#you’re free to have your own opinions but that doesn’t give you permission to bash others’

[bleached-socks]

Okay, since someone screenshotted my tags and tried to say they’re related, here’s my reasoning as to why they’re not.

Izumi (Ryuken’s mother) directly states that Masaki has no family left, and that’s the only reason the Ishida’s too her in. Which leads me to believe that they were two separate families that knew about each other but didn’t really interact until the Kurosaki’s were wiped out. This is helped by the fact that Ryuken and Masaki were supposed to marry. This took place in modern times, so the dangers of incest were well known, and if the Ishida’s cared that much about their family line, they wouldn’t want to put it at risk with an incestuous relationship.

In the manga, Masaki calls Izumi “Auntie” in some translations. I don’t think that she’s her literal aunt. I personally have several aunts, uncles, grandmas, and grandpas who aren’t related. On such example of this is the family that my mom lived with during college. I have a “grandma” and “grandpa” from that family, as well as two “aunts.” But I am not in any way related to them. And my mom’s situation is similar to Masaki’s, but instead of taking her in for college like my mom, they took her in for high school.

Izumi is also very clear a woman with high standards for her family, and who wants them to maintain the image they’ve made of themselves. So it would make sense for her to want Masaki to call her Auntie so that it seems like they properly took her in, in to preserve their high status image rather than taint it by taking in some random girl. Even though we, the audience, know that’s not what happened because we know that Izumi just took her in so that Ryuken could marry a pure Quincy. That’s it.

There is also a scene in some translations where Masaki calls Ryuken her cousin. My interpretation on that is that either a) she’s playing into the family dynamic that Izumi wants to give off since this conversation was happening in public, or b) this is her way of protesting the marriage arrangement using Izumi’s own words since Masaki clearly does not actually want to marry Ryuken.

To the person who used my tags: I understand your opinion, and that’s a valid interpretation. However, what isn’t valid is actively targeting someone and telling them their interpretation is wrong and that yours is the only valid one. I usually try to just leave people alone and respect their opinions even if I don’t agree with them because that’s the polite thing to do. But again, you screenshotted my tags and called me an illiterate fuck, which I think is grounds for me to give my reply. I’m not mentioning you because I don’t want to invite more replies

Do you ship it?

reason: Classic anime rivals/friends, they would do anything for eachother dispite Uryūs insistance that they are enemies

[papergirllife]

Chapter 1

Synopsis:

You don’t know what it’s like to be free, to make your own choices, and live your own life. For your whole life, your parents have been treating you like a puppet on strings, controlling your life to every single detail, as well as ignoring the fact that you have feelings. Other times, when you disobey their wishes, or speak up about your own opinions, they bash you down with words, in other words, psychological abuse, has led you down the long winded road of depression and anxiety. What happens when you meet a man who’s willing to be your guide out of this terrible downpour? Would you give a shot at happily ever after?

Warnings:

big age gap (kinda?)

issues on anxiety

issues on depression (mild)

issues on parental abuse

smut (maybe)

Tag List: @etherealtyjaem​ (lmk if you wanna be on the list)

It has always been like this, being locked up in the study room so you could ‘study’ for hours end, or that’s what they think you’re doing. You studied in an elite academy with your smart cousins, only to have you graduating with average grades, which of course, earned you a harsh scolding from your parents. Now, you’re supposed to be studying business for university, even though you had zero interests in it, the subject is fine, it’s what you’re studying it for that irks you. Your family runs a business in Seoul, but from what you can see by secretly skimming through the files as well as the arguments behind shut doors with your aunts and uncles, things aren’t going as planned.

You don’t have many friends, nor a phone, they took it away from you when you wanted to go out with some friends, claiming that it’s a distraction that should be locked away. You felt like Rapunzel, locked away from the world, they don’t have any love for you, you’re quite sure they don’t, they had once slapped your face ten times when you had a boyfriend behind their backs, and you were 15 for god’s sake, along with other things that you rather not say, you don’t want to relive all those painful memories.

Sometimes you wished you could go back to the time when you were a child, when you were at your grandparents’ in the morning, her warm smile and loving eyes, when you didn’t know what laid ahead. You wish you hadn’t realised that you were being abused, you used to think what you went through was the same for other kids as well, until you talked about it with other people and scared them away from you. The painful memories sinking back in made the words in front of you blurry as you felt tears seeping in your eyes.

Depression.

It’s deemed as something ridiculous in your family, and that people who are suffering from it are weaklings and don’t deserve anything from this society.

‘Does that mean I’m weak?’

You never went to therapy nor took any medication for your mental illnesses, and recently the development of anxiety attacks are constantly putting you on edge. You have them at least once a week, sometimes you even had problem breathing, but you couldn’t tell anyone about it, nor anyone would ever listen to your cries of help.

“We’re going to help sell your uncle’s house this Saturday,” your mother said as she was folding the clothes.

“The mansion he recently bought?” you asked, confused as to why he would sell the mansion he was obsessed with just two months ago.

“Yes, he bought that without our permission back then, so now we need to sell it for funds, and you need to be there to entertain the potential buyers, give them a tour around the house and other enquiries. You have to direct them to us if you think they’re truly interested, it’s going to be an open house concept party,” cold, that’s how your mother sounded, her claims of putting family above everything else flying out of the window whenever her demands are not met.

“Okay, is there anything else?” you asked, hoping to be excused as soon as possible.

“No, you can continue your studies in the study room.”

That’s what basic communication is in your life, you tried talking about your interests, your opinions, but they either fall on deaf ears, or you would receive a lecture for having a ‘false perspective’. You’ve given up on talking to them about things that are going in on your life now, they don’t listen anyways.

The party is filled with old men with their muffin tops waddling around with a wine glass in hand and talking obnoxiously loud, obviously having too much money to go by, looking at how overly filled their bellies are.

You tried hiding away in the house, but your family kept pushing you out to talk to them. Their stares were not intimidating, no, but it made you feel uncomfortable as their gazes linger a bit too long on your legs or anywhere else, and the way they didn’t want to let go after they shook your hand, made your anxiety levels rise to the roof.

You would find random excuses to run away, like going to refill their glass or saying you need to use the loo, your heartbeat going as fast as your legs could take you away from them.

When you came back out from hiding for the 6th time, both your parents were rushing you to meet someone new.

“He’s a man of great fortune and power, so the chances of him buying this house is high. Don’t try to hide from this one, or you’ll get it when we get home,” your mother warned, her eyes side eying you with daggers.

Your mother’s threat made you sick inside, what are you to them? A scapegoat?

You weren’t paying attention to who or where was she pushing you to, but once you stopped, the man in front of you made your eyes as big as saucers.

‘How is a man like this doing here?’ you thought to yourself.

“Hello Mr Suh, we’re quite busy at the moment with other potential buyers. Why don’t we allow my daughter, Y/N, to show you around?” your mother said, her voice overly sweet, like day old cotton candy.

Once you were in front of him, your parents left. Leaving you helpless as your social anxiety kicks in, your eyes trained on his shoulder, eye contact, especially from this man, made you very nervous.

“C-can I give you a tour?’ you asked, hoping to ditch him halfway.

Johnny looks at the way your eyes avoid his, it wasn’t hard, given how tall he was, there’s just something so intriguing about you, so different from the girls that throw themselves at him with zero doubts.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Johnny,” Johnny introduced himself by bending down slightly, a friendly smile on his face, one that you can’t decipher whether he had similar intentions as those nasty old men had.

To say that the tour was horrible would’ve been an understatement, you kept stuttering under his piercing gaze, instead of looking at you like you were his next meal like other potential buyers, Johnny was genuinely listening to what you have to say. You didn’t think the house was any interesting, it was just a bunch of useless expensive things under one roof, like the movie room, the slides at the pool, the ‘mini’ bar. These things weren’t appealing to you, riches are overrated when it becomes too common, like your cousins and their different designs of Birkin bags, you weren’t exactly fond of their favourite alligator skinned ones as well.

Yet Johnny didn’t look at the cliche setting that you are currently presenting, instead his eyes are trained on yours, it wasn’t a scrutinizing gaze like the wives of those perverted men who stared down on you, nor anything that seems predatory, it only held calculation and observance. On the house? It doesn’t seem like it. On you? You can bet this whole house that he’s met women far more beautiful compared to a plain jane like you.

