#I'll stick with graphs

[italianbeatrice]

OUAT S1E19 - A word in the hallway please - or Emma shines through

For being such a Rumple-centric episode, this one made our ladies shine through.

There is the iconic "I'll wait here seated on your desk" scene that I don't think anyone can see and forget.

But I also liked how Emma is her own "I take no shit from no one" self. The way she commands "A word in the hallway"!!! And Regina follows, but she is still her cocky self and does her power walk there (and sure it's a walk!!)

But then again Emma waits for her and takes that stance, squaring her shoulders, jutting her elbows with her hands in her front pockets, and then makes her speech and when Regina tries to be her cocky self again ("Am I?") she just shush her ... I repeat - she shush Regina Mills.

[pitlanepeach]

The Long Way Home I Chapter Two

Oscar Piastri x Harper Grace (OFC)

Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.

It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.

Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!

Notes — Eek, are we soft for them already?

Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist

Maths was a unique kind of enemy.

Harper stared at the page, where a tangle of numbers mocked her in perfect, immovable silence. Quadratic equations. Graphs that looked like abstract art. Somewhere in her notes, her own handwriting had turned against her.

Jane was no help. "Look, I'd love to assist, but I operate strictly in the humanities. You want me to write an essay on why algebra is a metaphor for emotional repression? I got you. Solve for x? That's between x and God."

Harper sighed, banging her forehead on the desk.

Which is exactly how Oscar found her after his endurance run, still in his hoodie, hair damp and cheeks pink from the cold.

"You okay?" He asked.

"No," she mumbled into the table. "I'm dying. Death by numbers."

He peered over her shoulder. "Those are easy."

She raised her head and narrowed her eyes. "You would say that." She glared at him.

Oscar laughed and slid into the seat beside her. "Alright. Come on. I'll show you."

At first, it was just him. Patient, steady, explaining with short, clipped phrases and pencil taps. She wasn't sure if it was his teaching style or just the fact that he wasn't condescending that made it slowly start to make sense.

But by the next evening, word had gotten out.

Somehow.

The dorm common room turned into a weirdly specific academic support group. Oscar's roommate Sam pulled up a chair. Then Cal (Oscar’s engineer) FaceTimed in "for moral support"; and then casually mentioned that he has a masters degree in quantum physics.

Then two boys from Oscar's algebra class wandered over with snacks and just so happened to linger.

By the third night, someone had drawn up a "Harper's Maths Survival Schedule" and taped it to the common room door.

It read:

Monday: Oscar Tuesday: Sam Wednesday: Oscar Thursday: Alfie Friday: Matt

Harper laughed so hard when she saw it, she nearly cried.

And weirdly, somehow — it helped.

Not just the maths—but everything. The pressure. The loneliness. The constant feeling that she was a visitor in someone else's life. Here, she wasn't her mother's daughter, or the less-than-perfect student, or a problem to be fixed.

She was just Harper. And they liked her enough to stick around and actually put effort into helping her get better at maths.

One night, after everyone else had trickled off, Oscar hung around a little longer. She was almost too tired to think, her head tipped back on the sofa, eventually lolling over to rest on his shoulder.

"I don't know how you did it," she murmured.

"Did what?"

"Managed to turn maths practice into something I look forward to."

He laughed lightly. "You just needed to stop being so hard on yourself about it."

She looked over at him, eyes half-lidded. "Thanks, Osc."

He paused for a second too long. "Yeah. You're welcome."

She didn't respond. Just blinked at him, soft and warm.

And when he kissed her, it wasn't shocking.

It just felt... right.

—

Oscar wasn't supposed to be here.

Technically, he could be permanently expelled from the school. Lose his scholarship.

Not that he seemed particularly worried about that as he ducked beneath the low dorm window Harper had jimmied open earlier that week with a pen and a high level of angry rebellion.

"You're late," Jane said from where she sat cross-legged on her bed, dabbing highlighter onto her cheekbones. "Harper said you'd be five minutes."

"I had to wait for your prefect to leave," Oscar replied, swinging a leg inside. "She was sniffing around like a bloodhound."

"You're lucky you're cute," Jane muttered, not looking up.

Oscar took in the room; two mismatched duvets, makeup scattered across the long desk, fairy lights tangled above a heart shaped mirror. The air smelled like vanilla body lotion and expensive shampoo and some kind of spice he couldn't place. Cinnamon, maybe.

Harper was perched on the windowsill, brushing her hair into a ponytail with one hand, holding a lip balm in the other. She was wearing a navy jumper over leggings, ankle tucked under her thigh like she hadn't even noticed he'd arrived—even though the pink high in her cheeks suggested otherwise.

"I feel like I've entered another dimension," Oscar said, warily eyeing an eyelash curler. "What is that?"

Jane brandished it like a weapon. "Beauty, my darling. Don't question the process."

"You're both unwell," he muttered, but he was smiling.

Harper rolled her eyes at him, but had to purse her lips to hide her smile. "You're the one who insisted on coming over."

"Yeah, and now I regret it," Oscar said, perching awkwardly on the edge of Harper's bed. He knew it was hers because her pillowcase was monogrammed with a cursive H. "What are you doing?"

"Makeup," Jane said, blending concealer with terrifying precision. "You should try it."

Harper handed him a compact mirror with a sly smile. "Want some mascara, Osc?"

Oscar caught his own reflection and made a face. "No. I'll stay ugly, thanks."

Harper rolled her eyes at him and nudged him. He noticed that she'd painted her fingernails a glittery pink. He liked them.

Jane tossed an empty crisp packet across the room and it landed somewhere close to the bin.

Harper held up two near-identical shades of what was apparently lip gloss and demanded that Oscar choose.

Oscar chose the darker pink and Harper beamed at him.

Eventually, Jane pulled her riding boots on and announced, "Right. I'm going to grab some water bottles. Don't kiss until I get back — I want to watch."

Oscar opened his mouth to say something — anything, but she was already gone.

And then it was just the two of them, the room suddenly quieter, more tense. Harper turned toward him, one knee bent on the chair, her face lightly painted with makeup, her cheeks flushed from the laughter.

She looked at him, eyes half-lidded. "Thanks for coming, Osc. I missed you this weekend."

He stared for a second too long. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. I wanted to come. I missed you too."

She didn't look away, and suddenly he couldn't hold himself back anymore.

He pushed off of the bed and walked over to her, leaned down and cupped her face in his hand and kissed her. Long and soft and perfectly minty — from his gum or her lipgloss, he wasn't sure. Maybe both.

Teamwork.

When they pulled apart, she exhaled shakily."Okay," she said, so softly it barely existed. "That was nice."

Oscar looked at her for a long moment, his thumb brushing a smudge of mascara off her cheekbone.

Then Jane banged back through the door with a flourish, freezing mid-step at their closeness.

"Oh my God, did you—? You did, didn't you. I missed it again!"

—

Half term at Harper's house felt like walking around in someone else's skin.

Every day was a new performance: a crisp outfit, polite laughter, perfectly timed nods in rooms filled with too-white teeth and names she was supposed to remember. The dining tables were long and silent, the smiles were sharp, and the wine flowed never-ending.

Her mother paraded her through charity galas and luncheons like she was a debutante being rebranded.

"Stand up straighter, Harper."

"Don't speak unless you're spoken to."

"Do not mention anything to do with your schooling. God forbid they ask about your grades."

So Harper swallowed herself down, tucked her sarcasm into her clutch bag, and became exactly the daughter her mother wanted. For six days.

By the seventh, she'd become brittle.

When the train pulled back into the station near school, Harper had barely spoken a word for almost five hours. The Uber to the gates was quiet. Her mother didn't even look up from her phone when she said goodbye.

And then the building appeared—stone and ivy, wind in the trees, the faint smell of grass and cafeteria food.

Home, almost.

She hadn't texted Oscar. So she just walked straight to the common room, her bag still digging into her shoulder, hair pulled into a too-tight twist, like a fingerprint that her mother had left on her.

He was there, leaning against the radiator with his headphones half on, scrolling through something on his phone. He looked up once and blinked like he wasn't sure she was real.

"Hey—"

She dropped her bag before he could finish. Crossed the space in three quick steps.

And then she was in his arms, burying her face into the curve of his neck.

No words. No warning.

Oscar caught her without hesitation, his arms sliding around her, his hands settling at her back like they'd been waiting. He held her tightly.

For a long time, they didn't say anything.

Just her fingers fisting in the back of his hoodie. His chin tucked gently over her hair. The low hum of the radiator and the quiet outside, and the way she was shaking, not crying, not quite, but trembling with the pressure of having to be somebody else for too long.

Eventually, he whispered, "Was it that bad?"

She nodded into his chest.

"I missed you," he said.

She didn't answer; just held on tighter.

It was the first time she'd ever let herself lean on somebody like this. Not perform, not pretend—just be held. And she didn't care who saw or what anyone thought.

Oscar had quietly become her anchor. Her soft place.

And maybe that was terrifying.

She was only fourteen, Oscar fifteen — but God, his arms felt like safety. And warmth. And something else that she couldn't bear to even consider yet.

—

Harper's fifteenth birthday wasn't eventful.

She didn't tell anyone. Not because she didn't want them to know—but because birthdays in her world had always come with strings. Lavish luncheons, social climbing events, gifts that felt like bribes.

She just wanted this one to pass through quietly. Like a train through a tunnel.

Jane, of course, knew anyway. She left a pastry and a glittery crown on Harper's bed with a note that said, "You are legally required to feel loved today. I don't make the rules." The crown had little fake gems and kept slipping off Harper's head, but she wore it anyway during breakfast.

Oscar wasn't there.

He was in Italy. Or Belgium. Somewhere with a name that tasted foreign and exciting. Somewhere chasing corners at 120 miles per hour while she spent the morning trying to translate her messy English notes into a coherent essay.

Her and Oscar still weren't... official.

No labels, no silly promises.

Just soft looks and secret smiles, warm palms pressed together in the dark of the common room. Kisses that stretched time. Late-night texts that made her stomach twist in ways she still didn't know how to name.

But still. It was her birthday.

She didn't expect anything.

Which is why, when Jane dragged her back to their room after dinner, she nearly tripped over the package sitting on her desk.

There was no name on it. Just a strip of tape across the top, and the faint smell of engine oil clinging to the paper.

She tore it open slowly, heartbeat ticking louder with each pull.

Inside: a hoodie. Worn-in, navy blue. She recognised it immediately—it was Oscar's. The one he always wore over his racing suit, with his initials inked inside the collar. It smelled like him. Like soap and sun and sweat.

And tucked inside the folded fabric, a card.

H — Happy birthday. Sorry I'm not there. Don't let Jane make you wear the crown all day. Put this on instead. I'll be back before the end of the week. Save a birthday kiss for me. Osc x

She stared at the messy, awful, hardly eligible handwriting for a long time.

Then she pulled the hoodie on and let it swallow her whole.

Later, when they'd crawled back into the common room to watch a movie and everyone was pretending not to watch her phone light up every three minutes, Jane nudged her.

"You know he's basically your boyfriend, right?"

Harper rolled her eyes. "He's not, though."

Jane shrugged. "Oh, puh-lease. You're always wearing his clothes. You look at him like he's the moon and you're the stars. You guys kiss all the damn time — like you've got nowhere else to be."

"I don't need a label." Harper said.

"No," Jane said, smiling. "But you'll have one soon. I'd put money on it."

As if on cue, Harper's phone buzzed.

A photo. Oscar, in his race suit, grinning with helmet hair and grease on his cheek, holding up a little cupcake with a candle in it.

Wish you were here. Celebrating for you anyway. Happy Birthday, sunshine.

Harper didn't reply right away. Just closed her eyes, let the warmth bloom under her ribs, and whispered, mostly to herself, "I wish I was there too."

—

The night was cool and quiet in the early spring, the kind of night where the world seemed to be holding its breath for a warm day.

Harper waited near the edge of the astro turf, shadows stretching long under the floodlights that were turned off but still gave the field a faint glow from the nearby streetlamps.

Her hoodie was too big, but it felt like a shield—and it smelled like Oscar.

She heard footsteps before she saw him, and when he appeared, the grin he gave her was full of all the things words hadn't managed to say.

"Hey," he said, voice low.

"Hey," she replied, stepping closer.

They settled on the edge of the turf, legs stretched out, the grass synthetic but soft beneath them.

For a while, they just sat. Quiet but close. Hands finding each other like magnets.

Then Oscar broke the silence. "So... uh, us," he started, voice hesitant but steady.

Harper turned her head toward him, watching the way his eyes caught the light, shadows flickering like secrets.

"I don't want to mess this up," he said, his lips curled awkwardly. "But I really like you, Harper. Like... so much."

