#much more expensive than if i bought ikea

[54prowl]

going into adulthood, I made a list of things I will not buy for cheap solely for quality of life. something as simple as the quality of paper towels or the softness of your sheets can make or break you.

go get yourself that expensive AND better quality thing.

[personasintro]

hey!! can you make a mini imagination of where y/n and jk are sort of arguing like kids and she kisses jungkook’s cheek from mh?

i think it would be really cute to see his reaction :)

Unedited.

— this is not officially a part of the story, think of it as a scenario of how it would look like if this kind of argument happened :]

“Y/N?”

Jungkook’s voice booms throughout his apartment causing you to sit up from your relaxed position on his couch.

Usually, when Jungkook calls out to you his voice is… calm and sweet. This time though, it sounds loud and almost panicked which makes you alarmed.

“Yeah?” you yell back, already standing up to see what’s that about.

“Can you come here for a sec, please?”

“Already on my way.” you tell him louder, reaching the bathroom with the door left ajar.

There he is.

Jungkook stands there next to the washing machine, the door from it opened with a half of clean clothes in his big turquoise IKEA basket. Some of it stays in the washing machine which makes you question if you screwed up one of his expensive shirts. Not that you know of. You’re a pro when it comes to washing and doing laundry.

“What softener did you use?”

You frown, confused and puzzled by the question that sounds way too serious. “That one.”

Jungkook follows where your finger is pointing at and his mouth open when he sees the fabric softener you bought yesterday.

“What’s that face for?”

“What face?” he questions, frowning.

“You look like I committed a crime. So… what’s up?”

Jungkook looks almost offended for some reason and you hold back your laughter.

“I told you to use the softener I have right here.” he says and shows the one he’s been using for ages.

The truth is, the combination of products he uses is divine. It not only reminds you of him and your clothes smell like his (minus his cologne and fragrance), the scent itself is very nice. Although, after some time you can’t smell it just as much and you thought buying an extra softener for a change would be nice.

It’s the one you’ve used for your own laundry back at home. Now that you’re staying at Jungkook’s place for the time being, you wanted to help. Even though he never wanted you to buy anything in the first place. But when have you ever obeyed everything he asked for? Besides, it’s not that big of a deal at all.

Jungkook’s face tells a different story though.

“Umm…” you prolong, not sure what to say. “Mine smells nice too.”

“It does but I’m used to this one.” he argues, holding up the bottle of his softener which causes you to snicker.

He frowns.

“Are you laughing?”

“I’m trying not to.”

“You’re mean.” he comments.

You gasp, laughing now. “I am mean? You’re the one who’s frowning and pouting because of a freaking fabric softener. Why does it matter?”

“Because it does!” he exclaims, bottom lip sticking out. Jeon Jungkook is freaking pouting and you don’t know whether to laugh, take this seriously or coo at him. “I told you. I’m using this one all the time, I’m using to it.”

“Do you have some kind of allergy or something?”

He sighs, “Just a preference.”

“I was the one doing the laundry this time, so I used that one purely for a change. Didn’t know you would make a fuss about it.”

He looks taken aback. “I’m not making a fuss!”

You raise your brow at him, pointing at his defensive posture as he quickly stands up and tries to act casual. That alone makes you giggle under your breath but he does not look amused.

“Great. Now you’re fucking with me.”

“Jungkook, I am not.” you laugh some more, clearing your throat when he looks more frustrated than seconds ago. “I’ll use the white one from now on, alright?”

He sighs, looking away for a second as he shrugs. “Great, now I feel like a dick.”

“Kook, no!” you assure him, smiling.

“But in my defense, you might’ve had a laundry duty but I told you specifically what to use.”

“I’m not a dumb bitch, Jungkook.” you frown at his informative tone.

“I didn’t say you’re a dumb bitch!”

“You make it look like it though!”

Jungkook leans against the washing machine, muscles bulging out as he takes a few deep breaths. “Forget whatever I said.”

You stand there, watching him with head hanging low before he looks up. He doesn’t look at you straight away but his eyes dance across the wall in front of him before he finally breaks and looks at you. Eyes huge and doe like an innocent boy (you know he’s nothing like that), you know he feels like a dick.

Chuckling under your breath, you tug onto his sleeve which makes him straighten up his posture. With an amused smile and spark in your eyes, you kiss his cheek.

It’s quick when you pull away, finding his confused gaze. “Did you just kiss me?”

“I kissed your cheek.” you inform him.

“My cheek is a part of me.”

You roll your eyes. “You were cute.”

His eyes widen, “I am not cute.” he argues.

Laughing, you pat his arm. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

He scoffs, loudly and trying to appear bigger by flexing his muscles.

“Are you gonna finish the laundry or should I?”

His frown is gone, expression turning more serious. “I’ll do it.”

[aledethanlast]

Neil Josten arrives at Palmetto on the first week of August. The air is so thick with moisture it threatens to drown him right here in the middle of the parking lot, where the sun can bake him for the carrion.

He wants to hate this place. If he weren't sent here to play exy, he probably would. As it is, he has to settle for bone-deep suspicion, because this is too much of a good thing for his handlers to give him with no strings attached.

Neil's trolley glides smoothly across the tarmac, still black from a recent recoating. There's an expensive looking car parked right by the entrance, probably belonging to the team's coach, and Neil feels a small pang of longing for his bike. His handlers confiscated it, claiming it's "too flashy". He's pretty sure they just took it to have a hostage, in the absence of any family they could threaten.

The large door is unlocked, and the lounge within well lit. He can hear sounds from the direction of the inner court, but for now his attention comes to the large tattooed man who's face he was shown just two days ago.

Neil's considers stammering, then decides to change tacks. "Coach Wymack," he says in an American Midwest accent. Confidently, but with relief, like a lost lamb happy to find something familiar.

"You must be Neil Josten," Wymack says, pushing himself off the arm of the couch. He'd been waiting for Neil, otherwise he would have been with his players further inside. Neil meets him halfway for a handshake and overcompensates on the grip. "Haven't been to the dorms yet, then?" Neil shakes his head. "That's fine. After this I'm heading over anyway to help the rest of the team move in. You can leave the trolley here if you like."

"I'd rather it stay with me," Neil says, and gives the words an edge. Makes his gaze a dare. Wymack doesn't so much as lift an eyebrow. He just leads Neil down the hall to his office and let the desk split them apart as they sit. It's cluttered but not messy. The paper tag on the back of Wymack's swivel chair says Ikea, and Neil has a hunch it was bought on the same day as the desk.

"Was the flight in alright?" Wymack asks.

Softball question. "Oh, I didn't fly in. I was already in North Carolina so Dave just dropped me off here."

"Dave being David Browning, your parole officer."

Neil nods. "He said you've met already?"

"Briefly." He sits back, considering Neil. Unsure what the man is looking for, he considers Wymack back. "What's your story, kid?"

Neil doesn't hesitate. He didn't spend the past two days hammering out his cover story to stumble right out the gate. Step one: don't actually tell him the story. "How do you mean?"

Wymack reaches past his computer speakers to slap a thin file between them. "There are three pages in this file. One has your description and basic the medical history from your time in juvenile detention. Attached to that is your audition CD. The next two pages are instructions for your parole and what allowances I can give you within them."

He pushes the file aside. "Needless to say, there's absolutely nothing in here I can work with."

"They could've sent you more."

"Yes, but they can also lie to me."

"I can lie to you."

"But if you lie to me first I can choose to believe you anyway."

The basis of a good cover is to mix it in with enough facts that the answers feel natural. So when Neil rolls his eyes like he thinks this whole thing is stupid, it's because he really does think this whole thing is stupid.

Nevertheless. "Parents were assholes so I left home. Got caught burning some shit—"

"What kind of shit?"

"I think it was a bank. Anyways, went to juvie in Arizona, warden was a bitch so I got transferred to Colorado, warden got sick of me so I transferred to North Carolina, warden figured giving me parole is easier than transferring me to prison when I hit 18."

Technically, all of those points were true. The lie lay in the omission.

The bank he'd burned down was in Belize, but when the British caught him getting off the boat in Honduras they were actually expecting someone else.

Arizona and Colorado were little more than couple-week bookends on a two-year string of assignments in the Balkans. Then it was Singapore, which he'd turned into Israel, and THEN he got shipped off to North Carolina.

Wymack nods along. "So why are you really here?"

"To play exy," Neil says sarcastically.

"Alright, let's try again: what is the FBI looking for, that you think is minor enough to be worth playing snitch?"

