#you can probably tell from the ungodly amount of transitioning in there

[blackkatdraws2]

Baby I'm Home [Blank Scripts AU]

[Song: Baby I'm Home - ODETARI (feat. Kanii & 9lives)]

[devondespresso]

WIP WhhhMonday Nightish

Once upon a time Devon was tagged in a wip wednesday by @eriquin and meant to do it but missed both wednesday and the weekend before remembering again. totally unrelated, Devon is working on getting their official adhd diagnosis.

i also noticed that the past snippets shared in wip-whatever posts have been purposefully the least interesting parts because i was worried about spoilers, which is dumb because that's created the unintended consequence of my tag is full of everything i don't like as much and a very different impression of what my fic is (as seen by most of these snippets being my rewritten scenes despite the actual fic being mostly new in-between scenes)

TLDR: WIP Whatever-day-it-is: But Actually For Fun This Time

The Rules

Post the file names of up to 5 of your WIPs for people to send you asks

Post a snippet of one of those WIPs

When people send you an ask with the name of one of your WIPs, write 3 lines of that WIP.

(Optional) Post the lines you wrote.

You can send multiple requests especially since this is going on through the weekend!

The WIPs

we're doing bulleted chapter titles to share from since that was my favorite and genuinely most productive format I've used. Feel free to ask for as many as you want, I plan on working on this basically all week

Karen Wheeler POV Bonus Chapter (Prologue kinda? side story in the same universe?? Bonus chapter set after season 1 and way before ch 1)

Steve, are you okay? Are you okay, Steve? (ch 9)

What's this? The consequences of my actions? (Is that a motherfucking Lovejoy reference?) (ch 10)

Kidnapping? no. surprise adoption. (lol get taken care of BITCH) (ch 11)

NEXT CHAPTER BC IDK HOW TO TRANSITION (ch 12) (a very tentative title for the next chapter to be written)

The Snippet

here is my favorite and most recent scene I've written, which takes place before they junkyard where Steve and Dustin are at the grocery store to get that ungodly amount of raw meat they have to toss around (also i've split chapters up a bit in the name of structure so the third chapter is now called "Mommy Issues Central". Lemme know any goofy vine reference ideas you guys have or if it should stay like that) (fear not, Get Yo Fucking Dog Bitch lives on still as chapter 4)

___

They turned down the next aisle, lining the edges of the cart with some other pasta-related shit that he could still probably use. They heard someone coming over from the next aisle and before he could turn the cart around Mrs Wheeler pulled up.

"Oh, Steve ...and Dustin. What're you boys up to?"

He took a short breath to work their story into something without Mike, but Dustin beat him to it.

"He's teaching me stuff." 

He was imitating the tone Steve used but still way too vague. Mrs Wheeler held up a smile, her brows slightly lifted.

"Y'know, like cooking-" Steve said, throwing in a little gesture to the cart.

"And cars, changing oil and things. Y'know just.. dad stuff."

Dustin's part convinced her, Mrs Wheeler's expression softening into a real smile.

"Well I won't keep you long," 

She nodded off to the side to talk to Steve one-on-one.

Great.

“Are you and Nancy okay?”

“Wh- we’re- Why? Did she say something?”

“No, no, she’s just been… closed off, lately. And I drove her to school the other day, she didn’t say why.”

“Sh- yeah, that- that’s on me. Sorry.”

“Did you break up?”

“No no, definitely not. We’re kinda… we’re working on it. I’m going to try and make it better, after y’know..” he gestured to Dustin behind him.

“Right.” she smiled again, “Let Nancy know she can talk to me about any of this? Please? I tell her but- I don't know, maybe it’d be different coming from you.”

He held up a smile for her.

“Yeah, sure. Mind if we..” he jutted a thumb towards the end of the aisle.

“Yes, go ahead.”

He gave her a short wave and turned back to Dustin, who studied random shit in the aisle like Steve would believe his sudden fascination with olive oil outweighed childish curiosity.

“Steve-”

He turned back around, seeing Mrs Wheeler coming back up to him and whispering again.

“I know I’m not your mother, but you can talk to me, too. Both of you, okay?”

He kept the smile in place and nodded again, and she finally went back to her cart.

Dustin “Definitely-Not-Eavesdropping” Henderson followed him out of the aisle, thankfully waiting until they were out of earshot to ask.

“What's going on with you and Nancy?”

“Thought we had ‘much bigger problems than my love life’?”

He pulled up to the deli, stopping to pretend to look at the options.

“We’re not dropping everything for it but we can still talk.” he groaned.

“I’ll tell you later, kay? Not exactly the best place to talk.''

___

Tags

@stobinesque @spoookysix @marvel-ous-m @alexcharmsyou @museumgiftshoperaser @blushweddinggowns @sharpbutsoft @fag4dykestobin @findafight (no pressure ofc and feel free to switch it to actually wednesday fhuhjdklashj) (also just let me know if you don't wanna be tagged in these)

[emilyplaysotome]

The Game of Love - Chapter 1

Since I have a bad tendency to obsess over what I write until I give up on it, I’m posting the first chapter of something new I’ve been dabbling with. Think of it like an original Down the Voltage Rabbit Hole, without the characters you know.

Meeting someone special is hard for anyone, but more so when you’re famous.

I can’t tell you when it was that I went from being Hana to being Hana on a billboard, but it happened slowly enough that I went from eating virtually unnoticed at a restaurant to being bombarded with selfie requests during the short time I picked up my food. I suppose that being one of the youngest women to ever win a Grand Slam will force you into the spotlight, but I’ve never thought of myself as a superstar.

The goal had always been to win gold at the Olympics.

Maybe Roland Garros.

And Wimbledon.

The U.S. and Australian Open if I was lucky.

They never told me that if you win the Australian Open and then manage to win the others in the same year, the world goes mad. They never told me that Nike, Adidas, and Reebok fall all over themselves trying to get you to agree to let them put out the “Hana shoe” and you go from being a struggling journeywoman on the tour to being richer than you ever could have imagined, thanks mostly to your team who milks you for every free moment when you’re not on the court.

You learn how to wear dresses and talk on camera and carry the weight of what it means to be a champion, constantly looking over your shoulder at the younger, hungrier crowd behind you that works twice as hard and trains harder because they don’t need to be on Good Morning America when you do. Your identity becomes “Hana the Tennis Champion” and you forget who you were when you were just “Hana, the girl who loves tennis” – hitting balls after dinner with dad on the courts by your house or joking around with the girls on the junior tour.

Those girls become competition, and your friendship is forced to change despite wanting it to be the way it was when things were simpler. They are nice and you love them, but the feelings are complicated and you forget what it means to have friends who see you as you are. There is always a commitment, a show, a movie, a project, a product – even during the off season, and of course, there’s the training.

You’re grateful to be successful doing what you love, but you know it can’t last forever and one day you decide you want to go out on top and announce that you’re done with the game that up until this point has been your entire life.

And you’re only 32.

I’m only 32.

The day after I retired I woke up as Hana, for the first time in 20 years. I suppose it’s out of habit that I still wake up at 7 A.M. and go for a run, but it’s been a few months and not much has changed.

My mom suggested I get a therapist.

That this major transition would be hard on anyone, but even harder on a prodigy who has been used to a regimented training schedule since she was 11.

I laughed it off, but after a couple of weeks I could feel the unease nagging at me, mocking me, asking me, “Who is Hana if there is no tennis?”

My therapist says a lot of high achieving people struggle with their self-worth outside of their profession. She challenged me to reconnect with friends I’d made at all stages of my life and I learned that being great at one thing left little time for love, creativity, music, and hobbies.

I also learned that I didn’t make many friends in my 32 years since I was too focused, too dialed in to waste time on anything outside of the goal. To be the best in the world I had taken on the mentality that everything outside of my goal was superfluous, but now I struggle to make it through the day.

“Who is Hana if there is no tennis?”

“I am…I am…”

“What are you feeling Hana?” my therapist asks.

“Scared. Confused. Angry. Lost.”

I’d had this rosy image of retirement, where I’d leisurely wake up next to a partner and make breakfast for us. Not just any partner if I’m being honest…him.

“I wake up at 7 A.M. and run 5 miles,” I find myself saying. “Then I make a breakfast smoothie. And then I remember that I don’t have anywhere to be and the depression takes over.”

“Have you been doing interviews?”

I shrug, “Not as many. They asked me to do commentary for the U.S. Open this year and I said I’d think about it.”

“What is your hesitation?”

I pause, thinking about what it would be like to live a tournament without participating in it. To see and comment on someone’s legacy that wasn’t my own. To one day have to announce that I’d been dethroned in my achievements and smile as if it didn’t bother me, when I’d probably just wonder if I’d retired too early.

“I never wanted to be on television. And I want to be able to answer the question who Hana is if there is no tennis.”

“It sounds like this time is providing you with a beautiful gift – to explore that question and your interests without limitations.”

She’s right, and I feel guilty for pitying myself when I have the freedom to do and go wherever I want. I let out a caustic chuckle and say, “I want to live in my games.”

“The ones you used to play on the road?”

I nod, wondering how serious she thinks I am and wondering if the statement is a joke at all.

“Why do you think you like them so much?”

“It’s fun to be someone who isn’t Hana. And it’s fun to fall in love.”

“Has Hana ever been in love?”

I think for a minute and nod.

“But you knew that, didn’t you?” I ask.

She shrugs and pushes her glasses up.

“I’m asking Hana the person, not Hana the superstar.”

“But our breakup was all over the tabloids…”

“Our time together is about you, not what’s in a tabloid.”

“Superstars have to date superstars. It’s like a law,” I say laughing. “What would Instagram think if I gave them anything other than aspirational?”

I’m lying but I can’t help myself, even in therapy my pride gets in the way of being honest. Dating him was never about appearances, at least, it wasn’t for me.

“Tell me about him.”

Eight years of memories flash in my mind, 22 to 30.

“We met after I won my first major. His movie premiere had him in Australia and he got tickets to the final. We ended up at an after party together and he gave me his number. It was good until it wasn’t and then he broke up with me.”

“That’s a very condensed version.”

I shrug again, feeling bitter that he seems to have moved on just fine and I haven’t dated anyone despite the rumors that pop up from time to time. I don’t feel like talking about how I kept pushing for us to move forward, with a vision for my retirement and life with him as he kept pushing for me to stay on the road. I don’t feel like talking about how much of our time was spent apart and how I suspected he preferred things that way.

That it was better to have a girlfriend too busy to take up more than an hour of his day on a regular basis than a girlfriend who could be present the way she wanted to be when we were together.

A pleasant chime goes off and she silences the alarm, noting we’re out of time and asking if next week works.

“My schedule is free,” I joke, but I feel annoyed that there’s nothing but endless free time and nothing to do with it.

When I’m home I open the games I referenced in therapy – the ones I jokingly call “choose your anime romance adventure games” with my mom versus their proper designation of “otome” games, as they’re known with the fandom online that I’m a part of. It’s only when I’m online that I feel like I can momentarily answer the question that nags at me, and that’s because no one know I’m me.

HanaLovesOtome the tumblr user is popular because of the screenshots she posts, not because she’s one of the most celebrated athletes of a generation.

She participates in every event and has spent an ungodly amount of money on special date stories and lottery gatcha items that put her consistently in the top ten featured users of Ikemen Inc.

She’s popular because people will ask her to purchase stories and games they can’t afford, and she’ll video record herself playing or twitch live stream the sessions so everyone can get a sense of what it’s like to fall in love with Ikemen Inc.’s most exclusive bachelors.

Even when I was on tour, I loved playing otome games because for a couple of hours I could stop thinking about my life and instead lose myself in a world overseas where I get to make choices for a protagonist whose name I’ve made my own as I decide what eligible bachelor she’ll fall in love with.

I’d found the games a year before we’d broken up, mostly by chance after seeing an ad on twitter that boasted, “The Perfect Boyfriend is in your phone - meet him now!” While normally I would have continued to scroll past, something about the caption had stopped me in my tracks. Looking back it was probably because the idea of the “perfect boyfriend” being in my phone was ironic having had such a drawn out long distance relationship in which it often felt that he only existed in my life virtually.

After entering my name for the main character I would be controlling, “Decoding His Affections” thrust me into a world that consisted of a simple illustrated background, paired with a cartoon character sprite whose various expressions matched the dialogue being said in the text box where the story played out.

While the prologue of “Decoding His Affections” was free, it ended with a prompt asking me who out of the five characters I’d just met, I wanted to get to know as my Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department partner and future perfect boyfriend. For the low price of $3.99, I could purchase one of five options and determine how my protagonist would fall in love. Depending on my dialogue selections, I was either granted a “Love Ending!” or a less desired “Happy Ending!”

Throughout the course of 13 interactive chapters, Sebastian went from being my underling, to my partner, and finally, to my boyfriend. As the protagonist with my name started to fall for Sebastian, I found myself enjoying the escape from my reality with a game “self” who always met with a positive response in love.

I soon found myself lost in a world where I could be transparent with my intentions without any fear of rejection. Sebastian clearly liked my main character back, but was conflicted about falling for a woman whose time in Tokyo had an expiration date. Even though their relationship was in a grey zone for the majority of the game, he was always warm, always loving, and most importantly, had responses that gave me butterflies as I read his poetic musings from a cold hotel room after a long day of training.

Seeing as how these games were a product of Japan, in addition to the subdued romance I also found myself getting a kick out of the cultural differences that were peppered throughout the story. Simple gestures such as the time that Sebastian grabbed her hand in order to protect her from an impending explosion, resulted in a shook inner monologue where my heroine wondered if her heart was racing from the danger, or because of the physical contact. There was something sweet about this world in which men and women shared a shyness around physical touching that was unlike anything I’d ever experienced as a Western woman. Handshakes, hugs, and even kisses on the cheek were something that happened in my life on a daily basis, yet I was suddenly living in a world via my phone where every gesture was laced with romantic subtext.

It was clear that the only thing Ikemen Inc. changed in their games was the names of their clearly Japanese love interests, in order to better appeal to a western audience. Other than that, their games remained true to their point of origin.

Looking back, our relationship was already strained with me hinting towards my expiration date and him pushing me to stay on the tour. The day I’d played my first otome game we were bickering over text about it, him convinced it would be better for both of us if I refocused on my career instead of settling down with him in his Calabasas home. As I achieved Sebastian’s coveted “Love Ending!” thanks to my carefully selected dialogue choices, I surprised myself by tearing up in which I read an ending where Sebastian confessed to me, or moreover the woman I whose life I was intermittently controlling, his undying love.

I’d felt a bit foolish at the time, having fallen prey to simple plot devices and romantic tropes, however Sebastian had done something for me that my relationship could not.

He’d managed to touch that part deep in my heart that still wanted to believe that romance was possible in this world, and more importantly, was possible for me.

In the weeks to come I found myself leaning on these games more and more as it became clear that my vision for the future did not align with his, it felt like every free second I was pouring myself into my fantasy life. By the time he ended things, I’d made way through the entire Ikemen Inc. catalogue of premium games and started to make my way into the exclusives with a higher price point, more beautifully illustrated scenes (CGs), and the Ikemen Inc. community leaderboard.