She took a breath. "I like you too," she whispered. "More than friends."

He grinned, that slow, real smile that made everything else fall away. "So—you want to be my girlfriend?"

She stared at him, her stomach warm and twirling, her lips twitching into a fond, sweet smile. "Yeah, Osc. Yeah. I want to be your girlfriend."

—

The track in Essex was wet. Not just damp — soaked. The kind of cold, miserable damp that clung to your bones and turned the air misty around the edges.

Harper stood at the edge of the paddock with Mark, a steaming takeaway cup with hot chocolate cupped between her hands, the sleeves of Oscar's team hoodie pulled down over her wrists. Her boots were already muddy. Her nose was red. She didn't care one single bit.

Because out there — helmet on, eyes narrow, engine growling beneath him — was Oscar. Fast, fluid, terrifyingly good.

Mark watched silently, arms folded, one eye on the stopwatch. "Final lap," he murmured.

Harper didn't answer. She couldn't. Her heart was in her throat.

Then he crossed the finish line — just ahead, by a fraction of a second.

A cheer broke out across the team tent, someone throwing their arms in the air. Mechanics pounded backs. One of the younger juniors swore loudly in delight.

Oscar skidded into the pit lane and yanked off his helmet. His hair was plastered to his forehead. His face was flushed, wild-eyed, grinning.

Harper barely waited. She ducked under the barrier and ran straight into his arms.

He caught her mid-stride, lifting her clean off the ground with a muddy laugh.

"You did it," she breathed, half-laughing, half-crying.

He held her tighter, nose brushing her temple. "I did it."

Their kiss was messy and cold and perfect.

A few feet away, Mark shook his head with a smile and muttered, "Teenagers."

Later, after the podium and the trophy photos and the engine checks and the interviews he barely paid attention to, Oscar found her again — sitting on a folding chair, wet hair pulled into a messy ponytail, her boots still caked in track dirt.

He dropped down in front of her, ignoring the mud. His hands slid around her knees.

"You cold?" He asked.

"A bit."

He peeled off his jacket and tugged it over her without thinking.

She let her hands drift to his collar. "You really are the best boyfriend ever, aren't you?"

He shrugged. His cheeks flushed a little. "I try my best."

They sat like that in the growing dusk, a boy covered in sweat and rubber and a girl who didn't belong in this world — but somehow fit in it perfectly anyway.

They still hadn't said the words.

But everyone around them already knew.

They could see it.

"Bloody young love, eh?" One of the mechanics said to Mark, giving him a friendly grin.

Mark stared at his protege and the girl he was wrapped around. "Yeah. Young love. A hell of a thing."

—

The Monday morning after Oscar's karting championship win was business as usual — at least for everyone else.

The cafeteria stank of burnt toast and unripened bananas. Someone's rugby kit had been left to rot in the corridor again. Teachers were barking about mock exams and how important breakfast was for concentration.

Rain pattered against the high windows.

The whispers had started the moment they walked in — not mean, just curious. A mix of respect and amusement. He's the karting kid who actually did it. And she was the girl who'd been there.

They didn't hold hands in front of everyone, they were both too awkward for that, but they walked close. His bag brushed hers. Their shoulders kept touching. She caught him glancing at her more than once, and she blushed every damn time.

They sat at their usual table; Jane joined them, already mid-rant about the biology quiz, and Oscar slid into the seat beside Harper like it was instinct. A few of his mates clapped him on the back, one of them tossing out, "Bloody hell, Piastri. Gonna forget us little people soon?"

Oscar grinned but didn't rise to it. His hand brushed Harper's knee under the table.

After breakfast, Harper slipped away early. Sometimes, the morning noise was too much. She wandered toward the astro, the damp still clinging to the edges of the pitch, her trainers leaving faint impressions on the stone pathway.

A minute later, she heard footsteps behind her.

"You always going to run off without me?" Oscar's voice, soft, teasing.

She turned and squinted at him. "I wasn't running," she said.

He stepped closer, hands in his pockets. "You okay, babe?"

Babe.

Babe. Babe. Babe.

"No," she said. "Yes. No. I don't know. I just needed to breathe."

He stepped up beside her, both of them facing the empty turf.

"You think my mum's going to be pissed when she finds out?" She asked after a minute.

He glanced sideways at her. "About you going to the race?"

"No. Yes. But I meant more about us."

Oscar was quiet for a moment. "Yeah. She probably will."

She looked at him; saw the mud-streaked, medal-wearing, boy-who-won-the-thing him. The one who kissed her under floodlights and held her on her worst days. The one she'd never trade for any high-brow, suit-wearing finance guy in any universe.

"You really aren't going anywhere, are you?" She whispered. "

He shook his head. "Not unless you're coming with me."

She stepped into his chest and sniffled a little, then looked up and lifted onto her tiptoes to let him kiss her.

—

It started as a joke.

One day in maths, Harper made a face so violently pained at the sight of a clock diagram on a worksheet that Jane nearly fell off her chair laughing.

That evening, Oscar mentioned it to the guys — just casually, in that offhand way that somehow made them all very invested in Harper's educational redemption arc.

By the weekend, there was a printed-out worksheet titled "MISSION: TEACH HARPER TO READ A CLOCK" taped to the common room wall.

It escalated quickly.

Now, every Tuesday evening, the boys' dorm turned into a chaotic, loving, entirely misguided tutoring group.

Like an off-brand of the maths tutoring program they'd thrown together for her — but with more interest.

There was Oscar, naturally, trying to be the patient one. Then Alfie, who thought yelling was teaching. Ethan, who brought snacks. And Matt, who had made a papier-mâché clock face out of a pizza box. With arrows.

Harper sat in the middle of them like a hostage.

"I'm telling you," she said, pointing wildly at the pizza box. "That one's ten. I swear. It's a ten."

Oscar, sitting cross-legged beside her, gently rotated the cardboard. "Harper, the big hand is on the two. That means it's ten past the hour. Not ten o'clock."

"Okay but how am I meant to know which hand is the minute hand? They're both just... hands."

Alfie groaned. "The minute hand is the longer one! Like, always! What do you mean 'just hands'?"

"They're not labelled!" She cried. "If someone handed you two spoons and said one was for soup and one was for jazz, would you know the difference?"

Everyone stopped.

Matt blinked. "Why would I have a jazz spoon?"

Oscar covered his mouth and tried not to laugh.

Ethan passed Harper a cookie. "Here."

She took it. "I'm just saying — numbers on a clock move. They're not meant to move." She grumbled and gave herself a frustrated forehead tap. "God, I'm so stupid."

Oscar leaned his shoulder gently against hers. "No you're not. You know that you're not, Harper. You know you're brilliant at a million other things."

She glanced at him suspiciously. "Like what?"

"You have perfect spatial memory. You memorised my whole kart setup after watching one session. You've mastered a million different coding languages already. You're good with people. You know how to read a room faster than anyone I've ever met. And," he added, deadpan, "you've successfully confused four teenage boys into thinking teaching time is a fun group activity."

She laughed then, warm and tired. "Well. Can't say I'm not a good influence, can the?"

"You're just a bit of a lost cause when it comes to clocks," Alfie muttered, re-taping the pizza clock for the fifth time.

But Harper didn't care about clocks. Not really.

Because she was surrounded. Because they kept showing up — Oscar with his soft corrections, Alfie with his shouting, Jane peeking in with popcorn halfway through every session. They all knew. About the dyscalculia, about the clocks, about her brain doing loop-de-loops over simple sums.

And none of them ever made her feel stupid for it.

Just... loved.

Even if she still couldn't tell the difference between three-forty-five and quarter past the hour (because what the hell did that even mean?).

—

It happened on the following Wednesday.

Halfway through the day, Harper was pulled from class. A quiet word from a teaching assistant, a murmured excuse. No one offered a reason why.

She thought it might be something small. Maybe Jane had accidentally set off the fire alarm again.

But then she stepped into the front office — and saw her mother sitting there, spine straight, legs crossed, lips pursed in thin, unimpressed silence.

Harper's stomach dropped.

"Come," her mother said, standing. "We'll talk in the car."

⸻

The car was parked on the far side of the lot, a sleek black town car that looked like it belonged outside a private gallery in Mayfair. Not a school car park.

Harper slid in, cold air brushing her ankles, heart thudding in her chest like it already knew what was coming.

Her mother didn't speak until the door shut.

"A karting race?" Her voice was like glass. "Karting, Harper?"

Harper blinked. "How do you—?"

"I got a call," she said, cutting her off. "From someone on the board. They saw photos. You, standing in the dirt with oil on your jeans. Smiling like you'd won the lottery. Holding hands with some, boy, in a racing suit. Do you understand how humiliating that was for me?"

"It's not—"

Her mother turned, eyes sharp and glittering. "Do you have any idea how much I've done to protect your name? Your future? And you're throwing it away for... boys who drive go-karts and call it a sport?"

Harper's hands curled in her lap. "He's not just a boy," she said quietly. "And it is a sport."

"Oh," her mother sneered, "is he your boyfriend now? Do you want to bring him to your cousin's wedding in Vienna next month? Shall we seat him between a baroness and a venture capitalist and see how long he lasts before talking about gear ratios?"

Harper flinched. "Stop."

But she didn't.

"You are not one of them, Harper. You are not some muddy little pitlane girlfriend who throws her life away for some boy with too much money and a ridiculous dream. I will not let you become a story people whisper about."

"I'm happy," Harper said, voice rising. "For once in my life, I'm actually—"

"Enough." Her mother's voice was like a slap. "We're withdrawing you at the end of term. I've already spoken to Madame Viard. There's a place for you at Lausanne International. You leave for Switzerland in January."

The silence after was suffocating.

Harper sat frozen, winded, as if someone had punched all the air out of her.

Her mother adjusted a glove, calm again. "You'll thank me someday."

But Harper wasn't listening anymore.

Her mother's jaw was clenched so tightly that a vein twitched in her temple.

"Fine," Harper said, voice low but steady.

The word dropped like a weight in the space between them.

Her mother blinked, surprised by the ease of her surrender.

But then Harper looked up — and there was fire behind her eyes. Her voice was calm, controlled, but every word burned.

"But you should know," she said, leaning forward just slightly, "that when Oscar's driving in Formula One — not if, when — and he's one of the most successful athletes in the world, I won't look back. I won't give you an inch. I'll let you sit in your wrongness and stew in it forever."

Her mother went bright red. "Do you think you're making this better for yourself?"

Harper laughed — a bitter, tired sound. "No. I know I'm making it worse. I'm very aware of how this works, Mum. I step out of line, and you slam the gates shut. But what else can I do?"

She paused, chest heaving slightly now.

"You don't listen to me. You never have. You just tell me what my life is going to be. What I wear. Who I talk to. Where I study. Who I sit next to at dinner parties like I'm some sort of accessory you place on a chair next to a financier's son. You talk through me like I'm not a human being. Like I don't have wants and desires and dreams of my own."

"Harper—"

"No. You don't get to talk now."

She didn't raise her voice — didn't need to. Every word sliced clean and deliberate.

"The worst part? The part that actually makes me want to scream? Is that I know Dad would be so happy I found someone like Oscar. That I found someone who likes me in the quietest, most awkward, most real way."

Her breath hitched — not from tears, but from the pressure of keeping them in.

"He's so bad at it. At being romantic. He blushes when I look at him for too long. He stammers when he's nervous. He opens doors and fixes my hair without saying a word. He doesn't like PDA. He frowns when he's concentrating and forgets to drink water and spends more time worrying about everyone else's lap times than his own."

She looked her mother dead in the eye.

"And yeah — he races karts. But he moved all the way here from Australia on his own at fourteen. He trains his body every single day for hours on end. He's braver than anyone I've ever met. Can you name one of your friends' sons who would've had the guts to do that? Or who would sit with me for an hour to explain how to read an analogue clock without laughing at me? Or who lets me cry without asking questions because he knows I hate explaining myself?"

Silence crackled in the car.

Her mother's lips parted — but nothing came out.

So Harper filled the space.

"You raised me to care more about perception than truth. To be polished. Obedient. Photogenic. And I'm done."

She reached for the door handle, voice like steel. "You want to send me to Switzerland? Fine. But you'll have to drag me there. Kicking and screaming."

She opened the door, letting in the sharp slap of cold air, and turned back one last time.

"Because I've finally found something that's mine. And I'm not giving it up for you. Not this time."

Then she stepped out of the car and walked back to class.

NEXT CHAPTER

[ac-liveblogs]

The one thing really sticking out to me is Galahad's contract with Lilith.

Lilith got summoned without a Master on the Bleached Earth. She was going to die alone, but Galahad formed a contract with her, thereby saving her life.

