#it was art market + fuck around in the city yesterday :)

[wellenklavier]

look at my tsom lapel pin outfit boy

[rhysismydaddy]

An Artful Revenge pt. 6 (Feysand)

Part of the Damnation series. 

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

This is the last part of this fic! Gonna work on some asks next, then start the Nessian story (see the link above for details) 

~Feyre~

Men, in general, are beyond stupid.

I honestly don’t even know how the male population is still around.

I mean sure, they have their moments. Fire? Pretty cool. 

Maybe I should amend my statement: Men are stupid when it comes to women.

Because if Tamlin had any common sense, he would wonder why I drag myself into his office downtown, the day after I found out who he really is.

He’d wonder how I even found his posh little office, since he sure as hell never told me about it. (Answer: Rhysand). 

He’d wonder why I’m crying and having an emotional breakdown, but am still dressed in a lowcut dress with my hair done. (Answer: men are even stupider when it comes to a woman with exposed breasts). 

But he doesn’t.

He sees me stumbling toward him, a mess of tears and fluffy hair, and jumps to his feet, coming to my rescue.

His arms wrap around me miraculously at the same time my legs give out, and I fall into him dramatically. 

That was a little much, but what can I say? I was a theatre kid.

“Feyre,” he says calmly, stroking my hair like he didn’t insult me twenty-four hours ago. In fact, he’s acting like we didn’t even break up. “What’s wrong?”

I press my face in his shoulder, trying not to think about how wrong this feels, how wrong he smells. 

Rhysand smells like citrus and the sea and something so manly it makes my knees go weak for real. Tamlin smells like dirt and bad decisions. 

“You were right.” It’s something all men love to hear a woman say, even though it’s hardly ever true. “You were so right, Tamlin.”

He pulls back and runs a thumb over my cheek, swiping a tear away. 

His green eyes question mine, so calm and understanding compared to yesterday’s rage. His hands are gentle as they cradle my face, and I want them off off off.

“He’s a monster,” I wail, dredging up some more tears. Knowing there needs to be more of a concrete reason for my breakdown, I make some pretty seedy shit up. “He... killed his driver! Because he took a wrong turn!”

Gods, Feyre. Really?

I can practically see Rhysand rolling his eyes. He’d see through my lies in a second. 

Tamlin, however, bites the bait... more like he swallows the whole damn line.

He hugs me again, so tight my feet leave the floor, and I go limp against him, pressing all the soft parts of me against the hardness of his chest.

Don’t get me wrong, Tamlin’s attractive. Wide shoulders, surfer boy hair, tan skin, and green eyes that look like the deepest of emerald. 

But he also is a fucking asshole, and everything about him irritates me.

It’s crazy, I think as his hands slip lower on my back, that yesterday he called me a whore, and now he wants to sleep with me.

Prick.

“Tamlin,” I sigh against his neck.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

I almost throw up at the little pet name, but I nod and act like he’s the greatest thing on this planet, the gods’ personal gift to all things women.

But then he kisses me, and I get tired of this little charade. 

I keep my eyes open as his warm lips meet mine, wanting to see his face as the needle sinks into his skin.

His eyes fly open, and he drops me to my feet roughly, a hand pressed against his neck. It’s too late, of course.

Whatever black market shit this is, it works fast. 

His legs give out, and I shove his shoulder so he lands in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. 

“Feyre,” he growls, no longer happy to see me, “What the fuck are you doing?”

I roll my eyes, because even the dumbest of men should be able to figure that out my now. 

You’d think he’d pass out or be too paralyzed to talk, but just like Rhysand promised me, the drugs have paralyzed him from the neck down but left him perfectly conscious. 

I want him to see exactly what I’m doing.

Straightening my dress, I saunter over to his desk, eyes scanning the messy papers and folders for what I want.

Three rings, the exact copy of Rhysand’s, sit in a glass box, the shining titanium making them look like treasure. And they are.

But they’ve been here fucking long enough. 

I try to open the box, but it’s locked, so I sigh and grab a paperweight, then smash it to bits.

“You do this, Feyre, and I’ll come after you.”

“Ooooh, scary,” I deadpan, completely writing him off in a way I know drives him crazy.

Glass flies everywhere, but I just grab the rings and put them on whatever fingers they’ll fit on. 

Yet another piece of evidence men are idiots: I was wearing Rhysand’s ring when I walked in here.

A small detail, sure, but when I took that ring from him yesterday in his car, I made a vow to never take it off.

It’s a little big, resting on my thumb, but it’s perfect. 

It means I’m his, and he’s mine.

“He might have Chicago, but I’ll make you’re life miserable!”

“You did that for two years,” I remind him with a smile.

Then I set the radio exactly like I’d been told to, turn back to Tamlin, punch him square in the jaw, and smile when I hear a crunch.

That wasn’t exactly part of the plan, but I was tired of his threats. 

He howls in pain, and I know it makes me meaner than an adder, but I blow him a kiss and laugh as I walk out of his office. 

A sleek black sedan, driven by the very much alive Rolando (I’ve officially stopped thinking of him as Beefcakes), waits for me at the curb. I swing the door open and climb in, turning to Rhysand with a grin.

I hold up my hands victory. 

Rhysand smiles and laughs, relief and love and awe written across his beautiful features. 

He’s so fucking handsome, I can’t hold out anymore.

Muttering an apology to Rolando for what he’s about to witness, I sling myself across the leather seat and pretty much attack Rhysand. 

It might be the fact that I just drugged someone with illegal substances--my very first crime!--or maybe just how he looks when he’s happy. I don’t really care.

My hands are on his jaw, running down his chest, tangling in his hair. 

He lets out a surprised laugh as I paw at him, and I use the opportunity to sweep my tongue into his mouth, holding back a moan at the taste of him.

The car stops, but I sure as hell don’t.

Until Rhysand takes me shoulders in his hands, and gently pulls away. “Adrenaline junkie,” he accuses with a smile, pressing one last kiss to my cheek. 

I nod, because it’s probably true.

He gives me an amused look. “Then I can’t wait for what happens in twenty minutes.”

I stick my tongue out at him, ever the mature adult, and he smiles. Then he takes my hands, examines the rings, and takes the two that fit the worst.

He slips them on, and even though it’s a casual gesture, I almost break out into tears.

Too manly to cry like a baby, Rhysand just opens the door and walks out, taking my hand and pulling me with him.

Even though he looks calm and cool as a cucumber, I know he’s not exactly thrilled I’m here. We had our first real argument about me coming along for this part of the plan I’ve secretly begun to call Toppling Tamlin the Tool. 

I won, obviously.

He warned me time and time again about what I was going to witness today, but I don’t care. His revenge is his to take, but I want to be here for him. 

He’s been fighting for so long, completely alone. 

And no matter how it started, I fell for him. He isn’t alone anymore, and won’t be ever again, no matter how dangerous the situation is.

Hand in hand, we stroll into Leperchaun’s Luck, the last remaining Irish stronghold in Chicago.

When I asked why he’d let it remain all this time, Rhysand smiled that cruel smile and said, “Revenge is only worth it if it’s slow and painful.”

I’d shuddered, half in horror and half in excitement.

I know it’s horrible and beyond absurd, but what he does for a living doesn’t scare me. He explained the gory details last night, and I listened. And even though I was scared, it wasn’t of him.

It was for him.

He has enemies with rap sheets longer than my arm. 

The guy Rhysand blocks from buying Degas? Russian arms dealer!

But Chicago, he’d told me with a smile, is his. Someone would have to be suicidal to come after him here. So I guess I’ll just blow up his plane and never let him leave.

Sounds realistic.

I’d like to think it was my smile and charm that made him give in and let me tag along, but it was likely the fact that we aren’t in any super big dangerous. 

We walk through the empty bar and to the courtyard in the back, and it’s a little amusing how quickly the six men sitting around a poker table jump to their feet and start shouting questions. 

“What the fuck?” is the most popular. 

“Hello, gentlemen,” Rhysand greets smoothly, ever the gentleman. 

Someone behind us loads a gun, the sound making my eyes go wide. 

But it’s never fired.

Because all of a sudden, red dots are on every single chest besides mine and Rhysand’s. 

“Pull that trigger, McCallen, and all your friends die.”

They all look down and around at each other with huge, saucer-sized eyes. 

Not one to dally, Rhysand smiles and tells the group, “I just bought this establishment. Needless to say, you’re no longer welcome. In here, or Chicago. You have six hours to leave my city.”

‘Bought’ is a bit of a strong word. He hacked into Tamlin’s bank account and bankrupted him, forcing him to sell to the highest bidder. Guess who that was.

“Or what?” one asks, feeling brave.

Another dot makes its way to his chest.

Gods, how many snipers does Rhysand have?

“Or you’ll die, and your precious little daughter Lena will be an orphan.”

The man’s jaw sets, even as his face pales. 

Checking his watch with a casual gesture, Rhysand reminds, “Six hours and counting.”

Then he says, directly at the small box in the middle of the poker table, “That goes for you too, Tamlin.” 

Since he didn’t want to risk coming back to Chicago, much less his last property here, Tamlin had been keeping control of his men by listening to everything that happened in this place on a private radio frequency.

Which, somehow, Rhysand knew.

He’d told me the number, and I’d turned the radio in Tamlin’s office to it before leaving. The drugs haven’t left his system and won’t until later today, meaning he’s still lying limp in that chair, listening to every word.

“Leave before I lose my patience,” Rhysand growls, and the men take the warning and haul ass out of the building.

Turning to me, he smiles and asks, “Ready, Feyre darling?”

“Ready.”

We walk out of the restaurant again, pep definitely in our steps, then get back in the car. Rolando starts driving immediately, leaving the restaurant behind us.

“Do you want to-”

“Yes,” I answer immediately, grabbing the phone from him and hitting call.

"So violent,” he murmurs with a smirk, turning in his seat to watch as the explosives he’d placed there years ago during a mandatory “city inspection” finally came into use. 

The explanation I got on that one: “In case I got bored.”

Gods, he’s sexy.

The car rocks slightly as orange and blue and yellow flames race out of the building, leaving absolutely nothing behind. 

Even though the violent woman in me wants to keep watching, I look at Rhysand instead.

His eyes find mine, and he smiles softly. “It’s done. It’s over.”

I nod and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, linking our hands together. We both stare down at the rings. “It’s over.”

Tamlin will run back to wherever he’s been the past seven months, and since there’s absolutely nothing for him here, he won’t come back. 

Rhysand has complete control of the city again, his empire built brick by brick through hard work and rage. He’s gotten his revenge, taken everything from the man who left him with nothing. 

And he got me.

“Was that enough adrenaline for you, Feyre?” he asks, hitting a button to roll up the barrier between us and Rolando. 

Someone else, it seems, is an adrenaline junkie. 

Smiling, I slide down on the soft leather and lift an eyebrow. “Come find out.”

~Feyre, three months later~

Somehow, I feel nauseous, excited, and doomed all at once.

I don’t even know how that’s possible, but it’s true.

I’m so nervous, I might be sick. I’m so excited, I can hardly walk. I’m so unsure of myself, I might fail. 

Focusing on the one in the middle, I walk down the aisle between chairs, ignoring the people watching me and focusing on the destination.

I can feel his eyes on me, and just like the first day we met, I can hardly breathe. But I ignore the tingly feeling in my spine and focus on what I’m doing.

I walk up to the slightly lifted stage in the large auditorium and turn to my peers, smiling and feigning confidence. 

I’m presenting my senior project today. And even though I’m excited and nervous and doomed, I’m proud of it.

It turned out better than I expected, honestly. 

It took me forever to finish the painting aspect because I wasn’t quite satisfied until late last night. 

The paint’s interrupted and surrounded by photos I’ve collected this year.

Rhysand, covered in paint. Art from both Chicago’s museum and the private collection I visit almost every day. Random bits of architecture and the night sky and shots that just work. 

Up close, it’s a bit of a mess, but from a distance--particularly, the distance between me and Rhysand’s chair--it looks like three dancers, twirling and leaping under the night sky. 

My professor hugged me when she saw it. So did Rhysand.

No offense to Prof. Jones, but I enjoyed his a little more.

“This is called Starlight Dancers,” I tell the room, my voice surprisingly level. I’m glad for the bright lights, because I can’t see anyone’s actual face as I continue. “It’s a rendition of Degas’s work, Dancers in Blue, which is my favorite piece. I’ve also incorporated photographs of art and people who mean a lot to me. Like a lot of pieces from the Renaissance, it’s meant to be viewed at a distance.”

I keep talking, going through the difference elements and explaining how, essentially, it’s a celebration of painting and love.

More than once, my eyes are drawn to the photographs of Rhysand, and I find myself searching for him in the crowd. 

I also get a little distracted by the mass of sparkles adorning my ring finger.

We’ve been engaged for three days, eight hours, and a handful of minutes.

He proposed in the museum, right where we met. When I almost feinted at the site of the biggest diamond I’d ever seen and told him it was too much, he’d just laughed and said, “It was this or the painting behind you.”

Ridiculous, wonderful man. 

I know it’s fast to get married after less than five months together, but the scary truth is that I can’t imagine life without him.

I scan the crowd again, and it might be my imagination, but I think I see a pair of violet eyes watching me. 

And I could swear one winks at me.

~Rhysand~

I’m not supposed to be in here.

I’m not a professor, and I’m sure as shit not a student. 

But I snuck in anyway, ignoring the millions of things I actually need to be doing, because I want to support her. 

I don’t even know what she’s talking about--impressionism and romantic elements and different types of photography--but she’s so passionate and beautiful, I can’t take my eyes off her.

She has me completely wrapped around her finger, and it should probably scare me that I don’t even care.

Years and years of planning, and everything that’s happened in the past month still surprised me.

Not the part about running every last Irish bastard out of my city; that’d been set in stone. 

The part about me getting engaged.

Ironically, that’s the only part that makes me smile.

Sure, I sent Tamlin running for the hills with his ragged band of leprechauns, set his stronghold on fire, and finally have peace over what happened all those years ago. 

But even that pales in comparison to waking up next to the woman up on the stage.

She’s a bed hog and always puts her freezing feet on me as soon as I crawl next to her, but the way she smiles at me when she wakes up makes up for it.

Everything about her makes up for it, actually. 

She’s still absolutely crazy and wonderful and I now have paint splatters on more than a few of my suits, but being loved by her is like... standing in the sun after being locked in a cave. Or some other shitty metaphor.

The fucking point is, even though getting down on one knee in a museum and asking her to share her life with me is the last thing I expected to happen, I’m glad it did.

Because being with her gives me something I’d thought I’d lost ten years ago: happiness.

________________________________________

Thank you for reading! 

