#the nice thing is at least you can steep the same leaves multiple times. it's pretty strong

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

ok those who know me know I am a bit of an avid tea drinker - I love trying any and all kinds of tea and make it a mission of mine to try new kinds whenever I get the chance

however, I almost never buy tea for myself, on account of a lot of teas being pretty expensive. so on special occasions, my mom will buy me a new tea to try, which is so nice of her she knows me well hahaha

this is all a long-winded way to get to the most recent tea she found for me to try - which is a Wuyi oolong (!!!)

okay so for those who don't know, this is like. one of the highest quality oolongs you can get, and therefore, one of the most expensive. I don't even want to know how much this cost her. but anyways.

regrettably. I have a new favourite tea.

[pynkhues]

I’m sure you’ve already gotten a bunch of asks since Manny’s Crime King interview! I’m just like confused about him saying he’s enamored by her world but honestly like how is his different (besides his obvious commitment to the game) he lives in a nice loft, takes his kid to baseball, drives a fancy car, and plays tennis at the club. It’s not like he’s living the life of a thug. I guess I’m not getting the exact contrast of their worlds.

(Rest of my ask) I’m probably missing some obvious point here which is why I’m asking you lol helllppp

I do think Rio’s enamoured with Beth’s world, yes! I think that really boils down to the fact that while on paper Beth and Rio aren’t living dissimilar lives in terms of their roles as parents, and while they obviously now share parts of the criminal world, I do think the show is actually pretty specific in how it represents those worlds, particularly in terms of the masculine / feminine, and how a part of the curiosity around each other is in viewing one another as a key that both compliments their own world, while also unlocking the other’s one for them.

The gendering of spaces in storytelling – but particularly films and TV is, hilariously, a topic that I’m incredibly passionate about and have both written it a lot in my original work, and written about it a lot for magazines, journals and media sites (I’m actually writing an essay at the moment for a literary journal about LGBTQI cinema and how lesbian romances are highly domesticised [i.e. Portrait of a Lady on Fire, The Handmaiden, The Favourite, The Kids are Alright] while gay romances are usually very pointedly about keeping away from domestic spaces, moving and traveling [i.e. Brokeback Mountain, The Talented Mr Ripley, Moonlight, Midnight Cowboy, even Call Me By Your Name is heavily focused on being Americans abroad aka away from home] but that all feels like a different story, haha).

Luckily for me, Good Girls is actually about as obsessed with the gendering of spaces as I am. It’s a major, major throughline throughout the show for many of the characters, but particularly Beth and Rio, and their intrigue with the other’s spaces – her interest in his powerful, highly masculine one, and his with her deceptively innocent, strongly feminine one – is really central to their intrigue with each other more broadly.

So to talk about this, we probably need a little bit of context.

(Under a cut because this is literally 4,000 words)

Gendering Spaces in Cinema

It’s probably not a surprise to anyone here, but places and spaces in stories are about as gendered – if not more gendered – as they are in daily life. In particular, cinema’s visual and textual language has historically been very clear:

The inside is female. The outside is male.

This concept has really been around since the beginning of cinema but became very popularised through Westerns in the late 1920s onwards, and really underlined by war films particularly during propaganda cinema in WWII. Men are outside, battling the elements and other men, claiming land, building outwards, while women are at home – either literally or figuratively (if they’re actually out at war, like in the utterly fabulous So Proudly We Hail!, they’re at the ‘home base’ as nurses) – building inwards. Men protect the home while women create it.

Westerns feature these images very potently and very literally. Almost every single western dating back to the 1910s will have some combination of these two shots:

a)       Woman at home, looking out into the wild:

b)      Man leaving home, stepping out into the wild:

(These two stills are from John Ford’s The Searchers which is generally regarded as one of the greatest Westerns of all time. It’s………very racist and misogynistic, as many were and still are, but in terms of technicality and visual language, it’s a very well-made film, albeit not one I enjoyed).

The purpose at the time, of course, was steeped in historic sexism and invested in maintaining that culture, particularly westerns and war films which are heavily devoted to ‘macho’ narratives. Women were passive, men were active, but these images really set the stage for how the ideas of ‘space’ continues to exist in cinema. A fact that’s bolstered by broader social discourses that still exist today – schools, grocery stores, laundromats are inherently ‘female’ spaces because they are seen as an extension of the home, while police stations, car dealerships, warehouses, are inherently ‘male’ spaces because they’re about work, protecting and providing for a home, and being pointedly outside of that domestic space aka ‘the wild’. It’s not an accident that the girls are robbing grocery stores and day spas, but I’ll get back to that, haha.

These ideas of gendered spaces underpin everything we watch, no matter the genre.

Sure, these ideas can be subverted to varying degrees of effectiveness (often it’s steeped in my least favourite trope – the ‘not like other girls’ heroine), but you can’t subvert a trope without actually acknowledging it exists. Sometimes these subversions are done brilliantly too – like in Legally Blonde which was not just about Elle existing in a space that was quintessentially coded as male, but embracing her femininity and womanhood within that space; and often brutally too in films like Winter’s Bone, Room and The Nightingale which all brutalise women in ‘male spaces’ while simultaneously weaponizing female spaces against them – usually the home. The lead character of Winter’s Bone is going to lose her house unless her absent father shows up in court, the lead character of Room creates a home that is simultaneously a sanctuary and a mockery of a sanctuary to try and protect her son from reality and survive, the lead character of The Nightingale has her home invaded, her husband and baby murdered, and is horrifically raped within that home.

Hometown Horror: a divergence

This is a slight aside to where I’m going with this overall, but please indulge me, haha. I’m a big fan of horrors and thrillers, which explore this in a really stark way. In that, the invasion of a home or a domestic space – whether by ghost, demon or serial killer, is, generally speaking, synonymous with the invasion of a woman’s body and the violation of her as a person.

Films that focus on a female survivor or a ‘final girl’ are very generally focused on the invasion of her home as much as it’s focused on the invasion of her body. Think The Exorcist, Rosemary’s Baby, Scream, The Babadook, Hereditary, The Conjuring, Nightmare on Elm Street, Halloween, Panic Room. The violation of a woman’s home is the invasion of her, because cinema relies on over 100 years of movies telling us that a house and the woman who lives in it are symbolically the same thing.

Horror films that focus on men are very rarely centred in the home. It’s men travelling, or men visiting a woman’s home, or men who’ve been taken. Think of the first Saw movie which takes place in a mysterious basement, Hostel which is at a hostel, Dawn of the Dead at a shopping mall, An American Werewolf in London while two men are on holiday, The Evil Dead is in a cabin, Get Out is at his girlfriend’s family home.

There are exceptions, of course! Family home invasion films like The Purge, Funny Games and The Strangers are rooted in the violation of that home, but still. You’ll generally find that it manifests differently narratively speaking for men and women. Rear Window too takes place entirely in a man’s apartment – but it’s interesting to note that most of the ‘horror’ comes from him spying on somebody else’s home – notably a woman’s, The Descent too is very much about women and is set during cave diving. Still! These are all exceptions, not the rule.

Good Girls and Gendered Spaces

Every single space in Good Girls is gendered. It’s actually one of the things I seriously love about the show because it’s thoughtfully done, and it is deliberate. We know it is, because they tell us explicitly in the writing multiple times. I mean – hell, think of Ruby telling us (well, telling Rio, haha) way back at the end of 1.04 when they’re selling him on the idea of washing cash through Cloud 9 – “Nobody thinks twice about a woman buying her husband a TV or new tires for the minivan.” A store like that is gendered, and Ruby’s reinforcing it by saying it’s a place women go to build a home. It hasn’t been weaponized yet - - but our girls know how to weaponize it. They’re playing on the fact that people think women’s spaces are effectively impotent, and they’re telling Rio – and us as an audience – that they’re going to exploit it.

This is an idea the show revisits frequently. Women’s spaces are – both in life and in storytelling – spaces that are viewed as passive because they are representative of women, and what the show is – I believe – very invested in, is showing how those spaces are fundamentally active. If you want a house to represent a woman – well, okay. Then you get to see what’s under the rug, y’know?

I’m going to come back to the home thread – because I really do think it’s very important, and I think the way the show depicts people in those spaces (and invading those spaces) is significant – but it’s not just homes that are looked at in this way. The show is very specific about having feminine spaces and masculine spaces, with only a few in between (and usually those in-between spaces are very specifically for Stan and Ruby, showing just how in-sync they are with each other and how much they operate within a shared space). Beyond the women’s homes, there are the kids’ schools, Fine & Frugal (very important here to note that Annie emasculates Boomer in what is an associated female space and that he retaliates by attempting to rape her in her own home aka not only another female space, but a space that is symbolically Annie, something he repeats later with Mary Pat – a violation on essentially every character, narrative and symbolic level, again), the waxing salon, Nancy’s day spa, Jane’s dance recital (and actually the physical object of the dubby – being a highly feminine object lost in a very masculine space), and already what we know of s3, with Ruby being at a nail salon and Beth being at a paper / card store.

The show also has very masculinized places – I’d argue Boland Motors is one of the biggest ones – very much about ‘boys and their toys’, which is why Beth pointedly feminising it when she takes over is so significant and symbolically indicative of Beth’s claiming of that space; but also spaces like the police station, the drug dealer’s house in 2.07, the hotel suite Boomer briefly occupies, even to an extent the church. When the girls are in these spaces, there’s a distinct feeling of encroaching on territory that isn’t theirs, or being in spaces that they don’t belong in. This is often done as a two-hander too – the police station and the church Ruby doesn’t belong in anymore, not necessarily as a woman, but as a criminal.

Nothing though, from a technical standpoint, is more masculine than the spaces that are shown to be Rio’s. From the warehouse spaces to the bar to his loft to his car, Rio’s ‘places’ are distinctly masculine and generally placed in direct contrast with Beth’s femininity. But I’ll come back to that point too.

Home, Identity and Invasion

Almost every female character on this show has a very defined domestic space, from Beth, Ruby and Annie, to Mary Pat, Marion and Nancy. These spaces are representative of not just who they are, but who they are as women, and really comes to routinely represent the interior lives of these characters. This is probably the clearest in 2.09 when Beth is uncharacteristically messy following Dean taking their kids, and in 2.06, when Beth and Dean switch roles, and Dean is incapable of maintaining that domestic space because it’s not his. But let’s not start there.

Let’s start with Annie.

Annie’s apartment is fun, feminine (but not overly so), youthful, sweet, and generally a bit of organized chaos. It’s often underequipped – there are several mentions of the pantry being understocked – but it’ll always do in a pinch. More than anything though, Annie’s apartment comes to life when her son is in it. She’s happiest when he’s there, and when he’s not, her loneliness drives her to pulling people into the space with her, whether that’s the electronics guy, Greg, or Noah.

This is particularly significant when Annie’s forming bonds with people. The show has symbolically relied very heavily on Annie’s moments of vulnerability and connection being grounded in her apartment or an extension of it – usually her car. There was her reconnecting with Greg over YouTube videos in s1, there was Nancy and her talking about pregnancy in 2.02, and there was Noah settling in across season 2. These are all substantial moments in terms of Annie’s interior life that are represented through her home – she lets them all in. Which is why it’s significant what people do when they are in. Particularly the show marrying Noah getting to know Annie while simultaneously rifling through her belongings, trying to know specific things about her.

This is only reiterated by Noah’s scenes with Sadie later in the season – always at home, reiterating just how much Noah’s invaded Annie’s life, how much he’s inside her, how much he’s using everything and everyone who’s important to her, and how much he’s a threat to all of that too.

Ruby and Stan are a little different. Ruby’s house is the only one that’s genuinely shared with somebody, and the show represents this across the board – Ruby and Stan wear similar colours, the house feels like theirs, and the parts of their worlds that are separate are still frequently pretty defined by each other (even when Ruby’s acting away form Stan, the show makes it clear that Stan’s at the forefront of her mind, and vice versa). This indicates their partnership, but the house really still is symbolically tied to Ruby. This is particularly represented by the effect of having Turner in the house, but, more than that, it’s underlined symbolically by Turner arresting Stan at home. If the home symbolically carries the meaning of the woman, Turner arresting Stan there is starkly about Turner taking Stan away from Ruby. That image would not hold the same weight if he was arrested at, say, the park or the police station, because the locations don’t hold the same meaning.

It’s also why there’s significance in Stan and Turner’s showdown narratively speaking happening at the police station. It needs to, because symbolically it should occupy a masculine-coded space, because that showdown isn’t just about who they are as people, but who they are as men.

Beth and Beth’s house is very, very different to Annie and Ruby’s, and holds a more substantial narrative and symbolic function. From the very first episode, the potential of losing her house is key to her arc, and key to her identity as a character.

Beth is a lot of things, but a recurring image with her as a character is that she is invested in projecting a dated idea of ‘perfect womanhood’, and, within that, actually pretty perfectly creates parts of it for herself. For Beth – as somebody who was a housewife for roughly twenty years – her house really is her in every sense of the word. Every threat to that house, every disruption, every wrinkle, every intrusion, every theft, every invitation is personal. Dean might have at least two rooms in the Boland House, but that space is Beth’s on almost every symbolic level. When people pop into it, it’s a direct invasion of her.

This is something that the show has revisited time and time again, particularly when it comes to Beth’s bedroom. When people want to be close to Beth, that’s where they go. Annie slept there across season one when she was vulnerable and lonely, despite Beth telling her to go home, Jane broke into Beth’s closet there when she felt she was being neglected, Dean’s constantly trying to sidle into it (and – pointedly – only really in it when they’re fighting and Beth is revealing something / letting him in on something – that they’re out of money, that she has Rio’s money, that she knows about his affairs). When Beth has been at her most vulnerable, she lets Ruby and Annie into it. That said, the only character who’s been explicitly invited into it has been Rio – significantly both in fantasy, and in the show’s reality.

It’s not just about inviting people in though – when she kicks somebody out of it, the act is loaded.

She’s not just pushing somebody out of a space, she’s pushing them out of her.

It’s not just her bedroom of course (although I do think that’s the most significant space on perhaps the whole show). Rio and Turner between them have regularly invaded Beth’s living room, dining room, her kitchen, her yard. These are often distinctly tied with her doing something domestic and / or distinctly feminine. She’s bringing groceries home, she’s baking, she’s trying on jewellery, she’s mothering her children. Symbolically, this is often when Rio and Turner both are at their most masculine and their most threatening, which just serves to underline the invasion of Beth’s space.

It’s not just the girls though, as I said above. Female domestic spaces on this show are significantly coded as belonging to women, even if they share those spaces. Think about Nancy and Greg’s house – which is Nancy’s space, not Greg’s, and throughout season 1, Annie was pitted as the outsider to that. She’s a smear of hair oil on Nancy’s perfect couch. It’s made all the starker when Nancy kicks Greg out, and when Annie helps Nancy give birth in that house – a distinctly female, intimate act, that not only operates as a significant feminization of that space, but also about Annie fighting for Nancy to let her in again.

These spaces all keep secrets for the women they belong to too – Mary Pat’s husband’s dead body, Boomer’s very much alive one – because, again, symbolically, they are these women.

Rio’s loft is a really interesting one to look at in this context, because not only is it hyper masculine, but the show underlines that it does not hold the same significance that the girls’ places have for them. Beth does not learn Rio by being inside him – something made stark through their game of twenty questions. In fact, being in Rio’s loft, in his space, only serves to point out how much Beth doesn’t know him. Not only that, but Beth’s inability to lose her house (which is really central to her arc) is paralleled exactly with how easily Rio can separate from his.

The domestic space is not male.

Rio exists outside of it.

Beth x Rio and the Feminine x Masculine

Rio and Beth are basically at polar opposites of the masculine / feminine spectrum, and it’s something that this show often casts in a really stark light through dialogue, visual language, character coding and symbolism.

Beth epitomizes the old archetype of femininity and the female world in a way that I don’t think Annie and Ruby do (although I do think Ruby does in some respects). This is coded into almost every part of her character – from her long history of domestic servitude and marital submission (letting Dean control their finances, not working, keeping the house, etc.) to her fertility (four children!) to the way she dresses in floral, bakes, to certain traits, namely her nurturing tendencies, overt empathy and guilt (not being able to kill Boomer). Even in terms of the casting – Christina is somebody who has a very distinctly feminine body.  

On the other hand, Rio, in many ways, epitomizes the old idea of masculinity and the masculine world. He’s coded that way almost as much as Beth is coded as feminine – he’s physically strong (beating up Dean, holding Beth up while they were having sex), assertive, dominant, capable and collected. That’s not even touching on the fact that the golden gun is incredibly phallic, haha.

The show loves to place Beth’s femininity in direct contrast with Rio’s masculinity in a way that it doesn’t do with the other girls or – in fact perhaps more notably – with Beth and Dean (if anything, Dean’s frequently emasculated around Beth, but that feels like a whole other thing, haha), and it does this frequently, and often even in the same shot.

Most notably, think of her pearls on the warehouse door handle:

Their cars parked side-by-side:

Her necklace, his gun:

Her light, his darkness:

Her floral, his solid colours:

Interestingly though, these things are very rarely in competition or combative (although occasionally they are – Rio trying to use her femaleness and his maleness / their sexuality to literally bend her over a table in 2.06 being the clearest example of that). Generally speaking, the show’s visual language though shows us how these things compliment each other. They occupy different gendered spaces, so they can ‘crime’ in different ways – Beth using the big box stores, the secret shoppers, robbing the day spa, are all things that are highly feminised, and give Rio by proxy access to a world he ordinarily wouldn’t (albeit it’s not always a world he’s interested in – like it wasn’t with the botox), and the reverse of that is that Rio gives Beth access to spaces that are highly masculinised and that she ordinarily wouldn’t have access to (again, not always a world she’s interested in either). It’s why when they’re working together, and acknowledging they have different departments, they actually become something really whole, comprehensive and effective.

It’s the exploration of this that I find really intriguing generally, and particularly a thread that I think is reiterated where Beth’s usually at her worst and her most ineffective when she’s trying to emulate Rio’s masculinity. We saw that at the end of 1.10 and the start of 2.01, and I think we saw it at the tail end of season 2 too. When Beth’s succeeding, she’s typically doing something that revels in the strength and power and the underestimation of femininity and female spaces, and turns places that are typically viewed as passive into active ones.

The Secret Shoppers (which worked briefly! And fell apart because she couldn’t handle Mary Pat. Notably almost every scene with them was inside Beth’s house):

The day spa heist:

The Boland Motors takeover / reclamation that focused on feminising the place:

Pretending to be somebody’s mum to get into the kids’ space (which would’ve worked if Beth and Ruby hadn’t started fighting):

Breaking into Rio’s loft:

Again, this is something that seems to be being teased out already in s3 with the paper store and the nail salon, and I’m sure we’ll see it coming up again and again beyond that.

But yes! Your question, haha. I think Rio is enamoured with the strong, feminine space and the untapped female world that Beth exists in, and the ways that she is actively capable of utilising her femininity and her womanness in a way that is completely impossible for him. She can manipulate these spaces – either those already female, or those she makes female aka Boland Motors – in ways that he can’t, and in a way that, at the end of the day, lines his pocket, in the same way that giving her access to his powerful, masculine world lines hers. It’s market development, y’know? But it’s also something that could be a true and successful partnership if they could stop, y’know, playing games and trying to kill each other, haha.

I think it’s worth noting here too that the show has shown us explicitly that Beth absolutely gets off on Rio being highly masculine, and while I think Rio absolutely gets off on Beth being a boss bitch too, it’s also important to note how he responds to her when she’s displaying vulnerability in a way often defined as very feminine – namely crying – and how that display of femininity not only affects him, but often makes him want to touch her (and more and more, follow through on touching her).

Basically I think they’re as obsessed with the contrast between the two of them as we are, haha.  

[whumperfect]

Wheels, Part 3

You can find part one here, part two here, and part four here! Coming soon. Written in collaboration with @99point9percentwhump, a wonderful whumper!

