#looks even fancier than the first book haha

[yuesya]

Second volume of zenith of stars bookbinding, made by the talented @collectivetrash! The final results here look absolutely amazing, and the red binding on the spine is also really cool. :DD Love how this turned out!

[solomons-finest-rum]

Please please Leo wooing a really shy girl who can barely look him in the eye, but he can tell she's taken with him just as much as he is with her. He's so used to being an authority figure and having people fear him. There isn't enough of our Leo anywhere.

“Wild Horses” (Leo Demidov x fem!Reader) — PART 1

SUMMARY — You were the daughter of the Prosecutor General. Military officers accompanied you at all times, especially in public. No annoying “eligible bachelors” ever approached you these days and nobody ever asked you to dance. At least no one dared.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Okay okay okay so listen... because I hope this will be as exciting for you as it is for me. While talking to friends (and even forcing one to watch Child 44 in the process haha) I came up with this little fic and then I realized that this particular Y/N and Leo suddenly created a whole, full-blown love story in my head. A whole story of their romance came to life and because I received some Leo requests that are in a similar vibe, I decided to realize each one as an installment to this story. Because I hope you'll love these two and their love as much as I fell in love with them along the way 💗💗💗💗💗 thank you Anon and everyone else who requested, I finally wrote my very first Leo fic! I hope you enjoy. WORD COUNT — 2,617

Masterlist

It was New Year’s Eve, 1951. As Christmas stopped being celebrated long ago, the New Year parties in Moscow became fancier and larger with each upcoming year. The ones thrown by the Party were difficult to obtain an invitation to, though of course as the daughter of the Prosecutor General you attended every year.

You knew what your father’s job entailed and as such you entered the room more confident than most of–if not all–the other young ladies present. The reason for this was that you hated dancing. You dreaded the moment some young eager man would ask you to dance, because you couldn’t keep up with any of them despite extensive lessons and your private tutors’ greatest efforts. You thought you had about as much grace in you as an elephant.

Fortunately, as you grew older and you understood more and more about the world around you, you noticed that less and less young eligible men would approach you in general. At first, you searched for the faults within you, but now you understood it wasn’t you they resented–they feared your father more than they wanted to impress his daughter. That arrangement suited you just fine, though. You had no desire to make a fool out of yourself on the dance floor anyway.

As the Prosecutor General for the Soviet Union, your father was the top man responsible for the entire system of prosecution of the state. Elected by the Supreme Soviet, he supervised the activities of all public prosecution offices, along with their departments, the officials, judges, and by extension–all citizens. He was hated and obeyed in equal measure, but one thing was certain–he was universally feared by everyone in the Union.

That alone made you more confident than anything else. After your father’s nomination for the office, you started to like public outings again because no one would disturb you. As his only daughter, you were rarely seen without protection. Military officers accompanied you at all times, especially in public. No annoying “eligible bachelors” ever approached you these days and nobody ever asked you to dance. At least no one dared.

Of course, your numerous “aunts”–the wives of your father’s friends–often remarked how much they pitied you and how cruel it was of him to demand such harsh discipline from his only daughter… But your father knew you better than this. You two were honestly too much alike. Nobody could comprehend that you preferred rainy days to sunshine and a good book to dull young men and their never-ending monologues about themselves that nowadays were considered courting.

If it were up to you, you’d never marry. You were comfortable in your father’s state-granted spacious apartment, where you lived with a private cook, your father’s three German Shepherds, had two libraries at your disposal and more rooms and bedrooms that you could possibly need. You rarely got out and rarely even had the wish to do so.

The only exception were public events such as this New Year’s party. Everyone who was anyone attended, including the First Secretary, the highest-ranking officials, the generals, even the more prominent movie stars of the USSR. Naturally, this was a public event and as such you had no military protection for the night—but still you hoped your reputation alone would protect you from unwanted attention. You accompanied your father and you both entered the large ballroom right behind the First Secretary.

You procured a drink, said hello to your father’s friends and colleagues, smiled uncomfortably through the questions about your lack of marital prospects, and after the appropriate time you slipped away to quietly observe the party from afar.

Nobody really paid attention to you, not at that point. You made sure you weren’t interesting enough for gossip, though it seemed like that reputation would be put through the test this very evening. You got another drink and pretended to look at the dancefloor, but then you couldn’t help but overhear the bits and pieces of someone’s conversation:

“Leo, stop staring.”

“What?”

“You’re staring at her again.”

“Leave him alone, Alexei.”

“I know what I said, she’s not going to dance with him either way.”

Someone laughed then and you quickly glanced that way to see who it was. You recognized the uniforms at once. MGB. There were three of them there, smoking and laughing, obviously having a good time. As soon as you got a good look, though, you turned away and went back to observing the dance floor. The music swelled and you couldn’t hear very well what they were talking about, only bits and pieces, but you heard enough to make you nervous:

“…-don’t know, so ask her before someone else does, you oaf,” the man said, the same one who laughed just before.

Panicked that the decorum of you not dancing would be broken, you quickly finished your drink and went back to where your father was standing, chatting with his friends.

“You all right, solnyshko?” your father asked and you nodded, smiling nervously.

“She looks flushed. Too much dancing?” Rodion Morozov asked, smiling at you.

“Leave her alone, Rodya,” your father chuckled and the other man grinned at you, obviously pleased with his own joke.

Rodion Morozov was more of an uncle to you than your father’s actual brother, so you just smiled and said nothing to that little jab. Rodion was a judge and one of your father’s oldest friends, even from before university times. A frequent guest at your house, you’ve known him ever since you were a girl.

“Well, what can I say? You're too lovely to be moping around, Y/N. Get some nice lad to dance with you, steal his cigarettes, break his heart…”

“Rodya!”

“Oh, look.” Rodion patted your father on the back and lit a cigarette himself. “Here comes one now…”

You turned around and saw that your “uncle” was in fact right. One of the MGB men was making his way towards you and your stomach clenched in panic. Granted, he was the one of the three who was actually your type, but you knew that if he asked you… You’d have to refuse. You couldn’t stand the prospect of being humiliated in front of all these people.

“Who is he?” your father asked.

“MGB captain,” Rodion informed him from between cigarette puffs. “Demidov.”

“Do you know him?”

You could tell your father was more worried than you and for a second there you hoped that perhaps he would refuse on your behalf. Until your uncle supplied him with:

“I know of him. A shining star in the force, apparently. A war hero in Berlin. Stellar reputation. Heard he’s one hell of a boxer, too.”

Your heart sank. Of course. Of course he had to be a bloody war hero, he couldn’t have been a scoundrel or a crook or… or gone and set fire to an orphanage! Now you were going to have to refuse a perfectly nice man because your own legs couldn’t cooperate with your head.

“Good evening.” Captain Demidov was now standing right in front of your merry trio and to your surprise he looked a tiny bit nervous. “I wanted to introduce myself…”

“Captain Demidov. Nice to meet you.” Your father outstretched his hand and Leo shook it, though you saw a hint of surprise in his face.

“I see my reputation precedes me.”

“Indeed it does,” Rodion said, then winked at you.

You were just about ready for the floor to crack open and swallow you whole, but then Leo uttered the words you feared he would and you froze in place:

“I was wondering if you would like to dance?”

You looked him in the eye for the first time and saw he was looking straight at you. He had kind eyes, you noticed that at once. The scars on his cheek intrigued you just as much as his reasoning for asking you for a dance, specifically. There must have been countless girls waiting for him to ask them…

“Me?” you heard yourself say then and heard your uncle almost choke on the cigarette smoke.

“Well, I do hope he wasn’t asking me, my dear. I feel quite danced out for the night to be honest with you, Captain,” your father deadpanned as he patted Rodion on the back.

“Yes. I mean no! I was asking your daughter. Obviously.” Captain Demidov looked a bit puzzled now and you found it endearing.

You really didn’t want to refuse him. You didn’t want him to leave. There was something gentle in how patiently he waited and how easily he just walked into the trap of your father’s little joke. But you knew that as soon as he would lead you to that dance floor you were doomed, and by the time the song ended, well… You probably wouldn't be asked by him again.

“I’m… I… I hurt my ankle. Horse riding… accident,” you said quickly.

You noticed the captain was still patient, watching you closely, his face a mask of perfect niceness and tranquillity. You wondered then if they taught him that in the military or was that his character alone.

“I see,” he said finally, prepared to accept your blatant lie and leave you alone.

“So…” you said then, feeling your uncle and your father watching you with amusement now mixed with concern. “So I could only dance a slow dance. A very slow one.”

Captain Demidov was equally confused when he looked you in the eye again. He reminded you of your father’s favourite German Shepherd, Kotya. A dog playfully named like a cat, he would make a similar face whenever you only pretended to throw him a stick instead of actually throwing it.

“A slow one then,” the captain accepted your bargain and you were agreed.

As fate would have it, the current song ended and the band started playing a slow, moderate-paced tune reminiscent of a waltz. How much could you mess up a waltz anyway, you thought to yourself.

The answer was… probably a lot.

You accepted the captain’s hand and he led you to the dancefloor.

“Captain…” You wanted to warn him, you really did.

It wasn’t fair towards the man. He still had time to escape the public ridicule and you wanted to say something, but then his hand was around your waist and your hand was on his shoulder and suddenly you were speechless.

“Leo,” he said.

“What?”

“My name is Leo.”

“I’m… Y/N,” you sighed and let him lead, trying your very best to mind your step.

“I know.”

You looked up and noticed the corner of his mouth turned up. This caused you to almost slip, but he caught you just before that happened and somehow he managed to completely cover up your mistake.

“You seem nervous,” he said, thoroughly amused by that little accident.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, mortified.

“What for?”

“I cannot dance,” you explained quickly. “For the life of me… I cannot dance, Captain. Not when I was younger, not now… Not even when my ballet teacher threatened to beat me with a stick, I have no coordination and I’m–”

“Leo.”

“What?”

“Call me Leo. Please. You calling me Captain, it makes me sound old.”

You chuckled nervously at that honest admittance of vanity and you nodded.

“Well, Leo… I’m afraid you picked the worst possible dance partner at this party.”

“Oh, I don’t agree.” You looked up and saw he was looking straight at you. Not at the dancers around you, not above your head… He was looking at you alone, as focused on conversing with you as Kotya would be on that stick of his.

“I’m no dancer either,” Leo confessed.

“Then…”

“I wanted to meet you.”

It was time for you to turn, you knew that, but fortunately Leo made no move to let you do that. You exhaled and realised he was letting everyone else think it was his mistake instead. For the second time this evening, you were in Captain Demidov’s debt.

“Why?” you managed to finally ask.

“A beautiful unmarried woman refuses to dance. It’s a mystery.” He paused and your face went red because you noted you had just stepped on his shoes.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. These boots have been through worse than you.”

You laughed at that a little and felt much more at ease than you originally anticipated. Leo was kind and easy to talk to.

“So you don’t like dancing,” he broke the silence between you once more. “What do you like?”

“Horses. I wasn’t lying, not entirely. I do love horse riding. But I haven’t had an injury for a while now. You could say I’m an expert.”

Leo considered that again, you could tell he wasn’t just asking you questions for the sake of it. He was storing information. Your only wish was that it was only for the purpose of getting to know you, not because MGB had made him this way.

“I’d much rather go horse riding,” he finally agreed. “With you.”

You smiled at that and noticed that the more you relaxed, the less you thought about the dance itself. You understood then that the reason why Leo was so easy to talk to was because he meant exactly what he said. No act. No games. You were sure he really would come horse riding with you if you asked him to and, perhaps to your greater surprise, the prospect actually seemed exciting.

“Much better I step on your toes than my stallion, though,” you teased.

“That I can agree with. But please, step all you like. They pay for my uniform. I could always tell them how I destroyed my shoes.”

“No, I don’t–”

“I was joking.”

You felt your cheeks get hot in embarrassment and noticed that only made Leo more interested in keeping the conversation going.

“You know, you’re not what I expected,” he said.

“How so?”

“Not in a bad way,” he said quickly. “But you know they call you the Ice Princess?”

“No,” you whispered. You suddenly felt your stomach clench and the urge to count the steps come back threefold. “I did not know that.”

Leo realised at once he had said too much and you noticed how hard he clenched his jaw. Perhaps he was as nervous as you were…

“Why do they call me that?” you asked.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s all right.” You smiled at him, though you felt it being a little forced. “I suspected. I never dance… but at least now you know why. You can tell my secret to everyone.”

The song ended then, but it took a little longer for you and Leo to step away from each other. You finally did, but before you could leave the dancefloor, he stopped you:

“I have offended you,” he said solemnly. “I am sorry.”

You considered his words and some part of you wanted to end it then and there, just because your pride was wounded and just because it would be easier. But you couldn’t. Not when he was this sincere and this gentle–even if his uniform and the scars on his face didn’t suggest any gentleness hiding underneath.

“Come riding with me next week,” you said.

You could see he was confused and you knew you had to act quickly, before the circumstances would force you into another dance.

“The season is almost over,” you explained, “but I’ll ask my father to send you an invitation.”

Having said that, you quickly left the dreaded dancefloor before Leo had the chance to refuse. You knew now how much you wanted to see him again.

[jimlingss]

can i request a yoongi chef au? i feel like yoongi's culinary skills are underrated, and I'm just a slut for chef aus in general

Anonymous said: Hi I saw ur request open posts for the new year!!! Could u write more yoongi stories🥺?!?! Your stories are so fantastic and i’m thirsty for more yoongi lolol🤪(hopefully u get enough votes to do more of him haha)

I feel like Jin’s the one who’s usually written as the chef, prob because he’s the better known chef in BTS, but you’re right! There’s gotta be more chef Yoongi!AUs, so here you go!!!

↳ Buttering Up

2.2k || 100% Fluff & Flirtation || Min Yoongi || Chef!AU

He clearly doesn’t know who you are.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

You hum, arms crossed as you eye him up and down. His black hair is practically a bowl cut, bangs covering his forehead. He’s in casual clothes — a taupe trench and black pants — looking like he’s ready for a trip to the grocery store rather than to cook. You wonder where this child crawled out from.

“You’re Yoongi?”

“That I am.” He approaches the door of the restaurant before plunging his hands inside his trench coat pockets. He fishes out the key and unlocks it, ushering you inside. “Hope you don’t mind that the restaurant’s closed down.”

You mind much more that he left you waiting on the cold city street for over ten minutes. You still can’t believe he was late. The audacity.

“I would’ve liked to see how you and your staff do your dinner service.”

“Unfortunately, we’re booked full for the next two months.”

You scoff — how doesn’t he know who you are? You’re a food critic who’s brought highly regarded restaurants to their knees through a review of five sentences. Your words alone has had rippled effects in the industry. Even the most talented chefs hold their breaths when you taste-test.

You make Gordon Ramsey look like Mother Teresa.

This Yoongi character is much too arrogant to not respect you. His new and upcoming restaurant might have raving reviews, but you’ll see what’s really going on.

“Sit wherever you’d like.”

There are no waiters in fancy garb, no hand sewn tablecloths made of silk. He doesn’t even pull out the chair for you. Instead, he’s off flickering on the lights of the restaurant while you choose a wooden table and chair right in front of his open kitchen — which is a horrible mistake in itself.

Open kitchens have always been a concept that has fallen short in your eyes. It’s much too noisy during dinner service and it gets smelly fast. Who actually wants to leave smelling like butter and oil?

It’s something you note as you get settled. 

Your coat drapes at the back of the chair and then you watch him. Yoongi’s taken off his trench as well, revealing a white long sleeve that he’s beginning to roll up to his elbows. He’s lean and his build is small, but somehow, he’s far from being scrawny. You gawk at the veins running up his forearm until he casually asks—

“Do you have a preference for wine?”

“I’m fine with any.”

He hums and comes over from the glass cabinet with a bottle of chardonnay and a wine glass. Yoongi pops the bottle easily and pours into the pristine glass with a mere tilt of his wrist. You watch the stream fill the glass a quarter way full.