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[pepprs]

im having so many thoughts i need to put them somewhere so here we go

i hate twitter so fucking much and i regret ever joining it and i want to delete all of the (dormant) accounts i have on there but im too scared to do it. that’s all

lately ivd been missing br*ghton a lot but im shy now and im scared to reach out to anyone and say hi 😔 yesterday i got so stressed and mad cuz this place is a wreck and i miss having a clean slate in my dorm w a mess that was manageable and that i was solely responsible for. and today i was thinking abt the farmers market and how i used to make my regular breakfast from home w all the same ingredients bht they tasted different cuz i was in another country and i didn’t like it at first but now i miss it a lot 😔 like the bread and everything was so good. also it’s absolutely bizarre to me that i like. walked around a city once. i took it for granted while i was there but it was only rly bc i was so anxious i couldn’t get my brain to slow down and soak it all in and now who knows if i’ll ever get to go back but like. i really really do miss it i would give anything to walk around town again. i had a dream the other night that i was on campus there in the main building and my dad was picking me up to take me to the airport for an emergency flight home bc of covid and it was like 4am and i ran out of the building and collapsed on the grass outside and just started crying and crying cuz i didn’t want to and i woke up and realized that basically happened to me i was just in my dorm and all alone and. lol

i have to make a post graduation plan and a timeline for my degree plan rn and i hate it so fucking much. activities and assignments that deal you the maximum amount of psychological torture

im like *makes my first discord server* *goes crazy* like i cant stop thinking abt it and it’s for work so i have to wait but like. i just wanna add ppl already so we can see how it works and setting up channels and everything is so fun. also i think discord could be a rly cool like... platform for art. like a server could function as a story or a poem or smth on there using read / write only channels or whatever and that’s ridiculously exciting to me but idk if id ever have the time to test that out

i keep saying all this shit in my degree plan abt poetry but i havent written since april i don’t think and im starting to wonder if im even like. good. also if i were to publish stuff that means the ppl i write abt would read my poetry abt them and that is SO profoundly unbearable i dont even have the words for it

it’s been almost a yr since my last haircut and idk what to do. i kinda stopped caring abt how long it is and i was just gonna get it cut when the world opens up again but now it’s looking like an IF the world opens up again so i might just have someone here do it or maybe do it myself although that would be bad. maybe on the anniversary of the day i flew to br*ghton lol

i have so many dishes to do and i don’t want to do them i just want to go to sleep WAHHHHH

[border-spam]

Leech Lord prompts: Hatred

Troy

He cannot fucking stand the makeup and costume team.

Can't.

He sits quietly with so much rage boiling in his abdomen as they scurry around him that he's started needing to remove the prosthetic for most pre-stream prep sessions

He told them it's so they could maneuverer easier, that he was sick of them catching on the sharp edges and jostling him as he'd wait in silence for an hour while they worked his face and body, but it's really because of how many times he's splintered an armrest or come far too close to just grabbing one of them when they won't.. shut.. up.

He hates himself for it more than anything because he knows damn well they aren't actually doing anything wrong. He used to do all his own makeup, all his own costume prep, but as years passed and his attention and time had to be stretched further across more responsibilities and daily tasks, Tyreen insisted they give up on running their own prep sessions and leave it to a group with more skill and far more efficiency than a man with one arm..

She was right. There is no argument, she was right, but God he wishes he'd never have to fucking see any of these people again instead of having to endure them daily, controlling his breathing while they swarm about like insects, applying accessories and fixing problems with how he looks.

They have to talk to each other, of course they do, how else can they do this job, but what they talk about? He hates it.

"No, go up a shade, his undereye is darker than yesterday."

"Need a green tone to cover the bruising, A-410m, no *dab* it on, don't smear, his skin's not great today"

"These need to come in another inch they're barely staying up, call in tailoring."

"Define the bridge harsher, yeah, makes him actually look masculine, stops the eyes looking as sunken too."

"This isn't working - it's just drawing attention to how flat this pec is, do we have any contouring shades we can lift the definition with? He's not balanced, right side’s smaller."

He loathes them, and they have no idea how close they come every day to finding out exactly how much.

Tyreen

There are exceptionally few in Tyreen's sphere of influence who can say no to her. Her followers absolutely do not. The sponsors, the business people, the grovelling off-planet mayors and politicians who travel to the Holy City to beg for her ear certainly don't either. Troy? Rarely, and she can usually muddle him enough afterwards with crocodile tears and gestures of care to get what she wants even when he denies her at first, but his Saints?

Some of his Saints... she wants to eat alive.

Ur-Aurum is the worst by far. He's impenetrable. Has been for near a decade, ever since they handed over their first $5k to him in his citrus scented dust-free luxury office on Promethea. She's not sure she's ever seen the little man look intimidated yet alone act it. A stony-faced, immaculately dressed and groomed business mogul who sacrificed any spark of joy he was born with for hard logic a long time ago, and who has no problem telling God Queen Calypso, Holy Mother of the Vault... no.

He's told her no more than any living person has, including her father. Threats don't work and never have, he's never so much raised an eyebrow at what she does to people in his presence. Manipulation doesn't work because for all her skill, he is so much smarter than she will ever be and he damn well knows it. He's untouchable, Solomon runs all of finance at her stupid fucking brother's decision, and reports to him, not her. He has no family, he has no friends, he's a self-contained fortress of a man she can only scream frustrations at when she's denied, when he shoots down a request for budgeting or vetos a new project she wants to push.

She's disarmed around him, powerless because of this horrible little gremlin, this weakling half her size and weight, and she hates him for it. Loathes him for being so strong without needing to hurt anyone, so dominating without saying a word. Solomon commands respect without a gun or threat or nightmarish cosmic power..

He's stronger than her. She hates him.

Seifa

-- Ur-Machina:// - Mechanica Dept - Internal Com --

U-M : Update immediately - why was 100Ur0B-na blocked with your sign off? That shipment was cleared through lead meetings, it was meant to touch dock 3 hours ago and we're only finding out it was cancelled now. No comms?-

U-C : No need for comms, Saint permission levels are equal, we don't need to send your side updates for every decision made here, remember? Calm down, from what I hear things are stressy enough down in your waste pit without you embarrassing yourself in front of your poor crew by throwing one of your little tantrums.-

U-M : Xan that's very interesting, really. So you without any warning whatsoever cancelled a high-security order that's going to end up causing a major project disruption, and you did this with who's authority? You need to go through Sol to redirect funding and you've left a hell of a messy paper trail here, very easy to follow... did he ok the budget for this new marketing venture?-

U-C : None of your concern, junker. The Holy Father clearly doesn't keep a tight enough grip on your kind's leashes if you don't know your place yet. Necessary channels and processes were followed. We're airtight, you can stop wringing your greasy hands together and put them to some use for once, do some actual work that doesn't involve spreading your legs for a change.-

U-M : Sorry Xan, some of that com text was garbled or something, shame! You should have your techs check out the connection on Marketing's side. Pinged Sol by the way! He's surprised, never heard of this request? I'd expect a call shortly. Honestly, considering who's shipment that was, I'm pretty shocked myself. Maybe I could send you some of my crew over some time, give your team a hand with double-checking data before you dig your own grave in the future!-

//File attached: 100Ur0B-na: Sec code GKT -Personal order- High prio

U-C : We'll have this resolved shortly, thank you for your time.-

U-M : Always got time for you, hun.-

Asks are Open!

(Amazing art from Sick Mick in source)

[purplesurveys]

1031

Do you usually take blame or blame others? Depends on the context, I guess? When things go wrong on a very deep and personal level between me and people I deeply care for, I usually try to find reasons to blame myself. But if it’s something superficial, like if someone messes up at work through no fault of my own, then I’m able to point my finger to whoever fucked up.

Have you ever been to a McDonald’s in another state? I’ve been to McDonald’s in different provinces and also  in different countries. The McDonald’s we went to in Baguio was so surreal because we discovered that they were still using styrofoam containers that they had already phased out years ago everywhere else, and they also never changed the original spaghetti and chicken recipes I grew up with. It was such a blast from the past. As for other countries, I’ve tried out the McDonald’s in Malaysia, Indonesia, and China and made sure to order items that we didn’t have back home.

Have you ever seen 50 First Dates? Yeah, it’s one of my semi-guilty pleasures. It’s such a cheesy movie, but idk the concept is unique and the supporting characters made the whole movie enjoyable for me.

Do you like or hate the smell of fish? The fishy smell at the market can be pretty strong and bleck, but generally I don’t mind the smell of fish. I live in an archipelago, man. We live and breathe seafood. Idk anyone in real life who doesn’t like fish.

Have you ever been to Sea World? No.

Do you know someone who suffers from short term memory loss? I don’t think so, no.

Have you ever read any of John Green’s books? Yeah, but the only one I’ve gotten to read in full was The Fault In Our Stars. I also got to start on The Abundance of Katherines and Paper Towns, but because I only borrowed those copies from friends I never got to read either until the end. All were okay, but I don’t find John Green’s writing to be as great as it was once hyped up to be.

If so, which one is your favorite? I guess TFIOS, since that’s the only one I got to read through to the end.

Are you a protective person? With my loved ones and pets, yes.

Have you ever experienced an earthquake? Yeah I’ve felt a lot but fortunately it’s never been a severe one. Just super brief earthquakes where the most that happened to me was a little swaying.

Would you rather go to a beach or city for a vacation? I love beaches, but a change in scenery would also be nice because I already go to beaches for vacations fairly often. City.

Does your license plate number contain the number 8? I never actually memorized my plate number LOOOOOOL I think so? It’s either a 6 or 8.

Were you ever a ghost on Halloween? Nope.

Has someone ever held the door open for you? Yeah, security guards tend to do that for customers/guests. Sometimes, nice strangers that I enter a place with will do it for me too.

Are you a fan of penguins? I think fan is pushing it far lol. I like penguins, but I’m not obsessed.

Have you ever stayed up all night on a school night? Just a handful of times, and it was always as part of a groupwork. I’d never willingly go through an all-nighter for myself.

What’s your favorite brand of chips? Doritos or Pringles. We also have a local brand that makes these deeeeeelicious salted egg chips, but I’ve never actually taken note of what the brand is.

Has anyone ever sang to you? Not to me. But a lot of people have sung around me.

Are you a good painter? No. That’s why I opt for paint-by-number kits, because those come with a guide haha. I can’t actually craft images by myself – that skill belongs to my sister who has an insane talent for painting.

Before buying a car, do you usually test drive it? I’ve never bought a car by myself; my dad takes care of the car purchases. I know he test-drove the Vitara, but idk about the other cars we have.

Have you ever written a poem and then read it aloud? Hmm, I don’t write poems. I don’t find the vast majority of them appealing, and only once in a while will there be a poem that is able to speak to me.

Do you like pineapple? Nope.

Have you ever met your favorite author? I don’t have a favorite.

Do you look more like your mom or dad? Most comments point to my mom, but I’ll get the occasional remark that half of my face is my dad’s as well. I’m a good mix of both.

Have you and your best friend ever liked the same person? This hasn’t happened before.

When was the last time someone called you babe or baby? Maybe August? I’m not too sure. It’s been a few months.

Do you have an older brother? No. But I’m super close with my eldest cousin on my mom’s side and we grew up together and all that, and I pretty much consider him my older brother. He’s definitely more a brother than a cousin to me, and it has always felt and been that way.

Are you a fan of art? Yes, especially paintings and dioramas.

Did you get your mom or dad’s eyes? My mom’s, I think? I really don’t know, I’m bad at recognizing this kind of stuff. You’d have to ask people who actually see me on a daily basis.

Have you ever seen the movie My Girl? Is this the one with the really sad scene of a boy’s funeral and the girl’s like, “He can’t see without his glasses”? I haven’t seen the movie, but I’ve heard about that scene a million times.

Do you watch Teen Wolf on MTV? Ugh, MTV’s teen shows are such a cringefest to me. I never followed it, but I’ve had to watch a few eps back in high school when my friends would watch it while we were at someone’s place. Not my cup of tea.

When it was on, did you watch Cory In The House on Disney? I watched a few episodes, especially when it was still new. But we were also in the process of moving then and we didn’t have cable for a few years in our new house, so I had to miss out most of it.

Do you have any blackheads? I don’t.

Do you have any freckles? Nope.

Do you have a movie that you have to watch during the summer every year? No, but I have something similar. I like watching Love Actually at least once every year, during the Christmas season. I like watching Two for The Road once a year as well, regardless of the time of year.

Do you think that life isn’t fair sometimes? I mean yeah. It doesn’t revolve around me, so I know it won’t always be fair.

When was the last time someone bought you flowers? Valentine’s Day last year.

What was the last book you read? Midnight Sun. Haven’t touched it since September, though.

How many books do you plan to read this summer? It’s past summer, and I haven’t been doing a lot of reading in general.

Does your house have a dishwasher? No, not a common appliance here.

Do you know anyone who has a flower tattoo? I probably do. But I haven’t seen people outside of family for so long that I can barely remember who has which tattoos. I’m pretty sure I know someone who has flowers.

Do you like the name Carter? It just reminds me of the underwear brand honestly, so not a fan.

Have you ever had a secret admirer? No. Should there be one, they shouldn’t be having high hopes; I wouldn’t be interested in the least.

How many different languages can you say goodbye in? There’s English, Filipino, Korean, Spanish, German, French, Japanese – 7.

Agree or disagree: You like Adam Sandler movies. Disagree for the most part, but 50 First Dates is cute.

--

Did the last type of shoes you wore have laces? Yups. I wore sneakers when I went out to get Starbucks last Friday evening.

How much money did you spend yesterday? The charging cable that I ordered arrived yesterday, so I had to shell out ₱140 for that.

What genre is your favorite movie? It’s a romcom/drama. My other favorite is a drama.

Are you texting anybody right now? Nope. I’m all alone today, which is the way I want to be for this weekend.

Who was the last person you were in a car with? My parents.

Do you like the picture on your license/I.D. card? I really do, hahaha. I don’t know why the people at the LTO gave me a pass, but I had been allowed to smile with my teeth. That helped make my license photo turn out super well and I no longer feel embarrassed whenever I have to take it out and present it somewhere.

What’s your favorite thing to snack on while watching a movie? Potato Corner fries. Can’t be any other type of fries.

When was the last time somebody hit on you? July or August when this random guy slid into my PMs. I had never had so much fun blocking somebody so fast.

Was the last person you met a male or female? The last new person I met was male.

Which one of your friends do you feel most comfortable around? Angela or Andi.

Do you own a map of the world? I mean, I guess. I have a collection of the World Almanac for Kids books, and it had always included a world map in its Countries chapter every year.

What’s your favorite Thanksgiving food? We don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.

Is the light on in the room you’re in? No, doesn’t have to be as it’s bright out and I can see the sun from my window.

Who did you last spoon with? Gabie.

Are you currently watching TV? No.

Have you ever had surgery or stitches? Never. Hope I’ll never be needing one.

Do you own any clothing that has animal print? I have a tank top with cheetah print that I sometimes wear at home.

Does your family eat dinner together? Yes, every evening. We don’t eat together when my dad is working abroad, but since he has stayed home for all of 2020 because of Covid, we’ve gotten to eat together as a family all year.

