#this wip has been sitting in my backlog for way too long now

[kermitbread]

you ever try to give your beautiful wife a kiss but she says "not this time idiot" and turns into a cat for your own inconvenience(?)

[celestial-toys]

crawls out of my writing cave on all fours, disheveled and holding a twenty-four-thousand-word-long document between my teeth

[neonghostcat]

Checking in. 👋

It should not take me being checked on by a reader to log into to Tumblr, but when I get busy at work/with life, Tumblr becomes the first thing cut.

(Sorry about that. D: I feel particularly bad as people have been super lovely while I've been in hiatus and I'm horrified at not telling them they're lovely immediately!)

A little update on me and what I'm working on under the cut!

I actually have a (minor!) shoulder injury. I'm fine, but it's enough to put me on reduced work load, which normally would mean more writing time, but as the injury means worse sleep (+ some days where computer time is very uncomfortable), my focus is crap and it amounts to around the same in the end. More time for reading through my AO3 backlog, I guess!

Enough on that!

👻 GHOST MONTH AHEAD. 👻

And you know what that means?

My pretend-birthday awaits! Huzzah! I think I may be more excited about my pretend birthday than my real one. 😁

I'm still on track to release a chapter on August 8th! This unfortunately means I've had to set a reminder on my desktop calendar since, y'know, Thursdays are my update day, not Mondays. But it'd feel weird to update on a Monday and then skip a Thursday to wait until the Thursday next, so Mondays it is.

The story will be 4 chapters unless chapter 4 runs longer than expected and I need to split it into two parts - so that means all of Ghost Month gets a bit of LiuShen for ya!

I can't remember if this story idea sparked my thoughts on giving myself a fake birthday or if my fake birthday planning made me start working on a fic idea for it, but either way, I've been sitting on the idea for a fair while. (It's on my Tumblr WIP list as "unnamed ghost fic".)

👻 The Guardian Ghost and the Bookish Fairy 🧚‍♂️

This story has gone through about three working titles, but I'm pretty sure I'm sticking with this one.

----

Summary: LQG survives his qi deviation... in the form of a ghost. Having nothing better to do and no desire to be exorcised, he follows after SQQ and decides to haunt him for the hell of it.

It doesn't take him long to realize that not only is this not the SQQ he knew, but there is more going on. And apparently SQH is involved too? Ah! He understands now - they're immortal fairies given a grand mission to thwart a dark prophesy of the sect's collapse. Well. He can help with that. And how better than to protect the bookish fairy that's taken SQQ's place?

There are no ulterior motives. Why think such foolish things???

TL;DR: What happens if SY transmigrates a little later and the events of PIDW continue until after Ling Xi Caves?

----

You know me - I love my LQG POV, so be prepared for that. And he's an even more unreliable narrator than ever. 🙈

I have also spent far too much time researching weiqi/go just so I could write a single scene. Thankfully I realized pretty quickly that I didn't need to actually dig too deep into how the game was played to write the scene or else I'd feel even more foolish. One day I'll write a scene with weiqi/go from SY's POV so I can work in a reference to Hikaru no Go. But this day is not the day. (Even though the set-up would have been perfect for it. Alas.)

I did not do any research into Chinese ghost or fairy folklore (because I knew what I wanted for this story and knew if I researched it and something came up that contradicted what I wanted, I'd second guess myself), so I'm going to have to tag or note that I'm running with a more Western take on ghosts with the bits and pieces I've picked up over the years from Eastern folklore, especially re: "fairies". I don't want people to "Well, actually" me over it because they were expecting something different.

re: Cultivate

Still working on it! Work + injury = surprisingly more difficult to work on a long story than a short one. More moving parts to keep track of and my brain just isn't up to it.

I'm hopeful for sometime in September, but I'm not making promises. I'll know better by the time the last chapter of Ghost is posted, though.

This post is already tl;dr, so not much to say other than I'll see those of you on the 8th who drop by to read! 💖💖💖

[mysticsparklewings]

I keep promising to attempt to return to regular posting and then not really doing it, don't I? XP Well, hopefully this time I mean it. I do want to. And whether you guys can tell or not, I have made some behind-the-scenes strides towards being able to. One of the things pushing me this time though is I'm mad at myself that I neglected to post really anything substantial in March, which is going to mess up how I end up filling out this year's Art Summary in December/January time. That probably sounds like a silly thing to be worried about, but...I don't know. I like having at least one thing to show per month that shows what I did during the year. It's like a super-extended checklist of, "Yeah, I did something that month!" Anyway. I thought maybe posting something like this--A bit more than my usual WIP Wednesday of empty promises--would help hold me more accountable...and now you can also see I'm not kidding when I say I have a backlog of stuff I haven't posted yet. XD Some of my be familiar, some of it I've mentioned once or twice before, some of it is totally new to you guys...and some of it was technically "backlog" even before my unintentional off-again on-again hiatus. But I've blurred the names since some of the titles aren't finalized and a few I'd like to keep as a tiny bit of a surprise. ;) As for the WIP Side, technically most of what you see is also backlog now, but it hasn't been scanned in yet, so I'm withholding "backlog" status until then. Still, you can see I have finally finished the Art Snacks piece I've shown actually WIPs for twice now, a funny little cat drawing I've said nothing about, the PRINTED PROOF FOR THE NAPOWRIMO BOOK! :D, and underneath all that is the planner I set up to...help me keep track while playing catch in Animal Crossing. Yes, part of my absence initially included not playing AC:NH since mid-November, and then more recently was because of me trying to catch up in-game between when I stopped playing and the present day. Now, the NaPo Book is probably the most exciting thing for obvious reasons. And while I don't want to drag out the details too much here (I fully intend on doing a separate post about that), I will say that I now understand A. Why there's usually a whole team of people behind making a book and not just one person; and B. Why we order proof copies before putting the thing up for sale. Because somehow a handful of mistakes made it past me and at least three other people I had look at the book before ordering the proof. XP   Something also kind of exciting is I do have a small assortment of supplies that I'm almost done swatching (which yes I have totally been procrastinating on) and will then need testing, which means viable excuses to make yet more art to add to the pile!   Of course, then the problem becomes getting myself to sit down and write out all the descriptions for said art. I know technically I don't have to, but I like having that written record of what I did most of the time--because I do revisit my old descriptions sometimes to replicate the process for a new piece--and I personally don't like how some artists make these big elaborate pieces and then have nothing to say about how they made it other than how long it took. To me, there's something humanizing about explaining the process, so to just skip it altogether would just feel wrong to me. Although considering how not wanting to physically put in the effort to do that has held me back, I may experiment with not going into quite as much detail or otherwise trying to streamline my process a bit. (And admittedly some pieces have been in my backlog so long I don't fully remember all the details...which is exactly why I try very hard to get the descriptions done sooner rather than later.) And you know, in some ways it may look or feel like I'm constantly playing catch-up in one way or another, but I've realized that when I really get in the mood to sit down and dedicate time to something, sometimes I actually like having a looming pile staring at me. Part of the reason I hadn't played AC in so long was I was a bit burnout and kinda bored with it, but having so much to do to catch up really reignited that fire in me. The game felt like it had purpose again. While we're on realizations, I probably don't have to tell a lot of you that I'm still in the camp that a lot of my life and my mental health is just better and more enjoyable when social media is not in it. Extra so for Twitter, in particular. Do you know how much nicer it is to only have to check my very small list of "favorites" to see what they're up to, which takes about 5, maybe 10 minutes at a time, and not feel like I owe it to any of them to interact with their tweets? [Because most of them are too big to even notice me anyway, but I digress] That is SO much better than the endless home feed scrolling of hundreds of people, lots of whom I don't even follow they just show up because people I follow, follow them (which I want to turn all the way off so badly but I can't because that's not how Twitter works) and half of which is content I. Could Not. Possibly. Care less about.   I like Twitter for news on content creators that can't easily post a small status update to Youtube or whatever. I DO NOT like Twitter for Social Media. AT ALL. Seriously. I opened myself up to posting pictures of my cats over there, and it's STILL not enough to keep me posting and engaging regularly. That's how bad it is. Ahem. My little rant aside, I have thus decided since the Twitter Game™ does more harm than good to me, in general I'm just not going to play it anymore. I'll post my art over there and other stuff when I feel like it, but otherwise, I'm just captial-D Done With It until further notice. It's just better that way. Speaking of games, you may all be surprised to know I've been chipping away at a little video project [about a game] while all this has been going on, too. The NaPo Book comes first, but I'm hoping to have some serious headway on the video done, if not have it finished, by mid-June/July. I've mostly been bouncing around various software trying to find one that can do everything I need on a budget of exactly $0, and the good news is I think I've finally landed on one...which I'll spare you the details of for now. Once the video is closer to being a reality, then we'll delve more into that. So...yeah, that's what's been cooking in the metaphorical Mystic Kitchen. And I tell you guys all of this to 1. Hopefully be the first of that "regular posting" I want to do (still looking at once a week, which I've said probably 500 times before now), and 2. Putting it out there, as I alluded to before, will hopefully be like me signing a contract with myself. "You said you were going to do the thing, so do it." And with that, I suppose I should end this here since this description is surely long enough already, and get back to work on some of that stuff so I'll be more likely to follow through with it, yeah? ;) See you soon, I hope 

[statistical-improbabilities]

OCtober Day 6: Luxury

I’ve elected not to post days 4 and 5, on account of day 4 needing much more editing and day 5 being a little too personal to share, so here’s day 6 from the backlog - thanks again to @oc-growth-and-development!

This scene from one of my current wips is set in the kingdom of Griis-re-Soel, where the cities are built inside mountains and aesthetic is the hot commodity. Wriit is the new heir to the kingdom, after his twin sister’s mysterious murder only months before, and suffice it to say nobody is pleased about that. It’s a Griis custom to remain silent while in mourning, as a way to honor the dead, but Wriit has refused to speak for a little longer than everyone expected. Should make for a fun birthday party with the court, right?

