#this and other exhibition work i’ve shared will be for sale about next week!

[pansylair]

🟨 Your Embrace 🟨

cone 5.5 stoneware wall tiles, underglaze, underglaze pencil, glaze

- - -

id: Three ceramic wall tiles with a yellow background and black and white illustrations and floral accents featuring pairs of various werewolves embracing, at peace with closed eyes.

The first tile: a fat figure with top surgery and phalloplasty scars touching noses with a trans masc figure with breasts, arms wrapped around each other.

Second tile: A trans femme figure with its head resting over another figure with breasts, holding hands, arms around each other, legs intertwined.

Third tile: A sitting figure with top surgery scars resting its head on the shoulder of the companion sitting behind it. The companion’s arms reach around it in a hug.

[biromanticbooknook]

My Most Ambitious Crossover

I got bored by posting only my second gen Amazon AU, so I’ll get back to that tomorrow, but enjoy this one-shot about Chloe and Marinette creating their own trip instead of their class trip in the meantime. Can’t have you all thinking I’m a one-trick pony, can I?

“-and that’s why we think you shouldn’t go on the trip this year.” Mlle. Bustier tried to look apologetic, but it was as much her idea as the students. Between Marinette refusing to set an example and Chloe associating with her, neither of them deserved to go.

“Oh, thank goodness. I was afraid I would have to get my daddy to donate 30% of the funds like he does every year.”

“I’m just glad I don’t have to take 60% of the trip funds out of my commission profits. That will give me a much bigger budget for fabric and accessories.” Everyone blanched at the statements of the 2 girls. They were saying that they paid for 90% of the trip every year, but that couldn’t be right. They worked so hard on fundraisers every year, they must be lying about how much they contribute.

Marinette just ignored them, turning to her seatmate. “Do you think that our other friends would want to go on a trip with us? Most classes take their trips during May, so we could leave at the beginning of June and take the entire summer.”

“Nice thinking, Maribug. With fewer people, prices go down and we can afford more bang for our buck.” They walk out of the classroom, discussing who to ask and when.

The class just made a big mistake.

-----

By the time the weekend rolled around, Marinette and Chloe had their group list finalized. The people going on their trip were themselves, Luka, Kagami, Aurore, Mireille, and Marc. They got together and started brainstorming fundraisers.

Marinette started. “There are the given examples; you know, car wash, bake sale, raffle. What else?”

“We could host a show.” Luka suggested.

“Like an exhibition?” Marinette asked. “We could have you perform, Kagami do a fencing demonstration, and I could do a small fashion show, using Chloe and Marc as models. Aurore and Mireille could be our MCs.”

“To capitalize on money-making, we could sell tickets, food and drink, and merch for Luka’s solo career as well as commission spots for our resident designer.”

“That’s good.” Marinette starts scribbling in the shared notebook.

“At Le Grande Paris, we could host parties. I know days when the grand ballroom is open. We could host an auction, sell lessons and creations and stuff. We could also host a masquerade ball that we sell tickets for. We could charge for food and drink. The pools are open for private reservation quite often, we could have parties there too.” Chloe takes the notebook and starts writing down her ideas, mapping out all the resources needed while muttering.

“We could also host a carnival or a gaming tournament in the ballroom.” Kagami looked thoughtful. “I’ve never actually been to one.”

Chloe added that to the list. “Should we do anything else?”

“We could start a go-fund-me. Artists and writers do it all the time to get their creations off the ground.” Marc murmured.

“That would be great. What’s our goal for this entire endeavor?”

“Our goal, Maribug, is €45,000. That should cover travel, boarding, tours, food, and souvenirs. Whatever we don’t spend gets redistributed to the group.” Chloe supplies.

“Then that should be it. Nice job, guys!”

“My, what a whirlwind of a planning session. I hope nothing rains on our parade. I wonder weather Mlle. Bustier’s class is doing this well.” Aurore beams at them.

“Mm-hmm.” Mireille agrees with Aurore.

“Probably not. Our classmates couldn’t pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel. They’ll just listen to Lila that the boot will empty by itself through the toe because ‘I worked on patenting this boot’, then they’ll get mad at the boot for not doing it.” Chloe chuckles dryly.

“Be nice.” Marinette reprimands half-heartedly.

-----

Chloe immediately filed the paperwork with the school board so they could go on their trip with no safety or legal concerns. She recruited Mme. Mendeleiev and M. D'Argencourt to be their chaperones, who were more than happy to go on an all-expenses-paid trip to Los Angeles, Star City, Central City, Metropolis, Gotham, New York City, and Tokyo.

They had their first fundraiser at the end of September, a pool party at Le Grande Paris. Even Mlle. Bustier’s class attended, though they didn’t know who had set it up, only that Luka was performing. They hadn’t even started their planning  yet. The group made €3,041.

The next was a car wash in the middle of October. It was cool enough for a car wash to be pleasant while being warm enough that everyone was still out and about. They earned €2,632. Bustier's class was getting ice cream and listening to Lila brag.

They then had an All Hallow’s Eve bake sale, complete with candy decoration reminiscent of the American holiday. They earned €1,800.

During November, they held a carnival, with a full fall theme. It was wildly popular with families from all over Paris, earning them €6,483. It was around this time that Mlle. Bustier’s class held a bake sale, and earned €1,594. They celebrated.

Throughout the holiday season, they took advantage of peoples’ spirit. They held a raffle throughout the 12 Days of Christmas, while also holding a bake sale the day before winter break. Overall, they earned €10,749.

Over winter break, Chloe bought plane tickets and reserved tours and hotels, so all that was left was to get money for the tours and food. They were over halfway to their goal.

During January, they rented a theater, and held their exhibition. They had a crowd of fencing enthusiasts, rock music lovers, and fashion followers. They made €5,830.

They held a date auction and a masquerade to celebrate Valentine’s Day. It was amazing, and they earned €7,284.

They had checked their go-fund-me, and had found that €10,000 was there, putting them €2,819 over their goal. They were ecstatic!

They still held the gaming tournament at the end of April, but let it be free for everyone to enjoy as their celebration of reaching their goal.

-----

Mlle. Butsier’s class had made €7,000 over their 3 fundraisers, and they were pretty proud of themselves. No doubt they would be going somewhere much better than whatever Maribrat and Chloe have planned. Once the girls walked into the classroom, the class started to brag.

“We’ve finished fundraising!”

Marinette smiled and decided to be nice to them. “Cool. Where are you going?”

“We are going to New York City.”

Chloe was not as kind. “Oh, so are we! It was so hard to raise the €45,000 needed for our trip, but we did it. It was so euphoric to meet our goal. How much did you guys raise?”

“We made €7,000.” The smiles slowly slipped off the faces of the class. “What do you mean the €45,000 needed?”

“Well, we needed to cover food, travel, boarding, and tours, and that was just for the 7 of us. I can’t imagine what the budget would’ve been like for an entire class.” Her smile got an edge, like a lioness who knew she had cornered her prey.

Her classmates blanched. “What was our budget, Alya?” Rose looked towards their new class representative, hoping that she had an answer.

“We never had one.”

“Well, at least you filed the paperwork right?”

“What paperwork?”

Marinette responded this time. “The paperwork needed to go on a trip. You were supposed to submit it to the school board for approval of safety and legality. It was on page 17 of the packet I gave you at the beginning of the year. Didn’t you read it, Alya?”

“I-I-no. Lila said that was just extra work that you had given me to throw me off my game. She said you didn’t actually need to do all of that.”

“I didn’t know that Lila had more experience being a class representative than me and Marinette, the only 2 people who have ever been class representative here.” Chloe’s voice became as sharp and sweet as her smile. “Well, have fun with your trip. Marinette and I have to do last-minute checks on our arrangements.”

The class looked at the people that had carried them the previous years, and realized how much they relied on the girls. Lila was cursing herself for pushing away the only people who actually did anything in this class.

-----

The class ended up going to Disneyland Paris, and tried their best to look as upbeat as possible on their social medias. Meanwhile, The group was having the time of their lives.

They stayed in LA for 2 weeks, visiting movie sets and meeting actors. They spent another week just going on everything at Disneyland and California Adventure.

They then spent a week in Star City, touring Queen Industries and having a meet and greet with Oliver Queen and his ward, Roy Harper, who seemed to enjoy Aurore’s outgoing personality. They even saw the vigilantes.

They spent another 2 weeks in Central City, touring STAR Labs and watching the rogues try to fight the Flash family. It was the most meta-filled city in the world, and They toured a forensics lab with Bart Allen. Chloe seemed grimly pleased with seeing the bodies. She might’ve been projecting certain people onto them, not that she would ever admit it.

2 weeks in Metropolis was really fun. They toured the Daily Planet with Clark Kent and Lois Lane. Mireille was amazed by what you could do to report without having to be in front of a screen. They made a scavenger hunt of how many Supers they could find, and they found 2 different superboys. Lex Corp also gave them a tour, although it was more professional than the tour of the Daily Planet.

They spent 1 week in Gotham. They toured Wayne Enterprises and stayed out of the Bats’ way. Luka got the phone number of Tim Drake. Marinette enjoyed the inspiration that the gothic architecture brought her. There wasn’t much of a nightlife scene, considering only fools stay out after dark in Gotham.

Their 1 week in New York City was hectic. The Avengers were all at the tower when they were touring with Pepper Potts by Chloe’s request. Chloe might’ve been unofficially adopted by Tony Stark when she stood up to them and made them ‘cease their bullshit’. The Black Widow also took a liking to the girl. They also ran into these weird teens muttering about monsters when they were waiting for the elevator at the Empire State Building.

2 weeks in Tokyo. Their last stop. They visited the prestigious Ouran Academy, the host club getting Marc to come out of their shell by constantly helping boost his self-esteem. Chloe enjoyed talking business and finances with Kyoya Ootori. Kagami led them all in a traditional tea ceremony, before they all stormed the streets to try the unfamiliar street food.

Marinette ended up being unofficially adopted by 3 heroes, 2 rogues, and 5 billionaires. She was happy getting to spend 7 weeks on the road with only her closest friends.

The class was incredibly jealous of the trip their classmates took. They hoped next year they could go on a trip like that as well, but they had missed their shot.

[shorkbrian]

Problem

Prelude - Don’t come @ me pls I tried to be pOeTiC and artsy okay lol

Pairing - Keigo Takami X Reader

Warnings - no NSFW, religion, blood mention, nonconsensual touching.

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/4SQ0ytpTP8v1Rx8FWR22cv?si=d_i0QJowT9yF-b6rZMOKvw

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

People often don’t notice the little, gradual problems.

Cluttered desks, dishes in the sink.

The thing that stands in the corner at night.

You only noticed it after it started to move, creeping closer, sitting in your chair, bright golden eyes piercing through the dark.

His name is Keigo, he tells you, and there’s no reason to be afraid.

Of course, that doesn’t stop fear from icing over your veins, stomach twisting, hands clutching at your blankets as if they were a shield to protect you from the strange entity that had haunted your bedroom for so long. You had done so well, pretending that the shadow was nothing but a trick of the light, that there was nothing there except a chair filled with dirty clothes.

He doesn’t come any closer, crosses his legs in the chair he occupies, tilting his head as the two of you stare at each other.

His name is Keigo, and he’s an angel.

-----

The angel has been with you all your life.

He is able to recount the days you’d spent in your room, crying and begging God for something different, to take your pain away. The moments you thought you had been alone, forgotten.

The troubles you’d overcome, the faint flashes of happiness that filled your life and made you feel light and warm.  Keigo even remembered the color of your bedroom walls in your childhood home, the small scribbles you’d made in the corners, near the baseboards. How you’d get in trouble for leaving your mark on your world, be punished for taking up space.

You were too young to remember that.

But Keigo remembers.

He was there for all of it.

When you confide in him your fears, small whispered thoughts, Keigo listens.

“I feel so lonely all the time.”

“You may feel lonely, but you’re never alone. The plants in your window love you, for you give them life. Your bed welcomes you with the arms of a lover after a long day, loves to hold you in it’s embrace. The ground welcomes the steps of your feet, how you shape it’s very existence just by being present. You’re an entire ecosystem, your flesh sculpted from the earth. Your blood is brewed from rainwater, thousands of creatures live inside of you and on your skin. And of course, you have me. I am never far from you, you’re never truly alone.”

Life doesn’t seem as bad.

-----

The angel usually only appears at night, when you’re tucked in bed, fresh from a shower. You’ve come to like his visits, no longer feel trepidation when he shows up in the corner, materializing out of thin air.

He doesn’t look like what you think he should. There are no heavy wings, no  countless eyes, no sharp halo adorning his head. No white robes or silken clothes, just tattered jeans and a hoodie.

But he doesn’t look exactly human either, with his golden skin and molten eyes. His fingers are long and slender, made for music and praise. The curve of his soft lips makes it easier for him to worship, to condemn or guide his charge.  Hair that looks too soft, like liquid gold that flows from his scalp. You want to touch, but you’re afraid to ask.

You notice that the plants in your house flourish at night, when Keigo is around. The tender stalks seem to reach for his presence, follow his form greedily, as if he has a gift that he’s withholding from them. Flowers bloom and vie for his attention, and Keigo laughs, touches the petals gently and watches the blossoms burst with color and growth.

His existence as an angel is unquestioned, not when he proves to you that he knows you to a degree that you don’t even know yourself. The freckles decorating your skin, those are all from him. It’s true that they’re angel kisses, given to the people they favor, that they watch grow.

They’d dusted across your nose as a child, light and varied. Darkened as you’d gotten older, appearing on your hands and peppered over your face in no particular pattern.

It makes you blush, and at first you don’t believe him, thinking he’s playing with you. But Keigo moves to the edge of your bed, gently takes one of your hands in his own, and lifts it to his lips.

A freckle appears when they press to your skin, a dark mark pushing to the surface.

You spend the next day looking at each of your freckles in the mirror, studying the marks that mar your skin. They’re sprinkled across your shoulders, you’re collarbone, your ankles. It’s strange to think that each mark is evidence of a kiss. Why would the angel kiss you?

When you ask him the next night he visits, Keigo pauses.

“Sometimes… there’s a hole in your soul, and that’s just the way things are. And you try to fill it with various things; songs that make your heart waltz, views that make your eyes long for more, raindrops against your skin. I’ve found the most effective way to fill it is with being with the person who makes the world seem less bad.”

How can an angel feel incomplete? “Are you not God’s perfect creation?” You ask.

Keigo sighs, and says no more.

-----

“Why is that book your favorite?” Keigo has read it before, scouring the pages to try and find pieces of you in it. He’s read all of your books, picked up every single thing you’ve ever touched, ever looked at, jealous of the way it had caught your attention.

You don’t know.

You don’t know why you love the book clutched in your hands. You just do. Keigo thinks he understands.

He’s been visiting earlier and earlier, while the sun still rests above the horizon. The angel never asks about your day, he’s there for every moment, just never visible to you.

He’s the warmth that soothes your skin when it’s cold out, when you’re afraid that your jacket won’t be enough to stave off the chill.  Keigo whispers reminders into your ear, a little tickle that helps you remember to turn in sale reports on time, or what time you’re supposed to meet with a new client.  He never gets the credit for all that he does, but that’s okay.

Your thoughts turn to him constantly, mind churning with questions. Why show himself now? Is that allowed? What is heaven like? Is God kind?

Keigo brushes these questions off, frowns when you ask them. He won’t talk about his holy father, nor his own role as a guardian angel. You learn to hold your tongue.

The angel prefers to talk with you, or sit in silence as you tend to your evening tasks. You think he might be lonely.

——-

You wake up sometimes with warmth still on your skin, more freckles dotting along your body.  But there’s already so many, the new ones go unnoticed.

Keigo is never around those days.

“Why do you not visit?” You ask him, saddened by his absence. Was it something you did wrong? Were you no longer worthy of his presence?

“I met someone that reminds me of warm toned skies. I’m afraid of what I might do to them.”

You don’t know what that means. Asking the angel to clarify results in a long silence, and you look out the window of your house to take in the stars, the clouds that try and hide them from view. You wonder if Keigo knows their names.

“I saw you in my dreams” Finally, the angel answers, golden eyes fixed on his hands folded in prayer in his lap.

“You dreamed of me?” You didn’t know angels could dream.

“At first…. Now I think of you. I..... I love you on purpose, I love you intentionally.” The confession is weighty, said slowly and quietly. Golden eyes find your own and search for acceptance.

What do you do when an angel confesses their love? 

When you stay silent, Keigo disappears.

Sleep does not come easy that night.

——-

“Nothing you humans do ever matters. All that really matters is what you do.”

He’d appeared after a time, a few weeks where you stared at the chair in the corner and saw nothing. You weren’t sure if you were glad that he was back.

Keigo was critical of your actions, hovering behind you while you tended to the plants in your home, lounging on the counter while you cooked meals, sitting near you while you read and making you nervous at his unwavering company.

“So the meaning of life is to give life meaning?” You had answered his subtle jab, and Keigo had shown you his teeth in a smile. It looked much less like a smile, more like a gesture of a puppet, a mockery of a human with too many teeth. He didn’t say whether you were right or wrong.

Safety was no longer the prevalent feeling when Keigo was around.

The angel does not have the same restraint he used to exhibit. He touches you now, unashamed of his needy nature, how he craves your humanity, fascinated by the intricacies of your life, the thoughts that run through your head.

It makes you uneasy, his hands cold as ice when they find your own. But who are you to tell an angel they are wrong?

He never misses a night spent in your presence, even when you think he does. The angel waits till you’re asleep, creeps past your defenses and indulges in human comforts.