Blake was not one to break laws. Nor was his wife, Shirley. However, when it came to the safety of their son, there was a mutual agreement that any laws could be broken. Driving well over the speed limit, Blake just hoped that it was enough to get to the hospital on time. They lived at least two hours away, and the roads were tedious, even in the summer. It has been Shirley that had seen Roman’s collapse, an event that she wished never to witness again. The pain in her son’s eyes had broken her heart as he had crumpled to the floor. Upon investigation, she had found multiple scrapes and many bruises, including a large bump on his head. Wasn’t he wearing a helmet? She scolded him, stroking his hair with care.

It was still raining. The teardrops hit the windshield in a panic, mirroring the panic that the two parents felt for their child.

Shirley and Roman were in the back seat. Roman’s head was on Shirley’s lap, his legs sprawled over the rest of the back seat. His seat belt was fastened, safety first, and his eyes were closed. His face was screwed into a pained frown, as if he were suffering from a nightmare that he couldn’t wake from.

“Just hang in there,” Shirley whispered in his ear. Briefly, she regretted leaving Anna at home by herself but cleared the thought from her mind. She wouldn't worry about both children at once, it wouldn’t do anyone any good. Anna was old enough to take care of herself. She hoped. Outside, the green pine trees whizzed by. They were so still and serene. She wished that her life could be as simple as the ancient trees that stretched their branches up to the sky.

Roman moaned, his eyes fluttering like a butterfly’s. She stroked his hair more, leaning down to kiss his forehead. It was hot and sweaty, as if a fever had already started to set in. What had it been, a couple of hours? No way they could be infected yet. He had been fine this morning when she’d headed off to work. That was only a couple of hours ago; so much had happened between now and then.

His eyes. Why so much pain? What was wrong.

The events kept circling in her head over and over.

The pen was on the counter, where he had dropped it moments before. There was an ink stain on his hand. Blue. Smeared half an inch across the side of his hand. His hands were shaking. His knees were shaking. Something was wrong. His mouth moved but no words came out. He was staring at her across the counter. What was he trying to say? His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he was on the floor, crumpled in a pile, all twisted around himself. She called for Blake to start the car. He rushed into the kitchen, saw what was happening, and scooped the boy into his arms. He looked so small. So, so small. No longer the teenager he was, but the boy they had raised. His face was so fragile, his brows knitted together, forming a small mountain in between his eyes. His arms and legs swung limply, tapping each other with every footfall. She had yelled at Anna. Stay home! She had said. She had promised to call their neighbors later, ask them to take Anna for the night.

Then what had happened? Shirley thought back, consumed in the thunderstorm memories.

The car had started the third time. Each time the engine rolled over, lightning bolts of nervous energy had shot through her stomach. Tentacles of energy tingled through her arms, her shoulders, her back. Butterflies swarmed in her stomach as she held on to her son for dear life. The energy licked at her brain, illuminating every cell in her body. They were ultra-active, slowing time, capturing every moment in fine detail in the catastrophe of her thoughts.

She had eventually managed to call their neighbours, about an hour into the drive. They were halfway there, she comforted herself. And besides, Roman’s condition has not worsened at all since they had left. He was just… the same.

“How’s he doing?” Blake asked, glancing in his rearview mirror, his hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were powdery white. He was driving over the speed limit, braking hard to swerve around the dangerous mountain turns. It made her carsick, but the faster they went, the sooner they would be there and the sooner Roman would be safe.

“He’s the same… I don’t understand how this happened. Doesn’t he know he has to wear a helmet?”

“It makes sense, honey. He’s a teenager. He’s hanging out with his friends, he-” Blake paused to rip them around a steep bend in the mountain. Shirley grabbed the overhead handle to steady herself. “-he wants to be cool. I understand, I used to do the same thing in that skate park when I was his age. He’ll learn-” another bend “-I just hope that he will learn his lesson from all this, after it’s over.”

They passed a sign, alerting them that the hospital was less than two miles away. Shirley sighed with relief, her fingers cold and clammy from anxiousness. They screeched to a halt in front of the hospital doors a couple of minutes later. Shirley unclipped both her seatbelt and her sons, then waited for Blake to come around and open the door. They hauled his limp body to the edge of the seat, and then Blake scooped the teen into his arms and carried him swiftly to the entrance.

Shirley, scrambling after him, followed him through the sliding glass doors and into the hospital lobby. Shirley went straight to the desk, asking for help. The nice young lady at the desk - a blonde with doe brown eyes - perked up at the sight of them and immediately jumped into action.

“What’s his condition?” She asked, her sweet melodic voice echoing.

“We don’t know. He was skating this morning, came home with lots of scrapes. He just collapsed in our kitchen two hours ago; that's how long it took us to get here. He’s been unconscious ever since.”

The assistant clacked away on the keyboards, a look of furious concentration glued to her innocent face. “Nurses are on their way, they’ll be right with you,” she said after a couple of seconds. I’ll need you to fill out some papers for us, please. It’s mandatory.”

“Uh, sure, um… now?”

“That would be best,” the assistant said, her melodic voice managing only to cool some of the nerves that were wracked up in a fiery panic. “Don’t worry, your son is safe now, he’s in the best of hands.” The assistant handed her an enormous stack of papers and a pen across the counter. She smiled. “Thank you.”

By then the nurses had come, wheeling in a squeaky blue hospital bed. One of them helped Blake lower Roman onto the bed while the other two checked his vitals and started making note of his AVPU scale. He was wheeled off, leaving Shirley, Blake, the assistant, and an overly sized stack of papers alone in the windowless hospital lobby.

[thecleverdame]

Control and Release - 15

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification,  mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play.

This chapter contains descriptions of bondage, public sex, genital piercing, ownership, whipping, the question of consent, a detailed non-consensual fantasy and anal sex.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Words: 4.2k

Parts 16, 17, 18 & 19 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

Most Friday nights you’re chauffeured directly to Sam’s house, but tonight you went home after work in preparation for the “dinner party”.

You can hardly believe you’re going to meet Nick Luster, forget going to his house. Sam is rich beyond your imagination but Nick’s fortune dwarfs Sam’s tenfold.

Sam sent an outfit. You were nervous when you opened the box but it turned out to be nothing more than a strapless black dress that hugs your hips and showcases your breasts. There were no undergarments in his little care package and the dress has its own boning for support, so you take that as a clear instruction. He wants this dress to be the only thing you’ve got on.

-

“You’re quiet,” Sam observes as the car winds up a steep, tree-lined two-lane road.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, looking at where his hand is gripping your thigh. “This is out of my comfort zone.”

“It’s not exactly my cup of tea either,” he shrugs, glancing at his watch. “But who knows, you might see some things that interest you. There’s a lot of activities we haven’t tried.”

You shift in the seat, staring out the window as the car rounds a corner, revealing a massive house set up in the hills. There are thousands of twinkling lights flanking the driveway as you pull up to the main entrance. Sam gets out, offering you a hand and then tucks it over his arm as you walk toward the house.

Just inside the door is a metal detector. Sam steps to the side and a security guard ushers him around, as you are instructed to walk through it. It appears he’s above all this, but you certainly are not. Sam watches you stoically as you walk through the detector and then a man steps forward to pat you down. Once you’ve proven you’re not carrying anything on you, Sam directs you to an ornate table manned by a beautiful blonde who smiles wide as you approach.

“Mr. Winchester, it’s so good to see you again. You’re all set but your guest will have to sign a non-disclosure.”

“Really?” You turn to Sam, nerves stirring in your stomach.

“It’s nothing.” He leans in, one hand at the small of your back. “It’s just to ensure you won’t speak about anything you see or hear inside.”

The blonde leans forward, sliding an iPad and a stylus across the table. “Please sign here. Mr. Winchester is correct. I’m sure he’s explained everything. It simply states that you will not disclose any details of the night, such as any high profile guests you might encounter.”

“This is nothing new,” you mumble, bending over the table.

“Would you like a ribbon for your guest, or will she entertain this evening? Perhaps something more exotic?” The woman asks Sam, showing him a display case with ribbons of every color of the rainbow.

“Red,” Sam responds without pause.

“Here you go. I hope the two of you have a wonderful evening.” She hands him a silky red ribbon and moves her attention to the next guest.

“What is that?” you inquire as he ushers you further down the hall.

“Turn around.” He spins his finger as you turn your back to him. Reaching in front of you he places the ribbon around your neck and you lift your hair out of the way for him to tie it in place. “The color of the ribbons signify what you’re here for. White means available for use by anyone, no need to ask first. Many women here have multiple colors. White and yellow ribbons are a person who’s available for anal sex. You’ll see the whole spectrum tonight.”

“And red?” You touch the ribbon that’s fixed like a collar around your throat.

He turns you around, adjusting your hair as his eyes dart up from your neck. “Red means owned and unavailable.”

“Thank God,” you breathe and he chuckles, slipping a hand behind your back. “You won’t leave me alone here, will you?”

“No,” he snorts, his hand sliding over your hip. “Not tonight.”

At the end of the hall are two doors, twice normal height. They swing open as you approach and you enter what appears to an enormous solarium. There are the same twinkling lights from outside hung from the beams. The walkways and walls are lined with exotic plants.

The architecture is breathtaking but you immediately focus on two things. The first is a statuesque woman with the body of a goddess. She’s stark naked with tiny sliver clamps on her nipples, holding a tray of champagne.

There are several dozen people milling around. Some of the women are dressed like you, but others are in lingerie. One woman is wearing an array of ribbons around her neck and is completely nude save for a thin collar and a chain that's held by an older, portly man.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, unconsciously moving closer to Sam. “This is like...something out of a book.”

“This is just the appetizer,” he sighs, walking the two of you to the other side of the room. “You’re going to see a lot of new things tonight.”

You stay close, following him into the next room. There’s a long dinner table set up, big enough for fifty guests and in the middle are nude women laid out as the guests sit drinking and talking as if there’s nothing going on.

“I’d like a drink.” You speak up, trying to cover your nerves. All he has to do is raise a hand and a woman appears to take your order. In record time you're holding a double shot of vodka.

The lighting is dim and the crowd is milling around but you glimpse a scene in the corner of the room. There’s a man seated in an armchair, he’s smoking a cigar, head tipped back while a naked woman on her knees is enthusiastically sucking his cock.

“What do you think?” Sam asks, sipping a glass of what you assume is club soda.

“I think I’m definitely not an exhibitionist. I mean, I guess I am to some degree, but not like that.” You drink your vodka, unable to look away from the blow job in progress. “Is that something you would want?”

“I have no interest in an audience,” he quips, looking around.

“Sam Winchester!” A jovial voice announces from behind you. Turning you find none other than the gregarious Nick Luster standing in a bright orange velvet suit. He opens his arms as if he expects Sam to embrace him and shakes his head, closing his eyes in dramatic flare.

“Nick,” Sam smiles, offering a hand and Nick takes it with a vigorous shake.

“It’s so good to see you, my old friend!” Nick pats Sam on the shoulder, his eyes falling to you. “And who do you have here? A plus one? What a novelty...”

“This is Y/N,” Sam’s arm curls around your waist, pulling you forward and into his side at the same time. “Y/N, meet Nick.”

“It’s very nice to meet you.” You bow your head awkwardly, somewhat star stuck.

“It’s my pleasure,” his eyes fall over your body, cocking his head to the side. “Red? How boring.” He rolls his eyes. “You bring us this luscious little creature but you’re not willing to share? Disappointing.”

“No,” Sam’s eyes narrow, his fingers digging into your hip bone. “She’s mine.”

This environment is all about dominance, a room full of powerful men and submissive women. Sam’s making it clear where he falls on the food chain.

“Well, at least we get to admire her from afar.” He examines you one more time before calling over a server and receiving a fresh cocktail. “Follow me. This is just the fluff, the good stuff is downstairs.”

Nick leads the way, stopping to greet his guests as he moves through the crowd. The man has mastered showmanship, you’ll give him that.

“Sam,” you whisper, watching Nick with interest. “Is he...gay?”

“No, just flamboyant.” Sam gulps down his drink, setting the empty glass on a table and grabs your wrist to pull you along behind him.

The two of you follow Nick through the growing crowd and down two flights of stairs into what you assume used to be a vast, underground wine cellar.

To your right, there’s a woman strapped to a table. Her arms and legs are each in restraints and she’s blindfolded with a ball gag in her mouth.  There’s a table beside her with all manner of toys laid out, dildos of varying sizes, clamps and whips. Multiple men surround her, groping her breasts and fingering her pussy.

“Did someone bring her here or is she part of Nick’s show?” you whisper unable to look away.

“It’s hard to say.” Sam watches for a moment, tilting his head before moving on.

The next sight you come upon is arguably the tamest thing you’ve seen all night. It’s a woman in lingerie sitting spread eagle in a chair. She has one hand inside her panties, touching herself as she moans and wiggles in pleasure.

A couple walks up beside you, the man is nothing special but the woman is gorgeous, tall and lithe, like something off a runway. You look at her neck, but she’s not wearing any ribbons.

“What about her?” Your interest is piqued. “She doesn’t have any colors.”

Sam leans down so that his lips brush at the shell of your ear and he speaks quietly. “That means anyone here is welcome to do anything they like to her. No limits.”

You shiver at the feel of his breath on your neck.

“What do no limits mean in a place like this?”

“I’m not sure you want to know,” Sam contends. “Things that would give you nightmares, I’m sure. Come on, let's keep moving.”

You walk on further coming to the next set up and gasp the moment you realize what you’re watching. There’s a woman bent over a sawhorse. Her arms around bound in front of her, her entire head is encased in some kind of mask. But what takes your breath away is the man whipping her without mercy. Her buttocks are striped with blood as he brings the leather down over her ass again and again. What’s most disturbing about the scene are her muffled screams from inside the hood.

“Can we move on please?” You turn your head away.

“Sure,” Sam doesn’t seem phased at all, that familiar arm around you, guiding you away.

You pass a woman who’s laid out on an examination table. Her feet are in stirrups and her hands in cuffs at her side. There’s a man with rubber gloves, pinching her nipple with what appears to be metal forceps as he holds up a long needle.

“Oh my God,” you breathe, watching in a combination of horror and fascination as the woman has her nipple pierced right before your eyes. She moans loudly, arms tugging at the restraints, hips squirming in place. It’s not a cry of pain, or rather not exclusively pain. There’s pleasure in this for her, you can tell by the way her body is writhing.

“She’s exquisite isn’t she?” Nick Luster is suddenly beside you, staring at the woman on the table, shaking his head in appreciation. “Watch this part.”

The man prepares her opposite nipple, clamping and then getting the needle ready. You watch, slinking into Sam’s side as her second nipple is pierced and she has what appears to be an orgasm at the same time. You’ve got an unobstructed view of her pussy as it tightens and contracts, her legs trying to close but the stirrups hold them in place.

You’re simultaneously uncomfortable, a little queasy, and slightly turned on all at the same time.

The man at the table moves between her legs bringing the forceps with him and you turn to look at Nick. “He’s going to…”

“Pierce her clit? Of course. It’s the cherry on top.” He grins, chuckling at your shocked expression. “Would you like to have a turn on the table? Pierre does great work, there are a half dozen women on the list for this evening but we can fit you in.”

“No,” you mutter, looking to Sam who’s watching the interaction between you and Nick with his trademark non-expression. “I don’t want to see this.”

“What a wholesome little thing she is.” Nick eyes you up and down as you feel Sam’s fingers close around your arm just above the elbow.

“Yes, she is. Please excuse us, Nick. We’ll be back in a while.”

“No worries,” he calls out with a shit eating grin. “Feel free to use anything you like!”

Sam pulls you down the far hallway that winds off, leaving the bustle of the party behind.  

“Was all that…” you pause, searching for what you truly want to ask. “Consensual?”

“Of course,” Sam quips. “You like to be spanked, others have more extreme limits.”

You think about this, and how unphased he seems by everything you just witnessed. Things you’re going to think about for weeks to come, images that are seared into your brain.

“Are those things you want to do to me?” you ask, concerned that perhaps Sam’s expectations are far beyond anything you imagined.

“No.” He stops at a shut door at the end of the hallway, opening and ushering you inside before closing and locking it. You're in a huge, ornate bathroom, big enough that there’s a sitting area with two chairs and coffee table. He turns to you, reaching down to pull your dress up over your hips, exposing your bare pussy. “Sit here.” He backs you up until your naked ass meets the cold marble of the counter. “Spread your legs.”

“But there are other things you want?” You dig deeper, watching as he wanders to the chair and takes a seat, his eyes locked on you. You follow up the question by hopping on the edge of the sink, lifting your knees to open your legs for him.

“I have no interest in inflicting pain on you if you’re not getting pleasure from it.” Sam clarifies, palming his cock through his pants. He’s hard, thick and bulging through his slacks.

“But it turned you on?” you ask, watching him watch you.

“Some of it,” he clarifies, unbuckling his belt, sliding down his zipper and taking his cock into his hand. “You liked it too.”

His eyes drop to your pussy and you touch yourself lightly in confirmation. It’s true, you’re wet. Blushing you bite your lower lip, watching him stroke himself.

“I think it’s the idea of those things that I like. I’d never want you to actually fuck me in front of someone else, or hurt me like that...but I enjoy the fantasy of it.”

“Touch yourself, rub your clit,” he instructs, lazily stroking his cock as if you aren’t in a bathroom at Nick Lusters house.

You do as he says, using your middle finger to gently stroke your own clit, wiggling from side to side and moaning softly. He was right, you are turned on, more than you care to admit.

“I could make you suck my cock in from of them,” Sam offers, his voice low with self-restraint. You look up, blinking as you stare him down. “I could march you back out there, tell you to get on your knees and choke on my dick. And you’d do it, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” you nod, mouth opening in a soft gasp at the thought of that kind of humiliation.

“Did you see anything out there you do want to try?” he asks, his gaze never leaving where your fingers are working between your shaking thighs.

“The restraints,” you admit, dipping a finger into your own slick. “The cuffs, I’d be okay with you tying me up like that. And the ball gag, you have one but we haven’t used it.”

“I’ll make both those things happen.” His eyes flick up for a moment, watching as your face twists in pleasure. “I want you to tell me one of your fantasies. Something you’re embarrassed by. A fantasy that you’ve never admitted to anyone.”

Despite the fact that you’re masturbating in front of him, the concept of admitting your deepest desire makes your whole body flush with shame. But the moment the command leaves his mouth you’re already sure of what you’ll share.

“There’s one thing I think about…” you shift, starting to become uncomfortable with the position.

“Come here,” Sam gives his cock a final tug, patting his knee.

You shudder, pulling your hand away from yourself and nearly stumbling across the room. When you try to crawl into his lap, he stops you. Two wide hands curl around your hips, turn you around and ease you backwards onto his lap.

“Up,” he grabs his cock as you lift yourself up, notching the head in your pussy. “Take it all.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, sinking down until he’s inside you to the root. Your legs are bent and he slides a hand under each knee, forcing your legs to fall lax on either side of his. There’s no leverage like this, all your weight is keeping you impaled on his cock. One of his hands curls around your chest, urging you to lean back until your head is resting on his left shoulder, his jaw against your temple.

“Just like this,” he murmurs, one hand sliding inside your dress to grab your breast, the other sliding over your belly as he starts to make soft, slow circles around your clit.

“Shit, Sam,” you wriggle, feeling the head of his cock right on the edge of too deep.

“Now, tell me about your fantasy.”

Fuck. You take a breath, trying to think while you’re stuffed full of dick and he’s methodically rubbing your bud.

“I imagine that I’ve done something that makes you mad,” you start, your entire face burning hot, thankful he can’t see it. “You’re so angry and you grab me hard enough that it hurts. We’re in the living room, or the kitchen when it starts, and you grab my hair and walk me down the hall to the bedroom with my arms pinned behind my back.”

“How hard am I pulling your hair?” he asks, his jaw moving against the side of your face as he speaks.  

“Hard, it excruciating.” You nod. Sam begins to slide two fingers along either side of your clit, pressing slowly together and you whimper, tightening around his cock.