Less than two months before, the palace had been void of its usual vibrancy, with empty halls and not a single word spoken in them. But as Wriit strode through the double doors to the amethyst ballroom on the tail of his parents, he was very nearly caught off guard by the life of luxury that had been breathed back into the court.

Sheer draperies of every color hung from the walls in sweeping loops, perfumed with blooms exported from somewhere far from the Ptaan mountains range. Glimmering jewels flashed from the ears, throats, and wrists of every noble present, and their contemptuous laughter spiraled up through the room as though everyone here was in on some grand joke. Wriit wasn’t laughing.

For the first time in his life, he celebrated his birthday alone.

Only months before, Brien had been found dead in her room, slumped over her writing desk as though she’d merely fallen asleep. The fine ink she’d been using had splattered all over her latest manuscript, and they hadn’t been able to scrub it from her fingers. They were still stained dark when they encased her body in amber and buried her. The Crowns and nearly everyone else in the palace had taken on a month of mourning silence, shedding their jewels and smooth words for plainness and quiet, but that month had come and gone and now it was as if nothing had changed. Except for Wriit.

Crown Taarh had been furious, the first time he’d asked him a question aloud and Wriit had merely looked at him, but Crown Siel had put a hand over her husband’s before his anger could take shape inside his mouth. “Give him time,” she’d said, directing a calculated, knowing smile at Wriit. “She may have been our heir, but she was his twin. And he is our new heir. Certainly, it must be… a lot to take in.”

That had been two months ago. Now the palace seemed fully ready to begin celebrating again, to celebrate an occasion that should have been shared. When Wriit entered the ballroom behind the Crowns, everyone present fell nearly as silent as him at the sight of him standing there alone where his sister should have stood beside him, dressed in simple black rather than the colors and bright gemstones he’d favored before Brien’s death. Wriit lifted his chin and gazed straight ahead, boring a hole into the back of his father’s head until his mother directed the musicians to play again, and then the three of them took their place on the three thrones at one end of the room.

Three, not four. Wriit’s throne was the missing one—he now took Brien’s place as favored heir. This did not slip his mind as he sat, though he did not dare appear hesitant about it.

“Sit up straight,” Siel hissed, though her face didn’t change from its pleasant expression. “You are still a Crown Jewel. Act like it.” Wriit glanced sideways at her, sinking even lower in his seat for just a moment before straightening up. A small and petty revenge was all he could manage right then, but it did the trick. His mother closed her eyes briefly, then turned away to speak with Taarh.

 It wasn’t long before his parents directed him out to converse with the crowd, though if they’d gotten a glimpse of the look in his eyes, they might have thought twice about it. Wriit drifted from group to group, each clearing a space for him in their little circles, but for all purposes besides formalities he was ignored. He never said a word, never contributed to any conversation but to listen, and the next time someone turned to him, he was often halfway across the room. Feeling less than productive, he returned to his throne before long.

The look the Crowns gave him when he did was less than pleased. Taarh repeatedly glanced between the dancers at the center of the room and his son, clearly intending for Wriit to pursue a partner or several while the music played, but Wriit very pointedly looked in the opposite direction. If he’d been wearing his usual array of gemstones, he might have fussed with them; because he wasn’t, he loosened a thread from the cuff of his sleeve and tugged lightly on that. A servant discreetly came up behind the throne and snipped the loose thread from his sleeve with scissors, and Wriit sighed and slumped back in his seat. He didn’t look at either Crown, altogether content to ignore the obligations of a Crown Jewel on his twentieth birthday.

After about an hour of cycles like this, of pointless conversations in which Wriit did not participate and efforts to ignore the party as a whole, Crown Siel stood, calling the room to silence again. Wriit noted bitterly that only when everyone else was silent did his own silence blend in. It was a mere three months after his sister’s death, though, so it wasn’t entirely amiss.

Siel spoke grandly as she always did, somehow balancing the tact of Brien’s absence with a call for celebration, and after about two words, Wriit tuned her out. He knew what she was saying; he’d already been forced to pay attention during the rehearsal. A Crown Jewel’s twentieth birthday was also the beginning of the Gliare ceremony, where the Crowns’ heir would court one suitor for every month of the year, and propose marriage to their choice of the twelve when the year was through. None of these suitors had been chosen for Wriit; these men and women had all been selected in hopes of marrying his sister. For convenience’s sake, the Crowns had elected not to postpone the ceremony for the sake of tradition. What luck, they said, that Wriit and Brien felt similar attractions. A blessing from Rhii, god of passion, they said. Wriit would have said that it was anything but a blessing, but he could not speak against it. Not when it was already decided.

His father prodded his elbow, hanging over the armrest of his throne, and motioned for Wriit to stand. He hadn’t been listening, and getting to his feet would have looked hasty were it not for the impression of dissociative grief that he still exuded. The first suitor stepped forward and bowed. A man taller than Wriit, but with little muscle and three freckles near the corner of his left eye. His deep red clothing was expertly tailored, billowing around his lean frame and matching perfectly the three garnets embedded into his forehead, signifying his alignment to Liis, goddess of wrath. The men of House Trua had aligned with wrath for the last three generations.

Wriit let out a pained breath, but gave a short bow in response, then descended to take his hand and begin an obligatory dance. The man was a decent dancer, and even if he stumbled, his sense of rhythm led him to pick up the steps where he left off. The rest of the court began to dance around them, and the suitor spoke.

“I am deeply sorry, Your Highness, that you must endure this alone. If I may overstep, it appears as though we both agree that it would have been better had your sister been in your place today.”

You may not, thought Wriit, but he said nothing, choosing instead to focus on the steps of their dance. Unfortunately, this particular suitor was a talkative one.

“I must admit, I am curious. Your sister was so often in the public eye, we do not know much about you.”

A flick of the wrist, three delicate steps to the right.

“And I am exceptionally curious about why you remain silent when the traditional month of mourning has lifted.”

A half-turn pivot to the left, and a return to the first position. Wriit gritted his teeth, but did not speak.

“Even the Crowns have returned to opulence. It’s been three months. Surely, you mustn’t love your—”

Breathing perhaps a bit more harshly than he had before, Wriit caught the suitor’s wrist in his hand, and held it in place. They stood frozen until the music came to an end, at which point Wriit threw his hand down and turned on his heel to stalk out. The suitor cried after him to wait with a meaningless apology, but Wriit did not look back.

The hallways darkened as soon as he exited the luxury of the amethyst ballroom. Only silence crept out from behind the door as the court realized that the heir to the throne had walked out on them. He could hear a servant rushing after him, no doubt to bring him back to his sister’s throne where his father would berate him and his mother would smile that knowing smile of hers. Wriit slipped into a side passage and before the servant could find him, he vanished into the bowels of the palace.

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (1)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up  tags: paranormal investigator, youtuber phil lester, dan howell is not a youtuber, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.2k (this chapter & total) summary: Phil's got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story. Bingo squares: met on tumblr

new wip? NEW WIP.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

The wind is loud in this one. That's frustrating, and it makes Phil's job a lot harder, but he can't control the weather. Be cool if he could. He does his best to level out his voice and the background noise of Mother Nature before he settles in with his good headphones and really cranks the volume.

It's even more annoying to listen to the alternating crackle and whistle right in his ears. Phil has dealt with worse during this whole process, though, so he finds the strength to power through it. He listens to the full thing three times, scribbling a few timestamps down on a Post-It pad as he does. He takes a break after that, does some stretches around his tiny bedroom and tiptoes out to get a snack without waking the whole damn house, and then he's right back in his apparently ergonomic office chair to subject his ears to more of this nonsense.

Wind, wind, and more wind. And sometimes just Phil's own voice. Nothing of note.

Phil is about to give this video up as a loss altogether when he hits one of the final timestamps and... can't figure out what that noise is.

For the first time since he opened this file, Phil grins. He exports the clip and plays around with it in Audacity. Some videos are always more fun than others, and Phil had felt like he was slogging through this one until now.

"Do you hear that, Theodore?" Phil murmurs. The tiny cactus on his desk, thankfully, does not respond.

It sounds like a person. It sounds like a person, whispering, and it definitely isn't the wind, and it isn't Phil's own voice, because he's in the middle of a question in this clip.

Phil might just be going crazy from sleep deprivation or wishful thinking, though. He pulls out his phone and texts the only group chat that doesn't cause him anxiety, which is comprised of the housemates that he actually gets along with. Anyone up? he asks, adding a single eye emoji for good measure.

Even though it's gone two in the morning, he gets immediate responses from all of them. A string of vaguely dirty emojis from Chris, a simple yeah from Sophie, and a cheerfully morbid did you know that insomnia leads to an early death? from PJ.

Wanna listen to a noise for me?

Within three minutes, Phil's bedroom is full of people in various states of sleepiness. All of them are in ridiculous pyjamas - including Phil - and PJ's hair in particular has taken on a mind of its own. Phil's room isn't really big enough for all of them, so there's some awkward shuffling before PJ claims the office chair. Phil sits at the foot of his bed with Sophie and Chris on either side of him, pressed close against each other's shoulders. It's a good thing he likes these people.

"I mean, it isn't the wind," is PJ's confident opinion. "Did you have anyone with you?"

"No, it's just me and my camera against the world," says Phil.

"No need to be a twat," Chris informs him. He taps at PJ's upper arm, impatient. "Let me have a go, then, if there's something there."

Chris is famously bad at hearing things in white noise, but PJ acquiesces the seat easily enough. Phil laughs, watching them do a weird step dance around each other in the small space between Phil's bed and desk.

"I can't hear any specific words," PJ says as he flops down across Phil's pillows, making himself comfortable. Phil just nods, because neither can he.

