#wooden workshop ask blog

[artsy-child1--6]

I made an ask blog :3

@a-wooden-workshop-ask-blog

[haunted-headset]

My WIP Leaks

Take my Hand "Where the hell did you get the car from?" she asked as she sat in the passenger seat. "My sister," he said as he started to drive. "Okay, so what's the plan?" "We drive to the gas station & change our appearances so that nobody will recognize us," she said. "We cut our hair, change our clothes, wear sunglasses, & wear masks." He nodded. "Then we drive to the airport & get on our plane to Brighton as quickly as we can," she said. "We don't buy any snacks to make sure nobody recognizes us." He nodded again. "Then, when we land in Brighton, we find the nearest hotel & spend the night," she said. "& the next morning, your friend Hilda will pick us up & drive us to her apartment." "Correct," he smiled. "We've got this." He paused before asking, "Are you really sure about this?" She nodded. "Get me out of here."

Sanborn View I was working at my market, but it was empty except for me and my music. Painite was busy as the president of Sanborn View, Moonstone was in the library, Carnation (formerly known as Maisie) was creating something in her workshop, Zircon (aka William) was making clothes or feeding ducks, and Adventus (aka Atlas) was baking in his cafe. Just when I thought it would be a boring day, Carnation burst in. “A new runaway has arrived!” she exclaimed. “Get up, get up!”

Paradox City Milo had no idea that when she was asleep, her wooden bluejay fluttered over to Milo & sat down upon her head. Milo also had no idea that her mother’s lucky pencil, which was still firmly gripped in her hand, started to glow a soft purple & it emitted its lavender rays on her vine drawing. & only the wooden bluejay saw the vines start to become real things, growing out of the sketchbook and blooming small, yellow flowers. & only the wooden bluejay knew that these flowers tasted absolutely delicious.

30 People, 30 Days “Can we all just focus, please?!  There are tons of us trapped in this wardhouse, & from what I’ve seen there’s no way out!” I raised my voice. Then, a person in all black walked out in a fancy outfit and an anonymous mask. They stepped into the warehouse with all the guards.  We all looked over at them with anger. “Who are you?!” someone yelled. “Who I am is to not be revealed to you, ever.  But I would like to welcome my new 30 contestants to a game.” The voice spoke, its voice deep. “A game?  What game?  I don’t want to play no game.” Quinn said. “Ew, improper English,” someone mumbled. “This is where you’ll be staying.” The voice pointed to a room to the left.“There you’ll be fed your basic three meals, and make new friends. Your first challenge begins promptly at 8am.” The voice walked away.

Just Like Mama Never Made Good parenting was never something that I had seen. My mom’s an alcoholic and my stepdad’s a stoner. My siblings and I never got one good thing out of them. Hell, my siblings and I were lucky that we had a roof over our heads and that we were alive. The damage my parents had created was terrible. Sometimes I woke up so scared from nightmares about them that I had to remind myself of my name, remind myself who I am, remind myself that I’m alive. Let me know which one sounds the most interesting & I'll release more leaks of it!

tags: @vibestillaxxx@joviepog@ax-y10@themonsterunderurmom @wilburstan@smolsleepykitten@funnyreally2009@crows-death@dykepunz@aresriiots@0miamor0 @cathers-world@defonotval@chipch0p@mazzistar16@unmellowyellowfellow@justalittlebitofchaos@thosecolorfulsheets@vopix@taylors-version-from-the-vault@aine-lasagna@merianakross@veeislost@urfav-sapphic-siren@shazbaz58-blog @wifiatthetrainstation@mcr-pr-fob@shd454 @universe-friday @rqvii @idioticion @m0thza (let me know if u don't or do wanna be tagged!!)

[trophiesuae]

Behind the Scenes: How Trophy Manufacturers in UAE Create Awards that Shine

When it comes to celebrating achievements, nothing shines quite like a trophy. But have you ever wondered what goes into making these iconic awards? In this blog, we’ll take you behind the scenes to explore how trophy manufacturers in UAE bring these symbols of recognition to life. From design to delivery, let’s uncover the artistry and craftsmanship that make these awards truly special.

The Design Process: Where Ideas Take Shape

Every trophy starts with an idea. Trophy manufacturers in UAE prioritize collaboration with clients to ensure that the design reflects the essence of the award. This phase involves sketching concepts, selecting materials, and determining sizes. Designers consider not only aesthetics but also the purpose of the trophy—whether it's for sports, corporate achievements, or academic excellence.

Material Selection: Quality Matters

Once the design is finalized, it’s time to select the materials. UAE trophy manufacturers typically use a variety of materials including glass, crystal, metal, and wood. Each material brings its own unique charm and durability, making the choice crucial. For example, crystal trophies offer a touch of elegance, while wooden trophies provide a classic, rustic feel. Manufacturers often prioritize sustainable materials, reflecting a commitment to the environment.

Craftsmanship: The Heart of Trophy Making

Craftsmanship is where the magic happens. Skilled artisans in the UAE use advanced techniques to transform raw materials into stunning trophies. This process can include cutting, engraving, polishing, and assembling various components. The attention to detail is paramount; even the smallest imperfections can detract from the trophy’s overall appeal.

Engraving: This is a vital step where personalized details such as names, dates, and logos are added. Many manufacturers in UAE use state-of-the-art laser engraving technology to ensure precision and quality.

Polishing: Once the trophy is assembled, it undergoes polishing to achieve a flawless finish. This step enhances the trophy's shine, making it truly stand out.

Quality Control: Ensuring Perfection

Before the trophies leave the workshop, they undergo rigorous quality control checks. This ensures that every award meets the manufacturer’s high standards. From examining the clarity of glass to checking the stability of bases, every aspect is scrutinized. This attention to quality is what sets the best trophy manufacturers in Dubai apart from the rest.

Delivery: Making the Moment Special

After passing quality checks, the trophies are carefully packaged for delivery. Manufacturers understand that these awards represent significant achievements, so they ensure that each trophy arrives in pristine condition. Many trophy manufacturers in UAE offer personalized delivery services, making the process even more special for clients.

Conclusion

The world of trophy manufacturing in the UAE is filled with creativity, precision, and a deep respect for craftsmanship. From the initial design to the final polish, every step is undertaken with care to ensure that the awards truly shine. Whether for a sporting event, corporate recognition, or academic accomplishments, these trophies symbolize the hard work and dedication of the recipients.

FAQs

What are some of the best trophy manufacturers in Dubai?

Some of the best trophy manufacturers in Dubai include those that combine innovative design with high-quality materials, ensuring stunning awards that reflect the achievements they celebrate.

How can I find top trophy manufacturers in Dubai?

To find top trophy manufacturers in Dubai, consider checking online reviews, asking for recommendations, and exploring portfolios to evaluate their craftsmanship and design styles.

What should I look for in trophy manufacturers in UAE?

When choosing trophy manufacturers in UAE, look for quality materials, custom design options, timely delivery, and strong customer service to ensure a satisfactory experience.

[plaindangan]

Woohoo! First time sending an ask here, love the blog. 🤍🖤 Hope this isn't too much. "Nude Work Day" for Angie and Shuko Saihara/Suichi's Mom, but little does they realize it's also "Twerk Work Day". Much to the amusement of OSHA inspector Junko Enoshima, who's doing her monthly routine inspection. -🐔 anon

Disclaimer: R18 material! If not to your liking then please do not view!

Now for Angie, nude work day was pretty much a 'everyday' sort of affair. Not all day, mind you, but every 6 AM - 7AM, Angie would be buck naked, hips swinging and elongated into elaborate poses. Why? Because she has a special yoga class that she loved to do! For a fee that can best be described as 'better hack off that arm', one can adopt Angie's isle style yoga and better connect with one one's spiritual side.

While most might be wary of it, Shuko Saihara was one of the few that immediately took a shining to it. Sure, she basically had to stand about in a wooden shack that poorly kept out the draft towards her voluptuous nude body. Sure, she basically had to let Angie give her a 'hand-on' demonstration that involved copious amount of fondling and groping to get Shuko into position. Sure, she had to deal with Angie recording their 'sweaty salvation-inducing stretches' for 'references' material (which she could have sworn wound up on porn site sometime later...)

But! It was working! Shuko has never felt so nimble, energetic and more in tune with herself than ever. Well, admittedly, 'in tune' sort of flip-flopped between feeling more stable to 'God, I could use a hunk to mating press me right now', but the sentiment was there!! It was enough that Shuko happily spent thousands to continue her sessions, and was eventually appointed to being a sort of vice leader in Angie's operations.

Of course, nothing can remain serene for long~ Because Junko Enoshima exists very much to wreck any good thing thing for shits and giggles!~ And, today, she chose to interfere in Angie's work as her source of entertainment.

And what a day she chose, for when she entered the workshop, she found both artist and detective MILF face down, and ass up. Not only that, but they were also clapping their booties with quite a bit of intensity, though both differed in technique. Angie's booty was smaller, yet she was more fervent in action, shaking her booty in a rhythmic blur. Like a devoted follower proving her worth to her God. As for Shuko, while her booty was bigger, and more doughy, she was clearly less experienced. Her shakes were more violent and a bit awkward, but it still made for an appealing sight.

When Junko walked up to them she showed them the OSHA papers for their shack, and how it was clearly not up to code. However!!!! She was willing to let it slide...if they were willing to take another 'inspection'~ Something neither could refuse given what was on the line.

So, for the stragglers coming into the workshop for their weekly session, they would see quite the unusual sight. For some who got their early, they'd first see Junko press Shuko against the wall, a pair of gloved hands digging deep into her pussy with her fingers, while the other hand fondled the buns that teased her moments ago. Not stopping even as the MILF would undoubtedly cum hard from the 'thoroughness' of her search.

Those that came in later would get a full view of Angie's inspection. For this one, Junko had Angie laid on her back, legs spread apart and be utterly helpless as Junko's hands would find it's way all about her thighs and backside. Speaking of which, Junko really had a fondness for it given how many fingers prying and teaser her pucker. And Atua could only give Angie fortitude, as Junko would eventually plop her phat, model, ass on-top of the artist. Grinding her soft butt against the face of Angie as she continued to tease her in front of so many who respected her as their teacher~ In front of so many who would see her cum!

Angie would be offended, but given how this was clearly 'Atua's will' for this to happen to her (and how much money was made online from this incident) all she could do was praise her creator and try to organize something with Junko to do something like this again for the nearby future.

[knotcece]

INTRODUCTION :)

***Author’s Note: This is an introduction by way of timeline. I wrote this a couple years ago and i’m playing catchup here, so this is a longish shortcut. Still deciding how to roll out other kinds of works in a blog format… Still, the idea appeals a lot.

Quotes are pulled from journals and I had saved dating back to 2004. Italics are little patches in the weird möbius cloth of this timeline. (You’ll notice things are all mixed up and out of order.) In workshop the feedback was, “this is confusing.”

FEBRUARY 2022

“My way of living is so fragile.

I am elastic to the feet of rabbits.”

JUNE 2004

Transcribed by my mother: “there is a war in the West. People are dying and people are bleeding. There are not enough band-aids.”

JANUARY 2022

“My morals are context-dependent.

The lonelier I get, the less discerning I become.”

MAY 2021

“My knee stuck to the bedsheets last night and dirtied them. Now there are a number of brown blood stains the same size and shape as my wound. There is gravel beneath my skin, there is spoilage—a smell, there is blackened meat.” 

SEPTEMBER 2019

“Pain that starts in my 

lowest ribs and seeps

like blood or piss 

into my stomach,

my neck,

legs, and everywhere else.

it hangs heavily in 

my fingertips

when I run

home.”

MARCH 2020

“The body is a mud pile, bubbling goop formed of and shaped by smoky air, boiled and spun like raw wool…”

OCTOBER 2020

“My brain has become mushy and unhelpful…”

Then, later on: “everything is a bit funny.”

FEBRUARY 2022

At work,  I remember that the Chicago fire traveled by foot along the city’s wooden walkways,  and I write it down to remember.

SEPTEMBER 2021

“We are sitting on the grass in Kenilworth Park, and you have new tattoos. You have been walking around for a year and four months, collecting scrapes and bruises and marks and everything, everything without me.”

He pulls the unwashed shirt from his bag and returns it to me. It will hang like a limb on my headboard for months. 

SEPTEMBER 2019

“We took a late night walk over white clover flowers, ankles twisting in the pockmarked earth. I was so happy to do that awkward dance.”

OCTOBER 2021

My cousin brings his tattoo gun over. He brings beer and some acid and American Spirit Blacks, but I hand roll some loose tobacco for us instead and make a mess doing it. He touches up the chevrons on his nail beds, which match the chevrons on my left thumb, even though we don’t really know each other and didn’t plan them to match. 