You always murmur in your sleep when he slips into your bed, when his cold, cold vessel presses against your warm body. Keigo wonders if he could steal some of your warmth, carry it with him.

“You look perfect even when you’re half asleep and not speaking proper English. I am so in love with you, it feels like I’m floating all the time” You don’t hear his words, but he says them anyways.

-----

His residence is overbearing.

You find yourself spending more and more time away from your home, spent at work, where he doesn’t appear. Nights are spent with friends, drinking in their homes, sharing stories about romantic endeavors.

A small part of you knows that Keigo must be nearby, being your guardian angel. But he never materializes around other people.

The angel grows desperate for your company, invades any spare moment you have, while you’re using the bathroom, showering, when you’re early for a meeting and alone in the conference room.

His demeanor is casual, relaxed, but you begin to see the outline of his wings, blood red plumage displayed across his back.

Strong emotions bring out their wings, you had learned. A dropped glass had wings flashing behind Keigo as the angel was caught off guard, and you’d begged for him to show you them.

He couldn’t make them visible at will, he had explained. They only showed if an angel was experiencing strong emotions, strong feelings.

Their appearance now made you afraid.

You tried to talk to Keigo one rare night you spent at home, work out your differences and soothe his feelings towards you, the jealousy and the anger that sank deep into his being.

“I don’t know how to make this better. I don’t have feelings for you the same way you feel for me” You had confessed.

Keigo’s eyes had blazed, yellow fire flickering in the iris.

“My body forgot what it felt like to be warmth. You’re the sun that I step into, the rays that fall upon my back and warm my wings, the heat that fills my heart and spills from my lips.”

He was passionate, gripping your arms with too-hot skin, and it burned.

“Before you go to sleep at night, you water your flowers, your plants. In the light of your window I can see your body wrapped in your nightgown, and you’re indistinguishable from the blossoms.”

The pain seared deep into your bones, and you felt anger, true anger at the celestial body in front of you. Never had you asked for his affection, for his protection.

“I have thought about my love for you, and the ways I could describe it are innumerable. You’re so human and it makes me want, and I don’t know what to do with the fire burning within me. I love you-“

You’re screaming at him then, and the sky turns dark the same moment you thrash out of his burning grip. Harsh words are said, things you should’ve expressed months ago, when the angel broke your boundaries into pieces and did what he pleased.

But the courage was here now, the bravery to defy an angel, to say that it was wrong, that you didn’t want them around anymore.

The sky crackled with lightening, and Keigo’s wings filled out, full of sharp, dangerous feathers. You had wondered about the color, why they were red instead of white, but as it began to rain, the red sloughed off, dripping to the ground in thick rivulets.

His blood-red wings were colored with the spatter of the sins he’d committed. But Keigo never talked about his sins, never about heaven.

Now he did, shouting at you with his thunderous voice, telling you of the lengths he had gone to in ensuring his existence in your life. How he’d begged at the feet of God to be allowed to show himself to you, to express the desire growing inside of his traitorousus body.

How he’d been shamed, shunned.

He’d shown himself to you anyway, took each reprimand in stride. When another angel had been assigned to you after the golden one’s confession, Keigo had broken, fought with teeth and claws.

The blood of his brothers tainted his wings.

So much had been sacrificed to stand by your side.

There had been no grand plan, Keigo had seen you and knew he wasn’t like the other angels. He was different, able to feel and touch and learn.

The two of you scream at each other, you spitting hateful things, how you wish he would leave you alone.

Keigo doesn’t care, you’ve made him feel and he’s not letting that go.

Lightening strikes a tree and it erupts into flames, and the tears running down your face are hidden by the pelting rain.

You hate him, he scares you.

It’s said out loud, and the angel stops in his tracks, looking at you with emotions you can’t begin to understand.

He leaves in a rush, his wings still stained red despite the cleansing water streaming along them.

——-

Keigo leaves you alone.

Your flowers start blooming again, even without the addictive presence of a holy angel.

The freckles dotting your skin fade, and you don’t mind, you don’t miss the marks that litter your thighs, your chest, the marks you’d never allowed to be made.

Life is okay again. You can breathe.

“It’s cold again and I miss you” His voice makes you drop the glass in your hands, and it shatters against the floor.

His wings materialize for a second, red as blood, dripping.

But then the angel is waving his hand, and the shards of glass on the ground are gone, the puddle of water, his wet wings.

Keigo has something to say to you, and he wants you to listen.

“I’ve got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you. But I didn’t. And, in truth, it was maybe better that I didn’t - I say that now, though it was something I regretted bitterly for a while.” He keeps stepping closer to you, until he’s in your space, heavenly body inches from your own. He feels like marble, a chill emanating from his golden skin.

“More than anything I was relieved that in my unfamiliar wanting-to-talk state I’d stopped myself from blurting out the things on the edge of my tongue, the things I’d never said, even though it was something I knew well enough without me saying it out loud to you like this….. which is, of course, I love you”

“This won’t work, Keigo.” You explain, voice small. “We aren’t the same. I have someone out there meant for me, and it isn’t you.”

He frowns, takes your hand in his, interlaces your fingers. The angel presses a kiss to your knuckles, the same as he did the first time you met him.

“If soulmates do exist, they’re made, not found. You build a relationship with the person that makes your heart happy. I demand the labor of love so that I may make it. Craft so that I may make it art. So that I may make it mine.“

You don’t get any more say in the matter.

-----

His love is all consuming.

It grows and burns with each moment he spends with you, leeching off of your warmth.

People often don’t notice the little, gradual problems.

They don’t notice until the problem becomes unfixable.

[astoldbygingersnaps]

#wip wednesday

since the latest chapter of star trek au continues to elude me (i swear to GOD i’ve been working on it; it’s about 2/3 of the way done and should hopefully be posted in a few weeks), i figured i’d go ahead and post a snippet of one my next projects, a fic i very briefly mentioned in my end of the year wrap-up post: the jurassic world au. 

this is an idea i’ve always wanted to work on as a) a HUGE fan of the jurassic park franchise and b) a person who spent years as a dog trainer who was both puzzled and horrified by the raptor training in that movie. while this will probably be The Most Niche Fic of all my Very Niche Fics, i’m super happy with it so far and hope other people will be, too. 

currently this project is sitting at about 18k and i’d like to have it completed, edited, and posted within the next few months. until then, enjoy this preview!

Itachi has never been the kind of person that believes in fate. As a boy his father had drilled the importance of hard work into his head, and it had been a lesson Itachi had carried with him long after he realized the man’s guidance wasn’t actually worth all that much. It wasn’t luck or good fortune that had led to Itachi many successes in life. Truthfully, fate had always seemed like a childish concept to him, an excuse for people to hang their hats on when things went wrong in their lives and they weren’t willing to take responsibility for their own actions. 

That said, it’s hard for Itachi not to feel some sort of cosmic influence is manipulating his course in life when one day Uchiha Fugaku summons his eldest son into his office at the heart of Isla Nublar. Given his position as the puppetmaster of InGen, it isn’t often that his father actually finds himself on the humid and sandy shores of Jurassic World. But every time he does Itachi feels a familiar, childish pull of anxiety, a little voice in his head that drives himself to push himself to succeed, to please. It’s as if the last four years Itachi has spent almost single-handedly managing this glorified amusement park suddenly vanish in a puff as he meets his father’s judgemental black gaze. 

“Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me,” Fugaku tells him, waving a hand to silently order Itachi to sit. And, as always, Itachi obeys his father’s commands. 

“It’s no trouble, Father,” Itachi assures him as he settles into the immaculate white leather chair that no doubt costs half of his yearly salary. “Was there something you needed?”

“Yes and no,” Fugaku replies, which is fittingly ominous for the man. “I wanted to discuss a recent change that Hiruzen is implementing to the park.” 

It takes an extraordinary amount of restraint on Itachi’s part to keep his comments regarding the CEO of Jurassic World and the sheer effort he spends weekly cleaning up the man’s air-headed messes to himself. For all the years he’s lived on the island--first as a boy while his father built his career, then as an intern after college, and finally as yet another cog in the Jurassic World machine--he’s regarded Sarutobi Hiruzen with an almost bleak sort of awe. It was shocking to Itachi that a man would possess such power and wealth, yet seem almost clueless when it came to maintaining that empire. Then again, he thinks dryly, perhaps all rich and influential men were nothing more than fools in the end.

Unaware of Itachi’s thoughts on the matter, Fugaku continues, “As I’m sure you’re aware, the board has been planning for sometime now to come up with a new attraction to boost both ticket and merchandise sales.” Of course Itachi is aware of it; it had been his idea in the first place. But, like most of his suggestions regarding Jurassic World, it had been thoroughly steamrolled until a man with more money and respect to his name could repackage it as his own brilliant, brand new invention. Which, as it were, is exactly what Hiruzen is planning to do. “The project has been in the works for a while now, but it’s going to be quite controversial. We thought it best to keep it under wraps until we were certain it was viable.”

“I take it you’re certain now?” Itachi asks, and Fugaku nods.

“We’ve had great success with the assets we’ve created so far, but as long as this park has been in construction there’s been one species that we’ve been unable to successfully replicate. Unfortunately, it’s also the one species that every dim-witted tourist that sets foot on this island is looking for.”

A chill works its way down Itachi’s spine as he guesses, “Velociraptors.” 

It’s an idea that’s almost too macabre to even contemplate, let alone execute. For better or worse, the general public’s more than aware of the chaos and bloodshed that led to the destruction of the first park. It’s a shroud that lingers over Itachi’s everyday life, as no matter how hard he tries to maintain order and prioritize safety there will always be someone who looks at him as if he’s a capricious madman. 

Because of Jurassic Park’s spectacular failure, the image of the velociraptor--a brilliant and ruthless predator stalking the shadows, picking men off one by one--has captivated the average person’s interest in a way that no other species has. So, ever since that original park, Jurassic World has been chasing the holy grail of a fully operational, successful, and controlled raptor exhibit--and, considering the way his father is currently speaking, Itachi’s sure the board has finally captured that elusive golden ticket. 

“You’re correct,” Fugaku says, though at this point the admission isn’t necessary, and with careful muscular control Itachi holds back a frown. Perhaps this is the reason why no one decided to share this information with him despite the fact he’s the Operations Manager for this entire establishment; given the way he’s previously spoken about subjects such as animal welfare and reducing employee hazards, perhaps they sensed he wouldn’t exactly be on board with the wild idea of releasing one of the world’s most dangerous beasts onto the Earth again. 

Either way, regardless of his own personal feelings on the decision, Itachi intends to oversee it with the same attention to detail he brings to any other project. “It’s a risky move, but it could prove to be quite lucrative if executed properly,” he eventually replies, evenly as he’s able. “I know in prior years other raptors were bred, but they were culled because they proved to be more trouble than they were worth. What’s changed since then?”

“According to our geneticists, the sequences on the upcoming crop will give them a reduced level of aggression and increased agreeability, though to be honest I’m not convinced that isn’t just smoke and mirrors.” Bleakly, Itachi’s inclined to agree; there was a world of difference between breeding a dog for temperament and trying to strip millions of years of prey drive from a wild--and previously extinct--animal. “Given that I’m not completely sold on their claims, it’s more a question of who has changed than what.”

As if on cue, a knock arrives at his father’s door, and in seconds the visitor’s face appears in the frame. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” the man says--at least, that’s what Itachi thinks the man says, because the sight of him alone causes Itachi’s brain to spontaneously stop functioning. 

“Not at all,” Fugaku responds, completely unaware of his son’s inner turmoil. “As a matter of fact we were just discussing your contract with us.”

“Must have been why my ears were burning,” the man replies, his smile broadening into a full-on grin the moment he catches sight of Itachi positively dying in front of his father’s desk. 

If there was a god in this world, He would open a hole in Fugaku’s freshly steam-cleaned carpet and let Itachi fall to his demise. But clearly there isn’t, as instead of time ceasing entirely it drags on and leads to Fugaku announcing, “Itachi, this is Uchiha Shisui. He’s an expert in the growing field of paleo-behavioral studies, which makes him the ideal candidate for rearing the velociraptors and readying them for the public.”

“We’ve met,” Itachi all but chokes out, clearing his throat to expel the sudden lump that’s formed in it. From the other side of the room he can see Shisui fighting a laugh, and in that moment he wishes Shisui would fall in a hole and die, too. 

“Really?” his father asks curiously. “I didn’t know you two were acquainted. How do you know each other?”

While his positions at Jurassic World and in life have allowed Itachi to conquer a variety of challenges, there’s not a single skill or experience that has prepared him for this moment. Because Itachi has no idea how to explain to his father that the reason he knows this man is that he slept with him four years ago and never returned a single one of his calls or texts.

“It’s a long story.”

[sunmontuewrites]

Fic snippets and summaries...

Because last night I found 79 fics... but here are the top five which I read and now want to finish after I have finished F&F (which finding these has lit a fire under me to get that fic done this weekend - I’d like to say today but real life things are happening too...) (I’ve included F&F below...)

Kurtofsky - 10k written so far - Dave is a famous actor who goes by the name of Dave Falcon, and Kurt is a super-outdoors fan (and paramedic). Due to a little stealth planning from Finn they meet...

         He’s not tanned at all, which sits at odds with his whole perception of Kurt being an outdoorsy person, but he supposes if anyone is as careful as Kurt in putting on sunscreen then they wouldn’t be tanned either. He’s sort of waiting for Kurt to ask him to do his back and he has to shake himself out of it, because he can see Kurt’s got it perfectly under control, obviously used to putting it on himself. It’s thicker, and there are some streaks, but he can tell Kurt got good coverage before he’s pulling the shirt back over his head. He wants to tell him not to bother but he can’t, years of practice of watching what he says keeping his mouth firmly closed.

         They keep walking, and he tries to pay attention to their surroundings rather than Kurt’s ass in front of him. Surely he can at least act suave and in control? It’s his profession after all. Except he doesn’t really want to act with Kurt. He wants to snap and be himself, grumpiness and everything. Fuck he’s a mess. Kurt stops again, bending over to place his tackle box on the ground and he swallows. In control. Right.

---------------------------------------

Dave/Mike Chang - 6k written so far - Dave is a part-owner of a bar and the whole premise is alarmingly similar to Tale Feather except I had completely forgotten about this fic.

           They end up talking for nearly three hours, Neil bringing out a plate of food for them to nibble on and making semaphore signals at Dave with his eyebrows. He just rolls his eyes and makes a shooing gesture with his hand. Mike eventually starts making noises about having to leave and he notes the stab of disappointment in his gut, it quickly turns to anticipation with Mike’s next words.

           “I’ll be back later. You’ll be here right?”

           “Yeah, I live above the bar so there’s no getting away,” he jokes and there’s a spark of something in Mike’s eyes and he swallows, wondering if he’s reading him right. When Mike leans forward, definitely putting himself right in Dave’s personal space, lips not even an inch from his own and he knows he’s not reading it wrong. Fuck.

           “Do you want to get away?” He swallows and shakes his head, not trusting himself to say anything. “Good.”

           “I’ll see you later then,” he manages to croak out, not wanting to seem like a complete idiot and Mike grins.

           “I look forward to it.”

---------------------------------------

Kurtofsky - 6k written so far - Sequel to Surf and Sand in which Kurt is a Hollywood A Lister and Dave is an oceanographer with a love of surfing.

           He doesn’t expect to see or hear from Kurt again while he’s in Hawaii, and the newspaper article the following day pretty much knocks the final nail in any hope that maybe he and Kurt would see more of each other. He gets an apologetic text, followed by another telling him he’ll see him state side, and he supposes that’s good news. However it leaves the rest of his short holiday as a chaotic shit storm.

           Despite Kurt’s sudden departure, the paparazzi don’t all leave, and both he and Neil are followed and asked questions… fortunately all his friends take it in their stride, finding the funnier side, which he’s eternally grateful for. And they all just continue to be themselves, which turns out to be incredibly boring all round and they soon stop being of interest after a couple of days. Trish informs them that pictures of them all do appear online, but that the accompanying articles and comments are all outlandish.

           “I’m just flattered they think Neil is hot enough to snag someone as stunning as Kurt Hummel.”

           “Hey! I’m a catch!” Neil protests and Dave and Trish both snort.

           “You keep telling yourself that honey.”

           “What! I am! Tell her Dave!”

           “Uh yeah, you’re a real catch,” Dave says placating, sharing a knowing look with Trish and they both grin. He has three more days of his break before he heads back to work, and he can totally handle the lame, repetitive questions aimed his way. His final night in Hawaii he gets a text, the first since Kurt left, and he figures he must have been really busy, although he hasn’t sent him any messages to respond to, unsure whether he should make the initial gesture despite not being back on the mainland.

           Sorry. Cleared up the mix up about Neil. Said I had just bumped into an old school friend. My apologies to Trish.

           Not your fault. They think it’s funny. Hilarious even.

           Depending on the sleuthing skills you might want to unlist your number. They have my senior year book. They won’t rest until they figure out who you are.

           I wasn’t at McKinley for senior year remember? Don’t worry about it.

           He’s not sure what more to say, because if he’s going to be friends with Kurt then the publicity and paparazzi are part of the package. It’s not Kurt’s fault, and there’s nothing he can do about it, except control some of what they know. He doesn’t mind if he tells them he’s a friend, because as much as they might stalk him, his life really isn’t that interesting.

--------------------------------------------

First & Foremost  - Sebkurtofsky - currently at 94k - just a snipped from the last chapter.

