a psychiatric hospital. We become increasingly comfortable with madness—not just the madness of others, but our own. You believe that we are all mad, just in different ways.

And that's why—and how—this place was more than just a place—it was a job. You, Song Y/N, with your PhD from Seoul National University and your internship at Massachusetts General Hospital, were supposed to be inside. You were meant to be standing tall and confident in front of the imposing white doors on your well-tailored scrubs. Instead, you were outside, staring at a puddle of puke and trying to catch your breath. And the sky was falling—wet, wet and blue and bright.

Soon enough, your husband, or what was left of him, would come looking for you to ask how your day has been with his usual pathetic monotone, and you'd have to summon a convincing smile. You'd avoid telling him that your day has been merely a puddle of clear water mixed with remnants of your breakfast—crunchy slices of apples from Mrs. Lee's fruit stall and homemade kimchi. Then, you'd steer his attention to something mundane, something safe—like the weather or the incessantly leaky faucet in the kitchen that the local plumber promised to fix since last Tuesday.

There are many reasons why you ran out of that place for crazy people like you, but here's the overarching one. The only one that really matters.

Ae-ra.

How can a tiny four-year-old, with a presence so radiant and a laugh that echoed like a cathedral bell, be gone so soon and be silenced so abruptly?

It's been three years. Three years of questioning, of doubting.

There is no reply from Him. Never. Not even a whisper in the wind nor a hint in the rustling leaves. The Almighty remains silent, devoid of answers. Every time you have screamed, raged at the sky, your voice echoing against the hard concrete of the city buildings, there is only silence returned. You call out names like "God," "Jehovah," and "Yahweh," clutching your rosary beads bought from the small gift shop adjoining St. Peter's Basilica during your honeymoon in Rome.

Every night, under the vast expanse of the inky sky, you wrestle with the notion of divinity. Your fists clenched, your knuckles white, the metal of your wedding ring biting into your skin.

What you remember most about those early years was the sheer physicality of it all. Small fingers on the cheek. A belly on a hip. Legs climbing onto the lap. A hand slipping silently into your own. And all this amid the haze of sleeplessness. It was Min Ju who slept badly, but Ae-ra had her moments. And for what seemed like months, mornings would shock you awake, finding the three of you sprawled across the sheets like battered objects washed up on the shore. Yet there was such joy in that physicality. Bodies entwined. Pressed up against each other. Safe.

No amount of medication or counseling at the esteemed Johns Hopkins can satisfy the void that exists right now.

Shit, you’re not even a romantic; you never have been. Poetry and grand gestures are not things you believe in. But this... this is a different kind of story. A story of love that no heart can forget. Not when it loves somebody that way, and not when it still beats for them even when they are no longer around.

And so, you live quietly, one day at a time, with a scar that no amount of time can heal—a wound that is always fresh. But that's fine because you've lived through entire disasters in silence, you know how to create silence. It's like this: turn on the radio very loudly, then suddenly turn it off. And so it captures the silence. Starry silence. The silence of the moon changes. For everything, you created silence. It is in silence that the noise is heard more. Between the hammerings, you heard the silence of your grief and your blood pumping through your arteries.

Because, in the end, isn't that what survival is all about?

“Doctor?”

Since your childhood, Mom has often told you about your peculiar habit of associating colors with feelings, people and events—a trait that you had passed onto your daughter. Both of you stood out like sore thumbs in the conventional world.

Ae-ra had been the subject of many parent-teacher meetings and counseling sessions. However, you never felt the need to consult a doctor, as you knew it was an inherent trait, not a disease that could be cured with pills. Maybe the influence of Anastasia and The Sisters had seeped into both of your lives more than you realized.

For both of you, everything had a distinct color. It wasn't simply about the physical appearance, like a tree being brown and green. No, it was more profound than that. If a flower was dying, then its color would be a sickly gray. If a bird was bound to die, its red feathers would be spotted with black. If a person was brimming with happiness, the fingertips they used to cover their mouths would radiate a bright, sunny yellow.

At the moment, as strange as it might sound to others, the voice that called out to you reminded you of the creaky floorboards that groaned under your father's weight as he entered the house after a hard day. Blue on the porch, but within the brick walls: red, the same shade as the dinner table cloth that often became more interesting than meeting your family's gaze.

It was a voice that jolted you back to reality and made you turn your head with a sense of urgency, away from the flowers and the vomit. It was a voice that belonged to Nurse Jungwoo.

Blue was stitched to the courteous tilt of his head when he greeted the other nurses and staff, the soft-spoken words he used to comfort manic patients, and the gentle touch of his hands while administering medication. But you had observed a shift in him sometimes, particularly when he'd watch people engage in heated squabbles over dumplings left on the lunch tray or when he had to bathe former soldiers haunted by the ghosts of their pasts—his normally calm demeanor would turn a burning red, his eyes narrowing and lips pressing into a tight line as he fought against the men’s screams and pushes.

The transformation led you to ponder if one day you might see these white labyrinthine corridors stained with the purple hue of his frustration, or if you might stand at the end of a confessional room and see his purple fingers wrapped around a gun, pulling the trigger without hesitation. Just like your father had done.

"Are you okay, Dr. Song?" Yoon's voice held an awkward concern. His usual shy smile, the one that reminded you of a child peeking out from behind their mother's skirt, was replaced by a worried frown. "You've been sitting there for a while now. Can I get you some water? Or maybe a cup of chamomile tea from the cafeteria? It's surprisingly good, you know. They just got a new brand— Twinings, I think it's called. Very soothing."

After glancing at his outstretched hand, its end slightly stained with the pale blue ink from the Bic Cristal ballpoint pen he preferred for taking notes, you looked at his face and then at your heels, partly covered in grass and dirt.

Politely rejecting his offer of assistance as well as his worried smile, you got up, dusting the dirt off your coat. His concern was touching, but unnecessary. You gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder to let him know that you were grateful, though.

Fishing a battered packet of Marlboro cigarettes from your pocket, you realized you'd been more than a week without smoking—you had sworn to yourself that this time you were quitting for good. But, hey, here you were, faltering already.

You lit one, irritated with yourself. Any therapist worth their salt would see smoking as an unresolved dependency—something that should've been dealt with and overcome long ago.

"You sure I don't have another patient to attend to now?"

Grass crunched beneath your heels as you shifted your weight, the vomit now concealed beneath a layer of disturbed soil.

With an arched brow, you watched as Jungwoo curled into himself, his hands disappearing into the pocket of his pale green scrubs. You knew why. Your gaze was a soft, heavy paw on him. But if the paw was soft, it took it all away, like that of a cat that hurriedly grabbed a mouse's tail. The drop of sweat went down through his nose and beautiful mouth, dividing his smile in half. Just that: without an expression, under your mascara coated eyelashes, you were looking at him.

"So…” You leaned against the wall, the cold bricks biting into your back.

"Oh… Yes, yes! I apologize, Doc. You do indeed have a new patient, though I don't believe it's one you will be particularly eager to attend to.” Jongwoo responded, bouncing on the ball of his feet, one hand still tucked behind his back.

Your lips curled up in a humorless smile as you took another puff of your cigarette. "I'm never eager to attend to criminals, Jong. So, who's the unlucky soul that has the pleasure of my company next?"

“Officer Hwa brought this one from the maximum-security jail downtown. The one in barbed wire and manned by guards that look like they eat nails for breakfast?" Yoon attempted humor, but it fell flat, and his eyes flickered with regret.

“And?”

“Well... It's… Seo Moonjo.”

Psychopathy, in bygone times, was synonymous with the concept of "evil." Individuals who reveled in inflicting harm or death on others have been chronicled since the time Medea took up an axe against her own offspring, and likely even prior to that. In 1888, the same year Jack the Ripper held London in the grip of terror, a German psychiatrist coined the term "psychopath" from the German word psychopatische, literally translating to "suffering soul."

This clue—the idea of suffering—was your gateway into understanding that these monsters were also in anguish. Viewing them as victims rather than perpetrators enabled a more rational, compassionate approach in your dealings. Psychopathy or sadism didn't just spring into existence from nothingness. They were not viruses, randomly infecting someone out of the blue. They bore a history, a prelude rooted in childhood.

Your belief was that experiences such as bruising knees from running in the backyard or losing a tooth soon to be claimed by the Tooth Fairy, were reactive. This means that to truly empathize with another human being, we ourselves must first be shown empathy—most importantly, by our parents or caregivers.

And Moonjo? Seo Moonjo seemed the type of man that naive young girls would send love letters to, sealed with their cheapest lipstick or a pair of lace panties. Because, despite his monstrous deeds, his square jawline, sharp features, and the way his tailored suits highlighted his lean physique rendered him attractive in the eyes of many.

Just yesterday, after returning home exhausted, brain pounding on your skull because Min Ju couldn't bring himself to sign the divorce papers, feet bloated, you watched in the news as women who had once trusted him with their children's dental care were now protesting in front of the prison. They claimed he was an angel, a helper sent by God.

But, hell no. Moonjo was no angel. He was a beast, a wolf in sheep's clothing, concealing his true nature behind the pristine white of his doctor's coat. His dental procedures were carried out with a precision that was unnerving. Seo Moonjo was a cannibal, a murderer, and a pyromaniac who eradicated his adoptive family in a spectacle of blood and fire.