I play them a lot lately.

Maybe too much.

When I log in to my tumblr I see a message from my friend KittyGirl.

OMG Hana! Did you see they released Tyler Holland?

I saw and I played and I’m posting the full vid on twitch later ;)

…

I wonder who KittyGirl is as she types, and I wonder if she ever wonders who I am. I wonder if she would care if I was Hana the superstar or if she even follows tennis.

A lot of the girls on here don’t.

A lot of the girls on here are much younger than I am.

I wonder if it’s weird I don’t have many friends my age and that the people I feel closest to at the moment are all usernames in my feed.

STOP HANA YOURE THE BEST!

I smile because it gives me a sense of purpose and I haven’t felt that for some time.

It’s really good. He might be in my top 5 boyfriends.

NO. Really!?

Really.

Sometimes I wish that the men in my phone would come to life. That one day I would wake up and Sebastian would be there in human form, not his two-dimensional anime character form. I’ve thought about what he would look like if he were real.

Not just him.

Him and all the others I’ve dated over the years.

I wonder what it’d be like to date someone you know would never leave you.

Who could be that perfect boyfriend, or husband, or father.

It’s just as I’m thinking about this again that my phone chimes, letting me know I’ve received an email. I’m surprised to see it’s from Ikemen Inc. and that HanaLovesOtome has been invited along with the four other top Ikemen community users for an all-expenses paid, one month vacation to Ikemen’s Dream Resort.

My gut reaction is to scream, “Yes!” but then I remember I’m Hana the superstar.

What would people think if they found out?

What would the tabloids write if they saw me?

I pause.

Who is Hana if there is no tennis?

Hana is HanaLovesOtome.

And so I write an email back, deciding not to loop in my management team, and let the team at Ikemen Inc. know that I would be delighted to experience the resort. The response back is immediate and includes additional details and an NDA.

I skim the details of the agreement, relieved that I am not allowed to talk about the experience as that means no one else will and my identity as Hana the superstar will most likely be off limits to the press and send it back.

It all happens quickly and before the hour is up I’ve managed to secure my spot in the Ikemen Fan 5.

In the two weeks leading up to my departure, I no longer feel depressed or as if time stretches out in a way that makes me feel small and insignificant. I have an event to look forward to and arrangements to be made.

My therapist thinks a solo trip will be good for me and encourages me to journal and continue with the homework she’s given me outside of our sessions. My mom agrees that it will be good for me to have a real vacation which is something I haven’t had in years.

I’ve seen the world through touring but I’ve never really had time for tourism.

To that point, when I get on the plane it strikes me that this is my first time on a plane without the purpose of coming from or going to a tournament. I check two large suitcases and still bring a racquet in case I need the release of losing myself in a training session or two, despite the fact my performance no longer matters.

I wear the sunglasses I always wear to obscure my identity in first class and a wig and baseball hat and n95 mask, which always does the trip. At Narita airport, I see a man holding a sign that says “HanaLovesOtome” and I follow him to a town car that takes me two hours outside of Tokyo proper. It’s only when we pull off the main road, down a long skinny isolated one that I take off my disguise and breathe a sigh of relief that I managed not to attract the attention of any photographers or fans.

In my head I always saw Ikemen Inc. as a small developer, tucked away on a floor in a nondescript office building somewhere in Toyko.

The reality of their facilities surprised me, and we drove 15 minutes through dense woodland, past another small road with a sign indicating guest and employee parking - up to a manicured property where at the center was a sleek looking high rise. My driver stopped under the porte-cochere and helped me with my suitcases, triggering the mechanism for the large glass double doors to open which caught the attention of a man inside.

“Please, allow me to be of assistance,” he said, quickly grabbing the roller’s handles and helping me in to a spacious reception area. “I’m Roman and I run the resort division of Ikemen Inc.”

“Hana.”

There was something familiar about the way that Roman talked and the way he dressed that I couldn’t quite put my finger on as he introduced me to the woman at reception and made small talk about my trip. I engaged in the idle banter until the persistent feeling that I knew him from somewhere became so overwhelming that I finally found myself asking, “Have we met before?”

“Yes,” a female voice called out behind me.

I turned to see a girl, no older than 20 approaching us with a suitcase of her own. She wore the same expression that countless fans wore upon recognizing me as they rushed up to me and asked for a selfie except she was not looking at me, but at Roman.

“He’s Roman Hinton, from Ikemen’s Paradise Palace.”

“Ah, you’ve stayed with us in Paradise I assume?” Roman asked the girl smiling.

“Oh you have no idea,” she said dreamily, and it was then that I realized my wish of dating one of the men in my phone might come true.

That’s the end of my rough first chapter. Let me know if you want to know where we go from here and I might post more. Tagging @nitelotus​ since she asked to see it 

[colubrina]

The Wiltshire Station Spy pairing:  dramione planned length:  life is filled with unknowns rating:  T prompt:  heat, courtesy of @torrilin AU:  space station

Hermione reached up and tucked some of her sweaty hair back into the regulation cap. The ventilation was on the fritz in this section of the station again, and it was ungodly hot. Sweat trickled down her neck with a teasing itch she wasn’t allowed to wipe at. Her knees hurt from kneeling on the metal floor. Her back ached from bending over.

“Keep working," snapped a voice from above her. “Unless you want to skip your next water break to make up for the lost time.“

It was Dolohov today. He was her least favorite among the DEs. More intelligent than most, and more brutal as well. “What does DE stand for?" she'd asked him her first day here when she’d still thought she might be able to get things done by making friends with the guards. That earned her a zap from one of their wands.

“It stands for don’t inquire" he’d said with a laugh, then kicked her where she lay on the floor, curled around the misery of that zap. Everyone curled into a ball after a wand strike. It was as if they hoped making themselves as small as possible would make the suffering less.

It didn’t.

Even with all the pain she'd been in, Hermione’d thought, you spell 'inquire' with an I. At least she'd had the presence of mind not to blurt that out. They were a sadistic lot, the DEs, and she’d certainly been warned. She hadn’t quite believed it, though, despite all the files and vids and warnings.  “I’m sure I can manage," she'd said confidently when Dumbledore asked one last time whether she could handle an undercover assignment.

It wasn’t as if Voldemort Inc. used skilled labor. The labor was, in fact, so unskilled they generally had no idea they'd volunteered for space station work until they woke with a DE standing over them and welcoming them to their new home. “For the rest of your life," the one who'd zapped her into wakefulness said with a laugh. It hadn't taken a lot of acting to huddle away from him or begin to cry. Even now, two months into her three-month assignment, Hermione sometimes cried herself to sleep at night. It was the exhaustion, she told herself. Or maybe the frustration she learning a hell of a lot about second stage space station construction but not a damn thing about how Voldemort Inc. was laundering money. Grunt labor never got the chance to wander unsupervised through any of the corridors, much less through ones that lead to intel. She couldn’t think of a lot of things she dreaded more than sitting back at Order headquarters and confessing she’d utterly failed.

Well, she could think of one thing. Not getting pulled out of this hell hole at all.

“But I don’t want to have to go to school on the surface." Hermione recognized the petulant whine at once. Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, one of the chief stakeholders in Voldemort Inc. and supervisor for the construction of Wiltshire Station. None of the workers cared for young Draco.

Like Hermione, most of the kidnapping victims who ended up here were in their mid-teens. The Order speculated Voldemort was targeting that age because runaways were easier to snatch up and fewer people missed them. Seeing a boy who had everything sashay past them, complaining his data connection was too slow or that he hadn't like the cake at dinner filled the work gangs with a special kind of loathing.

Draco Malfoy seemed oblivious he was walking through a gang of people who'd happily beat him to a bloody pulp if not murder him outright.

“The gravity is too heavy there," his whining went on. “I don’t see why I have to go. Why can't I just keep working with tutors the way I have been?"

“You cannot," came the cultured voice of his mother. Narcissa Malfoy, age forty-one, no known allergies, at least according to the preparation Hermione had done planetside. She’d been born to money and was as distant from the bent over children trying not to be noticed as a person could be.

Being noticed was bad. Being noticed brought the attention of the DEs and their wands. Wands brought nothing but pain.

As the pair of aristocrats strolled along the walkway, the workers around Hermione bent over and worked even more assiduously.  I’m nothing but another cog in the wheel of your empire, their bent spines might as well have said.  I’m working hard.  I’m good.  Don’t see me.

But being noticed might get Hermione closer to something she could bring back with her. Something that would keep her from failure.

She lifted her head and sneered at the spoiled brat as he approached. He was pale and wispy the way most station dwellers were. No sun. Gravity a bit low. It made him seem fey and delicate, and her planetborn body thick and slow by comparison.

God, she hated these people.

“What are you looking at?" Draco demanded when he caught sight of her upturned face. “Stupid mudblood."

“Language, Draco,” his mother admonished. She glanced down at Hermione, and her mouth moved into a moue of distaste. Under that cool appraisal, Hermione flushed. Labor was permitted one sonic shower per week, and it wasn’t enough to keep you anything close to clean. Sometimes, at night, she fantasized about taking a long water shower when she got back. Narcissa Malfoy didn’t look as if she were restricted to the sonics, and neither did her son. It was one more way she looked beneath them. Coarse. Heavy. Dirty,

“They're going to eat you alive on the surface," Hermione said. She didn’t bother to hide the satisfaction in her voice. Looking at their contemptuous expressions, she reveled in the knowledge that station brats were almost universally despised planetside. She wanted Narcissa Malfoy to hear her speak, but combining that with her real opinion felt very satisfying, so she added one more word. "Spacer."

One of the DEs raised his wand and pointed it at her. “You mind your mouth when talking to your betters, girl," he said. He probably would have zapped her, but Narcissa Malfoy raised a hand to stop him.

“No one grabbed you out of the slums," she observed. Her eyes slid up and down Hermione‘s sweat-soaked body. “Not that one can tell by looking. Where are you from?"

"Why don’t you check the records?" Hermione said with all the arrogance and contempt one would expect from the most privileged of teens. She half-expected an immediate zap for that and cringed a little in anticipation. The DEs didn't tolerate mouthiness. But her ploy worked, and hearing that second sampling of Hermione's cultured accent, Narcissa Malfoy began to smile. “Public school, was it?" she asked. “How did you end up here? Addiction? Family throw you out for a pregnancy?"

“I was hitching a ride to Paris," Hermione said. That was her cover. "And when my parents find out I’m here, they’re going to shut this place down."

“Likely story," sneered Draco, but his mother looked, if anything, even more smug then she had a moment before.

“What a tragedy for you," she said. “What did you say your name was?"

It was working. Oh, dear God, it was working. After two months of hot, sweaty labor without a break in sight, she might finally have a chance to spy on these monsters before her fake but very wealthy parents lit up the Transcom with shocked demands for her return. “Hermione Groton–Rees."

"Get Miss Groton-Rees cleaned up," Narcissa Malfoy ordered Dolohov. “And with a real shower too. I don’t want the grime removed from her, but the stink still in place.“

“Of course," he said, doing everything but touching the brim of his uniform cap in Narcissa's direction. He eyed Hermione with a new touch of wariness in his mean blue eyes. If she were a rich girl, he might be in trouble. You couldn't exploit children of the wealthy the same way you could runaways and orphans. There were different rules for the sorts of people with hyphens in their names. Classist nonsense ran so deeply in his soul, he probably hadn't considered she might be a person the same way he was until this moment. Hermione curled her lip with genuine disgust.

“What are you doing, mother," Draco demanded.

“There will undoubtedly be a small amount of culture shock when you arrive at Hogwarts," Narcissa said calmly. “Miss Groton-Rees will do her best to fill you in on the differences between life on a station and life planetside, and that will make your transition easier. When she’s done, I will, of course, send her back to her parents with our deepest apologies she was temporarily waylaid here."

“What if I don’t want to help your little brat?" Hermione asked.

“Computer records disappear every day,” Narcissa Malfoy said. “And I understand a lifetime of manual labor is good for the soul."

Real fear of that possibility froze Hermione. Narcissa saw the reaction and smiled. “Excellent," she said in a soft voice. “We understand one another." She swept away in a flurry of expensive, natural fabrics, Draco at her heels. He didn't look back, though Hermione glared at his pale head until it disappeared around a corner.

Then she stood up. She’d been kneeling at Narcissa Malfoy's feet for the entirety of their conversation, and that rankled more than a little. “Well," she said to Dolohov. “I want that shower." When he didn't move, she added, "Now."

More:   (FFN | AO3)

[kidinruin]

All You’d Ever Wanted // Bartender!Shawn

Summary: You and Shawn have liked each other for a while now, but you’re not sure going out with him is such a good idea. He’ll do anything to be able to take you out, even if it takes a few friendly arm wrestling matches to win you over.

Word Count: 4.2K

Warnings: Some mild swearing

A/N: This was very loosely based off this ask. Of course I was also inspired by Shawn’s recent bartending stint in Budapest (rip me because I’m pretty sure that kid slayed me and brought me back to life three times over that night). I’ve never written a fic in my entire life, so I apologize if this is shit. Who am I kidding, it’s just 4.2K of pure garbage. Enjoy if you dare.

The noise is almost deafening when you entered the bar. You took a deep breath and grinned, taking in the familiar surroundings. You admired the gathering of bodies around the round chipped wooden tables, the white string lights that made you abandon all hope of having any sort of decent lighting, and of course, the curly-headed bartender that was too busy wiping down the bar to notice you had arrived. Those were the little things that made visiting this place feel like coming home.

You didn’t usually drink alone, but you had just finished a rather stressful work week and you’d be damned if you weren’t going to knock a few back before going home and passing out. Of course you knew that walking into a bar solo on a Friday night probably wasn’t the most brilliant life choice you’d ever made, but you’ve been frequenting this little dive bar ever since you were in college, and you knew the regulars quite well.

You returned the chorus of greetings that sounded as you made your way to the bar with a smile and a series of enthusiastic waves. The establishment’s friendly atmosphere is something that you’ll never get tired of, no matter where your life takes you.

You locked eyes with the bartender who had finally noticed your arrival as you waded through the maze of regulars. You went and parked yourself on your usual stool, unable to deny the thrill that ran through your body when you commanded his undivided attention. The confident smirk that had been living on his face as he watched you saunter up to the bar transitioned to that beautiful smile he always seemed to reserve for you. 

You wanted to kiss him, wanted to press your lips to his and replace that lovely expression with one of pure wonder and adoration. But he wasn’t yours, so you wouldn’t.

“So what’ll it be, Hot Shot?” you dramatically rolled your eyes at his question, any connection between the two of you instantly lost. Teasing you was one of his favorite pastimes, and on any other night you’d humor him, you really would. Unfortunately, your need to get drunk and relax tonight greatly outweighed your desire to indulge in mindless flirtations with the hot bartender that you’ve known for years.