           He just nods, a little afraid to talk with how tight his throat is feeling. Sebastian pulls out a pair of sweat pants and shirt and he doesn’t bother worrying about modesty, the changing rooms and showers at NYADA have made him a lot less self-conscious. He undoes his belt, pulls off his jeans and laughs a little wetly when Sebastian help him pull the sweats up, tying them efficiently, because it should be undressing, not the opposite. He catches Sebastian’s eye and he seems to be amused by the same thought. Dave has been undoing the buttons on his shirt and he shrugs it off, sticking his arms into the arms of the red and black flannel that Sebastian is holding up.

           He feels a little floaty, and he wonders if he’s just that tired. Dave’s doing up the buttons and he’s pretty sure Dave and Sebastian are somehow having a silent conversation with their eyes, because he’s gently shuffled toward the bed and Sebastian is at his back, just a warm presence and he reaches out to grab his hand, squeezes it to try and give him some form of reassurance, because this isn’t exactly what he imagined when he was first going to be in bed together, but maybe it’s better.

           Sebastian moves to sit on the bed, his back against the headboard and cushions, motions for Kurt to sit between his spread legs. He crawls into the open space, presses his back against Sebastian’s chest, feels Sebastian wrap his arms around him and just hold him, chin hooking over his shoulder and he murmurs ‘you’re okay’ under his breath and Kurt lets himself relax back into it.

           “You’re a good cuddler too…”

           “I had a good teacher,” Sebastian says softly, giving him a light squeeze.

           Dave is sitting at his feet, a warm hand settling around an ankle and then his socks are being pulled off, and his feet will get cold, he’s about to complain when Dave’s thumb presses against the ball of his foot and oh… he lets out a little hum of pleasure.

--------------------------------------------

Kurtofsky - 4k - Kurt moves to London after 4 years in New York and gets his first proper job and there’s this guy on the same tube as him every morning... (spoiler, it’s Dave.)

           Of course his little holiday is over before he knows it and his first day of work he leaves ridiculously early. The tube ride takes over an hour, but there’s a paper he can read and it’s interesting looking at the people. Although none of them look back. When he eventually gets to work he ends up sitting on a cold bench, waiting for someone to come by and let him in, realizing about five minutes before someone shows up that he could have gone and got coffee while he waited. There seem to be enough of them. Regardless he lets himself listen to the instructions of his job, the information, break times and the exhibitions and products they have for sale. He’s told to explore the museum and become familiar with it and he can’t believe how lucky he is.

           The novelty wears off in the second week, and once he starts knowing the tube more reliably he starts leaving a bit later, more sure of the fact he won’t be late for work. If everything was running smoothly (which he soon found out wasn’t always the case) he could catch the 7.04am train. Of course it could arrive anytime between 7.02am and 7.20am. The first morning Kurt sits next to him he really doesn’t notice. He sits there, earphones in his ears, intent on the free METRO paper. Kurt has figured out that this carriage places him the closest to the escalator that would make it easier to change onto the District Line where he had to change at Embankment. He has a pattern.

           The guy wore the disinterested and detached gaze of many Londoners, particularly the ones who had a long commute. The gaze that said “Don’t bother me, don’t smile at me, do not start a conversation with me unless you already know me, and even then I might not reply…” That suited him and left him to daydream and plan out his day in advance.

           It wasn’t his fault the gentle jostling of the train made him fall asleep most mornings.

-----------------------------------------------

[nazariolahela]

Something Domestic: Chapter 12

A/N: Hey y'all! This story is told in first-person narrative, from Riley’s (MC) POV. There will likely be smidges of canon in this, but not too much. Thanks for reading, and please leave feedback, and/or if you would like to be tagged.

Catch up here

Series Tags: @burnsoslow @aworldoffandoms @dcbbw @ladyangel70 @texaskitten30 @sunandlemons @jlynn12273 @indiacater @jared2612 @rainbowsinthestorm @drakesensworld @badchoicesposts @msjr0119 @katurrade @blackcoffee85 @cynicalworlds-blog @hopefulmoonobject @beardedoafdonutwagon @cmestrella @sugarandspice-milkandhoney @superharrietsuper @custaroonie @lady-calypso @ritachacha @olympianpantsuit @desiree-0816 @the-soot-sprite @kate-mckenzie @narrytheworld​ @octobereighth​

Synopsis: When Riley Brooks takes a new job as a nanny for the affluent Rhys family in New York’s Upper East Side, she assumes she’s just going to care for the children of the couple who hired her. But instead of just school pick-ups and afternoon snacks, she also finds herself spending time with Liam, the handsome divorced dad. Can Riley control her feelings for Liam while still performing the job she was hired for?

All characters are the property of Pixelberry Studios. Thanks for allowing me to borrow them.

Chapter Summary: Riley and Liam become “official,” but a shocking revelation threatens to destroy their relationship.

I stand in the kitchen of Liam’s penthouse, going over my plans for today. It’s only been a day since the divorce became final, but it feels like things are starting to look up. Liam and Madeleine worked out a schedule to take the kids every other week. This week is Madeleine’s week. She dropped them off at Liam’s house this morning before heading to work. I showed up for my shift shortly after. The schedule is set up for me to take Charlotte to school, spend my day with Philip, and then she picks them up at 5:30 p.m. Everyone agreed this would be the smoothest transition for the kids.

As I put the final touches on my itinerary, my mind wanders to last night with Liam. I’ve been replaying it over and over again in my mind all morning. His touch. His passion. How good our bodies felt together. I almost orgasm just thinking about it. I hear Liam’s footsteps approaching and turn to find him entering the kitchen. He wraps his arms around my waist and whispers into my hair. “You busy tomorrow night?”

“Oh, you know. The usual. Comfy pants. Junk food. Real Housewives.”

He smirks. “Sounds good. But what if I can offer you good food, good company, and really good sex?”

I blush. Is it hot in here? Or is it just him? “I’m listening.”

“Let me take you out on a date. I’ll wine you, dine you…” he grins seductively. “...well, you know the rest.”

I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down to meet my lips. “You had me at good food.”

He groans and grabs my ass, lifting me up, and sets me on the kitchen island. His hands slip under my blouse, his fingers tracing up my sides, and toying with the lace of my bra. I tug on his tie and take his bottom lip in my teeth. “Where are you planning on taking me, Mr. Rhys? So I know what to wear tonight.”

“Well, if all goes as planned, you won’t be wearing anything. But if you must know, I’m taking you to Masa, so dress accordingly.”

My eyes widen. Masa is one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. It’s also considered one of the most expensive restaurants in the world. One meal will set you back around $500-$600 and the waitlist for reservations is at least three weeks out. I wonder to myself how he was able to score a table at a place like that, but then I remember his family pretty much owns the city. He notices my expression and smiles.

“Don’t give me that look. You’re worth it and I want to spoil you. Let me have this.”

“Fine,” I sigh. “But just this once. You don’t need to spend that much money on me. We could hit up the drive-thru at McDonald's and I’d be happy.”

“I know. That’s what I like about you. Now, get your sexy ass upstairs and get my kids up. I’ll pick you up at your place at 8 p.m. tomorrow.” He steals one more kiss before helping me down off the island. I make my way upstairs and get the kids ready for the day. Once they’re both dressed and fed, we head off to school.

After dropping off Charlotte, Philip and I hit up the “T.Rex: The Ultimate Predator” exhibit at the Museum of Natural History. The place is buzzing with groups of school children chaperoned by adults. I keep Philip close to me as we make our way through the crowd. As we walk by a 12-foot-tall skeleton of a Tyrannosaurus rex, he tugs on my hand to get my attention.

“Riley? Do you think he comes to life at night?”

“What?”

“T-Rex. Does he come to life and play fetch?”

I give him a confused look. “He’s extinct, buddy. And has been for about about 65 million years.”

He looks back at me and gruffs in annoyance. “In Night at the Museum, he comes alive and plays fetch with Larry. He also drinks from the fountain.”

Whoops. Guess I didn’t see that movie. Feeling like a total dumbass, I grab Philip’s hand and guide him to the next exhibit.

After our daily ice cream stop, we pick up Charlotte from school. She tells me about an upcoming field trip her class is having and hands me a permission slip looking for chaperones. I wonder if nannies can even chaperone school field trips. When we get back to the penthouse, I set the kids up in the playroom with art supplies and watch them paint. Philip paints images of dinosaurs and Charlotte paints a dog. My mind wanders to my date with their father tomorrow night and the butterflies in my stomach start fluttering up a storm. Holy shit. I need to find something to wear. I fish my phone out of my tote bag and give Hana a call. She picks up on the second ring.

“Ohmygods, Hana. I need your help. Liam is taking me to Masa tomorrow night and I have no idea what to wear. What’s the dress code like for a place like that? Is it black tie? Can I wear my sponsorship dinner dress again?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down. What time is he picking you up?”

“8 p.m.”

She chuckles. “Okay, we can work with that. Meet me at Carmina at 6 p.m. tonight and I’ll help you pick something out that will blow his mind.”

“You’re a lifesaver, girl. What would I do without you?”

“Well, your rent would be much higher, that’s for sure,” she says with a laugh.

We say our goodbyes and hang up, and I return to the kids. When Madeleine arrives home a few hours later, I bid farewell and hail a cab to Carmina. I pull up outside the store and see Hana and Meghan leaning outside the store, locked in a loving embrace. My heart bursts at the sight of my best friend finally finding her happily ever after. Hana notices me approaching and smiles.

“You ready to find a gown that will make this guy fall in love with you?” she asks.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but I want to find something that will make him want to skip dinner altogether.” She rolls her eyes and turns to Meghan and the two share a knowing look. “Okay, Lovebirds,” I laugh. “Let’s go inside and find me a dress.”

The three of us enter the boutique and began browsing the racks. While Hana continues to search for a dress, Meghan approaches with a few draped over her arm and ushers me to an open dressing room. As I begin to disrobe, I hear her speak from the other side of the door.

“Hey, Riley? What are Hana’s parents like?”

I stop dead in my tracks. Oh shit. “Uh...they’re ...they’re interesting.”

She sighs. “You don’t have to sugar coat it for me. She told me they don’t know she’s gay. It’s just that she wants me to meet them tomorrow night and I think she wants to tell them about us. I want to know what I’m walking into.”

Half-dressed, I open the door and move toward her. “Honestly, they’re kind of overbearing. They’ve been trying to set her up with this guy for the better part of a year. She’s told them numerous times that she’s not interested, but they keep pushing this narrative that she needs to be a wife and a mother to be happy. Especially her mom. I think she’s afraid that Hana’s going to die an old maid, so she’s trying to find her a husband before it’s too late. It’s not an excuse, but I wonder if she thinks Hana isn’t capable of finding happiness on her own.”

Meghan nods. “I remember how it was for me when I came out to my family. I guess I’m just wondering how they’re going to react. I’m glad Hana has someone like you to support her.” She leans in and gives me a bone-crushing hug then walks out of the dressing room to find her girlfriend.

After trying on half a dozen dresses, I finally decide on a sexy sequined charcoal gray number with a plunging neckline. Liam is going to lose his shit when he sees me in this. And the best part; it’s on sale, so if it gets “damaged” at the end of the evening, at least I’m not out that much money.

***

It’s just before 8 p.m. Friday night when I hear a knock on my apartment door. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and make my way to the door. He stands on the other side, looking absolutely breathtaking in a dark suit. His blue eyes sparkle as they travel the length of my body. So glad I went with this dress.

“You look beautiful,” he says in a low voice.

“So do you.”

He takes my hand in his and leads me downstairs to the limo. He opens the door for me, but stops me before I enter, pulling my hand to his mouth and kissing the back of it. I feel my cheeks heat. His eyes study me, taking in every detail of my face. Suddenly, he looks away and clears his throat while adjusting himself. “We should go. We don’t want to miss our reservation.”

I smirk and climb into the limo. He climbs in behind me, and once we’re driving, I find myself trying not to stare at him. He notices me watching him and gives me a wink as he takes my hand in his and sets it on his thigh.

Twenty agonizing minutes and one steamy make-out session later, we arrive at the restaurant. The maître d' greets Liam like they’re old friends and the hostess shows us to our table. The tables are lit by single candles and soft music fills the air. A bottle of champagne sits in a bucket next to our table. Liam grabs it and pops the cork, pouring two glasses.

“Wow...this is fancy,” I say, sipping my champagne.

“I’m glad you like it.”

I look around, noticing servers taking orders from the other tables. “Where are our menus? What’s good here?”

Liam smiles. “Actually, there are no menus to order from. Only chef-selected meals prepared by Chef Masa Takayama himself.”

I nearly spit out my champagne. Oh, gods. This is one of those restaurants. I suddenly feel extremely uncomfortable. Liam notices me shifting in my seat and reaches across the table, placing his hand on top of mine.

“Hey. It’s okay. I know this seems like a lot, but you’re important to me and I want to show you that.”

“You didn’t have to bring me to a place like this though. I’d be happy at Applebee’s.”

He fake scoffs. “Applebee’s? Only peasants eat that crap.” I roll my eyes and he brings my hand to his lips, placing a kiss on it. “I’m kidding. If you’re really that uncomfortable here, I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Just say the word.”

I smile. This man is willing to give up his exclusive reservation for me. How did I get so lucky? “No, it’s okay. We can stay here. I already got dressed up. It would be a shame for it to go to waste.”

The reflection of the candlelight dances across his face and he watches me intently as I sip my champagne. He leans in and whispers in my ear. “What do you say we order our food to go and take this back to my place?”

We stumble into the penthouse, kissing and running our hands along each other’s bodies when a voice interrupts us.

“Is this what you do when you’re supposed to be watching my kids?” I turn around to see Madeleine standing in the kitchen, a look of pure rage on her face.

Liam steps away from me and addresses her, his tone laced with anger. “What are you doing here? And where are Philip and Charlotte?”

“They’re with Rashad, and don’t worry about what I’m doing here. What are you doing? The nanny? Really, Liam?”

“At least it wasn’t with one of my co-workers. While I was still married.”

“No, just the woman entrusted to look after our children,” she sneers.

Awkwardly, I make my way toward the door. “I...I think I’m gonna go.”

“I don’t think so, bitch!” Madelene snaps. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you will not jeopardize my children’s safety for a fucking payday.”

“Excuse me? What the hell are you talking about?”

Madeleine snorts. “Don’t play dumb. It’s unbecoming.” She retrieves a magazine from her purse and slams it down with force on the coffee table. “This,” she says. Liam’s eyes go wide. I look down at the magazine and feel the color drain from my face. No, please no.

Ohmygods, this is my worst nightmare. How could this happen? I look at Liam and his face falls. “Riley? What is this?”

“What do you think it is?” Madeleine says. “She sold us out to the fucking tabloids.”

“What? No! I-I swear… I had nothing to do with this.” I turn back to Liam. He continues to stare at the magazine, his face void of any emotion. “Liam? Liam, listen to me. I don’t know how this got out, but I didn’t leak this. I swear on everything we have.”

Madeleine laughs dryly. “You expect me to believe that? You were the only person besides our families who knew about this. Don’t think I don’t know about your little obsession with these trash rags. You left one laying on the kitchen table a few weeks ago. And Mara said she buys them for you every week. What? Did you think you could just sell details of our private lives to the tabloids, and then fuck my ex-husband and everything would be cool? How much did they pay you? I hope it was worth it.”

My voice shakes. “Ma-Madeleine. I swear. I didn’t leak this.” A lone tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. “Liam, please. You have to believe me. I would never do this to you. To Philip and Charlotte. I care about them. I would never put them in danger.” He continues to stare at the magazine, not speaking or making eye contact with me.

“I want you out. Turn in your keycard. You are officially relieved of your duties.”

“Madeleine, please...”

“I don’t want to hear it. You’re fired. You’re lucky we don’t take your ass to court and sue you for publishing private facts about our family. And you are to have no contact with my children or I will have you arrested for stalking.”

Mara appears to escort me out and I sob loudly, losing all control. I retrieve my keycard from my purse and hand it to her. She frowns and places her hand on my arm, guiding me to the elevator. The ride down to the lobby is quiet except for my cries. I wonder why Liam didn’t come to my rescue. Does he actually believe that I leaked the story to the press? It’s hard to tell when he just stood there and said nothing as Madeleine ripped me a new one.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Brooks,” Mara says as she escorts me out of the lobby and into the street. She stands guard until an Uber arrives to take me home.

I get into the car and break down. The tears stream down my face as I lean my head against the glass, watching the penthouse disappear into the distance. Before tonight, I had a great job and a man that I could possibly see myself falling in love with.

Now, I have neither.

[actuallyvady]

Tagged by @ryanglitter, figure i might as well do the thing ♥

1. Do you make your bed?   

No, lol. Sometimes I’ll throw the blankets back into a semblance of made so the cat can sleep on the one she likes best.

2. What’s your favorite number? 

3 is the biggest, most important one-- I love the number 3 and any number divisible by 3, and I have since I was young enough to know what the number 3 was but not yet old enough to develop memories I would keep so I have no idea why. But it extends at least somewhat to geometric designs as well-- I tend to prefer symmetry based on odd numbers and like... there’s a triangle in the middle of my giant back tattoo. 

I am also quite fond of 13, because it’s my birthday and because I turned 13 on a friday. It helps that it has a 3 in it.

And I quite like the number 17, for reasons I cannot explain. I am drawn to it, and find it... soothing? That’s not quite right. Grounding, perhaps. 

3. What’s your job? 

I cut rectangles of fabric all day. Sometimes I have to stick rectangles together to make bigger ones.

4. If you could, would you go back to school?  

... that depends on what “if you could” means. I could! I could literally enroll anywhere I liked tomorrow, my parents would support me in doing that. But I already have tens of thousands of dollars of student loan debt and no degree to show for it, so I probably won’t. That said, if I suddenly found myself financially solvent to the point where there would be no loans and I didn’t have to worry about having a job with health insurance? Yeah, I might. 