"They think there's a tie between exy and organized crime." Which is true, and Nathaniel is living proof. "Which is obviously the dumbest thing I've ever—"

"No, it's true," Wymack says, flipping a cool penny into the rails of Neil's train of thought. The crash is magnificent.

"You can...prove this?" His mind splits down two tracks: one, how quickly can he get this assignment over with and get the hell out of here. Two, how long can he drag this assignment out before his handlers become overbearing.

[trivialbob]

My city has a biennial "Curbside Cleanup" event in April. People can set out large items for a special trash collection. We put things out starting on a Thursday. They are collected by trash haulers on Saturday.

In the days leading up to the collection people ("scavengers" we call them) drive slowly through the neighborhoods looking for scap metal or items that are perfectly usable. It's kind of fun to watch the procession of beat up pickup trucks, U-haul trailers, and small cars with stuff tied to the roof.

Sheila and I sometimes host a watch party in the driveway. This year her brother grilled his Billy Burgers (amazing smash burgers) for all of us while we drank beer and waived at the drivers.

This year I got rid of an office chair, a couch, an ottoman, a usable vacuum cleaner (I left a sign on it stating that it worked), and a broken carpet shampooer. All but the couch were taken by people before the city came by on Saturday.

One year I put out a different couch and ended up helping a guy load it into his van. He didn't look poor. I asked what he was going to do with the couch. Perhaps it would go in the basement for the kids to use while gaming and eating chips?

"I own some rental properties. I like finding usable furniture to put in them." I got rid of something I'd replaced with a new couch, he got a couch for free. Nice how that works out because the couch didn't (yet) make it to the landfill.

Something inevitably seen on every block are office chairs set of for collection. Two years ago I put one out at the curb. Two years before that was another one. This year my current chair's "leather" was cracked. The latch or gear that can be set to not allow rocking or reclining sometimes worked. More than once I'd lean back and exclaim "oh shit" as I fell backwards. My neck and shoulders were starting to hurt when I worked.

That's no way to live.

This afternoon I went to a business that sells professional office furniture. The showroom is open to the public. A guy asked me some questions about how I sit, where I keep my keyboard, and so on.

He showed me two not inexpensive chairs. I loved the first one I sat in. I did try the other one. Then he said I could look around the used furniture showroom. I saw some decent, heavy-duty chairs there, but that first one I sat in, the new one, was perfect for me so that's what I bought. It will pay for itself because I won't be buying Target/Costco/Staples office chairs every other year.

My desk right now is from Ikea. It's held up okay, maybe 6/10 in how much I like it. New desks at today's store were very sturdy and high quality.

And expensive.

But I saw some used desks that had a few dings or scratches that cost lest than my Ikea desk. They looked like they'd last a lifetime. I wish I'd shopped here earlier.

[londonfoginacup]

Hello! Based on your fics I consider you to be someone well-versed in the arts of coziness and comfort and as it is now the cold and dark part of the year where I live I wanted to ask you, do you have any recommendations?? Favorite brand of leggings? Slippers? Best candle? Best fairy lights? Coziest foods and drinks? Wishing you much warmth and light! X

ohhhhh my god OH MY GOD what a SWEET ASK! And also you are sending this very sincere ask to someone whose main mode of being cozy is burrowing under her roommates for warmth and then yelling at said roommates for turning the temperature up, so i dunno if i'm deserved but here's my best cozy shot--

first of all -- hot chocolate with lucky charms. I'm usually a strictly white chocolate hot chocolate person, but the JOY at being able to eat the melty delicious lucky charms out of it cannot be comprehended. 10/10 warm and cozy and sweet.

Second-- get rid of the heated blanket. Heated blankets are not it. Get yourself heated mattress pad!!!! This bitch makes you toasty like you would not BELIEVE, PLUS if you're someone who tends to kick off blankets in the night, at least half your body is still toasty warm! 1000/10 cozy plus cats will love to snuggle u also dont use this at the same time as a heated blanket bc u will die i think

Now in terms of candles, I think that scents are very personal! I'm a slut for bath and bodyworks because I can be a bit basic, BUT there's something more important than what kind of candle you get -- and that's to have a CANDLE WARMER LAMP! You see, unless you're getting a very expensive candle, most candles, especially ones from the drug store or target, have mOST OF THEIR SCENT in the top like half an inch! SO they smell really good when you buy them but you barely smell them after you light them! But if you get a CANDLE WARMER LAMP, then you can stick your good good smelling candle in there and it will heat it FROM THE TOP and you will get some LONG LASTING GOOD GOOD COZY SMELL

holy shit wait hold up scratch that, I DO have candle recommendations. Cantrip Candles makes candles for like, D&D games to set the mood. But I don't play D&D and just burn the candles instead. The Library candle and the Bakery candle are my FAVORITE, but you can get a sampler pack and try them yourself to see which scents you like. 10/10 cozy bakery scent fuck yes

I don't really have cozy clothes because I wear business casual 24/7 i am DRESSED TO FUCKING IMPRESS (no im not, im just lazy and only own 5 pairs of the same pants), and tbh if I want to be cozy I just throw on a hoodie. I own five and they are ALL Louis Tomlinson.

And for blankets -- the coziest blanket is the one you can steal from someone else. The old crochet blanket that your mom had since before you were born? Snatch it. The blankets your roommates left when they moved out and got married? They're yours now. The blanket someone loaned you at a fireworks show and you accidentally went home with? Coziness factor goes up 1000%. BARRING STOLEN GOODS THOUGH, every blanket I've ever bought is from ikea. I'm not joking. I have one in my car and one in my office and two on my bed and two in my living room.

Okay FINALLY. The SECRET to my uber cozy lifestyle.

It's having a lot of roommates, and forcing them all to cuddle with me.

but if you dont have homemade roommates, storebought are fine

ANYWAY THERE'S MY COZY GUIDE, THANK YOU FOR THE COMPLIMENTS ALSO TO BE REAL EATING A WHOLE LOAF OF SOURDOUGH FEELS COZY BUT YOUR TUMMY WILL BE MAD SO DONT DO IT

[monstrousproductions]

hi! hope you're having a good week. i absolutely love your podcast, it's one of my all time favourites of all time :) feel free to disregard this question, but are you comfortable disclosing, however vaguely, how much money the podcast made you? if it made you money at all, i have no idea about the costs involved in running a podcast. but yeah i love our presenter so much, i already know i'm going to miss new monstrous agonies drop day once it's over!

Thank you so much, I hope you're having a lovely week as well! And thanks for your kind words about the podcast - don't tell anyone but it's one of my all-time favourite too 😉

Your question got away from me a little, so my apologies if this is way more detail than you were looking for! But I think in audio drama in particular, and in creative industries in general, we really don't talk about money enough! If any other creators want to chime in, I would love to hear your thoughts and experiences!

The cost of running a podcast like MA is very low in terms of actual cash. Aside from the first lot of equipment I bought - a mic, an audio interface, a mic stand and some cables, all coming in at about £180 total - any money I've spent has been on nice-to-haves rather than absolutely necessary outlays, like upgrading my mic set-up and building a little IKEA-hack recording booth over the summer, or paying for a domain name and email.

All this to say, my costs are a little higher than they need to be because I'm bougie 💅😌 If you're wondering what the hard, necessary costs of running a show like MA would be without those choices, it's really very low once you've got a semi-decent mic and built your recording booth blanket fort.

As for how much money it's made me, accounting for those expenses which off the top of my head I'd round up to about £1000, then MA has made me approximately £3000 since November 2020 - obviously with fewer people on the Patreon etc at the start, and more now. I'm sitting at about £250 a month from Patreon right now, which is absoutely incredible to me, and makes up a decent chunk of my actual living expenses. Thank you, everyone who pledges! 💖

However, the main thing I think people forget when they're thinking about money and podcasting is that old adage, time is money. I'm a freelancer and I work from home, so I can be very flexible about when I do MA work and when I do paid work. But the time I spend in the booth recording, or editing episodes, or even on social media (hello!) is all time that I'm not spending on actual billable hours.

Personally, that works out fine for me. I'm outrageously, stupendously lucky in terms of my financial stability, and am in a position where I can say, yeah, I'll work part-time for money and spend the other hours in the week making a podcast, knowing that the vast, vast majority of my audience isn't going to be able to/want to support me financially. (For context, MA is sitting at around 350,000 total downloads right now. If everyone gave me £1 every time they listened to an episode..... 😅)

Also, MA is a relatively time-cheap show to make. I spend about a day writing, and then the actual recording, editing and posting might take another 6hrs total? So two "lost" paid working days a week, basically.