“Shawn, I said it before and I’ll say it again. I’m hardly any more successful than anyone else here,” you explained, albeit a little condescendingly. You were an administrative assistant for a well-known production company, hence the paperwork mountain that’ll be greeting you bright and early Monday morning. You’d hardly call it glamorous.

He furrowed his brows at your tone, and you regretted speaking to him that way. You wanted to reach out and smooth the space between his eyebrows with your thumb, let him know that you didn’t mean to be an asshole and that you just really, really wanted to get hammered. You extinguished the thought almost as soon as it surfaced within your mind.

Before you could even begin to find the courage to apologize, Shawn started to speak, “I wouldn’t sell yourself short. I’ll bet there’s not one single person here who wouldn’t kill for a position like yours. Too bad they have no idea that you’re already the best person for the job.” Jesus, this guy was way too nice to you. Sure the two of you had known each other for years, but that doesn’t excuse your behavior.

“Yeah? What makes you say that?” you questioned, knowing full well that Shawn would dismiss any of your attempts at an apology.

“I just do. Call it a sixth sense or whatever,” he replied with a sheepish grin and an animated wave of his hand. You were glad you hadn’t gravely offended his livelihood and all, but you could tell he wanted to say more, to compliment you even further when you knew you didn’t deserve it. He was always giving you that special attention, coupled with secret glances when he thought you weren’t looking. Truthfully, it was a nice change of pace from his blatant flirting. Then again, it wasn’t like you really minded any of the attention, covert or not.

You chuckled softly and shook your head as you ordered a simple rum and coke, brushing off Shawn’s attempts to get you to try something new for a change. You fell silent after you thanked him for the drink he had made for you. Eventually, he turned back to focus on cleaning the spill your arrival had pulled his concentration from in the first place. 

You sipped your coke and observed him as he worked. Trying to stay as nonchalant as possible, you absolutely reveled in the fact that it was now your turn to give Shawn your undivided attention.

You thought it was interesting how a guy like him had ended up settling in your Midwestern town. The two of you had gone to college together, and he was an international student hailing from Toronto. That fact alone had always made you wonder how in the world he ended up here. It wasn’t like the music education program he had graduated from was particularly groundbreaking or prestigious. Just wanted a change of pace, he always answered whenever you’d asked. You had trouble believing that a guy like Shawn was destined for nothing but small town life. Regardless, he chose to stay in this college town, and he absolutely loved his job teaching music at the high school. He really only landed the bartending gig last summer in order to make some extra money while school was out. Imagine your surprise as you strolled into the place with your friend about a year ago to find Shawn grinning at you from behind the bar. You swore it must’ve been the work of some higher power.

You thought it was funny how this bar lead the two of you back to each other. You had been such close friends during your time in school, used to hang out with the rest of your friend group at the table situated next to the window overlooking the river. That very same table where you realized that maybe you liked Shawn as more than just a friend. It was such a shame the real world didn’t really leave much time for reminiscing with old friends after you graduated.

You supposed the two of you could’ve dated at some point if you wanted to, but the timing was never right. You were always too busy, he already had a girlfriend of his own, and so on. To be honest, you didn’t even think he was all that into you until you guys reconnected last summer. The lingering touches and glances, the constant offers of free drinks, and the special smile that was reserved only for you were a recent development. Despite this fact, one thing was obvious. He was sweet on you and everyone knew it.

You watched Shawn flit around the bar and interact with his customers as you mused over the second rum and coke he had handed you minutes ago without a word. He was like a ray of light wherever he went, always checking up on people, always going out of his way to make sure the customers were satisfied. That was Shawn for you, always giving.

You watched as he suddenly stumbled over the bulky boots he always wore, making the people near him chuckle. You always told him they were impractical. Maybe he’d finally listen.

Shawn apologized to the lady whose chair he grabbed to avoid face planting with a shy smile.  He looked in your direction just in time to see you turn your entire body towards him. You snorted and raised your glass in a toast before downing its remaining contents. His cheeks were rosy with embarrassment as he walked towards you, careful not to trip over his feet again. Good, you thought, you liked that he was the one who was blushing for a change.

“I wasn’t expecting a drink and a show tonight, Mendes,” you teased, poking Shawn in his broad, muscular shoulder. You had gotten slightly tipsy and the liquid courage made you bolder than usual. You normally weren’t so tactile with Shawn, but you couldn’t help it when he was standing so close to you, all tall, dark, and handsome.

“I believe the expression is dinner and a show,” he countered, any lingering trace of embarrassment replaced by his usual cocky grin. Despite the façade of smugness, you noted the nervous twitch in the side of his mouth, the hesitance when you looked into his eyes. “I mean, I can give you that…dinner, I mean. If you want?” You were shocked by his words to say the least. Sure, Shawn constantly flirted with you. Sure, you were guilty of the same. But he had never acknowledged out loud that your relationship ran any deeper than mindless flirtation. It was jarring, really, but in a good way.

You stared into his kind eyes for what felt like an ungodly amount of time and pondered his question. You saw the hesitance that previously took up residence on his face morphing into relief. Relief that he had finally laid all his cards on the table, that he had set the scene, and the ball was now in your court.

No amount of cliché metaphors could have prepared you for when Shawn placed a tattooed hand against the bar behind you and leaned in close. You shivered when you felt his warm breath against your ear, couldn’t control the gasp that left your lips as his free hand made its way to your thigh and gripped it firmly, like it had a mind of its own. He spent a few moments gazing at the side of your head, willed you to look him in the eye, but you refused. The tension was thick between the two of you, and your eyes fluttered shut in a feeble attempt to relieve any inkling of it. You couldn’t let him touch you like this, couldn’t let him get too close. You wanted to get away. You couldn’t.

Relief of the tension that you so desperately desired came when his hand left your thigh. Unfortunately, the feeling was short-lived when Shawn gently grasped your chin and turned your head to face him, forcing you to return his intense gaze.

“You gotta know by now I’d do anything to see you smile, Hot Shot,” he whispered softly. Every instinct you possessed in your body told you to run. “What do you say? Have dinner with me?” His eyes fixated on your lips and you weren’t surprised by how badly you wanted him to kiss you in this moment. You would’ve let him, too, if you hadn’t finally come to your senses.

“Hmm, maybe another time,” you stammered quickly in a half-assed attempt to divert his attention for good. You swiveled around in your stool as fast as you could before you could observe his no doubt disappointed reaction.

You suddenly remembered you were sitting in a crowded bar, where any prying eyes could’ve witnessed the exchange between the two of you. You looked over your shoulder, careful to avoid catching Shawn’s gaze. When you decided that you weren’t the victim of any particularly dirty looks, you righted yourself on the stool once again.

One glance out of the corner of your eye told you that Shawn had already returned to his post behind the bar. He placed a third rum and coke down in front of you and you mumbled your thanks, evading any and all contact. You wished a hole would open up in the floor right about now and swallow you whole.

You knew you were being unreasonable. He obviously liked you. You liked him. If you were still in college, you’d be high off the adrenaline that came with finally setting up a date with the guy you wanted the most right about now. The fact of the matter was that you and Shawn had such a good thing going. You had gotten closer than ever since reconnecting, and you didn’t want to jeopardize that. Plus, you were so busy with work that you didn’t exactly have time for anything serious at the moment.

You knew deep down that you were just making excuses. You wished you had the courage to take that leap of faith. All you’d ever wanted was dangling right in front of you. You just needed to reach out and take it.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or are you going to make me guess what’s happening inside that pretty little head of yours?” he questioned, snapping you out of your self-deprecating thoughts. He was calm, cool, and collected, as if you hadn’t just rejected his advances in front of the entire bar. Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. Dammit why did he always get you to blush so easily?

You sincerely hoped you weren’t sporting a stupidly shocked expression on your face as you looked into his gorgeous hazel eyes for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. You pondered how this man could still care, even after you rejected him, looked him in the eyes and pretended like you haven’t wanted to be his since you were eighteen years old. In that moment, you decided to come clean and at least try to make things right. He deserved the truth.

You took a deep breath and began, “Look, Shawn, you know that I’ve liked you for a very, very long time. The thing is I’ve just been drowning at work lately.” Shawn frowned and you found yourself wanting to reach out and touch his forehead for the second time that night. You let go of any remaining inhibitions you might’ve had in that moment and did just that, once again forgetting about the very public setting the two of you were in. His eyes fluttered closed when you softly smoothed away the worry lines, and you willed him to show you that beautiful smile again. You didn’t like it when he was upset. “Every time I finish a task, it seems like three more show up in its place. It’s enough to make me feel like I’m drowning.”

You detested admitting your weakness, but Shawn always made you feel safe, like you could tell him anything and he wouldn’t judge you for it. You absentmindedly slid your hand down to cup his cheek. The simple, intimate action caused his eyes to snap open and marvel at you in disbelief. You didn’t blame him for his confusion.

You suddenly felt uncomfortable and scrambled to look anywhere but into those damn eyes. Your gaze traveled past his face, down the strong biceps exposed by the black tank top he wore, until you focused on the guitar that was permanently etched into his skin. The hand that was caressing his face moved to find a new home on his forearm, much to Shawn’s dismay. It was hard to ignore the calm that washed over the two of you as you traced the ink’s delicate outline over and over again.

“Plus, I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” you admitted after a few minutes of silence. You kept your eyes trained on the permanent guitar, worried about how he was going to react. Shawn chuckled loudly and pulled away, leaving you embarrassed and frankly a little confused.

“Is that the best excuse you could up with? You don’t want to ruin our friendship?” The disbelief on his face was almost comical. “Come on, Hot Shot. You know I’d never let anything get in the way of us, even if us dating didn’t work out. Nothing could ever ‘jeopardize our friendship’.” He threw up a set of air quotes at the end of his proclamation. 

“How could you possibly know that?” you inquired as you felt a wave of uneasiness wash over you.

“It’s that sixth sense,” he stated and tapped the side of his head, as if referring back to your earlier conversation required complex critical thought. Funny how that hour between then and now could be made to feel like ten years. In that moment you swore you saw his eyes light up, like a lightbulb had ignited within his brain. “Tell you what, name your price. Tell me what it is I have to do to get you to finally go out with me.”

“Shawn, just drop it,” you said, suddenly regretting ever coming out tonight.

“No, nope, you don’t get to try and drop me with that lame excuse. Not when I know you’ve wanted this just as much as I have,” he replied.

“No, really Shawn, it’s okay. I really would just like to go home,” you insisted and began to reach for your purse so you can pay for your damn drinks and get the hell out of there. Rummaging around in your bag thankfully provided a welcome distraction. You managed to prolong the action for several minutes before a warm touch at your elbow made you sigh in defeat.

“I’m waiting,” Shawn stated, tone impatient. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, you realized when you heard him tapping his foot in those stupid boots he loved so much.

“Fine,” you said and desperately searched around the bar for anything that would get him to drop the subject. Your eyes landed on Dan, a regular you had known almost as long as Shawn. You smirked when an idea popped into your head and named your price, “I’ll go out with you if you challenge Dan over there to an arm wrestling match. Only if you win, of course.”

You were sure he’d find the idea ridiculous, brush you off and forget you even asked. Too bad you had forgotten that this was Shawn, and he’d do anything to get what he wanted.

“Okay, consider it done,” he stated confidently as he began to make his way out onto the floor once again. An adorable look of determination adorned his face when he approached Dan.

“Wh- Shawn I wasn’t being serious!” you shouted, scrambling to follow after him.

“Nope. I’m gonna do it,” he retorted, the ever-growing smirk on his face apparent.

“Shawn, this is ridiculous! You have to see that I was joking,” you protested. It was no use. He was determined to make this happen.

Shawn continued to ignore you for the duration of the short journey to where Dan was conversing with his pals. He sauntered up to the table, arms folded, clearly meaning business. Dan’s friends looked up at Shawn, confusion written all over their faces. Dan looked over his shoulder to determine the cause of their confusion only to find the bartender donning a serious look on his face.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here, Shawny Boy?” Dan questioned, clearly finding the situation comical.

“Hot Shot over here says she’ll let me take her to dinner,” Shawn explained. You saw the triumphant expression beginning to form on Dan’s face. It was no secret that he was rooting for the two of you since day one. Shawn continued, “But only if I can win in an arm wrestling match against you.”

Dan snorted and pretended to think it over in his head before he replied, “Alright, boy, I’ll arm wrestle ya. I’m not gonna go easy on ya though, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Of course, Dan. You know damn well I can’t properly win the lady’s heart if you just let me win,” Shawn stated in disbelief. He threw his hand over his heart, taking grave offense to the fact that Dan would even think of such a thing.

“Well then it looks like we got ourselves a regular old challenge!” Dan shouted for the rest of the bar’s occupants to hear. It wasn’t long before excited chattering filled the room and Dan’s buddies stood up to clear off the nearest unoccupied table.

You bit your lip and shifted nervously as you watched the two men take their places opposite each other. You couldn’t even bring yourself to shamelessly enjoy the flexing of Shawn’s arm muscles as he clasped onto Dan’s hand, aligning their elbows and getting into position. You should’ve just gone home, you thought. Passing out alone in your own bed surely wouldn’t have caused such a scene.

In that moment, as the two men prepared to wrestle, you decided to give it up. You realized Shawn would do anything for you, no matter how ridiculous the request. His tenacity and willingness to do the most absurd things finally donned on you. You determined that you needed to get over your misguided fear of losing his friendship right then and there. You knew he would always want you. He’d always find a way to have you, in any way, shape, or form.

You barely heard the crowd counting down the beginning of the match over the ringing in your ears brought on by your long overdue realization. You tried to pinpoint the exact moment when you had stopped denying it. Perhaps it was somewhere between leaving your barstool and arriving at Dan’s table, or maybe it was the second you sat down at the bar for the first time tonight. Regardless, you just wished you had caused less of a spectacle over it.

You watched as Shawn’s face twisted in concentration, biceps flexing even more than you thought possible with exertion. He was trying his hardest to win this, to win you. You didn’t know whether to burst into tears or a fit of laughter. You opted for neither and attempted to mask your regret at causing the whole ordeal.

The patrons didn’t mind though, and their excited chattering grew louder and louder any time either of the men came close to finishing it all. It came as no surprise when Shawn finally pressed Dan’s arm down onto the table, winning the makeshift match. As soon as he knew the win was in the bag, he sprang from his seat and took off around the bar on a mini victory lap, thrusting his fist in the air and high fiving anyone in sight. His happiness was infectious.

The crowd reformed to gather around the two of you as Shawn made his way over to where you were standing. You heard people shushing others as they watched the events unfolding in front of them.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” you remarked. Shawn took an exaggerated bow, goofy grin in place. He looked into your eyes as he moved in closer, cupping the back of your head with his large hand. You knew what was coming. You could feel it in your bones. And this time, you were finally ready.

“Yeah well, you know I can do just about anything with the right motivation,” he murmured. He stood there marveling at you, hesitation to make the next move evident. You were confused at his sudden uneasiness.

You hastily decided to take matters into your own hands and yanked on the front of his tank top, closing the remaining distance between the two of you. You almost cried in happiness when your lips finally met his.