I miss the fancy, nerdy engineering school I was at before my mental health problems made me flunk out. I am actually being treated for those now, and I would love to go back, and see if maybe I couldn’t be successful this time around. It was a lovely place and I felt at home there and hell, I even miss having math homework and tearing my hear out over physics problems. 

So yeah... if I “could” I would. 

5. Can you parallel park? 

Yeah. My first year at my first college I said fuck that noise to paying $300 for a parking pass and spent all semester using street parking even though I lived on campus. Now I drive a toy car with a tight turning radius and can fit into even the tiniest spaces, which means I am less afraid of street parking than most of my friends. It’s a pity I can’t be the one to drive when we go out somewhere-- the aforementioned “toy car” seats two, and the passenger will probably have difficulty getting in and out and therefore cannot have any, like, knee or back problems. 

6. A job you had which would surprise people?

I fell for a couple of MLM schemes when I was younger, one of which involved selling sex toys. 

7. Do you think aliens are real?

Yes, but I do not believe they have ever come here. 

8. Can you drive a manual car? 

Yes, but not well, and I prefer not to. That said, it is a little disappointing that my toy car is an automatic-- he’d be more fun as a manual. But he was the one I happened to find for sale when I needed a car and I love him... plus I can manually control which gear I am in for the first three gears, if I so choose; that is an option my toy car has.  

9. What’s your guilty pleasure? 

I do not feel guilty for the things I enjoy. 

10. Tattoos? I 

I have a giant phoenix on my whole back and a sprig of cherry blossoms on the inside of my right arm. I am currently considering three more, one of which will happen as soon as I am not spending all of every paycheck on kpop (so about a week after never, if things keep going the way they are)

11. Favorite color? 

I have always said it was green. I do not remember deciding that it was green; I declared green my favorite color before I was old enough to form memories that I would keep, much like my love for the number 3. I have childhood things that are green because it was my favorite color that I acquired very, very young. 

That said, I was reminded recently why green is my favorite color. 

On Monday night I went to the denver art museum to see an exhibit of claude monet’s work. I am quite fond of monet, so I took my time, standing and staring at some of the pieces long after the audio tour had told me to move on to the next room. And what I was most fond of was the fact that many of his pieces are so... life-like. They’re more real than photographs, because they not only capture a sense of movement, they seem to capture a feeling-- there were several where I just wanted to close my eyes and listen to the wind in the leaves and feel the sun on my face. Because looking at these paintings, I felt like I could.

Anyway, green is the color of dappled sunlight filtering through thick foliage and soft cool grass beneath bare feet and I adore it.

12. Things people do that drive you crazy? 

If I am posting a rant about something, I do not want you to offer solutions-- especially when those “solutions” are not helpful in any way. Unless I ask a question directly or request suggestions, please refrain from shoving your “expertise” in my face; chances are good I’ve already thought of what you are suggesting and figured out why it won’t work. 

That’s not an important one, it just annoys me so much.

13. Any Phobias? 

I’m getting better about spiders! I can deal with them existing in my space, now. Still freeze if I try to approach them to like rehome them outside but. 

14. Favorite childhood sport? 

There was a brief period of time where I played soccer at recess. Then I fractured my pinky when a ball hit it the wrong way and I stopped doing that. 

15. Do you talk to yourself? 

Mostly I act out the dialogue to whatever daydream or fanfiction I am currently playing with. (These days I am developing elaborate post-canon stories for the Untamed. No, I will not share them. They are very self-indulgent and kind of ridiculous, especially the longer I play with them.)

16. What movie do you adore? 

It just came up on facebook again yesterday so Jupiter Ascending is actually one of my favorite movies and no, I will not listen to arguments why I should not love it. 

There are others, of course, but.

17. Do you like doing puzzles?

Like... jigsaw puzzles or like... what? Because it really, really depends on what kind. Some I am more fond of than others. Generally speaking, as long as I am not under a time constraint, yes.

18. Favorite kind of music? 

These days? kpop. 

19. Tea or coffee? 

Yes. I drink both regularly.

20. The first thing you remember you wanted to be when you grew up? 

There was a winter olympics when I was about five and I clearly recall wanting to be a figure skater but thinking I was too old to start training. 

Not going to tag anyone, just thought it would be fun to answer. ♥

[bytheangell]

This is the Coda that Never Ends... Part 9

(read on AO3) (read from the start) 

Ringing the small metal bell on the desk at the gallery where Clary’s exhibit was held the night before, Magnus waits patiently for someone to emerge from a back room after a slight clunking noise and a call of “sorry, I’ll be right there!”. He looks around, taking the time to glance at the flyers for future shows, events around the city, and art hanging up on the walls or placed strategically around the large, open space in the front reception area. There’s no shortage of talent in this world, he marvels. Even mundanes, taking the most average daily events, can create something truly breathtaking. He’s always tried not to allow his view of art - and artists - to be too heavily influenced by the legendary greats he had the fortune (and occasionally misfortune) of meeting throughout his years. After all, who is to say that the abstract cell phone re-imagining in the corner won’t be the next Van Gough? 

“Sir? Sorry for the wait, is there something I can help you with?” A slightly frazzled voice shakes him from his thoughts, drawing his attention away from the painting and back towards the desk. 

Magnus spins around to see a young lady with short black hair spiked up very similarly to his own, and they share a small smile. “Yes, I called earlier and spoke with someone over the phone about purchasing all of Clary Fairchild’s artwork from the exhibition last night.”

The young girl looks surprised. “Oh! Yes, that was me, I just--” she shakes her head a little. “Sorry, I kinda wrote you off as a prank call. Not that Clary’s work isn’t wonderful , but we almost never sell more than a piece or two from each person at those shows.” 

“It’s fine, no need to apologize Miss...” Magnus trails off, waiting expectantly. 

“Sullivan,” the girl provides. 

“Miss Sullivan. They are all for sale, correct?” 

The girl nods again. “Yep! Oh man, Clary’s going to be thrilled when I tell her later. She’s always going on about how they’re all so important to her, but she can’t explain why, and she never thought anyone else would connect with them. But it never stopped her, which I always really admired.” 

“She has a remarkable talent. And you can tell her that she’s wrong about that fear - there are plenty of people who connect with her work.” Magnus knows he shouldn’t be saying anything but he can’t help it. The idea of Clary feeling isolated in the memories fighting to come through, when there were so many people who love her and miss her and would do anything for her… 

“Would you like to leave her a message? We can leave the purchase anonymous, or she can know who you are - sometimes people want to meet up later, and discuss the work? It’s up to you.” The girl shuffles some papers around, turning to the computer as she speaks to pull up a few files, type a few things, and start to print something off while she talks to him. 

“Anonymous.” Magnus tells her, perhaps a bit too quickly because she looks up at him with a questioning glance. She doesn’t ask why, and whether that’s because she doesn’t want to or knows she isn’t allowed to, he’s thankful for it just the same. “I would like to leave a message, also anonymously, if that’s alright?” He adds. 

“Sure,” the girl agrees, grabbing the paper from the printer. “Alright, so here’s the total, I can do cash or card, but we’ve bounced enough checks that those aren’t accepted anymore.” 

Magnus reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a rectangular plastic card, handing it over without hesitation before even looking at the price on the sheet. The girl also pushes over a notepad before turning back to the computer system. “You can write your note while this processes. Will you be picking up the pieces yourself, or do you want them delivered?” 

“I can pick them up.” Magnus reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cell phone, pulling up a number he’s affectionately saved as ‘Samson’ because he knows how much it annoys Simon. 

M: Are you and your van free? I’ve just acquired us some very valuable art S: ...I don’t think we really have time for redecorating right now, Magnus. Magnus shakes his head, rolling his eyes. 

M: It’s Clary’s, Simon. I just bought everything from her exhibition. I need help getting it back to the Institute, as I can’t exactly portal it out of here.  S: Oh. Yeah, sure, I’ll be there in 20. 

Mangus pockets the phone again and turns back to the paper on the desk in front of him. He considers it at great length, putting the pen down to the pad, starting to write a word or two, and then ripping that page off and starting again. He goes through three sheets before he’s satisfied, just as the young woman returns with his card. 

“Here’s the note for Clary. Again, I would appreciate it if she didn’t know who purchased any of this.” He knows he’s only drawing more attention to it by mentioning it again, but he’d rather the woman think he’s shady than have her go off telling Clary anyway, especially since it sounds like the two of them are friends. 

The girl takes the paper, reads the note, and smiles. 

It says, in beautifully looping script, “Clary - You possess remarkable talent. Never doubt your vision.” 

---

Simon arrives 20 minutes later, as promised, with his van which is currently spraypainted entirely black. This, somehow, looks even more questionable than when it held the name and images of his latest band. 

“In-between band names again?” Magnus questions, thinking that this is exactly the sort of van the police would pull over just to make sure the back isn’t full of puppies and candy to lure small children away. That, or surveillance tech. 

“Yeah, something like that.” Simon doesn’t have the heart to admit that he tried to hire another artist to do some work on it, but the end result felt so wrong to see there in place of Clary’s usual designs that he painted over it the next day. “Izzy said she doesn’t want them at the Institute, though. Too many prying eyes there. But if you can keep them at the Loft and just make sure the wards will let us in to look at them when you’re back in Alicante, she’d owe you one.” 

Magnus sighs. Adjusting the wards wouldn’t be an issue but he was hoping to keep himself a little more removed from all of this. Certainly more removed than keeping some of the biggest evidence of Clary’s memories returning within the walls of his own home. 

“Fine,” he agrees reluctantly. There is security at the Institute, and it’d be unlikely more than a trip or two to the room they’d stash these in wouldn’t set off a dozen red flags, especially if he  and Alec remain involved. They load up the van as carefully as they can, and Magnus opens a portal from the inside of the van to the Loft to save them the hassle of stairs. 

While Simon props up the paintings and sculptures around the living room Magnus goes about adjusting the wards, reaching his magic out to allow for certain energy signatures to come and go at will. Alexander’s, of course, was already there, as was Isabelle’s. He adds Simon and Jace before closing the connection again. 

“The wards are all set,” Magnus announces. “This is the last of the art,” Simon declares a moment later, propping a painting up against a wall. “Will you still be here later?” 

Magnus wants to be, but a part of him knows that he’s already too close to this as it is. Alexander wanted them to hold as much plausible deniability as possible, and here he was purchasing Clary’s artwork and hoarding it in his apartment like stolen goods, away from prying eyes. 

“Probably not, unless you need me for something. I have some work to tend to in Alicante.” At least he isn’t lying. There’s never a shortage of things for him to do there, in the world still adjusting to the acceptance of Warlocks and Downworlders within its borders. Dispelling centuries of misconceptions and prejudices isn’t an easy task, after all. 

“We’ll call if we do,” Simon promises before heading back out to his van. 

Magnus figures he has about 30 minutes to himself before he needs to be back and before he runs the risk of Simon getting back to the others and one of them deciding they want to come have a look immediately. He takes the time to go over each piece once, taking photos to show Alec as he does. 

He recognizes almost all of them - Edom, the Seelie Realm, objects that very closely resemble Shadowhunter weapons like steles and Clary’s old dual kindjals, figures along a lake that could only be Lake Lyn... there are only a handful of paintings he can’t place - one that has a lot of white, for instance, and one that seems to have a rowboat as a primary focus - but Magnus has the sinking suspicion that even those are related to her missing memories, just the ones he isn’t privy to. 

This is so much worse than he thought when it was just seeing through a single glamour and remembering Jace by sight. That much, at least, Magnus can chalk up to a shoddy glamour applied by the Shadowhunter. But how long had Clary been painting these? Just a few weeks? A few months? The whole year? What more did she remember? 

His phone buzzes and it’s Alec, asking when he’ll be back and if he learned anything new. 

M: On my way now. I have plenty of updates, but I’m not sure you’re going to like them.  

---

Underhill is left temporarily in charge while Isabelle and Jace ran off to look at art or something. Honestly, he’s doing his best to keep his name clear of the worst of whatever sneaking around they’re doing - it’s bad enough he knows about Clary remembering Jace, and that on top of his usual surveillance he’s supposed to be tapping into cameras to keep an eye on her. Not that he isn’t willing to help, and he’ll keep his mouth shut even though not telling Lorenzo is killing him inside, but he knows how badly this could all backfire, and he has his own job and integrity to think of when it comes to covering himself if it does. The more plausible deniability he has, the better. 

Except it doesn’t look like he’ll have to switch from Institute surveillance to Clary surveillance tonight, he realizes, dread welling like a pit in his stomach. Standing outside of the Institute, just beyond the glamour, is a very familiar redhead staring up at a building Underhill prays to the Angel she can’t truly see.

[mmjitae-blog]

preserving the moment;; self-para

Jitae had been carrying the flyer around in his bag for a few weeks, tucked in beside his camera. He’d left it on his bedside cabinet one night, testing to see how it felt. Then he moved it to the desk. It went by unnoticed, then back to his bag again, until he left it once more on the kitchen counter.

Then finally, one morning at breakfast, Hayoon’s delicate fingers lifted it to her face. “What’s this?” she asked, taking another bite of the sweet peach she was eating.

Jitae pushed his chair back from the breakfast bar and tried to look casual about the speech he’d been rehearsing.

“A photography exhibit,” he said, artfully snatching Minsuh’s bib from the air as she flung it to the floor. “I’ve been invited. You get to tour around some of the major photography institutions worldwide and showcase your work. Too much travelling though, and it costs money.”

Minsuh grinned her newly-cut teeth at him as he fastened the bib back around her neck. He wriggled a thumb against the cute upturn of her nose. She turned her reign of destruction to the suckered bowl in front of her instead, chubby fists reaching out to tear it from the table. Jitae risked a glance at Hayoon, who was still reading the flyer and chewing thoughtfully.

“You should go,” she said at last.

“What?”

“Go,” she smiled, using a quick over-arm to toss the peach pit in the trash. “You work so hard for us, you should take the time to chase your dreams for a while.”

He’d spent so long telling himself to forget the idea, that it was a ridiculous, unreasonable concept, that he was almost incredulous at Hayoon’s agreeability. The roles in his imagined version of this conversation had unexpectedly switched. “Hayoon, it would mean six months apart.”

She shrugged, slipping her arms into the sleeves of her suit jacket. It was lined with rose-pink, like her nails. “It sounds like a long time but it would be over before either of us know it.”

“Minsuh will have grown so much in that time,” he said, so distracted by the thought that he almost missed the bowl coming free in Minsuh’s hand. Hayoon swooped in to catch it and recenter it on the table. “What if she doesn’t remember me when I’m back?”

“Gangaji, that’s why they have Skype,” Hayoon circled behind him to pull her purse from the chair. She kissed the top of his head. “Besides, you’re her Appa - she’s not going to forget you.”

“Hey,” he gripped the corner of her jacket as she walked by. She stopped, and he cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. She smiled up at him, and if he hadn’t already intended to kiss her, he would have certainly done it then. Thank you, he let his lips say against hers. “I’ll think about it, alright?”

“Please do. It would be good for you.”

“And you’d be okay?”

Her nod was definitive. “I can do it. Six months without you hogging all the covers sounds like a blessing,” she teased.

With a victory cry that would have been at home at a sports game, Minsuh finally pulled her bowl free and threw it - in a glorious spray of milk - across the room. The two of them turned to see the toddler, covered in her own breakfast and grinning with pride.

“You go,” Jitae said, in between laughter. “I’ve got this.”

***

“You look like you’re made of squares.”

“The signal’s just bad, it’ll work in a second.”

“There you are,” Jitae said to his screen, as Hayoon and Minsuh came into focus. He recognised their bedroom in the background - they were sitting on a bed he hadn’t slept in for almost three months.

Minsuh was grinning and pointing at the camera, the chubby blot of her finger obscuring the picture. “Appa!” she says, brightly.

“Yes, it’s Appa!” he replied. “I’m right here, Minsuh.”

“Where are you now?”

“Paris,” he replied, as the other photographers from his team bustled in the cramped hostel room behind him. “We’ve just landed.”

“Are you unpacked?”

“I wanted to call you first,” he said, feeling the familiar ache for home begin to bloom in his chest. “You look tired, Hayoon.”

She was rubbing at her forehead like she was kneading bread, but she stopped then. “Oh, I just have a headache. Nothing to worry about.”

“I hope you’re taking care of yourself.”

“Sangook is coming over soon, he’s going to help with Minsuh for a while. Maybe I can take a nap or something.”

Jitae nodded, “Make sure you do.” He was grateful Hayoon had friends like Sangook who were willing to step up and help when she was struggling - even if it made him feel like a void of a father.

The surge of excitement from his bunkmates got louder, so much so that he struggled to hear her ask: “How was the last show?”

“It was amazing,” he said, walking with his phone out into the hostel hallway. “Someone actually wanted to buy one of my photographs - can you believe that? I had to tell him they weren’t for sale. Maybe I should get some business cards made for when--”

“Minsuh, don’t go that way, you’ll fall! Sorry gangaji, what did you say?”

“Don’t worry, it looks as though you’ve got your hands full,” he smiled, because that was all he could do. “Three more months.”

“Three more months,” Hayoon repeated, kissing her hand and touching it to the camera. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

***

“Can I call you back? In the middle of a diaper situation.”

“Yeah, of course. Speak soon.”

***

“Minsuh, say hi to Appa!”

“Hi Appa!”

“She wants to show you something.”

“Wow! You drew that? Minsuh, I’m so proud of you!”

***

“Where is she?”

“Asleep.”

“Shoot, I forgot about the time difference. I’m so sorry. You look like you’re in bed too.”

“I’d just drifted off. We can talk if you want to.”