"How d'you know it's a person, then?" Sophie asks. Her voice is probably the only one soft enough for the hour. Their other housemates hate them for their frequent all-nighters, but Sophie is kind and quiet enough that she slips under the radar.

"You'll see for yourself."

When Sophie goes to respond, Chris interrupts in a hilariously loud voice, as if he's forgotten that having headphones on doesn't mean they can't hear him. "It's some kind of ghoulie or ghostie! I can barely fucking hear it, Philly, why didn't you mic it?"

"Why didn't I mic the ghost?" Phil asks, bewildered. Naturally, Chris doesn't hear him.

Sophie taps Chris on the shoulder and stands, leaning over his shoulder as she takes her turn listening to the sound clip over and over. Chris spins in the chair a few times and gives Phil an unhinged sort of grin.

"You got something this time," says Chris. He sounds like he's having just as much fun as Phil is, now that there's actually a thing to listen to besides his own voice and the loud, loud wind.

"I think so," says Phil. "Why didn't I mic the ghost?"

"I'm saying it would make your job a lot easier if you mic the ghost, yes."

"If I could mic a ghost, I'd be a millionaire."

"Then you better get on it, eh?" Chris laughs, spinning a bit faster. Phil has never seen the man sleep. It's a little bit worrying.

"Sure," Phil says, giving up on trying to teach any logic to someone who's clearly long lost their hold on it. "Next time I spend all night in a graveyard, I'll mic any spirits that might be hanging out."

"Shut up," Sophie tells them, mild.

Chris mimes zipping his lips, wrapping an easy arm around her waist, and PJ laughs.

For the first few months they all lived together, Phil had struggled to keep up with whatever dynamics were going on between the three of them, but he's long since given it up as something he's not going to understand.

After a moment of quiet, Sophie nods. "I hear it," she tells them. Even with the headphones on, she's quiet. "It's not words, I wouldn't put any subtitles over it."

"Yeah," PJ agrees. "Just let your audience duke it out in the comments like they always do."

"Thanks, guys," Phil says, feeling a sort of warmth sink into his shoulders. He notices that Chris is pulling up another application and half-heartedly protests. "Chris, you don't need to edit this one for me. I still haven't paid you for the last video." Or the one before that. Or the three or four previous. Phil has it written down somewhere.

"Don't be stupid," Chris hums, already clicking around erratically. It makes the editor in Phil want to scream, but he has to admit that Chris manages to find more weird visual stuff to isolate than he could on his own.

"I feel bad," says Phil, chewing his lip.

"I've told you," says Chris, "you can pay me back in chores and sexual favours."

PJ's slippered foot knocks against Phil's hip, and he grins brightly when Phil turns to him. "You know, I do have a bit of a laundry backlog."

"Funny thing, that," says Sophie.

Biting back a laugh, Phil shakes his head. "Alright, alright. Everybody leave their laundry in front of my door tomorrow."

"That's a no on the beej, then?" Chris asks, raising a single eyebrow and pointing dramatically at Phil. It has been near two years of this, and Phil is still too afraid to ask if it's a joke.

It's not as if Phil's answer would change if it wasn't a joke, because he's not interested in Chris, and he's especially not interested in becoming entangled in whatever nonsense his housemates have gotten themselves into. But, still, he might be kinder about letting Chris down if he were being genuine.

"That is a no," Phil confirms. "But I will wash your pants."

"Kinky," says Chris. He turns back to the screen and makes an incomprehensible hand gesture. "This is pretty shit. You know that, right?"

Yeah. Phil does know that. It's getting harder and harder to have the same optimism in every video that he'd had when he first started recording his wanderings around the supposedly-haunted places of Rossendale. He'd brought the camera with him when he left, but might have left that optimism behind. Phil only kind of believes in supernatural things - the way he only kind of believes in giraffes or true love - but it's been more fun than anything else to pick up a camera and try to find some evidence.

He's been doing this since he was nineteen, though, and he's getting a little bored by the formula of it all. Go into a haunted place, try to communicate with the spirits, pick up some garbled words or creepy noises, highlight visual oddities like orbs, and let the internet tear it all to shreds. Honestly, he'd have more fun making proper horror at this point in his life.

Phil shrugs and pulls his knees up to his chest. He wants to hide away from the sympathy in Sophie's eyes, from Chris' blunt words. "Yeah. I'm getting kind of... I don't know. Restless."

"Maybe you should ask people to submit things again," PJ suggests. "That went well last time."

It had, actually. Phil had needed to sort through a lot more ridiculous stories and obvious hoaxes than usual, but he'd found some nuggets of gold in all that hay. Or however that saying goes.

"People did like having their stories read out," Phil says slowly. "I'd just need to be extra sure that nobody's, like..."

"Ripping off r/NoSleep," says PJ.

"Yeah, exactly."

"We can help," Sophie says, and Phil could cry at how easily PJ and Chris agree with her.

He really doesn't deserve to have such great people around him. They've got work and lives of their own, but they're always happy to spend time crowded around Phil's computer listening to weird noises together. Phil sometimes wonders what they get out of it. Do they just like helping him, the way he has fun holding the boom for PJ's films or testing Sophie's concoctions? Or are they just as fascinated as Phil by the weirdness of it all? Do they want to see the cool instances of paranormal activity, too? At this point it feels nearly impossible to ask.

"That's going to be a lot of washing pants for me," Phil sighs. He doesn't know how to thank them, not when they always just wave it off.

"Sure is," says PJ. "But you should... ask the audience!"

"Your Chris Tarrant is pretty good," says Phil, only a little surprised by it. PJ's voice is as much of a tool to him as the rest of his body, and it's one he's always been skilled with. The impressions still tend to catch Phil off guard sometimes.

PJ tips an invisible hat. "Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week."

At his friends' not so gentle encouragement, Phil makes a few posts on his socials to ask his followers for new creepy things to explore. It might be the middle of the night in Brighton, but he has a feeling that Chris isn't leaving his desk until he's found every instance of an orb or strange shadow in the fifty minutes of currently uncut footage.

It seems like Sophie is on the same page, because she excuses herself to make tea for everyone. PJ leans over Chris' shoulder and watches the clips without sound, his lips moving as if he's murmuring to himself.

Sometimes this feels more like a group effort than Phil is comfortable with. He's never been very good at asking for help. As grateful as he is, he still itches with the need to take back control of the situation. He uses the slow trickle of fan submissions to distract him from that feeling, because all three of them do make his videos better when he stops being so possessive over his footage. Phil flops onto his back and scrolls through the incoming emails, tweets, and Tumblr messages to see if there's anything promising.

For the most part, the answer is a resounding no. Some things are blatant lies - there are countless ripoffs of films or novels that Phil happens to be familiar with, a few things swiped from creepypasta or subreddits, and his usual amount of conspiracy theorist fans insisting that some high profile person or other is a lizard - but most of it, to Phil's dismay, just doesn't grab his attention the way he wants it to.

Sophie comes back with tea and snacks. She leans her head against Phil's shoulder and watches him cycle through his apps, fact-checking idly and sighing every time something easily proves to be a hoax. Her hair smells like coconut and she makes a soft humming noise every time she lifts the mug to her lips. Her presence alone, small and warm and supportive, is enough to keep Phil from throwing his phone across the room and having a right sulk about how his career is in a tailspin because nobody makes ghosts like they used to. At some point in the night, Sophie's breathing evens out to the point that Phil thinks she's asleep, but then she reaches out to tap a tiny finger to his screen.

"What's this, then?" she murmurs.

Phil has been zoned out entirely for at least fifteen, and he blinks back into reality. There's a new message in his Tumblr inbox, one that seems like it must be over the character limit for asks. He must have submissions turned on or something, that's the only possible explanation for an actual essay being sent to him. It's barely broken into paragraphs with very little punctuation and no capitalization, and Phil has been staring at screens for far too long to try and parse this on his own.

"Can you please make sure this isn't, like, the entire Bee Movie," Phil asks, handing Sophie his phone with only a slight twinge of anxiety. He trusts her not to go snooping, but. Still. "I need to pee."

"Mhm," Sophie hums, already apparently lost in whatever stream-of-consciousness has been dropped into Phil's inbox.

The floorboards in this old Brighton house creak, and Phil has always envied some of his housemates for being able to sidestep the noises. It doesn't seem to matter how long he lives here, how much he tries to avoid making any noise, it's like the floorboards are determined to creak under Phil's weight. He winces as he passes two bedrooms whose occupants surely don't appreciate creaking outside their doors at such an ungodly hour.

At least he doesn't run into any walls this time. The nightlight in the bathroom at the end of the hall is the only thing lighting Phil's way, and he tends to stub his toes on absolutely nothing in this kind of semi-darkness.

When he makes his - very, very creaky - way back to his own room, he's bewildered by the scene that greets him. PJ and Chris have joined Sophie on his bed, and all three of them are poring over Phil's phone as though they're looking at a map to the Holy Grail.

"Hello," Phil says slowly, closing the door behind him. It creaks, too. "You aren't going through my pictures, are you?"

"No," Sophie and PJ chorus without looking up.

"You got nudes on here or something?" Chris asks with a mild sort of interest, clearly also too engaged in Phil's phone to put his all into the flirting.

"I don't," says Phil. It doesn't sound convincing, even though it's true, and he waits for Chris to tease him about it some more. When he doesn't, Phil has to admit that he's curious. "So I guess it isn't a meme or something?"

That makes them look up, in almost comedic synchronicity. Sophie blinks a few times, as if she's coming back to herself. She holds out Phil's phone and shakes her head.

"It's not a meme," she says. "And near as we can tell, it's genuine."

Phil joins them and takes his phone back, adjusting his glasses. His bed really wasn't made for four people, but his housemates have never had any personal space amongst themselves, and Phil isn't one to say no to human contact when he isn't getting it anywhere else.

