#touched it up today and I think it’s passable

[ellohcee]

Day 10: nocturnal

[syndrossi]

October Trick or Treat Fill #9: Jon getting his hair braided

At long last, the "Jon gets his hair braided" prompt, which I think I wrote either first or second, gets its day! This takes place fairly close to the current chapter, as far as time-frame.

x~x~x

“When do I get to see?” Jon asked, hands folded in his lap to keep from touching or fidgeting.

Helaena had begun braiding a good twenty minutes before, humming quietly to herself throughout, halting only to answer the occasional question Jon asked to fill the silence. He didn’t have nearly as much hair as she or Rhaegar did, so he would have expected it to take no more than a few minutes.

The humming stopped. “Do you want to go?”

The trepidation in her voice made him regret asking. She had been so excited when he’d offered at supper last night, and even more thrilled when he had come calling upon her today at the end of her lessons with the septa. Jon would guess she had few visitors, even amongst her family.

It is not just our uncle. Aegon and Aemond think of her as both a girl and a baby. Daeron is too young. It is likely just her, her nurse, and occasionally her mother.

“No, I like it here.” He took a slice of raw carrot from the plate she had shyly asked her nurse to fetch from the kitchens. “Thank you for the carrots. Did Rhaegar tell you that I like them?”

“No. But Darra says that if you eat enough carrots, you can see in the dark.”

Jon grabbed another slice from the plate and held it up beside his ear. After a brief hesitation, Helaena took it, and he heard the loud crunch as she bit into it.

“What do you want to see in the dark?” he asked.

“Everything.” Helaena fell silent, hands pausing in his hair. “I don’t want to need a candle.”

Jon forced himself to remain relaxed so as not to alarm her. “No? Why not?”

“I’ll burn,” she whispered, so quietly he could hardly hear.

His instinct was to turn around and pull her into a hug, but he was still mostly a stranger, even though they were kin. Instead, he picked up another piece of carrot and offered it, then took one for himself, the quiet of the room broken by their chewing.

“I won’t let that happen,” Jon said.

“It won’t burn you,” she said, a statement rather than a question, and Jon wondered, alarmed, if Viserys had shared that knowledge with everyone or she had just overheard, as Aegon sometimes did.

“Me and Rhaegar will protect you,” Jon said, and her fingers began working again, nearing the bottom of his hair. “What about a lamp?”

She hummed in thought. “Lamps are safe. Their flame can’t reach.”

Although she could easily have meant that the flame was contained, Jon couldn’t shake the sense that she was speaking about the dragonglass candles in a roundabout way.

“Have you ever seen dragonglass?” he asked, keeping his tone even.

“Dragonglass?” The mixed curiosity and delight in her voice proved answer enough to the contrary. “No. Do dragons make glass? Can Shadow make glass?”

“I do not know,” Jon admitted. He had asked Samwell the same once, whether dragonglass came from dragons, and his friend had been unsure. The dragonglass candles themselves seemed worked in a way more like glassblowing than through carving. He wondered if Daemon might know. “It is a dark, shiny stone.”

“Like Shadow.”

“Like Shadow,” Jon agreed. The description hadn’t seemed to prompt any recognition, so he let himself relax, dismissing her words earlier as coincidence.

“Done!” she announced, tying off the last of her work with another ribbon—her eighth so far.

Jon was guided over to the mirror, and as he turned his head to various angles, he could see that each individual braid was more than passable—it was simply that there were eight of them, of varying degrees of thickness, sticking out at various angles from his head. He shook his head, feeling them pull at his scalp in unexpected ways.

“Thank you,” he said, forgetting himself and leaning to give her a kiss on the cheek.

She froze, and he pulled back, abashed, but although her eyes were wide, she did not look frightened or upset—just startled. Jon’s heart ached as he wondered how many times her brothers had ever done the same. “You like it?”

“I feel very secure,” he assured her. “If I must fight, I know my hair will not impede my vision.”

A well-timed knock at the door announced Rhaegar’s arrival, likely on his way back from afternoon training at the yard, and Helaena seemed unsure what to do with her sudden popularity, nodding silently at her nurse to allow him entrance.

“Princess Helaena,” Rhaegar said upon entering, bowing his head in greeting. “Thank you for—” His gaze had finally landed on Jon, and his expression stilled. “Oh. You braided Jon’s hair.”

“Do you like it?” she asked, face so hopeful that Jon prepared himself to glare Rhaegar into a polite answer.

It proved unnecessary. Rhaegar smiled at her, eyes dancing. “I think it suits him perfectly.” He went up to Jon, inspecting each braid. “You have mastered the triple strand. I can show you a four-strand sometime, if you like. We can practice on Jon together.”

Her gasp was audible, and she turned back to Jon, as though worried he might refuse. He raised a brow at Rhaegar and silently resigned himself to his fate. “Tomorrow, then.”

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Hello hello!!! I have another request for the Mutefemreader with ghost if that’s okay. She gets paired with him to spar because all the other soldiers already have their partners. And she’s just like 🥲”oh god.” But after a bit of sparring theres ✨Tension~✨

Thank you! Love ur work sm 🎊🎊🎊💞💞

Thank you! Hmmm yess I love this @thedevillovesflowers ❤️

Also so sorry for how this took thank you for being patient ❤️

Fiery Touch

Warnings: suggestive, tension, mdni (18+ just to be safe)

Words: 3.7k

Readers call sign is “Quiet”

I'm not good at writing action scenes yet lol

Dread and a bruised ego is definitely what you would use to describe the current feelings going through you at this moment. Those things combined together were enough to make you feel too exhausted to continue to train even though you started not even an hour ago. 

It was Price’s fault. You didn’t dare outwardly blame him but you couldn’t help but send him sharp looks from the corner of your eye across the training room as you stood with your arms crossed over your chest. You were waiting for Ghost, hoping that he wouldn’t show but knowing that the man never missed training even if he had been injured. 

Ghost was your training partner, or more like you were Ghost’s, but Price had paired you up more than enough times to make it so you were stuck together. On normal days it didn’t matter, you both spotted each other when you lifted weights and helped keep each other on task when exercising. He was surprisingly a good motivator and though he didn’t need your encouragement, you still gave it to him.

You two made pretty good partners and you had noticed that since you had been paired up together, you’ve gained some muscles. Ghost being a good workout buddy was just one more thing added to the list of things that you liked about him.

Today however, was not a normal day. Today you were doing something you’ve come to dislike since you’ve joined the task force.

Sparring.

You had been the best at sparring in your old regiment. No one could match your agility and your ability to always find a weak point in your opponent which may have made you a little too proud in your abilities. Now you felt like your skills weren’t even passable, almost being as bad as a rookie’s, and it was because of the man who finally walked through the doors of the training room.

Despite Ghost’s size, he was agile and quick on his feet enough to where it seemed like he had predicted your moves before you even thought about them. He had strength from the hulk of muscles and body mass he had which made his punches staggering. And worst of all for you, Ghost had no weak points.

You had tried everything to find it but there was nothing that would work. He deflected every try like swatting a fly away, like it was merely a minor inconvenience to him. He never reacted to your attempts and instead retaliated with his own ways of exploiting your weakness. He never failed to knock you down or to pin you to the mat which bruised your ego but fueled his.

You’d take your defeat in stride if it weren’t for the fact that he gloated when you lost. 

Not only did he rub it in your face with words but you could always tell he had a smug look on his face by the way he looked at you. He never tried to hide it and unfortunately for him his eyes were too expressive to even attempt that, though it seemed like he wanted you to see the way he looked at you. Proud, high off the strength he just displayed and so happy to remind you that you’ll never be as good as him.

It pissed you off and you knew that the reason you were always paired up with him was to get you to be better than you were.

“What’s with the look, sergeant?” Ghost wondered as he came up to you and that was when you realized you had been glaring at him. “We haven’t even started yet.”

“Just thinking about how I’m going to beat your ass.” You shrugged nonchalantly and he tilted his head.

There was a twinkle in his eyes that for anyone else could’ve been seen as condescending but you could tell that he was both equally amused and intrigued by your determination. His eyes squinted ever so slightly, a sign that he was smiling as he looked you up and down, slowly carving away at that false confidence with his burning stare.

Did he enjoy knocking you down a peg? You weren’t arrogant, in fact you rarely ever spoke about your abilities to anyone but it seemed like Ghost found happiness in beating you. 

Maybe he was competitive or maybe he was just teasing you. It could also be because he wanted you to get better but you never remembered to ask.

“Cheeky.” He stepped forward, pushing himself into your space as he looked down his masked nose at you. “But can you live up to those words?”

You stared up at him, your bodies close enough that you could see the way his chest rose and fell with each breath he took. You knew he was trying to playfully intimidate you, hoping that you take the bait and give him a little bit of banter to work with before you both started, but he was doing something completely different to you.

Ghost was big. Everyone knew this and it wasn’t hard to miss but being up this close to him was uncommon. You had never paid attention to the way he would sometimes wander into your space and stay there, looming over your shoulder from behind since you were so used to being around him already. But being face to face with him, so close that you were sure if you could see his face you’d be able to pick out the details of it really put into perspective just how big he really was.

The muscles in his arms were visible to you since he was wearing a shirt that had the sleeves cut off of it and was also rather tight fitting. While you could see muscles on his torso, you could tell that he was toned but still somehow kept a lot of the bulk from fat on his body as well. You could see some of the scars he had on his arm, the veins that ran across the very large muscles that he had gained from years of working. 

You couldn’t help but ogle at him despite the fact that Ghost was watching you. Ever since your first mission together, it was hard to ignore how your feelings had changed towards him and that came with how you saw him physically.

You weren’t sure what the feelings were, it was too early to tell. However, whatever it was, it was taking over your mind with…inappropriate thoughts about your lieutenant.

Sometimes you couldn’t help but think about how his hand fit perfectly into yours or how you really liked the way he looked at you as if he was seeing who you were, past the silence and the sign language. The hurt woman that he saw in the cabin, but it wasn’t bad, it was almost like he was acknowledging that he understood you.

And then there were the other thoughts, the ones that crept into your mind at the dark hours of the night when you were alone in your room.

You blinked them away before they even appeared and tried to regain your cockiness. 

“Fight me and find out.” You flashed him a smile and you saw his eyes bounce down to your lips for a split second.

“Get on the mat.” He demanded and you nodded.

You stepped on the mat, stretching your arms and shoulder as you prepared to put up a fight against your lieutenant. You were determined to win this time, to prove to your lieutenant that you were an excellent fighter and that it didn’t matter if he was larger than you or stronger. You belonged in the task force and even if he never made you feel unwelcome, you still felt the need to prove it.

Ghost stood in front of you, shoulders squared and his arms to his side as he waited for you to get ready. He stared at you with narrowed eyes full of determination and a seriousness that came from his title.

You ignored his scrutiny and took a deep breath, grounding yourself to the mat before you gave him a hard stare that signaled that you were ready for whatever was in store.

As soon as you got into a fighting stance, Ghost struck first. He didn’t give you a chance to react as pushed you hard against your shoulder and swept your leg out from under you, causing your back to hit the mat with a loud thump.

“Too slow.” He shook his head as he stood over you, unaffected by your glare.

You weren’t expecting him to go easy, in fact you didn’t want him to, and yet this quick defeat had irritation boiling inside the bottom of your stomach. 

You hopped back up from the mat and swung at Ghost, missing each time as he managed to dodge every single one of your punches. His eyes never left you, his gaze burning holes into you as he snatched one of your wrists and tossed you on the mat easily.

He shook his head again with eyes that showed disapproval, an action that made you smack a hand against the material under you. This was a bad start for you and you knew that you were going to have to put in more effort than you have before to win this.

“Just warming up.” You huffed and he nearly rolled his eyes.

“There’s no warming up on the field.” He snapped back and you sent him a glare.

You got back up, taking a moment to get back into a stance before you raised your fists, keeping your eyes trained on Ghost. Your heart was already beating fast and yet he didn’t seem to be too affected by your earlier attempts which made you clench your jaw.

You threw another punch and managed to hit him on the shoulder, but the only reaction you got out of him was a punch that you barely dodged. 

It was enough to get your adrenaline pumping however, and you both spent a few minutes trading punches and kicks, getting into a good rhythm that allowed you both to learn each other's routine as if this was the first time you both were sparring together. 

Ghost was quick. He didn’t pull his punches and he stepped into your personal space to crowd you as he attempted to throw you off balance or beat you down, within reason. He kept you on your toes, making it so you had to rely on pure instinct and adrenaline to keep yourself in the round. All while glaring at you, another attempt to catch you off guard in an attempt to threaten you and yet it did the opposite.