“Continue.”

“When we get to the bedroom you force me onto the ground and tear my clothes off.”

“Are you scared?”

“Yes, I’m scared because you’re so rough but I’m turned on by it too. It’s making me wet and I’m ashamed that you’re going to find out..”

“Keep going,” he urges, dipping his fingers into the slick of your cunt and going back to stroking your clit with the long, even press of his fingers.

“You force me onto my belly. At one point I try to fight you, but I can’t because you’re too strong. Then you spank me. It’s brutal, harder than you ever have before and I’m crying it hurts so bad. But then you check my pussy and find out I’m really wet. That makes you even more upset.”

“Why?” he inquires gently, his unassuming tone the polar opposite of the fantasy you’re describing to him.

“Because you tell me that I deserve to punished and I’m not supposed to enjoy my punishment. You call me names, a whore, a slut. And then…” You stop, moaning loudly as he grazes directly over your clit. “Then you make me ask you to fuck me up the ass.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. It’s painful. You make me take your cock so deep. I beg you to stop, but you won’t, because I need to learn my lesson.”

“When you’re begging me to stop, do you really want me to?” he whispers, gently pinching your clit.

“No,” you pant, feeling the stretch of his cock in your pussy. “I like it when it hurts. I enjoy it even though I don’t want to. When you cum in ass, I cum too. I try to stop it but I can’t.”

“What happens then?” he inquires, squeezing your breast with his free hand.

“Nothing, that’s when I cum in the fantasy and it’s over.”

He chuckles, shifting under and inside you, making you rock forward.

“Sam,” you start, breathing picking up as his finger moves faster over your clit. “You know that I don’t-”

“Do I understand that you don’t really want me to hurt you or fuck you without your consent? Of course. That’s why it’s a fantasy,” he explains, turning his head to nip at your jaw. “You have to enjoy it, for me to enjoy it. It’s why you’re perfect for our arrangement. We have the same preferences and the same limits.”

“God,” you squirm, feeling the heat of his body behind you. His cock feels unfathomably thick tonight and he’s working your slit faster now, his touch growing insistent. “You’re gonna make me cum like this.”

“No, you’re not,” he corrects you, his fingers still moving causing you delicious torture. “What’s the rule for this weekend?”

You whimper, your fingers curling into the arms of the chair. “I can’t have an orgasm unless I have your cum in my mouth.”

“And do you have my cum in your mouth?”

“No,” you confirm, clit throbbing with each heartbeat.

“That’s right,” he scolds, pulling his hand away right before giving your pussy a nasty slap that makes you yelp. “And right now I want to cum in this warm, tight little pussy. Doesn’t look like you’re cumming any time soon. Get up. I’m going to fuck you.”

He practically lifts you off his dick. You stand up on shaky legs, feeling him behind you. He bends you forward until your palms meet the coffee table. He slaps your thighs apart, widening your stance, then slides his cock back into your pussy and fucks you fast and hard.

“Oh my god,” you moan, biting your lip to keep from screaming. At least you can’t cum like this. While it feels amazing there’s nothing touching your clit and the angle isn’t right for your own pleasure, so you enjoy the sensation of him taking you for what it is.

It's only a few minutes before he speeds up to a fever pitch. There’s the wet sound of your pussy taking his cock and the smack of his hips meeting your ass. His breath goes choppy, he thrusts harder and faster and then he cums with a long, low grunt. Your hips hurt where his fingers dig into flesh, holding on for dear life as he spills inside you, spurting thick until he’s finally satisfied.

“Fuck,” he heaves, both hands grabbing your butt cheeks. “Shit, that was good.” He slowly pulls out, standing back to get a good look at you before removing his hands. You start to stand up, but he places a hand on your lower back to keep you in place. “Don’t move. You’re a mess.”

Bent over the coffee table with his load running your thighs, you watch as he moves to the sink to get a towel and wipe his cock off. Then he rinses it out, and coming back to you, moves behind you to clean your thighs and aching sex. Once you’re clean he reaches back between your legs, thumb pressing lightly over your clit several times before he’s done.

“Stand up.” His hand curls around your bicep, helping you into a standing position. Then he crouches down to pull your dress back into place. When he stands up he gets one look at your face and chuckles, walking you to the mirror.

You look like you’ve been fucked six ways from Sunday. Your hair is a mess, eyes watering and lips swollen from biting into them. You’re sweating, cheeks flushed and still breathing fast.

There’s no mistaking what’s just happened to you. Everyone will know.

“I guess this is the one place we don’t have to worry about someone knowing I fucked you in the bathroom.” He grins, standing tall behind you, admiring his handiwork. “How do you feel?”

“Horny,” you admit, pressing your lips together as you turn to face him. “Are you sure you don’t want a blow job? Because I’d really like an orgasm.”

He laughs out loud, a genuine smile overtaking his face.

“You’re going to have to wait.” Reaching out he places a hand on your shoulder, pulling you closer. “There’s still more of the party and I haven’t decided when I’m going to end your misery.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” you snort, grinning despite the fact your entire body is vibrating.

He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, finding your eyes with his. “Come on, let’s get you another drink and find Nick before he comes looking for us.”

-

Parts 16, 17, 18 & 19 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

[kimshavacado]

Dead Heat Ch.4

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: Arranged Marriage/Mafia AU

Summary: Three extremely powerful families with enough power to bring down entire governments, all with vastly different views on how things should be run. The Min family thinks everything can be solved with money, the Jeon family think everything can be solved with violence, and the Kim family relies more on thought which leads to a lack of action. When Kim Y/N loses her father, she only has one way to save herself and her family. But it involves having to give herself over to a stranger. How the hell is she not supposed to punch him in his stupid rich face?

Dead Heat Masterlist

Warnings: Language

A/N: Hi again lovely readers! You ready for some goddamn answers? I certainly am. Enjoy some soft Yoongi along the way ;)

Chapter 4: Sweet As Suga

It felt like all the air had left your body along with all sense of sanity leaving this hollow shell sitting behind the desk. For a moment you sit like this, still staring at the same photo. You’re running through every possible reason that Jimin might be there. Maybe he’s a prisoner or being forced to do something. Maybe it’s not Jimin at all and he’s got some twin that looks exactly like him.

“Y/N.” Yoongi softly calls you. But you remain fixated on the image, looking for any falsities or things that will give Jimin the benefit of the doubt. That is, until you catch a glimpse of the next photos. You put the first image aside and deflate into the back of Yoongi’s desk chair as you analyze the next ones. Jimin has his arm around the chloroform man, and is laughing. You can’t seem to continue further through the folder so you quickly close everything back inside.

You only realize the tears in your eyes when you attempt to look up at Yoongi. You refuse to let them fall, telling yourself that you’ve been through worse, but have you really? Jimin is literally the person who you trust most in the world.

-Was that person.

You keep cautious eyes on Yoongi as he walks forward to take one of the seats in front of his desk. Something about Yoongi looks soft in this moment, but maybe that’s just because of the fragile state that your mind is in right now. He leans casually forward on the desk and looks directly into your eyes.

“I know what you’re feeling right now, and I know you don’t want to talk about it. But,” he let’s out a sigh. “Do you still want to know?”

The way he is speaking to you is much like the way someone would talk to a child. Normally you would feel like he’s talking down to you, but instead you feel comforted. He’s aware of how fragile you are in your current state, and is taking every step to make sure you only hear if you’re ready to.

After what feels like multiple minutes, you find enough resolve to nod your head at Yoongi, but you’re still not entirely sure if you want to hear what he is going to say, because you want him to say that Jimin has not betrayed you. Yoongi sits back and stares out the window of the study trying to think about the best place to start before letting out a sigh.

“He works for them. The Jeons. Even before he was born, his mother was indebted to them. After her death, the debt fell onto him.”

What a fact to start off with. This wasn’t some new thing. He has been on their side the entire time you’ve known him. He was probably raised with those boys from the photos. Jimin isn’t just working for them, you saw how he enjoys their company. He’s their friend, their brother. Before you can get through processing this, Yoongi continues.

“They plotted for years. The Kims are seen as the weakest of the three of us and are the easiest to get rid of. They had never acted on any of their plans, but they must’ve heard your father’s talks about allying with us. Individually they stand a chance, but together we’re bigger than them.”

Everything he’s saying makes perfect sense, but a part of you is still skeptical. It’s the part of you that want’s him to be wrong about everything so you can be reassured that the person you love most in the world still loves you as well.

After he’s done explaining the politics behind your father’s death Yoongi leans forwards again noticing your mental turbulence.

“There’s one more thing Y/N. He’s the one who did it.” No.

“Did what?” Definitely not.

“He killed your father.”

“You can’t possibly know that. You didn’t even see who poisoned him.” You deny.

“He’s the only possible suspect, besides you. Honestly, you should be relieved I didn’t suspect you to begin with.”

“What do you mean me?

“You had a motive too. You allying with the Jeons could guarantee you the power you’re looking for in exchange for help taking down the Mins.”

“It not that I want power,” you immediately respond. “What I think I deserve is tied to my blood right as a Kim. I want my family’s respect, not whatever power I can get my hands on.” Great, now you have to defend yourself, but at least you’re not talking about Jimin. You’re not sure you could handle anymore surprises regarding him today.

“I can respect that.” Yoongi says after your explanation. “That’s why I didn’t really suspect you. If that’s what you wanted, you wouldn’t have murdered the head of your family to get there.”

Wait, Yoongi knew about my desire for taking leadership of my family? He does realize the events that led you to becoming his wife are the things keeping you from that goal, right? And how long has he known all of this? He saw Jimin at the party, so after that? It’s all too much to be questioning right now, and you find your mind running around in circles until you’re not able to think anymore.

“I… have to…”

“It’s okay. I’ll leave you be for a while.” Yoongi says, saving you the struggle of having to saying anything else. He walks out of the office, leaving you alone again. After a few minutes of staring blankly at the closed folder on the desk in front of you, you decide the only way to escape your mind is through sleep. You leave the office and head straight down the hall to your room, where you crawl under the covers and hope that when you wake up, all the lies will have been a dream.

After a few hours, you wake up in a sweat and are immediately reminded of all the shit floating around in your head from the conversation with Yoongi just a few hours ago. You find that you don’t even want to think about anything right now. After you get out of bed, you decide to take a long shower. Once under the water, you close your eyes and try to imagine the water washing away all the worries, but instead you feel like you yourself are melting away down the drain. That’s when you feel it all at once. Jimin has never been a friend. He was a spy and murderer and you let yourself get close to him. You let your tears mix with the water.

When you step out of the shower you throw on some pajamas and work up the courage the venture outside of your room. Peaking out of the door you see that there is no usual guard to keep you from leaving. You find this strange, but are relieved to feel like you had at least some privacy. You wander around, not really looking for anything in particular. It’s not like you’re snooping either, just traveling through the house looking for distraction. Instead you find Yoongi sitting on the couch in the living room, facing away from you. You aren’t sure if you are annoyed that he’s there. What catches you off guard is a small sense of comfort that you’re no longer alone to steep in your thoughts.

“There’s a pot of tea on the stove if you’re interested.” Yoongi speaks up without turning around to face you.

“Thanks.” You say quietly as you remove yourself momentarily to slip into the kitchen. When you come you come back into the living room you sit directly on the couch next to Yoongi before you realize it. The two of you sit and sip tea in the most awkward of silences that you’ve ever experienced. Finally, Yoongi breaks it by speaking.

“I’m sorry, for everything.” The statement is yet another thing that catches you off guard. He was suddenly so different than the first day you met him.

“What’s your deal?” Yoongi raises his eyebrows while peering at you over his tea waiting for you to ask a more specific question that he’ll actually be able to answer. After a moment you can’t keep it in anymore and have to know.

“You’re like… nice.” You stumble out, words guarded with suspicion. And if Yoongi’s eyebrows could raise any higher they’d disappear behind his hairline.

“Listen, I know you’ve been around a lot of bad people who’ve… wronged you. I understand your lack of trust, but I am an extremely nice guy.” He says the last part of the sentence a little bit too smug.

“Yeah, cause nice guys hold girls prisoner.” At this his eyebrows go the opposite direction and furrow in confusion for a moment before quickly jumping to defend himself.

“No, I was just… keeping you safe. Look, the Jeons are planning something. They were more likely to take care of what’s left of the Kims which is why you’re here. But now they know that we know everything, we could be a target too. So I guess you’re not even safe here either.”

Wow, how reassuring. If your best friend killing your father didn’t kill the mood then Yoongi definitely just did. You two sit for a while basking in the realization that you are royally fucked, until something suddenly comes over you.

“Tell me a story from your childhood, a happy one, not some daddy issues crap.” You say to him and his eyebrows do the thing again.

“Uh… well, I guess I had a cat.” This kind of surprises you, but then again, Yoongi has told you he’s a “nice” guy. Nice guys can have pets.

“Tell me about your cat, Yoongi.” He sighs and puts his tea on the table as you lean deeper into the couch giving him your full attention.

“Uh, her name was… Suga.” You look at him incredulously.

“I got her when I was three, okay!? I didn’t know what I was doing when I named her!”

“Was she sweet like sugar?” You mockingly ask.

“No, she was a jerk really. Hated my guts. My mom always said that she’d warm up to me eventually, but that day never came. Still, I always tried to get her to like me.”

“What happened to her?”

“Mom or the cat?” And at this you freeze. He asked so calmly that it sounded like he’d actually tell you about his mom. You two weren’t really close and it felt like too intimate to ask something like that.

“Suga.” You clarify.

“Would you believe she died of old age?”

“No.”

“Well, Dad thought I’d believe that. But I know he thought the cat was making me soft.”

“Wow, that’s… really horrible.”

“Yeah, sorry.” Yoongi’s story probably could’ve had a happy ending had you not learned about the cat’s death. “How about you, any stories with happy endings?” You really have to think about this one.

“Any of my happy stories involve Jimin. Unfortunately it doesn’t seem that any of them have a happy ending now.” You try to not notice the pity on his face.

“Tell me the happiest moment of your life.”

“But, Jimin is-“

“Doesn’t matter.” He interrupts.

You really struggle to begin telling Yoongi about the night you met Jimin and you two sat under the stars, but as soon as you get into the story, you start to feel better. As odd as it seems, it feels like the memory is lending you some sort of peace of mind. After the story, you look up and see Yoongi has a soft look on his face. It looks good on him.

“So yeah, since then, we sit together under the stars all the time, it’s become one of my passions. I actually saw the ceiling in the main hall and got excited because of the little stars peeking through. Thought it’d be really cool if the entire thing was painted like that.”

“Wow, when you tell stories like that, I almost forget our lives are shit.”

“Yeah well, tragic backstories and dead parents are basically included in our job description.” He laughs when you say this.

You two spend the night sharing shitty stories that somehow bring comfort to each other. Honestly, you feel bad for assuming Yoongi’s personality before, he’s a lot like you. When it gets pretty late, you decide you should probably attempt to go back to sleep. Yoongi agrees and says he probably should as well and walks you back toward the bedrooms. Once both of you are at your door, you turn to face him.

“Thanks. For tonight.” You say after awkwardly staring at each other. He lets out a breathy laugh.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

And you watch him walk down the hall to his door. In that moment you realized you were certainly setting yourself up to get your heart broken again.

A/N:  Aww, character development, kinda. Next chapter will take some time since I'll be leaving the country for a bit. I hope to have it up before the end of the month. See you then lovelies!

Next Chapter

@badbyeyoongi

[8emmy]

(Not) So Sweet Home Velaris - Chapter 2 - Not one to be a visitor

Sweet Home Alabama AU: AO3 link to Chapter 1 and Chapter 2

Nesta watched Cassian as he clicked the top of the pen. She watched her estranged husband rub his stubbled chin as he looked through the paperwork. When did he grow a beard? It wasn't long, more like a five o'clock shadow. Scratchy whiskers that were darker and more defined closer to his jaw. He looked rugged and more adult. In her mind, when she thought of Cassian, which was not very often, she saw him never ageing always staying at nineteen, frozen in time.

Her phone buzzed. Cassian's deep brown eyes flicker to her narrowing down to her purse where the vibration was coming from. Nesta pulled it out and saw Tomas' name on the display. "I have to take this, it's work," Nesta gets up, making her way to the front yard before answering.

"Tomas." It comes out as a sigh as she leans against a tree.

"Nesta, how's the conference going?" Tomas's voice was muffled, most likely talking through his headphones as he walked from his office to the gym. She was already missing the structure of home. Tomas lived off a schedule, he woke up at four in the morning to do meditation for an hour, at five he would call her and then at six they would go for a morning jog. It was so easy to live life in a schedule. Nothing surprising, nothing sneaking up behind to catch you off guard. It was comforting.

"As good as it can be. Networking and listening to big egos talk about their great achievements," Nesta shoots a look toward the house seeing if the two men inside were trying to listen in to her conversation. "Jared sent me a long-winded email, so I'm still on the clock, which means..."

"A bigger honeymoon for us. Did you read the fifty emails I sent you last night? The wedding planners still need approvals if we're going with a live band or a DJ."

"I thought we already talked about that. Live band, we're classy, not trashy."

"And there are also-"

"I'll read the emails when I get back to the hotel. I can't right now."

"Not having second thoughts, are you?"

"No, of course not. It's busy at work right now. There are too many companies that are going public and don't get me started on the multitude of -"

"I get it, you're very busy," Tomas had away of making everything he said sound a tad bit condescending. Like you had to take a double-take to question if he was trying to be rude or it was just Tomas, "But you need to remember our relationship is a top priority, which means?"

"Our wedding is top priority. I'll email the planners tonight when I get back to the hotel."

"Okay, I got to go. At the gym. Love you," he hangs up before her reply.

Our wedding is top priority, not her career, which is currently taking a back seat as she is dealing with the only important thing that decides if she gets married or not. She runs her hands up her face and back down as she groans. Hopefully, when she gets back into that kitchen, Cassian signed the papers and she could catch the next flight out of this Cauldron damned place.

He's still clicking the pen when she gets in. Rhys was now sitting in one of the uneven kitchen table chairs. He wobbles as he moves to watch Nesta re-enter the room. She takes her seat and the vinyl whines.

"You should have replaced these years ago." She says while trying to find her balance.

"They're my grandma's," Cassian replies, flipping to a new page. Right his grandmother, the woman who raised him when his mom died. She was a tough old lady. She didn't approve of Nesta mostly because her father was gambling drunk, and as Cassian's grandmother was extremely religious, she believed the devil was in the drink, and a dollar lost to sin was a mark of sinister things to come. She basically thought Nesta would either make Cassian a sinner or that Nesta was a witch the charmed Cassian into dating her. Either way, Nesta was a bad influence on her grandson. And yet she was the one that insisted the two got married.

"How's work?" Rhys awkwardly asked, trying to break the awkward standstill as Nesta watch Cassian read.

"Fine, you?" She watches Cassian flip to the next page. He clicks the pen again.

"Good. Feyre and Elain are good too. Elain is working up in the Steeps at a flower shop. And Feyre is actually working with - Ouch!" Rhys yelps lifting his foot from the floor up to his seat. Cassian looks up at him, and they share a long silent conversation over intense eye contact. Rhy breaks eye contact looking back to Nesta, "Feyre is working."

"Nice." She really didn't need the update on her sisters as Elain messages Nesta's work email on the daily with reports on her everyday life. Today Nesta received an email with the subject line: "We ran out of orange roses, and I need three thousand for a wedding :{!! Also, I made cookies, and the recipe was from Pinterest:) I sent you the link!!!!". Life was difficult when you lived in the era of google sleuthing, and your job gives out your email to the public for cold calls.

"Um..." Rhys drummed his thumbs on the table, thinking of anything else he could talk about with Nesta.

"You really don't need to try to talk to me. I would prefer it if you don't."

It was quiet for a while. Nesta watching Cassian, Cassian reading and Rhys watching Nesta. Cassian looks down at his watch. Cassian places the pen down. "Rhys? What time is it?" Cassian asks, turning to look at his brother.