“Is there a menu?”

“You don’t need one.”

Your brows raise. “Excuse me?” 

“If I were you, I’d put myself in the chef’s hands entirely and go with their recommendation.” He strides away, placing the wine bottle on the other table and then he turns with a glint in his eye and his mouth slightly crooked upwards. “Unless, of course, you don’t trust your chef.”

Oh. He’s confident. 

You can’t wait for his ego to blow up in his face.

“Fine then.” Your head tilts upwards. “What’s your recommendation then?”

He rounds his way to go into the kitchen that’s only a few meters away from where you sit. “Risotto with grilled chicken breast, topped off with caramelized onions, mushroom, grilled zucchini and sautéed tomatoes.”

You roll your eyes. What a basic dish. Isn’t it just rice? And with chicken breast?! Ew. It's guaranteed to be bland.

“Alright then.” You give a smile that might be more mocking than intended. “We’ll see how it tastes.”

Yoongi starts and while sipping the chardonnay, you take a good look at the restaurant from your spot. The place is rustic with a hint of contemporary. There’s exposed brick, wooden tables and chairs, and low, yellow lighting. There’s nothing particularly impressive about the place.

Soon, the sound of rapid, rhythmic chopping fills the space and then sizzling. You watch him intently. And you’re appalled. This Yoongi guy commits the worst cooking sins — his pan is cold when he starts throwing on ingredients. He cooks with olive oil. He overcrowds the pan. And he doesn’t even taste test once as he cooks.

What the actual fuck. 

There’s a line between arrogance and insanity, and he was crossing it.

You cringe when he starts using his metallic spatula on the non-stick skillet.

Is he even qualified to run a restaurant?!

Or maybe your assistant sent you information about the wrong restaurant? Or maybe this was not the guy you were supposed to be eating from. What if he poisons you or kills off all of your taste buds?! Your career would be ruined.

“Everything going okay?” you pipe up.

He glances up at you for the first time, eyes peering past his bangs. “Yep. Should be done in five.”

Food is simple. It either tastes good or it doesn’t. But the higher up you go and the fancier it gets, the more convoluted the food tastes with bland flakes of gold and the same old truffle shavings. That or it’s entirely boring and unoriginal. 

Or in this case, it might kill you. Which would be the first. And you’re not happy about it.

You feel unsettled when he plops the dish in front of you.

“Chef’s recommendation.”

“Thanks.”

You feel unsettled because it actually smells good. The aroma that fills your senses is flavoursome and buttery, and the thyme on top adds a fresh hint. You’re also unsettled because the plating isn’t actually bad. It’s been presented in a pasta bowl with wavy designs and the chicken breast is thinly and neatly sliced on top. It’s clean. It’s bright. It’s colourful.

But the most lethal poisons are the appetizing ones.

“Are you going to wait until it gets cold?”

You look up, brows raising at how he’s gotten comfortable in the chair across from you. Usually the chefs and waiters or waitresses like to skedaddle off and leave you to your own thoughts, too afraid to stand in your intense scrutiny. But Min Yoongi twists off the cap of his water bottle and casually downs it in front of you.

“I’m just looking at the presentation.”

“Tastes better than it looks,” he exhales after swallowing his water. 

Your expression becomes skeptical. But you take the silver spoon beside you anyhow and decide not to waste any more time.

The spoonful goes into your mouth. He watches you. You chew.

Instantly, you halt. 

The flavour hits your tongue. Creamy. Thick. But each individual grain of rice still has some firmness with a discernible texture. It’s been done al dente. There’s sweetness from the caramelized onions. An earthy flavour from the mushrooms. A zesty touch from the thyme. The chicken breast is somehow still juicy and the tomatoes burst on your palate. 

Suddenly, you’re thrusted back into your childhood. Those summer days spent in the cottage. Sun-kissed cheeks, dirtied knees, cotton dresses. You can hear your late grandmother in the kitchen. The way she calls out that it’s lunchtime. You can feel the comfort of family and love.

It feels like you’ve become the food critic in the ratatouille movie. 

You almost cry.

“What do you think?”

You clear your throat. You have to be honest. There’s no way you can lie about something like this. “It’s good. I think...this is the best risotto I’ve ever had. You cooked it perfectly and the toppings you chose were absolutely immaculate with this dish—”

You look up at him. Min Yoongi has an enormous, cocky smirk plastered across his stupid face.

It’s entirely off-putting. 

“But of course,” you quickly add, “there are many ways you could improve on it. You could add cilantro—”

“That would unnecessarily drown out the notes of thyme you taste,” he rebukes without a single beat and you scoff. 

“I noticed you didn’t add any pepper to it which could deepen the flavour.”

“Except this dish doesn’t need it,” Yoongi deadpans. “You don��t need to help me make any adjustments. I think I know what I’m doing better than you are. Just do your job and I’ll do mine.”

You suck in your cheek and narrow your eyes on him before you take another bite of the risotto while it’s still hot. “The food is delicious, but I must say, the company really spoils it.”

Yoongi’s slumped with one cheek resting in his hand, elbow on the table. He lazily stares at you with that smirk of his. “Really? Because if I didn’t know any better, you look nervous rather than annoyed.”

You scoff for the second time. “Why would I be nervous?”

“Maybe you didn’t expect the food to taste as good as it does and that makes me unexpectedly attractive,” he states plainly. You almost choke. You hit your chest as you sputter. “Or maybe you’re intimidated by me. I’ve gotten both before.”

You wipe your mouth with the napkin. “I’m afraid you’re not very perceptive, Min Yoongi.”

“Really? I think I am.” He smiles, the corners of his mouth quirked. “I’ve read your reviews before.”

You’re unamused. “Have you now? So you must know how difficult I am to satisfy.”

His smirk is sly and it’s jarring against his softer, more tender features. He’s smaller than the men you’re used to being around, but somehow it feels like he’s taken up the entire space of the restaurant. His focus on you is sweat-inducing. Even if you don’t want to admit it. 

“I don’t think so. You’ve just been eating shit food,” he says bluntly and your brow cocks. “You just need someone good you can trust. Someone who can take care of you properly.”

You’re not sure if the double entendre is purposeful. You wouldn’t put it past him.

“And is this someone you?”

Yoongi shrugs and sits back. “It could be.”

You grab your glass of chardonnay and gulp the rest in an effort to stop the conversation before it completely derails into a different direction. Yet, Yoongi’s half-lidded and darkened eyes stay on yours with each swallow. He’s unfazed. Unbothered. And that bothers you even more — bothered in a way that makes your face hot.

There’s a clack as you put the wine glass down and gasp. 

“I’m a professional.” You won’t be swayed so easily. “I can’t be bribed.”

“Of course.” He blinks as if he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. You glare at him and he gestures to the dish. “Please. Keep eating.” 

You finish the plate.

“Do you want any seconds?” he asks as he gets up.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Yoongi lingers, all too brazen and fearless. “If you don’t get any more now, you might have to come back for more.”

This time, you don’t try to hide the roll of your eyes. “That’s a presumptuous assumption.”

Yoongi smirks and his voice is husky. “After getting a taste from me, everyone comes back for more.

You scoff.

Min’s Restaurant Review

Three nights ago, I ate at Min’s Restaurant and met the main man in the kitchen. Unfortunately, he is a difficult person to interact with. I hope no one has the disservice of having to speak to the chef behind the dishes. Doing so may as well ruin the experience. Furthermore, his cooking methods are unconventional and unorthodox. It was completely shocking to watch.

However, and what I would consider most important, the food at Min’s Restaurant is spectacular. What Min’s Restaurant lacks in likeable personnel, they make up in the served cuisine. The meal that was prepared for me not only subverted my initial expectations, but overcomes, what I consider, what the food industry is lacking in this modern age exactly. Without unnecessary garnishes and ingredients, the flavours of Min’s Restaurant are both light and deep. It was an undeniable delight to consume and for the first time, I licked my plate clean. 

It is undoubted that the man behind Min’s Restaurant has the hands of god.

You should have pride.

But you’ve always loved good food. It’s your Achilles heel. It’s the one thing you’ve been passionate about since you were a kid. The reason why you love your job.

Even after writing such a review, you find yourself booking another reservation. But as a customer instead of a critic.

Of course, they were booked full for the next six months, largely thanks to your review, and they swiftly refused you with numerous apologies. But they called back not ten minutes later. You have a feeling that your name finally sunk into them — that he had something to do with it. 

That theory is confirmed when you arrive. The person in question is next to the seemingly nervous hostess as the noisy kitchen echoes throughout the busy restaurant. 

In the low lighting, Min Yoongi stands there with a relaxed smirk. As if he was expecting you. As if he knew you’d come crawling back to him to eat out of the palm of his hand, literally and figuratively.

You hate that he’s right.

“Welcome back.”

[cdroloisms]

Do you think c! Quackity are skilled on the mastering of "necessary convincing" on a person? And man the stream yesterday was so intense dark theme.

hello ! 

this is testament of how behind i am in asks, haha, considering this was sent basically at the beginning of q’s visits and it’s been ,, uh ,, several months since then ASJKFLJAS - but im going to try to answer it now while pretending that we dont have months proving that c!quackity is very willing to do whatever the hell it takes to get the revive book from someone.

i think that the ,, technicalities? of the torture were never an issue - everyone in the dream smp universe has to know how to use a weapon in its most basic form, after all, just to defend themselves from mobs and stuff, tho some people are clearly more adept at using them than others. torture is ultimately just hurting someone until they do what you want them to do (way oversimplified, but this definition works here) - physically, if you’re able to kill a zombie, there’s functionally little different with inflicting harm on a defenseless unarmed human with no means of defending themselves.

the real challenge, as with most things in the minecraft roleplay, comes from the mental side - how far is c!quackity really willing to go? obviously he *can* hurt someone, but doing so also tends to go against a lot of our most basic instincts as humans. defying that becomes the real question to consider - and c!quackity, in his increased willingness to hurt not only c!dream, but everyone as he’s manipulated people more and used people more for his own gain in the last few months, seems to providing as much of an answer as we’re going to get. 

this obviously isnt to say that he isn’t conflicted, or that he’s pure evil !! but c!quackity, by his own admission, seems to hold little trust for other people and ideals anymore. his main goal is Las Nevadas and whatever he needs to make it great - anything and everything else is either a means to his end or an obstacle in his way. i dont doubt that there are chinks to this mindset to exploit, things that he cares about enough to take his single-minded focus off of Las Nevadas. as of now, though, i don’t think that torturing c!dream and the violence it’ll require of him will be that breaking point.

anyway, have a really dark snippet exploring c!quackity some more !! he’s really fun to write, though i don’t think i’ve really mastered his voice yet - practice makes perfect, i guess. heed the warnings and hope you enjoy! 

tw: torture, abuse, blood, injuries, branding, violence, death mention, abuse apologism, mental deterioration, dark content, dark imagery, very dark portrayal of c!quackity, pandora’s vault/prison arc

There’s a certain learning curve that comes with torturing someone.

It sounds obvious, thinking back, as much as it sounds morbid as all hell, but it’s not like he’s in any position to judge. Quackity swipes another stack of iron from a chest, momentarily grumbling about the cost, before melting down three ingots for the blade of his next axe. He could just do it in a crafting table, but there’s a degree of calm in the monotony of doing it all by hand, slowly watching as the iron begins to glow red hot in the heat of the furnace and then hammering it into shape on his anvil. He hadn’t been good at it before, had let Sapnap do the majority of the smithing for the three of them in the past, but. Well.

When you’re eating through several sets of iron tools a week, either from bending them out of shape against unforgiving obsidian or melting the blades past saving in lava or burning them all entirely, when he’s too tired to be bothered cleaning off the blood and simply chucks the used tools after a session into the molten rock outside the cell, you kind of have to figure out how to make your own shit so others don’t get suspicious.

He beats the metal into a block, humming softly over the clangs of his hammer. There’s definitely a learning curve to crafting weapons, too - he’s pretty proud of the ones that he can make, now, even though he’s still no good at any of the fancier furnishings and finishes (nor does he particularly care about them). Figuring out how to torture someone effectively was a similarly slow process - finding their limits and how far to push before something, inevitably, gives. He hadn’t exactly handled it the best in the first few visits, usually retching into the nearest wastebasket at the smell, at the feeling of blood coating his fingertips, at the screams ringing incessantly in his head. It wasn’t all that long before he forwent sleep altogether, devoting all of his time on paperwork and calls and anything that would deafen the cries that would’ve haunted him otherwise. He was no good with his tools, either - more than a few times, in those early visits, did he end up slicing too deep or going too far and needing to cut the session short for Sam to come in and administer health pots before Dream died and rendered all of their efforts useless.

(Sapnap had been the one to first teach him how to wield an axe, correcting his stance and his grip with gentle, calloused hands. He remembers them training on the newly laid dirt surface of Mexican L’manburg, sweat dripping down his neck from the sun beating against their heavy armor, Sap laughing at his unbalanced, heavy-armed swings and demonstrating with his own weapon, movements fluid and graceful as if it was an extension of his own arm. In the cell, he thinks of Sapnap’s voice, firm in his focus - feet at least shoulder width apart, hands braced on the axe handle, left sitting just above the end and the right just a few inches below the head - and swings.)

It had been...a process. A bloody, often painful process - his hands are calloused, now, in ways they never were before, from the constant handling of his many tools. His back aches constantly from bending over, and his shirt - more often splattered with blood than not - now bears some permanent pink stains that he can’t get out no matter how hard he tries. (The laundry, he thinks wryly, had been a hell of a learning process as well.) He picks up the metal with a pair of tongs, easing it back under the fire’s heat until it glows a soft pink, and then places it back onto the anvil to work - slowly beating the metal into shape.

He’s had to learn a lot. The lessons are fascinating, in a gruesome, morbid sort of way. He’d brought a brand the other day, painstakingly carved into a fancy, curlicued Q all on his own, used in his work at Las Nevadas originally to finish furnishing a few pieces of leather furniture he had scattered around the city. As Dream struggled under him, skin blackening under the white-hot metal, he’d immersed himself in the sight, far more similar to his past leatherwork than he might’ve originally expected. He almost wanted to do it again, just to compare, but the stress of it all had been enough to knock the prisoner into shock, which had put a significant damper on the rest of his visit. He watches the iron glow contemplatively from his anvil, not nearly as hot as he works at it.

Another dip in the furnace later, it’s heated just enough to work out the finishings, and he carefully knocks the ends into a blade. Picking it up with a pair of tongs, he holds it up to a nearby piece of glowstone, grinning at the finished axe head. There’s still quite a bit to do, technically - he still needs to sharpen it along with the other ones he’s finished, as well as fasten them to their handles, but even so - it looks good. He examines it, back and front, against the light. It’s probably his best one yet.

Quackity smiles to himself as he puts it down with the rest, pulling out his calendar from behind him and carefully marking another red X over the date. Learning to torture someone takes a hell of a lot of time, but. Well.

He has all the time in the world.

[visarcana]

What do we know about... Egzardia

Okay, let’s finally do this. Egzardia is another of Asturia’s neighbors and allies and the home to a certain snake of a prince in my fic; not a popular character I guess, but also real fun to write!

So what do we know about this country from the series, artbooks and other official material? So, similar to Basram (the previous in the WDWK series), this fictional country seemed to have an obvious source of inspiration, which was the Earth’s France. Or was it?

Canon information

1. Egzardia is a country famed for its fashions

And that is what first pointed into the direction of France. The pants that Millerna wears are somewhat outrageous in Asturia but in Egzardia, where she got them from, they are the height of fashion. Here’s Millerna, her pants, and a bonus “come at me bro” Allen.

So, the new trends for the daring come from Egzardia, as the Filmbooks confirm also near the picture of the soldiers (”when it’s not uniforms, Egzardia seems to set the trends in fashion”).

This sort of goes together also with the fact that “they try to make even their guymelefs beautiful” (Roman artbook). The same book also says their guymelefs have elegant, round shapes (the Mazdas of guymelef world haha).