Where do you work? Somewhere in Metro Manila; I’m not giving the city away.

Are you in high school? I got out of there nearly five years ago.

Do you have a TV in your room? I used to, but not anymore.

Are any of your electronics charging right now? My phone and laptop both are.

What was the last video game you played? Mario Kart 8.

--

Are you hungry?: I can def go for a snack, or maybe even a full meal. It’s taking everything in me not to order Popeye’s or Army Navy from Grab rn.

What color is the chair you’re sitting on?: I’m sitting up in bed; my sheets are blue with gold/yellow prints.

What did you buy last time you went to the store?: I got bottled coffee when I went to 7-Eleven a week ago.

Do you like salsa that has fruit in it?: ...Don’t all types of salsa have fruit in them though? It would be brand-new knowledge to me if I was told not all salsas have fruit.

Have you ever opened up your computer to clean the fan on the inside?: No. I’d rather have professionals do that.

Can you count in binary?: No, and I never even understood how it works.

Do you think stained glass windows are pretty?: No. Mostly because it reminds me of cathedrals.

Are you a chocoholic?: Nah. I like chocolate, but I can live without it.

Are you scared of snakes?: I mean if they were venomous or obviously wanted to eat me whole, of course. But I’ve also already held a couple of snakes before.

Have you had your wisdom teeth removed?: No.

Do you like hard or soft pretzels better?: Soft all the way. I find the hard ones too salty.

What was the last magazine or catalog you looked through?: I don’t even remember. Maybe Tatler? My grandma has loads of those at her house.

When was the last time you wore a raincoat?: I don’t think I have ever worn a raincoat.

Have you ever been carded when buying something?: Idk what that is but nothing out of the ordinary has ever happened to me whenever I’ve made a purchase, so I’m gonna go ahead and say no.

Do you eat meat?: Yep.

Corn and mashed potatoes, or beans and rice?: Both pairings aren’t really a part of our cuisine, so neither sound appealing to be honest. As someone who thrives on rice, I hate the idea of eating beans with it; so I would go with corn and mashed potatoes even though I’m having a hard time imagining how it would work.

Can you sleep with the light on?: I probably can, but it would take me a lot longer to fall asleep.

What’s your operating system of choice?: Mac/iOS.

Have you ever broken a bone?: Never.

Do you have a favorite highlighter color?: I don’t have a favorite color to use, but I prefer pastel shades in general over neon.

Do you have a flashlight?: My phone has a built-in flashlight, but we also keep a couple of emergency flashlights at home in case of blackouts.

Do you like watermelon?: I like some watermelon-flavored stuff like candies, but I’m not fond of the fruit.

…Honeydew?: Hahahahahaha. BoJack Horseman, anyone? Anyway, I’ve never had honeydew and probably wouldn’t like it considering my established opinion on fruits.

Can you shoot a gun?: I’ve never tried, so I’ll say no. I’ve always been meaning to go to a shooting range though; I feel like it’ll be such a cool experience.

Do you like salad?: Not for the most part. The only kind I enjoy is spicy tuna salad, which only has lettuce in it alongside tuna sashimi and spicy mayonnaise.

When was the last time you smashed your finger?: I don’t know if I ever have? This doesn’t ring a bell to me.

What color is your computer?: Silver/gray.

Have you ever made ice cream in chemistry class?: No, my chemistry classes in high school and college were never that fun.

Has anyone ever walked in on you while you were on the toilet?: Sure.

What color hair do you have?: Black.

Do you use the microwave often?: I wouldn’t say so; just a couple of times a month.

Are you good at spelling?: Sure, I’d claim that. Thank the movie Akeelah and the Bee; that movie made me super passionate about spelling and dictionaries for a time. I can still feel its effects today because I’m still very much particular about spelling more so than any other kind of writing/language mechanic.

Have you ever petted a donkey?: I’ve never even seen one before :o but I’d love to have the chance to pet one, heh. It would make me so happy.

When was the last time you went to the doctor’s for a physical?: 2016.

Do you like a lot of ice in your drinks?: Sure.

Have you ever painted a room? Never have, but would like to give it a try.

[let-it-raines]

Not Your (soul)Mate {4/?}

Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused. 

It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate. 

He’s screwed. And not in the good way.

Rating: Mature

A/N: As always, thank you to @captainsjedi for her art, her support, and her general kindness throughout all of the time that’s been spent working on this story! You’re the best 💛

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Tag list: @scientificapricot @lifeinahole27 @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @galaxyzxstark @emmas-storybook @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @artistic-writer @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @xellewoods @thejollyroger-writer @cssns

-/-

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath before pulling her finger to her lips, trying to sooth the paper cut. She’s literally broken her arm before. How does a paper cut hurt so much worse? That just doesn’t seem right or something. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“For someone who works in an office, you swear like a sailor.”

She holds the middle finger of her free hand up to David while her legs begin to tap underneath her desk to try to make her focus on something else other than this pain. What did she do? Slice her entire finger open on a document about Leroy being drunk and disorderly at the Rabbit Hole last night?

They’ve got to switch to digital files.

And Leroy has to stop getting drunk and then serenading the people who live in the apartment building across from the Rabbit Hole at two in the morning.

And they really have to get another bar in this town, especially with how many tourists that they get in the summer months. Granny’s doesn’t count. She goes there more than anyone else, especially when she meets up with Ariel on their lunch breaks, but it is not a bar atmosphere even if she sells alcohol, most of which is stronger than the stuff at the Rabbit Hole. Granny knows how to pack a punch. Then again, Ruby has to get it from someone.

“Fuck off, David,” she bites, pulling her finger out of her mouth and looking at the miniscule damage that’s been caused there. How in the world does that cause this much pain? It’s probably extra because Leroy haunts the paper or something. She may have lost her mind. “This hurts.”

“Wash it and put a band-aid over it,” he shrugs, looking up at her over her coffee mug. Sometimes she hates that ever since Graham quit (apparently it was too hard to look at her face after they broke up even if he was the one off living with his soulmate) it’s only she and David in this department. Storybrooke is too small a town to need a lot of detectives, and even though most of the time she spends her time doing the work of a patrol officer, at least she gets paid like a detective.

There are perks.

And she loves David, but sometimes it’s too much to spend all day with him.

Today is one of those days.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

“Not a Captain quite yet.”

She rolls her eyes at his cheeky smile at the same time that she rolls her chair back and across the room to the area where they keep their coffee machine and their first aid kit, oddly enough. She’s pretty sure they also keep extra ink in this cabinet as well, but David is always the one who changes out the printer stuff anyways. If their printer doesn’t work, she always heads downstairs and uses the one in the bullpen.

It’s really not because she’s lazy. The printer is evil. Pure evil.

“We have got to switch to a digital filing system,” she tells David as she unpeels the band-aid and wraps it around her finger. “I know we don’t have the money for it, but we should do a fundraiser or something. I’m sure Mary Margaret would love to put on a bake sale.”

“How much money can a bake sale make?”

She shrugs her shoulders and twists her chair around before propping her feet up on Graham’s old desk, her boots banging against the wood. “I don’t know, but my other option was making a calendar with all of the hot male cops in it. Like, sixty percent of Storybrooke would buy that.”

David scoffs and pulls his head back, his face practically in his neck while his brows furrow together, all of those little old man wrinkles coming into play. He’s such an older brother type. If she’d ever had any family, she imagines he would be the type of sibling she’d want. She loves Mary Margaret, but she’d kill her if she had to spend all of her time listening to that never-ending optimism about every little aspect of life.

“Why only the male cops?”

“Because the equality here sucks, and I don’t think Ashley and I can fill up an entire calendar. Plus, you know, women have been objectified for thousands of years. You guys can have a turn. Also, it’s illegal for me to show my nipples in any kind of publication that’s not HBO. You can show yours even though our nipples look the same.”

“You’ve compared my nipples to yours then?”

“Gross,” she moans, tilting her head back in a laugh so that her hair falls over the back of her chair. It’s kind of hot in here, June really living up to its reputation, so while she’s still very unfortunately thinking about the similarity in her nipples (she’s thought the word nipples far too many times in two minutes) to David’s, she pulls her hair up into a ponytail, fluffing it out in the rubber band so that it’s no longer on her neck. “Let’s not have that conversation again. Like, ever.”

“Agreed.”

After messing around for a little while longer, she rolls back to her desk and goes back to her paperwork. She’s behind after missing half of work yesterday to go to the dentist, so she’s still got quite the dent to make in her stack. This town should not have this much paperwork, and she swears half of this stuff should be filed at city hall anyways. One day this town is going to make sense. She loves it, really. It’s the first place that’s ever felt like home for her, but it’s all kinds of weird.

Just as she’s made her way through half of her paperwork, there’s a knock on their open door, and she turns to see Ashley holding a large basket.

“Hey, Ems. This basket was dropped off for you at the front desk.”

“Are you sure?”

Ashley holds up a white card, the word “Swan” written across it in neat, scrawling script. If this were any other town, she’d be convinced that someone was trying to poison her or something, but this really only seems like some kind of creepy gift.

Not a murderous one.

“Well okay then,” she mumbles to herself before getting out of her chair, her legs aching a bit from how she’s had them crossed, and walking to take the basket from Ashley. “Did you see who dropped this off?”

“Mr. French did. It’s from his bakery. I’d recognize those blueberry muffins anywhere. If you don’t eat them, I’d be happy to take them off of your hands.”

She laughs and looks down into the basket. It’s full of bread. Like, a hell of a lot of bread. It’s mostly rolls and baguettes, but she sees the muffins and a few cinnamon rolls in there that she would recognize everywhere. Living with Belle means they always have books, but her dad always sends them baked goods and flowers too. She’s never quite gotten the full story of how Mr. French came to own a flower shop and a bakery, but he’s pretty much got the Valentine’s Day market down.

Smart man. People lost their minds over Valentine’s Day.

“You can have the rolls, but these muffins are all mine. I’m not going to refuse free food.”

“Smart lady. I’ll see you guys later!”

“Bye, Ash,” she says as Ashley walks away and she turns back into the office, placing the food down on her desk and pointedly ignoring the smirk that David’s got painted on his lips right now. She is not acknowledging that, especially since she already knows what he’s going to say. “You want a muffin?” she asks instead, picking a chocolate chip one out and unpeeling the wrapper before popping a bite in her mouth. “They’re really good.”

“I didn’t know you were dating someone,” David teases, reaching over and grabbing a roll. “And that he is very into bread.”

“I’m not dating anyone,” she murmurs under her breath, not caring that her mouth is full. David knows not to tease her about her love life, and here he is doing just that while eating her food. Traitor.

She guesses she did offer it to him, but that’s beside the point.

“Really?” he hums, and before she can stop him, he reaches over and grabs the envelope that she hasn’t opened yet, snatching it away from her grasp as she gets up and tries to take it from him, practically tripping over a filing cabinet and nearly stubbing her toe into David’s desk while he holds the card in the air (sometimes she hates how much taller he is than her) and reads it aloud. “Swan, since you said we couldn’t steal the bread from Belle at dinner, I figured you’d like some delicacies that still stem from the French family.”

It takes her less than a second to realize who sent her the bread basket, and it takes her approximately two seconds to figure out how she’s going to strangle him with a baguette.

Killian Jones.

Killian freaking Jones.

That’s not his middle name, but she feels like it might as well be. Or maybe something a little more crass. What the hell is he doing sending her a bread basket? She gets it. She does. It’s a clever callback to their dinner last week. The dinner that was so clearly a set up from their friends.

It doesn’t matter how many times she asks them to stop interfering with her love life, they never do. And there they were trying to set her up on a date with the one person who she doesn’t want to go on a date with. There they were setting her up with a man she can’t even speak to without getting aroused. She’s had months to let that settle in, and it’s still the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard in her life.

She’s heard a lot of ridiculous things too.

But Killian was nice, if not a little inappropriate sometimes with some of his jokes. She gets that though. She’s not a prude. She’s got a sailor’s mouth and likes to talk about sex and make innuendos as much as the next girl (if that girl is a mix between Ruby and Mary Margaret), so she’s used to it. She finds it funny. She finds him funny if she’s honest with herself, but liking Killian is not something she ever really plans on doing even if he’s hypothetically her soulmate.

(It’s easier to say hypothetically instead of admitting it to herself every single time she thinks about it.)

A part of her is still convinced that something else is going on, but she can’t figure any other explanation out. She’s spent weeks, literal weeks, thinking about it while trying to go to bed at night and is left alone with her thoughts and with the sounds of Belle and Will in Belle’s bedroom. Eventually they have got to move in together because Emma’s not sure how long she can live sharing a wall if Will is going to stay over.

It’s always the quiet ones who make the most noise.

But she gets it. Soulmates aside, they’re still human beings. They didn’t instantly fall in love, and not everything is perfect. They have issues and fights, and honestly, the tiny part of her that has faith in this whole thing is only reassured by that. She doesn’t want perfect. She’s never wanted perfect. Really, she hates the whole concept of perfect.

“You’re perfect, Ems.”

She shakes that thought of Neal away and looks back to David who is still smirking, looking for all the world like the cat who ate the canary, and accepts the fact that even though Killian Jones is not the worst person in the world, that doesn’t mean she has to run and leap into his arms and let him sweep her away with his accent and charm and…bread. She can still go about her business like usual. They’re not friends, and they don’t have to be.

Their text conversation that one night aside.

“Who sent you this food?” David asks again, sitting down in his desk chair and tossing her the card. She lets it fall to the ground, landing just below her desk. “And don’t lie to me. I can apparently ask Belle or her dad.”

“It’s nothing.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not blushing.”

“Look at the red on your cheeks! That’s blush!”

“It’s June. It’s called a sunburn.”

“Blush.”

“I hate you.”

He rips off another piece of bread and takes a bite. “You love me, but alright, I won’t ask who your mystery man is just yet. I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

“That,” she chuckles, “is not ever happening.”

It takes until a little past six to get all of her paperwork finished, but she finally does, her hand only cramping the slightest bit. She’s serious about some kind of fundraiser for the department. She needs a computer system that’s better than the one they have now. And, yeah, maybe a bake sale won’t work, but that calendar will. Mary Margaret and Ruby alone will buy the place out.

(Mary Margaret because she’s supporting David; Ruby because she likes hot men.)

They’re most likely not doing a calendar, but she’ll come up with something. Maybe she can go to city hall and see if they can find a little room in the budget. She’s sure there has to be room somewhere. Hell, they haven’t been paying the extra detective’s salary since Graham left. It’s probably all sitting in a bank account somewhere.

Maybe they can get a better coffee machine while they’re at it.

She could go for some coffee right now as she walks past Granny’s on the way to her apartment, nodding her head at some of the families that pass by. It’s summer in Storybrooke, which means family after family is flooding into town to use their beach and stay at the few rental houses that line the dock area. It’s a nice place, she can admit that. It’s part of what drew her here from Boston in the first place. She needed out and away from a large city and wanted somewhere nice and quiet, at least for a little while.

