#i just keep them in my notebook binder

[braveblackbutterfly]

I kinda want to buy this or the Sappho's Hymn one even though I can't really display it anywhere in the house.

I just really love Eunnie's artwork, especially after reading "If You'll Have Me"!

[babyufo]

the urge to dig up my useless looseleaf textbooks from college and cut out all the interesting pictures bc theyre too old to resell for any worthwhile amount

[honeytonedhottie]

get ready to get back to school⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🗒️

i can hardly believe that school is coming up. in like, two/one week. ISNT THAT ABSURD? i feel like summer just flew past but im very excited to start my junior year of highschool…💬🎀

BUYING DREAM SCHOOL SUPPLIES ;

when ur school supplies are cute, you'll feel MOTIVATED to put them to good use. idek what it is. 99% of my school supplies are pink and because of that im motivated to take good notes, study my notes etc because seeing the sparks of pink just make me so HAPPY.

so ofc this year my school supply list has remained consistent in its color scheme of pink, pink and more pink 🎀. some things on my school shopping list are ->

notebooks

a binder

dividers for the binders with adorable labels

pink and purple gel pens (along with black gel pens)

pastel highlighters

looseleaf paper

a fluffy pink pen

FIX UR SLEEP SCHEDULE ;

ik a lot of us (including myself some times) stay up for way to long and feel like our sleep schedule is BEYOND repair but it is not. u need to be getting back into a consistent sleeping routine that keeps u healthy and well rested not only for back to school but for ur own well being. you'll have plenty of time tomorrow for what u choose to stay up all night doing, i promise.

FOR MY ONLINE GIRLIES ;

so this year i'll be taking a semester online so i've been dabbling in figuring out the perfect routine for an online school regimen. one in which i could balance personal and academic life in a healthy way (get sunlight everyday, sleep on time etc) some things that im going to prioritize while doing a semester online are ->

♡ getting fresh air everyday

♡ going for a walk everyday and making sure to stay active

♡ NOT doing school work in bed

so a tip i've learned is that the things that u do in bed, your mind will like, associate ur bed with it. so for example if ur constantly playing video games in bed, when its time to relax and go to bed, when ur in bed your mind will be like "time to play video games". so i will not be doing school work in bed, also for a healthy change of scenery…💬🎀

♡ going out with my friends and calling them everyday so that im not isolated

♡ keeping a steady and productive routine

SETTING GOALS ;

lets be goal oriented, A+ academic barbies this year ✍🏽. to make sure that ur doing ur very best its important to set goals for urself. having something to strive for is a great way to stay motivated and disciplined during the year. my goal for my junior year is to keep my straight A streak and finish with my law distinction (im 3/4 of the way done). and ofc its important to break down ur goals, and i'll give an example of how i did this.

so in freshman year ik i wanted a distinction in law, and to get a distinction in law i would have to take 4 separate law courses. there are 4 years in highschool so if i took one law course per school year i'd have my distinction. but i wanted to expedite the process so i took one course freshman year, and two courses sophomore year. this year i will take one more.

this frees up SO much time for me to get another distinction and since i've already taken a course of business in freshman year, i'll strive for my business distinction too…💬🎀

if u dont know where to start with goal setting for school here are some ideas ->

♡ maintain ur current GPA or try and raise it

♡ never get below a B on any assignment or test

♡ do every single homework assignment (never take a zero)

STAYING ORGANIZED ;

staying organized is CRUCIAL for being successful in school. i use notion to keep myself organized during the school year. by putting down dates for tests in my calendar, ik when i need to start preparing. and by making a todo list everyday i can stay on top of my assignment.

if u struggle with school organization, set aside an hour a day to just make sure that everything is in its place. and it doesnt even have to be an hour, just set aside time every single day to make sure that everything it where its supposed to be. it'll save you SO much time in the future and you'll rly thank urself for it in the future.

and to end this post, i'll share some school/academic related affirmations 💗

🗒️ im literally the definition of beauty and brains

📔 im the top of my class

🗒️ i must have perfect memory cuz i remember everything im taught in class

📔 im literally a GENIUS

🗒️ i effortlessly stay at the top of my class

📔 wow, im smart, pretty, AND talented?? god rly does have favorites

[bamsara]

Why did you start writing? From what I can tell you put a lot of passion into the works you make, where did it all start for the lovely stories you make now?

Wayyyy earlier when I was 9-10ish, and even at that age I was writing a lot, with just pencil and notebook paper. I know I have written earlier than that, but I have no evidence of it.

I filled up an entire 3inch binder with an entirely hand written story about a girl who lives who her grandma and has a dog named Trout, almost dies in tornado at school and finds out the tornado as a sentient being that was trying to kill her because she has some connection to a random dude that can control the weather, and a elegant queen lady who controls ice that basically adopts her and turns her into a scout to find other people who have elemental powers. She doesn't have any herself, but for some reason she can tell who does, and then can steal it. I still have that binder in my closet. Would not recommend reading it though lmao

I started publishing my writing online, fanfiction specifically, when I was 11ish and totally not supposed to be online yet. My first fanfic I wrote and published was for Soul Eater, and that account and those stories are still up to this day. (cringe warning for the exact kind of thing you would expect an 10-11 year old to write) I actually had two fanfic.net accounts, this one where I wrote L4D stuff too.

I switched from fanfic.net to Wattpad after I got into FNAF and wrote a bunch of Fnaf stuff from an AU I had in 2015, and that AU is what led me to making a tumblr account that year, mainly to post my art for my stories. (I had always been drawing, too, but I didn't start posting that until wattpad)

And then I switched to AO3 around 2018 and my stories have been there since. I have, quite literally, been writing for nearly 15 years, with pretty much all of my work well-documented online since I started.

I hate my older works from when I was a teen/kid, and even work from just a few years back, and even removed them at some point, but decided to keep them up for archival purposes. Especially since you can kinda see how my writing style has changed, my standards in writing like the wordcount going from 80k at 11yrs old to 200k something for my long fics, my viewpoints and beliefs, etc etc. I am also very...picky about the stories I read, so if I cannot find what I want, I will make it myself.

Writing is absolutely the best and most practiced coping mechanism I've had since forever. I will write even if I do not have any readers. I still write things that I do not post online, so overtime what was something I deeply enjoyed as a hobby and an outlet to process difficult and low parts of my life becoming something enjoyable to other people is kind of wild to me, still.

And I'll continue to do it even if one day this account explodes or something. When I said 'Writing and creating art is the only thing keeping me sane' I was not trying to be quirky /lighthearted. I'll dedicate entire days to writing chapters in a row.

But yeah I've been writing for a long while, I'm glad you guys really like it! Look at my cats

[psformybss]

could you please write something about secret fiancé! reader and Drew and how they met and their love story? I see them being high school sweethearts

Folded Notes & History

series masterlist

warnings: fluff, high school slowburn

an: i also see them as high school sweethearts! i tried my best to keep it kinda vague because if i got into details this would have been over 10k words but if anyone wants to see anything specific ab high school or college lmk and i will definitely write it

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

Junior year U.S. History smelled like old carpet, burnt coffee, and dry-erase markers that hadn’t been replaced since the Bush administration. The windows barely opened, the chairs squeaked every time someone moved, and the only working clock on the wall ticked just a little too loud.

Y/N sat in the second-to-last row, back straight, notes neat, her pen gliding across the lined paper in even strokes. She didn’t talk much in class—kept to herself mostly—but her notebooks were always full, color-coded, and annoyingly precise.

The seat behind her was usually occupied by Drew Starkey.

Basketball team starter. The kid who always had one earbud in until the teacher told him to take it out. Somehow managed to look both effortlessly tired and infuriatingly good in a wrinkled hoodie and scuffed-up Nikes. He wasn’t loud like the others. He laughed with his head tilted back and his whole chest, but he talked in this low, lazy voice that made people lean in.

He wasn’t in class that day.

Or the next.

By Friday, he slid into the desk behind her like he hadn’t missed a thing.

“Hey,” he said, a little raspy.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. Strep,” he said, tugging his hoodie up over his head and ruffling his hair. “Felt like swallowing knives.”

She winced. “Sounds awful.”

When the bell rang, everyone shuffled out—some slower than others, hoping to stall their way into lunch. Y/N was stuffing her folders into her bag when Drew tapped her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said again, a little more unsure this time. “You, uh… take good notes?”

She blinked. “What kind of question is that?”

He grinned. “The kind where I’m hoping you’ll let me borrow them.”

She stared for a second, weighing her options, then flipped open her binder and gently tore out three pages.

“Here,” she said. “Don’t crumple them.”

Drew took the pages like they were made of gold leaf. “Whoa. Color-coded and everything.”

“I like things to make sense,” she said with a small smile.

He gave her a look—just a flicker of something amused and genuine, like he hadn’t expected her to be funny. “Thanks. Seriously. I owe you.”

“You can pay me back by actually listening in class,” she teased.

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

From then on, something shifted.

It started subtly. He started saying hey every morning, even when he didn’t need notes. He started tossing her pens when hers ran out mid-lecture. When they got assigned group work, he pulled his desk up to hers before the teacher even finished talking.

They weren’t friends yet. But they were circling something.

One Wednesday in early February, she caught him doodling in the margins of his quiz while they waited for the bell. He passed her the paper before handing it in—Mr. Klein drawn as a Cold War dictator, complete with sunglasses and an absurdly large cigar. She snorted, smacked him lightly with her pen, and nearly got detention for “disrupting the learning environment.”

That afternoon, Drew waited by her locker.

She blinked in surprise. “Did you get lost?”

“Nah.” He shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay…”

“You busy Friday?”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“I was thinking… coffee. And maybe you could quiz me for the test. But mostly coffee.”

She raised a brow. “You’re using school as a cover to ask me out?”

“I’m multi-talented.”

She smiled. “I’m free after six.”

That Friday afternoon, the sky was overcast, and the wind had a bite to it—the kind that made you hunch your shoulders and tuck your hands deeper into your pockets. The coffee shop sat on the edge of downtown, nestled between a dusty used bookstore and a florist whose windows fogged from the heat inside. It smelled like cinnamon and espresso the second you walked through the door, the kind of scent that made you want to stay a little longer than you meant to.

Y/N slid into the corner booth first, the red vinyl cool beneath her jeans. Drew followed, his backpack thumping softly against the seat as he dropped it beside him. The table between them was scratched and slightly wobbly, and one of the overhead bulbs flickered every few seconds, casting them in and out of soft, golden light.

Drew’s hands dwarfed the paper coffee cup he held. He turned it in slow circles, fingers twitching around the lid. His foot tapped under the table in a restless rhythm—quick, uneven, like he couldn’t decide if he was cold or just anxious.

“You okay?” Y/N asked, tilting her head slightly, eyes flicking down toward the motion.

He offered a quick smile, almost sheepish. “Yeah. Just… too much energy, maybe. I had practice this morning, but I guess it didn’t wear me out enough.”

“You’re practically vibrating.”

“Could be the caffeine. Or nerves.” He met her gaze for a second and then looked away, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’d made a joke he wasn’t sure she’d laugh at.

She gave him a small smile. “Nervous about what?”

He shrugged, eyes on the lid of his cup. “I don’t know. Talking, maybe.”

“But you talk to everyone,” she said, brow raised.

“Yeah, but not like this.”

Her smile faltered slightly, not because his words were bad—but because they felt… honest. Real.

They had both said they needed to study. Finals were creeping up fast, and the stress was starting to hang over the school like storm clouds, thick and heavy. But neither of them had even unzipped their backpacks.

Instead, they talked.

About everything and nothing at all.

He told her about late nights after football practice—how the field looked different when it was empty and quiet, the stadium lights buzzing above him, casting long shadows. Sometimes he stayed behind after everyone left, just to sit in the silence. He told her how his shoulder clicked every time he threw too hard, and how he’d ice it without telling the coach because he didn’t want to be benched.

“I hate calculus more than I hate losing a game,” he confessed, resting his forehead against the heel of his hand. “And that’s saying something.”

“That bad?” Y/N asked, hiding a smile behind her cup.

Drew groaned. “It’s like a foreign language I was never supposed to learn. And the teacher… he acts like we’re just lazy, not confused.”

She nodded. “I get that. It’s the worst when they make you feel dumb for asking questions.”

“Exactly,” he said, lifting his head. “Like, I already feel stupid. No need to pile on.”

She traced the rim of her cup with one finger, letting the steam rise into her face. “That’s why I always study with music on. I can’t do silence—it makes everything feel heavier.”

Drew looked at her, curious. “Music helps?”

“It’s like… noise that doesn’t expect anything from me,” she said. “Just fills the space so my brain doesn’t spiral.”

He nodded slowly, like he was filing that away for later. “What kind of music?”

“Depends. If it’s math, it has to be instrumental. If it’s history, I can do lyrics. English? Full-on sad playlists.” She smiled at that. “Like tragic heartbreak anthems while I write essays.”

Drew laughed, the sound warm and low. “You’re way more strategic than I am.”

“I just can’t sit in a quiet room and focus. It makes me feel like I’m waiting to mess up.”

He was quiet for a second, watching her with a softness in his expression that hadn’t been there earlier. “I didn’t know that.”

She shrugged. “Not something I really talk about.”

He leaned back, stretching one arm over the booth. “Well, for the record, if you ever need study music, I make a mean playlist.”

“Oh yeah?” she teased. “Do you specialize in tragic heartbreak anthems too?”

“Only the best,” he grinned. “I’ve got taste, Y/N.”

They laughed, and the tension that had been buzzing low between them since they sat down seemed to lift, just a little.

Outside, the sky had faded into a dull blue-gray, and the streetlamps were flickering to life. Inside the café, the lights over the counter glowed golden, making everything feel softer, smaller—like they were the only ones in the world for a little while.

“I like this,” Drew said after a beat, his voice quieter now. “Just… talking.”

Y/N met his eyes. “Me too.”

His foot had finally stopped tapping. His hand rested on the table now, not far from hers.

“You make it easy,” he added.

Her heart jumped at that, but she kept her voice steady. “Easy to what?”

He shrugged, almost shy. “To be myself.”

There was a silence after that—not the kind that felt heavy or awkward, but the kind that settled between them like something gentle. Like understanding. Like maybe they were both just starting to see something they hadn’t quite realized before.

The following week, students spilled out of the building in slow waves, some lingering in clumps by the flagpole, others heading straight for their cars with earbuds in and heads down. Y/N adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, juggling her water bottle and a loose folder full of notes.

“Hey,” Drew’s voice cut through the low hum of chatter as he caught up to her just outside the double doors, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.

She turned, surprised. “Hey.”

He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking unsure. “You headed out?”

“Yeah. Long day.”

“Wanna walk together?” he asked, his voice almost too casual. “I mean—I’ll walk you to your car. If that’s cool.”

It was.

They fell into step beside each other, his steps a little slower than usual to match hers. The air smelled like cut grass and something sweet from the vending machines by the gym. Neither of them said much, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was a quiet ease in it. Just the occasional brush of his arm against hers and the low hum of his voice when he pointed out a sticker on someone’s bumper that made him laugh.

When they reached her car, she turned to unlock the door, but paused.

“Thanks,” she said softly, glancing up at him.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking like he wanted to say something more but didn’t.

Instead, he smiled. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Tomorrow.”

And he waited until she pulled out of the parking space before turning to leave.

A couple of weeks later, it was Thursday, right after seventh period. The bell had just rung, and the halls were buzzing with bodies and noise—slammed lockers, overlapping conversations, the occasional squeak of sneakers on linoleum.

Y/N was heading toward the front stairwell when she felt someone catch her hand gently from behind.

She turned, and there he was.

Drew.

Still wearing his practice jersey from PE, cheeks a little flushed, eyes scanning hers like he was trying to read something written just beneath the surface.

“Hey,” he said, a little breathless, like maybe he’d jogged to catch up.

She smiled. “Hey. What’s up?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he stepped a little closer, checking over his shoulder. The hallway was mostly clear now, just a few stragglers around the far corner. His fingers laced through hers.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” he murmured.

And then he leaned in.

His lips met hers in a kiss that was quick but warm, like a spark that caught and lit something deeper. It wasn’t showy, or practiced, or perfect—but it was real. He pulled back just enough to look at her, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his face.

Her heart was racing, but she smiled back.

He tapped her knuckles gently. “See you eighth period.”

And just like that, he disappeared around the corner, leaving her standing in the middle of the hallway with a stunned grin and the taste of cinnamon gum still on her lips.

By the time spring bloomed and the world smelled like fresh grass and impending finals, they were inseparable. The kind of inseparable that made other people tease them in passing.

Afternoons were for shared iced coffees and laying in the sun behind the bleachers. Evenings were late-night phone calls that started with “I should probably study” and ended with whispered laughter and one of them falling asleep mid-sentence.

And that’s when she started writing him notes.

Little ones. Folded into triangles with sharp creases, sometimes stickers stuck to the outside—smiling suns or tiny frogs with glittery eyes. The messages varied. Sometimes it was a quote from a book she liked. Sometimes a joke from class. Sometimes just: good luck today or don’t fall asleep in history again or I’ll steal your hoodie.

She slipped them into the vents of his locker when no one was watching—between fourth and fifth period, right before his lit class. He never said much about them, but she’d catch glimpses: Drew standing at his locker, one shoulder pressed to the metal like he was shielding the moment from the world, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he read her words.

He kept them all.

She found that out months later, on a quiet Saturday afternoon in his room. The window was open, and the curtains moved with the breeze. She sat cross-legged on the floor, picking through a shoebox of old ticket stubs and tangled friendship bracelets, when she found them—flattened out notes stacked neatly under a band of ribbon.

“You kept them?” she asked, holding one up between two fingers, her voice caught somewhere between laughing and blushing.

Drew looked up from where he was sprawled on the bed, arms tucked behind his head. He didn’t even pretend to be embarrassed.

“They were the best part of my day,” he said simply.

She blinked at him, heart stuttering, and looked down at the mess of her handwriting, all those tiny things she’d never really expected him to remember—much less treasure.

“You’re such a sap,” she teased, but her voice was soft. Adoring.

He sat up then, barefoot and slightly rumpled, his t-shirt creased from the way he’d been lying. He rubbed the back of his neck like he did when he was nervous, and she tilted her head.

“What?”

“I was gonna wait,” he said, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. “Like… I had this idea to ask you at prom or something cheesy like that.”

She grinned. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, still fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “But then you found the box, and you smiled like that, and—God, I really don’t wanna wait.”

Her smile softened. “Wait for what?”

He looked up at her then, finally, and she could see it in his eyes—the mix of hope and nerves, like the way he looked right before a big game.

“To call you my girlfriend,” he said. “Like, officially. If you want.”

She didn’t answer right away.

She leaned forward, one hand on the edge of the bed, the other still holding one of her notes, and kissed him—light and warm, like the breeze drifting through the open window. His hand found hers, fingers curling around her palm.

When she pulled back, she was still smiling.

“Of course I want to.”

And for a second, neither of them said anything else. The world felt small and soft and safe, like maybe everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

Then senior year came. So did prom, late-night drives, college decisions, and the terrifying realization that not everything lasted forever.

But somehow, they did.

Even when school ended.

Even when dorms and deadlines tried to pull them in opposite directions.

And now, years later, he still has that shoebox.

She still folds her notes into triangles.

And he still grins like a boy with a secret every time he finds one.

[glowettee]

the secret to taking notes that make you want to study ✧˖°

hey lovelies! mindy heree <3

for this post i'm superrr excited to share a guide on taking notes that make you want to study ✧˖° trust me, i know how overwhelming it can get when it feels like you're stuck in the middle of endless textbooks and dry lecture slides (honestly, we all have those days). so, let's transform your note taking into something delightful, empowering, and totally reflective of your unique self.

✧ finding your vibe first things first, bestie: the key here is to make your notes feel personal and inspiring. rather than sticking to a rigid system, i suggest mixing a little structure with a whole lot of creativity. here are some steps to help you set up your perfect note taking vibe:

choose your medium: even if it’s a cute pastel notebook, sticky notes, or a digital app with fun themes, pick something that sparks joy and invites you to open it up. i personally love notion + remnote + coda

establish sections: break your notes into clear sections. introduction, main points, and summary. this not only boosts organization but also gives you a gratifying sense of progress every time you finish a page.

add your signature touch: doodles, small illustrations, or even a decorative border can make a note feel less like a chore and more like a mini art project. i love using aesthetic symbols for my digital notes <3

✧ creating a study ritual i believe that great notes come from a relaxed and focused mind. try integrating these rituals into your study sessions to set a positive tone, this is really important if you want to make note-taking fun:

begin with a short breathing exercise or a moment of gratitude (think of it as your pre-study pep talk).

play some light instrumental music or your favorite lo-fi beats, or playlist. something to keep your mind in a creative zone without distractions. (i have a great playlist i made that i use for tackling assignments here: 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀, 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀! <3)

grab your favorite beverage (i’m a fan of herbal tea or a cute iced coffee) and make sure you're comfortable. a little self-care goes a long way!

✧ structuring your notes for clarity a well-organized layout makes reviewing notes less daunting and more interactive. and obviously so much more fun, consider using this format for a balanced + demureee approach:

start with a title and date: it grounds your notes and gives you a quick reference.

write a brief summary of the topic: in your own words, capture the essence of what you’re about to learn. just summarize it as best as possible

list key points: use bullet points, numbered lists, or even headers for different subtopics. tip: use cute symbols for bullet points

highlight examples: it can be a quote, a definition, or an application concept, mark these with a star or a cute icon.

close with a reflection: jot down any questions, what you found most interesting, or even a mini action item related to the topic. this is your space for self-talk and reflection.

✧ turning notes into interactive canvases (cause we need it) notes aren’t meant to be static pages floating in an endless binder. make them interactive to truly boost your study sessions:

include thought-provoking questions: ask yourself things like “what would elle woods do?” (lol, we love her <3) or “how does this connect with real life?” to spark critical thinking.

add mini quizzes: at the end of each section, write one or two questions that challenge you to recall key points.

leave room for updates: as you learn more, come back and add extra notes, doodles, or even inspirational stickers (yes, just like in a scrapbook!).