2. Egzardia is a neighboring country to Asturia

Because Asturia formed an alliance with its neighboring countries (episode 23).  The map of Gaea (from the Vision of Escaflowne Fanbook) puts it north of Basram and South of Zaibach. Makes you wonder where the border with Asturia was supposed to lie? But yeah, as we know now, this whole map is fanon.  

3. The design of the soldiers/guymelefs

Regarding the soldier designs, it is, again, obvious that somebody did their homework and looked up the 17th-18th century military uniforms as an inspiration.

Here is the Egzardian general named Jardi (Jarudi) and his regular soldier underling. There are no official transcriptions of these names so we can only guess how it was supposed to be transcribed (Giardi? Jardie?).

Anyway, what I was able to figure out was that the inspiration for the general was the European uniform of a grenadier (the soldier who throws grenades) that became distinguished from other troops in 17th century. Mostly because of the mitre cap (like the Pope wears) which is a trademark of this troop.

Upon closer look, the closest examples look to be the British grenadiers! The bottom part of the mitre above the forehead in particular looks very British (compare).

So was I off with France after all? When you google French grenadier, you see that mostly their mitre caps are all fur and they look a bit further away from our guy Jardi... but he does have a French-looking pom-pom on the top of his hat... and the gillet, the gaiters... guess the uniforms of the era had these elements often in common.

Here’s image for ants of Jardi from the back (Settei Artbook). I want to use the ponytail and bow on Gilles’ design as well.

4. The flag/coat of arms

It looks like this (this is my work using the sketch in the artbooks and coloring it according to the scheme shown in the anime).

So, what do you think it represents? I think the other crests are more obvious in that than this one. The only thing that comes to my mind is a variation of Fleur de Lys, but I guess it’s because I’m partial to France with this. Or maybe a fancy-looking spear? They definitely use spears on the battlefield.

(don’t ask me why Basram flag is involved in a shot of mostly Egzardian soldiers lol)

5. The Egzardian warship is called Triville. 

For this, we have a transcription from the official subs. Tréville is a commune/family name in France (okay, not to be too partial to France, you can find another little town called Treville in Italy). And also a character (based on a real historical figure) called Monsieur de Tréville in Alexandre Dumas’ The Three Musketeers. The name seems related the region of Trois-Villes, so basically, tréville is a fancier way of spelling “Three Towns” to my understanding. But there was also a French admiral de Latouche-Tréville who had three French ships named Latouche-Tréville after him, so this seems the most likely inspiration, if there was any.

So what did I do with this information so far?

Not too much to be honest. Obviously, I named the prince Gilles and I made up the name of the capital of Egzardia as Marsial, just a play on Marseille. I made Gilles dress flashily, but he would not pause at it as an Egzardian. Since Basram is said to be the only republic among the known countries, I made Egzardia a kingdom as well, but put Gilles himself further down the succession line.

This was necessary because this engagement with Millerna is a “plan B” not only for King Aston (who had her engaged to Dryden before that), but also for Egzardians. Gilles’ older brother, who is the current king in Egzardia, is already married with a son. If Millerna (or any of the Asturian princesses) had been considered for the marriage, they would have arranged it much sooner, while Gilles’ father had still been alive. Instead, this deal is closed in wartime with the younger brother being sent. Who’s all women, hunts, games... that sort of stuff. And not too eager to marry. But he quickly takes liking to Millerna hahaha!

I would also like to point out that the order of succession is male primogeniture, so the sons of the older brother pass over Gilles as they are born (and he already has one), so poor guy really can’t think of getting the throne in Marsial anytime soon. Which is another reason for Gilles to be married off to Palas, where he can think of being a king regent through Millerna.

This isn’t an ideal situation for Aston either, because it becomes possible that the two countries will be joined after his death, and not necessarily with Asturia coming out on top, if the older brother has much power over Gilles. So yeah, it is a plan B for a reason, even though it may seem a better match at the first sight. It’s not necessarily an upgrade for Millerna to marry an actual prince instead of the wealthy local merchant prince, who brings the money and at least keeps the power securely in Asturia.

But the war goes on, Grava needs allies, he is sick, and he has to make sure Millerna has a suitable husband after he’s gone. Coughwhoisnotallencough. Because once he’s dead, Millerna can do whatever she wants, she’s a queen. And Eries won’t have the “older sister” privileges much longer either... since she didn’t want to be the queen, at some point she would have to bow down and respect Millerna’s will, not the other way around. I wrote a bit of this change of dynamic in Chapter 9 already .

So yeah, Aston really has a grudge against Allen in my head, so he could even play dangerously to prevent him from marrying Millerna. But then, Asturia and Egzardia could be joined also with Palas as the capital. Asturia is the strongest after Zaibach, so currently stronger than Egzardia. So if Gilles held some grudges or an ambition to take over his brother once he’s married to Millerna (and she lets him rule her country and do as he pleases), there is an option of that. So yeah, a risky game, but the possible gains (and losses) for everyone involved are great with this marriage.

By the way, Gilles and his as of yet unnamed older brother also have two unnamed sisters. I’ll probably name them only if they appear in the story. Gilles is the youngest one, that is why he’s had all the time and resources in the world to play around until now. He has a guymelef as a member of the royal family (guymelefs are rare and expensive goods) and is a skilled swordsman. He’s quite charismatic and quickly became popular with the Asturian courtiers.

I made his character a bit of a play on the trope of the rakish handsome brute who after his youth spent womanizing falls for the innocent heroine (possibly with an arranged marriage involved)... aand then does a magical 180 by the power of love, becomes a great man and off they ride into the sunset. But that’s another story which is no longer worldbuilding, so I’ll just stop here. Sorry for the long post again.

[ft-dads-au]

Spellbound - Chapter 2

Shadowlight Week 2020 Prompt: Fall Pairing: Sting x Rogue

A Collaboration by @mdelpin​ and @oryu404​

AO3 | Prev: Ch 1

Chapter 2: Fall

The sound of the backpack zipper opening seemed louder than it should due to the library being so silent, but the guy in front of Rogue didn’t seem to notice, muttering to himself as he emptied what must have been half its contents in search of something.

Rogue watched in silent fascination as a small pile of receipts, empty food wrappers, used paper products, and a few jewels of loose change littered the previously pristine table, finally ending when the desired item was found. A familiar book, one which he had just put away in his own neatly organized backpack, sat in front of the stranger.

Foreign accent, tall, blond, wearing crop tops… As Rogue observed him more closely, he was excited to realize he’d seen this guy before.

“You’re in my Bio class!”

“Really? I didn’t notice, classes here are so much bigger than I’m used to. The name is Sting Eucliffe,” he extended his hand out to Rogue in greeting, waiting patiently for him to shake it.

Rogue was amused by the formality, but he shook it nonetheless, figuring it must be more common wherever he was from.

“I’m Rogue Fullbuster,” he introduced himself, “Nice to meet you.”

“Same!” Sting beamed, again with that smile that was brighter than Rogue’s future, “Did you already do the worksheet?”

Rogue groaned, putting his head on the table for dramatic effect. The sound of Sting’s laughter surrounded him, making him lift his head again to see what Sting looked like when he laughed. Rogue should probably shush him, but he didn’t want to.

“It’s not that bad,” Sting commented, opening the book to the chapter Rogue had just closed.

“Easy for you to say,” Rogue grumbled, “I’m a creative writing major, all this stuff is just gibberish to me.”

Sting gazed at him in surprise, “Why are you even taking it?”

“It was the only open class that would fulfill the requirement,” Rogue sighed, cursing himself yet again for waiting til the last minute to pick his classes.

“That’s rough,” Sting commiserated, “I can try help you if you want?”

“That would be amazing!”

“Sure,” Sting grabbed his book and moved to the seat next to Rogue, once again sifting through the contents of the backpack that Rogue had begun to consider more of a trash bin until he retrieved his laptop and opened it.

While it was busy booting up, Rogue got distracted by the scent of whatever cologne or body spray Sting was wearing. It smelled nice, although he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. All he knew was that it was pressing buttons that should be left unpressed if he ever wanted to get that biology assignment done.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” he finally managed to tear himself away from his thoughts when he realized Sting was talking to him.

Everything about this guy was just a little too something, too loud, too messy, too handsome, a little voice inside his head added smugly, and he certainly couldn’t deny it.

“I was just asking how far you got?” Sting asked once again, looking slightly amused.

“Honestly?” Rogue grimaced, hating to admit he was having so much trouble, “I entered my name?”

And there was that laugh again, warm and full of mirth, lifting Rogue’s previous mood effortlessly. “Okay, uhm, let’s start at the first problem then.”

Sting began to explain the concepts that minutes ago had been incomprehensible. To his amazement, Rogue found that once he was able to concentrate on the words rather than the man who was saying them and his cute accent, he was actually able to understand some of it. Sting never lost patience with him, only stopping once to chuckle, “Wow, you really suck at this,” before launching into another explanation.

An hour later, they had both finished the homework. Rogue looked out the large library windows, not at all surprised to see it was already dark.

“I don’t even know how to begin to thank you,” he admitted, “there was no way I would have gotten that done without your help. I feel like I should make it up to you somehow.”

Sting was about to reply when his stomach decided to do so for him. With a slight tint to his cheeks, he asked, “I don’t suppose you know any good places to eat around here? The food at the dorm kind of-”

“Sucks,” they both said in unison.

“Let me buy you dinner, it’s the least I can do,” Rogue suggested, even though they’d been working on homework it was the most fun he’d had in a long time.

“Alright, I gotta warn you though, I eat a lot,” Sting had already begun to stuff his book and laptop back into his backpack, along with all the other items that he’d piled on the table.

Rogue wasn’t too worried, he ate a lot also. He had already put his stuff away, so he led the way to the library exit, mildly surprised to see Sting hurry ahead of him to open the door, holding it open until Rogue walked through.

Well, that was considerate, Rogue thought, once again flashing to his dream and the traits his dream self had written on the strips of paper. What had they been?

Oh, yeah, that’s right. Rogue could remember quite clearly the one that said nice ass, but that wasn’t something he was just going to check out right here and now...

That thought lasted a whopping 3 seconds before Rogue could feel the corners of his lips tugging upwards because who was he kidding, he totally was. And it was easy enough to be subtle about it. All he had to do was reach for his pocket to grab his pack of cigarettes- which he was going to do anyway- and pretend he was making sure nothing would fall out when in reality, he was looking just a few extra inches to his side.

Yep, it was pretty nice, and the rest of him wasn’t bad either. Rogue cupped his hand around the cigarette sheltering it from the wind while he lit it, already considering where to go for dinner.

He noticed the slight wrinkling of Sting’s nose at his smoking, but if it bothered him, he chose not to say anything, so Rogue decided to engage him in conversation.

“Anything you’re in the mood for?”

“I don’t suppose you know any good places that serve seafood?” Sting asked eagerly.

“Seafood?” Rogue was taken aback, that was definitely not what he’d been expecting to hear. “Uhm, I think there might be a place a few blocks away from here, my parents used to take us there.”

Rogue kept his cigarette in his mouth as he did a quick search on his phone for the restaurant he was thinking of, relieved to see he’d been right, the place was only a few blocks away.

“Looks like you’re in luck,” Rogue said, leading the way to the address listed on the site.

“Thanks,” Sting fell in step beside him, looking decidedly chipper.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Rogue smirked, “it might be terrible.”

“Can’t be any worse than what I’ve been eating lately,” Sting muttered, “Never thought I’d see the day when I’d tire of junk food.”

“I feel ‘ya, ever since my parents moved I’ve been eating crap too. Should’ve let my mom teach me how to cook when she offered,” Rogue laughed, remembering his few disastrous attempts at cooking for himself. “So, where are you from anyway?”

“Edolas,” Sting replied, and taking in Rogue’s blank expression added, “It’s an island to the east of here.”

“An island, huh? This must be pretty different for you,” Rogue commented, “What do you think of Magnolia so far?”

“I haven’t really got a chance to see very much of it yet.”

“Oh, that’s too bad, maybe I can help with that,” Rogue offered, hoping that Sting would take him up on it so that he could see more of him.

They chatted on the way to the restaurant, Rogue asking questions about Edolas and receiving responses that he only half-listened to, too intent on watching the way Sting’s eyes lit up when he was excited, or the way he used his hands to talk. Much too soon, they had arrived at the restaurant, which was a bit fancier than he remembered.

Enough so that he worried they might be sent away, given Sting’s outfit. However, the greeter only gave them the briefest of glances when he asked for a table, replying in an apologetic voice, “I’m sorry sir, we are reservation only and we are unfortunately all booked up for this evening. Perhaps you can join us another time?”

Rogue thanked her and went looking for Sting, who had somehow disappeared from his side. He found him standing in front of a lobster tank, which was full of the crustaceans, each with their claws held shut by a band.

He couldn’t help a smile, Sting was talking to the lobsters contained within, arms once again moving a mile a minute, but it was his words that he found amusing.

“Aren’t you a pretty fella?” Sting cooed at the largest lobster Rogue could ever remember seeing. “Bet you look even better inside my belly.”

“Making friends?” Rogue teased, ignoring the looks they were getting from the other people who were waiting to be seated.

“Oh, haha,” Sting replied, hand moving to his neck, “Never seen one that big before.”

“That’s what he said,” Rogue replied out of habit, but he was surprised to see Sting stare at him curiously.

“Oh, that’s just something my friends-, “Rogue began to explain but thought better of it, “You know what? Nevermind, stupid joke.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that joke before,” Sting clarified, “I was just surprised that you used he.”

“Is that a problem?” Rogue tensed slightly, he thought he’d gotten a certain vibe from his friend earlier, but maybe he’d been wrong?

“I’d hope not,” Sting laughed, turning back to the lobster tank and mouthing Thank You before cheerfully adding, “I’m still going to totally eat you, though.”

“I’m sorry to say, you’re not,” Rogue announced, “They’re booked for the evening.”

“Oh man, that sucks,” Sting whined, “I was looking forward to it.”

“I think the place next door sells fish sandwiches,” Rogue cajoled, trying to get out of the restaurant before they caused a scene.

“Not what I had in mind,” Sting pouted but seemed to consider Rogue’s offer nonetheless, finally turning back to the lobster tank and pointing at it. “Don’t look so smug Sheldon, this isn’t over,” before following Rogue out the door.

The place next door did indeed sell fish sandwiches, along with a host of other things, but it was also extremely noisy. Rogue didn’t mind all that much, he was used to Fairy Tail on weekends after all, and few things were louder than that, but Sting looked disappointed.

They put in their order at the counter and sat down at a table, waiting for their number to be called. Music was blaring from the speakers, and people were yelling in an attempt to be heard over it.

“This is worse than my dorm,” Sting yelled across the table.

Rogue shrugged, shouting back, “My band plays the bar circuit on weekends, I’m kind of used to it.”

“I know, I saw you guys play last weekend.”

“Oh? What did you think?” Rogue asked, he knew his guitar playing was decent, but he was always nervous to hear of what people thought.

Their number was called just as Sting was about to answer, and Rogue couldn’t blame him for hurrying to fetch their food, considering they were both starving, but it still made Rogue wonder if he’d been avoiding his question.

They ate their sandwiches, attempting some small talk, but as most of it got lost in the noise, they soon gave up and tried to get out of there as quickly as possible. In a record 15 minutes, they were back outside, and Rogue noticed Sting gazing at the other restaurant with longing.

“Fish sandwich not up to your standards?” he teased.

“It was alright,” Sting muttered.

“I sure hope so, you ate five of them!” Rogue laughed, “I thought that lady was gonna pass out when she saw how much food we ordered.

“Yeah, that was kind of funny,” Sting admitted.

Rogue looked at his watch and noticed it was getting late. Too bad it was Wednesday, else he could’ve asked Sting if he wanted to get some drinks. The dinner hadn’t exactly gone the way he’d hoped. “We’ll just have to make a reservation next time,” he suggested, already thinking of a retake at the fancier, more atmospheric seafood restaurant.