She’s been here for seven years.

And maybe she doesn’t get out to the beach as often as she used to, but she’s usually always working. Plus, it’s crowded all summer long. She has to go early in the mornings to get any peace a quiet there, and mostly it’s too cold for that. This is Maine after all.

She’ll go running there in the morning, really work up a sweat before work, maybe even see the sunrise.

Who is she kidding? She’s not going to get up early enough to see the sunrise.

A little bit after, though.

Ten minutes later she gets to her apartment building, taking the stairs the three floors up with her basket of bread and walking inside to find Belle sitting on the couch drinking a glass of wine and watching an episode of the Bachelor. She has a lot of thoughts on that show, most of them probably pretty insulting, but if she’s drunk enough, she can find it entertaining enough.

Though, she’ll never understand why there’s a show on finding love when everyone already has that predestined partner.

Money. Publicity. Ratings. And the occasional time when someone very literally finds their soulmate on the show.

“Hey,” she tells Belle, dropping her keys onto their tray. There’s her chapstick too.

“Hi,” Belle greets her, twisting around before turning back to look at the television. “This guy just jumped over the fence on here, and they can’t find him.”

“How can they not find him? They live on a compound.”

(So maybe she knows more about the show than she’s willing to admit.)

(Maybe she can be a bit more into it than she’s willing to admit.)

(Maybe she watches with Belle because this is when they get to hang out and when Belle breaks out the good wine.)

“He jumped over the fence to get out of the compound because the girl he loves just broke up with him.”

“No,” she gasps, walking over to the couch and placing the basket on the table before plopping down on the couch and pulling Belle’s fuzzy white blanket over her legs. She doesn’t know what she’s going to do when Belle does finally move out because all of the nice stuff in the living room is hers. “Are you serious? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, apparently he was – ” Belle stops talking while she watches the host chase after the fence jumping guy (she can’t remember his name). “Why do you have a giant gift basket of food from my dad’s bakery?”

Well shit.

“Oh, um,” she mumbles, messing with the tips of her hair, “someone dropped it off for me at the station today.”

She’s very pointedly not looking at Belle who she knows is looking at her. This Bachelor rerun is very exciting. How could she possibly look away? She can’t. It’s against the rules.

“Who?”

“Um, I don’t know,” she sighs as she reaches forward to grab another muffin, stuffing it in her mouth. She really does have to go running in the morning if she’s going to eat all of this. “There was no name. It was an anonymous donor or something. Probably just someone wanting to thank me for helping the town.”

Her eyes cut over to Belle, and she sees her readjusting her seat, sitting up on her knees while a grin slowly starts to form on her face.

Shit.

She’s about to get interrogated.

“Let me call my dad and ask who ordered this. He can tell us that way we know.”

“No, no, no. Let’s not do that.”

“Too late. I’m calling him.”

“Belle.”

“I’m doing it.”

She watches Belle pick up her phone, already dialing her dad, and in a move that she’s not proud of, she practically jumps over to Belle, grabbing her phone out of her hand and snatching it away unlike how she wasn’t able to grab the note out of David’s hand.

“Ha,” she laughs, standing up on the couch and backing away with the phone, “now you can’t.”

“Did you get drunk at work or something?” Belle chuckles, falling back against the couch cushions. “I mean, you can’t keep my phone forever, and also, I can just walk to go see my dad. So I’m thinking you know who sent you the basket, and you should definitely tell me. I’m going to find out no matter what.”

“If I tell you,” she begins cautiously, slowly settling down on the couch and taking a deep breath, “you have to promise to listen to the explanation and not make a big deal out of it. because I promise that it’s not a big deal.”

“You’re blushing. It’s a big deal.”

She rolls her eyes, throwing Belle’s phone back at her. “I hate you.”

“You do not.” She feels like she’s had this exact conversation before. Talk about Deja vu. “Now tell me. No one came into the library today, and I have been starved for entertainment.”

“Have you ever considered reading a book?”

“Ha ha,” she deadpans, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest. “So funny. Now tell me who this is from before I walk to my dad’s.”

There’s suddenly a very interesting piece of lint on her blouse, and she focuses on picking at it while she mumbles, “Killian Jones sent it.”

“You want to say that again?”

She groans and throws her head back, clenching her teeth before looking at Belle. “Killian sent it to me.” Belle’s eyes light up, her lips parting to say something, and Emma holds up a finger before she can finish. “No, we are not dating, and no, we did not hit it off with each other the other night. While you and Will were arguing over your vacation, he made a joke about taking the bread and making a run for it. I told him we weren’t doing that, and for some reason he decided to spend far too much money sending me the largest basket of bread I’ve ever seen.”

“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” Belle practically squeals, jumping up and down a little on the couch. “Oh my gosh, I have to tell Mary Margaret.”

“I will rip the pages of a chapter out of one of your favorite books if you tell Mary Margaret.”

“Traitor.”

Yep. Definitely a sense of deja vu here.

“You’re the one who’s about to make a big deal out of nothing and who’s only going to make it worse by telling Marg.”

“It’s cute. Killian likes you. He’s obviously trying to impress you.”

“I don’t want to be impressed,” she huffs, scooting down further on the couch and toeing her shoes off before she takes another bite of her muffin, the crumbs falling on her shirt. “I want to go to work and do my job and then come home and watch the History Channel without anyone interrupting me. I don’t need a guy trying to make me smile with baked goods.”

“Oh, hon,” Belle sighs, reaching over and placing her hand over Emma’s, the compassion in her eyes so different than the glint of teasing that was just there, “it’s okay to flirt and have fun every now and then. Killian is a nice guy. He’s not trying to hurt you.”

“Just hurt my waistline.”

“Yeah, maybe that. Look, I can tell this is bothering you, and since I know you, I know it’s probably some deep seeded fear that no one but you knows about that’s going to make you drive yourself crazy. Don’t overthink the gift. That’s all that it is. And I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you.”

She doesn’t say more because she doesn’t want to say more. Belle is right. This is about more than Killian being playful and teasing her. It’s about the fact that Neal did the same thing. So did Walsh. Graham did too, really, but she wouldn’t ever categorize him in the same douchebag category as Neal and Walsh. She probably wouldn’t categorize Walsh the same way that she does Neal, and he cheated on her. For months. And she didn’t even really care at the end of that even though she’ll never see the Fourth of July in the same way again. She was already checked out and resigned to herself never finding someone who she could trust.

And Neal…she doesn’t want to think about Neal. She can’t. It hurts too much.

That’s why Killian and his flirting and his bread basket terrify her. He can so easily charm her, is probably already on his way there, and if this whole magnetic thing between them really is their sign, that terrifies her all the more. Because what if he is her soulmate, and what if they still can’t make it work?

What if?

What if they’re the ones who can’t make it work?

But it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t know him, not really. She barely knows anything about him, and unless he keeps hounding her with random gifts that are going to make her go up a jean size, it’s not like she’s going to have to see him that much more.

So it’s all just fine.

When her alarm goes off the next morning, she almost turns it off and sleeps in, but something keeps her up and gets her going so that she’s lacing her sneakers and tugging on a sports bra and some leggings as she makes her way down to the beach, starting at the pier closest to her apartment and running until her legs burn and her chest aches while all of her other problems melt away. She runs and runs and runs until…

Well, until she sees Killian himself running toward her, his dark hair flopping up and down with his movements as his brother runs beside him, the two of them seemingly racing each other on the sand. She knows the moment he sees her because he falls behind Liam, his step faltering a bit before he speeds up again and moves toward her with this goofy grin on his face that almost makes her stop in her tracks, her feet sinking through all of the sand.

“Hey, Emma,” Liam yells to her, stopping his jog right in front of her. “I didn’t know you ran this early in the mornings. Elsa never mentioned that.”

“I usually don’t,” she gasps, reaching up to wipe the sweat from her brow and avoiding Killian’s gaze as a wave crashes behind her, sea mist reaching the skin on her ankles. Really, all that does is allow her to see the muscles on his stomach under his shirt, and she’s not sure how that helps. “I had a lot to eat yesterday and am trying not to be majorly bloated. Plus, I missed the beach.”

Killian coughs, and her eyes finally find his and notice the way his jaw is ticking. She almost forgot the effect she has on him, but she can tell that he’s squirming a bit, that he hasn’t spoken.

Why are the seagulls on this beach so damn loud?

“Don’t you just love the beach?” she continues, her lips pressing into a smile while she looks right at Killian. “It’s so beautiful, especially in the mornings before all of the crowds get here. I bet you guys spend a lot of time out on the water with your jobs.”

“Not as much as I’d like,” Liam admits, looking over to his brother. “Killian gets to a little more than me, though. He’s very hands on. Maybe one day we can take you out on one of our new boats that we’re test driving. I’m sure Elsa would love that.”

“I would love that too. We can make it a whole thing with some of our friends. Wouldn’t you love that, Killian?”

“Aye,” he grits, his fists clenching at his sides. “That’d be great.”

Her body tingles at his words, the beginnings of arousal pooling between her thighs, but as they continue to talk, she ignores it and makes sure that she gets more words in than him. It’s more fun than she thought it would be, and it only causes her a little pain. Maybe he doesn’t deserve her to torture him like this, but she did have to endure a lot of teasing from her friends yesterday like they’re all high schoolers. What’s fair is fair after all.

“Alright, lass,” Liam says a few minutes later, beginning to jog in place, “we best be going and let you finish your run.”

“Okay. I’ll text Elsa about that day out on the water, okay?”

“Sounds great.”

Liam begins to jog out of the way, and she thinks that Killian is going to join him, but instead he steps closer to her, his beard briefly scratching her ear as he leans in to whisper, his breath hot against her ear. “Two can play at this game, love.”

[violetsystems]

#personal

I had to clear the porch of all my plants yesterday.  I was asked to move them by my landlord’s wife so that dirt didn’t get into the air conditioner below.  Yesterday the husband banged on my door and read me the riot act.  In his mind, this is not something I argue with.  And honestly over the years, it’s been cheaper not to complain.  That is until you realize you are cloistered into a literal daily soap opera with everyone’s hearts on their sleeve.  Including the police.  I honestly don’t have the capacity to worry about anything except my own private space these days.  Everybody seems to know something about me on the surface but not the whole story.  People brush by with projected questions every day.  They snoop.  They follow.  They try to get a read on what I’m thinking.  Which boggles my fucking mind because I’ve written it here weekly for over five years now.  Some people on here know me more intimately than anyone in real life.  I think that is special and a large reason why I’ve kept things very ethereal and romantic here.  I don’t force myself into anything or anyone’s life.  And yet I find myself encroached on in such a unsafe and disastrous way I don’t know where to go anymore.  I’m stuck.  The last three responses on LinkedIn were women I didn’t know.  The first from the post office I was nice to then ignored.  The second was an unsolicited request from a student at NYU.  I ignored that one.  Then an all too obvious ghost profile from Atlanta that worked as a makeup artist for Ulta.  All of them I found a light way of saying I’m on the platform for professional reasons.  All of them I feared were catfishing especially when the conversations turned to “do you wanna hang out?”  The last one was a little more human and I need connections.  Professional ones.  My last job and everything with it just ghosted me in the most heinous way possible.  I’m in a vulnerable position seemingly.  And everyone seems to think this is the final blow.  They’re closing in for the kill.  They’ve surrounded themselves around me.  I can’t escape.  The whole neighborhood has me on trial every square inch I walk.  None of it makes sense unless you count the police down the block making sure I’ve been made contact with.  It’s surreal and not so obviously unconstitutional.  It’s my life every day now.  It sounds like shit out of a spy movie.  And this is what my life has become.  And if I talk about it openly I’m the first to be shoved in the oven and gaslighted.  How did it come to this?  I don’t really care.  The lesson I have learned from all of this is that time and distance will tell.  Nobody knows how drastically my financial state has changed other than my bank.  And this entire time being tortured, followed, analyzed and picked over I’ve just been building up equity week by week.  The plants didn’t go to waste.  I rearranged them in the bathroom.  It made things less scary.  The only place where I feel safe anymore.  Inside the locked doors of my apartment.

If I were to sum it all up with one phrase.  This is the phrase.  What the literal fuck is wrong with people?  The answer is too dark to repeat.  This is just how people are.  You can be above it.  Or you can sink to the bottom with the rest of the trash that floats down there.  I tend to stay away from everyone.  People have year after year pinned the blame on me.  And yet no one can stop reaching out to me or pressuring me to be a part of something I’m not.  Welcome to society I guess.  It makes me angry.  And the one thing I’ve had the luxury of not being the last few weeks is angry.  I’m not the hulk.  I am hiding a blinding rage inside me.  But it’s not my own.  And I realize sometimes that for all the shit people try with me, it’s a sure sign none of it works.  I’m somewhere else entirely.  Wondering if I should seek out a job in China next year and prepare my language skills the rest of the year.  Wondering if I will even have to work at all after all of this.  It’s all going to cave in at some point.  Nobody can go through what I’ve gone through and just disappear.  Unless someone really feels they need to off me.  Which is a fear I live with for no real purpose.  I don’t really gain anything from being exiled and ignored.  Some great big test year after year about how one day I’ll be “discovered.”  What the fuck am I doing down here writing for anyway?  I’m 46.  I’d play Khan in a Star Trek reboot.  But really I’m trying to connect just like everyone else.  And people have consistently taken this as a vulnerability or a mental illness to manipulate and turn on me.  That’s just the evil of human nature.  Life teaches me that evil people will just tell you it’s in their dna.  They fuck into existence enough tax havens.  The panama papers made sure of bringing that to light.  But here I am an only child with no legacy other than my parents who one day will cease to be.  I’ll be out here paying my taxes until my dying breath while people use them to fund police actions so blatantly corrupt you’d better be putting the rest into a good lawyer.  Chicago is a city of lawsuits.  And I fear sometimes it’s just a con on top of a con.  They had it set up.  Destroy my life and offer me no choice but to accept their version of what I should be.  And they got caught with their pants down so much that I feel it’s not so much a cover up but an orgy of greed and corruption.  Chicago is no better than Donald Trump in that respect.  Neither are both sides of the political coin people roll down the street to you as bait.  You can make a change.  I can actually.  I received an email that my vote by mail ballot was accepted.  The email account that wasn’t locked out after twenty years of service to an art school that I gave my very soul to.  No student loans to show for it either.