✧ personal tips from mindy because i want you to shine in every note you take, here are my totally secret, fun tips to elevate your note routine:

secret tip #1: color with purpose choose a color palette that not only looks cute but also maps out different themes in your subject. use one color for definitions, another for examples, and maybe a sparkly tone for key takeaways. over time, these colors will trigger your memory (i promise, it really works!).

secret tip #2: integrate affirmations studying can be stressful sometimes, so why not lace your notes with a few tender affirmations? write a quick pep talk (like “i got this, bestie” or “every detail counts”) in a corner. it might seem small, but these little lines can boost your confidence when you need it most. and it's just so freaking cute <3 affirmations from you to you, is like a love letter to yourself, so just try it

secret tip #3: try mind mapping if you’re more of a visual learner, create mind maps instead of linear notes. start with the main topic in the center and branch out with related ideas and details. this not only makes your notes dynamic but also helps you see connections between concepts (ever notice how some subjects just click with a visual flow?).

secret tip #4: use digital tools creatively if you’re leaning towards digital note taking, like me, experiment with apps that support drawing, voice notes, and even embedded links. add images that resonate with the topic or short videos for a quick concept refresher. making your digital notebook interactive can really keep boredom at bay.

secret tip #5: schedule weekly note reviews set aside a bit of time every week to revisit your notes. treat it as a mini self-study session where you update, add reflections, or even reorganize sections for clarity. this habit not only reinforces your learning but also lets you see your own progress over time, like looking back on how far you’ve come.

✧ action items for the week (it's homework timeee) to wrap things up, here are a few steps to try:

pick one class or topic this week and redo your notes using one or two of these tips (maybe add a mind map or a quick quiz).

experiment with color coding: choose colors that resonate with you and assign them to key points or sections.

schedule a 10-minute review session at the end of the week to refresh and reflect on your notes.

share your progress with a friend or even a study group to celebrate little victories. accountability can boost your motivation!

note: note taking is a creative process that should feel as refreshing and inspiring as a new day. keep experimenting until you find what truly works for you. i hope these tips help you get excited about every page you write on.

xoxo, mindy

I made this amazzinggg playlist (as mentioned earlier in the post) and its specifically made to help you complete homework + assignments. i curated it to make sure its soft music to help you focus <3 love from mindyyy 🩷

don't forget, if you need personal advice, submit it here and i'll answer it as a detailed tumblr blog post <3: https://bit.ly/glowetteehotline

[rangerbarbz]

Professor Pines

Author’s Note: hey y’all! This is the start of a professor Ford AU that I’m working on. Thank you so much for being patient, and I am so excited to hear what you think about this! Sorry if some of this is inaccurate. I have not gotten my masters yet 

“Prologue” 

You sat outside Dr. Pines’ office bouncing your leg to expend the anxious energy flooding your mind. You were rearranging your manila folder of papers for the third time already. You couldn’t decide what would be the best order for him to read them in. Not like it really mattered anyways. It was just a nervous fidget to keep your mind off of the fact this was the last shot for you to get a sponsor for your Master’s research. He was finishing up a meeting with another student; you could hear pieces of his deep voice through the oak door. You hadn’t gotten to meet Dr. Pines yet. Your conversations hadn’t breached your Email inbox, but you were eager to finally have a discussion face-to-face. 

The door creaked open and a young man walked into the hallway, slinging a backpack over his shoulder. “Have a good day! I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” Dr. Pines called out to him. You exhaled through your mouth and placed the folder in a binder that held laminated pictures you had taken. You stood up from the cushioned bench you were sitting on to enter his office. Any confidence you might have regained was lost when you ran face first into what could be your research mentor. Your face and arms collided with his broad chest and caused the papers kept snug in your folder to spill out onto the linoleum floor. 

“Oh good heavens, I am so sorry,” Dr. Pines apologized, bending down to pick up the scattered papers at your feet. This could not get any worse. 

“Oh, no it’s fine. I- I am sorry. I should’ve announced myself,” you replied, a furious blush spreading across your face. You had also joined him on the ground to pick up the remaining papers. 

He chuckled. “You’re quite alright. Don’t worry about it,” he reassured you as you both stood up. He had a small smile on his face as he handed you some lined notebook paper filled with your rushed scribble. His fingertips brushed against yours in the process. You could feel they were calloused; a sharp contrast to your soft ones. 

“Why don’t we get started,” he said, walking towards his desk. “I’m excited to hear what you have to say.” He sat down at his swivel chair and scooted forward. “I spoke with some of my colleagues from the biology department after receiving your email, and I think you have some very interesting ideas.”

You beamed at him as you began to shuffle through your belongings. “Yes, yes! I know you are a lover of cryptozoology like myself, and I wanted to speak with you about studying some creatures that I came face to face with while visiting the Appalachian Mountains earlier this year.” You handed him your binder which he immediately began to flip through. He was careful and nodded along as you continued to speak about your experiences in east Tennessee. It was nice that he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say. 

You had not had that luck with other professors you had spoken with about your findings. They either didn’t care or believed it was a hoax. It was until you had checked out a book at the library about a town in Oregon written by none other than Dr. Stanford Pines that you realized he was the key to fulfilling your plans. You had never had a class with him when you were an undergraduate, so you didn’t know much about him besides the fact he was very intelligent and had six fingers. 

He’s not so bad looking either. He was wearing a light blue button-up with a brown tweed coat over it. He had thick, gray hair with a lighter silver streak and wire rimmed glasses balanced on a strong nose. He ran his hand over his stubble and raised his eyebrows towards your photos.

“This is…” Dr. Pines paused. His eyes met yours as he closed your binder. “Incredible.” Your eyes widened and you failed to suppress the ecstatic grin forming across your face. 

“T-thank you, sir,” you replied. 

He then stood up from behind his desk to sit in the chair beside you. “Y/N, this is truly remarkable. I mean,” he began to flip through your notes from the folder, “the amount of thought and organization that went into this is unlike what I've seen in other students.” He gazed at you, his expression softening. “I’m sorry my foolish colleagues didn’t see your potential, but I’m glad that I could be the one that did.”

You felt like you could cry. “You have no idea how much that means to me,” you responded shakily. “Does this mean you will be my faculty sponsor?” 

He gave you a toothy smile and got on his feet to extend a hand towards you. “I am going to do everything in my power to make sure you get the answers you deserve. This summer, I am proposing we travel out to the Appalachia and take a look ourselves.” You hopped up and took his hand into yours, giving him a firm but enthusiastic handshake. 

“Thank you so much, Dr. Pines. I am so grateful for this opportunity.” You started to pick up your things. “Really, I am just so excited, sir.” 

He chuckled, waving his hand dismissively at you. “No more formalities, Y/N. You can just call me Ford. We’ll be spending quite a lot of time together this summer, so I’d rather you just use my real name. It’ll be easier for both of us.” 

Your face became slightly warm and you gave him a small smile. “Okay. Sounds good, Ford,” you said, trying out the name for yourself. 

“Y-yes very well.” His voice had faltered. Was he blushing? “I won’t keep you. I’m sure you’re busy; I’ll be emailing you.” 

“I’ll be expecting you. Have a good day, Ford. It was nice to meet you, and thank you again for this,” you said sincerely,  placing your hand on the rickety door frame.  He grinned. “You too, Y/N. I look forward to working with you.” You gave him a little wave before walking out of his office. This was going to be the start of something wonderful.

Author's Note: There will be more but this is just setting up the story!!

[separatetheyolk]

I need need neeeeeed headcanons of a trans!reader and Lewis Hamilton featuring Isack Hadjar, they’re little selfie moment is living rent free in my head rn

Lewis Hamilton X Trans!Driver!Reader

ʚɞfeaturing: Lewis Hamilton & Isack Hadjar

ʚɞ Trans!Driver!Reader headcannons

ʚɞ contents: mentions of needles, surgery, media, dysphoria obvs

ʚɞ word count: 1,135

ʚɞ note: trans man reader intended. He/him pronouns used.

✰ Coming out:

He was a little blind sighted at first

Initially, you took that as he was against the whole thing

He quickly cleared that up

If over text/phone call, he'd go over the very basics with you. Name, pronouns, if there were any plans on coming out publicly, who knew, how should he address you to others, that kinda thing

He'd save the more in depth topics to talk about in person. Whether that would be in a few hours or a few weeks

Transition goals, coming out to the public/family/friends if you haven't by the time he's home, things he can do to make your life easier, how he should address transphobia, so on so forth

This man would RESEARCH

Like im talking what would usually be a minimalist phone/laptop with about 4 tabs open at any one time would turn into an absolute shambles of about thrity tabs and 4 separate notes

Would absolutely buy a new notebook JUST for writing down what he's learnt

If you learnt about this he would turn into a blushing, stuttering mess

Would absolutely help you come out to the rest of the drivers/crews if you needed. Would tell them for you if you decide that's best

Would absolutely drive home his support for the LGBT community, support/fund charities, create spaces for them in racing, stand out against injustices

✰ Transition:

The first thing that would be discussed in regards to your transition would be what would you want done

He'd make a list

Though obviously would leave it open for you to add or take away things

Take things at your pace

With your permission, he'd probably take care of the forms side of things such as name changes, gender markers, new passports, visas, paddock passes

Would help you to plan your transition around the F1 seasons

For the sake of easiness on my part we'll say you want top surgery and testoseterone a short haircut and all the things that come with a social transition

Would help you find a barber you like and would make sure they're LGBT friendly and do home visits. Partly for your comfortablility with not wanting to be stared at by other clients but also because media, fans, photos, big nono

Would help you gain your diagnosis of gender dysphoria

Then would help you with getting testosterone

Obviously, because of going on testosterone, the question of kids/egg freezing would come up

Essentially, it came down to Lewis is 40 now, you're both focusing on careers, but you never know so best to just freeze them. Just incase

If you don't use them? Eh, oh well.

If he's afraid of needles (?? The guy shits himself at the sight of an onion but drives f1 cars and scares tigers so i really dont know?? He also has tattoos? But so do I and i'm still scared of them so??) he'd get over them to help you with T shots

Sit there and massage your thigh if it started to hurt after the shot/if your nerves start to get shot from the injections. Would not stop unless you say your uncomfortable or the pain dies down

Would wait on you hand and foot after your top surgery.

Absolutely advocate for you medically if you needed him to. "He's struggling to keep down food" "He said he's in pain. Can you up the pain medication or no?" "Hey, just calling to ask if we can loosen the bandages at all? He say's the drains feel like they're cutting his skin"

Bad dysphoria day? "Here babe, take my hoodie" "You need some privacy?" "Come on, lets get you away from these cameras" "I know you don't like wearing the race suit but you can't race in your binder" "Lazy day? Sure, we can do that"

If and when you're comfortable, he'd 100% worship your body. He might not 100% understand why you dislike it, but damn he's gonna help you to like it even if it's just for an hour

He'd either stand in front of wind to block it or direct you out the way of it to stop it from showing your waist and chest because he can't have you feeling uncomfortable :(

Just small things like that. Things that most probably wouldn't even think of but he does

✰ Fashion:

He would defo help you explore mens fashion

I mean, this is Sir Lewis Hamilton afterall

He'd keep mental notes of what styles you liked, the different cuts, the fabrics, even ones you'd shown intrest in but too scared to try on

He'd also probably take mental notes of what shirts you liked but didn't want to buy due to lack of top surgery

And then would buy them for you after you've had it and healed

Ofc, lots of baggy clothing and hoodies on standby too

Would probably start wearing them more often for you incase you ever needed it

If he's not wearing one it's probably in a bag

Would teach you how to layer clothes to hide your waist

Notices how your jeans are too long length wise but fit your waist so offers to get them tailored

Quickly learns what colours hide shadows of your chest better

When bad dysphoria days fall on hot days and you're wearing thick clothing, this man is reminding you to drink more than a race engineer

Would sneak off to help you put your binder on before any podium celebrations regardless on weather your up there or not

Because sweaty, binder sticks, get stuck if you attempt to put it on alone

Eventually FIA had to stop fining you for being late after your team and fans threw the word "discrimination" around

Defo have like 5 different binders

✰ Media:

Lewis isn't typically one for confrontation in public. Though would absolutely stand by you in boycotting from races in *cough*certain*cough* countries.

If you're in a photo and you decide you don't like it, photo will immediately be deleted and another will be taken without you in it if thats what you want. Zero questions asked

More recently the selfie with Isack. He knew immediately you hated it. He prompted Isack to delete it then encouraged him to take a new selfie without you in it

He was a little confused

Lewis let you explain in private

Say no more, first photo deleted

Doesn’t take a single "joke" photo of you, doesn’t post any photos online with you in them without your permission. Even if you're barely recognisable in the background and it's on his private accounts

Honestly, Isack would be an absolute sweetheart about it all

Lewis would block you from cameras if needed

Tbh most of the grid would do that

Basically, the guy would be your absolute rock.

[hihello-pinky]

Sight (5)

Suna Rintarou X F! Reader

Sometimes, it takes losing someone to finally see them. He wished he knew this before, but Rintaro had to learn this the hard way.

Genre: Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and in no way represents my views of the original anime/manga characters.

WARNINGS: nothing, just fluff, and OH, did not go through proofreading lols

Word Count: 1.6k

Surprise quick update! I know I said in the last part that things are about to get downhill starting from this chapter. However, I really enjoyed writing this one that I had to cut out the angst portion. So... this is also quite a short read. Happy reading, though!

Kindly reblog, like, and/or leave a comment if you loved this chapter and let me know what you think! xoxo

part one part two part three part four

kofi ~~

˚✧₊⁎⁎⁺˳✧༚ - - - ˚✧₊⁎⁎⁺˳✧༚

“I’m very happy, Y/N,” Dr. Hirai says in front of you as she examines the papers. “These results look good. You haven’t been stressed much lately?”

You beam at the woman. “I guess so. My headaches have rarely occurred as well.”

”Great.” She smiles as she picks up her pen and starts to write. “I’m going to prescribe you some vitamins and supplements. But remember, rest and sleep is top priority, okay?”

You respond with a nod, akin to a child receiving instructions from their parent on the first day of school.

As you wait for Dr. Hirai to finish writing the prescription, a knock comes on the door. After the doctor’s “Come in”, your husband’s head peeks inside.

”Hi, Doc.” He greets before looking at you. “Hey. Something came up at the company and I have to go there. Would you want to wait for me at the cafe across the street?”

Other times you would have felt disappointed about his need to leave, but the mere fact that he’s informing you - through a cute peek at the door nonetheless - makes your heart flutter instead.

“Okay, sure.”

Rin shoots you a smile that almost melts your heart. “Great. I’ll keep you posted.”

And just like that, the door closes again. You turn to Dr. Hirai to see her looking at you. “Anything’s the matter, Doc?”

The woman just smiles before handing you the prescription. “Oh, nothing, Y/N. Nothing.”

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

You watch the busy street through the window, your hand tapping a pen against your journal. You’re not one to miss writing daily but these past several weeks, you have been too preoccupied to jot down your thoughts.

Then, there’s also the matter of an irrational fear.

Truth be told, you’ve been happy since that night Rintarou admitted his attraction to you; the night he asked you to give him a chance and for you two to get to know each other.

You’d love to pen down those memories but there’s a voice at the back of your head telling you that it’s a bad idea. That it’s a prelude to something terrible happening.

You place your pen on the table and flip through the older entries on your journal, only to remember the entries you are looking for are no longer in the notebook’s binder. You had them removed and placed in a box the day before you asked Rin for divorce, thinking that it's time to give up on trying to make things work for both of you.

But then, things have changed now.

Or have they really changed? That voice in your head asks in skepticism.

What if, just like before, this “peace” is a fluke? What if Rin ends up hurting you again?

You close your eyes tightly and rub at your temples. You shouldn’t be entertaining this kind of thoughts. Overthinking and worrying about things from five years ago…

”Hey, Y/N? Is that you?” A familiar voice brings you out of your thoughts and you open your eyes only to be met by a friendly smile.

”Oh,” you say in pleasant surprise, “Hi, Hajime. What an unexpected meeting.”

The older guy's smile widens as he gestures for the seat across you. You nod in reply, closing your journal and putting it at the side.

”What brings you here?”

”I had a check-up with my doctor at the hospital across the street. How about you?”

At your question, Hajime scratches his nape. You notice his ears redden and you try not to smile at how boyishly embarrassed he looks. “Um, I’m visiting someone.”

”A friend?”

He locks eyes with you and groans at the teasing look that you know is visible on your face. “Okay, okay. She’s not technically a friend. I… met her one night through an accident, my motorcycle bumped into her. Thankfully, her injuries are not serious.”

”Oh my god,” you cover your mouth in reflex. You compose yourself before continuing, “I’m assuming she’s okay, though?”

Hajime waves his hand in front of you. “No worries! She’s fine and getting better. In fact, she’s about to get discharged tomorrow.” He suddenly clicks his tongue. “Am I bad to feel sad about her being discharged? I won’t have a reason to see her anymore.”

This time, you’re not able to stop yourself from laughing. “Hajime, that’s silly! Why won’t you just ask her out? Or her family and friends, maybe? You probably have met some of them, right?”

He smiles sheepishly and it’s a contrast to his usual demeanor when in the playground with his son. “I’m nervous to ask. Also, her family’s not here. She very recently moved back to the country from living abroad several years before. She also mentioned she has yet to reconnect with any of her old friends.”

”Oh, I see. But isn’t that reason enough to ask her out, if you’re really interested in her?”

”I guess so…”

Seeing the flush on your friend’s face makes you smile. “Who would have thought you’d get yourself in a classic meet-cute scenario?”

”Ugh, Y/N, please stop teasing me.” You know he means to reprimand, but Hajime still joins you in your laughter.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

“Fuck.” Suna resists the urge to throw his phone after the screen died on him. The battery had been on the verge of dying and he couldn’t find his charger anywhere. So, he’s on the way to the cafe, hoping that you didn’t decide to go somewhere else.

As he approaches the entrance, it amazes him how he’s quick to spot you in a crowd now. He sees the baby pink dress you’re wearing, your cardigan looking soft and comfortable over it. He also notes that you had tied your hair into a bun, a few strands framing your face.

And then he notices you’re not alone. To his dismay, he recognizes the person you’re currently with. Before he knows it, Suna is already brisk-walking the short distance from the entrance to your table.

You notice his presence as you look up at him and smile. That very sweet and innocent smile instantly calms him down a notch. He takes a deep breath. “Hey. I wasn’t able to send you a message, my phone died on me.”

”That’s okay.” Then, gesturing to your companion, you ask, “Rin, you remember Hajime?”

Suna tries to sound as nonchalant as possible as he faces the man. “Yeah. What brings you here?”

Hajime gives him what he assumes to be a friendly smile and Suna reminds himself that there’s no acceptable reason why he should give in to the urge to punch the smile out of the man’s face. “I was gonna visit someone at the hospital.”

Before Suna can respond, the man quickly checks his watch as if suddenly remembering and curses under his breath. “Oh, shoot. Uh, I should go.” He gives a wave before going over to the counter to make his purchase.

Suna shakes his head, a small scoff leaving his mouth. “Rin,” you call his attention. “Let’s go?” He watches you zip your bag close and before you can put the strap on your shoulder, he swiftly grabs to carry it for you.

If he didn’t turn his back as soon as he does so, he wouldn’t have missed your blush and smile.

˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚ ˚₊⁎⁎⁺˳༚

Once you reach Rintarou’s car, he asks if you have your phone charger with you. As you say yes, he asks again if you would plug it in the car’s charging port as he maneuvers the car out of parking.

You do as he asks and, as you place his phone on the console, notice some things that spark your concern.

”Rin?”

”Yeah?” He responds, eyes ahead.

”I know we both have sweet tooth, but didn’t we agree not to give Risa and Ryuu too much candy?”

”Huh?”

”Lollipops and gums,” you answer, finally tearing your eyes away from the items that had caught your attention. You turn to Rin and watch as the confusion leaves his face.

To your surprise, he only chuckles in response. “Those aren’t for the kids, Y/N. They’re mine.”

Now, it’s your turn to feel lost. “Huh?”

Rintarou bites his lips. “I’m trying to quit smoking. I heard those are nice alternatives.”

”Oh.” You’re at a loss of words for a moment, remembering the many times you have told him in the past that smoking is bad for the health. As you struggle to find what to say, Rin continues.

”It’s gonna take a while though. To be honest, this isn’t the first time I’m trying and it’s really hard.” A small laugh. “I’ve been smoking even before I was legally allowed to. But god, I do hope I can finally quit this time.” He shoots you a quick smile. “I don’t want my wife to leave me because of nicotine problems.”

And just like that, whatever response you’ve been able to come up with in your mind gets forgotten, chased away by the butterflies in your stomach.

Rintarou has been doing this a lot lately: calling you his wife.

Of course he had done so in the past, but they were all said in mockery, with the intent to spite and hurt you. It’s the very opposite now. He knows he makes you flustered and you know he enjoys seeing you blush.

You turn your head to look out the window, hoping he can’t see your very red face. Behind you, he laughs a little. It does not help in calming the beating of your heart. “What’s the matter, Y/N?”

”Shut up, Rin!"

to be continued.

taglist (lmk if you wanna be added or if you changed your user): @warrior-of-justice @alisa--things @wolffmaiden @kurookinnie @simp-nerd-16  @alex-is-100 @k4g3hika @harukaaaaa172993 @themoonreflectsthesun  @lvjycrow @cantbedenied @sweetlikerockcandy @sirimiripetrichor @yamiakari-chi  @noideawhothatis @nervouscoffeetaco @lovemyfamily4ever-blog nervouscoffeetaco  kamukayakmonyet  yuqixidle ieathairs  cantbedenied  gariben  beomeomgyu  esmeisdrunk-blog  123j456l  iluv-ace  semitje @justablogforreblogs @alienvarmint @itohsi @tamimemo @mshope16 @jeonsfizz @syndyj @susuarin @ssc7514 @tkooooop @lialoveskaisersomuch @dilucsleftshoelace @bakingcuriosity @appepel

[milkoomi]

semester success. ᥫ᭡

[ 3 chapter mini series ]

in this series, i’m going to teach you all my helpful tips and tricks on how to succeed in the new semester in just 3 quick chapters! get ready to take notes, we’re diving right in!

chapter one — THE STARTING WEEK

the first week of a new semester can be daunting. how the rest of your semester will go depends on how your first week starts. so let’s make sure we start the semester on the right foot!

class is in session …

୨ৎ — the week before

if you can start preparations at least one week before the start of the new semester, do it!

here’s what you can do:

monday & tuesday - gather all your supplies

the basics…

backpack / school bag

folders / binders / notebooks / planner

pencil case / pencils / pens / highlighters

laptop / tablet / tablet pen / chargers

essentials…

textbooks / required materials

personal care & hygiene products (i.e. deodorant, perfume, lip balm, hair ties, hand sanitizer, feminine products)

headphones

in case you’re missing a few extra supplies, be sure to go and make those necessary purchases! create a checklist if you have to!

wednesday - check student email

be sure to check your student email for any new updates from your teachers/professors! you also want to make sure you give yourself a solid amount of time before classes start back up to keep checking for updates and/or important announcements.