“T-that’s all for the tour, Mr Suh. Would you want me to direct you to my parents, if you’re interested?” you asked, hoping that you’d get to be alone again.

“Can you take me to the park nearby? I’d like to see the facilities available in this housing area,” he answered smoothly, as if he had calculated every little detail in his life.

You nodded wordlessly at his request, taking him to see the park nearby the house. It was a weird sight, having a man as tall as Johnny towering behind you.

“This is the park,” you pointed stupidly, cursing at yourself, obviously this is the park,  anyone with eyes could tell.

Johnny inhaled the breath of fresh air this area offered, his shoulders not as tensed up after. A smile decorated his handsome face as he turned towards you.

“Let’s sit.”

Johnny directed you to the nearest park bench, his size taking up most of the bench, yet he scoots into himself as you sat down next to him, giving you personal space.

‘Does he think I’m going to lower the price of the house for him? I don’t even know how much they’re selling it for,’ you thought, thinking this man must be mad that an unimportant person like you could negotiate with him.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Y/N. I’m not interested in the house,” Johnny said, breaking the silence.

Your mom isn’t going to be pleased when she hears this, you thought as you bit at your bottom lip, thinking about how harsh is she going to react if she didn’t get a buyer out of this event.

“Thank you for taking your time for considering through out this-

“I’m interested in you.”

Did you hear that correctly or was your mind playing tricks on you?

You stared at Johnny as his hand comes close to your face, he wasn’t pulling you closer, instead his fingers reached out to gently graze the underside of your eyes.

“I can see what you’re hiding,” Johnny said solemnly, his eyes showing you pity.

You quickly took out your compact mirror out of your pocket, checking to see if you did a bad job on the concealer for your puffy eyes today, but it looked fine.

“I used to be involve in theater, and I’ve seen people covering unwanted marks or eye bags on their face many times. It’s not obvious to most people, don’t worry,” Johnny explained.

The touch of his fingertips on your face was filled with warmth, as well as his eyes when he looked at you now, if his eyes were honey you’ll be as addicted as Winnie the Pooh. His touch was quickly gone as it had came, his hand placed back into his lap as he stares ahead.

“I’m not going to assume anything, but from what I can see, I don’t think you deserve to be going through what you’re facing now. And as for your family’s company, it’s not going to last long even if they managed to sell this property out. You’re going to be in a much more disappointing situation when that happens, I’ve been in the business game my whole life, my predictions hardly go astray anymore,” Johnny said without a sliver of judgement, he was just laying out the cards for you to observe.

Johnny reaches for a card in his coat pocket and handed it to you, it was his business card.

“I can take you away from all this chaos raging among your family, if you can call it a family that is. I’ll be seeing you soon, Y/N,” Johnny said before standing up and walking away to the direction where his car awaits, his driver closing his door.

That was most definitely a statement.

[isolemnlyswearpevensie]

16th Avenue | Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of drugs and alcohol

Time/Era: Modern AU, Aged 19

Word Count: 2k 

Summary: A midnight adventure in which the only things available to Y/N and Edmund are limited cell service, saved Spotify playlists, and Y/N’s 15-year-old hatchback. 

Request: Hi! first I wanted to say that I love your stories, I discovered them recently but I already read them all, and then I wanted to know if you could write an Edmund x Reader based on the song I Think He Knows by Taylor Swift, thanks!

A/N: Basically a small town AU where two kids in their late teens are trying to find entertainment one late summer evening. 

masterlist | narnia playlist | read on ao3

Edmund laid in his bed with his phone held above his face, staring blankly at the illuminated screen. He read over the messages he shared with Y/N L/N, a girl he had met at university a few months before he moved home for the summer. The conversation, in his opinion, was rather flirty, but it teetered to close to the line between friendly teasing and romantic advances for Edmund to know for sure.

His room was sticky with heat, making all the warm air stick directly to his skin. He yearned to go swimming or at the very least take a shower, but running the water at half-past midnight would surely wake his entire family.

Moving back home for the summer seemed like a good idea at the time; he could save money, see his little sister, and spend a bit of time to himself. But, as time passes on, Edmund yearned for the freedom of his newfound adulthood and life away from his family. 

Y/N proved to be a saving grace in that aspect, as her family lived a few towns over from Edmund and she owned a car. It wasn’t a very attractive car, but it had a sunroof, large hatchback trunk, and an AUX cord, which is all you really needed. She always kept a few snacks and blankets in her backseat, too, so the car (which he learned was called Comet,) served as a little oasis in the boring world that was home. 

The brown curls on Edmund’s head stuck to his forehead in a thick layer of sweat; the August heat was proving to be too much for Edmund’s body. So he laid, duvet pushed in a heap at the foot of the bed, and overthought the texts. His finger teased the power button as the heat lulled him closer to sleep. 

That was until Y/N’s typing bubble popped up on the screen. Panic surged in his chest and he shot up from his bed to pace around the dark room. His only source of light was the screen of his phone, which made his face appear slightly blue due to the screen. 

pulling up in 10. be ready. 

Edmund looked down at his appearance; the skin of his bare chest was moist from sweat and his boxer briefs clung to his toned thighs. 

are you crazy? My mother will kill me if they knew I was out at this hour. 

The metal box fan clanked in the corner as if it were a washing machine full of tennis shoes. 

so? we’ve been over this. you’re 19, not 9. loosen up, pevensie. 

Edmund took a deep breath before dressing himself in as lightweight clothes as possible and packing his backpack. He never packed heavily, but he grabbed some headphones, a phone charger, a flashlight, a pack of gum, and a sweatshirt. It was doubtful that the sweatshirt would be needed, but it could potentially be used as a blanket for the two to lay on, or rolled in a ball to form a pillow. 

The door to Edmund’s room squeaked loudly as he opened it, making all of the muscles in his body tighten. He glanced at his sister’s door and breathed a breath of relief when there was no movement behind it. All he had to do was make it out the door without being noticed. 

“Ed?” Lucy’s voice sounded through the darkness at the exact moment Edmund’s hand came in contact with the front doorknob. 

“Lu,” He responded nearly frozen in place. 

“Where are you going?” The bag of pretzels in her hand crinkled. Ed mentally cursed himself for forgetting she was a midnight snacker. 

“Somewhere,” He pulled the door open with a single movement of his arm. “Do me a favor and don’t tell?”

She popped one of the pretzels and chewed it completely before responding. “Tell me where you’re going and I might consider it.” 

“I’m going out with Y/N, there are you happy now?” 

Her eyes widen and she smiles, “Like, on a date?” 

“No, I don’t think so. We’ll probably just drive around and chat.” The headlights from Comet shine through the open door and blind the two siblings. “Promise not to tell?” 

“I promise! But really, Ed, you better lock her down. The good ones never wait,” 

Edmund nods, shutting the door before half-jogging to get in the passenger side of the hatchback. 

“Pevensie! I thought you were going to wimp out on me when I saw you staring into the darkness with the door open.” She looked over her shoulder to check for cars before making a U-turn. 

“Oh, yeah, I was talking to my little sister. I had to convince her not to tell my mother,” Edmund forced a chuckle. 

“Your sister still lives at home? I thought she went to that one uni in, like, Scotland?” The crystal hanging from the mirror swung side to side as Y/N steered. It was oddly mesmerizing. 

“That’s my older sister, Susan. I’m talking about my younger sister, Lucy. She’s 17.” 

Y/N made a small “o” with her mouth and nodded. “It must be nice to be in such a big family, you guys all sound so close.” She pulled the car onto one of the main roads, which was completely empty at this hour. The thrilling feeling of spontaneity settled in Edmund’s stomach and any reservations he had about coming faded into existence. 

“Yeah, I guess it’s fun. That is until you realize my mother has a bad case of empty nest syndrome and has her heart set on keeping me inside the entire summer,” 

“Is that why you are only ever able to hang out past midnight?” 

Edmund chuckled for real this time. Something about Y/N’s constant teasing made his heart fly in the most carefree way possible. 