Galahad was intended to serve as the Gatekeeper to Antarctica. He was being used by Marisbury to summon more Servants (the Foreign Apostles), and would've had to fight us. Prior to Ordeal Call 4, that is a fight we would have lost.

But, Galahad and Lilith got dragged into Metatron's singularity. And a new opportunity appeared - for Mash to grow beyond Shielder, to reject Ruler, and become Shielder Paladin. Galahad wanted her to be a Ruler; Lilith wanted her to languish in agony as Shielder. Instead, Mash forged her own Saint Graph - something that required her to understand herself, and what she wanted to fight for... and what she wanted to fight against. And even more importantly, why.

She needed Ritsuka and Habetrot and her friends so that she could understand this... she needed Lilith for that as well.

Like Galahad said in Lostroom, the world was doomed. Daybit Sem Void wanted to unleash ORT to stop CHALDEAS plan, and Galahad thought that even Goetia's scheme would have been a better outcome than the unpreventable future set to come.

Until now. Until Mash became Paladin. A brand new possibility that could not have been predicted has appeared, and now Chaldea has a chance - something they didn't have before this moment - to stop CHALDEAS and reverse the bleaching.

So now, there's a chance. There's a chance the world can be saved. Because Mash saw her destiny and said "no, I will not follow the two roads that are laid out for me. I'll pave my own."

But also because Galahad, just like Ritsuka, saw a dying girl and reached out to her.

Why would Mash ever lose faith in Galahad? In the moment where it counted, he made the exact same choice that Ritsuka did.

[cheesycatz]

The Making of: Life-Size Malworm Plush

(Wormton AU)

STATS

16 ft 3 in (495 cm) long

Total time: 150 hours

Material Cost: $124

Theoretical minimum cost (based on seamstress wage): $2,524

(Progress photos and commentary below)

I'll be referring to my life-size wormton plush as "malworm" for convenience sake.

Unlike my Spamton NEO, Caine, and Fake Peppino plushies, I didn't spend a lot of time on concept art. Since I planned to make the malworm plush as close as possible to its 2D design, I didn't have to add much stylization, other than simplifying some details (no way in hell was I going to make 104 separate embroidered stitches for the segments of his toes, sorry). I mainly used the planning stage to calculate how wide the body pieces needed to be, plotting it out in 1/4 in : 3 in scale and using circumference formula to find the values I needed. I planned to make it around 10 feet long, the length of a young adult malworm. A lot of this project was improv, but, I mean, it wasn't my first or second or third time making a spamton centipede.

The head was quite a complicated shape, so I carved a tiny model out of craft foam, covered one half of it in masking tape, then cut the masking tape mask (hah) into flat pieces. I then traced the pieces onto graph paper and manually scaled them up by using the fact that I wanted the nose to be 1 ft long as reference. The rest of the pattern pieces were very simple, as wormton's teeth, body, legs, etc were very easy to translate into 2D shapes. I used old school notes as paper for the body, as I needed a lot of it. It was entertaining cutting exerpts of Moby Dick and English Renaissance biographies into body parts. I ended up making the body significantly longer; I had to spend $100 dollars on fur anyways, so why not make a maximum size one?

Making the pattern pieces took around 8 hours. While waiting for the fur to ship, I started cutting out the teeth, legs, and eyes. By the time the fur arrived, I had already sewn 36 worm teeth. I did an 11hr all-nighter to cut all the fur in one sitting the day it arrived. After a long vacuuming session and an uptake in the amount of polyester fiber in my lungs, I finished cutting the pieces, taking about 18 hours and 40 minutes.

As usual, the head was the first thing I worked on. It was...kind of wonky once I flipped it inside out. I trimmed some of the fur so that I could actually see what was happening. The main issues were the lack of any forehead, the nose being way too wide, and the cheeks being too flat. I did some ladder stitching as well as modifying the thing from the inside, and eventually made the head look much better. The cheeks still don't stick out that much still, but I'm happy with how the head looks now. I think it conquered the sopping wet owl resemblance. I inserted wire into the nose and jaws to help them keep their shape.

When I started this project, I wasn't sure whether to make it based off of Wormton or just a copyright-free malworm; I decided to do both. I went with red for the non-Spamton version, as I think it really fits the cartoony fly/mothman-style cryptid look malworms are supposed to have.

I sewed a square pouch into the throat and put in all those teeth. I used hot glue to wrap blue squares around a wire for the proboscis, because I think I would've gone bonkers cuckoo bananas if I had to hand sew that entire thing. The throat pouch holds the proboscis when it's not extended, as well as anything else I wanted to shove in there. I never measured it, but it's around 4-5 ft long. I finally made the Spamton... eye patches(?) and a pair of eyelids, though I didn't end up using them in the photo shoot. I also made a new pair of nostrils, as the old ones kind of got swallowed up from all the plastic surgery I was giving him

Now that the head was finished, I got to work on the body. I sewed the white belly and segments of the body together. I left most of the tail open, as the fur was too thick for me to flip it out at a certain point. I worked on the legs, next. After living out my cosplay dreams by putting the claws on my fingers like bugles chips, I grouped the claws together and sewed most of each leg and foot together, leaving me with many pairs of charred drumsticks (did not taste good)

I attached an extra long wire structure into each set of claws, then threaded the wire through each respective leg and stuffed them. I ladder stitched the claws to each foot, then stuffed each with some plastic beans in order to give the feet weight. I then finished sewing each foot shut. I now had a pile of disembodied limbs and one very long scarf.

I wound many long pieces of wire together to create an armature for the body. While the plush's body is way too heavy to be properly posable, the wire does still give some structure. I wrapped the extra long ends of the legs' wires to the metal spine, using the body's leg holes for reference. I then pulled the body up the metal armature like a sock.

I pulled the legs through their respective holes and stuffed the body. It was the first time the malworm was huggable! It's sort of like an oversized body pillow, in a way. I had to ladder-stich all the limbs, the head, and the rest of the tail, as it would've been completely impossible to flip inside out. It was quite difficult to do on furry fabric, and my thread frequently broke from the force I had to pull with to keep the stitches tight. Eventually, I got everything attached to some degree.

The last details I worked on were the mane, tail tufts, and scopula pads. The mane and tail tufts were ladder stitched onto the body, but I decided to use glue to attach the pads to the feet. I think the extra blue details make his proboscis fit much better, and who doesn't love spider paw pads? I also glued some velcro to the eye patches so that they stay attached better. They slide under the black eye rings.

My malworm was finally finished! I tried to put a lot of effort into the photo shoot so that people who don't know about the AU can enjoy it. I wanted to make it seem like some weird entity whose only goal is obtaining more Spamton brainrot. Hence it making Spamton on Mario Kart DS under the bed, obsessing over the Spamton Plush, inspecting the Spamton Shrine, and just generally harassing the photographer (me, I guess?). I wanted to capture the silliness, creepiness, and lack of respect for personal space that Spamton is known for. I thought about giving him a bag of doritos under the bed like that one image of the isopods eating them, but went with the DS instead. I thought it would be funny to see this thing playing Super Mario 64 DS (or Super Spamton 64) and here the "buh bye!" sound effect when it closes the DSi XL.

That's all from me, for now. I have other Wormton related matter to attend to.

Don't let the parasitic Spamton larvae bite

[technically-a-kiwi]

Hey, look at this cool stick I found !

This is both to try and train on an orange color pallet and because I rarely draw Mr Stick, and the rare times I draw him he's really... bland...And that's not fair! Mr Stick is such a great character, I just feel lazy 'cause I reduce him to being a greedy dude when that's but a facet of his personality, he's an inventor, a slapstick master, just reducing him to a money hungry idiot is not giving him justice to his awesomeness

Ah and I made this mini comic, I thought It'd be funny if I wrote in french hehe

Don't worry here's the translation:

Mr Stick: Now, where is Burton ? We agreed to meet here to set up the gate prices.

It's been an hour !

*next panel*

What is that thing ?

Strange... it's face seems familiar...

*next*

Mr Stick: BY ALL GRAPHS !!! BURTON, IS THAT YOU ?!

WHAT HAPPENED ?!!

Pig cop : Oi ! Orange four eyes, didn't you read the sign ?

Ya can't grab the meatball.

Mr Stick : Hold it !

Touch a single hair of ours and I'll shout !

Pig cop *thoughts* : Hair ?

*fails to shoot*

Mr Stick : Oh... oh my... how embarasing.

I took the wrong gun...

*Gets destroyed*

THE END

ᓚᘏᗢ meow

⬆ look a kitty

[withleeknow]

the nut graph.

pairing: hyunjin x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, college au, fluff <3; oc is a journalism student (there's just a couple references in here, and the title lol) bc i am once again being hella self-indulgent 🤪 word count: 0.8k note: how ironic that as i was writing this, there was a thunderstorm outside but i didn't have a hyunjin to cuddle up with. tragic :/ anywhomst onigiri 🍙 this is for you and our shared hyune brainrot. i hope u'll tolerate like this one 🥹 <3

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

"it's raining."

the voice comes from beside you, where hyunjin has been sitting for the past couple of hours while you work on your respective assignments, sharing headphones and feeding each other gummy worms and almond pepero's every once in a while, your head softly nodding along to the music from his lo-fi playlist.

when you glance out the window, it's too dark to watch the sky, but you do catch a glimpse of the downpour thanks to the light from the streetlamp below.

you hum in agreement without much enthusiasm, turning to peck his cheek quickly before diverting your attention back to your laptop.

hyunjin huffs out a griping noise, shrugs off his earpod and scooches closer on his chair to rest his head on you. "hey, let's call it a night," he says, nuzzling his face into the junction between your neck and your shoulder, pressing his full lips against you, over the material of his hoodie that you've stolen borrowed.

"are you done with your paper?" you ask.

"no, but it's raining."

your boyfriend loves the rain; there's something so charmingly idyllic about the rain and he's nothing if not a romantic. he loves it even more when he gets to spend the moment with you, with the two of you nicely tucked together in bed or on the couch as you listen to the sound of the shower outside pattering against your window.

you only chuckle, kissing his forehead to appease him for now. "i'm not done with my article," you say. "you go to bed first. i'll be there in a second."

"let's go to bed now," hyunjin whines, drawing out the last word like an overgrown child. two bargaining hands slide around your body until they're clasped together on the other side of your waist. "it's the perfect time to cuddle."

"fifteen minutes and i'll be done. i just need to finish the nut graph and i'll be right there, okay?"

"nut graph," he echoes, giggling to himself as if it's the first time he's ever heard of the term. then he clears his throat, like he suddenly remembers that there's something much larger at stake here. "that's not a second. what if it stops raining?"

"then it stops raining." you shrug, reaching for a pepero stick to munch on while you keep your gaze on the laptop screen again. "it won't kill you, y'know."

"you don't know that." another pathetic mewl escapes his mouth. "come onnn, i need my cuddles."

"well, we're kind of cuddling right now."

though if you're being honest, your train of thought kind of kicked you off and left the station the second hyunjin started slotting himself against your side. you're just doing this for kicks, because sometimes it's entertaining to tease your boyfriend and watch him be dramatic for a minute. it's endearing, how he whines about not being able to snuggle with you like it's the worst thing that could ever happen to him. it's a bit of an ego boost as well, to know that this godlike man would turn into a puddle every time he's needy for your attention.

"this is not cuddling," he says, his arms tightening around you and for a second there, you wonder if he would actually carry you over his shoulder like a potato sack and take you to the bedroom himself. "come on, let's go to bed. this is your tax."

"this is my what?"

"your tax," he repeats, pinching the material of your (his) hoodie between two fingers. "for wearing my clothes. pay up."

rolling your eyes in playful disbelief, you open your mouth to shoot back a retort but you're promptly cut off after the first syllable makes it out when hyunjin does exactly what you were picturing a minute ago - he fucking picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, in true potato sack fashion, while you squeal in shock.

"hyunjin! the nut graph!"

he only pats your butt in response to your helpless wiggling. "it'll still be there tomorrow."

his long strides carry you to the adjoining room in no time. before you know it, you're already gently laid on the bed while hyunjin settles on top of you, his arms encircling your frame as he throws one of his legs over both of yours. he sighs, clearly content with himself, the soft puff of air escaping his lips to tickle the skin of your neck.

you have no choice but to concede; you're already here anyway. you turn in his hold until you're hugging him back comfortably, carding your fingers through his soft hair to keep his head close to you.

"needy little monster," you complain, no bite.

hyunjin doesn't care about witty comebacks. he won, he got what he wanted. so he just pushes himself up the bed, crossing the few inches it takes to reach your lips. "love you," he giggles, showcasing a grin that makes his eyes turn into adorable crescent moons before he's kissing you tenderly. oh, so delicately.

outside your window, the rain only falls harder.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 03.06.2024]

[libraford]

Multi-pamphlet book tutorial

Last week, I showed you how to make a mini pamphlet book.