Of course, you had dug deep into his case, folded the paper news, and pushed it in between the convenience store bench's slats. It was what your mother called a scandal sheet, full of the local murders he had committed and fake suicides and beatings and robbings, and just about every page about the deceased twins and that weird porn addicted man that lived with Moonjo in the Eden Studio had a half-naked lady on it with her breasts surging over the edge of her dress and her legs arranged so you could see to her stocking top or cats with their small, shiny guts exposed in trash bags.

From this extensive research, you suspected that there had been no one in his life—a caring grandmother, a favorite uncle, a benevolent neighbor, or a mindful teacher—to see his pain, to acknowledge it, and to help him process it. Anger, fear, and shame were too dangerous for the small child to deal with on his own. He didn't know how to deal with such emotions, so he didn't. Instead, he disowned these feelings; he didn't allow himself to experience them. He sacrificed his true self, along with all that unfelt pain and anger, to the Underworld, to the murky world of the unconscious.

This resulted in him losing touch with who he really was. The man, who was impeccably polite, genial, and charming, was provoked somehow. And the terrified child inside him lashed out in response, reaching for a knife and a lighter.

Moonjo could be a suffering soul.

Right?

Damn it. Just stop. You're already pushed to your limits, and you can't afford to shoulder his case either.

“Look, honey. I'm already swamped with other patients. It's just not feasible to add Seo Moonjo to my already overflowing plate. Can you imagine the added stress?" You mutter, eyes squinted shut, as you picture the growing pile of patient files on your desk. "Remember that Kwon guy? The one who had a schizophrenic episode and killed someone? Or that Kyung girl who defended herself against her rapist? Those were hard, sure. But Moonjo—he's on another level. He's someone who has committed a series of heinous acts and revels in them. This isn't like juggling a couple of extra appointments or adding a few more hours to my workday. This is like... like... stepping into a goddamn war zone without any armor!"

Suddenly, as you started to pace around the garden, an idea struck you. Your eyes snapped open, the cigarette almost fell from your lips and you swiftly turned to Jungwoo, who was watching you with wide eyes. "You remember that doctor, don't you? That one with the crooked nose?"

“Dr. Jung Hyun-Jae?”

“Yes, yes… Dr. Jung would be a more suitable choice for this case. He's been needing more challenging assignments, hasn’t he? It would be a perfect opportunity for him to sink his teeth into a complex case. Plus, it might distract him from his recent fixation with Nurse Ioona. She's been complaining about his constant attention. Where's Officer Hwa? I need to explain the situation to her and suggest Dr. Jung as an alternative.

Jungwoo’s eyes darted around nervously before he settled them on a pretty lavender (how ironic it was, right?) from the garden. He reached out for it and gently twirled the stem between his fingers.  “Well… Officer Hwa left. She did want to speak with you and rambled about how you were the only one capable of handling Seo Moonjo, but… I noticed you sneaking out through the fire emergency door and figured you were trying to avoid any additional work or confrontations. So I went ahead and filled out Moonjo’s report. Your first meeting with him is scheduled for today. It's on your wall calendar, right under the post-it note about picking up milk and eggs.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the news catching you off guard.

This son of a bitch. Motherfucker. Idiot.

You clenched your fists to stop the urge to transform him into a purple puddle of limbs for real now. He was still new, still learning the ropes. And there was a good intention behind his actions. So, instead of lashing out at him, you sighed heavily and crushed your cigarette beneath your heels. You were in for a long day.

"Alright. Just...alright. But I'll need to juggle my schedule around, shuffle some patients here and there. This is going to be like solving a Rubik's cube blindfolded.” You muttered, rubbing your temples with the base of your palms, the onset of a stress-induced headache making itself known.

“He's out on the patio. Chained to four officers and three nurses because he asserted his right to a smoke break. Should I fetch him while you change your coat and prepare yourself for the consultation?" Jungwoo asked, his gaze shifting from the crushed purple petals in his hand to your clothes.

Change?

Looking down, you noticed the stain of vomit on the fabric of your lab coat, a gift from your husband on your first day at work. It had your name, Dr. Song Y/N, stitched in an elegant script on the left pocket. Fuck. Fucking great!

“Please, honey. And bring me some black coffee if you can; make it extra strong. I hate tea, it reminds me of the cough syrup my mother used to force down my throat as a child," you replied to Nurse Yoon without even looking at him again. Blood had risen to your face, now so hot that you thought you were with your eyes injected, while he, probably in new deception, should think that you were colored because of the cold wind.

What type of image were you inside his bambi eyes? A grieving mother or an insolent doctor?

Let's spin the Lucky Wheel, shall we, Mrs. Song?

Jungwoo, ever the diligent worker and one not to mingle in your business, had the courtesy to look sheepish as he handed over a thick manila folder (one that you weren't sure you had seen him bringing with him) stamped with the words "CONFIDENTIAL: SEO MOONJO.".

"I will, of course. But, first, here's the case file, Dr. Song. I've highlighted the most important parts," he said, extending the massive file towards you as if it were a bomb about to explode. The folder was thicker than the latest edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, a psychiatric bible that you often referenced. Its contents, as you anticipated, were likely far more disturbing.

"Thank you, Yoon. I appreciate it," you sighed, taking the heavy folder from him. You opened it, your eyes scanning over the pages filled with police reports, psychiatric evaluations, and a collection of distressing photographs that made your stomach churn. All evidence of Moonjo's crimes.

"Also," Yoon continued, biting his lower lip in a nervous habit you were becoming all too familiar with, "I've arranged for some extra security during your consultation with him. Officer Hwa insisted, said it was non-negotiable. I hope that's alright."

You nodded, appreciating the concern, although you couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance. The last thing you needed was more people watching and more eyes to witness your struggle to maintain control. But you understood—the higher-ups wanted to ensure no harm would come to their staff at the hands of a dangerous psychopath.

Or maybe they just didn't want another bloody body in this institution and lawsuits on their hands.

After a significant period spent working within the asylum, it became evident to you that even in a place of death, there existed a social hierarchy. In comparison to the general hospital wings, the accommodations located in the main building were significantly larger and more expensive. Suites were rooms named after well-known Seoulites that had once been in the psychiatric unit, home to one of Korea's most notorious sociopaths. The Bah Suah suite was where Seo Moonjo was staying. To get there, one had to navigate past the under-stair canteen, home to vending machines offering various food and drink options and hard plastic chairs.

What was most crucial, however, was shedding this ugly uniform.

Your office was located in the oldest, most decrepit part of the hospital. Spiderwebs clung to the corners, and several corridor light bulbs were burned out.

As soon as you turned the doorknob, the door creaked open. The first thing that prompted a slight smile was the smell inside. It was distinct from the rest of the hospital. It didn't reek of antiseptic or bleach; instead, it oddly reminded me of an art gallery. A blend of canvas, paints and brushes, varnish, and wax. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dimness, revealing an unfinished artwork leaning against the wall—an unexpected object within a hospital. About twenty metal art shelves stood out in the shadows, and on a table, a pile of both your sketches and those of patients towered upwards—an unstable tower of paper reaching for the sky.

It had been a considerable amount of time since you had leaned over a canvas, staining your fingertips and the tip of your nose with hues of color. The inspiration simply wasn't there anymore. The paintings gradually lost their meaning. Even when Min Ju would sit in a chair and watch you work after a shift at the firm, nothing changed.

For years, even before your marriage, you enjoyed painting his face. Strong jawline, pronounced cheekbones, elegant nose—sitting under the spotlight—he resembled a statue. A hero. However, something was off nowadays, and you couldn't tell what. Perhaps you were forcing the issue. You couldn't capture the shape of his eyes or their color accurately. The first thing you noticed about your husband when you met was the sparkle in his eyes—like a tiny diamond embedded in each iris. But now, you couldn't capture it.  Without corresponding to his entire face, the brown eyes were intraducible. As independent as if they were planted in the flesh of an arm, and from there they looked at you: open, wet.

It might be a lack of talent, or maybe Min possesses something more that doesn't translate into a painting anymore. It all came out lifeless every single time.

Well, maybe because that was what he had become for you: a dead entity, lifeless, a walking shadow that prefers clandestine meetings with the girl next door—Kim Ji-ah, the one who sold Dabang coffee from her little shop—rather than signing the divorce papers and emptying your house of his remnants. You yearned for him to take his collection of smelly socks, stained shirts—and god, those lipstick marks that were an egregious shade of red—and just leave. Useless.

Dropping the huge file somewhere in the mess and slipping into a fresh coat, you caught a glimpse of the note left by Jungwoo. Precisely where he promised it would be. Pinned to the wall calendar, right beneath the post-it note about the local grocery store—a place you could never bring yourself to enter, not without your gaze drifting towards the adjacent drug store, contemplating the prospect of acquiring an unhealthy amount of Paracetamol.

"Consultation 1. Seo Moonjo at 3 p.m." accompanied by a cartoonish drawing of a devil's face and a pitchfork in red marker—the kind of doodle one would expect from a schoolboy, not a professional nurse. You couldn't help but laugh at the irony of it.

Stepping out of your office, you felt the familiar cold air of the hospital corridors creep into your bones. The aged linoleum floor creaked under your weight as you made your way towards the Bah Suah suite. It was a walk you had done countless times, but with the impending consultation with Seo Moonjo, it felt different, heavier.