"I don't know. Close to three." Rhys replies.

Cassian puts down Nesta's pen and looks at her. "After careful review, I am not signing anything without my lawyer present."

Nesta's mouth tightens. "What do you mean you won't sign anything? I thought I made it clear that I don't have the time to wait for Varian to come back to review papers that have not been changed."

"Nesta, I am no lawyer. All this is," he pushes the papers back to Nesta, "is gibberish. It's like reading Tolstoy; my mind can't keep up with the words I'm reading." He puts Nesta's pen in his pocket while getting up. Nesta looks at the papers in disbelief.

"I can't believe that you would do this..." Nesta whispers to herself. Her ice glare focus right at Cassian. "I can't believe that you hate the idea that I am happy that you would sabotage my future by being... an... asshole!" She yells at him; she stands up and stabs her finger at his chest. He looks at her with steeled eyes. She only saw that look once in her life, and that was when he met his birth father. It was as if he saw right through her like she wasn't there at all.

"I am not signing anything, Nesta." He moves to the door picking up his plate of biscuits as he went.

Nesta grabs her purse, making sure to put the papers into it before following Cassian out to the porch and down to the dirt driveway. "Where do you think you're going?" She calls after him. He didn't even lock his door. Small town living was full of idiots who trusted their neighbours wouldn't go wandering into their homes, taking anything from them.

Cassian turns to face Nesta, "To your sisters' for dinner." Cassian turns to Rhys, "Let's take your car."

"What about me? What am I supposed to do? Sit on your porch and wait till Varian comes?" Nesta crosses her arms.

"I really don't give a fuck where you go," Cassian replies, getting to the sheriff's passenger side door.

Rhys looks like he would want to be anywhere but here. "You can come over for dinner. I am sure Feyre can make room at the table for an extra mouth."

"And be what? A bombshell? No, I rather not be in anyone's way, except yours Cassian." She points at him through the front window of the car.

"Where will you stay? There's no hotels in Velaris?" Rhys asks. He stood by his open door.

"I'll go to one of the resorts... Or something," Nesta replies. She really didn't think that she would be here for a full week. She didn't pack an entire suitcase of clothes; instead, she had a weekender bag with a second set of clothes in case she missed her flight, which she will in four hours...

"Nesta, Feyre and Elain would be happy to have you stay with them."

"No, I can't do that." She didn't want to see her sisters, it wasn't that she didn't love them; she adored them. But they had multiple heated arguments since her move to Orilion that put a heavy strain on her relationship with the two. Nesta feared that if she stayed under the same roof as both them, that sure enough, the argument will arise and more hurt feelings would inevitably ensue, and there would be no escape by hanging up a cellphone.

"Of course, you can, I insist that -"

"Rhys, let it go. If Nesta wants to set up camp on my porch, so be it. At least the crows won't peck at my garden with a scarecrow like her." Cassian interjects.

"There are more weeds than vegetables in that garden, and you know that."

"If you would like. I mean, you could always come with us to visit your family and friends." Cassian replies.

"I don't have friends here."

Cassian laughs dryly. "Did you hear that, Rhys. Nesta forgot that you can't throw away friends when you up and leave them." He turns to look at her, "Your fortunate to know that those people that were your friends still see you as such."

"Nesta..." Rhys pauses, thinking of the best way to approach the beast, that is, Nesta. He opens his mouth and closes it again. Why repeat what Cassian said, even if it was going to be more sugar-coated. "If you feel that you can't stand being here out in the cold, come by to your sisters. I really think that they would happily open their arms to you." And with that, Rhys slipped into his car, buckles up and heads out with Cassian. ______

Nesta sat on the porch stairs looking out to the lake. In her hand was her work cellphone opened to her emails. She was at first scrolling through the twelve unread emails, all asking what her status was with preparing the first prospectus for a new tech company. Instead of replying, she watched the water lap the stone beach. It was tranquil here. The sound of the breeze through the trees and the crickets in the meadow was like a time machine. Nesta took a long breath and paused. She closed her eyes and took in the only minute of stillness she had from the past nine years, no since she was nine. The city was loud and busy and made it easy for her to push down her need to review her life choices and start the process of regret. One of the best things about being a lawyer was that you could keep working till you crash and gosh did she push herself to crash. She let her breath go.

She knew that her relationship with Tomas might not be the best with communication. Tomas was not a conversationist. He was a man of passion... for his job, golfing, gym and sometimes her. And that suited Nesta's life perfectly. She needs her independence. He never got too upset when she stayed late at the office, nor did he get upset when she had to skip out and take a phone call while out to lunch. He cared for her.

He bought her expensive gifts and vacations; he made his bachelor apartment their home with her own office, and Nesta appreciated his company, well most of the time. One of the very few dislikes that Nesta did not really love of Tomas was his frat boy attitude to things. He was a rich boy that went to a prestigious university only to party and work half-assed to get his diploma for business and went straight to work at his parent's company. Tomas went to one of the top fraternities where he spoke only rich boy. He was dull and came across as stupid when he talked to his university friends. His social media was full of photos of him flexing at the gym with captions: "Flex Friday." He was very much two dimensional in public.

But he was safe, and he was home.

She walks over to her car to grab her laptop. Might as well start on the prospectus and those emails before the phone calls start.

______

Bored. She was bored. She made her way into Cassian's kitchen to work as the idiot didn't lock his door when he left. She sent off a rough first draft of the prospectus to the lead partner for review and finished her emails with in the first three hours. Cassian was still not home.

Nesta did not want to sit around for the rest of the afternoon, waiting for Cassian to be back. She searched on her laptop for hotels in the Steep. She looked for a midrange hotel and called they had no rooms. She called the next hotel... and the next hotel... She called every Cauldron forsaken hotel in all of the Steeps, and none had a hotel room. It was mid-June, and every hotel was booked. It would make sense if it was the winter months as skiing and snowboarding were very popular, but mid-June? She had nowhere to stay except her rental car, which was not idle. Who wanted to be that loser that slept in her rental in front of her estranged husband's home? Not her.

She thought of her next choices. She already crossed out her car. She could see if Mr. Surriel wouldn't mind her staying at his home. No, she did not want to stay at his place to be used as a gossip mine. Her only other option was her sisters' home. She weighed her options again but only came out with the same conclusion.

She got into her car and drove.

______

Her childhood home was similar in style to Cassian's but with a second floor. It resided in the far edge of town nestled by trees with a large backyard where Elain's garden bloomed this time of year. It was a home full of melancholy memories.

Nesta parked in front of the neighbours and once again debated. Cassian had yet to come back, which meant he was most likely still with her sisters, which most likely also means that her sisters' friends were even there. She had to make another choice. Sit in her car and wait or get out and walk to that front door like a big girl.

With her weekender bag over her shoulder and her purse nestled in the crook of her elbow, she walked on the uneven cement pathway to the front porch. Elain's roses crept up trellises next to the living room window. The front door was painted firey red ombre to almost appear that it was a flame, Feyre's work most defiantly. The closer Nesta got to the front door, the louder the laughter and music got inside. The driveway proved that there were plenty more people than just her two sisters, Cassian and Rhys.

Nesta brought her ringless hand (she stashed it away in her purse in hopes that she wouldn't need to have an argument over invitations) and knocked. She paused, waiting for the noise to die down. It didn't. She knocked again. Nothing. She twists the door and to her, not surprise the door opened.

The small foyer welcomed her in with photos of her younger years. A bench next to the door was crammed with shoes of all types and sizes in disarray. Nesta slipped off her heels and held them, not wishing to lose them in the pile. She passed the stairs to the left into the living room, where a large L-shaped couch faced a fireplace and bookcases full of novels and knick-nacks. A small electric piano was pushed to the wall next to the archway to the kitchen with sheet music opened.

Coffee mugs and plates of snacks once forgotten littered the coffee table. In her childhood, the living room lived only a sofa bed where her father slept. It looked such a different know like people actually lived here and not just slept.

The laughter was loud and coming from the kitchen. Nesta could hear Feyre telling a story about Vin's general store and making a narrow escape from buying an overly expensive coffee machine. She then made fun of how it was the same model Rhys just recently purchased at a marked up price in the city.

"If I knew that Isaac was going to be selling them next to the frozen section of Vin's, I wouldn't have travel three hours to get a triple priced machine."

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty, babe," Feyre replies with a giggle.

Nesta's breezing is hitched. What was she doing? Sleeping in her car would be far less horrible than walking into her childhood home with no explanation, then there were no hotels, and I am trying to get a divorce.

"Well, if you want to know, my day was very eventful."

"You caught another speeding teen?" Amren asks.

"No, I actually dealt with a house call, didn't I Cassian?"

"What house call, you didn't... No. We are not discussing that."

"Discussing what?" Elain piped up.

"Nothing -" Cassian got caught off from Rhys.

"Cassian had a little house intruder."

"Stop talking, Rhys. I swear to the Cauldron that you will regret whatever you say next."

"Someone that - Ahh! Get off of me!" There was a loud commotion sounding as if Cassian jumped on top of Rhys.

Nesta heard as everyone tried to separate the two brothers. "If you're going to fight, do it outside!" Feyre yelled.

"I was only going to tell them that -"

"Shut your stupid mouth, Rhys. That is none of your fucking concern."

"That Nesta is back?"

Silence. No one made a move. "That was no concern for any of us?" Elain asks. "That my sister appeared in town after a year of no contact?"

"Elain, she came here to see me."

"She's my sister. If she showed up out of thin air, I want to know. I don't care if she was there to see you." Elain's voice was restrained. It was the angriest Nesta heard from her.

"She said she didn't want to see you and to know that she was in town," Cassian continued.

"I don't care what she said. I want to know these things." Elain replied.

"Elle, she said she didn't want us to know," Feyre calmly said.

"I don't care."

"I know. But you have to understand that Nesta wants her space."

"I don't fucking care! I am sick of her avoidance. If she's here, I want to see her. Where is she, Cassian."

"I don't know," Cassian replies.

"Yes, you do. Where is she?"

"She was at my porch last I saw her. She said that she was going to the Steeps to get a hotel."

"She might be still at your place. Feyre, can you drive me?"

"Elain, I really think that you shouldn't just ambush her. And most likely, Nesta is up in a resort somewhere."

"If you won't take me, then I am just going to go myself."

"You're going to walk all the way to Cassian's?"

"Yes."

Nesta could hear footsteps nearing her, not so hidden spot. Nesta looked around, trying to spot a place that didn't make it look like she was overhearing their entire conversation. She walked quickly back to the foyer.

"Elain, I'll take you tomorrow. If anything, she will be back at Cassian's." Rhys said, following Elain into the living room.

Elain walked her feet made no noise as she got closer and closer to her sister. "I don't want to go tomorrow I want to see her -- Nesta?"

[cardandpixel]

RocketBook Flip - a rare review and it’s not a game!

Before I go any further, I feel I must point out that I don’t have any financial connection to RocketBook whatsoever – this isn’t a piece that was requested or courted by RocketBook or affiliates and I’m not receiving any reward or sponsorship either in product or direct payment for this article. I just like the damn thing and love it when an innovative piece of tech (in this case quite low key) just works. Hi I’m Paul, and I have a bit of a problem with notebooks – A4 lined, sketch, reporters, Black & Reds (ohhhh the sheer number of B&Rs), goofy ones, serious work ones, battered ones, pristine ‘for best only’ ones – and they all fill at an alarming rate. I make notes on everything. Working as a sound engineer and designer, there’s always mix notes, soundscape plots, ideas, VO notes and scripts, SFX ideas etc etc. At home it’s a very different story – it’s much worse. Game notes; blog notes; hurriedly scribbled quiz questions spurred by watching another episode of Mental Floss’ 500 facts about cheese; RPG notes and story ideas; my own script writing; world building; sketches; other creative ideas; song/music notes and ideas; and that’s before we get to to-do lists; and the dreaded ‘things I must remember’. So my journal life is many, varied and plenty. The usual issue is… ‘what frakking journal did I put that amazing idea in????’, and that’s way before we get to the utter horror that is possibly losing a whole journal or forgetting to bring one home from work. I’m 53, I forget more than I recall, and journals help bring some semblance of order to a massively chaotic and fertile brain. What I’ve needed for a long time is some way of organising all this info or centralising it in some way. Sure I’ve looked at apps – I used Things, Evernote, Notes, and One Note for years, and they are really, really good, but they relied on either having a charged device exactly when I need it (yeah – me too) or net access, which for a new-ish theatre, is surprisingly a bit of an issue at work. And the most important part – I actually enjoy the physical act of handwriting long-hand. I still write actual physical letters to people, it’s adorable and a bit creepy in this age, but I call it charming and leave it at that. Handwriting, for me, allows me time to think and process in a way that typing just doesn’t. Handwriting is slower, I rarely cross anything out, and so I always have the whole of the thought. So what I’ve ideally wanted for years, was a reliable way of organising all my notes and storing them electronically so I have access even without the actual journal, with OCR so they’re editable, and still being a tactile handwritten experience. I’m naturally a sceptic (I actually subscribe to Fortean Times – yeah – I card carry!) and so online ads and particularly FaceAche ads are a field day for critical thinking triggers. I don’t think I’ve ever received from Wish, exactly what I ordered from Wish. And so when an ad from RocketBook constantly kept popping up on my timeline a few weeks ago, I was naturally “it’ll never work” But their website looked legit enough – they had a dedicated UK shop, it was relatively steep to buy in but not so wild that if it didn’t work I wouldn’t be crying too much about the money wasted, and at the end of the day it was a 10th the price of a ReMarkable 2 which is actually what I thought would solve my problem. I’m furloughed at the mo and though I could argue the case for £300+ notebook (test me, I could), I just couldn’t justify it now. And RocketBook had a good summer intro offer. I ordered on the Wednesday, and the impressively glitzy and graphic-design-playbook poly package was dropped on my doorstep just 2 days later by my cheery postie who yelled up the drive “Package for ya, looks very exciting!!!!” I like that our postal service is still invested in the hopes and dreams of their customers. It was exciting. All the instructions for getting started with my new Teal RocketBook A4 Flip were right there before you even open it. The main body houses the pad and a cleaning cloth, and a clever little side pocket houses the supplied Pilot Frixion pen.

RocketBooks come in several models, all configured slightly differently. I have the Flip which is a top spiral-bound softback pad with 21 double sided ‘pages’ giving 42 pages in total. The Flip has lined paper one side, and dot paper on the reverse (great for D&D maps, impromptu tables, mixer channel plots etc)

DELIVERY & FIRST IMPRESSIONS The pads are nicely made, with sturdy covers (available in some really nice colours too) and a solid, thick plastic ring binding. Initially, The RocketBook does feel a bit odd. Its ‘pages’ are actually a synthetic polyester blend and feel quite shiny to the touch. The sort of surface you just instantly feel is not going to be great for ink! Each page is edge-to-edge lined or dotted with a heavy black border. At the bottom is a prominent QR code used for scanning and some very feint icons. These 7 icons are the key to the ease of use of the RocketBook series. But more later.

THE APP

The pads work with a companion app, that is absolutely free and available for Apple & Android. In fact, RB even do downloadable printable pages so you can try the whole system absolutely free before you buy – I didn’t, I just bought one, y’know. The app allows you to set up your destination locations, your preferences and does the actual scanning. Just one quick note, I have the app on both my phone and iPad and had to set-up the app the same for both, there appears to be no way of swapping preference settings between devices, though I can see why this may be intentional.

Currently, the RocketBook allows you to choose from the following locations to send files to: GoogleDrive, box, EverNote, DropBox, slack, OneNote, iCloud, OneDrive as well as simply to an email (or multiple) addresses and iMessage. Impressively, these are not fixed either, so you could choose your 7 destinations to be 7 email addresses of team members. These 7 locations are the icons at the bottom of each page. To select a destination for your file, you just make a mark in that icon box (tick, circle, something unsavoury) and that page will be sent to whichever you select. This makes the system very flexible indeed as not every page is necessarily sent to every destination. You always decide every time you fill a page. Change your mind on a second revision? No problem, add or change icons at any time and re-upload.

There’s a really handy table on the inside front cover for you to note what icon sends what where. This is also wipeable, so can be changed anytime.

I have mine set by default to:

Rocket > main email address (either as PDF, JPG, OCR embedded or as separate txt file)

Diamond > GoogleDrive (you can specify exactly what folder too)

Apple > iMessage

Bell > OneNote

That actually still leaves me 3 spare: shamrock; star; and horseshoe.

The app took me maybe 20mins to set-up, that included decision time for destinations and setting up a few target folders. It also included a few ‘test firings’. I didn’t get everything right first time and a few things didn’t send, but crucially, a tiny bit of digging revealed very simple troubleshooting (including the aforementioned issue with no sync’ing of phone and iPad), and all in I was finding the files in all the right destinations within about 30 mins. The website, FAQs and community are immensely helpful with any other issues as well. I had a tiny issue with OneNote seeming to take ages to sync, but I think that’s an issue with my OneNote settings, everything else was almost instantaneous. You can also handily set the app to auto-send as soon as it scans, or allow for manual review.

CLEAN UP ON AISLE ROCKETPAD The main reason I wanted to look at the RocketBook was the issue of reusability. My journal shenanigans are by no means the biggest ecological disaster on the planet, but if we are to believe Tesco (who probably issue as many receipts at our local Tesco Express in a day as journals I’ve ever used), every little helps. If I could find an ecologically better solution, I should at least take a look. The RocketPads work by partnering with Pilot pens called Frixion. The really clever bit is RB’s paper technology and how it works with the Frixion ink. At present, the pads only work with the Frixion pens – except the RB Colour which works with Crayola’s dry-erase crayons. When you write on the ‘paper’ with a Frixion pen, it remains wet for a few seconds and then dries pretty quickly. There’s no smudging whatsoever in transit, which is pretty cool. From then on, it may as well be permanent, until you have transmitted your page and decide you don’t want the text anymore.  To wipe the page clean, you can dampen the supplied cloth and just wipe the surface clean, it’s weird but it works! But then damp cloth in your bag? So I use kitchen roll to dampen, then wipe dry with theirs. Others even have an adorably kitsch spray bottle in their kit. RB reckon if you are not going to use the pad for a few months, to clean the pages as the ink can get trickier to shift after a long time, but for day-to-day use, I’ve tried writing and wiping well over 20x and the page hasn’t become discoloured or tarnished at all. The only pad different in the range is the Wave which cleans by microwaving! Do NOT do this with any of the others, bad things will happen. The ink doesn’t take scrubbing or any time to come up, I clean my pages in about 10-15s. The page can feel a little tacky when it’s damp, but leave a minute or so and the page will be back to normal. RB do say that odd things can happen if the book is left near a heatsource or in a hot car, vis-à-vis, the ink can completely disappear horrifyingly enough. They say that putting the pen or the pad in the freezer for a little while will actually restore the ink, but I’ve not tried it yet so can’t confirm or deny how that goes. Handy for spies in hot countries though, so there’s another target market. If you are always going to send your pages to the same places, then don’t erase the marked icons, and the page is ready for new notes straight away, otherwise, scrub them too.

I CAN’T READ YOUR WRITING – ARE YOU A DOCTOR? Initially, the RB pads send their files as scans of the pages in high contrast monochrome (colour is available) when you snap the page in the app (which auto-frames for you and takes maybe 10s to capture). The formats are either as images or PDF. If that had been it, I would have been quite happy, but the RB pads have another trick up their sleeve. Firstly, they have a function called ‘Smart Titles’ which allows you to name your files directly from the page by writing a filename between double hashtags ie ## this is my scrawl 24/8/20 ## and the file will pop up in your destinations with the filename “this is my scrawl 24/08/20” – this is insanely handy – there’s no protocol except your own and the hashtags, and it makes your files super easy to search. You can even send groups of pages as a single PDF. But the notebooks go even further. They actually offer full searchable OCR which the app can be set to send embedded in the PDF or image, or more usefully, as a companion separate .txt file. Now, my handwriting isn’t the neatest, but it’s not bad so I was prepared for some editing to be necessary, but impressively again, the OCR was about 90-95% accurate. In a page of text it missed maybe 3 or 4 words and even those not badly. This is all considering their full OCR is still only in beta! It gets confused with diagrams on the page, but that’s to be expected.