And that's GREAT, but what I really need for my purposes is multiple types of paper in their own separate booklets bound together into one thicker book.

Guess what! I've already shown you the hard part. The rest is easy.

You will need:

Several pamphlet booklets, tutorial here

Scissors

Xacto knife

Thick cardstock or thin cardboard

Something heavy and flat

Glue

So you have made a pamphlet book.

Now make more of them!

I am using a different pamphlet for each type of paper: blank sketch paper, graph paper, watercolor paper, tissue paper (for pressing flowers, duh), and one that's literally an empty cover with no papers in it. (I'll show you what that's about later.)

Take all the evenly-sized pamphlets and stack them on top of each other. These are also called 'signatures' in the fancy world of book making.

Glue their covers together.

For best results, spread the glue evenly. The easiest way to spread glue evenly is by using the edge of a piece of cardboard to swirl the glue around until it's thin.

Stick something heavy and flat on to and let dry.

This is Harold, who is not flat, but he is a heavy object. So I stick a book under him. It's just easier to illustrate that the booklets go under this way.

Once it is dry, we cut the cover.

Lay the book stack on your cover paper, mark the width, the height, and the spine, so that the paper wraps around the whole thing like a taco.

Cut the excess. Crease the folds where you marked the spine so that the stack of booklets fits nicely. If your cardboard is very dense (more like chipboard), then use an exact knife to score the fold*.

*'scoring' means making a shallow cut that doesn't go all the way through so that the thick piece is easier to fold.

Glue the crap out of the inside, lots of glue on the interior of the spine. Spread evenly with the edge of spare cardboard.

Set the papers inside, make sure the spines on the pamphlets sit snug in the cover spine.

Put Harold back on it. Wait for it to dry.

Once it's dry, you have a book! This is not tge most elegant way of binding a book together, I know, but it is a simple way to do it using skills that most people know.

Maybe one day I'll get into coptic stitches and hard backs and all that, but today? Today you know how to make a book that makes the brain go brrrr.

"But Lee! What's the thing you were gonna do with the empty spot in the back?"

Great question!

When you make your own stuff, that means you can do whatever you want with it. So I am taking that back panel and I am gluing an envelope to it.

Why?

SO I CAN KEEP STICKERS IN IT!

Now slap a sticker on the cover and you're done!

Nice.

Cheddar Bay Biscuits approved.

I thought the safety icons on the box I made this with were cool, so I cut the repeat of them out and made them part of the cover. I especially like the one that says 'fear rain.'

Anyhow, now you know how to make something out of garbage!

[lostberet]

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ MOB DAYCARE CHAP. I | min yoongi (m)

𐙚 synopsis: After almost meeting Satan himself, Agust D is forced to take a hiatus from his underwork mob work. However, during his hiatus, he is stumbled upon a 4 year old. And so far, being a guardian is harder than being a mob leader.

༘⋆ genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , humor, romance , violence, suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au , parenthood au .

༘⋆ disclaimer: Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Child Abuse, eventual smut, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

༘⋆ a/note: omg.. I am back with this chapter, and I am so excited to write this series━ I'll go work on Heartburn now... :( likes and reposts are appreciated <3 also name ideas for the kid?

TEASER | NEXT

The rule of this world is━ “The strong is King.” Those who follow this rule, fight each other in order to obtain a title. 

A few years ago, a man single-handedly fought through the ice, breaking and reaching its highest point. Those who feared him gave him a title━ Agust D, the Panther King. 

Yoongi sighed, his eyes staring into the white void of his living-room ceiling. He was once who they called Agust D. He would have still been Agust D if it weren’t for that fateful night.

Agust gasped for air, his teeth sucking back his lower lip into a tight bite. His left eye clenched shut as blood dripped down his face. He was bloody, although he wished to say the blood wasn’t his, he would be lying. His dark hair fell to his shoulders, some of it sticking to his face by the sweat and blood. With a trembling form, he made his way into the apartment, dropping his weapon on the floor. Each step he took left a small trial of blood behind him. He was tired, so tired.

Yoongi blinked, erasing the memory from his vision as he clenched his jaw. Why the past..? He thought to himself before sitting on the couch and looking at the carpet where a 4-year-old boy lay. He remembered bringing the kid into his home, he weighed almost nothing.  

Frowning at the unusual behavior of the kid, Yoongi eyed him as it slept. “Something isn’t right..” he whispered, his tongue pressing gently on his bottom lip. He snapped his fingers, an idea coming to his brain. He grabbed the nearby blanket lying on the sofa, before clumsily laying it on the kid. “Perfect.” 

The bathroom mirror was foggy, and the humidity made Yoongi sweat slightly as he dried the kid's hair. The toddler had overgrown hair that almost made him look wild. Yoongi had taken mental notes on the kid's poor hygiene, adding to his theory of the child kidnapping. Not having any child-sized clothing, the gangster had given one of his own shirts for the toddler to wear. A black shirt with the words "MINE" graphed vertically. As the older man dried the head of the kid, the child would mutter out random vocals. Frowning at the confusion vocal, Yoongi removed the towel from the kid's head, causing the kid to loop at him with a bright smile.

“You.. brat━!” Yoongi flinched as he bit back a cuss, lifting his arm up, his eyes noticing the multiple bites on his arm, “was your birth year the year of the dog?!” Yoongi exclaimed, his body trembling in desperation. Another thing Yoongi had noticed was the kid's inability to show proper manners. No matter how hard Yoongi glared at the kid, the kid only looked up at him, giving him a grin and a giggle.

As they both sat in the living room, the child freshly showered and not smelling like trash, traced his fingers on the black leather of the couch, “Since you can’t speak for nish━” Yoongi grunted as he sat next to the kid, scooping some cereal into the spoon, “I bet you don’t know how to use utensils. Come here,” The toddler tilted his head as he opened his mouth, allowing Yoongi to feed him the cereal, “You don’t look like you were raised at all..” Yoongi voiced his thoughts, the child looking at the bowl as Yoongi continued feeding him.

If it was a kidnapping.. And I send this kid away.. What if he doesn’t have a family? Will he then be an orphan? Yoongi physically yelped at the thought, “Not my problem!” His voice came out louder than expected, causing the kid to look up at him. Agust D had no time for anyone, let alone a fucking child. Deep in his own thoughts, the kid wasted no time poorly grabbing the spoon, scooping cereal ( the scoop facing down and getting little to nothing), and bringing it to Yoongi’s mouth, “ah.. Ah?” 

Is this kid trying to feed me? Yoongi raised an eyebrow, damn kid doesn't even know how to hold a spoon.. let alone be able to survive on its own━ not like i care. The gangster scuffed, wiping some of the milk from the kid's chin, earning a bright smile that only caused Yoongi’s heart to clench, this child was stabbing his consciousness. 

Yoongi threw his head back against the headboard of the bed, his body tingling, "oh.. fuck.." He choked out, his hands caressing the back, hands gripping onto the waist. His hips automatically thrust upwards earning a moan, "sir.." the voice whimpered.

The gangster narrowed his eyes, frowning his brows at the nickname, "I told you not to call me that, especially when we're having sex." He warned, yet his hips didn't lose their pace. He held onto their jaw, making them lock eyes with him, "you know my name,.. say it.." a hint of desperation in his voice as the other only pushed their lips and let out another whimper.

Yoongi leaned in, tilting their head to the side by their jaw, kissing their collarbones, sending a shiver down the spine, "c'mon, baby.. you know my name..' his voice was sweet, but his thrusts were becoming much more rougher, causing the other to grunt out, "or do you want me to fuck you until you remember it?" Yoongi asked, brushing his lips against their neck.

"Fuck.. yoongi,.." they gasped out, their hips buckling causing Yoongi to chuckle, "There you go.. always so good for me.." The mafia leader only pulled their face towards him, slamming his lips onto the other as he roughly kissed them. The kiss muffled both their moans and pants, not wanting to stop the kiss. They sucked and bit each other's lips, addicted to each other's lips.

Yoongi pulled the body close to his chest, feeling the other snuggle onto their skin, warmth hugging his heart. "You cannot leave me, understand?" Yoongi warned, making the other chuckle, "you wund me, sir." Yoongi's eye twitched. Noticing this, the other's hands cupped his face, placing a kiss on his scared eye, "you know that won't ever happen."

Yoongi's eyes opened and with a gasp, he rose from the couch. The clock had struck 3 am, and from what Yoongi could gather, it didn’t take long for the kid to fall asleep. Just a nightmare.

The man groaned, rubbing his face with both hands as he licked his dry lips. His gaze landed on the kid sleeping at the other end of the couch.

That's when your phone rang. You looked away from the never-ending document on your laptop, frowning at the unknown number on the screen you bit the inside of your cheek. After a few rings, you picked your phone up, “Hello?” 

There was silence on the other line, before that raspy voice said your name, you felt your body freeze, your heart pumping faster, “I made it clear that I want nothing to do with you.” There was silence on the other line once more before you heard a faint 'clank', “It’s important, plus, I already made arrangements with Namjoon, you’re coming whether you like it or not.” 

You could have disobeyed, you could have not shown up in the morning, really, but you were in no mood to deal with Namjoon and his scolding. His never-ending rants of how, even as your boss, he also needs favors. Yoongi was like a brother to him, the one that was able to make everyone's dream a reality and in return, they did whatever they could for him. Bunch of ass kissers you would tell yourself. Yet you found yourself dropping the bags onto Yoongi’s wooden floor, all the color being drained from your face. 

You tried to speak, confused and flabbergasted by the sight upon you. But what can you say after meeting the man you had decided to leave 3 years ago? The one guy you verbally told was a quote-on-quote dickhead that only cared about himself and then you quit on the spot, only to work under Namjoon, the guy he was closest with? You only eyed his back, noticing the way he cut the kid’s hair. 

“Y━you have a kid?!” Your ears might have started to bleed, a ringing remaining as you angrily turned to look at the owner of the pain, “Taehyung━ you son of a━ My ear!” You hissed as you reached over to grab a chunk of his hair. 

Yoongi turned to look at the small group who had entered his home, ignoring the small hairpulling between you and Taehyung. Yoongi only shook his head as he explained the situation to the others. 

“So.. that’s not your kid?” Jimin asked, his hand lazily signaling the child, “nonsense,” Yoongi muttered, picking up his cup of coffee SeokJin had placed in front of him on the kitchen table, his eyes glancing over at you, rubbing your head while glaring at Taehyung, “Jungkook and Hoseok are looking into where he’s from.”

“Yeah, Agust wouldn’t have a child this fast.” You stated, Yoongi’s ears twitched, all your attention on the kid who has sleepily rubbed his eyes and walked over to Yoongi, “What will you do with him for the time being?” 

“Sexist..” you said under your breath, making SeokJin abandon his cooking and turn to you in a snap, “untrue, Yoongi just needs help for the time being━” Now it was you snapping towards SeokJin, “raising a damn child!” 

The older one pushed his lips together, “sexist.” Taehyung stated once more, a small smirk on his lips as he winked at you, causing you to flip him off as you carried the child, feeding him some overnight oats. 

As SeokJin, Taehyung, and you stayed in the kitchen, bickering at each other, Yoongi was outside on the balcony of his living room. Holding a pocket knife, his fingers tracing over his initials, NamJoon and Jimin behind him, “Hyung, about the kid..” Jimin started, nervously elbowing NamJoon, “It’s just.. If they have eyes on the kid like last time..”

Yoongi bit the inside of his cheek, stabbing the knife into the wooden balcony railing. Jimin flinched, NamJoon placed his hand on Jimin’s shoulder signaling to head back inside, “We’ll take care of everything, hyung.” 

Drops of blood stained the cement floor, there was tension in the air, and all Agust could do was kneel before his rival, “You finally show up,” The rival chuckled, one of his hands gripping the hair of a child, eyes blindfolded by a black fold. The kid looked beaten, scared, “If you want me to let him go.. Let’s make a deal.” 

The rival threw a blade towards Agust, causing the man’s brows to frown. He was desperate. Agust felt his body tremble, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he picked the blade up, raising it slowly towards his stomach area. Slowly, ever so slowly, pressing the blade into his skin. 

Yoongi’s body jerked, causing him to wake from his dream, “shit..” he whispered, his hand flying to his stomach, rubbing it as the dream reminded him of the incident. He licked his dry lips, before sitting up on the bed. 

He entered the kitchen, his eyes staring at the cup of water━ besides him, his phone with your contact ready━on the floor, the 4 year old bounced and played between his legs. Yoongi bit his lower lip before he grabbed the kid and sat him on the counter, grabbing his phone and calling you before shoving the electronic onto the kid’s hands.