“Yeah, I have to sneak out the front door so she doesn’t see me, her 19-year-old son, leave the house without permission.” 

Y/N gasped, whipping her head to look at the boy. “How dare a 19-year-old leave the house without Mummy’s permission! Are you trying to give Helen a heart attack?” The two erupt into laughter, making Y/N grip her faded steering wheel cover even harder.

 “Come on, Dj Ed, why aren’t you playing music?” One of her hands found the AUX cord and threw it onto Edmund’s lap. He stares at it for a second before connecting his phone. “Play the playlist we listened to last time, I liked that one.”

The street lamps on the road became less and less frequent as they continued to drive further into the country. Edmund had never been in this direction before, at least to his knowledge; It was always hard to distinguish places at night. Y/N, however, was very familiar with where they were going. Living in such a small town, Y/N had ventured out as soon as she got a driver’s license in order to find any smidge of entertainment. That was when she found 16th Avenue. 

“Where are we going?” Edmund asked at last. He had to speak loudly over the music blasting through the speakers. 

Y/N made a left turn down a pitch-black dirt road, which appeared to be more of a ditch than a street. It was in the middle of two very large fields, one wheat, and one corn, which were illuminated by Comet’s headlights. It looked like the setting of a horror movie and seemed as though a monster was going to jump on the car at any moment. A nervous feeling filled Edmund’s lungs. 

“Welcome 16th avenue, Ed.” Y/N’s happy tone made her companion relax a bit. Not a lot, but a bit. 

“It looks like some possessed scarecrow is going to run across the road at any moment,” Edmund half-joked, fiddling with his backpack strap. 

Y/N giggled and pulled off the road and into the wheat field. The crops had been parted previously, it appeared, so there was a little path big enough for the hatchback to squeeze through. 

“Why would there be a possessed scarecrow? This town is much too boring for paranormal activity.”

The path soon widened into a large circle clearing and Y/N parked the car. Before turning off the engine, she opened the sunroof, rolled down the windows, and lowered her seat. 

“Lay your seat back, Pevensie,” Y/N instructed before getting out and opening the trunk. Edmund obeyed and watched as she circled the car to return to the driver’s seat. 

“Tada,” She bent her knees so she was laying back and her shins were resting against the steering wheel. “16th avenue, my favorite place ever.” 

“The stars are so bright out here,” Edmund gazed up in wonder at the twinkling lights above. Canis major was perfectly visible through the roof. 

“I know, it’s so far from the city so there’s no light.” Y/N turns her face to admire Edmund in the moonlight. 

Half of his face was dark, but the part of his skin that was visible was smooth and blemish-free. Y/N’s eyes traced the curve of his button-nose to his sharp jaw. It appeared angular and strong, but Y/N couldn’t help but think how soft it would be to touch. His eyelashes batted beautifully against his rosy cheeks and the freckles that dusted his nose matched the constellations above. Edmund moved his head to match Y/N’s gaze, a blissful smile tugging at his lips. 

“Do I have something on my face?” He mumbles, having felt Y/N’s eyes trace every visible piece of him. 

“Other than your cute freckles and strong jaw? Nothing,” Y/N spoke before she overthought her words. Tonight was about adventure and risks. 

Edmund’s already heat stained cheeks darkened, his smile growing. “Cute? You’re the cute one,” The warm summer breeze whistled in through the windows and rustled their hair. 

“Not even, not when you have a face like that and a body like-” She gestures towards his lying form. “-that.” Y/N’s eyes followed the lines of his legs and up his torso. She wished she knew that body as well as she knew her own.

Edmund seemed to take a breath, “You took me all the way out of town and into a wheat field to call me cute, is what you’re saying.” His bashful smile turned cocky as he quirked his head upwards.  

“Well, yes and no. I brought you here because I was tired of waiting.” Y/N sat up and turned so she could see Edmund. He followed suit quickly. 

“Waiting for what?” 

“To finally see what’s under that attitude of yours,”  

Ed swallows the lump in his throat and scoots a bit closer. It wasn’t much closer, due to the center console, but it was enough to make the point. 

“There have always been sparks between us, you can’t deny that, Ed. So, I brought you here to chase them. The sparks, I mean. I want to chase them with you, if you want to, of course.” Y/N’s eyes never left Edmund’s as she spoke. 

“God, I want to. Fucking hell.” 

Edmund leaned over the console to capture Y/N’s lips in a well overdue kiss; the kiss the pair had been dreaming about for months. The warm air stuck to their bodies as they held each other the best they could. Y/N’s hands ventured into Edmund’s messy curls and his thumb rubbed into her thigh. Y/N felt him smile into the kiss and move the hand up her leg. 

Y/N thanked the universe that they were in the middle of nowhere as she climbed over to join Edmund on the passenger side of the car. 

[bellasprezzaturaa]

sixth out of seven (my heart is yours)

‘Ugh, Potter! You disgust me!’

‘Ah, so you’ve discussed me!’

...

She is with the girls up in the dormitory.

‘Do you fancy him?’

‘Yes, well I think I do.’

‘So how come you’re still holding back?’

Mary and Marlene and Dorcas are there and they are waiting patiently for her to tell them what is bothering her. She find herself unable to keep it from them any longer. ‘I’m just worried.’ She speaks in a soft voice and is bashful in revealing this to them.

Something has clicked with her and now all she does is worry. About him. About everything. Does he actually like her? Or is this all a game? The banter and the jokes and the lines, is it real? Or is he just playing with her? Most of the time she thinks he is joking and that is why it is easy for her to joke with him too. But sometimes she can see the passion in his eyes and hear the authenticity in his voice and it all becomes too much and that is when she starts to worry. She likes him so much. She very nearly always has. What if it doesn’t work? What if they can’t make it work? What if Severus was right? 

She tells them exactly this. Marlene takes her hand and Dorcas hands her a handkerchief. She does not realise she is crying. It is Mary who speaks. 

‘Its alright to be worried, Lil. All of us get that way sometimes, it’s just a natural instinct. All you have to do is wait. Just wait. Give yourself a little more time to get used to the idea, to get used to him. And then you just go for it when you’re ready.’

‘But how will I know? How will I know when I’m ready?’

‘One day, all of that will pass and you’ll know. You’ll just feel it and you’ll know.’

...

‘Evans, your hand looks heavy. Let me hold it for you!’

There is a quick flash of light.

‘Ack, Prongs! You’re crushing me! I can’t breathe!’

‘Ah, Prongs, you’re blocking the hallway!’

All Sirius does is laugh.

A distant cry of Touch me again, Potter, and it’ll be the last thing you ever do! rings throughout the corridor.

All James does is grin like a maniac. ‘It was only a tripping jinx, lads. Believe it or not, that’s progress!’ Sirius looks on and continues to admire his persistence and Remus shakes his head in deep exasperation.

...

It is well into the year when Severus finally corners her. He has been trying to get her attention for months but she has very cleverly evaded him. Until now, that is. 

She is in the library. She stands among the shelves before spotting a book she needs. She holds the book close to her face, examining it. But then he is there. She turns and he is right there. Right there. 

She jolts in fright. He has snuck up on her absolutely on purpose. 

‘Hi, Lily.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I want to ask you something.’

‘Out with it, Severus, I don’t have time for this rubbish.’

‘Are you sleeping with him?’ She stills at his words. What on earth is he talking about? At her confused look he clarifies himself. She notices the look in his eye is desperate and demanding. ‘Are you sleeping with Potter, Lily? Have you given yourself to him?’

‘Are you kidding me?!’ She is not sleeping with Potter, of course she is not. But she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing this because it is absolutely none of his business.

He becomes more distressed and frantic at her words. He is not angry. She recognises he is upset, flustered, demanding, desperate, but not angry (not yet anyways). ‘You are, aren’t you?! I knew it! You are not this stupid, Lily! He’s only using you, how can you not see that? He doesn’t even care about you, all he wants is to get you into his bed!’

‘Excuse me?! How dare you! You have no right to an opinion on the things that I do or do not choose to do, Severus! And I am perfectly capable of making my own choices, thank you very much!’ At that, she turns to leave.

He grabs her forearm to keep her there with him. He is holding her very tightly. His knuckles are white with the strain and she cannot break free. ‘Severus, let me go!’