I use a tattoo gun for the first time. I frame the scar on my knee with a curved length of barbed wire. I practice the strokes on lined paper. I go slow and deep, and there is no pain. 

FEBRUARY 2022

“Striped knee-high socks will create a topography of your foot’s arch.”

DECEMBER 2020

“One nice thing was when mom asked if she could kiss my stomach.”

JULY 2015

I stand in the kitchen as my aunt washes my grandma’s swollen feet, and I try my hardest to take in all the light that reflects in the room and hold it somewhere.

[circa-specturgia]

(let's pretend I sent you this on Saturday)

HAPPY STORY TELLER SATURDAY--//

Do you have any piccrews/ art of your main characters? If not, then any faceclaims or visual representations that can help us in your fandom visualize them? O:

@bloodlessheirbyjacques

AAAAAAAAAAAA!!! Hey @bloodlessheirbyjacques! Thank you so much for this ask!!! ✨ I’ll try not to geek out about any of my characters too much and stick to just their design, for now!

This might take me a while so I advance I apologize if this is answered really late after this was sent in!

While I don’t have any picrews or faceclaims of my main characters, I do have a bunch of art that I feel represents them pretty well! (I’ve drawn nearly all of them at least once, but, in all honesty I feel like I haven’t been able to capture them in any of the attempts and so I’ll mainly use the art I’ve found!) And I have way more than just 10 cause, well, I gotta get the vibe right, but the Hellsite won’t let me post more than that so, eh, maybe another time! Added some songs in there too

Onto the bastards and beloveds!

Cas

The MC of my main WIP! 19, Bisexual, tall, messy hair. Eyes dark and not so much piercing as they are deep, pulling you in as opposed to shooting through you. Lots of layers, sweaters, robes, uniforms, all sorts, usually darker colors, burgundy, not red. Dark academia mixed with dark cottagecore. Arsonists Lullaby - Hozier

Ciro

Notes: First and foremost with this one, thanks again to @muddshadow for the fantastic depiction of my boy! Go check out their art and blog, it’s some great stuff!

An Æris/Winged, a race of humanoids possessing wings and in some cases taloned and scaled feet and hands. 22, very tall, kind and open, flowing robes/loose linen clothes, gentle winds and ocean breezes, silver on light blue. Movement - Hozier and Moderation - Florence + the Machine.

Alix

Recently thinking about making them Non-binary, on top of being aro-ace. Anxious, not very social, observant and observing. Purple eyes, like their mother, and an unwavering moral compass. Old paper on a dark wooden desk, bronze and silver, telescopes and metal tools, sketchbooks, pencils and dark ink.

Cyril

A Jin, (think Tieflings in DnD). Buttoned shirts, vests, ornate jackets in all shades. Golden-rimmed glasses. A mentor figure, around 40-50 or so but Jins age slower/weird, has a tail and horns, and slit pupils, along with several piercings, a university professor and military general. Messy past. Old and new books, theory and practice, lots of training and ungodly hours. Blood in the sand, burning passion. I am Defiant - The Siege and Would That I - Hozier

Adira

Cold, timeless marble, black ink on steel, stormy gray eyes and a presence that commands respect. Same age as Cyril, is an Alf, so, also ages slower. Stubborn, but cautious, believes firmly in learning through experience and with a callous but often necessary realistic view on most situations. Could snap a man in half. Could snap anyone in half for that matter. Castle - Halsey and Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene - Hozier

Tamara

Working on her engineering degree, brilliant mind, witty intelligent, tinkering and designing, sketchbooks usually filled with blueprints and notes on machines and mechanisms, calculations etc, with a personally created organization that nobody but her understands. Alix’s sister, hence the purple eyes. Metalworking, workshops and forges, staying up late lost in time, and a killer shot with a rifle.

I haven’t ever really tried to describe them or summarize them quickly, and while I don’t know if this is quite right for all of them, I’m still working them out as I’ve recently decided to throw about 20k written words and 50k planned out the window, and try and start from the top on everything, so this was a really welcome chance to come back to my characters and give them some thought! Thank you for the ask and the opportunity! ✨✨

[tendertenebrosity]

Part 5 of Illiam and Helis’ story. Masterpost is here, previous post is here. 

Taglist: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @doglover82; @top-hat-aye; @burtlederp; @just-a-raccoon-with-wifi    @sleepysnapdragonart

When Helis came around, swimming up slowly from the depths of sleep, it was to discomfort. They were sitting up, their back resting against something hard, wings flopped out to either side and arms held up awkwardly over their head. Their limbs throbbed and ached, and they were both thirsty and very cold.

Still blearily trying to force their eyes open, they went to pull their arms down.

Metal clinked. Their arms pulled up short, against something cold and hard around their wrists.

The surprise of this was enough to get their eyes fully open. They were sitting on the floor, cold, smooth stone underneath them, legs out in front. They blinked at their own clawed feet and their dirty uniform trousers in confusion before lifting their gaze.

They were in a room, low-ceilinged but long, lit by the clear white light of magic rather than torches or lanterns. A fire somewhere was crackling. There were no windows.

Helis could see a door to the left, a set of heavy bookshelves and a scroll rack to their right. They craned their neck and tried, unsuccessfully, to pull their wrists free of whatever was holding them up above their head. They seemed to be sitting with their back against the leg of a solid wooden table that took up a large portion of the centre of the room, their wrists affixed to the edge of the table somehow. Moving made the ache of their wing and shoulder joints worse. Metal clinked again.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Helis jerked, looking around them wildly. Their wings tensed, long white feathers sweeping against the floor.

Illiam de Graer rounded the table, put a tool down on it with a clatter, and looked down at Helis disdainfully. He had removed a layer but otherwise seemed to be in the same clothes as before; black clothing that made him look washed-out and tired in the glow of the magelights. The collar of the shirt was loosened and his sleeves pushed up past his elbows.

He clicked his tongue in exasperation. “Inconvenient,” he said. “You couldn’t have stayed out for another five minutes?”

“Illiam!” Helis gasped.

He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “We have established that you recall my name. Wonderful. At this rate, we might get to talk about something of substance in a mere couple of hours.”

“What did you - what are you doing?” Helis asked, looking around. They pulled at their wrists again. “Where are we? Where’s Reed?”

“Improvisation,” Illiam said. He picked up a sheet of paper from the table and perused it, scratching the side of his face absent-mindedly. He made a face at the faint rasp of stubble. Was it only the light that was making him look tired? “Quiet, now. I’m working, and I don’t need you distracting me. I didn’t even really have time for the trip to Rosdan, let alone this.”

Helis noticed a bandage on his left forearm, awkwardly tied, with a patch of bright red seeping through the material. Had he been injured? While Helis was out? Or had they done that to him? They remembered kicking and scrabbling at him but they hadn’t thought…

Helis fought back the ridiculous, mortified urge to ask after it and apologise. No. No, if I hurt him he deserved it, he grabbed me. And he forced a sleep spell on me!

And he hadn’t answered their question. Any of their questions.

Helis took a deep breath, leaned their head back against the table leg amongst their curls, and tried to think.

They noticed with discomfort that their jacket had been removed, and the arms that stretched above their head were bare. No wonder they were cold. Their wings hurt - the sharp throb of a muscle pulled in Helis’ shoulder, and every joint ached. The feathers were uncomfortably frayed and ruffled, and one primary still dangled sadly from its shred of shaft. That was… bad. A broken feather would stay broken until Helis molted and got a whole new set, which was probably months. It had been a long time since Helis had damaged any major feathers that badly.  

Illiam sighed, and Helis jumped, but he wasn’t even looking at them. He turned and strode back to the table, this time the same side that Helis seemed to be cuffed to. He began to move things around up there, paper rustling and metal clinking.

The room wasn’t quite the same as other mages’ workshops Helis had been in, but that was obviously what it was. The walls and floor were grey stone, and something about the lack of windows and the feel of the roof above them made it feel like they were either underground or deep inside a structure. There were no big stone buildings in the Rosdan forest; the closest villages had been wood, and not large enough.

So obviously while Helis slept - they carefully ignored the panic that began to twist inside their chest - they had been taken quite a long way. How far? Why?

If Helis craned back and rolled their eyes up as far as they could, they thought they could see a faint glint of metal up around their wrists. Silver? Illiam wasn’t paying them any attention. Cautiously, they reached for magic, just to confirm it for themselves. There was nothing there; nothing but fear filled their chest.

Alone, no magic, somewhere very far from where they were supposed to be. Helis took a deep breath.

Calm down. You won’t help things by panicking. There must still be a way to fix this, improve this. Illiam was frightening, familiar but changed, impatient and angry and threatening. But Helis was good at talking to people, good at making people see reason, being nice until they were nice, too. They could do that here, couldn’t they? And he had stepped in between Helis and the Duke. Surely they could work with that.

“Illiam,” Helis said, trying to speak calmly. Their wings trembled. Be quiet, be reasonable, be calm, all people really want is to be listened to and reasoned with. “You, um. You saved me. Thank you.”

The noises of work from the table stopped. Tip their head though they might, Helis couldn’t see Illiam’s face; but his hands seemed to have fallen still. He was silent for a long moment before he spoke. “I suppose you’re welcome,” he said eventually, his voice flat and dull. “You really shouldn’t have come. You can’t say I didn’t warn you what you’d find if you came North.”

Helis fidgeted their claws nervously. “Well, Rosdan is neutral, so it…”

“It’s still the North,” Illiam said. “And I believe the correct phrasing is was. It was neutral - but I expect our forces will have it secured in a week.” There was an abrupt click as he picked up a tool again. “All of which is a moot point to you, as you are currently in Toralda.”

“Wh-!”

“I recall telling you to be quiet.”

Helis took a deep breath of horror, shackles curbing the urge to clap a hand over their mouth. He had taken them across the border?

Helis had lived all their life with stories about how bad things were in Toralda for people like them. That even the commonborn humans were practically prisoners to their lords, and wildborn were little more than property. That nobility did whatever they wanted and neither the church nor the government cared enough to stop them. Stories about terrible things, cruel punishments and harsh abuses that happened over there, over the mountains, a reminder of how lucky their family was, not ever a thing that Helis themself would ever see…

They took a panicked breath, then another, chest heaving underneath their shirt, feeling tight. Tears prickled and burned in their eyes. Why had he done this? This couldn’t be happening! Helis needed to find Reed and get home.

Through the haze of stinging tears, Helis saw movement. They looked up to find Illiam dropping down to his knees beside them, holding something in his hands they couldn’t make out that glinted in the light. His eyes met Helis’ for one instant before shifting away.

Helis sniffled, tried to wipe their face on the fabric of their shoulder. He was very close. They drew their knees up and leaned away as far as the silver cuffs would allow. “W-what…”

“Don’t do that,” he said, sounding distracted. “Hold still.” He reached up, over Helis’ head, with both hands. One took hold of their wrist as if to steady them.

His hand against their skin set panic rising in their chest. The last time he’d told Helis to hold still, it was because he was trying to cast a spell on them.

“No!” Helis jerked their hands, twisted against the table and tried fruitlessly to get their feet under them. “No, wait, what are you - ”

There was sudden, bright pain at their forearm and they shrieked, wings flaring against the table. Their elbow hit the wood with a crack that hurt almost as much as whatever Illiam had just done.

Illiam hissed, gripped their wrist tightly. “Don’t be such a baby, that barely hurt. I should know.”

“Ow! What are you doing?” Helis gasped, craning their head to try and see past him.  Their wing battered weakly at Illiam’s shoulder, and he ignored it. They threw their head back in frustration. “Let go! What are you doing?”

Finally, he released his bruising grip on their arm and sat back. They got a better look at the things he was holding; his belt-knife, and a little glass bulb filled with blood.

Helis choked in horror, going momentarily limp. “Illiam!”

He’d - cut Helis, and collected their blood?

They watched in shocked revulsion as he calmly, methodically set the gruesome things down. He stoppered the bottle, wiped the knife, and picked up a roll of white bandaging material. As if this was a completely normal thing to be doing, and not like a, a scene out of a trashy horror play. Blood magic? Blood magic was a thing that people actually did - that Illiam actually did?

“What the hell is that?” Helis wailed. They dragged in a breath past a throat and nose clogged with tears. “Illiam, what the hell is any of this? What are you doing? Why am I here? Why did you take me to Toralda, I can’t be here! You know why I can’t be here!”

He set the bandage back down, face blank.

Now that the words had started, Helis couldn’t stop them. “You can’t just - you can’t just cut people! What are you doing with my blood?” They shook their hand, making the cuffs clatter above their head. “What’s going on with this, you know I’m not dangerous! You just have silver shackles lying around? You used a sleep spell on me!” Tears ran down their cheeks, unchecked. “I don’t understand what’s going on. You can’t just - ”

“I think you’ll find I can do whatever I like,” Illiam said. His hands curled up into fists on his thighs.