But like... have a wee think about how bare bones MA is. Up to 50% of each episode could be written by submitters, and the rest is very formulaic and easily repeatable. It's a single voice production, with a couple of scraps of music and no sound design whatsoever, if I can help it! And the episodes themselves are only 15 minutes long, cutting all your recording and editing times right the way down.

So, let's say you're a podcaster who doesn't have the freedom and flexibility that I do with regards to your day job, and you don't have the comfy cushion of savings to cover upfront costs, and you don't live somewhere with a low a cost of living as Belfast, and you want to make a show that isn't so (intentionally!) stripped back and minimal... 😬

People like to say that podcasting has a really low barrier for entry and that's true to an extent - "all you need is a mic". But I think we do everyone a disservice if we don't look seriously and honestly about the financial costs involved - including time spent on unpaid work!

All this to say, I am so enormously grateful to everyone who is able to support MA financially, whether that's with the occasional fiver on ko-fi or a regular pledge on Patreon. It really does all add up, and it makes a real, genuine difference to my daily life. £250 a month is more than I hoped to make, and I'm really thankful for everyone who has contributed.

And if you do have an extra couple of quid burning a hole in your pocket, do consider supporting the creators you love 💖🥰

[vanoincidence]

Baby Hatchet || Van & Vic

TIMING: mid april. LOCATION: vic's home. PARTIES: @natusvincere & @vanoincidence SUMMARY: van goes to find her missing package, and the post office told her it was at none other than vic's house! CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

Rosie had a beautiful, lush backyard to play in.  Vic had made sure of it when she bought their home- she even designed the landscape herself.  

At first, when Rose had been given to her, everything felt so temporary.  Surely she wouldn’t actually be expected to keep a human child alive, someone must have been coming to take her away to safety with some nice, normal hunters. But things started to almost seem normal- Vic had painted the walls of her guest room with lavish, detailed fairy tail characters from her own childhood, and it wasn’t long before Rosie started reaching for her for comfort instead of self-soothing.  And suddenly, Vic couldn’t imagine life without the small being by her side.  But the modest home she had owned at the time wasn’t big enough by any means, not for a growing little girl.

So, Vic went on the search for something newer and bigger, and, well… she found something bigger.  Bigger was about the only thing it had going for it.  The home was huge, massive, if she were being frank, but it was severely unsafe and outdated (sometimes she wondered if it was older than her). But there wasn’t much that could get between Vic and her plans, and so for the next year or so (she had gotten so much better at keeping track of time now that Rosie was around), Vic did everything she could to make the home look bright, shiny, and new as it ever did.  She spared no expense, because she didn’t have to, and because her daughter deserved everything.  Especially a beautiful, lush backyard to play in.

Except lately, Rosie had absolutely no interest playing in the beautiful backyard, but had instead taken a fascination to the front yard instead.  The front yard, usually home to Vic’s flowerbeds and elaborate landscaping, now had every inch of its driveway covered in chalk.  Vic, despite the circumstances, had accepted this change surprisingly willingly, and was sat upon the driveway with the three-year-old, the two of them creating their own doodles that seemed to interlace with the other’s.  Winnie, for her part, seemed more interested in the pedestrians passing by than their art.  Vic didn’t mind in the slightest, though, since that kept both the strangers and the hyper dog occupied.  

—- 

Van looked down at the piece of paper that had lines of ink scratched overtop of it. Tongue pushed against the roof of her mouth, she squinted into the distance. She wasn’t sure how somebody had screwed up a delivery this badly! How was it that every single time she ordered something, it just so happened to get delivered to the opposite side of town? Maybe it was her fault for online shopping. She should’ve been supporting local instead, not buying miniature statues of Acheron to fill the shelf she bought with the Ikea gift card Regan left behind. 

As she approached the house, she immediately took notice of the toddler, dog, and woman– a myriad of colors canvasing both the ground. She paused just outside of the fence, jumping slightly as the dog seemed to show interest in her. Van looked at the paper in her hands, then to the address that was posted on the wall next to the front door. Yeah, this was the place, but it didn’t look like there were any packages sitting outside of it. She should ask. Yeah, definitely ask. 

Van cleared her throat after a moment, pushing the paper into the space between them, showing the address on the slip of paper from the post office. “Hi, um– I– my figurines got sent here instead of to me? And um, this is the address that the post office gave me.” She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous. Would the woman think she was a scammer? God, all she wanted was her Acheron. 

—- 

Most people that walked by either ignored them or politely complimented the chalk art.  Vic had taken to smiling politely at the compliments, something she wouldn’t have considered a few years ago.  Somehow, Rosie was teaching her that not everyone had to be a threat.  But sometimes a lesson had to be taught a few times before it stuck.

 Winnie and Vic took the throat-clearing stranger in two opposite ways.  Winnie, sure as ever that this new friend was speaking directly to her, couldn’t contain her sudden burst of excited energy.  She zoomed around the front yard, circling back to the stranger with a lick to her hand before repeating the process a few more times.  Vic wasn’t as welcoming.  She stood up, placing herself between Rosie and the stranger.  The toddler, who  didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, kept on with her drawing. She looked down at the paper, unsure she should grab it without more information.  She had been reading horror stories about phantom contracts on the internet lately, and worried just grabbing such a thing might somehow pass over ownership to her house or something.  She needed more information.

“Online shopping can be incredibly unsafe.  Do you often put the wrong address on your orders, or am I just lucky?”.  The paper she was holding did seem official, but Vic knew she had to keep prying.  She thought back to the small box that had been delivered yesterday, the one she’d meant to bring to the post office before her whole day got thrown off when Rosie scraped her knee.  Injuries with three-year-olds were expected, and Rosie had been so brave, but Vic felt the need to restock her blood supply so there were absolutely no slip-ups.

“Figurines… do you mean toys?  Are you a parent?”  She glanced back at Rosie, thinking about the positive outcomes playdates seemed to have in all the parenting books she’d read in the past three years.  “How old is your child?”

—

Van stumbled back slightly as the dog rounded to her side, hand covered in grass and dirt now from the way it’d surely been digging at something in the ground earlier. Van wiped her hand against the backs of her pants and looked over at the woman who immediately took care to step in front of the kid that was next to her. 

“I mean, yeah, but so can like… going to the store.” Especially here, she thought. The last big shopping trip she’d done, Debbie had ended up dead and she and the others earned stab wounds. “I didn’t put the wrong address! They said it was sorted wrong by the post office or something.” She stuck the piece of paperwork into the space between them, not quite crossing the threshold as the woman didn’t seem overjoyed to be in her presence. Van could at least tell that much. 

At the mention of being a parent, Van coughed, hand to her chest. “Me? Dude, I’m like twenty– well I mean, I’m twenty-one, but that just happened like last month. I don’t look like a mom, do I?” She looked down at herself, the cargo jeans she wore dragging haphazardly against the sidewalk so that the ends of the fabric were lined in dirt and mud. She looked up at the woman who (was clearly a mother) and coughed out an apology. “There’s nothing wrong with being a mom, but like, I’m not one, and I don’t think I could ever be one, because what happens if a kid gets knives, you know? I’m not even allowed to have knives. I’m twenty-one.” Van could feel heat rise to the back of her neck as she stumbled over her words. “I’m the child here, la– ma’am, and um, I’m just here for my figurine which is not a toy, it goes up on a shelf and you look at it because it’s nice to look at.” She couldn’t believe that this woman thought she was a mom. She’d be a terrible parent! She couldn’t even take care of herself! That was like, Erin and Jade’s jobs! 

—

At the girl’s words, Vic hesitated, her mouth opening and closing in thought.  She had a point, and for a brief, rare moment, Vic was at a loss for words.  It was the reason she started having her groceries delivered since her alarming interaction with Baby Bloodworth in the park.  She wouldn’t have been thrilled for this stranger to find out she was a hypocrite.  Again, she stared at the paper placed in front of her for a beat, but this time she grabbed it after a moment, reading through the words with furrowed eyebrows.  Behind her, she heard the gentle scraping of chalk- Rosie apparently having had enough of staring at the stranger.  “Stupid useless government agencies”, she muttered, passing the paper back to the girl.  “Are you planning on filing a complaint about this?  I can help you start the process.”