Shawn pulled you in closer, if that was even possible. You felt him smiling into the kiss when you wrapped your arms around his neck. This was home, you were sure of it. Nothing in your life had ever felt so right.

“Well it was about damn time,” Dan remarked. He had to shout to be heard over everyone else’s loud cheering.

Shawn pressed one last gentle kiss against your lips before responding, “Don’t have to tell me twice, Dan.” He turned his attention towards you and spoke, “So is that a yes? Will you finally go out with me?” You playfully smacked his shoulder and he laughed. It was music to your ears.

“Yes, Shawn, I will go out with you,” you beamed as you said it, threading your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “It’s been a long time coming, but yes, of course I will.”

Shawn smiled the smile that he only ever reserved for you, and wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug. You fit together perfectly, like the two of you were solely meant for each other. You pressed your forehead to his and closed your eyes one final time.

As you stood there, enclosed in Shawn’s embrace, surrounded by people who wanted the best for you, you couldn’t help but wonder what the hell you had just gotten yourself into. The funny thing was that the more you pondered, the less you cared. You had taken that leap of faith, reached out and took what was dangling right in front of you. You’d finally gotten all you’d ever wanted.

[thethew]

I’m tired and life is going quite literally down the drain so here’s the next episode of Northwood Abbey! 

But to be completely serious with you guys, shit is currently (And quite literally) hitting the fan. The next episode might not arrive for an ungodly amount of time so please just hold on tight with me? (Also this episode is a lot longer than the others so bear with me)

Episodes: 0 1 2 3

Taglist: (Remember to contact me to get on or off it) @hannahs-creations @killer-badass @theshadowsofthenight @slythekiel @lucas-writes @ohlooksheswriting @waywordwriter @hufflepuffbanana @writerproject @omicronviolet @angelotakunerd08

Episode 3: Pilot Part 3

Aspen Brielle. A strange name to be honest. How fitting that it belonged to him. The man sat down on a bench. Sipping a lukewarm cup of coffee. It hadn’t been made that way, he’d just lost track of time. His throat itched, as it always did when he hadn’t spoken for long periods of time. Not because of any medical issues or disorders, simply because his voice always wanted to be in use. You could ask him what this means, but he’d probably dance around that subject or politely decline to answer the question, so I suppose I will as well.

He was sitting near the center of the town, staring straight down the street at an old mansion. Built by the town’s founder, whom many claimed to be insane. His wife had chased after him to the house, and, being obsessed with the forms of holistic cure and remedies, had painted the whole house light blue. The result hadn’t done much, except make the lovely property age very well.

But the building had its reasons for being empty.

I imagine that if you asked the man sitting on the bench. If you looked right into his eyes, which looked more green and bright than they had any right to, said his name, though I doubt you’d remember it, and asked him why the building was empty, abandoned, desecrated, defiled, any word you wished. He would look at you, tilt his head to the side and click his teeth together, then say, Why don’t you find out for yourself?

Of course, this would be horrible advice. Why? Because the building was haunted. And to all of you out there who snicker at the idea of a haunting, laugh in the face of death and danger, and are generally just a hapless lunatic, don’t ever enter that place. You may never recover from the discoveries you find there. After all, the welcome mat doesn’t say, Weak Minds Perish Here At Northwood Manor, for no reason.

I never said it was a good welcome sign.

Aspen stood up, finished off his bitter, stale coffee, then slowly walked off through the town. The sun had barely risen into the sky, but he, like several other inhabitants of the town, was wide awake.

…

“She killed someone?” Mychael said incredulously.

Xeph nodded, a pack of dice sprawled across the table. A newspaper sat below them a mortifying headline covering the front page.

Local Bakery Owner Killed By Wild Bear, Officers And CSI Say

“It’s obviously not a bear,” Hannah continued. “The town is warded from them.”

“How do you ward off bears?”

“Simple,” Xeph replied, “You build a giant blue house with more magical energy in it than the Taj Mahal.”

Mychael didn’t quite understand the comparison or the explanation. Xeph sighed and fiddled with one of the dice for a few seconds before answering.

“Animals are sensitive to magic and its transactions and stuff like that. Bears, for some reason, are the most affected by it. We used to have a zoo, but, surprise surprise, the bears broke out and ran as far as they could. And you don’t even need to be able to do magic to feel the crazy magical energy coming off that place.”

“You mean Northwood Manor,” Mychael replied, “The place that makes everyone’s hairs stand  on end whenever they get too close?”

Hannah made a clicking noise with her teeth and did an awkward finger gun motion before turning back to whatever concoction she was making on Mychael’s stove. It smelled rather sweet. Hannah seemed to notice his interest in the boiling mess of sickly sweet smells and flavors.

“Cinnamon and orange,” She said offhandedly, “As well as a few other ingredients, helps ward off bad spirits and bring in good ones. At least I think so. I haven’t done kitchen magic in a while.”

He nodded, then turned back to the table. Xeph was stacking his dice on top of each other, making a pyramid and other various shapes. With a halfhearted sigh, he blew on the tower and it fell over, clattering onto the table. His green hair looked as if it needed some touching up, the black roots starting to show a bit. He rubbed his eyes, then leaned over the table to grab the newspaper.

“So,” Mychael said cautiously. “How does magic work?”

“A crash course from two fellow idiotas?” Xeph replied, “It doesn’t, unless you want it to.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Yeah, it does,” Hannah replied. “Magic is completed by using the force of your will, personality, intellect, whatever, to get power from the earth and her energies. It’s like convincing her to give you magic.”

She snapped her fingers and a small leaf sprouted out of a little bamboo plant Mychael had gotten for himself a week ago. It was a small feat in and of itself, but Mychael was very impressed.

“For some, it’s like a battle of wits with her as they start out casting, they have to outwit her to get energy. For others, they have to work with her and satisfy her until they get power and manifestation. Others, they have to charm her into giving them power. And some just need to ask nicely. It’s different for everyone,” Hannah explained.

“And some people use different kinds of magic, which require different sources, different techniques,” Xeph continued.

“That still makes no sense to me but okay,” Mychael replied.

Xeph suddenly tossed the newspaper back down on the table. Hannah and Mychael gave him a confused look. He ran his hand through his hair, clearly stressed.

“This,” Xeph paused, “Cabrona.”

“Isabella,” Mychael corrected.

“Morkantha,” Hannah furthered.

“No me importa,” Xeph groaned. “Tenemos que detenerla antes de que mate a más gente.”

Hannah stopped her cooking. “You’re speaking Spanish again. You know he can’t understand you.”

He sighed and placed his head on the table. He waved his hand in the air and said, “¿Tu punto?”

“You speak Spanish?” Mychael asked.

Xeph glanced up at him and sighed, then laid his head back down on the table. He stared out the window for a second, then got up and walked over to the pantry, probably to look for more of Mychael’s food.

“Yeah, My mom and dad came up from Puerto Rico and Colombia. I grew up learning how to cook enchiladas the correct way, without store-bought sauce-” He said this as he pulled a can of Mychael’s off-brand sauce out of the pantry. He set the offending can carefully on the stovetop- “And the whole religion and chancleta and everything or whatever you want me to say.”

Xeph gave up on finding anything in the pantry and instead turned and leaned against the wall. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The bandage around his arm seemed to need a replacement.

“So,” Mychael tried to move past the awkward hitch in the conversation. “What kinds of magic are there?”

“Well,” Hannah replied, halting her stirring for a few moments, “There’s a lot, but to start out, I would say sigils.”

“Why sigils?” Mychael inquired.

“The ones you make on your own are less likely to kill you,” Xeph replied.

“That’s reassuring,” Mychael replied, completely the opposite of reassured.

“And also,” Hannah replied, aiming a kick at Xeph’s shin. “They require the least amount of energy. And when the energy transit is small or near non-existent, the better chance you have of your spells manifesting.”

“And what about Isa- Morkantha?” Mychael changed the subject.

“I have my suspicions,” Xeph said. He walked over to the table a pulled a briefcase out from under the table. Mychael blinked, not having seen the object a few seconds earlier. The case had a piece of masking tape across it with Morkantha’s name written across it in sharpie.

“We’ve,” he paused, “triangulated where we think we might be from where you two first met, the most frequent sightings of her, and the bakery guy. We think she’s in Northwood Manor.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Mychael replied.

…

Northwood Manor looked hauntingly beautiful at all times of the day. Even the beating afternoon sun and a few hundred years could not take away any of its splendor. But just looking at the building sent shivers up your spine. It made your palms sweaty and your throat itch. Just thinking about what might hide in those abandoned halls made you hesitant to enter. Even the dry, two-foot-tall grass that grew around and through the porch seemed to crackle with magical or supernatural energy that warned of what was lying in wait.

However, the group did not have the luck of entering the old house in bright midday. Rather, they had the misfortune of entering the building in the middle of the night. Under the cover of darkness, the building did indeed lose its cheery blue color, which, during the day, was the only thing keeping it from looking as menacing as it was now. Mychael’s breath started to hitch as he got closer to the building. The energy from it pulsed through them, making the hairs on the backs of their neck stand up. Their hearts raced, and their palms became clammy. Xeph muttered a few prayers under his breath in Spanish, and Hannah swatted him on the shoulder.

“Calm down,” she said. “It’s just a demon.”

“Just a demon,” Mychael replied.

“Just a demon.” Xeph chuckled nervously to himself, “Cabrona eso es lo que me da miedo.”

The briefcase banged against Mychael’s hip and he winced in pain. Hannah shushed him. Xeph looked ready to heave his lunch on the ground. Mychael readjusted the case and continued to sneak through the grass to the stair leading up to the porch.

“Tell me why we brought this thing again?” Mychael hissed over his shoulder.

“Insurance,” Hannah replied, “Demons and other supernatural beings don’t like it when too much information about them is gathered in one place. They can feel it. Like when you’re all alone and you feel like someone’s watching you? That level of uncomfortable. It makes them really angry.”

“Cool,” Mychael said, then quieter, “Then why did we do that?”

Xeph answered that last part, probably without realizing it, “Some people do it to blackmail a demon into doing things for them, others do it to create a beacon to lead the demon to them. That’s what we’re doing.”

“Fantastic,” Mychael grumbled.

The door creaked open a little too loudly. The group began to enter, and a loud crack sounded as Xeph’s foot broke through the wood of the porch. Silence fell upon them as Xeph muttered quiet prayers in rapid-fire Spanish. He slowly pulled his foot out of the whole and let out a relieved sigh as nothing happened.

“What are you so scared of?” Mychael joked.

“Old houses,” Xeph replied, “Old curses, old spirits.”

The inside of the house was even stranger than the outside. White cloth hung over all of the furniture, and Mycheal heard a crunch under his foot as he accidentally stepped on an old mothball. Xeph leant down and grabbed another one off the ground.

“This should be used up by now,” He mused.

“Probably the last person who lived here,” Hannah speculated.

“You mean the hair salon lady?” Mychael asked.

“No,” Xeph said, taking the case out of Mychael’s hands, “She was a distant relative, inherited the property from whoever had the bad luck of taking care of it at that time. She was in town for one month, vanished. Found her the next week belly up in a pond.”

Hannah slapped Xeph’s shoulder. He ignored the action and continued to fiddle with the briefcase. After a few moments, he stopped. He glanced down the hall and then walked down it. The other two followed him through the old and creaky house, ignoring the paintings on the wall of increasingly mad and sleepless people, all of the former owners of the house.

The hall opened up into a small ballroom. A large window spanned from the floor to the ceiling. A small record player sat in the corner with a few pieces of vinyl shattered on the ground around it. A gust of wind blew through the house, knocking over a flowerpot that had been inconveniently placed.

Xeph set the briefcase down on the ground and started muttering over it. A bright green sigil hummed to life on the back, then it flickered out and vanished. A small pile of dust fell onto the ground from where it had been.

“Now she’ll feel it,” Xeph said.

After a few moments of silent glances back and forth, Hannah turned to face Mychael. She seemed to have lost her happy go lucky demeanor.

“Do you have the book?” She asked, deathly serious.

Mychael nodded. She turned to Xeph.

“Open it,” She commanded.

Xeph took a deep breath, and his shaking fingers slowly undid the latches on the case. He flipped open the case and a rush of air flew past the group. The plant that had fallen to the floor earlier shriveled up and died. The old house creaked violently. The mothballs around the room melted up and vanished as pretty much everything alive in the room began to die except for the group. Even the papers inside the case seemed to crumple up, and the leather seemed to age several more years. Rust crawled across all the metal objects in the room, until the phenomena stopped a few seconds later.

“I heard you calling,” a voice rasped from above.

Morkantha’s shape had further shifted away from human now. Her pink hair was wild and had turned into more of a fur, sprouting from around her neck like a mane. Her fingers elongated into powerful claws and a tail with a sharp spike had sprouted from behind her. Her hind legs looked more like a lion’s than anything else. Her eyes were pitch black with little pinpricks of purple light in the middle. Her skin had changed color, with patches of purple, pink, blue. Overall, she looked like an oversized reptilian lion.

Not to mention the fact she had grown a few feet.

With the speed and agility of a cat, she landed on the floor of the ballroom, towering over the group. Mychael held the purple leather bound book up as a precaution as Morkantha continued to stalk closer.

“The Lady in Red has been waiting for you,” she purred.

Hannah frowned, but Mychael seemed terrified. He’d been able to hide it the other night when Hannah had mentioned the name, but hearing from the demon in front of him only made it worse.

“Don’t you miss her,” Morkantha interrogated, “And what you could do together?”

“Stop it,” Mychael shouted.

“Xeph, knock her out,” Hannah demanded.

Xeph closed his eyes and held his fingers up to his temples. A faint green light weaved around him. With a flick of her long tail, Morkantha pulled Xeph away from the group and dangled him up in the air. He shouted in pain as Morkantha’s tail wrapped around his body and squeezed.

“Not this time, little rapture,” Morkantha hissed.

“Mychael, keep the book up,” Hannah shouted.

“This was a stupid idea,” Mychael screamed.

Xeph groaned in pain as Morkanthat squeezed tighter. The action drew silence from the other two.

“Thank you,” Morkantha sighed. “The Lady wants that one-” she pointed at Mychael- “Alive. No tricks, no catch. Just hand him over.”

“You think that I’m just going to hand over someone I met like,” Hannah paused, “Three days ago?”

Morkantha opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by Mychael’s phone in his pocket. Everyone stared at him, incredulous. He scrambled to grab it and answer as soon as possible.

“Hello?”

“Hi Mychael, it’s your manager, Kathy? I noticed you didn’t come in for work today, are you okay?”

“Uh,” He glanced around the room, “No, I dropped one of my...” he continued to frantically search the room, “Vintage records on my feet and it broke and now I’m bleeding all over the place.”

“Oh my gosh,” Kathy replied, “Are you okay? I can head over and get you to the emergency room.”