Text Generated by OCR: ## Blog post och test Aug 2020 ## This is a little demonstration of the OCR capabilities of the Rocket Book pads and app. I've told the lovely people that the hit rate is about 90-95% so please dant let me down here flip pad. Hopefully the file name will also prove another point further up in the section and not make me look like some charlatan or snake-oil salesman.Hope you enjoyed this demonstrahen, now go away and leave me to write the next great novella.Bye!

HOW MUCH? On average, I pay anywhere from £4-8 for a decent A4 notebook/journal, so at £30-37 (dependent on model), the RocketBook pads are not a whim purchase. That said, I get through a lot of journals in a year, and given that I would expect to easily get 2-3 years out of a RocketBook pad, then I’ve saved money. Will it replace all my notebooks? No. You need to be thinking of carrying this round as a kit: pad, Frixion pen (at least 2), and cloth.  RB do a series of portfolio sleeves for the pads but it does push the price up a bit still, but for a rep, engineer or salesperson, this still makes sense. They’re less bulky than a normal A4 pad too. What I would say is Tesco and Sainsbury’s currently stock Frixion pens and at much better prices than buying them from RB directly, I just paid £3 for 3 pens on offer at Tesco compared to £10 from RB. You get one pen with the pad, but you’re going to want more soon, so stock up next time you’re shopping for truffle oil crisps. If you use whiteboards a lot, RB also have you covered. Instead of the pad, £16 will get you a 4 pack of ‘beacons’ – little self-adhesive triangles that effectively do the same thing as the QR code in the pad. You don’t have the icon options obviously, but if you’re looking to distribute quick meeting or group notes, this would be a boon. CONCLUSION Considering this was a fairly speculative purchase on my part, my early experiences with the RocketBook Flip have been really impressive. The flexibility, the ability to store every page in a different location if you really wanted to make it fantastic for organising my notes, which can save me hours of finding the right ^^$&^$&$ notebook in the first place, then scouring that for the one paragraph I was looking for etc etc. The searchable text facility, in-app history for re-sending etc and last but no way least, functional handwriting OCR, makes the RocketBook not only novel, but actually useable! Would I buy another? As a second notebook – yes. I look forward to seeing what the actual longevity of the product is once I come off furlough and start cramming my day bag with all my junk and a notepad again, but yes, I’d probably just have one at home, and one for work, but make the last 5 mins of each day, scanning and sending work notes so I have them with me wherever. Impressively, the RocketBook Flip just works and it works well. ‘Er Across The Table has already sold several folk at her work on the idea and she doesn’t even have one herself yet! I love it. It’s taking a little adjusting to, but it’s all good. The most important thing though is the writing experience, and I have to say, the combination of the Frixion pen/ink and the polymer technology of the Flip, again, just works. It’s smooth, doesn’t skip or smudge for me (I know some right to left users and left handers have reported some issues) and feels great to write on. If anything I have to slow down a bit as the contact is so smooth that your writing can get a bit ahead of you! RocketBook have produced a cracker of a product. It might not seem like much, but if practical working journals are your thing (ie not create and keep things) then I can highly recommend the RocketBook series.

[lowlywriter]

EXPLORING ABANDONED INSANE ASYLUM (Y/N breaks her leg?)

Hi there! This is my first Tumblr fic, I’ve done some writing on multiple platforms (mainly Archive of our own) trying something new out though! This is an injured!reader x Colby for my school friend who loves Colby. 

Anyways! I hope you enjoy!

----

“What’s up guys, it’s Sam and Colby,” Colby started the video. You stood off to the side with Jake and Corey, waiting to be introduced, “we’re here with Corey, Jake and (Y/N), back for another explore video.”  

You, Jake and Corey all bounced into frame when Colby said your names, all pushing and shoving playfully to be in the center. You let the two guys rough house for the center spot, leaning a little into Colby and waiting for things to move along.  

“So, today we’re here with these guys-”

“And girl!” Jake chimed loudly, letting his head fall onto your shoulder since he’d claimed the center spot and was standing shoulder to shoulder with you.

“I’m getting to it!” Sam scolded playfully, “with these guys and this lovely lady. We’re at an abandoned insane asylum, in the middle of nowhere.”

“Seriously, we’re in the middle of nowhere,” you frowned, “the nearest buildings are at least four miles on either side.”

“This place is supposedly pretty haunted, so, y’know.” Colby explained.  

“Why do I let you talk me into these things,” Corey groaned, “no one said it was haunted, man.” Sam and Colby glanced at him with mock guilty expressions.

You laughed at them. You kind of liked exploring with the boys. It was fun, and spooky- and the commentary off and on camera was bright and funny. You’d recently been in quite a few videos, as you generally enjoyed all this spooky exploring stuff.  

You’d first been friends with Katrina. She was great, and you’d known her since high school. Both having grown up in Toronto Canada. You were inseparable through the years, moving to California together and watching her pursue her singing career. You only really stopped hanging out a lot when she got together with Sam. It was understandable, couple bonding and all that- so you distanced yourself.  

You’d met Sam through her, him coming over one afternoon when you were both hanging out in your shared apartment. Kat liked going over to hang with the guys and rarely invited Sam to the apartment (and when she did you usually gave them space).

He was super nice to you, introducing himself and talking about how much Kat talked about you. You knew probably a lot more about him than he assumed you did, as you were the person Kat liked to complain about the hardships of the relationship too.  

You’d met Colby at a party in the trap house. Sam had invited you and Katrina. It was a huge party, many YouTubers and friends of friends. Possibly the biggest party you’d ever been too. Kat stayed by your side, while Sam helped host. Colby had come around with Sam, eager to see Kat and meet you- Sam had apparently told him about you?

You guys had hit it off straight away. He was amazing. He was charming and sweet- but funny at the same time. You spent a great deal of the party talking with him- barely noticing when Sam and Kat snuck away together.  

That had been many, many months ago, and your relationship with everyone had grown- especially with Colby. You two were super close, but nothing was official. You’d never been one label things, so you were content with how things were.  

“Before we get going,” Colby started, “we got new XPLR merch!” Everyone was wearing XPLR merch. You were actually wearing Colby’s sweater, the one he usually wore. You’d taken it, so he settled with one of the new ones.

“We got the new stuff we’re wearing-” Sam started, all four guys twirling out of sync as you laughed, “and the sweatshirt miss (Y/N) is wearing will be leaving shops soon, so get it while you can!” You bunched the sweatshirt sleeves in your hands and hid your face in the black material, smell the lingering scent of Colby on it.

“Let’s get exploring!” Jake shouted, stepping back and turning to walk down the trail.  

“A fan sent the location, and how to get there,” Colby explained to the group, pointing the camera as the five of you moved single file down a steep trail. “It’s on my phone.” He passed his phone to you, and you unlocked it. “Screenshots in the gallery.”

You read out the text convos once, then again slowly as you came up to each bit of the explanation. It took about a half an hour to get to the old building. It looked worse for the wear, weathered down and mossy.  

“It says there should be a small door on the left side, we’ll have to, ugh- we need to crawl to get in.” You explained, grimacing at the camera. Crawling through grimy bandos was your least favorite part of the experience.  

“I wore my Gucci jeans today!” Jake gasped, gesturing to his beaten down ripped skinny jeans. Everyone laughed.  

“I am not going first,” Corey told the camera, “it’s y’all’s video, one of you go first.” Colby huffed out a laugh, telling everyone he’d go first in a high-pitched voice. You watched quietly as Colby kneeled down in front of the small waist height hole. He held a flashlight in his mouth and he crawled in, mumbling quietly.

“Yo, it’s sick in here.” He exclaimed, reaching out so Sam could pass him the camera. Jake crawled in next, then Corey, and you followed him in. The boys were always so cute, always making sure you were never first or last- safe in the middle.  

Colby helped you up, his thumbs running along your knuckles softly before he released you and took the camera back from Jake. You looked around as Sam crawled in. It was super cool. The walls were lined with beautiful graffiti art work. It was really dark, so you relied heavily on your flashlight.  

“Guys, this is super cool!” Jake yelled, only to be shushed by the group.  

Slowly you guys moved through the hallways, opening doors and stepping into rooms. Everything was old and cracked. There were holes in the walls and trash littered around. Stray articles of clothing were left- but remarkably, almost all the furniture from the asylum was still intact and neatly placed around.  

“This is creepy,” Corey frowned, peeking into a room that hardly looked like it had been abandoned for nearly thirty years.  

“How is everything still so nice?” you questioned, walking into that room and running your hand along the table there. There was hardly any dust.

“I don’t know,” Sam blinked, sitting on the chair by the table. “This is actually super weird.”  

“Let’s keep looking around.” Colby suggested. The group continued on. Sam held the camera, supplying good commentary with Jake and Corey, while Colby took your hand and hung towards the back with you.  

“This one’s awesome,” you whispered to him, leaning close so he could hear you over the talk.  

“It is, this place is strange but I like it.” It had been a while since you’d been anywhere remotely clean. And they’d been doing a lot of hiking and cave exploring videos recently.

A breeze swirled around the room, and you shivered. Colby didn’t say anything, but curled an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. Together you caught up with the group- who were goofing around with an old stethoscope that Jake found under one of the creepy wiry metal beds.  

“Oh, that’s a syringe,” you mumbled, pointing to a used syringe in the corner of the next room.  

“That’s disgust-”

“Shh!” Colby hushed with wide eyes. The group glanced around, silence filling the air. “Did no one hear that?”  

Colby’s tone was quiet, barely loud enough for you, who was maybe two feet away, to hear.  

“No, what did you hear?” Sam questioned, suddenly serious.  

“It was uh, like... a tap- like a tap on glass. Tap, tap, tap.” Colby explained in a hushed voice, acting out tapping on glass with his index finger as he whispered the noise he’d heard. Your face scrunched up at the thought of the clinking noise a fingernail makes when poked against glass.

“Yo, did you hear that?” Corey startled, gazing around, jaw dropped. Everyone looked up, because yes, everyone heard that. It was footsteps. Above you guys. The building was three stories, and you were on the second story now.  

“Shit, we have to be quiet,” Jake whispered.  

“There is no way we’re alone here,” Sam added quietly, not that there was any question about it.  

“Let’s just start heading back the way we came?” Colby suggested. It was a silent agreement as everyone retreated the way we came.  

It was silent for a bit again while you guys looked around. The commentary continued, although it was pretty quiet. Sam and Colby would probably need to add captions since you could hardly hear anyone and you were standing beside them.  

Everyone would occasionally pause, listen for strange noises, but nothing seemed that bad- so you all continued joking around.  

It was only when a figure caught your attention when you happened to glance behind yourself. You stumbled over your own feet, crashing into Sam who was quick to catch you.  

“Y/N?” Sam frowned, steadying you. Colby was the first to notice your shocked point behind.

“Holy fuck, someone’s back there! Move, move!” And then you were all rushing out. “Jake! Go!” Down the hallway. Down the stairs.  

Halfway down the stairs you gasped, tripping over something. You fell hard on the stairs. Corey, who happened to be the only person behind you, helped you up.

“You good, Y/N?” Colby shouted back to you, pausing his running to turn to look at you in concern. You bit down on your lip, waving him out. Your leg hurt like hell, but everyone’s safety was the number one priority. Corey grabbed your arm and pulled you down with him. He was moving fast.  

The initial pain was being numbed by adrenaline, so you kept up with him. There was a dull pain in your leg, but you could handle it. Your eyes were moist with tears, and your heart rapidly beating in your chest. Everyone fell to their knees at the exit, crawling quickly.  

You weren’t sure, but you thought you saw Colby with the camera in his mouth. On your hands and knees, the ache in your leg eased and you took a breath of relief.

Outside, the boys sprinted through the first bits of the forest, away from the building. Corey rushed you along by a hand between your shoulder blades.  

Finally, at a safe distance, everyone stopped to catch their breaths. You leaned back against a tree, panting heavily. As your adrenaline started wearing off, a sharp pain in your leg started pulsing. Tears filled your eyes as you slid down the tree, lifting your foot in the air to ease all pressure. It didn’t help.  

“Shit, Y/N,” Colby rushed to your side, wiping tears off your cheeks, “what’s wrong? what happened?”

“I twisted my ankle or something when I fell,” you whimpered, wiping your cheeks as all the guys gathered around.

Colby carefully pushed your tight jeans up about halfway to your knee. It was swollen, very swollen. Dark shades of blue and black around your ankle. You couldn’t move your toes, but you didn’t want the guys worrying too much.  

“That looks bad,” Corey admitted, leaning over Colby’s shoulder to look.  

“Holy guys, she can’t walk on that. What even happened?” Sam sat beside Colby, carefully touching the swell.  

“I fell on the stair,” You explained, as calmly as you could muster.  

“You didn’t say anything,” Corey frowned, looking guilty that he was the one pushing you down the stairs in his hurried state after you fell.  

“I asked if you were okay.” Colby glared lightly at you- but the concern outshone the glare.  

“Yeah, well- we all could’ve died. I think a sprain was the least of our problems.” You huffed, crossing your arms across your chest.  

“I don’t think that’s a sprain, Y/N...” Jake mumbled.  

“I don’t either- that looks broken.” Colby sighed, giving you a sympathetic look.  

“She definitely shouldn’t be walking on this,” Sam told the group.  

“I’ll carry her, Jake, you take the backpack.” You watched quietly as the boys sorted themselves out. Sam held the camera, Jake the backpack. Corey took your shoes and helped you onto Colby’s back. You wrapped around like a backpack, and Colby held you by your thighs. You held on around his neck and rested your cheek on his shoulder.  

It was nice to be close to Colby. His smell calmed your raging nerves and anxiety. You could feel how tense he was, obviously concerned for you, and the sentiment was nice.  

“So, it appears that when Y/N fell, she fell a little harder then we’d first thought,” Sam explained to the camera, pointing it at himself. You’d all started the hike back up the trail- which was about a half an hour. You felt guilty that Colby had to carry you, but you were in was too much pain whenever there was any pressure on your foot.  

“Y/N didn’t tell us, so she probably made it worse by running on it.” Corey casted a joking glare back at you.  

“We’re pretty sure Y/N has broken something in her leg- or maybe her ankle. She can’t walk on it, so Colby is carrying her to the car.” Sam pointed the camera back at the two of you, and you hid your face from the camera.  

“Can you not film, Sam. Y/N is in pain.” Colby scowled.

“No, it’s fine. Don’t... don’t waste the video for my sake. It’s okay,” You smiled, nuzzling your face into Colby’s neck as a silent ‘thank you’ for his concern.  

“That was crazy though, I don’t know if the camera caught that creepy person or not, but that was scary.” Sam continued.  

“We just sprinted, all the way. Like no one stopped,” Corey told the camera. “Y/N fell, broke a bone in her leg- and legit got up and continued running.”  

“I mean, I’d be rolling around on the floor wailing if I broke a bone,” Jake joked. You laughed quietly.  

“We’re taking Y/N to the ER when we get out of these woods.” Colby told the group, since he was the driver.  

“Get some x-rays,” Sam nodded. At this point, the camera was turned off, and the guys conversed easily. You blinked your eyes shut, fully trusting Colby to keep you safe.  

You didn’t open your eyes until the ground evened out and the quiet sound of rubber shoes on pavement filled the air. You rested your chin on Colby’s shoulder, looking at the car that was coming into view slowly.  

Colby eased you off his back when you could lean against the car (with the help of Sam). Much to your surprise, you got the passenger’s seat- which was usually Sam’s spot for debriefing the video. Sam helped you into the car while Colby started digging around in the trunk.  

When you were settled in the car, Colby came beside you set a blanket on the dashboard, helping you to elevate your swollen ankle on the cushiony texture.  

“You good, Y/N?” Jake asked from the backseat.

“Yeah, thanks guys.” You smiled at them. Sam grinned back, but there was an underlying sadness in his eyes. You had become really good friends with all these guys.  

“Good?” Colby whispered to you as he finished adjusting your foot.  

“Yes, thank you, Colb,” you smiled at him. Colby pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before shutting the passenger’s door and moving to the driver’s side, finally getting in and starting the car.  

The guys debriefed the video as usual, promising an update about you. Colby put on a show of being his usual self, even though he was clearly still pretty shook about you being injured.  

You fell asleep through the drive, listening to the boys talking quietly. Some plans about Corey and Jake getting an Uber from the hospital to head home. Sam saying he’ll stay with you guys- but you drifted off before anything was full decided.  

The next time you woke up, Colby was at the passenger’s door, lifting you bridal style. The bright red beam of the ER sign lights dulled your tired eyes as Colby carried you in.  

Jake and Corey wished you well, calling an Uber to take back to the trap house. Having Sam and Colby was more then enough emotional support, and it would look weird if four guys bring in a girl with a broken leg, then all waited for you. 

Together, you, Sam and Colby filled out the paperwork- and waited the next hour for medical attention. It wasn’t too busy, but there were people that were there before you- and you weren’t in need of urgent care.  

Finally, after an hour of waiting, at two AM, you were brought to get your leg and ankle x-rayed.  

As it turned out, you had, in fact, broken your ankle. It was a compact break, and you’d all missed the fact that the bone had broken the skin towards the back of your ankle. A complete break of the tibia towards the bottom of your ankle.  

Thankfully, a cast was all you needed- not surgery as of then. As long as it healed as it should, you would be fine with a cast.  

Sam waited in the waiting room, and Colby was beside you through it all.  

“Last time you come with us to explore a bando,” Colby muttered when it was just the two of you in an examination room. The doctor had left to get the materials for the cast.  

“No way,” You laughed. “It’s just a break- two months and I’ll be good as new.”

“Really? You literally broke your ankle running from a freaking scary figure at the end of a hallway in an abandoned insane asylum in the middle of nowhere?” Colby stared at you with an annoyed look.  

“Common’ we made it- everything's fine. Unfortunate accident. Could’ve been any of us, I’m just the unlucky one this time.” Colby stared at your beaming smile for a few long seconds before shaking his head.  

“You’re lucky you’re cute or I’d be saying no to bringing you along again once you’re healed up.” You leaned up to tempt him into kissing you, and he met you halfway pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.  

-----

“Hey guys, we’re back home now. It’s the next morning. We usually don’t add anything to the videos this late, but I thought it would be good to show you all how Y/N is doing, since we left things on bad terms.” Colby explained to his camera.  

You were laying on his bed, tucked under his blankets. It hadn’t made sense to bring you back to your apartment at four AM when Katrina was no doubt sleeping. Plus, it’s not like it’s the first time you’d slept in Colby’s bed with him.  

“Here she is, perfectly fine.” Colby grinned at you, showing you to the camera, “Look at her all curled up in my blankets.”

“Hey guys, I’m all good now.” You told the camera.

“A broken tibia, but she fought like a champ. Two months at least with her new cast.” Colby told the camera, keeping it pointed at you.  

“I got a blue cast though,” You threw the covers off, exposing your brand-new navy coloured cast. It went from your toes up to just below your knee. It was sporting Sam and Colby’s signatures and a couple drawings Colby had done on the drive back to the house. 

Sam had driven so Colby could keep you company in the backseat and keep your foot elevated in his lap. 

“So, Y/N is on crutches, and will not be joining us when we go exploring for a while.” Colby laughed as you pulled the blankets back up to your face. “Anyways, thanks for your concern- and see you all in the next vid.” 

Colby turned the camera off, set it on his desk then flopped down beside you in his bed.  

“They’re going to have soooo many questions,” you told him, inching over to rest your head on his chest.  

“Yeah, I know.” He laughed.  