I can tell you how this all ends.  It ends great for me.  And bad for anyone who is tied to holding me back.  I know this because a year ago I was far worse off.  And I have been the only person I can ultimately rely on these days.  My own good judgement.  My own legacy which people cast doubt on.  My body of work that reaches past a job that never wanted me to be me.  I learned a lot about being inclusive.  How to be an ally in my own way.  I’ve seen that respected and appreciated down here.  I’ve put it into practice in my life in my search for a new career.  I’m not looking for a job.  I don’t need to be plugged back into some matrix of human capital for the sake of maximizing the GDP.  I’m not interested in people forcing their ideas of what is best for me in a hidden, corrupt fashion.  The big brother nation state here is nothing to brag about.  We are far worse than China in that respect.  Americans are at the mercy of capital.  We are bullied by landlords, developers, politicians, police, institutions, and countless other mobs.  When we disagree, we are put on trial and hunted until we admit we are wrong.  We are watched with the human eye from the shadows like a rabid animal breathing down our necks.  No luxury of the fourth wall of CCTV.  We are conned and herded into ghettos and experimented on for marketing pogroms.  We are told we are irrational when we question a 2 trillion dollar valued company’s need for 30% of profits from independent developers.  We are sick and tired of hearing your endless excuses.  We see how full of shit you are.  And some of us revolt.  Some of us tear it down.  And some of us sit back knowing full well this is the way it has ended for some of us.  My love of this country.  My freedom that isn’t free.  The lie I live from day to day.  Sounds very depressing.  I must have brought it on myself.  And I did partially.  Trying to get close to something real.  I got very close to myself.  I ended up healing myself in ways I didn’t know I needed.  And I ended up being in a very different place while people around me stayed the same.  I feel tied down.  I feel torn apart.  But mostly I feel indifferent because you can’t hurt me any more if I don’t believe you have any power over me.  And this is the boring nature of my life now.  I sit back and plan like I always do.  Get things in order.  Know what my rights are.  Know how badly they’ve been violated.  And know the world is just a planet in the universe.  A planet we both share.  Air we both breathe.  Private and intimate thoughts that are stuck inside my head only to be pried out with forceful hands.  They’ve tried for years.  I have too many scars to show for it.  And they’ve never heard the secret out of my mouth.  Or if they did they never really listened.  It’s not about them.  It’s about us.  <3 Tim

[pbandjesse]

Today wasn't as hard. But I still feel emotionally thin. I also think I'm getting a cold. But I'm trying my best to hold everything together.

I didnt sleep well last night but I woke up okay enough. Me and James did some yoga. But the video was almost all arms and I didnt like it as much. But thats okay. Still good we did it.

I had a stressful moment this morning I didnt realize we were supposed to go to our teaching sites and I was very stressed. But I got the right info and got to the correct bus and it was all good.

I got to wildwood and caught up on the powerpoints I missed yesterday. And soon enough the other teachers started coming. Hello everyone. It was good to cacth up with Marcus and make a schedule. We also found out me and market are going to be in the classroom I had last year and the new day time art teacher seems so nice, so I'm really excited. Even if some people are not thrilled I am happy.

We had a little time to come together and make plans and collect some stuff but around 130 we were set free. Which was nice so I could work from home.

I got the bus and them went to streets to grab a couple things before I headed home I went to rite aid to get my package at thr locker there. Except I fucked up and sllbmy packages went somewhere else in the city. I was really distressed. I went over to tell James what happened. And then I went home to sulk.

I didnt get as much done as I wanted. I did a few things and ate. But not as much as I hoped with all the time I had. I actually just felt exhausted and so I laid down for an hour.

I felt alright when I got up. Took a shower. And waited for James. He got home and brought a new piece of glass to fix my wall calander. Which I think will help me feel better. Visualize whats happening.

Were just hanging out now. Going to play a game and try to feel better. Im very stuffy and my throat hurts. But I refuse to be sick.

I hope you all sleep well tonight. Feel good and be safe.

[citroentje]

A big note on self love

For the last six months, I’ve been travelling to Australia to work on myself.  When I booked the flight, I had just quit my job. It wasn’t just the job itself that I hated, it was the entire industry I was in. Marketing felt unethical, capitalistic and very empty. It’s total bullshit. When I booked the flight, I never really felt at home in my apartment. On my own, above a fucking bar, in a big city. When I booked the flight, I just turned 24 and I still hadn’t been kissed, which caused a lot of self-hate and doubt. I expected to get my first kiss when I was 14, not ten years later. And to top it all off: when I booked the flight, I just turned 24, and I wasn’t able to celebrate my birthday because I didn’t have any friends anymore to invite.

All those pillars that usually build your life (work, friends, love life, hobbies, a home); I saw them all crumbling down. All at the same time, right before my eyes. I got very depressed and I cried every day. It felt like the ticket to Australia was the only light at the end of the tunnel. 

During my travels, I had a lot of time to think about those pillars. What was it that needed to change? What were the aspects that I did like about my job? What did I miss in my apartment? How could I possibly make new friends?

Yesterday, I got back home. I feel like I found a sense of direction for most of those pillars. But I realized that the biggest thing that needs to change is me. When I talked about myself to other people, I noticed how insecure and negative my words were. I used to hate it when people preached about self love, and to some extent, I still do. It’s great that you love yourself, but don’t shove it down my troat. However, I learned that self love is not the same as narcissism. And I sure as hell could use some of it.

Below are some personal insights, some of which might help you too. 

SOME PERSONAL INSIGHTS 

Job

When it comes to my job, I think I might want to become a jeweller. Because the more I thought about it, the more sense it seemed to make. 

- First of all: making jewellery is very creative, and that’s what I really want to do with my life. To work with my hands and create something new and beautiful and luxurious. - Jewellery can be very meaningful. I would love to make the rings for your wedding, design a personal necklace or fix your beloved grandfathers watch.  - It’s sustainable, especially when you compare it to cheap fashion or technology. People don’t throw away their silver and gold.  - Jewellery is gonna stay, especially if the rich keep getting richer. Also, people will never ever buy their wedding rings at H&M. So hopefully I won’t have to worry about the robots taking over.  - I can be my own boss and not have to deal with managers, consultants or stupid ass meetings anymore to not talk about stuff I don’t care about. - Yes, becoming a jeweller is way below my intelligence and education. Try to get over it.   

Home 

- I need roommates. I hated the quiet house and lack of contact with my neighbours.  - I need to live somewhere close to nature. I want to be able to walk in the park, go to the beach or cycle in a forest. - Speaking of which, I want flowers in my house. - And music. I always forget to turn on the radio.  

Friends + Love Life

These are the ones I found to be most difficult. Even in Australia, where you meet new backpackers every single day, it’s hard to find friends that will actually stick around. But I do have some ideas: 

-  Find a teamsport. Yoga was all fun and games but there were not a lot of bonding or common goals involved.  - Same with hobbies.  - Make a habit of sharing your food. Free cupcakes every Monday morning or something. Everybody loves food. - Literally ask for it. If you have a single friend who is very social, ask him/her if he/she knows anyone else that might fit you.  - Go to places where you can easily meet new people. Book a few days in a hostel for no good reason. Look for activities and festivals in your area. Be open when doing so. - Anyone is a possible friend. Don’t write people off too soon.  - Superficial relationship are relationships too. Small talk is talk too.  - What is it that you like about your friends? Is it their intelligence, their humour, their care, their selfconfidance? You might want to look for that in new relationships too. 

Self love

- You may not even believe in it, but count your good karma. Is it simply very fortunate that the sun shines on your birthday, or did you do something to deserve it?  It helps you to count your blessings and take some credit for it too. - Your brain loves change. Redecorate your room, visit a new city and look for anything that stimulates your brain, like a museum or street art. Break your patterns: eat something different for breakfast or take another route to work. New stuff makes your brain very happy.  - Search for transcendentic experiences. Look at the stars and feel small. Watch the sunset and feel connected to the universe. See a skeleton of a dinosaur and ponder how old the Earth is. Think about that time when you were in a limestone cave/cathedral and they played an acapella version of Hallelujah in the dark and for a full second you believed God existed. If it makes you quiet, it’s probably working.  - Take self love seriously. Look for blogs, videos, apps and write about it. If you want to change, it really starts with your mindset and beliefs. If you don’t believe in it, it won’t work. - After that: practice, practice, practice. If you want to be more social, try to speak up every now and then. If you want to be more cuddly, try to touch people a bit more often. Practice makes perfect.  - Meditate and use self hypnosis. Again, if you don’t believe it’ll work, it sure as hell won’t. All hail the placebo effect.  - Write down what’s awesome about you. Writing about self love is not narcisissm. It’s about making your thoughts more graspable.  - Be creative. Put your feelings into a piece of art and look for inspiration, like visiting a museum or looking at street art.  - Last but not least the cliché stuff: turn on music, wander around nature, find a new hobby, blah blah blah. 

[collegegirldiariess]

The bad texter

4/20 (4/19 but it’s past midnight so)

I have to write up an update on the bad texter/really confusing guy from previous posts.

So, about two weeks ago, he reached out and we made plans to go to a show (Manic Focus). We literally did not talk for a week since we made the plans..it got to a point where I wasn’t even sure if it was still happening or not (we had tickets though..). I know it’s the norm for some people to make plans for a date and not message in between, but I’m REALLY not used to that AT ALL. Buuut he did confirm the night before (last Friday). We decided we’d meet up earlier before the show.

On Saturday, he texted and asked if I wanted to go to the Dogwood festival (a local art/music/cultural festival). I was already going to be there with a friend earlier, so I told him we can meet there. Our long night started here.

We met up at around 6pm. We grabbed drinks and walked all around Piedmont park and through the festival (it was a lot of walking). Honestly, I wasn’t really feeling a connection during this. I think I was salty from his previous behavior/his not making it clear if he was into me, so I was fed up. But either the alcohol kicked in or I changed my mind as the night went on.

We walked on the Beltline to Ponce City Market (non-ATL people: a trail to a shopping/restaurant building). We actually went to a really cool bar across from Ponce before going there and had drinks/dinner there then went to Ponce and had more drinks before heading to the concert.

The concert was pretty cool. I was a bit nervous beforehand because the music wasn’t really my normal taste, but I actually ended up enjoying it. It was at Variety Playhouse and it was my first time going there so that was cool. But let’s get to the juicy stuff.

At some point during the show, he was about to go to the restroom and right before he went, he kissed me! I was caught so off guard! It was super adorable haha. He literally did it right before he walked away, so it left me in shock. 

We made out more throughout the night, and then after the show, we sat outside for a while to wait for surge prices to go down and drunk me brought up how confused I’ve been with him. He made it clear that he was interested lmao. This whole part of the night is a bit hard to explain/is fuzzy, but he really seemed genuinely into me. Again, we had been drinking for hours at this point so who really knows. He really seemed like he just wasn’t that experienced (even though he had a girlfriend before?) and just was different. I already had these vibes before, but it keeps getting confirmed.

We ended up getting an Uber pool together. He (drunkingly) wanted to grab food after, but I was tired and just wanted to get home to my dog. When we got to his place, he kissed me one last time as he got out and it was super cute haha. 

But yeah, the next morning was a bit rough. I texted him first even though I jokingly told him that if I didn’t hear from him the next day then I’ll know he ain’t into me..cause he never texted the day after a date before (he made it clear that he wasn’t a big texter and that he didn’t realize that he needed to...still not 100% sure if I believe this..but I also sorta do). Our convo literally lasted like FOUR messages TOTAL. Ugh. I was pretty annoyed at this. At least TRY to talk more because I explicitly told you that’s what I wanted.

(I’ll put a note here that I don’t need a guy to text 24/7 or anything, but ending convos in the middle of the convo and not hearing from when you’d expect to are not things I can deal with...)

So that happened then I was back in he loop of “fuck him”. Then we texted yesterday for a good bit of messages (wow!) which, again, ended out of nowhere. 

So that’s where we stand now. I was saying I’d give him one last chance before this previous date, but since that was very alcohol-driven, I will try this again one more time (if that happens). Just wanted to get this story on the books. I’ve been slowing down (aka not going on any new dates) lately because I’ve been a) lazy b) trying to see where this goes. There is some small stuff that has happened outside of this in the last few weeks, but it’s nothing I want to write about/care too much about.

[clowngremlin]

i have been neglecting my good things lists because i have been so tired or i forgot....so i will break it up into days!! under a cut because its long!!

wednesday:

-went to trans group and there were some new people and it was fun!!! we talked about art and shit and the guy who runs it introduced me to a parent who’s daughter is going to my school in the fall and also to talk to her a bit about bein trans!!! it was nice!!! then i took the bus home with some pals and it was nice!! i love going to group and like yesterday, my best friend said that all the kids think im really cool and look up to me and it just like warmed my heart!!!

-my best friend bought me mcdonalds!!!

-bought a delightful clown mug

not much else happened on wednesday tbh

-my dad showed me a delightful little dog that we are going to adopt!!!

thursday:

-got a garf sweat top AND a clown shirt!!! the clown shirt was $5 babey!!! i also got an e.t. necklace and some misc teeth!!!

-worked on my comic a lot and did got everything i needed to finish that day done!!!!

-got some neat toys at the thrift store, including a certain type of teddy bear that my grandma collects and they are usually really expensive and it was fucking $4.....a steal.....i bought it for her and i told her and she was so happy!!! it was so nice!!!

-wore an extremely good outfit and got many compliments on it!!!

friday:

-took my new adhd meds and they worked really well!!!

-worked on my comic for a bit

-saw a friend on the way to school and they complimented my hat!

-ate an extremely tasty chocolate bar

-went to my one of my best friend’s house and watched her play sonic forces and we ate pizza and it was a really great and fun time!!! i really love sonic and sonic forces was so fun.....i liked the character creation and that u could give ur lil character outfits and i always had on a fun outfit and we changed it every time we went to play as the character and got new stuff!! i also got to meet my best friend’s gf for the first time!!! im sad that i had to go because she got there around 10:45 and i had to go home so i only got to meet her briefly but she hugged me and that was nice :> also my best friend’s cat who i adore so much kept sitting in my lap!!!!

-got an extremely cursed garfield at the thrift store

saturday (today!!)

-saw my sister and my mom for lunch at my favorite restaurant for my sister and i’s birthday!!! it’s not today, but tuesday but we did something today for it!!! my mom didnt write my birthname on my card, but she also didnt write any name on it, but i suppose that’s a step up. she did only call me my birthname when we were out and about which was upsetting and i didnt like it but i told her it upsets me! but not in a way that would have ruined the day or anything!!

-went to a local flea market where one of the vintages stores i like was selling some stuff, and they were having a $5 hat sale which is the whole reason i went because when i got my clown mug on wednesday, the lady running it mentioned that they have cool vintage clown baseball caps and that they will be at the flea market for $5 and i cant pass up a good deal......i also got some hand made, bright yellow, glittery eye shadow for $4!!! it was so bright and pretty and i was like....hrrnnng i need it

-got many compliments on my garf sweat top that i wore today as well as the button down shirt i was wearing under it to be more fancy for lunch with my mom!

-got a mesh top to wear underneath my shirts, a pair of fishnet tights to wear underneath my pants with the rips in the knees, a really cute pair of earrings, and a gothy sort of choker at this neat lil store in the city!!! the people there were super helpful and friendly!!