“Next time?” Sting raised an eyebrow, “I like the sound of that. Does that mean I can get your number?”

“Sure, but only if I can get yours too. I don’t think I’ll pass Bio without you,” Rogue retorted.

“Not the answer I was looking for, but it’ll do for now,” Sting winked, handing Rogue his phone so he could plug in his number.

0-0

October 10, 2012

Although Rogue was used to having an audience by now, it felt kind of weird to have a single spectator during a rehearsal. He wasn’t the type to enjoy being in the spotlight all that much, but when they played in crowded student bars, he’d quickly get swept up in the atmosphere and forget everything but the songs they were playing. That proved to be somewhat more difficult with someone as distracting as Sting watching them, as even though he was casually doing some homework, he’d break into a wide smile every time his eyes met Rogue’s, which happened, well…quite a lot of times.

And if that wasn’t enough of a distraction already, Rogue could practically feel Totomaru’s eyes burning into him, and he could tell by the fierceness of his drum playing that he wasn’t too happy about the situation.

Maybe he should have thought twice before suggesting Sting come along to band practice, but then again, it shouldn’t be such a big deal. The only reason why he’d come up with the idea was that they had agreed to study at Rogue’s place after, since the library had been so busy lately. If Maru wanted to have a jealous fit over that, it shouldn’t be his problem, right? They’d broken up, he was free to do whatever he wanted.

With that in mind, and because he didn’t want to get teased for being distracted later, Rogue doubled up on his efforts, and...okay, maybe he wanted to show off a little as well. It proved to be good motivation, and soon those pretty blue eyes became a muse rather than a distraction.

The love songs they often practiced suddenly took on new meaning, their words resonating as they flowed through him, making it difficult for him to meet Sting’s eyes, too afraid of exposing the feelings that he didn’t dare give a name to so soon.

At any rate, they played the stars from the sky, and satisfied with their progress, Gajeel called for a smoke break. As Rogue put his guitar away and grabbed his jacket, he was surprised to see that Sting was also putting on his coat, “Fresh air sounds good,” he smiled, turning to Juvia as he asked, “aren’t you coming?”

“The air is never fresh around those three,” Juvia snorted, and she grabbed a sketchbook and a pencil case from her bag to keep herself busy, as she always did.

They walked through the building to the alley where they smoked most of the time, so they wouldn’t block the sidewalk in front of the entrance.

“Are you really that cold?” Rogue frowned at Sting, who buried the lower half of his face inside his scarf, pulled the hood of his winter coat over his head, and shoved his hands inside his pockets. The big fluffy fur trim that encircled his face made him look like he was about to scale Mt. Hakobe, instead of merely joining Rogue in the alley for his smoke break and he found that kind of adorable.

“I’m from an island,” Sting whined, his voice sounding muffled from behind the scarf, “It’s so much more colder over here, we usually don’t get these kinds of temperatures until it’s almost Christmas. How are you two still wearing only a shirt and a leather jacket?”

“You should see my brother, he’s probably still walking around in just a t-shirt,” Rogue chuckled, lighting his cigarette and passing the lighter to Gajeel, who was holding out an open hand. “Does it ever snow in Edolas?”

He thought about the fun they could have once it was really starting to get cold, perhaps introducing Sting to some things that were entirely new to him. That is, assuming he wouldn’t have resorted to hibernation.

“It does, but like, very rarely? Maybe we get a day or two, or a week, at most? Usually, temperatures are well above the freezing level again by the end of January.”

“Heh, just wait until you’ve experienced a Magnolian January,” Gajeel snorted, exchanging a knowing look with Rogue and Totomaru, who lit up a cigarette as well, “You’ll be claiming we’ve hit an ice age.” He held his cigarette between his lips as he reached out to touch the fur trim on Sting’s jacket, his eyebrows knitted together in an apprehensive frown. “At least you’re already dressed for one, ’s this shit real?”

“Eww, of course not!” Sting exclaimed, slightly offended but seemingly not minding the intrusion of his personal space.

“Good.”

Gajeel backed off again, satisfied with that answer, and Rogue breathed a sigh of relief at the thought that they’d all been spared of one of his seemingly endless rants. But on the subject of personal space, Rogue considered his definitely invaded when Maru moved closer to him, putting his hand on Rogue’s shoulder.

“So, Sting-” Maru blew a cloud of smoke in Sting’s direction, “have you done a lot of sightseeing already?”

Waving the smoke away, Sting shook his head, “Not yet, I’m just starting to find my way around the university and stuff, but I was planning to do that during fall break.”

“Cool. You should take a day trip to Hargeon Port, oh, and try one of those canal rides here in Magnolia.” Looking at Rogue and giving his shoulder a squeeze, Maru continued, “We did that on some of our dates. It was really great, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was nice,” Rogue agreed with a forced smile.

They’d had a great time together, he couldn’t deny that, and even if he’d ended their relationship, he still valued their friendship. But Maru made it no secret that he still had feelings for him, and Rogue was getting more and more frustrated by his constant attempts at getting back together. He just didn’t know what to do to make him understand that without snapping and possibly causing a big fight between them.

He calmly removed Maru’s arm, taking the last hit from his cigarette before dropping it on the ground and stepping on it, “Let’s go back inside, we still have studying to do.”

“Sure, book nerd,” Maru teased, ruffling his hair.

“Knock it, skunk!” The familiar nickname slipped out before he knew it as Rogue tried but failed to swat Maru’s hand away, bringing him back to times when things were a lot less complicated between them. Maybe, hopefully, those times would eventually return, when Maru would move on just like Rogue had done.

“Come on, wouldn’t want you to freeze to death,” he joked at Sting, sticking out his tongue at the dramatic pout he received in response.

They went back inside and played a few more songs, the newer ones they hadn’t gotten a chance to practice last week since the studio had to close for repairs due to the fire. All the while, Rogue was dying to leave, for two reasons. He wanted to study, not just because that meant spending time alone with Sting, but because midterms were coming up. But the main reason why he wanted to get them out of there had everything to do with the way Sting was getting awkward under Maru’s scrutinizing stares.

He was more than relieved when the song they’d agreed to be their last had ended. Flashing Sting an apologetic smile, he quickly put his guitar into the carrier and grabbed the rest of his stuff. “See you guys next week,” he called over his shoulder as he led the way out of the studio, walking a little faster than usual.

“Sorry it took so long, we have a gig this weekend,” he explained, searching his pockets for his car keys, “Shall we get some food delivered? We can get started while we wait.”

“Yeah, good idea, I’m starving!”

“So, three large pizzas then?” Rogue grinned, already used to the ridiculous amounts of food Sting put away regularly.

Sting’s face wrinkled in thought, “You think that’ll be enough?”

“Gotta leave some room for dessert,” Rogue shrugged smugly, “Unless, of course, you don’t want any ice cream, or lava cakes, or…” Me, his thoughts happily supplied.

“There’s always room for dessert,” Sting replied very seriously, “it’s the most important meal of the day.”

“Dessert is not a meal!” Rogue laughed, and although Sting was trying to keep a straight face, he couldn’t hide the twinkle in his eyes.

“Yes it is. I say so,” Sting claimed, losing the ability to hold back his laughter before he’d finished the sentence.

They got into the car, immediately bickering over the music that played on the radio, and Rogue was amazed at how at home he already felt around Sting like they had known each other for ages rather than just a short week.

0-0

They were still laughing when Rogue opened the door to his house, although he wasn’t sure what they were even laughing about, he just knew it felt nice. He took off his shoes and showed Sting where to put his so as not to get any dirt on the floor.

Rogue led the way to the dining room table, where they both dumped their backpacks and Rogue’s guitar.

“So this is where you live,” Sting commented as he looked around.

“Yep, oh bathroom is that way if you need to go,” Rogue pointed at the door to the half bathroom that was located just off the kitchen while he looked up the number for the pizza place he liked.

“Don’t forget to get the lava cakes, “Sting urged, tossing his credit card at Rogue, “My treat this time.”

Just to mess with him, Rogue pretended to forget the lava cakes when he got the pizza place on the line and placed their order, only mentioning them at the very last second. The poor soul on the other end of the line probably didn’t know what hit them when Sting’s gape of horror had Rogue in tears, wheezing as he listed his address and managed a “See you later.”

As soon as he’d hung up and put his phone away, he knew he was going to pay for it. Sting came charging at him with one of the soft pillows from the couch, delivering a few well-placed blows as they tumbled to the floor.

Still laughing, Rogue held his arms up in mock defense from the continuing onslaught, “I give, I give!”

Sting let up, blue eyes twinkling with mischief as he leaned ever closer before grabbing the pillow and getting up, leaving Rogue feeling incredibly disappointed. “Thought so!” he grinned victoriously, holding out his hand to help Rogue off the floor.

Rogue released a sigh, playing it off as a side effect from his laughing fit, “Alright, let me show you around the house, I doubt you’ll be focused enough to study with lava cakes on your mind.”

There wasn’t that much to show since Sting had already seen the hallway and the living room, which crossed into the dining room, but Rogue needed something to drag himself down to earth again. He showed Sting every room in the house except for his parents’ bedroom and their bathroom, finally ending the short tour in the basement.

“Guest bedroom-” Rogue opened the door to the room his dad and Gildarts had built for Cana when she, Gray and Rogue were in their teens, so she could have her own room and Gray didn’t have to share his with Rogue anymore. It hadn’t been used in a few years, and over time it had been filled with all sorts of old junk that his parents had meant to sort out and either donate or throw away.

“Still more tidier than my room at the dorm,” Sting chuckled sheepishly, “at least here you can still see the floor.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Rogue muttered under his breath before turning around to his favorite part of the house, “And last but not least, the entertainment room -,” he was about to say more when Sting interrupted him.

“You have a pool table?! That’s so cool, can we play a game while we wait for the pizza?” Sting asked hopefully.

“Sure,” Rogue shrugged, setting up the table while Sting grabbed some cue sticks, “You any good?”

“I’m alright,” Sting conceded, handing Rogue a stick while grabbing some chalk and applying it to the tip of his own.

“Well then, show me what you’ve got,” Rogue taunted, completely trash-talking cause regardless of owning a table he was only average at it.

“Alright,” Sting furrowed his brow in concentration and hit the cue ball as hard as he could, but even though it made an impressive sound, none of the balls went into any of the pockets. He bit his lip, looking at the floor. Clearly, that hadn’t gone like he’d wanted.

Rogue laughed, “Well that was, uhm… something. Wanna try again?”

When Sting nodded, he reset the balls and stood back. This time it went much better, and they started a proper game with Sting calling stripes.

“So, uhm, can I ask you something?” Sting was fiddling with his cue stick making Rogue awfully curious as to what he wanted to know.

“Could I even stop you?” Rogue snorted good-naturedly as he set up for his next shot.

Sting chuckled but wouldn’t meet his eyes, “What’s the deal with the drummer? He was definitely shooting daggers at me earlier.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” Rogue aimed the cue ball at the nearest solid ball, attempting to get it into one of the side pockets, not at all surprised when he missed. With a sigh, he added, “We used to date, but I broke it off. He’s just having a hard time accepting that.”

“I thought it might be something like that,” Sting commented, “Isn’t it hard to be in the same band?”

“He’s a good drummer, I’m kind of hoping he’ll get over it sooner rather than later,” Rogue heard the doorbell ring and put his stick away to head upstairs. “Guess that’s game.”

Sting followed, needing to sign the slip for their food. Once the door was opened, he moaned happily at the smell of chocolate wafting towards him, and if Rogue didn’t know better, he would have thought the idiot was getting ready to hug the delivery man.

“Down boy,” he muttered, feeling a tad jealous for no discernible reason, even as Sting looked back and grinned at him, arms laden with boxes.

“Food!” he cheered, carrying the boxes to the dining room while Rogue got some paper plates and sodas ready.

By the time he brought them in, Sting was already inhaling the first pizza. Twenty minutes later, there was nothing left, and after doing a quick cleanup, it was time to study.

“Do you want me to play some music or something?” Rogue asked.

“No, this is great,” Sting answered, looking down at his phone. “I work better without it, it’s one of the reasons I go to the library, there’s always music playing in our suite, and I feel like a jerk to ask them to turn-” he stopped in the middle of the sentence as he looked at his phone once again and started laughing.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, you should see this,” Sting laughed, “my roommate just sent me this great TikTok!”

“After we get some studying done,” Rogue reminded him.

“Right!” Sting gave him a mock salute, grabbing his backpack and opening it up to grab his laptop. “Oh hey, can I get your wireless password?”

Rogue tried to ignore the amount of trash that fell out of the backpack in the process, but it was a losing battle. “Do you want me to show you where the trash bin is?”

“Hmm?” Sting peered at him absently, still in the process of booting up his laptop.

“Nevermind,” Rogue sighed, entering the password and sitting down with his own laptop. He had a feeling that it wouldn’t make much of a difference if he got Sting to tidy up the backpack now, it would probably be just as messy again within a few days. Sting just wasn’t a neat person, which was just about the only flaw Rogue had found in him so far.

“We should start with Bio before we get tired,” Sting suggested, pulling his book out and opening it to the chapter they had been covering that week. For the next hour, Sting went over everything they were supposed to have learned, explaining it so that Rogue was able to understand it.

He took lots of notes, knowing he might forget when he had to study without Sting there, but once they were done and had each moved on to different subjects, Rogue mostly ogled his new friend. Biology was his weakest subject, and he couldn’t help but be fascinated by the way Sting’s forehead furrowed in concentration when he read something he didn’t quite understand, or how his tongue peeked out when he was doing math problems. It was very distracting, and Rogue couldn’t help but wonder what it would have felt like if Sting had kissed him earlier, rather than just teasing him with the pillows.

“Aren’t you going to study?” Sting interrupted his train of thought, which was probably a good thing.

“I sort of am, I’m thinking about this story I have to write for one of my classes,” Rogue lied, having not done anything but stare for the last thirty minutes or so.

“Funny, your thinking looks a lot like checking me out,” Sting grinned.

“Someone’s a little self-centered,” Rogue retorted, reluctant to admit that Sting had pretty much hit the nail right on the head.

Sting snickered but chose not to comment, going back to his book and making exaggerated expressions every few minutes until he was once again distracted by his phone.

Rogue made a point of opening a book and staring into it, embarrassed at having been caught. Would it have been so bad to admit it? Time passed quickly as they both tried to get their work done, and much too soon, it was time to drive Sting back to the dorms.

On the way back, he thought about how pleasant it had felt to have company, even if they had studied for most of it. Maybe he should invite Sting over to study more often, midterms were coming up soon, and he’d definitely need help with Biology.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Sting announced with great enthusiasm, “I got so much stuff done! It would have taken me days to get that done in my room or even the library.”

“Midterms are coming up,” Rogue dangled an unspoken invitation, waiting to see how Sting reacted.

“Oh that would be great, even only for a day or two,” Sting beamed, “That would be so much help.”

Maybe it was because of how much fun they’d had, or the way Sting made him forget so many things that had used to bother him. All Rogue knew was that his infatuation with Sting continued to grow in leaps and bounds, making him question whether he could possibly already be falling in love with the exchange student.

He wasn’t really the type of person to be spontaneous, but the reality was that he didn’t have a lot of time to figure out his feelings, not when Sting would return home at the end of the school year.

So before he could overthink it or let himself chicken out, he blurted out, “Why don’t you stay with me for exam week?”

[eloarei]

About the process of creating a book (the not-writing part)

I was asked recently about if making a book was easy or tedious or whatever, and I realized that was actually something I’d like to talk about. I’d never done it before (and still I only have a little experience), but I’ve been teaching myself and it’s been... fun?  Behind the cut (that’s still a thing, right?), I ramble about formatting, PDFs, fonts, and some other stuff. (Also pictures, though most of them are the same as the ones I posted yesterday.) 