You pushed his punches out of the way and threw your own, managing to hit him a few times purely by luck.

Sweat formed on your skin and you were breathing heavily. You felt like you were working in fast motion, as if your senses were heightened. It gave you a rush, one that you hadn’t felt since your time before joining the task force.

You got cocky, thinking that you could do anything. You stepped into Ghost’s space, pushing him back and throwing a quick punch while trying to swipe his feet out from under him, thinking that it was going to work. 

However, you should’ve known better.

Ghost grabbed onto your wrist and twisted it behind your back with an iron grip. He wrapped an arm around your throat and held you against his front in a firm grip even as you dug your nails into his forearm with your free hand. 

You were burning up, sweat dampening your clothes from the exercise and having Ghost’s hot body pressed against your back didn’t help. Up this close you could hear his heavy breathing and feel the sweat from his skin against your own, his strong muscles flexing against you as he kept you in place while you struggled.

“C’mon,” he grunted in your ear between heavy breaths. “You can do it.”

All thoughts went out the window as you felt his hot breath on your neck through his mask and. Suddenly you were all too aware of the fact that he was holding you against him and your ass was pressed against a very sensitive part of his body. Your body went hot and your breath hitched in your throat as you thought about how this position would be a lot different if both of you were somewhere more private.

Yoru stomach flipped and you attempted to hook your ankle around his leg to get him down and your hips bucked back into him.

Ghost let go of your arm and moved his hand to your hip, gripping onto it tight to stop you from moving. His breathing suddenly went ragged and he dug his fingers into the hem of your pants.

You sucked in your lips to keep in the noise that nearly escaped your mouth and tapped twice on his arm to signal you were done.

Both of you separated immediately, taking multiple steps to put distance between you both as you caught your breath. You could breathe again and yet it was like there wasn’t enough air to fill your lungs as the heat from your body made you feel dizzy. You were hunched over, staring at the mat below and watched as sweat dripped off onto before you glanced up at your lieutenant.

You shouldn’t have been surprised to see him staring at you and yet you felt even more breathless when your eyes connected.

There was something there, something heated in the way his eyes went somewhat hooded. His chest heaved up and down while his eyes bounced around your face before trailing towards your back side for just a split second.

“Give up already?” He signed and you clenched your jaw.

“Again.” You demanded and stood up straight.

You were far from ready to go again but you couldn’t give up and you couldn’t let the smug bastard win. You stepped back in front of him and got back into a stance, however your eyes were too focused on the way his damp shirt clung to his chest, how you could almost see some of the muscles hidden underneath as he huffed.

Ghost grabbed your wrists and positioned them properly, the contact making your skin tingle as you looked him in the eyes. He didn’t look away from you as he moved your fists to where they should be while his fingers grazed your knuckles.

“Legs apart.” He tapped your shoes with his and you did as he told as you tried to ignore the flip of your stomach from his words.

Damn your brain.

You took a deep breath, and though it did little to calm your nerves, you were able to at least go back to focusing on sparring with the man in front of you. 

He threw the first punch again and before long you both were back into the rhythm you had. All previous thoughts were slowly leaving your mind, even when you both managed to touch each other, unable to regain that initial quickness. 

Ghost threw you down on the mat no matter how many times you tried to knock him off balance. He wrapped his arm around your waist, holland you close for only a second before he slammed you down, causing you to let out a wheeze as you laid there catching your breath.

“You’re distracted.” He loomed over you and caught your attention. “You need to clear your mind.”

You heat creep onto your face and you found it hard to look him in the eye. Did he know what you were thinking about? How hard it was for you to clear your mind when he was touching you, when he was looking at you with desire in his dark eyes? As much as you hated it, him being in control of the sparring was enough to have you feeling a little weak in the knees as you slowly stood up.

Even worse, you were sure he was thinking the same thoughts you were. You wondered how he was able to stay focused if that was the truth but Ghost was always focused. 

No weaknesses. Nothing out of his control.

You nodded but you were beyond doing what he said. There was no way to clear your mind, not when the heat traveled down between your legs as you thought about what he could do to get rid of it.

You shook the thoughts away. You couldn’t believe how inappropriate you were being towards Ghost, your superior. You had to keep reminding yourself that as you went back to sparring with him, trying your best to go back to your original goal of finally beating him.

He’s a rank above you. He’s your superior. It’s wrong, it would cost you both your jobs, he probably didn’t feel the same. 

Oh, he touched you again.

Ghost managed to twist you around again but before you could face him again, he wrapped his legs around yours and pulled them out from under you. After you caught yourself from face planting, he grabbed your ankle and flipped you over before he pinned you down.

His knee was firmly planted on your inner thigh and he gripped your wrists tightly while pressing them into the mat. He hovered over you, his breath hitching in his throat when you both made eye contact and a deep sigh left his heavy chest. His eyes bounced around your face and he leaned just a little closer to you.

It would be easy to kiss him like this. You wondered what his lips felt like, if they were rough or soft, how they would feel against yours, against your neck or other places. You swallowed hard before you parted your lips at the thought of him worshiping you with his mouth in the ways that you wanted him to.

You had enough self control to not kiss him through the mask at this moment, but it was slowly waning away as you looked him in the eyes. You never realized how pretty his eyes were until now. You could look into them for as long as he’d let you and it still wouldn’t be enough. 

His beauty only spurred on more thoughts and for the first time ever you wondered what he looked like beneath the mask.

Ghost tightened his hold on your wrists for just a moment. His eyes narrowed slightly, and something more than just desire slipped into them, something that made your chest warm up and made you settle into the mat beneath you.

“Looks like you lost again, sergeant.” He mumbled, his voice lower and softer than normal.

“Sergeant.” A reminder, you told yourself.

It was true, you did lose, yet you weren’t angry about it. You couldn’t muster up enough to make you want to push him off, to give some snarky comment and retreat with your shattered ego in your hands.

Ghost let off your wrists and it took everything in your power to not wrap your arms around his neck to keep him where he was. Instead, you watched him climb off of you and stood with his back partially to you, his fingers curling up into a fist for a few seconds while he turned his attention to the training room around you both.

You sat up, resting your hand on your knee as you decompressed from the intense training and emotions that had just ran through you. You weren’t sure if you could do anymore today, not when you were this unfocused.

Ghost caught your attention by offering you a hand that you eagerly took just so you could feel his skin against yours. He grabbed yours firmly and pulled you up with ease, his other hand coming to rest on your waist even after you had already balanced yourself.

You stared up at him expectantly but he moved away from you, his gaze going to somewhere else in the room.

“Good work, Quiet. We’re done.” He said and stepped back from you. 

You nodded and stepped off the mat, making your way towards the exit while waving good-bye to the others on the way. You tried to ignore the feeling of his eyes on your back as you gathered your things, pushing away the warmth that crept up the back of your neck.

After you grabbed your things, you glanced back just as you were about to leave and your stomach flipped when you saw that Ghost was still staring at you. You gave him one last wave before you left through the doors and it was like he could breathe again.

It took everything in Ghost to not follow you out of the training room. There were so many emotions running through him that it was impossible for him to do anything but stare at you like an idiot, the words to say anything completely gone from his tongue. 

Whatever happened on the mat was dangerous for you both. Those feelings, the ones where he thought about how your skin would feel under his fingers, what you would look like as he slipped his hand between your thighs or when he pressed a kiss to your neck were dangerous. It was wrong of him to think of you in such a vulnerable and inappropriate way, to want to undress you and have you dig your nails into him enough to draw blood, but knowing that you were thinking the same made it worse.

He knew. He could see the way your eyes darkened from the similar thoughts and how you got all hot and bothered when you couldn’t shake them away.

He was lucky he had enough self control to stop those feelings from taking over, even though he desperately wanted to know what it was like to hold you against him in a very different way than he had before. Had he let them take control, he was sure you would’ve knocked him on the mat and exposed him, his feelings, his dirty thoughts.

Ghost had no weakness except when it came to you.

[seonghwaddict]

comfortable? — jung wooyoung PART ONE OF LILO'S 600 FOLLOWER EVENT

requested by @jaehunnyy. “aaaaaaa lilo darling, congrats on your milestone!! i am so proud of you, and i would like to request some floofy floof with Wooyoung, with the prompts [ see below ]. take your time and know that im so proud of you 🤍” lilo’s notes. chippy, thank you so much~!! i hope i made your wooyo delusions come true 🫶

prompts. “you wouldn’t, uh, maybe, want to stay the night, would you? i just really don’t want today to end.” ; wearing each other’s clothes for the first time. pairing. jung wooyoung x fem!reader

warnings. none. wc. 714

dating wooyoung has been a dream so far. despite how playful he was and how much he loved to tease you, he was incredibly caring in ways that he showed through lingering touches and glittering eyes.

you’d known each other for years but only began dating a few months earlier after a confession that left you giggling every time you thought about it. “would you punch me if i confessed my love for you and asked you out?” “yeah, probably.” “cool… so, i really like you, let’s go on a date?” you did indeed punch after that, but he wasn’t one to complain about such things.

earlier today you showed up at his house after he told you to come over, which led to a spontaneous baking competition. a few hours later, the kitchen was covered in flour and other baking ingredients but the two of you finally put together pastries that (somewhat) resembled cupcakes. his batch looked pretty good, four vanilla cupcakes, each with a piped red icing heart on top. yours looked passable, four chocolate cupcakes topped with a swirl of white icing and sprinkles.

wooyoung took a long moment to stare at your creation before doubling over and laughing like his life depended on it. “what the hell is that?”

“they’re cupcakes and probably taste better than yours.” you pouted at him and took one of them from the plate. you eyed it for a moment before taking a small bite. you hummed appreciatively, it was pretty moist. so you took another bite bigger than the last. it was then that you noticed the cupcake was very much underbaked, the raw batter spilling out and dropping against your shirt. this only made wooyoung laugh even more as he observed you, tears nearly welling up in his eyes.

“it’s not even baked properly!”

you hastily grabbed some napkins and began wiping at the shirt. while the batter came off, it left behind a rather large brown stain on it that had you frowning. as soon as your boyfriend saw his expression, his laughter died down to amused giggles as he patted your cheek gently.

“don’t worry, jagi, you can borrow one of my hoodies.”

“are you sure?”

he nodded, leading you up to his bedroom. a few minutes later you walked out to meet him back in the living room, this time wearing one of his black hoodies over your leggings. it was too large for him and a bit larger for you, reaching the middle of your thighs if you didn’t move your arms.

the mischievous glint you usually saw in his eyes faded completely as he looked at you so lovingly when you walked in and flopped down on top of him on the couch. his fingers threaded themselves through your hair as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“comfortable?” he muttered against the soft skin of your cheek, making you giggle since it tickled a bit.

“very much so,” you nodded enthusiastically and cuddled into him further, “i might have to start stealing your hoodies.”

he hummed and wrapped his arms around your waist, turning you over so you were both laying on your sides, face to face and cramped together to fit on the couch. a few minutes of peaceful silence washed over you as you enjoyed each other’s presence. it was a rare occasion for him to be silent for this long and you looked up at him with some curiosity.

“what are you thinking about, woo?”

“you…,” you haven’t seen him looking so unsure since your first date when he spilled coffee all over your white rug. you slipped your hand into his and gave him an encouraging squeeze. “you wouldn’t, uh, maybe, want to stay the night would you? i just really don’t want this day to end.”

your heart fluttered at his question and before you knew it you were smiling like an idiot and nodding. “i would want nothing more than that.”

he laughed giddily and pulled you closer. “have i told you how much i love you today?”

“yes but i wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

“i love you.” he said again and again and again between tender pecks against your lips, cheek, jawline, anywhere he could reach. “i love you.”

[ networks . . . ] @cromernet @blankjournal

[ perm taglist . . . ] @ad0rechuu @sankatchu

[lovelylotusf1]

ohh that prompt game seems fun!!! how about 23/9 for max!!

Thank you for the lovely prompt anon <3 I focused a bit more on 9, but there's still some of prompt 23 - loss of abilities/skills in there. You didn't specify a ship, so I left it a bit ambiguous. But, it definitely has Max/Oscar vibes! Prompt list for if you want me to put drivers into Situations :D

Sleep deprivation

“A question for Max. What happened in turn 9 today?”

“I don't know, you fucking tell me.”

Max knows this single moment will be clipped to hell and back. He knows that PR will chew him out for it, and that it will cause the reporters to jump on him like sharks smelling blood. But he doesn't fucking care. Not when the incessant flashing of cameras makes his head swim and the endless stream of chatter from the interviewers melts together into a noise that sounds like he's developing god damn tinnitus.