“No, no,” Mychael laughed nervously, “That’s not-”

His phone slipped from his hand as Morkantha plucked it from between his fingers. Mychael made a sound of protest as the demon crushed the device with her claws. Morkantha turned around to face them and growled threateningly, a small orb of light on her chest pulsating vibrantly. Mychael stared up at her black eyes

A voice in the back of his mind directed his gaze back down to the light coming out of Morkantha’s chest.

“How nice to see you again Mr. Harmeyer,” The Lady In Red crooned, “Shall we finish this?”

He turned to the shards of old vintage records in the corner of the room. Morkantha followed his gaze and growled. Within a second, the two were bounding across the room. As Mychael reached out for a piece of the broken vinyl, morkantha slammed her hand into his back and he flew into the wall. He spun around, a few shattered records cutting into his leg. The demon towered over him and pulled back her arm to swing again.

A flash of green light swirled around her and straight into her eyes. She spun around wildly, writhing in pain. Xeph was tossed across the room, straight into the opposite wall. Hanna ran after him. Morkantha screamed and flopped around. Xeph slammed into the wall, his consciousness slipping out of his grasp.

And Mychael? The world slowed as his fingers wrapped around something that wasn’t a shard of vinyl, wasn’t a piece of wood, wasn’t a knife. Something that had never been there before. Morkantha turned towards him, blinded and furious. Mychael rose up his arm and plunged a blade of pure white energy into the orb of light inside her chest.

The world moved faster after that. Morkantha collapsed, white light crackling and licking flames across her body. Energy pulsed through Mychael’s fingertips, and the power of The Lady In Red left him. He collapsed on the ground, his vision fading fast.

The last thing he saw, was a man with long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, an aviator jacket, and tan converse snap the briefcase closed. He stood slowly and turned to face Mychael. And as he became closer and closer to unconsciousness, Aspen Brielle’s almost too green eyes seemed to swirl and fold in on themselves.

And with that, the man was gone.

In fact, he’d never been there. The briefcase and it’s contents had been destroyed in the battle, burnt up in the flames from Mychael’s powerful attack. Morkantha’s body had been burnt up in the climax of the battle.

And Aspen Brielle did not exist.

[jemandrr]

With manifest v3 approaching at depressing speed, i pray to the gods that firefox adopts more chromelike feature/UI options.  Like drastically lower the minimum custom tab width to support the range that chrome supports, and being able to run personal browser extensions without also using the less stable dev build.

I’m sure there’s more, but I feel like there’s a timer cutoff fast fast approaching and not much sign (that I’m aware of) of Firefox actively making an effort to catch chromium users by expanding features (or, in the cases listed, simply enabling some values that are literally already coded and accounted for - both of these things are possible in official firefox buiilds, just not in the settings for normal firefox).  

Like, don’t just wait for your competitors to do bad, also put effort into qol and providing a variety of UI options to completely whittle out snares of little conveniences and utilities people are used to.  Privacy and control of your browsing experience are important, but it shouldn’t (and won’t, because face it, people are creatures of habit) just win by default for everyone on that merit alone. There’s nothing I’m aware of stopping them from having easily customizable settings to create chromelike experiences in terms of like...Google owning all the features of Chromium (in the first place, Chromium is open source too).  Especially since the above two are still maintained features, just not enabled by default.

I’m sure if you poll a lot of chromium users you could find a lot more features to implement, many of which are probably already supported, just inconvenient to access. 

Another feature that I’ve seen some people try to fix on a personal level is how firefox’s ‘remember your last session’ is a lot wonkier than Chrome’s.  Since it has one and it just doesn’t work as well, I presume there are more things in the way than the other issues, so I set it aside for the end.  I don’t really remember what’s different, I think it doesn’t save as long, isn’t as consistent?  I just remember getting frustrated with it (among other things) when I was seeing if I could make the jump to Firefox early.  Ultimately, without manifest v3 here yet, the privacy tradeoff isn’t good enough for me to bear the massive UX decrease, and while adblock is too important for me to hold off forever (transition starts next month and is supposed to finish in 6 months), I’m really not looking forward to it after I gave firefox a fair month of trial earlier this year.

On a mostly unrelated note: Edge for some ungodly reason has it so that Alt-Tab goes through individual tabs in a window by default.  This is a setting, but literally why.  Literally who asked for this to be enabled by default.

And yes I know open source, but these issues have all been brought up by way better devs than an amateur like me, so I’m fairly certain they’ve specifically been ruled against, nor am I qualified to manage my own version of it anyway.  And maybe I’m treating firefox contributors too much like a collective who would actively make decisions to increase usability to migrating laypersons to improve crossover and retention, but I’m mostly just venting and frustrated and not expecting anything of it so

Also: If anyone tells me to write my own css to customize stuff like the amount of vertical/horizontal space a tab takes up, you’re losing sight of what normal people can/will do for basic UX.

[sugarmiyu]

Why Do I Keep Doing This to Myself?

Idolm@ster Cinderella Girls / Jougasaki Mika/Ohtsuki Yui 

Summary:  Mika has a well earned day off from being the country's #1 Charisma Gal (tm). But after spending years running from one place to another, she finds there isn't much to do without the chaos of her job. Thankfully, her girlfriend knows how to make every day a little less boring.

Read on ao3 / give me a ko-fi?

Mika couldn’t remember the last time she had a day off.

Rolling onto her side, the weight of the blanket pressed against her body. Rika had left for the office hours ago. She had a gig with Decoration today and Mika had already set up the DVR the night before to record the program. The midday sun shone through the gap between the curtains that adorned her windows. Even without an alarm clock, Mika’s body had instinctively woken her up at 8 a.m. So she lied there, checking her phone and falling in and out of sleep until the clock had lazily spun forward to just past noon. She had shrugged her blanket off her body somewhere during the course of her morning in and traced the cold of the sheets with her toes.

Her stomach let out a low growl and Mika rolled over onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. She picked up her phone, looking at the stream of messages and Snapchats from everyone back at the agency. Opening Snapchat, Mika’s eyes skipped the long line of names until she reached Yui - saved with the name of “My Girl” followed by a multitude of sparkling hearts and a slowly building Snapchat streak. The picture lit up on the screen, Yui taking a selfie in the brightness of the dance studio. Yui held up a peace sign and stuck out her tongue, a tied up cherry stem resting on top of it. It was captioned: “Guess I’m pretty good with my tongue huh babe~ ;)” and decorated with heart emojis.

Mika buried her face in her pillow. If she could cringe, roll her eyes, groan, sigh, pinch the bridge of her nose, and crawl into a hole all at once she would. Instead, she resigned herself to taking a picture of her headboard, feeling too naked without makeup on to send anything close to a selfie. She carefully arranged the face-palm emoji in lines of five before sending it out. Her head was dizzy and she sat up in bed. The picture that Yui had sent was with her back facing the wall-mirrors that lined one side of the studio. They had gone out to choose that tank-top she was wearing together, talking about how chic the practically backless design was. Now, midday with nothing to do, Mika couldn’t keep her mind off the dip of Yui’s back and the outline of her skin against the fabric of the sports bra.

Wow, she really needed to do something else.

Opening the curtains sounded like a good idea. Mika got up, stretching out her stiff arms and reaching over to let the light into her room. It was sunny and she opened the window just enough to let the breeze in. She scooped up the pile of clothes she’d left behind the night before after coming home at some ungodly hour and unceremoniously dumped them in the laundry hamper. Picking up a hoodie and tiny gym shorts, Mika figured a shower was all she needed for now. A bath could wait until later tonight but she could still feel the cling of last night’s perfume and the places where her foundation hadn’t come off completely.

On her way to the bathroom, Mika flipped through the rest of the Snapchats she had ignored earlier in favor of prioritizing her girlfriend. The LiPPS group chat was as unintelligible as ever - though it seemed Kanade, Syuko, and Frederica were currently in a competition to see who could get the most candid shots of Arisu during a Project Krone meeting. Mika sent them a shot of her hallway with a timestamp and was immediately met with messages about how lucky she was to get a day off. She grinned as it generated just the response she expected. Shrugging off her shirt, Mika was nearly ready to get into the shower when her phone buzzed with another snap from Yui.

The picture was of Yui’s hand (Mika noticed she was wearing the bracelets they had picked out together on a date last week) making a peace sign (again?) in front of a vending machine. The rest of Yui’s fingers were precariously holding onto the top of a Pocari Sweat and Mika could barely make out Chinatsu standing off to the side. This one wasn’t captioned but it wasn’t hard to imagine the scene. Yui had probably overdone it during lessons and Chinatsu, ever the responsible guardian over her best friend, had probably gone with her for a much needed hydration sesh.

Mika rolled the options around in her head. If she didn’t respond, she would ruin their streak and Yui would make a big fuss about it like she had the last time it happened. But, there wasn’t much to snap without it being awkward. She was already half-naked and while the giant mirror in her bathroom was usually her pride and joy, it made for an inconvenience when she wanted to take pics without exposing herself. Looking around, the only viable item seemed to be a pile of towels stacked on a shelf by the door into the bath. It was tucked away enough to be free from the voyeurism of the mirror but obviously signaled where she was. She took a quick picture, captioning it with “BRB gotta shower babe - don’t get any weird ideas ♥” before putting her phone on top of her clothes.

When the hot water finally hit her skin and the steam helped clear her mind, Mika spent about half an hour wondering why in the world she had sent that.

~

“Onee-chan! Can you see me?”

Rika’s grinning face took up nearly the entire screen as their Facetime started, “I can see you~ Maybe a little too well. You need to work on choosing the right angles, Rika.”

“Boo! I can totally hit the right angles,” Rika said, the image shifting to a more reasonable distance, “What’cha doin’? Right now, Kirari and Miria are taking pictures together!”

“Hm? Nothing much,” Mika glanced at the dishes she had left in the sink after lunch - she made a pretty damn good seafood pasta. She’d have to make it for Yui some time. “I ate a little bit ago and now I’m not sure what to do. Maybe I’ll play one of your video games.”

“Wha- no fair! You’re gonna clear all the levels before I get to!”

Rika looked adorable with her pouty face and scrunched up eyebrows. Mika wanted to be there in person so she could give her little sister a flick on the forehead. But because technology hadn’t progressed that far yet, she grinned and said, “Fine, fine. I guess I’ll read some magazines or something. We’ll play together some other time.”

“Yay!” Rika grinned, “You know, earlier today, Ranko was talking about…”

After about half an hour of chatting, Rika had to hang up to begin their recording. Mika was proud of her younger sister, but with her days usually so busy with work, they two of them didn’t get much time to spend together. She got up from the couch, walking towards the dishes that had been ignored for a few hours. Feeling the hot water hit her hands, Mika shuddered and looked up towards the clock on the kitchen counter. It was almost four - the day having passed without anything at all having been done. If she had been in the office today, she probably would have finished up one job and would be on transit to the next site. Or maybe, she would be packing up after a hard day’s work to hit her favorite karaoke places with Rina and Yui. Or she would have been trying to fix LiPPS’ newest mess.

Mika shook the water off her hands after placing the last dish on the rack. Checking the clock again, it had only moved forward fifteen minutes. She wiped whatever water was left on her hoodie and picked up her phone, only to be greeted by a screen full of notifications. They were all from Yui and Mika opened up the newest message. It had been sent a minute ago and asked, “Are you home, babe?”

Looking through the previous twenty or so messages - all of them variations of “Mika” and “my beautiful girlfriend” and “i want to see you” - she turned her attention back to the most recent. “Yeah, I’m home” she responded, following up with a sticker of a pink cat with a large question mark.

“Awesome!!!!” Sent with a sticker of a yellow puppy with its tail wagging. No more messages.

Mika could guess what Yui was up to. She made her way upstairs, looking through her closet for something better to wear. Even though she loved her girlfriend, her reputation as a charismatic gyaru was in jeopardy if she ever went out dressed like this. Just as Mika was putting the finishing touches on her makeup, she heard the doorbell ring. It was thirty minutes from when Yui had sent that last message - about the same amount of time it took to get to her house from the office. Adjusting her bangs in the mirror, Mika came downstairs and opened the door to Yui with a big grin on her face.

“Hey, babe!” Yui said, hands totally not suspiciously behind her back, “I thought I’d come surprise you since I finished my work early today. You can, like, totally take in how awesome of an idol your girlfriend is.”

“You’re an awesome idol, but you have some work to do on being awesome at surprises,” Mika smiled and poked Yui’s forehead, “I could tell what you were up to, you little scamp~”

“Aw man, you’re too sharp for me Mika,” Yui knitted her brows together, “And here I thought I was really gonna wow you today. But, if you’re so clever, I guess you won’t need this.” From behind her, Yui brought out a trendy looking cake box. Splashed onto the side was the logo for an extra-famous and extra-trendy cake restaurant from Shibuya that Mika had been dying to go visit for weeks. Mika stared at the box in dumb surprise while Yui opened it up with a smug look of triumph, “One orange mille feuille for you madame~”

“How did you-?”

“Well, me and Rina were picked to be the poster girls for this place’s ‘Take Over Shibuya with Fashion’ campaign so we went to the store today! The producer sweet talked the manager into letting us get away with some of the goods,” Yui’s grin turned sheepish, “I-I know you’ve been eyeing this place so… Yeah… C-Come on, babe, say something.”

Mika grabbed Yui’s wrist, pulling her through the doorway. Closing the door behind her, Mika pulled Yui in for a kiss. The cake box between them prevented it for lasting more than a few seconds but Mika hoped she got her feelings across. She could feel the blush creeping up along her neck - she wasn’t usually the one to initiate affection between them. But this was a happy exception. Yui stood for a second, mouth agape and eyes wide. She spun on her heel, placing the box on top of the cabinet near the door before tackling Mika against the door.

“Mi~ka! I’m happy you like it!” Yui grinned, touching their foreheads together.

“Of course I like it,” Mika said, wrapping her arms around Yui’s waist, “You’re the best girlfriend ever, Yui.”

She brought her girlfriend into another kiss, tasting the remnants of Yui’s lip gloss from earlier that day. Mika felt her blush creep towards her ears as Yui deepened the kiss. Their lips parted for each other and Mika’s head was starting to feel dangerously empty except for the smell of Yui’s perfume and the lingering image of her in that open-backed tank top…

Mika let out a small yell when she felt a hand slip under her shirt, fingers lazily tracing circles around the small of her back. Yui tilted her head to the side, kissing along Mika’s jaw and towards her ear. Another hand slipped under her shirt and Mika’s hips were pushed closer until they were flush with Yui’s. Mika struggled to find the energy to speak, out of breath from their kiss and barely able to manage above a whisper.

“Y-Yui, wait a second,” Mika said, biting her lip as Yui moved down towards her neck, “Y-Yui…!”

“Hn?” Yui looked up, tongue sticking out just past her lips and eyes wide, “O-Oh wait, I went too far again, huh?” Yui drew her hands back, taking a step away from Mika and staring towards the corner where the floor and door frame met, “S-Sorry…”

Mika readjusted her clothes - she loved Yui but her girlfriend was a bit of a hair-trigger. This was why they always had to be careful when they were out together. Who knew who was watching them and Mika wasn’t going to give the tabloids the pleasure of leaking her relationship out to the masses. Yui wrung her hands together and was making tiny circles with the tip of her shoe, like a child that had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Mika smiled, leaning over to kiss her on the forehead.