He pulls her closer by her arm and she winces with the pain of it. He continues to shout at her about Potter but she cannot focus on what he is saying. She is suddenly afraid of him. In the past, he had often made her uneasy and anxious. Sometimes being with him would set her tummy on edge. But she has never before been afraid to be alone with him. Until now, that is. 

She is immediately plagued with a very distressing thought. I need to get out of here. She struggles against his extreme hold on her. But he does not relent. ‘Severus, please! You’re hurting me!’ She is thrashing about as she tries to pull free from him. She cannot. 

‘Alright, Evans?’

They both stop moving at the sound of his voice. He stands right behind her. Severus reacts so strongly, it is clear he is very angry now. ‘Walk away, Potter! This is none of your business!’ 

‘Maybe not. But I’m not leaving ‘til you let her go.’ She lets herself feel relieved at this. Severus looks down at his arm and slowly and reluctantly lets her go.

She immediately backs away from Severus and closer to Potter. Her movement has certain implications which are not lost on Severus. He lays his look of disgust upon her now, too. 

‘Leave now, Snape. I won’t ask you a second time.’ Again, the implication is clear. Severus stares up at Potter, his tone firm and his shoulders tense. Severus knows he cannot take Potter on his own. James is a superior dueler is absolutely every way.

Severus tears his eyes away from Potter and says to her, ‘I expect more from you, Lily.’ Then he turns and angrily stalks away. As soon as he is out of her sight she leans back against the shelves and inspects her arm. Potter stands there a few seconds longer to make sure he actually leaves. He does. 

There is already deep red bruising where her skin has reacted to his hold. She is bleeding because he scratched her so deeply in their struggle.

‘Evans, are you alright?’

She nods quickly. ‘Thank you.’

She notices that he does not touch her. He knows how she feels about him doing that. She has asked him not to so he doesn’t. He is simply near her now. She suddenly flashes back to mere minutes ago when Severus had held her in an iron grip. She compares him to the boy in front of her now who is gentle and tender and soft. he does not dare touch her without her permission and she knows instantly he would never hurt her. Not ever. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?’ She has been thinking hard and he has immediately noticed the dazed look on her face. He is concerned for her. Her heart glows at the thought. She looks into his eyes for the first time since he has been there with her. She nods quickly and smiles brilliantly, beautifully. That handsome face of his smiles right back at her.

‘I think I’ll just go to the Hospital Wing.’

‘I’ll walk with you, if you like?’

‘Thank you.’

...

Life goes on.

Things carry on in pretty much the same way except he stares at her a lot more and makes a lot less effort to hide that he is, in fact, staring at her. And so, she catches him staring at her and he expects a stinging jinx but all she does is wink and carry on with her breakfast. He is so shocked by this that he drops his fork and one of his kippers land in Remus’ porridge. 

The end of the school year is fast approaching. Slughorn has given his third years some latitude and so they have been working on a passion project to close out the year. 

One night, when it is late and everyone is fast asleep, aforementioned third years cause a massive explosion in their dorm (which is where they have been working on said project) that causes the entire tower to be evacuated on account of danger of smoke inhalation.

Everyone in Gryffindor Tower is congregating on the staircases while they wait for the problem to be fixed. The third years are being sufficiently reprimanded by Professor McGonagall. 

The sixth year boys are there too and all they do is laugh. They are soon joined by the sixth year girls who are giggling to themselves in the slightly suspicious yet completely endearing way that they do.

Mary reaches behind Marlene and suddenly there is Lily, she is finishing a braid in Marlene’s hair while Mary whispers cheekily in her ear (James is not wearing a shirt, but that is completely beside the point). Dorcas is on Marlene’s other side, leaning on her shoulder and struggling to stay awake. 

Remus performs a double-take at breaking speed. His tired face breaks out into an almighty grin. He smacks Sirius’ chest with the back of his hand and nods his head in Lily’s direction. Sirius gasps aloud and does the same to James to get his attention. Peter is asleep on the floor.

She is wearing her pyjamas like everyone else. They are a simply classic pyjama set that has several deer embroidered across the fabric. Bambi was her favourite movie as a child, still is in fact. Hence, the pyjamas. 

James is more than slightly surprised and he does not take his eyes off of her. The girls think he is checking her out. Which he is. But that is beside the point.

...

‘Evans you belong in a museum.’

‘Potter, there are plenty of places I’d rather be. Unfortunately, I’m stuck here with you.’

‘Its ‘coz you’re a work- wait, that’s not- UGH. You ruinED IT.’

...

‘Evans, wait up!’

‘Yes?’

He leans over to her and reaches his arm quickly between the long locks of her hair. He pulls out a piece of pink card stock shaped like a heart, seemingly, from absolutely nowhere. 

‘You stole my heart.’

Christ, he’s good. She rolls her eyes at him, slightly blushing at his closeness. He pulls the heart to the left side of his chest and starts fluttering it. The fast pace of his beating heart matches the thumping of her own.

‘See, Evans. My heart beats only for you.’

She lets out a soft breath of laughter. Not trusting herself to say anything at all to him, she shakes her head at his nonsense and quickly turns on her heel and walks away. Smile still on her face. 

‘Wait, Evans!’

He takes his chance.

‘My heart is yours. So, you should really take it with you. I’d be terribly hurt if you didn’t.’ His ridiculously handsome face breaks out into a wonderfully happy smile as he looks down at her, adoringly so. Christ.

He holds his heart out to her. She takes it. He winks cheekily at her and she rolls her eyes before walking away. Her back is to him now. She holds his heart gently, adoringly, in her hand and brings it to her chest and softly rests it against her own heart before carefully placing it between the pages of her textbook.

She smiles. He does not see. 

[fapangel]

Since I first issued my dire predictions of civil violence in the not-so-distant future, I’ve been looking, exhaustively, for evidence I’m wrong. III Have you considered this angle: The traditional media's hyping that up? I mean, we know in the early/mid 60's the newspapers and cameras focused on the small number of violent protestors during anti-war protests and made them out to be the majority. If the media has no shred of integrity left, why are you looking at them for evidence of integrity?

That’s just the thing - I’m not. I’m looking at people. at the “man on the street” and in both my personal life (as in actual meatspace, not online) and in actual journalism (some people still do it, outside and inside the mainstream establishment,) I’m seeing a decidedly worrisome tone. 

We all remember “literally shaking” on Twitter the night of the election, but there were other words going around quite a bit - sick, disgusted, afraid, scared, etc. Twitter - as it’s used by the majority - gives a quick insight into the personal emotions of the people using it. (This is why PR uses that bank on the presumed intimacy - like Trump’s twitter - tend to be more successful, and more careful, sterile treatments, like the Clinton campaign that took 12 staffers and 10 drafts to compose a single tweet, typically lack traction.) Sure, us seal-clubbin neocons and tree-hugging liberals had a good giggle at the triggered snowflakes breathlessly predicting the Right Wing Gestapo emerging from the woodwork to bash the gays - but then a friend of mine told me it’d actually happened, post-election, to a friend of his, and that’s when my laughter stopped. 

As was explained to me, the LGBTQ folks feared that Trump’s election would be seen as “permission” by all the knuckledraggers, and it seems it was. So it’s time to ask yourself the question - how did the knuckledraggers get that impression to begin with? Maybe - just maybe - it had something to do with the media screaming, 24/7, for months, that Trump was literally Hitler and that he was going to oppress all the gays and Jews and Muslims and fluffy bunnies. “Of course he’s Our Guy,” the Illinois Nazis said with glee, “the entire news media keeps screaming about it!” 

Also consider that the media’s reinforcing the left wing’s narrative, which makes people on the left wing much more likely to believe it since it’s validating their own beliefs. Vox.com has an excellent article on the Russian conspiracy blitz and why it’s playing so well with Democrats, and the author is neither a Trump fan or apologist (as is abundantly clear from the article itself.) It’s worth reading entire, but this quote stands out: 

“Misinformation is much more likely to stick when it conforms with people’s preexisting beliefs, especially those connected to social groups that they’re a part of,” says Arceneaux. “In politics, that plays out (usually) through partisanship: Republicans are much more likely to believe false information that confirms their worldview, and Democrats are likely to do the opposite.”