Navigating through the maze-like corridors, you passed by the under-stair canteen, which was buzzing with the sound of vending machines dispensing Lotte Choco Pies and cans of Chilsung Cider. Nurses and staff were huddled in corners, whispering about the latest hospital gossip over cups of instant coffee. Their eyes flickered towards you, hushed whispers growing quieter as you walked past them. You paid them no mind.

Just as you rounded the corner of the last hallway, you almost collided with Nurse Park Ji-Yeon, a recent graduate of Yonsei University's Nursing Program. Her arms were filled with a stainless steel tray laden with countless medication cups and water glasses and you noticed how her hands were stained lime green. Youthfulness, naivety and playfulness.

“Dr. Song, I didn't... I didn't expect to see you here," she stammered, her cheeks flushing a red that was reminiscent of the cherry blossoms that adorned the hospital grounds in the spring. You admired Ji-Yeon's work ethic and dedication; her timidity was often eclipsed by her eagerness to learn and assist patients. She was like a mirror image of your younger self, fresh-faced and pretty much graced with green.

"You need to watch where you're going, Ji-Yeon. Those are important medications you're holding," you advised her, bending down to pick up a bottle of pills that had rolled under a rusted hospital bed. Sertraline, prescribed to Mr. Kim in Song Joong Ki. You placed it back on her tray, ensuring it was secure.

"I will, Dr. Song. I apologize," she replied, bowing as charmingly as she could muster while equilibrating glasses of water. "I was just heading to administer afternoon medications to the patients in Ward C when… I heard about your consultation with Seo Moonjo," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, as if the mere mention of Moonjo's name would summon him. Her eyes flickered at the closed door where the meeting would happen. “Is it true that he...that he indulges in...cannibalism?"

Your fingers massage your temples, a dull ache throbbing behind your eyes. Great. The rumors about Moonjo were spreading rapidly in the hospital's atmosphere like a malignant tumor . "We shouldn't speculate about patients, Ji-Yeon. It's unprofessional and contrary to the Hippocratic Oath we took."

"But he's a monster, isn't he?"

"Every patient, regardless of their actions, is a human being first and foremost, Ji-Yeon. The term 'monster' has no place in the lexicon of a healthcare provider. It's our duty to provide care and treatment without judgment or prejudice."

You’re so hypocritical, Y/N.

"But what about the things he's done? The people he's hurt?"

"Even so," you retorted, "our job is to heal, not to pass judgment. Justice is the court's responsibility, not ours. We are here to ensure that he is physically healthy and to provide the medical aid he requires."

Before she could respond, you waved her off dismissively, effectively ending the conversation. "Now, get going. Those medications won't be administered themselves. And who knows, Seo Moonjo might be coming to look for his pills," you admonished, leaving the young woman standing alone in the corridor, her mouth agape in stunned silence.

Two minutes later, you arrived at the Bah Suah suite, the heavy metal door cold under your touch, signaling that the old AC was already running. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for the consultation and pushed open the door, stepping into the room that soon would hold the man known as the 'Cannibal Dentist' of Seoul.

The therapy room was a small and narrow rectangle, as empty as a prison cell, or maybe even more so. The window, barred, remained closed. On the little table, a shocking pink box of Kleenex tissues stood in stark contrast with its cheerful color—it must have been left there by Mrs. Chen; you couldn't imagine Jungwoo offering tissues to the patients.

You sat in one of the two faded and battered Eames lounge chairs. Minutes passed. No sign of Moonjo. What if he didn't show up? Maybe he hadn't agreed to meet you yet; maybe he hadn't finished his pack of Marlboro. And he'd be totally within his rights.

Impatient, anxious, nervous, you gave up sitting and suddenly stood up and went to the window. You looked out through the bars of the grid. The yard was three floors below. The size of a tennis court, it was bounded by large exposed brick walls, too high to be climbed, although undoubtedly someone had already tried. Every afternoon, the patients were led there to get fresh air for half an hour, whether they wanted to or not, and in this cold weather, it would be understandable if they resisted. Some isolated themselves, talking to themselves, or walked back and forth like restless zombies, going nowhere. Others formed groups, chatting, smoking, arguing. Voices, shouts, strange excited laughter reached you.

At first, your eyes failed to pick him out. It was only after scanning over the throng of people that you spotted him - a tall figure, as pale as the moonlight, leaning nonchalantly against the brick wall of the patio. A predator perfectly at ease in the midst of his prey.

Jungwoo navigated his way through the crowd, making a beeline for him. He exchanged a few words with the nurse stationed closest to the infamous serial killer - a petite woman named Eun-ji with a heart-shaped face and a sharp bob cut that framed her face. She nodded, her eyes wide behind her rectangular glasses.

Yoon approached Moonjo with extreme caution much like a wary zookeeper approaching a particularly unpredictable animal. You knew exactly what he would say, you had rehearsed it with him other times. He would inform the towering man that you, the in-house therapist, had requested a meeting with him. He would emphasize that it was a request, not an order. 

Moonjo remained as still as a statue as Jungwoo spoke, offering no indication of agreement or refusal. That was a good sign, you thought.

After a moment that felt like an eternity, Yoon Jungwoo turned on his heel and retreated, his hands buried in the pockets of his scrubs. A sinking feeling of defeat washed over you - he wasn't coming. You berated yourself internally for being so naive. This had been a colossal waste of time and energy, and you had missed your precious 30-minute power nap for this fiasco.

But just as you were on the brink of surrendering to your disappointment, to your utter surprise, Moonjo stirred. He took a step forward, following the retreating figures of the policemen and nurses across the courtyard until they were swallowed up by the hospital’s imposing structure.

So, he was coming after all. You cleaned your hands in your jeans and put your hands on your knees to stop your legs from bouncing. You tried to quieten the nagging voice in your head, the voice that sounded uncannily like your father, chastising you for not being good enough, calling you a fraud, asserting that a woman's place was in bed, awaiting her husband's return from work, naked and submissive.

Shut up, you thought, repeating it over and over: Shut up, shut up…

Two or three minutes later, there was a knock on the door. 

"Come in," you called out.

As the door creaked open, the personification of the monstrous deeds you had meticulously studied in countless newspaper clippings and confidential case files stepped into the room. His imposing figure, garbed in the standard-issue uniform of the Westlake Psychiatric Ward—a drab ensemble of worn-out hues that could only aspire to be called beige—filled the doorway. His eyes, the first thing you notice, were a striking shade of obsidian and held an unsettling gleam as they flickered over the confines of the consultation room before settling on you.

Words precede and overtake you; they tempt you and change you, and if you're not careful, it will be too late. Things will be said without you having said them. Or, at least, it wasn't just that. Your entanglement comes from the fact that a carpet is made up of so many threads that it can't resign itself to following just one thread. Your entanglement comes from the fact that this story is made up of many stories. And not all of them can be told—a truer word could, from echo to echo, bring your high glaciers crashing down the gorge. So you will no longer speak of the drain that was in you while he was staring at your face. Otherwise, you will think about how headlines or news articles could never do justice to the presence he commanded. His skin was luminous, almost translucent—a canvas of alabaster with the occasional vein peeking through the surface, like coloured threads embedded in white marble. He was a statue that came to life.

Moonjo’s raven hair, unconventional in its length for a man, covered his nape and framed his forehead in an innocent way. His smile, filled with teeth, was clear of any obstructions, allowing you to glimpse the unique shape of his insanity—water and desert, populace and wilderness, abundance and need, fear and challenge. Moonjo has in himself the eloquence and the absurd mudness, the surprise and the antiquity, the refinement and the roughness. Moonjo is baroque.

Still, right now, he is the first thing in your whole life that you look at and see no ounce or mention of color.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Song.” 

"Good."

You locked eyes with him, noting the spark of anticipation dancing in his gaze, before shifting your attention to the small assembly of officers and medical staff flanking him. Jungwoo is curling into himself while holding a paper bag from the cafeteria in his hand. This wouldn't do. Screw Officer Hwa and her requests; you wouldn't attend to someone while being vigilated like this.

Officer Park Seo-Jin, a woman as stern as the harshest Spartan matron, with her sharp, hawk-like features and a redish hair and attitude that brooked no nonsense, met your gaze. Adjacent to her stood Nurse Lee Min-Ho, a fresh addition to the hospital staff, nervously clutching a clipboard. He was a blue one.

Maintaining your gaze on Officer Park, you said in a firm voice, "Officer Park, I would like to conduct this consultation with Mr. Seo in privacy. You and your team may wait outside, perhaps in the waiting area. There's a coffee machine that makes a decent brew."

The officers exchanged surprised glances, clearly taken aback by your request. Officer Park's frown deepened, her lips forming a thin line as she locked eyes with you. "Dr. Song, with all due respect, I don't think that's a good idea. Given his history and Officer Hwa’s requests, it's better if we—"

"I understand your concerns, Officer Park, but I assure you, I can handle myself. I've been trained to do so. I believe Mr. Seo here can attest to that."

Moonjo tilted his head and smiled like the Cheshire cat as he noticed the thick file on the table behind you, eyes traveling over it greedily, like a grade-schooler staring at a chocolate fountain. He knows what lies inside. And he was fucking entertained. "She's right. I don't bite...unless provoked."