** from this point up until the day before your new semester starts, keep checking your student email. i recommend checking at least 4 times per day! once in the morning around 8-9am, twice in the afternoon around 12-1pm & around 3-4pm, and then once more at night around 7-8pm!

thursday & friday - plan for the first week

grab your planner (whether it’s physical or digital) and take some time to plan out your first week! make note of what classes you have on what days & include the times those classes start, write down any important non-school related appointments/events that you have during that first week, and be sure to include time during that first week where you can rest and relax.

saturday - review syllabus & double checking

take some time out of your day to read and review each of your class’ syllabi! make sure you read through them thoroughly and highlight any important dates that show up in the course semester schedule. i also recommend highlighting your teachers’/professors’ contact information, and if they have office hours be sure to make note of that as well!

also, let this second-to-last day before the start of the semester be designated for last minute preparations. double check that you have all your supplies, check your student email again, and just make sure you complete everything else that might be on your to-do list.

sunday - relaxing & decompressing

the final day of your break before the semester starts should be used to just rest and relax. treat yourself kindly on this day; pamper yourself! do skincare, treat yourself to a cozy day in, watch your favorite show or movies, journal! do something that makes you feel at ease and makes you feel happy! it’s important to have a day where you can just relax and only focus on relaxing.

you might also want to ease your mind by doing some last minute cleaning and reorganizing! starting a new semester with a refreshed study space/room (whether it be an office or your bedroom) can help alleviate some stress that might still be lingering. refresh your space and clear your mind!

this little schedule might not be the exact one you follow, and that’s okay! i made this as an example of what you can do & what your week before might look like!

୨ৎ — academic weapon style

get dressed up for your first week back! wear the clothes that make you feel confident and that help you set the tone for yourself.

gather inspiration! dress like your favorite academic icons! hop onto pinterest & look for style inspo for different characters like…

rory gilmore

hermione granger

meredith grey

cristina yang

elle woods

spencer hastings

blair waldorf

cristina yang , blair wladorf , spencer hastings

୨ৎ — create a consistent morning & night routine

it’s important to have a routine, especially in the morning and at night. having a routine that works for you and your schedule will help smooth any rough edges that might come up during your semester!

go to sleep & wake up at the same time every day

incorporate self care/hygiene routine in the morning and night

include health & wellness aspects (journaling, morning yoga, etc.)

make your bed as soon as you wake up

set aside time to unwind/time for yourself

୨ৎ — chat with/get to know your professors

the first week is all about figuring out the vibe of your class, so get a feel for your environment and who your professors are! you will be working with them for the next 16 weeks!

use this time to ask questions, let your professor know a little bit about you, and take notes on what your professor asks from you and your classmates during this semester.

after you’ve taken the time to review the syllabus prior to classes starting, write down possible questions or concerns that you can bring up to your teachers!

before you’re dismissed …

take on the first week with your full strength! create that good first impression for yourself and set the path for your incoming success!

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

[punkypiscesell-writes]

when it comes without a warning - ch. 2

previous chapter

Javier Peña x plus size f! reader

summary: first dates and revelations.

tags (updated after each chapter): fake dating AU, strangers to lovers, romcom, 90’s vibes, angst, small town dynamics, casual sexism, slow burn, pining, insecurities, drinking, smoking, food related descriptions, mentions of family, innocent touching, flirting. The picture in the header is just for the visual and isn't an indication of the reader's skin color. Not beta read.

word count: 22k

notes: Hello and happy spring!! Firstly, thank you if you’re keeping up with this fic even after my inactivity here. It means the world to me. If you’re following this fic and have followed me bc of it, have reblogged the previous chapters, or have commented, please know I’ve seen your lovely messages and reactions. My ADHD has been ADHD'ing pretty hard these past couple of months and I've been dealing with a lot of overwhelming feelings. Even though I haven't answered you personally yet, just know that I’ve seen your feedback and I appreciate every single one you who has been reading this story so far. I will eventually answer you all. Thank you for the patience and I hope you'll enjoy this extra long chapter <3

dividers by cafekitsune

The knot under your shoulder blade throbs as you listen to Abigail speak. She has a thick folder open against her thighs, the front cover reading ‘wedding inspiration’ written in swoopy cursive. There’s everything from pictures to pieces of fabrics and laces, writing here and there, post-it notes in different neon colors, and paint sample cards glued on the pages to indicate the theme for each section.

The different tabs on the edges of different pages are already worn out, telling you that this folder isn’t new but well-loved and thoughtfully collected. She flips through each spread effortlessly, going back to the tabs to find a specific flower and table setting style that should inspire you to create a cake fitting for whatever she wants.

Your pen presses against the notebook in your own lap, ‘Abigail and Noah’s wedding’ written neatly on the top of the page. You already drew a couple of drawings for possible cake designs and decorations after Abigail showed you pictures of buttercream roses and tall and wide five-tier wedding cakes.

“They’re just for inspiration, focus on the details here,” she traced her finger against the glossy, thick paper and you looked at the white frosting and the style the ribbons had been piped on the cake.

Under the pictures in your notebook, you’ve written down questions about the flavors and wishes they have for the cake. After all, it’s an important part of the reception. So far, you’ve managed to figure out the general style and some color options yet haven’t found answers to any of the other questions you have asked Abigail. She’s so excited about the possibilities that it’s almost overwhelming to go through them all.

“There was this lemon and raspberry tart,” she starts, her wistful eyes looking towards the patio doors.  “We had it when we were in Laredo. Noah had some business meetings there and I wanted to join him.” She smiles at you, her thoughts in that moment between her and her future husband. “It was like biting into a cloud. It was so light, but creamy and just melted in my mouth. The lemon was so tart in the custard, it was almost like a spritz of fresh lemon juice that just burst with flavors when I took a bite. And the raspberries were as fresh as they come. They were sweet and gentle, almost soft in how they tasted.” She opens a new page from her binder and shows you pictures of different types of lemon and raspberry tarts. She pushes it towards you for you to see all kinds of desserts with the same concept. Your mouth waters even thinking about the tart she’s describing.

“You know, when I sat with him and we shared that tart, I think it was just a normal workday too, nothing special, and suddenly I knew that I could marry him. We had been together for a couple of years by then, but I had never really seen him as husband material.” Abigail looks almost incredulous as she tells you how she felt in that moment. “I had always imagined marrying someone who isn’t like Noah and suddenly I just kinda knew I could marry him too. That he is someone who I could imagine the rest of my life with.” There’s a bittersweet undertone in her words, unbelieving how she came to understand her feelings and wants for her future. Just a random day like any other and there Abigail was having dessert with her boyfriend and everything changed. You would probably reminisce at that time the same way she does.

 You write down a short description for the flavors and why they’re important.

Abigail’s mom comes back into the wood toned living room that is now tinted gray. It’s one of those cooler, humid days when rain falls steadily from the sky. She’s carrying a hefty pile of bridal magazines in her arms and her footsteps write a rhythm for the constant downpour that hums against the roof.

“Okay, so,” Abigail begins with her excited voice that reminds you of blowing bubblegum bubbles and popping them against your lips.  Your focus shifts back to her immediately. “You know how much I love peppermint, Noah loves oranges and we’re both obsessed with that chocolate cake you sell every Christmas time?” Abigail demands you answer her rhetorical question with a nod that mirrors hers. “We want an orange peppermint chocolate cake!” Abigail’s sweet smile is a little too sweet considering what you just heard.

The flavor combinations draw all the moisture from your mouth and sour in the back of your tongue. Her eyes get that Abigail-like innocence in them again, bordering on forcing you to accept her suggestion without questions. The knot in your upper back burns and your knowledge is screaming at you to speak up.

“I haven’t heard anyone using peppermint and orange together with chocolate before.” Abigail’s face drops immediately. “Maybe I could find a way to combine them in the decorations? Fresh mint leaves and candied orange would look beautiful together. The cake could still be chocolate. The color options are great too, we can use something natural, white chocolate, or even dark chocolate. It’s also easy to use colorings to make it exactly as you wish.” Your voice is soft as you try to gently let her down and urge her to find a more palatable cake.

“We’d appreciate if something would also taste like orange and peppermint, we don’t want a cake that is like cardboard after all,” she giggles and you smile with her, unsure about why you’re smiling after hearing her backhanded remark. Does she think your cakes taste like cardboard? You can’t fixate on that right now.

How on earth are you going to make it all work if she insists on this one specific cake? Abigail’s mom flips through the pages of one of the bridal magazines with carton thick covers. She’s looking for something, trying to decipher the writing on post-it notes riddling the edges of the pages.

You turn your focus on the notebook in your lap. You don’t want to write the words down under each other, but you do; peppermint, orange, chocolate. Maybe you just have to follow her wishes and make a cake like any other. Let her taste what it’s all like together. Or maybe, just maybe, you’ll make the flavors work like never before.

“I could make orange chocolate and peppermint chocolate cakes. They’d look identical of course, but that way the flavor profiles will be a bit more agreeable, and they might also work better together that way.” You turn your notebook to Abigail and quickly draw a two-tier cake, separated by arrows that point to the words you’ve scribbled down.

“The problem is that we want a three-tier cake and all of them have to be similar by looks and how they taste.” There’s an edge in Abigail’s tone.

“Sweetheart,” her mom sounds calm. Her presence is like a balm not only for the bride’s stress but also for the static in the air between you and your longtime friend. You didn’t think she was really listening to your conversation, only preoccupied by the magazines, as she opens a new one on a spread with aesthetically pleasing pictures of table settings.

“She has been baking cakes for years now, you have to trust her when she says something doesn’t work. You want the day to be perfect, don’t you, pumpkin?” She brushes her daughter’s hair behind her ear. Abigail sighs, and it draws all tension out from her shoulders.

“Then let her come up with the cake. You’ve given her a lot of inspiration already.” Abigail’s mom nods at you in a way that reminds you of your own mom. When she’d know something everyone else also knew, but she still managed to make it seem like a secret that only you had the privilege of realizing.

“Yeah, okay, you’re right. Professionally, what do you think could work then?” Abigail softens. Her mom smiles and gets back to the magazine in her hands.  

“You said something about cream being one of the main colors?” She hums in agreement. “What if the cakes had white chocolate butter cream? I could look into making a Swiss meringue buttercream as well if you’re not into the idea of white chocolate, and the decorations could include orange slices in some form and mint leaves?” The ideas come to you fast, a steady stream of possibilities.

“It could also be a dark chocolate cake with a bourbon and orange syrup that could highlight the orange flavor?” You have to write it down. Abigail reaches for something on the table, a post-it note and a pen, to write your suggestions down into her folder.

“If you really want the cakes to taste like oranges and peppermint and chocolate, I will try to make it work but I can’t make any promises of it working out well. For the tasting I’ll make a few different versions that you can choose from.” Saying it all out loud starts a checklist in your head that you try to write down as fast as possible, in an effort to not forget anything.

The few things you wrote about the memory Abigail shared earlier peeks out under your thumb when you’re about to turn the page. “You didn’t ask for it, but can I make something with lemon and raspberries?” You suggest. Abigail’s mom perks up immediately.

“You caught onto the story too, huh?” She winks at you. Another secret between the two of you, just like you used to have with your own mom.

“The dessert story?” Abigail almost rolls her eyes. “It’s so boring, there’s no sparks or excitement, just a boring realization!”

“Isn’t that what’s the exciting part? That you found out your true feelings for Noah in such a mundane moment?” You ask her, smile on your lips, surprised to hear her dismiss the special moment.

“I guess?” She surrenders with a shrug and matches your smile. She fills her words with emptiness. “What would you make from lemons and raspberries?”

You draw Abigail in by giving her the details of gentle vanilla and tart, but sweet lemon, with fresh raspberries that would round out the flavors and bring everything together. You try to keep her earlier wish in mind, but the more you talk about the second option and the emotional connection the ingredients have, the more excited you get about baking a tester cake with the ingredients. Maybe you imagine it all, but Abigail doesn’t seem to hate your ideas. On the contrary.

Her mom brings you homemade lemon and orange lemonade after a few hours of throwing ideas around, with chocolate chip cookies that you brought from the bakery. Abigail grimaces when the sweet citrus and buttery chocolate crumble together in her mouth.

“If chocolate is like this with lemon and orange, I’m not sure if I want it after all.” You all laugh. The joke wrote itself. You try not to smile too wide to hide the satisfaction her reaction gives you. You’ll follow Abigail’s wishes, but maybe your job as a professional baker isn’t going to be as difficult when you try to convince your customer which flavors work together and which don’t.

After hours of planning, the knot under your shoulder blade is spreading its flames to the back of your neck and base of your skull. Your notebook is thick with inspirational pictures and notes, better indicating what you’re asked to do than what you could’ve illustrated with your blue ballpoint pen. Your calendar has all the important dates and deadlines marked down, now you just have to write them down into the order schedule too.

Standing up from the too soft couch makes you roll your shoulders back when you say goodbye to Abigail’s mom. The tightly wound muscles complain harder and burn with blood flowing through them. 

“I heard a crazy rumor the other day,” Abigail laughs out of nowhere as she walks you to the door. You hand her your shoulder bag while you put on your jean jacket. It’s dry, at least, after the rain colored the light blue denim dark on the shoulders.

The rain hasn’t eased up. It was drizzling lightly early in the morning when you got to the bakery, and got heavier when you left Lili by herself, and you made the drive to come meet Abigail. It has turned into white noise in your ears over the hours. You’re really not looking forward to driving in rain when the roads have a layer of water on them.

“Hmmm?” You swap the slippers Abigail’s mom borrowed for you to the flat-bottomed sneakers you had on when you got here.

“That…” Abigail laughs again, harder like she just told you a hilarious story you should already know about. “That there’s something between you and Javier Peña.” Her laugh is still friendly, a little giggly, but there’s a layer of forcefulness and hardness that she wouldn’t normally have if she actually thought something was funny.

You can’t help the smile that also spreads on your face. Nerves start to sizzle in your belly, bubbling deep and rising steadily towards your chest where it spreads and makes you forget about the pain in your shoulder. You fix your necklace, run the small links between your fingers to make sure it’s not snatched on anything.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Lili saw you two getting cozy, at your bakery no less!” Now you’re both laughing. The tickles of butterflies lift the sound easily through your vocal cords, effortlessly twining with Abigail’s high-strung snickering.

It worked. You reach for your bag which she happily gives you while you avoid her searching eyes. The floor is much more comforting of a companion. You’re not sure what Lili has told people. How Abigail worded it though, the interaction might’ve caught some extra legs along the way. 

“Well?” Abigail pushes. Her mouth is tight and her brows high up. She has always been bad at hiding her impatience.

When you’ve been with her, the demanding tone directed at someone else, she has always come off as powerful and straightforward, someone who gets answers and things done. But now that you’re at the receiving end of her insistence, she is more intimidating than anything else, even with a smile on her face.

“Well, we’re going out this weekend, it’s not a big deal.” You remember every word from your unwritten script you prepared in case Abigail asks you about Javier. Even with your friend waiting for you to tell her more, the smile on your face isn’t hard to keep intact. Your cheeks start to ache from it.

“What do you mean you’re going out? Like on a date?” You didn’t prepare for this. You had only planned to tell her about how Javier had asked you out and Lili had seen something private. Abigail isn’t privy to anything you had planned with Javier.

How you told him when people would be most likely to get baked goods from you. Or how he made sure to walk in at the peak of morning rush hour and stand in line. You had prepared a small order for him to pick up, some breadcrumbs Chucho had asked for a while ago and a couple of cream puffs, with salted caramel pastry cream. You were interested to hear what Chucho thought of the new version of his favorite pastry.

“Trust me, it’ll get people talking,” Javier assured you on the phone the night before, when you finessed the scheme. It was silly, like you were part of a play, and you were the only two actors who knew about it.

He came in the bakery at the right time, just as you had planned. What you didn’t expect was the shit eating grin on his face and the head nods at people looking at him, greeting each with a soft “mornin’”.

He stood in line with his freshly groomed mustache, in a red plaid button-up shirt that was a little heavier than his usual t-shirts. He stood tall, shoulders squared, chin proudly high and his aviators on his eyes. You waited impatiently in the bakery, the little bag of breadcrumbs in your hand and the small box of cream puffs in the other.

Lili called for your name, and you were in the shop before she could say anything else. You met him at the register. Javier took his sunglasses and looped them on his shirt. There was easiness in his eyes and a rumbling coffee tinted good morning on his lips.

The secret between you two made you smile. He answered it by taking a piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans, a pen from a little cup on the counter, and wrote something on it. Lili followed the interaction like she was looking at zoo animals, her neck stretched to catch a glimpse of his note and a bug-eyed stare when he paid, left a generous tip, and held the piece of paper between his index and middle fingers like a cigarette, taking the order from you with the rest of his hand.

Your fingertips brushed against his when you took the note. His brows jerked up when you held your hand still against his for a second longer than he had anticipated. The seed was already planted. Lili was intrigued. There was no harm in showing her, and the people behind Javier, that it wasn’t just any note. It held meaning.

“See you Friday,” slipped from his mouth. The bakery stood still for a breath and a second after that and then he was out the door. The sun was on his hair, sticking to the brown that curled on his temples and the back of his neck, right above the neckline of his shirt.

“I told you,” the note read. It’s still in your jeans’ back pocket even though he gave it to you a few days ago. You just haven’t had the chance or reason to change your jeans. You’ll throw it away when you put them in the laundry anyway.

“Yeah, like on a date,” you answer Abigail a little taken aback. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but you expected even a hint of excitement, maybe some thrilled questions since you going out on a date is such a foreign thing to happen.

“How?” is the only thing she asks. You stare at each other, disbelief on her face while your smile shrinks and gets replaced with confusion that pulls your brows together.

“He asked me out?” You shoulder your bag. This conversation with Abigail is like you’re freefalling, the floor suddenly gone under your feet.

“Out of nowhere? You don’t know him. Have you even met him?”

“We got to talking on New Years, at your engagement party.” Every word sounds like a defense, like you’re building a case for yourself against a ruthless prosecutor.

“But you were supposed to be hanging out with John. You’ve gone out with him too?”

“Oh god no!” You laugh, but Abigail’s question was genuine. “Why would I? He’s an asshole.” You have no remorse saying it out loud.

“Hey, that’s not fair. I know he can come off as a little harsh at first, but you just have to get to know him more.”

“I don’t think so…” you roll your eyes at her, the words huff out with a snort. You try to push past her towards the door, but she grabs your arm. Her fingers press into your bicep.

“Clearly there are things you don’t know about Javier.” There’s urgency in her voice. She looks almost… scared?

“What don’t I know?”

“Javier is… He’s not a good man. I know many women whose hearts he has broken, and I don’t want to see you on that list.” Abigail’s forcefulness dissipates and is replaced with empathy that sweeps across her features.

The arch of her brows is a little too downward, her eyes a little too soft, her mouth a little too sad. Like you’re a child who must be told what to do, who doesn’t understand what’s good for her. Why you get a sense of being pitied by her, you can’t be sure, but it’s burning the nerves away and the bubbles in the pit of your stomach aren’t fun anymore. They’re popping one by one into teeth grinding annoyance.

“Can I make that decision on my own?” Your voice stays even, even with the irritation tightening the back of your jaw and locking it defiantly. Her hand softens against your arm. She swallows, a new type of determination settling in her eyes.

“Javier is a player,” she rushes to reveal, puffing air from her lungs that still has the tart sweetness of lemonade laced through it. “He has a very particular type and none of his relationships have lasted longer than a few months, if that. I’ve also heard that when he was in Colombia, he was sleeping around a lot.” Her words hold weight that she probably doesn’t even understand.

“Okay, so he was in Colombia and he got around… don’t you think it’s a bit weird you’re accusing your fiancé’s good friend of being promiscuous? Why do you even care about that?”

“Oh god no! No, that’s not what I mean! I don’t care who he sleeps with in the future or how many women he has slept with in the past, but I don’t want you to become just a conquest for him.” She shakes her head almost shocked that you’re turning the question on her rather than swallowing what she’s saying without any questions.  

“What did you mean then?”

“I’m saying this because…” Abigail takes another breath, preparing herself for whatever she is about to drop on you. Her cheeks blush and she looks at you straight in the eyes, wide like she’s once again asking you for something and making it sound like it’s your idea.

“I’ve known him for a long time. You know how I and Noah met? Because Noah was his best man at his wedding!” She pauses and waits for you to react. You can only stare at her, speechless by her reveal. “Javier left his bride at the altar, in front of all our families and friends, humiliating her. He didn’t even show up!”

Each word that Abigail shushes from her mouth is full of venom, her anger and unresolved disappointment so clear that they throw you into a church, in the audience as one of those family members who had to bear witness to whatever happened at that wedding.

Abigail urges you to believe her, standing close, her hand still gripping your jean jacket against her palm, hanging onto hope that you understand what she’s saying. That the warning isn’t meaningless and she’s not saying any of this out of nowhere.

“The next thing I know, he’s on his way to Colombia trying to save the world or whatever. You have to know this because you can’t trust him. You’re too nice! You’re not protecting yourself from him so I’m doing it for you. He’s not good news and I think he’s using you.” She breathes deep, a heavy weight visibly drops off her shoulders as she straightens her back, calmness settling over her features.

What the hell are you supposed to do with this information? How on earth can you defend someone who has betrayed someone’s trust by not coming to their own wedding? The burden Abigail sheds from her shoulders now lays harshly on yours, the reality of not knowing Javier at all sinking in. You can’t let that show through, not now when your plan with Javier has barely even taken off. Not when the other option is someone you don’t want to see ever in your life. You have to suck it up and then bring it up with Javier. You’ll either figure this out and ask him to explain himself. Or you’ll tell him you don’t want to be in any more contact with him than what is necessary.