There's a nervous giggle to his right, but when he turns his head he doesn't know where exactly it came from. Oscar's sitting next to him, and there's Lando, too, and since when are their faces so blurry? Max squints, trying to determine the exact point where they're blurring together into a kind of super McLaren driver. The thought makes him snort.

“It seems like you lost control of the car there for a second,” the interviewer rambles on, but Max is busy blinking the world back into focus. “Was it driver error that caused you to almost hit the barriers there?”

Oh wait, Lando and Oscar aren’t melting. Lando's just leaning into Oscar like he doesn't know about the concept of personal space. All gooey and smiley and why does that smile look a bit pained?

Suddenly, there's a foot nudging against his, and Max remembers that he needs to answer something.

“That question is stupid, so I won't answer it. I finished third, didn't I?”

Finishing P3 is embarrassing, he doesn’t need the question that will undoubtedly come next to tell him that. It'll probably be about whether he's okay with that place or if he's lost his ambition. About the multiple rookie mistakes he made throughout the race. The trip through the gravel. Only the pitstop strategy and a lucky safety car saved him from being kicked down to the cold and unforgiving fourth place.

For someone else, it might be passable. Not for Max. Never for Max.

Someone else shouts out another question. Max stares into the vague direction of it until Oscar picks up the microphone and answers something that doesn’t manage to go through the fog of his brain.

The rest of the post-race interview is torture, and by the end of it, his head is pounding and he's trying to hold back shivers that are probably from a fever he's developing. Great. Simply lovely.

When he's on his way to get to his motorhome, a hand on his shoulder stops him. “You were really weird today.” It’s Oscar’s voice. Good. Max couldn't stand anyone else right now. “Are you okay?”

Max lets himself melt into the touch a little. Allows himself the simple comfort of someone else's warmth. “I think I fucking fell ill,” he spits out. “I slept a total of three hours between cold shivers and not being able to breathe through my nose.”

The hand on his shoulder tightens. It’s Oscar's tell that he's really angry about something but doesn't want to show it directly on his face. Max is a little proud of himself, proud that he remembers that tiny detail even when his brain feels like a soapbox driven by a snail instead of the usual pace of the RB19.

“Okay, that's totally fine. Racing while sick is nice. Cool that you did that.” Max might be dead tired, but he can still hear the sarcasm dripping from Oscar’s words. “Let's get you to bed.”

“So forward. I thought that you needed to ask Lando for permission to do that with other people. Or you already asked, of course.”

Oscar laughs, that high-pitched one he sometimes lets out when someone surprises him. His arm wraps around Max's waist, guides him the last couple of steps to the door of his motorhome and beyond it. Huh. Max hasn’t even noticed that they've been walking towards his bedroom.

“I really think you need to sleep a bit. I'll stay if you need something.”

Oscar firmly but gently pushes him onto the bed. And Max lets him do it without objections. A warm feeling spreading through his body as he closes his eyes with a content sigh.

People who might be interested in Max/Oscar: @wisteriagoesvroom @maaxverstappen

[genericpuff]

LO Art Analysis (or: A Real Example of Why You Shouldn't Use Multiply for Everything)

I've obviously been spending a lot of time recreating LO art and in that time, I think I've really cracked open some of modern LO's problems with its art. This is a lengthy post so turn on some lo-fi, grab some popcorn and strap in.

One thing in particular that I'm very eager to talk about (and go off about) is Rachel's use of color language and shading.

THERE WILL BE BRIEF FASTPASS PANELS AHEAD IN THIS ANALYSIS. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!

One of the key things that most people seem to agree on when it comes to LO's current art quality is the lack of color language. Back in S1, we had colors that seemed to jump off the page, with gorgeous rendering that created panels that were vast and beautiful to take in. It didn't matter if the anatomy was wonky or if the backgrounds were translated directly from Google Sketchup, the color and compositions made up for its flaws and created unique vignettes that individually contributed to what we found so special about LO back in those days.

That last one especially is still hands-down one of the most well-known and influential LO panels out of the entire series. Many a phone background its graced (my own included, I've literally had this as my phone background for like 3 years now) and it serves as a beautiful standalone example of the mood and emotions LO used to convey. You don't need to know the context of the scene, you don't need to know the characters, the mere posing and color choice alone is enough to invoke a reaction from the viewer. It doesn't even have a lot of shading or final rendering, the composition and texturing is all it needs.

So why does a simple panel like that work, but panels like these don't?

I have such beef with this panel because it does the complete opposite of what the famous Tower 4 panel achieves - it puts on full display everything wrong with LO's current art style, from its character posing to its color language aaaall the way to its final rendering.

First off, the character posing and framing. I finally figured out what RS' male characters have been suffering from lately, and it's a phenomenon that I'm sure many of you will be able to recognize right away.

Seth Macfarlane Syndrome.

You might not watch Family Guy, you might not watch American Dad, or the Cleveland Show, but you'll know exactly what I mean when I talk about Seth MacFarlane Syndrome. It's the stiffness, the lack of movement or bend in joints, the boring posing of characters standing with their arms flatly at their sides and their entire body facing the same direction, eyes unblinking - and when they speak, heads slightly tilting, mouths always being conformed to the same default shapes, while the arms do something random and unrelated to create the illusion of natural movement.

This has been an issue in LO for a while now, incredibly flat posing that lacks any sort of dynamic curvature to it, but it's best exemplified by that Ares panel above because holy shit does he ever look like Stan Smith in it. Boxy shoulders with arms that appear to be WAY too short hanging off the side, elbows flattened, hands straightened out, no natural shaping whatsoever.

But that's not the crux of the issue I want to touch on today.

No, the worst offense of this panel is that it indirectly proves what I've been suspicious of for a while now.

To explain real quick for context, there's this thing in digital art called Blend Modes. It's essentially a basic function in digital art that allows you to change the properties of layers for the purpose of shading, rendering, whatever have you. Most of these Blend Modes are the same across all digital art programs, things like Multiply, Screen, Color Dodge, etc. are all fairly basic tools in the digital artist's toolkit but all have an INCREDIBLY high ceiling of mastery - meaning, blend modes are easy to use on a basic level, but require a lot of skill and understanding of color language to utilize to their full potential. Using them right can transform a passable piece of work into a great one - on the flipside, using them wrong can take a passable piece of work and piss all over it.

The one I want to focus on in this post is Multiply. I use this blend mode myself quite often, it basically 'multiplies' the properties of the layers below it, taking whatever colors are below and 'doubling' them to create darker tones. This makes it a go-to for shading.

But the issue with Multiply is that it often ends up being used when it's not supposed to be. Or rather, people starting out will often use it as a substitute for shading when you'd be better off using your own hand-picked colors. I've got characters with skin tones that I can shade with the same color set to Multiply, zero issues, because the base tone is one that doubles well, it creates a nice rich tone on top that's perfect for shading.

But do you know the one color that DOESN'T multiply well?

Yellow.

Yellow is NOT a color you can just multiply, not without the final result looking flat and almost putrid. Most people will thus recommend you shade yellow with other colors along the same side of the color wheel, including oranges and reds. This is precisely why knowing color theory is such an important skill even in digital art, because using Blend Modes improperly can create flat tones that can ruin a final composition.

Going back to that Ares panel...

Again, I've had this suspicion for a while, especially when looking at panels of Persephone (*pink is ALSO a color that doesn't multiply well)

So I put it to the test. I took the original panel, sampled the yellow, and overlaid it with Multiply to see what I'd get.

Fam.

That putrid deep yellow that I mixed above is literally NEXT DOOR NEIGHBORS WITH WHAT I EYEDROPPED FROM THE PANEL. Copy and paste that and eyedrop it yourself if you want to see it with your own eyes. It's pretty obvious she did the same thing with Hera as well, you can tell her skin tone has been set to multiply and repainted with the same color, same as with her jacket.

They are using Multiply layers for everything as the default. This is not how Multiply is intended to be used - it's lazy shortcutting that's resulting in flat, boring, ugly compositions.

RS has stated herself that she 'changed' how LO is drawn to help 'streamline' the process for her assistants. This isn't streamlining. This is cutting corners.

Streamlining would be having color palettes to refer to during the coloring and shading process. I use them myself for characters that I CAN'T multiply-shade, I literally have characters whose skin tones are too light and yellow-toned for it - using Multiply would wash out their tones and make them look flat and sickly so I have to use a separate color from a different part of the color wheel to shade them (usually a darker tone of red/orange).

Rachel, babe, this isn't streamlining, this is just taking shortcuts to the point of sabotaging your own work. You can't sit there and tell me THAT looks good and is worth the 'streamlining' when panels like THESE used to exist:

Turn off the Multiply layers and color your characters for once, please, I'm begging you. This is such a rookie move for someone who claims to be a professional (and regularly brags about the awards she's won); not to mention a tragic fall from grace because we know Rachel can and has produced better work than this in the past. She knows color language, she knows how to paint, so why is she resorting to shortcuts like this? She has an entire team of people and yet she's still consistently behind enough in her buffer - or just doesn't care enough anymore - that she's resorting to lazy amateur tactics like using Multiply for everything.

And on the off chance that she ever sees this, Rachel, it's not even that hard to use proper colors. You've done it before, you should already have the color palettes available to you.

(P.S. One handy-dandy experiment to tell if your Multiply layers are failing you is the desaturation test. You'll notice that drawings being made primarily with Multiply layers will look a lot 'flatter' when desaturated, because the shading is just the same color on top of itself and 'doubled', there isn't any actual value or depth in the shading itself. These are the exact same panels I showed before, RS' on the left and mine on the right, they've just been desaturated to show the difference that proper color choice can make when defining values and tones in shading!)

[foundtherightwords]

As the Sun Will Rise - Chapter 9

Pairing: Grunauer (Overlord) x OFC, Beauty & the Beast retelling

Summary: After losing most of his unit in a disastrous D-Day mission, Derwin Grunauer returns to his hometown near Miami, body riddled with scars and heart heavy with guilt, only to find his neighbors shunning him due to his German name. He retreats into his family mansion and remains there, unwilling to rejoin the living, until the day Alba Reyes turns up at his door with a basket full of warm bread. As the daughter of a Cuban immigrant, Alba knows something of being an outsider, and when she offers to work for Derwin as his housekeeper, it is not only to pay off her father's debt to the Grunauers, but also because she feels some connection to the reclusive young man. When that connection develops into something more, they must overcome both the town's prejudice and their own doubts to find happiness.

Chapter warnings: none

Chapter word count: 3.3k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Derwin walked along the winding lane that snaked through the swamp, still muddy from the flood but passable. As he walked slowly, letting his leg rest when it needed, he tried to think of what he was going to say to Alba. I'm sorry for shouting at you. I was wrong. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I miss you. Otto misses you. Please come back. Too sappy? I'm sorry for losing my temper. I don't dislike your presence. Would you consider coming back? Too formal? I'm sorry. Would you please come back? Too short? I'm sorry for—I'm sorry—sorry—

The September sun was beating down relentlessly, making it impossible for him to think, and his leg, unaccustomed to the long walk, started to feel like it was coming apart at the joints. Sweat poured down his face; he wiped it off with a sleeve and continued. Soon, he had to direct all his energy into simply putting one foot in front of the other. More than once he thought about turning back and just calling the bakery, but then he put his hand into his pocket and touched the note there, and the thought of it—the thought of her—pushed him on. Though the walk was only three mile, it must have taken him at least two hours because he had to stop so often. By the time he stumbled into La Perla del Sur Bakery, he still hadn't come up with anything other than I'm sorry, but he no longer cared. He was only glad to have reached his destination.  

It was almost lunchtime, and the bakery was filled with the delicious smells of hot sandwiches coming off the griddle. There was a line of people at the counter, shouting about wanting extra pickles, no salami, or more olive salad with their sandwiches. The little bell above the door chimed as he walked in. A few heads turned toward him. Derwin stood awkwardly at the door, aware of his muddy shoes and sweaty face and general unkemptness. He couldn't see Alba anywhere and wasn't sure if he should just walk up to the counter or wait in line for his turn. This was a scenario he hadn't prepared for. He decided to wait.

A shorter version of Alba—this must be her sister, Beatriz—was taking orders. He could see why most people would think Beatriz was the prettier one. However, there was something in the way she moved and talked and smiled that was a little too self-conscious, almost stilted, like she knew exactly how pretty she was and what effect she had on others. For his part, Derwin preferred Alba's effortless way.

"Hola, welcome to La Perla del Sur," Beatriz said brightly when he came up to the counter. "What can I get you today?"

"Um," said Derwin. "I'm here to—I want to—may I—can I speak to your sister?" he mumbled.