First of all, I had to pick a Print-On-Demand (POD) website. That was easy for me, because finding the website was actually what made me want to make the book. I used Lulu.com, which has worked very well for me the two times I’ve used it. (It has a bunch of bad reviews, but honestly I got just what I paid for both times. They apparently offer editing and marketing services; I can’t vouch for those because I only used the POD service. But personally I wouldn’t trust anyone to edit or market my book, let alone some randos on some website. They’re a POD site. That’s what they’re good at, so that’s what I use.)  It would have been almost too easy if they just let me copy-paste the text to them, but understandably they wanted a PDF. PDFs are kind of the bane of my existence, but I downloaded a template from them (for a 6x9 inch novel, with appropriate margins) and then copy-pasted my fic into it using LibreOffice. (I’m so-so about LibreOffice, but it does create PDFs reasonably well.)  From there... well, then I had to go through the process of reformatting it. I’d copied the text from my AO3, and that meant that it had spaces between every paragraph and no indents, which is how AO3 fics are typically formatted. It was a lot of Tab-Left-Down-Down-Down-Backspace-Backspace-Enter-Repeat. For 140k words, it took a few casual days.  After the bulk of that was done, I realized the indents/tabs looked... weird? They were too big. ^^; Luckily there was a setting in LibreOffice to change them all automatically. I almost cried at the thought of having to do it manually haha.  Adding data to the headers and footers came next. I chose to only add the page number to the footer, and nothing to the header. Normally people will have the author’s name on one side, and the book’s title on the other, but I skipped that for the time being. Not sure if I’ll do it for the ‘official’ release.  (Somehow my footer ended up being too small, so that’s something I need to look into.)  Next I had to pick a font and a font size. I decided to do something a little gimmicky: I have alternating chapters that take place in modern and historical times, so I chose different fonts to represent those chapters. For the historical chapters I chose “Century”, which is a serif font (meaning that it has little embellishments, like “Times New Roman”), while for the modern chapters I chose “Verdana”, a sans-serif font (meaning that it is sans/without the embellishments, like whatever font Tumblr uses).  It’s typically agreed that novels are best in serif fonts, because it’s easier to read them for a long session. The embellishments make the letters blend together into visually recognizable words, which is apparently how we read, as opposed to looking at every letter individually. However, because I wanted to be quirky, more than half of my book is in sans-serif, which I’m just hoping doesn’t annoy people.  I used Verdana size 11 and Century size 12. Even so, the Verdana still looks too large to my eye, so I’ll probably change it again.  After that was mostly aesthetic formatting, which was the actual fun part. I tabbed down I think about 10 spaces at the start of every chapter, then went back up a space or two, increased the font size and changed the font to something slightly fancier and wrote the chapter title (which for me were just “Chapter Five”, etc).  (UPON FURTHER SCRUTINY, apparently not all of my first chapter pages are tabbed down the same amount. ugh. ^^; They’re close but not identical. How messy.)  Under the chapter titles, I simulated “drop caps” on the first phrase of the chapter, because I didn’t have a good drop caps font. I just did this by retyping the whole phrase in caps, and then changing the first letter to a slightly larger font size.  Next were a few easy things: a title page, a few silly “praise for” pages of reviews I got from online readers (these probably won’t be in the “official” version; they just make me smile), a mock-up copyright page (mock-up because I don’t actually have a copyright or anything yet), a short dedications page (mine was just one sentence), and then an empty page so that the story text starts on the right, which is standard. I have bought another self-published book which otherwise looks pretty good, but it starts the story on the left page and it’s just so jarring.  At that point, the PDF was pretty much done. I added a few other little touches, like some little fancy dagger icons during in-chapter scene transitions. I ended up with the “the end” page being on the left, which, again, is really awkward, so I found a chapter that only had like two lines on the last page, and went back in and deleted a handful of words in the chapter so that it would end on the previous page instead.  THEN came the fun but agonizing part, as I’m not as much of a graphic designer as I sometimes wish. I had to make a cover. The other self-published book I bought looks really nice with a beautiful illustration on the front, but the spine and back had just tiny white text, and didn’t even include a synopsis. So I downloaded a template for a 6x9inch wrap-around cover, tossed it up in Photoshop, paint-bucketed it black, and went to work. I pasted in my synopsis in off-white sans-serif font about the same as my internal font, and bolded some of the key words for... ease of skimming and/or funsies? At the top I added a short dialogue exchange from the first chapter that I thought represented the story as a whole, chose a different font that stood out, and gave it a red shadow so it would stand out more. For fun I added some faint red blood-splatters behind the text.  For the front I chose a big bold block-letter font in off-white, then gave it a red and a yellow shadow so it would stand out. I rasterized the font (turning it into a picture), and then used the tool to highlight the letters, and splashed some red blood-splatters on them. I did the same for the spine. (Though really what I should have done was copy the logo from the front and resize it. Silly me. Now the two logos don’t match.)  I used Unsplash.com for a few free photos that I quickly manipulated into a passable cover art. Ultimately, I would like to have something either professionally photographed, edited, or drawn, but what I found was vaguely similar enough to what I wanted that I figured it’d do for now.  Maybe the last thing I had to do (besides uploading it all to Lulu) was decide on a pen-name! I ended up going with L.A.Rayborn, instead of my legal name. I used my legal first two initials, but chose my birth surname (which is twice removed from my legal name, since I was first adopted and then married). To be perfectly honest, the reason I chose not to use my legal name is mostly because I don’t want to associate my in-laws with possibly-sensitive content that they probably wouldn’t like.  SO. Then it was done, and I uploaded it to Lulu, and chose a few options on the site, such as cream pages instead of white, and matte exterior finish instead of gloss. (I highly suggest the cream for novels, but the matte is really just personal preference.) I paid them (I ended up getting it printed and shipped to me for under $20), and then about 2 weeks later I had the 400 page darling in my hands, ready to be eviscerated with a set of neon hi-lighters!  After this current round of edits, I already know there’s a ton of stuff I’m going to have to fix (and this is to say nothing of the story).  1. The font is slightly too large, but could probably use a 1.5 or maybe 1.2 spacing between lines. I’ll have to fiddle with it, and see what others do.  2. The back cover text is too close to the edges to really look good.  3. The page numbering just looks odd for some reason.  4. Figure out how to get the page numbers to stay off the copyright and dedications page, etc.  5. MORE THAN ANYTHING, I need to change the... I’m not even sure what to call it? I need to make the text space out evenly so that it creates a block on each page, rather than creating messy ridges on the right margins. I didn’t even think of this until I got the book and started comparing it to professional books I’ve read and enjoyed. It seems like a very rookie mistake. 

(lol I’m in the process of changing the main character’s name, which is why the crappy MS Paint edits.)  PHEW, that was long. But hopefully my journey was at least a little insightful. Please do let me know if you have any thoughts, questions, or suggestions about how I could better format the book for the “real” printing! 

[meladotjournal]

Esther - Like A Stone

Esther Abigale Lebel, despite everything, is still human. It’s her time. For now, at least. And all hunters go the same way- bloody. But what exactly happens when someone like her dies?

ESTHER has left the chat. 

Feauring: Aeszura and Dionysus. As always, I have no idea what I’m doing. If I write your character wrong, or if you have any comments at all, please tell me! I encourage it! I need to be more productive, and if you need me to rewrite absolutely anything/everything, I am more than willing to have something to do!

Takes place during Supernatural Season 12, Episode 21, set at the end of Esther’s story. Near 1800 words. 

/////

May 11, 2017

I walk out of the cabin, not bothering to clean up the mess inside. The fire I had started inside was already spreading. Sure, the bodies would smell, but at least I could be sure that I wouldn’t have to worry about any more undead spirits in this town anytime soon.

It was an easy hunt involving a couple of serial killers and a surprisingly helpful ghost. I was surprised that no local hunters (whose names I rarely bothered to remember) had picked up on it before I did. Jobs were becoming unsettlingly easy to find. I’m not one to back off of a case- I’ve been known to force other hunters off of jobs, but it felt wrong, and the recent British invasion was nothing if not suspicious. It made me almost glad that I hadn’t made many friends in the hunting community. 

And not that I was lonely or anything, but damn! I haven’t even heard from Aes. And I think we all know how much she likes to talk my ear off about things I hardly understand. But at least she sticks around, you know? I was worried about her, but don’t tell her I said so.

I start towards my car before I hear rustling in the trees. Or was it the fire? My paranoid ass wasn’t looking to wait to find out. That’s when I notice my tires were slashed. Shit. Shit! Here I am, moping like an idiot just to find out that someone’s tailing me. Just my luck. Shit!

I’d go back into the cabin, but that thing is on the verge of collapse at this point. I make a break for it, running into the thickest-looking stretch of forest, aiming in the direction of the shitty little town where I booked a shitty little motel suite.

I find a clearing nearby. Bad for cover, but a hell of a lot easier to run through. Just as I’m plotting my zig-zag formation, I see a big black SUV. Definitely bulletproof. Ominous. There’s sigils etched all over the thing. Shit. Those British fucks were onto me. I’ve been avoiding these cars for months.

I’ve spent too much time examining this thing. Lucky for me, this dumbass left the passenger door unlocked. Sloppy for one of the Men of Letters, though. What was he, drunk? Even the footsteps were sloppy. Small, around my size.

I hop in and crawl into the backseat, locking all the doors manually. I spot my reflection in the window. Jesus, I look terrified. My hands are shaking, and I find myself fiddling with my necklace. Stupid! Be productive! I use my stupid shaky hands to call the first person on my contacts list.

/////

We were getting ready for the next hunt, just like always. This was a big one, I can’t quite remember what, but it was something to do with demons and some weird hoodoo drug trade. And as much as I hate needing help, Aes and Dio were helping. In their own ways.

If I hadn’t met them while I was soulless, I doubt I’d have had the balls to stand my ground. In all honesty, they’re terrifying. I feel like at any moment, they could just eat me alive, or tell me that whatever bond we’d built was a part of some elaborate prank. But even I‘ll admit that I’m not exactly “best fwend” material. So I guess it works.

None of us sleep much. We were fooling around, getting drunk off the minibar while we watched the sunrise from the comfort of our surprisingly classy hotel room, thanks to Dio’s snappy finger magic.

“I think I finally figured it out,” Aeszura cackled. “I know exactly how I’d kill you.”

I rolled my eyes while Dio played along. “I really fucking doubt you could, little miss musical.ly star.”

“Yes, I could. I’d film it. No- I’d livestream it. And people would give me so much fucking money just to watch your smug ass die. I know the websites. Hell,” she laughed, “Facebook Live would work just fine. My followers would love it. Idiots.”

“You don’t even know what I am. I’ve been alive for thousands of years. I could be anything.”

“Time works different in hell. Like Australia. You can’t imagine how long I’ve been kicking ass. But I know exactly what you are. Dionysus.”

“I honestly doubt it. Dumbass.”

“You’re a little bitch, that’s what you are.”

I downed another one of the funky little cinnamon drinks. Not Fireball, but something fancier to match the room, and the Greek cotton I was spilling it on. Higher thread counts were pretty good at absorbing alcohol. Nice. I tried drawing patterns with my finger on the sheets before it could evaporate.

/////

I ran my nails along the face of my phone, fidgeting with the cracks in the screen. “Aes. Please, fucking pick up. I’m going crazy here. Crazier than usual. I’m talking to myself. I swear to-”

“Hey, bitch! What’s up?”

“Oh thank fucking god- Aes, I-”

“HAHA! Just kidding. This is my voicemail. Ha. Sorry. Follow me @stankthottie on musical.ly and-”

“SHIT.” I pound my head on the window, immediately regretting it. I can’t believe I fall for that stupid fucking voicemail every fucking time.

There’s no way I’m gonna be able to hotwire this car or anything. And even if I could, the Men of Letters would know that I stole it and track me down before I could even look at an asphalt road. I don’t know what I was thinking, getting into this car in the first place.

“-anyways, leave me a message after the scream or whatever. Except if you’re an angel or some shit. Eat a dick.”

“Aes, I’m such a dumbass. I’m in one of their cars. They slashed my tires and I- I can’t-” I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a deep breath.

“It doesn’t look good. I’m alone. Haven’t been able to figure out where all the hunters have been going and you know my knife hasn’t been working the same since Asteraoth… you know…” Shit, I’m crying. “-and I’m just so fucking scared, okay? I don’t know where you’ve been and why you’ve been avoiding me or whatever but now would be a really really great time to pop in and do that whole dramatic-as-all-hell smokey thing and save my sorry ass-”

I could’ve sworn I saw something in the trees. Someone? Blonde.

It’s started to rain. Great. Awesome. Fantastic. I try to shuffle my body lower into the seats and closer to the floor of the car. I can see the sky through the windows. The sun’s setting. It’ll be dark soon. I was hoping on getting some biscuits and gravy or something from the diner for dinner before heading out of town. My hiding spot smells like leather. And blood.

/////

“Fine. Fine! Then how- how’d you kill Esther, huh?”

“I don’t even know if that bitch can physically die. Can you die?” Aeszura threw an empty beer can in my direction, laughing, barely missing my head.

“Hrruhgh?” I grumbled.

“CAN. YOU. DIE.”

“Of course she can. Everyone does…” He paused, slouching. Before he thought we noticed his change in tone, he winked. “‘Cept me, of course.”

“I dunno. I’ll go to hell probably. Jus’ like everyone else.”

“Yeah right, with all those angels up your ass? You’ve got half of heaven on your stupid speed dial. It’s disgusting.”

“You’re sounding pretty self-righteous for a demon. What’s got your panties in a twist, huh, pink eyes?”

“They’re RED, fuckhead. Shut up. I hate you.” She coughed. “Ess, I don’t even know if you could go to hell. Trust me- I practically run the joint. Your soul isn’t, like, ‘soul-y’ enough. I don’t know what that angel did to you but-”

“He saved my-”

“Shut UP. Call it whatever the hell you want, but I know souls, okay? It’s kind of my fucking job. But even I’m not exactly sure what would happen if your m-eatsuit-” she paused to gag, “-exploded or something. It’s not a soul anymore. I’m not sure if it- if you - could even go anywhere.”

“Can’t become a ghost, can you? Your soul is already Tethered. I bet like, eight goats that you’d get trapped inside the knife or some shit like that” Dio giggles, snapping his fingers.

“Too bad your pretty little angel can’t tell you anything.” Aeszura joked, but she was getting genuinely angry. “That’s what you get for trusting some stupid fucking feathery-”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, guys. We have a case, remember? Why should I care, anyway? It’s not like I can do anything about it. It’s just eternity. I don’t have to worry about that when I’m busy here. Working cases. And I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.”

Dio chimed in, singing. “That’s what they all say…”

/////

I’m still on the phone. I don’t want to turn it off. I want an audience. It’s stupid and childish, but even hiding from whoever’s out there, I don’t wanna be alone.

I can hear the rain attacking the roof of the car. The leaves on the trees are shaking just as badly as I am. Stupid. I’m probably overreacting, right? It’s nothing. This is nothing. I’ve been through worse. I’ve come out of worse. Who says I’m gonna die? I don’t know the Men of Letters’ M.O. but the thought just leaves a rank taste in my mouth and a lump in my throat. There’s something outside, I can feel it.

That’s when my knife, the Tether, starts humming. I take it out from the inside of my jacket, squeezing it tight. It’s glowing for the first time in months. The thing is practically singing, the vibrations making the worst noise imaginable, like a cross between a bell and a scream. The windows start to shake and the car alarm goes off.There’s a chirp and all the doors unlock. The rear door, the one by my feet, opens.

I sit up a little (might as well) and lock eyes with a blonde woman. Short hair. Big green eyes, but they’re glazed over. She looks tired, but she’s smiling. She’s holding some complicated device, as all these British fucks do- but she doesn’t look like one of them. She’s a hunter. They must’ve recruited her. Bitch. She fiddles on something on the device and the Tether stops screaming.

She pulls out a small gun and aims it right at my chest. I flip her the bird.