The message is just as hard to read as it was at first glance, but Phil puts his brain to work. If his friends are reacting like this, it usually means he's in for something good.

hi ok so the thing is that this is completely ridiculous and i dont think its what youre looking for at all but theres a building near my uni thats got a ton of stories around it and it only started happening like this year like it isnt an old obviously haunted type of place but theres a lot of weird shit that goes down there so i found all the references to it online that i could and ive summarized them here (w/ sources ofc im not a dick) and its all just this side of strange so it seems like the sort of thing you might be interested in ok here we go SO

And it goes on like that. Phil feels his eyebrows raising as he clicks the provided links in the following walls of text, which are exactly what they're advertised as. Not a single rickroll in there. Just a handful of posts on Reddit and Facebook and independent blogs about various experiences people have had with a particular abandoned building in -

"I know this place," Phil says, surprised. He looks up at PJ's grin, Sophie's wide eyes, Chris' palms rubbing together in exaggerated interest. "I've been to parties here. Well, okay," he corrects himself before his friends can do it for him, "I've gone with Martyn to parties here and left early."

"Yeah, it isn't far out of Manchester," PJ hums. He bounces in place a bit, like he's suddenly energized enough to go jump on the soonest train up north.

"It didn't seem that weird," says Phil. "It's been a few years, I guess, but it wasn't even that scary."

"Sounds like it's only just started, though," Chris pipes up.

Phil isn't sure how much he likes that. The idea of a place he's been a few times, half an hour from his childhood home, being so suddenly full of haunted activity feels... weird. Still, it's catching his interest in a way that nothing else has in months, so.

"I'll look into it some more tomorrow," he decides, glancing at the time. His brother is probably still awake, to be honest, but Phil doesn't want to be that guy asking 'hey, do you remember the Wilkins place?' before dawn has even broken. Again. He has definitely done that sort of thing in the past. "I'll have plenty of time while I do, what, seventeen loads of laundry?"

"Something like that," PJ laughs. "Want us to clear out?"

As nice as the company and help has been, Phil still feels a rush of relief at the concept of being left alone again. He nods, still scrolling idly through the Wilkins place submission.

It hits him, very literally, too close to home to ignore. He wonders if his fan knows that, if this is somehow an elaborate prank that will end up just wasting Phil's time, but he's too curious to leave it alone. He'll just have to ask around, see if anyone else has heard these murmurings.

Til then, maybe he ought to try and get some sleep. Phil's computer, still open on the editing software, tempts him.

Well. What's another couple hours at this point?

[maychorian]

Hey, so, i hope you're not bothered or annoyed by this, you can really just ignore me if you are... I just wanted to know if you could tell us about the future of yofa, bc I'm a shitty reader and too obsessed by your fic to sit and wait for the next chapter, although you're so amazing and super fast with the uploads. Like, is mcdaniels gonna play a role, or will tim have breakdowns or fights with the others, or anything else that would be okay to share? I'm really sorry for being like this

Ha, you're not annoying. I'm quite pleased to know that I have readers who are impatient for more, truly. The problem is that I don't really have answers for you, because I don't know. I've talked about this on my blog before, but I am very much a seat-of-the-pants kind of writer, or a gardener. I don't make outlines, because it's not fun for me to write like that. When I write a long, detailed outline, I lose all interest in actually writing the story, because it feels like I've already done it. It becomes work instead of play at that point, and fanfiction is very much my playtime.

I like to plant ideas and watch them grow, or dig the story up from the dirt of the subconscious like a big boulder (Stephen King's analogy for how he writes). One of my favorite writing quotes is about how writing a novel is like driving a car at night--you can only see as far as the headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way. I believe that's from E.L. Doctorow, and I don't know who that is, but I agree with that philosophy.

This has the downside of me having tons of WIPs that will probably never be finished, at least one in every fandom I've written more than a one-shot for. But the upside is that I have a lot of fun writing, and I go through the same emotional rollercoaster as my readers. I often feel compelled to keep writing because I want to know what happens next, just like you do.

That's also why I don't have an update schedule. That would require me to have, like, a backlog of chapters, or at least some idea of what's happening next. I tend to write a chapter over the course of three or four hours, give it a cursory reading for typos, and post it immediately. I usually only figure out what the next chapter is going to be about after cogitating on the last one I wrote for a few days. Right now, I'm thinking that the next chapter will be about Tim's friends visiting him at the manor, but I need to read more Young Justice before I feel comfortable writing Conner, Bart, and Cassie, so it might be a while before that chapter comes out. Or I could realize that something else needs to happen first, as has happened several times over the course of the story.

I do have...vague ideas about what might be up ahead in the future. Someday. Maybe. These ideas might or might not happen, or they might be in a different form by the time I get to them. I'll put them under a read more, just in case anyone wants to avoid even possible spoilers.

Edit: Frigging heck, tumblr won’t save the read more line. Whatever, if you don’t want to see possible spoilers, hit J on your keyboard now.

As for McDaniels, he will be returning to the story, but I'm not sure when. It might be at the end, as some sort of catharsis for Tim, or it might be in the middle as part of a plot complication. For now he's too much of a useful motivation for Tim to have anxiety and Jason to want to protect him, therefore keeping Jason in the picture when he might otherwise take off. The family and their allies will keep looking for him, and it's going to be a major frustration and source of friction that he's so hard to find. I definitely have a picture in my head of Tim going out in the city for the first time since the incident and thinking he sees McDaniels, then having an anxiety attack that Jason or someone else will have to comfort him through. That idea has been in my head since very early in the writing process, but who knows if it will happen.

Tim having breakdowns? Very probable. Fights? Maybe. Eventually he and Dick do need to work out the hurt between them. But Dick has promised to let Tim take the lead on that, so it will have to be on his terms, and I don't know when Tim will be ready for that conversation.

I have ideas about Damian. I'm thinking that Tim is going to be very bored, waiting for his body to heal enough that he can do things again. He can't even exercise until his ribs and knee heal up some, he can't swim with his casts, he can only type with one finger, and that kind of hurts...all he's going to be able to do for a while is sit around and watch TV or listen to Jason read to him, and that's going to get old, fast. So he might take an interest in Damian. Damian is puzzling, and Tim likes to solve puzzles. It remains to be seen whether or not Damian will appreciate the attention. Probably not.

But Damian's feelings are evolving, too. He hasn't been in prolonged contact with Tim...ever. And he has promised to be civil, as well. It's going to force them to find new ways to communicate, new ways to be around each other. Jason might also be helpful for bridging the gap there, since he spent time with the League and will probably understand Damian in a way no one else does.

Also, bored Tim results in Jason taking him on rides on his motorcycle. Great bonding. Tim likes to go fast.

Once the casts come off and the pins comes out, Tim's hands are going to be very weak and shaky. He's going to need a lot of therapy, and it's going to be frustrating and painful. Also: hand massages help. (Dick is also going to keep treating his back, trying to minimize the scarring from the whip marks. Because it really, really sucks for a teenage kid to have whip scars.) So they're all going to take turns massaging Tim's hands when they get cramped, and it's going to turn out that Damian is the best at it. Damian is going to be territorial about this, because it's something tangible he can do that is visibly helping, and as much of a brat as Damian is, he also has the heroic, helpful impulse as well. Once the dust settles and Damian and Tim are more like friends and brothers than they have been in the past, Damian will be just as protective of Tim as everyone else in this story. That's the end goal I have for them.

One thing that will happen relatively soon is Bruce enacting a Big Comfy Couch Protocol, or BCCP for short, in order to be a better dad to his children, all of whom have trauma of varying levels. When one of the kids is having a bad day, or feeling fragile, or suffering nightmares or flashbacks or what have you, or just needs their dad for whatever reason, all they have to do is tell Bruce that they need to activate BCCP, or BCC Protocol. Bruce will nod seriously, then set aside at least an hour in his schedule. And they will go sit together on a big comfy couch in a quiet room, just the two of them. It might involve cuddling, or talking, or just being together, whatever the kid needs. But it'll be just the two of them, no work, no books or movies, no distractions. Because Bruce needs to be very deliberate about connecting with and being there for his kids, and putting a structured protocol in place to make sure that happens is a very Batman thing to do.

Tim will probably drag Jason along for his BCCP time, because of the bodyguard thing. (And because Jason would never do it for himself, and Tim knows he needs it and is not even a tiny bit above manipulation to get his way or help other people.) Eventually they're all gonna like it, though.

And...that's pretty much it, so far. I think about this story a lot, so new ideas pop up and float away in my head all the time, but they're mostly about what's going to happen or might happen in the next chapter. Like, I imagined the conversation between Jason and Bruce going a bunch of different ways. Once I actually sat down and wrote it, though, it turned out differently than anything I'd come up with in my head before.

And that's why I like writing this way. It's always surprising. I let the characters go, and they do things I don't expect ninety percent of the time.

[jarienn972]

The Right Place - Chapter Nineteen and Epilogue

For anyone who has been following this fic, you’ll know it was last updated in early October, 2018 and while my plans were to finish it at that time, it ended up being exactly one week before my mother passed away and I just couldn’t get myself into the right mindset to complete it.  Then, a couple of months ago, the @csmarchmadness idea came along to help give us writers a little boost of confidence to finish those nagging WIPs and I decided to go ahead and tackle this story. (I’m a little late getting it posted today, but technically, it is still 3/22 here in FL as I’m posting)

I’ve loved this concept from the beginning as it took Emma out of her magical comfort zone to solve a real world crime, working alongside law enforcement colleagues in Portland, Maine.  As I did with the opening chapters, I tacked the epilogue onto the end of this chapter to provide a fitting bookend.  