“When I first saw you I thought -” They shook their head, trying to get tears and clinging strands of hair out of their eyes. “I thought you might help me. We used to be friends! I never did anything bad to you! You c-called me… you... ” They gulped in a breath. “And what about Reed? You didn’t let me see where they took him! Where is he? You know perfectly well he’s not a spy, we only came North to get the stone! I told you why we were there! Why didn’t you - ”

Illiam rose to his feet abruptly.

“What, you mean this?” he said.

He strode across the room, his stride short and filled with pent-up energy. He was out of view for a couple of seconds; when he returned he was holding the large chunk of clear stone that Reed had dug out of the riverbank.

He hefted it in one hand. “This is what you came all this way for?” he demanded. “This bauble, this shiny rock? How fucking stupid are you?”

Helis sniffled. “I -”

“No, you shut your mouth!” Illiam shouted, suddenly at the top of his lungs, voice bouncing off the stone walls. He spread his arms wide in a furious, violent gesture. “This war has been building up for the last four years, and you thought you could just flutter on over into contested territory like it was a crossroads marketplace! For this? And now you’re sitting there wailing at me that you ‘can’t’ be here? The fucking gall of you!”

I was doing my job, Helis thought, blinking desperately up at him. Blood trickled and itched as it ran down their arm. You weren’t supposed to be there.

“Well, you can shut up and pay attention, because even as simple-minded as you apparently are, I’m only going to have this conversation once!” He was standing over them, his hair pulling free of its neat tail, eyes bright and blazing with fury. “This? This is Toralda. I can do whatever I want. You are a hundred miles from the border and you are never going to be able to make your way back over it, so you had better start getting used to that fact. You and I are not friends. We are at war and you are my enemy, loath as I am to elevate you with that title!”

“But you -”

He lifted a finger, viciously. “Interrupt me again and you’ll regret it!” he hissed. “From now on, you’ll keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told. You live under my sufferance, and you have no idea how lucky you are. You thought I was going to help you? You naive little idiot, I have.”

Helis wrenched their hands against the cuffs. “This is not helping! This is - ”

He moved suddenly, violently; Helis flinched back against the table, but he wasn’t coming for them, he was turning, and lifting up the chunk of raw stone up towards the ceiling. He made a noise, something quiet and inarticulate and enraged.

The stone flew from his hand, hit the opposite wall, and shattered into countless splinters and shards.

The sound of it echoed through the workroom; Illiam turned around.

“Compared to the alternative,” he snarled. He looked down at them, hair falling in his face, breathing a little hard. “It is. You want to know where your friend Reed is? He’s dead. Because that’s what you get in the North when you poke your nose somewhere you shouldn’t, and don’t have anybody sentimental enough to step in and pull your ignorant Southern ass out of the fire.”

A few splinters had landed as far as Helis’ feet. Helis stared up at Illiam.  “No,” they whispered.

Illiam said nothing. His eyes were narrowed as he watched them.

Mindlessly, they pulled their feet up towards them, away from the pieces of conduit stone, glittering sharp and milky-white. They found themselves pleading. “But… but he can’t…”

“He can be, and is,” Illiam said, abruptly. He pushed a falling strand of hair out of his face, irritably.

Reed. Reed is dead. Helis tried to wrap their mind around the thought of it. He was dead. Their friend, who’d kept their spirits up with jokes the whole long journey North, who’d stepped between them and trouble a dozen times, who Helis had set camp, and broken camp, and cooked and slept beside for weeks.

Helis had been sitting here in this workroom trying to talk Illiam around and feeling sorry for themself, and all along Reed had been dead.

Helis stared at the ruin of the stone, spread across the floor in thousands upon thousands of pieces. Conduit stone shattered much more easily with physical force than an overload of magical energy. It was an expensive thing to break in a fit of temper. But we came all this way. Crestmead needed that stone, they wouldn’t have sent us into danger if we didn’t need it. Reed found that stone for us. They opened their mouth, and something like a sob came out.

This wasn’t fair. It was Helis who was supposed to be in danger, Helis whose life wasn’t valuable here. Reed had always thought so - he hadn’t been concerned for his own safety. But here Helis was, being told he was dead like it was an afterthought? Like it didn’t matter enough for them to witness it, or even be told straight away? Like he didn’t matter?

Illiam approached, and Helis cringed away from him as he bent down and reached out.  

“Don’t touch me!” they cried - but then their wrists came away from the table with a clatter. Illiam shoved their hands into their lap, still linked together with silver but no longer tethered up above their head.

Helis immediately threw themselves backwards, away from him, scrabbling and fluttering. They landed on their back with a thump and a surge of pain from their abused wings, under the table.

Illiam hissed in frustration.

“Oh, for - ”

“Don’t touch me-e!” Helis sobbed. They swiped at their face with their bound wrists, shoulders spasming. “Don’t - get away from me! You - you monster, how could you, don’t touch me!”

“Do you want your arm bandaged or not?”

Helis made no attempt to answer, and to their ragged relief, Illiam didn’t attempt to drag them out from under the table. Past their own hitching, sob-choked breaths, Helis heard him mutter something obscene, then stride over to the doorway on the other side of the room. He shouted something, out the door - orders to somebody else.

Helis didn’t care what he said or what was going to happen next. Everything was ruined already, as bad as possible. What did it even matter? They pulled their knees against their chest, pulled a wing over themselves like a patchy white-and-red tent, and cried for Reed.

[xazz]

Moth Wings 3

Pairing: AltMal, Altair+Desmond Rating: Explicit Tags: vampires, romance, servant AU, music AU, fluff, angst, flangst Status: WIP

Happy Halloween! What’s better than an update to some vampires to celebrate?! And we get Malik. Finally. Here to be a charming vampire, what’s not to like? If you want to read them making out already you can sub to my patreon, where they’re already together (check out my blog main page) otherwise it’ll be a bit.

--

Desmond was two. 

He was finally learning to walk. He looked like he should have been able to from birth but it still took a while to get it.

It was Altair’s nightmare.

Now he could wander. Or fall. Or bump into things. Or climb something.

Altair sometimes woke up in the middle of the day in a cold sweat after finding Desmond at the bottom of the stairs in the castle in his stress nightmares.

He wasn’t speaking yet though, despite Altair’s efforts. The master wasn’t upset about it but the mistress was. She kept telling Altair he needed to try harder. Altair didn’t know what else to do. He talked to Desmond all the time, asked him questions, engaged him in what they did during the night.

Altair was heading for bed one night. He’d put Desmond to sleep before the sun rose and he would sleep all day without issue. The master was waiting by his closet. He put his eyes down. “Master, did you need something?”

“Yes. We are having a guest arrive today. Before sunset. I require you to meet them in the light and have his attendants bring his sarcophagus to one of the empty chambers here in the castle.”

Altair half looked up, confused. He looked into the master’s chest. “A guest?” he asked.

“Yes. An old associate of mine. This is an important task, understand?”

“Yes, master. Do… do you need me to stay awake all day to wait for them?”

“He won’t arrive until late in the day. And it is important you are rested to care for Desmond. So rest, but not so deeply you don’t wake before dusk.”

“Yes, master,” Altair bowed. He didn’t straighten until the master was gone and went to his own chambers elsewhere in the castle.

He got ready for bed but slept poorly, knowing he needed to wake early. He woke well before dusk, going out to the castle steps and sitting, waiting. The sky was slowly turning orange and pink and Altair drifted in and out of a dozing state after his bad sleep. 

He started awake as he heard the sound of hooves on the path leading up the castle and scrambled to his feet. He waited. He shook his head, sure he was dreaming at what was coming up the path. It was a carriage being pulled by...vertically black and white striped horses. Four of them, pulling a black carriage being manned by two drivers and he could see three men hanging off the back as well.

The carriage came around the drive and stopped in front of the stairs. “Hail,” one of the drivers called.

“Hail,” Altair lifted a hand, staring at the striped horses. “I take it you’re the guest we’re expecting.”

“Yes,” the driver got down. “His majestic Malik ibn-Selim el-Jama al-Sayf of the Sunfaire Abode.”

“Oh,” that meant nothing to Altair. “The master is sleeping currently. I’m to show you where to bring the sarcophagus.”

“Very good,” and then he spoke another tongue to the others and the three men got off the back of the carriage. They were huge dark skinned men with wide shoulders and biceps as large as Altair’s torso. They opened the back of the carriage, talking to each other. The second driver joined them and he was as big as the men in the back. They dragged a sarcophagus halfway out of the carriage and then they hoisted the wooden box up onto their shoulders. The first driver looked back at Altair, “Lead the way then,” he said.

Altair was so stunned he couldn’t move for a moment and then he nodded. “Yes. Yes come follow me,” he beckoned. They followed him, climbing the stairs as Altair quickly opened the front door for them. “I assume your master is sleeping as well?” he asked the driver.

“Yes. We’ve been trying to make the going as easy as possible,” he said.

“This way,” and he led them down the hallway to where there were empty rooms, close to Desmond’s room too. He opened a few doors into empty rooms to find the nicest one and motioned the pallbearers inside. They went in and laid the sarcophagus down gently. They spoke to each other in the language Altair didn’t know briefly and one undid a few latches on the box and then they all filed back out.

“And where may we put the zebras? And where are we staying?” the driver asked.

“There’s a stable around the side. And… I don’t know where you will be staying. Your master will have to arrange that with mine.”

“Hmmm, very well.” More unknown words were spoken and then they all leff, leaving Altair alone in the hallway. Did he go after them? No. That didn’t seem right. He wasn’t needed to help them. 

While he’d been waiting for their guest it had gotten dark out. Desmond would be waking soon and Altair hadn’t eaten yet. He quickly went to the kitchen to grab something for breakfast before making his way back to Desmond’s room. As he was, eating the cheese and meat stuffed bun, a door opened. Altair froze when a figure he didn’t recognize stepped out from the room. He quickly looked down, realizing it was the master’s guest.

“That was the worst day’s sleep I’ve had in centuries,” he heard the vampire grumble. “You there,” his voice was directed towards him.

“Yes, sir?” he kept his eyes down and put the bun behind his back even as the vampire’s shoes came into his sight on the floor.

“You are the help here?”

“In a way, sir,” he said. “I look after young master Desmond.”

“Ah, yes, of course. I assume I’m too early for breakfast then?”

“The sun set a moment ago, sir. The rest of the coven has yet to wake.”

“I see-- would you look up? Didn’t William teach his help to look at who they speak to,” he sounded annoyed.

Altair would rather look than make a vampire angry. He looked up at Malik. “He prefers I keep my eyes down,” he said truthfully.

Malik rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath that while he couldn’t understand did sound a lot like ‘of course he does’ in an annoyed way. He wasn’t like the other members of the coven. Malik was fairly dark skinned for a vampire with a thick head of black hair that was messed from sleeping but not so unruly he couldn’t comb it back with his fingers. Like the others he had pure black eyes but they didn’t seem as sharp. Maybe it was because of the black painted lines around the edges even if they were a bit smudged. It took Altair a moment to recognize it. He’d only ever seen ladies wear eye makeup before. “Well you can show me where the dining room is then, yes? I can wait for them.”

“Of course, sir,” Altair nodded and turned on a heel and headed for the dining room. “The kitchen is down through there if you don’t want to wait,” he pointed at the stairwell leading down when he brought the vampire to the dining room.

“I shall be a courteous guest and wait,” the vampire said and sat.

“Very good, sir. If you’d excuse me,” he bowed.

“Where are you going?”

Altair paused before he left. “I’m going to get young master Desmond.” He was looking at the table, not at the new vampire.

“Silly me, of course. My sleep made me forgetful. Off you go,” and Altair retreated, stuffing the rest of the bun into his mouth on his way back.

Desmond was groggy and whiny when Altair picked him up from his bed. “Come now, Des, its time for breakfast,” he bounced the boy gently to wake him up. The little vampire yawned and behind him his weak wings fluttered and closed against his back again. “Yes yes, very cute, but it’s time to wake up.”

He got Desmond dressed and made sure he was awake before taking him to the dining room. Some other members of the coven were already there, talking with Malik. Altair just sat in a chair at the far end of the table with the baby quietly. He was only allowed to do this until the Matron came for meals and took Desmond away, then he was to go away until the meal was over.

Desmond was more awake now and did not want to be in Altair’s lap. So he let him stand next to the table and he bounced up and down to see over it before climbing into the chair next to Altair and standing on it to get a view of the dining room. Altair kept a hand near his back in case he needed to catch him. He could walk but not very well and sometimes still fell onto his butt or knees. When they were alone it was fine but here? As more of the coven was coming in for breakfast? If the child fell he’d be done for.