Officer Park looked like she was about to argue further as she shot a glare at Moonjo—a glare so icy it could rival the sub-zero temperatures of the Arctic tundra—but you held up a hand, stopping her. 

"I appreciate your vigilance, but I've dealt with patients similar to Mr. Seo before. My training is extensive and comprehensive. I know what I'm doing. Please wait outside."

After a moment of silence, Officer Park reluctantly agreed, her gaze lingering on you with a mixture of concern and admiration. "Let’s go then, boys. Out we go, or Miss Cold here will chop our heads off," she grumbled, shuffling towards the door. She paused at the threshold, her hand on the knob, before turning back to look at you. "You call us the second he steps out of line, you hear?"

“Sure.”

Reluctantly, the officers and nurses filed out of the room and as the door closed behind them, Jungwoo handed you a cup of black coffee, brewed with beans from a local roaster. The mug was warm in your hands, the black liquid inside steaming and swirling. It was just as you liked it—strong and bitter.

"Thank you, Jungwoo," you said, accepting the coffee. "And...thank you for understanding."

With a nod and a faint, yellow smile, Jungwoo retreated. He cast a last glance at you and Moonjo, his brows furrowed in worry, before finally disappearing behind the door.

As the door closed behind Seo Moonjo with a dull thud for the second time, echoing through the empty therapy room, the canvases on the wall seemed to lean in curiously, like ghosts that had seen better days. He walked with a hunched gait, shoulders slightly rounded, hands clasped together behind his back—an unsettling calmness about him that chilled you to your very core. Now, just the two of you, the air felt colder than before he entered, like he brought along a personal blizzard that set your nerves on edge. 

 Slowly, he takes a seat across from you, his legs crossed at the knee elegantly, like an art model posing for a painting session. His hands were large, rugged and bruised with what looked like fresh scratches from tools or rope. It took all of your self-control not to recoil at the sight of them. He leaned forward slightly, folding those monstrous hands on the table between you, atop a worn-out copy of Freud's 'The Interpretation of Dreams', and locked eyes with yours - unblinking, unwavering.

A moment passed where neither of you moved or spoke. You could feel his eyes raking over your face, examining every line and shadow on your own. It was disconcerting how easily he made eye contact. You forced yourself to return it, resisting the urge to shield yourself with your pencil and notepad. You wished you could paint over this unnerving moment, transform it into a stunning piece of art, and hang it in the vibrant hallways of the Louvre rather than being trapped in this dreary room.

Therapy is not your forte; art is your passion. But here you are, trying to understand this man who's been called a monster by everyone outside these walls. Inside them too? Who knows? Maybe there's more to him than meets the eye... or maybe they're all just stories that should never be told in this place that reeks of silence and stares back at you like a judgmental wallflower no matter what you do or say next to Seo Moonjo right now.

"Well then, Mr. Seo. Shall we begin?"

“Of course, jagiya.”

[lynzishell]

It's 10+ years in your sims future. Where are they at that time compared to where they are right now in your story?

Ok... so, I may have had a little too much fun with this one, and now I can't wait for li'l Aspen to be a child!!! 🥹🧡

Hi! My name is Aspen, but most people call me Annie, and I’m ten-and-a-half years old.

My mom is a Director at the Dreamer Foundation (whatever that means). And my dad is the Mayor of San Myshuno. They both work a lot. A LOT. I spend most days after school at home alone. Well, not alone alone. My dog, Pepper, is here with me. We play and go for walks. She’s really smart too. My uncle Asher is teaching me how to train her. She already knows how to sit and lay down. Next, I’m going to teach her how to roll over. Asher has a dog too. Her name is Pixel and she’s so cute! Pixel and Pepper are best friends! My best friend is Mei. She’s been my best friend since before I knew the word “best friend”. At least, that’s what my mom says.

Sometimes on the weekends Atlas, Asher, Pixel, Pepper, and me will all go to the Bay to visit Grandma Megan and Grandpa Alex. I love their house! It’s right by the ocean and has the biggest backyard I’ve ever seen! My cousin Spencer lives there too with her mom and stepdad. She’s a teenager, and she’s really cool. She has lots of friends and a boyfriend (but that’s a secret, so don’t tell anyone I told you), and she’s a songwriter. Her and Grandpa Alex are trying to teach me how to play the guitar, but it’s really hard and I’m not very good at it. Sometimes I need a break, so I’ll help Grandma Megan with her plants. She’s teaching me all about plants and flowers and herbs. One day I’m going to have a great big garden!

We always make it back home on Sunday because that’s when me and dad make dinner for everyone. It’s my favorite time of every week! My favorite thing to make is stuffed peppers. We buy them in every color. My favorite is the orange ones. Uncle Atlas likes the green ones. Ew!

Tonight, we were supposed to make risotto, but dad hasn’t come home yet. Mom says he’s stuck at work, but he never works late on Sundays. It’s our night. Atlas said he’d help me make the risotto, but I didn’t want to cook with him. I wanted to cook with my dad. I got really mad and ran to my room and locked the door. I’m not letting anyone in until he gets home. But it’s almost ten o’clock. I'm supposed to be asleep and my tummy is grumbling.

I hope he gets home soon…

[sgiandubh]

Why do you think all of a sudden they are showing so much bts before the season ends ? They used to get into so much sh!t. And SC? They want to show they are besties now ?

Do you think what the actors post need to be approved first ?

Dear Interjection Anon,

So many questions, all of a sudden. Panic much, in Mordor?

So be it. Let's unpack:

I wouldn't go as far as saying we're flooded with BTS "all of a sudden". This is a rather decent rhythm of release in my book, with a clear double objective:

1) keep people engaged/interested, as this bumper season has been split in two by some marketing Einstein at Starz (someday, I might write something about the sadistic streak of their sales strategy, to cool off)

and

2) boost audience ratings, during this summer season when people usually go to the beach/host barbecues in their backyards/fall in love/whatever.

No comprendo "they used to get into so much shit".

Besties now, huh? Let me count the ways, Anon: tweetheart, #1 in my book, single occurrence, bubs, boo, babe, S's name heard from Pretoria to Vladivostok in The Reckoning (don't bother to retcon that, she confirmed), hubby, wifey, me wife, give her all the prizes, etc. etc. etc. But also and more so after the Great Schism of 2016, tele-wifey, tele-hubby, sister (ugh, no), co-star and yes, best friend. This I will not deny: it is on record and I don't deal in mystification. I do remember, however, my feisty, diminutive grandmother telling me after Grandpa died suddenly: you know, I lost my best friend. She meant feelings, there. But I digress: I should hope only your blind faith in what is said, not in what you see or in what your instincts tell you, is prompting this question. As far as I am concerned, I didn't allow anyone, ever, to tell me what to think. So no, I don't believe that poorly conceived propaganda, delivered with the cheer of oral surgery. S&C don't mean anything new. They simply parrot those talking points. And if you think these people are just best friends, I pity you, Anon.

This is 2023, not 1950. These two are Executive Producers, with complicated personal lives and a (by now internalized) self censorship reflex. I would therefore suppose that what they post is not necessarily/always vetted by TPTB. What secondary players post is far more valuable to me. Less spotlight means more freedom to be yourself and this is where we did find the biggest nuggets during this promo season.

[smallraindrops-blog]

Meet Me in The Sunflower Fields.

(A sleep family series)

Summary: out of order snapshots of the hazy days of summer with cherry popsicles and the distant, happy laughter of family. Modern!au

Word count: 1k

warnings: no beta, hinted at family trauma, cursing

Notes: this will be a daily series for the month of July. Super self-indulgent so beware. I will have a sleep family Masterlist out soon, so yall won’t have to hunt through all the tags.

Also did it as a modern au so to not spoil any upcoming lore.

Prompt list credit

Masterlist for WMFTD

I hope y'all enjoy this first part.

~~

Summer Kisses

The air felt sticky with heat, clinging to Hypnos’ skin with each step he took into the backyard. The boys were loudly playing in the pool, trying to get their grandpa to join them. 

Hypnos smiled at the sight even as he tugged at his shirt to help cool himself off, but that wasn’t why he was there. He scanned the yard with a frown, looking for his missing husband. 

When he spied both you and your father glaring darkly over the wooden fence at a certain pair of lovebirds, he rolled his eyes before going over.

The thing was, Hypnos knew it was coming. 

Icelos was the romantic of the family. She was the one sighed at the dramatic kiss during movies, her eyes going dreamy as Morpheus or Phobetor gagged with great force. 

Or hiding in the romance sections in the bookstore, trying to read the pages quickly as she could. Hypnos didn’t have the heart to tell Icelos that she wasn’t as sneaky as she thought.

So when a boy, with a car that was far too nice for him to own, drove up to their house and honked loudly and far too long, Hypnos had known. Icelos running out the house only sealed the deal.

You had looked ready to commit homicide the moment you heard the pesky honking.

“Glaring at them isn’t going to help, dearest.” Hypnos informed you, standing on his toes to join in on the staring. 

Icelos was blissfully unaware, twirling her hair as she leaned down to talk to the boy through the car window. The boy however was giving both you and Achilles fearful glances.

So he wasn’t a total idiot, thankfully. 

“It is helping me.” You grumbled. “He needs to leave. Now.”

”Back in my day, the boy was supposed to meet the girl at the door, not having the girl run to him.” Achilles said with a sour frown.