[blurry-fics]

Chicken Noodle Soup

Pairing: Josh Dun x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of minor illness

Word Count: 1448

Requests: This was a combination of two requests! hi bean. ❤️ can i request a very angst but fluffy Josh? reader’s health has been bad and she is just not her self, he is there for her even though she is trying to push him away. -@svintsandghosts & Fluffy Josh? Something where he is just super comforting and loving while the reader is just struggling health wise? -Anon

Author’s Note: Believe it or not, this is the first Josh x Reader fic of the year (if you don’t count HOTY)! This was a fun one to write and I hope you all like it 💛 (also quick shoutout to @beanfic for the title!)

You grabbed the box of tea from the top shelf and ripped open one of the little packets. The water began to swirl with shades of brown as the tea bag hit it. Normally the smell would be pleasant and welcoming, but your congested nose hadn’t really allowed for smelling things lately.

You leaned against the counter as you waited for the tea to steep. Your head felt like it was pulsating, but it had been such a constant over the last few days that you hardly seemed to notice. It was beginning to feel like this sickness was never going to go away, and it was starting to drive you crazy. You had already had to cancel on Josh a few times because you barely felt like getting out of bed.

Your phone began to ring loudly in the living room, only adding to the pounding in your head. With your tea in hand, you slowly shuffled towards the couch to see who it was. Josh’s contact picture was half poking out from under a blanket. You shoved it aside and grabbed your phone, hitting the green call button as you did so.

“Hello?” you said, followed by a little sniffle.

“Y/N!” Josh said cheerily. “How are you doing?”

“Great,” you answered sarcastically.

“Oh, still sick?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted me to come over and keep you company? I haven’t been able to see you in a few days and I want to make sure that we get a chance to relax together before we leave for tour.”

You sighed, “I don’t know, Josh. I really don’t want to get you sick right before tour. Don’t you think it would be better if you stayed home?”

“No, I don’t think that would be better.”

The hurt was evident in his voice. You chewed on the edge of your lip as you tried to think of something to say.

“Come on, Josh. I’m just going to complain the whole time and it’s not going to be any fun for you. Do you really want to deal with that?”

“You know that’s not what this is about.”

“Then why don’t you tell me what this is about since you seem to have such a good idea?”

“You’re scared of me seeing you when you’re not at your best. I just want to take care of you and make sure you aren’t dealing with this alone.”

You should have known Josh would know exactly what was running through your head.

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Are you really telling me that you don’t want me to bring you a nice, hot drink and some lunch? Then we can just watch TV and cuddle on the couch and if something comes up, I’ll be there to help you handle it,”

“I already made some tea,” you said quietly.

“Y/N…”

“Ok, you can come over. But you can’t be mad at me if you get sick!”

“I would never. See you in a few?”

“Drive safe.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You sighed and tossed your phone back down onto the couch. It would still be awhile before Josh got to your apartment, so you decided to at least make an attempt at not looking like you had just rolled out of bed.

“It’s unlocked!” you called from your position on the couch.

The door creaked a bit as it swung open, and a few moments later Jim came running into the room. He jumped up onto the couch and began to lick at your face, but you threw up an arm just in time to avoid getting slobber all over your face. Josh walked into the room shortly after, carrying a bag of food and a warm drink just like he had promised.

“I hope you don’t mind that I brought Jim along. I figured I would be over here for awhile and cuddling with him always helps cheer me up.”

“I don’t mind at all,” you grinned as you scratched at Jim’s ears. “What did you bring for me?”

“Your favorite soup and a latte.”

“You’re too kind.”

You slowly pushed yourself up to a sitting position, giving Josh room to sit at the end of the couch and making it easier for you to eat. Jim immediately curled up in Josh’s lap.

“Is it still warm?” Josh asked.

You nodded as you scooped up another spoonful of soup, “It’s perfect.”

“Great. Traffic was kind of bad on the way over so I was afraid it would get too cold.”

“Not at all. Thank you for bringing me all of this, by the way. I haven’t felt good enough to go grocery shopping, so I’m running out of food options,” you laughed.

Josh reached out and lightly rubbed the side of your leg, “It was no problem, I just want to make sure that you’re taking care of yourself.”

“Well, I appreciate it.”

Josh told you about all the things that he had been doing over the last few days while you ate the rest of your soup. You were happy to just listen to him talk; it was easier than trying to think with the pounding headache that was still bothering you. It helped that he always managed to be interesting when he spoke, no matter what he was talking about.

When you finally finished your food, Josh cleaned everything up so that you wouldn’t have to get up from the couch. You began to look through Netflix, searching for a movie or TV show that you and Josh had yet to watch together.

“I brought you a cold washcloth,” Josh announced as he walked back into the room. “For your forehead.”

You rotated a little bit so that you could see him, “You did?”

“Yeah.”

“Come get snuggled up with me and then I’ll put it on my forehead.”

You sat up so that Josh would be able to position himself under you. The movement made your head hurt, but you knew it would quickly go away again once you stopped moving so much. Once Josh had made himself comfortable, you laid back down on his chest. Jim came over and wedged himself between you and the couch.

“Here,” Josh said, carefully placing the washcloth on your forehead. “How is that?”

“Perfect,” you smiled.

Josh grabbed the remote and pressed play on the movie you had picked, taking extra care to keep the volume low so that your headache wouldn’t hurt worse. You adjusted your head a little bit so that you no longer had to crane your neck while you were laying on Josh’s chest. Unfortunately, this caused the washcloth to slip down your head and onto Josh’s chest.

“Damn,” you muttered quietly as you picked it back up and placed it on your forehead.

The washcloth stayed in place for about a minute or so until it started slipping again. You sighed in exasperation as you repeated the same pattern of picking it up and placing it on your forehead.

“Hey, I’ve got it,” Josh said as he held the washcloth to your forehead.

“Are you sure?” you asked. “I can adjust if I need to.”

“No, it’s ok. I want you to be comfortable.”

“Thanks.”

Josh pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head and wrapped his arm a little tighter around you. Jim moved so that his head was now resting across your lower back.

“As much as I hate to admit it, it is a lot better to have you here,” you said.

“One of these days, you’ll learn that I actually have good ideas sometimes.”

“You wore a bucket hat in a music video,” you giggled.

“And I looked great.”

“You did, but it was still a questionable decision.”

“Maybe, but spending time with you is never a questionable decision.”

You and Josh spent the rest of the night curled up together on the couch. There were multiple times that you fell asleep in the middle of a movie, but whenever you woke up Josh was still holding on tightly to you. Jim even managed to still be curled up with you in some way, no matter where on the couch he ended up. The only times that the two of them left your side was when you needed Josh to get you something and Jim decided to follow and investigate.

“You should get in bed soon,” Josh said as he ran a hand along your hair. “You need the rest.”

“Will you stay over here tonight?” you mumbled. “Just in case I need you.”

Josh smiled and gave you a gentle kiss, “Gladly.”

[porchwood]

Okay, here goes. The incredible @everlarkedalways created a GoFundMe to help me out through present circumstances, but before I share that link, I wanted to explain a bit of what’s been going on. I feel awful accepting financial help, in part because I’ve been such a dry well for the past 18 months (I have nothing creative to give back/say “thank you” with) and also because so many of you have previously contributed monies to help me through other crisis points over the past five years (yes, it’s been that long and no, it doesn’t seem to be getting any better). But things are maybe the most desperate they’ve ever been and I really can’t say no to badly needed help.

Because I’m long-winded, I’m going to try to condense this into a simple chronological order. Things have been relentlessly bad since my car accident on December 26, 2013, but this is where the current run really started: 

December 2017: The day after Christmas, I went to the ER at 3am with excruciating chest and upper back pain, a bad experience all around (terrible staff, indifferent care). Their best guess was that I’d had an acid reflux attack, something I’d never had before (but have had since, alas :/).

January 2018: The ER bill saga began, and after loads of paperwork/headaches applying for any kind of aid/bill forgiveness, they put me on a payment plan for the $1,343 balance (and yes, that was "after” insurance - Marketplace policies are crap and all they did was “adjust” the total; nothing was covered). Meanwhile, I started taking Lucky to an acupuncturist over an hour’s drive away, desperate to find something to ease her severe separation anxiety (nonstop barking and howling when I was gone, which we have been struggling to treat, with varying degrees of success, for over two years). The sessions were very expensive (around $400 for one month - I had to put them on a credit card that I’m still chipping away at) and actually made her WORSE.

February 2018: The downstairs neighbors left a mildly threatening note about Lucky’s howling - the day before my birthday. In a ridiculous twist of luck, I managed to find a great sitter who only takes little dogs and was (and still is) able to watch Lucky for me as needed, but it cost me $25/day. (At most I would use her two days a week, but you can see how quickly that would add up.) At the same time, I also started administering CBD drops (suggested by our new vet) to Lucks when I had to leave her at home.

July 2018: After increasing the dosage multiple times, I finally started seeing improvement in Lucky’s behavior from a combination of the CBD drops and SAMe, which was huge (note the timespan), but these therapies cost about $100 month. I resolved to make it work somehow.

September 2018: I found out that my workplace had been bought out by an area salon and would be changing hands soon. Shortly thereafter the new owner sent us the employee handbook, which stated that we could not have another job in the same field (many massage therapists in this part of the country work at multiple places as there simply isn’t enough work to go around, especially in the off-season). The new owner was originally okay with me keeping my second job (on-call work at a yoga studio), and then I learned that that position was switching from a subcontractor to an outright rental (I would have to pay up front for the use of the room and possibly make none of it back while having to promote myself as a business), so for several reasons I decided I would leave that second job at the end of October and try to pick up more hours at my “main” job. One bright spot in all this: the downstairs neighbors moved out at the end of the month, but...

October 2018: ...the day after the neighbors moved out, the landlord informed my roommate (a THG fandom friend and content creator) that the owner of our building had sold the property and that we had 30 days to vacate. I can’t even begin to articulate how stressful, expensive, frightening, and exhausting that time was. By the end of October our only real option was a little house approximately 10 miles from town, and miraculously we got ourselves moved out there - to the tune of lots of $$$ and insane energy expenditure.

November 2018: Because I now lived about 20 mins from work and I have to come home at lunchtime to take Lucky out (and give her a booster of anxiety drops), I had to switch to split shifts. If you’ve ever worked split shifts, you will understand why this sucks (you’re never home, you’re always tired, and you never see or spend time with the people you live with). My new boss put me on the schedule for two additional days a week (I initially had just two days a week, period, hence the second job), which initially seemed very promising, but neither myself nor the rest of the staff realized that the new management had an either/or policy when it comes to pay. (This is messy and frustrating to explain, but in a nutshell: instead of getting paid commission for massages and hourly for the rest of your clocked-in time - laundry, desk help, etc - you get paid ONLY commission, i.e., nothing for all the extra things you do, unless the commission divided by hours amounts to less than minimum wage, in which case they pay you minimum wage for the week instead, including for your massage hours. Which is not cool but is, apparently, legal.) So I was driving about an hour a day (20 mins each way, twice, to the tune of about 300 miles/week) just to make minimum wage (we were entering the dead season for massage and I’m the perpetual “second string” therapist anyway, so some weeks I had just four clients in four days :/), which was exhausting and disheartening.

December 2018: Daylight glimmered: my sister (with whom I am extremely close and who I hadn’t seen in a year and a half) flew out to see me after Christmas. A coworker agreed to cover the whole week and a half of her visit for me, and I was a little nervous about taking the time off (unpaid, of course) at such a rotten financial time, but I hadn’t had a vacation of any kind since moving to Maine nor a weekend off since August of 2017. I resolved to be extra frugal during her visit and my work schedule was going to be almost full after she left, so I was pretty sure I could squeak through somehow.

I saw her off on her return trip, and that night I was carrying some dishes down from our living room when I took a very bad fall down the stairs. These are awful, steep “Maine stairs,” and in my fall my left leg shot out through the open side of the staircase and wedged the knee against the bookcase in the dining room below. When I tried to get up I realized that something was very wrong with my knee, and my roommate helped me to bed with ice, a brace, ibuprofen, etc. The following morning I went to the hospital and was directed to the same stupid ER (the last place I ever wanted to go again, but they don’t have urgent care out here and wouldn’t let me just see a GP, so I broke down and cried in admissions). The care I received was middling, if not as bad as on my previous visit, and the nurse-practitioner ordered no weight-bearing for three days, which meant losing the rest of that (desperately needed) work week, and advised following up with orthopedics the next week if the knee wasn’t better.

My wonderful roommate made all kinds of accommodations for my comfort for those three days, and I implemented all the extra therapies I could think of (turmeric, arnica, l-glutamine, Epsom salt soaks, etc). I asked my employers about the possibility of picking up non-massage hours (covering the desk, laundry, etc) but was given the impression that there was nothing for me to do till I could return to massage again. I went to the orthopedic doctor last Thursday and his diagnosis was an MCL (least concerning of the knee ligaments) sprain or tear. I was already strides ahead on his self-care recommendations (getting myself off the crutches, constantly wearing a good brace) and he was supposed to refer me for some PT, but I haven’t heard a peep on that front, and I’m not particularly concerned because, Lord knows, my insurance probably wouldn’t pay for that anyway. He estimated 4 weeks to full recovery but I’m determined to get back to work before that.

So, here’s where we’re at: I’m out of work at the worst time of year, and at the very least, I’ll lose 2.5 weeks of pay (on top of the planned week I took off, plus Christmas and New Year’s were unpaid holidays). Because we live in Maine where everyone has beastly heating fuel, even in a decently insulated house (as I believe this one to be), it costs us around $350 a month to keep the place at 58 degrees through the winter months. (Yes, 58 degrees. 60 if we’re splurging.)

My credit cards are maxed out from car repairs and copious Lucky expenses (including an emergency vet visit - she ended up being fine but it was one of those things that happens after hours/over a weekend and you really shouldn’t wait several days to have checked out).

Oh, and just for fun, our January rent payment got lost in the mail. The landlord was very nice about it and we promptly sent out a replacement, but this meant paying $35 for a stop-payment on the missing check (did I mention that I had to buy checks, to the tune of almost $30, just for paying rent?).

Those of you who have already donated: you are quite literally keeping me going right now. You covered Lucky’s rabies booster yesterday and refills of her food and supplements (all of which, naturally, were running out at the same time), and Lucky is absolutely the reason I’m still alive, so her care honestly means more to me than my own.

I have no idea what my medical bills will look like at this point. I’m assuming the ER visit will be around $1000, and I’m sure the orthopedic visit will be up there somewhere too. As soon as bills start coming in I’ll apply for aid (or, likelier than not, a payment plan), but in order to do that they’re going to want my new tax returns, which means I’m going to have to get my taxes done (probably in Feb) just to find out what my ultimate medical expenses will be. (I used to do my own taxes cheaply through TaxAct, but I was a subcontractor for part of the year, which complicates things and means having to pay someone $$$ to do them this round. I may actually owe on my taxes this year, which is terrifying.)

The healing has been going well overall and I’m hoping to be able to go back to work next week, but I don’t want to assume my knee will oblige. To add insult to injury, I just got hammered with a terrible cold (the kind that levels you in bed), so my body is triaging itself and I’m not sure which is going to get the care first. Surprisingly enough, Lucky’s being a great little nurse, but recovery is a difficult and very lonely process, especially when you get saddled with illness on top of injury.

Anyway, sorry for the ramble. I’ve been reluctant to talk about the miserable past year, but in light of the fact that I’m receiving (and, I guess, asking for :/ ) help, I thought you should know what’s been going on. Thanks for listening and blessings on your day. <3

[the-manor-7]

Soulmate au - Yoongi pt.1

[au: Whatever hair color your soulmate's is, you have a strip of that color in you hair. When you meet your soulmate, the stripe disappears.] 

Today was another day, and yet another color in my hair.  

The hue that complements my chocolate brown hair changes about once every few months, and today was the day. This time it changed to mint green.  

Original, I know. But whoever was my soulmate seemed to love to dye their hair practically every color of the rainbow.  

Not that I mind, really. It was nice, the contrast between my hair and that of my soulmate. But, it always made me wonder. Who is my soulmate? And why do they feel the need to dye their hair so often? Don't they know how much damage that can do to one's hair? 

While I was busy musing it over, I got up and started to get ready for the day.  

Today was Monday, which consequently meant I have work today. I work at a music company as one of their accountants.  

It's lame, I realize this, but I enjoy it. 

Someone has to handle the numbers.  

After eating my breakfast, getting dressed, and making myself presentable, I was on my way out the door and down the street. 

I live close to my office, fortunately, with it only being a five minute walk from my small apartment.  

Chloe, the receptionist, looked up at me and quirked an eyebrow.  

"New hair color, ay?" 

I nodded, "Apparently, they can't decide on a color." 

She shrugged and showed the tattoo on the back of her left hand, "At least it makes your soulmate easier to find. A lot easier to decipher than some music note." 

I looked over at the clock, "Maybe. But, I better get going. Don't want to be late." 

We exchanged our farewells as I walked out of the room.  

As I entered my office, I greeted my coworkers and settled down in my cubical and got to work.  

A few hours later, I stand up and stretch, making my way out of by desk-cluttered room and into the break area.  

I searched the room for the hot-water heater and made my way over to it, filling it with liquid, and turning on the power.  

Caffeine is a wonderful thing. Every time I drink something with this amazing substance in it, I want to find and kiss the person who discovered it. It has saved me on multiple occasions, from pulling all-nighters with friends to due dates that seemed to arrive way too quickly. It really is a miracle in a cup.  

Unlike most people, instead of being a coffee-freak, I prefer tea. 

So, I selected my preferred beverage and placed it in my steaming cup of boiling water and waited at a nearby table while it steeped.  

"Oh, hang on one second." I heard someone say out in the hallway.  

My coworker, Zane, poked his head into the room.  

"Hey, Crystal." 

"Hello, Zane." I greeted, glancing back down at my tea to see if it was ready.  

"Have you worked out the numbers for our project with that Korean group yet? They're here right now." 

Deciding my beverage was strong enough, I stood up and threw the tea bag away and made my way over to the male.  

"BTS? Yeah, I just finished it about ten minutes ago. Why don't you all head over to the conference room? I'll present the information to everyone there. I'm assuming you don't want to meet in my tiny cubical." 

Zane looked back at the group of people behind him, "No, I don't think that will work." He laughed, "But thank you for the generous offer." He said quite sarcastically.  

I rolled my eyes, "You are welcome." I said in the same tone of voice. 

He smirked and led the group of people towards the designated meeting area.  

As they were walking away, I saw a bright flash of color on top of one of the K-Pop stars' heads. It appeared to be some type of green.  

Shaking my head, I walked back to my desk and grabbed the needed supplies, including a thumb-drive, file folder with the budget, and a pen.  

Once I arrived at the conference room, I knocked on the door and was let in by my coworker.  

I started by handing out the sheets of paper before plugging in the flash-drive to the computer at the back of the room. Once the slide-show was pulled up, I grabbed the remote and walked until I was standing if front of everyone.  

"Well, everyone. Shall we begin?" 

*** 

At the end of the meeting, I properly introduced myself to all of them, since I was going to manage the group's budget from now on.  

All of the boys were very polite, something I didn't expect out of idols growing in popularity.  

But, when I arrived at Yoongi, however, it was a completely different experience. He was very civilized, don't get me wrong, but it happened as I shook his hand.  

I smiled my business-smile and looked him in the eye, trying to act confident, something people appreciate when you handle their money.  

He politely smiled back, but the facial expression faded when his eyes landed on my hair.  

"Is something the matter, sir?" 

"Your hair..." 

I pulled my hand away and tugged on a strand of my hair, looking at it out of the corner of my eye, "What is it?" 

"It's one color." 

"What are you talking about? My hair has a..." I found the strand of hair that used to sport exotic colors, "...green streak." 

But, what I found was far from unusual, it was just my normal chocolate brown hair.  

I looked back at him, "Are you...?" 

He reached for a strand of hair that was hidden by his bangs and pulled it out, examining it.  

Once he let go, "I guess." 

Realizing everyone was staring at us, I whispered to him before stepping away, "I will speak to you more after the meeting." 