Eventually the Matron came to breakfast. She cooed at Desmond as she picked him up from the chair, ignoring Altair entirely. He slid off the chair as some went to go get a fresh meal for the rest of the coven. He waited outside the dining room for meal to be over and took Desmond when the Matron left the dining room.

Back in Desmond’s room Altair tried, unsuccessfully, to engage Demond in talking. He’d read Desmond a thousand books and sang him songs and talked about musical instruments and theory and anything to encourage the boy to speak. To at least want to tell Altair to do it again. Even just to say Altair’s name. Or call his mother. But like all the other days it didn’t happen and Altair ended up laid on the rug in annoyance watching Desmond scribble with colored crayon on scrap paper. He did love to draw at least. And he loved when Altair sang to him. Even if Altair was not a good singer. Sometimes he even made noises like he was singing along with Altair, little squeaks and beeps of noise.

Maybe that was something.

When the sun rose he put Desmond to bed and went down to the town. He was the master’s servant but he wasn’t a captive. They’d just made it very clear if he left and never returned they would hunt him down and kill him. So long as he came back.

His father’s workshop was attached to his family home. He’d been training to make violins from his father when he’d been volunteered. His father had always been an early riser and Altair wasn’t surprised to find him there, stringing bows with cat gut and waxing them flat. Umar was surprised to see him. “Altair, what are you doing here?”

“Hello to you too,” Altair said tiredly.

Umar was chastised, “Hello, son. What brings you here? Had enough of the castle life?” it was a minor tease but went right to Altair’s gut. Did they think he was pampered up there or something? Surely they had to realize he wasn’t a guest in the home of a vampire. He didn’t say anything about that. He just ignored the question entirely.

“May I have one of the violins?”

“Huh?” Umar was confused.

“I’ve told you I’m looking after the master’s son,” he said. Umar nodded. “He’s old enough to start talking but he isn’t. The masters are getting... increasingly upset about this. I can’t figure out a way to get him to talk.”

“Some children just take time,” Umar said gently.

“I know that. But that isn’t good enough for my masters, father,” Altair sighed. “But he makes noises when I sing to him, like he wants to sing along. I thought maybe music would get the words out?”

“Ah,” Umar nodded sagely. “Yes. We’ve had a few kids start talking to sing along with a fiddle player,” he agreed. “You’re, of course, welcome to whichever you wish,” he motioned to the workshop. There were only a few completed violins hanging on the wall, their wooden bodies shiny and beautiful. 

“Thank you.”

“Though I should make you make your own,” Umar chuckled.

Altair sighed. “I only wish, father,” he said earnestly. “I hope I get to return and finish learning,” before he died. That was left unsaid. Umar was not a young man. He and Altair’s mother had had Altair late, which was why she wasn’t here for him. Umar had raised Altair alone, their only child.

“I’m sure you will. It’s just until that brat is older yes?”

“Yes. The master promised once Desmond was half grown I could return back down here to the mountain.”

“Well that isn’t too bad. You’re young. A decade won’t feel like that long.”

“I suppose,” Altair sighed. “Let me pick one and get back. I still haven’t been to sleep yet.” Umar left him to select one of the violins. 

He picked a brightly polished one and tested it under his chin. It felt familiar and filled him with nostalgia. He tested the strings and even untuned, the strings loose, the sound it made was rich and melodic and Altair was satisfied. He put it, two bows and extra catgut and wax into a lined case. “Thank you, dad,” he said as he clipped the case closed.

“Of course, my boy. Whatever you need,” Umar said.

“I’ll try and visit again.”

“It’s alright. I know we run on opposite schedules now. Don’t feel you need to risk your sleep for me. I know you’ll be back.”

“Thank you,” Altair bowed a little before heading back to the castle.

[peaches-of-1]

Peachtober | Day 14: Overgrown

Black!Reader x Monster Woo

Summary: Monster Woo is a simple man who sells flowers for a living and you are an Instagram photographer. Your models’ faces are better known than you yourself, but Woo wants to see what’s behind the camera.

Genre: Fluff

Moodboard and reaction requests open! Mstrlst in bio!

During a sunny Spring Day, a new shipment of flowers come in at 꽃벌 (play on words of flower and bee). It is the largest one since it is the start of the season. Valentine's Day is long gone, and White Day was a hit. All of the red and white roses being 70% of the seasonal inventory and now going back to its regular 40% since roses would sell no matter what season or occasion.

Youngwoo rolled up his burgundy sleeves to help the part time worker carry large sacks of fertilizer and dirt into the back while she balanced seedlings and vases under her arms and even atop her coily buzzcut.

“Naveah, once you’re done bringing in all the pots, can you start organizing them please?” He asked.

“Sure, Big Daddy.” She replied.

The tall man sighed, “I told you to stop calling me that.”

Naveah just smiled in response and continued to carry the rest of the product until the truck was empty. Then she began sorting pots by height and material while Woo worked on answering calls and writing down some new clients and jobs they were wanted for. A few weddings, a birthday, two divorce parties. One he turned down because they were planning on burning flowers, and he could never imagine putting his beautiful gifts through that.

A young woman about 20 or older came in dressed in purple slacks, heels to match, and a white shirt. Her typha colored hand reaching into her purse for her phone to check if she was at the right location.

She entered the store and Woo told the woman on the phone, “One second.”

“Hello.”

“Hello, I am Y/N and I run a photography blog. I was wondering if you would be interested in hiring me to take pictures of your flowers for advertising. I have experience with both still life and live models.” She said, setting her card down on the desk.

Woo picked it up and read the Hangul and the English translation. She was a photographer for sure.

“Why does your name seem so familiar?”

She gave a smile, “A few of my models have walked during Seoul Fashion Week this past bit cuz they saw my photos.”

He smiled, “Ah, right. It seems like  with a face like yours, you would be the one in front of the camera.”

Y/N began to blush, “Oh, um. Thank you.”

The two just stared at each other and smiled for a moment before she spoke up.

“Well, I should get going. You have a phone call to get back to.”

Woo nodded, “Oh, right. Yes. It was nice meeting you and I will be in contact.”

The woman left and the florist finished the call, thankful they hadn't hung up. Y/N...jeez she was beautiful.

The sound of a glass vase breaking snapped the tall man out of his daze. He sighed and called out the worker's name before heading over to get the broom to hand to her.

After work, Woo locked up and said farewell to his worker before taking a taxi home. Before going to bed, he looked up the Instagram page that was on the card Y/N gave him.

She was really good. Like, it was so much better than he had expected. Pictures of flowers in vases and people and so many beautiful faces. A lot of her stuff was currently flower based. It seemed she didn’t delete the stuff from her early days either. The camera quality had gome up so much too. Woo couldn’t help but like one of them that made him think of a tattoo. Wait, no.

It was from 4 years ago! She was going to think he was a creep! No, no. Y/N wouldn’t do that, right? It was just a possible employer checking out an employee’s past work to see if it would affect his current business. He made up his mind. Woo would hire the beautiful black girl to work for his company. All of his current photos were taken by him and Naveah, so they weren’t that great. If they could up the photo quality of the inventory, then they would sell more.

The large man soon fell asleep thinking about what floral arrangements he would make for each tier. Each one was linked with a color, so he could make it monochrome. Or maybe most of that color. Y/N looked really cute in purple. Hair like an allium.

The next day at the shop, Youngwoo called her while setting up the flowers he would use for this week’s specialty arrangement.

“Hello, this is Photobomb Productions, Y/N speaking.” She said in English and then repeated it in Korean.

Woo smiled, “Hello. This is Youngwoo from 꽃벌. I would like to take you up on your offer of becoming our floral photographer. I have been meaning to take some new pics for some summer deals.”

He could hear her squaling out of excitement in the background and then she cleared her throat and talked professionally, “That is great to hear. What day or time would the photographic subjects be ready for me to photograph?”

“Today is Friday, so I will be busy all weekend. I can get them done by either Tuesday or Wednesday since I already have sketches. All I have to do it put them together.”

“Perfecto! How does Tuesday at 2pm sound?” Y/N asked.

Woo looked at his schedule, “I have a delivery at 1:30 in the afternoon, but I will probably have my worker handle that one.”

“I see. Alright, well, I will see you then. Do not hesitate to call me if we have to move it to Wednesday. Have a nice day.”

“You too.” Woo replied and the woman hung up.

“Who was that, Big Daddy?” his worker asked, carrying in a box of seeds to set up in the seed bin near the front.

He rolled his eyes, “That woman who came in yesterday. A photographer. She’s gonna take photos for us from now on. I’m gonna be up late drafting up a contract and then we’ve gotta--” The tattooed florist sighed. “I shouldn’t bore you with technicalities. Let’s get these arrangements done.”

“Let me bring over the vases.” The short haired woman said.

Woo looked at the workbench, “Neveah, where are the Calla Lilies?” he asked after her.

“We had two weddings that wanted them, so we are getting an emergency shipment in, but not until tomorrow.” She replied, making sure the seed packets fell flat before adding more on.

He nodded, “Right. Right. Um…” then he remembered the thought he had last night and went to a sky blue bucket and picked out a bulbous purple flower with a long stem. “We’ll use these today instead.”

And so for the next few minutes before the sign was flipped, the two made matching arrangements. Neveah had always wanted to do more now that her probation was up. Woo’s shop was known for flowers and arrangements, served weddings of all types and even funerals. The most important thing about it was who it employed, however. Former convicts and people who were needed someplace to work while on probation.

Youngwoo believed that everyone deserved a second chance and that humans could change, which is why he hired who he did.

“Ah, it didn’t come out as well as yours.” Neveah said as hers had a bit of a bend in the long stem and just seemed overall more messy than the one her boss made.

“Don’t worry about it. This is only the third one you’ve ever made, so I think you did really well. In fact, yours will go on the box instead of mine so people will see it first.” The man set hers onto the white wooden box in the window and placed his next to it.

Dark pink roses and sunflowers graced the top of the white vase with solid aster placed in here and there. The allium rested above each one like a proud head. They would stay in the front for the week and then they would be dead and turned into compost for a nearby flower nursery.

The woman smiled and then it was time to flip the sign. Business didn’t pick up until around lunch which was the usual thing. People buying either a single flower or a dozen on the way to a date. When Neveah left for the day, Yieun clocked in and hugged Woo having started this business together before she tried and failed to become an idol.

“Is the car filled up yet? Remember, I have to drop off some stuff for a business meeting and a 16th birthday today.” She said.

“It’s all packed up and ready to go. Feel free to double check, but it had been pretty quiet today.” He replied. “Ah, are there business cards still inside?”

Tuesday came, and Woo was nervous to see her again. They had talked over the phone for the past couple of days to finalize things. Y/N was really kind but he could tell how much her work meant to her. It was a small business that she was ultimately running on her own and often didn’t get paid for her time because people hardly ever took the arts seriously. Photography was no exception.

People thought it was just sitting in good lighting, point and click, which it wasn’t.

Woo had three different arrangements made for each color level. White, green, purple, and yellow. Each added the amount of flower types and the default price was a clear glass vase. A custom vase color/type would cost $3 extra. The second and third were in custom vases and set up in the workshop.

It was extra clean for today and there were no arrangements to be made. Mondays through Wednesdays were the slowest of the slow most of the time. That meant today was perfect for Y/N to come in.

She arrived right on time in a yellow long sleeve top tucked into a rainbow skirt and white and rainbow shoes. Rainbow accessories too, but carrying a duffle bag of work stuff.

Yieun was out on her current delivery, so Woo fixed his brows and hair before greeting her with a poliot bow.

“Hello, Y/N. How are you doing today? Have you eaten?” He asked.

“I am doing well, and yes I have. I went to a taco place. It was good, but the sauce stained the jacket I was wearing.” The woman sighed, tying her hair back before she set up everything.

It wasn’t the most glamorous thing, but Woo asked if he could watch. She said as long as he stayed behind the camera, it was ok. However, the man wasn’t watching the flowers, but instead watched how she worked. The way she bent over to get a better angle from her tripod and set up the lights.

She seemed so delicate, like she herself was a rose petal in need of much care. However, they way she pursed her lips seemed to go perfectly like thorns. The man knew she wasn’t thinking about him. Her eyes were on the flowers, but at the same time, Y/N was all he could think about for the past week.

Sometimes his imagination would try to run away with the idea of her, but that wasn’t fair to her. He barely knew her last name.

The shy and strong Woo was enchanted by the photographer. Ah, he wanted to say something to her. To ask her out, but she was so professional. This was just work for her, and he didn’t want to get in the way of her job. Still, wasn’t it worth a chance to at least get a proper answer instead of wondering “What if?”