“No. Just let me tell you stories until you fall asleep.”

“I’d like that.”

“Six more weeks.”

“Six more weeks, gangaji.”

***

A few calls went unanswered, dialled from a rooftop on a crisp night in Prague.

***

“We got the package you sent, didn’t we, Minsuh?”

“Yeah!” Minsuh exclaimed, clutching a fluffy chicken plush to her chest. He’d seen it in the airport in New York and couldn’t resist. He was just glad the little guy could travel where he couldn’t.

“I’m so happy you like it! What did you name her?”

“Chicken!”

Jitae laughed. “That’s better than anything I could have come up with. Hayoon, did you get your gift too?”

“I did. You should have waited though, you’ll be home next week.”

The words sounded so sweet. “I can’t wait to hold you both.” He made little grabbing motions with his hands until his fingers bumped the screen, like a fish’s head on the underside of a frozen lake.

***

Six days later, his mother was collecting him from Incheon International Airport. He talked to her about the trip excitedly during the drive back to Uijeongbu, gave her the collection of fridge magnets he’d picked up for her in every city he’d travelled to. His body felt alight with excitement.

“Did you put crickets in your pocket before you came home? Keep still!” his mother laughed, delighted by his demeanour.

When they got back to the house, Sangook was there and they passed him as he was leaving. Jitae shook his hand and thanked him for his help with Minsuh. He seemed in a hurry to go, so Jitae didn’t ask him to stay. Secretly he was glad, because all that was left to do was for him to climb the stairs to their apartment, two at a time, and be reunited with his family.

He burst through the door to find Minsuh watching cartoons on the floor. She turned to look at him and gave him a long stare, as though without the screen glare and pixel-riddled images, she couldn’t quite place his face. His heart squeezed with sorrow. Quickly he tried to calculate how he could cram six months’ worth of lost time into only moments, to try and take all of his absence away.

Then, in the sweetest, briefest moment, her face broke into a smile. “Appa!”

She ran towards him, cartoons forgotten, and he heaved her up to his chest, fluttering her face with kisses that made her laugh and squirm. She had grown, but she still fit into the cradle of his arms - and for that, he could not have been more grateful.

Hayoon emerged from the kitchen. Her eyes were red and the perfect curve of her lips wobbled as she made her way to him, sweeping like a ghost across the living room floor. He hooked an arm around her tight, and held them both as though he could absorb them into the piece of his heart where his love for them lived. Hayoon shook softly against his shoulder.

“You’ve been crying,” he said.

“I’m just so happy you’re home,” she replied, before bursting into tears.

***

A photograph, taken at a party. A man and a woman share a conversation at a linen-covered table. Their words are interrupted by the happy greeting of the photographer, and they apply their smiles mid-sentence. Hands hover over hands.

The photograph is stored in an album, alongside many others from the same night.

It wouldn’t be significant for another two months, two weeks and four days.

***

Jitae came home to find the apartment in darkness. “Hello?” he called into the quiet. He checked his watch. He had come home at his usual time, and it was far too early for Minsuh to be asleep. He would have assumed Hayoon was out, if her purse wasn’t sitting on the hallway floor.

He walked through the apartment in darkness towards one single distant light source, coming from the kitchen.

Hayoon sat inside, staring into the murky surface of her green tea. Another mug sat on the other side of the table, untouched, softly steaming, and obviously meant for him. He sat down behind it without being asked to, already feeling the disjointed sensation that his body wasn’t his own.

“I need to tell you something,” she said. “It’s probably better if you don’t say anything until I’m done, okay?”

“Okay.”

“While you were away,” he recognised the voice she used as the one she practised her work presentations with, “things were really hard for me. Not just the day to day things - the early morning wake-ups, packing lunches, dropping Minsuh to the sitters, work all day, collecting Minsuh, feeding her, bathing her, putting her to bed, getting up to her in the night, and then doing it all over again the next day, and the next - I was prepared for that. I got some help. But I hadn’t prepared for how hard things would be emotionally. I felt lonely, Jitae. I was tired all of the time, and so sad. During that time, Sangook and I got really close.”

“How close?”

“We slept together.”

The confession ran him through like a sword. His stomach clenched, a physical reaction. At least she’s not sick, he would remember having thought, later. At least Minsuh is okay. “Just once?”

“More than that.”

“When did it start?”

“You said you would let me talk,” Hayoon recoiled, her voice wavering.

“You can talk, but answer my questions first.”

“Gangaji…”

The name made him flinch, and he threw up a hand as though to guard himself from hearing it. “Please don’t. Not right now. When did it start, Hayoon?”

“Around three weeks after you were gone.”

“I…” he struggled for a thought to verbalise. His understanding of the world was unravelling in his mind and his new perspective was blurred by the way these new threads fell. In all of their lives, they’d only ever had each other, and now… Sangook’s face swam into his mind, and he remembered the day where he had shook his hand and thanked him. He remembered Hayoon’s trembling tears which she said had been for him.

Hayoon saw he was struggling, and spoke instead. “You can’t tell me in all those places you went, all those people you met - you didn’t do the same thing?”

“No…” he exhaled, the sound layered underneath breath upon painful breath. “Of course I didn’t. Are you saying you did this because you didn’t trust me?”

“I’m saying I did it because I was lonely.”

“And why are you telling me now?”

“Because I want to be with Sangook.”

“You’re still… you’ve been sleeping with him since I’ve been back?”

“I tried to tell him it was over once you were home,” she admitted, hands tightening around her cup. “And we stayed apart for a while but… I can’t stop thinking about him, Jitae.”

The silence that settled around them was unfamiliar, the soundscape of this unchartered territory in which they now found themselves. They were reluctant explorers of this barren new land, with not even one another for a guide.

At some point, Hayoon started to cry. He wanted to get up and hold her, but something kept him rooted to his chair, watching his green tea slowly cooling in front of him.

“I should never have gone away,” he said to the tea, to the table, to the strangeness of his own home.

“I told you to.”

“So you could spend time with him?”

“No! No, that was never my intention,” she said, but she already felt like a different person - a stranger whose lying tells he couldn’t recognise.

“Would you change it? Would you change what happened?”

Hayoon shook her head softly.

“Then I’ll go,” he said, standing. The statement felt less like a decision that it did an inevitability. He couldn’t stay where he wasn’t wanted. Everything he had was gone now, and had been gone for longer than he’d realised. “This had all better be worth something, for one of us at least.”

He went to collect his bag and realised he was still holding the strap. His hand didn’t even feel like his own. He walked around the apartment as though in a dream, picking up things he would need, trying to ignore Hayoon’s make-up, Minsuh’s toys - little fragments of a life he would no longer be a part of.

On his way out, he stopped at the kitchen door. Hayoon hadn’t moved an inch. She looked like a statue, someone else’s carved impression of her. Woman, Heartbroken in Kitchen. His hand flinched for his camera instinctively, until he realised that this was a moment he would never want to remember.

If only forgetting was as simple as choosing not to preserve the moment.

[fmpseenandnotheard]

Artist Research...

(1) Boogie-Street & Documentary Photography...

Boogie will blow your mind.

The native of Belgrade, Serbia got his start began documenting rebellion and unrest during the civil war that ravaged his country in the 1990s, and the experience seemed to have a profound effect not only on him, but on his work as well. Though Boogie now resides in New York – he arrived in 1998 – all of his work still carries the urgency and thought-provoking depth of a war-torn country.

Perhaps it’s because Boogie’s latest photographs focus on lives torn apart – from the runaway smoking crack in a drug den that used to be a hospital to the gang member caught in a moment of tenderness while cuddling his newborn child. Boogie appears to have shot everything, everywhere. Beggars on the streets of Caracas, Skinheads in Serbia, birds caged by power lines in Tokyo – the world looks more moody, evocative and meaningful through Boogie’s lens. Every detail takes on a life of its own.

Unsurprisingly, the photography world has taken notice – Boogie has published five monographs and exhibited around the world. He shoots for high end clients, renowned publications and countless awe-struck eyes worldwide.

Daniel: Tell us about yourself, where did the name Boogie get picked up and what’s the story behind it?

Boogie: I’m 40 years old, born and raised in Belgrade, Serbia, moved to NYC in 1998 after winning a green card lottery; I’ve shot a lot, published 5 monographs so far, had some interesting solo exhibitions. My nickname was given to me by my friends some 20 or so years ago after a character from some scary movie.

Daniel: You do a lot of “candid” or better yet documentary photography. Are you always geared with a camera where ever you go?

Boogie: Of course, I’m a photographer, that’s what I do

Daniel: Lots of Gangs, Drugs, Skinhead photography. That screams trouble, are you not afraid meeting with these people, taking their photographs? Have you ever encountered trouble? – How do you approach these people at first?

Boogie: While I was photographing gangsters, skinheads, junkies, it never crossed my mind to be afraid. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to get those photos. People can sense fear easily – plus, I don’t think any photo is worth risking your life for. I encountered some minor problems, but nothing serious, after all I’m still here. I always listened to my instincts, they kept me safe.

There is no recipe for approaching people. You either have it in you or you don’t. Usually if you treat people with respect they’ll be OK with you.

Daniel: You’ve recently signed a deal with HBO’s new show “How To Make It In America” what were your feelings when you first heard HBO was interested in featuring your photography, and what do you think about the show?

Boogie: It was a great gig, I met some very interesting people and got to know how the movie industry works. I haven’t seen the show, just the pilot, which I liked.

Daniel: Here’s a funny question wrapped around the HBO show – so When did you know you finally made it, as a photographer in America

Boogie: ‘Making it’ is very relative. I made it as a human being cause I have a great family and get to do what I love.

Daniel: Have you ever thought of shooting film?

Boogie: You mean moving picture? If so, while working on this HBO show, I realized that being a director of photography is an amazing job. Maybe the only job in the world I would trade for mine.

Daniel: What is your connection with photography, your personal life, and your photographs of poverty?

Boogie: Maybe the way I grew up led me to see things the way I do? I guess so, everything you go through in life has a purpose and influences what you become in the end.

Daniel: Tell us about the shoot in Brazil Sao Paolo, how was it?

Boogie: It wasn’t ‘a shoot’, I just packed my bags and went there for a week. very intense, I shot in some scary neighborhoods, I published a book after, all good.

Daniel: What was Mexico like, where did you visit?

Boogie: I was in Mexico City with a friend of mine Adrian Wilson … it’s an amazing city, great energy, great people. Al these horror stories they tell you before you go there are bullshit. Although I’ve been in some neighborhoods where I was afraid to shoot even from the car. But you have areas like that wherever you go.

Daniel: I know you’ve visited Cuba, Istanbul, Tokyo in addition, what is it that you learn from these trips?

Boogie: Travels are always great experiences, seeing how other people, other cultures live is priceless. It humbles you in a way, makes you appreciate what you have more.

Daniel: Lots of black and white, lots of flying birds. What is it that you like the most about Black & White?

Boogie: No idea, lately I also shoot a lot of color.

Daniel: Which gallery is your personal favorite?

Boogie: You mean on my website? everything there needs an update …

Ref: bloginity.com

Robert Frank

Influential photographer and filmmaker Robert Frank has died at the age of 94. He died of natural causes on Monday night in Nova Scotia, Canada. His death was confirmed by his longtime friend and gallerist Peter MacGill.

He was best known for his 1959 book The Americans, a collection of black-and-white photographs he took while road-tripping across the country starting in 1955. Frank's images were dark, grainy and free from nostalgia; they showed a country at odds with the optimistic views of prosperity that characterized so much American photography at the time.

His Leica camera captured gay men in New York, factory workers in Detroit and a segregated trolley in New Orleans — sour and defiant white faces in front and the anguished face of a black man in back.

Photographer Robert Frank holds a camera in 1954. His photo book, The Americans, changed the way people saw photography and the way they saw the U.S. Frank died on Monday at the age of 94.

Fred Stein Archive/Getty Images

Influential photographer and filmmaker Robert Frank has died at the age of 94. He died of natural causes on Monday night in Nova Scotia, Canada. His death was confirmed by his longtime friend and gallerist Peter MacGill.

He was best known for his 1959 book The Americans, a collection of black-and-white photographs he took while road-tripping across the country starting in 1955. Frank's images were dark, grainy and free from nostalgia; they showed a country at odds with the optimistic views of prosperity that characterized so much American photography at the time.

His Leica camera captured gay men in New York, factory workers in Detroit and a segregated trolley in New Orleans — sour and defiant white faces in front and the anguished face of a black man in back.

Trolley – New Orleans, 1955.

Robert Frank/National Gallery of Art, Washington, Gift of Maria and Lee Friedlander

The book was savaged — mainstream critics called Frank sloppy and joyless. And Frank remembered the slights.

"The Museum of Modern Art wouldn't even sell the book," he told NPR for a story in 1994. "I mean, certain things, one doesn't forget so easy. But the younger people caught on."

Eventually, the photographs in The Americans became canon, inspiring legions. Photographer Joel Meyerowitz remembered watching Frank at work early on.

"And it was such an unbelievable and powerful experience watching him twisting, turning, bobbing, weaving," Meyerowitz said in 1994. "And every time I heard his Leica go 'click,' I would see the moment freeze in front of Robert."

Restaurant – U.S. 1 leaving Columbia, South Carolina, 1955.

Robert Frank/National Gallery of Art, Washington, Robert Frank Collection, The Robert and Anne Bass Fund

Ginsburg was a friend and photography student of Frank. He also starred in Frank's first film, 1959's Pull My Daisy. It was based on part of an unproduced play by Jack Kerouac and featured the author as narrator.

Pull My Daisy, and the other experimental, autobiographical films Robert Frank made, were his reaction to a restlessness he felt around still photography.

"In still photography, you have to come up with one good picture, maybe two or three," he told NPR in 1988. "But that's only three frames. There's no rhythm. Still photography isn't music. Film is really, in a way, based on a rhythm, like music."

Yet Frank's films shared a lot with his photographs. They were personal; they evoked emotions as much as they told stories. They're like home movies, and he made more than 20 of them before returning to photography. By then, he was a legend, acknowledged as an inspiration by such noted artists as Ed Ruscha, Lee Friedlander and Garry Winogrand.

What comes through in all of Frank's work is his ability to catch a moment. And that came from truly looking.

"Like a boxer trains for a fight, a photographer, by walking the streets, and watching, and taking pictures, and coming home, and going out the next day — same thing again, taking pictures," Frank said in 2009. "It doesn't matter how many he takes, or if he takes any at all. It gets you prepared to know what you should take pictures of.

_______________________________________________________________________

(2)  Weegee (1899 - 1968)

Biography

Weegee, born Usher Fellig on June 12, 1899 in the town of Lemburg (now in Ukraine), first worked as a photographer at age fourteen, three years after his family immigrated to the United States, where his first name was changed to the more American-sounding Arthur. Self-taught, he held many other photography-related jobs before gaining regular employment at a photography studio in lower Manhattan in 1918. This job led him to others at a variety of newspapers until, in 1935, he became a freelance news photographer. He centered his practice around police headquarters and in 1938 obtained permission to install a police radio in his car. This allowed him to take the first and most sensational photographs of news events and offer them for sale to publications such as the Herald-Tribune, Daily News, Post, the Sun, and PM Weekly, among others. During the 1940s, Weegee's photographs appeared outside the mainstream press and met success there as well. New York's Photo League held an exhibition of his work in 1941, and the Museum of Modern Art began collecting his work and exhibited it in 1943. Weegee published his photographs in several books, including Naked City (1945), Weegee's People (1946), and Naked Hollywood (1953). After moving to Hollywood in 1947, he devoted most of his energy to making 16-millimeter films and photographs for his "Distortions" series, a project that resulted in experimental portraits of celebrities and political figures. He returned to New York in 1952 and lectured and wrote about photography until his death on December 26, 1968.

Weegee's photographic oeuvre is unusual in that it was successful in the popular media and respected by the fine-art community during his lifetime. His photographs' ability to navigate between these two realms comes from the strong emotional connection forged between the viewer and the characters in his photographs, as well as from Weegee's skill at choosing the most telling and significant moments of the events he photographed. ICP's retrospective exhibition of his work in 1998 attested to Weegee's continued popularity; his work is frequently recollected or represented in contemporary television, film, and other forms of popular entertainment

[lucybellwood]

The Financial Realities of Going Viral

I did bit of an experiment over on my Patreon page this week. After the image in this post (which I’d originally done for a freelance gig in 2013) went viral at the end of October, I began tracking all the direct income that came my way over the following month. This timeline represents my best knowledge of how much a single image has earned for me over the last four years. 

I’d encourage you to read to the end to understand that even if the money isn’t what you might expect, there’s a bigger plan at play.

Here's a little financial timeline of the Art of the Sailor image.

February, 2013: I get a request to do an illustration gig for the Vancouver Maritime Museum. They're running an exhibit on the history of tattoos and scrimshaw and want a life-size sailor poster to show off some popular tattoo choices. We have a great time collaborating and eventually come up with the image you see in this post. I get paid $192.50 for my work on the poster. I am charging $35 an hour.

March, 2014: I get emails from curators at the Los Angeles and San Diego Maritime Museums, both wanting to exhibit the poster. It's a cool thing to say your work has been featured in multiple maritime museums! I do not receive payment, mostly because I like boat people and am happy to have them use my art, but also because I'm inexperienced and unsure of whether I can ask for a licensing fee.

June, 2014: I sell the original artwork of the illustration (just the sailor, sans text) to a fan for $125. (I go back and forth on selling originals vs. clinging to them "until they're worth something," but that's a discussion for another time.)