This is exactly the reason why you don’t date. You don’t want to end up in the middle of people’s messes. You don’t want to deal with people’s dirty laundry. You don’t want to deal with hurt feelings or broken promises. Worst of all, you don’t want to be dealing with broken families.

You have enough experience of that of your own, you don’t have to have that from someone on the outside as well. Your body is trying to admit defeat by making yourself small in front of Abigail, who is chipping away at your confidence by standing taller every second that passes.

“What’s he using me for?” You try to gain back some standing in this conversation. Abigail huffs out a breath and throws her hand in the air from your arm.

“Are you serious?” The frustration is so thick in her hushed voice, and in the air, that you could cut it with a knife. Every time she breathes the heavier it is for you to be standing in front of her.

You never expected to be opposite from your friend, stubbornly asking a question that makes you a teenager who is begging to make her own mistakes even when someone is warning her that she’ll only get hurt if she doesn’t open her eyes and take the warning seriously.

“I don’t know,” she speaks too loud. Abigail looks over your shoulder immediately, expecting to hear her mom say something in the living room. “I’m trying to protect you here. If I were you, I wouldn’t trust him. I don’t want to see you wasting your time on someone who doesn’t care about you, at least not in the way you deserve.”

Your jaw twitches and you swallow but your mouth is so dry that it’s almost like your body is rejecting your wishes to get the uncomfortable tightness away from your throat. What a nightmare. You should’ve considered asking Javier if he has any skeletons in the deepest corners of an empty, dark closet.

Being cornered by none other than Abigail of all people isn’t something you want to experience ever again. You never wanted to be on the receiving end of her frustrations but here you are and you’re going to be making a fool of yourself for a man you don’t even know. 

“I don’t need your protection, Abigail.” You clear your throat. “We’re just going out on a date. I’m not marrying the guy. I can handle myself.”

“I’m just worried he’s –“

“I don’t need you to be worried. I’m an adult, I can take care of myself.” Maybe it’s your inexperience of never really having dated anyone or never experienced being in a relationship with anyone. Maybe Abigail is genuinely being protective. You just have a gut feeling that something isn’t adding up here.

No matter how many times she says she’s trying to protect you, you’ve never seen her like this. Abigail is fiercely loyal, you know that. You’ve known that this whole time you’ve been friends. She will defend the closest to her until there’s no one else standing. It’s part of her nature. To care in a way that reassures you’re one of a kind in her life and she won’t leave you on your own.

She has proven that time and time again. Like when you were in college and someone stepped on your feet at a house party. Abigail pushed the guy away, her finger against his chest, making sure everyone in hearing distance heard how the guy didn’t even have the decency to apologize.

Or how she always made sure to tell you how pretty something looked on you when you were insecure about it. A new shirt or a dress that was shorter than your usual dresses. She built your confidence up word by word, like a sister, always standing by you and ready to psych you up until you believed it yourself. Until you were able to psych yourself up as well.

Being against her, against her warning, and trying to stand here on top of the building blocks of confidence that she helped you find, suddenly they’re wobblier than you’d want them to be. You try to keep your shoulders open, your back tall, eye to eye with her.

The more you watch her, see the flustered twist of her mouth, her skin pale and an unexplainable hardness flaming in her eyes, the more you’re convinced she’s not necessarily protecting you. She’s warning you, but not because she’s afraid of you getting hurt. She’s trying to say something. She’s trying to make you see it. But no matter how hard you try to see through the troubled look on her face, no matter how you listen to her, you can’t catch it between her words.

“Where are you going at least?” She finally breaks the tension. It deflates, so do your shoulders while she gathers determination to not make this into a disagreement.

Abigail is still standing in the doorway when you get to your car and shut the door behind you. The rain-streaked windshield distorts her figure, with more drumming against the roof and hood at a steady rhythm. You take a deep breath, and then another before you start your car. As soon as the engine roars to life, Abigail is out of the doorway.

The rain falls heavier when you turn to the road leading back to town, and even harsher when you’re in the middle of nowhere. It forces you to lighten your foot against the gas pedal when your wipers are working overtime, and you still can’t see a thing outside the window.

The car jerks forward and keeps on going until you’re not the one slowing your pace to a crawl. It’s the engine too. A red light blinks on the otherwise dark dashboard warning you of what’s to come. Your hands immediately sweat against the black leather on the wheel when the car tangibly slows down.

You try your best to get it on the side of the road safely before it shuts off. The tires bump down from the asphalt onto the gravel, before driving over the thick grass that only leads into a ditch. You breathe through your mouth as you steer your car to stay on the flat edge even when you’re blinded by the downpour.

You shake your head. This can’t be happening. You listen to the rain beat against the metal cage around you, head empty of any thought that might help you find a solution. The red light on the dashboard… The battery. Of course it would do this on a day when you’re stranded on a lonely road.

It’s an older car, the seller even told you that you might have to check on the battery at some point after driving a specific amount. There are still miles left until that point, yet here you are. Your shoulder complains when you lean your head backwards and close your eyes against the headrest.

Something approaches. The rain gives way to a heavy rumble that suddenly gets closer and closer. You hit the emergency light button on your dashboard and not even five seconds later a massive semi-trailer barrels past you, shaking the car and leaving it in a cloud of water that pillows behind the freight.

You rub your fingers against your eyes, and up towards your hairline. No matter how long you sit here, nothing will change until you do something. Your phone. You rummage through your bag, take out your notebook and your calendar, then your wallet and CD-case for car ride tunes. Your bag is empty, your phone nowhere in sight.

“Fucking shit,” you mutter, seeing your phone on the bakery table. You called the wholesale earlier when you ordered a few different jams. Strawberry, apricot and raspberry. “Fuck!” You hit your head against the steering wheel, bumping your hand against it and setting the horn off. It startles you, like you’re not allowed to wallow in frustration even for a few minutes.

Your options are limited. You can walk to town and get drenched while doing that. You can wait until the rain calms and then start walking. Or you can cross one of the fields to call for a tow truck, risking getting bitten by a snake or something. None of those choices appeal to you.

You close your eyes and lay your head against the steering wheel again. You can only think of the look on Abigail’s face. The worry that honestly looked like she was more annoyed than really worried. If you didn’t have to think about this dating thing at all, there’d be nothing to stress about. If she hadn’t sprung this all up in the first place, you could be burying yourself in work and everyone would be happy.

The rain seems to only get stronger. It’s pouring from a bucket, alienating you on the road, making you an island with no bridges to anyone. You can’t shake Abigail’s story from your mind. How foolish of you to think this wouldn’t kick you in the back at some point.

You haven’t even had a proper conversation with the man yet and here you are, sitting miserable in your car, forced to mull over someone’s life choices based on what you heard from an outsider. There’s only Abigail’s word to believe and you’re still trying to think of possible reasons why Javier ended up leaving his bride at the altar.

The rain waves over you. It quiets and makes you believe it will finally give up when another, heavier wave rolls in and envelopes you in its arms. Through the white noise of your car’s roof being beaten, you hear a motor.

Your side window is streaked with water, the side mirror is covered in a damp haze. The headlights of a car blink through it, approaching in a crawl. At least it won’t splash you like the truck did or swing you off the road and into the ditch that is most likely already full of water.

The car, a pickup truck, drives past. The taillights flash red when the car slows even more and parks in front of you, backing up until it’s only a couple of feet from your bumper. Great. Either they’re going to help you, or it’ll be someone who will only creep you out. The truck though. It looks familiar. The rusty maroon and the blocky white stripe on the side. You’ve seen it in town so at least you’ll most likely know the driver.

The driver’s door opens. You can’t make out who it is through the rain, only a tall, wide frame that jogs towards your door. You recognize Javier’s face only when he’s about to knock on the window. His hair is already dripping. His eyes are squinted even though it doesn’t help much in this downpour. You roll the window down, your head suddenly empty.

“Need a ride?” It’s a quick question. Water pours over his face, sticks to his moustache and trickles into his open mouth. You don’t have to think long. “Take your stuff,” he orders, and you happily comply.

He’s already by his truck when you lock your car doors and rush to the passenger’s side with your bag in your arms. The warning lights blink against the wet ground as your shoes get soaked and through your socks in an instant.

Javier opens the door for you from the inside and you pull it open the rest of the way, falling in with your things in your arms. You pant, from the adrenaline of getting saved from your four wheeled island and rushing to his car as fast as you can. It doesn’t help that suddenly Javier makes your head spin and uncertainty stir your gut when you look at him. The damp of your clothes turns into wetness as the water from the rain seeps through the layers of your jean jacket, your t-shirt, through your jeans, right to your skin and under it.

“Hi,” he sighs, looking at you with a smirk on his lips, even his eyes glinting in the grey of the weather that tries to suck the warmth from the brown.

“Hi,” you breathe out and it relieves some of the tension that stirred in your head.

“You like to hang out here just for fun or…?” He starts the car and gets it going on a crawl. His hands squeeze the steering wheel loosely, almost relaxed, unlike you.

“Yeah, sure. I was having a party with the blinking lights, didn’t you see?” The breathed-out chuckle makes you bite your lip, to keep your smile under control.

“Trust me, I saw. And it looks like that party has ended.” How ironic of him to tell you to trust him. You still smile but tension builds up in your jaw immediately.

“Thanks for stopping, I was kinda losing hope out here.” You try to put on your seat belt, but the clutch doesn’t want to stay in place.

“Happy to help.” He shakes his head slowly, from one side to the next, his eyes flashing on your hands as you battle with the belt. “Let me get that.”

He keeps his focus on the wet road, while pushing your other hand away by just covering yours with his. His thumb presses the loop down. His palm covers your hand easily as you keep the latch in place. His skin is so warm, sucking the cold right out of your bloodstream. The buckle finally clicks into place. He draws his hand back, a quick glance your way as his fingertips accidentally slide against the outside of your hip.

“Thanks.” You don’t want to make it weird. You focus looking out the window and the rain-streaked windshield.

 “Where are you going, the bakery?”

“Well, no, not anymore. I need someone to come and tow my car. The battery is fucked.” 

“Gary’s it is.” You’ve never been there. You got your car checked over in the next town over, where the seller had it. Since then, you’ve always gone there to get your car cleared, twice every year since you got it. The mechanics there are older, who know cars inside and out, understanding every sound and every hiccup. There hasn’t been a time when they’ve failed to give you a good deal if something has to be fixed. This time it doesn’t matter. You need your car.

“What were you doing out here anyway?” Javier sounds conversational, casual with his question.

“I met up with Abigail, to talk about their wedding cake.”

“They ordered one from you?” He switches the wipers to go back and forth a little slower, as the rain finds a lazier rhythm.

“I’m giving them one.” Javier nods and you think he hums in understanding. You remember the story about the tart. Raspberry and lemon fill your senses. Even the thought of them wets your mouth and the idea of a sweet, gentle lemon-flavored cake with fresh raspberries and vanilla frosting puts your brain to work. Maybe you’re hungry.

As fast as you remember the tart, your thoughts shift from cakes to Abigail’s reveal.

You glance at Javier from the corner of your eye. It’s hard for you to imagine him walking down an aisle to wait for his fiancée to join him. Let alone standing at an altar in a black suit next to someone in a white dress and bouquet of flowers in her hands while a bunch of people stare at them and wait for them to vow to be together forever. That idyllic life and Javier Peña in the same sentence are like water and oil in your mind.

Maybe you can’t say anything about him in his drying hair that is curling at the ends. The mustache that he hasn’t trimmed in a couple of days and the five o’clock shadow on his jawline that is now at least a couple of days old. The neck that could be carved by someone with a chisel, long and strong, richly tan even in the cold lighting.

How many button-up shirts does this man own, as you’re seeing him once again in a new one, this time in dark blue with long sleeves. His fingers tap against the steering wheel, a rhythm only in his head, the radio silent.

You can’t judge a man you don’t know. You can only see the surface, not what he’s really like. He could want that idyllic family life and a big wedding, but he keeps a low profile about them.

He tilts his head towards you, a minor movement, like he wants to hear you better. His dark lashes frame his focused eyes, looking even thicker in the gloom of the rain. His head leans more towards you. Maybe you need to just ask him about it, the wedding, his failed marriage that wasn’t even a marriage. It’s on your mind. It’s better to get rid of it now than let it simmer and keep you wondering.

“What?” His chin leads the turn of his head, suddenly catching you red-handed in taking him in. For the first time you’ve really gotten a chance to look at him. If you would’ve known better, you would’ve made sure to not get caught because you don’t stand a chance against the deep brown of his eyes that read you in a heartbeat.

The question is on the tip of your tongue. You’re about to ask if he can explain himself, tell you more about his past.

You sigh, “Nothing, was just thinking about this arrangement of ours.” You let the questions slip from your grasp.

Technically you’re not lying. Abigail’s words are under your skin and your candor about something else on your mind is only a way for you to avoid turning a stone you’re not ready to. The road turns and buildings are finally appearing through the downpour.

“I’ve been thinking about it too.” His unexpected confession spikes your heartrate instantly. His voice goes a bit lower, a little shakier. Javier is still as confident as ever, but there’s a light tinge of ‘what if’ coloring it.

“What about it?” You sound a bit more worried than you’d like to.

“Look, when you said yes to this whole circus, I’m grateful for that.” You already hear the but in his voice.

Immediately you’re on a carousel, going over the few instances you’ve been in contact with Javier. If you’ve told him something that would make him second guess you and your intentions. You have no secret intentions. You just want to get through this wedding without any extra attention.

Though, how Abigail reacted, that might’ve been a useless wish.

“I just can’t stop thinking how we have to fake something just because someone is being a little… eager.” The shake of Javier’s head is the cherry on top of the irritated thought that makes it sound like he has been thinking about this for a while.

“You think we should still do it?” Him saying no would release you from any stress you’re already predicting to experience the closer the wedding is getting. You wouldn’t have to think about keeping your stories straight or how you literally have to seem like you like this guy any more than just as a friend.

Are you even friends, you can’t put a finger on that.

But him saying no would also end this new connection you’re having. Even though you don’t have time for dating, Javier’s presence and knowing he’s in this situation with you does give you a sense of comfort. If he became your friend in this town that sometimes manages to shove your face in loneliness, you wouldn’t say no to it.

“Yeah, I’m in. Won’t mean I’ll be happy about people pushing their noses into our business.”

“I’m with you on that.”

“What have you been thinking?” He asks. His other hand drops from the steering wheel, and he glances at you, trying to dig into how you’re dealing with all this.  

“I…” The words get stuck in your throat. This is a perfect chance. Ask why he left his bride at the altar, a little voice in your head urges. Your mouth goes cinnamon dry and your jaw clenches, not letting any words out.

You can’t help the uncomfortable laugh that makes the mood shift from open honesty to awkwardness immediately. “I’m gl—” Your voice catches and you have to swallow before trying again, “I’m glad I can do this with someone who understands what we’re pretending, that’s all.”

“Yeah.” Javier isn’t dumb. You can hear how he knows you’re hiding something. He knows you’re not telling him what’s really on your mind. He doesn’t have time to get into it as you reach Gary’s Garage. As soon as he turns the car off, you open your seatbelt and jump out, briskly walking in through the front door.

The smell of gasoline and oil hits you immediately, the second smell being air freshener, closely followed by tire rubber. You’re taken back to childhood, and your grandpa’s garage where every spring you checked your bike over.

He helped you paint it more than once, always allowing you to use whatever colors were your favorite. There you stood, with the bike’s skeleton turned upside down with some parts covered in tape and plastic to protect the colors you already liked and the parts that had to stay bare.

Your grandpa stood beside you with paint respirators on both of your faces, spray paint cans in hand. When you were younger, the can was so big that you had to hold it with two hands, and it still kept slipping from your grasp. When you got older, you could hold it easily.

Being around Javier is like being around a magnet. You hear him get in through the door. You take a step back, like he’s able to pull you towards him. He doesn’t say anything, you don’t even hear his footsteps. He hovers, like two same poles rejecting each other. You look at him and immediately he comes closer, to stand right behind your back.

“Ah, Peña! What can I do for you?” A younger looking guy wearing a dark grey overall stained with black oil appears from behind a hood of a car. He rubs his hands on a rag tied to his belt loop, before scrubbing his hand through his dirty blond hair that’s in need of washing.

“Follow my lead,” Javier whispers in your ear before placing his arm loosely over your shoulders. You meet the guy at a small service desk. It’s covered with a plastic desk cover that has yellowed at spots and has different car brand logo stickers glued to it. People have tested a pen at the corners, random loops and something that looks like boobs cartooned on the mechanics’ side.

“I’m cashing in that favor your dad owed us.” You immediately turn to Javier, but he shuts you up by squeezing your shoulder. His thumb is right at the edge of the knot under your shoulder blade, pressing against it in a way that makes you pull your shoulders back and wince in discomfort.

“My girlfriend is having some car trouble.” He says at the same time, notices your pain and backs off from the squeeze, only having his hand lay gently against the tight muscle. It’s warm and it seeps through the layer of damp denim and cotton on your skin.

The mechanic looks at you with wide eyes, then at Javier, then back at you with his brows lifting and an unbelieving smile forming on his lips. You know him. He’s a flirt. You’ve had to deal with him before, when he has come to the bakery with his wife.

“Javier, I believe my dad can only do favors for you or your dad, no one said anything about a girlfriend.” He says the word like it’s a joke. You breathe against Javier’s hand, which in this moment manages to keep you calm.

“No worries, I can—”

“Rick,” Javier cuts you off. Another gentler squeeze forces you to listen to him, just like he commands Rick. “I believe your dad said that he owes me one after I helped him fix that fence you had promised to help him with. He didn’t say anything about there being conditions.” Rick looks between you two once more, until he focuses back on Javier.

“So, what’s the problem, what happened?”

“Ask her, it’s her car.” Javier’s hand slides off your shoulder, leaving you to stand on your own two feet. The wide shadow of him behind you moves away and as he does so, you gain confidence. The heels of his boots hit the concrete floor, and with each step your confidence bursts to life, like he’s pulling it out of you to deal with a nuisance just like any other day. You hear the door, you’re alone.

“I was driving, and the battery light came on and then the car stopped, J—” You catch yourself, his words fresh in your ears, “My boyfriend picked me up, but the car is still on the side of the road.”  You can tell Rick doesn’t believe you when you use that word for Javier.

No wonder. Only a couple of weeks back you had to deal with him, and you didn’t use Javier’s status as your boyfriend in one of your jabs back at him.

“Your boyfriend,” Rick starts and leans forward with a sly smile on his face, against the small counter that separates you from him. You can smell it on him, the low blow that he’s going to serve. “Are you two really together? Because I know a sweet thing like you could do so much better.” He raises his brows at the same time, thinking he got you.

You stare at him. Your mind drains of every possible comeback that you’ve perfected over the years when thinking of different scenarios where you’d need to have a snarky comment at the ready. Rick is one of those men who will look at you once, insult you, and think you’ve fallen head over heels in love with him based on that one interaction. Even when he’s married.

Your head blows up with all the ideas what you could say to him, mixing into a ball of nothingness that makes you mute. The longer you stand still, the more he’s convinced he has won you over, finally.

You take a step forward, even shaking yourself up with the bold move. You lean your hip against the counter, curving your back in the process, and smile at him, just like a sweet thing would. The door opens and lets in fresh air. Javier. He stops a bit further away; his presence isn’t enveloping you. But there’s still that pull.

It’s just you, and Rick, you tell yourself.

“Is that so?” You place your hand right next to his and tilt your head.

“Mmhmm,” he hums, ecstatic about the attention you’re giving him.

Javier’s slow steps echo from your left to your right side, until he’s standing where you can see him from the corner of your eye. It shouldn’t be hard for you to keep up with the act with him there, but suddenly your focus wavers and the fearless imaginary conversations, where you know every single word, you want to say, are pointless.

“I really like when little ladies like yourself know their customers. I still remember when you recommended that creamy thing to me, just because you knew I’d like it.” Rick blabbers on. Javier’s eyes narrow, but you keep your cool like it’s an armor.

“I think I recommended the cream doughnuts to your wife, when your in-laws were coming to visit?” You ask innocently. Javier hides his mouth behind his hand immediately, turning from you.

Maybe with this guy you don’t even have to try coming up with something snappy. Rick chuckles. He almost manages to trace his fingertip against your wrist, but he’s not close enough. You make yourself stand still. What you’d really want to do is slap him.

“I know it was meant for me. You don’t have to hide it. Listen…” Rick stands back up, a cocky look in his eyes. “I bet I know why you recommended them to me.” Your face must tell him to continue.

“I bet you’d love to try my doughnut, and my cream.” The way he says it, sleazy and so full of himself, with his tongue licking his lips to emphasize the very obvious double meaning, is supposed to be the thing to make you fall on your knees in front of him.

Instead, it takes everything in you not to burst out laughing right at his face, or to keep yourself from slamming your fist in his eye. The smile Javier was trying to hide earlier isn’t there anymore. He’s far from it. His eyes are hard and venomous under his brows, dark in a way you haven’t seen yet even from the corner of your vision.

“You know what I’d love?” Rick perks up at your question, thinking you’re finally catching the bait with a smile. He wishes.

“I think I’d give you exactly what you’re looking for, sugar.” You can’t help the laugh that finally makes you break. Rick chuckles with you and he reaches his hand towards your face. You step back right before his dirty fingers make contact with your cheek, and you drop the smile, the cute voice and look him straight in the eyes.

“I want you to get my damn car and change the battery. Then you’ll call me when it’s done because I need my car. Please.” You emphasize the word with a smirk that only appears for a second, until you’re giving him stone and ice again. Rick’s face turns to disappointment and annoyance. Javier takes a step forward, pulling out a folded map from his back pocket and smoothing it against the table.

“It’s here,” he says, his voice low, his finger pointing at the road where he picked you up in a demanding manner.  

“You can call the bakery when it’s done.” You tell Rick with finality in your voice while Javier folds the map back up. You don’t want to stay in the garage any longer than necessary. As soon as Javier is done, you grab his hand and pull him along with you.

“Bitch,” you hear Rick mutter under his breath when you’re almost at the door.