The article accurately compares the current phenomena to the entire “birther” movement on the right - it’s the exact same psychological phenomena, so unsurprisingly you see it manifesting with human beings on both sides of the spectrum. A lot of politics falls into that category, and it’s where most of that “political common ground” I keep talking about can be found. The difference is that the Left controls the lion’s share of the communication media and in turn, our culture. Hollywood - a cultural engine if there ever was one - is extremely left wing and has been since before McCarthy’s day. The modern telecommunications and internet media, which lives and breathes in Sillicon Valley, is likewise invested in the left wing; Erich Schmidt, chairman of Alphabet (Google’s parent company,) founded a PAC to give Hillary’s campaign IT support during the election, and we all remember how the CEO of Mozilla was hurled out of office because he dared to cast a private, anti-revolutionary vote. The next time you hear leftists talking about how “de-platforming” is legitimate, remember that the leftists literally own the fucking platforms. Nobody’s gonna find your conservative site if Google de-lists it. This is the problem - both sides have their lunatics willing to swallow any shit they’re being shoveled, but only one side has a massive megaphone that’s actively colluding - complete with sticky-handed twitter high-fives - to push the same narrative across the board, and cross-validate it. 

Hilariously, the Vox author (Kevin Drum) doesn’t see it, making the article a self-demonstrating one: 

Luckily for the Democratic Party, there isn’t really a pre-built media ecosystem for amplifying this like there was for Republicans. In the absence of left-wing Limbaughs and Breitbarts, media outlets totally unconcerned with factual rigor, it’s much harder for this stuff to become mainstream.

… except he does see it, because he goes on to name some examples (and some tweets) of people chugging the kool-aid… but all of them Democratic politicians or DNC staffers who should know better, not the media itself. He’s clearly intelligent and well-balanced, he’s standing in the middle of a bullshit cyclone he knows is bullshit, but he’s only just now starting to smell the rot and he hasn’t even noticed objective journalism’s decaying corpse yet, despite standing in its ribcage. If someone like him can be so stymied, how do you think That Guy - you know, [the bitter old man |the aging hippie creep] who always [ sits on his porch yelling at birds | shuffles around Trader Joe’s in grungy sandals comparing kale prices] and blames everything on [ dat gal-dern Mooslim Obongo | the military-industrial-jew-lizardman-complex] is going to react?

Some people do actually believe this shit and they are mostly Democrats - hell, here’s a Gallup poll with the numbers if you doubt my analysis. And to re-iterate, they’re inflaming extremists on both sides of the spectrum, because the more violence antifa commits, the more the Illinois Nazis will croon “see, we were right all along!” 

The traditional mass media engaging in this shit is much, much worse than the right-wing “alternative news ecosystem,” the blogs, the talk radio hosts, infogiggles, etc. They’re all personality-based and those personalities differ and disagree (if they didn’t, how would they offer content distinct from what the others offer?) This is natural, because conservatives argue. They argue a lot. It might surprise some of you given how often the media portrays the NRA as triple Satan, but there’s gun rights groups that exist specifically because some conservatives think the NRA is too wussy. You’ve got social conservatives, business/free market conservatives, REEE TAXES conservatives, etc., and they rarely see eye to eye. Ann Coulter - the Screeching Enchantress herself - once wrote that “Republicans can’t put together a two-car funeral without writing six books denouncing each other.” 

You don’t see this on the left - not in the media, at any rate. There’s more to this than just the obvious mainstream media collusion; the back-slapping and twitterwank, although their deliberate and conscious effort plays a huge part. There’s also how the left wing thinks. 

If you’re old enough to remember the Bush years, you’ll remember how often the left would attack Rush Limbaugh - even though an entire ecosystem of conservative, national talk-radio had sprung up by then, so he was no longer The One And Only Conservative Voice In Mass Media. Liberals treated - and attacked - him as the de facto leader of the right wing, and this puzzled conservatives no end, because a pundit, however clever, is not a goddamn politician or leader. 

The left wing, however, thinks differently. Unlike classical liberalism, which is mostly concerned with balancing the inherent rights of individuals with the rights of every other individual in a social contract, the leftists (communism/socialism/etc.) focus on the  collective as the central, essential point, and move from there. This is why “virtue signalling” exists; leftists care very much about what others think of them. Emmet Rensin’s essay on smugness in liberalism, which I’ve mentioned many times, showcases it well; while describing his subject, he also illustrated the mechanisms by which it manifests - left-wing culture. Everything he described - the virtue-signalling to others that you know the correct facts, the knowing, even the “Eye roll, crying emoji, forward to John Oliver for sick burns,“ exemplifies it. This Mother Jones writer’s reaction to his piece has a telling line: 

“I’ve long since gotten tired of the endless reposting of John Oliver’s "amazing,” “perfect,” “mic drop” destruction of whatever topic he takes on this week.”

They key here is John Oliver. When leftists look at Rush Limbaugh, they see a conservative John Oliver - in short, a demagogue. Demagogues and cults of personality have always been of prime importance with the left wing - remember how Obama was lionized by the left during his first campaign? To say nothing of the Kennedy’s being immortalized as “Camelot.” Yes, conservatives liked Reagan a whole lot, but we don’t vote in entire fucking royal dynasties, which is why Low-Energy Jeb is cooling his heels right now. And these demagogues, you’ll note, are all on the same page when it comes to ripping into conservatives… and their epic, wicked put-downs then become The Big Joke that the left wing retweets and reblogs and parrots to each other ad nauseum. Remember Tina Fey’s mockery of the only working mother leftists have ever despised? I’ve seen people on facebook quote “I can see Russia from my house” fully believing that Sarah Palin herself said it - the Tina Fey skit is the reality, for them. Truth is lost around the twentieth re-tweet, or so. 

And these “comedians” - in truth, pundits and opinion columnists - base their jokes on whatever quote-unquote “revelations” aired in the mainstream media’s news broadcasts that morning. 

If you’ve ever noticed how quickly a new catchphrase or word gets onto every leftist’s lips - like “fake news” - this is how it’s done. It’s not just the mass media moving in lockstep co-ordination to get the message out; it’s how the phrases become the newest “in-thing” with the entire leftist culture, that then get bandied about in the social sphere, on and off-line. After the cruise missile strike on Syria, I watched, on /pol/ alone, about thirty different varying interpretations, everything from “Assad and Putin are unironically heroes shove omfg I love facism Trump why u blow them up” to “I HOPE HE DROPS A MOAB ON RUSSIA NEXT FUCK THE REDS NUCLEAR WAR NOW” to a bunch of “he’s really playing 64 dimensional chess check this shit just you wait” that covered everything in-between. And that’s just on /pol/, which is so full of bullshit and jokes they literally made a fucking containment board for the containment board - called /bantz/. You don’t see this in the leftist blogosphere - the opinions all align the same way and vary only in magnitude of gibbering lunacy. And the John Oliver quotes don’t just define the conversation, they define the fucking language - for instance, “Drumpf.” 

Do not, for one second, think that the media doesn’t know how all this shit works. They may be delusional, but they don’t control and run vast media empires because they’re stupid. And a lot of them have been at this for a long, long time. 

[elizas-writing]

Spoilers Galore: Thirteen Reasons Why

If you’re curious on my thoughts of the show as a whole, check out here for the review.

So there were a lot of... interesting scenes in the show. And while I still believe the producers were well intended for the messages they wanted to get across, unfortunately a lot of these things just don’t work. What did they get right and what did they get wrong?

Warning: Mentions of rape and suicide

Let’s start with Tyler. What the actual fuck, Tyler? Everything about this character bothers me not because he’s a creepy stalker, but how everyone treats him confuses the anti-bullying messages. Tyler is without a doubt an irredeemable character, but it’s so confusing how the rest of the characters on the tapes know what he did was true and constantly toss him to the side while still doubting everything else Hannah said. This amount of hypocrisy is ludicrously painful; no one is this dumb, even teenagers!