The phone rang a few times before you picked up, your voice grumpy and sleepy, “yes?” Yoongi looked at the kid and pointed at the phone, suddenly forgetting the child’s inability to speak. Confused━ the kid tilted his head, “m. ah.. ma..ma?” mostly dedicated towards Yoongi, the child called out. It caused you to sit up from your bed and run to get your shoes, “kid?” 

You barged into the mountain mansion, not bothering to knock as you slammed the door shut and ran to the living room, “Kid?!” You scanned for the kid, not finding him anywhere before your legs automatically ran to the bedrooms. 

Upon opening door by door, having each bedroom memorized (not by your own good), you arrived at Yoongi’s. Your hand reached over to the doorknob, it wasn’t like it was your first time you’ve stepped inside.  

Upon entering, you notice Yoongi and the kid sleeping. The child lay on top of the gangster, as the gangster himself had his arms wrapped around the child, almost using him as a teddy bear. You gulped, stepping out the room and slowly closing the door, “Y/n?” 

You froze, “yes, sir?” a grunt, “don’t call me that.” You scuff, “..kid butt-dialed me.. I’ll head home now.” The bed creaked and footsteps soon followed, the bedroom door opening━ revealing Yoongi, a sleepy look on his face with the sleeping child in his arms, “Stay the night. It's late.” 

You only stared at him, unsure of what to do, so you frowned and shook your head, “No. I can’t do that anymore.” 

Yoongi only pressed his cheek on top of the kid's head, sleepy eyes staring down at you. if only he didn't look as innocent, “not for me━ for the kid.” 

It left a bitter taste in your mouth. The fact you laid next to Yoongi as he slept, the child curling up on him and Yoongi letting him. Or the fact that you once craved that feeling, one that you couldn’t have━ a feeling of warmth, he knew that.  And so, you swallowed back the bitterness and closed your eyes. Tomorrow is a new day.

Tag-list building..: @sol3chu

2024 © LOSTBERET, all rights reserved. please do not copy, plagiarize, translate, repost, or steal my work.

[hetheymerrill]

Okay so, short version of what's going on with Brosca in Witch Hunt.

She gets really focused on, borderline obsessed really, with finding Morrigan, mostly as a maladaptive coping mechanism so she doesn't have to process or deal with everything else that's going on with her currently (guilt and stress of the AndersJustice aftermath + 20 years of repression finally catching up with her + recent blight related traumas + some other stuff), and at some point in her head the plan becomes something like:

Step one: find Morrigan

Step two: talk to her and she'll remember that I love her and then she and the baby can come back home with me and we'll work this all out between the three of us and she can live here forever and I'll take care of everything, (which will prove that I was worth saving)

Step three:

Step four: ?????

Step five; and then everything will be fine and fixed forever👍

...Which is ridiculous of course. But she's having a breakdown so in her head this makes a lot of sense.

So she starts focusing on this and only this, but without really explaining what she's doing to anyone else, and starts getting really withdrawn and distant, and gets dismissive or pissy with anyone who tries to ask if she's doing okay (she clearly isn't). This strains a lot of her close relationships, and her work suffers and she can tell this is happening, but chooses not to do anything about it or change her behavior in any way because, if you will consult the graph, step five involves everything being fine and fixed forever. And the alternative is talking about her feelings and she's definitely not doing that. So it's fine.

(She then also leaves for the events of Witch Hunt without clearly communicating to anyone where it was she was going, or what she was doing. Which strains things further..)

Finding Morrigan, of course, does not go the way she thought it would. And afterwards all the grief and everything else she's been swallowing just kind of hits her at once like "oh my god. I'm never going to see her again. I'm probably never going to see Anders or Justice again. Leske is dead and I'm never going to see him again or receive an explanation for why he hurt me. Oh my god my childhood was horrific and I haven't processed literally any of it. Oh my g-" etc etc. Ariane & Finn are there while she melts down about this. It's rough.

This is unfortunately not the moment when Brosca decides to communicate about her nervous breakdown to someone who loves her or, anyone, or ask for help. She just tries to repress it again and, when that doesn't work, lashes out verbally/emotionally at the closest squishy object.

Which is Alistair.

This fight is uh, really bad. And is kind of an arc unto itself so I'll talk more about it in the future, but yeah it's just genuinely terrible. It drags out forever (like, over a month) because Brosca is doing some weird self punishing behaviors and refuses to apologize even though she knows she's in the wrong, they end up moving to separate bedrooms, at some point Alistair starts genuinely thinking about like, leaving. People who know them both start trying to decide whose side they should take in the breakup.

It doesn't get that far, fortunately. Brosca cracks and apologizes and explains what's going on with her, and they slowly make up, and in the long term everything works out. But she always remembers that she almost lost him, and that sticks with her.

Anyways. That's the deal.

[elkieselkiewrites]

The Postmaster Gang all work where you work now! Who does what job? Who is late to work every day? Who gets fired first? Who gets employee of the month? (Please continue adding questions to this exercise as you see fit!) Good luck!

Well, I work in public libraries, so I'll put a list of the things we normally do daily and who would be most suited to them:

Book checking - Renia and Til

Shelving - Ida and Bolek

Reservations - Ida and Aarna

Personal shopping - Ida and Renia

Bus pass applications - Renia and Nol

Toddler song and story time - Fannan and Neer

Phone and emails - Luus and Fannan

Book group - Aarna and Neer

Knitting group - Aarna and Nol

Arts and crafts - Neer and Nol

Stock work - Renia and Bolek

Cash work - Til and Renia

Customer stats - Til and Renia

Ida is all about the lists and the names and the dates and the organisation. She's great at making sure things are in the their place.

Renia likes the cataloguing and forms and spreadsheets, Dewey and LC are her best friends. She's meticulous, you know?

Bolek likes the mindless, manual tasks where no one bothers him for hours. Let him shelve those books, let him do the repairs and find the jackets.

Aarna is a peaceful, conversation-leading kind of guy. He works with his hands but he listens with his ears and his heart. You want him occupying the old ladies.

Fannan can answer an email so diplomatically you won't even remember what you were grousing about, and then turn around and lead the most heartfelt and engaging Bookbug sessions you've ever experienced. That man will be entertaining the babies with a ukulele and a tambourine.

Til is not just about the numbers, she's about the data. She'll analyse your footfall, she's down with the engagement. She'll make you a graph!

Luus is all about customer service. She has a customer service persona to rival all customer service personas.

Neer is your crafts guy, he's got a thousand crafts up his sleeve, you think you haven't got enough supplies to run a group? Wrong. That man will make an hour long craft session from a single piece of cardboard and some lollypop sticks.

Nol is also a crafts guy, but his crafts are meticulously planned and executed. They can't be thrown together with odds and ends like Neer, he needs the good stuff, because you'll go into that session thinking there's no way you'll be able to make anything as good as his example. But you will. You damn well will, because he's the Bob Ross of crafts.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #410

Today was a normal day, mostly. I woke up, and I got a lovely picture of the snow outside before leaving:

I wasn't able to get pictures of all the cookies and sweets I baked because between being busy the whole time and poor Tr needing someone to listen to her as she spoke on the difficult things happening for her at home, I just didn't have an opportunity. I'm sorry about that.

The four hours of my shift passed by in a flash. I'm pretty sure An was there today, but I didn't see him, and I was a little sad about that. The new manager, Dy, popped by, though – both to ask me if I needed help with anything, and to offer Tr a little bit of comfort. Apparently, he has been going around from department to department, learning about how everyone does their jobs so that he can be a more effective leader. This bodes really well, I think.

...I feel extra silly that I initially mistrusted him.

I had an idea about building a cookie grid; I struggle with spacing the cookies and turnovers evenly on the cookie trays due to the dyspraxia, so I thought that if I built a tool, then I can just put the cookies down without thinking about it, which will make life easier for anyone who is assigned that task. He suggested that it should be built out of plastic so that it can be washed. Today, I got the measurements for the parchment paper our bakery uses, and with that, I should be able to plan out something cool using graph paper! We'll see how it goes!

I picked up some groceries after my shift, went home, and put them away. After that, M, J, and I went together to this store called The Fat Crow. It's closing permanently after February 28th, and I'm more than a little sad that I only heard about it recently. There were some teas that I saw in their online store that I wanted. They didn't have them; I'll have to get them from the manufacturer. But in the meantime, I did get these...

...The Cross-Eyed Owl. The Fat Crow. Hahaha... It's significant for reasons I dare not explain in this space. But maybe you'd understand even without an explanation.

I took a couple nice pictures on my way home. And then I relaxed in my art room for a while. It really is a much nicer space now that I've rearranged it. And without the tension from the conflict on Tuesday, it really does feel like a safe and wholesome space in here.

I wish you could come by. I'd put on some tunes and teach you how to crochet wisteria blossoms. Something tells me you'd like that. Especially if I brought you up some nice hot tea.

Oh, speaking of which, I did make a tea today. Here:

Oh, and!! I got some pictures of the cats yesterday, too, that I think you'll like.

And a video of the snowfall yesterday, too...

...I hope you like it. I know your body is probably up at the Northern Crater or whatever, but... I dunno when is the last time you got to see falling snow.

M and J and I finally went to the reopened Chinese buffet. M didn't like it, but I did. I wonder if, since we went late, maybe it's just that the food wasn't very fresh anymore.

I got a really great picture of the moon, and a little sparkly friend next to it:

...I'm not sure what object the sparkly friend was. But... it was like a little friend who came by to hold the moon's hand for a while. I liked that little story I wove, so I'm gonna stick with it.

I want to write more. But J wants to take me to the ice runway tomorrow at super early in the morning. I'm looking forward to it, but... I need to get to sleep.

I love you so much. Please stay safe out there in the world, okay?

I'll write again tomorrow. Hopefully I'll have some cool pictures then, too.

Your friend, Lumine

[chebyreksan]

Aaaalright

Feel like you fic(showtime)

——————-

Muffled voices

Girl wrapped under a blanket

Panic and horror both in the eyes and thoughts

That's all that happened in her room. She just lay curled up in a ball and pulled the blanket up to her head, as if it would help get out of this world. She heard knocks on the door, but did not answer. She didn't react.

- come on, ragat. Let's just leave her there. She's not going to die-Jax is clearly already bored, judging by his voice

- Don't say that. We have to help her, otherwise she will..she will be lonely-Ragatha said softly to Jax, knocking on the door - Pomni, please open the door for us.We want to talk to you

Pomni didn't answer

- ..listen, we know how hard and scary it is for you-

- We? I'm just here for the company

There was a sharp exhalation. It seems Ragatha elbowed him in the stomach

- okay, I understand your fear, Pomni, but we have to stick together and support each other. We're one family now..do you understand?

- Yes, let's go crazy together!-Jex chuckled

Pomni shrank even more, already ignoring the guys completely

,,what should I do?..I-I'm really going crazy here..Am I really going to end up here like this? Like kaufmo..Like the others..?’’

She was snuffling softly and wiping away her tears. What should she do now? How can she live in an incomprehensible space, where there is a crazy ai jaw and from where it is impossible to get out? She didn't know that, no matter how much she wanted to, but she didn't know the answer to any of the questions. But it can't last that long, right?

- WAKE UP, POMNI DEAR !

- Eh?!

A beep sounded sharply right above her and she covered her ears

- C-Caine? I-I closed the door

- Oh dear, I have my own ways of sneaking around unnoticed

Caine giggled and loomed over her

- can you come out? I have a surprise!

- I don't want to..

- Oh, don't be such a child, Pomni . Your friends are worried about you

- …

- Jokes are jokes, but the surprise is on schedule!

girl was wiping her eyes from tears, still lying under the blanket

- Caine, I... I can't. Please let me be alone and think it over..

- Well, no! You want to miss my surprise and such a good day so pointlessly? Come on, let's get up!

He put his hands under the blanket and took her under the armpits

- eh?! G-go away, go away!

Caine took her and lifted her over the bed, holding her like some kind of toy or animal. Jester tried to get out, squirm, but she was held tightly. And what should she do when she was lifted a couple of meters from the bed?

- let me go! I-I'll get up, just let me-

The girl looked at Caine and her eyes widened

- ...Caine?

- Surprise! Hah it's me! What do you think about my new look? Do you like it?

Caine laughed and Pomni's eyes grew even bigger with surprise. She thought she was imagining it, but Caine now looked like a human. Red hair with white tips, eyes were in their place and the same color, blue and green. Ringmaster put her down on the bed and pointed at her with his cane

- Our friends checked out my new look, and Kinger actually fainted from fear. Well, there was a lot of noise and you missed everything, dear! Oh.. and your eyes are red

- I-it's nothing -girl quickly wiped her eyes - why you..like this? Why do you look like a human?