“Thank you!” You singsong to him, rolling your eyes just as you step outside into the humidity. At least the rain has calmed, but it seems like it has gathered in the air, like a weighted blanket on top of everything. Your heart is pounding in your chest, barely staying in place rather than jumping through your throat. You breathe in the watery air and blow it out slowly.

“I think you deserve a drink after that,” Javier bumps his arm against yours. You look up at him, your hands still linked together and see the impressed smirk on his face.

“What?”

“You don’t come across as someone who’d have that in you.” He speaks nonchalantly, like it’s just a normal day at the office to witness you talking back to a slimy guy like Rick.

“You have no idea.”

“Come,” he says, pulling you along with him across the street. You match your steps with his.

Javier opens the door for you. A red-themed, all-day breakfast diner welcomes you in with the smell of pancakes and bacon, the complete opposite of what’s on the other side of the street. It doesn’t smell poisonous, or like you’ll lose brain cells after inhaling the smell for long enough.

Javier finally lets go of your hand and you walk in front of him towards the line. The diner is full. Booths with red tables and worn-down red leather couches are occupied with families and workers from all over the town.

The waiters and waitresses are wearing the same uniforms, red pants and white t-shirts, with little aprons on. Orders are getting yelled out from the kitchen, the mood an exciting mix of delight and stress. People are getting welcomed in by name, asked how they’re doing, and their usual orders are placed without them having to say a word.

“Did it really happen?” Javier asks against your ear, his presence like a backpack. “With the cream doughnuts?”

“Oh yeah, the guy comes in with his…” You look around yourself, see a couple of little kids nearby, and turn more towards Javier, “Fucking wife and she asks what pastries would be good for the in-laws. I remember her saying that it can’t be anything too fancy, but something more interesting than cookies. And he takes the suggestion as a double entendre,” you huff and shake your head. Either she doesn’t know her husband is like that or then she’s just turning a blind eye. Or maybe she likes it.

More people walk in as a new wave of rain rolls over the town and forces the line to squeeze together. Javier steps a little closer. His warmth and broadness hover right behind you, brushing against your back every few seconds.

Someone tries to walk past you and forces you to squeeze yourself right against Javier. A puff of warm air hits your neck, right above the collar of your jean jacket. You almost apologize to Javier for stepping so close, but his proximity drives you to forget about it. The darkness in his eyes isn’t like in the garage, but it burns in a different way. It’s not scary, but open, bordering on vulnerable, and it punches against your chest in a way that manages to draw all air from you.

“Thanks for coming with me and using your favor on me.” You say instead, heavy debt sitting on your shoulders as the line stands still. There’s something happening in the kitchen, after you hear a great splash.

“It’s nothing, we rarely go to Gary’s anyway. Had to get that favor out of the way somehow. But I don’t think you needed me.”

“If I was alone, I don’t think I could’ve been like that to Rick, and I also would have to pay full price for the battery.” Javier chuckles. It’s a small sound, light and airy, like he’s hiding a real laugh behind it but not ready to reveal it yet.

“You’re welcome then.” A waitress announces they’ve dropped a gravy canister in the kitchen and will need a few more minutes before they can resume serving all the customers.

“He deserved it,” Javier says after a moment of people rumbling their disappointment and understanding. Someone pushes past you again. Javier’s hand instinctively lands on your shoulder to guide you.

“I should’ve asked you earlier, if it was okay for me to touch you?” He almost takes his hand off you but someone else makes their way through the crowded diner as well, and once again he’s guiding you to squeeze closer to him, away from their fast feet and body that would otherwise bump into you.

“Yeah, I mean, I guess we can’t be afraid of some hand holding and casual touches, right?”

“Yeah,” he agrees. He doesn’t pull his hand off you, which you expect. He’s tentative with his touch, unlike in the garage. It lingers lightly, but then presses steadily against you, his thumb on that damn knot, and once again your shoulder complains. You flinch and turn your head away from the pain, gasping out a breath in discomfort.

As on cue he lifts his hand even though you can still feel the heat of it. “You okay?” You roll your stiff shoulders even though it doesn’t seem to help at all.

“I’m fine. Just a tight musc—” your words cut out with a sharp inhale as he finds the spot instantly.

“Here?” His thumb rubs against it in a tight circle, presses gently but enough to cause the knot to burn.

“Uh-huh,” you squeak, and tilt your head away from his hand.

“I had the same problem, always when I was stressed it would lock back up, right here.” He presses on the muscle and makes you gasp for air. He almost sounds like he’s talking to himself rather than you in the full diner. You wouldn’t hear his voice if he wasn’t as close as he is.

Javier massages the spot over and over, slowly bringing blood flow back into it. You could get used to it, his touch, the large hand on your shoulder, the thumb that manages to circle the pain exactly at the right point, coaxing the tension onto the surface. 

“Why don’t you go to Gary’s often?” You could close your eyes. You’re already leaning against Javier’s palm, almost against him, but the question stuck with you.

“Because of his son.” You giggle as the knot starts to open and his answer hits you at the same time.

“You?”

“No, I never go there.”

“Wonder why,” his voice sounds like it’s right next to your ear.

“Yeah, the tip jar won’t be full after my car is fixed.” The soft vibrations of Javier’s chuckles run in through your ear and spikes your skin with goosebumps. You tip your chin against your chest, unable to hold in your own gentle laugh.

Your shoulder is still a bit sore a few days later, but it doesn’t complain anymore when you need to turn your head. You can pull out the hanger with the little black dress you haven’t worn too often and when you get your head through the neckline and zip up the back, the muscle doesn’t burn like you would’ve just spent hours in the same position decorating a cake or sitting by a desk typing out orders and invoices.

You smooth out the dress and look at yourself in the mirror. Is it too short? The hem falls on your mid-thigh, covered in see-through black pantyhose.

You turn and run your hands over your backside. It’s okay, not too short.

Your phone rings once before it stops completely. Javier. You told him to call and let the phone ring once to let you know when he’s downstairs at six. You look at the clock. He’s five minutes early.

Your heart starts to slam against your ribs. You blot lipstick on your lips and rub your finger against them to spread the red more evenly. You check your purse for the umpteenth time since you packed it right after work.

You step into your black pumps, giving your posture a boost. You check your necklace in the mirror last, the chain empty against your chest. You really should find a fitting pendant for it. To replace the one your mom had but lost right after your grandpa died.

You turn your keys in the lock and as soon as your door clicks, nerves spike.

“It’s an agreement, nothing more,” you repeat to the irrational side of your brain that keeps telling you that you’re going out on a date.

A pungent, odd smell drifts to your nose as you pass your neighbor’s door. That same irrational voice says you forgot to wear deodorant. No, you didn’t, as you smell your pits. And it also doesn’t smell like sweat, more like some heavy duty cleaning product. It must be your neighbor. There’s some pumping, 70’s disco music playing in his apartment and the vacuum cleaner is on, clanking against the wall closest to the corridor.

A buzzing wall scone illuminates the corridor in dim yellow, leaving the stairs dark until another, flickering wall scone welcomes you into its sepia toned embrace at the bottom of the stairs. You take steps carefully down, holding onto the handrailing with your dear life, your feet getting used to the high heels after wearing sneakers for months.

You can’t even remember the last time you wore heels. This time it’s appropriate. The restaurant Javier has reserved your table at is a fancier one, right outside of town. You’ve never dined there, but you once delivered a cake there for the 60th birthday party of the richest family in town. You’re not sure whose birthday it was, but the place looked dressy.

The steps descend into darkness and your legs turn into cement. You have to stop and hold your hand against the wall for a moment. The light at the bottom of the stairs doesn’t illuminate this far and the narrow window on top of the door is a joke at letting in light. Though there’s no natural light left anyway. Evening and twilight have already fallen.

It’s not the dark that holds you in place. It’s the voice in your head. The irrational one, the one that likes to live in a fantasy from time to time. The one that made up all the images of a soulmate who you’d buy a traditional home with and where you’d have a mantelpiece filled with family photos.

The one that made you wake up with a smile on your lips when it was barely morning because you dreamt about Javier. In the dream you were sitting next to him, and you were happy. You knew he was the one. When reality finally caught up with you, you were horrified of what your mind had concocted in your sleep.

This time the voice likes to remind you that you’re going out on a date. When you get down the stairs and open the door, Javier is going to be standing next to his car and there’ll be no turning back. You’re pretending something that will hold meaning to some people and others won’t bat an eye.

You shut that voice down immediately. You’re only helping each other out, taking care of a joined problem and that’s it. No matter what people think or don’t think, you’ll be done with this act immediately after Abigail and Noah’s wedding.

You can go back to normal. You can forget it ever happened even when people would ask why you two parted ways. It will probably give you some good, shared laughs with Javier every once in a while, when you bump into each other around town or if he happens to come and pick up something for his dad from the bakery.

You take a deep breath and take the steps down. Under the flickering wall scone you tell the voice that it’s not a date. You’re just seeing each other to get the ball rolling. People have to see you two in public so your scam will be more believable. That’s all it is, and that’s all it’s going to be.

You open the door. Javier isn’t next to his car like you thought he would. He’s standing behind the door, a palette of emotions running over his face at once. Surprise, calm, nervousness? Until his eyes take you in by looking you up and down from your eyes to your dress to your pantyhose glad legs to your shoes and back up again to your eyes, settling on a soft smirk.

“I was going to ring the doorbell,” he points at the buzzer with his thumb, your name written with bulky letters on a sticker.

“Sorry, I had to make sure I had everything.”

“That’s fine!” He stands still, in front of you, a sudden silence filling you with awkwardness.

“Well…” And you laugh a short laugh, one that could be mistaken for a confused ‘huh’.

“Ready?” Javier melts into action, letting you walk out of the doorway.

“Yeah, let me just lock this.” He waits patiently for you to lock the door behind you. He’s hovering again. You see him from the corner of your eye, his black boots that shine dimly under the streetlights.

He’s not wearing jeans, as you somehow thought he would. He’s in dark slacks, his white shirt a crisp contrast to the shirts he usually wears. He opens the truck door for you, and waits patiently for you to get in.

He offers you his hand when you’re about to take support of the car door to sit on the worn leather of the front seat. You smile and take it, his skin burning hot against your warmth, gentle yet firm as he holds it until you’re in.

You try to smooth the hem of your dress under you, but it’s already in place. The leather imprints against the backs of your thighs, the only saving factor is your pantyhose, keeping your skin from sticking to the seat that gets toasty from body heat in no time.

Javier waits for a car to pass until he hops in on the driver’s seat.

“You got your car back,” he says, the lights on his truck flashing on the rear of your car.

“I got it the day after we went to the garage. Apparently, Gary had to send his son to pick up the battery from Laredo.” You still made sure to personally tip only Gary. Rick wasn’t getting any of it. No matter how it was a favor for Javier and Gary was adamant in following through, you couldn’t leave without paying something.

“Good.” Another silence falls between you two.

Javier drives in a way that is secure, even on the darkest roads, where the only sweeping light illuminated against the asphalt is from the headlights. He’s relaxed. His other elbow rests on the open window where warm wind blows in at the comfortable speed he’s driving. His other arm lays against his thigh, yet both his hands are on the steering wheel. He knows these roads. He has driven them countless times over the years.

The restaurant is like a mirage in the distance. It appears through the dark with a golden haze. Javier fixes his back against the leather seat the closer you get. Your heart rate spikes when he parks the truck in the far end of the small parking lot, full of cars.

Cicadas chirp as the engine shuts off, your door towards the solitude of night. He’s out the door before you’ve opened your seatbelt buckle, and he opens the door for you just as you lay your hand to open it yourself. His white shirt illuminates against the restaurant lighting, working as a safety barrier between you and the vast emptiness where there’s nothing else than miles of farming land.

He's still not saying anything, neither do you. Your mind is blank, and the only sound that echoes in your ears are your matched footsteps. Your heels click and his boots scuff every few steps against the ground. The sound of the cicadas drifts off the further away you get from the tall grass and bushes.

The hem of your dress caresses against the back of your thighs until there’s another feeling. It’s very soft, barely there, but it’s still there, on the small of your back. Javier’s hand. It’s not intrusive or forced, but careful and measured. His fingers drag lightly against you when he pulls his hand back to open the door for you and let you walk into the restaurant first.

“Welcome to the Velvet Fig, how can I help you tonight?” A chipper, blonde woman asks, her hair in perfect curls and her teeth as white as the pressed tablecloths.

“I have a reservation, under Peña.” You stand next to him clutching your purse in your hands. You scratch the fabric with the nail of your thumb, standing with your back straight and a tingling in your lower back.

Javier’s arm is almost against yours, still far enough that you’d need to lean towards him if you wanted to truly press against him, but still close enough that the hair on your arm is standing still and reaching for the feel of him. The hostess runs her finger along the page of her reservation book, taps it twice and then lifts her face to smile at the two of you.

“This way Mr. Peña.” She takes two menus with her and leads you through the restaurant. Javier lets you go first, following behind you. You get the same sense of him as you did when you met him for the first time.

His warmth radiates towards you, like you’re attracting it, and he’s happy to make you feel it. It makes you aware of him, almost hyper aware of how close he is and how he follows each of your steps with his own, matching them so he won’t step on your heels.

You catch someone’s eye as you walk past them. An older lady with graying hair. She’s possibly with her husband, who is sawing through a well-cooked steak. She observes you from your head to the hem of your dress. If she was wearing pearls, she’d clutch them.

The judgmental look in her eyes is enough to give you a few extra inches of confidence and you smile sweetly at her with a little head tilt, passing her by without giving her a second thought. The whole restaurant is full of people like her. Older couples. People with money. People who will look at you down the bridges of their noses, giving you a mental score to decide how deserving you’re to be in here.

“Here you go,” the hostess presents a round booth table for you and Javier at the far end of the restaurant. It’s quiet here, even with the other booths full. A small bouquet of red roses sit in a small vase in the middle of the table, a candle in a frosty glass candle holder next to it. Javier waits for you to get seated before he slides in from the other side.

The velvet of the seat catches against your pantyhose, and you try to fix your dress the best you can in the narrow space. The hostess places the menus in front of you on the table and claps her hands together gently, to not draw attention to herself with a loud noise.

“A waiter is going to come take your drink orders in a few minutes.” Her pleasant attitude is so well crafted that you could almost believe that’s what she’s like when she takes off her black pencil skirt, high heels, and white little collared blouse.

You’ve seen her before though.

She has come to the bakery a couple of times. You never forget the faces of those who complain. She didn’t see you at first, but you sure heard her laughing about how she would’ve added more butter to the brioche and made the brownies cakier than fudgier if the bakery was hers.

She also found some big words to critique your choice of opening hours, thinking the bakery would do better if it stayed open until late in the evening since no one can come in during the day like she did, right before closing, while looking at the empty shelves and discounted brown paper bags with the last bread rolls in them. Luckily she’s not in charge of your business.

“Thank you,” both you and Javier say at the same time, immediately locking eyes right after. The hostess leaves, and so does your confidence. Once again, you’re in a game against Javier, the game of who breaks under pressure first. He looks at you with unblinking eyes. They’re honey dipped in the warm mood lighting, almost melting in the way he’s keeping you nailed to your seat.

“I don’t know why, but I’m nervous,” you throw the towel in immediately. You can’t win against this guy, you don’t even have a chance. A smile appears slowly at first, from the corners of his eyes, until it breaks through and spreads onto his lips.

“Me too, this isn’t something I do often.” He smooths his hand against the tablecloth and brings the folded thick cotton napkin closer to you.

“Fake date women to keep people from asking too many questions about your personal life?” You crack the joke and immediately regret it when he turns his attention back to you with a smile on his face, but seriousness in his eyes.

“No, take women out on dates.” A vague sound that resembles an “ah” comes out of your mouth as his answer strips you of any other words. What can you even say when his answer sounds like a lie. Or at least if you look at Javier, it seems impossible that he wouldn’t be going out on dates. A thought crosses your mind. Maybe, just maybe him ditching his bride at the altar had another reason entirely.

“You mean… You’ve…” Your slow words make his brows get a quizzical arch in them. You have to clear your throat and make sure no one else will hear you.

There was a guy once who you had a crush on. You had just started college and he sat next to you in one of your classes. You once asked to borrow a pen from him, he once asked to see your notes from the previous class that he had missed.

Since then you became friendly, your thoughts racing ahead of you a million miles an hour. Once, when you were having lunch in the cafeteria, there was another guy who came to sit with you. Andrew and Christopher, Andy and Chris for short. They tried to be subtle, but the sentences they finished for each other and them sitting like they were glued together only told you that Chris was off the market. The last you heard they live in San Francisco now.

“I totally get it if you’re trying to hide and I would never let anyone know…” you whisper to Javier, almost apologetic he has to be in a position like this with you.

“What?” He leans closer to you, clearly not catching onto what you’re trying to imply with your unsaid words.

“If you’re… you know…” A waiter walks past your table with a big, expensive looking wine bottle in hand. You lower your voice even more. “Gay?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, protective of his privacy and secret already. He leans back, stares at you, and then breaks into a rich baritone laugh. He finally looks away with his cheeks tinting pink in the low lighting.

“No,” Javier breathes out the word between chuckles and shakes his head. “I’m not gay, I just haven’t been out on dates. With anyone.”

Your mouth goes dry. “Oh, fu—” you break the curse word with a light exhale as the waiter briskly appears from the shadows.

“Good evening, I’m Jonathan and I’m going to be your waiter this evening.” He smiles at you both and whips out a little notepad and a pen. You reach for the glass in front of you, ready to take a sip of anything to make the sandpaper feel of your tongue go away. It’s empty.

Javier eyes at the motion from the corner of his eye. “If you haven’t had time to look at the menus yet, you can find the drinks on the last page, and I can tell you about some cocktail options as well if you’re interested?”

“We’ll start with a bottle of water, thank you. Would you like some wine?” Javier asks, the pink on his skin settling down.

“Rosé?” Your voice is begging for some moisture.

“And a glass of your best rosé for my date,” Javier orders effortlessly. Jonathan writes it down swiftly, already a seasoned veteran in his job even though his skin is still smooth and there’s a boyish twinkle in his eyes.

“Water for the table and a rosé for the lady, I’ll be back in a moment.” He leaves just as smoothly as he appeared.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make assumptions, I just thought I had put two and two together and… I’m sorry, it also wouldn’t be my place to even know if you were,” you ramble while your palms start to sweat.

The gentle smile on Javier switches to his eyes narrowing while getting stuck on words that start the game up again. The way he listens to you, intense and all his focus on you, makes you shut up. He doesn’t care that Jonathan comes back with a thick glass bottle of water in one hand, which he places on the table next to the flowers, and a tall wine glass in his other hand, which he places in front of you.

You smile at him while Javier’s acknowledgement is mostly just a quick side look and a quiet “thank you”, that he says to you rather than the server. It doesn’t take too much investigating to know what exactly he heard between your words.

“You had put two and two together, huh?” There’s no backing out now.

“There’s something I heard…” He’s somehow even closer now, leaning his forearm against the table, crowding you with his broad shoulders, his smell that’s somewhere between leather, soap and cigarette smoke and his voice that’s still ringing in your ears.

To some his presence could be intimidating. It could make them cower, make them lose their own voice and submit to him. Yet when you sit next to him, you don’t get the urge to back down. You see the softness in his jaw, the curiosity that twinkles somewhere in the smooth crow’s feet next to his eyes, in how he patiently waits for you to keep on going no matter what it is.

“Abigail said something about you almost getting married?” Javier’s sudden, but subtle inhale is an answer in itself. He turns from you and busies himself pouring water for you and for himself.

“So that’s what was bothering you in the car the other day.” He doesn’t even look at you. It’s only an observation.

He most likely saw how relieved it made you to say it out loud after holding onto questions you know you’re not going to get answers to anytime soon. He’s a brick wall and he’s not going to say another word.

“Should I know something, so I won’t be blindsided with whatever people tell me?” If you’re still playing the game you two have been unconsciously playing, you’re winning by heaps. This game just seems awfully unfair and not something you’ll celebrate winning.

“You already have something on your mind?” The cold look on his face could shut up anyone.

“What happened between you and her, your ex-fiancée?” Javier lifts his chin almost in defiance. He breathes through his mouth, his lower lip puffing out under the now well-groomed mustache. Then he looks at you, crowds your personal bubble again.

He holds his arm over the back of the velvet couch you’re both sitting on. His eyes are unfocused just past you, his thoughts taking him back to another time in his life. To another version of him.

“We had a rough patch for a few months because of a job I applied for, and we were talking about splitting up. She told me she was pregnant and that changed everything.” His voice is monotonous, like he’s reading a script.

Then his eyes focus on you and a mirthless little smile invades his face with pain. You’re instinctively ready to plant your palm against his cheek, to let him lean on you for a moment. You press your hands together tighter to keep yourself from exploring that action.

“We were going to get married, until the night before the wedding when she told me she made it up. She was holding out hope I would still marry her but we both knew that wasn’t going to happen. I left, she stayed, life moved on.”

“Where did you go then?”

“I took a job in Colombia.”

“Tell me about it,” you urge him without a pause.

His shoulders stiffen instantly. He takes you in, watches you with unblinking eyes, and like he gets zapped by an electric shock, he notices how close he is to you.

As he pulls himself slowly away from you, the first thing you notice is how the heat from his body leaves you as well.

Then it’s his breath from his parted lips that doesn’t blow gently against your face anymore.

Then it’s his smell.

His arm slides against the back of the dark velvet of your seating, his hand against the thick tablecloth.

Then, it’s his knee. When he pulls the last few inches of his body away from you, his knee leaves yours under the table. It was a steady pressure, a connection of clothed skin against clothed skin, yet it was branding you hot.

You hadn’t even noticed it until now when it’s gone. Almost like his knee had always pressed against yours under tables, in secret but still in plain sight if you knew what you were supposed to look for.

Your knee cools fast, even in the comfortable warmth of the restaurant.

Last, he turns his face from you. You’re sensitive to the loneliness next to him when he shuts himself off from you. Milliseconds tick away and each gives your brain a jolt of restlessness.

You’d want to reach your hand out, not necessarily to even touch him, but to get closer to him. Not for your sake, but his.

The hurt he doesn’t want to talk about hangs heavily over him and the longer he’s quiet, shut away from you, the likelier it is that the topic is off limits. Never something for you to know about, or something for you to even ask about. It’s a hard line and he’s drawing it in the sand.