July, 2015: I pay Twin Ravens Press to produce a letterpress print version as a fancy reward for the Baggywrinkles Kickstarter. We make 100 of them. The prints are a fairly popular reward choice, but don't move at conventions. $40, while reasonable for a two-color letterpress print, turns out to be a bit more than people at comics shows are interested in paying.

2015-2017: I sell 12 of the letterpress prints over the following two years, bringing in a total of $480. Once it's clear that my audience isn't clamoring for them, I try out regular laser print versions for a few shows in 2017, bringing in $120.

Occasionally someone will point out that a military or naval fan page on Facebook has shared the image (without crediting me or linking to my work), garnering thousands of reactions and comments. This is frustrating, but also just the cost of doing business online. I don’t give it much thought.

December, 2016: I list the image in my print-on-demand shop on INPRNT and sell three prints over the next six months, netting $10 per print. (INPRNT takes a substantial cut off the $20 price point for handling production and shipping fulfillment.)

October 21st, 2017: Here’s where things get interesting. Boing Boing, a website that receives about 10 million pageviews a month, features the illustration in a blog post, pointing specifically to the letterpress prints.

The author makes sure to link to both the letterpress prints and the print-on-demand version of the image featured on INPRNT, since the letterpress run is limited and likely to sell out. (Dear Lord, may all bloggers be as fabulous and diligent as the staff at Boing Boing. Amen.)

October 23rd, 2017: My Modern Met picks the story up from Boing Boing. They have 2.3 million Facebook fans.

October 25th, 2017: Pat, the head honcho at my store with Buyolympia, emails to tell me there's been a run on the letterpress prints and they've sold out and do I have any more. I do not. We get some print-on-demand editions up in his shop as well, since I'm trying to migrate all my operations over there anyway.

October 27th, 2017: Atlas Obscura (985k Facebook fans) picks up the story from My Modern Met. The next day George Takei posts about it. He has 10 million followers on Facebook, give or take a couple hundred thousand. The post gets 16 thousand reactions and five thousand comments. Many of my friends tell me I am now famous.

October 21st-31st, 2017: 23 prints of various sizes sell on INPRNT after all the press, netting me $191.50. FINALLY, that Famous Person Money I’ve heard so much about.

November 3rd, 2017: Commander Chris Hadfield, the first Canadian to walk in space, shares the image on social media. He has 2.28 million Twitter followers. The tweet (never mind the versions posted to Facebook, Tumblr, and Instagram) gets 1,700 likes and 572 retweets.

November 6th, 2017: I receive my sales report for the previous two weeks of commerce in the Buyoly shop. We sold 46 on-demand sailor prints, netting $345, and 7 letterpress prints (the last of the bunch!) bringing in $210 before cost of production. (I'm not factoring in the $243 brought in from other items sold in this period, but some of those sales may have come from people who initially showed up to buy sailor prints.)

November 20th, 2017: My second monthly payment from Buyoly comes in. The rush has tapered off and we’ve sold 9 more prints, bringing in $67.50.

SO: To date, including the money I was paid to produce the artwork, I have made $1,761.50 from this image. Not bad! Notably: $814 of that came after Boing Boing decided to feature the art with a proper link pointing people to my shop. There are a bunch of factors to consider here.

I am delighted at all the press this piece has garnered, and of course very grateful to Boing Boing for conscientiously sourcing their material. It can, as this has hopefully demonstrated, have a very real impact on the livelihood of the people involved.

But I also think it's important to share these numbers as a reminder that just because you've seen someone's work shared on a popular platform (or by a popular person), doesn't mean they're automatically set for life. It does, however, mean they might be making a couple hundred bucks more than they usually do in a given month, and when you're trying to make it as a freelancer that makes all the difference in the world.

I was also just genuinely curious about how much this little illustration job from so long ago had paid dividends over the last five years. You never know what's going to happen to your work in the long haul, and it's always, always worthwhile to get a high-quality file for making prints, just in case.

Of the (probably) millions of people who have now seen this piece of art, 85 have actually made the jump to buying the physical object. Now we could look at that and get really depressed about conversion figures and feel like we’re never going to be able to convert online traffic into sustainable revenue, but here's the thing: this is all part of the plan.

Maybe a few of those millions of people will remember my name the next time my work gets the spotlight. And maybe once they've seen my work a couple times, they'll visit my website. And maybe the fifth time they visit the website they'll buy a book, or recognize me at a show, or start following me on Twitter. And if they like the books, or what I say on the internet, maybe they’ll start coming back every year. And then I'll feel comfortable saying I'm famous, at least to those people.

This is how fanbases are really made—not in viral posts, but in the microscopic accumulation of many, many chance interactions and moments of recognition over time.

The best part about being in it for the long haul is getting to see those moments come home to roost.

Thanks for being the people who made the jump <3

Lucy

[trenttrendspotter]

The Trade Show Dilemma

By Nancy Trent 

There are many industries that continue to be impacted by COVID-19; some will be changed or possibly eliminated for good. B2B trade events, conferences and trade shows, which contributed $101 billion to the nation’s gross domestic product in 2019, were the primary source of face-to-face business for many.

In March 2020, the business world came to a grinding halt as brands were setting up exhibits at The Natural Products Expo, South By Southwest, and other notable and anticipated seasonal events. Health and safety took priority over business, as it should. Events worldwide were canceled through spring, and before summer even started, B2B trade show and exhibit companies started to introduce virtual platforms.

Excitement for these virtual connections was palpable as brands were desperate to get back in front of buyers and buyers were struggling to navigate the needs of consumers and alternative ways of shopping that required access to newer, more appropriate products that consumers wanted and purchased.

Most of these trade events have pivoted to offer robust webinar-style education programs that help satisfy the thirst for more knowledge, guidance, training, predictions, and best practices.

On the other hand, exhibit halls have been a bit trickier to replicate online, and have in many cases become directories through which companies need to arrange their own appointments.

Ninety percent of the work that goes into any networking event should happen before it starts. Making new contacts and keeping up with them is a year-round effort.

It could take months to set up meetings; weeks to have the meetings, and—with or without trade shows—travel can come with hundreds of thousands of dollars in extra costs.

Fortunately, ECRM has developed a means for buyers and sellers to conduct face-to-face business effectively from home offices without travel through its proprietary ECRM Connect platform.

“ECRM enhances face-to-face business with exclusive technologies that allow buyers and sellers to have a higher volume of meetings,” said Kurt Repola, SVP of ECRM. “This includes tools specifically developed to enhance the productivity of their meetings and deliver participants a tremendous cost and time savings. Unlike generic video conferencing platforms, ECRM Connect was built from the ground up around the way retailers and brands interact.”

If you’ve experienced an ECRM program prior to COVID, you’d know it can’t be categorized as a trade show. Traditional trade shows are built on quantity. They provide opportunities to meet a lot of people. The hard part is often figuring out who is who and who is your customer and why. ECRM isn’t as random. It uses data, analytics and science to pair the right buyers with the right brands. ECRM uses knowledge, relationships and insights to bring brands into focus for buyers exposing them to the right people, information and connections that drive business.

The new ECRM Connect platform is the first market web-based technology that keeps business moving, efficiently and effectively. It has hosted over 34,000 meetings to date since the launch of the virtual program in May of this year.

“I was very leery going in,” said Todd Gean, Candy Category Manager for Hy-Vee. “But the first day I had 12 meetings and I will tell you, I fell in love with the system by about the second or third meeting. There is no way I’d be able to pull this off on my own and it is absolutely the way that I would recommend that we go as a company.”

ECRM’s matchmaking services extend to RangeMe, a digital selling platform it acquired prior to COVID-19. With over 160,000 brands, RangeMe curates and aggregates products based on relevance, what’s new, what’s trending and what buyers are responsible for. RangeMe was helpful before this crisis and has become even more prominent to the business industry.

“As I’ve talked to buyers during the virtual session, I could sense from the conversations that they feel the virtual platform is very convenient and it’s very effective,” shared Craig Harlan, VP of Sale for Earth Friendly Products. “So, I think we’re going to see a paradigm shift to more of these. Face-to-face is never going to go away, but I think virtual is here to stay.”

ECRM has mechanisms in place to help build continuity season after season, ensuring the buyer and seller relationships continue to grow.

Currently, most of ECRM’s planning sessions for the first half of next year are being scheduled as virtual, indicating that virtual will play an increasingly large role within service offerings, even when large, in-person gatherings are feasible once again.

Brands and buyers are showing an on-going preference for virtual services and plan to reserve large, in-person gatherings that are achievable for specific occasions based on customer demand.

As Seen in WholeFoods Magazine

[the-organized-lifestyle]

10 Productive Things to do now Exams are Over

After the initial celebrations are over and you’ve had a lie in, it can be hard to find anything to do other than watch useless daytime television or scroll through social media all day in your pyjamas. As lovely as this can be, it soon gets tiresome, and boredom begins to kick in. You realise you want to do something productive, but anything that comes into your head is quickly dismissed so you end up spending another day watching Jeremy Kyle and eating too much chocolate in bed.

In order to overcome this irritating cycle of boredom, I’ve come up with 10 boredom busters that will help you keep your mind active and pass the time for the next 6 weeks.

1.       Get a job. This can be easier said than done, but if you don’t yet have a job, then it might be worth having a look to see what’s out there. If you’re unfortunate like me, you may have a summer birthday which meant I was always the last to get a job, since many places of employment want their staff to be at least 16 (some 18). This meant I had to spend all summer waiting until my birthday so I could finally apply for jobs, and once I’d been accepted anywhere, it was back to school. If you’re in a similar dilemma, there are still options. Try babysitting, pet sitting or dog-walking or holding a cake sale or lemonade stand in your village or town. Although these won’t get you big bucks, you’ll earn a bit and every little helps! Alternatively, there are many online surveys out there which pay you for filling out surveys or completing small tasks. Some of the best are SwagBucks, Toluna,        Enlighty and SurveyBods.

2.       Take an online course. There are loads of online courses out there to help you widen your knowledge on whatever subject you want. Some of them you will have to pay for, but there are tonnes of free ones also available. Try the Open University OpenLearn platform which have so many subjects and courses to offer, and FutureLearn also offer many (although they do charge for some services such as tests and certificates).

3.       Read or prepare for the new semester. If you have any reading or assignments to prepare for the new academic year, then now is a great time to do it! You could also widen your knowledge through further reading and studying which will not only keep your mind mentally active, but also put you top of the class when you start your new semester. If you have just finished your finals or GCSE’S/A-Levels then you may not have anything to prepare for next year, but it’s always worth reading fiction even if it’s just a chapter or two every day, but it will help you to keep good habits for the upcoming year. You could even do some research into whatever subject(s) you want to continue on to next and see if there are any books you could get out from the library to get you pumped for the new semester.

4.       Start a Bullet Journal. Although I don’t recommend starting one of these if you are halfway through your studies, starting a bullet journal can be a great venture. They allow you to lay out your plans for the next year however you find best and it means you can keep organised as well as adding some fun personal touches to your journal. For more info on bullet journals, click on the #bulletjournal and follow my social media accounts (I will be starting a new bullet journal for the upcoming year and will be posting about my ideas and layouts soon).

5.       Start a blog. Have a flair for writing and want a new hobby or make a bit of cash on the side? Writing a blog is a fun and creative way to engage with the world and let people know about your life. Alternatively, if you know a lot about a certain area or market such as cooking or arts and crafts, why not start a blog about that? It’s amazing how many other people share your passions and you’ll pick up traffic in no time! If you already have a blog, why not write posts over summer and schedule them to be posted on your social media accounts or website in the upcoming weeks. You could also write an editorial planner which will save you a tonne of time when you go back to school, college or work!

6.       Start a routine. If you’ve always wanted to be able to get up earlier and go for a run or find the time to read a chapter of your book every night before you go to sleep, but never found the time, then now is the time to start! With the whole summer stretching out ahead of you, make the time to start this new activity and after 30 days it will become habit, meaning you can start the new academic year with a clear mind and having achieved something over summer.

7.       Travel or explore culture. If you have the means and finance to do so, what’s stopping you?! Go out and explore your city or country, or even travel abroad! Go to museums, exhibitions, tours, and get to know local cultures and cuisines. Meet new people and make connections – you never know when these will come in useful!

8.       Start a small business. This doesn’t mean you have to find loads of money to start up a national enterprise, but you could start a small online or local business that you could run part time once you go back to school, college or university. There are loads of opportunities at your fingertips no matter your age. Got a flair for writing? Start a blog or write an eBook. Good at makeup or face painting? Start an Instagram account or a small business that offers makeup for proms/parties or face painting for children’s parties and events. Top of the class for one of your subjects or good at playing a musical instrument? Offer yourself up for tutoring or private lessons – this money can really stack up and it’s something to add to your resume or CV! Love staying organised or cleaning? Offer to clean people’s houses or do small jobs for them. There’s loads to help you keep busy over summer as well as helping you make some more cash on the side. You could even get some business cards printed (about £10 for 250) which you could distribute to friends or colleagues, and this will help your business grow even when you start the new semester!

9.       Grow your hobbies. If you want to get better at something, now is the time to do it! If you love photography, but feel as if you lack the ability to really flaunt your skills, go to the library and take out a book on how to capture the best shots. Then go and practice. The more you do this, the better you’ll get. The same goes for any hobby – sports, cooking, arts and crafts, sketching, writing, dance, singing, playing an instrument and so on. Practice makes perfect, so if you start now, you can impress everyone with your new talents when you start the new academic year!

10.   Have fun! The most important part of the summer break is to have fun, relax and enjoy your time off. Having things to do is useful but don’t burn yourself out before you have to return to work! Make time for meeting up with your friends and going out with family, and making memories. These are the things you’ll remember the most, and it’s important to look after yourself as well. Try some self-care exercises to make sure you’re staying happy and positive, and always remember to have fun with whatever you do!

I hope these top ten ideas for staying productive over summer have helped. What are you doing this summer? Have any more ideas? Add them in the comments. Like and share for more posts on productivity and more! x

[justtextmeoppa]

I’ve an eternity with you - part 2

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 (final - coming soon) 

Words count: 5,1k+

Genre: Angst/Fluff 

Pairing: Yesung x Reader 

For our @vintage-misery16, Hope you like it cutie! M. 

Gif isn’t mine, credit to the owner! 

"Did you spend the night partying?"  

Heechul's voice rang in your ears while a grunt of annoyance resonated in the air when Jongwoon entered the room, without imagining to find you there.  

Perhaps that sound between the disgusted and the resigned was due to your presence, so ignoring his gaze that was piercing your skull you continued to observe the various sheets in the folder trying to send to memory the schedules of the boys.  

The door closed forcefully behind your back after a few moments and Heechul watched the metal dividing you from the next exhibition. Or rather would divide them from the next performance.  

"Something wrong with the baby vampire??"  

"We fought," you cut short, you didn't want to talk about that argument in that moment of pure delirium, "go to the Unnie stylist and change your shirt, I don't know how you do to snatch it every time."  

"Why did you fight?"  

"Heechul, move your ass and go and change."  

Your tone exuded coldness and he shuddered by your side, knowing that it was better not to play with you when your gaze was lethal. And at that moment the gaze that characterized your features was far beyond "lethal". Your eyes were scarlet and this indicated that you didn't nourish yourself for days, because of the constant pressure of the management to have Super juniors busy 25 on 24 for eight days out of seven. They were their flagship group of the last few years and the fact that they were all vampires increased in unexplained ways their popularity.  

SooMan would never have wasted that possibility, he would have also obtained even the last won from the lifeless body of millions of fans if it had been necessary to enrich his pockets.  

It was, above all, that the reason for your argument with your boyfriend. After almost five months of dating, after three years of pure hatred, you two had decided to go to live in the house that had been your forced house for two months. In that house everything started, so you were able to get from SooMan the permission to buy it and with the money of both hadn't been difficult. It was almost a year that you were together, albeit privately and not yet ready to make your love public. It was something that you didn't feel like trying to do, the fear of ruining his career and your life kept tormenting you every night now. And he understood Jongwoon understood.  

In the first months spent together, you had discovered so many things about him that you were speechless. You always believed that he was a boy without any value, without even the intelligence necessary to survive in the ravenous world of music. The reality had always been so hidden that discovering it step by step had made you slowly fall in love with him.  

The memory of the first time that those words, that "I love you" whispered in front a cup of hot tea that oddly didn't disgust both, were out of your lips was still sweet in your mind, you traced it every time your work and your being different became so heavy that you couldn't even breathe (obviously not literally speaking).  

Kim Jongwoon was a guy who first cared about others and with others, it meant the other Super junior members. He knew them for so much, had shared much of his life with them that they had become his family. You had witnessed how many times he had saved their asses in thorny situations or just as a hug was able to cheer up their spirits, along with the bad jokes of Leeteuk and the fake supremacy that Heechul exaggerated to make them laugh. And you became the person he cared the most among them.  

He had taught you to appreciate the music he listened to, by that as long as it gives you emotions all the music is beautiful. He taught you that it didn't matter how hard you tried to make us accept, humans wouldn't do that and you could only count on our forces. He taught you that your soul wasn't as damned as you thought for years. He had shown you more love in that short lapse of time than you had tried and received in your long and immortal life.  

And two days before was your first real fight. There had been small discussions, but all resolved within a few hours. You were surprised at your temperament, you were surprised to have yelled against him words you didn't think, you were surprised to be out of your house with just a dressing gown to find a safe have at Kangin's house.  

All because he refused to drink. Refused to drink your blood.  

And after a year and five months, you felt hurt, because the fact that he didn't want to tie himself in that way crept in you the most heinous doubts. Drinking the blood of another vampire was a kind of bond that went beyond any link that existed in the human world but also in the supernatural ones.  

Was wow to donate your soul to the other person, ensure that they should take care of it. A sort of "I'm giving you my life, take care of it."  