“No, no.”

“Um, Youngwoo? Can you help raise this up a bit more?” She reached her brown hand towards the top of the light.

As the taller man helped her, he decided to just go for it, “Hey, um, Y/N. Feel free to say no, but I was um. I was wondering if you would possibly maybe want to go on a sort of kind of date with me?”

“Oh, um, sure. Right there is good.”

Woo tightened the stand, and she began taking pictures again.

“What kind of place were you thinking?” She asked. “Y’know, for our date? Dinner and a movie?”

“I’d like to take you on a picnic. I know it’s sort of cliche, but Han River is really nice and there’s usually some nice busking that goes on there.” He said was her felt his heart beat outside of his chest, “I am leaving the shop to Yieun and a part timer this weekend. We can do it then.”

Y/N smiled up at him as she stood on the other side of the arrangement, “Sounds like a plan, Youngwoo. I shall wear a dress.”

“You can wear anything you want. I’m sure you’ll look great.” The man answered earnestly.

A surprised smile before Yieun called for him. Woo said he’d be right back and went to go talk to his co-worker about what had to be done. It wasn’t much. Just a bit of organizing here and there and sweeping. Simple things that took a while.

“By the way~” She whispered. “Did you ask her out? Niveah said she’s all you talk about.”

“I did.” He replied, playing coy.

“And? Did she say yes?”

A smile broke out on his face, “She did.”

Yieun put her hands up for a high five and asked for details one their hands met in celebration.

The following days, Woo kept sending his friend photos for potential outfits. She kept telling him to ditch the dress shirts because he looked awkward in them. It was just a casual thing, so he went with some gray sneakers, khakis, and a black and white striped top. Because of the pollen forecast, he opted out of contacts and just wore his glasses. The most expensive thing he wore was his gold watch from a birthday.

He had decided on a simple picnic instead of the ferry for dinner. Maybe if things went well, but he didn't wanna look too far ahead. He knew of a spot away from the main busy area where a few weeping willows provided the perfect shade.

“Youngwoo-ssi!” Her familiar voice called.

The man was breathless as could be as Y/N walked towards him, her copper skin covered in a blue and white dress that allowed for her arm to be bare except for a gold and white bracelet. Simple makeup other than a pink matte lip that accented her smile.

They bowed and greeted each other.

“You look...amazing.” He couldn’t help but stared.

“Thank you. You look great, too. I think this is my first time seeing you without an apron on.” She replied.

Woo smiled in response, “Thank you. I have a super special spot for us. A friend told me about it.”

She smiled, “Sounds great.”

“Have you had any other clients lately?” He asked.

“Oh my gosh, so I had this really sweet woman come in yesterday with her pregnant wife so that we can do the pregnancy announcement pictures and stuff. This is fine. I had it set up and such for that because she made an appointment.”

The tall man smiled, “Oh, that is really nice.”

“However, she went into labor in the middle of me taking the photos.”

“She what?”

“Right?

Woo asked, “Did she not know she was going to give birth?”

Y/N shrugged dramatically, “I guess not, but luckily, my next door neighbor is in her last year of training to become a nurse. She helped to deliver the baby in my bathtub.” She laughed. “I spent most of the day cleaning it.”

Both of them laughed at the whole story. That’s what it was like to have an at home studio as a photographer.

“Ah, here it is.”

Behind the leaves of a willow tree, there was a perfect little alcove where a red gingham blanket was spread out and food was separated between the two in the form of sandwiches. Conversation flowed smoothly as the overgrown tree provided shade for the couple that fate decided to put together. They talked about work and of family.

Kim Youngwoo blushed when she complimented him on being a good person, taking in people society had rejected because of a series of bad mistakes.

He told her about how he just wanted to help people like him, how the U.S. basically deported him back to Korea because of--

“I don’t care what you did, Youngwoo.” Y/N said honestly. “You’re obviously not the same person you were back then, or at least you are doing much better. Besides, that isn’t the person I’m starting fall for.”

“Who are you starting to fall for?” Woo asked, hoping his heart was beating for all the right reasons.

She bit her lip and then looked up at him after hesitating to say the truth, “You.”

[handmadecp]

Small, Ladies ‘Satchel Style’ Shoulder bag.

Hi guys, been a while what with all this Covid Lock down stuff going on, been helping a lot of folks out that couldn’t get out so haven’t been able to do much, then came along a quite big extension to our current layout in the workshop so with all that I’ve been pretty busy, but..finally, I am back in the workshop doing what I enjoy. I was half way through a small bag build so some of you may/ or may not have seen a few pics already, but it’s all good. here is a short series of pics showing the build along of this particular bag. Apologies if it’s not in the same kind of detail I am generally known to show but as already stated its been hectic. If any of you give this one a go and you feel there is something missing from this build along please feel free to ask..I don’t bite and I welcome the interaction with other Makers. Lets go.

Pic 0 : The black dyed Veg Tan shoulder.

Pic 1 : I purchased a nice ready dyed black veg tan Shoulder 3- 4mm, nice strength and flexible too. I also purchased a pattern for a ladies small shoulder bag based on the old UK satchel bags school kids used to have, but a smaller version. All credit for the original design and pattern goes to ‘Craftsmangus’, they have a great YT channel and they make coold patterns. I purchased, downloaded, printed, cut out and transfered all the pieces to the leather as shown in this first pic, using a paint pen refill as usual as it comes of.

Pic 2 : After cutting the sections out I also used the pattern to mark all the holes on each piece and then followed up with a stitch hole punch as shown until all pieces were cut out and had the required holes. I will point out that if you buy this pattern from Craftsmangus and intend to make this bag a sI have done it there is a sklight change on mine to the video they have showing the build. on their video they are seen to cut one buckle strap...I decided to do the version with two buckle straps as you will see. Decide at the cutting out stage how many of each piece you will need for the version you want.

Pic 3: Stitching the small gusset to the outside small pocket using a saddle stitch. I find it difficult personally to use a stitch pony when doing the bags and doing it ‘free hand’ where it flops all over the place can be a bit annoying, but..just chill your beans, take a deep breath..smile and carry on, it’s the only way.

Pic 4 : Here you see the small gusset attached to the front pouch pocket ready to be stitched to the front of the main body. ignore the white marks dotted along the stitch holes..I count the holes to be sure there are enough on both pieces as I’ve been caught out before and end up with 18 holes on one piece and 16 holes on the piece it’s being attached too...you can see the problem. So I count and I use the paint refil pen and drag it across the holes as I go, that is the only reason it looks that way, just my personal choice..and I would recommend if you buy patterns, never just assume that the required holes are correct..check them.

Pic 5 : Hand stitching the other side of the front pouch gusset to the main body using a saddle stitch.

Pic 6 : Ta daaaa...done, the outside small pocket is now attached firmly to the main body and the stitches are consistant all the way round.

Pic 7 : Outside holes all counted, ready now to stitch the Bigger gusset to the front of the main body. all the stitching on this bag is saddle stitching. If it ever changes I will let you know.

Pic 8 : Using a few super strong clips I held the gusset in position as I stitched and moved them along as I went, it helps a lot to keep the holes aligned. Some times I will glue a gusset into position before I stitch but that can sometime leave holes out of line and also leave some glue on show when finished, so I pick and choose when to use it now, but if its a help to you do it..Sometimes I do...sometimes I don’t. Here you can see the clips holding it in position and the gusset laying along the edge as I stitch it.

Pic 9 : Large gusset attached to front section .

Pic 10 :

Pic 11, close up of the attached gusetts....so far.

Pic 11A Marking positions for the buckle and clasp straps to be glued and stitched.

Pic 12 : It’s a simple matter to cut out the buckle straps..I made two for my bag, then punch the stitch holes if not already done. rough the leather a little under where you will glue the strap (s), glue that small area , glue the back of the strap and glue...then stitch into position, before doing that bit, dont forget to make some holes for the buckle pin and force your strap through the buckles, on the other end which in this pic is under the buckle...you will need to attach a magnetic closure. Very easy to fit, just use the pins on the magnetic clasp to mark where you will put them,,then cut very carefully two small slits to pass the magnetic clasp ‘pins’ through, then bend the pins down to secure.

Pic 12A : using the clasp pins to mark where to cut the tiny slits to pass them through. Be careful when making the tiny slits you dont push so hard you make a ‘big’ slit.

pic 12B : Fitting the magnetic clasps.

Pic 13 : another view shows the underside/inside of the stitching when done. note the two ‘marks’ on the back section. just inside the bag, those are where the ‘D’ rinds are attached using the same method, thread the small strap pieces through the ‘D’ rings, rough a little and glue together then glue to the bag, this time I used a stitch awl to push the stitch holes all the way through and then hand stitched.

Pic 13B : gluing the buckle straps on ready for stitching I used evo stick 528 contact adhesive.

Pic : 13C positioning the ‘D’ rings.

Pic 14 : shows the magnetic clasps used, very easy to do and if you follow the video on YT from ‘Cratsmangus’ then you should have no issue with them. The next part of the project is to stitch the back section to the rest of the bag by saddle stitching to the other side of the gusset. I find you can’t really use a stitch pony for this as you need to get your hand inside the bag and it is quite a ‘fiddly’ part of the build but again..patience pays of.

Pic 14A : positioning the gusset to stitch the back section on. you could glue this on but I prefer to be able to move it around if the holes don’t alighn which I can’t do if it’s glued together. Your choice.

Pic 14B : sewing the back section to the main gusset.

Pic 14C : almost there...fingers getting sore, ouch.

Pic 15 : The strap making is simple, just like making a small belt. I used my strap cutter which can be bought online for a few pounds and is very worth the money, but you can do it with a sharp knife as I used to do. But for those of you here for the first time, there is a picture coming up that shows my strap cutter better. I then used an ‘English’ point strap end punch to cut the end shape, then held the strap to my partners own bag to get a decent length...cut to length, punced some holes for the buckle, attached the buckle by folding one end of the strap, cutting out a small area of the very tip of the strap (as bent over) to create a hole for the bucle pin to go through...attached it, then roughed, glued and instead of stitching I chose to use silver double headed rivits to match the buckle. All of the other clasps, clips, buckles on my bags are done in the same way, if you are new to leather craft there are more detailed instructions in my archive photos on other bag builds, belt builds and strap builds should you need more information. This bag, I would say..is for a person with the basics already sorted such as stitching, gluing neatly, strap cutting, buckle fixing etc however it could be achieved by a complete newby, but please be warned,,,use cheaper materials until you are confident in what you are doing...leather is expensive, especially here in the UK. You have been warned.

Pic 16 : And basically once the back is stitched on and the strap has all it’s clips and buckles on...that’s it. The only other thing I have done is to go around the edges with a fine sand paper to smooth the edges a little but not too much as I feel the unburnished ( or unpolished for the newbies ) edge adds to the overall look and appeal of this tough looking but smart little shoulder bag. Also I have added my own ‘Shaman’ Tag to it which I think sets it off just right. The following pics are just to show it from different angles.

Here you can see the wooden strap cutter I use, a simple, cheap easy way to cut nice straps.

I hope you like this latest project, as I’ve said many times before, I started my blog in 2015 when I picked up my first piece of leather to document my own Journey into this amazing craft little realising how passionate I would become about it and whilst I am by no means a novice now I still have much that I can learn and as I learn I share with anyone who might be looking and thinking...there’s no way I could do that..but it looks cool. Well...check out my archives my earlier attempts are a little ‘rocky / shakey’ and my stitching took practice. If you are willing to not let mistakes make you quit and choose to use failure as a lesson on how ‘not’ to do it, then you too can do this. Give it a go, just get a cheap piece of leather to begin with , find a smaller project and go for it. Please feel free to ask questions that is why I started this blog to share knowledge that others have shared with me. Many more projects to come guys so watch this space and as always..’Stay Crafty’. P.s..to any of you guys wondering about my little old workshop and what it was that took me so long these next few pics will explain. Thanks for sticking around.

This extension to my partners area of the workshop, lower work surfaces for sitting.

Extensions to my work area for lower surfaces for sitting, last year I did a lot of standing..this year it time to sit a while especially if stitching by hand.

The brown table you can see is no longer there, my partner and I now have plenty of room for standing work or sitting work, as with all things it took time, but it’s done and we can get back to business. I hope you’ve enjoyed this latest build, thanks to everyone who follows my little blog I appreciate it and if it was your first time seeing it I hope you will check out the archives and come back again. till next time ..take care guys.