Jonathan strolls in, breaking the tension in the air.  “Have you had time to decide on the menu options or would you like me to tell you about our specials?” You scramble to open your menu and straighten your back, fixing a smile on your face to tell him that he’s not disrupting anything. The worry in his eyes calms instantly.

“What are the specials?” You ask him just as Javier takes the menu in his hands, opens it slowly and drifts back to the present moment.

Jonathan starts to repeat a list of dishes from his little note pad, pointing at each with his pen. The ingredients and options fly right through your ears, and nothing sticks to the Teflon of your understanding.

You nod your head while reading the menu at the same time, hyper aware of Javier’s tight jaw and presence next to you, heavily pressing against your right side. He wants to say something, but Jonathan is still reading the list he has written down.

“I’ll have the pasta, please,” you tell him before he can start with the desserts.

“The lemon and shrimp pasta?” Jonathan raises his brows, his pen immediately ready to write.

“Sure!” You smile, only remembering hearing the word pasta, but not any of the other ingredients.

”Steak for me, medium rare, please,” Javier shuts the menu and hands it to the server.

“Anything else you’d like?”

“We’re waiting for that rosé we ordered?” Jonathan’s face flashes bright red, immediately going back to his notepad and finding the right ticket.

“I’m so extremely sorry, I’ll be back with it right away.” He ducks his head low and speedwalks away.

“You don’t have to know more about Colombia than what you’ve probably already heard from people and their big mouths,” Javier’s low voice mumbles as he turns back to you.

It’s deep enough to vibrate into your ears and send shivers down from the back of your neck to the small of your back. There’s an intensity in his eyes that melts immediately when he sees you run your necklace between your fingers and the wide-eyed shock as he’s suddenly talking to you again.

The assumption hits you like a slap across your face. “I haven’t heard anything, just that Chucho’s son is back in town. How would I have known the guy I met at a party would be him? Or that he’d ask me to fake date him so people wouldn’t ask questions? And you really think I go around seeking gossip and making decisions about others based on those?” The words flow fast and sting in the back of your throat as you try to calm the odd tension between you two.

Jonathan flies in with a fancy full bottle of wine in his hand and another tall glass between his fingers.

“As compensation we’d like to offer you a free glass of wine, if that’s okay. I’m incredibly sorry I forgot to bring this earlier.” His boyish features carry shame in a self-deprecating way that manages to zap even more energy into your annoyance.

“Yes, thank you.” The smile on your face is tight, but you can’t let the irritation spill into your voice. Javier is still sitting turned towards you. His figure relaxes. His arms visibly lose their hard stiffness even in the corner of your eye.

You don’t have enough patience for tantrums from a man who you’re on a pretended first date with. Instead, you watch Jonathan pour the rosé into the tall, high-rimmed glasses. The drink flows in like the time has slowed down, your questions to Javier hanging between you two. Yet Jonathan doesn’t seem to notice or care that now his presence isn’t welcomed. You want to hear what Javier has to say.

“I’m sorry,” Javier says immediately when Jonathan is out of earshot. He takes a deep breath and taps the fingers of his right hand against the table. “I’ve been…”

“Your dinner will be served shortly.” Jonathan comes back once more with utensils and places them onto your napkins.

“Thank you,” you repeat in unison with Javier, relieved Jonathan leaves. The whole restaurant is booming with chatter, your conversation with Javier staying under the volume. You take a deep breath and take a sip of your wine.

“Good?” The sweeter notes hide the first signs of dryness in the warm pink wine, until they spread around your tongue like a blanket.

“Good,” you answer and set the glass down. You turn towards Javier as well, finding him once again closer than you expected. “What were you about to say?” He bows his head down and shakes his head lightly.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me something that I don’t want to talk about since I took you to town earlier and you still managed to surprise me.” He calculates each word, his voice slow and soft, each word following each other in a careful manner.

Slowly they bring out his confidence again. His knee taps against yours and then settles there. This time you’re sensitive to the feel of him, unexpected and still completely expected from him to use his body to ground you.

“You’re welcome?” The bite in your tone has shifted into sarcasm. The wine spreads warmth through you. Your second sip gently relaxes you in the moment.

“People like to talk here, that’s how they’ve always been and will always be. I’m sorry that I was too much in my own head to give you the benefit of the doubt.” He’s sincere. It’s obvious from his unwavering eye contact and the determination that has settled between his brows.

He leans slowly against the back of the couch. His other arm rises naturally behind you, to rest on the velvet. He’s taking up his space while still making your little booth a bubble just for the two of you. He’s not demanding you to be in it, he’s also not forcing you to even stay still with your knees knocked together, yet here you are, with no intention to move.

“Now I know you haven’t dated anyone in a while.”

Him sitting like that, relaxed and his attention on you and your words, in the nervous tick of you touching the minimal links of your necklace, gives you enough confidence to bring the conversation back to something that surprised you as well. He chuckles. It’s an action he might not do too often as he hides his smile by looking away from you.

“How did you know about this place then, if you’ve never been here before?” He brings himself back to you and leans forward. You don’t know how he does it, but once again he’s closer. So much closer. He drops his left hand behind you onto the seat, and the length of his arm presses across your back, like an extra support.

“See that man over there?” He pointedly looks at a table in the middle of the room, the same one where the judgmental woman was sitting earlier. She has left and has been replaced by a much younger woman in a tight top and her hair in a perfect updo with strategic flyways curled on her temples and the back of her neck.

Across from her sits a man with salt and pepper hair and a body that is wide and round. He smiles at the woman who is holding the menu in her hands, an uncomfortable server standing next to them with her notepad open. You don’t hear them, but you can imagine the man urging his date to order anything she wants from the list, while she’s struggling to make a decision between a salad or fries to go along with her rib eye. You nod your head and lean your ear a little closer to Javier. He inhales right next to it and breathes out so slowly that the air gets trapped between you two. He does it without tickling your ear.

“He caught his ex-wife cheating while he was away on some cruise with his girlfriend. Guess who won the court case because the judge knew him in school and is now flaunting his alimony to make the ex-wife jealous.”

“You serious?” Javier hasn’t fallen far from the tree of this town.

“Yeah. Little does he know the ex is going to sue him for the alimony and will most likely win because he has been hiding his assets. Or that’s at least what people have been saying, because he comes here every week with the girlfriend.”

“You know what?” The younger woman gives her menu back to the server, and she folds her hands under her chin. The innocent move with the smile she has on her face is so rehearsed that the performance could be from a low budget movie that gets people talking for about a week because of the age difference between the actors and then everyone will forget about it.

You turn to look at Javier, your noses only inches away from each other. You can count every pore on his face, the deep brown of his eyes like burnt candy, aware of your proximity before you even focused on him, his attention on you like it had never even left.

“You’re a great gossip,” you say jokingly, but not really joking.

“Ugh,” he gasps out a chuckle and turns back to the other guests with a shake of his head. “You can thank my dad for that, he always tells me what’s going on around town. I don’t really care what people are doing unless someone I know is involved.”

“Have you heard any juicy rumors about someone you know lately?” Curiosity takes over.

“You,” he says, almost proud when you whip back to him with your eyes wide.

“Me?”

“Yeah, a little bird tells me you’re seeing Javier Peña.”

“Oh great, haha, very funny.”

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

“Wait, are you serious? People are actually talking about us?”

“Yes,” Javier laughs. “And now they’ll be talking even more.”

“How would you know?” You bring your wine glass to your lips. A couple of tables over is a woman, probably in her forties, who stares at you two intently.  She looks like someone who you’ve seen at the bakery before too, but you can’t remember her name.

With a jolt she notices you’ve caught her, and she immediately looks away. A few tables from hers a couple of older people are both looking at you from the corners of their eyes, shamelessly whispering to each other every once in a while, while still watching you. Have these people been watching this the whole time you’ve been sitting here, or did they just start?

“This place has a reputation. If you want others to know about your status or you just want to be seen, you come here, and everyone will be talking about it in a few days if the gossip’s juicy enough.” Javier explains into your ear.

“And the note trick, at the bakery? You knew that as well”

“Outsiders will always want to know what a note says if it’s given to someone visibly enough to make it seem like a botched attempt at trying to be sneaky.”

“You know awful lot about things like that,” you wonder out loud while you scan the whole restaurant. Your eyes sweep past someone very familiar.

“Abigail and Noah are here,” you whisper to Javier, and smile at him. He catches on immediately.

Even though you’re not looking at her anymore, you can still sense her eyes drilling into you. She’s making your date with Javier something that’s forbidden. You can already hear her voice in your head tell you off for not cancelling the date even after her warnings about him being untrustworthy.

“Like I said, this place has a reputation. Some people come here just to see what they could talk about for the next week.” he says into your ear. His breath tickles against your skin. So, she’s here to check if you’re really going out with Javier. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe she’ll let her obsession of you finding a date for the wedding go and she won’t bat an eye when you show up there with a date who she hasn’t chosen for you.

“Relax. They might be watching us, but we don’t have to care about any of them.” As soon as he says it, any of them, you notice that it’s not just a couple of people who have noticed you. It’s everyone.

Some are more discreet, hide their prying eyes into checking the time on their wrist watches or hiding behind their hands as they fix their hair. The booth you’re sitting in might be by the back wall, in the dim lighting, but it doesn’t mean that you would be invisible to others. On the contrary, it seems like you’re sitting at the perfect spot for others to see you two sitting almost skin to skin, his arm behind you, still pressing against your back and giving you something to lean on when the dread hits.

This isn’t about a date for a wedding anymore. This is something that will follow you to the bakery, to grocery shopping trips, to the post office. The only ones who will stay in the dark are people who don’t live in your town, and even those who might hear rumors but won’t understand who are the two who have now apparently found each other. This was supposed to be simple, an arrangement so the people who won’t get off your backs about a date would stop talking. Now, everyone else will be doing the talking instead.

“Why are they all so nosey?” You try not to show distaste on your face with the question. You still have to school your nose and upper lip to stop wrinkling.

“Maybe they’re bored,” Javier questions out loud, sounding like he has thought about this before too. “Or then it’s because it’s you and it’s me. They know me well enough, they know my history. Do they know yours?” It’s a genuine question which you don’t know the answer to.

“I’ve lived here for years now, I shouldn’t be a stranger.”

“Maybe not, but you’re not from here either.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“No,” Javier laughs, almost too obvious for him to even answer you. He shakes his head and a smirk settles onto his lips that makes the other side of his smile crook up bringing out a playfulness that tells you this isn’t the first time he has used his knowledge to create such scenarios where you’re at. He knows the patterns and details, he knows how to get under people’s skin. Most importantly, he knows how to use those details to his benefit.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” You ask him genuinely curious to know what’s going on inside his head. He doesn’t hide it either, the mischievous glint in the burnt amber of his eyes that are searching for your reactions every second as you take in the situation you’re in.

“It beats the sweaty farm work.” You can’t help but laugh and he joins you.

“Can I ask you something?” the laughter ripples into gentle smiles where you try to hide your fear he’ll lock himself away from you again. He waits, still relaxed, not showing any signs of pulling away from you this time.

“In Colombia,” you pause to see how he responds. He swallows and breathes out a long breath, all the air from his lungs, but still refuses to leave you stranded. “What did you do there? What were you working on?”

“You really haven’t heard?” He asks instantly. His brows dip lower and his eyes narrow. His knee is locked against yours.

“No, I haven’t.”

“What are you thinking I did there then?” Flipping the question to you.

“Hmmm,” you sigh out and lean back a little. His arm presses against your back almost like he’s making sure that you won’t fall off the couch even though there’s no risk of that happening. Or then he’s keeping you from moving away too much.

You look at him, truly look at him. You’ve seen him before too, but those have been times when it has almost been like watching him through a curtain. You’ve been too afraid to show him that you’re truly seeing him for who he is.

The face is a given. All the freckles from staying out in the sun for long, the gold flecked eyes, the well-trimmed mustache, the plushy lips that are about to crack into a wider smile as he watches you watch him. The thick arches of his brows and the lines between them from frowning tell you he has spent a long time stressed, even worried. His tanned skin is another.

But then there’s the strong neck, the chest that wants to peek through the neckline of his button-down, his wide shoulders that protect and support, the strength of his biceps bulging through the cotton of his shirt. He turns his head a little and his nose reminds you of those roman historical figures you read about in school. He’s fit, but in the way that he does a lot of physical activities, rather than hitting the gym seven times a week.

“I honestly don’t know. You could work in IT based on your extensive shirt collection, maybe an engineer of some sort, or then you were, I don’t know, in military? You seem disciplined enough.” He actually laughs at that, and it pulls you back in. He sighs, mutters “disciplined enough, hmmm,” to himself and watches you, in similar manner as you did him.

It’s impossible for you to decipher what he sees when he looks at you like that, with his eyes a little squinted, slowly moving from one part of your face to the next, looking at your hair, then down your neck, to the necklace, and down still, moving quickly past your chest to stop at your middle and the hem of your dress that rests high up your pillowy thighs.

He’s kind with his observations. You could easily fall into insecurity and unease, but he makes sure he’s soft with his expression and how he handles you while you’re sitting so close to him.

“I think I’ve heard a joke somewhere, about a baker and an ex-DEA agent walking into a restaurant…” You immediately tut at him and almost roll your eyes too, shaking your head, when he takes your wrist into his hand and presses gently, forcing you to focus.

“That’s why they care, because of the life I’ve lived somewhere else, the people I’ve come to contact with.” His answer makes the sarcasm drift off from your answer to him. He’s not joking. The hand on your wrist stays, but it forces you to take in the information he has given you.

“So you were…” How do you even ask someone about a life that included, maybe still does, so much danger. He finally looks away, to his hand locked around your skin. “You were in Colombia working as a DEA agent?”

“Yes.”

Of course you’ve seen the news over the years, about cartels and drugs. Of drug lords and the complicated power play people have had to play either as outsiders or as participants.

No wonder people were talking about Javier coming back home after everything that went down there. The whole town must be proud of him. He looks up, through his lashes, somehow the light in his eyes darker.

The people in town, even in this restaurant, might feel proud of him, but the look in his eyes tells a different story. The others might put him on a pedestal, see him as a hero of some sort. He disagrees.

“You want to ask me about it?”

“Do you want me to?” it’s not your choice or decision. He has to be the one to tell you about it, in his own time, if he ever feels comfortable enough.

“Not now,” Javier straightens his back and lifts his chin, his eyes following something.

“Okay!” Jonathan strolls back in just as you turn to look at what Javier was already following. “The pasta for the lady,” he places the plate with steaming fettuccine pasta topped with parsley, thin lemon slices and fat shrimps in front of you.

“And here’s the steak, medium rare,” Jonathan turns the plate in front of Javier, the piece of meat glistening in the low lighting, green beans and a creamy dollop of mashed potatoes next to it, a quenelle of what looks like seasoned butter melting over it.

“Thank you,” you repeat at the same time with Javier again, like little kids trained to say the right words at the right times. Jonathan nods and sweeps past your table, head held high like an ostrich looking around with its tall neck. He observes his surroundings and immediately moves faster when an older man’s hand raises up a couple of tables over.

You follow Javier’s lead in taking your cutlery in your hands and twirl pasta around the fork. It’s salty, tangy, a little sweet, and the shrimp comes through with a fishy meatiness that you wouldn’t have missed until at the last moment.

Javier eats slowly, enjoying each bite, forcing you to pace yourself as well. If you were alone, and at home, you would probably listen to the rumble in your stomach and be done with the plate in a record amount of time.

While you eat, you forget about the others around you. There’s only you and Javier. The silence between you two is comfortable, almost soothing you to forget about your friend sitting on the other side of the restaurant with her fiancé, still keeping an eye on you and your every move.

Javier is cutting a piece off his steak when the knife slows down in thought. You help more pasta in your mouth when he sets his cutlery down completely and reaches for his wine glass. Now Abigail’s observing eyes aren’t the only ones you can feel on you.

“You asked me questions, I think it’s fair if I ask you something as well.” He’s calm and collected, while you nod with your mouth full. You wipe some of the sauce from the corner of your mouth hastily and try to chew so he doesn’t have to wait for an answer for long. You’re an open book, whatever he asks, it can’t be worse than what you asked him.

“You wanted to know if there’s something you could be blindsided with. Is there anything like that I should know about you?” There’s a last little bit of pasta waiting between your teeth and you stop chewing immediately when you hear his question.

Maybe you were being a little naïve, thinking he’d ask something specific about where you grew up or how you ended up in this town, how you met Abigail or how your bakery came to be. An open-ended question like his, it makes your thoughts spiral out of control. Your fingers reach for your necklace, and you can’t look at him.

“Uhh,” you mumble when your mouth is finally empty. “I’ve never dated anyone before.” It seems like the safest answer. His eyes are fixed on your necklace, until they’re not. Disbelief settles on the lines between his brows.

“You’re joking.” He’s not even asking, only stating his disbelief.

“There just hasn’t been anyone who was special enough. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve gone out on dates but those have never evolved into anything more serious.” Javier huffs out a breath at your answer.

“What?”

“Seems hard to believe you would’ve never dated anyone.”

“Well, you better start believing.” The song with the similar lyrics starts playing in your head. He shakes his head, and then focuses back on your hand that’s still playing with the golden chain against your chest.

“That’s a beautiful necklace.”

“Oh, thanks!” You press it against your skin with your palm.

“Has someone given it to you?” You blink at him, head emptying immediately. You try to smile but have tears pricking at your eyes instead.

“From my mom.” Your voice is eerily steady, so much steadier than you usually would have it.

“It must be special then?” Javier’s voice drops. His observing nature doesn’t miss the change in your mood or the way you look away from him. Your hand drops to your lap, but your throat is filling with heaviness.

“Yeah,” you manage to choke out before you clear it. There hasn’t been a moment when Javier’s presence would’ve been too intense, too observant or too close. Yet now he’s too close.

The knee against yours is still pulling you in like a magnet and the pressure is too deep. His watchful eyes see too much, and you have nowhere to hide. Your discomfort is too palpable that even you’d want to get away from it.

You force yourself to pick up the fork and collect the last pieces of pasta onto it. You put it in your mouth and chew slowly in hopes of getting your throat to understand there’s no reason to be afraid. Javier won’t push it. If he would, he already would’ve done it.

He sits silently next to you, his hand resting on his thigh. You focus on it and the way his fingers curl against the dark fabric of his slacks. His knuckles are only a fraction of an inch away from your thigh. Luckily he doesn’t reach you.

“Are the toilets where?” You turn to him suddenly, catching him off guard. The gentle sadness on his face could break your heart if you weren’t so determined to leave for a moment. He’s sensitive to you, how you want to physically get away from his questions.

“It’s fine, she is living a good life. Sometimes I miss her. I… I’m sorry if I’m being weird about it but I don’t think about her that often really. We are doing our own thing.” You’re sensitive to him as well. You can’t leave him hanging or give him the impression that something is completely wrong with you or your mom.

“Okay,” he nods, accepting anything from you at this point.

“The toilets?” You ask again and he looks past you.

“I think they’re behind the corner there,” he points a finger towards the host’s table. You smile at him, a reassurance that you’re okay, before you make your way to the ladies room.

There’s no one else in the small toilet. Two stalls with open doors and a sink with a round mirror on the wall make you sigh out long. Your eyes sting with salty tears, so does your nose. You lock yourself in one of the stalls and take a wad of toilet paper from the dispenser, dapping at your under eyes frantically to not make the tears smudge your mascara. You take deep breaths in and blow them out slowly through your mouth.

The door to the toilet opens and closes. Heels click against the tiled floor. The woman on the other side of the stall opens the faucet and water starts splashing against the ceramic bowl. The normalcy of the action, even when you can’t see the other person, calms your racing memories. You dry the last remnants of wetness from your cheeks and flush the toilet paper.

Abigail is turned towards you when you open the stall door.

“What did he do?” She asks immediately when she sees you. You stand in the doorway, unable to move. This is the first time you’re talking since you last saw her at her house. What she said still stings, how she thinks Javier is using you and you’ll only be a conquest for him. Little does she know you’re both using each other and not for what she thinks.

“Nothing, I’ve just been a bit stressed.” You walk past her to the sink and start washing your hands in the running water. When you turn the faucet off, Abigail’s attempted calm breaths sound too loud in your ears.

“Please be honest with me. He clearly hurt you someway already, proving my point.” She places her hand on your shoulder and the too sweet look in her eyes, too much empathy, wipes away any sincerity she might’ve otherwise had on her face.

You shake your head and wipe your fingertips along your lower lash line. Your reflection in the mirror looks decent still, the tears haven’t turned your eyes red, and your makeup is still intact.

“Abigail,” you turn to her and look at her in the eyes. “He didn’t hurt me. We are having a good time together. I’ve been stressed lately, and it has nothing to do with him.” Your lies seem pretty believable to your ears. If confronting her wasn’t as serious as it now is, you’d be laughing how the last sentence couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Are you sure? Because it looked like he said something that upset you and I don’t want to see him do that to you.” She rubs her hand against your shoulder, exactly where you’ve had the tight muscle. It’s not comforting for you, instead it makes you tighten your shoulder, and it complains immediately.

“Yes, I’m sure! You don’t have to be worried about me. I love you, but let me handle this on my own, okay?” Abigail sighs and drops her hand. She looks disappointed, almost like she was looking for the juiciest gossip just like Javier said.

“Okay then. But there’ll come a day when you will be hurt by him, and I’ll be there for you when that happens.” She tilts her head, and the empathetic downturn of her eyes almost makes yours roll a complete 360.

“Will you be there for me even when nothing happens?” You ask Abigail. Her empathy resolves into a smile that you’ve come to recognize as insincere. She still looks warm, just like a friend would. But there’s a tightness in her cheeks and the corners of her mouth that makes your alarm bells go off in your gut. You realize why that is. The smile doesn’t reach her eyes, they’re hard and keeping an eye on you. Just like out in the restaurant, when she was watching you and Javier eat.

“Come here,” she coaxes and pulls you in for a hug. You wrap your arms around her and feel her stiff body against yours. “Of course I’ll be here for you, no matter what goes down! You can always count on me.” She squeezes you against her one last time before she lets go but keeps her hands on your shoulders.