Beatriz frowned and leaned closer. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. What do you need?"

Derwin cleared his throat. "I'd like to speak to your sister, please," he said.

The frown deepened, and Beatriz tipped her head to one side in the exact same way as Alba. "And you are—?"

"Derwin Grunauer," he whispered. Beatriz's eyes, of a paler green than Alba's, widened. A hush fell over the bakery. He could hear people murmuring behind him. His heart started hammering in his chest. What were they going to do to him? Would they kick him out? Would they continue to stare at him in silent suspicion like his fellow soldiers, or would they shout at him and push him like those schoolyard bullies? And would Alba come to his rescue this time?

She did. Beatriz turned toward the door behind the counter, but before she could call out, Alba emerged, carrying a tray of freshly baked bread on her hip with one hand and pushing her hair under her headscarf in that familiar gesture with the other. The sight of her almost made Derwin sag with relief.

Alba paused upon seeing him. He thought he could see a flash of something in her eyes—surprise, or perhaps even joy—but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a blank look.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, setting the tray of bread down.

Derwin took a breath, but it wasn't as deep as he would've liked. "I want to talk to you. I'm sorry about—about—I'm sorry—" His throat felt stuck. He swallowed, trying to moisten it, but to no avail. The sweat now pouring down his back had less to do with the three-mile walk he'd just made and more with the crowd surrounding him, their eyes boring into him, full of curiosity and distrust.  

At that moment, a stocky man with gray hair and a gray mustache—Mr. Reyes, no doubt—shouldered his way out of the same room Alba had just come from. He barked something in Spanish at his daughters, and then he saw Derwin and stopped. "Can I help you, young man?" he said, in accented English.

Derwin opened his mouth, but no words came out. His hand started to shake. Alba saw and took pity on him.

"Papi, this is Mr. Grunauer," she said.

Mr. Reyes's eyebrows went up. He went around the counter and grabbed Derwin's hand in his calloused palm. "Forgive me, I didn't recognize you," he said. "I haven't seen you since you were little." This was news to Derwin. He didn't realize he'd met Mr. Reyes before. It must have been at the house. If he had been to the bakery, he would've remembered it, surely—with its colorful posters of Cuba scenes and statues of Cuban saints on the walls and the display case of birthday cakes, all looking like elaborate pastel-colored castles, the bakery was difficult to forget. Mr. Reyes was pumping Derwin's hand, not noticing the deer-in-the-headlight expression on his face. "What can we do for you?" Mr. Reyes asked.

"He's here to talk to me, Papi," Alba said through gritted teeth. Then to Derwin, "Do you want to go around the back?"

"Alba!" bellowed Mr. Reyes. "Where are your manners? Invite him to the living room upstairs!"

Rolling her eyes, Alba said, "Si, Papi," and beckoned Derwin to a side door. He followed her, painfully aware that Mr. Reyes, Beatriz, and all the customers were watching them like some sort of live theater performance. The door opened into a cramped hallway with an iron staircase leading to the second floor. "Are you OK climbing the stairs?" Alba asked. He could only nod.

Alba brought him into an apartment on top of the bakery, small but light and airy. Derwin self-consciously wiped his muddy shoes on the doormat before entering a living room furnished with simple cane chairs, darkened with age, a coffee table adorned with fresh flowers, and family photos on the walls.

"Please sit down," Alba said. Derwin sank into one of the chairs with a groan.

Alba stood watching him. "You OK?" she asked stiffly.

"Yes, thank you. Just not used to... getting out, that's all."

"Did you walk all the way here?" He nodded. She looked appalled. "You left Otto home alone?!" she asked.

He was annoyed that she cared more about Otto's well-being than his own, but he answered anyway. "Well, I thought about bringing him along, but I was afraid people would be even less amiable if they saw me with him," he said honestly. "He's fine. He was snoring in the sunroom when I left."

His breath and his heartbeats were slowly returning to normal, but the languorous fan on the ceiling did little to dry his sweat. He dabbed a sleeve on his forehead, hoping that the circles of sweat under his arms weren't too noticeable. Alba went into the small kitchen next to the living room and came out with a pot of coffee, some cookies, and a clean washcloth that had just been run under a tap. Without a word, she handed him the washcloth and put the coffee and cookies in front of him. Derwin took the washcloth gratefully and wiped the sweat off his face, relishing its coolness on his skin. "Ojos de angel?" he asked, pointing at the cookies.

She smiled at him, a genuine smile. "You remember?"

"Of course. It's not every day that you get to name a cookie, is it?"

"They've been flying off the shelf, thanks to you." She sat down across from him, her smile turning wry as she watched him stuff his mouth. "I hope you weren't starved to death while I was gone," she said.

Derwin blushed and forced himself to slow down. "Give me a little credit, please," he said. "My sandwiches are just as good as yours." Not really.

Her smile widened a little. "I'm glad to hear that."

Silence stretched between them. Derwin cleared his throat, turning his head to avoid Alba's expectant gaze. His eyes fell on two photos set on a side table, one of a woman with Alba's eyes and Alba's smile, and the other of a young man in an AAF uniform in front of a P-40 Warhawk. There was also a little vase of flowers in front of the photos, which gave the whole setup the look of a shrine. The sight of the fighter plane sent a shudder through Derwin, and he turned back to Alba.

"Who are they?" he asked, indicating the photos.

"My mother, and my brother Rafael."

"He's a pilot?"

"Was." Alba's voice was muted. "He was killed in the Pacific."

"I'm so sorry," said Derwin.

Alba shrugged, as if to say that it no longer mattered. "The money my father borrowed from yours was supposed to be for Raf, you know," she said. "Papi wanted to open a new bakery on South Beach and let Raf run it. But then Raf died."

A needle pricked at Derwin's conscience. Yes, a debt was a debt, and he wasn't even charging them any interest, but he couldn't help feeling like he was making a profit off someone's grief somehow. "My mom was going to open a bookshop here," he said, indicating the building. "But with her health, she never got around to it." He sighed. "I guess we're all living someone else's lost dream."

"That's a rather bleak way of looking at things," said Alba. "I prefer to think they've laid the foundation for us to build our own dreams."

Silence fell again as Derwin contemplated her words. And he realized he hadn't made the trek into town just because he missed her cooking or her cleaning or even her smile. It was also because she always tried to see the brighter side of things, and he needed that in his life. He still hadn't come up with anything other than I'm sorry, and he'd never been good at the improvisation writing exercise in college, but he knew he could delay this no longer.

"Listen, Alba," he began. "I'm sorry—I'm really sorry for snapping at you the other day." As far as beginnings go, it was rather prosaic, but it managed to soften Alba's hard stare. Encouraged, he continued, "I was trying to prove that I could do things myself, but it's clear that I can't. I didn't mean to offend you. It's just that... I've been on my own for so long that I've forgotten how to live with another person." It was the truth, he knew that now. "But I'm grateful to you for everything you've done for me." He took a deep breath. "So would you please come back? And not just until the debt is paid off. I mean... come back to stay."

Alba looked at him more closely. "You mean to work as your housekeeper permanently?"

He hadn't planned to make such an offer, but now that he'd said it, Derwin realized this was exactly what he wanted. To have her around, not just for another year or two, but for as long as he could. "Yes," he said. "I'll pay you properly too. Fifty dollars a week. What do you say?"

She was quiet for a long time, chewing on her bottom lip with an unreadable expression. Finally, she lifted her eyes to his face again. "That's very generous," she said. "But I have to refuse."

Derwin's heart plummeted. "Why?!"

"I'm not planning to be a housekeeper forever," she said slowly.

Of course. How selfish and thoughtless he'd been. Who would want to slave away cooking for him and cleaning after him for the rest of her life? She had a future ahead of her; she would want other things, perhaps to run the bakery, or to keep her own house. There was no place for him in that future.

Derwin slumped in his seat, dejected. Alba studied him for a moment or two before sitting up, apparently having made up her mind.

"Tell you what," she said. "I will come back to finish my contract." A spark of hope bloomed in Derwin's heart. "You don't have to pay me more, but I have some conditions."

"Which are...?" he asked, wary.

"One, you agree to let me bring in someone to fix the roof."

"OK."

"And two, when I go into town, you go with me."

"What? Why?"

"What are you going to do once the debt is paid off?" she asked. "Hire someone else?"

Already the thought of having someone else here, in her place, was unbearable. He shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

"See, this way, you can live on your own after I leave. You'll still have to get someone to come in to help out, maybe once a week or so, but you can do everything else."

After I leave. She said it so matter-of-factly, yet those words stung. Though he'd always known it, it still hurt to realize she'd never planned to stay. After all, this was just a job for her, a transaction. He was quiet, torn between wanting to spend as much time with her as possible and wanting to ask her to leave here and now, to avoid the pain of separation, which he knew would only be worse the longer she stayed.

"And what are we going to do when we're in town?" he asked.

"Oh, the usual. Running errands, going shopping, things like that. So you'll see it's not that scary out there. You said it yourself, you've been alone for too long. Here's your chance to be around more people. Yes, they can be mean, but for the most part, they're just minding their business. You don't have to be afraid of them. "

It was on the tip of his tongue to protest, I'm not afraid of them! But it wouldn't be true. And if he agreed to this, she would come back... for now at least.

"We'll go slow first, I promise," she said, mistaking his silence for trepidation.

He nodded. "I guess I can do that."

She extended a hand toward him. "You've got a deal, Grunauer," she said. Derwin took her hand in his own and squeezed it gently. At the touch of her hand and the sight of her bright smile, the spark of hope inside him, despite his desperate attempt to quench it, flared to life again.

***

Alba kept glancing at Derwin as she drove him home in the bakery's old truck. The coffee and cookies seemed to have revived him, and he was no longer deathly pale like when he'd arrived. Silly, silly boy. An apology from him and she would've come back in a heartbeat; there was no need for him to walk all the way into town and nearly kill himself in the process. She had almost yelled at him for that. In the confusion of feelings—surprise, alarm, pity, and fierce, absurd joy—that rushed through her when she'd first seen him standing in the bakery, swaying like he were about to collapse, she'd latched on to anger, because it was the safest, the most familiar. But it was hard to stay angry when he was looking at her with those puppy dog eyes and begging her to come back. It was true that she had been a little annoyed when he offered to take her on permanently—as if she was good for nothing else but housekeeping!—but she'd reminded herself that his intentions were pure, and held her tongue.

She didn't know why she'd made him promise to accompany her into town. She'd only said it to make it seem like she hadn't given in too easily, to prove to him that her coming back had nothing to do with his offer of more money. And it was true that she didn't want him to look like he was facing a firing squad every time he had to be out in public. Why did she care, though? If he wanted to shut himself away in his crumbling house, it was no skin off her back. She told herself that she didn't want another incident where he exploded at her at the smallest provocation and sometimes no provocation at all, and the way to ensure it didn't happen again was to make him interact with more people. But she couldn't deny that a not-so-small part of her took certain relish at the thought of spending more time with him, looking forward to it even...

She glanced at Derwin again. He caught her eyes and smiled, showing the dimples on his cheeks despite the scar. At the sight of those dimples, her heart fluttered, and Alba gave it a swift kick. Go back to beating normally, you ridiculous thing!

"I think the first order of business is for you to learn how to drive," she said, turning her attention back to the road. "You think you can manage it with your leg?"

"I'm sure it won't be a problem."

"Good. These old cars are so reliable anyway, a baby can drive them. You'll learn in no time."

Derwin hesitated. "Would you teach me how to cook as well?" he asked.

Alba thought she'd heard him wrong. "You want to learn how to cook?" Other than her father and Frank, she didn't know any man who would willingly set foot in a kitchen. Marty, Claudia's husband, could barely boil an egg. And even Papi was in the kitchen to bake, to make a living, not to cook. Cooking was women's business.

He shrugged. "It's a useful skill."

"But I don't know how to make American food."

Another shrug. "I don't mind. American food is boring anyway. I much prefer Cuban food."

How could she say no to that? "All right," she said. "So driving lessons and cooking lessons. We're going to stay busy."

They shared a smile, and this time, when her heart fluttered at his dimples again, Alba let it be.

As she pulled up to the front porch, Derwin turned to her. "Would you like to come in?" he said. "Otto would love to see you."

"No, he'll just be confused when I have to leave again. I'll see him tomorrow."

Derwin nodded and started getting out of the truck.

"Derwin?" she called after him.

He turned back. "Yes?"

"Why did you have to walk all the way into town to talk to me? You could've called."

"I know." He paused, as if weighing his words. "But I wanted to see you," he said simply, giving her another one of his little smiles before limping into the house.