Must keep things professional, right? 

I introduced myself to the rest of the people in the room before calling the meeting to a close and waiting by the door to bid everyone goodbye as they left.  

Once everyone left, I gathered my belongings and made my way out into the hallway.  

To my surprise, Yoongi had done as I had asked and waited for me a few feet away from the door.  

I stopped in front of him and he looked up from his phone, "Well, we finally meet, soulmate. Now the constantly changing hair color makes sense." 

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

Thank you for reading! Feel free to leave comments and requests!

Thank you,

The_Manor

Masterlist

[anodyne-sunflower]

Unsure-NewtxReader (Req.)

A/N: Hope you like, anon. 🎶

MOOD MUSIC: Tightrope by Michelle Williams

***

“So,” you smiled politely at the waiter, waving him away with his tray of champagne as you eagerly prodded Newt for answers. “How does it feel?”

“Sorry?” He seemed preoccupied by something, his eyes buried in his drink that was left untouched for a good portion of the night. He was never one for parties or celebrations of this sort, but it was hard to skip one revolved solely around his accomplishments. “What was that?”

“Oh, come on, Newt.” You poked his arm, your cheek resting in your palm as you awaited all the glitz and glam of his life now. You hadn’t seen him in months, and the letters you exchanged had unfortunately began to dry up after his book was released. You were proud of him, to be sure, but there was gloom in having to be so far from him now days. Newt always hated the office structure, in fact, you were fairly certain he almost feared the damn thing. But, even so, you sometimes wished it was like old times. Running errands for the higher ups, and sitting at desks and merely enjoying the company of each other. Newt, however, was much like a wild creature locked away in that environment. The adventuring route suited him far better.

“Yes, right.” He offered a smile, the discomfort of the loud area obvious on his features. You could tell he wished to be anywhere else but here, but he at least fought through it. “Not much has changed.” He stated, pulling a tea from the waiter’s tray that passed by, for you and him. You watched him gently push his champagne away, not interested in it as he happily took a sip of his new drink.

“That’s a lie!” You laughed as you gratefully took your own tea, fingers lifting the bag and dipping it over and over again to keep yourself busy. “Last I heard, you actually settled in some nice apartment here in London. I imagine your landlord doesn’t appreciate the random growls and howls they hear.” Wherever Newt went, his creatures followed, and that case could only take so many enchantments before even he ran out of room. You held no doubts that he turned his new place into a zoo within hours of moving in.

He chuckled at that, turning his tea cup around the saucer as he watched everyone in the room socialize amongst themselves. “Yes, that’s one change, I suppose. I needed-“

“More room?” You gave him a warm smile, winking over the rim of your tea cup as you took a sip. You knew him well enough to know that already, and judging by the grin on his lips, he knew that, too.

“Yes. More room.” There was a moment of silence between you two, one you were beginning to grow weary of. Thankfully, he solved that issue, his voice bringing you a sudden slice of joy. “I’m sorry I haven’t written, it’s been rather hectic, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t apologize. I don’t even know how you manage being bombarded by people everywhere you go.” It was a miracle you even got to speak with him so intimately just now. The moment he walked into this party, everyone had swarmed the poor man, asking for autographs, details on his travels and further knowledge into his book. You had never seen him look so equally annoyed and proud.

“I try to hide, somehow they always find me.”

“Poor Newt, now I have to share your attention.” You joked, observing the way he smiled and looked away from you after that. You often wondered if your flirting made him uncomfortable, but as always, that little cheeky grin of his proved otherwise. Even if he held no romantic intentions towards you, at least you took comfort in knowing you could make him smile that way. But, it always left you feeling the same, so unsure and in hopes that he did.

You looked towards the crowd, seeing them all drinking or dancing cheerfully. Part of you wanted to join them, but all the invites you received to dance, you had turned down. There was only one man you had interest in, and even though you were going to ask, you already guessed his answer. “Do you want to dance?”

Newt gazed at you oddly, eyes shifting from you to the dance floor multiple times before he had to shake his head regretfully.

“I’m afraid I don’t dance...” Newt whispered, as if that would somehow lessen the awkward embarrassment he felt at that fact. You had to smile, knowing he was never one to put such weight into social activities such as this. For him to feel even mildly aware of his lack in it, well...it had to mean something, didn’t it?

“That’s alright.” You assured him, dipping your tea bag further into the hot water. It was undoubtedly steeped well enough by now, but the unbearable ache of your nerves and heart seemed to channel through this usually uninvolved activity. You felt a fool, trying your best to ignore his presence. He was hardly an intimidating figure, famous or otherwise, yet you felt very conscious of his every move and word. It was a miracle he hadn’t labeled you a loon and been done with this conversation already. “You,” if there was a tremble to your voice, he didn’t point it out, and you had to be grateful to him for that. Try as you might, sounding nonchalant around him wasn’t an artistry you possessed. “You can just owe me. A dance, later...or perhaps something else.” So eloquently put, you berated yourself. There was subtle and then there was you, willfully blurting out words that should’ve meant something but it all just gets twisted in the end. But, how else could a person say ‘I love you, you fool!’ Without actually saying it...

For a minute, Newt seemed to just blink at you, the wheels in his head moving ever so slowly to figure out if that sentence held more meaning than you intended. In some ways, it did and you were too busy chewing through your own lip in thought to pay his movements any mind. Perhaps, that’s what first caught you off guard. The subtle touch of his fingertips on your hand, barely petting you on the knuckles like you were some fragile creature he feared might break into a run at the sight of him.

“Bugger...” You heard him curse under his breath, the mere tone of it making you want to giggle. You held no talent in the study of human behavior, but there was frustration in his voice. He had wanted something, but it was so like him to not be entirely adept on how to approach a person in this manner. That’s if your assumptions of his caress were proving to be correct. Had the hint of romance you laced in your proposition been heard? Was he finally entering this territory you weren’t ever sure he wanted as well? There was always the idea of flirting with him in the days he spent actually locked up inside an office with you in the ministry. But, your sweet smiles and risqué words always seemed to go unnoticed. Most of the time anyway...

There were moments you faintly appreciated a blush along his cheeks, or the grin he had after turning away to go back to work. You were certain he heard your seductive remarks, but he never acted on any of them. It left you confused most times, others hopeful he was just too shy or too busy to reciprocate your feelings. But, as the brief touch of his fingers became more, lacing with your own and pulling you from your duty of steeping tea, you had suddenly realized it was all just time that played a part in romance.

“Y/N.” Newt left your name to hang in the air, letting it roll off his tongue like some delicacy he was barely becoming acquainted with. Up until now, he had always referred to you as Miss L/N, so it was a strange thing to hear coming from him. However, such a wonderfully strange thing, that is.

“Yes?” You replied, feeling that familiar heat run along your neck and face. He was holding your hand, nearly shaking it as he stared you down anxiously. You could tell he was debating with himself, his lips parting every so often to release a breath he had been holding. To some, the seconds that passed would’ve been too long, but to you they were incredibly delightful. Meeting his tender gaze, noting the way he licked over his lips in thought and wonder. Was he playing the same scenario in his head that you were? Gods, you hoped so. “Newt?”

The wizard cleared his throat, looking your features up and down until he finally settled on his decision. Within seconds he was near you, delicately holding your hand still as his soft lips brushed yours in a hesitant kiss. It did wonders to the mind, elevating your joy instantly and creating a warmth in your belly that made you want to faint in his arms. Your heart was nearly hammering away from your chest, the pure bliss of his affections only causing you to sigh and press into him. It was a shame you had missed out on this for years, but perhaps that was the negative of dancing around one another, carefully over analyzing every glance, word and touch. If you had only read the room better back then...but, it didn’t matter, you supposed. Newt was here now, his kiss leaving you breathless and positively craving more.

You quickly latched your arm around his shoulders, clumsily tip toeing to meet his height well enough. You felt him smile into the kiss, obviously entertained by that. Had this been any other normal day, you’d of playfully been angry at him, but right now he could get away with anything.

You gasped when your lips peeled away from each other, both of you still wrapped in one another’s arms as you stared dreamily together. It was probably sickening to see such a display, but for you it was the most perfect moment. It may have taken years to get here, and for all the scenarios you had schemed in your head throughout them, you were happy it came to this. Especially, when he was the one to work up the courage to actually make a real move. Maybe becoming famous had its perks, after all.

You played softly with the wavy locks around his neck, smiling warmly as you just basked in his embrace. “Took you long enough.”

***

A/N: 🌸

[havetoddlerwilltravel]

Multiple Choice

When I was blogging about Australia, my sister texted to tell me that I made traveling with a toddler seem easy and delightful. I followed up with a post clarifying that, while I love my child and for the most part we were having a great trip, traveling with a toddler is not, in fact, all sunshine and rainbows. The same goes for moving to a remote island with mountain views and the most perfect public library on the continent (more on that later), so at the risk of losing you all with a post about the DMV: herewith, a post about the DMV.

It was another gorgeous day -- sunshine and float planes and bald eagles all competing for attention in the afternoon sky -- and Flo and I set off to handle our business. (We’re lucky that Flo’s family came in strong, with three of them coming up to Alaska to help us get moved in, so on this fine day our four-year-old stayed with them.)

We should have realized things were off to a rocky start when we accidentally parked at the bottom of a very steep hill and walked several blocks up to the state building on arguably the hottest day of the summer. Once inside, we were directed through a metal detector. Except Flo never made it through because, in an attempt to go native, he had clipped a pocket knife to his belt. Now in his defense, we have seen cool young women in the grocery store with knives strapped to their cargo pants. But a government building is still a government building, and the friendly guard told him he’d have to leave the knife in his car, which, if we remember, was currently several blocks away at the bottom of a very steep hill. No matter. I told him I’d go inside and get the ball rolling. 

I walked into the smallest DMV in the history of ever, with two clerks and zero line. I waltzed up and told one of them that I needed to get an Alaska driver’s license and wanted to make sure I had everything I needed.

“You’ll need your passport and proof of residence,” she said. “And you’ll need to take a written test. Are you prepared to do that now?”

“Oh sure,” I said, and I walked over to a computerized testing station like an unsuspecting preschooler about to pet a rapid dog.

It wasn’t until I sat down that I realized I’d made a big mistake. I can’t remember the last time I took a written driving test. Not only that, I do not function well on a multiple choice test. The first question came up, something about liability insurance in the state of Alaska, and the entire contents of my brain fluttered up toward the ceiling like a flock of doves. All I could see was white. My ears pounded. I felt nauseous. I peeked around the side of my little carrel, expecting to see people tearing their hair out and gnashing their teeth. But it was just a tiny government office in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, and everyone else was going about their business LIKE IT WAS A REGULAR DAY. This day, for me, had become decidedly not-regular. It was rapidly becoming the worst day of my life, at least according to my now-empty brain.

The questions looked like literal nonsense. They may as well have asked me what color water was for how confusing I found it all. “Well when children draw water it’s blue, but water from the tap is clear, and in some oceans it looks green...” There was even a question that was entirely double negatives, something like “which statement is false: A) you should never pass a school bus when the amber lights are illuminated, etc.” which I answered INCORRECTLY because by the time I got to the end of the options I’d forgotten that it was supposed to be false. Here’s my double negative to add to the mix: if I can’t pass this test, how do I prove that I am not not a good driver?

I don’t even know how many questions I got wrong but I do know that I failed. The computer told me to “return to the examiner,” a title that sounded much more sober than “DMV clerk.”

“You can try again tomorrow,” she said. She had no idea the depths of shame I felt.

I walked out of the building and into the sunshine, where I ran into Flo, all optimism and sweaty brow from his hot walk.

“We’re coming back tomorrow,” I said. (There was no point in him taking the test too, even though he would have passed because he’s not a stressed-out loon; we only had an electronic copy of our lease and needed a hard copy so we had to come back anyway. I wasn’t being a total jerk.)

We didn’t go back the next day. It took me three days to muster up the courage to try again. In the meantime I took two sample tests, BOTH OF WHICH WERE LAUGHABLY EASY. By the time we arrived at the metal detector again, this time knifeless and with a small child in tow, I had decided that I would not let the Ketchikan DMV defeat me.

I didn’t waltz this time; I marched.

“I’m ready to take the test,” I said, probably too loudly.

There were questions about moose crossings and DUIs, righthand turns and pedestrians. I did my best to stay calm and remember that I have been driving for two decades and actually know all these answers. 

I passed the test, and Flo and I got Alaska licenses that end in 699 and 700, which felt poetic. But in retrospect, none of this was about a dumb multiple choice test; it was about admitting that change is good, but it is also hard. In order to walk out of that concrete building with holes punched in our California licenses and an Alaska title for our car, we had to give up a piece of our old selves. Then again, maybe we didn’t. As much as I wanted to leave Los Angeles, the years I spent there are woven deeply into the fabric of me, like an old quilt that has been reinforced with a different color thread. I took my road test as a kid in Brooklyn, in a blighted stretch of Starrett City I’d never been to before or since, but it’s the traffic jams and road trips since then that have actually taught me to drive. And I will continue to learn, wherever I am, wherever I go, because it’s the best way forward. And because I never know when life will throw a test my way. (Though preferably not multiple choice. An essay question would be nice.)

[livingcorner]

How to Level a Yard, Lawn or Garden – Steps and Tips | Zacs Garden@|how to level the garden@|https://zacsgarden.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/How-to-Level-a-Lawn-Gardener-removing-lawn-and-digging-a-hole.jpg@|21

It may seem like a lot of work, but leveling your yard isn’t as hard as it seems

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DO YOU GET TIRED OF walking across your lawn watching out for divots that are deep enough to break an ankle? Is the slope in your garden so steep that the water runs downhill before it has a chance to soak in and do any good? If you not sure how to level a yard, follow along as I go through the tools and steps needed to cure this problem once and for all.

Both my front and back yards were a mess when we first moved in. But with a little hard work, the right tools, and a little dedication, you can have a nice smooth lawn and gardens that suffer little in the way of runoff.

The #1 Thing to Remember

The most important thing to remember is the soil needs to be moist before you get started. If your soil is dry and dusty, you need to water it until it is moist to a depth of at least 6 inches.

But at the same time, if your soil is too wet, it will be hard to work with. In this case, you will need to wait until it has enough time to dry out a bit. Wet soil is very heavy and can be hard to work with.

Tools You Will Need to Level Your Yard and Garden

The first step in learning how to level a yard or garden is knowing what tools you will need to get the done and done right the first time. No one wants to have to re-level their lawn once the sod has been laid or the seed has started to grow.

Laying the lawn is the easy part, it’s getting everything level beforehand that takes time, skill and cause frustration.

So, let’s take a good look at the tools you will need:

Alternative tools:

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Remember that a landscaping rake should have a head that is approximately 3 feet wide and has heavy duty tines made for dragging large amounts of dirt.

Leveling Bare Ground

If you are putting in a new garden, laying new sod, or simply planting grass seed on bare land, you must level the ground first. The first step is to mark off the area you plan to work with and then determine how out of level it happens to be. There are two methods of doing this:

Using a larger piece of lumber underneath your level will extend it and can make the job easier

Method #1 – Using a Spirit Level

If you have never used a spirit of carpenter’s level, it is a simple device consisting of a 36-inch long aluminum bar with three different bubble indicators mounted on it. One is for horizontal, one is for vertical level, and one is for measuring a 45-degree angle.

As you can see, ‘the bubble’ on the level has two lines on it and a bubble that floats in the liquid. When the bubble is centered between the lines, the item you are measuring is level.

To use your spirit level on a large patch of dirt, simply add an 8-foot 2 x 4 (or any long, straight piece of material) underneath your level. This way, you can measure over a longer area of your yard. (Look down the length of the 2 x 4 to check it is straight before using)

To start leveling, simply place the 2 x 4 assembly across the ground and check for level. Be sure to check in both directions and allow for one edge to be slightly lower to assist with drainage.

This method works best for freshly tilled soil that is mostly flat and all you are trying to do is determine any slopes. You can use it for lawns and gardens with equal effectiveness.

Method #2 – Using Stakes and a String Line 

This method can be used on new ground for lawns or gardens and to help you find low and high spots.

Hammer a stake into the ground at the highest point in your yard

Hammer a stake into the ground at the lowest point in your yard

Tie a string between stakes making sure it is pulled nice and tight

Place a line level on the string line to ensure the string is level. (Not sure what a line level is, here is an example)

Then measure the height of the string on both stakes to help you determine how much of slope you have to deal with

If you are looking for high and low spots there are a few extra steps:

The steps are the same up to the point where the string is level.

Then use a tape measure to help you find the low and high spots along the line (you will need to repeat this at regular intervals all the way across the yard).

The best way to do this is to create a grid search pattern and write down the measurements based on where they were taken on a grid.

It might look something like this:

End of Yard Side of Yard 6 4 4 2 2 5 3 3 2 2 3 3 3 3 3 3 4 4 3 5 5 3

Red numbers indicate low spots

Green numbers indicate high spots

All measurements are in inches

While this might be a bit time consuming (as in taking a few hours), if you are truly intent on having a nice even lawn to mow or play on, this is the best way. You can also use this method to help you create a perfectly flat garden.

6 Steps to a Flat Lawn

If you are working on a small patch of your lawn that needs to be leveled up to meet the rest of it, remove the grass by cutting under it with a shovel and removing it like sod. Set the grass aside to replace once you have created a level area. If you are working with bare ground, can skip this step.

Cover the bare ground with a mixture of topsoil, sand, and either compost, manure, or fertilizer. You need the soil to be nutrient rich in order to give your lawn a good start

Using your landscaper’s rake, spread the mixture out until it covers the entire area in what looks to be a uniform layer. You can use the string and measuring tape method above to keep an eye on how level your new soil is

Using a water-filled roller, tamp the soil down (if you are working on a very small area you can use your foot)

Mist the soil with water until it is nice and damp (it does not need to be soaked)

Leave to settle for 48 hours

Measure at multiple spots and correct any low or high spots you find using the same mixture and tamp in place.

How Long Will it Take?

Depending on how fussy you want to be (it took me a week to get my yard where I wanted it to be, but then I’m a bit OCD when it comes to things like this), you may have to make several adjustments using the method above.

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Remember, the more you do at the beginning the fewer problems you are likely to have in the end.

Once you are satisfied that you have finally figured out how to level a yard, you can replace the sod previously removed, install all new sod, or plant with grass seed. All you have to do now is wait for your perfectly flat lawn to grow in green and healthy.

What If You Have a Few Low Spots in an Existing Lawn?

Wait!

You don’t need to learn how to level a yard starting with bare ground. If you are only worried about patching a few low or high spots in your lawn, the whole process is very similar to leveling bare ground. Let’s take a closer look at the whole process.

First, you need to use the stake and string line method above to create your working grid of high and low spots. In most cases, you will have more low spots than high ones.

Low Spots

Cut the sod from these spots carefully and set them aside

Using a mixture of manure/compost, topsoil, and sand, fill in the spot to a point just far enough below the surrounding ground to allow the sod to be replaced

Stamp this area down using your foot and then mist with water to help it settle

Wait 48 hours and check to make sure it hasn’t settled too much (if it has, simply add more soil and repeat the process)

Once the area is level and just below flush, replace the sod and stamp it down

Water the area and let the grass root in place

A fun video that shows how this is done:

High Spots

These have to be treated a little differently as there is already too much soil in place.

Cut the sod from the area and set aside for future use

Using a shovel slowly reduce the height of the soil by removing it one shovelful at a time

Continue doing this until the entire area is level just below the surface, leaving just enough room for you to replace the sod

Water the area and allow it to sit for 48 hours

Recheck your measurements and level

If all is good (by now it should be) replace the sod, tamp down, and water

This guy makes it sound easy:

For both situations, be sure to save a little of that topsoil mix to fill in any gaps where the edges of the sod meet. You should also use your preferred method to check your yard or garden for level once everything has been done.

Important Notes

Be sure that your yard or garden retains a slope to ensure excess water runs off such as rain, ice, and snow.