“I’ve missed you!” She gushes and shakes you gently. It has always made you laugh when she has done that. Almost like it’s a tradition for her to tell you she has missed you, driving every word home by shaking you by the shoulders. The tension between you to reminds you of the sweet times you’ve had together but you don’t get that sense of relief of someone missing you now.

“I’ve missed you too,” you tell her. For the first time ever it’s only a half truth. There have been times when you’ve missed Abigail a lot, and there have been times now that you’re not as close friends anymore, where you’ve found yourself to be missing her. Saying those words makes unease fall to the pit of your stomach and it stays there. Almost like this is the last time things will be somewhat normal between the two of you.

“Will you be ready soon?” She asks.

“No, I don’t think so.” You try to find smooth mellowness as you walk back into the restaurant hand in hand. “We might order some dessert still.” You tell her. You shouldn’t look at her, but you do and there’s no smile or empathy on her face. Only cold doubt that she tries to hide with a laughed out “aha!”.

“I hope you enjoy the rest of your date night,” you tell her and move to let go of her hand.

“Remember what I told you,” she holds on tight, forcing you to turn to him.

“I’m okay, there’s nothing to worry about.” She nods and lets go.

Javier is watching you when you turn to come back to your table. His eyes follow Abigail as she walks behind you to the opposite direction. When you’re only a few steps away from sitting down, he looks up at you and smirks.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing, she’s worried you’re going to use me.” You scoff and scoot back next to him. Were you really sitting this close to him? Your knees knock together again and stay there. The pressure that radiated against you earlier has disappeared and you easily welcome his physical touch again.

“Is that so?” His eyes linger on your thighs when you fix the hem of your dress after you’ve settled back in your seat.  

“I think you were right. She just wants gossip.” He quickly glances at her, then shakes his head.

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Where are the plates?” You were almost ready to fix yours up for taking.

“The server got them and offered me this,” Javier gives you the dessert menu bound in dark leather.

“I was just thinking we could get something!” Your enthusiasm about a possible dessert is contagious. He leans closer to see the pages of the little booklet in your lap. You turn it towards him. Javier leans his other hand behind you again. It would be so easy to bend towards him, to make space for yourself against his shoulder. It doesn’t seem right, you don’t know how he’d react. How even you would react.

“Find anything interesting?” He mumbles against your ear. The sound makes you swallow instantly.

“The triple layer chocolate cake sounds interesting.” Heat rises up with chills on the spot where his breath gently tickles your skin.

“I agree.” He signs for Jonathan to come by your table, and he takes the lead naturally. Javier takes the menu from you when you hold it out for him and his back straightens when he speaks with the server, ordering two pieces of cake.

“Actually, let’s share a piece, if that’s okay with you?” You ask Javier. His lips part as he looks at you and his lower lip naturally puffs out.

“I’m fine with that.” He turns back to Jonathan and changes the order. His eyes glint as he looks at you two, a little mischievous edge to them. You’re not sure if Jonathan is from town or from somewhere else, but the knowing look he gives you two is a good indication of your plan working. Maybe you just need to lean into the flirty gestures and weirdness of going out with someone only for show.

Javier turns back to you as Jonathan makes his way to the kitchen. There’s disbelief in the low smirk of his, intrigue in the few smile lines next to his eyes.

“I was looking forward to eating a slice by myself,” he accuses, clearly more offended he didn’t come up with the order on his own, but you outshone him in his own game once again.

“I was thinking, let’s give them all what they want. I can give you more chocolate cake from the bakery any day anyway.”

“I chose wisely. Not everyone has a bakery and access to chocolate cake at all times.” He makes you laugh, genuinely bursting a bubble of restriction and bringing out a sound that starts with gentle giggles and ends with your teeth showing and your eyes scrunching shut for a second.

When you open them, Javier’s smirk has evolved into a gentle smile, almost proud of his success in finding what kind of humor works on you.

“Look,” he begins and brushes his fingers against the lines between his brows, smoothing them. “I didn’t want to overstep with my questions, I’m sorry.” The words hold meaning. How many times have you been apologized to, sincerely? You can’t remember. There are no expectations, only honesty.

“I forgive you.” You let go of the rest of the heaviness. Javier smiles and nods. He moves his hand behind you, so his arm is gently pressed along your back again.  

Jonathan comes back with the chocolate cake. It looks decadent, moist, the layers thick and the filling creamy. There’s a generous dollop of Chantilly cream next to it on the plate. The taste isn’t bad either, even though you would’ve added a little espresso in the cake to bring out the flavors of the chocolate more. It doesn’t matter in the end.

You notice Javier taking a piece and close his eyes for a second after tasting the cake. His spoon hangs from his fingers and he eats slowly, even more so than his dinner.

“You like it?”

“Your chocolate cake has to be a hundred times better than this or I’ll be disappointed we didn’t order that second slice.” Maybe it’s the wine, it most likely is the wine, but you laugh again. He’s milking them from you now, and it’s almost unfair you haven’t managed to make him laugh yet.

The thought freaks you out. You can’t be thinking about making him laugh. This arrangement needs some structure. That way there’s no danger of emotions getting in the way. You can’t get attached.

“What do you say about coming up with some ground rules for our little deal?” You drop your voice. He automatically leans closer and looks around you to make sure no one else hears you two from your little bubble of privacy.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Hand holding is fine, so is cheek kisses. Public touching in general.”

“What about what we’re doing now?” Javier looks between you two, the little proximity you have to each other.

“I think this is fine. Are you okay with it?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“I also want us to have fun. This is a silly thing anyway, no need to make it complicated and weird.” He nods at your words and takes one more bite of the cake. He has left the best part, the middle, for you with plenty of cream still on the plate. “And dancing! We have to dance at the wedding at least.”

“I don’t dance.”

“What! Sure, you do! And even if you didn’t, you can’t be much more helpless than I am.” He blinks slowly and nods, not being able to argue back.

“I have a request…” Javier almost reaches for the water but then decides to go for the wine. He washes the cake down with it while his glass still has plenty left. “I want you to talk to me. Don’t keep things to yourself if something bothers you. We have to be on the same page about things and if we’re not honest, this won’t work.” What a way to bring the silly mood down.

“You’re right,” you can’t deny it. “Okay, so honesty, dancing and physical touch, I think we’ve covered our bases.”

“I agree.” He holds the wine glass in his hand and brings it towards you. Automatically you take yours into your hand as well and go to clink it against his. Javier pulls it back, a little naughty spark lighting his smirk and spiking your nerves.

“Just try not to fall in love with me,” he says under his breath, then clinks his glass against yours. “I could corrupt you.” He drops his chin but never drops his gaze. It stays on you from the shadows of his lashes that line those wickedly dripping, burnt honey eyes.

You clink your glass against his for the second time, surprising him. “You might corrupt me,” you try to match his mood, dropping your chin while mirroring his moves and keep your voice low. “But I won’t be the one falling in love.”

The grin on his face falters, the corner on one side shaking slightly before it falls, revealing something else in the confident exterior. A crack, a hairline fracture in the well-constructed personality of one Javier Peña. The chuckle that you laugh out loud surprises even you, but he immediately joins you, and takes a sip of his drink, now mirroring you.

There’s two bites of the cake left. Carefully you take a spoonful and smother it in cream. You bring it to your mouth and even from that angle you can see some of the whipped Chantilly fall from the edge. Immediately you drop your spoon and lean back against Javier’s arm and check your dress. Of course it landed on the hem. You sigh out a disappointed grunt and push the plate towards him.

“You can have the rest,” you nod towards the cake and take the napkin off the table to clean your dress.

“Wait,” Javier’s voice makes you look up. He stares at the corner of your mouth, almost fixated on it.  With his thumb and forefinger, he brings your cheek against his palm.

It’s the cream, a light and airy dollop of it stuck on your face. Javier reaches his thumb towards your mouth and takes the rest of the cream onto his finger, running the tip of it gently against your lip, more than is necessary.

His eyes are focused on your lips, how you swallow. His mouth opens instinctively with yours. You feel an exhale on your face, a little shaky, sweet from the dessert. Your face burns and your skin prickles with his touch, with him being so close that you can count his lashes.

Like a sudden realization his eyes lock with yours. “Is this okay?” You’re frozen in place, held by him, by his hand and by the dark in his eyes. By his breath and by his smell. By his body and his voice that rings in your ears. You nod, shutting up the voice in your head that is screaming at you that this isn’t just a fake date. It’s a real date.

No, it’s not.

Javier pulls his hand back, leaving you shaken and your skin tingling. You take a sip of your wine, much larger than it needs to be, and the dryness burns in your throat for a moment. You expect him to wipe his thumb on the thick, fancy napkin, but instead, and without a second thought, he brings the tip of his thumb against his lips and licks it clean.

“You can have the rest,” he tells you, pointing at the last piece of the cake. He lifts his hand when Jonathan walks past your table. “Can we have the check, please.” He writes with an invisible pen in the air and the server nods. You eat the last piece and make sure there’s no cream left on your face this time around. It would only be embarrassing if it happened again.

He digs out his wallet from his back pocket, picking out cash while looking at the piece of paper.

“I can pay my half of the bill.” Your purse pops open with a satisfying softness of the magnets separating.

“It’s my treat,” he waves his hand towards you, still focused on reading the bill. With neat handwriting he scribbles the tip amount on the receipt. “You can pay next time.” He looks back up at you when he has attached the money under a small paperweight on the little metallic platter.

“Ready?” He asks and you nod. He lets you scoot out of the booth first and then follows close behind. His hand lands, gently, on the small of your back and guides you to take a detour. You go where he leads you to. It doesn’t surprise you, but it does make you nervous. His hand snakes to take yours in his. His palm heats your skin up instantly, pressing an imprint in your hold.

“What’s little brother doing here, out on a date?” Javier jokes when you slow down and stop right in front of the engaged couple. Noah laughs and grabs Abigail’s hand. She smiles but her eyes are tightly on you and Javier.

“We heard someone might be coming here for a date as well, had to make sure I wasn’t hearing a bunch of hogwash. And here you are,” Noah swoons at you two.

They have dessert plates in front of them, a devoured crème brûlée for him, half a cheesecake still left for Abigail. Her hard eyes travel between you and Javier, up and down, until they focus on your linked hands.

Maybe it’s out of spite, maybe you’re looking for support, maybe it’s the wine giving you a little extra confidence, but you twine your fingers through Javier’s. You look up at him. His hand tightens around yours at the same time as his jaw flexes. He smiles, his shoulders a little more pulled back. He catches you in the corner of his eye. He squeezes his hand once.

“A special girl deserves a special date.” Fire flames against your cheeks immediately and you all laugh. Abigail’s voice is shriller than you’ve ever heard before. Javier squeezes your hand once more, then a second time, like a quiet “this okay?”. You reassure him by squeezing his hand back and lifting your other hand to cradle his bicep in your palm. Abigail notices it immediately.

“You’re coming to Laredo with us, right? All the ones in the wedding party and their partners are coming there for a weekend.” Noah asks. Javier tenses next to you.

“You have a lot of work and stress though, maybe it’s not the best idea.” Abigail opens her mouth immediately, talking for you.

“I think I can spare a weekend.” You smile at her and try not to let the sting of her putting words in your mouth cloud your genuineness. Abigail smiles back, but in that too sweet way to hide whatever she is thinking.

“Good!” Noah looks as excited as ever, his cheeks a little pink and his eyes sparkle in the golden mood lighting.

“We have to get going now, enjoy your desserts.” Javier takes a side step, letting you find your place next to him without having to detach from his arm and hand. With a final “bye!” you let him lead you out of the restaurant. His bicep tightens against your palm.

“Are you flexing your arm?” Javier laughs at the question, slipping away from your reach. Maybe that’s enough of an answer. His hand finally lets go of yours as you get closer to the doors. It effortlessly lands on the small of your back again. A gentle pressure, not invading or forceful, only spreading heat to your back.

“You’re perfect at that, so good.” He murmurs into your ear before he opens the door for you. You smirk up at him as you move past him. The words tickle in your ear, as does the look in his eyes and the smug smile on his face.

[ellie-writes-games]

Bellara's Book Notes

The eternal question for all writers: is this for a story or are you planning actual murder?

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗ Part 1 of Burn After Reading banter series next ╚══════════════════════════════════════════╝

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request? Part of an on-going series of fan-writings. See the full Masterlist here.

Bellara just leaving little scraps of her writing around, jotting down thoughts as they come to her, feels pretty on brand.

Any fellow writers out there have the same habit? I'm notoriously bad about writing on scraps of paper: the back of envelopes, flyers, receipts, that sort of thing. I do keep writing notebooks, but I also have a chaotic binder of all the scraps of ideas that I jot out and hold onto until I can get them down in a more permanent form.

This is fanfiction written by me, @ellie-writes-games. These are NOT actual screenshots from the game. Peace, love, and mad props to the DA writers.

[fuckingrecipes]

How does one actually build a useful repository of recipes for different cuisines? Like, I have the Silver Spoon which is a pretty good cross section of Italian cooking. I know more than enough variations of the typical french mother sauces to get the principles without a need for a recipe. I know from various Euro cuisines particular flavors that pair well I could build a dish around (like, I could make a goat cheese and caramelized onion soup without the need of someone telling me a recipe). I don't have any such data sets for other cuisines, and you know the recipe website world is a hell scape.

Tried and true method is: Cook often, try new things, and save it if you like it.

Get a blank notebook (or a 3-ring binder) and collect recipes yourself as you try them. You can write recipes in by hand, or print them off & punch for the 3-ring binder.

Go to restaurants which serve food you want to explore, and take a picture of the food, record the name of it on the menu, and note some of the ingredients that you can identify in it.

If you live in a small town with not many places that serve 'foreign' food nearby, get off google. Use DuckDuckGo or Brave as a search engine. They have very few ads and the search algorithm prefers when you get to the point in your recipe blog, rather than dicking around with your life story.

Do a little tour on your world map. Focus on countries, search for food from that country, then search for specific kinds of food from that country. Search for things like "Authentic Turkish Stewed Chicken" "Traditional Brazillian Goat Recipe" "Hong Kong Street Food Recipe" "Collection of Taiwan Recipes" "25 amazing Korean dishes" "10 best Cajun Soul Food Recipes" "Dominican Republic Cuisine Recipes"

Go watch cooking tiktoks that aren't european-centric; go out of your way to find them.

Go down a list of spices and pick one you've never tried before. Look up where it's traditionally used, and try to find some dishes that use that spice!

Go to your Local Library and dig into their cookbook section. Every library has one! Look for cookbooks focused on cuisines you don't know yet, and try those recipes!

If you're cool spending money on this, go to Half Price Books or other book-reselling stores where you can find cook books at really low prices. Again, explore the cuisines you're not familiar with.

If you have grocery stores for other cultures near you, go into their grocery! Check out what spices have a shitload of different brands on display, and pick one at random. Seek out a recipe that uses that new spice you just bought.

And remember: Write that shit down!

You can always have a little guide at the front or back of your recipe collection that explains different spice blends, or explains key sauces, or anything else!

You can keep a little guide on how roasting spices changes them, and your experiments with that.

You can keep a list of bread recipes, or cooking hacks like how to make really good naan without a woodfire grill.

---

Personally, I'm forgetful. I forget sites exist, forget logins, and lose passwords all the time. I have about a hundred recipe collections across about as many websites, and I know where like, 3 of them are right now. Many of those websites have gone down, and my lists are lost forever.

The book of recipe & food-tips collection I've kept & used the longest - my Food Grimoire - is a physical item that I can misplace in my house but never truly lose. It can't have its server crash or website maintenance suddenly be abandoned and blip out of existence.

[danieyells]

. . .I could've sworn I did Ritsu's already. Apparently not. Yuri's one of my favorites and he's the one I chose in the beginning so I'm saving his for when I'm a little better rested(I have Monday off because of another doctor's appointment, so that's the lastest i'll post it)

RITSU IS SO. . .I LOVE HIM. I'll rag on him a lot because he's so tunnel visioned and just like. . .repressed. And he needs to touch grass(figuratively) but also. . .when you've been set from childhood to work and care only for your work and only know your work. . .it's understandable that he is the way he is. . . .

The way he changes as his affinity goes up is very repressed too. . .but you can still see the change at the end a little. He's a very stagnant character. . .but still interesting to look into the mannerisms of.

Hello: (the first time the game is opened after that character is set as home screen NPC. Only happens once per day, unless the character is switched out and back.)

"Any self-respecting inspector would stay comfortably ahead of schedule—I suggest you get into the habit. Let's go—there's no time to waste."

dude this is the 'you've logged in for the first time today' dialogue why are you assuming that i must be late! rude.

You've Got Mail: (whenever there's something in the inbox, usually Arena rewards)

"Did you check that notification yet? We could have a request from a client, so please do so right away."

Default: (requires no affinity, has no time constraints)

"I have been assigned to Sinostra, so I will not allow them to stand trial, no matter how villainous their actions. That is the Shinjo family policy."

"I shall ensure the Gala is held this year, and that Sinostra will wear the Laurel Crown. I have never made a promise I couldn't keep."

boy i can't wait for that to fall through--he, respectfully, needs the humbling.

"I've read the Compendium of Laws countless times since I was a child. Memorizing its contents is a rite of passage for the eldest son of the Shinjo family."

and somehow it ended up an artifact he can use as a weapon? I really wanna know what it does tbh.

"What business do you have with me? Please keep in mind that I charge 5500 yen per half hour for consultations, tax inclusive."

(roughly $35USD, although it's faster to just think of it as $55--) WE ARE BUSINESS PARTNERS. WHAT ARE YOU CHARGING A MFER FOR.

"As long as I have a notebook, my business cards, a binder, paper, and my voice recorder, I can handle the initial stages of any case."

i need my binder every day too ritsu.

Affinity 1: (between 5am and 11am)

"{PC}. Are you aware of the responsibility your position as inspector entails? I suggest you tidy your appearance and wipe that vacant look from your face."

they do not need to be aesthetically in order to be inspector. as long as they're paying attention it may even be better to look vacant. lure them into a false sense of security. also it's easier to pay attention if you're comfortable, in my experience. . . .

Affinity 2: (between 11am and 4pm)

"You've lost your notebook? Just a moment. ...At 9:04 AM, it was inside the photocopier. Yes, I do have that information recorded."

Affinity 3: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Have you seen Taiga Hoshibami? Strange... According to my behavioral model, he should be in the casino at this time..."

Affinity 4: (between 8pm and 5am)

"At the end of each day, I compile information about every person I encountered in my notebook. It always proves useful eventually."

yandere adjacent behavior, except it's for everyone and not just one person lolol

Affinity 5: (between 8pm and 5am)

"The vice-captain has asked me to organize some documents. Let's start by making copies of everything in case the originals become lost or damaged."

Romeo has a line that references this as well!

Affinity 6: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"I always have my business cards on hand. It should go without saying—any lawyer who fails to gain their client's trust during the first meeting is not worth their salt."

Affinity 7: (between 11am and 4pm)

"A post-meal coffee must be drunk black. Unnecessary additives only interfere with the natural flavor."

Affinity 8: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Until the age of three, I spent my days visiting the greatest sights the world has to offer with my mother, as from four my studies would prevent me from doing so."

is that child abuse? i think that's child abuse. you learn the source of ritsu's problems very early on in his affinity--he has had zero normal social interaction opportunities and no childhood. From birth until he stopped being a toddler he was just flying around the world looking at beautiful things, no stability in his location or world aside from the presence of his mother, and then he went home and probably basically got locked away to study law the moment he could sort of read. His whole existence was molding him to work. . .Subaru is similar, even down to what age they were forced to start preparing to work at. But Subaru is at least better adjusted, probably because acting awarded him better opportunities to try and think about how other people think.

Affinity 9: (between 8pm and 5am)

"According to my behavioral model, there is a 29% chance that Taiga Hoshibami is currently at the baccarat table."

Affinity 10: (between 10pm and midnight)

"I review the day's coursework for two hours then prepare for the next day's classes for three— no more, and no less. Six more minutes of silence, please."

WHERE DO THE RECORDINGS COME IN TO THIS. This mans somehow has 40 hour days. Maybe his artifact slows down time or something lol

Affinity 11: (between 5am and 11am)

"Good morning, {PC}. We have a meeting at 3 PM today, so please adjust your plans accordingly."

Affinity 12: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Darkwick Rulebook Article 183: "For the protection of anomalies, unnecessary running indoors is prohibited." This rule has been in place for over one hundred years."

wait how old is this school? how old is the Institute???

Affinity 13: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"All right. We need to organize our notes from today's investigation, so let's relocate to the diner. Our usual booth, of course."

Affinity 14: (between 5am and 11am)

"The content of our classes may be novel, but I topped the year in the scholastic ability test—they are nothing I can't handle."

so among the first years' scholastic ability tests, Ritsu was 1st, Leo was 2nd, Sho was 5th. Considering there are only four new first year ghouls then that must include the general students too. I wonder where Ren placed? Probably not very high. But still, Ritsu is a genius. . .or at least very very good at memorizing information. Lots of book smarts, minimal other smarts.

Affinity 15: (between 5am and 11am)

"As your business partner, I request that you improve your conduct. Please refrain from consenting to any further uncompensated labor."

Affinity 16: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Our Anomalous Law classes are truly fascinating. There is a long history well worth learning about— though of course, I have already mastered the basics."

Affinity 17: (between 10pm and midnight)

"I cannot afford to be complacent, even before bedtime. It's vital that I check the day's notes again to ensure nothing has been missed."

Affinity 18: (between 8pm and 5am)

"I set time aside in the evening to watch opera performances online. It allows me to get my thoughts in order, and provides a change of pace."

when??? what time??? because he has to review all of the audio recordings and notes from the whole day--what time does he have to do anything in???

Affinity 19: (between 10pm and midnight)

"I just finished checking my recordings from today. You sighed a total of four times— is something troubling you?"

i love the vibe of this. rather than silently nothing your sighing and potential exhaustion or scolding you for not caring for yourself, he expresses concern towards you. also, it's so soft yandere. like he already records everything you say and do, to confront you over it on top of that he shamelessly defends his recording and notetaking. . .if not for that he recorded everyone it would really be so yandere lolol. instead it's just his odd and overbearing way of showing he's beginning to care.

Affinity 20: (between 5am and 11am)

"You struggle to get up in the morning? I can contact you each day at a set time if you like, but I'll have to think about how much to charge..."

affinity 20 and my guy still wants to charge for his time. . .we're gonna have to teach him to have A Singular Normal Social Connection aren't we. and we're probably gonna fail.