Vic found herself smirking at the fact that the mere thought that the girl in front of her could be a parent send her into a sort of spiral. She looked down at the girl’s clothing, her eyes raising in judgement and a bit of disgust.  Perhaps she misplaced her washing machine, too. Rosie, as sweet as they made them, heard the coughing and brought over the roll of paper towels Vic had brought out to smudge the chalk, shyly holding them up to the girl. Vic smiled down at her and tucked her wispy curls behind her ears as she spoke to the stranger.   “Both twenty and twenty-one are perfectly reasonable ages to be a parent.  Or they once were, I suppose.  The youth of today is much less mature… I’m thrilled you’ve decided to wait.”  Vic, for her part, was 307 before she became a parent.  “You don’t give them knives until after you’ve trained them”, she said as Rosie ran off to chase Winnie, their favorite game together as of late.  Her giggles echoed behind their conversation.  “My daughter is adept at hatchet throwing, too, but she’s a bit shy around strangers.”

She stared at the girl for a moment longer, and then opened the gate, gesturing for her to come in the yard.  Neither Rosie nor Winnie seemed threatened by her presence, and Vic was working on trusting people rather than hating them right off the bat.  A disorganized, dirty barely adult seemed like a good start.  “So it’s art, in a way?  I can appreciate art.”

—

“Yeah, the government totally sucks and everything, but the post office is like, the least of our worries even if they did mess this up.” Weren’t they severely underfunded? Probably. That sounded right. Van didn’t want to be mad at the post office, but didn’t mind being upset with the government, because the government totally sucked. “I don’t…. think so? A complaint is going to take a lot of time, and I just sort of want my package, you know?” A nervous smile crept across Van’s features as she brought her hands together, thumbs pressing against each other.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the toddler holding up something towards her. The roll of paper towels were bigger than her head, and Van, for some reason, was transported back to a time where her dad would look at her through the paper towel hole and then make noises, too. He had done a great elephant impression. Van wondered if this woman did that for her daughter, or if she showed love in other ways. “I’m–” She took the paper towels, unable to find it in herself to be rude to the toddler. “Thanks.” She looked down at them, not quite sure what to do now. She didn’t actually need them. Maybe she’d leave with the paper towels instead of her package. Maybe that would be the way this went. “I don’t know any twenty year olds who should be parents, actually.” Maybe if they really wanted to be? But Van couldn’t fathom it. It just wasn’t for her. 

“Trained…” Yeah, that made sense! She’d never been trained to deal with them, and hadn’t ever been taught how to hold them properly. That made a lot of sense. Van cleared her throat, tucking the paper towels to her chest with her arms crossed over them. “Hatchet… she’s so small though? How does she do that?” That was a surprise, to say the least. Impressive, too. Van could barely hold anything above her head. Her arms were weak. A toddler was stronger than her which was a little belittling. Maybe she should hit the gym. “That’s cool though, um– didn’t mean for it to sound like a bad thing or whatever.” This woman was strange. She reminded her a little bit of Regan, actually. 

The gate opened, and Van padded into the yard, craning her neck to look at the chalk art from the correct angle. “Those are nice, and um– yeah, it’s like art, I guess.” That was a good way to put it, and it seemed to please the woman. Maybe she’d get her package afterall. “Are you an artist?” It was clear that was the case, as it was fairly easy to discern which chalk art was the woman’s and which had been the child’s. If it had been Van, both her attempts and the kid’s would’ve looked the same.  

—

Vic crossed her arms over her chest, barely listening to the girl defending the post office before she practically cut her off.  “But they inconvenienced you.  And me, for that matter.  They risked the integrity of your package with their careless mistake and they need to be held accountable so they understand that the choices they made to lead to this mistake are not acceptable.  Life is about learning, and the post office is not immune to this fact.”  There was no joking tone to her words, nor was there malice.  To Vic, she was just educating this poor, young girl about a fact of life.

As she watched the interaction between Rosie and the stranger, Vic wondered if this girl had ever interacted with a small child before.  “Maybe you’re right.  I mean, you’re practically still a child yourself.”  She couldn’t imagine the girl in front of her rocking a baby to sleep or gently combing tangles out of wet hair.  But then, three years ago, she couldn’t have imagined herself doing any of that, either.  “Is it something you want one day, do you think?  To be a parent?”

“Oh god, n- not real hatchets!”, Vic exclaimed, flummoxed.  “They’re rubber!  Do you think I would trust a preschooler with actual hatchets?  Her motor skills barely allow her a firm grasp on the leash, nevermind a throwing hatchet.”  She shook her head, completely flabbergasted as she looked back toward Rosie, not at all aware that the stranger her mother was talking too had wild ideas about small children.  “No”, she said, shaking her head as she turned back.  “She won’t try the real things until she’s at least 5.”

Vic glanced at their art as the two of them walked by, finding herself a bit embarrassed about being complimented.  For years, she’d been anonymously submitting art to contests around town, never venturing as far as to share her name for fear of being noticed.  She only started painting ‘professionally’ (if you called crude cartoons on storefronts professional) once Rosie came around, because bartending just didn’t seem like a job that a mother should have, but she often avoided feedback about that art, too.  Waiting to be scrutinized for her passion made her feel like a little girl again, being asked loud, harsh questions she didn’t know the answers to.  “I don’t know if one is entitled to call themself an artist.  I think that’s a title that’s meant to be bestowed upon you.”

Vic glanced toward the front door as they reached it, knowing the package the girl was waiting for was just on the other side of it.  She looked at Rosie, who was so covered in chalk dust and concentrating on what she was doing, then at Winnie, who was laying next to her, covered with a few chalk dust handprints herself.  Then, her glance fell to the stranger again.  It was so rare for her to bring people into her home, even less so strangers, but this would be okay, right?  The girl would barely be seeing the inside.  

—

Van stared at the woman as she dug into her opinion about the post office. So she was dealing with a Karen? Was that what this was? She wasn’t sure it was that serious, but what if it had been? What if Van had been waiting on something really important? Well, the Acheron statue was important (to her), but the lady had a point and she knew it, even if she didn’t feel particularly good about taking it out on underpaid government workers. “Um, I’ll… go and talk to them. For sure.” She wasn’t going to, but it wasn’t like this woman would actually know if she went and did, right? 

It wasn’t the first time she’d been called a child, especially by an older woman, and she figured it wouldn’t be the last. Though, in this situation, Van did nothing to fight back against the comment. She was a child who shouldn’t have a child, and that was her opinion. If other twenty year olds, or freshly twenty-one year olds wanted to go and have children, then so be it. She just wasn’t one of them. Choice mattered, even if she made the opposite one. “Yeah, exactly. I’m like, a super child, you know? Almost as tall as one or whatever. I don’t even think a kid would fit on this hip.” Her mom had been her height, but it was getting harder to remember those kinds of details with the years that passed. At the woman’s questions, Van shook her head, waving the paper towel around so that it became slightly unraveled. Now stressed, she began balling it around itself, “no, not at all, I’d be like, a super terrible parent.” Even if that weren’t true, she couldn’t fathom ever being one. “I can like, barely take care of myself. Instead of groceries, I’m buying figurines, you know?” She let out a nervous laugh, the paper towels now tucked to her chest. 

So they weren’t real hatchets, and maybe Van should’ve known that, but she had just figured that if they weren’t, then the woman would’ve noted that. Then again, she just did. “Until she’s… 5? That’s…” She looked towards the toddler that was dotted in different colored chalk. “That makes like, total sense.” Van had realized very quickly that there was probably no reasoning with this woman. She hated inconveniences, and Van was one big one, if she were being honest with herself. 

Yeah, the longer Van sat here with this woman, the more she was reminded of Regan. Maybe they’d even get along. Then again, maybe their opinions would cancel each other out and they’d actually hate each other. Not that Van would ever know, Regan was in Ireland and she was never coming back. “If you um, do art, I think that you can call yourself an artist? Or that you like doing it? It takes up time, right?” She thought of Nora in that moment and her chest tightened. She missed her friend, and she even missed Regan. “Plus it’s like, really good, so I mean…” She shrugged, not sure where else to go. If the woman didn’t want to be called an artist, then Van wouldn’t waste her breath, but it seemed like she was an artist. 

They were closer to the door, and Van was closer to freedom. Her Acheron statue (or in Thea’s words, Grimace), would be in her possession, and she’d be free to display it however she wanted after putting the delicate pieces into place. They stalled outside of the door and Van cleared her throat. “Um, I can… wait out here? While you grab it? These shoes are like, kind of hard to take off and everything.” They were double laced converse that were tied around each other at the top. Half the time, Van just wiggled her feet out, but she figured that might only make this woman (a near certified Karen), more upset. 