And Jongwoon had, with his voice veiled of repressed anger, outward with exasperation that he would never have drunk from you. And from that moment it had been an escalation of screams and things said with the intent to hurt each other.  

"Y/N, the boys are on stage. Ten minutes and it's all over, " you assistant muttered with kindness and you nodded, coming out of the dressing room without even noticing that they had disappeared minutes before.  

The corridors of the huge stadium were all the same, it was threatened to get lost if you didn't use a bit of common sense, but you arrived immediately at the destination when from the side view you watched the group sing their last song before giving their final greetings.  

Jongwoon was fasting like you, but on him the effects seemed non-existent. And even for that reason, your pride kept on stopping you from going to him to apologize, that and even the fact that he never gave you a valid reason for not wanting to drink your blood.  

"Tell them they have the rest of the day and night free," you pulled out the headset that used to keep you in communication with them, passing it to one of the technicians involved in the sound. You walked away without one more word, just wanting a hot bath though it was two days you slept on Kangin's couch and couldn't use your magnificent and perfect bathtub.  

When you snuck away from the crowd in front of the stadium, those fans who unfortunately hadn't been able to buy the concert tickets held in the afternoon, without letting you notice a satisfied grin appeared on your lips. Being free to walk on the street without being pointed or chased, knowing who you were the manager, was something comforting. You rested your sunglasses on your nose so that the scarlet of your eyes was hidden from the human eye, savoring the tranquility that solitude had.  

The shop windows were shining with signs of the sales, the Christmas decorations had already been arranged in some of them despite it was missing three weeks to the holidays and the air was cold albeit sharp. The smells of the walking stand full of food pinched your nostrils, but you ignored the grumble of nausea that that mixture of odors was causing your stomach.  

Thirst pinched your throat, gripping in some way your senses, but they remained vigilant. You had years of practice on your shoulders, resisting human blood was much easier now than in the past.  

The phone in your purse's pocket rang repeatedly and looking through the texts you received all within a minute, you noticed the only one that really mattered to you at that time.  

-Where are you? -  

At least he was concerned that you had disappeared from the place where theoretically you had to be, but you had left them in the hands of your assistant who was qualified as much as you. Your index remained for a moment suspended in the air, the indecision that flowed in your mind and avoided making you make a decision.  

There were two desires you felt inside your chest. One to yell at him and the other to hide in his arms, to feel his scent of Hawthorn that caresses your senses and his voice that sang for you whenever you asked for it.  

-Just around-  

You were able to resist the impulse to tell him exactly the point where you were, but somehow you knew he would make sure to find you. He always could.  

And it was for that reason that, after more than forty-five minutes, it didn't surprise you to see him went out from the van with his face covered by the face mask and hat and head directly towards you. Two days had been too many for him too, you knew it.  

"Come with me, you stubborn and impossible woman," his voice choked by the soft fabric of the mask, your wrist clenched into the grasp of his hand and his strength that dragged you as if you were a doll. You didn't protest, you hated admitting it, but the fact that he came looking for you warmed your heart even if it didn't beat.  

No one paid much attention to you two, so walking the streets was easier than normal and your fear of being seen with him remained confined in the deep. The fact that none of you burned in the light of the sun as it was told in every story about vampires, made it even more free to walk during the day.  

Yet in front of your destination, you ground your teeth, freezing on spot and even stop him that swore something subheading.  

"What?!"  

"Why are we in front of a five-star hotel??"  

"Please Y/N; Shut up for a good time. "  

He added no more, your wrist jerked for a second time and you followed him inside the luxurious and compelling hotel that seemed to immediately recognize the man with you.  

Not because it was Kim Jongwoon, but because - how you did find out a few minutes later – he went to that hotel often.  

"Jong--"  

"Not here," he whispered and your head moved lightly up and down, remaining quietly beside him.  

Neither of you said anything for the whole time of the "ride" of the lift from the lobby to the penthouse on the top floor. Penthouse, of course, you thought biting the inside of your cheek feeling the expectation to grow on every floor that the lift reached. You had a perfect, warm and ready house to welcome you, why take you to a hotel to solve your problems??  

The elevator stopped on the top floor and pushing you with more delicacy he forced you to follow him, perhaps afraid that you could escape if he kept tightening your wrist that way.  

The penthouse, once entered, seemed even more beautiful than how you imagined but the time to admire the huge living room and its rooms were torn away when a pair of lips clashed with strength on yours.  

The air was taken from your lungs but you didn't have to worry about suffocating, although the way he was trying to force you to answer his kiss had something rough and animal that made your legs tremble under the weight of your body. His lips kept moving angrily against yours, his tongue brushed with little kitten licks your lower lip to ask for access and you in all response sank your teeth into the tip and he moved away screaming with pain.  

"You can't force me to kiss you when I don't want it," his eyes shot open to your sentence and a flash of fear crossed them, making you feel guilty. Jongwoon had shown you sides of him full of vitality and beauty, but also what his worst fears were. And being abandoned or cut off was the major among those. "You know I'm not implying anything more serious, just that.. You can't attack me like that when we still have to, theoretically, sorta make things out.. " you added trying to soothe the sense of suffocation you saw in his expression and fortunately, his lines relaxed.  

He said nothing but simply vanished in one of the rooms after the corridor dividing the room area with the living room. You'll never have to take a look around and enjoy the beauty that a five-star hotel could grant.  

It was fun for about twenty minutes but after all, there was to see had been seen, so with courage and spirit of initiative, you went to seek Jongwoon. And you found him in what was to be the master bedroom, lying on the bed with his face pressed against the mattress. In other contexts, you would find it funny, but at that moment the tension in his body and the clenched fists pressed against the pillow made you realize how much your argument was negatively affecting him.  

"Woon, hey;" Your voice came delicate, you tried to soften it as much as possible despite the anger you felt against him, while you sat on the side of the bed and began to caress his back by sliding your hand up and down until reached his neck. "Woon, we must talk.. We cannot continue with silence for long. It's ruining both you and me. "  

He snorted but the sound was muffled from the mattress and you raised your eyes to the sky, trying not to sigh or seem annoyed. The problem was that your emotions were amplified and every little thing, every little sensation, was multiplied by ten, one hundred, one thousand.  

"Talk to me."  

"Talk to you, about what? The fact that you never asked yourself the right questions?"  

Your eyebrows were arched in confusion, your hand resting against his back could felt his tense nerves and despite the anger hear him and see him in those conditions didn't please you.  

"What questions, Woon?"  

Jongwoon turned back into bed and got up, straying dangerously from you. The lack of contact weighed in your stomach like a boulder, but you strayed that thought focusing on your boyfriend. Whatever was troubling him so much wasn't to be recent.  

You took the shoes and the sweater off and stayed in pants and shirt starting to slip on the mattress sitting comfortably at the center of it. Your back met the fluffy pillows shortly after you stacked them and leaned against them, without removing your eyes from the person near the window. The color of the sky was rapidly passing from blue to the dim of the yellowish and orange, then diverting into the blue of the night. In front of those last and faint rays of the sunshine that brightened his face, he seemed like a work of art. As the light illuminated the profile of his nose, slipping then onto his small mouth but with the lips proportioned and how the shadows hid his chiseled jaw and the elongated face. It was your work of art, the one you loved most.  

"You never wondered Why did I say no?"  

"Of course I do.. I have quite a few paranoia because of you now. "  

Sincerity had never been a problem between you and your reply forced him to turn, this time was the daze that had captured his lines scrunched in an indecipherable expression.  

"Paranoia?"  

You nodded, but you didn't delve into the talk, you didn't know how to do it. You were ashamed of yourself because you knew how deep his feelings were for you, and yet you had for a moment doubted them. And told him what you had thought would have, at least from your point of view, worsened the situation.  

"Y/N; What kind of fucked paranoia has elaborated your hyperactive brain when I told you I didn’t' want to drink your blood? "  

The mattress looked like a safe haven, so you bent your legs upwards and hugged your knees sinking into it, even if you knew this would not save you. When Jongwoon wanted to discover something, nothing could stop him. Not even the threats of breaking his arm, which you could really do due to the difference of experience and strength between you two.  

"Y/N!"  

"THAT YOU DON'T LOVED ME ENOUGH TO WANT TO MAKE THE BIND WITH ME, YOU IDIOT!"  

Your shouting paralyzed him instantly and he became extremely pale, even more than he already was. Your eyes wandered over him, in search of the clue on the moment when he would throw everything out but you didn't perceive anything. He kept staring at you as if you were a strange animal or maybe just crazy, while you sank even more into the mattress and hid your face against your knees trying to seek comfort in other than yourself.  

"You can't really have thought such a thing.."  

The air in the room had become tense and you felt her both on your skin and with the smell, you could never explain how but the air assumed different smells depending on the emotions that exuded from the people, but you wouldn't dare to raise your head. Your eyes shut forcefully while the mattress next to you just sunk in and he had his hand through your hair. His fingers began to run through the strands of your loose hair and a little sigh of relief crashed on your knees when you finally let it escape from your mouth.  

"You can't really think that I didn't love you enough to tie me to you. Y/N.. I thought you were smarter... "  

"Jongwoon, S-stop.. You have no idea what I've felt seeing your expression and hearing your voice burst with anger that "no".. It's like you stabbed me. "  

He sighed and placed his forehead against your nape, remaining silent for a handful of seconds before gathering his courage and telling his true reason.  

"Y/N.." He called gently and lifted his head, slipping his hand in that little space between your chest and your thighs that the position created. He placed two fingers under your chin and effortlessly lifted your face, cupping your jaw so that you would turn in his direction. "I want to look in your eyes while I tell you my reason."  

And his brown eyes, now a red more intense than yours, were upon you and were looking at you with love. With that love that you had doubted for a few moments too blinded by anger and fears. You trembled under that gaze, under the fact that he loved you and that there were no limits to that sentiment, that when he had whispered into your ear "I really want the eternity with you" he had really believed it. He really believed it.  

"I don't want to drink from you because I know I wouldn't stop. I'd grow addicted to you and would to hurt you," he gasped with fear, fear towards himself and that thought, trying to calm the flicker of his voice despite the difficulty, "and the idea of being the cause of your pain, physical or emotional, is so painful that I can even think straight. You're my companion and what I feel here, " he stroked his chest to the height of that heart that didn't beat but was full of love for you, "will never change or vanish. But try to understand, Y/N.. I have been transformed by so little, compared to you, that.. I know I couldn't control myself once I tasted your blood. And you're the most precious thing in my life, how do you think I could live with the constant fear of hurting you?? "  

Your eyes were observed long after his voice dispersed into the air, they said things that in words neither could explain. The sun, now settled down, had left room for a clear night, the stars invisible because of the pollution but you had something nicer to look at before you. And seeing in those eyes, those that every morning you were fortunate enough to be able to admire in the warmth of your bed, his fears broke something inside you.  

The sense of guilt for having reacted in that way, for forcing him to say something so intense when perhaps he wasn't ready yet, every emotion swept you and you couldn't say anything.  

He let slip his hand that cupped your cheek and part of your jaw, letting it rest behind your nape so as to draw your face against his chest. His scent and the slow movement of his chest had always been a therapeutic power for you, so you let yourself be lulled without even realizing that sleep was having the best on you. And you fell asleep like that, in his arms without the worry of losing him once reopened your eyes.  

--  

"I always wonder how a vampire can sleep so much."  

"I must remind you that the myths and legends about us are all whoppers..? I like to sleep, " you puffed keeping your eyes closed, feeling Jongwoon's smile on your skin. Just on one of your sweet spots, the one near the clavicle, ripping you a sigh of appreciation and annoyance. The memory of the night before, his heartbreaking confession and the fear that you had seen in his eyes returned to haunt you but you hid them in a corner of your mind, ready to deal with them as late as possible.  

The tip of his tongue began to shape a flap of skin that he had until that moment bit, in a bland and playful way, letting in your body propagate a more intense and warm shiver, "Jongwoon.."  

"Don't worry, not because we slept in a hotel room we'll end up having makeup sex."  

Your chest buzzed shaken by your laughter, while your hand found his nape and left on it a little slap that caused him to laugh. The atmosphere between you was quiet, perhaps a little awkward as it still lingered the question that both feared. You wanted to bind yourself to him, he was afraid to hurt you and somehow in your mind, you stepped back. You were no longer sure that what you wanted was right, especially if it would hurt the person you loved.  

At last your eyelids opened up against your will, you would have spent a few more hours sleeping if it had been possible, admiring the perfection of your boy tucked away between the sheets, his bare shoulders with outlined and defined muscles and his face pressed against the crock of your neck where he kept, undisturbed, to leave little purplish marks of his passage. Your fingers found their fun when you started to slide them along the line of his shoulder, stopping on his arm and restarting their climbing while his smile against your skin grew because of your attention.  

"Y/N, you do really care about that?"  

"To what?" Your question came out spontaneously, you were totally absorbed in contemplating his beauty by not having connected his question to the discontinued speech.  

"To make me drink your blood, to.. bind us. Don't misunderstand me, I'm not afraid of the bond that would create between us, you know as well as I love you. "  

His hesitation sickened you, hitting in full your guilt and letting it burst even bigger than before because for the umpteenth time you understood that the reason why he was so hesitant and frightened was you. The person who, theoretically, had to give him the strength and security he deserved. His eyes didn't seek your own, not that time, and the desire to bury you under feet of ground increased with guilt.  

"Jongwoon, look at me."  

"I don't know if I can."  

With some effort, you could loosen the grip of his arms around your waist and your hand will struggle to push him upwards so you can sit. And when he was so you had a few seconds of regret for that choice, because the definition of his abdomen struck you in full as a bus. You swallowed the sudden knot in your throat and you sat down, letting the sheets spread around you, covering your legs without the pants you wore last night.  

"Look at me," you were serious, so serious that your tone also frightened yourself but you had to maintain the firmness that you were imposing for a few minutes, "Jongwoon, don't make me repeat.. Look at me. "  

His eyes were wandering all over the room except for you, so when they finally surrendered and rested on your face you released the breath that you hadn't even noticed to hold back.  

You could perceive the crack that was insinuating in your relationship because of the different visions of the same subject, you could feel as though the sweetness that was reserving you since you woke up was fearful, as much as he was. And that's what you wanted to avoid, growing together as a couple but growing distant at the same moment. It would have destroyed you lose him and you would have renounced anything for not to lose him.  

His chocolate eyes melted in yours and for a moment you thought he understood, that he had read your guilt without you saying it aloud with words of apology. But fear was too rooted in both and was blinding your hearts in a lethal and fast way.  

"When my parents kicked me out, I thought my end came. I was only 16 and nothing with me, if not the abandonment of the people who were my family to drag me to an abyss that frightened me, " you whispered without distracting your gaze, rather pinning him with it and watched him while he'd fidget uncomfortably on the bed because the tension in your lines, "I could see my end. I was immortal but there were so many ways to die, however. Thirst pushed me to attack a person but as well you know SooMan saved me. He gave me a house, some clothes, an education, and from that moment I own him one But he never managed to give me what I craved most.. Love. He was a kind man, in the beginning, but I never felt really loved. And from that moment I began to feel damned for what I was, that I didn't deserve something as pure as love when I was a human being without a soul. "  

"Y/N; You know how I think about the question of your damn sou.."  

"Let me finish, you moron."  

He rolled his eyes, trying not to show how bored he was by hearing that part of the story. You knew what he thought of your soul, the fact that it was the most beautiful and pure that existed and slowly you started to believe it too, again. You rubbed your hand against your face, trying to clear the fatigue that saying those things aloud was provoking, returning to watch him ready to start again.  

"I spent most of my life working for him and then you got there. And you don't know how much I hated you. "  

"Oh, I know.. Okay, sorry, " he mumbled displeased for the interruption, protruding his lips in that pout that you would have wanted to erase with kisses but from which you refrained from doing, sighing and shaking your head pretending annoyance. Only he could turn such a serious moment into lighter tones, but the problem was still there and you were willing to face it for once without running away.  

"You know why I hated you? Except of course for your brat behaviors. Because you were loved. I saw it in the gaze, in the actions, in the words of others.. You had that love that I have always sought, desired, dreamed but never gotten, " the atmosphere returned tense as the night before, but the only thing you perceived was Jongwoon's gaze that pierced your soul in hearing your confession,  "then suddenly everything is changed and I found myself to love you. To love you with every single atom of my body, with every single ounce of my being. And I love you, I love you as I couldn't love anyone because I never loved anyone before, but you make me want the forever. And yes, I would have loved to tie myself to you because.. I'm afraid of losing you. I love you so much, so intensely, almost viscerally.. That the thought of seeing you get out of my life fucks my brains out. Making you drinking my blood was the only way to let you stay with me that my mind screwed by fear could elaborate. And only now I just realize how disgustingly selfish it sounds. "  

Crying was forbidden to you, the only time you had done it in front of Jongwoon had been the evening of your confession, but your eyes burned you and your throat also burned and not for the thirst that you could barely hold for days.  

"So I don't care anymore Jongwoon because I understand one thing," your voice cracked and you found yourself trying to catch your breath when you didn't really need it. Your hands trembled to the point where you clenched them, hidden them between the sheets and felt your body weak, almost as you didn't feed you for centuries and not days. "I understand that you're here now. That I must stop thinking about the future, the possibilities that something will happen, that anything that might change. You're here and you love me. That's enough for me. "  

"Is it really enough for you?"  

You expected him to say something more, but let the relief of having finally expressed your thought flowed within you provoking a sense of unexpected peace. You nodded, your sincere smile to prove you weren't lying and your eyes enlightened by the love you felt for him.  