Affinity 21: (between 11am and 4pm)

"You wish to have lunch with me? All right. We are business partners, so I will accompany you free of charge."

wait maybe i spoke too soon.

Affinity 22: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"This is for you, {PC}— it's the takeout coffee I often purchase. Your performance will decline if your mind isn't sharp."

his increased attachment is shown in the bare minimum of understanding normal human social interaction and caring for you by sharing his things and his time without charge. In trying to make you the best you(from his perspective) that you can be. Because that's what his parents did for him--so surely that's the best expression of love he has, aside from obsessive study and understanding.

Affinity 23: (between 8pm and 5am)

"I feel we made solid progress toward the reinstatement of the Gala today. Let's reconvene again tomorrow and continue working together to realize our goal."

Affinity 24: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Could I ask you to accompany me a little longer, {PC}? I realize it's outside of business hours, but...I would appreciate it if you could make a special exception."

He wants to spend time with you. And he's realizing he can just ask that. But he's so entrenched in legal and business mannerisms he doesn't know how to say "i want to be around you for longer". You're his business partner. It's bad form to request your attention outside of work, it has no value towards your goals and business efforts, but. . .that he's making a sort of formal appeal for your attention outside of work is as far as he can get in terms of expressing his affection right now.

Affinity 25(max): (no time constraints)

"It seems we make better business partners than I would have expected. I look forward to a long and prosperous relationship with you."

kind of comical that his max affinity line is still so formal after a more friendly 'please spend time with me late at night' 24th. . .but also, he wants you to be his business partner for longer. i think that counts towards something! It's a reason to stay with you! Maybe over the course of your business partnership he'll learn how to express deeper feelings. . .he's going to need an heir, after all--

Spring: (March-May) (between 5am and 11am)

"There has been a noticeable increase in reports of suspicious activity of late. More incidents means more business. Be prepared."

(between 11am and 4pm)

"You have a petal in your hair. A little more to the right. No, not there. Just let me remove it. Hold still."

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Indeed, the cherry blossoms are in bloom. Incidentally, Japan's oldest cherry blossom tree can be found in Yamanashi Prefecture and is estimated to be 2000 years old."

ritsu would probably kill at historical trivia night.

(between 8pm and 5am)

"I had tempura at the cafeteria today. It didn't come close to the tempura I would eat with my father at the historic soba restaurant we used to frequent though."

Summer: (June-August) (between 5am and 11am)

"This one is for my face, and this is for my body. I have six handkerchiefs with me— enough for morning, noon, and night. I cannot let my opponents see me sweat."

why's this giving me ace attorney prosecutor energy. . . . .

(between 11am and 4pm)

"I witnessed a half-naked man running around in this vicinity. Did you see him? He is risking a charge of indecent exposure."

but we saw Kaito in his underwear and you said that meant he wasn't at risk of indecent exposure. . . . . . . .

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"The warmer it gets, the more of a racket people make. Honestly, how were these people raised?"

to relax and have fun during the summer break. . .you should give it a try.

(between 8pm and 5am)

"You want to go and watch the fireworks? A rather childish request, but all right. So? Where would one go to view them?"

FIREWORKS DATE FIREWORKS DATE just don't touch him without getting his consent first that could be counted as sexual harassment and he'll Get Your Ass.

Autumn: (September-November) (between 5am and 11am)

"The weather is much more pleasant for going out on professional errands now. A first-rate lawyer keeps their boots on the ground. Now then, let's get going."

(between 11am and 4pm)

"I object to the cultural assumption that fall is the season of the arts. The arts should be enjoyed throughout the year, regardless of the season."

you and yuri would get along well i think. until you realize the guy is a medical malpractice suit waiting to happen. then you'd criticize him and he would take that so poorly.

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Once I've perused the relevant documents in the library, I plan on doing some reading. Please excuse me."

(between 8pm and 5am)

"The nights may grow longer in the fall, but daylight hours should not affect the time you rise and retire. I'll see you tomorrow."

Winter: (December-February) (between 5am and 11am)

"I have detected a change in how Taiga Hoshibami divides his time since the weather has taken a cold turn. It has created quite a quandary for me..."

yeah he doesn't like getting out of bed when it's cold. he also eats a lot more, like a bear about to hibernate. shockingly behavior patterns tend to change with the seasons.

(between 11am and 4pm)

"I've never experienced snowfall heavy enough to obstruct my movement, but I'd like to deepen my knowledge of the phenomenon for future reference."

to frostheim then! i'm sure that place is just awful for movement in winter.

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"I'm heading to the diner to fulfill a request from Ren Shiranami. Perhaps I shall enjoy a warm bowl of soup while I'm there."

. . .I wonder if this is an Obey Me!Raphael situation where he has no grasp of that the food is not good. . . .

(between 8pm and 5am)

"People say that hard work is the key to success, but it only took me a year to master German—as was the case with Italian and French."

His birthday: (January 13th)

"Indeed, today is my birthday. I've always celebrated this day by enjoying my mother's cooking, but from this year I am striving for a more self-reliant existence."

MAMA'S BOY MAMA'S BOY tbf up until he was 3 his mother was probably his only social connection and then he was locked away studying so. . .his mom is probably the only one he has like. . .personal feelings and attachment for. you'll be a tradwife too :) but also that he's trying to be more self-reliant at darkwick. . .that really does explain that he's like. not used to any sort of social interaction or doing things he hasn't been told to do by his parents. maybe in his time at darkwick he'll realize how good it feels to just. . .be a person. dedicate time to fun and relaxation. realize that work isn't everything. or maybe he'll be so judgemental towards the lifestyles of others he'll retreat even further into his current habits.

Your birthday:

"Happy birthday. A year older, a year wiser. I have high hopes for your performance in the coming year."

New Years: (January 1st)

"Happy New Year. Let's devote these next 365 days—or 8760 hours—to finding fitting solutions to the challenges that come our way."

what if it's a leap year. can we take the extra day off?

Valentine's Day: (February 14th)

"Thank you for the chocolates. Are you gifting them to me out of social obligation, or is this an expression of affection? Your answer will influence what you receive in return."

(for the uninitiated, that is very much a thing in Japan where on valentine's day a girl give some men in her life--like coworkers--obligation chocolates, which are generally not as nice and most likely store bought, although this practice is losing ground. friends get friendship chocolate and you give people you're actually attracted to or in a relationship more extravagant, expensive, or homemade chocolates to express your true feelings or a desire to be in a relationship with them. Ritsu is essentially asking 'is this because we're coworkers or are you asking me out' because White Day is the day for return gifts in response to given valentine's day gifts, and in the case of chocolates given to someone you wanna go out with they can act as a response to that proposal. presumably if you're asking him out he wants to give you chocolate to agree to get with you, since he's bothering to ask. . . .

White Day: (March 14th)

"White Day has its roots in Japan, having been invented by a certain historic confectionery shop. With that knowledge, please accept this."

'here's some trivia. and some chocolates. we are now in a relationship. should this be as fruitful as our business partnership, we can discuss marriage plans within the year.'

April Fool's Day: (April 1st)

"The spreading of false rumors is subject to strict punishment under Article 233 of the Penal Code. Do you still intend to continue this ruse?"

NO FUN ALLOWED.

Halloween: (October 31st)

"Coercing another party to choose between a "trick" or a "treat" could amount to intimidation. Engage in such festivities at your own risk."

NO FUN ALLOWED PART TWO: ILLEGAL BOOGALOO.

Christmas: (December 25th)

"Religious freedom is guaranteed by Article 20 of the Constitution. If this is a day that you wish to celebrate, then I will accept that."

he can't make you work on religious holidays you need off!!

Idle: (about 20 seconds without interacting with the game) (below 13 affinity)

"Five seconds have elapsed. Yes, that is how long you've kept me waiting."

(13 affinity and above)

"How long do you intend to keep me waiting? As always, I am on a tight schedule today. Please hurry up."

Absent: (logging in for the first time in 2 or more days?)

"I've been expecting you, {PC}. You weren't planning on breaking your promise to me, were you?"

SUCH A HARD-WORKING, SOCIALLY INEPT LAD. But Ritsu's a lot of fun, I give him a lot of shit and i desperately need him to touch some grass and get a reality check and learn about how others live and maybe experiment. . .but like i love him for being such a little shit. he's so. . .ignorant to the rest of the world and how other people are. . .i love seeing him try and dissect other people's behavior and intentions and coming to the conclusion that they must want the same things as him because he just. . .has no grasp of interests and intentions that aren't his own. . . . It makes me facepalm but also makes me laugh 8'D good boy. quality boy.

[detentiontrack]

hi there, hope you're doing well! do you have any survival tips for freshmen starting their first semester at college? thanks!

Hello! Yes I do! Up until this Tuesday, all of my experience has been at a community college, but I have some universal advice!

Sage's supercool freshman survival guide:

You don't need expensive and a wide variety of school supplies. Here is a list of what you need:

A notebook for each class

A good pack of pens (i like gel pens)

A pack of pencils (+ sharpener) or mechanical pencils

Either colored pens, thin tip markers, or highlighters for notes

Ruler and calculator if you are taking math/science classes

A binder or folder for loose papers

GRAPH PAPER. Even just a pack of loose graph paper. It sucks when you need it and don't have it

2. it's better to take notes on paper vs on a computer unless you have some sort of reason (like dyslexia, visual impairment, or other physical disability etc) Taking paper notes forces your brain to pay attention better, and you can reference them easier than if you take them on a computer. (plus a lot of professors don't allow laptops in lectures unless you have an accommodation with the school)

3. GET A PLANNER! A PHYSICAL ONE!!!! Online calendars and planners are okay, but it is MUCH easier to forget assignments if they're out of sight. Get a paper planner, fill it out each week so you know what you're doing, and keep it opened on the current week somewhere you can see it. I personally like the planners intended for teachers because it divides the days up with individual subjects! This is the one I got for this school year

4. Get a giant ass water bottle. If you are going from class to class, you most likely won't have time to refill your water bottle. Get a huge one, fill it up at home or at your dorm or whatever, and carry it with you. I promise you it is worth adding an extra thing to carry (mine is a 1/2 gallon)

5. No one at college cares about stuff like in high school. No one cares what you're wearing or how you're doing your hair. In fact, individuality is ENCOURAGED. Wear bright colorful makeup or weird earrings. Do what makes you happy.

6. Pack yourself lunches and snacks that you can easily stuff in your face while walking to your next class. I'm a big fan of protein shakes and granola bars.

7. Ask questions! No one will think you're annoying for asking "too many" questions. It's better to over ask than under ask and not understand the topic. Chances are, at least one other person in the room has the same question as you.

8. Similar to number 7, most professors will gladly go back and explain a topic again or in a different way! Just politely and respectfully ask for them to briefly go over it again, or define a word you don't understand.

9. Unlike high school, most professors don't care, and will actually get annoyed if you interrupt their lesson to ask to go to the bathroom or take a phone call or even leave class early. Unless they explicitly say you can't leave (like during a test) you can just walk out, no questions asked.

10. Do every extra credit assignment you can. Even if you have a good grade in the class. You never know when you'll forget an assignment or lose points for something small. It's good to have backup.

11. Just like in a good relationship, communication with professors is everything.

12. Make connections with people in your classes. You don't have to be besties, but introduce yourself to a few people in class, make small talk, and get their phone numbers. That way you can discuss assignments or get notes if you miss a class.

13. DO NOT slack on first week assignments. Most professors WILL drop you if you A. Don't attend the first week of classes and/or B. Don't turn in the first few assignments.

14. Register for classes as soon as you possibly can. Like if your group is able to register at 9am, be in front of your computer with the registration site open at 8:55am, just to be ready.

15. ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS CHECK RATEMYPROFESSOR BEFORE REGISTERING FOR CLASSES!!! NEVER IN YOUR LIFE REGISTER WITHOUT CHECKING. IF YOU ARE LATE TO REGISTER AND A GENERAL EDUCATION CLASS AT THE PERFECT TIME SLOT IS COMPLETLEY OPEN, IT IS FOR A FUCKING REASON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Rate my professor is really accurate because people are able to submit honest reviews anonymously after the class is over. If someone says the teacher is a hard ass who is flakey and assigns a lot of reading, BELIEVE IT. Ideally you want a professor that has above a 3.5/5 rating.

16. There is no shame in needing accommodations for a disability, and getting accommodations in college is a lot easier than in k-12 school. You just need to make a request and submit proof of disability, and you'll meet with someone to give you accommodations.

17. DO NOT buy textbooks until the first week of class is over. This is for 2 reasons. 1. you might need to drop the class and 2. most professors will just give you a link to the textbook for free or post individual chapters every week. There is no point in spending $200 for a textbook you might not even use.

18. I think at every college, you can drop a class with no consequences or anything on your record as long as you drop it within the first week or so (the exact time differs depending on the college, but it's always on their website)

19. Colleges very often have events with free food or free merch. Even if you have no interest in the event, a free hot dog is a free hot dog yk?

20. If you're a freshman, literally no one knows each other and everyone is worrying about making new friends. Literally everyone. Find someone who seems cool, compliment their outfit or say something about the class/the college, and boom. New friend.

21. If you have time, join a club! Colleges have clubs for EVERYTHING and it's an easy way to connect with people who have the same interests.

22. Before your first day of class, if you're neurotic like me, take time to think of a few things: 2 truths and a lie, 3 fun facts about yourself, your favorite __, etc. Just so you can be ready for icebreakers (I actually don't know if other people are as scared of first day icebreakers as me.... Every semester I prepare 2 truths and a lie and fun facts about me so I'm ready. Just in case. This just might be my specific flavor of autism though...)

23. Colleges are big, even community colleges. Make yourself a playlist and bring headphones for walking from class to class

24. Jumping off 23, when you're choosing your classes, pull up a map of your campus. Learn how long of a walk it is from building to building, so you can make sure you have enough time to walk to your next class. This goes double if you have a physical disability. I personally need some extra time so I can drink water and walk slowly.

25. Prioritize comfort over style. Most people by the third week will just be wearing tshirts/sweaters with jeans/sweatpants. There also usually isn't a super strict dress code at college. I had a girl in my astronomy class that exclusively wore bikini tops and booty shorts, and she never had any problems.

26. It's easy to tunnel vision and schedule your classes back to back, but try to give yourself at least one gap for lunch, to stretch, or to just hang out. I have 3 on campus classes this semester and my morning class ends at 11:45am and my second class doesn't start until 1:00pm. You're (most likely) an adult, close to an adult, or have adult responsibilities. One of those responsibilities is to take initiative to take care of yourself.

27. College professors, unless they're abnormally strict, literally don't care about anything, as long as your ass is in the chair and you're not being disruptive to others. Drinking water in class? Fine. Doodling on your notes? Fine. Doing homework for another class? Fine, as long as you look up like you're paying attention occasionally. I wrote amphibia fanfiction in my classes, and I had a girl in my public speaking class who literally brought yarn and a crochet hook and crocheted stuff in class.

28. OH that's another thing! Literally no one cares about your public speaking skills. In college, it is inevitable that you'll have to take one class with speeches. People aren't waiting for you to slip up to mock you. Most people are too focused on their own speeches. I took a public speaking class last year, and I genuinely could not tell you the topic of even ONE other student's speech. It is very likely that 90% of the people won't even be paying attention to your presentation because they're worrying about if they're next.

29. In group projects, be a bitch. I'm serious. DO NOT do all the work. If people in your group aren't moving, assign them their share of work. If they still don't participate, threaten to leave. If they still don't, ask the teacher to work alone. You NEED to stand up for yourself.

30. Most colleges have a lot of services for free (or included in tuition) you should use. The library is a great resource, I'm typing this on the laptop I rented for free from my school, and I believe my college has completely free STD checks and birth control options available through their health services.

31. Expand your horizons! In college, you get a LOT of options for electives and classes. Take the fun classes or a topic you've never heard of! I'm taking a philosophy of disability class this semester for my extra humanities credit.

32. Build a good relationship with your professors. It never hurts to go up to them before or after the first class and introduce yourself.

33. DO NOT leave things for the last minute. I like to write down all my assignments for the week in my planner, sorted by due date, color coded, and plan which assignments I'm going to do on what days.

34. Take advantage of professor's office hours, especially if it's a subject you're not strong in. Personally, I'm not the best at math, and the summer I took statistics for psych, I was at my professor's office hours every single Tuesday. Even if you think you understand the subject perfectly, you never know when you're making a mistake without realizing it. It can just be a less than 5 minute zoom visit of like "hey, this is my answer to question 5 and here's my work/process. Is this correct? Yes? Okay thanks see you in class"

35. Summer classes, especially in community colleges, are a great way to get extra credits and make it so you don't have such a heavy load during the regular school year. A lot of summer classes are online, so it's really easy to do at home. But.....

36. ...NEVER IN YOUR LIFE TAKE A SUBJECT YOU ARE NOT STRONG IN OR A SUBJECT WITH A LOT OF WORK IN A CONDENSED SUMMER CLASS. Summer classes are always more work per week because you have less time to go through the curriculum, so be sure it's a light class. I took my world religions class as an 8 week summer class and oh my god.... I am being 100% serious and not exaggerating when I say I had to read 500-750+ pages a week......... be careful

37. Make time for other things! Even if you're full time school and work, let yourself watch an episode of your favorite show after homework or during a break. Rest and recreation is important too.

38. Treat yourself! When I was a kid, my mom would let me and my brother pick out a little candy at the grocery store for a "friday treat" during the school year. I still do that. It can be as simple as buying a $2 chocolate bar or finally trying that bath bomb you got as a gift.

39. You are inevitably going to get a low grade on something. You're going to struggle with a subject or misunderstand an instruction. Not one single person has made it through all of college without getting anything less than a 100%. Ask for feedback from your professors. Don't beat yourself up.

40. You don't have to have a backpack. I use a green messenger bag with embroidered mushrooms on it :3

Hope this helps!

[bettsfic]

Do you have any preferred notebooks? Anything better than Moleskine which I don't think would be hard (!!??)... The ink bleeding through to the page behind is so distracting. Random question but I figured you'd be perfect to ask!! Thank you

i've been waiting my entire tumblrlife for this, anon. stationery is one of my most persevering special interests.

just to caveat, i still use a moleskine for my personal journal, but i only write in it once or twice a month so they tend to last years. i bought my current journal in 2017 before enshittification and so i haven't had a problem with the paper. i use a felt-tip pen on it mostly, but even the few times i've tried fountain pens, i haven't had any bleed-through. it's really unfortunate they've gone downhill.

and i mean, for context, i beat the shit out of my moleskines. and look how they've held up!

the one on the left i used from 2011 to 2017. it went all around the world with me and i carried it everywhere for 6 years. i taped every stupid scrap of paper i came across into it and that's why it's so beefy. the elastic band has stretched too far is all; i need to find something sturdier to keep it shut.

the one on the right i started in 2017 and i'm about 2/3rds through it. i tape some stuff in but not as much as i used to. at one point it was in my backpack in the overhead compartment of a plane and some guy's water bottle spilled all over it. i was devastated. but it slurped that shit up and kept trucking. you can't even tell it's waterlogged anymore.

my mom bought me a special edition van gogh moleskine for my birthday last year that i was planning to use for my next journal. i just tested the paper against the 2017 journal using a kaweco sport bold tip, and the van gogh paper does indeed bleed significantly more than the 2017 paper. a real shame. i'm probably still going to use it though, because i've kept the proud tradition of "use notebooks people buy me for my birthday as my next journal" since i was 14. also, i'll probably end up starting it when i'm 37, the age van gogh died.

last august marked my 20th anniversary of my journaling habit, btw. i was going to write a newsletter about it but it started spiraling into a whole-ass book and i had to set it down.

a close and higher quality alternative to moleskine, much beloved by bullet journalers, is leuchtturm. their A5 hardcover is very similar to the classic moleskine pictured above. i don't use one because i have no use for lie-flat notebooks for anything other than a personal journal (which is covered for the next decade or so), but i love buying them as gifts.

my commonplace notebook is the A4 rhodia top spiral, which i've mentioned in my newsletter before. there is something truly magical about this notebook. when i bought it, i carried it around with me everywhere even though i had no idea what to write in it. i started commonplacing before i even knew what that was, simply because the tactile and aesthetic sensation of filling each page was so satisfying. i go through 1-2 per year.

this isn't a notebook proper, but my research binders are B5 maruman clartes with their corresponding loose leaf paper. again, like the rhodia A4 top spiral, the sensation of writing on the paper and organizing the binder is very satisfying and so it encourages me to take a lot of notes.

maruman also makes the famously amazing mnemosyne series of notebooks. i haven't used one before but i really like them, and as soon as i need a high quality top spiral notebook that the A4 rhodia can't fulfill, that's what i'll be moving to.

my purse notebook is a field notes reporter's notebook. these are new so they haven't stood the test of time the way the others have, but i love the size and the binding, and afaik field notes is one of the few american stationery brands that hasn't fallen prey to a quality drop in paper. i also love field notes classic pocket notebook but have never been able to make a pocket notebook habit stick. it took me a long time to realize tiny notebooks don't encourage me to write in them, because a lot of my notebooking is about the thrill and aesthetic pleasure of seeing an overwhelming amount of text on a page.

my planner is a hobonichi techo weeks, which is the same size as the reporter's notebook and also goes in my purse. this is my first year using a hobonichi planner and i really love it. like the others, its quality encourages me to use it. i've found hobonichi overall is a really good notebook brand.

my sketchbook (which i don't use very much) is a strathmore 500 series mixed media softcover. i bought it before i realized how deterring i find lie-flat books and i think i would be more motivated to draw by investing in one of their wirebound ones, even though all the artists i follow on youtube tell you not to do that. i keep meaning to change it into a collage notebook instead, i just haven't had the time or desk space to do it.

and an honorable mention: before the pandemic, back when i did things and went places, i used a grand voyageur traveler's notebook from paper republic. i'm actually very sad i don't have much of a use for it anymore, but maybe one day i'll do stuff again and return to it. it's weird that i don't see paper republic mentioned often (ever) in bujo spheres, when i think their products are better than traveler's company (although i haven't tested one for a significant period of time; people swear by them though).

hopefully one or two of these stand out to you!