This is the last installment of a nearly 80K word fic so it has honestly been a beast to write, especially since it ended up taking far longer to complete than I’d planned.  You can read the entirety of this story on AO3 or FF.net or find the earlier chapters here: Prologue/Chap1  Chap2  Chap3  Chap4  Chap5  Chap6  Chap7  Chap8  Chap9  Chap10  Chap11  Chap12  Chap13  Chap14  Chap15  Chap16  Chap17  Chap18   I’m also tagging my cheerleader, @hookaroo who has been looking forward to the final chapter of this fic for a while now! (edited to add Tumblr link to Chap 18 after I realized it had never been posted on Tumblr.  Oops...)

Saturday Morning – Portland Harbor

The tempest of the overnight thunderstorms had given way to a breezy, warmer Saturday morning. Hazy sunlight filtered through the window coverings of the McCallen's guest room as Emma was awakened by the persistent blip of notifications popping up on her cell phone, all of them informing her of the incoming text messages from Regina. According to the texts, Ursula would be waiting for them at the same Harbor front park at 9am with some updated news regarding her offer to return the Jolly Roger to her berth in Storybrooke's marina. While Killian wasn't keen on anyone else taking the helm of his beloved ship, he'd conceded to the basic fact that at the present time, he lacked the physical stamina to sail her back home himself.

Emma would have preferred another hour of sleep since it this was far too early on a Saturday morning by her opinion, but since they did have the drive home ahead of them, she begrudgingly swung her feet over the side of the bed. It wasn't a particularly long trip, but she still needed to be wide awake and she didn't want to get back too late. After nearly a week away, she was certain there would be a mountain of backlogged work awaiting their return. She noticed that Killian had already vacated his side of the bed, waking up before his wife to wander into the kitchen where McCallen had left coffee brewing for them and a note stating that he had ventured out the station to finish his paperwork from yesterday's major breakthroughs in the case.

Killian seemed a tad more upbeat this morning and even seemed to handle the walk from the parking lot down to the waterfront better, only needing to pause once to catch his breath. The Sea Witch was already waiting for them, scouting out a quiet bench away from the multitude of park visitors who were enjoying the pleasant start to what was shaping up to be a beautiful day.

"You're late," Ursula grumbled in greeting. "I thought you seafaring types were known for better timing?"

"My seafaring timing is as precise as ever," Killian replied, voice tinged with a hint of offense. "However, you should be aware that in this realm there's a thing called traffic."

"We would have called to let you know we were running a little late if we'd had a way to contact you aside from a conch shell," Emma reminded the witch.

"Cell phones simply aren't the most reliable where I come from," Ursula countered with a grin that Emma wasn't sure was intended to be jovial or sinister. "Anyway, I've made all of the arrangements to transport your ship as promised. My niece will not be allowed to interfere with the vessel's passage."

"May I ask what arrangements you've made?" Killian queried. "Who did you find to sail her or is the transport to be more of a magical variety? I prefer not to have someone inexperienced at the helm."

"I managed to round up a few of your remaining crew, led by your former first mate, Mr. Smee. It'll primarily be for show though as once it reaches open waters, I can push your little boat along a bit easier…" Killian frowned at her use of the term little boat in reference to his ship, but held his tongue.

"So, my ship should be back in the harbor by the time we reach Storybrooke?" Killian chose to ask instead.

"Should be. Your crew is on their way here as we speak. I managed to find a fisherman who was willing to bring them down here to retrieve the Jolly Roger, although you may need to round up some of those gold doubloons you have stashed to pay the man for his service."

"How generous of you to offer up my funds as payment," he quipped sarcastically, although he was secretly grateful for all Ursula had done. She'd already rescued him from a watery grave so having her assistance in returning his beloved Jolly Roger to her home port was truly going above and beyond.

"I assume you have plenty of funds hidden, pirate," Ursula responded while flashing a broad grin. "Anyway, I need to get out of here before this park gets any busier so that I can supervise the return trip. See you in Storybrooke, Captain."

"Aye," Killian responded with a nod and a smile as the Sea Witch turned to depart, leaving him wondering exactly how much gold she'd promised his crew. But as she began to stroll towards the water's edge, Killian recalled one additional thing he wanted to ask her. "Ursula?" he called to her before she was out of earshot, grateful when she turned to face him again. "One last thing, if I may?"

"And that is?"

"Would you have my crew sail a pass through the inner channel? Not too close to the harbor, but around this side of the islands so that I might see her off?"

"I suppose I could do that," she replied as she took a few steps back towards the Joneses so she wouldn't have to shout. "I would have to uncloak the ship though."

"For a few minutes, revealing the vessel should be fine. This far from shore, she may appear as merely an illusion to anyone who may catch sight of her," he offered, eager to garner even a momentary glimpse of his ship nearly a week after he'd left her abandoned offshore.

"I'll see what I can do. You may want to hang around the harbor for a while though," the Sea Witch suggested.

"Any idea of approximately how long it'll take?" Emma questioned. "We do still have the drive back to Storybrooke ahead of us."

"Give me an hour," Ursula stated, not waiting for Killian to offer his thanks as she departed without another word.

As they watched the Sea Witch vanish behind a pier, Killian dropped his weary body onto the bench before he collapsed.

"Guess we have a little bit of time to kill before we hit the road then," Emma chuckled before noticing the forlorn cast to his gaze when he stared out over the bay. "I know you'd rather be sailing the Jolly Roger back home yourself…"

"It's alright, Swan," he said with a faint sigh of disappointment. "In my current condition, I'm well aware that I lack the necessary strength and stamina to properly man the helm. I'd much rather that she be safely returned to port, even if not by my hand." She could hear the disparaging tone of his voice and decided to think of something to distract him.

"Well, I really don't want to sit here on a cold, hard park bench for an hour while we wait for your ship to appear. Can we go grab a doughnut or something? And how do you intend to see the ship from across the bay anyway?"

"I believe you have a set of of spyglasses – I believe you call them binoculars? Aren't they somewhere in the vehicle?"

"Uh, yeah, there's a set of binoculars somewhere in the back seat."

"Then those should be sufficient," he replied. "I do have to agree with you though that sitting here for an hour is probably not the best option. I know we aren't far from the ferry terminal so perhaps we might pay a visit to the shopkeeper? I'd like to let her know personally that I'm alright if it isn't too far out of the way?"

"I'm pretty sure it's only a few blocks down the harbor from here. I think Ms. Scott would be very happy to see you. Think you can handle the walk or would you prefer we drive?"

"I'm feeling far better today, but I still believe it would be more prudent to drive."

"Okay, then let's get back up to the Bug and we'll go see if Ms. Scott has the shop back open."

Ten minutes later, after the short walk back to the parking lot and a four block drive through busy weekend harbor traffic headed for the marina and ferry terminal, Emma parked her little yellow Volkswagen beneath the old service station overhang. Although there were lights on inside Scott's Mart, the Closed sign still hung in the window, but Emma noticed that it was now accompanied by a notice that the shop would be reopening Monday morning. Emma exited the car and strolled up to the entrance door, rapping forcefully on the glass to garner the proprietor's attention while Killian ambled slowly behind her.

"We're not open yet!" a female voice shouted from inside.

"Ms. Scott, it's Sheriff Emma Jones. I was here with Deputy McCallen a few days ago…" They heard some rustling from beyond the door and something akin to metal scraping against tile before the smiling face of Jean Scott popped up from behind the register counter. The shopkeeper's face lit up even more when she caught sight of the man in the black leather jacket standing behind Emma.

"Sheriff! My apologies for being so curt. Come on in!" Jean immediately unlocked the door and yanked it open for her guests, a mix of elation and gratitude expressed through her welcoming grin. "You're always welcome around here. Sorry it's still such a mess but I'm trying hard to get things straightened up and ready to get back to business. I know I owe you both a huge thanks. I heard from the other police officer – not the one who was here with you but the other guy… His name escapes me now…"

"Sgt. Haviland?" Emma offered.

"Haviland, yeah that's his name! He called me to let me know I didn't have to worry about Donovan Donleavy coming after my property any longer. He said there's a warrant out for his arrest, as soon as they can locate the slimy son of a bitch."

"Yeah, unfortunately it looks like he might have been tipped off somehow and slipped away on his boat sometime last night after the Toliver brothers rolled on him for having hired them to intimidate you, not to mention the kidnapping and stabbing of my husband," Emma explained.

"Well, when they find him, I hope they lock him up and toss away that damned key!" Jean exclaimed before turning her head toward Killian with a softening demeanor. "And you – I'm so glad to get a chance to properly thank you. If I'd have had any idea what those bastards planned to do… I don't think there are enough words in the whole English language for me to express my thanks. You may have truly saved my life that morning and I'm still mortified to think that it nearly cost you yours. I knew Donleavy was scum, but I had no idea he'd actually stoop this low."

Emma though she detected a faint blush creeping across her husband's cheeks as Jean Scott thanked him, but he was trying hard not to let it show. "It was the right thing to do, Milady," Killian assured her. "Neither of us knew that their nefarious plans went so far beyond robbery. I certainly must have had some luck on my side that morning, but the important thing is that the guilty parties are being held accountable and won't be able to harm you any longer."

Jean's head lolled to the side as she caught Emma's attention with a cheeky grin. "Is he always like this?"

"Pretty much," Emma replied, sporting a broad smile of her own as she watched the tips of Killian's ears redden as he flushed with an uncharacteristic embarrassment.

"How do I find one like him?" Jean sighed. "I'd love to have my own little British knight in shining leather." Emma found her husband's blushing even more endearing as he tried to brush off the compliment, realizing it was part of why she loved this man so much. Sure, he could be a total ass sometimes, but when the sweet, old-fashioned, chivalrous side would surface, she'd fall head over heels in love all over again.