Alba sat back in the driver's seat, turning over those words in her mind. He wanted to see her. He wanted to see her. He wanted to see her. She wondered how such a simple phrase could hold so much meaning. Then, with a grin, she turned the truck around and drove home, already counting the hours until she could return to the house, to the garden, and to him.

Chapter 10

Taglist: @kitkat80

[tobiasdrake]

So, if I know my Mesa Island geography, we should be getting pretty close to Songshroom Marsh. Wonder if Yoyo's still hanging around here?

That's, uh... that's... not an ominous name or anything....

This place... doesn't seem quite as fun as Luana made it sound.

Okay, full disclosure, I was actually trying to drown myself in the mire because I want to tell Quarble about all the cool stuff I did.

But this is cool too. I guess the moral of the story is that sometimes attempted suicide comes with neat prizes. If they ever write a fable about all the things I learned on my travels, I'll be sure to include that.

Holy shit, the Magic Seashell? The one from Watcher Island that lets you breathe underwater?

Wait, no, I can already do that for some reason. Plus, it doesn't really look that cute. Luana said it was a cute pink clamshell thing. She was very excited about it. But this more resembles a slug.

That does sound like it relates to the magic Docarri shells, though. Hmm....

Yeah. Uh. What the hell happened to this place? Luana didn't like it very much but what she described pales in comparison to how tortured and gross the marsh is.

Also, she called it Songshroom but the sign at the entrance said Quillshroom. So. Obviously some changes have taken place.

Oh, is it the cool magic seashell I found? 'Cause I found it. You can't have it back. It's mine now, as laid down in the Mine Now, Fucko bylaw.

Primal Fear... fuck, I know that name. It's... somewhere. Maybe one of Teaks's stories? I don't know. I've heard it before. I know I've heard it before.

No, wait! It was one of the volumes of prophecy that Yoyo kept in her cabin. She had a book on Primal Fear. That's where I know the name from.

Is. That. Where the living mushrooms come from?

...Luana wrote about them singing. The ones I've seen have not been singing. I don't think they're enjoying their fungal lives anymore.

With gusto.

I can't believe you told me to fight it! Do you have any idea how humiliated I was!? That was the most embarrassing moment of my goddamn life.

And I once screwed up Cloudstep practice so hard I ended up dangling from a tree branch by my pants around my ankles. I met Quarble on a return trip through a challenge I'd already solved. So the competition is steep.

How many times have you sent members of my order to their graves to pick a fight with a harmless glowball minding his fucking business!?

FUCK. No wonder Luana called probably-you an assclown!

WHAT. NO. I don't really see much relevance or importance in your stories - I think the pear tree one might have been about Yoyo maybe? - but I've been enjoying them nonetheless.

I'll stop touching your cabinet if you keep sharing stories with me. ._. Pweese?

Oh, there's the singing mushrooms. Okay, so they are still here.

They. Uh. They don't look very cheerful, though. Luana said they were cheerful.

Gotta say, not a fan of the titular quillshrooms. Their quills are incredibly difficult to dodge, especially when they fire while I'm in midair. What total assholes.

As a botanophobe, I can't be surprised by this, but fungus is far more dangerous than turtles.

...how stupid do I feel like being today?

I am... passably competent at the Cloudstep. I think I could--

Okay, I want it on record that I actually made it, but was killed by a Quillshroom afterwards. After being thoroughly tenderized by spikes in the process of making it but that's beside the point. The point is I'm awesome and this is definitely going down as a W in my book.

Not important. What's important is HEY BESTIE, check out where we are? Yeah, that's right, I'm blazing trails through Quillshroom Marsh with my expert jumping and profound getting-stabbed proficiencies.

I know we were in Howling Grotto last we talked but I... found the exit of my own accord and nothing else happened. Now we're here. Trying to not be here as expediently as possible because I don't want to be a mushroom.

...

Why is this my life?

...we've found one secret path beneath the mire. I wonder... This does look very suspicious.

They thought they could hide their secrets from me. Joke's on them, I am highly skilled in observation and pattern recog--

I think I hate this place.

[lost-jams]

Brushes And Beats chapter:01

pairing: JiminxReader

genre: fluff with a pinch of angst

trope: enemies to lovers

:That awkward moment when your nemesis tell you something that is right for you but you are too proud to take their advice:

In the glamorous world of music and entertainment, unexpected romances often take center stage. Behind the scenes, amidst the dazzling lights and flamboyant costumes, all kinds of story unfolds and I get to witness it all as a makeup artist. Every day, I had the privilege of working closely with some of the biggest stars in the industry. With my brushes in hand and an eye for detail, I would transform their faces into works of art, enhancing their natural beauty and showcasing their unique personalities on the stage and screen.

One particular pop star caught my attention from the start - a charismatic and talented individual who commanded the stage with his powerful voice and captivating performances. Little did I know that this pop star would become more than just a client, but also my nemesis. His name, Park Jimin - a renowned artist known for his remarkable talent and uncompromising attitude.

As a makeup artist, my job was to make him look flawless and ready to face the world. I pushed aside any personal feelings I had about Park and focused solely on my work, determined to provide him with the best makeup artistry possible. BUT BOY WAS HE ANNOYING with his diva-like demands and perfectionist tendencies! "It needs to be closely matched with the stage lighting and my costume," he would insist, nitpicking every small detail. Though I was fuming on the inside, I maintained my professional demeanor and ensured that his makeup was always on point.

"Oh the great Park Jimin" Fumi my work bestie passes the coffee to me as we take a break from the chaos backstage. I chuckled, knowing she shared my frustrations with the demanding pop star. "Tell me about it! It's like he expects me to read his mind and anticipate every little thing he wants". "But you know what they say, there's a thin line between love and hate," she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

I couldn't help but scoff at her suggestion. "He's my nemesis, Fumi! How could I possibly fall in love with someone who constantly challenges and tests my patience?" I dismissed her words, choosing to believe that our relationship would remain strictly professional.

"COSTUME CHANGE!!" I rushed back to my station, readying myself for another round of makeup touch-ups. As Jimin sat in my chair, I couldn't help but notice a subtle change in his demeanor. His usually confident expression seemed slightly softer, and there was a glimmer of vulnerability in his eyes.

Did something happen? I thought as I delicately applied his foundation. Jimin stayed unusually quiet, his gaze focused on his reflection. His quietness was uncharacteristic. Usually, he would use this time to critique the makeup or give his input - it wasn't often that he was so subdued. But today, he was different, quieter, watching my every move with seemingly genuine curiosity. I found my hands shaking slightly as I brushed blush across his high cheekbones, my nerves suddenly getting the best of me and then I saw his smirk with his right eyebrow cocked up. Bastard

"I don't know, don't you think the competition's makeup artists do it better? No offense, of course. You still do a passable job." oooh his tone was a mix of nonchalance and veiled provocation, I wont let him get under my skin. "Interesting, given how perfect your performances always are, I would think you'd notice that my makeup artistry is always uniquely suited to enhancing that. But if you'd prefer a 'passable' job, I'm sure the competition would be glad to have you as their canvas." keep calm...keep calm..."Oh, don't get me wrong. I know a great talent when I see one. After all, I work with the best around, don't I?" IS HE MOCKING ME?!

After a tense moment of silence, I finally snap back at him, fueling the argument with a retort, "Best around, hm? Yet you're always complaining, aren't you? I wonder if being the best includes never being satisfied." Hints of frustration tinge my usually calm voice.

Jimin retorts, "And I wonder if being a makeup artist means disregarding the client's demands. I expect perfection because that's what I give onstage." I was about to snap back when the director of the shoot came back with an excited look "are we done?" I smiled and took a step back "yes, we are". Jimin stands up smoothening his clothes and intentionaly bumping my shoulder as he sneekily winks at me "see you around birdy" . Asshole.

________________________________________________________________________________

Clubbing with Fumi was the best decision i made today, as its a friday night the club is already jam packed. We decided to sit at the bar and order drinks my mind couldn't help but go to the look on Jimin's face today he seemed kinda off. "Earth to Y/n" I realized I was in a daze "I've been calling you for 15mins, what were you thinking?" I shook my head and smiled at her "Nothing really" I laughed while she gave me a side eye "Anyways...Ugh I already feel tired, they said they might be a new face in the company and you know what that means MORE TOURS WHICH LEADS TO MORE FATIGUE AAAAA GOD WHY DID I CHOOSE THIS LINE OF WORK" hearing that reminded me of all kinds tiredness I felt when the artists go on tours and god forbid you are required to go with them but it isn't that bad if you think about it, you get to see new places and make fun memories.

"HEY WANNA DANCE?" Fumi chirped excitedly as she dragged me to the dance floor. "I want to get wasted tonight" Oooohh nooOoooh bad idea "You know we don't have a ride home" I chuckled reminding her we need to stay concious.

________________________________________________________________________________

"Ugh i missed you bed" A sigh escapes my lips well it was a long day of work plus with all the clubbing my brain wasn't braining, my head shifted to the right as i heard a Quack sound, Ugh i know that sound all too well, it was a specific ring set for a specific person, "What does he want now?" i muttered under my breath as I picked up my phone to see the message "Hey birdy", I squint my eyes at the text "What?" I replied back. "a bit rude, do I perhaps need to remind you what happened 6 years ago" I crunch my face in annoyance "I apologized to you at least a 1000 times already" 

 Jimin replied "AND THE PICTURE STILL CIRCULATES ONLINE" i couldnt help but crack a smile at his reference serves him right  I thought to myself "Look I was still new and was still learning" I put down my phone but it buzzes again "Anyways do you have the reference of my outfit yet?" I sighed "not yet, Zara told me take it from the dry cleaners, I'll do it tomorrow" as i continued to type "So you are an errand girl now?" WHAT THE- "Isn't it her resposibility to send it to you" i sighed in fraustration "I don’t want to continue this conversation."

"I’m giving you some good advice here, you should take it. Stop picking up Zara’s dry cleaning—it’s not your job." I roll my eyes at the text, I DO NOT WANT TO ADMIT THAT HE IS RIGHT "Heard you went to a club, not sure if u managed to entice someone with your flirting skills birdy" wtf what does he think he is doing "That’s what people say about you."  The unfortunate retort falls out of my mouth. 

I try to rewind time. It doesn’t work. "Is that what you think you and I do? Flirt?" I couldn't help but say "Aren't you supposed to be the God of Flirting, thats what your fans call you" I cringe at my text maybe I shouldnt have said that "Birdy, if we were flirting, you’d know about it." I felt a weird drop inside, I smile at Jimin's response and feel a mix of relief and curiosity.

 "Oh, really? So you're saying there's nothing going on between us?" I respond playfully, unable to resist teasing him back. Despite our history and the tension that sometimes arises between us, there's always been an undeniable chemistry. But lately, I've been questioning whether it's just playful banter or something more. Not lettiing him say anything I quickly bid him goodnight with my heart thumping in my chest.

________________________________________________________________________________

Monday came, I have a feeling it will be a nice dayy, my gut never lies.

"hey birdy"

"Birdyyyy"

" Birdy birdyyyy"

"No it doesn't match, I see your skills are going down"

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HE IS BEING SUCH A PAIN IN THE ASS TODAY It seemed like he was determined to annoy me today. And then he added salt to the wound by criticizing my skills. I took a deep breath and reminded myself to keep calm and maintain proffesinalism, I look at the mirror and see him flashing me a mischievious grin, knowing it will rile me up and it did "Jimin, can we please focus on the task at hand? We both have work to do here." I respond calmly, trying my best to maintain my composure. Deep down, though, his teasing still gets under my skin. As the day goes on, I try to avoid engaging with him further. I focus on my tasks and give them my full attention. But every now and then, he finds a way to playfully disrupt my concentration. It's frustrating but also strangely exhilarating.

Finally its time to pack up and head home as I gather my things and prepare to leave the devil shows up with a smirk? "Ready to call it a day?" I dont have a good feeling about this as i can sense that he has something up his sleeves

I raise an eyebrow at himand playfully reply "Oh, are you trying to charm me into staying longer" he chuckels and replies "Maybe I am" my breath hitched for a moment "Well...not working, guess your charms are fading not a good look for a pop-start"

I smirk back, not willing to let him have the upper hand. "Goodbye Mr. Park" I swiftly turn around and make my way out, I stick out my hand in my back pocket for my phone but it's nowhere, "shit " I LEFT IT IN THE MAKE UP ROOM a sense of annoyance washed over me. It seemed like just another opportunity for Jimin to capitalize on my forgetfulness and tease me further. 

Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself to stay calm and not let his actions get to me. I walked back towards the makeup room, he was still there, leaning against the wall by the mirror, I tried not to pay attention to him and scaned the room "Looking for this birdy?" I looked at him wiggling my phone in his hand, I took a deep breath and stuck out my hand "phone"

"Give me my phone back, Jimin," I said firmly, trying to maintain my composure despite the frustration building up inside me. He continued to dangle it in front of me with a smug smirk on his face.

"Why so serious, Y/N? Can't you take a little joke?" he teased, enjoying every moment of this power play. I took another deep breath and looked him directly in the eye "You know, i was thinking about last night" I took a step forward while he takes one back. Thats it y/n corner him

"well you know wondering what will it be like, you know...flirting with you" His back against the wall while my right hand was on his side by his arm "Well I think i'll be traumatized" I said twirling my hair "Let me tell you what will happen" I could feel his hand on my waist "You'll be thinking about it later on, lying in bed." 

"Been thinking of my bed, have you?" I manage to reply. He blinks, a new rare expression spreading across his face. I want to slap it off. It looks like he knows something I don’t. It’s smug  and I hate it. "Jimin, your expression"

He is distracted. "What about it?" Seizing the opportunity I snatch my phone from his clutches "Its filthy"  and run away. HAH...dreaming about him NEVER though he looked kinda...hot.

to be continued...

chapter 02

THE FIRST CHAPTER OF BRUSHES AND BEATS IS NOW OUTTT, I HOPE YOU'LL LIKE IT

[ouroboros-hideout]

There was so much that when I saw it I felt a bit overwhelmed? But here I am!

Feel free to answer to all of them or choose one if you want to keep it long ❤️

24. only realizing it when they have to let go

43. “we’ll get through this” kisses

26. kissing the top of their head

I choose to keep it short this time. Otherwise you would get an answer in approximately three months or smth like this KEK. So it's more like describing a scene, instead of actual writing smth.

But I will incorporate the ideas into the fic in someway as well, so you will get „the long answer“ sooner or later!

24: Hands - only realizing it when they have to let go

Imagine this happening in a scene where Kurt is in Siberia on business and Aon takes him on one of her Walks™ after work. In Germany we call that a Spaziergang lol. So they go for a walk through the woods, snowy landscapes, all that romantic shit. Since they're on their own, Kurt can finally live out his need for touching things, so whenever the opportunity arises, he would take her hand since she's clumsy when it comes to PDA. She would then say, oh yeah, he's cute, Sir-Touch-a-Lot, but casually continue with small talk or whatever they could chat about. I think it would be kind of cute when they get to their lovebird era around 2075 and everything becomes more and more important that she'd still be like, "Oh yeah, he does that," because it's already become so regular, but then as soon as he lets go of her hand because they get back to mine, it suddenly feels „empty“. Does that make any sense? I don't know. English is hard today KEK

43. Kisses - “we’ll get through this” kisses

This one perfectly fits one scene I have planned for the corpo!AU. Kurt and Aon will get close to each other during the Unification War, so close that the Colonel actually will get his balls together to break up with Rosie before she'll send him and his unit to Night City. So during Midnight Storm or rather during the ambush when everything is going haywire Kurt and Aon are naturally looking for each other. Since she's a mechanic, she never really fought on the frontline, though she had military training back at SovOil and in the years she spent in Militech. She did gain combat experience during the war, but I imagine that she most of the time played her part in the backline or restoring the machinery after the battles. So this whole "attack out of knowhere situation", as I imagine Militech has otherwise marched through pretty much all battles quite passably, is quite overwhelming for her. Kurt is in 100%-protection-mode for his people and her of course and just works like a machine himself. He finally finds her, sitting somewhere in cover, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. He tries to calm her down while they are surrounded by gunfire and their dying comrades. And after some encouraging words they would do the "we’ll get through this kiss". Strong and passionately (cuuuuute). 26. Touching - kissing the top of their head

This would fit a scenario in the stadium. It's more of a small interaction, so it doesn't compare to the previous answer. I imagine that when Aon is working in Dogtown, she occasionally takes a break in the "Firestarter Lounge". First: there's a bar (lol), second: comfortable sofa, third: it's only a few steps away from her workplace. So it's perfect for putting your feet up for a few minutes. Of course, only if Kurt is not acting important and has someone there as a guest. However, I can also imagine that he's there from time to time to keep an eye on things, even if he's not hosting anyone. So both of them could sit there together for a few minutes and chat a bit (aka start a contest to see who can upset the other first). Then, when Aon goes back to work, assuming no one else is there with them (because the rule of "PDA is scary omg" still counts) she would get up, walk around the sofa and give him a little smooch on the bowling ball from behind when he's not expecting it. Then, of course, he'd stare after her, cheeky looks exchanged. You know the deal.

[piratefalls]

20 questions for fic writers

tagged by @ninzied! thank you friend!

How many works do you have on ao3?

40!

What's your total ao3 word count?

169,903, which is a shock to me because it really doesn't feel like that much.

What fandoms do you write for?

previously teen wolf/sterek and hawaii five-0/mcdanno, currently taking my first stab at rwrb/firstprince

Top five fics by kudos:

(Waiting) Until the Sky Falls Down on Me (sterek)

Today and Every Day (sterek)

I'm Gonna Give All My Secrets Away (stanny)

Man, Interrupted (sterek)

it's my (pants) party and i'll cry if i want to (sterek)

Do you respond to comments?

i do my best! sometimes i'm terrible at it, but i try!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't really do angsty endings! I'm a HEA kinda girl.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

probably either Today and Every Day or it's like taking a guess when the only answer is yes because they both end in proposals lol

Do you get hate on fics?

never hate, but i've had a comment here and there that wasn't necessarily appreciated

Do you write smut?

not really anymore. i got myself to do it because it felt like the only thing that got traction and maybe if that was good enough it'd be a gateway to the stuff i enjoyed writing (and, frankly, stuff i spent far more time on). and i don't think i'm particularly good at smut anyway lol. but if given the choice between smut or funny/introspective i'm gonna go with the latter every time.

Craziest crossover:

I haven't done a crossover!

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

so idk who remembers this but a while ago there were people who would post people's fics to Goodreads and one of mine wound up there and those reviews hurt my feelings enough that i quit writing for a while after.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

not to my knowledge!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

haven't, but i think it could be fun with the right partner!

All time favorite ship?

this is an impossible question and i can't choose. i love them all equally, just for different reasons.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

good lord my person of interest post-canon fic. will anyone read it? very unlikely. is it the principle of the thing? yes.

What are your writing strengths?

i genuinely have no idea. i've never given it any real thought. i mean, the build of what i write is some form of introspection mixed with humor, so probably those things.

What are your writing weaknesses?

plot and world building. i'm useless at it, for the most part. and like i said above, i don't think i'm great at smut. it's passable at best.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

i love it. though i do miss the days when people regularly utilized that hover function that would show the translation if you left your mouse over the phrase for a few seconds. way better than having to scroll down to the notes for the translation.

First fandom you wrote in?

teen wolf. much simpler times.

Favorite fic you've written?

I don't have a single favorite so I'm gonna go with a few for different reasons

humor: Got Your Body On My Mind (I Want it Bad) - mcdanno & co get sent to a sexual harassment training seminar. chaos ensues.

character analysis: Written in the Scars on Our Hearts - steve mcgarrett and all the ways a person can be touched and the

most cathartic: & lift him back up again - working through my own grief by making a character sad

crack, my beloved: it's my (pants) party and i'll cry if i want to - every time stiles orgasms his dick sounds like a party horn. there's glitter come. i might have been hammered.

tagging @wellhalesbells @priincebutt + i feel like doing an open tag for anyone who wants to share what they love about their work!

[ashboy-3]

Everything is Okay

Written for DannyMay 2023 Day 25 Prompt: Blame Fandom: Danny Phantom Characters: Danny, Kwan, Dash, Tucker, Sam, Lancer Words: 1253 Warnings: Nightmares Summary: Danny is asleep in class again, this time he wakes up after having a bad dream, and the entire class is there to witness it. It's safe to say that Lancer has a few questions for our favorite trio.

Casper High’s English teacher Lancer was happy to keep talking about their latest book and how the symbolism matters and the wonderful foreshadowing of the author. He looked up from his teaching and spotted the trio. The student that used to be so promising, Danny Fenton, had his head on his desk sleeping, his book was opened to the last chapter they had finished going over earlier this class period. He looked over Sam Manson had her book opened to the right page, but didn’t bother to show her interest. Lancer wasn’t as worried about her, she always had good grades and strong opinions in her essays. Tucker Foley was writing down well-detailed notes, anything that could possibly be on their test and he was ready. Both were giving each other worried looks to each other and Danny, having a full-on silent conversation while the youngest of the trio twitched in his sleep.

“Is Mr. Fenton sleeping in class again?” Lancer asked, walking towards the trio, the two awake high schoolers giving him wide eyes.

“He had a long night. He was up late last night with me Sam. We were studying for his trigonometry test we have today,” Tucker told him.

“Correction Mr. Foley it is Sam and I, but I’ll forgive you. Maybe if you helped Mr. Fenton work out a better study schedule he wouldn’t be falling asleep in class,” Lancer suggested as he went to shake the boy awake but was stopped by the goth teen, now claiming the full attention of the class.

“Don’t touch him,” Sam interfered.

“Ms. Manson he has to be awake for class,” Lancer told her, looking between her and the boy.

“You can’t wake him up yet,” she stated again.

“If you can give a good reason as to why I shouldn’t wake him up then I won’t but until then he has to be awake,” Lancer said sadly, seeing the two struggle to come up with a reason, but as the sleeping boy twitched and shivered they looked worse.

“Mr. Lancer, please. Don’t wake Danny. We will tell you after class after everyone leaves, but I’m not telling you in front of everyone,” she said as he looked around the class and decided that that was a passable excuse.

“Alright, Ms. Manson. I won’t wake him, but I’m expecting a good and full explanation by the end. Do you understand?” he asked.

“We understand Mr. Lancer,” Tucker shook his head as he returned to teaching the class. This however did not stop the other students from thinking that messing with Danny was a good idea.

“Wanna wake Fenton?” Dash whispered to Kwan as the jock smirked in the sleeping teen’s direction. 

Right as Mr. Lancer turned around the two started to throw things at the sleeping boy, ignoring the glares sent to them by the geek squad.

“Stop that!” Sam glared at the two boys.

“What are you going to do about it?” Dash smirked as he threw another object, one bigger than all the others and heavier. Hitting Danny in the back of the head. Danny’s head shot up unexpectedly, a green tint to his normally icy blue eyes.

Lancer noticing the kid awake and out of it choose to stop teaching in case something were to happen, with this class he never knows.

“Mom dad?” Danny asked, looking around the room.

“Danny it’s okay,” Sam gently put a hand on his shoulder, reaching from the desk behind his.

“Sam? Tucker?” Danny asked, looking around trying to find them.

“Hey, Danny man it’s us. Are you doing okay?” Tucker asked, trying to give signs to Lancer to ignore them and keep teaching, but of course, the man wouldn’t listen.

“Mom and dad he- I,” Danny’s voice stopped.

“Hey what happened bro?” Tucker spoke as softly as Sam.

“It’s my fault. They're gone because of me. I wasn't good enough,” Danny whispered so quietly that almost no one heard it.

“Danny your parents are okay. It was only a dream,” Sam promised.

“It’s an ever-growing path. What about Dani and Jazz?” Danny asked, the green still forming in his eyes, it was getting softer the longer he was awake.

“No, Danny. Everyone is okay. Clockwork has been watching. He would stop it before anything bad happened,” Tucker promised.

“You need to stop blaming yourself for things that haven’t happened yet,” Sam told him as she pet his hair, helping calm the boy.

With a look towards Tucker, she grabbed Danny’s bag and bought out a small bottle. “Here Danny drink this. Frostbite said it’ll make the dreams better. If it doesn’t work we’ll try something else,” Sam gently ordered as she helped Danny drink, the boy lay his head back on the desk, passing out almost instantly.

“What the fuck?” Kwan asked as Lancer turned on him.

“Watch your language, Kwan. I’m not afraid of handing out detentions to you for offensive language. Ms. Manson, what did you give Mr. Fenton?” Lancer asked.

“A drink that his doctor made. Should soothe the nightmares and help him sleep more peacefully. If you wouldn’t mind we would greatly like to get back to class,” Tucker answered for her, glaring at anyone who even looked at Danny.

Agreeing with his students he quickly finished class. This was further proof to Casper High that Danny Fenton was not a normal high schooler.

After class Danny was still asleep as Sam and Tucker walked up to Lancer’s desk.