-had my manager at work tell me im good at sampling when i went in to grab a tea while i was at the mall!!

-got some new jewelry for my tragus piercing!!!

-also got some rainbow shoe laces for my creepers that were $2.....wrow....what a deal!!! 

-had my left over spaghetti from lunch for dinner!!! two spaghetti meals, babey!!

-it was nice out!! i was worried it would rain or be really cold but it was nice and sunny and i got to have a nice lil walk around china town!!!

[rhysismydaddy]

Bad Boys of Persia - Part One

Hi! This is a new fic about the ACOTAR ships (Feysand, Elriel, and Nessian). Since everyone always describes the men of this series as having dark hair and dark skin, I thought about how they could look Persian... and then since I’m five I thought about Prince of Persia, and here we are.

Ask in my box if you want to be tagged!

Part Two || Masterlist

Her entire body hurt.

From head to toe, Feyre could hardly move. 

She was laying in her hotel room, spread out on the bed like a starfish, groaning in pain. She glanced down at her bare body, grimacing at the bright red skin she saw. 

And she’d thought the sun in her hometown in Florida was brutal.

She’d only laid out in the sun for an hour, and yet Feyre was as crispy as a piece of fried chicken. She didn’t think an hour would even give her a tan, but it had been long enough to scorch her head to toe and leave her a pathetic mass of red flesh.

After a few minutes of feeling sorry for herself, Feyre got up and dressed in a pair of loose, dark blue genie pants and a long sleeve white shirt. It covered all of her skin but was loose enough to not irritate. She wrapped the navy sari Elain had bought her around her hair so her face wouldn’t get any more sun and headed out the door.

Feyre walked down to the front desk of the resort, asking if they had a store where she could buy aloe.

“What?” the man replied, looking at her like she was crazy.

“Aloe. For sunburn.” She pulled up her sleeve and showed him her burnt skin.

He chuckled. “Ah, white man’s disease. We don’t sell anything for that in the hotel, but you can go to the market and get herbs to help.” He pointed out the door towards the crowd of bustling people buying and selling materials.

Feyre grimaced. She hadn’t left the hotel since their arrival two days ago, something her sisters couldn’t believe. She weighed her options: she could go back to her room and lay around in misery or she could suck it up, go buy some aloe, and then lay around... a little less miserable.

She thought about the disapproving faces Elain and Nesta would give her as she told them she hadn’t left again and frowned. 

It wasn’t that Feyre was trying to ruin their trip; she really wasn’t. She just wasn’t in the mood to explore a new place and be outgoing right now. All Feyre felt like doing was laying in bed and crying.

It’d been three weeks since she’d broken off her engagement with Tamlin. Three weeks since she’d found her in bed with her best friend, Ianthe. They deserve each other, she thought bitterly.

Even though she accepted what had happened and knew it was over, it still hurt. She felt like she’d wasted two years of her life on someone who didn’t ever love her. She didn’t want to date again, she didn’t want to go through the first date nervousness or awkward dates or disappointing hookups. She’d thought she’d found “the one,” but all Feyre had figured out was that love was a lie.

She wanted to be like her sisters. 

Nesta was the oldest and strongest. She’d never allowed herself to get close to anyone, so she’d never had a broken heart. She was a complete badass and she knew it, too. She’d worked for the CIA for the past three years and in that time, had become invaluable to their overseas operations. 

Elain, the middle sister, was strong in a different way. She had perfect control over her emotions and had always been a bright, happy, and loving light in Feyre’s world. She ran her own restaurant in Florida and had become one of the most successful people in their area. Everyone loved Elain. 

Feyre felt like the disappointment of the family. Sure, she was successful in her work as an artist, but no one needed her or loved her like they did her sisters. Lives depended on Nesta, and everyone adored Elain. Feyre could drop off the face of the Earth and no one’s life would change.

She’d thought that Tamlin was the one person who understood her and needed her, but it turned out he’d just been using her.

Her sisters had tried to help when the breakup first happened, but Feyre was inconsolable. She wouldn’t leave bed and only got up to get more ice cream. 

Elain had been gentle and kind and suffocating while trying to get her to open up and tell her how she was feeling. Nesta, who’d always been bad with emotions, had just thrown a suitcase on her bed and begun packing half of Feyre’s closet.

“What are you doing?” she’d asked, sniffling and wiping tears off her face.

“You, me, and Elain are going to Persia.”

“What? What do you mean we’re going to Persia?” she’d asked.

Nesta had sighed dramatically. “We’re getting on a plane. I have to go for work, and I talked my boss into giving me two extra tickets. We leave in three hours. Get up and take a shower.”

“No, Nesta, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I am not letting you die in this bed because some ugly, stupid little fucker cheated on you. Get the fuck up.”

When she hadn’t, Nesta had yelled at her and literally dragged her out of the bed and into the shower, then turned the faucet on, ignoring Feyre’s protests. 

Three hours later and many arguments, thrown shoes, and explicit gestures later, Feyre was sitting with her sisters on a plane, annoyed she’d given in.

“It’s going to be so good for you, Feyre,” Elain had promised. “Nesta is going to have fun at work, I’m going to have fun stuffing my face, and you’re going to have fun looking at art.”

She’d closed her eyes and tried to ignore her sister’s aggressive happiness. 

Thirteen hours later, Feyre was checking into the hotel suite she was sharing with Elain. Nesta, who was going undercover apparently, would be staying at a place provided by her boss, so it was just the two of them. 

Elain had thrown her suitcase on her bed and immediately gone out to the market, coming back with an armful of different foods. 

“It’s so nice out there, Feyre,” she’d said, a bright smile lighting up her face. “You should check it out.”

Feyre had just crawled into her bed, closing her bedroom door.

Two days later, not much had changed.

Feyre glanced back out at the market, noticing the chaos of too many people shouting at each other, decided facing a crowd was better than facing her sisters disappointment, and headed outside. 

As Nesta walked through the open market of Suza, Persia, she couldn’t help but feel like a failure. 

Her boss had been understanding yesterday when she’d reported no new information, but Nesta hated being a disappointment.

Especially with this important of a case. Especially when thirteen girls were still missing. 

She was hunting a human trafficking group that had taken over a dozen girls out of their bed within the past two weeks.

This was one of the most important cases Nesta had ever worked, and it all had rested on her being able to sell a story.

Nesta was bait.

Their entire operation rested on her getting the groups attention and getting kidnapped. She had a chip permanently implanted in her left heel--somewhere people were less likely to search--and the idea was that Nesta would allow them to take her, make sure she could get a visual on the other thirteen girls, then cut the tracker. 

Lucien, one of the IT guys she worked with, would be able to tell where the signal had been cut and would send her team in. 

All she had to do was get kidnapped. 

But it was proving more difficult than she’d anticipated. She’d been here for two days, and she hadn’t felt threatened in the slightest. The city was beautiful and clean and the people she’d met so far had been friendly.

Nesta was determined to make something happen today, though. 

She’d made sure to put on more makeup than usual, drawing more attention to her, and had pulled her hijab back far enough to show off her blonde hair. She was wearing a short jean skirt and a tank top, more skin than a lot of other women were showing. 

She was sauntering through Suza, looking like a naive, young, tourist, when she noticed three men, siting in a cafe at the edge of the market, looking at her.

One of them nodded and raised an eyebrow flirtatiously, and Nesta forced herself to smile broadly. 

She could see why so many women had fallen in his trap. He was gorgeous in a dangerous, exotic way. His skin was the deepest shade of caramel, hair long and curly, and body was lined with thick muscle. His eyes, the most alluring part of him, were a deep golden color, rimmed with thick eyelashes and eyebrows.

He was the most beautiful man Nesta had ever seen.

She had to restrain herself from spitting on him.

She waved and kept walking, slow enough that they could easily tail her. Only the man who’d nodded got up, though. Apparently, they thought he could handle her alone.

She made sure to ignore him as she walked back to her apartment, almost rolling her eyes at how bad of a tail the man following her was.

Nesta even made sure to take a few selfies in front of pretty buildings to really sell the story.

She went inside the apartment--the CIA kept a few in Persia for operations like this--washed up, laid in bed, and waited.

Three hours later, she heard the lock to her loft click open. She closed her eyes, ignoring the almost-silent footsteps she heard the stranger take toward her closed door.

When her door creaked open, Nesta forced herself to snore softly. 

His heavy hand clamped a cloth drenched in chloroform over her mouth, and as Nesta began to lose consciousness, she looked into his beautiful, sad eyes and thought, I’ll kill you. I don’t care what it’s going to take.

The man thought he’d caught his prey, but what he didn’t know was the girl he carried down the stairs and out into the night was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. One who wanted nothing more than to destroy his life.

Elain floated through the market, tilting her face towards the scorching sun and smiling. The hot air was full of scents of dried meat, cumin, roasting vegetables, and black pepper. 

As soon as they’d landed, Elain had gone to the nearest restaurant she could find and stuffed her face. 

She’d eaten somewhere different for breakfast lunch and dinner both the days she’d been here, making sure to talk to the chefs whenever she could.

Her travel journal was full of new recipes and spices and ways of cooking. 

This was her favorite part of traveling. Seeing how different people made food and learning how to make her own dishes better.

She walked along the street, then spotted a small, open restaurant on the corner. Morrigan, the sign read. It seemed quiet and authentic and quaint, so Elain walked in and sat at an empty table.

She loved the place before she even ordered. The walls were brick, a large mural covering one, and there was a small corner with a wood fireplace. The people were all talking softly, and traditional Benju music was playing over the speakers quietly. 

It was serene and peaceful. The entire restaurant was there to appreciate the food. It was the kind of place Elain wanted her restaurant to be. 

A server came up a few moments later, dressed in black pants and a flowing black top, her hijab a dark blue color, bringing out the teal of her eyes. She was beautiful in a classic way. 

She asked if Elain spoke Persian, and she responded a little.

“I speak little English,” she said apologetically.

Elain shook her head. “Don’t apologize for your culture. I’m in your country. We’ll just do our best.”

She asked the woman what her favorite dish was, and she smiled and recommended the Dizi, a traditional Persian dish named after the stone crock it’s cooked in. 

She wisely listened to the recommendation, and ten minutes later, Elain was eating the best stew she’d ever had in her life.

The chickpeas were soft but not soggy, the chicken was tender and flavored to perfection, and the base was powerful but not overwhelming. There was something else she couldn’t quite place, something she’d never tasted before. 

She dipped a piece of naan into the mixture, smiling happily.

After she’d downed the whole bowl, Elain decided she had to meet the creator of the dish. As she was paying her bill, she asked her server if the restaurant owner was here in her broken Persian. 

She shook her head and responded, “No, but he’ll be here tonight.”

Elain debated her options. She’d vowed to not eat at the same place twice, but she’d also vowed to talk to chefs whenever she could. And she knew when he was coming in...

She didn’t let her self debate for long. She wanted to know what the secret ingredient was and applaud the chef, even if he wouldn’t tell her.

After going back to the hotel, she took a long bath and recorded what she’d done that day in her journal. She pulled her hair back, then put on jeans and a white blouse, slipping her hair under a pink hijab that matched her lipstick. 

She smiled at her reflection before going to see Feyre in her adorning room. Elain knocked softly on the door between their rooms, going in when she didn’t hear an answer.

She walked into her bedroom, eyebrows lifting when she saw the bed was empty. “Feyre?” she called out, then smiled when no one answered. 

She went out.

Elain went back into her room, grabbed her purse and--rolling her eyes--the pepper spray Nesta had forced her to bring, then walked out of the hotel.

She smiled when she walked back into Morrigan, inhaling the smell of roasted turkey and vegetables and spices. After she got seated and looked at the menu, she ordered pomegranate soup, another Persian classic she hadn’t tried yet.

“And I’d love to meet the chef if he has a moment,” she said. 

Her server looked down at the ground, nodded, and said, “I’ll see if he has a moment.”

When her soup was brought out, she became more determined to meet him. She’d thought the pomegranate would be overwhelming with all the other ingredients, but the seeds added a crunchiness and fruity flavor to the otherwise dense stew. 

She motioned her server over and asked, “Is the chef available?” as she gave him money for the soup.

“He’s in the back,” he muttered, motioning towards a dim alley leading to a back exit.

“Can I go back there?”

He shrugged, slipped her a receipt, and walked away. 

That was strange, Elain thought, but shook the thought away as she got up and began to walk towards the back rooms of the restaurant.

The Persian symbol for “management” was written on a black door, so Elain knocked and waited for an answer.

A few moments later, she knocked again. She could see someone was there; light was coming out from underneath the door. 

Maybe he couldn’t hear her over the restaurant’s music? She tried the door handle, surprised to find it unlocked.

“Hi,” she called out in Persian as she opened the door, then froze as she beheld what was in front of her.

Her server from earlier that day was sitting on a chair, topless, clutching the huge, jagged wound across her stomach. Tears were streaming down her face as someone knelt in front of her, dabbing the area with a wet towel.

The man dropped the towel as he saw Elain, spun around, and was in front of her before she could mutter another word. He slapped the door closed, and walked forward, Elain backing away, until her back hit the frame. 

His hands planted themselves on either side of her head. 

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, voice low and heavy with a thick Persian accent. 

Elain felt like a lamb caught in a lion’s teeth. Her heart started racing and she realized she was utterly alone here. She couldn’t breathe, let alone answer his question. 

His blue eyes bore into hers, and he growled, “Answer the fucking question.” 

“I was just looking for the chef,” she blurted. “I’m a cook; I just wanted to meet the chef.”

He stopped short at that, a strange look--pride?--in his eyes for a split second. 

Then the anger was back.

“Get out,” he growled, swinging the door open.

“Is she okay? Should we take her to a hospital?”

The wound looked deep and swollen; she definitely needed medical attention. And was that... was that a bloody nail  on the ground next to her? What the hell was going on?”

Anger took over, and before Elain could talk herself down, she was shoving past him, and kneeling next to the woman, inspecting the wound closer. 

“Did you do this to her?” she yelled at the man still standing at the door. 

It was his turn to get angry. He surged forward and grabbed her arm before opening the door with such energy, he almost ripped it off the hinges. 

“Get the fuck out. And don’t come back.”

She looked at the woman again, the tears flowing freely down her beautiful face, and vowed to get her out of this place. I’m not someone you fuck with, she thought angrily as he slammed the door in her face. And I’m sure as hell going to be back.

________________________________________________________________

Thank you for reading! Part Two.

[bumblingtravels]

3. Paris

There and Back Again… an Interrailing Story

8 cities, 6 countries, 4 weeks, 2 rainbows, 1 camera

PART ONE — Paris

May 29th, 2018

Well… what a day. The summary of said day is definitely: rain, bombs, thinking, rain. Really that about sums it up, don’t know if I even have to write this entry, but I suppose it gives me something to do while I wait for the pasta to boil. So here we go… section one: rain.