[thelightofthingshopedfor]

15 questions meme

tagged by @turianosauruswrex a while ago, thanks!

Are you named after someone? nope, my parents literally found my name in a baby-name book and liked the meaning (something like "of the Lord" or "gift of God").

Last time you cried? haha welllll that would probably be when Endgame came out and what I was getting from my thirdhand accounts was that not only was Loki still dead, the time travel overwrote everything, so what we were left with was a single timeline where 2012 Loki left with the Tesseract, wreaked havoc, gave it to Thanos, and died anyway, so it felt like...you know, it wasn't enough for them to kill my boy, they had to make him evil again and shit all over his memory and it seemed really awful and mean-spirited. also I think I was PMSing so that didn't help, but the result was I spent most of a day genuinely struggling not to cry. the time before that was probably back in November, the first time I walked Hazy, because she looked so much like Scully from behind and I was hit all over again with how unfair it was that he was gone and how much he'd lost over the past year or so even before he got sick. the last time I actually full-on sobbed was October 5, the day he was put to sleep. (I was also trying to get over a cold at the time and could barely talk, so the combination meant I REALLY had a terrible time making myself understood and I used up a damn mountain of Kleenex.) I really don't cry much, and maybe that's not super healthy because I hear it's supposed to be cathartic, but I don't remember ever getting that--it's just messy and I get an awful headache, and I don't so much get to a point of feeling cried out as much as I just get sick of it and make myself stop.  

Any kids? lol no. not like, living human children. I do have a "my kids" tag though. and Loki is my disaster child. and some of my action figures are my kids. I always assumed I'd have kids because it's What You Do, so I don't think I realized until at least college that it wasn't necessarily something I wanted, and then I eventually realized it was something I actively didn't want. I don't mind being an aunt, but aside from not having a chance to buy some fun baby gear I've seen (like a vampire-teeth pacifier), there is literally not a single part of the child-making-and-having process that appeals to me.

Do you use sarcasm? possibly too much. sometimes I confuse older people when I say, with obvious sarcasm based on the context, that something bad is great, and then I realize I have no idea how else to convey, like, a tiny bit of dark humor about something bad, and I’m a millennial so I gotta make those Jokes(TM) to cope  

First thing you notice about a person? I...don't know.  this always strikes me as a weird question because it's like...you mean a random person I walk past on the street, or the first thing I notice when I actually meet somebody? it depends on the person, too, because for instance if some random stranger has really rad dyed hair, I will definitely notice that and probably compliment them.

What’s your eye colour? hazelish, which is a fancier way of saying I used to think they were green but they’re more brownish than that without being outright brown.

Scary movies or happy endings? "both is good" dot gif

Special talents? ummm. I'm pretty resourceful, is that a talent? I'm often the person who goes "oh I have that in in my purse, want to use mine?" when somebody needs a bandaid, ibuprofen, a screwdriver, fingernail clippers, iPhone charger, etc., although of course the drawback to that is I'm kiiiiind of a hoarder and I'm almost incapable of packing light. finding random Loki stuff might count as a special talent at this point, idk.

Birthplace? middle of nowhere Minnesota.  

Hobbies? Reading, writing, collecting Loki stuff, attempting to customize action figures, cosplay but I'm not very dedicated or good at it, video gaaaaaames (but I’m also not very good at it)

Do you/have you played any sports? I was on the swim team in Barrow for a while but it was like...not really a competitive thing, just the next thing to do after swimming lessons. also entirely my parents' idea; I mostly hated it. (now swimming is one of the few forms of exercise I don't hate, in part because you can't feel yourself sweating when you're in the water.)

Pets? sweet but dumb Siamese-looking cat named Smocha (smoky + mocha). extremely silly, wiggly, kind of high-strung little dog named Hazy.

Height? 5' 3.75". that three-quarters of an inch is important.

Favourite subject in school? probably English because I pretty much always knew what I was doing.

Dream job? are we talking "literal dream job that doesn't actually exist because nobody would ever pay money for this" or something more realistic? because if it's the latter, I really don't know--I'd like to be a published author but not as an actual job, for instance, and at one point I thought I'd love to write for BioWare but now I think working for almost any game company would be a nightmare. if it's the former, I would like to receive a good salary and benefits to sleep as much as I want, play games, write fic, and cuddle my dog, so obviously that is never going to happen because that’s not a job.

I do not have the brain power tonight to tag anyone, sorry

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Eight: Science ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

It’s a rainy day today. Not that it matters much to Sasuke: all of his classes are indoors, and he’s got a car to drive home from school when the time comes. But for now, he’s off to his last class of the day.

Home ec.

He’s about three weeks into the school year, and he’s actually turning out to be glad he has this class. The rest of his schedule has homework like you wouldn’t believe, tests far more often than he’d like, and projects out the wazoo. So, the last hour block of his day has turned into a saving grace.

There’s no tests. Very light homework. And most of the in-class work is actually...enjoyable. It’s just a very relaxing class. The old woman teaching it seems to know that most of them aren’t really there to be professional homemakers, so she takes the whole thing a bit lightly. Most days they just go over a chapter in the book, discuss a thing or two, maybe do a worksheet...and otherwise, they’re free to practice whatever falls under the proper category. For most, that’s either sewing or cooking.

Sasuke’s taken up the latter for the most part. Turns out he’s really not that great at sewing.

Naruto still gives him daily crap about it, but it doesn’t really bother him anymore. His mother, as it turns out, is thrilled he’s taking it. She’s had him help out in the kitchen several times since starting to make dinner. And...it’s nice. He can’t remember the last time he spent a lot of time with his mother. And she seems more than pleased to have him around giving her a hand, rather than buried in his room doing homework as he is for the rest of the night.

Itachi teased him a bit about being ahead of the game when it comes to finding a spouse: surely his new skills will give him an edge. But otherwise, he’s been asking him what he’s learned whenever he comes home on the weekends to see family.

And Sasuke’s been making a new friend.

Hinata’s always his partner. She’s the only other senior, and though he’s hardly done anything intimidating, the rest of the girls seem to be far too nervous to approach him. Which he...doesn’t mind. He’s not here to rub elbows with underclassmen. He’s just here to get his miscellaneous credit and be done with it.

...but given he doesn’t have anything squared up for next semester...maybe he’ll come back to it. It’s not like he has anything else lined up.

And he enjoys the class. And his current company.

“It really is just science, you know.”

“Huh?”

Noticing he’s been spacing out, Hinata laughs softly. “Cooking! It’s all chemistry, and knowing how to use it to get the results you w-want.”

Sasuke blinks. He’s...never really thought about it that way. “Yeah, I...guess you’re right.”

“I mean...I guess I don’t know the specifics of it,” she giggles, tucking hair behind her ear. “But I know generally what happens, and why it works. One of these days, w-we should make bread! But...it takes a while. Probably too long for class…”

“I can stay after, if you want.”

That earns a blink. “...well, I don’t have volleyball tonight - our c-coach is out of town. You want to try it…?”

“Sure.”

“Okay! We actually have a bread machine here, so...that takes a lot of the work out,” she replies, giving a small smile. “Otherwise the kneading and rising are q-quite the process. We’ll have to do the whole thing another time.”

“Kneading?”

“Mhm! Mixing the dough by hand, and g-getting the right consistency. Personally I find it rather calming, but...bread can be rather temperamental! Temperature and time and all that.”

“Oh…” Mikoto’s never made bread from scratch that he can remember, so...Sasuke has no idea. “Guess I’ll take your word for it for now.”

“Don’t worry, the machine does all the hard parts. Let’s see…” Digging into a cabinet, she fetches a book that looks to be all about bread. “Hm...here we go! This recipe here is for a machine this size.”

They split up and gather the proper ingredients, of which there aren’t many. Hinata measures them out, including yeast.

“See these?”

“Uh...yeah.”

“This is yeast. They’re what make bread what it is, really.” Dumping them in, she explains, “They sort of...feed off the flour. They break it down into s-sugar, which they then metabolize, which makes carbon dioxide and alcohol! Bubbles of it form, and inflate the bread, and that’s how it rises! It also helps form gluten, which makes the dough sort of...springy! Kneading does that too. But the little paddle in there will both mix the dough, a-and knead it.”

Hinata points a finger at the little menu of controls. “So, we did a recipe for a pound and a half loaf...and we’ll do light crust. Then we just push this button, and…!”

The machine gives a whir, and Sasuke actually leans back in surprise, earning a giggle from his partner. For about a minute, it gives little spurts of movement, Sasuke peering over and watching through the glass top. Then suddenly, it barrels into a constant pace.

“It’s got several steps to go through, and it’ll even bake it when the dough’s done!”

“...why does anyone make bread by hand when there’s something like this?”

She laughs. “Well, there’s a lot of different ways to make bread, and this only does some of them. But for something basic, yeah, it’s p-pretty handy. Actually doing it all by hand is pretty fun, though...and personally I think it’s more rewarding. It’s like the brownies we made the first day! Sure, you can b-buy a box mix, and it just takes a few ingredients and some stirring. But wasn’t it fun to do it all from scratch?”

“...I guess so.”

“Overall, cooking’s really not all that complicated. Just a little math, and reading directions. You can do fancier things as you l-learn, of course...but a lot of people seem to overestimate how hard it is.”

A while later, class ends, but the pair opt to remain. Left to their own devices, they check the machine every so often, but mostly they’ve got little else to do but idle.

Which leads to browsing the net and watching videos about yeast and baking.

“See the foam?”

“Huh...so those things are alive…?”

“Yeah! It’s how they metabolize stuff to make bread rise. I told you, it’s s-science!”

Sasuke chuckles. “Yeah...math, science...guess I don’t need to be taking calculus and chemistry, do I?”

That earns a laugh.

Then, for a while, they sit atop desks and just watch the rain slither down the classroom windows. Though it’s hardly late, the sky is dark enough to make it look like evening.

“This is going to be fun to walk home in,” Hinata eventually muses.

“You walk?”

“Yeah, I only live a few blocks away.”

“I’ve got a car - I’ll give you a lift.”

“Oh, y-you don’t have to -”

“I know. I want to.”

Observing him quietly with a slow blink, Hinata breathes a small sigh of defeat.

It’s then the machine beeps.

“Oh! It’s done!” Hopping down, Hinata scurries across the room with Sasuke on her heels. “Here, we need hot pads…”

Lifting the lid, the smell of bread fills the air. A perfectly fluffy loaf is revealed, golden brown and steaming. Carefully, Hinata lifts the pan out, and with a spatula loosens it from the sides. With a shake, it plops out onto a cutting board.

The pair lean over and observe before looking to each other.

“...taadaa!”

They let it cool for a few minutes before breaking out a serrated knife, carefully cutting a few pieces. Hinata doesn’t even dress it with anything, just peeling off a chunk and eating it with a happy hum. “Mm…!”

Sasuke does the same, chewing thoughtfully before nodding. “That...is the best bread I’ve ever had.”

“N-nothing beats bread fresh out of the oven. Er...bread machine.” Eating another piece, she asks, “So? Worth the wait?”

“Oh yeah. The power of science.”

“Yummy science!”

They split the loaf in half and each take a box, Hinata gathering up her things before they both sprint to Sasuke’s car. “Holy crap, it’s r-really coming down!”

“Which is why you’re catching a ride and not walking,” Sasuke replies from the driver’s seat. Once they’re buckled in, he makes his way out of the lot and following Hinata’s directions.

“I think I might eat the rest of this while I do my homework,” she laughs, smelling the box in her lap. “You better not l-let me make another one for a while, or I’m gonna get fat.”

“Worth it, in all honesty.”

Pulling up into her driveway, he waits for her to open her umbrella out the door. “Try not to drown.”

“I think I can make it.” Stepping out, she peers back into the car. “Hey, t-thanks for making the bread with me today. That was f-fun!”

“Yeah...we’ll do it again sometime.”

“Okay! Bye, Sasuke.”

“Later.” Staying to make sure she gets in okay, Sasuke backs out and heads for home.

His car’s gonna smell like bread for a week...and it’s going to make him hungry. And also remind him of today.

Which’ll make him happy.

     Phew, it's not one am for once! xD      So this is a sequel to day ninety-eight, I believe: Sasuke's introduction to Home Ec class! Turns out he's liking it better than he'd feared. I took home ec for like...a few days in high school before switching to drama. While I LOVED drama, I'm a little sad I didn't get to take Home Ec, lol - seems like it'd be a rather low-key class.      I've also made bread in a bread machine, but...I've not bravened up to doing it all by hand yet, haha - we'll both get there one of these days! I will agree though: warm, fresh bread is hard to beat.      Anywho, that's all for today! Hope you enjoyed - thanks for reading!

[asp1990]

Day 14: Wednesday July 6th, 2022 [REYKJAVIK]

Breakfast: Toast and a coffee Lunch: Chicken Caesar salad Dinner: Lamb rump with sauteed cauliflower and roast carrots

Steps: 11,788 (at least 2000 of these were me on a scooter going over bumps haha)

We were up and out the door at 9am this morning. We got to the University in time for coffee and morning tea before going to our first, and only, workshop for the day. Zac and I signed up for a workshop run by a university tutor from Ontario and Amara and Tim were going to one about dramatic play, but the presented didn’t show up, so they came in to join us. The presenter, Claire Holland, was a great speaker and very engaging. We went through the start of a Process Drama based on the storybook The Island by Armin Greder. Everyone was very focussed, even a support person who was in assisting a woman in a wheelchair. He was adorable.

Things I learned from Claire about how she teaches pre-service teachers: ⁃ If you come from a place of privilege, you have to cater to those in your class - don’t teach what you know. What will they see themselves being represented in so that they invest? ⁃ Design your course around interests/areas of expertise among your students ⁃ Leave a week free to follow up with what students want when planning lessons ⁃ Students run warm ups as a gradual release of responsibility and helps them to have agency in the classroom ⁃ Students need descriptive and actionable feedback from teachers and students. Co-construct the criteria and what this can look like. ⁃ Do the task yourself to see what you want the students to know and design lesson around that. This will help you design assessments and rubrics that will allow the students to find more success

Our session finished at 11:45am and we went down to lunch. There were 3 salads to choose from - I chose Caesar. After that, Zac, Andrew, Tim, Amara and I scooted down to the Icelandic Phallic Museum (I’ve been mentioning this to anyone who would listen - been excited all trip!). It was heaps of fun and way fancier than I was expecting. The gift shop was excellent and we saw over 280 different penises.

Things I learned at the Icelandic Phallic Museum: ⁃ seals have the most impressive penis bones on the planet ⁃ Kangaroo penises are surprisingly small ⁃ Jimi Hendrix had a cast of his penis made and submitted to the museum ⁃ Sperm whale penis is almost as tall as Amara ⁃ There was a room of fantasy creature penises who all had their own story. My favourite was “The Hidden Man” who’s jar was empty. Very funny.

We sat in the cafe afterwards and enjoyed a Moby Dick ‘Pale Whale’ and Zac and Amara shared some dick waffles. Zac and Amara then went home to nap while Andrew, Tim and I scooted back to the uni for the afternoon SIG (special interest groups) to discuss what secondary drama looked like around the world. We’d skipped the first session so had to play catch up on what they’d been discussing with the two Finnish women who were leading it. We played some warm up games (warm indeed - everyone was sweating at the end and we had to open the door. There were no ceiling fans because it never gets that hot here!)

After that we discussed the main skills that we inadvertently teach in our classrooms and how. Our group discussed collaboration, communication, problem solving, empathy and leadership. The initial instructions were a bit confusing, but we still had a juicy conversation. We then had a whole group discussion about what we found most important and the leaders got a bit frustrated when Andrew, Jane, Tim and I were passionate and side-tracked the conversation.

The session finished at 4pm, so we scooted back to the apartment and relaxed at home until dinner at 8pm. Amara and I did a load of washing in the basement laundry room and had to use Translate to make sure we didn’t ruin our clothes.