[sclfmastery]

Okay so if this blog is moving forward still as a two-Master blog (which I think it still is, I just need to keep digesting stuff...) then I need to make a list of differences between Simm and  Dhawan, since they already have so many similarities.  Some of these are facts observed in canon, others headcanons. ALIGNMENT Both Simm and Dhawan are Neutral Evil masquerading as Chaotic. “A little chaos can be a wonderful thing,” Dhawan tells Barton, and “a little” is key there.  When gloating over a victory, when essentially preening for the Doctor, both engage in erratic acts of sadistic play (Simm gassing the whole British Cabinet as Saxon, while wearing a gas mask and giving his victims a thumbs-up; Simm clapping joyously after the Toclafane kill the fictitious American President; Simm shouting “DINNER TIME!” as he eats people’s life forces in End of Time; Simm taunting Cyberman Bill Potts; Dhawan exclaiming he’s had fun on Barton’s jet; Dhawan in a tophat shrink-killing people at a science fair in Victorian London; and so on). But for all those cases of giddy play, both primarily engage in long-cons that use ALL TOOLS at their disposal (be it Toclafane, transphobic and sexist slurs they don’t really ascribe to,  mysterious alien gateways, a ship colony living under a black hole, or N*zis) with an impartial and cold indifference, entirely Machiavellian, uncaring about the fate of any collateral in the way, to reach their own personal goal. Neutral Evil.  

EMOTIONAL RANGE

Simm is more steadily manic, threatening, accusatory and snide.  He is always loud, outrageous, obnoxious, sanguine and optimistic, flirtatious and lusty and passionate, dynamic and charismatic.  His humors are terrifying, and his furies burn “like a whole screaming world on fire” (Missy’s apt words), but they are also fairly constant, even when he plays at/pretends “insanity.”  Dhawan is another story entirely, and this to me is their biggest difference aside apparent motive (below):  Dhawan acts like someone with an exceptionally developed intellect, but an exceptionally under-developed emotional range. He seems capable of only three very pure emotions, which almost exist like primary colors: yellow giddiness/mania, red fury, and blue reticence/melancholy.  They switch on a dime, for little apparent reason.  This is what makes him more frightening than Simm, in many ways.  Mid-sentence he will break from breezy small talk into screaming, roaring, snarling tirade.  He is also far more physically violent than Simm: not that Simm isn’t capable of this, but more than once in a rage, Dhawan grabs, shoves, and tries to strangle the Doctor, and in those moments he seems helpless to that rage, controlled BY it (a bitter irony given his moniker).  He seems to be of two minds: an almost rueful, gentle intellect, and a beast. 

APPARENT MOTIVE Simm’s entire apparent motive is to be autonomous of all other beings, and free to do his own bidding.  This, even at the expense of friendship, even with the Doctor, if the Doctor poses the ultimatum “change to be the type of good person I prescribe, or else.” This is the reason why he found Missy’s time in the Vault so disturbing: not that she was physically mistreated or truly trapped, but rather, that she was willing to conform to the Doctor’s highly absolutist notions of ethics, and suppress her own personality for his sake.  To him, this was a profound act of self-deprivation and self-betrayal.  He still struggles to find the balance between loving the Doctor and abiding by his own honor code. The fandom easily misinterprets this philosophy as “unevolved” and “selfish,” and indeed, sometimes Simm does deplorable, disgusting, unnecessarily vicious things to ensure his independence.  But it is actually, on another level, a profound act of self-respect. 

Dhawan on the other hand seems to have entirely disposed of the idea of autonomy.  He admits and even revels in the idea that he’s doing all the horrible things he does to catch the Doctor’s attention, to preen before his lifelong  best friend and crush, to obtain an equal footing with her in infamy/notoriety, because “notoriety isn’t as good as fame, but it’s heaps better than obscurity” (Neil Gaiman) and after all their canonical history of explosive romance, rapport and strife, there’s no point in feigning pride. he might as well flirt with her in the open, ask her to say his name sexually in the open, he might as well KNEEL WITH HER ON HER LEVEL  in the open.  There’s no need to fake not needing her anymore.  Even though he strives to kill her, his life is empty without her.  He remembers being Simm, and he remembers “get out of the way.” He doesn’t regret “get out of the way” or rushing into that Timelock.  

In a way, Dhawan’s motive is the externalization of Simm’s unconscious motive.  Every Master does what they do for the Doctor’s attention, to prove themselves worthy of the Doctor’s regard. Every Master, and Missy, is a farce on their own claim to “controlling everything,” because they can’t control their own hearts. Because their locus of control is truly external, and pivots around the Doctor’s good opinion. And that’s why they are always furious.  Because they don’t understand how to get the Doctor to approve of them, without  betraying themselves. Dhawan is the natural next step of Simm and Missy in that he embodies the conflict Simm and Missy had with each other in the Doctor Falls, but within ONE body.  

It’s desperately sad, tbh.  TREATMENT OF THE DOCTOR’S COMPANIONS Simm, more shrewdly, seems to believe that hurting the Doctor’s friends is the most efficient way to hurt the Doctor.  He enjoys watching the fruits of his labors slowly unfold. Dhawan on the other hand is so impatient to get to his goal (after, in fairness, working on it many years at a time) that he would rather separate the Docto from their companions as quickly as possible. this ties in closely to the above issue of motives: Simm, though he secretly desperately misses his best friend, is more comfortable being alone, and Dhawan clings to the Doctor and wants his plans to succeed specifically to catch the Doctor’s attention. The quicker the pesky companions are eliminated, the better.  The upside of this is he’s not as likely to play with his food before eating it, as Simm is.  Look at the Joneses, and Bill Potts.  

VULNERABILITY FACTOR Dhawan’s emotional duality also makes his vulnerability more readily apparent, more obvious, than Simm’s, but that doesn’t mean he is actually more vulnerable.  Both of these Masters are particularly pariah-esque, both of them feel misunderstood by homeland and former friends.  Both are exceptionally emotionally volatile. Simm, however, is far better at guising his hurt as snideness and as anger.  He may be hemorrhaging inside, but he knows how to deflect that with apparent cruelty.  Dhawan gives up far more quickly. He cries openly, more than once an episode; indeed he’s an “angry crier.”  He sulks and broods and romantically dons the air of a jilted lover.  He doesn’t care if the Doctor sees him looking pathetic. He even uses it to his advantage.  Simm, contrariwise, and frequently to his own detriment, would rather die than be seen desperate ( “I’d rather die than beg you” is an actual line he speaks to the Doctor).  He is far prouder. 

SOCIAL SKILLS Simm’s neurodivergency is more obvious when he socializes (unless he has actively donned a disguise, like Harold Saxon or Razor, and is skillfully playing a role).  Even when he is being charismatic and charming, he has difficulty turning off his eruptive energy.  Dhawan is capable of completely masking his personality for impressive periods of time, and seeming entirely innocuous, even placated and serene.  

WEAPONRY AND TARDIS  Simm still uses his laser screwdriver.  Dhawan uses his old tissue-compression weaponry.  Both Masters have a Type 45 TARDIS with intense red interior lights.  Simm’s TARDIS is immaculately kept, with a greenhouse full of orchids he’s grown, and a bathroom that’s also a pristine lagoon with a waterfall for showers. It also contains countless workshops and a massive Victorian-Era library.  Dhawan’s TARDIS maintains its wooden house in the Victoria Desert appearance; it’s a pig sty of surprisingly mundane table lamps, messy paper stacks, desks and tables, a modest kitchen, and a transparent holo-computer inverted pyramid Console.  For sentimental reasons, he hasn’t been able to change it from the appearance it held when the Doctor visited it.  

SEXUAL ORIENTATION/POSITIONS

Simm is a panromantic demisexual who prefers the Power Bottom role in the bedroom.  Dhawan is a panromantic bisexual who prefers to Top.  Both are nonbinary, but Simm is more comfortable embracing genderfluidity (so far) than Dhawan.  

APPEARANCE

Although one chooses to appear like a mid-thirties-forties blond white man, and the other like an early-thirties dark-haired brown man, both Simm and Dhawan utilize the trope of apparent innocence, boyishness, to their strategic advantage.  Simm looks like a chubby-cheeked puckish little boy, and Dhawan looks like a big brown eyed puppy.  Both can cover remarkable ground, and literally get away with murder, because of looking so innocuous.  

[walkingshcdow-a]

Announcement: 1/29/2020

Good evening, y’all! I just want to give a quick update on what activity on this blog is going to look like, which muses are going to be active (and to what extent), and all that good stuff. I’m placing it under a “read more”, simply because this will be a long post.

General Notes

State testing will soon be upon my students. I’m working hard to prepare them. On the plus side, this Saturday (2/1/2020) is my last debate meet of the semester! That said, we’re implementing some study Saturdays, where I’ll be offering tutoring/mini-lessons for four hours on select Saturdays. I will place semi-hiatus notices in advance for those. 

I’m also contending with a severe depression. I have it in my Habitica app that I need to do at least one reply/ask/meme a day, so I don’t fall out of the habit/give into the dark side, but expect me to be a little slower. Some of y’all know what triggered this particular bout of depression - nothing RP related, but it is intensely personal and intensely painful. I’m getting the professional help I need and I have to remind myself that that’s what matters right now. Good vibes are appreciated, though! Always. And as always, I’ll be sending you guys love and positive thoughts at every chance I get. 

Summer will be better.

Muse Activity

My muse activity, as anyone with a MuMu or multiple blogs will attest to, fluctuates. However I want to give some notes on all muses for those of you who are curious.

Rudyard Funn: Rudyard is listed as active and he is! I’m struggling to keep up with old threads from his former blog, so if you have something you’d like to keep from there, please link me! 

Georgie Crusoe: I’m testing Georgie. I’m not ready to unleash her on new RP partners (unless they RP canon Wooden Overcoats characters), just because I’m getting used to her and deciding whether or not I plan to keep her. If you enjoy my Georgie, please let me know!

Masha Voronina: Masha is active, but I am insecure about my female OCs in general. Please send love/asks/anons/threads her way! 

Anna Garcia: Like Masha, Anna is active and I’m a bit insecure about my female OCs so any love is very appreciated! That said, I’m pretty confident in her voice and PSYCHED about the urban fantasy world I’ve built surrounding her (and Santiago and a bunch of unlockable OCs and verses for canons...) Hit me up!!

Victor Frankenstein: Victor is really only open for interaction with @professor-of-predators. I’m using him to cope with some things and I don’t really want to open him up to others at this point in time.

Finnegan: Finnegan is so underrated. PLEASE hit me up for him! He’s active and terrible but capable of growth. 

Diaval: I haven’t seen “Maleficent 2″ yet. I will! That said, I’ve had a huge resurge of muse for him. Please RP with him! Minor changes might be made to his bio when I see M2, but from what I’ve heard, I’m on the right trajectory with him anyways.

Elizabeth Lavenza: Elizabeth is on hiatus. When I bring her back, I want to divorce her from my 2015 verses more (still have Victor with an NPC sister) and allow her to shine without Victor looming over her. This is a project to consider in the summer, if the muse strikes.

Erik: Erik is selective af. I’ve never made it a secret that I think the Pha.ndom is a total cesspool. I am willing to play Erik, but insofar as shipping goes, please just assume that my endgame is Erik/Nadir with my Nadir unless we’ve explicitly discussed otherwise. I’m just really exhausted with feeling like this muse is romanticized, sexualized, and fetishized. 

Nadir Khan: Nadir is so selective, I should just put him on hiatus. I don’t have a lot of muse for him outside of fanfiction right now. If you have an interesting plot idea, feel free to message me, but I may not have the spoons to indulge you.

Gleb Vaganov: Gleb is on indefinite hiatus. I have lost inspiration for him, but hope that he may return to me in the future. 

Santiago Ortiz: Santiago is selective, but only because he’s a little harder for me to write than some of the others. If you want to plot, message me! I’m eager to use him, he’s just very different than my usual “type”. I’m excited about his universe and using him.

Percy Blakeney: I have muse for Percy, but I think I’ll put him on semi-hiatus for my mental health. I also know not many people know what to do with him and that’s okay! If you have a specific plot, lmk.

Marguerite St. Just: Like Percy, I have muse for Marguerite, but I’m putting her on semi-hiatus. Not many people know what to do with her and that’s okay! If you have a specific plot, lmk. 

Madeleine de Chandon: I have inspiration for this OC, but I want to revamp her. She is so far on hiatus as I workshop her that she isn’t even listed on my muse list.

Jaskier: I want to pick up Jaskier from “The Witcher” as a muse, but I want to do some test writing - fanfictions, private RPs, etc. If you’d like to privately RP with him, message me! He’ll be Netflix based because I don’t know anything about games besides what the Wiki tells me. Not sorry.