“And meet the parents.” You agreed, looking like you were considering marching over to them.

“Dearest, you used to be like that.” Hypnos said dryly, a smile pulling at his lips. “You climbed into my bedroom window to see me until my mother chased you out.” 

“That was a different time.” You said, dismissed his words as you narrowed your eyes. “Who in the hell let their kid drive a Range Rover?”

Hypnos sighed.

”Achilles. May I have a word with your son in private?” Hypnos gave Achilles a polite smile that clearly told him to fuck off which he did with a muttered ‘good luck’ to his son.

However Achilles didn’t return to Patroclus, he just went farther down the fence line,  never taking his glare off at the poor boy.

”What did I do?” You whispered in disbelief, leaning down to keep the conversation between them. Your arm braced on the fence, your body turned to him, the sheer size of you closing off the rest of the world.

Even after years of marriage and four children, the intensity of your eyes still left Hypnos a little breathless.

For a moment, Hypnos felt the fluttering of butterflies in his stomach, like he was an awkward teenager all over again, crushing on his mortal enemy. It took everything in him not to smile at the feeling.

Hypnos crossed his arms, frowning up at you. “You need to handle this with some respect for our daughter.” 

You scowled but before you could speak, Hypnos continued. “This whole scary father with a shotgun thing is only going to push Icelos away. She is a smart, pretty young lady, she is going to have people interested.”

You and him stared each other down, a silent battle of wills in the heat of sunlight. Then you broke, rubbing at your beard with a huff.

“Yeah, but that kid?” You jerked a thumb toward the car. “I get what you are saying but that little shit didn’t show the slightest bit of respect for our daughter. He shouldn’t have honked like that.”

You paused, and placed a large hand on his hip to tug him closer. Hypnos went obediently, lifting an eyebrow when you spoke again. “And he should have come to the door to meet us. I did that for you.” 

Hypnos didn’t disagree but this was one of those moments that they needed to show their daughter that her parents trusted her to make smart decisions. He spent too many years In therapy to not listen to the costly therapist.

“We will speak to her about that.” Hypnos promised quietly, leaning in closer. “I agree. But we can’t handle this like my family did.” 

You ducked your head down to brush a kiss against his lips. “We won’t. I promise you that.”

Hypnos smiled, hooking a finger in your shirt collar to keep you close. “Thank you.”

The next kiss was supposed to be a quick one, but somehow Hypnos forgot that, especially when you gave his bottom lip a playful nip, surprising him into deepening the kiss. 

“Hey!” 

You and Hypnos jerked away like you were the guilty teenagers when Achilles shouted. 

Hypnos blinked, somehow Achilles was already charging halfway down the driveway, shouting at the boy to get his filthy mouth off his precious granddaughter. 

You muttered a swear and in a graceful move, leaped over the fence with one hand to run down the driveway after your father.

With a quiet laugh, Hypnos just watched for a minute as you and Achilles broke up the romantic moment. The boy was hiding in his car seat as Icelos stood toe to toe with her father and grandfather.

Something Hypnos never felt like he could do. Too beaten down by his own family for just existing sometimes.

Maybe they were doing something right after all. But still they were definitely going to have to speak to her about her boyfriend’s disrespectful behaviors. There were boundaries for a reason.

Hypnos decided he would give it another minute before stepping in. He could use the entertainment anyway.

[hylianengineer]

I've been having a lot of feelings about the cultural aspects of food recently. Usually, this is a topic that makes me angry because my food allergies and intolerances keep me from participating in a lot of it, but I've had a lot of more positive - if bittersweet - experiences lately.

My grandfather died of cancer just over a month ago. It doesn't feel like it's been that long - I still catch myself talking about him like he's here. But when he got the diagnosis, my sibling and I made cinnamon rolls using his mom's recipe - my great-grandma's. This is The Iconic Dessert in my family. Great-grandma Gladys was a restaurant owner and fantastic cook, and many of her recipes have outlived her by decades already, but this is everyone's favorite. Normally I make it gluten-free and vegan to accommodate various family members' dietary restrictions, but this was 100% traditional, as close to how his mom would've made it as we could manage.

It's been nearly two weeks since the funeral and I'm still eating leftovers. In Midwestern culture - and many others - when shit hits the fan, you bring food. Right after he died, everyone was bringing food to my grandma. More than she could eat, and it was a little overwhelming, but I still find the gesture sweet. Because that's just what we do in our culture. Someone dies, and we make food. So the grieving family doesn't have to. To keep our hands and minds busy. Because we have to find some way to express all the love and pain we're feeling - and so we make food. Or buy food, nowadays - my cousins showed up unannounced with Kentucky Fried Chicken, which I previously could not have imagined my grandmother eating. (She has a home economics degree and the closest she normally comes to eating fast food is Chipotle.) Desperate times and desperate measures, I guess?

One of the fondest memories I have of my grandpa during the last few months of his life is watching him eat the apple pie I made him, with apples off the tree in my backyard. I wasn't expecting to find apples there, it was July and unseasonably early for them, but then this tree has always been a bit odd. I picked the biggest, least buggy apples I could find and then spent hours cutting them up and painstakingly carving worms out of them. It was honestly pretty gross, but there is nothing I would have rather been doing. He didn't have much of an appetite by then, but he did eat the pie with more enthusiasm than anything else in those days. My dad took a photo of him eating a slice of it and it's the last one I have of him - I treasure that photo. It was the last time I saw him alive, and the last thing I said to him was 'see ya.' None of us thought we were out of time, but if we had to be, that's a pretty damn good last memory.

[jahayla-parker]

Hi J! I’m trying to make new friends on tumblr and would like to get to know you better as I think you’re pretty cool! Random life breaker question: what’s a nostalgic memory you’re fond of? 

Hi darling! I love this so much! 🥰 thank you for thinking I’m cool btw haha 🥹

I think this is a great getting to know you type question!

For me, it would be one that’s come up a lot for me lately which is summers with my grandma. My grandma passed a few years ago and before that she had dementia, so it’s been awhile since I was able to have the typical summers with her that I cherish so much. But I remember riding around in her car with her, my brother, and my youngest cousin as we went on mini adventures. These were simple things around town like errands she had to run or going to pick out a toy from the dollar store, etc. but my grandma had a way of making them feel like adventures. It didn’t matter how hot it was, or how many friends would be away for the summer, my grandma always kept us busy and having fun! I could go on and on about all the different memories with this like the popsicles, the backyard pool she made my grandpa put up each year, baking days, etc. 💜 thank you for letting me relive this a bit!

I would love to hear one of your nostalgic memories you’re fond of if you’d be comfortable sharing! 🥰

[maddieautobot273]

Silk & Cologne (60)

A Miguel O'Hara x OC Fanfic - link to AO3 (X)

Chapter 60: Dinner - previous chapter (X)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Female OC Spidersona

Words: 5.6K+

Warnings: Mentions of previous physical abuse and emotional trauma, mentions of sexual innuendos and items

Summary: Lisa and Miguel spend some quality time with her family in Seoul and attempt to reconnect.

*******

I was quiet as Grandma Park called us down for tea. Miguel and I made our way downstairs to the kitchen and I could barely fumble for words as I nodded silently towards her, thanking her for the drink as I tried to will myself not to look out into the backyard again. Jin was here. 

Of course he’s here, dummy, this is his home. This was bound to happen eventually. I just didn’t think this would happen in the mere minutes I’d arrive here. 

The tea had a pleasant scent and the taste was soothing, but not soothing enough to calm my nerves completely. Miguel sat with me at the counter, his free hand gently running down my back before the warmth of his palm pressed into the small of my back.

“We’ll be here for a few days. You don’t have to see him today if you’re not ready.” He said. 

I pondered the thought. The idea of pushing off our meeting until tomorrow or even the last day of our trip had its promises. But I also wasn’t looking forward to these jittering nerves snapping at my heels and fluttering in my stomach until it actually happened. 

“I was planning to serve a Tteokbokki and pork belly buffet tonight.” Grandma Park approached from the opposite side of the counter with her own mug. “But if you’re not ready, I can prepare a plate for you if you’d like to eat out in the garden. It’s especially lovely with the lights on at night.”

My mouth watered at the mention of the rice cakes and pork belly. Other than the kimchi, it was my absolutely most favourite dish I’ve had during my time in Korea, probably one of my favourite foods of all time, and the way Grandma Park made it was positively sublime. As if sensing the turmoil within me, Miguel’s hand brushed up my back again as his soft chuckle lured me to look over at him. 

“Don’t drool mi Mona Lisa, don’t let poor Grandpa Park think you’ve been starved this whole time.” He smirked. 

“Or I could just make Sujebi instead?” Grandma suggested with a teasing glint in her voice as she stared me down with a twinkle in her eye. 

My eyes went wide as I set the cup down, hands flailing. “No, no, no, it’s fine!” Plus, Sujebi had a little too many vegetables for my personal liking. 

“I’m teasing, tokki.” Grandma Park calmed me down with a gentle laughter. “But in all seriousness, do you want to wait?”

I glanced between her and Miguel, seeing a look of support and strength in his eyes. It filled me with the lack of confidence I wasn’t feeling earlier. I regained my composure before meeting my grandmother’s gaze again. 

“No, I. . . I want to do it tonight. I can do it.” 