We walked to Apotek restaurant at 7:45pm. Zac had made a booking for 8 of us to eat at a traditional Icelandic restaurant - Tim was going to try Puffin!  Andrew and I had the rack of lamb, Zac had chicken, Danni had a prawn salad and Amara, Tim & Jane had a platters with puffin, minky whale, lamb and artic char. They said it was delicious, but I’m happy to live my life not eating puffin. The lamb was divine - it came with a lovely green sauce, sautéed cauliflower and a green sauce. We also shared some truffle fries, hummus and some wine.

Post dinner, we headed back to our apartment for more drinks and chats. We were getting a bit rowdy and at 10:30pm the neighbours lingered outside our window and asked us to tone it down.

Tomorrow is the last full day of conference - we’re meant to start at 8am, but we’ll see how we go :)

[chellesofbooks]

It Happened One Summer - Book Review

Title: It Happened One Summer

Author: Tessa Bailey

Series: Bellinger Sisters #1

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Rating: ☆☆☆☆☆

"𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌, 𝑷𝒊𝒑𝒆𝒓? 𝑵𝒐. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆." 𝑯𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒖𝒑 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒉. "𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒓."

Whilst I'm a huge fan of both grumpy/sunshine and opposites attract tropes, what I loved most about this book was reading two people find the worlds/routines they knew and lived in for years were only a shell of what they could truly become. Tessa Bailey has always created interesting characters to me but I adored Piper. The intentional setup of her vapid, spoilt socialite self in the beginning was fantastic, and I loved her from the get-go. I saw her as a product of her environment, and the further we get away from her LA life, the more we get an understanding that there is so much to Piper Bellinger than what angle she looks best in taking a photo for Instagram. She's sassy, dedicated, kind, resourceful, and have a genuine knack for making people feel valued in her presence. Sure, she also loves the fancier things in life and isn't afraid to admit it. I loved watching her balance both her past and current selves and figure out what mattered most to her. Brendan is a great main character as well. He's doesn't like change, orders the same thing to avoid disappointment, and is stuck in this repeating cycle day in and out. Watching him break his routines and step out of the shadows of his former life is as rewarding as Piper's growth. The pair together push and pull well with each other and face their insecurities in a way that is commendable. The humour in this story is second to none. I was laughing from the first page, and some of the commentary from Piper and her sister Hannah had me laughing so much I had tears in my eyes. The way the sisters converse is quite entertaining, and leads to some hilarious instances. I especially loved the witty remarks between Brendan and Piper during the book. The romance is palpable from early on in the book, and it's hard for either of them to resist falling for each other. I will say that it seems to be a trend with Tessa Bailey to have characters fall rather quickly and admit they're in love early into a relationship, at least from the titles I've read by her. Whilst I wouldn't say this was a bad case of instalove, I did see their relationship as quite fast-paced and was a little surprised by the pair expressing their love for one another when they did - even if it was delivered in a natural and delightful way. The spice was through the roof, as I expected it to be, and I guess with a physical connection like that, maybe the ILY's are easier to say earlier, haha! The angst was balanced really well in this book. I liked seeing both Piper and Brendan navigate their way through the stormy weather thrown at them and find their footing again. I did find the ending a little rushed once the last obstacle was over. Otherwise, it was a sweet enclosure for this couple, with a hopeful opening for the second Bellinger novel to continue well with.

[sovonight]

alright i’ve gone through the rest of blacklight journal 3 (and took some blurry pics which i’ve uploaded here! somewhat incomplete, but i was mainly going for the invisible ink content anyway. the ink has a hard time glowing when there’s black ink behind it-- it looks clear in person, i promise!)

and now my opinions,

reading through the whole book again: GOD I LOVE FORD SO MUCH

tho ford’s handwriting is as much of a pain to read as i remember. it’s only slightly less painful because i’ve read the journal before and know what to expect. tbh the kids’ entries were a breath of fresh air

some of the journal entries have been extended/embellished in non-invisible content, right? fancier paper can’t be the only thing that made the journal thicker, and there’s definitely stuff i don’t remember reading from the regular journal

yo ford brings up social interaction up a lot but like, at least he had college friends, plural

“This guy should spend less time reaping and more time at the gym!” i still can’t get over ford’s transition from scrawny nerd to buff nerd. who woulda thought.

it was nice to have the caesar/atbash/a1z26 ciphers written out! it holds little practical use, but i just think the tiny letters look cute

ford’s silly and i love him

“The thought that Earth is being used for extraterrestrial advertisement depresses me deeply” -- you and me both, bud. finally an opinion of ford’s pertaining to aliens that i can agree with

canon tarot card assignments! and some of them even line up with these

ford could possibly have been coming up with a catchy nickname for weirdmageddon for 30 whole years, and weirdmageddon is what he decided on. after 30 possible years of deliberation.

“I also tried to choose which theoretical physics books would be most fun to spend 50 years rereading, but they’re all so great I couldn’t decide!“ NERD

i sat there for a good 2 seconds until i decided that rather than the usual cipher, it must be a word scramble. then it made sense

“absolutely, unequivocally not” lollll

i want to see what ford was like when he was compiling journal 2. also, what on earth possessed him to leave his most dangerous journal at an elementary school? come on, man!

that lil frowny face

i trust that retina damage statement bc my eyes hurt from constantly flipping the lights on and off while trying to read ford’s passages

all post-finale fanfiction where ford does NOT eventually get bionic eyes is now non-canon-compliant

thank goodness, ford went straight for the newspapers. at least i got 1 headcanon right

god, ford, why would it be whales? it’d be octopuses! octopuses are where it’s at

“Air is great. Really can’t overemphasize how great air is“ god i love him

"Check out the Eurythmics’ latest chart-topper!” 1) oh thank goodness, now i know i could listen to his music, 2) finally someone else who uses s’ rather than s’s, 3) prepare for a world of disappointment my man because literally none of the things you’ve been listing is happening

i assumed that because i’d already decoded everything in the regular journal, i’d have decoded most of what’s in the blacklight version, so i mostly ignored the cryptograms this time around. if i’m wrong, though, that leaves a treat for future me!

a whole initiation ceremony and everything! ford knows what’s up

but honestly though, i decoded that last sentence at the end and tossed the blacklight onto my bed w a sound, smiling-- it’s official-feeling, you know? what a nice little addition. makes the silliness i feel in doing it feel unfounded

gf just brings this feeling of childhood & adventure & possibility that i haven’t rly had since like, elementary and middle school. and not just that, it makes me feel like there’s more out there and that feeling like there’s more isn’t...silly. it brought the magic back, u guys. i might cry.

again, i wish i’d had gravity falls as a kid, but i guess i’m close enough. and at least with this timing i get to drop $150 on a copy of my favorite character’s research journal! i needed a job to make this purchase

also, i saw the bit of discontentment around the journal numbers that went out (you know, whatever # out of 10000 and all that) and though i kind of did hope for lower digits since i ordered practically on the day it went up, the number i did get is pretty nice! sixes and ones, plus it’s reversible. i would’ve found something to like in any number i got, really. trying to exercise my optimism more

and using post-it notes to stick the photos/inserts back on is working out pretty well! thanks for the suggestion. they come off if i’m not careful enough when turning the page, but i’d rather they come off than stick forever haha. i wonder how they got the photos on so neatly in the first place? what a small margin for error

and there it is, back in its cozy packaging, ready to be buried in the forest somewhere!

ive appreciated the good times but it’s too expensive for me to regularly handle-- i’ll damage my regular copy of journal 3, thanks!

[colourline]

15 ways to take care of yourself through the winter depression + a Spotify-playlist

If you're living in the northern part of the world like me, you're in the winter season which also means a lot less daylight. For some, this means that the mood sometimes drops a few levels.. and then it's extra important to be gentle and patient with yourself.  Someone I know who struggles with winter depression reached out to me and asked for some advice or things to do when the winter depression is sneaking up on us. I thought she probably wasn't the only one going through this. I know what depression can feel like, but again depression feels different to different people, but I've written some things I know have either helped me or others. And even if you're not a sufferer, we all need some self-care now and then.  There are different things that work for different kind of people. One thing can be a stress-factor for some and a stress-reliever for others. Find what works for you. Our bodies and minds respond differently to different things..

Here are some ways you can take extra good care of yourself this winter.. 

 Check in with yourself. I received an advice ones, she told me that every morning before she went out of bed, she would ask herself what she had the energy to do that day. She would really check in with herself and be honest. This may take some practice, especially if you have ignored your feelings and body's needs for a long time. The less you've taken care of yourselves, the less you probably have the energy to do, but the more you practise self-care the better your body will feel. Some days don't have the energy to plan a week ahead, some days it's enough just "planning" the day in front of you. Some days it's necessary to take one day at a time. And that's o k a y .   

Eat breakfast in bed. Some days it's just too much to leave bed, but it can also make us feel even more hopeless. Why not make your own little shelter in bed. Camp there. Bring a cup of tea (the bigger the cup the better). Sometimes I feel good enough to do some "work" (like writing a blog post) in bed. Other times all I can do is read a book or watch Netflix (but let's be mindful of what we watch, sometimes what we watch make us feel even worse about ourselves). Again, it all depends on what we need. No shame in staying in bed. ;)  

Organise your Pinterest boards. Okay okay, listen.. for some this can feel like a totally unnecessary chore, if so.. then don't! BUT if you're like me and you like organising (bonus: while looking at pretty pictures) then I've found this is perfect for me! I still feel somehow productive and cleaning out old pins actually makes me feel a little better. It's always good cleaning out. On my Pinterest boards whenever I need inspiration, and then I always appreciate that I cleaned up (it's also interesting to see how your personal style & taste develops over time, I should totally write a blogpost about that some time!) and Pinterest's algorithms will know better what to show you.  

Pin some quotes. ..talking about Pinterest, when I burned out last year I dedicated a whole Pinterest board to self-care. It's called // care, love + grow yourself and I'll link to it right here. So if you're in need of some self-affirmation, good quotes or just wanna read something encouraging - check it out and pin away!  

Occupy your mind. I'm all about feeling your feelings and give yourself time to listen to what your heart is telling you aka. not pretending like you don't have feelings, BUT there are times when the mind just won't shut up. I usually explain it as "a war in my head". Now, you only know yourself if you're just avoiding your own feelings, please don't do that, eventually, they will find a way out. When all that is said, I have days when my anxiety is sky-high and my depression keeps re-playing "the-bad-memories-movie" to me. And no matter how many times I try to think about something else, it just doesn't work. It keeps screaming. Music doesn't even work for me on those days. It just brings up even more memories, weird situations or dramas that doesn't even exist. If you've struggled with your mental health, I'm sure some of this sounds familiar. On days like this, I try to distract my brain so that I drown the war going on in there. But as always, there can be good and bad ways of doing that. When I'm feeling like this I like listening to a podcast, reading, writing, declaring, watching something I enjoy, makes me laugh or fills me with inspiration.  

Listen to podcasts. When music doesn't work for me, a podcast does. Then I'm focusing on someone else's voice. Or an audiobook if you're into that. And I can either learn something new, be inspired or enjoy some good entertainment.  

Read. If you can focus enough, then read. A book (check my recommendations: "Stuff that shaped me"), a magazine, a blog, some old cards or maybe a dairy from your childhood. I've found that whenever I enter into another world my minds get occupied, just great! Or if I find a blog I really like, I keep on finding new blogposts I wanna read (I recommend Ashley Morgan Jackson and A Girl Named Leney). When all that is said, even though I love to read, sometimes I just can't. I just get too distracted all the time.. and then I forget where I left and you know.. It's better to stop and do something else for a while.  

Write. Write something. It's a good way to get feelings out of your system. Or just get down on paper all the things swirling around in your head. If it's about a person, write them a letter and burn it.. or hide it, it's up to you. I actually wrote a letter to someone. I was tired of hearing their judging comments in my mind and needed it to stop. It actually helped me - I even shared it with you. Go leave a nice comment on someone's instagram post. We can all use some love. And what a beautiful thing it is to be supportive of others. Or maybe write a song? It works for the brilliant songwriters like Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran. Let me make it a cliche, write your heart out.  

Watch. Your favourite YouTubers. Or a great movie (May I recommend The Shack? This is an affiliate link, but 100% my opinion) If I need to focus on happier things I either go to my Pinterest board dedicated to The Cat Family. Cats always make me happy. There are so many photos, memes, videos.. may I recommend videos of cats getting scared of cucumbers for an instant laugh?! They're always a joy watching. Especially when you live a place where you're not allowed pets. If you like some food for your mind I also made a playlist out of my favourite bodypositive & mental health videos.  

Talk to someone. Skype a friend who lives far away. Call your parents or grandparents. Sometimes when we feel lonely or a bit sad is because we simply haven't spoken to a living human being.  

Fingerpaint. I know it sounds like something a kindergarten would do, but getting all the tools away and litereally using your body, your hand, your fingers to *smoosh* out the paint. Feel the texture. Play around. Let go of all the pressure to create something pretty. Use some colours that fit your mood and make those fingers work!  

Create a "hygge" atmosphere. It's actually gramatically incorrect, it should say "hyggelig", but since it's the noun version that's taken the world by storm, and probably the only one you recognize then I'll be a little gramatically incorrect, just for you, haha. I actually created a Pinterest board (has the fact that I'm a Pinterest freak sinked in yet? #noshame) it's called hygge by a danish girl. Yes I'm danish. I'm born in the country of hygge; Denmark. Any other danes out there? If you check out the board, you'll know it's the real deal ;) Anyways, whenever I'm feeling a bit weird or in need of some mood-boosters. I put on some of my favourite music, I light up al the candles, I mean ALL the candles, I'll find more if I need too. Make myself a hot cup of tea with milk! I might even make myself a little snack platter with whatever I find like some fruit slices, buiscuits, candy, some yoghurt with müsli.. you name it. Bring out your favourites and when you display it all on a plate it looks fancier, feels more luxurious and might even taste better (no promises). A blanket. Depending on what you need or want you can bring over a friend, a pet, a little brother, a book, a movie.. you name it, but creating a hygge-atmosphere can make it feel more homely. And a nice treat for ourselves. Sometimes just doing something for ourselves can make us feel better. 

Listen to some upbuilding music. I don't think it's a secret that music can make us feel things and we can resonate with the words. As promised in the title, I created a spotify-playlist filled with songs that bring hope, bring courage, take away fear and makes us feel less alone or makes us wanna change the world. It's called Fight for yourself-playlists. I believe the words we say and listen to effects us more than we know. I try my best to fill my playlists with good music - especially lyric wise. There's a lot of lyrics filled with destructive thinking, not honourable and disrespectful behaviour, not to mention words I'd never say out loud.  Feel free to share the playlist! (will continue to update it, so send me your suggestions!)

Create a self-care-box. Or feel-good-box. Whatever you wanna call it. Fill it with nice things. Like letters and cards you appreciate, cute notes, maybe your favourite perfume, some good-smelling soap, photos of people that make you smile, some nostalgic things from your childhood, your favourite snack (check the expiration date first!), some dried flowers, facemasks, a good hand cream, maybe even some scrubs, things that make you smile, feel better and taken care of.. you name it. I even have a album with screenshots on my phone of every time I receive a message or nice comment I wanna remember. I call it my happy album, with lots of emojis. One can never have too many emojis.  