—

“Okay.  You can let me know how it went, if you want.  Don’t let them intimidate you.  I know how some people like to take advantage of young women’s perceived naivety.  You’re entitled to get what you want out of this interaction, so don’t take no for an answer.”  Vic considered offering to go with the girl, but it was just as well that this might be a lesson she had to learn on her own.  

She smiled, small and inquisitive, as the you woman demonstrated her lack of hips.  “You’d be surprised the sort of things they sell for infant care these days.  I’d bet your hips would have no issue propping a toddler up with the right equipment.” For a moment, she paused, ignoring the first half of the girl’s statement in favor of the second.  “Wait, but you do have groceries, right?  You’re not experiencing food insecurity for the sake of this statue?”  Knowing the pangs of hunger herself, she couldn’t in good faith let someone go without food, not when she had plenty stashed away inside for Rosie.  

“That would be true if people weren’t duct taping bananas to walls and calling themselves artists because of it.”  She thought on the questions, looking back toward Rosie as she continued to color.  Even the term art was subjective, in it’s own way.  Childhood was art.  So were flowers and music and memories of something she wasn’t sure even existed anymore.  She didn’t know how to respond, so instead, Vic just gave a small nod at the second compliment. 

At the girl’s offer, she hesitated.  She would be inside for barely a moment- would that be enough time for the stranger to snatch her happiness away?  Nothing this young woman had done had indicated that she’d do something like that, though, and Vic had been slowly learning that one of the best methods to quell her distrust for, well… everyone, was to try a little trust.  For a moment, she stared at the stranger, trying to communicate silently what fate might be bestowed upon her if she even thought about hurting her family.  To the young woman, it probably looked like she had to fart.  

Vic ventured inside, leaving the door open just in case, and reached the end of the front hall where the package was safely resting.  All the while, she was pushing thoughts away, the ones that told her all the awful things that could be happening just outside.  But her hearing was impeccable, and all she heard was Rosie humming contentedly.  As she walked back outside, she hoped the girl didn’t notice how embarrassed she was.  “Here it is, um…” she looked down at the package.  “Van.  And it was nice to meet you.  I’m Vic, if you’re wondering. Or if one of my grocery deliveries end up mysteriously at your house.”

—

Van nodded in response, speculating that if she were to further engage in the conversation about the downfall of the post office, the woman might decide that right there and now was the best time to go and have the conversation about their inability to do their jobs. Van didn’t want to offend the post office. They were the least paid, and they really only wanted to help people, right? Get their packages, connect loved ones who hadn’t entered the age of cellphones— all of that. 

While the woman’s comments could be seen as invasive, Van forced herself to imagine Regan in front of her, delightfully unaware of social cues. Maybe that was the same issue here. Van was bad at them, too, so she couldn’t really blame the woman! But still, there was something about her hips, and as she opened her mouth to respond, she was being prodded about her comment regarding groceries. “Oh! Um, that was like, a joke. I actually work at a pizza place, so I get unlimited pizza. It’s an okay deal for the shitty pay.” Oh god, now this woman would be able to parse out where she worked. What if she came looking for verification that she had gone to the post office? It was too late to take back the statement now. “Minimum wage affords me both the statue and pizza. It’s a good gig.” It was a terrible gig, but she wasn’t about to go into the details of why. 

The woman did have a point. A banana taped to a wall didn’t have the same emotion as something that somebody had spent hours on, but wasn’t art still subjective? She didn’t know enough about the politics of art to really get into it, but her mind kept wandering back to Nora and the abandoned paintings in her crypt. “I think that maybe somebody finds that artistic. I think it’s okay if you don’t.” After a brief pause, Van continued, “I mean— I don’t either. Not really.” She didn’t want the woman to get mad at her for possibly thinking a banana taped onto a wall was art, so she made sure to amend, “and like, sometimes art is bad.” Yeah, that was good. 

She was so close to getting her Acheron figurine and leaving. She could practically feel its energy from the other side of the door. Well, not that she actually could, but the lesbian power the figurine radiated was enough to let Van know it was definitely on the other side. Van blinked at the woman as she seemingly hesitated. What was taking her so long? Did she not actually have it? Was this whole thing just a facade? Was the baby even real? She looked behind her at the baby who was definitely real, still enamored with the chalk and the sidewalk. 

Finally, the package was hers. It was the same size as the Black Swan figurine she had gotten off of Depop, and she hoped that inside, she wouldn’t find a bunch of scattered and broken pieces. “Oh, thank god—“ She grabbed the package from the woman— now named Vic, and held it to her chest in exchange for giving Vic back the paper towels that the little girl had handed over. “I hope not. I mean, groceries are a lot harder to like, transport and stuff, you know?” She bit the inside of her cheek as she looked behind her, then back to Vic. “I mean, if that does happen then that’d totally suck, but I definitely would bring them to you. I wouldn’t just eat your groceries.” Van guessed that Vic probably bought the really good yogurt puffs for the kid, and Van might steal those. They were expensive and they were a good snack. She’d put a Red Bull in for replacement. How would Vic know that wasn’t on the shopper? “Thank you for keeping it safe though, I totally like, owe you one.” Did she? Probably not, but she felt like she did. 

—

All things considered, Vic’s fears turned out to be unwarranted.  If she were a petty person, she would be mocking herself from five minutes ago for being so worried about leaving Rosie with this sweet, confused, underdressed stranger.  She grabbed the paper towels with a grin, putting them on the sun table beside them.  “That would be very kind, but unnecessary.  We enjoy our evening walks, we could just venture over to wherever you are with our wagon and take them from there, if the situation should arise.  I doubt it will, though, really.  The odds of that happening are actually quite miniscule.”  Vic said this with her full chest as tourists were lining up to catch a glimpse of the giant leg currently resting in the woods.

“You shouldn’t say that to strangers, you know”, she said.  It was a lesson she’d learned after being burned by more than a few fae in her time.  She was glad to pass on 300 years of wisdom to the youth of today.  When Van had first approached, all of Vic’s apprehension had made her wish she could just imagine her away, but Vic thought perhaps she wasn’t so bad, with her baggie, ripped pants and her strange art.  “You let me know if you need help at the post office, okay?  I’m extremely adept at writing strongly worded letters.”  Maybe she should trust Winnie and Rosie’s judgements of strangers more often.

[lonesplendour]

Bookshelf Overview

In classic me fashion when asked a simple question, I make a very overcomplicated, unnecessary picture display on the matter. The lovely @solaarflaree asked to see the organisation of my bookshelf so here I am to walk you through it as best as I can. Did I draw over the childhood picture of me and my sister? Yes. We are going to pretend we don't notice because privacy is a thing and my editing skills are as basic as just scribbling over the image in paint.

Anyway, from my expertly taken (and by that I mean wandered upstairs and used my getting on a bit phone) picture of my bookshelf overview you can see my general setup. My shelves are all IKEA Billy bookcases (love you IKEA) and I have 12 big shelves that I use for books and 6 half-size shelves that I use to store random stuff I have been given/collected over the years and have no other place for. You may also notice that the very top shelves are actually dedicated to Red Velvet & SHINee, that is the not my entire kpop collection but they deserved their own shelves, and no I do not own every album yet because they are very expensive when ordering from the UK~

My organisation goes left to right and then onto the next shelf, not all left and then all right, which will make more sense when I explain down below.

Shelf Details

Looking at my shelves more closely, I organised the pictures how the shelves are meant to be viewed to give the best idea of how my books are organised. The easiest way to explain it/show them is to say that the middle block of shelves act as a decorative buffer but ultimately my shelves follow a left to right sweep with a small break in the centre. You can see this easily when the pictures are put together by looking at my Hunger Games books, you can see the books jump from the left hand shelves to the right hand shelves rather than going underneath. I essentially view my long shelves as one long shelf, rather than two separate bookcases, and so I will explain them as such.

Starting with the top two images you can see that right now I have my graphic novels separate to the rest of my books, that is really just because of spacing, sometimes they are grouped at the very front too, it all depends on where I can squeeze them in. Then going to the immediate right you will see my cute mug that houses all my bookmarks and this is where my books essentially begin. It starts with books that are compilations i.e. there is not one author featured to alphabetise them, so they are oranised alphabetically by book title. From 'P.S. I Love You - Cecelia Ahern' we officially move into the alphabetised section, these books are alphabetised by the author's surname and this is generally how all my books are organised. The only thing that overrules alphabetising is chronology within a series, which takes president e.g. you will notice that my Leigh Bardugo books are organised both alphabetically (starting with Ninth House) and then chronologically (the Grisha verse books are organised in the order they were written/that the story follows).