“You promised an explanation?” Lancer prompted.

“We can’t give you the full thing unless Danny is awake and agrees to tell you, but Danny has some friends, and they're great people, but he got in trouble with some bad people, and a while ago they threatened to hurt his family. Danny’s friends helped stop the bad people but Danny sometimes wakes up with vivid nightmares and he can’t tell fantasy from reality,” Tucker told him.

“And this doctor? Will I find him if I talk to Mr. Fenton’s parents?” Lancer asked.

“He’s not a normal doctor. Danny has ecto radiation, more than his sister so this was a special doctor that he found without telling his parents. When Danny goes to a doctor their meds no longer work so he brings them to his specialist doctor and he alters them with ecto science to make them work. Danny’s parents while good at inventions, their not good at everything ecto. It’s why he goes to him,” Sam was quick on the draw.

“Alright, I won’t call his parents to discuss this class period, but I’m only letting this pass once. I’ll write him a sick letter for his next two classes they can talk to me if their wonder where Danny is. Drop him off at the nurse’s office, just make sure he’s up for his test. Would hate for all that studying to go to waste,” Lancer said as he wrote them a note, the two students sharing shocked looks at each other.

“I know it may not always look like it, but we adults are here to help. Maybe it would do all three of you some good to put a little bit of faith in us,” Lancer told them as he handed them the notes, letting them exit the classroom with Danny on Tucker’s back, Sam holding his bags.

Those three. One day I’ll figure out their mystery Lancer thought to himself as he watched the two leave the classroom, letting his new class of freshmen enter.

[fireintheflames]

Long post incoming!

As a little mental health exercise for myself, I have decided to do some actual blogging about my real, irl life! Everything will be tagged with #personal stuff if you want to tune it out.

This is the first of those posts, we’ll see how long I can keep this up! These are probably going to be pretty long and rambling (I have a tendency to word vomit), so I’ll put a cut in if you want to continue scrolling.

Today’s topic: Touching Grass

For a bit of backstory/reminiscence, I grew up on a pretty sizable chunk of land (~15 acres, 10 of which we let go back to fields) in the Upper Midwest, one of those places that was parceled out of a farm in the 80s. My parents were very clear that my sister and I learn how to do at least a passable job at property maintenance, so I spent a sizable chunk of my youth mowing lawns, pulling weeds, planting gardens, all that jazz. Because the sweeper on the lawn mower broke one year (and dad was too cheap to get a new one and not handy enough to fix it), we raked around 2 acres of dried grass every summer after the first big cut by hand, and threw it all of it in the back field in “the pile” to compost and grow volunteer pumpkins and tomatoes. We had probably 5-6 active gardens at a time, scattered throughout the property.  I even had my own garden over the septic tank that I filled with annuals every year, and I laid the brick borders by hand (as for the positioning, septic tanks need to be pumped every couple of years. The flowers were so we didn’t bend the tank handles with the lawn mower and knew where to dig. I usually did marigolds, petunias, and snapdragons). So tldr, despite being an introverted nerd I did spent a lot of time outside doing manual labor.

Living in dorms and apartments for the past 6 years, I had forgotten how much I enjoy outdoor chores. The closest I could get was some small, unsuccessful window plants. And moving into the house with my fella in the fall meant all the lawn and garden work was already pretty much done. So I haven’t really done what I would consider “touching grass” in almost 7 years. I tried going to parks and nature trails, and while those are better than staying cooped up they didn’t scratch that itch to get my hands dirty. And in those 7 years my mental health has quite frankly circled the drain.

But this week has really been a big turnaround in that. Decided to start doing some outside work because with spring coming on, a lot of the tasks that were neglected before we moved in have come to light. Whenever I’ve been feeling stressed, I’ve been pulling the English Ivy the previous owner decided to plant in the front bushes.  My guy and I have been working to convert the back half of our lot to a native pollinator garden, and as the plants we ordered are starting to come in I’ve been planting them myself. Today I trimmed hedges with snippers for about 2 hours. And to my surprise, I feel great!! Both physically and mentally. I feel like I actually want to do things again!! I signed up for art classes, I have made plans to go traveling, just feeling like a whole new person.

So was it the touching grass? Probably not entirely. I think it probably had more to do with shaking off the winter, exercising, and just generally feeling useful. But now that I know that I really like doing outdoor chores again, I can incorporate those into my routines easier! We even have a little composting bin I can throw the grass clippings in (fun fact: if you dry them first, they count as “browns” instead of greens, so they can be used to offset other garden waste!).

[the-trinket-witch]

Practically Perfect Ch. 3

  (Ch 4| Ch 2|Ch 1)

  The night for everyone dragged on, and the morning could not come soon enough. Albert maintained his scheduled morning: Dress, Breakfast, Clean. He didn’t stay long to eat with the other residents, as once they were plated he disappeared out of the kitchen, being replaced with the sounds of dusting, moving crumbling furniture, sweeping and the like.

    Ace piped up with a mouth full of toast, “Can’t tell if he’s still mad or just really wants to clean.”

    “Haven’t met a guy who actively likes cleaning as much as he does,” Deuce added, “Acting like he’s expecting company soon…”

>…..

>I think that’s just how he is, at this point…

    “Ya, maybe you’re right,” Ace replied, “Man...He does kind of a bunch of stuff to make this place feel kinda like home, and with all that crap happening yesterday…”

    Grim chimed in, “He looked like he really wanted that apology’ve yours to land. Ya think all that time he spent yesterday was tryin’ to smooth things over so you all could go home?”

    “I-I hadn’t thought about that...He didn’t get collared, so Riddle obviously wasn’t mad at him… Ahhh, Dammit! I gotta apologize to Riddle and now him? Maaan~”

    Breakfast finished quickly after for the four, and Albert was waiting at the door to see them out. Like any good parent, he made sure their supplies were on them, everything had been packed, and asked a reiteration of the objective for today was.

>You needed us to find a bunch of recipes for you right?

>I got the email still: recipes and a…thesaurus? 

    “Yes, that’s it-I do apologize for the sudden rush, but I believe it’s about classtime, Freshmen! I do look forward to what recipes you’ll bring me, but please take. Your. Time. Spit-spot, of you go now!” Albert called as he hastily pushed the band to the door, closing it with equal haste behind them. They exchanged looks between each other in confusion as they resided to head to class.

    With the house now, for the most part, to himself, Albert felt more free to lean into his cleaning fervor. He set his pace with a stereo playing music of all kinds, singing along on occasion. Cleaning had pretty much finished inside by noon, and with a satisfied huff, retreated to the now passable kitchen to prepare. Hours passed there as well, but he’d kept an eye on the time, and with not a moment too soon finished as the gong of the doorbell rang. Albert answered the door to find Riddle there, close to knocking on the door this time. He seemed braced for impact, possibly anticipating another to answer.

    “Ah, Hello again, Albert. I hope my punctuality hadn’t caught you off guard, I’d understood ‘anytime after three’ as three on the dot,” it seemed Riddle was anticipating explaining himself.

    “Certainly not. Please, come in. Would you care for a tour or would you prefer refreshments before tea?” Albert asked from the side of the doorway, bidding Riddle inside. “I understand you are typically scheduled for tea at four, but pray-tell, is that ordinance from The Queen, or personal preference?”

    “It’s preference, though as someone in your territory, I can be remiss for this afternoon,” Riddle conceded. His eyes wandered the foyer while his host closed the door behind him.

    “Understood-I am more than willing to accommodate to preference. On the interim, then, might you indulge in accompanying me on a tour of our ‘facilities’?”Albert asked with outstretched arms to show off his hard work.

    “I am quite interested in what you have done in, what, three days since school started? The lounge is in quite a surprising shape, already,” Riddle scanned the lounge, noting the lack of dust, the cozy rug under a wholly new sofa. “Lead the way, Dorm Leader.”

    “I do try; granted, it isn’t Royal Sword Academy, but ‘tis quite a touch better than a finger in the eye. Please, follow me.”

    The tour made a loop first through all of the first floor. A couple of the ghosts floated between the walls or poked out from doorways to see Riddle jump. Al chided each attempt at a scare, as well as placing a reassuring hand on Riddle’s shoulder. As they entered the kitchen Albert made for the basket on the table, and retrieved a small glass bottle filled with a pink, viscous liquid to be put in Riddle’s hands. A small tag tied around the bottleneck read,

Rose Syrup: For refreshments, dessert, etc.

-A. Eastwind

    “I have some to try once we’ve sat down-so that one is for your personal use,” Albert mentioned before motioning back out to finish the tour. The tour had finished back in the lounge, at which point Al prompted Riddle to stay put for a moment and retrieved the basket and his school bag.

    “Please, allow me to help set the table,” Riddle sprang ready off of the sofa, but Albert motioned a hand to pause.

    “Actually, we’ll be having a change of scenery-if you’d accompany me to the mantle, please?”

    Riddle’s brow knitted in confusion. He shook his head to clear his doubts and accompanied Al by the fireplace. Albert placed a finger to his lips as if to ask a secret be kept, and backed into the fireplace. One moment Riddle could see his classmate’s legs and shoes, another they were gone. He let out a concerned gasp and instinctively looked up the flue; facing back was Al’s face peering back down with a satisfied grin.

    “You may have to explain the steps of this spell, Albert!” Riddle called.

    “Just hold your limbs close and let the wind catch you!” Albert shouted back. A devious grin could be seen even with the distance between them.

    There was a moment of silence after Al pulled his head back to clear the way, but the silence shattered and was replaced with an undignified holler as Riddle shot up to the roof. Albert grabbed one of his flailing hands as he came back down. The smaller classmate fumbled to regain his footing, not once letting Albert go. Riddle was yanked in close on the level platform, this being the first time the red-head fully felt the scale the seven inches in height difference between Albert and himself. He couldn’t help his cheeks from flushing in embarrassment, and quickly regained space. Albert couldn’t help but bark in laughter at the sight of his smaller peer and their attempt at patting a couple smudges of soot off themselves.

    “Ah don’t worry too much about it-it’s just good, clean soot,” He smiled, rag in hand.

    He could see it now: the view of the cemetery stretched eerily far. The headstones seemed to create a much more macabre maze, not unlike the one in his own domain. The platform leveled out part of the roof, allowing space for a table and a couple of refurbished wooden chairs. He looked back out to the rest of the view to further take it in: The spires of the school crowning out of the woods, the cobblestone main street, and other such landmarks. His gaze fell to every which way, but he was drawn back to the sound of Albert placing the basket on the table and offering a safety line. With both boys secured, they finally each took a seat. Albert began to assemble the table with cups, trays, plates, food and somehow three pots of freshly brewed tea. He noticed Riddle attempting to rationalize what he was seeing; he couldn’t help but start giggling.

    “You’ll remember my suggestion yesterday-about judging things by appearance,” He gave the basket a pat, “Wicker, carpet or otherwise.” He pointed to each pot to name the contents, but quickly pulled a small pitcher of lemonade to accompany it, “Might I suggest this for your rose syrup?”

    “Certainly-It’s quite refreshing to find someone else with a taste for tea. But first: how did you come to find this a proper spot for, well, anything? The view is rather beautiful from this vantage, I’ll admit, but the concept of Tea up on the roof? What’s next? Derbys with carousel horses?”

    “At that rate, I might as well build a proper dance studio up here-choreograph an entire routine, props and all! If you find this bizarre, a cousin of mine practically lives by ‘laughter being able to raise your spirits’. Half of the time dinner has to be hoisted up to the ceiling for him, having been laughing all day!” The fox-like smile Al wore could have been interpreted as jest or earnest. 

    “They must have been who you get your jokes from; can’t say I have quite as colorful of a family. Hazard to guess what they must be like outside of formal gatherings…”

    Albert could sense a slight shift in mood, but continued with him back and forth on various topics for quite a while. The mention of Winter Break reminded Albert of something.

    “If it isn’t too personal to ask, since we’ll all be coming home for winter break, what is your family like? I don’t wish to assume, but maybe someone has been your inspiration for your zeal for rules?”

    “Well, of course you might know of The Queendom of Roses’s most famous healers: my father and Mother. She’s well regarded in our town, and as her son I have an image to uphold.” Image to uphold. The phrase Albert would utter to himself to maintain his nerves at orientation echoed in his head as Riddle continued. “The only way she saw fit to do that was schedule everything to the second, every lesson, every calorie…”

    “Not to speak ill of your mother, but growing up must have felt...suffocating. I can’t say I’ve had the experience of a parent so…invested in their child’s life. Her adherence to rules and regulations has probably saved countless lives, but applying such a stringent adherence outside of the medical field seems a tad counterproductive. Life is a lot less...predictable. There are so many variables and not everyone adheres to the same standards, medically or otherwise.” Al seemed to acknowledge something he didn’t want to completely divulge. “To have the flexibility and willingness to cooperate, at least from what I’ve read, better shows the character of a great leader.”