“I’m so glad!” Grandma Park smiled, eyes brightening as she clapped her hands together. “If you want, why don’t you both help me prepare everything? It will be great bonding!”

I nodded along in agreement. “I think it could be fun.” Also a great distraction until tonight. 

“I’d be honoured to help, Grandma Park.” Miguel offered her a kind smile as his free and came up to squeeze my shoulder with a comforting gaze. “Lisa has been singing your high praises about your ‘killer’ kimchi since she told me about this trip.”

“Aya! The kimchi, of course, how could I forget? I’ll make that too.” Grandma Park’s eyes lit up as she suddenly scrambled from the fridge to an assortment of cabinets to gather ingredients. “In fact, Miguel, why don’t I show you how to make it?”

The look on Miguel’s face made me snort as his eyes went wide. “¿Lo siento?” Ge glanced between her and myself with surprise, I was surprised he remembered to set his cup down before almost losing it out of his grasp as he looked at me. “Are you sure?” - What, sorry? 

“You’ll be okay.” I reassured him as Grandma Park ushered him to come around the counter. 

I watched as he got up from his seat and walked around, joining her as they both washed their hands before getting started. “So, Miguel, when are you and Lisa getting married?”

It was as if every piece of glass and fine China shattered in the room, no, the world. Way to blindside us grandma, I didn’t know you were that desperate for grandkids!

My heart was pounding in my chest as I sat there completely frozen as a statue. Of course Grandma could be a little forward, but this was absolutely pushing it to the limit and then some. I look over at Miguel, terrified about how he’ll respond as I can see the gears in his head turning. As if sensing my distress, whether noticing my physical reaction or through our bond, Miguel clears his throat, looking at my grandmother dead in the eyes. 

“That depends, are you paying for the wedding?” 

There was a brief pause before she burst into laughter, her hand smacking the table. “Oh, ho, ho, you’re a funny one!” 

Miguel glanced over at me, winking playfully as the red crimson hue flickered in his eyes. Crisis averted. Well played, smooth operator Miguel.

“Now then, Lisa tells me you work in a tech company?” 

Grandma Park and Miguel chatted as they prepared the spicy cabbage dish. Miguel gave her the same speech as I had done in the past with my friends, minus all of the Spider Society and him being from another dimension. He had explained that while he was born and raised in New York, I almost caught his Nueva York slip up with a silent warning gaze, his family came from Mexico. 

“Oh, I love Mexico!” She smiled brightly, her voice a stunned awe as she glanced over at me. “Your grandfather and I went there for our 2nd honeymoon, it’s absolutely beautiful!” 

“2nd honeymoon?” I gawked at the older woman. “This is the first I’m hearing of this. When did that happen?”

“Oh it was years ago, tokki, after we renewed our vows.” Grandma Park waved it off as if it were nothing. “It was absolutely breathtaking. Miguel, would you take Lisa to Mexico anytime soon?”

My cheeks turned red as I nearly choked on my tea as I slammed the cup onto the counter. “Grandma!”

“What? I’m just saying it’s a lovely vacation destination, perfect for the summer or if you need a break from winter, which I hear New York’s are atrocious.” Grandma played it off again as she was just making idle conversation. 

Miguel stayed quiet at first, following along with grandma as he helped her spread the kimchi paste along the watered and salted cabbage, turning the green leaf into a spicy red. Our eyes met and a pulse of warmth suddenly shot through the bond as he smiled warmly. “I’ll put something in the books.”

I hid my face with my mug, sipping my tea almost too loudly and not at all suspicious. ‘You’re saying that to not hurt her feelings are you?’ 

‘Would you like to go? I’d love to show you around my Mexico City, or we can go to yours. I’m not picky. Although for me personally, your oceans look so much cleaner.’

‘I’ve. . . never been to Mexico.’ I admitted honestly, sparing a glance at him. 

He kept his gaze on me the whole time, and never looked away once. 

‘That settles it then. Let’s plan a trip together once we get back.’ He smiled at me and then his face suddenly contorted as if holding back a sneeze. “Is that–?”

“Ah, you must have smelled the chili powder. I tend to use more than the recipe requires to give a little more of a kick. Are you alright, Miguel?” Grandma Park asked out of concern after Miguel shook it off with a disgruntled huff. 

“Yes, I’m fine, just. . . allergies.” Miguel answered after a brief pause and then instantly regretted it when she gasped. 

“Allergies?” Grandma Park lifted a hand towards her mouth but recoiled, almost staining her mouth with the paste. 

“No, no, he’s not allergic to this, grandma,” I reassured her, reaching over and comforting her. “Miguel has a very. . . sensitive sense of smell.” I glanced over at Miguel, searching for any sign that I was overstepping. “Since he was a kid.”

“Yes. . .” Miguel nodded slowly in acknowledgement. “Sorry, I got my words confused.”

“Ah, I see. . .” Grandma Park nodded along. 

“Apologies for scaring you.” Miguel glanced over at her, an apologetic look in his eyes. 

“It’s quite alright.” Grandma Park smiled warmly. Then her face suddenly lit up as she reached and opened a drawer. “I have an idea!”

She rummaged around for a moment before pulling out something I didn’t quite make out at first. She turned to Miguel, motioning for him to lean forward. Miguel had a puzzled yet curious look on his face as he did as asked and then my mouth dropped as she slipped on a pair of scuba goggles on him. 

There was no air in my lungs as my hand went up to my mouth, desperately trying to mutter my laughter. Miguel stood back up, exchanging a look that said ‘I’d never buy you coffee ever again’. 

“Not a word to any of our friends back home.” He grumbled after I snapped a picture on my phone. 

By friends, I knew he mostly meant Lyla. 

“I promise.” I singsonged, crossing my heart with my finger. 

Miguel and Grandma Park resumed their work on the Kimchi. As I watched them while finishing my tea, trying as I might, despite my brain telling me repeatedly to not look, I turned and glanced toward the giant glass windows that overlooked their backyard. 

I found Grandpa talking with Jin, Pom Pom’s little tail wagging excitedly as they hovered near their feet. They looked over a series of flowerbeds in the garden, probably discussing the flowers. Jin actually seemed. . . relaxed. Dare I say happy. 

I glanced down at my now empty tea cup, a nervous bubble forming in the pit of my stomach. 

I can do it. 

*********

The hours seemed to slowly tick by, as if the universe was taunting me about the inevitable. Watching Miguel spend time and getting to know my grandparents helped me a little with my nerves, and whenever I needed him, Miguel offered his shoulder to lean on or his hand to hold and squeeze. 

It got immensely better when my mother finally arrived. 

“I’m so sorry I took so long! My meeting with the fundraiser at the country club across town took forever, and the traffic was awful!” She rambled on before enveloping me in a tight bear hug. “Oh, I missed you baby!”

“I missed you too, mom!” I nearly wheezed and gasped for air after finally pulling away from her grasp. 

She looked over to Miguel, her smile beaming as she shook his hand. “Miguel, I’m so happy you could join us. When Lisa told me you’d be tagging along, I was over the moon!”

“Of course.” Miguel smiled back at her with a warm gaze. “I wanted to provide moral support.”

To catch up and spend some mother-daughter time, Janet quickly took me out shopping at a nearby mall to pick out an outfit for tonight. We tried to look for something that screamed ‘confident daughter who won’t take no more shit from her step-father’. By we I mean me. 

In the end, I settled for a nice pair of matching black dress pants and jacket with a blue blouse and flats. Nothing too lavish, but I wanted to be professional and be a better person. If Jin was making progress like mom said he was, then I’d try to put in some effort for this dinner. 

When we returned, Grandma not only finished the kimchi with Miguel’s help, but she also roped him into helping prepare the rest of the buffet! She had to stop him twice from trying to sneak a piece of the pork belly and threatened him with no dessert if he didn’t comply. Miguel claims it was an exaggeration. 

“I only swiped 1 piece.” He claimed. 

“1 pork belly and 3 rice cakes!” Grandma Park corrected. 

After that was done, Jin had retired to his room, so Grandpa gave us a tour of their recently renovated backyard. It was a giant, beautiful garden with various assortment of flowers, a giant cherry blossom tree and a meditation corner. 

“It was Jin’s passion project these last few months.” he had explained, offering me a flower to smell.

I held it delicately in my hand, catching a whiff of the aroma. “They’re beautiful…” 

After the tour of the garden, we went back inside and I showed off the new outfit I got to Miguel, and he had me help him go through his entire gizmo inventory for the perfect outfit to A) make a good impression with my family and B) Not make it so obvious that he wanted to match with me. He was mostly opting for the latter. 

After passing the time and waiting a painstaking couple of hours and a shower to clean myself up and calm me down, it was dinner time. 

We all sat in the dining room, Miguel, myself and my mom on one side, followed by Grandpa, Jin, and Grandma on the other. We mostly ate in silence at first, making the occasional small talk. It helped that Grandma’s cooking was absolutely fantastic. I couldn’t remember the last time I drooled so much over a piece of pork, and the Tteokbokki was killer. 

Of course, good food isn’t enough to stop the inevitable. 

“Lisa, Janet showed us your performance back in New York.” Grandpa initiated the conversation, his eyes beaming with pride. “We are so proud of you.”

My heart fluttered with warmth as I smiled at him. “Thank you, grandpa.”