Also yes there is a random book stacked on top of the others, that is because I bought it literally two days ago and like a moron didn't notice it was a sequel until I got home, so it is like that to remind myself to buy the first book before I put it away.

This order continues pretty much throughout until we reach the bottom left picture, on the very bottom shelf, where you will see 'The Book Thief - Markus Zusak'. At this point the organisation changes slightly again, though there is still a running theme of alphatisation throughout.

Here I start with a very, very (literally two) small collection of non-fiction books and then we move onto my special editions. It starts with my very old Shakespeare books and moves quickly onto my hardback collection (this section is only for special edition hardbacks, otherwise you'll see hardbacks all throughout my shelves). These books are again organised first alphabetically by author and then alphabetically by novel e.g. all my Jane Austen books are together but they are further organised alphabetically by title rather than chronology, this is because the books are stand alone rather than a series. After my hardbacks you'll see I have a few paperback special editions, these came together as a set so I have kept them that way rather than splitting them apart by author, although within the sets I've organised them alphabetically by author.

Then we move onto my poetry collection. Poetry again is organised first by author's surname, then by series/chronology. This is easiest to see with my Amanda Lovelace collection, where all her books are grouped together by the series they come in and the order they were published. At the end of my poetry collection is again compilations, books where there isn't just one author, so they are placed at the very end of the shelf as to not get mixed in with everything else. Finally, I have a few books that are just huge and don't have a set place to belong so it makes sense for them to be there.

Plushy Bonus & Final Thoughts

Finally, there is a bonus picture of all my plushies that live on top of my shelves. I won't go through naming them all but they are very cute and watch over me when I sleep.

Other than that you may notice I have a lot of other random stuff on my shelves, some of it decorative and some of it just gets dumped there for convenience sake. You never know when you'll need a blob of blu tack or some scissors.

In conclusion, my way might not work for everyone but even if it makes no sense to you, I hope you enjoyed this insight into the way my mind works. If the organisation still baffles you, at the very least I hope you enjoy nosying at the kind of books I like to read and the sort of random stuff I collect~

If anyone took the time to read all of this, thank you 😘

[ynseincanada]

donderdag 31/08/2023

Dag vier en ik ben ziek. Typisch. Gisteren begon ik opeens te snotteren (danku airco) en deze nacht kon ik niet meer slapen omdat ik me zo miserabel voelde. Gelukkig is mama deze ochtend naar de apotheek gestapt en heeft een neusspray voor mij gekocht.

Normaal ging ik vandaag naar Elk Island National Park. De trip werd geannuleerd door de slechte luchtkwaliteit. Normaal gezien zou ik het super jammer vinden, maar aangezien ik me niet geweldig voel, ben ik gerustgesteld.

Dinsdag zijn mama en ik naar IKEA getrokken voor een kussen en lakens en pannen en potten. Ik ben niet in slaap gevallen voor tien uur 's avonds! Gisteren heb ik mijn Canadees nummer ontvangen. Als iemand het nodig heeft, laat het me weten. Gsm abonnementen zijn hier vele duurder dan in België.

Ook de supermarkten zijn nog altijd een cultuurshock. Je vindt niet meteen de producten die je zoekt (waarom ligt alle melk in frigo's?). En vooral: alles zit hier in gigantische verpakkingen. Ik heb een pakje pasta van 900 gram (!) en de boter zit hier in zo'n gigantische dozen dat ik die nooit ga op krijgen voor ik terug naar België vertrek.

Ik ga nu nog wat verder uitzieken terwijl ik naar 9-1-1 seizoen zes kijk.

Dikke zoen.

x Ynse

thursday 31/08/2023

Day four and I'm sick. So typical. Yesterday I suddenly started sniffling (thank you air conditioning) and this night I couldn't sleep because I was so miserable. Fortunately, my mom went to the pharmacy this morning and bought me a nasal spray.

I was normally going to Elk Island National Park today. The trip was canceled due to poor air quality because of the wildfires. Normally I would be super sad the trip was cancelled, but since I'm not feeling great, it's honestly a reassurance.

On Tuesday, Mom and I headed to IKEA for a pillow and sheets and pots and pans. I didn't fall asleep until ten in the evening! Yay, me! Yesterday I received my Canadian number. If anyone needs it, let me know. By the way, cell phone subscriptions are much more expensive here than in Belgium.

Also the supermarkets are still a culture shock. You don't immediately find the products you're looking for (seriously, why is milk kept in fridges in the store?). And above all: everything here comes in gigantic packages. I have a 900-gram (!) package of pasta and the butter here is in such gigantic boxes that I will never finish it before I leave for Belgium.

Now I'm going to continue to rest while watching 9-1-1 season six.

Big kiss.

x Ynse

[werothegreat]

There's another aspect to this, called Vimes Boots theory, based on this passage from Terry Pratchett's Men at Arms:

Being forced to buy shoddy versions of things can keep you in poverty, but while getting a high quality item won't necessarily pull you out of poverty, it will last a while, and that's one thing you won't have to spend money on over and over again.

If someone you thought was poor shows up in a Cadillac or with an expensive purse or a really good coat, it was either a gift, or they saved up for it, and it has likely lasted a very long time. When you buy a backpack or a new pair of shoes or a new frying pan, if you can fork up a few more bucks for the high quality version, you will be saving money in the long run because it will last much longer than the shit version. This is also the case for really old, well-made furniture - every single piece of non-folding furniture in my apartment was given to me by a friend or family member - except this one Ikea dresser I bought for myself which is basically falling apart at this point.

And back to the original point of the original post, at the end of the day, if someone wants to spend their welfare check on a fancy car instead of food, that's their own fucking business. Poor people are not children, and you, Mr. Conservative, are not their fucking parents. You are not in charge of them. Leave them the fuck alone and let them live their lives however the fuck they want to.

I guess friendly reminder that you can't actually judge someone's socioeconomic status based on what they own and the classic republican "they can't be poor they own a smart phone/computer" argument doesn't suddenly stop being complete out of touch nonsense when a poor person makes it.

Anyway insert "y'all can't be trusted to eat the rich bcs you'll target taco bell shift leaders and people with playstations instead of actual billionaires" post here.

[saving-word-crawls]

Write your way through your plushies crawl

By: IslaGrace

Hello Wrimos! I needed a little break from my WIP and decided to write a little crawl for writers like myself who have too many plushies! If you, like me, have too many felted friends to count, feel free to take this one step at a time, it might get a little overwhelming!

How many plushies do you have that are based on pre-existing media? A game, a film, a book, a… famous person (yes, all of your BT21 plushies count!) Count them up and write for the same number of minutes.

Do you still have your childhood favourite plushie? Lucky you! If you DO: Write a nice 250 words, and maybe show your old friend a little love If you DON’T: Write 400 words, and try to include your lost buddy in your story!

Where do you keep your plushies? If they’re on your bed: Write 150 words as you try not to knock them down in your sleep If they’re on your windowsill: Write for 10 minutes and remember to give them a break from the sun to prevent bleaching! If they’re on a shelf: Sprint for 15 minutes and remember to give your friends some love every now and then If they’re in a net or basket: Do a 3 digit challenge and bask in the feeling of being more aesthetically pleasing than everyone else If they’re somewhere else: Finish your paragraph, you rebel!

How much was your most expensive plushie? Convert it into pennies (eg. $40 = 4000 pennies), divide it by 10, and sprint that number of words.

Pick out your favourite plushie. How many colours does it have? 1-5: Write for 5 minutes 5-10: Write for 10 minutes 10-15: Write for 15 minutes Too many to count!: Write for 20 minutes

Find your smallest plushie. Give it a little hug, even small friends need love! And write for two minutes whilst trying to balance it on your head.

How many of your plushies were gifts? Times that number by 10 and sprint that many words!

What’s a plushie you have your eye on? One you really want to buy? Count how many letters are in its name (EG. Onyx Dragon 1 = 10) and write for that many minutes. Then consider buying it as a gift for yourself when you hit 50k!

Do you have a writing mascot? I do. His name is Franklin and he’s a tiny axolotl. If you don’t have a writing mascot, pick one from your plushies and keep them with you for good luck! If you already have one, sit them next to you as you write for 10 minutes. Then tell us about your mascot in the replies!