After waking up to our alarms and promptly deciding ‘fuck it Morpheus take me’, we managed to leave the apartment at a reasonable time, definitely compared with the 16:00s of Edinburgh, though thats another story for another time. In juxtaposed dresses and corresponding white cardigans we left the apartment and immediately opened our umbrellas - seems last nights thunderstorm wasn’t done with us yet. Managing to buy the right RER train ticket this time, we made our way to Saint Michel’s Notre Dame.

We emerged from the underground towards the surface of Paris for our first day in the City of Love, and of course… because life hates me like that, it was pissing it down. We managed to snap a few snaps of Notre Dame and the Seine River before, belly rumblings reminded us that humans tend to need to eat. Our noble quest for sustenance took us down quaint little market streets, boasting a never ending supply of restaurants; a surprise number of which were Greek but none a simply good old-fashioned french bakery.

Continuing on our quest (I’m warning you it’s about the length of the second Lord of the Rings movie… extended edition), we were quickly put on alert by thresher amount of police riot vans and general police presence. Shrugging it off as a potential quirk - you know, Paris: bakeries, Mona Lisa, frog legs, Eiffel Tower and police vans - we continued in the direction of ‘that-a-way’. As with Egg Man yesterday, a spotting of a Deliveroo driver kicked our student instincts into gear; and after a quick search (on the ready installed app) we headed in the direction of Smith’s bakery, but not before a quick stroll through a park with bicycles strategically placed to create the best aesthetic.

Smith’s bakery itself was an adorable slice of flour heaven and we came out bearing one cheese and ham toastie, one baguette sandwich and two eclairs (chocolate and caramel for precise recollection). Deciding it best to find a nice park somewhere and eat our breakfast-cum-lunch, we headed in the direction of Luxembourg gardens.

Now, here’s the thing. Macron? Apparently not a nice guy. Remember that police presence I was talking about? Yeah, apparently ‘bad president + police riot vans = protest’. Our first view of Luxembourg was through the clouded view of tear gas and smoke bombs interspersed with hi-vis vests of police and to the cadence of protest. Not exactly a situation ripe for two young girls from Cheshire. we aimed to skirt around the protest - our travel insurance doesn’t cover political uprising I don’t think, although I always did fancy myself an Enjolras. As we got closer the smoke bomb warning *bangs* caused us to back track and head away. No harm, no foul as we found a cute little bench to eat our Smith’s bakery delicacies.

Side-note: those eclairs where amazing and Tescos seriously needs to step up its eclair game.

We plotted a route to the Museum D’Orsay and detoured quickly though a cute photography market and exhibition. Along the way, we purchased our snow globe and shot glass collectibles before continuing ‘on to Art’. This particular museum’s lines were ridiculously long and so, deciding that life is too short we instead plotted a course for one of my main picks: Rodin’s Museum.

Rodin’s museum ended up being a sculpture garden and all it took was a trip to the toilet to bring the sun back in full force (rip Meg’s shoulders). Getting in for free (all EU students) was a lovely bonus that you Brits will regret after Brexit. First stopping the aptly named sculptor garden: The Thinker.

Created by Rodin, The Thinker is a mighty big old geezer sitting on a rock in his birthday suit having a good old think in a pose recreated by me every time I have a shit. This work of art was the first test to the previously mocked selfie stick to varying degrees of success. Regardless of our white-girl selfie skills, the sculpture itself is breathtaking and the first thing on this trip to be ticked off the bucket list. After a quick snap of our rainbows, and several ‘thinking’ puns later, we continued on our way. 

The whole gardens are beautiful: sculptures scattered around, a beautiful fountain and capped by the Thinker and the Gates of Hell on either side. The Gates of Hell being another highlight for me and a breathtaking piece of art.

Leaving the sculptures, Hades’ world and thinking puns behind, we spotted the Eiffel Tower and decided ‘yep’. A quick detour saw us walking past the Grand Plais and the snazziest bride you have ever seen.

 We also undertook a pilgrimage of sorts for Meg as we visited The Flame of Liberty, erected in honour of Princess Diana above the tunnel where she died.

Tourist worthy pictures were taken on the bridge opposite the Eiffel Tower (complete with our bee rainbows pictures of course), before we ventured over to Paris’ crowning jewel. Countless lyrics have been waxed poetical and thousands of yarns spun about this iconic sight so I’ll keep my descriptors short and silly say my first thought: ‘didn’t realise it was brown’.

A quick bench stop outside the tower saw us realising it was 7pm and we should probably start hustling. After waiting for 30minutes at a public restroom, that cleaned itself after every use - a good idea but not exactly economical or environmental - we went to one train station to find it closed so ventured to the next. After a quick stop to get some postcards - 10 for €2 don’t mind if I do - we got on our double decker metro and headed home. A shower each and two heaped bowls of pesto pasta saw us flopped down like beached seals. So here we are 22,604 steps and 14.4km later, bone-tried and in need of a nap. I’ve rambled on and on and it’s time to embrace Morpheus so I shall wish you goodnight.

— Mira Sophia

[lupismaris]

Illegitemus non carborundum est

Also known as The Chef!AU cat has posted about occasionally. I elt like shit all day and yesterday and somehow words happened. Idk how much of this will be finished but at the very least, have the first chapter or some amusement.

James is a Chef/pub owner, John’s a freelance author and novelist

eventual silverflinthamiltons 

__

Chapter 1

Over the years, the one thing that John Silver had come to appreciate most about London was the multitude of cafes, coffee shops, and pubs that populated the city. Without fail, he had managed to find a little hole in the wall best suited to very possible situation, dates, business lunches, catching up with old friends, the awkward break up. 

Sometimes a cafe was better, the calmer, at times more elegant tone of the place adding to the scolding his sister might be giving him, or making him appear more put together when meeting with a publisher. Other times a coffee shop with old wooden booths and simple menus were best, when the only thing needed was caffeine and quiet. And on nights when writers block and insomnia decided to team up on him, well there was always a pub or ten within walking distance of the tube station. 

The only trouble was, out of all the spots he’d been, a regular haunt had eluded him. Nothing felt quite right, nothing offered the right balance of all three, at least on the list of fifty or so places he tried. And often he and Jack, and their little circle of friends, stuck to their usual routine of places, rotating through them now and then to give the illusion of something fresh and different. But genuine change, a true meander off the beaten path was rare.

So when Jack recommended they meet at a new place for lunch, John was curious. Jack had always preferred The Scarlet Brewhouse on the other side of the river, or The Wolfhound near Covent Garden when he had a bit more change in his pocket. John couldn’t remember if they’d explored the pubs and shops near Boroughs Market before, or at least not consciously- he’d been one one to many pub crawls with Jack and Charles, of which his memory was foggy and limited. Perhaps that had been when Jack had found this new spot, The Walrus.

Who’d name a pub after so random an animal John had no idea, likely an inside joke of the owners. But then in a city with a few dozen public houses referencing cocks and princes, he supposed it was no more nor less suited than any other.

The corporate lunch crowd of the two o’clock hour had thankfully moved along, leaving the entrance to the Market far less crowded than the last time John had visited. It was an easy thing to spot Jack in his violet bomber jacket waiting on the curb with a cigarette in hand. John laughed at the sight of Charles next to him, three butterfly closures on his bruised forehead and a plaster splint on his nose.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

Charles grumbled and rolled his eyes. “Nothing-”

“He’s the reason we didn’t go to Scarlet’s I’m afraid,” Jack said with a put upon sigh.

“Did you get banned?”

“No he knows better than that. He started a fight down in whitechapel last night, with the pair of fellows who run this walrus place.”

Charles sneered, but it was a weak thing, with the bandage on his nose. “They started it.”

“Technically you threw the first punch, and in an effort to avoid them pressing any kind of charges, we are escorting Charles to go and apologize, while you and I enjoy our lunch, john. If that’s alright with you.”

“As if I’d say no to lunch and free entertainment. You realize it’s just as likely that charles will just start round two while we’re there, don’t you?” John asked as they turned down the side street and headed for the bank of the river.

“If he wants to get laid in the next month he damned well better not.”

“I take it Ellie is equally as mad about this?”

The sheepish look on Charles’ face made it clear he hadn’t yet told his occasional girlfriend about it. “She’s busy with exams. Didn’t wanna bother her.”

“No so I’m just left to deal with you.” Jack finished his cigarette and tossed it. “It’s a good thing you’re a good lay, charles.”

John rolled his eyes, it was an old nonsensical performance the two carried on, that they only enjoyed each other’s company for sex. Even a complete and utter stranger could take one look at them and realize they were effectively joined at the hip till the grave, them and Anne of course, Jack’s sometimes girlfriend but always partner he’d known since childhood.

“Anne not partaking in your humiliation?”

“She’s got a photoshoot scheduled up in Cambridge today, won’t be back till after dinner. Otherwise she’d be front row with her camera ready to catch this idiot having to apologize for once in his life.”

“I still say they started it.” Charles insisted.

“What was it even about?” John asked.

“Haven’t got a clue.”

Having been present for more than one of Charles’ notorious bar fights, John could easily believe that the whole point of the argument had been lost in the fray. All it took was a couple extra shots and a poorly timed joke in bad taste and charles was ready and willing to answer it with a right hook.

“Here we are, now behave charles or so help me-”

The Walrus looked, at face value, like every other hundred year old pub in the city, with the worn and re-painted wood framed windows and moulding around the door, a few iron tables and chairs sat outside to look across the street at the river and the opposing bank.

“Did you actually bother reading up on this place before dragging us out here jack?”

Jack huffed indignantly. “Yes I read up on it, I’d not pick a place without at least skimming the reviews. They’ve got nearly four stars on every possible review and the staff is gorgeous.”

“I’d care more about the food.”

“Well they said the food was good too.” Jack nudged Charles inside and waved John in after him.

It was a cozy setting, dark wood and white washed walls, old nautical art pieces hung here and there on the wall amidst old trophies and antiques, like many of the pubs along the river. It had the benefit of large front windows that made the place feel airy, instead of the cave like atmosphere of so many other places. Twenty tables or so were scattered about the room, the large oak bar extended to offer both kitchen side seating and barside.

The man at the bar looked up when they entered to greet them, but the moment he caught sight of Charles his put upon smile faded.

“Uh-”

“Hi we’re looking for a man named Flint?” Jack asked, as John settled into one of the empty tables in the window.

“What for?”

“My friend here caused him a bit of trouble last night and wanted to apologise.”

The bartender seemed to doubt that very much but nodded and turned to the kitchen. “Hey flint! You’ve got a visitor!”

“I’m not here.” came the gruff and uninterested reply.

“I think its the guy who decked you last night.”

John startled when a mountain of a man leaned against the kitchen door frame, apron slung around his hips and a healing split lip turned up with a smile. “Yeah it's him, flint. What do you want then?”

Charles glared at him until Jack sighed and shoved him forward to the bar.

“To apologise, and make sure there’s no hard feelings.” He said, ignoring the sour look Charles gave him.

The mountain blinked in surprise, and looked back over his shoulder, no doubt to where this Flint was debating whether or not to accept. Apparently he was willing to hear the apology, after a muttered reply, the mountain huffed and waved charles behind the counter.

“Flint’s got his hands a bit tied up, c’mon back.” He said and Charles followed after Jack again pushed him forward.

“I swear to god if he starts another fight I’m going to scream,” Jack said on a sigh, dropping into the seat across from john.

“If he does, at least the place’s is pretty quiet.” Aside from them, only two regulars sat at the bar, and half a dozen patrons at the tables further away. Hardy enough to cause a frenzy if a fight broke out.

“No need to worry, Flint won’t start a fight in his own house,” The bartender said, coming over with a trio of water glasses and menus. “If I’m honest I was surprised he got in a fight at all last night.”

“Is he not normally a hotheaded man then?” Jack asked.

“Oh he is, just the type more likely to jump you outside the pub rather than in. Wasn’t there so I dunno what was said but it must’ve been something.”

“I’m normally there but I had a deadline last night, couldn’t go out, thought Charles might be capable of coming home in one piece but here we are.”

“Ah well, we can only do our best with em can’t we? I’m Muldoon, lemme know when you want to order or if you want any drinks.” He was a short, genial looking man, with clever eyes and a well trimmed beard. The heavy brogue in his accent made John smile.

“We’ll take two of whatever cocktails you make best,” jack told him. “I’m going to need a few once this affair is over.”

“give me five minutes, they’ll be right up.”

“Did your deadline not go as well as you hoped?” John asked, when the bartender was back at work.

Jack waved a hand. “Who the hell knows, its submitted and the publication can decide whether or not its fit to run. With my luck I’ll have it sent back to me drowning in red ink and chunks of black out.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t write so many pieces on back door deals the whitehall bastards make, or how fucked the cops are, maybe then you’ll get more work published.” John pointed out, even though he knew the answer he’d receive. Jack was as invested in his journalism as John was in his novels, and the day Jack gave up his life of ruining rich and powerful people’s lives, would likely be the day they buried him.

“Ah but then, what kinda man am I, to ignore truth in exchange for a fat paycheck?” Jack chuckled. “Besides they’ve enough useless reporters amongst the london press, and when have I ever been one of the flock?”

“Never. They’re still giving you a few articles to work on outside of your pet projects aren’t they?”

“Yeah some nonsense about the men’s fashion expected at the next royal wedding or some shit. This is what happens when you’re the only fucker in the building who knows how to dress properly, they stick you with all the fashion editorials.”

John laughed at the disgusted look on Jack’s face. “To be fair, you have kind of brought it on yourself. How many times have you lectured your coworkers on their lack of fashion sense?”

“Look if these straight men want to get fucked then they need to dress better than a fucking-”

“Drinks, gents. On the house.” Muldoon set the glasses down with practiced ease, timing his interruption well.

“On the house?” John asked.

“To commemorate both Flint’s getting his face broken and your man getting his face broken, and yet being civil enough to apologize.” Muldoon said. “Or because you’re the most interesting part of my day thus far.”

“I may fall in love with you sir.” Jack smiled up at him.

“Sorry love, gonna have to take that up with Billy.”

Jack tilted his head and looked to where Muldoon nodded- The hulking blonde still leaning against the doorframe, his back to them. “Ha! In that case my dear it will be a chivalrous love from afar.”

Muldoon laughed, a bright burst of sound that caught the attention of the blonde, Billy. He glanced over his shoulder, at first with a curious frown, but one that easily melted into a fond smile as he watched them. He glanced back at the kitchen and seemed satisfied that hell wasn’t going to break out, so he turned and round the bar, coming to join muldoon beside their table.

“You’ll be glad to know your man’s behaving himself,” Billy said with that same wry smile he wore earlier.

“Thank fuck.” Jack groaned softly. “You were the other one weren’t you, last night?”

“I was yeah, though to be fair it was just a misunderstanding. Neither of us hold any ill will towards- charles was it?”

“Vane yes, charles vane. I was honestly worried you might press charges.”