And then Tyler has his own bullying from the people who listened to the tapes and threw rocks at his window, and to top it all off, Clay took a naked photo of Tyler and sent it to his classmates. How in the fuck does that make you any better than Tyler? If you’re trying to have an anti-bullying message, don’t promote it with your protagonist engaging in more bullying, especially taking naked photos of someone underage without their permission. That. Is. Considered. Child. Porn. You can’t always fight fire with fire.

Then the series just ends showing Tyler’s whole freaking arsenal which can very well imply he’ll shoot up his school. WHAT?! So am I supposed to feel sorry for him because he still endures bullying even though people have reason to not like him because he’s a stalker and isn’t being held accountable? I have no idea what angle they were trying to go for with this character; it’s a fucking mess.

While I like Jessica much later in the series, she was one of the few reasons Hannah listed that also really confused me. Yeah, Jessica slapped her out of a major misunderstanding, but then a couple episodes later they still seem buddy-buddy and going to parties and talking like nothing happened and just like bygones be bygones. So were they friends or what? It’s another relationship I can’t for sure what was the intention.

There is a major dive into talking about rape culture and consent, especially around Jessica and Hannah as they were both victims of Bryce with unfortunately Hannah taking her life soon after. It’s a lot of content I’ve heard before with the subjects, but it’s always good to hear them emphasized. But my big problem is that Jessica is never included in these conversations. I know she’s sorting out her own problems and struggling to accept the truth, but why does she not have a voice here? Doesn’t what she have to say also matter? Listening to the survivors is the number one most important thing when it comes to rape culture, and while they’re not obliged to share their experiences, they deserve an environment where they can have a voice if they choose to share.

But the scenes that actually do give focus to Jessica are done very well. Dumping bottles of alcohol into the sink is such a cliche but in context with some great acting without dialogue, it’s powerful. And I really loved when she finally mustered the courage to tell her father even though she’s breaking down. It’s one of the ambiguous endings I don’t mind because it does leave a lot of speculation as to what she does after she tells her father, but it’s one of the few moments of hope that she can get the help she needs. And thank God, she was not letting Justin have any of his excuses for defending Bryce. I can’t help but appreciate how they hit the nail on the head that it’s just not okay to defend a rapist period.

But another loose ending that just doesn’t work is Alex. I really felt for him as he did genuinely feel sorry about what he did to Hannah, and he grew quick to call others for their hypocrisy. But in the end he’s so depressed that he ends up attempting suicide and is at the hospital in critical condition. Again, if you’re trying to go for an “it gets better” message, it doesn’t work when you just throw your characters in more misery and leave their fates up in the air like that, especially when their symptoms of depression and suicidal thoughts were so blatantly obvious and for even some of the people on the tapes to not catch on that Alex wasn’t in the right head space is astounding. Clay is among the few who believes Hannah, and he goes on through the show about his regrets of what he didn’t say or do to comfort Hannah in her time of need. What about Alex, and hell, quite a few other characters, who are displaying similar symptoms like Hannah? Instead of wallowing in regret when you can’t change the past, take action now and prevent such a tragedy from happening again.

It would have been much better if Clay were to catch Alex attempting suicide and stop him just in time, and then comfort him through his emotional problems. It would provide real life examples on how to talk to a suicidal person (especially in contrast to someone like Mr. Porter) and offer help where you can. That would be way more effective than leaving us wondering if he’ll live or die. And I know they’ll probably try to shoot for a second season to wrap up loose ends like Alex, but how much do they plan to milk this show since it would run at the risk of straying so damn far from the book? And how long do audiences have to wait, especially those looking for a way to cope with such problems? They really couldn’t wrap most of this up in 13 episodes?

Speaking of Mr. Porter, good God do I hate this guy way more than I think I should. I know people bash this character for not recognizing Hannah’s signs of suicide and doing nothing to help her, to which I answer, when was the last time you were around high school faculty? Again, I was a teenager once too, and heck, even way back in elementary school I’ve seen so many adults who really needed another career path that didn’t involve working with kids or teens. I can buy his incompetence, however I just can’t buy his straight up negligence which really pisses me off.

There’s one scene where Clay ditches school with Tony in full view of Mr. Porter. What does he do? He waits until God knows how long until Mrs. Jensen arrives to discuss about the law suit and just drops that her kid ditched oh so casually. What kind of school doesn’t immediately contact parents when they see kids ditch? No fucking wonder you’re getting sued. This probably just drives home close to me since my high school went through severe changes in attendance policies after a girl went missing and her parents didn’t know she was absent the whole day until 6 in the freaking pm, but you’d think after, oh I don’t know, two deaths among your students from a car crash and a suicide, in that order only weeks apart, that these teachers would try to be more attentive to the mental well being of their students especially when a few end up becoming violent. It doesn’t have to be much, but again, there’s a fine line between incompetence and negligence and, ugh, that scene irritated me way more than I should but just the little implications behind it got under my skin.

There’s also a lot of other little things that bugged me like wondering why all these teenagers have tattoos, why Clay’s hallucinations are never brought up again, why is Skye way more bitter than necessary, etc etc.

Again, like my spoiler free review, this is a bit all over the place and that sums up my feelings towards the show. The scenes that are handled just right are amazing, and there are good intentions, but the overall execution just doesn’t work and little inconsistencies just pile up in the long-run and confuse the themes so much that I can’t recommend it as a good source for anyone with similar struggles. If the graphic content won’t trigger you, I’d still say check it out to form your own opinion, but don’t let the hype cloud your better judgement.

[jaclynbross1]

Preparing for the Big Move – How to Stay Sane

The following post was sponsored by Capital One®.  All opinions are my own and not directed by Capital One. To learn more about the GM BuyPower Card, click here.

Did you miss it? The Roses are packing up and heading south.

A few weeks ago we made it “Facebook official” that we are moving to Nashville. I feel like now that it’s on the Internet, it’s for reals. Like FOR REALSSSSS.

Can I be the first to tell you how hard it was to hide something that LARGE for months?

I hate secrets anyway, but that one? Phew.

If you know me, you know my M.O. is transparency. The good, the bad, the ugly and the million toddler tantrums followed by gallery wall therapy to keep me sane.

I don’t hide life well. In fact, hiding life makes me die inside. I live to tell our story, even when our story isn’t roses. <— See how I did that there? Uh-huh.

For months I had been hiding that GIANT secret and I may or may not have felt like I was slowly suffocating by having to hold it in.

Not because the world needs to know, but because I needed to get it out.

And so…

I don’t own a single pair of cowboy boots and country music is not necessarily my thang’, but Nashville… you will be our new home anyway.

Can you tell I’m nervous?! Even with the big secret out, I’m nervous. I have never moved more than 10 miles from home in my entire life. I know, insert eye roll and complete judgement that I have only child syndrome. I give you permission.

But we are about to pack up 4 kids and our entire life and hit the road. #holdme

After we officially made the decision to move, then came the dreaded process of actually moving… you know the getting every single thing we own for 6 people to a new location.

The logistics.

And possibly the main reason I have never gone anywhere in 36 years.

How the GM BuyPower Card Makes Spending All That Moving Money A Little More Painless

As anyone who’s moved knows all too well, it can often feel like you’re just senselessly throwing money out the window for months at a time.

Between buying countless boxes and making a few (and by a few I mean like 10) trips to Nashville to neighborhood hunt, meet with our home builder and get a plan in place for the big move, we’ve definitely been spending the big bucks. That’s pretty typical for big moves.

I’m a fan of anything that makes spending money less painful, and there’s no better time to use those tips and tricks than when balancing a moving budget. If your family is going through something similar, the GM BuyPower Card from Capital One can be a great resource to have on hand during the whole process, whether you’re moving solo or have all the littles in tow like me.

Because if you’re going to spend the money anyway, you may as well get something back for it, right? And what’s a better reward for all those moving pains than a new car for the whole family down the road?

GM BuyPower Cardmembers can take full advantage of all the perks. When you are approved for the GM BuyPower Card, you accumulate 5% Earnings on your first $5,000 in purchases every year, then 2% unlimited Earnings on purchases after that.

Once you’re ready to redeem your Earnings from spending like you normally would, you can apply your Earnings as dollar-for-dollar savings when you buy or lease a new Chevrolet, Buick, GMC or Cadillac vehicle. A new car?!! Yep! The best part is, GM Earnings can be used on top of most current GM offers and incentives.