"To me no, it's not enough."  

"W-Why?"  

"Because you must become my wife to make it enough for me."

[octaviainthewasteland]

from December to August

Fandom: Free!

Characters: Nanase Haruka, Matsuoka Rin

Summary: They folded the blanket, trying to shake the wet sand off, and for some time they did not talk, listening to the quiet wash of the waves, to the rustle of the sand beneath their feet, to the creak of sneakers, as they climbed the stairs.

Written for Maki  @hinadoria Thank you @free-exchange17 for organizing the exchange!

You can read it on AO3

P.S. Maki, please tell me if I’ve put the correct nickname of the giftee on AO3

In the beginning of December, two young men, hidden from the view of an occasional passer-by, sat on a blanket, the corners pressed down by heavy backpacks, on the beach of a small coastal town Iwatobi.

Every winter Iwatobi was becoming a little ghost town, like any other resort town. Picturesque narrow and curvy streets were empty when artists cleaned their stands with watercolor landscapes, caricatures of celebrities and tourists, and postcards. The souvenir shops hid fake-gold and carved wooden figurines in boxes, so they were not just collecting dust on the shelves. Five-story buildings on the outskirts were emptying out, because no one was renting an apartment, while small villas by the beach were standing like forgotten exhibits in the museum's closet, with hollow black windows, electricity and water supply piped off, a canopy covered with tarp to protect from leaks of long winter rains and tramps that try to sneak in to spend the night. The sand seemed gray beneath the cloudy sky, and only a few brave men were walking around the embankment, wrapped from head to foot. Damp northern wind could find the smallest gaps – dare to go out without the scarf or do not zip up jacket and you’re doomed.

From the quay down to the sea, a staircase of wide concrete slabs was descending, edged with rocks, huge, faded and cracked under the sun and wind. At the bottom stood a crooked feeble foot sprinkler. Nonsense, of course. While climbing up the stairs, again one would end up with a shoe full of sand.

During the summer season, local people worked or escaped somewhere amidst the wild beaches and bays, away from the quay, crowded with beggars, thieves, and tourists. Yet in winter this place was always deserted, and since school days they stopped here, open to the winds and cold, and heavy salty air, that clamped their hair and salted their lips. There was a distant smell of fish and seaweed, from the market down the road. Haru used to accompany his mother to that market, she would squint, examining the mackerel, and he would look those fish in the eye, black and blank.

For some reason, he has never gone there without his mother. Instead, he went to the little store closer to his house, not that it was objectively better or worse. Sometimes Makoto would bring him groceries, but Haru had no way of knowing where he bought that, and he did not care enough to ask.

They sat leaning on their backpacks, watching the smooth dark surface stretched towards the horizon, occasionally disturbed by tiny ripples. Rin was glancing at Haru sometimes from the corner of his eye, maybe a bit jealous of how Haru’s unperturbed beauty matched the calm melancholy of Iwatobi. His skin that was almost translucent, all colors washed out by the gleaming waters of the swimming pool; his short black hair twisting underwater like some kind of wicked kelp; his face of sharp features, crinkle between brows, pointed chin, bony fingers and eyes of the palest blue. The high winter sky, pierced by a single cold sunbeam.

They were both pathetically poetic, yet Rin was just a tad more vocal about his thoughts.

Haru pulled the puffer coat over his knees and wrapped his scarf around his mouth so that only his reddened nose and the tips of his worn-out sneakers were sticking out. Rin snorted: like a neglected street kid, this punk was still wearing the same sneakers he did back when he was sixteen. Those were good shoes, sure, and the soles were still intact, but the thing was that Haru could have afforded five or ten pairs of new ones, he was just being difficult. Same swimming trunks, same sneakers, same hat with threads sticking out.

“You’re coming by tonight, right? Gou would be happy to see you, you know.”

Haru murmured something in reply, but it got muffled by the thick scarf. He was not bothered by being alone at the house, and then guys would often show up anyway. Nagisa would finish all his food for the week and would not even attempt to be subtle, nonchalantly dropping his sleeping bag in the living room. To be honest, Haru did not mind. It was nice.

It was a bit too early for them to be around, though, with the end of the semester and the middle of finals. Rin and Haru earned a small break after a competition, and they were chosen to be in the national team, and it meant that for the first time they were on the same team, and they’re off in a couple of weeks. It went without saying to board the train and find themselves on the Iwatobi station on a chilly morning. The station is a bit of a strong word; there was a stand with the name, a bench and a little pastry shop nearby.

They ended up on the beach, and Haru thought that he should have first gone to his house to turn on the heating. By the time he would come back, it would be nice and warm. His parents were in Korea, but they promised to come around for Christmas. Before their arrival, Haru had all the time in the world to himself. Constant traveling and locker rooms, and shared showers, and double motel rooms – it was tiring. Rin did not seem affected; he raveled in socializing, team-bonding, interviews.

They folded the blanket, trying to shake the wet sand off, and for some time they did not talk, listening to the quiet wash of the waves, to the rustle of the sand beneath their feet, to the creak of sneakers, as they climbed the stairs. Rin grinned and let out a loud ciao and shoved his shoulder, urging him to come to the dinner at their house. Haru waved him off, thinking about nothing – everything – and promptly realized at his doorstep that there was nothing to eat. On some bizarre whim, after dropping off his belongings, he got his wallet and rushed back outside. Not to the nearby store, a small pink building wedged between a used-items store, money from sales of which go to cancer research, and a building that was filmed either by the business school or by a local religious cult. On the door, the inscriptions were duplicated in English, although no one from staff spoke any of it. Haru passed it, heading down to the market. In summer the town turned into a lazy beehive of charred sweaty bodies in colorful shirts and straw sunhats, and the market turned into another attraction, red and golden paper lanterns, stalls with games, souvenirs, glass decorations and street food.

Now it was dead. No stalls, no music, no people. He just stood there, trying to remember the feel of his mother’s hand, the push of the crowd, the color of Rin’s yukata.

They had not talked much, both so busy, changing locations and phone numbers. Then they met at those trials, and Rin immediately went for a hug, and Haru somehow realized he was so so tired. Before he could remember that hugging back is a thing, Rin withdrew, and like a fool, Haru almost chased after him – next moment they were surrounded by people, who were for some reason amazed that they knew each other. Unabashedly, Rin blurted out that obviously Nanase Haruka was secretly his biggest fan, and everyone laughed.

Somehow afterward they never parted.

Haru came back home yet again without any food. He briefly considered delivery, but then decided to just go to sleep earlier.

Then the doorbell rang, and he knew who it was, and he stumbled at the door, the hand not quite touching the knob.

Who was he kidding? He always opened that door, and he always let him in, and followed him, run after him. All the teenage angst and ‘I wanna swim with you’s and knowing looks shared before races.

Rin was everywhere and everything and Haru let him shrug and complain about inside being even more freezing than outside, and put the food on the table, berating him for breaking Gou’s heart by being a freaky hermit.

*

At the end of August, two young men sat on a small balcony of a cheap hotel room, drinking Pocari and Coke, in the middle of Tokyo.

Summer was hot and sweaty, and they were both in shorts and tanks, Rin’s hair in a ponytail, he stretched over his plastic chair in a dramatic exhausted pose. Bandages were clinging to their skin, and they were waiting until the conditioner would bring the room to a less scalding temperature.

In two days they had to move: Rin back to Australia, Haru to semi-finals in Europe.

Haru got up, wincing, feeling the dull ache in his muscles. Without command, his fingers reached out and brushed the tanned shoulder, hooking the strap of the tank top.

“Rin,” he said, soft and easy.

Rin smiled with his eyes still closed.

[storiesbyjes2g]

Days gave way to weeks and weeks to months. Time seemed to be a relative concept in the Pitts residence that seemed to race by and change frequency at will. To Melody, it felt like just days ago she told her parents they were leaving, and now they lived in a beautiful home far away from anything they had ever known. Just yesterday, they learned about tea leaves in therapy, and now their marriage was stronger than ever. Where did the time go? What happened in between? It was all a blur.

To add to the household anxiety, River and Melody had no say in their future residence. Just as they were learning to trust each other again, they had to trust the S.I.A. to do right by them. The mystery could have eaten at them, skyrocketing the household anxiety levels, but River and Melody turned the stressful situation into a game. Over dinner, they would speculate about the house and state their wishes for it. When moving day came, they took only their most precious possessions and boarded a plane to nowhere. At least that’s where it felt like they were going. When they landed, Melody surveyed her family. River and Harmony seemed excited while she and Maurice were nervous. She couldn’t tell how Stefan felt. The house was a long way from the airport, and she feared they were going to be living in the middle of the woods or something. To her surprise, however, the taxi did not take them to the forest but to the coast. She glanced at River who looked hopeful. It had always been his dream to live in a waterfront house and fish on his own property. Having the river in their backyard in Willow Creek was good enough although he didn’t really enjoy fishing in the river. To everyone’s delight, the taxi stopped in front of a house right on the beach.

That day was just a couple of months ago, and everyone had settled in quite nicely. The children seemed to adjust well to the new school although the time change wiped them out; Melody thought they’d be used to it by now. River enjoyed being a semi-retired man, living his dream being a fisherman. His ribs were still on the mend, and fishing probably wasn’t the best idea yet, but he did it anyway. Melody continued her same routine, but she was so much happier. Everything was finally the way it should have been. Some days she would walk to the beach, look out at the ocean, and thank the Watcher for preserving them. She didn’t want to believe that all those hard years, the kidnapping, and everything was meant to be to bring them to this place, but it sure seemed that way.

After staring at the ocean, she’d watch her husband enjoy what he loved. She never saw his face or heard him saying anything, but she knew there was immense joy inside. River was naturally chilled and calm, but in those days the calmness seemed to run deeper. She couldn’t explain it, but he was different. The calm wasn’t a weakness. It was a quiet strength, a strong force to be reckoned with. She admired it and wished she could be more like him. He anchored her.

River chuckled. “Am I an exhibit at the museum?”

She blushed. “Sorry.”

“You can join me, you know. I don’t mind the company.”

She smiled bashfully and walked to him.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing. My parents will be here soon.”

He looked at his watch. “Oh snap. Thanks, Bae. I’ll finish up.”

There was a knock at the front door, and Melody’s heart leaped with joy. She and River had lived far away from them before, but she had gotten used to them being so close. Getting used to them not being a short taxi ride away had been harder than she anticipated. Through the glass door, she saw their beaming faces. She couldn’t help the tears that fell and threw her arms around her mother.

Bianca cried too. “Hello, baby.” She lingered in her daughter’s arms for a moment before she broke away. “Did you know that house next door is for sale?”

She chuckled at the random comment. “That house is ginormous, mom.”

“It’s no bigger than the Pruett Estate. Where’s the computer? I’m gonna see if someone can show it to us tomorrow.”

Melody rolled her eyes and pointed inside the living room. “It’s right there.”

“You know you can’t get rid of us,” Giancarlo said.

She embraced him. “Hi, daddy.”

“Hey, kiddo. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Where’s lover boy?”

“He should be coming in any second now. He fishes right on the beach.”

“Good for him. This house is great!”

“Thanks! You want the tour before he gets in?”

“Of course! Are the kids here yet?”

“They’re sleeping.”

“All of them?” Bianca asked from the other room.

“They’re still struggling with the time change.” She lead them upstairs. “Their rooms are up here.”

“They have their own rooms?”

“Mmm hmm.”

One by one, she slowly opened the kids’ rooms and let her parents peek in.

Back downstairs, Bianca turned to Giancarlo. “It’s only been half a year, but they’ve gotten so big! Right, babe?”

“Like weeds. What are you feeding those things, kiddo?”

She laughed. “Here’s the kitchen.”

“And, we finally have an en suite!”

“Oh good,” Bianca said. “Now the kids won’t pee in their pants while you two are–”

“MOM!”

Giancarlo chimed in. “And good thing their rooms are upstairs too.”

Melody stood there with her mouth gaped. “DAD!!”

“Oh yeah. Poor kids. We should have given them earmuffs for their birthdays.”

Her parents practically fell over themselves laughing at their own wit while Melody’s face reddened. Despite the fact that she was embarrassed by her parents discussing her love life, she couldn’t help but chuckle under her breath at the validity of their speculations. With River on the mend, and their marriage as strong as its ever been, she looked forward to making up the lost time in the seclusion of their new master suite.

When they returned to the living room, River was waiting for them. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, we were just saying–”

“NOTHING IS FUNNY! Please, can we just move on?”

River chuckled. “Why you so red, Bae?”

“Move on!”

“Ok?”

“This is a nice place you got here, Riv,” Giancarlo said. “I hope you’re not going to tell us it was bought with drug money or something cray like that.”

Melody’s stomach began to churn. She hadn’t forgotten they needed to share with her parents what took place, but part of her wished they would just forget about it and simply enjoy being together again.

River quickly glanced at her. “Heh, not quite.”

“Ok, start talking, River. We didn’t fly all the way across the country for more cryptic talk!”

He nodded. “Straight to the point. I like that.”

Melody smiled and gave him an encouraging nod.

“Ummm…first, I want to apologize. After the story, you’ll understand, but I haven’t been truthful about my employment.”

Melody felt the air in the room get thicker. Her parents tensed up.

“Oh no. You are dealing drugs.”

“No, sir! I’d never do anything illegal. I…I got recruited by the S.I.A.”

Bianca’s face lit up, and she turned toward Melody. “He’s a spy! I guessed it, and you laughed at me!”

“I didn’t know that back then, mom.”

“Hmph. You implied that I was old and spent my retirement watching too many crime dramas.”

She chuckled. “That’s not what I–”

“Mmm hmm. Continue the story, Agent Pitts.” Bianca winked at him.

Giancarlo shook his head. “Hold on. You’ve really been working for the S.I.A. this whole time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But…why? Were you guys struggling that much you had to get a job? You could have come to us. We could have helped.”

“It wasn’t like that. I was approached. This was right before Stefan was born.”

Bianca gasped. “The whole time you lived in Willow Creek?”

“Just about.”

River looked like he wanted to disappear, and Melody wished she were sitting next to him so she could hold his hand and help him power through the story.

“They told me Melody might be in danger. I didn’t have a choice. I did, but I felt like I didn’t. I had to protect her.”

Melody watched as her parents’ faces softened, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“What was the danger?” Giancarlo asked.

She watched her husband struggle to answer and couldn’t imagine how difficult it was for him to explain to her father she could have been taken and sold off to be a sex slave. “Trafficking.”

River looked up at her and nodded as if to say thank you.

“Goodness gracious,” Bianca shouted. “That goes on in Willow Creek?”

Giancarlo’s head fell. Melody wondered what he was feeling.

“Yeah. Big time.”

Bianca shook her head. “Is any place safe anymore? Sheesh! No wonder you moved all the way over here. I mean, whoever heard of Brindleton Bay? How did you find this place anyway?” She paused for a brief moment and her eyes narrowed. “And what’s this business about not knowing where you’re going and not being able to tell us? And, you. She said you were hurt.”

“Mom, just let him finish.”

River took a few moments to collect his thoughts. In that moment, Melody considered what River must have felt like that day for the first time. She was so wrapped up in taking care of Harmony and dealing with her own conflicted feelings, she never truly thought about what River went through. The news of his true occupation was fresh, and everything had always been about the job. She only thought of his involvement in the incident within the context of the job. His poker face was so good, and he had become such a master at hiding his feelings, she failed to remember it was his own child he had to rescue. It was a weird thing to admit. Of course, she knew he fathered the child, but he had been so distant and so dedicated to this job she had grown to hate. But, sitting there, watching his leg twitch and him rubbing his hands together, she didn’t see Agent Pitts. She saw a scared man who almost lost his daughter and risked his own life to save her.

He cleared his throat. “They tried to take her.”

Bianca gasped.

Giancarlo was as stiff as a board. “Mel?”

“Harmony.”

The silence lingered in the air like the smell of fresh baked cookies…or the smoke that came from Giancarlo’s ears. Melody wanted to say something but knew they needed to process everything like she had. On one hand, she was glad they knew now, but on the other hand, she wished they didn’t need to know and hoped their new knowledge didn’t affect things.

“Well,” Bianca said, “I’m sure we can imagine the rest. Do you intend to continue your employment?”

Her tone was almost daring but a bit concerned too.

“I’m still employed, but I’m inactive. Until my ribs heal, I’m on medical leave. When that’s over, the permanent plan kicks in.”

“And what is that?”

“I guess you can think of it sort of like the witness protection program.”

“So, because this happened, they moved you here and intend to take care of you for the rest of your life?”

“Pretty much.”

“Riv,” Giancarlo said finally, “you’re an honorable man. Thank you for protecting my daughter and grandchildren.”

The tears escaped Melody’s eyes again. There were few moments when her father was completely serious, and they all had to do with the family. She couldn’t imagine her parents being angry at River but was still relieved to find out how pleased they were.

“My…you two are always full of surprises. Well, it’s all in the past now, and everyone is safe. That’s all that matters.” Bianca wiped a few tears before she changed gears. “The children have slept long enough, don’t you think?”

Melody smiled. “Yeah. Let’s get them up.”

As they marched upstairs, Melody thought about all the recent changes in her life. River had returned home. Maurice behaved better. They owned a beautiful home with enough space for everyone. Soon, her parents would be living nearby. From the outside looking in, it seemed her life was complete, but it wasn’t. One issue still lingered, and she hoped it wasn’t too late to fix it.

F.I.S.H. - 3.25 Fathers’ Love - The Pitts family have moved, and it’s time for the Sheridans to learn the truth. Days gave way to weeks and weeks to months. Time seemed to be a relative concept in the Pitts residence that seemed to race by and change frequency at will.