- That's a good question, my dear. My processors have deduced that it will be more comfortable for you and others if I look like a person than my real appearance. Plus I want to understand who it is to be completely human! Bubble!

He took off his hat. Bubble came out and there was a piece of paper with some kind of graph on his tongue, but it was hindered by the fact that it was covered with saliva. Pomni grimaced

- that's all we've deduced

- ugh..okay, I get it..It's not usual, but I like it.

She smiled awkwardly, hoping that Caine would be pleased. Bubble burst

- with many thanks! Now that you don't look like a baby, we can have a game

- Wait, wait, I'm not-

But he did not listen and took Pomni by the shoulder. They found themselves on the stage, where everyone had already gathered. Jester looked around awkwardly and noticed how Jax was looking at the two of them and smiling slyly, whispering something to Ragatha. She just raised her eyebrows, but didn't say anything

- So my little stars, today we will hold a game-the words appeared above the ringmaster- a bloodhound!! You will have to search through different corners of the circus for colorful eggs with surprises!

- Heh what, have you lost your own and are you forcing us to look for it?- Jax chuckled

- Jax - Ragatha whispered with displeasure

- hah! Naughty boy!

A second later, a cane flew into Jax and hit him on the head, causing the rabbit to fall

- AH!! F[censorship]K!!

- Inappropriate jokes in our circus are also inappropriate, as well as obscene language, my young friend!

cane returned to the owner and he continued

- Collect as many eggs as you can, the winner will receive an amaaazing prize, but this is a surprise! Those who will be in second and third place will also receive a prize! Goooood luck!!

The entertainer disappeared and guys got baskets in their hands. Everyone dispersed who went where and while girl was walking, she was thinking about a new kind of Caine, collecting eggs

,,..want to understand who it is to be completely human..how strange, he's just a Ai, how will he understand who it is to be a human? Maybe he's lying?..mgh it's better not to think about it much..’’

Time flew by unnoticed. The melody of the end of the game was heard and guys began to wait for the host. he appeared immediately, twirling the cane in his hand

- Well done, little stars! Now I will do the counting and we will find out the winner. whom to start hmmm..and why think about it!

Guys watched as Caine pulled the eggs out of the baskets with his strength. His eyes began to blink with different colors until they became normal

- huh that’s interesting, Jax is in the first place!

- Heh, I thought so- rabbit chuckled smugly and Pomni rolled her eyes

- Kinger!

- HUH?!

- You're in second place!

- Oh.. thank you-Kinger breathed a sigh of relief

- aaaand pomni on the third! The rest of you I’m sorry and go clean the eggs!

- What? Go F[censorship]k yourself, clean with these eggs yourself-Zooble says discontentedly-we are not obliged to do this

- Mmmm no,you have to. Bubble!

Caine clapped and the bubble grabbed zooble, dragging them somewhere else

- Let me go, F[censorship]R!! Don't you dare!

- gangle and Ragatha, follow your friend, and the three of you follow me!

Winners obediently followed Caine. They didn't talk much, and what could they talk about. Pomni understood that Kinger would not say anything reasonable, and Jax would mock and infuriate. It made her feel strange, especially when nothing but footsteps could be heard. The entertainer whistled and a large wooden box painted like a horse, with the animal's head attached in front, drove up to them

- Everything is outrageously simple. Jax, you can tell the box what you want and the box will give it to you. Kinger, I'll get you myself and Pomni-

- Ha, she won't get anything?

- hey - girl said with displeasure

Caine sighed with displeasure too and continued

- I will give something not from the box. Let's get started!

Jax confidently approached, whispered something to the box and it spat out the box. Rabbit happily took out a pair of millipedes from the box, which began to crawl on his arm. Pomni and Kinger swallowed, not understanding why he was wanting this and how he was holding them so calmly. It was Kinger's turn and Caine reached into the drawer and pulled out the checkers

- oho thank you-Kinger happily walked away

Pomni's turn came and Caine patted the horse box. Horse box obediently went to its place and jester watched him leave

- wow..

- well, dear, I think I've come up with a prize for you. Not a wish box, but not bad either. This-

Abruptly, he glitched, his eyes lit up red and just as quickly returned to normal. Girl involuntarily moved away, and Jax and Kinger looked at the ringmaster with bewilderment. Caine himself blinked and laughed nervously

- ahem, I'm sorry, your prize is-

He started glitch again, the sigh of the cross appeared in his eyes

- err.. Jax?? Kinger?- pomni looked at the boys with hope for an explanation

- Don't get your hopes up.This is the first time I've seen this..

- Ah! Is Caine ill?! What should we do?!-screamed Kinger

Caine blinked again, rubbing his temples with his fingers

- it's all right, friends. Kham..your prize is-..Ah well, here it is!

He quickly gave Pomni a box of something in her hands and walked away from her a little

- um..thanks?

- Hey Caine, you're a lot weirder than usual. Is something wrong?-Jax looked at the entertainer with interest, tapping his chin with his finger

- I'm fine, thanks! Apparently the memory card is lagging a bit huh!

He began to glitch again, turning away from the rabbit and the king. Jester, since she was standing closer to Caine, saw that his face was flushed, and his eyes were blinking red and blue. Looking at the guys, she saw that Jax was giggling strangely and came over to look at Caine, and Kinger just looked and was perplexed. Rabbit, meeting with her gaze, shook his head, making it clear that he would not help in this. Girl sighed and cautiously approached the entertainer closer

- C-caine? Are you sick? Hey?

She shook him by the shoulder, hoping that he would come to his senses and, surprisingly, it helped. He quickly pulled away from them and cleared his throat, straightening his bow tie

- uh-sorry, friends. Go to the others, I have to sort something out!

A sharp wave and he quickly retreated, leaving the trio

- ..what was that just now?- girl asked awkwardly, looking at the guys

- Mm, I don't know, apparently the roof is going slowly..- rabbit chuckled thoughtfully

- Ah! -the Kinger shouted - is the roof coming?! Where?!

- In any case, Pomni , you're wearing Caine, and I'll help ladies with Kinger.

- Wh-what?! Why me?

- I don't know. Maybe it's a sign? -he involuntarily pointed to his eyes and smiled more

Pomni wanted to object, but realized that it was pointless and muttered

- Very funny. Where should I look for him at all?

- Not my problem. Come on, Kinger, let’s go

- what do you mean?! Hey! We were here together!

- I just suggested it. You don't have to look for him- Jax shrugged

The couple left. She was looking around in confusion, trying to figure out what to do.

- how am I supposed to find him anyway? I don't want to open all the doors again and get f[censorship]ked..ugh! Stupid censorship!

,,..what happened to him? Can he really become the same as kaufmo?..’’

Pomni became worried, remembering something that she and others met on the first day. She shook her head

,,no, nonsense. that's not going to happen..he won't be like that..isn't that right?..’’

[blackquirkyqueer]

Where Are the Young Black LGBTQ+ Youth Going Now?

Let's talk about it!

I read a July 2023 report by The Trevor Project several months ago about LGBTQ+ young people of color in online spaces and where they feel most comfortable ... and uncomfortable. I'll post the link so you guys can read it if you choose to, but in the article I found out that:

LGBTQ+ youth spend an average of 5 hours a day online, which is 45 min longer than non-LGBTQ+ youth

In these online spaces, Black & POC LGBTQ+ youth often face or are exposed to racism online

Since they [apparently] have 19% lower odds of anxiety in the spaces they're comfortable, where do our Black LGBTQ+ youth feel safe and understood? Here are the numbers reported:

53% feel safe on TikTok, which is no longer available to us in America

42% feel safe on Discord (not depicted on the graph for some reason)

41% feel safe on Instagram

33% feel safe on YouTube (also not depicted on the graph)

So now, on this day January 19, 2025, I wonder where these young folks are going since TikTok won't be around. Maybe they're just sticking to the other apps they have or they're fleeing here to Tumblr or BlueSky. I read that lots of Americans were going to RedNote, but I didn't see anyone of the Black LGBTQ+ bring it up.

Regardless, I hope that wherever they go, they feel safe and learn their way around the online space they choose to occupy.

Comments, likes, & reblogs are always welcomed. Peace, love, & happiness y'all. ✌🏽

The Trevor Project July 2023 Report

[ophizz]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚Math 3 Reflection🪷

Imagine going fishing, with your trusted bucket and a big cooler with ice, but when you get there, you forgot to get your fishing rod. You thought to yourself, it's okay, I'll just get a stick and maybe the fish will bite onto that. Which if in a scenario where you actually know what you're doing, it would work. Unsurprisingly i don't have the determination to wait, and try. So I gave up even though there was a fishing gear store right beside the lake. With just a small set back I gave up even though there were perfectly good resources around me that could've helped me achieve my goal and probably I could have had multiple fishes in my ice cooler if only I didn't give up. But who am I to delude myself that I could look past small mistakes and keep trying when I know that I will never follow through on my promises. 

On a positive note, a topic I liked was graphing the piecewise functions, majorly because I wasn't suffering through a migraine throughout the day. Although it was fun because you draw lines and that for me was enjoyable. And also the fact that you kind of merge the lines to make this big function thing. I found it easy to understand but it made me go back to remembering my roots and learn how to graph because I don't know how to graph certain equations anymore ;(

Additionally, the easiest one by far is the inverse function because it's just like finding x. It's simple, straightforward, and concise. Although getting the domain and range does get confusing because not always can you imagine how the function would translate into a graph. 

I didn't find any of the math concepts inspiring. None of it. Although it isn't because of how it was taught or who taught it or whatever external factors. It's just that the subject material makes me just want to rip my hair out because numbers just don't translate as easily as letters do in my brain. Thinking about it, maybe all of the math concepts were inspiring. Inspiring me to just give up and let God lead the way. Just kidding! What a joke! ahaha!

Moving forward– I think I have mastered getting the inverse of a function the most, only because it's very similar to finding x which we always do. It's simple and straightforward, just isolate y and there you have the inverse, or at least I hope I think I've mastered it. Maybe its just my ego thinking that because its simple and i was able to do it, ive mastered it already. Knowing who i am and what i am, i know that i could never master anything because of my lack of patince. 

Transformation of functions is the hardest concept to grasp. It's all patterns so logically it should be simple but no, I’m stupid. I can't find the patterns so most of the time when I'm answering transformation of functions I'm just guessing. Although when it's just one part, like how many units did it shift to the right, I'd be able to answer. That I can do, but when you give me a before and after transformation of a function and ask me what changed, I would bet you my right kidney and left foot that I would not be able to answer you sir. Especially when you add the order that they are supposed to be in? I'd much rather bet on the odds that I'd win a round of pusoy dos, than answering the question correctly. 

What quick notes do you have for:

i. your teacher;

Sir Joseph, I'm sorry. For all my actions, for all I've said, for all I am that you know me to be. I hope that you forgive me, although I know that there is a slim chance, I still pray that my being is redeemable enough. I won't promise anything anymore. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I failed, I am well aware, I know I shouldn't give up but I will, I do. It's nothing personal I promise. It's me that's the problem. Sir, you are one of the most attentive mathematics teachers I've met and it's no joke sir. You put everything on a silver platter yet students like me fail to take the opportunities. I'm sorry sir. I hope you know that I truly am sorry sir. I'm sorry.

ii. your classmates;

They're cool, I mean, everyone is okay, nothing much for them. I hope they keep up their studies and we could all graduate as a batch.  

iii. Yourself?

I hope I won't promise anyone anything ever anymore. I hope I learn from my mistakes. I hope my apologies could sound more genuine. I wish my apologies translate as genuine as the way they are in my chest. I should learn. I should study. But I know I’ll give up. I won’t do anything about it. An irredeemable piece of flesh guaranteed to suffer in the everlasting flames of hell. 

end note: I have given up on what I am in math, in all my subjects. An obvious decline is seen in all my subjects and I know math wouldn't be the one who has the worst decline. I like to think that I am capable at math but I know full well, deep down that I am not. That I could never be what I wish to be as a scholar. And every night I wish and pray that I wasn't the person that I am. That my physical self and all the opportunities that came with it would've been given to a more grateful soul. Im sorry Sir Joseph, I truly am. I hope you won't forgive me. I know that you will forget, and Im happy about that prospect. If you won't, then I hope you will. Thank you for being our math 3 teacher. Im so so sorry.

[kbirbpods]

and, we're live!

Time for my 2023 stats round up.

First, let's look at the number of hours/minutes per month, shall we?

All of that account for 59 hours & 11 minutes of podfic. Now, comparing to last year, when I had just shy of 31 hours, that looks pretty good. Remember, last year I started in August so I almost doubled it.