So while using the card to pay for road trip necessities (while you drive back and forth), boxes and bubble wrap, or even unexpected home repairs, you’re gaining Earnings toward a top of the line GM vehicle each time you use the card.

6 Ways I’m Preparing for The Big Move

  #1 Purge, purge and purge some more

The first step in packing for the move began with the massive process of purging… and then purging some more… and then purging to the point where our kids think we’re literally going with just the clothes on our backs. Oops.

Oh, you want to take your toys with you? Pick five. Ha!

It’s crazy how much stuff you can accumulate over the years. But I promise you, you don’t need every single paper your kid has ever brought home from school since pre-k and you definitely don’t need 250 toy cars.

TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY!

I mean, you’d think I was hosting an official race or something.

Purging has been my favorite part so far because when the clutter is gone, you feel free! Trust me, rid yourself of all things you do not absolutely need. You will thank me later.

#2 Get organized

Part of that purging process meant getting every kind of storage container they sell and finding a place for everything. We kicked a lot of our junk to the curb so we were left with all the things we did want to keep, which meant organizing the “keep” pile.

*Oh hey trash man, I owe you a cup of coffee!

Just like with the road trip expenses I mentioned earlier, if you have the GM BuyPower Card, you can make every single bin, basket or box that you purchase to organize everything (like the bin Nella thinks is her personal chair) work toward purchasing your next car. Cha-Ching people!

Point here? You can organize the stuff you are taking with you (which will keep you sane when you get to the new home) AND help save while doing it.

#3 Hire help

Need I say more? It’s a full time job keeping four kids in line, but packing and moving too? We are going to need to “phone a friend” to make that happen.

Or if you don’t want to burden your friends with begging them to help you for free pizza, call moving companies. Compare quotes and find a company in your budget who can help you not lose your mind.

#4 Research the new area

From important things like doctors and school districts to sports teams and ummm, hair dressers, there’s a lot to discover about a new city.

One of the best things I did was ask my social media followers to holler if they’re in Nashville because… I need friends. Friends who know which grocery stores won’t overcharge me for eggs and bread, which doctor won’t always be running an hour behind on appointment times and who can do my hair without interpreting “just trim it” as cut 2 inches off.

I’ve been swamped replying to tons of messages from women helping me get a lay of the land and it’s been AMAZING.

You can also find A LOT of information online by researching things in your new area. The more things you can research prior to moving, the more at ease you will feel once you get there, right?!?! That’s what I’m telling myself anyway.

#5 Don’t procrastinate

The countdown is ON! Whether we’re ready or not, we’ve sold our house and are headed out.  One of the key things I’m trying to tell myself during this move is to just get it done.

Whatever the IT is, let’s do it now so in those final days before we leave we can spend time with friends and family and leave little stress to the final moments.

If you have enough of a heads up on the move (over 3 months in our case) then start doing a few little things each day to help get you ready. For example, tackle purging one room or closet of your home each day. It will feel way less overwhelming than trying to purge your entire home in 24 hours.

One thing you definitely do NOT want to procrastinate about is hiring a mover.

Movers get booked up pretty quickly so make sure you do your homework as soon as you know your move dates. It will save you from scrambling to find that help you will so desperately need.

#6 Record memories before you go

With having four kids, they’ve each got a mini bucket list of things they want to make sure to do before we move. One of the things I want to consider is how they will be leaving friends and their neighborhood whiffle ball crew.

I know how hard it will be for them to leave their life here. I know, because I know how hard it will be for Jeff and I.

We are trying to soak up our time left by spending it with friends, taking lots of pictures and making sure our kids know that saying goodbye to their home doesn’t mean we won’t remember all of the wonderful memories we made here.

I want to make the most of the time we have here before we move… even if this move in the end will be super exciting and fun for everyone!

Speaking of, I should probably go pack the kitchen…we have our big neighborhood goodbye bash this week and I want to make sure I’m fully present and not wishing I was home packing.

from Tips For Basements http://houseofroseblog.com/buypower-post/

[alberteamllc]

PARENT (722-723)

Day 19. The doctor is chipper in a polite way. He’s professional but interested. The prince imagines that in a more conventional scenario you would describe his bedside manner as exquisite. He could see him as beloved by his village, popular with children. Even now, in this grim room, he’s smiling, even if the smile looks well-rehearsed.

“Well, Your Highness, it’s progress. One patient-- a Mr. Tivan Whetstone-- has been especially cooperative. He says it still hurts where the surgeon cut the arm off years ago but the potential results are worth it. He wants to pick up his daughter again”

“And about these results?”

“Um… I don’t want to sound unduly optimistic…”

“But?”

The doctor’s forced smile breaks into a genuine grin, a bashful one.

“But six inches of tissue have grown from the wound. Raw and pink, but real tissue, with real bone. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. I hear stories of priests from Mortmain or Sarkony who… but… Your Highness, it feels like a miracle. Whatever it is you’re doing in your sessions with them...  they’re lucky to have you.”

Even the ones who struggle, the prince feels himself bite back, even the ones whose screams he can hear all the way down the hall. Even the ones who he doesn’t see again. It exacts a heavy price. It demands a tax from him as well. The doctor’s gaze turns solicitous.

“I… wish you would share your methods with me, Your Highness. It could do so much for so many. If I could just see this apparatus in action--”

“In good time, doctor.” It is an ugly thing. It is such a beautiful thing. My Parent.

“Very well, Your Highness. Oh, um, and two more volunteers have insisted on leaving. They say the treatment is more extreme than they’d predicted. I don’t think it’s the pain. Many of these people, well, they don’t have much exposure to magic of this sort. I think it frightens them. Superstition.”

“Of course, doctor. They’re free to go. Make sure they remember to collect their stipend.” And I’ll make sure that Nevyah tidies up their recollections. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth to be reminded.

Day 41. There are no more volunteers. At first, it had been easy. He was a hero to his people. Men in fine livery and the spotless white uniforms of physicians had visited the homes of veterans, men whose bodies had been wrecked by war, or the poor, or the ill, promising health, promising vigor, in his name. If Prince Anselm promised… and they had come. And they had been healed. The day Tivan Whetstone flexed the fingers on his new hand, red and blistery, the prince had swept the doctor up in a spontaneous hug, twirled the slight man around before regaining his composure. He saluted Whetstone for his service to the kingdom and couldn’t help but beam.

And then it went wrong. The fingers withered like flowers, the bone burst through then crumbled to black powder-- back down to where his arm had originally been lost. Then the blight spread. Up to the elbow. Down the chest and up the neck until he was a mummy, a bent thing with the skin of a walnut, wailing and contorting himself in the makeshift operating room that had once been-- centuries ago-- a dungeon cell. And then the healing began anew. The hand came back and then it went again. And again. And all this time, agony, more agony each cycle until the doctor begged for permission to feed a grateful Whetstone a potent concoction of herbs and oils that ceased his thrashing once and for all. And after his body had been discretely tipped into the deep hole that had always been in those cramped stone halls, the purpose of which he and the other royal children had been politely taught to never ask about, the doctor locked himself in his quarters for four days, skipping his meals and refreshing himself with furtive gulps of stale water, emerging only to continue his good work.

The volunteers came and they suffered and then they forgot. They left unhealed or, like Whetstone, they went into the hole. The prince considers them heroes, martyrs to that final war, that war against death, in which Grete, his Grete, had been a casualty. Surely they would have agreed that it was worth it. One of them-- the name escapes him-- said he had served under the prince for a time. The prince is sure the man was right but his face was unfamiliar. He had come in with a cough that had racked his body, put blood in his spit. He would cough no longer.

The doctor comes out from the now-silent chamber, black rings beneath his eyes. He’s thin now and that smile is like a poultice slapped clumsily on a gaping wound. He rubs his brow and blinks heavily before speaking.

“Your Highness.”

“Doctor. Report?”

“A deserter. From the Two-Hour War no less. Funny that. Responded positively for several days. Superficial incisions made on the limbs and torso closed up within three hours. Amputation of several extremities-- toes, I should specify-- saw regeneration in some cases. 60% over the course of four sessions.”