Final Round Lightning Round!

Add up your total based on these criteria and sprint to that number of words!

Add 10 words for every plushie that…

Is of your favourite animal

Heavily features your favourite colour

Has a name that you bestowed upon it (I have an IKEA shark called pronouns :trans-flag:)

Is damaged in some way

You bought/received on a special occasion

Is something other than an animal (I have two mushrooms and a smoothie!)

Isn’t technically yours! (A sibling’s, a partner’s, one you’re holding on to for a friend…)

Is of a species (or similar to a species) represented on this year’s NaNoWriMo poster 1 (Monkey, dragon, cat, mandrake, leopard, spider, tortoise, beetle, flowers, fruit)

How did you do? I’d love to hear about your plushies in the replies!

[seapiatech]

​ Become a part of our community, contribute your knowledge, and unlock your earning potential. Together, let's explore the frontiers of human innovation and share the wonders of the world we live in!See you at Seapia.tech - where knowledge meets opportunity!

[mcyt-peach]

Hi

So me and my father we have been building together new kitchen and I was really surprised how much I actually helped so that got me thinking 🤔

Dream team (separate) when they came home to help the reader (preferred female) put together like new furniture and they would be like “I was gone for only one hour how the f did you build all of this?” Or something 😂🙏🏻

I trought it would be fun and cute lill headcanon 💗

Yours 🎧anon

dream team building furniture with their s/o

⋆｡˚ summary: building furniture is frustrating to begin with, but your boyfriend never expected you would be this good at it

⋆｡˚ including: cc!dream, cc!sapnap, and cc!george

⋆｡˚ warnings: technically reader uses they/them pronouns, swearing

⋆｡˚ note: 🎧anon this was so fun to write, I love doing stuff like this where it's just sort of day to day, domestic situations that are still fun because of the people you're with

Dream

Dream would always say you were his favorite, but Patches came in a close second

so when he found the most expensive, highest rated cat tower being advertised on twitter... of course he bought it

the box that came a week later was much bigger than expected and to his horror, the tower didn’t come assembled

with all the pieces laid out, the two of you got to work, hoping to finish it within the day

Dream, in typical fashion, was completely confident that he’d have no problem with the building process

but the tiny tools included with the pieces were giving Dream a run for his money

“Why would they even include these? It doesn’t even fit the screw!”

“I think you might be using the wrong end.”

“That’s it! I’m getting the tool box.”

with Dream searching the basement for his collection of screwdrivers, hammers and nails, you decided to test your theory

just like you expected, he had been using the wrong side of the tool and with that, all the pieces fell into place

when Dream finally emerged from the basement, he was beyond confused at the sight of Patches purring happily in her new tower

“What the fuck!”

your gasp was followed by you covering the kitty’s ears, “Not in front of the baby, Dream!”

Sapnap

visiting home wasn’t something Sapnap got to do very often, so when he did finally visit, his family was sure to take advantage of his presence

they were even more excited when he brought you along, saying something along the lines of “having an extra pair of hands” as they ushered the two of you into the living room

there lied boxes and boxes of new furnishings they had bought, leaving you, Sapnap and his little sister, to set everything up

while Sapnap struggled to understand the instructions, his sister bounced around the room, waiting to be given instructions

instructions that would sadly never come, as Sapnap decided she was too young to help move around the bulky materials and trying to help her would just take more time

she pouted a bit until you asked about lunch and Sapnap left to pick something up from a local restaurant

once he left, you beckoned the little girl over, “You ever play with legos?”

“YES!!!” she was more than excited to show off her building skills as she worked on setting up the pieces and you handled the more dangerous tools

“I’m back! Hope you don’t mind pizza...” Sapnap was quickly quieted by your shushing, as his sister was curled up, napping on the newly built couch

“How did you do all this?” his confusion was genuine when he settled on the couch beside you

you shrugged, grinning a bit, “Your sister’s really good at legos, I guess.”

George

George had decided your trip to IKEA and subsequent building of your new furniture was prime stream material

so while your time at the store was full of him goofing off and getting suggestions from chat, your time at home was anything but enjoyable

ever the one to enjoy his rest, George has a hard time coming to turn with the fact that he bought so much furniture and he had to build ALL of it

after nearly an hour, he basically gave up, laying down on the carpet and closing his eyes

he was clearly tired, so you decided to disconnect the speakers and move the microphone closer to you to chat quietly with the viewers

to your surprise, many of the viewers had advice for you, sending in donos about pieces that fit differently than the instructions described

in the end, you were able to get the furniture together much faster than expected with the help of chat

you were saying your goodbye’s to the viewers when George finally decided to come back to the land of the living

he took one look around the room, seeing the new chairs and tables already built, and shot straight up

“OH MY GOD HOW LONG HAVE I BEEN ASLEEP!”

mans really thought he was passed out for a couple of days because of how much you got done

[questioning-my-choices]

A big rant follows, so if you're someone currently contemplating a holiday to Greece, or Mallorca/Spain, or Italy, my main message to you is: for the love of all that is good and holy, please think twice about it and if you're interested in other places, go to those first. But no matter where you go, please remember to take care of yourselves so that potentially limited local medical resources don't need to be spent on you for something avoidable and to be respectful of the fact that you are visiting somebody's permanent home. If you wouldn't do something in your home country, don't do it somewhere you're just visiting.

And now on to my rant.

Honestly I see this less as an issue with the tourists themselves and more as a systemic issue we're having.

For decades our national industries have been getting more and more limited to only a handful of sectors (the ones I'm aware of are the food and aluminium industries), with most of our economic attention going to the tourism industry. And of those factories we do have, a whole bunch belong to foreign interests.

So everything we need to survive, we ultimately need to import. My favorite examples for this are the furniture and clothing industries.

While some local textile and clothing factories do exist, they are few enough that their production costs and the final products' prices are higher than what the vast majority of people can afford. So we all end up shopping at foreign mega corporations like H&M.

And what even was the last time that any of us bought a Greek-made piece of furniture? Big furniture factories like Neoset shut down and smaller, luxury product manufacturies like Varangis shut down too. Our wood industry is almost completely gone, so even those woodworkers who still have their independent shops actually need to import their material (or at least that's what a woodworker acquaintance told me). And we all shop at IKEA now, cause that's all that's left.

Our country has been hollowed-out and made to serve the interests of more powerful players, at the expense of our own ability to survive (and I believe that's the reason we see such a rise in nationalism and fascism now, because people can tell this is going on and want to isolate. Not that that's an excuse for being fascist).

All that to say, we all, irrespective of overall ideology, need to apply pressure to our government, in any way we can, to do a proper economic reform. With a reasonable taxation system that doesn't punish start up companies, and a focus on a self-sustaining economic system. And we need to actually show up when it's time to vote, even when all options seem hopeless. Because voting for the lesser evil is better than letting the big evil run rampant. But most importantly, we need to stop lashing out at each other and keep our community bonds strong, 'cause this is how they get us, by divide-and-conquer.

(On that note, the voting method I prefer and suggest to my family when they ask me, is to just vote for any -non fascist- party that seems interesting to you, even if it seems too small to make a difference. The more new voices we get in parliament, the harder it will be for the καρεκλοκενταυροι to just do as they please. And if we never vote for a new party, how are we going to move past our current two-party system?)

Also we need to understand more about our country's current place on the world stage. Information is our time's strongest currency. And those of us who have the time and energy need to learn and pass on the knowledge to those who don't.

My personal favorite place to start is reading a book called "The Shock Doctrine" by Naomi Klein. While it is not specifically about Greece, the doctrine she describes is exactly what happened to our country after the 2008 crash. Realizing this has personally helped me understand other countries' influence and intentions towards us much, much better.

Edit: Again, all this said, I am 100% on board with the anti-tourist movement we're having right now. I think it's a great place to start rocking the boat and I can only hope we bother the upper class enough that something changes. And that we follow up with more protests for other causes too.

If you read this far, thank you for coming to my TED talk, I really love this country and I wish we could make it suck less asap.

"Soon they'll tell us to not make noise cause the tourists are sleeping

They told us not to go on vacation during July and August so the tourists wouldn't be bothered

They told the residents of Santorini to not circulate in the streets and bother the tourists

They ask the residents of the islands to not use a lot of water so the tourists can have

Soon they'll tell us to not make noise cause the tourists are sleeping"

I am a resident of an island. For weeks during the afternoon the water would stop, my mom who works 12 hours a day would come home tired and couldn't have a shower, apparently they were filling up the pools.