"I don't know if there's a clone of him out there somewhere, but if I find one, I'll send him your way," Emma laughed. "For now though, we've got to get going. Now that the case is solved, we're finally heading home."

"Well, please have a safe drive back to your hometown and remember that anytime you're here in Portland, please stop by. It'll be coffee on the house! In fact, if you'd like one for the road, I'm pretty sure the pot is still hot. I've gone through plenty myself while trying to get this place cleaned up but there's more than enough to share. Would you like some?"

"I would absolutely love some coffee," Emma replied graciously.

"As would I," Killian said with a smile.

"Hang on a sec…" Jean scurried down a partially stocked aisle to her coffee shop counter and disappeared behind it. She popped back up a few seconds later with two tall paper cups of steaming hot coffee. "Either of you take cream or sugar?"

"No thanks," Emma replied. "We both take it straight."

Jean made her way across the shop to hand over the coffee cups to her guests. "Here you go. Hope it's not too strong for you."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Killian replied as he accepted her offering. "This wasn't at all necessary, but thank you."

"Anytime," Jean insisted. "Any time at all. I won't keep you from your drive home but I really do appreciate you stopping by. I'm so glad to see that you're alright."

"Good luck with getting your business back on track," Emma said as she shook Jean's hand before departing. "Hopefully things will go better now that there isn't a greedy developer breathing down your neck."

"Oh, there will be another," Jean chuckled. "It never ends around here, but hey, I know I'm in the right place for now. I'll manage."

Emma and Killian said their farewells to Jean Scott and had just started their drive back to the park when Emma's phone started ringing. Seeing that it was McCallen calling, she gestured for Killian to answer and as he did, he pressed the speakerphone button so that they could both hear the conversation.

"Hey, McCallen," Emma answered. "Sorry we missed you this morning, but we locked up before we left."

"I'm the one who should be apologizing," McCallen's voice responded through the speaker. "I had to run into the station this morning to finish up paperwork relating to this case and I was worried I might miss you before you headed home."

"Well, you haven't missed us. We haven't left Portland yet," Emma informed their friend. "Killian wanted to see Jean Scott so she could see he was alright and now we're on our way to the harbor front park so that he can see his ship off. The crew sailing it back to Storybrooke for us offered to make a swing through the bay."

"Alright then, can you hang around the park for a few minutes? I've got some new information you'll want to hear, but I don't want to deliver it over the phone."

"Oh, don't worry, we'll be there for a while. We still have about half an hour to kill before the crew sets sail," Emma explained.

"Oh, good," McCallen replied. "I can be there in about twenty minutes. I'd really like a chance to see that ship too."

"You'll see just how magnificent she is," Killian said proudly.

"If you can see it at all," Emma countered. "The ship is going to be clear on the other side of the bay and I have no idea whether or not my binoculars will be strong enough… You two can figure that out though…"

"Okay," McCallen chuckled. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

The stroll down to the waterfront from the parking area took a little longer this time but Killian had insisted on heading to the furthest pier where they would have the least obstructed view of the bay. There was still one barrier island that partially obscured the horizon, but Killian was certain that they would be able to see enough of the channel to get a decent glimpse of the Jolly Roger. He was quite certain of the route his crew would take and that it would provide a brief window as the ship emerged from the far side of the landmass, before she headed out of the bay and into open ocean.

A visibly exhausted Killian dropped his fatigued body onto an unoccupied bench near the end of the pier as Emma's phone buzzed with a message from McCallen asking where he might find them. She typed back their location and half-expected to see the young deputy arrive in full uniform. She found herself a more than a little surprised to see him approaching dressed in casual attire after he spotted them and waved from the boardwalk.

As McCallen got closer, Emma thought about how this inexperienced deputy had become such a pillar of strength for her this week. He'd been so involved from the beginning, eager to help her out in any way he could and always trying to learn techniques to help himself grow as an investigator. McCallen still had a lot to learn and of course, had some physical obstacles to overcome, but Emma couldn't help to think about what Jean Scott had said about being in the right place and how it applied to the deputy as well. What had begun for him as a seemingly routine case to identify a John Doe had blossomed into a multi-jurisdictional investigation of a corrupt land developer. While McCallen's role in the Donleavy case may have been minor, the deputy's name was forever attached to the investigation and it would likely make a huge impact on his career.

"Hi!" the deputy greeted them once he was finally within earshot. "I haven't missed anything, have I?"

"Not at all," Killian assured their young friend as he lowered the binoculars. "I've not yet caught sight of her but it shouldn't be long now."

"Don't worry," Emma added. "You'll know the moment he sees it. It's all he's talked about all morning."

"So, this is kind of a big deal, huh?" McCallen asked with a crooked grin, almost as a tease.

"She's been a huge part of my life," Killian replied. "In fact, she was my life for a very long time, before I met Emma." He failed to notice the way McCallen glanced at Emma with a look that seemed to ask Is he kidding?

"I think that what Killian meant to say is that he spent many years working on that ship before we met. He puts a lot of effort into keeping it ship-shape. But yes – sometimes I swear he treats that ship like a person…"

"It's a good thing she's not able to hear you speak such blasphemy," Killian feigned offense as his wife laughed it off.

"See - I share my husband with a ship," Emma chuckled, shaking her head. "Anyway, I know you didn't come down here just to talk about Killian's ship. You said on the phone that you had some new information to share with us? Is it news about Donleavy?"

"Well, yes and no…" McCallen began as he took a seat on the bench next to Killian. "We got a call this morning from the RCMP…"

"RCMP?" Killian interrupted with a confused query as he didn't understand the reference.

"Royal Canadian Mounted Police," the deputy clarified. "Sorry, I should have been more specific."

"It's alright," Emma insisted. "We usually just refer to them as the Mounties." She'd explain the reference further for Killian when they were alone.

"Oh, okay," McCallen continued. "As I started to say earlier, we, well, technically Sgt. Haviland received a call from the Mounties this morning letting him know that Donleavy's boat was located. Appears that it ran aground along the coast of Nova Scotia and by all accounts, was pretty beat up. Unfortunately, they found no sign of Donleavy. Haviland forwarded me a copy of the report. Guess he thought you'd already be back home if he didn't get in touch with you yet."

"I haven't looked at my email all morning," Emma confessed. "If he sent something there, I probably won't read it until we do get home – especially if it isn't giving us any whereabouts of Donleavy himself. At least we have an idea of where he escaped to."

"I do recall saying that he wouldn't get very far by sea," Killian reminded them. "The seas would have been far too rough for his minuscule craft. Even a sailor as experienced as myself wouldn't have fared well in that storm."

"Yeah, Donleavy was probably thrown overboard somewhere between here and Canada, before his ship crashed onshore," Emma suggested.

"There's still a remote chance he survived so the Canadians are going to continue their search to see if he turns up. They weren't entirely convinced that he'd survived either, but they're not giving up the search yet."

"Serves him right, if I do say so myself," Killian said with an eyebrow raised playfully. He lifted the binoculars to his eyes to survey the bay once again, scanning the horizon for a glimpse of the Jolly Roger. He stood as he caught sight of a set of familiar masts and sails materializing from beyond the inner harbor islands. "Ah, there she is!" he exclaimed with a huge grin stretching across his lips. "Such a thing of beauty…"

"Alright – you know I'm dying to get a look at this ship I've been hearing about. I mean, you've got the rings, the tattoos, the skull and crossbones pendant – there's definitely some kind of pirate obsession there so should I be expecting a pirate ship too?" Killian gave him a slightly nervous smile and Emma was practically biting her tongue as they both began mentally scrambling for a plausible explanation for the fact that Killian did indeed have have a pirate ship, and a marvel of one at that.

"Of course," Killian said as he offered the binoculars to the deputy and pointed to a distant location across the bay. "If you look out there to the northeast, you'll see her riggings just beyond that island." McCallen raised the binoculars and pointed himself in the direction Killian had indicated, his jaw dropping the moment he spied the tall ship on the horizon. He didn't know a lot about classical ships - he wouldn't have known a schooner from a frigate or a galleon, but this vessel looked like it could have sailed straight out of any pirate movie he'd ever seen.

"Wow! That's really your ship? It's definitely not what I expected, but seriously – you can sail that all by yourself?" Killian had to chuckle at the deputy's excited rambling.

"Indeed, I can," Killian replied proudly.

"That is so cool!" McCallen gushed, unable to contain himself. "What did you name your ship?"

"The J-…" Killian started to reply Jolly Roger, but something made him stop and reconsider, responding with the vessel's original moniker instead. "Jewel of the Realm."

"That's a really great name," McCallen told him as he passed the binoculars back to his pirate friend. "How did you ever come to own a ship like that?"

"Killian repairs and restores these old ships to keep them seaworthy," Emma jumped in with the most logical explanation she could determine. "And if you haven't noticed, he's a bit obsessive about his job."

"History deserves to be preserved," Killian stated, going along with Emma's lead. "And what can I say – I immerse myself fully into my work."

"Well, by the looks of it, you're very skilled at what you do! How do you manage to find the time as a deputy?"

"Don't have as much time as I used to so sailing has become more of a hobby now, but if you're ever in Storybrooke, I'd be honored to give you the full tour and a run about the harbor."

"I just might take you up on that one day, but since I have a tendency to get seasick, just admiring her from the dock would probably be enough for me," the deputy admitted with an embarrassed chortle.

"Well, my friend, if you ever want to try for your sea legs, my offer shall stand," Killian laughed as he raised the binoculars one last time to see if the ship was still visible but it appeared as though Ursula had already reactivated the cloaking. "Appears as though she has sailed beyond our purview."

"Oh, sorry… I'm guessing you're hoping to get back home around the same time as the ship?" McCallen wondered, not wanting to impede their plans.