“It’s okay, Yui. Come on, let’s go eat this cake together since you brought it over,” Mika took the box and walked past Yui, neck still a flushed red, “A-And maybe later we could, um, y’know… Keep going.”

Yui turned her head around at break-neck speed and said, “Y-Yeah! Totally, dude! Babe!” She nearly stumbled over the step from the entrance of Mika’s house up into the hallway as she tried to kick off her shoes. As they walked into the living room, Yui let her hand hover out a few times towards Mika’s waist until the other girl took it and placed it there herself. The two settled down on the couch and took in the pleasing visuals of the cake box. Even the plastic forks they gave out were chic! They took plenty of pictures that they could post later and dug in. Yui got cream from her strawberry shortcake around her mouth and Mika happily wiped it away with a decorated napkin.

After they had eaten the cake, they had sat around and talked about their days until Yui had fallen asleep while Mika was posting the cakes on Instagram. Yui had curled up on one side of the couch, face buried in the crook of her arm. Mika thought she looked like a puppy and decided to make her little comparison a reality. She finally managed to make Snapchat recognize Yui’s face long enough for her to get a picture of her sleeping girlfriend with the dog filter. Sitting back down on the couch, Mika mulled over what she could caption a picture like this. Writing anything out seemed too sappy and just the thought of it made her cheeks warm. Eventually she decided to just put a sticker of an orange heart in the corner.

“Perfect,” Mika whispered, saving the image onto her phone. But, ultimately Mika was a creature of habit. She had intended to send the picture to Yui - it would have been cute to see her reaction afterwards at the candid after all. However, almost instinctively, Mika’s fingers had tapped several other contacts. Notably: the LiPPS group chat, Rika, the group chat she shared with Yui and Rina, Miho, and her story. When she realized what she had done, she had already pressed send.

A minute after she had sent it/posted it/done that incredibly stupid thing, Mika was hit with a flood of messages from LiPPS. Then came the messages from the others. In response, Rina sent a picture she had taken a while back of a sleeping Takumi with cat ears drawn on it. Miho was surprised that the two of them were so close that Yui came to hang out with them on their day off. The poor, oblivious girl. Rika immediately jumped to complaining about how it wasn’t fair that Yui got to hang out with her sister instead of her. And there were only more people sending her messages because of the post on her story.

For the second time that day, Mika wondered why in the world she had sent something like that.

[frostedpetticoat]

Organic Backyard Oasis 101 with The Futon Shop

Is it just me or are you also spending an ungodly amount of time in your backyard this year? I wonder why? Okay, we all know why and to be honest, life could be way worse than just being stuck at home. So I don’t know about you, but with all this backyard one-on-one, I knew it was time to up my outdoor relaxation game. But where to start?! In walks The Futon Shop like a tall drink of backyard oasis water.

With no where to go, the backyard and patio are making a major comeback. And by the look of things, we’re going to be hanging out there for a good while longer. Now most of us probably already have outdoor tables, dining chairs, and side tables. But what really can elevate your game is a separate area made just for lounging. Seriously, if you have the space, why not utilize it?! That’s where The Futon Shop’s plush outdoor futon chairs come into play.

Luxurious chairs that also double as lounging beds?! Yes, please! Behold the Scandia Outdoor Futon Chairs in Java with white organic cushions. It is beautifully constructed with solid hardwood and has custom organic cushions to send you into heavenly modes of relaxation. A gorgeous footrest doubles as part of the cushion for the sleeping position and the Scandia’s innovative patented flip-bar design makes the transition from chair to lounger ridiculously easy. Go from sitting to reclining to sleeping in one simple motion.

And bonus, the Scandia Outdoor Futon Chairs are totally customizable. They wood frames are available in both white oak and mahogany with finishes in natural teak oil, white, black, or java. The cushion fabric and color can also be customized upon ordering. Seriously, they are some of the highest quality outdoor furniture you will ever come by.

So tell me, what are you doing in your backyard to pass the time and keep your sanity? Shout it out in the comments section below and make sure to use the code "5OFFOUTDOOR" for 5% off your outdoor furniture order with The Futon Shop!

from https://ift.tt/341kIYU via IFTTT

[pen-cil]

Renege Ch. 2

<Previous

When you step onto the training grounds, the sun was barely peeking out over the Swiss mountains. Any normal human being would hate waking up this early in the morning. But for someone with your experiences of getting up at ungodly hours or not sleeping for days at end, it was just another normal morning for you. Perhaps even a miracle, actually waking up during the day and not at night for those graveyard shifts. Jack was already there, stretching to warm himself up from the cold morning air. You couldn't help but stare as you approach him. Were all super soldiers built so fine, so cut from marble? Especially that well-shaped waistline peeking out of his shirt. The sound of you tripping over your own feet signaled your arrival. Hearing Jack’s muffled chuckle made you want to crawl in a hole, instead you settled for planting your face on the ground. On any other occasion, you would’ve like hearing his laughter.

After agreeing to work at Overwatch, Jack would video call you instead of writing emails as a way to get to know you and who to look for at the airport when you arrive. Your conversations were mainly focused on helping you transition and the current events. The first time you made him laugh was during the early hours of daylight and you had just woke up when he called. The day prior you had thought about the expectations of living at a military base, so you half-jokingly asked him if he liked the smell of munitions in the morning. He went silent before bursting out in laughter. It had surprised the sleep out of you, and after listening to him, you decided that it wouldn’t be so bad hearing his laugh every so often. But this, this wasn't really joke. It was rather an ‘I want to sink into the floor’ type of moment. You glance up to see Jack crouching down and holding out a hand. From his expression, you could tell he’s trying desperately not to crack up.

“You alright?”

Taking his hand with a nod, he effortlessly pulls you to your feet. He was stronger than he looked, you note before dusting yourself off and check for injuries. Your ankle and wrist rotated properly in its sockets, thankfully you're still intact with no serious bruising—it would be embarrassing if you gotten injured when training hasn't even start.

With that said, training wasn't any better. Jack was, unexpectedly, a strict coach. You powered through intense intervals of basic warm-ups without any pause in between. An hour in and you feel the amount of sweat and tears weighing you down. A part of you wanted to stop, but you didn’t want to embarrass yourself even more than you already have. The 5km run would be your breaking point. Your feet ache with each step you take. Your lungs are about to explode. Every muscle in your body burns, screaming for you to stop. And as a feeling of dizziness and nausea overcomes you. You know you had to stop.

So you stopped. Placing your clammy palms over your shaky knees, you tried to shout out to Jack. But your throat was too dry, the saliva in your mouth barely wets your tongue. No sound escapes your lips. Luckily, it didn’t take long for Jack to notice that you weren't following behind him. When he sees you far behind him, he finally calls for a break. The instant he does, you stagger to your water bottle. You could a pair of eyes watching you downed your entire bottle. How embarrassing. And what more, you’re still thirsty. When you head to the nearby water fountain to refill your water bottle, you could recognize Jack trailing behind you from the corner of your eye. The “sad puppy” blue eyes were too much to bare that you returned your gaze to the water filling your bottle.

“I’m sorry for not noticing that you were suffering. I should have asked for your opinion about the regimen beforehand. From my years of training soldiers, I forgot you were just a civilian doctor.”

“Oh, it’s not your fault. This is probably just a wake-up call telling me that I should have exercised more. I should apologize for being so horribly unfit.”

He chuckles at that and you hear the soft ruffling of his hair as he shakes his head. You smile at him and trying to imitate confident while still half-dead.

“I'll do my best to work up to your standard. But for now, do you think we take it down a notch?”

With a small laugh and an “acknowledge” from Jack, the two of you decide to stop for today. You never felt so excited to shower in your life. The blessing of being able to wake up, shower, and have breakfast normally all in one day. You could get used to this.

After a quick shower and breakfast, you’re freshen up and ready to face whatever happens next. Jack is leading the way to the medical center while giving you a rundown of everyone who works in Medic. From what you heard, you assume they’re a logical, respectable bunch. Though you were only half-listening since a wave of nerves ran through you, causing your hands to slightly tremble. The materials you were holding started to slip that you had to press them tightly to your chest. You tried to focus on your breathing, in and out. Large white steel doors slide open upon your arrival to the medical building. The inside was brightly lit from the glass windows that covered the white walls. Groups of doctors in white lab coats gather in the middle of the main floor; they’re all in their own little discussions. There are people walking around, taking the escalator up and down floors. A few feet from where you enter stood a warm caramel-skinned female doctor, looking up from her datapad. When you make eye contact, she smiles brightly at you and Jack as if she’s recognizing who you are. Quickly, the doctor fixes her hair bun before pacing up to the both of you.

“Hello, I’m Elena and I’m assigned to be your assistant. I’ve read a lot about your work and heard many wonderful things. It’s an honor to meet you.“

“Oh! Thank you, you’re too kind.”

As you shake her hand, you feel a warm hand landing on your shoulder, making you turn to look up at the owner.

“Well, I should get going. Message me if you have any problems, good luck.”

The last part he whispers before lightly squeezing your shoulder. With a wave to Elena, Jack walks out the door towards the direction of the main headquarters. You return your attention to Elena while she ushers you further into the building. She guided you through the rooms specific for all sorts of medical equipment. Rooms for radiology, therapy, and rehabilitation. Floors for surgery, dental, and laboratory. The ICU, MRI/CMI, and patient wing. Even the small cafeteria, library, and the many doctor offices. To you, it felt like a regular hospital, only more extravagant. During the tour, she introduced you to whoever you came across. You met all sorts of doctors, surgeons to cardiologists. Meeting the rest of your coworkers was more or less an emotional rollercoaster. Some greeted you with the same friendliness that Elena had, some were less cheerful, and some ignored you completely. Though it went better than you had expected. And once you settle down in your office, you hear the familiar rumble of your stomach. Just in time for lunch.

Crowds of people fill the cafeteria, it was double than the amount you had seen during breakfast. While standing in line, you had thought about bringing your food back to the office to eat so you could check the new messages that popped up on your computer. That thought had past when you remember agreeing to eat with Jack’s group from now on.

“Sleep well?”

It felt like your heart jumped out of your chest as a familiar deep sultry voice grumbles into your ear, breaking you from your thoughts. You quickly turn to the culprit, trying to calm your pounding chest. And there he stood, Gabriel Reyes, wearing the same sly and charming smirk from last night. You noticed how close he is. He somehow radiates warmth, like heater during a cold winter.

“Not as well as I hoped.” Your reply caused him to chuckle and move away. You almost miss his warmth. Almost. Changing the topic, you decide to focus on getting lunch. Being to eat solid food with substance is a lucky break from the usual bland supplement pills. You fill up your tray before glancing over at Reyes’s. The sight of sugary desserts made you gasp louder than you should have.

“Can you blame me for having a sweet tooth.”

It's kinda cute. Though you put away those thoughts away without a second to waste. Instead, you advise him from having too much sugar as it is bad for the body. And in return, he brushes you off with ‘super soldier’ and ‘I work out’ excuses. You could only shake your head at him, letting him off with a warning. Noticing he was heading towards the same direction you were, you ask him if he eats with Jack, Ana, and Reinhardt at meals.

"Torby's there too. And I sit with them if I have nothing else to do."

"Nothing else to do? Where were you yesterday?"

"I was... doing some research."

Before you could ask him about his "research" and who Torby is, you have arrived at the table.

“I didn't know you guys were already acquainted,” Jack said with an eyebrow raised as the two of you sit down.

Reyes held his stare for awhile before absent-mindedly returning to his meal.

“I’m giving the rookie a chance like you asked.”

Jack continues to stare at Reyes, with an unreadable expression. You didn't understand their interaction. So you chose to ignore them and went to give your greetings to Ana and Reinhardt, noting the new face sitting by them. Quick introductions went around and your list of friends (or acquaintances) grew.

“So they threw you straight into the fire huh?”

You aren’t sure what to think of Torbjörn, but Reinhardt gets along with him and if he’s one of Jack’s friends, he couldn’t be too bad of a person. The rest of lunch felt rather awkward with the tension you can feel between Jack and Reyes. As soon Reyes finishes his lunch, he walks out the door without another word aside from a parting greeting. Torbjörn leaves after, grumbling about urgent stuff he needed to attend to. You and the rest linger for a bit longer before going out in your separate ways.

Upon returning to your office, you read the new messages you saw earlier. The first one contains mandatory information and guidelines about Overwatch. Rules and even a map of the Switzerland headquarters. There was also contact information of the other watchpoints and bases. You archived the message as important in case you needed it for later. Others were welcoming emails from a few major positions in Overwatch. Most of them sounded formal, though there were a few that sounded genuine. Ana and Reinhardt wrote one as well which you saved. You made sure to remember to write a ‘thank you’ email back to every one of them at a later time. The last one was an update on a mission you’re partaking in. The mission was to solve territorial dispute between France and Italy. Italian and French citizens have been causing violence and sparking attacks against each other. The governments are still facing the aftermath of the Omnic Crisis resulting in little to no action being taken. If the conflict isn't fixed soon, it could eventually lead into another war. Originally it was decided to place you in the rear to gain more experience before you could be put on the front lines. However, your position is updated and you are now assigned to support the frontline. You had reread it multiple times to make sure you weren’t seeing things; because what shocked you the most was the person who suggested the change, Gabriel Reyes.

[activekidney73-blog]

Hopper To It: Toongabbie, Sydney's Little Sri Lanka

It's time for a little adventure out west to Toongabbie and Pendle Hill to visit Sydney's little Sri Lanka. Here you'll find a delicious array of dishes, hoppers, roti as well as a surprising mix with Malaysian food (go figure), friendly service and just a rollicking good time!

The song "Heaven is a Place on Earth" plays us into Toongabbie. I am in the car with my sometime vegetarian friend Laura. At 5pm she picked me up from my place and we drove across Sydney. 55 minutes and an ungodly number of 80's love songs later we have arrived at Toongabbie where people are busy making the rush hour dash home from work.

X Dreams

Our first stop is X Dreams, based purely on two reasons: the name for starters but also that Laura had been told that it has Sydney's best Sri Lankan food. "Is it a jewellery store?" we ask as we drive past it. The owners of X Dreams own a jewellery store as well as the eatery next door.

It's very busy here and we are the only non Sri Lankan patrons which is the sort of thing that confirms that the food is authentic and good. The man behind the counter is super friendly and when we ask him for recommendations he puts together a delicious tray full of goodies for us including goat curry to pepper chicken.

We hear the clang of the pans when they make kotthu rotti (chopped roti) in the background and we order some hoppers to add to our order as well as a sweet rose drink.

We bring our tray to our table situated next to the spare tissue boxes, tomato sauce (odd!), salt, pepper and cutlery. "It's banging," says Laura and I agree. The pepper chicken is delicious, the goat curry aromatic in cardamom and the rice is plentiful. And the deep fried lamb and vegetable roll are so addictively crunchy that I find it hard to stop at just a few bites. The beetroot curry is also wonderful. The only thing we don't really love is the fried chicken as it is dry.