Please note that it is physically impossible for me to devote the same amount of time/focus/energy on each of my muses as the same time. I hope to keep my turn-around times short, but I ask for your patience as I do work full-time and am dealing with a lot of RL stressors. This is a hobby, not my job.

Verse Reconstruction

You may have noticed I’m not tagging verses. I’m working on deciding how to go about doing that in an efficient way. My threads will be a little messy for the time being but I’m thinking of doing big, blanket verse tags (ex. .001 | canon, .002 | modern, .003 | historical, etc.). I might include more specific tags, but I don’t know what that will look like.

I do know that all my muses will have their canon verses, a modern verse (if they are not a modern character), an urban fantasy verse (if they are not urban fantasy character), historical verses (generally tagged or tagged by era), a Disney verse (if they are not a Disney character), a D&D/medieval fantasy inspired verse, and so forth. I’m sure there are others I’ve neglected to include in this list. 

Give me time to construct these tags and/or pages. I work full time and can’t believe I’ve carved time to make an announcement post.

Graphics/Layout/Etc.

I need to save up to commission my favorite graphics-maker to beautify this blog. In the meantime, I hope it’s easy enough to navigate and not too unsightly!

Misc.

If you’ve read all of this, please know that I love you. Thank you for being patient with me as I’ve searched for an online home. Hopefully I will feel at ease on my MuMu. 

As always, please respect my rules and boundaries, but don’t be shy! I promise to do the same for you!

Peace!

[stringandwoodart]

String art - details of the technique

The fact that one of the first posts on the workshop's blog concerns an issue related to this addictive technique, which is string art, is not an accident. Delving into the world of this kind of art was at the same time a breakthrough, ultimately leading to the decision to create a handcraft workshop.  

  String art - what exactly is it?

The history of creating string art will be described in a separate post. At this point I would like to explain something else. What string art actually is? What is more, tell what should be in our inventory to be able to create works using this technique. String art are works created mainly on wood by interweaving threads, wool, wire or other similar material between properly hammered nails.  

What wood for string art?

We should say that there are no strict guidelines - as long as it is not too hard, because it will hamper nails. So let's reach for pine rather than oak. In addition, we should say something about its covering. You can use different types of paint for this, but in my opinion a stain is a very good solution, which will emphasize the character and drawing of the grain and any knots of the wooden board.

  Which threads?

You can use embroidery floss, crochet thread or ordinary thin tailor threads. There are more possibilities, however, which I will present it someday. The impatient can search the gallery and will certainly find examples of other materials there 😉

  Does string art require special nails?

Not too big, not too small - in this case it is more about matching them to a given project. If it requires a dense arrangement of nails - then it is best to use small ones. In the case of long distances, you can (and even have to) afford bigger. There are a few more intricacies in this topic, but to start with, such knowledge is enough.  

What else?

To the three listed elements there is also a template - hand-drawn, printed or any other. According to some pattern we have to hammer our nails. At the beginning I suggest you choose not too complicated shapes - this way you will avoid unnecessary frustration. For example, my first project was a balloon. It may not looked out perfectly, but at the time I was very proud of it!

  A complete set of tools necessary to start the adventure with string art technique: - deska, - młotek, - gwoździe, - farba lub bejca oraz pędzel, - nici, - nożyczki, - pęseta, - szablon. As a result, we have everything at hand, so let's do it! But about this in the next post.😉 Are you interested in where to get the templates from? How to choose colors, both threads and board cover? Or maybe you have any other questions? Ask them in the comment! Or you can subscribe the newsletter so that you do not miss anything. Best wishes!   Read the full article

[septembersung]

I was tagged by @catefrankie​ and @weirdpolis​ ages ago. This is me showing up late with starbucks a martini.

Nickname: I have never had a real nickname because my name does not lend itself to nicknames. Perhaps this why my children have about a dozen nicknames each. However, I’m happy to go by September, here in the big blue vortex.

Zodiac: The only way in which the stars actually tell the fate of Men is on a cosmic level, by the will of God. So... uh...  consider me firmly under the sign of the “woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars.” (Rev 12:1)

Height: 5′3″ ish. Isn’t “ish” the most useful suffix!!

Last movie I saw: Incredibles 2

Last thing I googled: Revelations, because while I can quote the Bible at length from memory, my brain refuses to hold onto any numbers of any kind, including chapter and verse.

Favorite Musician: Not to crib catefrankie’s answer too much, but an enduring favorite is definitely Sara Bareilles. The best composer of all time is Bach. #bachisbest #thereisthemusicofbachthereforegodexists I have a lot of “rotating” favorites, and at the moment, besides anyone who plays Bach well, I’ve been listening to the kind of music I mentally file under a very large umbrella labeled “folk,” including Bob Dylan and The Wailin’ Jennys. 

Song Stuck In My Head: Whatever I heard last, usually. But under that there’s kind of always a baseline of All Star. 

Other blogs: I run several niche blogs for my own benefit but they’re not updated often right now. 

Do I get asks: Yes

Blogs following: 180, but that’s in flux. 

Amount of sleep: The past two weeks, if I’m lucky, 2-3 hours at a stretch and maybe 4-6 a night. We’re all sick. It’s off to the doctor this week at some point... and probably another round of antibiotics. 

Lucky number: I used to love odd numbers; 3, 5, 7, 13 (to be contrarian).

What I’m wearing: leggings, tank top, and an old, slightly tattered summer-style dress that works great when I want to be one step up from leggings but don’t have the energy to get into real, leave-the-house clothes. Did I mention we’re all sick and I haven’t been sleeping?

Dream job(s): What I’m doing - homemaker, but like, better at it. With a side of running informal poetry/creative writing workshops/seminars. And actually producing writing, and getting it published regularly. 

Dream trip: Rural England, Italy especially Florence and Rome, mountainous America. Or anywhere where someone else is footing the bill, preferably Europe and/or rural.

Favorite food: I don’t know!! I’m stumped. I really don’t know.

Play any instrument: The fiddle. I dabble in piano, ocarina, recorder, flute (high school band!), mountain dulcimer (not to be confused with hammer dulcimer), and I know like two guitar chords. Oh! And I also play the spoons. Real wooden spoons my grandma whittled. 

Languages: English. 4.5 years of Spanish, once upon a time. One intensive semester of Italian. A handful of ASL signs, once upon a time many signs (but don’t ask me to say anything in a complete ASL grammatically correct sentence). A smattering of liturgical Latin - my modest goal is to be able to pray the Breviarium Romanum and follow the Mass without translations. I can say “Where do you keep the chocolate?” in Klingon. I took a week of ancient Greek my senior year of college before dropping it on account of overload madness; occasionally I still recite simple sentences about Dikaipolis. I tried learning Hebrew once but never got much farther than almost mastering the aleph bet. 

Favorite songs: Songs are Moods; if the mood isn’t big, I’m not into the song. I guess currently no favorite. 

Random fact: I almost got a second major in English lit on accident right before graduation but was foiled by missing the one deadline I couldn’t make up. The summer after my senior year of high school I listened to American Pie on repeat. 

Describe yourself with aesthetics: Are we talking aesthetics I’m attracted to? What I wish I could pull off? What I think I’m like? What I’m actually like? Inner me, or outer me? Outer me is pretty well summarized by teetering piles of laundry and motherhood memes. Inner-me is currently in a state of confusion.

[just-another-busy-fangirl-writes]

December 22, 2017 - Holiday Edition

I am reposting old fic rec lists.  Unfortunately some of the blogs/stories have been removed, but I am still going to list them for historical reference.

Feel free to tag me in ANY fics you post, and see previous weeks’ fic recs HERE

Hopefully this list helps those of you (us) who want to get away from our families for at least an hour or two over the holidays.  There’s quite a bit of fluff on this list, so hopefully these awesome fics put a smile on your faces!  There were a million more holiday stories that I’ve read the past few weeks, but I tried my best to spread the love to as many authors as I could.  Make sure you check out everyone who’s tagging Kari (@thing-you-do-with-that-thing) and Ida’s (@like-a-bag-of-potatoes) 12 Days of Christmas Challenge, cause a lot of writers are doing that!

Happiest of Holidays to all of you beautiful people!

SMUT

Santa Baby by @impala-dreamer   Dean may not be the Christmassy type, but he sure will try for Y/N…

Let’s Stay Home Tonight by @impalaimagining   You’ve done enough Christmassy crap by yourself, and all you want is your husband to come home. When his flight is delayed and you have a little more time to yourself, you decide to make his wait worth your while.

Sparkling by @kittenofdoomage   Fighting a Krampus was not how you wanted to spend Christmas, but at least you’ve met your soulmate. Even if he is a little… tied up.

Home for the Holidays by @luci-in-trenchcoats  After his flight home is cancelled, Jensen decides to spend Christmas with his co star and long time crush…

Santa Baby by @queen-of-deans-booty   You’ve been waiting all year for this to happen. You got your favorite sexy Santa lingerie and you just know Dean is going to love it on you.

The Bell Still Rings by @sp-oops   Set after 11x09 (and ignores the rest of the season). Just weeks after the Cage fiasco, Jody Mills gets TFW & co to Sioux Falls for some much-needed time off. Sam’s hurting, but man, is he happy to see you. So happy that you’re starting to think your longtime crush on him may not be as one-sided as you thought. Here’s hoping for some strategically-placed mistletoe.

We Love Anyway by @sp-oops   Set after 12x08. So you busted Sam and Dean out of federal lockdown and then skipped town. But now that the holiday weekend is here, and you’re lonely for them. Lonely for Dean. When Donna calls to invite everybody to her Christmas Eve wedding, you head north in a heartbeat. But when you get there, immersed in all the lights and splendor, it’s soon obvious that you’re not the only one pining for someone you didn’t think you could have. Will you have the guts to make a move?

The Cozy Christmas In by @whispersandwhiskerburn   You and Dean are snowed in.

FLUFF

First Christmas by @atc74   Rob and his new wife prepare for their first Christmas together.

Christmas Traditions by @crispychrissy   It’s the Holiday Season and you’re stuck in the bunker with a broken leg. Dean and Sam plan some activities for you after learning about your family’s holiday traditions.

Anything for You by @d-s-winchester   Your ex will be at the Christmas party your office is hosting. Instead of you going alone, Matt offers to pose as your boyfriend.

It’s Cold Outside by @docharleythegeekqueen   Christmas music helps set the mood as Dean and Cas spend the evening with their girlfriend and son.

One Horse Open Sleigh by @docharleythegeekqueen   A Christmas date you’re hoping is leading to a proposal goes in a completely different direction.

All You Want for Christmas by @evansrogerskitten   Jack is excited about his first Christmas as you teach him the holiday traditions. The special day also brings a surprise for you as well.

What You Always Asked For by @imagineteamfreewill   The reader is one of Santa’s elves that travels to a new town each year to make sure even the poorest of children can have a good Christmas. When the boys find a case that links her with a string of recent murders, however, she has to team up with them to help save the children she’s been tasked with watching over.

All I See by @impalaimagining   Jared and reader have been together for a while and decide to spend this Christmas alone in a cabin in Colorado.

What’s Your Hurry by @impalaimagining   You and Jensen host a Christmas party, and before too many guests arrive, Genevieve asked you about your future.

Little Drummer Boy by @jpadjackles   Louden Swain decide to host a small Christmas live stream for their fans. Rob invites a special guest to sing a song with him, and everyone can see the chemistry between them.

Mistletoe Surprise by @just-another-winchester   Dean plans a little surprise for you to show you how he really feels about you.

Cancelled Plans by @katymacsupernatural   Driving through a huge storm, you get Dean to pull over at the next hotel where you are snowed in.

Crackling Embers by @katymacsupernatural   Jared surprises the reader with a trip to a winter wonderland.

Cabin Fever by @luci-in-trenchcoats   The reader and the boys take a break from hunting for the holidays to head up to an out of the way cabin to meet up with some friends and have an old fashioned Christmas together…

Meeting the Parents by @luci-in-trenchcoats   You invite your boyfriend, Jensen, to spend Christmas with you where he meets your family for the first time…

A Very Supernatural Hanukkah by @saxxxology   When Sam finds out you don’t celebrate Christmas, he makes it his goal to make your next Hanukkah the best one you’ll ever have.

The Christmas Con by @whispersandwhiskerburn   Dean explains to you why Christmas isn’t for hunters.

The Gift Box by @whispersandwhiskerburn   Dean has to stay back during a hunt and stare at his Christmas present from Y/N the whole time.

Mistletoe Trap by @whispersandwhiskerburn   Why is there mistletoe everywhere?

Beware the Office Christmas Party by @winchesterprincessbride   It’s that one event of the year that you truly dread: The yearly Sandover Christmas party.  Last year was a disaster, and you are determined to avoid it at all costs. But your BFF Kate is forcing you to go, and the only saving grace is the chance you might run into your office crush.