Billy scoffed. “Flint would rather fight him ten times over then get the cops involved, don’t worry.”

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“A few guys was bothering a couple of kids in the pub, being general shits. Flint had already started getting involved, before I could really stop him. Your man escalated it to a fight, or tried to, Flint tried to stop him, the guys who originally started the fight got a couple shots in and bailed by the time the three of us and finished causing trouble.” billy shrugs. “Like I said, a misunderstanding.”

John laughed softly. “Yeah sounds like charles.”

“Hes otherwise a great drinking mate though, I’d happily end up in a brawl with him again-” Billy looked up at the ding of a bell, the kitchen calling him back. “Sorry, duty calls.”

“Well at least it wasn’t something genuinely awful, I feel a tad bad about being so cross with him.” Jack mused, after muldoon had taken their orders.

“Nah, I’m sure he half expects it these days.”

They swapped stories of the work week, little things they’d forgotten to share via text while they waited for their food. As neighbors and close friends, John was always surprised how much they had to talk about, as he and Jack saw each other nearly every other day, unless work ran them down. Of course it helped that Anne’s girlfriend was John’s sister.

Charles rejoined them just after their food had been set out, looking dazed and uneasy.

“What happened?”

“I… think I got a job?” Charles said after a moment, as if he wasn’t sure.

Jack choked on his drink. “What?”

“He… he said he needed help at the bar, and was willing to teach me kitchen shit if I was willing to learn. And I just… said yeah why not?” Charles currently worked for his so-called father figure, as part of the security detail the company employed after hours. It didn’t take a genius to sort out how unhappy Charles was there. “Teach cut my hours a good bit recently, I’ve got the time, and the pay’s better, actually.”

The two stared at him a moment, before John started to laugh. “Only you could fucking deck a dude and get a job out of it, jesus christ.”

“I- I can’t even begin to process this but- that’s good? I think? Or at least a much better outcome than I’d expected…” Jack shook his head. “Whatever am I going to do with you…”

Charles smiled as brightly as he could with the plaster on his face and snatched the pickle off Jack’s plate. “No doubt you’ll think of something.”

They saw nothing of this Flint during their lunch, though they did get to chat a bit more with Muldoon and Billy before leaving. All John saw was a flash of red hair through the kitchen doorway as the man passed, red hair pulled up in a high messy bun and freckled arms.

But that, and his reception of Charles, was enough to pique his and Jack’s curiosity.

It had seemed they’d found a new haunt after all.

[giant-head]

I wrote a script for the first part of the film - an opening montage telling the story of how the GIANT HEAD came into existence, how our protagonist fits in, etc. I’m going to get to boarding this tomorrow either with Krita or Blender Grease Pencil (I will definitely be using Blender to handle the virtual camera stuff that this script demands!)

all in all this calls for about eleven backgrounds - easily doable - and a lot of very complex perspective drawing animation, which is really going to push the limit of what I can do, but hey, that’s the whole point of this project!

the big concept is that each scene in the montage has text that’s physically present in the scene saying how long ago it is, and the camera flies through this text to transition from scene to scene.

film is divided into two parts: opening montage and main sequence. the opening montage tells the story of why there is a GIANT HEAD, the main sequence explains how the giant head is destroyed by one plucky antifascist lesbian

SCENE ONE locale: outdoor combat class the SWORDMASTER is training the GIRL GIRL is holding her bokken ready to strike, her eyes are shut, so there is a black screen she opens her eyes, dojo fades in her eyes narrow and she swings her bokken towards the camera camera pulls back, revealing other student who parries they lower swords, bow SWORDMASTER pats GIRL on the shoulder GIRL wipes away some sweat walks to edge of square, camera zooming to follow the TECHNOWITCH is standing at the edge of the square she passes the PROTAGONIST a ragged towel, they lean on the wall together camera pans upwards to slum skyline BIG RED WORDS: "ONE YEAR AGO" camera flies straight through the letter 'A' in 'YEAR'

required backgrounds: outdoor dojo panning up into slum skyline (panoramic perspective)

SCENE TWO exterior street scene; a busy market. various cyborgs wandering around. the protagonist buys something and then walks along the street to join the TECHNOWITCH, who is hanging out with a GAY COUPLE. atmosphere is relaxed. camera continues to pan as the group laugh at a joke. the pan reveals the words "ELEVEN MONTHS AGO" and we fly through the "O" in "AGO"

SCENE THREE street scene, past curfew. shuttered market stalls. scene is lit by moonlight - city lights in the distance, but not here. contrasting colour palette to the previous scene. there is a dark alleyway in a prominent place in the frame, with "TEN MONTHS AGO" stretching across it, and the barely visible silhouette of a parked car the same GAY COUPLE from the previous scene is running home, only to be stopped by car headlights suddenly appearing in alleyway. silhouetted in the lights is the COP ; body language aggressive and smug, e.g. tapping baton in hand (no dialogue). other COPS hanging back behind, laughing GAY COUPLE backs off, hands in the air. COP gets up in their space the GIRL sprints out of an alleyway and tackles the COP. two go sprawling into the street. girl shouts (again no VA, but clearly shouting) for the gay couple to run, and they do COP calls on his guys for backup, they start advancing forwards, with sort of 'i can't believe you did that but you are going down' expressions cop lights suddenly turn off, there is a spray of sparks blur of silhouette past the camera as the girl legs it camera flies through the "O" in "MONTHS"

backgrounds required: street scene dark, street scene lit by headlamps

SCENE FOUR exterior scene. a crowd is standing under a big pyramid, with cops in the same uniforms as the ones before - our specific cop is in the near foreground, possibly with a bruise. the FASCIST LEADER is giving a speech. (crowd should be static, don't try to animate a whole moving crowd). behind the crowd is some monumental architecture: lots of pillars and pyramids and such. symmetrical composition. balloons and drones float around in the sky. the words NINE MONTHS AGO stretch between the buildings above the podium camera pans up and zooms in on the FASCIST LEADER, who's doing some exaggerated gestures. we don't spent much time with him - this is just to establish who he is (a bad dude). nasty sneer. camera rises over his head and zooms through the "O" in MONTHS

SCENE FIVE interior scene. some kind of map room, prominently featuring a map of the city with little models of the various monumental architecture. we can see the boulevard where he's giving the speech. there is a line of portraits on the back wall of previous fascist leaders in front of buildings they've created. intended message: he wants to build a building to one-up his predecessors. the FASCIST LEADER is standing over the map, reading some kind of report. a nervous-looking FUNCTIONARY is standing nearby, rubbing his hands together. the FASCIST LEADER sneers and tears up the report. he picks up one of the models on the table and throws it over his shoulder. the FUNCTIONARY runs after it as the leader peers at the table. the FASCIST LEADER gets an idea. he walks to the back of the room, and picks up a bust of himself, and lugs it over to the table. he places it down, on top of the area that represents the slum where our protag lives. the FASCIST LEADER nods, looking very pleased with himself. camera zooms in on the table where there is tiny red letters reading "EIGHT MONTHS AGO" and flies through the "A" in "AGO" just to shake things up

SCENE SIX a street scene in a clearly residential area. a large crowd of people are gathered, looking shocked. facing them is a bunch of cops and some bulldozers (only they're like, cyborg bulldozers with someone like physically wired in or something). the GIRL, TECHNOWITCH and SWORDMASTER are near the front; the NERVOUS-LOOKING FUNCTIONARY is standing beside the lead cop with a long roll of paper. in the gap between the two crowds is the words "SEVEN MONTHS AGO". try for a kind of spherical fish eye perspective where we can zoom in without it looking weird? the camera zooms in on our protagonist; she shakes her head like "no you are not going to bulldoze our houses to build a giant fascist head". the camera then pans quickly over to the COP and the FUNCTIONARY. the COP smirks; the FUNCTIONARY legs it into the cop line. the COPS start firing tear gas rounds and shooting their guns in the air, conveniently avoiding the requirement to draw an entire crowd running away at once. blurry figures leg it from the crowd. a few people run forwards instead - our protagonist among them. the camera zooms through the battle into the "O" in "MONTHS"

SCENE SEVEN interior scene of the GIRL and the TECHNO WITCH's room. tech paraphernalia is scattered around; there's the GIRL's martial arts equipment. on screen left is a window; on screen right is the door in. the bed is in the foreground. suddenly, the door pops a bit in; the GIRL jumps out of bed the COP bursts in through the door only to get hit over the head by the GIRL with a chair or something. meanwhile, the TECHNOWITCH kicks out the window, and starts climbing out. they jump out the window. the camera flies through the window this time - oh shit we're having two scenes in this part of the montage?

SCENE EIGHT the camera looks down onto a street scene from the first floor outsie the window, the cops are advancing down the street with riot shields. behind them they have flame tanks; the street is on fire. they're just fucking shooting people the GIRL and the TECHNOWITCH run across the street and duck into an alleyway. they can't do shit against this. the camera flies into the flames, where it meets the words 6 MONTHS AGO with a really big 6 and goes through the hole in the 6

SCENE NINE the GIRL and the TECHNO WITCH are running under a bridge in a dry canal. a bunch of trucks are driving overhead carrying sheets of copper for the GIANT HEAD (right to left). a truck drives in carrying the words FOUR MONTHS AGO and we fly through the "A" in "AGO"

SCENE TEN the FASCIST LEADER is standing on a metal platform with camera drones flying around. behind him is the GIANT HEAD, but in broad daylight. he's nodding and looking very proud of himself. the head is in a slightly earlier stage of completion. the camera pulls BACK this time, and a CRT scanline filter is applied. as we pull back, we find ourselves in a dusty room containing the GIRL and the TECHNOWITCH; the TECHNOWITCH turns off the TV, revealing the words TWO MONTHS AGO. we fly in through the O

SCENE TEN an interior scene. a dusty room; a sketch of the GIANT HEAD on the wall, next to a window with the construction site in the distance. the GIRL is sitting, tapping her foot. the GAY COUPLE from earlier are also there, and some other PARTISANS. the TECHNOWITCH is pointing at something on the diagram. there is an arrow running along the bridge we saw on the TV, down the scaffolding, and to the base of the GIANT HEAD - and she scribbles an explosion in there. the camera goes out the window towards the building site. this leads us to the word YESTERDAY and we go through the D, leading us to the scene in progress now.

[michaeldempsey]

We Are Inevitable(?) (Market Views 4/7/2020)

Healthcare Risk & Economic Risk

Disclaimer: This is more for scalable sending notes and personal accountability. Not a professional public market investor, not investment advice, likely all bad advice from someone spending not nearly enough time researching public market dynamics. Also not really editing these pre-posting.

Markets are sharply higher over the past two days as data shows possible peaks in major cities (like NYC) and countries (Italy/Spain) around the world. Markets are seemingly holding onto any good news while growing tired of the barrage of bad news for the past month (or months depending on where in the world you are). It's my view that this stock market reaction is very much an emotional reaction to one component of this recession and not rooted in material data relative to the actual long-term effects of COVID-19 on the economy. There are two way to look at this.

The bull case is that markets bottom out near the peaks for given countries and/or focal points of the coronavirus. We saw a fast and unexpected (to some) rise in COVID-19 spread globally, and this scared the world into a risk-off view, unwinding all sorts of debt and equity positions, because it was a perfect storm of both healthcare and economic shock, leading to demand shock. As I wrote yesterday, we now believe we have more clarifying information, which is understanding the magnitude of spread on the healthcare side of this equation, and the view that estimates could come in on the low-end of the range of projections for death tolls should push markets up. We're also seeing some encouraging (though not conclusive) data on things like various treatments, impact of social distancing over short periods of time, and even seasonality.

Economically we are seeing strong willingness from participants to move back into the market (previously I called this the BTFD recession), a change in retail investing to continue to systematically allocate capital to public markets (leading to minimal data of movement in vanguard accounts), as well as consumer confidence at very high levels. In addition, I am not of the belief that humans change materially, and don't think we will be living in some drastically different world where people want to all work from home, do zoom happy hours, and not travel anymore. That said, my mind is fucking blown that cruises are still in demand.

Pair this with unparalleled pace and scale of fiscal policy and stimulus from governments (with much more to come) and we can start to see how there is a narrative about how, as a human race, we have figured out how to pair sophisticated financial structures with societal collaboration in order to defeat black swan events. 

But...

There are a ton of shocks and unknowns relative to COVID-19. Despite all of these positive signs, I still can't quite shake the continual view of bear markets seeing fast rises before steeper falls. We haven't seen the next order effects yet, and we haven’t seen the second sell-off either.

If we look at 1929, we can see that this didn't happen, and perhaps this is where we are headed. Markets process information faster than ever before and the rarity of this event could have perhaps led to a steep sell-off that pushed straight to rock bottom, and then back up.

The rational argument is that it feels unlikely that we priced in the downside scenario bound of economic outcomes (humans likely did price in the healthcare downside bounds, due to fear and plenty of pop culture that enables us to see pandemic destruction).

With fiscal policy, it's not clear that we actually have a good infrastructure in place to properly deploy trillions of dollars to Main Street in a short enough period of time that we save these businesses and don't create serious, lasting economic impact.

With the pros of social distancing, it's not clear that we won't see some short to mid-term changed behavior and restrictions surrounding dining, entertainment, and hospitality broadly. And we don't actually know if these types of businesses have economic structures in place that can weather those restrictions on behavior. We also don't know how resurgence will impact the market (my view is if we have to social distance again, we will see a very steep sell off and even larger levels of layoffs that may be permanent).

With forgivable loans, will we not see companies meaningfully change the economics of their business post-covid, perhaps less growth, more cash, fewer workers, less infrastructure, all paired with a lack of buybacks to push up stock prices? (to this point, this could be a further widening of the mega-cap technology companies increasing in value, and the mid-cap and small-cap non-tech companies falling. This is one of the reasons I have kept or adde to a variety of tech longs throughout this downturn)

As I wrote yesterday, I do think that we are going to be continually in search of yield, with low interest rates, and thus markets will recover sharply and tightly with earnings recoveries, however I think we still have imperfect information on the scale of the downside to truly understand the economic impact for the next 18 months. Earnings figures over the next month for individual companies might show small signs of this and could drastically correct the market one way or the other, though I'd imagine next quarters earnings to be far more indicative of how the following 18 months looks from a supply and demand sense.

And alas, this chart is probably one that I find most interesting and relates heaviest to the BTFD recession.

Despite all of my doom and gloom, I am still long term bullish on technology and bio as meaningful contributors to how we evolve with our new futures and believe that many of the behaviors will persist in middle to upper middle class America. A point to think about related to this is that perhaps this is another driving factor which creates an even wider (and faster) economic class gap in our country and other developed nations.

Back to the economy, as with the prior hundreds of years, humans continue to find solutions that outpace the problems that we create, or are thrown out us as we hurl through space on this large blue marble. Maybe we are inevitable, but I don't think it will look that way for the next few months.

Art: Nan Lawson