"Yeah, that's sort of the plan," Emma stated as she glanced at her watch. "We definitely should get on the road soon, but Aaron, we really want to thank you for everything – for your help with the investigation into what happened to Killian... for opening your home to us. You've done so much more than you ever needed to."

McCallen's cheeks flushed as he tried to figure out how to respond to her gratitude. "Honestly, not many people have put as much faith in me as you did. I'm grateful to you for including me when you could have brushed me off in favor of letting Sgt. Haviland take over. I'm glad you didn't."

"You've got the instinct," Emma assured him. "You're going to be a great investigator."

"I guess we'll have to see how far a man with an artificial foot can get," McCallen said sullenly.

"As far as a man with an artificial hand can get," Killian insisted. "And that's as far as you desire."

Epilogue

Saturday Afternoon – Storybrooke

It hadn't taken Killian more than a few seconds after they'd exited the interstate before the gloved, wooden hand was discarded to the back seat in favor of his preferred attachment. Captain Hook was back and on his way home. By the time they passed the Welcome to Storybrooke sign at the edge of town, he was certain he could already smell the marine air again and began to imagine the sound of crisp sails flapping in the wind.

They finally parked in front of the Sheriff station nearly two hours after they'd left the Portland harbor and Emma was eager to find some lunch to appease her growling stomach. Maybe as anxious for food as her husband was to get to the harbor.

"Are you really sure you don't want me to heal you?" she asked as they climbed out of the Bug.

"For the last time, Love, I'll be fine. Aside from a few aches and pains – and a bit of general tiredness, I'm honestly alright. I assure you, if I change my mind, I promise, I will let you know."

"Okay, okay… I'm gonna call the family and see if they want to meet over at Granny's for lunch. I'm sure they'll all be looking forward to seeing you."

"Sounds good, but allow me a few minutes first?" he implored.

"I know – you're heading down to the harbor. Want me to drive you over?"

Killian smiled and shook his head with a subtle No. "I think I'd like to walk."

"Alright. If you aren't back in thirty minutes, I'll come looking for you."

The quarter-mile stroll from the Sheriff station to the dock was normally a brisk, five-minute walk for him, but today, it took a few minutes longer and he was clutching his chest tightly as he reached the gangplank. He pressed on with stubborn determination, pushing himself up the ramp and onto the deck of his ship. Reaching the helm, he leaned his aching body into the wheel to catch his breath, fully aware that he was not alone.

"Returned, safe and sound, as promised," he heard Ursula's voice call out from below the quarterdeck.

"Aye, thank you for your assistance. I do appreciate all you've done for me."

"You are one lucky pirate. Although I suggest you try to stay away from sharp, pointy objects for a while. One of these days, your luck will run out…"

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Killian said with a half-hearted chuckle. "Am I also to thank you for last night's events?"

"Afraid I've no idea what you mean," Ursula replied with a feigned innocence.

"Of course not," he grinned, lifting a knowing eyebrow at the Sea Witch. "Pardon my error, Love. Guess I should make my way over to Granny's pretty soon. Emma will send out a search party if I don't make it back. Why don't you join us?"

"As pleasant as an afternoon eating greasy diner food with the Charming family sounds, I'm afraid I'll have to pass. But as for you, I'm serious – watch your back, pirate. One of these days, you'll find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time and there won't be anybody around to save you."

He opened his mouth to reply, but she was already gone, leaving the words caught in the back of his throat. As much as he wanted to argue, Ursula was right. He belonged at Emma's side and that was honestly the only place he wanted to be.

Early Saturday morning – off the coast of Nova Scotia

It was late in the season for such a powerful Nor'easter and perhaps it was a foolhardy decision to be venturing out in such horrific weather but Donovan Donleavy preferred to take his chances upon the stormy seas rather than face the tempest that would be brewing at home if he hadn't run. He'd slipped out of the marina under cover of darkness before the authorities had descended. His sport fishing boat wasn't really designed for these conditions so he'd tried to remain as close to the coast as he could, but the howling winds and torrential rain kept blowing his battered craft further out to sea.

He was only a few miles off of the Canadian coast, estimating his position to be somewhere near the Province of Nova Scotia, but he was beginning to doubt he'd be able to reach a safe harbor. Rain lashed at the deck, making visibility near impossible as the ten to twelve foot swells pummeled the tiny boat. Donleavy clung to the wheel as long as he could until a towering, fifteen foot swell sent the vessel listing hard to starboard and it never recovered, capsizing in the cold waters of the North Atlantic.

He bobbed to the surface, struggling to keep his head above the waves as his arms flailed in futile attempt to grasp for anything that would keep him afloat. After a few minutes, he found his muscles tiring rapidly and he knew he wouldn't be able to tread water much longer. Of course, he still believed that drowning was far more dignified than the humiliation of watching his empire fall apart.

He was gradually giving in to the reality of a watery death when he felt something brush against his leg. Probably just a fish or a piece of debris from his boat he thought – until the offending object slithered its way up body and wrapped around his torso. While moments ago he'd conceded himself to drowning, suddenly Donleavy was in a panic as he recognized that he was being enveloped by a giant tentacle. He struggled only for a few moments, trying futilely to free himself as the tentacle constricted tighter - just before yanking him forcefully beneath the unforgiving waves.

[kuraiamore]

WIP List Game

tagged by @shiranuigenma​ ; in truth, I haven’t actively been working on any of my wips for over a month now, though I have been thinking that it’s about high time to get back into them, so this has come at a great time! All my love and thanks for the tag<3

(wip list + commentary + small snippets under the cut. sorted by fandom.)

(for the game, tagging: @first-quarter-of-the-moon @bombushuntii @mouseymightymarvellous @purple-possibilities and anyone with some wips they’d like to share :D )

GINTAMA WIPS

fly the hurricane a TakaZura fic, originally started for week 3 of the gintama fic fest. i can’t quite figure out its ending scene though, and since i can’t figure out its ending scene, i dont reeeeally know where it’s going, so it’s just kinda been.... sitting there...

“You should leave Edo.”

Well. He had expected something more along the lines of atonement or meditation—some sentimental journey of self-discovery following the likes of the old philosophical masters whose words Katsura always kept close to heart. There’s an odd curl of satisfaction in knowing his old comrade and once enemy could still be as pragmatically cruel as ever.

“And what will you do?” he asks. “Your head still has the same price on it as mine.”

of possessions and perversions, ch.3 not abandoned, don’t worry! working out the action + dialogue to get everyone where i want them to be is just taking a little longer than expected, sigh.

Zura. Gold eyes. Kiss. The tenma, body, quest—

He jerks upright, ripping the blanket off his body and throwing his head to the side hard enough for his neck to make a small crick.

Rumpled sheets. Tossed pillow. Empty futon.

He’s out the door and staring at Shinpachi and Kagura’s surprised faces before he even registers moving.

“Oi! Where’s Zura?!”

a little something to warm the heart something i started writing to work through my feelings surrounding Gintoki, Katsura and Ikumatsu during the Homeless arc. ironically made my feelings even more muddled, lol.

When Katsura says nothing, Gintoki begins to ramble.

“Think about it. Even your shitty tastes won't ruin Ikumatsu’s business. You could settle. Hell, get hitched, have kids, I'll be the crazy uncle. We'll have shitty dinners once a month plus New Years, Christmas, birthdays, Valentine's day, and special occasions. You can never have too much ramen, it's like a national treasure, eat it every season.”

It's Katsura’s turn to snort.

“You just want free food don't you?”

hearts don’t have to be broken to hurt (and sometimes healing hurts more than the break) a HijiZura fic that I work on in between other smaller wips and possessions whenever the urge strikes. will i ever finish the first chapter? i am going to damn well try.

There’s not a flutter of wind in the air; it’s a perfect, still night.

In the stillness, he hears the soft pad of footsteps heading in his direction long before the shadows meld into the shape of a man, walking across the bamboo porch with sure, even steps.

A pair of surprised faces meet, before a soft smile crinkles the corner of hazel brown eyes.

NARUTO WIPS

chatoyance an InoSaku modern AU that was inspired by a story my friend told of meeting a French heiress to a jewellery company whilst on her travels. couldn’t help myself - Ino just demanded to be a Franco-Japanese heiress who goes on exchange to Tokyo and finds and falls in love with the most beautiful cherry blossom ever.

They talk mostly in Japanese, scatterings of French and English when some things just don’t translate. Ino switches between languages the same way she switches outfits: furiously, carelessly, and with the kind of unapologetic confidence Sakura thought only ladies in Hollywood movies possessed.

that MadaKaka one I never came up with a title for, part 3 you know that MadaKaka fic I wrote waaayyy back when where Madara freaks out over Kakashi’s forearms? yeah, that one. i’ve been trying to write the next part of that for... like 8 months now? 

“It's an Uchiha thing, right?”

A second of stupified silence.

“What?” he asks, eloquently, when he realises that Kakashi is waiting for a response.

“The touching thing. You Uchihas like to touch.”

two more MadaKaka smut oneshots (hopefully <1k) that I started and would like to finish just so I can move them into the ‘completed’ folder

Madara is tight, so tight Kakashi amuses himself with the thought of being the Uchiha’s first, though that could hardly be the case with the way Madara sinks down without pause or hesitation, hair thrown back and throat bared.

&

It’s ironic, really, that only when Kakashi is silenced is he willing to make noise.

Fingers trail down a cotton-covered jaw, sweeping down neck and over collarbone to rest on shoulders. Kakashi tilts his head back at the touch, humming slightly.

“Are you sure?”