    Riddle sat and pondered over the critique. On the one hand, Al did commend his mother for her enforcing of rules and her prowess as a healer. Though, it still felt like a slight attack at his mentioning of life’s unpredictability.

    “She is an amazing healer. Both she and I have found that rules and laws are what help remove as much unpredictability as possible. Those who can’t follow the rules can’t lead, and whoever is the strongest ends up being the one to come out on top and rule, so it stands to reason that they are the most correct, because whoever rules, creates the laws. It’s not that I want to be harsh, it’s just for their own good! If I offer leeway in any fashion, then they’ll assume all the rules are out. Then everything just dissolves into madness!”

    “You don’t think everyone’s a little mad, in their own ways? One man’s method and all that?”

    “Are you sure you’re not more of friends with Che’nya? That sounds exactly as roundabout and silly as something he’d say,” Riddle puffed his cheeks in frustration.

    “I’m not a psychologist, and please forgive any rudeness but, this sounds…rehersed. Do you think what you’re saying are your own words? Or is someone else saying them, through you?”

    Riddle flinched at the question. He wasn’t sure where to be more offended-the idea that his decisions aren’t his own, or that maybe, Albert might have rang more true than he’d outwardly ever admit.

    “Of course they’re my words, I’m the one saying them!” he huffed and turned back towards his tea. “I could ask you a similar question about what type of home life you come from that gives you the sense to ask such questions.”

    “You’ve divulged so much about yourself, all ready, It would only be fair I reciprocate:

“I actually have family mostly in The Shaftlands. We grew up in the City of Altus, rather normal, actually. Father traveled extensively, Mother made the home, but a few months ago that…changed” Albert stated.. His eyes trailed from his guest to his own tea before continuing.

    “I’ve been maintaining the home while Father’s been working. It sort of came to a head about halfway through last year; I actually had to take leave from school to come home. I’d stayed home for the rest of the semester until the dust settled, on top of completing schoolwork. While they still passed me with my scores, administration probably wasn’t rather impressed at my physical absence my first year at Royal Sword...I think the change of scenery to Night Raven College has helped quite a bit. I hope that answer satisfies.”

    Riddle somewhat deflated at such an answer, and with a sigh, placed his cup back down. He ran a hand through his hair, not sure of what to say. He broke the silence by scrambling up and bending at the waist in a bow.

    “I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware. I won’t ask the details, but more than anything else I’m sorry for my indignation. If my pride hadn’t got the better of me I wouldn’t have made you tell me something that sounds so personal,” Riddle peered back for a moment, the threat of tears welling in his eyes.

    “ I have to apologize, myself; I feel I’ve come off as arrogant in what I’ve probably made to feel like an interrogation. I do enjoy your company and I don’t wish to offend. As host I should have done more to be more mindful,” Albert replied, with a bow in turn. “If you’d like, We can stifle this part of the conversation. And, iff you’d prefer we finish up, I’d welcome you indulging me more about Rose Queendom’s customs while I pack.”

    Albert wouldn’t be able to hear, but Riddle sighed in slight relief at the offer. He gave a short nod and began assisting in cleanup, chatting about local food specialties and holidays. The two made short order of cleanup, and Albert finally untied the safety lines from both of them. Once free he rifled through his school bag, producing his umbrella; said instrument had been equipped with an additional accessory: a sturdy cord attaching a metal rod to the umbrella shaft.

    “Oh, if it’s going to rain, I have my own umbrella-” Riddle started. Riddle checked his watch for the time, as well, but couldn’t make out why it should have been well over an hour past what the face was showing.

    “No no no, it’s not raining, This is our way down,” Al replied. He opened the instrument, and stepped on the metal rod. “Place your foot here, hold on…” Riddle obeyed, skeptically waiting for further instruction. “You close your eyes, and jump!”

    Riddle flew along with Albert’s momentum off the side with a yelp. He didn’t let go, but his balance he found difficult to maintain. Closing his eyes wasn’t an option anymore, of course, as he was immediately fixated on the ground they wouldn’t meet. He looked back to his pilot, who was all smiles.

    “I always enjoy this-my favorite thing to show new friends! Not much different than a broom, though I’d prefer this to broom-stick saddle sores,” he laughed as the two floated back towards the main campus. Riddle checked his pocket watch once more, now even more curious as the time had not progressed since the last time it was checked.

    “I believe my watch must be dead, could you check on it? I should have asked earlier but I’m afraid I might be late back.”

    “Well, let’s see...Well, it is about 5.30PM, so I would imagine, at least by The Queen’s Rules, you are still in time for dinner,” Albert stated.

    “But, surely we’ve been having tea for quite longer than that, right?”

    “Oh certainly, it’s that I’ve afforded us an extra hour. Everyone at this school has a unique magic to either them or their families, mine happens to allow myself and up to three others that I can touch to have time frozen around them. I call it ‘Step in Time’. Once we land, the hour I’ve frozen will be done and time will resume as scheduled.”

    “That’s a rather interesting type of magic, really,” Riddle replied. “To have even an extra hour to do anything without disturbing your schedule…”

    “-Give or take five minutes. But, If I couldn’t find time to perform academically as well as better make Yuu and I’s dorm more of a home, then what kind of personal assistant could I ever hope to be, after graduation?”

    “Thank you again for answering my invitation. I can see this year starting out a bit rough, but maybe this is the start of a turn to a brighter direction?” Albert stopped at the Mirror to Heartslabyul to see Riddle off.

    “And...Thank you. For inviting me, for feeling free to speak with me, this rose syrup…” Riddle started. “And for offering some perspective. Thank you.”

    “Not a problem-I do hope I made today enjoyable. And willing, you are more than welcome to ask to join me again. Can’t say I’ve had many an opportunity to make a friend yet at Night Raven College.  If I may, though, leave you with something to think about? A riddle, in a way: We ponder why the Caged Bird sings. But What does the Caged Bird ponder, with an open door to a world it didn’t know was outside its cage? Have a good rest of the night.”

    At that Albert turned and disappeared from sight. Riddle returned home, silently pondering the ‘riddle’ assigned to him. His concentration was broken by a resident bringing in the mail. They cautiously offered a letter from administration and fled. He opened to read it, and found the contents infuriating.

    “THOSE TWO WANT TO DO WHAT??”

    Another evening splashed oranges and yellows in the sky by the time Albert had returned back to his dorm. He was immediately confronted by Ace leaning against the wall, with Deuce, Yuu and Grim behind. Ace wore a sour face before straightening out.

    “So, how was your afternoon with Riddle? I got to see you both in the Hall of Mirrors, earlier. Did he yell at’cha the whole time? Keep nitpickin’ everything? Lemme guess, you had to make nice to him all day to let us back in?” He rambled. “Not that it’s gonna matter-Deuce and I are challenging him for the title of Dorm Leader, tomorrow. When we win, We’re making him apologize to Us, and you for whatever he’s made ya do today and yesterday.”

    Albert stood quiet for a few moments. He sharply sighed, snatched his umbrella close and marched over to the redhead.

    “Now see here, Ace. Let me make one thing quite clear,” He growled, forcing Ace to the wall while wagging the umbrella between them. He stood there quiet with a now sweating freshman darting his gaze looking for an escape. Al’s tense expression flipped as quickly as before, this time to a calm grin. “I never explain anything~”

    He pulled back, giving Ace room off of the wall. He tugged at his jacket to straighten it and continued his march towards the kitchen. He whipped his phone from his pocket to show the group the email Yuu had sent.

    “Yuu’s kindly relayed what you all would like, of the recipes you’ve all found, today. I’ll call for dinner when it’s ready.” With that he retreated into the kitchen to kickstart the meal.

[diospyros-kaki]

Turns out I still very much hate cooking.

Long rant under the cut, of course.

Sooo. Today was pasta day, which is a lot of work (why the fuck did I ask the father what he would like to eat), and since I know this and, well, hate cooking, I woke up already in a bad mood (mentally, if it makes sense, because my anger tends to be the quiet kind. I don't huff and puff or yell or slam doors or whatever, though I can be curt depending on circumstances. I prefer to go to a corner and bottle up and die from it someday).

Anyway, cooking in general takes a lot from me and the result is often simply passable, so I expect to invest time and energy and reap frustration. And since I came to the childhood house, all meal prepping goes on me, because the father is a shit cook and is unwilling to learn because, get this, it takes a lot of time that he could better spend on his own needs/interests. Funny. But uhh I'm getting off track I think. The point is every time we go grocery shopping I get more spices in the so far futile hopes of getting the smallest reward for my efforts, because by the time I'm done and we get to eating I can't taste anything anymore. Anyway, so, the pasta I've been making consists of, well, pasta, grinded meat and store bought tomate sauce (I know, hang on) that I touch up with real stuff, but this time I had to make almost each one of those at a time because I was so irritated I couldn't watch everything at the same time (see: left the pasta in hot water for too long after turning the heat off and overcooked it). All in all, this time around everything together (other than what I cited above) consisted of:

One real better-suited-for-salad tomato;

Two real better-suited-for-sauce tomatoes;

One whole onion;

Something like half a dozen garlic cloves;

Bell pepper;

Tasty-but-not-spicy pepper (don't know the name in English)

Black pepper;

Pepperoni pepper;

Basil;

Oregano;

Parsley;

Nutmeg;

Ginger because I was desperate;

Bacon;

Salt.

And what did I taste once I was at the table? Bacon. And not even overpowering, just kind of there. Every time I try to go heavier on the spices, and every time it still tastes like nothing. At this point I don't know if I'm doing something wrong (still putting too little somehow, since my hand is independently cautious, or at the wrong time or with the wrong technique, etc...) or if it's simply the effect of being overexposed during the process.

The father's opinion doesn't help: he can only say it's good, but there are several problems with that: first, he gets hungry early, meaning if lunch is anything past one thirty in the afternoon (which is what happens more often than not because *I* don't get hungry that early and making lunch is a bitch) he eats quickly without tasting anything; second, I actually doubt his capacity of tasting, or at least paying attention to flavor, because of things such as he didn't smell the potato he left in water to sprout going bad, or, he seemingly can't tell very well the peculiar taste of the store bought sauce (I use it to puff up the sauce because making enough of it completely from scratch gets expensive); third, he is very much unknowledgeable in food making in general by his own volition.

Like, what should I do at this point, put the whole herb packages in?? I'm using dry herbs, is that the problem???? Fresh might be more complicated to obtain... Is it overexposure even if I still can barely taste it in the next day? Is it too little spice? Is something wrong in the process? Is something wrong with *me* somehow? (I doubt that is the case, I can taste other things as normal) Also I forgot I wanted to try olive oil instead of regular oil this time, maybe it could make the smallest difference. Should I just go for more outlandish seasonings?? If so I'm open to suggestions.

I feel like giving up, honestly. Just use simple pre made seasonings and stuff where I can and call it a day, since I am seemingly wasting my own efforts apparently only for the benefit of someone who can barely appreciate it (the problem is, pre made often does taste stronger, but also... not badly but uh dunno, weird. Distinctly pre made, you know?) . It's all too tiresome and makes me hate cooking even more. And asking the father to help is useless, because as I said he knows barely anything of the subject, and he's also taking care of providing our bread and cakes* for breakfast and snacks so he thinks we're even.

(*He wanted to spend less on groceries and have better quality things to eat, so he bought a machine for that; all he needs to do is put the ingredients in and clean up afterwards. There's no machine for making lunch tho.)

In short: cooking is terrible and I will probably hate it forever.

[freonblue]

i will add, now the trans guy barista has quit because of how poorly all that was handled, and i think the cis guy barista also just quit?

as far as i can tell that leaves exactly one barista... the very young, anxious, not-very-competent cis girl. (I don't know how to better describe her, but it's a specific barista type that i've seen so many times. she's just not very experienced and....passable but not good at her job.)

which sucks for this cafe but also.....maybe the manager will have to actually show up more than once a month and actually run this place now?

I did get the trans guy barista's number and hopefully we can keep in touch and maybe game together.

also connected with the very cool community-organizer-ish enby regular I met here, who said today he's not gonna be back.

nothing is forever but meeting new people is always worthwhile

welp the trans girl barista at my local cafe got fired

for something that was, yes, a problem, but also pretty sure neither the cis guy barista nor the trans guy barista would have been fired for it, just given a stern warning.

i'm really sad because i liked her and wanted to get to know her better