My island is big enough, I've been to a smaller island which has a water problem and they had signs inside the hotel "do not use a lot of water, we have a problem". Now this advice only goes to locals? And the problem now exists in inlands that didn't have this kind of problem before?

According to the comments of the original post, they've already been telling people to not make noise cause the tourists are bothered

A comment wrote "Soon they'll tell us to move out of our houses so the tourists can come" which, already has been happening.

Rented houses becoming Airbnb or really fucking expensive

Doctors, teachers and students are getting kicked out of their homes so tourists can go in

We don't have doctors. People are dying.

We need to send sick persons to Athens or bigger islands with a helicopter

Some years ago, a lady died in the back of a truck. The ambulance was in a different place of the island attending some tourists. They put the woman in a truck, a dentist who was nearby tried to help with any medical knowledge he had, they put her in the truck and a police car made way in front of them while they ran to the hospital. They didn't make it in time

Tourists with the rental cars are all over the street going as slow as possible while a mother has to run behind them in traffic to get her kid in different kind of classes

[sugakuns]

[sc] 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐛𝐨𝐲 ?

sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs: kozume’s twitch had blown up lately and his subscribers love to bully him with you

ᴀ/ɴ: gn reader

-> this has been in my drafts for AGES and i kinda need to post... sorry for any grammar mistakes..

⤷ mlist

Kenma was having a chill stream, one where he sat back from the games (surprisingly) and spoke to his fans. He preferred these streams when he had a particularly hard day at work wherein he had to sit in long meetings while elderly executives yelled at him for not working his business the way they would prefer.

But for now, he sat on a familiar black gaming chair with white and red accents, on his head sat a pair of pink headphones with little cat ears and white fur details. They were gag gifts from Kuroo when his stream started to get more popular but Kenma had actually liked them and genuinely started using them since they did work. They’re pretty much a staple in Kenma’s online image too.

His set up was quite minimalistic due to the room he used for steaming being a spare room within the house. The white walls behind him had a few gaming posters stuck to the walls, along with LED lights and picture frames of random images ranging from cute photos of your cats to pictures of you and Kenma on dates. Kenma sits in the middle of the screen, camera positioned from the waist up to barely show the offcial Kodzuken logo (stylised KDZKN) printed on the front.

“You guys wanna see [y/n]?” He asks after observing the fast flowing chat. Multiple animations flared on the screen from money donations to gifted subs and messages relentlessly asking for you to come on the stream. They loved to see you two interact, especially since Kenma seems so much more confident and snarky when you’re on the stream.

“They’re watching so they’ll come up if they want” He tells the chat as he runs his fingers through his hair, grunting lightly as he pulls his hair into a lazy low bun. The front strands of his hair were always let down to frame his face due to the fact he never grew out of his habit of using his hair as a shield from others.

He can already hear you padding down the hallway anyway, mentally ticking down the seconds until the door clicks open and you stumble in the streaming room but for now his eyes gaze over the chat.

“I’m not gonna wear a maid dress you guys” He groans. He knows many of his followers like to imagine him as very feminine - and yes, fair enough he had painted his nails and let you put eyeliner on him but dresses were far out of his comfort zone. It’s something he’s already discussed with his fans as being something that crossed the line when requested.

His eyes flicker to the corner of the screen where he catches the movement of the door opening as you quietly slip into the room. You’re wearing a pair of sweats and some random top but he noticed how you fixed your hair (and makeup if you wear it!) to look a little more presentable for his fans.

“Hi everybody” You greet softly, bending down to get a better look at the stream. It took you a while to understand his setup with the three large and extremely expensive monitors balancing on some random white table you bought at a local Ikea. You have no idea why Kenma isn’t more careful about the placement of his things but you’re sure it’s down to the amount of money he’s accumulated from multiple platforms.

The personalised and familiar sound of Happy from FairyTail saying “wow” chimes through the air as a donation appears on the screen. A feminine robotic voice follows shortly after as it reads out the short message displayed on the screen.

“Is your boyfriend a catboy?”

A giggle ripples from deep in your chest at the playful question but you nod anyway. Kenma’s blank expression judging you through the monitors reflection is enough to make you double over with laughter too, making his eyebrows curve downwards in a display of annoyance.

“I’m not a catboy”

“Babe you literally have cat ears on your headphones” Kenma groans, hands wrapping around the plastic to pull them from his head to rest around his neck. A few more donations come in repeating the previous question but the two of you are distracted by a letter argument.

“You literally went to a school with the word cat in it!”

“That’s not the point”

“Kenma we have two cats! Plus i’m pretty sure I remember you looking into getting some Hello Kitty things” Kenma attempts to cover your mouth with his hands but the last few words come out audibly muffled. The chat of course explodes, claiming you to be his My Melody to his Kuromi but he chooses to glare at you instead.

“Don’t you have Hello Kitty hair clips?” He retorts, letting his eyebrows furrow as he purses his lips into a strange mixture of a pout and a frown.

“And I wear them with pride!”

“You’re worse than me” Kenma pouts, leaning back from his keyboard as his left hand comes up to snake around your shoulders and lovingly rub your upper arm. He knows you get a little nervous when speaking to his fanbase, especially after you’ve seen what they’re capable of doing to other fanbases or people in general.

The chat continues to flow rapidly with new questions, a few donations coming in randomly with by gifting subs or asking questions that Kenma briefly answers.

“They’re asking if you’ll make a Twitch” Kenma smiles, eyes darting from the screen to watch how you fidget as you think of an answer.

“No” You chew on your bottom lip “I don’t think i’m that entertaining... maybe if i do anything I’ll make a youtube channel..”

“You’re not boring” Kenma retorts swiftly, promoting a small smile to appear on your face. You can’t help but feel a little happy with the positive attention you’re gaining from his fans, but you’ve thought about it before and you’ve seen what having a large fanbase can have to a person. You’re literally dating Kodzuken.

“Thanks, Ken”

[kattestrophe]

I demand to see the Katte board on your shelf :D

Sure :'D

It ain't much, but it's mine. Just moved them from the board, actually, that one was facing a window and I don't want these to get damaged by the light.

From left to right there is:

An entirely unrelated glass dome from IKEA with an old silver cup I got from my grandma and two Friech related coins, one D-Mark, one Euro (the dome is the most expensive part of this setup)

Burte's terrible, hilarious Katte play (funny music)

"King in Prussia", the one where nobody understands his connection to the Crown Prince 🥺

"Das Richtschwert traf den falschen Hals", aka "I love you so much, my Prince. Jk."

Zeithain. Oh Zeithain.

Actual acclaimed German author Theodor Fontane's "Wanderungen durch die Mark Brandenburg - Havelland", featuring his fictional one shot about baby Katte spending quality time with his dad. I want to get a copy of Oderland eventually (for the Küstrin chapter), preferably also this pretty edition (which only cost me a euro more than the ugly modern one)

Ahnert's "Friedrich und Katte", the one where Katte has A Terrible Beard

A short amateur biography about Katte's father that I got in Wust. Hans Heinrich is quite the personality and I'd love to find out more about him too.

A collection of letters by European monarchs concerning the trial of 1730

A brochure I got in Wust that includes info about the church and the Kattes ("Hans Hermann's first ever letter was to his Engelsschwesterken", I NEED THAT SOURCE, also look at that k, we can see how he pronounced stuff!! 🥺) as well as some letters

Hinrichs' "Kronprinzenprozess", primary sources printed in a particularly exhausting to read Fraktur

Kloosterhuis' "Katte. Ordre und Kriegsartikel", second edition with added list of Ingersleben's 50 teacups

"Schädel-Schicksale" which includes some details about Katte's (?) remains in Wust

"Kriegsgericht in Köpenick", another one of Kloosterhuis', wonderful exhibition catalogue that left me with many new questions (he built a cabinet???)

And a collection of the letters between FWI and Müller the priest that I also got from the nice people in Wust.

Oh. And a bust of Frederick William III. My friend 3d printed it as a surprise for my birthday; Friech wasn't available as a 3d model :'D

I bought all of these except Ordre und Kriegsartikel and the brochures used for a few bucks ^^ Richtschwert cost me a whopping 35 cents with two euros shipping :'D

There are a few more things that I'd like to add. Like "Sorrows of Frederick" (fridged wife Katte, my beloved), but the only copies I can find are in the US and only available if I pay by credit card - which I don't have :(