“Oh, yes, it was wonderful! The bright lights, the pretty colours! Very well choreographed. Everything seemed so lively!” Grandma Park praised before glancing over at Jin. “Jin watched it with us, he was very impressed.”

All eyes turned to Jin at that comment. He swallowed his food before pausing, our eyes meeting. 

“Remember, Jin?” Grandma Park pressed. 

“. . . You were exceptional.” He nodded firmly. 

I didn’t remember holding my breath until I sighed in relief, letting the nerves and tension ease out of me as we all resumed eating. 

Just. . . exceptional? 

“You’ve been keeping up with your practice.” Jin noted. 

“It was a little tricky at first, you know, restricted to bed rest and all, but I got by.” I replied. 

I don’t know why I worded it like I did, but after I spoke the words, the air around us suddenly became tense. 

“Why New York, if I may ask?” Jin went on, his eyes locked on to me. “There were plenty of well established teams back in Toronto.”

I would have stayed. But the memories, the scars… they ran too deep. “I needed a fresh start.” I shrugged my shoulders innocently. 

Jin’s gaze lowered to his plate, his fork picking at his food before his eyes narrowed up at me. “Korea could have been your fresh start if you stayed.”

“Jin!” Janet shushed him, her head whipping towards him. 

My heart dropped. 

The gloves were officially off. 

“Why didn’t you come to me the day before the show?” Jin pressed on, his eyes solely focused on me. “Instead you waited until the last possible second, right before your debut show. Did you want me to cause a scene and stop the performance altogether?” 

“I wasn’t saying I wanted you to stop our whole performance, I said that ‘I’ wanted out. The rest of my group could have performed just fine without me.” I stated, my stomach suddenly turning into knots. 

I didn’t mean for things to get so heated. I thought we’d wait until after dinner before getting into the nitty gritty and do family therapy. What sucked the most about this was I just lost my appetite for grandma’s killer Tteokbokki. 

“Even on our good days, you constantly criticized what I’d do, eat, dress!” I stressed, nearly flinging away a piece of pork. 

“I was trying to look out for you.” Jin responded in earnest. “As your popularity grew, all eyes were on you, Lisa, just waiting for you to let your guard down. That’s the dark side of this industry, I was trying to protect you without showing too much favoritism.”

Favouritism?! 

“By constantly making me feel like I wasn’t good enough?” The outburst slipped out before I could even think of the words. “By attacking me?!”

Miguel’s free hand slipped under the table, squeezing my thigh and holding me into my chair. He knew fully well that if this went on for any longer, I might jump out of my chair and leap right for him. His eyes were sharp as he glared towards Jin, like a panther sizing up his prey. If I wasn’t going to take the dive, he would.

“I acknowledge what I did was outlandish and absolutely awful, but I am still your father. I may not have been there when you were brought into this world and in your early years, but I watched you grow. I helped mold you into the capable woman you are now.”

Something snapped in me as I dropped my chopsticks onto my plate. “No. You molded me into the woman I was 2 years ago. Times have changed. I’m not the same, broken, fragile thing I was back then, and I never will be. I molded myself into this capable woman I am today. You had nothing to do with it.”

I shot up from my chair, tossing my napkin to my plate as Miguel’s hand fell from my lap. All eyes were on me, but I focused my attention solely on the pair I wanted to address. 

“I can acknowledge you’ve made progress in most aspects of your life and behavior, and I’m glad you have people that can help you. But, clearly, there’s still some work to be done about this–” I pointed a finger between the two of us, “-if it's even remotely salvageable. But that’s apparently not going to happen tonight.”

A chill crawled through the air, the room turning cold and suffocating as tears burned in my eyes, but I held strong to keep them at bay. I turned towards my grandparents, bowing my head respectfully. 

“Thank you for the lovely meal.” I leveled my head as I glanced around the table to look at my mother and Miguel. “Excuse me.”

My chair scraped against the floor as I backed away, stepping away from the dining room table and down the hall, before slipping outside into the backyard. 

**********

Miguel’s P.OV. 

After Lisa stormed off, Miguel had the urge to stand and go after her, to comfort her, but her mother beat him to it. She shot a disappointed glare towards her husband before excusing herself from the table. Grandma and Grandpa Park looked upon us in shocked silence, swearing softly in their native tongues. 

A million thoughts were running through Miguel’s head. 90% of them ended with Jin as a corpse. But that would leave a horrible impression with Lisa’s grandparents. They weren’t at fault for his behavior and they had both been lovely to them since their arrival.

“She came here because she believed, even with the smallest of chances, that you had changed.” Miguel’s eyes narrowed darkly towards Jin, his crimson eyes piercing into his very soul. “You just proved her wrong, and wasted her valuable time.”

There was a flicker in Jin’s eyes, but he didn’t move from his chair, his knuckles bone white as he held a death grip on his fork. 

“We’re here for another few days. You have until the hour before our flight to apologize to her, because if you don’t, I think I know Lisa well enough that she would never want to see or hear from you ever again.” Miguel growled lowly, his fists held firm at his sides to stop himself from completely losing his cool. 

Jin remained silent in his chair before slowly releasing his fork, the sound of the metal clattering softly against the plate as he leaned back in his chair. As if he was just now coming to terms with what had just happened. And then he spoke up. 

“I am glad she has someone like you to watch over her.” His voice was quiet, punctual. “It’s hard for her to go through discussions like this on her own.”

The tension seeped away from Miguel’s body as he took a breath, his fingers loosening. “I don’t care what you have to say about me.”

Miguel casted an apologetic look towards Grandma and Grandpa Park, thanking them for the meal before excusing himself from the table. His footsteps were heavy, but quick as he sauntered to the opposite end of the house to the giant sliding screen door. He stopped at the archway, a hand at the door as he watched Janet hold Lisa close in the bright spotlights of the yard as she cried into her shoulder.

He wanted nothing more than to take Lisa in his arms right there and then, but knew Lisa needed time. So he waited. 

“What do you want to do, honey?” Janet asked Lisa, hands on her hips as she put on her serious mom face.

When she put on that face, she meant business. A true mother’s intuition. 

Lisa took a breath and looked into her mother’s eyes and said “I don’t want to stay here tonight.”

Miguel took a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he gripped the doorway tightly before pushing off from the door and headed upstairs to pack their things. 

*********

Lisa’s P.O.V. 

It was a long drive. Of course the closest available hotel I could find that wasn’t booked on a Friday night was on the opposite side of the district. But so long as there was an available room with a bed where I could lay down and just pass out and forget tonight even happened, I’d be happy. I wanted to call a taxi, but grandma insisted Ja Hoon drive us out of concern for our safety. By our safety, she of course meant mine. 

Miguel convinced me to accept the offer, as she just wanted to make sure I’d be taken care of. The lights of the street lamps shined over our faces through the dark as Ja Hoon guided the car and pulled over in front of a small building. It looked modern enough, perhaps not a lavish hotel or anything like my grandparents house, but it would do for one night. 

We got out of the car and Ja Hoon helped us with our luggage. I offered him a polite, thankful smile with a curt bow of my head. “Thank you for driving us, Ja Hoon.”

“It was no problem, Miss Kendrick.” He bowed back. “If you require my services again, I’m a phone call away.”

He glanced over to say goodbye to Miguel when suddenly he froze, his eyes slowly going wide as if he were realizing something. 

“Ja Hoon? Are you okay?” I asked with a concerned look in my eye as Miguel placed a hand on my shoulder to keep me from stepping forward. 

“No, no, everything is fun- fine! I meant fine!” Ja Hoon spoke quickly, bowing again with more urgency before making a beeline for his car.  “Enjoy yourselves!”

The car started and he took off down the street, his back headlight blurring off in the distance. 

“That was. . . weird.” I glanced over towards Miguel with a raised brow. “Any idea what that was about?”

“No idea.” Miguel looked equally as confused as I was. 

“Whatever, it’s getting late, and I’m too tired to dwell on it.” I shook it off, surpassing a yawn that crawled its way up my throat as I grabbed my suitcase. “Let’s go inside.”

Miguel followed close behind me as we entered the lobby and greeted the receptionist with a warm smile. She checked us in, handing us both our keys.

“Unfortunately this room is booked for the morning so we can only accommodate you both during your time tonight.” She explained. 

Odd. Do they not normally take walkins?

“That’s alright, we’ll only be here one night, thank you.” I nodded in understanding, but at this point I was so tired I was simply pretending to get some sleep. 

“Enjoy your stay with us, and if you require any extra services, our room service is open all night.” She smiled, waving us towards the elevator. 

“Thank you.” Miguel nodded as he gently pulled me along as we both stepped into the elevator. 

The doors closed in front of us and for the first time since we left the house, I let out a deep sigh as I leaned against Miguel. “Tired?” He asked me as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pecking the top of my head. 

“Tired doesn’t even begin to describe how I’m feeling right now.” I groaned. 

Tonight was. . . something. A disaster? Maybe I wouldn’t go that far. But it blew my expectations out of the water in the worst way possible. I hadn’t raised my voice like that since the accident, and the look on his face. . . 

The elevator chime snapped me out of my train of thoughts as we arrived on our floor. Walking down the hall, I found our room number as I unlocked the door and opened it, stepping inside. I sighed in relief seeing a nice, clean room with a bed and bathroom. 

“Oh thank god, now I can sleep a little easier. . .” I cheered, nearly toppling onto my knees right there and then. 