“But then…”

The doctor sighs.

“The same old story, Your Highness. It…he wouldn’t have wanted it to go on. Your Highness. I administered the dose.”

“That isn’t your decision.”

“His mind was gone. The crown… he resisted. From the first moment. Said it was a Wrong Thing.”

“But the healing continued? Physically, he was healed?”

“Well… yes…”

“Then you should have continued. I don’t want to have this conversation again. These are… these are men who have committed crimes against the state. My state. It was this or execution. Put any feelings of guilt aside and think of Gr-- think of the scale of this enterprise of ours.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Of course.”

Day 100. Dear Diary,

One hundred days! I did not think this wild scheme would last a week-- just imagine, an artifact that can cure all wounds, that can turn back the worst injuries or illnesses! Of course I’ve heard the same claim countless times, but since it was our Prince, I had to travel to the big city to look into it myself, flattered to be requested personally.

And the results have been marvelous! Just marvelous. But, I wonder of the cost. Diary… I haven’t slept in three days. This is not unusual since my arrival in the city, as you well know, but I find that sleep comes with more and more difficulty. I saw myself in a looking glass the other day and was shocked at the sight of myself.

But let’s keep the bright side in view, shall we? Another one died today. But! Not an hour later one of the guards assigned to this project heard a groaning from the pit and lo and behold the man was alive again! This is unprecedented. He screamed and screamed. But no, I shall not think of that. The prince has ordered such details scrubbed from the official reports and I see no need to be ghoulish in my own private records either. He visits us down here infrequently now. He’s a busy man. It is an honor that he’s entrusted me with this artifact of his, which he insists on calling by name as if a trusted friend. It’s an odd duck, that’s for sure, and I must admit some discomfort just touching it. The superstition of a simple country doctor.

I believe I shall request some days to travel back to Bott’s Ford and refresh my resolve-- take a raft out on the river and look at the trees. It will do me good.

Day 143. Dear Diary,

A pickpocket today. It occurred to me to graft the arm of a subject who had responded very well to the crown onto one whose tissue was failing to regenerate. Splendid results and soon both men had healthy, functional arms until the customary decay set in.

Day 202

Anselm came down today to request the Crown back. Presumed at first he was displaying a renewed interest in the project but according to one of the guards he merely retired to a side-room and sat with it, staring ahead. A waste of my time, frankly.

He heard my sobs one night and gave me a stern talking to. Sympathetic though and he recounted his experience as a commander of armies. How can I talk of sacrifice when he has held so many lives in his hands? His advice was to stop thinking of the subjects as human beings--but as unit, as resources in a greater struggle but I cannot. I have always felt like my patients trust me with their lives, and that that is not an easy trust to give. That I must honor this faith they put me in me by doing anything I can to make them whole. In a sense I feel that each and every person that comes to me for aid is like one of my children. I feel a responsibility for their well-being even as I know the pit must fill again and again and again and again and again and again and again.

Day 240

I have come to fear for the prince’s sanity. This project has taken a toll on him and if it were not for the extraordinary potential of its outcome I would say it has been a terrible mistake. These men are suffering-- suffering beyond all imagination-- and-- diary-- many of them cannot even be given the release of death. The prince has commanded that those who will not die be experimented on further but he remains frustrated. Despite the profusion of patients who remain, in his opinion, viable, he insists on bringing in more. I suspect these men are not even petty criminals but mere beggars innocent of any wrongdoing aside from the sin of ill fortune. If I could I would have them killed on the spot to spare them this torture.

He continues to call our Crown by name. He says it’s called “Parent” but what parent would do this?

Day 266

I cannot continue. The prince is mad or evil and my own conscience is irreparably tainted. I will confront him and attempt to appeal to his reason and his mercy. If this fails, I have prepared a substance which, if applied to the skin,  mine or his I have not decided, will end this one way or another. If you are reading this, please think of me as a doctor who attempted to do some good-- for all of himself that he lost, he attempted to do some good..

Day 267 Dear Diary,

I’ve talked things over with the prince and we’ve agreed-- after some hemming and hawing on my part-- that I would try on the crown-- just to see if, as certain ancient documents he’s recently come into possession of suggest, it imparts some measure of healing ability to the wearer as well as on the wearer-- that is, instead of putting it (forcing it, in some cases) on the patient, the physician would have it on. Dunno why he won’t put it on himself but I suppose he’s already going to have one crown to deal with soon enough! Ha ha just a little joke!

Sounded silly at first but boy did it work! I feel refreshed and rejuvenated and filled with an enthusiasm for this project that I felt had gone entirely out of me. I’m once again convinced that this will all be worth it. Just imagine! The lame will walk again! The sick will frolic in the streets! The dead will rise! This entire world will be healed!

Day 290 Ahoy Hoy Diary! Long time no write but have I been busy or what! Wearing the crown did wonders! I felt ideas flowing through my brain at an unimaginable pace! Here are a few doozies! After my success grafting the limbs of one of my boys onto the trunk of another I was inspired by the thought of horticulture to make a wound further down the trunk and suturing on a third arm. It worked briefly maximum amount of limbs the human torso will support without serious logistical issues  structurally speaking is ten although nobody enjoys more than four at the absolute limit! Multiple heads less productive-- intended to observe function of motor controls under the aegis of multiple competing wills but results ambiguous. Mostly thrashing terminating in each head being forcibly torn off in turn. Hypothesis that last surviving head exercised ultimate control complicated by said head’s profuse weeping and repeated nononononono as limbs did their work. Oh well! Not every hit can be a home run but you miss every swing you don’t take! Following that experiment I placed the severed hand of one patient into the stomach cavity of another. Results were vivid and experiment was not repeated no not ever repeated I don’t want to think about I won’t think about it It can’t make me I got creative and caught a rat from elsewhere in the basement sooon everybody was sporting “rat tails” and no diary I haven’t turned “barber” ha ha (just another one of your classic goofs!) rat heads again a bad result bad luck when I “get a head” of myself haha one subject calmly said calmly no emotion in his voice “please i’m suffering please i’m suffering” i said “hi suffering, I’m Dr. V” nobody laughed not even the guards I had a little blue day and tried to hang myself from the rafters after the guards cut me down a few hours later I realized-- hey! Maybe we can’t drown! It turns out I was right but still nobody really liked being underwater for that long anyway all sorts of other great content and relatable bits! We re-attached one of my sweet boys’ heads on BACKWARDS and instead of the boring old schtick of swapping limbs I actually put TOGETHER two fellows with amputed legs! Well someday they’ll look back on it and laugh too at the very least they’ve got a leg up on the competition mean-spirited? I don’t think so it can always be reversed I can take it back I can take it back i’m sorry boys i didn’t want to It made me I didn’t want to when you can’t die you have to think of things in the long-term and as I’ve always said there are no dumb questions so why not throw things at the wall and see what sticks not a human brain, I’ll tell you that much ha ha! I love being Parent! And it encourages all of these gre a t ideas In fact I can’t stop It It won’t let me stop thinking these horrible thoughts and oh god I can’t control my hands when it wants to do something and I can’t stop laughing because what else can I do when I can’t stop these ideas and I can’t stop these ideas and I can’t stop these ideas I MADE A TIGER WITH HUMAN HANDSHa ha! HA! oh please my mediators let this end let this end I can’t keep doing this to my precious boys why won;t they die why cant I die

Day 309 Heyo Diarino,

Well, the prince is dead and I’ve been sacked. Mr. Nevyah helped sneak me out and said he’d take care of cleaning up the lab. Don’t worry, diary, I’ve been richly rewarded for my time and I won’t be spending it all in one place, that’s for sure!

Thinking back, it was a wild ride. Were mistakes made? Sure. But we were all caught up in the thrill of discovery, I guess. I’m sure someday I’ll put it all behind me. It was a learning experience and at the very least, it sure built character!

Can I share a little secret, though, diary? I took a little souvenir. A teensy little vial of blood. I’ve got some ideas but I promise it’ll be different. Humane. VOLUNTARY. More of a ‘no tears’ approach. I’m going back to the kinder, gentler me-- my patients are, after all, my children, and there’s nothing more important to me than my children!