Watering the area you plan to level a day or two beforehand can make it easier to dig.

Always wear closed-toe shoes when you are working with a shovel or a pickaxe for the safety of your toes.

Always wear gloves to protect your hands.

You can use a string level setup for any distance, it doesn’t matter if its 30 feet or 300 feet.

On the Level

Okay, so you probably started out thinking you had to hire someone to level your yard, right? Now that you see how easy it can be if someone just gives you the right information, you probably can’t wait to get started.

I hope this information and the accompanying videos help make learning how to level a yard a little bit easier for you. The most important thing to remember is that perfection takes time, be patient, work slowly and methodically and your yard will finally be perfectly level.

Thanks for reading this guide on how to level a yard, lawn or garden. You can keep in contact with us here on facebook or pinterest

Related Articles:

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source https://livingcorner.com.au/how-to-level-a-yard-lawn-or-garden-steps-and-tips-zacs-gardenhow-to-level-the-gardenhttps-zacsgarden-com-wp-content-uploads-2017-05-how-to-level-a-lawn-gardener-removing-lawn-and-diggi/

[writinganiki]

Greed x Reader 9

Crickets and cicadas chirped in the hot summer night air, giving a muffled cover to your footsteps and movements. Greed and Ling led you down a previously scouted path, optimizing keeping your movements inconspicuous and ordinary while also optimizing a route out of the city. Your heart pounded in your chest as your ran from street to street, anxious with the knowledge, or possibly lack thereof, of being attacked or intercepted. Much to your annoyance, Greed hadn’t really bothered collecting much intel on the group that he swindled the philosopher’s stone from being too caught up in the excitement of the find. The most the two of you had to run on was that they were skilled alchemists with enough knowledge and resources to create both a philosopher’s stone and at least one humanoid chimera. You were still trying to wrap your brain around even the mere existence of chimeras as more than just something in research and rumor, but you shrugged it off for now attempting to stay focused on the task ahead. With all of the variables it was nearly impossible for the three of you to be prepared for an attack, and with only two bodies, even with your mutual metallic augmentations, their numbers also remained a mystery leaving an overwhelming force not entirely out of the equation.

You glanced over at your companion walking swiftly alongside you, he was moving calmly but with purpose, his eyes focused straight ahead, obscured slightly in the darkness of the night. Looking down slightly, you assumed it was Greed currently in control, catching glimpses of the dark gunmetal coating hiding just beyond the edges of his sleeves, ready to extend of his hands to become weapons at a moment’s notice. Though you couldn’t see his eyes, Greed wore a determined look on his face, his lips lightly pursed in a balance of focus and thinking. He was clearly managing to both keep a strong watch around for danger while also coming up with constant plans for attack or escape, even if it was aided by the extra ‘head’ he had with him, it still amazed you. Unexpectedly, he turned his head, nearly catching you staring a bit, but you managed to quickly switch your expression to a more concerned and inquisitive one. “You’re anxious about an attack aren’t you? Don’t try and strain yourself keeping an eye out, I can easily take care of that, just be ready in case of something happening, ok?” To your surprise, it was Ling who spoke despite your assumption of Greed being in control due to his power being active.

A brief moment of surprise passed along your face before you nodded in affirmation. Catching that Ling had noticed your look, you spoke up first, “I was surprised to hear your voice Ling, I had thought Greed was taking the lead.” You motioned slightly towards his arms.

“Oh! My apologies, I guess I didn’t explain it properly. Greed and I kind of share everything in a way, abilities, ideas, body, not much hidden between the two of us.”

Before you had a chance to respond, Greed spoke up, “And the kid’s right. Don’t worry your head over keepin’ watch. We’re friends now and I don’t let anything happen to my friends.” He gave you an enthusiastic pat on the pack, complete with exaggerated arm swing, the force of which caused you to stumble a step.

You giggled, not minding the action, “You know Greed, you’re a pretty nice guy once you drop your whole tough guy shtick, I think I like this side of you a lot better than the one from our first time meeting.”

Greed grumbled a little bit, “Yeah well maybe I like actin’ that way, huh?!” He responded excitedly, but not angrily, like the two of you were long time friends who were just sharing an old inside joke that was a rib at his expense. He was without mistake still a jerk, but not in a bad way, and as much as he’d try to deny it when confronted directly, he was a really caring person.

You were clutching yourself with laughter when Ling chided in with a laugh as well, “He’ll never actually admit to being nice, don’t bother trying. Also, keep your voice down idiot, you’re supposed to be the one with the most experience on this little team and here you are getting all worked up over a girl teasing you.” He chuckled again, giving a little smile and wink over at you that you couldn’t help but turn slightly flush at. Greed crossed the pair’s arms and just grumbled back like a husband in an old married couple knowing he’s lost an argument.

The two of you continued to walk, mostly in silence save for the occasional comment back and forth before Ling stopped and held out an arm in front of you. He looked around surveying the surrounding area. The buildings in the city had long faded in the darkness, with very few lights towards the edges of the city flickering softly and dimly in the distance, most likely no more than some fireplaces and desk lamps shining through the windows of those who enjoy working or learning through the night. From this distance they were but tiny dots, almost hard to separate from the stars hanging just above in the purple-black night sky.“Do you hear that?” He turned to ask you.

You focused your hearing, trying to zone in on all the different directions around you. The usual insect chirps could be heard off in various directions, the loudest coming from the lightly wooded area close to the east. “No, I don’t think I hear anything besides the usual sounds of the night.” Ahead of you was the dry terrain the surrounded rush valley, flat save for the many rocks and sudden steep mountain formations all around. Not even the wind blew through the natural channels laid out by the stony terrain, the night was calm.

“Exactly, I think we’re far enough out that we can find a place to hole up for the night.” The response and the smile could have come from either of the two boys, and at this point, to you, it didn’t really matter which. Greed was brash and loud but absolutely put his all into everything and everyone around him, and Ling had a heart of gold but still knew when to turn face; they were a reliable pair for sure, and you had started to grow quite fond of traveling with them even with the current circumstances. The pair of you scouted around the area, looking for a good spot to set up for the night when you found a small overhang caused by a large flat rock that had fallen at an angle off of another creating a small tent-like structure. Greed walked up and checked for any signs of it being a wild animal den, and after the coast looked clear, you crawled in first, huddling underneath it up against the flatter wall. Your companion followed shortly, reaching into his pack and pulling out a small lantern and setting it up. He sat down next to you, one leg on the ground as though he was going to sit cross-legged and the other’s foot planted flat on the ground with his knee pointed upwards. There was a silence and stillness between the two of you, the tension in the air feeling a little awkward as the many emotions of the entire situation hung thick between you. You still had so many questions about what was happening, many of which wouldn’t have answers until the two of you continued further. The expression on Ling’s face showed the same, wanting to discuss the plans, the future, each other. Deciding to break the silence, your voice popped up quietly, “Thank you again, for everything you’ve done for me, and I really mean that. While this whole thing, top to bottom is mostly because of things that you did, you could’ve just ignored me and traveled right to Central or even back home.” You found yourself talking much more than you anticipated, words that you had been holding back in the chaos spilling out freely, “But you didn’t, you kept an eye on me and stepped in to save me even when I could have defended myself. You listened to me honestly and openly multiple times and you haven’t hid anything from me that I know of. Even leaving for this trip, I felt like an actual partner and part of the plan, not just someone who needs to be escorted or protected. And do you know what the funniest part of all of this is?” You held your fist to your mouth for a small giggle. “I don’t even really know which one of you I’m talking about right now.”

Your head turned to the side, finding the man next to you much closer than you thought. He looked back at you, those same soft kind eyes were there, burning ambition and determination right behind them, not hidden, but conveying a man who had seen extreme pain, suffering, and sadness but still continues to fight on and counter everything bad that he can. Without even a thought in your head, you found yourself leaning in, closing your eyes slightly as your chin pointed slightly more towards him. The moment your eyes shut, almost as though he had swooped in suddenly and slowed at the last moment, you felt the gentle softness of another’s lips on yours. As you leaned into the kiss, a smile couldn’t help but peek across your lips slightly as you pulled away slowly, how many girls dreamed of growing up and kissing a prince from a storybook, something most grew up to never believe to be possible, and here you were. You couldn’t help but let out a pure happy laugh as you pressed yourself lightly against the body beside you, your lips moving back to his, his lower lip gently pressed between the two of yours, the both of you opening your mouths slightly on the kiss. He pushed in a little more aggressively and passionately at this, kissing you deep as his arm wrapped around your back pulling you closer. At this put you had full lost yourself, both arms wrapped around the man’s neck, as his free hand reached up and carefully held your cheek. His kisses came both rough and caring, passionate but careful with each one, making it uncertain to you who even was in control between the three of you at any moment, but that just made your heart pound all the more in your chest as the revelation came that you didn’t even care.

Pulling away for a small breath, a moment of your senses returned to you and you felt your face burn red hot as you quickly buried it in your hands. “I’m… I’m so sorry I don’t know what came over..” Before you had a chance to finish, a warm hand pulled your own away from your face.

“It’s okay, I think there was a lot unsaid between us that we both felt.” Ling’s smile slowly came into view as your hands left your face, the infectious genuineness of it setting you at ease a little as Greed chimed in as well.

“Don’t worry girly, we’ll take care of ya, and we ain’t goin’ anywhere either. When I make somethin’ mine, I don’t ever let it go.”

You felt tears begin to well up in your eyes, throwing yourself against their shoulder and wrapping your arms around tightly. A soft, “Please don’t” was muffled into Ling’s coat as both his arms wrapped around to hold you tightly, one gently stroking your hair.

“Like I said, ain’t nothin’ to worry about.” Greed’s voice was quiet and soft this time, his words holding a weight of promise as you sunk further into the pair’s hold, the events of the last few days finally catching up to you as you drifted off with the both of them holding you.

[swampertspawner]

Me, Myself, and So On

A draft for our nonficiton class in university. I hope you enjoy!

I’ll be completely honest in saying I don’t know who I am. After all, what’s the measure of truly knowing a person? Is it knowing their tics? Is it knowing their secrets? Is it knowing their life story? I know all of this. Why then, don’t I feel like I know myself? Most days I don’t feel like a person, more like someone’s original character: a messy hodge-podge of other popular characters that the creator has as comfort characters. If I am to speak candidly, I feel like I’ve taken the best characteristics from the people I admire most and made a vain effort of emulating them just to create a singular personality. My best friend’s compassion, my blockmates kinship, one of my previous classmate’s work ethic, and the lessons in patience I learned from my ex-partner. What happens if it’s all torn away? Who’s left? What will I see? Will I even want to see it? Now, like many people, ever since I started quarantine I’ve had nothing but time. Unlike most people, though, my choices of activity were limited: eating, sleeping, using the computer, maybe watching the TV once but that’s pretty much it. Sometimes when I got tired of those I started thinking instead. Thinking about what state the world was going to end up in. Thinking about what I’d be doing once this all blows over (even though sometimes I felt like it never will). After that I ask what I’ll be like by that time. Then the ultimate question that comes up time and time again in my life reared it’s ugly head: who am I in the first place? Every time I tried to get at the bottom of this question, I’m met with many different answers. Some I’d like to show you while we think about themーme as I’m writing this and you as you’re reading this. I’m a personal believer that two minds are greater than one, but since I’ve lost mine over quarantine, I hope you can keep up for the both of us while you’re reading my revised stream of consciousness. The first answer I’ve come to is that I’m a reincarnation of my mother: bright, joyful, and even coming with a striking resemblance. Honestly, I felt like Harryーconstantly being told that I have my mother's eyes, along with her cheeks, nose, mouth, and so on. I feel like a clone they’ve started to project onto. I don’t completely blame them; my mother passed away at a relatively young age, and I’m one of the only things they can really remember her by. Still, it would be nice if they saw me as my own person instead of seeing my mother all the time. Even as I say that, I’ve still done my part in making sure I live up to the name she made for herself. She’s one of the people I look up to the most. The cutting intellect she possessed, the joy she seemed to emanate to other people; I aspire to be like her one day. I suppose that’s the biggest thing stopping me from claiming this is the fact that I feel like I don’t deserve to. I’m not so mean to myself that I’d say I haven’t done anything meaningful, but it’s harder to say that any of them amount to how my maternal family and her old co-workers talk about her. Of course, every light has its own dark, and it seems this idyllic answer of me that my maternal family keeps in their hearts is eclipsed by the constant sight that my paternal family--the relatives I spend more time with--sees. Seemingly on the computer 24/7, with no real world experience or motivation to do anything other than eat, play video games, use the computer, and sleep. Truly, it’s quite a stark difference depending on whoever I’m with. Like many people though, I do change, whether consciously or unconsciously, how I act towards other people. At some point I felt some pang of guilt every time I realized it, then eventually it just started fading away. Another answer I came upon is my online presence, and all the people I’ve met and all the people I’ve brushed with. This is the most speculative and sporadic answer because so many different people have so many different imprints of me. A lot of it is also dependent on what online circle and community I’m in. Sure, I have a general vibe that I exude to many people: a very chill shitposter that’s funny sometimes, soft all the time. Even still, I think about the people I’ve talked with before and lost touch with. What imprint do I have of them? What do they think of me? Do they still even think of me in the first place? One thing I don’t doubt is my negative influence. A good chunk of my time online was spent being a general asshole with the usual discriminatory bullshit you expect from someone growing up in the Philippines at the time. Trash-talking (even though I wasn’t very good at it), trolling, thinking I was hot shit even though it was far, far from the truth. Granted, I was 12 and growing, but that doesn’t make it any better. The fact still stands that there might be people’s lives I’ve impacted for the worse. Sometimes I think about them, how I want to make it up to them, maybe show them I’ve changed and give them closure if they need it. Sadly, with the imperfect world we live within, the last interaction it ever allowed me with those people is a negative one. Despite all this, I’m happy to report that I’ve grown as a person. At least, this answer has grown as a person. I’ve learned compassion. I’ve learned patience. I’ve learned respect. Sometimes I scare myself, since I say something bad and have to catch myself slipping mentally and right myself right after. Learning never stops, after all. Neither does the fear of going back to who you once were. The growth and development this persona’s gone through was definitely shaped by the fact that I was online a lot. While I’m sure it resulted in deeper psychological scars with a lasting impact on the rest of my life, I’m not sure what those are. Partly because I don’t entirely remember where those scars even are. You see, the funny thing about the brain is that it's smart, and it’s smart enough to hide away the things that make it feel bad (most of the time). For most of the things that happened to me, even if I want to remember them, I kinda can’t. Nonetheless, I still know they’re there. For one, it was pretty early on that I started to break away from the backwards values that I’ve been raised on that were steeped in misogyny, homophobia, colorism...the list just goes on. Philippine media (and quite frankly media in general) has a way of reinforcing the negativity that society tries to correct and progress past. Gay stereotypes, whitening ads, the usual storylines of teledramas that give 0 agency to the women in the story; it’s honestly so tiring, but I’m glad I can see what’s wrong with it all now. Another thing is that I was able to meet so many people that have irrevocably changed my life, whether for the better or the worse. Similar to how I’ve been able to impact many people in passing, such is the case for me too: thousands of people that have changed my life despite staying in my life for barely a moment. I wonder if they think the same way about me as I do with the people I’ve influenced. That’s the beauty of the internet really; so many people can touch your life even for just a fraction of a second and still leave you a different person than who you were before you met them. The third answer for me to show you is what my classmates see: someone demure or unassuming at first glance that suddenly evolves into a noisy, unhinged crackhead that you wonder how you became friends in the first place. This persona’s had an interesting development because I’ve started to completely disregard the demure part and start being a crackhead right out of the gate. The biggest reason for it was that I had the thought that acting so likely attracts similar people; similar people that I’ve desperately wanted to know and meet for most of my life. The truth is that there’s a singular driving force behind me having multiple faces for multiple people. Growing up, I’ve never been able to fully express myself for many reasons. The first one being that in the place I grew up in, I was practically the only person that had the interests I did. That pretty much stands true ‘til this day. To be frank, my household is one of the few that’s able to afford the privileges I enjoyed growing up (namely cable tv and the Internet). Because of it I was the only one that knew what the hell Adventure Time, Regular Show, and et cetera was for a long time. I was the only one in my neighborhood familiar with Youtube communities other than the site just being used for music. That’s not to say the people in my neighborhood were completely devoid of online culture. Everyone was familiar with the usual suspects of Pisonet Online Games: Audition, Crossfire, DOTA, League of Legends, and so on. The problem really only lies in the fact that I wasn’t able to really connect with those communities and ended up alienating myself. You can say the same about my other faces. My being put on a pedestal as my mother’s son was not helped by the fact I was also naturally smart and bright myself. One of the remnants that my mother left me was English being my first language. For the longest time I was talking English better than Filipino (and you can imagine everything that entails a bully-able kid only speaking English the Philippines). Even online, which is often seen as the last bastion for people to find others that they can connect with, other people that share the same interests, I felt alienated. I went so long without discovering those communities or being unable to fully express myself in those communities because widdle baby Raven wasn’t smart enough to make an alternate account. As such, even voicing myself online was restricted. There was never any avenue for me to really be myself. Well, not until recently, of course. Some people say that if a person has been depressed since childhood, once they reach adulthood they often try to take back the childhood they spent thinking they would kill themselves before they even became adults. While I’ve never been depressed myself, I resonate so goddamn hard with this sentiment that I thought I manifested an earthquake when I first heard it (I didn’t; god just wanted to fuck with me for some reason). I’ve spent so much of my life repressing who I was that I don’t even express it to people that would understand or accept. I end up feeling caged in my house, wistfully standing in a dark room and looking out of the window as I watch Spongebob and Patrick have fun being themselves. The final answer we have to our original question is a simple one: it’s the person of who I am when I’m alone, and truth be told, I have no idea who that person is. When I’m alone in my room at night, who am I really? When I have the house to myself, who comes out? I’ll be honest in saying that even when I’m completely alone, whoever the person I really am is, they barely come out. There’s nothing to make a face for, no front that’s needed, so why do they still stay cooped up and hidden? They’re quite the enigma. For one they paradoxically like being expressive. They blast music and sing and dance along with it. Maybe because they stay inside for such long periods of time they bask whenever they do come out. Another thing about this mystery person is how incredibly horny they are. Seriously, you would think they’re a teenager because of their constant thirst. Maybe this is their attempt to connect. They weren’t raised with the healthiest views on intimacy you see. It’s very warped. Despite the things they’ve done to remedy it, they slip at times. Or maybe it’s not horniness. Maybe they just do it systemically. They know that jacking off releases dopamine; maybe they do just whenever they need dopamine and not just because they feel something carnal. There’s so many things I can tell you about them, still: how much they like ambient sounds of rain, how they like listening to K-Pop music because they want to listen to music but not be distracted by lyrics they understand, how puzzling it is that they’re still unknown even though I’ve been given nothing but time these 8 months in quarantine. I can go on and on about all these but at the end of the day, it boils down to the fact that I have no idea who they are despite how much I know about them. It’s true I know a lot about them, but what do I know about them? Why does it feel like they keep giving me tidbits and not the whole thing? What the hell do these small pieces of personality tell me about the whole? As I’m writing this, I’m still thinking about who I really am. The person that’s dwelling just beneath the surface, trying their best to stay hidden against all my efforts to pull them out. For as long as I’ve been in quarantine, I’ve been starting to wonder if I even want to. Is all this trouble truly worth it? What if I don’t like what comes out? The other answers I have are so much nicer than the parts that the final one shows. I’ve lived for so long being comfortable with how I am now; is it really that important I find out what the “real” one is? At the end of the day, I don’t know. I’m a very tired person; I reserve my energy just for the things I deem the most important. As such, continuing with this may just be a waste of my energy, but I’ll really only find out by the end of it, right? It’s still a horrifying prospect to imagine that I wasted so much of my time to find out, only for it to be for nothing. There’s still a silver lining, though, that if I don’t like what comes out, maybe I can just keep looking for an answer that I like instead.