The Elf on The Shelf Can Kiss My Ass by @winchesterprincessbride   Your daughter convinces you to get an Elf on the Shelf.

You’ll Shoot Your Eye Out, Dean! by @winchesterprincessbride   You introduce Sam and Dean to a Christmas movie that’s old to you but new to them.

ANGST

I’ll Be Home for Christmas by @impala-dreamer   Problems on set and two thousand miles of snow and ice between them means Jensen may not make it home for Christmas this year…

Pre-Christmas Catastrophe by @jpadjackles   Y/N is out finishing her Christmas shopping on one particularly snowy day. It’s smooth sailing until she’s coming home when her car slips on black ice. Luckily for her, she’s got an ambulance officer as a fiance who just so happens to be working that night.

It’s a Terrible Tree by @whispersandwhiskerburn   Sam Wesson is getting a bit tired of his job, but Y/N is the best part of his day.  Can he get their place ready for Christmas dinner with her mother?

SERIES

The Emporium of Christmas Enchantments by @almaasi (on AO3)   Every night when the clock strikes twelve, all the toys in the toymaker’s workshop come to life. Dean is a little wooden soldier, so easily distracted by the pretty dolls. However, in the nights leading up to Christmas, he feels drawn to a very different kind of toy: Castiel, a kindhearted cowboy displayed on the other side of the store. Dean and Castiel spend all their time together, spreading joy and festive cheer throughout their miniature community. But once the Christmas rush comes around, will fate allow them to stay together? (Perhaps… with a little sprinkling of Christmas magic, even the wishes of simple toys can come true.)

Celebrate Me Home by @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit   A Dean Winchester Holiday//Daddy//Bookstore!AU - After having a traumatic experience back home, the reader climbs into her car and begins driving with no place to go. She ends up in a small town in Vermont where she finds more than she bargained for.

12 Days of Dean and Donna: A Christmas Story by @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog   Christmas has become just another day for Dean, not worth celebrating. Donna, on the other hand, loves Christmas. Can she instill him with the Holiday Spirit by Christmas Day?

Another 12 Days of Dean and Donna: Christmas at the Bunker by @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog   Dean invites Donna to spend Christmas at the Bunker.

A Winmills Christmas by @ilostmyshoe-79   Follow Sam and Jody through the holiday season.

12 Years of Christmas by @sis-tafics   Dean and you go back further than your first night together. Actually, Dean’s had his own little secret for years. Told from Dean’s POV

[theopenbookwigtown]

After booking almost 900 days in advance, and driving close to 400 miles over two days, my mother and I arrived in Wigtown (Scotland's national book town) to take up residence in the world's first Airbnb bookshop, The Open Book.

(Those of you that follow The Open Book blog will already know the score here, so I won't go over the details. But if you’re unfamiliar with the concept, the Guardian do a rather lovely summary: https://bit.ly/2EH9fln).

Driving up the A1, I had butterflies. I knew our mere eight-hour drive was not the furthest people had travelled to stay in this quaint little shop. Residents before us have come as far afield as Canada, France, Italy, Spain, New Zealand, Taiwan and America. In preparation I had started reading 'The Diary of a Bookseller' by Shaun Bythell. It was my Auntie’s copy. She had loaned it to me under strict instructions I must visit the shop (opportunely named The Book Shop) and ask its author if he would be so kind as to sign it. Noted.

SUNDAY

We arrived around 3pm, when the sun was just beginning its demise into the firs and mountains. It seemed the days were even shorter in Scotland. After parking up and having a good stretch (it was needed) we walked up to the shop and was greeted by George. A lovely, towering man with a soft calming voice. The first words he said to us were, goodness you’re very prompt! Wigtown may have a reputation for being a buzzing hub of bookish activity in the summer and during the September Book Festival, but during the winter months, not so much. I smiled, we had arrived in this sleepy town on the remote coast of Galloway.

George spent some time showing us around the shop and the upstairs flat. He explained The Open Book does not take card, but there is a card machine down by the post office, so really there is no excuse. By the time we had gone through everything, and got our bags from the car, it was coming up to 4:30 and the sun had well and truly set. Too tired after our long drive to open shop, we went for an early dinner in Cobwebs (a charming little eatery just down the road) and ordered two streaming bowls of sweet potato and chilli soup. It was delicious.

Back at the flat we turned on all the heaters and got cosy. I spent the evening making plans for the week ahead and reading more of The Diary of a Bookseller in the rocking chair.

MONDAY

Browsers: 1 Sales: 0

We opened up shop at 10am. I spent the first part of the morning designing and writing a slogan for the shop’s sandwich board. Not as easy as it sounds, all the chalk I could find was broken into small pieces and difficult to grasp. Of course, the moment I finished and proudly set up the board outside, I found a box of brand-new chalk behind the counter. After cursing myself loud enough for my mother to hear, we began making up the window displays. We must have succeeded a group of zoologists because all the displays were animal themed, with no concessions as to domestic or exotic. I took down the Dick Francis display on horses and the comprehensive display on birds and their history, and began creating my ‘New Year’s Resolutions for Fictional Characters’ display. Mum dressed the other two windows. On the left a ‘Spooky Christmas’ themed display, in which she was able to take advantage of the shop’s ample sci-fi, fantasy, crime and thriller sections. On the far right, a ‘Mystery Books’ display, developed out of the festively wrapped books we found in a box on the floor, presumably another thing that must have come from the residents before us.

Shortly into the morning we were greeted by Ruth, a lovely Scottish woman who is the proud owner of the new bookshop next door. She invited us both over before she closed at 3. I came away with a copy of 'One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest', and Mum came away with two Roddy Doyle books (including 'The Snapper'), a Leanne Moriarty title, and 'The Atheists Guide to Christmas', which she bought for my dad as a gag stocking filler.

While I was in the shop, Ruth, who was looking out the window, exclaimed ‘Is that a police man? I don’t think I’ve seen a police man round here in near three months since I been here’. Turns out a huge hay lorry had collided with a utility pole down the street from the shop. The road was closed and the incident was the talk of the town for the rest of the day.

We closed up around 4 and went browsing around the town. Half way down the street we were stopped by Nanette who asked if we were running the shop this week. Her face lit up when we said we were and she produced a small parcel of Scottish shortbread biscuits for us. They were delicious.

That evening mum and I shared a bottle of wine and I made vegetarian Thai green curry with noodles for dinner. We spent the evening and a lot of the night telling stories. Mum reiterated some from her youth in London. Some I knew, others I didn’t, but they were mostly tales of her visiting the Irish dance halls with ‘the usual crowd’, being silly and generally wild. She is a great storyteller, and frequently had me crying with laughter.

TUESDAY

Browsers: 3 Sales: 0

We opened slightly later today as the weather was terrible. Wind had been rattling against the windows of the flat all night, so we chose to stay in the warmth for a little longer. Mum made porridge for breakfast and it filled me with warmth and nostalgia.

The shop was predictably quite, but we didn’t mind. We chose to spend some time rearranging the fairy lights in an attempt to make the place look a little more festive. We made plans to take a long lunch and visit the café bookshop down the road and then pop in and introduce ourselves to Shaun at The Book Shop. I thought about my Auntie and I was sorry she wasn’t here with us.

Around 12, a man came into the shop. I watched him for the tips Ruth had warned us about, ‘you know they won’t buy anything if they walk around like this: with their hands behind their back, casually glancing at the shelves, not touching anything’. I watched. He didn’t touch anything, and he left after about 10 minutes. I think he might have been killing time for the bus.

Another man came into the shop shortly after, and though he didn’t buy anything he was very chatty. He asked if we had the biography of Maya Angelou, which I thought was perhaps a bit too much to ask from the shop’s mild shelves, all of which consist of second hand titles. I was right. He then asked about writing workshops in the area, which I regretfully told him I didn’t know much about. After he left, I googled it. I couldn’t find much other than information on the September festival.

Around 2pm we shut up and walked down to the Reading Lasses Bookshop Café. Mum and I had tea and scones. I bought a book for my uncle titled ‘Cooking for your Cat’. And came away with copies of Alice Walker’s 'In Love & Trouble' and Suniti Namjoshi’s 'The Conversations of Cow' for myself.

We then crossed the road to The Book Shop – we were blown away. Shaun’s shop is a wonderland of towering shelves, with over a mile of shelving supporting near 100,000 books (by Shaun’s estimation). Every nook and crannie seems to be spilling over with boxes and baskets of literature, covering every genre you could possibly think of. I did a full circuit of the place, before ending back where I started. I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t see the wood for the trees, never mind the books, or the words for the ink. It was easy to let yourself feel small and insignificant next to the centuries, and I mean centuries worth of literature before you. My anxieties were not quelled when mum lent over to me and whispered 'I can’t help thinking if there was a fire, this place would burn like anything'. Eventually I turned to the tall, ruggedly bookish man hovering behind the counter. I asked him where I might find his Howard Spring titles, to which, amazingly, he said ‘I don’t think we have any Howard Spring (I had to stop myself from saying ‘really?’) but if we do, they’ll be here’. And he pointed towards the fiction shelves under ‘S’. I had a good look through S, and R and T. I even floated around the surrounding sections, one of which was dedicated to ‘Irish’ literature, which I pointed out to mum. I gave up after a while and picked myself out a book titled 'The Mermaids in the Basement' by Marina Warner. I walked up to the counter and asked the same man if he was Shaun. Which he confirmed, somewhat reproachfully. He seemed to warm to us after I explained we were staying in The Open Book and asked him to sign my copy of his book.

That evening, it was mum’s turn to cook. She made a delicious hearty omelette with chips, which we both devoured, along with another glass of wine or two.

WEDNESDAY

Browsers: 6 Sales: 1

The morning was damp but clear. I got up early and made mum a cup of tea before opening up the shop around 9. When she came down, she spent the first half an hour or so rummaging through the boxes in the kitchenette area. She discovered a box of Christmas decorations, including a rather lovely wooden nativity set, which on first glance seemed to be missing the baby Jesus and include 2 shepherds and 4 wise men.

Me: Four wise men? That’s not right. Mum: Eh, it’s Scotland. Probably a Presbyterian nativity.

Mum spent the afternoon writing postcards to everyone in Ireland. She signed off by saying ‘It’s just like Mountbellew’. We predicted what my auntie’s response would be: 'And you travelled all that way to see it?'

After closing up, we took a walk down to the Martyrs Stake and got caught in the rain. Actually, we got soaked. But we didn’t mind, other than the fact it stopped us going into some bookshops on the way back for fear we’d bring the damp into the shops with us.

Pizza for dinner. Neither of us felt like cooking.

THURSDAY

Browsers: 14 Sales: 8

Mum opened up today and I slept in. Apparently there was a customer waiting outside when she came down. He bought two books. Our busiest morning of the entire week. I spent my morning writing letters to friends and tucking them inside books. I will hand them out as Christmas presents when I get home.

A man came in around 11:30 with his daughter and admired our nativity display, I caught myself smiling. Not least because mum had spent a good 10 minutes fashioning a manger for a make-shift baby Jesus.

Around lunch time, I went to the post office and paid a visit to The Book Shop. I was a bit more prepared this time - I went with a list. I didn’t manage to find anything on the list, but it did give me a bit more direction. I ended up coming away with an Anne Enright title (one of my favourite novelists) and another Roddy Doyle novel, as well as some poetry pamphlets. I got back to the shop a little over an hour later. Whilst I was away, a man came in ‘with his carrier bags’ as my mother described him. Apparently, he stayed all of 10 minutes and most of that was spent helping himself to as many sweets as possible from our bowl on the counter before announcing, ‘I think my bus is here’ and leaving.

We had a few more customers come in throughout the afternoon. It was by far our busiest day in the shop. Before closing we tallied our total for the week. Drum role please:

In four days we accumulated a grand total of just £30.

We had been somewhat prepared for this. George, who welcomed us, as well as numerous other booksellers in the area all informed us this would be a quite week. Christmas countdown coupled with the cold and the wet just meant not many people would be out buying books. But I couldn’t help but reflect on the impact this must have for independent bookshops across the U.K. When we visited Shaun at his shop, he ruefully told us, you can usually survive a bad winter if you’ve had a good summer. He expands on this sentiment countless times in his book.

It is no secret the British high street is in trouble. This year, retailers are preparing for the slowest Christmas sales in a decade. But in spite of this, booksellers in the UK and the US have anecdotally reported an upturn in sales and footfall this year (https://bit.ly/2UYE4qN). I guess those feet aren’t quite prepared to trudge through Scottish weather just yet.

Elaine Mary Stabler Twitter: @EMStabler