We also really fall for the hoppers. We have an egg hopper which is spongey and thick in the centre with a beautifully crispy edge and the cheese hopper has that added layer of cheese that delights us so.

And then the piece de resistance is the milk hopper with coconut milk and jaggery sugar. The guy had warned us that once we tried one we'd want another and he's quite right. Heaven is a place on earth indeed eating one of these.

Lunge time!

X Dreams highlights: pepper chicken, beetroot curry, milk hopper, cheese hopper, vegetable or lamb roll

Amma's or Kikiz

Right next door to X dreams is Amma's or Kikiz. Amma is the mother and Kikiz is the daughter and they're in the process of transitioning the business over which is why they have both signs. The pictures signal a mix of Sri Lankan and Malaysian goodies like Char Kway Teow and Nasi Lemak.

We take a seat inside the restaurant and are offered several menus. Its hard to choose but we start with a delicious milk tea with ginger ($4) and go with their specialties: a crab curry as well as a more Malaysian offering of fish head curry with paratha.

Fish Head and 2 Paratha $15

The Sri Lankan couple next to us are curious about our ordering style. For their part they're ordering nasi goreng. And here the sound of the kotthu or chopped roti is like a musical rhythm. "It's food music-it's fusic!" exclaims Laura.

Crab masala curry $18

The crab masala curry arrives and it is very pungent in aroma. While it smells fierce the flavour is actually really good, it's a dark curry full of spices. The fish head curry arrives, also a pungent curry and we dip the roti into both curries, the crab curry being the favourite of the two.

We take a short stop at the grocery store to explore things-I am curious about a wood apple drink and I buy some masala flavoured Lays chips.

Amma's highlights: milk and ginger tea, crab masala curry

Dish

Then it's over to Dish which is just around the corner. There is also a Dish at Glebe and chef Manjula Fernando first started here in Toongabbie testing out the ground before opening up in Glebe this year.

The menu is shorter here in Toongabbie and there are also bain maries where you can get takeaway. We order a Sri Lankan Faluda rose flavoured shake with ice cream drink with sago pearls at the bottom and it's sweet and delicious but not overpoweringly so. It is quieter here with two tables occupied.

Faluda with ice cream $5

Rice and curry $11.50

Our tray arrives and there's glistening yellow rice as well as a rich spiced pork curry. There are three vegetables that come along with it and we adore the kale salad. The jackfruit that we'd read about wasn't very exciting but the potato curry was creamy and tasty.

Kottu roti $12

And we also enjoy the Kotthy or chopped roti that reminds us of stir fried noodles. The Wattalapam that I had so enjoyed at Lankan Filling Station is different here. Here it is more a syrup cake whereas there it was more a pudding which I preferred.

Watalappam $5

Dish highlights: faluda with ice cream, kale curry, potato curry, kottu rotti

Cinnamon's

When we walk around the corner we see that Mathura's is closed (they're said to make a killer dosa) so we head across the other side of the railway station to one of the more unusual restaurants. Cinnamon's is a not for profit restaurant that sort of looks like it is decorated like a wedding venue.

The couple that own it are religious and it is staffed by them and volunteers and there is a large glossy red statement wall with their mission statement on it. There is one other table dining and inexplicably along with Sri Lankan food there is pizza (with neon flashing sign), bruschetta, nachos and a dish called "Tentacles" aka fried frankfurts on the menu as well as Sri Lankan food.

Prices are also higher here than at other places with most dishes at $27.90. They recommend a "Cinnamon's Special" and a "Mixed Fried Rice" which comes with your choice of a meat dish. We hear the clanking of the pots against the strains of wedding tunes and we're both wondering whether we can make it to any other places as it is just after 9pm on a Wednesday night. Before long our dishes arrive and they're absolutely enormous.

Sri Lankan Mixed Fried Rice $27.90 (right)

The mixed rice is like a fried rice with some extra spices and Chinese chilli paste-it's very good and there's no way we can finish it. The devilled chicken that it comes with is like a Sri Lankan sweet and sour chicken that is juicy, peppery and moreish (spoiler alert: I ate all the chicken in this as Laura couldn't as she could smell capsicum and she's allergic). There is also a pineapple and cabbage salad to the side.

Cinnamon's special $27.90

The cinnamon special however is our favourite. It's a gorgeous yellow rice cooked in stock with a battered boiled egg, devilled prawns, fried chicken strips and a delightful green chilli sambol on the side. When we ask for takeaway containers (we hate wasting food) they look at how much we've eaten or not eaten as the case may be, and think that we are crazy (that's ok, we're used to it). And with that we high tail it to Pendle Hill for our final stop.

Cinnamon highlights: Cinnamon's special

Pendle Hill

Alas the sweets shop in Pendle Hill looks to be closed although it was supposed to be open. We console ourselves with a stop at a takeaway shop to buy an Indian cashew burfi and rasgulla milk ball and pop into a grocery store where we buy some Sri Lankan sweets (semolina cookies and sesame balls) as snacks for the road. We get into Laura's Mini Cooper and snack on these, slightly dejected at anticlimax for our last stop.

The sesame ball is rock hard but tasty, the Rulan Aluwa semolina sweet is grainy and reminds me of a less sweet sesame snap. The rasgulla is sweet and wet in texture while the burfi is dry. We pop on 80's hit Gloria and make our way back towards home.

Ten To Ten

Yam pudding $4 and butter cake $6

We drive past the station and then Laura spots a place that is open. Doing a quick u-turn we dash out of the car determined to catch them before they close. The first shop "ten to ten" sells a yam pudding and a Sri Lankan butter cake so we buy both for $10.

Flavours Of Ceylon

Then stop a few doors down at Flavours of Ceylon where they are still open and cooking. There's a stand that looks like the kind you might find on a tropical beach, except it's in the front room of a takeaway place. They make some recommendations but they're all rice based and we groan slightly, "We've eaten a lot of rice tonight" we explain, although we probably don't make a lot of sense.

"How about a string hopper biryani?" he says. We tell him again that we don't feel like rice but he explains that there is no rice, they use hoppers. "Oooh!!" we exclaim excitedly and an order is placed for the string hopper biryani.

As we wait Laura lies down on the chairs, "I need a moment," she says as it is nearing 10:30pm and we've been eating for 4 and a half hours. Then she cracks open the yam pudding and butter cake. The yam pudding is comforting and familiar and slightly sweet but not overly so. And the butter cake is pretty much like any sort of butter cake but it's a popular sweet in Sri Lanka.

String Hopper biryani with prawns $19

Our food is ready and comes out in a large styrofoam container. It smells wonderful. It's a takeaway place but we want to try it while it is hot so we taste some. And it is delicious. This is one of the finds of the night along with the hoppers at X Dreams. It really is like vermicelli noodles but with so much flavour. There are school prawns and a eggplant paha on the side that is so good I want to buy a whole serve and there's also ikan bilis or chilli anchovies. The Malaysian influence is very prevalent here and all of the restaurants except for X Dreams incorporated some amount of it.

Biscuit cake $5

To finish we also buy a biscuit cake which is pretty much like the biscuit refrigerator cakes made with Marie biscuits, chocolate and butter. It's rich and sweet and utterly dangerous. "You take that, I don't need it in my house," says Laura.

Flavours Of Ceylon highlights: hopper biryani, eggplant paha, biscuit cake

When we arrive at my house we divide up the food that Laura has kept in the chiller bag in her car boot. There's so much delicious food that I can't wait to wake up the next day and eat because leftovers are life!

So tell me Dear Reader, do you like food adventures? Have you eaten much Sri Lankan food? Have you ever been to Toongabbie or Pendle Hill to eat?

These meals were independently paid for.

X Dreams

14 Aurelia St, Toongabbie NSW 2146 Wednesday to Monday 7am–10pm Tuesday Closed Phone: (02) 8677 0420

Amma's Or Kikiz

18/20 Aurelia Street, Toongabbie, Sydney, NSW Tuesday to Sunday 8am–9:30pm Closed Monday Phone: (02) 7806 2335

Cinnamon's

1/465-481 Wentworth Ave, Toongabbie NSW 2146 Monday to Friday 5:30–9:30pm Saturday 2:30–10pm Sunday Closed Phone: 0498 116 753 cinnamonsrestaurant.com.au

Flavours of Ceylon

17 Joyce St, Pendle Hill NSW 2145 Wednesday to Friday 11am–2pm, 5–10pm Saturday 11am–10pm Sunday 11am–2pm Closed Monday and Tuesday Phone: 0414 262 318

Source: http://www.notquitenigella.com/2018/11/26/sri-lankan-food-toongabbie-pendle-hill/

[josephkitchen0]

Raising Sheep For Profit: A Cattle Man’s View

By Thayne Mackey – Sheep are a wonderful little beast. They provide food, fiber and all manner of agitation. This keeps the blood flowing and the arteries from clogging. I know this because we are raising sheep for profit.

We have regular old conventional white sheep breeds; we have sheep with black faces; sheep with mottled faces; we have sheep with 8-inch wool clips on them. We have pure Hampshires, Navajo Churro, Shetland, and Romanov sheep. We even have a sheep that sheds. I suspect it could be said (in poor pun) that we are plenty sheepish.

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How We Got Started

A few years ago my wife started us raising sheep for profit with eight bum lambs. We were farming about 2,500 acres, running around 350 cows and had these tiny little adorable creatures. They were cute as little buttons, bouncy, friendly and just plain lovable. Well, that didn’t last long as lambs grow rapidly and turn into sheep. We came home on the 4th of July and found the lambs in the house grazing contently on the plants. In a storm, lambs can fit through a doggie door. This was when my better half decided we should have a lamb barn.

So we converted the old hog barn into a lamb barn: Eight jugs, a nice dry pen, clean and out of the wind. (I had hoped that would be it.)

Well, she kept three of the bums as replacement lambs and then bought a trailer load of sheep. That put us up to 43 sheep, the cows, and the farming.

Doing the Math on Costs of Raising Sheep for Profit

At my wife’s encouragement (and threats) I sat down with pencil and calculator and started to figure the difference betwixt raising sheep for profit and raising cattle for beef. This included cost of production, expenses, labor costs of sheep against cattle, and profit margins.

To get any true working numbers you have to compare apples to apples. There is some discrepancy between government agencies, textbooks and sheepmen (sheeppersons?) about how many sheep equal an AU (animal unit; 1,000-pound cow with 500-pound calf at her side). For our purposes we use six sheep to the cow. This is an average for our place and seems to be fairly accurate. It flexes with grass/forb ratios, terrain, and grazing management, but it is pretty close.

Currently cattle prices are very high, as are sheep prices, but with the border closure who knows what the market will do? My numbers are going to be somewhat lower than current sale prices, but I am a bit of a pessimist. Currently, one cow should bring in one calf, and one ewe should bring in 1.6 lambs. So six sheep should bring in 10 lambs, and one cow brings in one calf. That’s an average, but about what we run.

That cow should average $500 a year income. Those six sheep should bring in 10 lambs, which sell at $100 apiece. That comes out to $1,000 per animal unit for sheep and $500 an AU for cattle. That is a pretty big difference right off the wagon. Of course on the dark side, if I lose a cow, I am out $1,200. If I lose a sheep, it’s about a $100 loss. That makes a big difference as well.

There are trucking, check-off fees (pay that with a smile), yardage, and shrink costs to figure out too, but those are pretty much the same per species.

Vet costs are a large difference as well. We figure about $15 a year in a cow, this covers worming, vaccines, ear tags, salt and that sort of thing. For a sheep this is down to $1.50 a year per head, multiplied by 6, and is a savings of $6 an animal unit. That’s $2,100 a year, not a bad little wage increase for going from a big critter to a little critter.

Extra Work?

Labor is a bit difficult to figure on our operation. We ranch full time and have no “off-farm” incomes. If I weren’t ranching, I’d probably be a multi-billionaire, so I try not to run my numbers around opportunity costs and the like because it depresses me a little.

When you’re raising sheep for profit, lambing is very labor intensive. It’s only a couple months out of the year, so it is tolerable – for the rest of the year, the sheep are pretty self-sufficient. I figure that lambing a flock of sheep is like calving a herd of heifers: It doesn’t matter how many you have, you have to put in the same amount of time. If you are going to calve 10 heifers you might as well calve out 200. It’s the same with sheep: If you’re going to watch any of them for problems and wrecks, you might as well watch them all.

There are some other advantages to switching from cattle farming to raising sheep for profit as well. If I have to move an obstinate cow, I have to go back to the ranch and get a horse saddled (or a bike) go back to the cow and get my job done. With a sheep, I can grab her and pretty much manhandle the ol’ hide in any way I need to. At 3:00 a.m., and she isn’t wanting to mother or watch her babies, being able to carry her into the barn and jug her is a true luxury. On top of that, a 1 x 4 board will control sheep. A light alley of chicken wire, duct tape, and baler twine will corral sheep and allow you to work them. Not so with cows…

Hazards

I don’t worry about my family getting squashed by sheep either, there is the occasional stomping and bumping, but on a whole, they are pretty safe to work with.

If you’re wondering what to feed sheep, sheep eat most anything that will grow (even houseplants if given the opportunity). Cows eat grass, and pretty much only grass. This opens up a lot of opportunities for grazing potentials and risks. Sheep can overgraze rangeland terribly as they are not the most selective of eaters. That is something a good monitoring plan will help with.

So in my little comparison of raising sheep for profit and raising cattle for profit, even with all the variabilities, sheep seem to be a bit more profitable. All things being equal 300 cows will bring in $150,000 a year. 1,800 sheep (same AUs) will bring in $300,000. (Don’t hold me to these, but they are close) So, it does make sense to start raising sheep for profit.

Other Factors

Having a flock of sheep also opens up a lot of opportunities that are closed to the cowman. Rising petroleum costs and the ‘Slow Food’ movement are beautiful things for the sheep producer. Sheep will eat weeds. Thistles, Kochia and other problem weeds that cattle won’t graze. We are doing some intensive grazing on our wheat fields to control the weeds, and I am really impressed with that so far.

With the rising cost of diesel and fertilizer, we are expanding into the intensive grazing area. This means we put an ungodly amount of sheep on a small area of stubble and let them stomp and tromp and munch the weeds to oblivion.

Cows don’t do well working on forbs and weeds, but the sheep seem to excel in such an environment. This means less tractor time for me, and as we are in the transition period for the last 1,500 acres of our farming into an organic system, this is great inexpensive organic nitrogen fertilizer.

The complex part is the fencing. We are currently fenced for cows, and a cow fence won’t hold a sheep. Actually, I am not sure they make an affordable fence that will hold a sheep, but we are going to do some experimenting. We are going to try the high-tensile electric fence in a six-wire configuration. This, according to the salesman, is a foolproof way to hold in a sheep, and he says I can do it for under 1,500 bucks a mile. So we’ll try it and see if he is blowing smoke or not.