Paint your nails & wear some lipstick. What nonsense. You serious? Yes. I've sometimes felt a bit of shame if I used "too much" time in front of a mirror, but you know what? I've found that when I've played around with some makeup, I've actually enjoyed myself. I've used time on me. I took care of me, myself and I. Even if I were just to spend the day at home, by myself. I did it for me, not for you. Actually; painting my nails has worked as a stress-reliever for me. Such a small weird thing, but first of all; it makes me happy to look at my pretty painted nails (as long as they're not chipped), we look at them all day long and the process of creating some art on my body has made me feel better. I've heard others talk about the power of putting on some lipstick. It's not the lipstick in itself that brings magic, but the symbol of putting on putting on some war-paint on our lips actually does something to our psyche. Believe it or not. It's a little like putting on a uniform. If you've ever worn a uniform or if you have a special dress code to work, you know that it makes a difference. Imagine a lawyer in a jumpsuit!? Or a cop in a dress? How we dress makes us look differently at ourselves and at others. It's not just about judging people, it's about what signals we send out to ourselves and each other, but let's stay on track. Putting on a little lipstick or painting your nails may not transform you, but can make a little difference in how we proceed ourselves. And on days we might not feel like dressing up (we all have those days) a little lipstick will do. And you know what, you guessed it: I have a Pinterest board for that too. It's called // hair & beauty  (I've organized them into different sections, so it's easier getting what you/I want ;) You're welcome)  

If you've got anything you do that helps you when you're feeling low or some self-care tips, feel free to share with us in the comments.  I wish you the best winter. I want you to know that this is a safe place. I hope you can feel less alone when you're visiting my online home. Know that the bad days won't last forever and that even the queen has days she doesn't feel good. You're not alone in this. If it encouraged you, please share it and pass it on to people you think could need a little extra encouragement, I mean who doesn't?  Thank you for reading. Thank you for being you! // Line Thybo Xx

[closetofanxiety]

Show Review: MOTHER F’IN FIP’S “EVERYTHING BURNS” YOU MOTHER FERS!!!!

First of all: FUCK!! Second of all: FUUUUCK!!! Third of all: FERNSSSSSSS!

This is the new FIP, you silly motherfuckers! NO RULES! NO DISQUALIFICATIONS! NO LIMITS! NO TV-PG BULLSHIT! NO LOGIC! NO PACING! NO IDEA WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING FOR THE FIRST HALF OF THE SHOW!

LET’S REVIEW THIS MOTHERFUCKING WRESTLING SHOW, MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!

As you can maybe tell, this is a different FIP. New year, new FIP. Always the weird afterthought promotion in Gabe Sapolsky’s arsenal of brands, the idea is apparently to give Full Impact Pro an Attitude Era-makeover for the FloSlam era. And while it’s not fair to judge a rebranding based on one event, I will say that during the show last night, wrestling Twitter was so aghast that people were floating the possibility this was a deliberate sabotage job on Gabe’s part. Personally, I found myself enjoying it in a semi-horrified, what-will-they-do-next way that certainly wasn’t present during Saturday’s Style Battle snooze fest. LET’S TAKE A LOOK AT WHAT GABE IS HILARIOUSLY CALLING #CARWRECKWRESTLING:

The event: FIP “Everything Burns” (though they should have called it Everything Ferns because of the greenery, haha zing)

The location: What appears to be a plant-crowded atrium in an office building in (Hold Steady guy voice) YBOR CITY

The crowd: A handful of increasingly irritated, shivering Floridians

Incomprehensible, Partially Silent Brawl

I only discovered by reading on the Internet later that this was a “Get the Contract Fight For All” match, in which the winner received a title shot later in the evening. It was hard to discern any of this because the live feed began after the event had already started, and with no sound. So what I saw was Su Yung (yay!) swinging the Singapore cane at a variety of indie wrestlers, including Sami Callihan, Dezmond Xavier, Dave Crist, AR Fox, the Viking War Party, and some others. The prospect of a Su Yung-Sami Callihan showdown was maybe too good for this world, because at some point Teddy Stigma came into the ring with a baseball bad wrapped in barbed wire, Su did a tope suicide to the outside, and a woman in a tight dress awarded Teddy the contract. Rating: I cannot rate this.

“American Viking” Alexander Rudolph vs. Billy Barboza

After the incomprehensible, partially silent brawl, a guy who looks like a discount version of Screech (identified as, I think, Evil Weevil) came out with a wrestler who Dylan Hales accurately described as “a rich man’s GG Allin.” I guess this is Billy Barboza. Evil Weevil waves a book around and says these degenerates aren’t good enough for a Billy Barboza match. That’s pretty cutting, all things considered. Anyway, the big terrifying one from Viking War Party runs out and there’s a match. I guess Viking War Part broke up? I’m bummed about that. Anyway, this is a sloppy mess. Evil Weevil interferes, but to no avail. Rudolph wins. Rating: One fucking fern.

Sammy Guevara and Dezmond Xavier vs. OI4K (Sami Callihan and Dave Crist)

Oh shit, business about to pick up! This is gonna be good! This is gonna be - OK, Darby Allin (a middle class man’s GG Allin) comes out. And is doing his spooky man thing. OK, whatever, let’s get to the match. Because this match will be - OK, Allin is asking everyone if they know “Uncle John.” People on wrestling Twitter indicate that this is some kind of coded reference they know. I am an outsider, though, and do not understand. I don’t have an Uncle John, incidentally. I have an Uncle Jim, in Illinois, who my grandparents were suspicious of because he came from the Belgian part of town. Seriously, they had bigoted stereotypes of Belgians. Small-town Midwest, folks. Anyway, it turns out they should have been wary for other reasons, because Uncle Jim has always been a bit of a dope. Wait, where were we? OK, Guevara and Xavier don’t know Uncle John, but Callihan and Crist do, and this knowledge means they get to kick Xavier and Guevara in their respective faces and then leave the ring. Huh. Rating: No match, no rating.

[Throughout this whole show, in between matches, there’s a woman in a tight dress - though not the same woman from the incomprehensible, partially silent brawl - and a guy in jeans and a sport coat who comes across like the guy you know from high school who’s always bragging about how successful he is even though he keeps getting fired from low-level sales jobs and can only see his kids every other holiday. This guy is Gabe Sapolsky’s edginess avatar, because, for no reason, he keeps saying the word “fuck” while announcing the next match. He is amazing and I treasure him]

Three-Way Dance: Jason Cade vs Jason Kincaid vs AR Fox

I briefly got excited, before Fox came out, that this match would have a stipulation in which the loser had to change his name to something that didn’t sound like the winner’s name, but alas. Anyway, AR Fox is here, and he is always great, and was the best thing about Style Battle and - Oh, I see. Darby Allin is back, this time with Callihan and Crist, and they’re doing another round of introductions on behalf of Uncle John. My name’s Tom, and I have a niece and nephew who are very young, and they of course call me “Uncle Tom,” and let me tell you, that can be dicey. Anyway, neither Cade nor Kincaid no Uncle John, but Fox does, and so the Friends of Uncle John beat up the other guys. The crowd at this point is basically at the end of its rope. “We want a match!” a woman screams. I hear you, madame. I do, too. Rating: no rating.

Aria Blake vs. Priscilla Kelly

I like both these wrestlers, although Kelly has a lot more evident promise. She’s really coming along fast. This is a lot like a match on the Shine undercard: short, a little sloppy, but with some good moments. Not bad. Blake wins, which upsets Kelly, who grabs the microphone and ... oh boy, she’s a friend of Uncle John, too. The Uncle John Fanciers come out and beat up Blake, and then the other victims of Uncle John run out and there’s shouting, and buddy, we got an eight-man tag team set for our main event. Rating: Two fucking ferns.

Anthony Henry w/Amber Young vs. Austin Theory

I really like Henry, and Theory impressed me a lot in his match on Saturday with Fox, so I had high hopes for this. Before the match, Dante Brown came out to jabberjaw, and it really felt like the crowd was on the verge of mutiny. Not that they were going to walk out, more like they were going to kill Dante and seize control of the booking, and force Henry and Theory to have a normal match, at machetepoint. (Everyone in Florida has a machete, btw). Dante was out there to bet money on the outcome of this predetermined wrestling match, which is something people actually do. He and Amber Young bet on it. Anyway, this was a really good match. Henry is a stud and really needs to get known outside the balmy southeastern United States. He’s fast, athletic, and can be a stiff motherfucker, as he is in this match, which at times almost seems to approach worked-shoot territory (I mean, not really, but holy shit is Henry stiff here). Theory wins with his feet on the ropes, in a true Shine finish. After the match, it turns out Amber Young doesn’t have any money, and so Dante will happily take his payment in the form of .... SEXXX. THIS AIN’T YOUR FATHER’S F-I-P, BROTHER! IT’S YOUR UNCLE JOHN’S F-I-P! Gabe was a student at Temple when he started working for ECW, and this is very ECW. Anyway, we don’t get to watch sex, because Amber young slaps Dante and she and Anthony Henry leave. “She didn’t want your nasty ass!” a woman yells at Dante. That’s probably a shoot, brothers. Rating: Three and a half fucking ferns.

Florida Heritage Championship: Martin Stone (c) vs Jon Davis

Boy, “Florida Heritage Championship” sounds pretty musty, doesn’t it? I bet UNCLE JOHN would have a better name for it - maybe, like, the Gator State Sick Ass Mother Fer Championship!! Anyway, this match is a weirdly paced affair. Stone, a Britisher in the grand tradition of Johnny Saint et al, wants a proper submission wrestling match with finger bending and chinlocks, and Davis, I guess, doesn’t? Anyway, Stone keeps interrupting the match to cut promos. That might have been fine on a normal show, but this is the new F-I-P, MOTHER FER. And it comes across as a little tiresome. At one point, one of the commentators says, “Martin Stone is the best technical wrestler in the world,” which, uh. I mean, he’s good. I like him. He’s good. But he’s arguably not even the best technical wrestler on the card, since Fred Yehi is here. At another point, one of the commentators says, “If it weren’t for these rule changes, Jon Davis would have been DQ’d for using karate.” Yeah, that’s something I’ve definitely seen a thousand times in wrestling. So many disqualifications for karate. Anyway, at some point Martin Stone realizes that in the new FIP, there ARE NO RULES, so he just hits Davis in the face with a chain and wins the match. Rating: Two and a half fucking ferns.

FIP World Tag Team Championship: The Hooligans (c) vs Drennen and Parrow

Finally, things seem like they’re getting on track, wrestling-wise. I love the Hooligans, because fat shoeless hillbillies are some of my all-time favorite wrestlers, particularly when they are fearless of personal injury, as Devin and Mason Cutter are. Drennen and Parrow sounds like the name of an underachieving law firm, which is about right: Parrow is a big due who moves well, and Drennen is apparently going for something like a cross between Bray Wyatt and a snarky record store clerk. This match is full of chair shots and table spots and all kinds of mayhem and is a genuine blast. The Hooligans retain, and after it’s over Jeans and Sport Coat guy says it was way better than that “Okada and Omega shit” and the crowd boos. “I’m entitled to my own fucking opinion!” he says. EAT YOUR FUCKING HEART OUT, HOWARD FINKEL! Rating: Three fucking ferns.

FIP World Heavyweight Championship: Fred Yehi (c) vs Teddy Stigma

The announcers got pissy in the previous match when Jeans and Sport Coat Guy called it an “FIP Tag Team Championshp” match, because, they huffed, it’s an FIP WORLD Tag Team championship. Their top singles belt is also a WORLD title, although I don’t think anyone recognizes it as such, and I’m not sure it’s ever been defended outside metropolitan Tampa. Regardless, Fred Yehi is the man who holds it, and he has a great match here against a very game Teddy Stigma. Yehi combines an almost collegiate athleticism with a real nasty streak in a way that makes him compelling (except in EVOLVE, Land of Dull Wrestling). This is just a terrific match, which ends with a bag full of bottle caps, and Fred Yehi locking in the Koji Clutch while grinding Teddy Stigma’s face into the barbed wire wrapped around a baseball bat. And yet, no blood. Blood is well and truly over in wrestling, folks. Except for Christopher Daniels, who’s sort of like Gordie Howe when he played for the Whalers at this point: he refused to wear a helmet, and everyone was too scared to make him. After the match, Jeans and Sport Coat Guy started apologizing for his remarks about Okada-Omega but then SWERVE, HE WAS JUST FUCKIN KIDDING, YOU PUSSIES, WHAT HE MEANT TO SAY WAS THAT YEHI-STIGMA BLEW THAT OKADA-OMEGA BULLSHIT RIGHT OUTTA THE WATER! Wrestling Twitter was so aghast, and I was delighted. This fucking guy! Rating: Four fucking ferns.

Uncle John’s Friends (Darby Allin, Sami Callihan, Dave Crist, AR Fox) w/Priscilla Kelly vs Jason Cade, Jason Kincaid, Dezmond Xavier, and Sammy Guevara w/Aria Blake

This was a complete fucking blast from start to finish. I mean, let’s first acknowledge how great an Allin-Callihan-Crist-Fox-Kelly faction would be, and then let’s move on to the match, which was the equivalent of an eight-course meal consisting entirely of dessert. High spot after high spot after high spot, to the point where I started to wonder if Jim Cornette was on the phone with a federal judge trying to obtain an injunction against the match. After a while, I became completely numb to each successive, incredibly risky, maneuver, and just let it wash over me. This is wrestling in 2017, you F’ers. This is #carwreckwrestling. This is magnificent. I had won the battle over myself. I loved Big Gabe. I donned a sports coat and jeans and flipped off a picture of Kenny Omega. I was at one with the FIPiverse. Uncle John’s Friends win, and we don’t learn who Uncle John is. In a way, it doesn’t matter. We’re all Uncle John now. Rating: You can’t rate the fucking whirlwind, motherfuckers.

[joweinainjapan-blog]

1st Week of Work at the BoE

I did it! 1 full week, albeit a really nice and easy 8:30am-12pm day, for 5 whole days! In terms of hours, this is nothing... but adjusting to a different workplace environment, speaking another language, and working on lesson plans while also trying not to get bored because I feel like I’m rather efficient is kinda difficult. Also, I was still worrying about my residence card, when I was gonna get a Japanese SIM card, when I was gonna get my curtains hung up, when I was gonna get my internet, and also when I was gonna open my bank account. Whew! I told you I had a lot of things on my mind.

Luckily, many problems got solved this week! I now have a Japanese SIM card, my curtains have been hung up, and my bank account is opened and my bank card should be in my mailbox next week! Woohoo! All that’s left is for my new bed to get here and for my apartment to have WiFi!

Now, some non-personal actual working at the BoE reflection... Everyone at the office is dressed rather casually, which is great in my opinion because I don’t really like wearing fancier attire and also because I don’t really have any. For the most part, people just wear nicer pants (black or khaki colored) and either a polo shirt or a white button up shirt (long sleeves and short sleeves) without a tie or a jacket! So... business casual basically. This works well with my wardrobe because I pretty much only have business casual clothing haha... The funniest or most interesting part though is that even in the office people wear the pink Japanese indoor slippers! So everyone looks nice from the feet up!

Also, there is still definitely a slight sexist tilt because this one girl always brings out the cold tea when she’s at the office. But I’ve received no other indication that women are treated differently than men, which is lovely.

At work this week, I created a presentation (or big “flash cards” for the younger grades) and accompanying quiz worksheets (only for the older kids) about myself as part of my self-introduction lesson I’ll be teaching the first week of classes in September. Today, I made my “script” for what I’m gonna say while presenting/teaching. Of course I know that things will change on the fly and I’m presenting about myself so there’s no real mistake I can make because I know the answer or could make up one, but it’s nice for my type A personality to get it all written out even if it’s not gonna go according to plan (because at least I tried and also thought about it a lot both literally and hypothetically). Next week, I plan on breaking down a couple books and figuring out how I can use them in the classroom.

Oh, I almost forgot 2 surprises this week: 1. I received a bag of fruit from the head of the BoE this week too! There were japanese grapes, mandarins, and a massive intensely perfumed peach. (Can confirm that it was indeed delicious!) 2. I got to do yoga for free in the BoE’s gym today for 1 hour! It was a whole bunch of お祖母さん and お爺さん or grandmas and grandpas and also おじさん and おばさん or uncles and aunts with a select few 若者 or young people including me, the instructor, and the 2 ladies to my right. It was a bit odd because we held every pose (the easy and the difficult) for 6 counts and there wasn’t much of a flow so much as a series of poses that I couldn’t really see how they were related. Overall, not a bad experience though because I got to do yoga (for free) at work on a Friday!