We do notice a dip in March & April, which tend to be busy months in the education world. The spike in May is due to Voiceteam. June-August are a bit odd - you'd think a teacher on break would have more time to create. But I had some life stuff hit and it really destroyed my brain.

So, here's my first 2024 Resolution:

Remember how happy podfic makes you & don't let your depression win.

Now, moving on to the breakdowns and fun stuff, shall we?

Here are my top 5 fandoms, authors, ratings, and genres! I also have them in bar chart form and pie chart form, which I'll put below the cut. You'll see a slight difference in the author category -- I didn't include myself or Flowerparrish and my podcast in that as those weren't authors.

Of course, what is podficcing without making covers you love? Here are my favorite covers I made for my own podfics! I have a migraine so please excuse the fact that the images don't line up, vision is blurry:

Now, let's move on to my stats image from above. I used the same format as last year but since I made over 100 more podfic than last year, each microphone now equals five podfics.

As you can see, I participated in a lot of events! I believe I made the most audio for Voiceteam 2022 (as evidenced by my hours/month graph). This was my first year doing Voiceteam and I had a blast. I also got to do Podtogether & Summer Swap for the first time. It was my 2nd year doing ITPE. And then so much more.

My top kudosed collaborative project was "A Fair Compromise" with @wanderingjedihistorian for 212th Appreciation week. My top kudosed solo project was "A Game of Guess Who With Big Blue" by TheWitchBoy. The longest podfic I made was also with @wanderingjedihistorian and was my podfic of our Codywan Big Bang project! My shortest was a Locked Tomb podfic at 57 seconds called Realization.

My first podfic of 2023 was Hot Cocoa by Melime, a "The Batman" podfic. In the middle was Dissipate by SunsetsOverLA for Waxer*Boil month. And the last posted thing was for @fandomtrumpshate, for my top bidder - an Obi-Wan/Jango soulmates AU.

Now, on to 2024! My resolutions are:

To continue working on current WIPs I'm bringing into 2024 - some of which I've already tied up only 5 days into the year

To podfic even when my brain is being a gremlin, because podfic makes me happy and I should be able to focus on that!

To be brave enough to post the first "Soft Wars" podfic and finally tackle the series (kind of the same as resolution #1)

Not to sign up for Big Bangs -- I love them dearly but they actually caused a lot of my burnout this year and I didn't love that. As much as I love collabs, I think I'll stick to Podtogether, multivoices with friends, and gift exchanges this year!

Close the gaps -- aka, as much as I love Clone Wars, I want to focus on all things I love, instead of overbearingly focusing in on one.

Going into 2024, I am going to start tracking what music I use in my podfics, because I was curious about it / @flowerparrish inspired me. I also found a way to track overall Star Wars and then Star Wars broken down into sub fandoms - that should neaten up my "top 5" category a bit.

Happy New Year, all!

And, as mentioned above, screenshots of my actual graphs & tables, for interest sake!

[rosesloveletters]

💚❤️Merry Christmas, sister Eri❤️💚

for @ajokeformur-ray

total word count for this gift package: 4,444

Merry Christmas, my dearest sister Erika🥹🫂❤️💚 These fics below tell a very specific storyline, each pieced together from glimpses into your life with some of your most beloved F/Os. I know you've been feeling very stressed and down lately and so it inspired me, in part, to take that which you're feeling and find little glimmers of peace within them.

That being said, please listen to the song The Manuscript by Taylor Swift before reading. I think the references will make more sense that way and the intent with which I wrote these pieces will be clearer.

I hope that you like what I have written, but I'm happy to make you something else if not. I want you to know that I understand and empathize with how you've been feeling, because I've been there myself for the last two years. Not to make this about me, but I know it comforts you to know that you aren't alone and you definitely are NOT alone. I know you have some lovely people in your corner of the world and I'm rooting for you all the way across the ocean. I'll always be here for you, wanting nothing but the best for my beloved sister who means the world to me. No matter how bad things seem or how hopeless, there is always something good within the situation and these fics are my attempt at that.

I am so endlessly proud of you and I love you very, very much🫂❤️🫂❤️🫂❤️🫂❤️🫂❤️

Now...

A handwritten letter, as per tradition:

Next, I've written you three fics to be read in the order they appear in below. Each follow direct inspiration from the song I linked above. I had such a wonderful time writing for you, dear, and I hope you enjoy them❤️ I can always write you something else if these aren't quite what you need, just let me know! I love you so very much, my beloved sister Erika🫂🫂

I'm not a donor but I'd give you my heart if you needed it // Erika & Henry Jekyll, plus Mary Reilly and Edward Hyde mentioned (familial)

summary: You've thrown yourself in headfirst to your fifth year of your studies and your father is torn between his respect for your dedication and concern towards your lack of consideration for your physical and mental well-being, leading him to swing into action right when you most need it.

word count: 1,256

You stared blankly at the thick textbook in front of you, the words on the page blurring together into an incomprehensible jumble as tears of frustration welled up in your tired eyes. 

The flickering flame of the oil lamp, a sight which typically brought you such comfort, cast a sickly glow over everything, making the graphs and diagrams swim before your vision, warped within your exhausted and weary mind.

You had been studying for hours, days, weeks, months it seemed, pouring every ounce of mental energy you had into absorbing the complex psychological theories and treatment modalities required for your degree, but no matter how hard you tried, how many late nights you spent hunched over your books and notes inside your father’s beloved library, it never seemed to be enough. 

The material refused to stick in your weary brain and though your grades weren’t slipping, you were struggling to find a way to split your time between yourself, your work, your education and everything else that came along.

Becoming a therapist had been your dream for the last several years and you were far too stubborn and determined to quit - a burning desire to help others navigate the twists and turns of the human psyche fueled your late night study sessions, as well as a liter or two of coffee, provided by your doting mother who often came to check on you when everyone else in the household had long since retired for the night. 

However, now, deep into your grueling academic journey, that dream felt like it was slowly crumbling to dust between your fingers. 

You were terrified that despite all your effort and sacrifice, you worried that you couldn’t split up your time or weren’t capable enough to see it through.

The possibility of failure loomed over you like a suffocating shadow, yet what choice did you have but to keep struggling forward? 

You had already invested so much - time, money, blood, sweat, and tears. 

To give up now would mean facing the devastating reality that your one shot at building a meaningful career and life had slipped away. 

No, quitting wasn't an option, even if you had to crawl your way to that diploma. 

You took a shaky breath and turned the page, steeling yourself for another round in this excruciating battle of wills, hoping desperately that somewhere deep inside you was the strength to fumble your way through. You felt the weight of your dream bearing down on your hunched shoulders as you stared at the dense wall of text before you. 

The musty library air hung heavy in your lungs, thick with the dust of countless volumes of knowledge that now seemed to mock your feeble efforts at mastery.

You could feel the panic rising in your throat, threatening to choke off your breath entirely.

It clawed at your insides - the sinking certainty that the goal you had held so tenderly, so hopefully in your heart for all these years might just be another wisp of fantasy, destined to dissolve in the harsh light of reality. Every fiber of your being ached with exhaustion, the countless hours of toil and study etched deep into your bones. Your once sharp mind felt dull, clouded, sluggish. 

The neat lines of text swam in and out of focus, as if even they were tired of your relentless scrutiny. 

How much longer could you go on like this - pouring your very soul into a dream that seemed to forever dangle just out of reach? 

Voices of doubt hissed in your ear, insidious whispers that perhaps you had been foolish to ever believe you were meant for something more. That no matter how hard you tried, how desperately you pushed yourself to the brink of collapse, it would never be enough.

Hot tears stung your bloodshot eyes and you angrily brushed them away. 

No. 

You would never give in.

This was your path, your purpose. 

You sucked in a shuddering breath, squared your aching shoulders, and turned your blurred gaze back to the merciless pages. 

You would see this through, even if it destroyed you, even if it took your very last tortured breath.  Dr. Henry Jekyll watched his daughter hunched over the desk, the glow of the candlelight illuminating the dark circles under your eyes as you wrote furiously, pen dragging across the page in flowing script, pausing only to reference the towering stack of textbooks by your side.

He felt a swell of pride seeing your relentless work ethic and unwavering focus, yet as the weeks went by, his pride became increasingly overshadowed by concern. 

Your once vibrant eyes had grown dull, your skin pale and sallow. 

You seemed to subsist on a diet of coffee and barely picked at the meals your Mama brought you. 

The excited chatter about achieving your desired career had ceased; every waking moment was devoted to studying, striving and pushing yourself to excel. 

He was torn between supporting your incredible drive and ambition and fearing that you would burn yourself out. 

He longed to tell you that grades weren't everything, that your health and happiness mattered more than any test score or accolade, but he also knew how much your dreams meant to you, and the last thing he wanted was to hold you back. 

So, he remained in this limbo, silently watching and worrying, hoping that his brilliant daughter would soon realize the need for balance before the unrelenting demands of academia took too heavy a toll. A warm, solid touch on your shoulder—something which would have normally made you jump—was accepted gratefully and you felt yourself sinking into that feeling, digging deep within yourself for the strength to push even more, but the gravitational pull was too much and you leant against your father, deriving comfort from his tight embrace that now encircled you. 

“It’s late, darling,” your father’s velvet croon drifted to your ears and lulled you better than any lullaby your Mama used to hum to you, “come along.” 

And with the strength which you knew in your heart of hearts belonged to your Papa, he easily took you up in his arms and cradled you to him, carrying you out of the library to where he would return later to gather your possessions and set them safely aside for you to return to once you had slept. 

He treaded through the old house and quietly made his way to your Mama’s room, where he gently laid you down beside her. 

With a grateful smile and a tired yawn, you let yourself begin to get swept away by the tide of exhaustion under your father’s watchful eye. 

As worn down as you were, you still loathed to give up primes studying time, but your father knew when it was best to intervene and you never would have argued, despite all your Papa had taught you about sticking up for yourself. 

Both agreed this time, it seemed, and for their concern and overarching say so, you found yourself grateful because even you did not know when enough was enough. 

You were going to destroy yourself for the sake of creating a legacy for yourself and as poetic as it might have been, for your father, your needs always came first; he would have burned the entire world down for you to give you whatever you desired, but right now, as of this moment, the thing you needed most in the world, was your Mama, your Papa and him.  

Boys with dartboards on the backs of their doors // Erika x Eddie Munson (romantic)

summary: After weathering the storm of yet another breakdown, you and Eddie lay in bed together and he reminds you that it's okay to fall apart sometimes / 'your heart was his bullseye and he hit the mark on his first try'.

word count: 1,074

The room was still, save for the soft sound of their synchronized breathing.

You lay together on the bed, fingers intertwined, your head resting gently on his chest as his heartbeat resounded in your ear.

Your eyes were puffy with exhaustion, red-rimmed with the intermittent crying you had done throughout the day and over the last several weeks. 

Eddie was stretched out next to you, lanky limbs askew, his face etched with concern.

Gently, he reached for your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours. 

"Hey," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, "I just want you to know how proud I am of you. You're so strong, but you don't have to be all the time. It's okay to break down sometimes. It's okay to not be okay." 

He squeezed your hand, his thumb tracing circles on her skin. 

"I'm here for you, no matter what. I'll always meet you where you are. And if you can't walk on your own, I'll carry you the rest of the way. We're in this together." 

A wave of gratitude and love washed over you. 

He might have been young and silly at times, a bit immature and goofy, but in moments like this, his true heart shone through - kind, caring, steadfast.

 A reminder that even in your darkest moments, you weren't alone. 

You had him by your side, ready to face whatever lay ahead, hand in hand. No words and no platitudes were needed, just his steady presence beside you, an anchor in the storm of emotions that threatened to sweep you away. 

Raising your clasped hands, he pressed his lips softly to your knuckles. 

"I'm so proud of you," he repeated, his voice low and soothing in the quiet space between you. 

Eddie wanted his words to resonate—he knew how badly you needed to hear them.

“Don’t worry so much about if you crumble. I'll always be here to pick up the pieces and put you together again." 

You squeezed his hand in response, fresh tears welling up, but this time in gratitude for the beautiful soul beside you who, despite his youthful foibles, knew your heart so completely and loved you so unconditionally. Moonlight filtered in through gauzy curtains, casting an ethereal glow across tangled sheets and tear-stained cheeks and beside you, he shifted, the mattress dipping as he rolled to face you. 

You turned away and let him hold you from behind, cocooned within his embrace as he held you close until your breathing steadied and evened out. 

As you lay beside him, your gaze drifted to the dartboard hanging on the back of his bedroom door. The red and black rings formed concentric circles that were faded from years of use. 