THE HOBBIT//LOTR

just another post-BOTFA barduil fic okay, so I haven’t actually started writing this yet, but it’s been on my mind ever since falling back into the lotr fandom (if you’re wondering why i’ve been neglecting my own fics for the past month, that is why) and turning into thranduil trash. i just want a proper slow burn romance where Thranduil feels in-character to me, cause as much as I enjoy fandom!Thranduil’s fabulousness and sexy dom attitude, I think there’s a midway point between book!Thranduil and movie!Thranduil where the complexities of his character and history would really shine, and I really want to find and explore it. also woodelf culture and generally exploring inter-elf culture and elf-man-dwarf politics! i currently have 1.5k of scene outlines and notes and much excite :D

aaand that’s probably the wip list for the year, knowing my slow writing pace! hopefully i’ll manage to get some, if not most of them complete, cause i have a backlog of other scattered wips and fic ideas i would love to see come to life. *prays fervently to the writing gods and goddesses*

[frogsandfries]

Studio Talk

So just earlier today I was feeling a little frustrated, which feels like kind of a normal occurence. I was frustrated because I have this loaf of bread

that's just been sitting in my box for several days (I forget offhand when I finished it). So add this to the list of charms that I'm not making any progress on.

I also have the chocolate and strawberry yellow cakes sitting in my ready-to-bake box. They're starched and separated by a layer of foil, but it annoys me that at this moment, my backlog of WIP is so deep, cutting these "canes" would just create more mess, clutter and chaos in my workbox.

Also, I'm this close to picking out all those little bits of clay that are absolutely just leftovers and pretty much serving no function or purpose and organizing them into a single lump. Also, I need to procure a good dish to throw those scraps into. Something with a lid that would be easily lined with foil. I just want to tame the chaos.

Stupidly, I have a lot going on:

I have eleven totoros in various states of finish (I had so much extra clay from mixing more, I made another to avoid wasting too much). I also decided it was a great idea to make my ten catbuses concurrent to procrastinating making new totoros. Then of course, it was just easier to make all those teacups and terracotta pots instead.

Well, the pottery itself is all finished. So of course now I have to finish those totoros, right? Haha, maybe. Or maybe I'll ignore them completely, in favor of just working on the catbuses, which are actually taking some serious work.

Seriously guys, these catbuses are on another level. I must've been possessed when I thought it was a good idea to make ten, even if ten is my baseline unit. I'm telling you, I'm making a new price bracket for these fuckers. They're intensive.

Also, once I've finished all the breakfast stuff, cut the bread and cakes, finished the totoros and catbuses and rice balls--everything I'm working on right now--right now, I only have literally two ideas left in mind: I'm angry that I lost those s'more books, and I also don't have enough s'more dangles. The other idea is bath tokens.

After that, my mind keeps immediately skipping to making some characters.

I'm also nearly done sculpting Amethyst, who has turned into more of a keychain than a pendant, but heavy or not, I would still wear her as a pendant. I spent too goddamn much time on her to let her get banged around by my keys.

I know I have those Princess Tart charms, but I kinda want to play with some Disney or storybook characters, maybe also some anime characters. I'm going to stick with my rule of making ten, just as I intend to try to do as long as I can when I start to take commissions. As for that, I don't know how that would work. I wouldn't force a customer to order ten of the same charm, and if it's more of a bespoke item, I wouldn't make ten like, "married 10/20" charms. Maybe it would be more like, if the customer ordered a turtle with galaxy shell and initials, I would make ten turtles but only one would have the shell pattern (unless I used a cane, maybe, or maybe other items in my shop would show up with galaxy pattern for awhile).

In other news, I'm approaching 100 followers on Instagram, so I'm thinking about giving away either a s'more book or a large totoro. I'm also looking for new ways to expand my social media reach.

Maybe tomorrow, I should knuckle down and finish those totoros. Even if I complete half of them now and just detail the other half now and complete them later, as long as I can get all of them out of my work box. I'll just have to be more patient about the catbuses; those really are demanding. I think I'm also going to have to bake them several times: The first bake is to lock in the arch of the roof, the side stripes and the rough legs. The second bake may just be for the finished legs, but I may be able to add maybe the roof/back, maybe the detail on the sides. The third bake would be for all those details, if I couldn't make it from the second bake; if I could, then for the head and tail. If not, obviously those might come on a fourth or even fifth bake.

Right now, getting those cake and bread slices finished is pretty high on my list, although honestly, as I'm getting so close to being done with Amethyst, I really just want to clean out all the old work. I think my Deadpool chibi with unicorn (and since I'm doing multiples, I guess I have to do at least five with no unicorn) will go over really well, so I should get around to making more unicorns. That should be my actual focus, just clearing out all the old work--especially so I can clean out my box, maybe change the foil; probably definitely wrap up all those scraps. Maybe I should turn some of my scraps into sprinkles. The browns and greys...... Maybe I can turn the greys into "granite" powder and make rocks and stones for fairy doors. With some consideration, the browns could be made into lumber. It could actually be fun to make each brown into a separate board and set them aside until I have enough boards and stones. I'm also just baseline trying to be more thoughtful when mixing colors, so I don't have massive color waste.

Even though--oh yeah, I wanted to make some donuts when I've cleared some chaos, but also, I wanted sprinkles. So I do need sprinkles now; I don't want to wait until I've cleaned up a bunch of scraps to have enough.

Anyway. I have plenty--more than enough--to tackle for the next couple weeks at least. And I'll probably go off distracted on some idea that popped randomly into my head in that time.

[jkoorsjr]

Real examples of pull-based systems

Have you ever tried to find a way to explain exactly how pull-based systems work, how queue’s develop and what work in progress really means?  Well you don’t have to look far to explain this phenomenon.  

Just go into your local restaurant and you will see this at work and some of the best restaurants use this process so well, it’s part of what makes their customer service a HUGE success.  

So you walk through the door of a busy and hoppin’ restaurant and approach the hostess stand where she kindly tells you, it will be a 30-45 minute wait.  Hence the queue-ing system has begun.  You see, I used to work at restaurants and thought maybe that would be my career.  So I know how this works.

To maximize the customer experience, you want to visualize the capacity at which your best and worst servers can handle and seat them accordingly.  Generally your average server can handle around 12 people maximum before being what is called, “in the weeds”.  (Industry term for, in over your head)  

So what suffers when you put a server “in the weeds”, CUSTOMER SERVICE.  So you see this at play in every restaurant, however you have that occasional server who is exceptional and can actually handle about 20 people, but for the most part, you set your WIP limit for the servers to handle 3, 4-top tables.  Now, to get back to how this queue-based and pull-based system works.

Lets take a restaurant on a busy night that has 10 servers at full capacity and say 2 of those servers calls in sick at the last minute.  You now have 8 servers, but the restaurant isn’t going to be any less busy.  So management has a decision to make, stretch 4 or 5 servers by giving them an extra table to handle, or block off a section that won’t be seated and give 2-3 of your best servers an extra table to minimize damage to customer service.

Have you ever been to a restaurant where you had to wait for a table and could blatantly see open tables and get highly frustrated that they just don’t seat you there.  Well, this is why!  They have fallen short and would rather you wait an extra 10 to 15 minutes before they “pull you in” to a server that has a set limit of capacity where they can give you a high degree of focus with a high degree of customer appreciation and satisfaction.  

Let’s say you were waiting and you argued enough that the manager finally just sat you at the extra empty table and ignored the capacity of their servers.  You get sat and sit there for 5 full minutes without even getting your drink order taken.  Finally, they take your drink order and you wait another 5 minutes just to get your drinks.  Your server says, “I’ll be right with you, I just need to attend to this other table real quick.” as some customer is over there rattling ice in an empty cup at the server.

Your server returns another 5 minutes later and takes your order.  As this server is passing his/her 4 other tables, he/she is getting bombarded with requests.  Now this same server totally is sidetracked, forgets to put your order into the system (another pull/queue based system by the way) and returns to your table.  You are getting a bit irritated and ask, “How long before our food will be ready.” OH SNAP.....

The server totally remembers he/she forgot to put your order in.  The server rushes back to the kitchen, totally running passed the 4 tables all the while, customers are barking more requests and orders.  The server enters the order into the system and yells to the kitchen, “I need this on the fly!!!”  More restaurant lingo for “I messed up, help me out quick!”

Now, not only are the customers getting angry, but this server is now making the kitchen workers angry.  Just to think, this mess if far from over.  By the time you have eaten a messed up meal that took way too long, the restaurant manager now has to visit your table, compensate part or the entire check and give you vouchers to come back for a free meal.  The result of ignoring a WIP limit = angry customers who many never come back, angry kitchen who now have animosity for this server, restaurant just lost a bunch of money, bad reputation for the restaurant and a manager who is also not happy.  Was it really worth demanding to be sat at the table and was it really worth the manager ignoring the known capacity of his/her servers.

Ideally, the restaurant sticks to this capacity and you wait in what is called, “the waiting area” or in our business we call this the “ready to work” backlog.   Our devs are the servers, the qa is the kitchen.  When customers are finished, they leave, the table is cleaned by a busser, the hostess is notified and you are pulled into the empty table where a server has capacity to handle you and give you the best service possible.  This keeps the continuous flow, as this server has a routine, this routine and flow goes into the kitchen and seamlessly out comes a quality product, happy and full customers and the cycle continues.

By now, you can see how this works.  I was in a restaurant out in LA one time and I was waiting for an hour.  I watched person after person arriving after me and getting sat before me.  I was getting angry to say the least, then I started really paying attention.  These people were pulling up in Ferrari’s, Lamborghini’s and Bentley’s.  Then they tip the valet a big chunk of change to “take care of their car” ($100 a pop by the way), then they’d walk in, go to the hostess and lean in, slide them some greenbacks and say, “just let me know how long I have to wait?”

The hostess kindly smiled and said, “I’ll see what I can do!”

Hmmmm... I came there with my mom in a Dodge mini-van, we didn’t do valet, rather self park and by no means did with drop that hostess $100-$200 to jump the line.  Wait, that is not jumping the line.  That is a lesson for another story called “value based prioritization” - You know where I was prioritized!