On paper, all this sheep stuff sounds pretty good. They are a prolific livestock, producing two crops (meat and wool), are pretty self-sufficient, easy to manage and profitable, or so we shall see. Time will tell how we do with the sheep. So far they have been profitable and entertaining, and hey, on a ranch in the middle of nowhere, who can ask for more than that?

In addition to their cattle-ranching, Thayne and Michelle Mackey run Brookside Sheep Farm in Dodson, Montana.

Originally published in sheep! July/August 2005 and regularly vetted for accuracy. 

Raising Sheep For Profit: A Cattle Man’s View was originally posted by All About Chickens

[riddlefromthemiddle]

Before meeting with my doctor the only “cleanse” I’d heard of was a juice cleanse, and I’d always assumed people who did those were a bit woo-woo because there is no universe in which I can survive on juice. You can jam pack that stuff with every super nutrient on the planet and it still won’t carry me through. I need actual food. Call me crazy.

So you can see why I was hesitant when my doctor said she wanted me to do a cleanse back in January. I’m all about getting some healthy going, but if that involves a liquid diet then we’ve got a serious flaw in the plan. Once she laid it all out, though, I was ready to give it a shot. On the plus side, the doc wasn’t saying juice would tide me over. On the other hand, my world was about to get really weird.

The objective: to flush toxins out of my body with a six day cleanse. That sounded like a lofty goal to me. The instructions said it would happen, but my body is naturally noncompliant so I had to stretch my cleanse out a bit longer. You’re probably normal, though, and would finish up in a week.

It helped that I’d already transitioned to the blood type A diet. The changes were spread out over a month, which turned out to be a big plus since we were disrupting some lifelong patterns. Chicken wasn’t okay? I mean, it isn’t bad for me, but it isn’t what they call beneficial. And no bananas or oranges? Seriously? Aren’t those healthy fruits?

But I’ve gotten ahead of myself. From me to you, here’s the real skinny on a detox cleanse.

You take natural supplements to support gastrointestinal regularity make sure you poop every day. This does not always work out well. That is all I have to say about that.

There are also gross drops you put on your tongue morning and night. These are called “Drainage,” which is pronounced “dray-nahh-je.” Really. It’s a French thing. But the drops do exactly what you think they do.

You’ll drink an ungodly amount of water. More water than you think a human body can hold, and technically you’d be right since you’ll be peeing like a racehorse. You’ll drink water until you’ll float away if your house suddenly flooded. So basically You = H²O. Embrace it. And always know where the bathroom is.

Then there’s the 347 food rules. Here are just a few.

It was a hard N-O to cheese, potatoes/peppers/tomatoes, corn (and any products containing corn which is freaking everything), canned vegetables, veggies made with a cheese or butter sauce, jam, bananas, cashews, watermelon, commercially prepared or tomato-based soups, milk, coffee (omg, WHAT did you just say?), tea, alcoholic beverages, soda, margarine/butter, peanut butter, brown sugar/honey/molasses/maple syrup/agave/fructose, salt, soy sauce, mayo/ketchup, balsamic or rice vinegar, salsa, and chili pepper/pepper flakes/paprika/cayenne. I was also told to eliminate gluten.

Some things that got a Y-E-S were almond milk, most fresh vegetables, clear vegetable-based broth, filtered water, caffeine- and citrus-free herbal tea, extra virgin olive oil, almonds, Stevia, and chives/cinnamon/garlic.

So let’s break this down. No caffeine, no coffee, no soda, no iced tea, no dairy, no sugar, no corn or corn products, and no gluten. I remember my first trip to the grocery store after starting this insanity adventure. Once I made it through produce I came to a dead stop and thought WTF do I eat?! And I had no answer. Let me tell you, it was a grim moment indeed.

“But what was the cleanse like?” you ask. Well, you know we deal in full disclosure here. The first few days involved a horrible headache. The crawl-under-your-bed-and-wish-for-death sort of headache that makes you wonder why you thought having kids was a good idea because they need all the things. And there are smells. Weird, unidentifiable smells. Smells that make you question how you’ve been walking around with this sort of rot in your system. It also involved cleanse shakes each day, drinks I stopped calling “shakes” because they did not deserve the name.

So there you have it – the unvarnished truth about detox cleanses. Was it hard? Yes. Was it pleasant? No. Was it worth it? Most definitely.

The whole truth and nothing but the truth. #humor #health #cleanse #detox #RFTM Before meeting with my doctor the only "cleanse" I'd heard of was a juice cleanse, and I'd always assumed people who did those were a bit 

[courageconversations]

I was never the "normal" kid ever since I was young. With ADHD, dyslexia and mild autism, I never really did fit in the "crowd" and got bullied and ostracized often when I was growing up. I've always longed for love, acceptance and a place to belong amongst the people around me but I've never seemed to get that. I was often labeled as an "extra" among my peers, and the butt of many jokes because of how I constantly try to butt into the conversations of the people around me.

Things took a turn for the worse when I entered secondary school. Entering a total new environment without the friends I made in primary school, I felt even lonelier and more ostracized than ever for these actions of mine.

Because of this transition and lack of social support, I fell into depression and had thoughts of committing suicide.

But it was during that period I started to question my existence and things involving my purpose and my life. At that time, though I was going to a church, I had not really questioned the existence of a loving God that Christians so proclaim and believe in. And it was at this period where I started to ask hard questions about whether this God really existed and if he really is as loving as people portray Him to be.

So one day after school, as I was heading back home I passed by a chapel. It had been a bad day for me, and I really didn't know why all these bad things happened to me. So I walked in, all alone and just cried out to this "God" whom I've been hearing so much about but did not understand.

“If you really are the loving God people call you to be, why do you let me go through these things that happened to me?”

It was probably at that moment where I had my first experience with Him. An inner prompting came out of nowhere, and I felt God telling me that "before any of these bullies came to existence, I've already made you, loved you and called you my own".

Bewildered, I just stopped at that moment and walked out of the chapel.

I still struggled significantly with the bouts of depression that came and went over the years. Although this incident spurred my pursuit for a true, living God, the experience marred my perceptions of the people around me. It took many years and many different people God had set in path to love and accept me for who I am to heal and change this ungodly belief of mine.

The [verse] that hit me when I was depressed was Psalms 139:14-15 which I didn't know until much later into my life. We need to remember that our self worth is in Christ.

My depression and my flaws remind me of the imperfect world I was born in. The feeling I get when I try to solve things by my own strength, to pursue things I perceive to be "anchors of peace, hope and happiness" all came to naught. As Jeremiah 2:3 states, I understand the amount of broken wells I pursue to find life.

But every struggle points me to a life that is yet to come, a life that's perfect and without sadness of pain. No matter what I do by my own strength, I cannot solve or change. But through partnership with the Holy Spirit, I can change and be the person God has called me to be. And this is because of what Christ has done.

2 Corinthians 10:5 shows us that we are not our thoughts, and we need to bring any thought that sets itself against Christ captive, bringing it to obedience in Christ. But as we empty our minds, we cannot stop there. We need to fill our minds with what is noble and good, as what Philippians 4:8-9 states. And as we do that, we renew our minds to understand what is good, and pleasing to God.

We were made with a purpose and plan, and to be guided by a loving God. However, we chose to rebel against His rule and reign. He, who is a perfect king, would not allow this rebellion to last forever and would judge and punish us by separating us from Himself forever. However, in His love for us, He sent His perfect son to take the punishment for this rebellion. The only man who lived a perfect life, took our place so that God's justice is justified. But it did not stop there. This man, named Jesus rose again beating the chains of death, and now is with God, ruling the world with God.

This act of love from Him gave me a choice to live. I could choose to live in my ways, which results to death or choose to follow Jesus, that through Him I might come to God being right with Him. 

And as Tim Keller so aptly puts it: "The gospel is this: We are more sinful and flawed in ourselves than we ever dared believe, yet at the very same time we are more loved and accepted in Jesus Christ than we ever dared hope."

Through these experiences I know both ends, and though I struggle I know there will come a time where I won't have to. And I now have hope in Him.

[a1ty]

THIS IS SO PRETTY WHAT-

Baby I'm Home [Blank Scripts AU]

[Song: Baby I'm Home - ODETARI (feat. Kanii & 9lives)]

[josephkitchen0]

Raising Sheep For Profit: A Cattle Man’s View

By Thayne Mackey – Sheep are a wonderful little beast. They provide food, fiber and all manner of agitation. This keeps the blood flowing and the arteries from clogging. I know this because we are raising sheep for profit.

We have regular old conventional white sheep breeds; we have sheep with black faces; sheep with mottled faces; we have sheep with 8-inch wool clips on them. We have pure Hampshires, Navajo Churro, Shetland, and Romanov sheep. We even have a sheep that sheds. I suspect it could be said (in poor pun) that we are plenty sheepish.

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How We Got Started

A few years ago my wife started us raising sheep for profit with eight bum lambs. We were farming about 2,500 acres, running around 350 cows and had these tiny little adorable creatures. They were cute as little buttons, bouncy, friendly and just plain lovable. Well, that didn’t last long as lambs grow rapidly and turn into sheep. We came home on the 4th of July and found the lambs in the house grazing contently on the plants. In a storm, lambs can fit through a doggie door. This was when my better half decided we should have a lamb barn.

So we converted the old hog barn into a lamb barn: Eight jugs, a nice dry pen, clean and out of the wind. (I had hoped that would be it.)

Well, she kept three of the bums as replacement lambs and then bought a trailer load of sheep. That put us up to 43 sheep, the cows, and the farming.

Doing the Math on Costs of Raising Sheep for Profit

At my wife’s encouragement (and threats) I sat down with pencil and calculator and started to figure the difference betwixt raising sheep for profit and raising cattle for beef. This included cost of production, expenses, labor costs of sheep against cattle, and profit margins.

To get any true working numbers you have to compare apples to apples. There is some discrepancy between government agencies, textbooks and sheepmen (sheeppersons?) about how many sheep equal an AU (animal unit; 1,000-pound cow with 500-pound calf at her side). For our purposes we use six sheep to the cow. This is an average for our place and seems to be fairly accurate. It flexes with grass/forb ratios, terrain, and grazing management, but it is pretty close.

Currently cattle prices are very high, as are sheep prices, but with the border closure who knows what the market will do? My numbers are going to be somewhat lower than current sale prices, but I am a bit of a pessimist. Currently, one cow should bring in one calf, and one ewe should bring in 1.6 lambs. So six sheep should bring in 10 lambs, and one cow brings in one calf. That’s an average, but about what we run.

That cow should average $500 a year income. Those six sheep should bring in 10 lambs, which sell at $100 apiece. That comes out to $1,000 per animal unit for sheep and $500 an AU for cattle. That is a pretty big difference right off the wagon. Of course on the dark side, if I lose a cow, I am out $1,200. If I lose a sheep, it’s about a $100 loss. That makes a big difference as well.

There are trucking, check-off fees (pay that with a smile), yardage, and shrink costs to figure out too, but those are pretty much the same per species.

Vet costs are a large difference as well. We figure about $15 a year in a cow, this covers worming, vaccines, ear tags, salt and that sort of thing. For a sheep this is down to $1.50 a year per head, multiplied by 6, and is a savings of $6 an animal unit. That’s $2,100 a year, not a bad little wage increase for going from a big critter to a little critter.

Extra Work?

Labor is a bit difficult to figure on our operation. We ranch full time and have no “off-farm” incomes. If I weren’t ranching, I’d probably be a multi-billionaire, so I try not to run my numbers around opportunity costs and the like because it depresses me a little.

When you’re raising sheep for profit, lambing is very labor intensive. It’s only a couple months out of the year, so it is tolerable – for the rest of the year, the sheep are pretty self-sufficient. I figure that lambing a flock of sheep is like calving a herd of heifers: It doesn’t matter how many you have, you have to put in the same amount of time. If you are going to calve 10 heifers you might as well calve out 200. It’s the same with sheep: If you’re going to watch any of them for problems and wrecks, you might as well watch them all.

There are some other advantages to switching from cattle farming to raising sheep for profit as well. If I have to move an obstinate cow, I have to go back to the ranch and get a horse saddled (or a bike) go back to the cow and get my job done. With a sheep, I can grab her and pretty much manhandle the ol’ hide in any way I need to. At 3:00 a.m., and she isn’t wanting to mother or watch her babies, being able to carry her into the barn and jug her is a true luxury. On top of that, a 1 x 4 board will control sheep. A light alley of chicken wire, duct tape, and baler twine will corral sheep and allow you to work them. Not so with cows…

Hazards

I don’t worry about my family getting squashed by sheep either, there is the occasional stomping and bumping, but on a whole, they are pretty safe to work with.

If you’re wondering what to feed sheep, sheep eat most anything that will grow (even houseplants if given the opportunity). Cows eat grass, and pretty much only grass. This opens up a lot of opportunities for grazing potentials and risks. Sheep can overgraze rangeland terribly as they are not the most selective of eaters. That is something a good monitoring plan will help with.

So in my little comparison of raising sheep for profit and raising cattle for profit, even with all the variabilities, sheep seem to be a bit more profitable. All things being equal 300 cows will bring in $150,000 a year. 1,800 sheep (same AUs) will bring in $300,000. (Don’t hold me to these, but they are close) So, it does make sense to start raising sheep for profit.

Other Factors

Having a flock of sheep also opens up a lot of opportunities that are closed to the cowman. Rising petroleum costs and the ‘Slow Food’ movement are beautiful things for the sheep producer. Sheep will eat weeds. Thistles, Kochia and other problem weeds that cattle won’t graze. We are doing some intensive grazing on our wheat fields to control the weeds, and I am really impressed with that so far.

With the rising cost of diesel and fertilizer, we are expanding into the intensive grazing area. This means we put an ungodly amount of sheep on a small area of stubble and let them stomp and tromp and munch the weeds to oblivion.

Cows don’t do well working on forbs and weeds, but the sheep seem to excel in such an environment. This means less tractor time for me, and as we are in the transition period for the last 1,500 acres of our farming into an organic system, this is great inexpensive organic nitrogen fertilizer.

The complex part is the fencing. We are currently fenced for cows, and a cow fence won’t hold a sheep. Actually, I am not sure they make an affordable fence that will hold a sheep, but we are going to do some experimenting. We are going to try the high-tensile electric fence in a six-wire configuration. This, according to the salesman, is a foolproof way to hold in a sheep, and he says I can do it for under 1,500 bucks a mile. So we’ll try it and see if he is blowing smoke or not.

On paper, all this sheep stuff sounds pretty good. They are a prolific livestock, producing two crops (meat and wool), are pretty self-sufficient, easy to manage and profitable, or so we shall see. Time will tell how we do with the sheep. So far they have been profitable and entertaining, and hey, on a ranch in the middle of nowhere, who can ask for more than that?

In addition to their cattle-ranching, Thayne and Michelle Mackey run Brookside Sheep Farm in Dodson, Montana.

Originally published in sheep! July/August 2005 and regularly vetted for accuracy. 

Raising Sheep For Profit: A Cattle Man’s View was originally posted by All About Chickens