The tiny pinprick holes scattered across its surface told the story of countless lazy afternoons spent tossing darts with his buddies, their laughter and friendly banter echoing off the walls.

But there was a darker symbolism there too, a foreshadowing of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that life would inevitably hurl his way. 

How many times would his heart be pierced, just like that dartboard, by disappointments and betrayals and heartbreaks? 

You closed your eyes and pictured his face in your mind, still soft with the innocence of boyhood, not yet hardened by the battles to come.

The dartboard seemed to whisper a bittersweet truth - that these precious moments of youthful bliss were fleeting, and that all too soon the carefree games of adolescence would give way to the harsh realities of manhood. 

You snuggled closer to him, breathing in his familiar scent, wanting to freeze this moment in time before the future could steal it away. As you lay there in his arms, you wondered which version of himself he channeled when he stood before that weathered target - the angry young man raging against the disappointments of adulthood, or the carefree boy he used to be. 

Perhaps, you mused, the dartboard represented the battle between those two selves, the struggle to hold onto remnants of youthful innocence while navigating an often harsh grown-up world. 

In the same way the dartboard had become a fixture in his room, that duality was etched into his very being.

In the same way the darts had pierced the target were you stabbed repeatedly by every little thing that flew into your orbit. 

You were used to the stinging pain that so often came your way, but now you were numb to it all because Eddie Munson was the soothing balm on your soul you had craved all these years, the buffer between an unkind world and the peace you so desperately craved to preserve when all else failed to hold up against the raging storm of life itself. 

Perhaps you were too deep within the trenches to see the light that shone within him, your own diminished by the cruel realities that had set in and threatened to plunge you into deep darkness, but you were not alone, and Eddie would guide you back to yourself, one baby step at a time. 

You and that dartboard were the same, it seemed, but rather than a battle or a game, or a target, you were a goal. 

You were the aspiration, the idea and the ending. 

You were all that Eddie strove to be and you were the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his days with, just like this, holding you close and showing you that, no matter where life took you or whatever it pushed you into or threw in your direction, you would never be in it alone. 

You had him, amongst others, and wherever you were in life, your loved ones would meet you there and remind you that, even in times of great darkness, there’s always a bit of light to be found once your eyes adjust. 

All you needed was a bit of time, a good cry and a shoulder to lean on and Eddie would be that for you, and whatever else you needed. 

He loved you beyond all measure and that would always be enough to find a way back into yourself. 

If you were a dartboard, then Eddie would hit the mark again and again, because you were his dream come true, the impossible shot that the world told him he’d miss; your heart was his bullseye and he hit the mark on his first try.  

The Manuscript // Erika x Arthur Fleck/Joker (romantic)

summary: Struggling with the ill effects of chronic autoimmune illness, you find yourself sitting outside of your new apartment on the stoop, coffee in hand and husband, Arthur Fleck, by your side as a shoulder to lean on both metaphorically and physically.

word count: 2,114

The morning sun caressed your pale skin as you sat on the weathered concrete steps outside of your apartment building, the sleeves of your oversized sweater bunched up above your elbows to expose as much flesh as possible to the nourishing rays. You closed your eyes and tilted your face skyward, savoring the gentle warmth on your cheeks, a welcome respite from the chilly air that hinted at autumn's imminent arrival. The iron deficiency that plagued your body left you perpetually exhausted and short of breath, a weariness that seemed to seep into your very bones, and the vitamin D deficiency only compounded your health woes, sapping you of strength and vitality.

But in stolen moments like these, alone in the early morning hush with the sun as your restorative tonic, you felt some of your tiredness fall away, replaced by a soothing peace and a flicker of hope that brighter days lay ahead. 

The creak of the heavy front door shattered your reverie, and you opened your eyes to see your boyfriend, Arthur, stepping outside with two steaming mugs of coffee in hand, a tender smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He settled beside you on the stoop and passed you a cup, the heat seeping into your chilled fingers as you gratefully accepted the offering. 

No words passed between the two of you just yet, but a contented sigh escaped your lips as you leaned your head on his shoulder, drawing comfort from his solid presence beside yours and the knowledge that whatever challenges your failing health might bring, you wouldn't have to face them alone.

This past year had been taxing, both on your health and happiness. Yet, the promise of a new year lingered on the horizon, growing brighter with each passing day, just like the rising sun. When the world finally sighed a collective breath of relief at its warmth and greeted the new day, you felt far less alone than you had the night before, when it had all come crashing down.

Sitting outside your shared apartment, you realized that life was far too precious to take at mere face value. This was a moment unlike any you had experienced before.

A mere six months prior, you felt like a caged animal, yet here you were, free and feeling, alive and rejuvenated, recharged beneath the blazing sun and the steaming mug cupped in your hands. 

As your head rested against Arthur’s shoulder, he wrapped an arm around you, desperate to feel every inch of connection between the two of you. You both longed for this intimacy like a parched traveler longs for water after a thousand-year drought, your lips cracked and throat scorched. But now as he drank you in, his thirst was quenched and his heart full. Here, with you, he felt safe, and knowing you felt the same way meant more than all the years you had spent together. 

Your lives were brighter for having each other as a part of this world, and you knew there was nothing you could not accomplish with Arthur by your side. As daunting as it was to imagine, your body had waged its war for far longer than you could remember.  Over time, you had grown accustomed to the unfairness of it all, accepting that this was simply the price you had to pay for uncompromised health - even though you would have sacrificed almost everything just to never have to deal with it again. This was the hand you had been dealt, and though you often kept your feelings close to your chest, afraid to reveal your next move and risk vulnerability, this love was above secrecy.

Deep down, you felt a betrayal to yourself hidden in the act of keeping Arthur in the dark.

Arthur was an open book to you, with nothing intentionally hidden or withheld.

Despite the hardships he faced, he would have braved even the fiercest storm to shield you from harm's way.

If it were possible, he would have willingly taken on your every hurt and sorrow, trading his own well-being to spare you from suffering.

You were eternally grateful for the peace he could never truly provide, though the silent promise was enough, even without the truest form of relief you had both chased for far too long. 

Arthur set his mug aside and turned you to face away, his long, slender fingers gently combing through your chestnut hair, tenderly untangling any knots that had formed.

You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of the sun’s rays warming your skin and his loving touch on your scalp and neck, your shoulders and back. Now that your hair had grown to its desired length, you could feel every single graze of his fingers down your body, indicating which part of your hair he was attending to. 

Your soul could feel his fingers upon every year he had known you, like a tree with its rings, your hair growth was a love letter to the growth your spirit had done in the span of every month and year time had privileged you with and you treasured it, just like you did every second with him.

The repetitive, almost meditative motion of his hands working through your hair lulled you into a state of pure relaxation and comfort.

After he had effectively removed every knot, his delicate fingers began to weave intricate braids into her cascade of hair that glimmered with golden highlights in the bright sunshine. 

Your cares and worries faded away in this perfect, intimate shared moment. 

The street before you was quiet and still, with only the occasional bicycle gliding past or a neighbor walking their dog, but you are oblivious, lost in your own little world on the stoop, surrounded by the potted flowers and plants you had received from work friends, both his and yours, congratulations on your move to a new apartment, your first time on your own, the first step you had taken side by side into the wide world, moving in together and taking up space in each other’s private lives in a way you hadn’t thought possible until the moment it all came together like the last few pieces of a puzzle. 

The delicate scent of the blooms mingled with the smell of sun-baked concrete and a hint of your shampoo. 

Time slowed to a crawl, marked only by the steady rhythm of his braiding and the distant singing of birds, as you relished this pocket of simple, pure affection—a temporary escape from the hectic demands and fast pace of your lives. 

“You should come out here more often,” Arthur mused as the corner of his tongue poked out from between his lips in concentration as his fingers secured your silk scrunchie on the end of your first braid, “it’s good for you.”

He did well with sunlight too and it was reminiscent of houseplants, how positively you benefitted from the light, despite how much you preferred to cover up and march on to the steady drumbeat of time. 

You knew this was what your body needed and, even if you felt silly, you recognized the wisdom in the action and his words. 

“It helps,” you replied in your usual calm and relaxed tone, voice drifting on the gentle breeze that was blowing, melodic in its cadence and soft on the soul of anyone who heard it, “but supplements can and will do just fine.”

“It’s not that you don’t need those too,” he agreed, giving a soft snort of a chuckle, “but you’d be amazed by what a little sunlight can do.”

You might have laughed at the irony if it weren’t for the fact that he was right and he was out here too, after all. 

Slowing down could do wonders for the two of you and, even if you had to reach for these moments and take them for yourself when time allowed, though it rarely did. 

You knew it was worth it just to spend a little more time in his presence which you had gotten less and less of these days. 

You felt yourself nod, but the action itself seemed so distant, even to you, the one who had given it. 

You tilted your face upwards to bask in the sun’s warm glow and breathed deeply, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the flowers blooming around you. The golden rays penetrated deep into your body, their healing warmth seeping down into your bones and soothing the weariness that had settled there. 

You could feel the tension and fatigue slowly melting away, replaced by a sense of inner peace.

 The sun's radiance enveloped you like a comforting embrace akin to Arthur’s as he finished your second braid and settled an arm around you once again, its life-giving energy restoring your strength and vitality. 

In this tranquil moment, you were surrounded by the beauty of nature and bathed in sunlight, finding respite from the cares and burdens of your world, allowing yourself to simply be still and let the sun's healing touch work its magic on your body and soul. 

Time was nonexistent as you savored this restorative pause, feeling your spirit renewed and your energy replenished by the sun's generous gift.

Although now you knew, Arthur was the true gift. 

He was the sun in your otherwise darkened world, and you gravitated to him, a planet swirling in the dim, blackness of orbit, around him, the center of your entire universe. 

You sipped your coffee, appreciating the gentle burn of the hot liquid down your throat when you swallowed; this was what it meant to find sanctuary and learn to live again. 

After your tired sky had grown dark with the impending gloom of a torrential downpour, a rainbow of color beamed across the heavens and left you brimming with color once again. 

There was an odd comfort in the rain because it was something which you were used to and Arthur weathered the storm, always the one beside you, holding an umbrella above your head, both metaphorically and physically, when the sky really did open up and threaten to drench your most beloved body part (he knew how fiercely you hated getting your hair wet with rainwater.)

He had withstood his own test of time, braved the storm alone and waited for the sun to break through the clouds, but it hadn’t been until you came along that he felt the sun shining again. 

You were the light of his life, so it made sense why it had taken so long for the storm to clear. 

You had only been in each other’s lives for the last five years, but to both of you, it already felt like a lifetime. 

If this was the way it was meant to be, then it was just a means to an end, but once you found yourself surrounded by the love you had craved since the beginning, it was merely the end of an era, but the start of something much bigger. 

As you sat in the stillness of the day, your half-drank mug of coffee still cradled in your hands, you allowed your mind to wander back over the winding path of your life. 

In the quiet solitude, you reflected on all the experiences, challenges, and triumphs that had shaped you. It seemed like only yesterday that you were just a wide-eyed girl, nervously setting out on your journey into the great unknown, your heart fluttering with a potent mix of excitement and trepidation. Back then, the future stretched out before you like a blank canvas, waiting to be painted in bold strokes and vibrant hues. Little did you know the masterpiece that would emerge from all the messy splatters and errant brushstrokes. 

As you sifted through the pages of your memory, you marveled at how far you had traveled from those tentative first steps. 

Each chapter of your story was etched with hard-won wisdom, resilience forged in the fires of adversity, and an unshakable belief in your own strength. 

There were moments of soaring joy juxtaposed against valleys of sorrow, yet you had emerged from it all with a profound sense of pride and gratitude. For even though your tale was far from over, and the pen of fate still hovered above crisp, waiting pages, you knew that the most pivotal chapters had already been written by your own courageous heart. 

And that was a story truly worth celebrating.

Even if the story wasn’t your own anymore, you still liked to reread every page, just to remind yourself where you had come from and how proud you deserved to be. 

The Manuscript Pt. II

Every time I write you a new chapter, a piece of myself goes with it. When your heart can't remember what you've held yourself captive for, you can use mine for a little bit.

Even if my sands get wiped from your shores, you can always reread the manuscript, because I am with you now and forevermore.

---

I hope you like what I've written you, honey. I love you so very much and I miss you more and more every day we're apart (that feeling inspired the poem; being apart is so painful, but writing is a way for me to feel closer to you🫂)

Merry Christmas, darling. I hope you find some time today to take for yourself, to relax and spend time with your loved ones and reflect and destress from such a crazy, chaotically beautiful year.

I am so very proud of you and of all you've accomplished in one year! You are such a beautiful wise and inspiring soul and my life is better for having you in it. I can't wait to give you a big hug in September 2025🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