“Don’t pass out on me yet, mi corazon.” Miguel snickered, ruffling my hair with his hand. “Actually unpack your things and get ready for bed first.” - my Sweetheart 

“Fine.” I huffed, lifting my suitcase onto the couch to unzip it. “But I call dibs on the better side of the bed.”

“Then I call dibs on the first shower.” Miguel smirked back at me, taking off his coat and putting it on the hanger. 

“Deal.” I caved, the idea of a shower sounding absolutely incredible too. 

Miguel made his way to the hotel bathroom as I opened my suitcase and started rummaging for my pajamas to set them aside on the bed before putting away the rest of my things. But as I approached the bed, I noticed something off about this bed. It seemed rather large, even for two people. Had the room I booked on a last ditch effort to get out of the house been a deluxe and I didn’t notice?

Was this even a king size bed?

A low whistle caught my ear as I heard Miguel speak up, “Lisa, what the shock is the size of this bathtub?” 

“What?” I turn and walk over to the bathroom, standing in the door to peer inside. My jaw nearly dropped to the floor as I looked at the giant size bathtub with molded seating and jets. “A bathtub? That looks like a jacuzzi to me!”

“I have never been more excited to take a bath in my life.” The balls of his feet bounced with an excited spring as Miguel immediately pulled his shirt off, motioning to his body and height. “This was why I switched to showers.”

“Well then you go on and enjoy yourself while I finish packing.” I chuckled at his enthusiasm, my cheeks a light shade of pink as my gaze trailed over his exposed chest before quickly averting my gaze back to his face. “You deserve a moment to yourself and relax after tonight.”

“That’s my line.” He teased before his expression softened, pointing to his gizmo. “If you want, since there's plenty of space, you can join me? I can have Lyla whip out swimsuits for us to help you feel comfortable.”

My heart fluttered at the gesture, a soft smile on my face. He wasn’t forcing me into anything I wasn’t ready for, but wanted to still help me find ways for me to relax. “That’s really sweet of you, Miguel, but I’ll be okay for tonight. Just don’t use all the hot water.”

“Yes ma’am.” he gave me a salute, waiting for me to leave before starting the water and stripping off the rest of his clothes. 

As I was leaving, I couldn’t help but notice that the shower was also a generous size as well. Was it some sort of theme in this hotel? To make us feel smaller or shrunk like in ‘Honey, I Shrunk The Kids’? Cause this was one weird way of showing it. 

I stepped back into the bedroom, noticing a small bowl of red cherry candies on the side table. I popped one into my mouth before I resumed unpacking. I took a handful of clothes, humming the tone of a song to help soothe me as I reached for a drawer on the dresser. I pulled it open and before I could put my clothes in, I recoiled and dropped my clothes. 

I gasped, but no scream came out of me as I covered my hands with my mouth. I tiptoed back to the open drawer and peeked inside. Surely my mind was playing tricks on me. This couldn’t have been the hotel’s fault. Did the previous tenants of this hotel room leave these behind?

A generous helping of strawberry flavoured condoms was on one side, floral pattern lace and lingerie on the other in three different colours. 

My hands were trembling as I reached out and picked up one of the condom wrappers. When my hand made physical contact with it, my heart skipped a beat, a wave of anxiety washing over me before I threw it back and slammed the drawer shut. 

There’s no way. There’s absolutely no way. 

I opened another drawer and stared in shock. An assortment of vibraters and other ‘toys’ was inside. I checked all of them. Every single drawer had something inside, all but one. I didn’t feel comfortable putting my clothes in that drawer after what I saw. 

Okay, there were way too many of these things for the scenario to be that they were left behind. But why would the hotel have all of this stuff–!

Wait a shocking minute. 

I noticed a remote control on top of the dresser. I reached for it, turning on the TV. A streaming service came on screen. At a glance, it seemed normal enough until I cycled through their selection. Everything was an R or X rated adult film. My skin turned pale as I dropped the remote and it clattered to the floor. There was another remote embedded on the side of the headrest of the bed with over a dozen buttons, and I don’t know how I didn’t notice this until now; There were no windows. 

“Miguel!” My voice cracked as I called for him, panic rushing through me as I suddenly felt light headed. 

“Lisa?” His voice responded, followed by splashing and the pitter patter of his feet against the cool tile floor of the bathroom. He emerged in the bedroom, hair damp and body soaking wet as he hastily tied a towel around his waist. “What’s wrong, what happened?” He brandished his fangs and claws, scanning the room for signs of danger.

My heart panged at how he looked, realizing he literally flung himself out of the middle of the bath because he heard me call for help. I felt awful for disturbing him at this moment and silently vowed I’d make it up to him later with all the fancy soap and fancy shampoos he wanted, heck even a bath bomb or two. 

“I made a mistake!” I blurted out, the first set of words coming to me as I scrambled to steady myself. 

“Hey, hey, hey, breathe,” He commanded, stepping forward as he recoiled his claws before placing his hands on my shoulders, the water staining my shirt but I didn’t care too much right now. “Just breathe.”

He waited for me to take a couple deep breaths in and out before speaking again. 

“What mistake? Was it dinner?” He asked. 

“No, it’s this room!” I clarified, my voice tense with a slight, anxious whine to it. “I booked us the wrong room.”

“What are you talking about, Lisa?” He asked me, trying to get a read on me but I could tell by the look on his face he was struggling. 

The words were right there on the tip of my tongue, but for the life of me I couldn’t get them out. All I could do at the moment was lower my head in either shame or cowardness, perhaps both, as I pointed to the TV. 

Miguel glanced over at the screen, his eyes trailing over the text. His eyes widened as his hands moved away from my shoulders, one of his hands coming to his towel to hold it in place. He turned back to look at me. 

“And the dresser. . .” I muttered softly. 

Noticing that some of my clothes were littered on the floor, he was about to speak up until his voice trailed off once he opened the drawer containing the condoms and lingerie, then the same one with the sex toys. He didn’t need to open the others to know where this was going. He did a once over around the room before his eyes met mine, finally understanding the source of my stress. “Lisa…?”

I sucked in one more deep breath before I blurted out the words. “I accidentally booked us a room in a love hotel!”

As if this night couldn’t get any worse. 

*******

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[incesthemes]

i rearranged all of my books last night so that my Old Books could go in my crates :) i'm really happy with how it turned out, it looks so pretty 🥰🥰🥰

book and trinket details under the cut because i know no one cares about them but I DO so i'm compromising

all of my Old Books, from the top left to the bottom right in order (middle 4 crates, the sides are for my oversized books):

the complete phonographer (1894): book on english phonology

readings in language and literature (1930): textbook on how to read and write literature

virgil's aeneid, latin text (1903)

the ghost and other lectures (1878): an anthology of famous lectures and essays

gregg shorthand (1919): a manual on how to write in gregg shorthand

anthology of john steinbeck's books (1984)

the age of voltaire, by will & ariel durant (1965)

life in mill communities (1941): sociological study on mill workers and their families

robinson crusoe, by william defoe (1930)

peer gynt, by henrik ibsen; norwegian text (1903)

the history of north america (1905): history book of north america from the perspective of canada

worcester's geography (1819): contemporary geography book

shakespeare and his predecessors (1896): details the historical context of shakespeare and his plays

friendly visitor (1825): a magazine anthology of sermons and local gossip

heart songs (1912): a book of english folk songs

short spanish review grammar (1923): spanish textbook

the plain spelling book (1800): a spelling textbook for schools

the history of our planet (1886): world history book (i got this from my mom!!!!!)

first greek book (1896): greek textbook

a school latin grammar (1899): latin textbook

the school of obedience (1899) a christian propaganda text

oeuvres de moliere, french text (1845): an anthology of moliere's plays

virginibus puerisque and other papers, by robert louis stevenson (1910): an anthology of stevenson's essays and papers

the seaman's handbook for shore leave (1942): for american sea merchants

kabloona, by gontran de poncins (1941): a memoir and study of the netsilik people

nature displayed (1831): french textbook (two volumes)

wild scenes and wild hunters (1865): a natural history textbook

a first book in latin (1904): latin textbook

the antiquary, by walter scott (1893): the fifth of 48 novels written for the historical fiction waverly novels series, which was apparently one of the most popular series in the 19th century

trinkets of note:

rocking horse music box, which i inherited from my great grandmother

a scandinavian woven straw horse (possibly norwegian?)

some very beautiful lakota-made pottery i bought in south dakota

a blown-glass butterfly my grandpa gave me (he collects)

a hand-tumbled rose quartz skull

a postcard with a drawing of a train i got from an independent artist working as a steward on the grand canyon railway

a bone terrarium (bought at a craft show, bones of dubious authenticity)

a turkey skull (real, scavenged from my dad's backyard)

the crates themselves were sanded and stained by me :) so i'm extra proud of this

[awideplace]

⊹ At my parent's this evening–orange in their backyard, the most succulent of tangelos perfect for juicing.

⊹ One of my great-great aunts who went to UCLA, was an attorney and female pilot; photo c. 1930's. Her name was Hope.

⊹ Book from my Swedish great-grandfather's funeral who was buried in Los Angeles after settling in LA from Sweden. His name was Lambert.

⊹ My mum (center) in the back of a Jeep truck in the '50's in the California mountains where my Grandpa always used to love to hike.