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hannahssimblr · 8 months

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Chapter Three

The air is still sweet and warm enough the following week to leave the windows of the print studio open, and in between my cleaning sessions, in particular the area around Gabriel’s desk which looks like an avalanche of cardboard and loose paper has crashed around his feet, I work on my Christmas card designs and occasionally gaze outside over the street below, cracked, patched pavements and sturdy old red brick council houses that belonged, once upon a time, to the lived in by workers from the biscuit factory and the brewery, but now have been purloined by the middle class.

Simon comes over to check how I’m doing from time to time. He has the type of presence that makes me want to sit up very straight and address him like he’s a teacher at school about to quiz me on my multiplication tables, but Simon’s not really like that. He’s so chilled out he might as well be horizontal, and all he ever really does is say “cool.” or “looking good.”, so eventually, after some days the sharp edges of my terror of criticism fades and I stop freaking out every time I see him get out of his seat. It is art, after all. The most subjective thing in the world.

“So this is design two? Or three?” He’s saying to me today, pausing at my desk on his way to the printing press. I hold up two fingers.

“Right. I’d love it if we could have six by the end of next week, if you can hack that. Just like, with the suppliers…” He trails off and I nod enthusiastically like I know what he’s talking about. “Of course, I think I have enough ideas to get six designs.”

“Cool, and at some point today could you pop downstairs to the shop and talk to Petra? She was asking if you’d do a favour for her.”

“Yeah, of course.” I resist grilling him about what she wants or rushing downstairs and insisting that she talk to me immediately, because I’m trying very hard not to be a person who seems desperate for anything lately. Even though I frequently am.

“Thanks.”

He heads over to the press next to Izzy, and moments later Michelle comes into the studio with a coffee and a paper bag in her hand. He grins at her and leans down to kiss her cheek. “This is a nice surprise.”

“I can’t stay long, Jen and I are heading into town for lunch but I know you’re working through it today so I thought I’d just get you a sandwich.” The idea of Jen standing outside this very shop at this very moment makes my heartbeat quicken.

“You’re a lifesaver.” Simon says to her. “Saves me making the intern get it for me.” He winks at me so that I know he’s only joking, even though he’s actually not, and that’s exactly what would have ended up happening, he just doesn’t want her to know about it, most likely.

“Can you stay for lunch?”

“No, I have plans with Jen, but I’ll see you later on.” She glances around the room at everyone else. “I suppose I’ll probably see you all later on.”

“At Izzy’s gig!” Gabriel whoops. “Yes you will.” I smile at her and nod, already trying to come up with a plan as to how I will wrangle Shane and Claire into coming with me. It’s out of pure social anxiety, not because I think they’ll enjoy the music.

When Michelle heads out and the rest of us start making moves for our own lunch break, Izzy asks if I’ll get food with her, since Simon and Gabriel are too busy. She says she knows a nice takeaway spot nearby, and I trust her because she seems like the kind of person who would know the best places to eat and drink in every corner of the city.

The streets are busy that afternoon, the last gasps of tourist season leaving the foot traffic heavy enough to have to stop and start behind the people who want to take photographs of things like fan windows and the fronts of pubs. Izzy stops me to let a middle aged couple take a picture next to a statue of a teapot. I think about how that was nice of her, to stop walking for them when I’m sure I would have barrelled through and ruined the photo. I don’t think I’m the type of person to do things like that anymore, my patience has worn too thin over the last two years I’ve lived here.

“Cute.” She comments as they smile and let us pass them by, and then we continue down a street that opens onto the Liffey. It really doesn’t smell very good on warm days, and as I peer down into it I count two shopping trolleys and a child’s bicycle. I wonder what else they’d find if they did an expedition of that river. Considering the possibilities of what could lie there under the silt kind of makes my stomach turn, and draws to mind the time I saw a dead poodle floating in a river on a family expedition to county Cork. Izzy guides me around a corner and up a hill to a cafe, and the sun is in my eyes.

My gaze slips over the people eating outside the restaurant as we approach. There’s a woman with a small baby who is kicking and writhing in her arms, fat little legs creased adorably at the knees. An elderly man on the next table tries to enjoy his newspaper, only he can’t help but glance over his shoulder at the infant when she babbles and shrieks, interrupting his concentration. There’s a girl with her back to me, long, wavy blonde hair that spills all the way down her chair, and a man sitting across from here with dark hair and sunglasses. He’s handsome, well dressed and has an upturned, clever little mouth that sends a jolt of recognition through me. I almost gasp out loud, but then I remember that it couldn’t be him. It never is. This city is full of good looking, dark haired men, and not one of them has ever been the one that I hoped. As if he’s ever going to be here…

And then he lifts his sunglasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, and those brown eyes could only belong to one person. My breath catches in my throat. I can’t look away from him, and I stand at the door of the cafe frozen still in anticipation of the moment he’ll see me too.

His eyes flicker over the blonde girl’s head for a second and then widen with surprise. He practically shoots out of his seat, the metal legs of the chair shuddering across the concrete behind him, and the look on his face is astounding, like he can’t believe I am real. “Evie.”

“Hi.” I say, and then somehow I am next to him, wanting to launch myself into his arms, but I stop myself. His fingers twitch outwards too, like he’s reaching for me but his hesitation matches my own. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch me anymore.

“What are you doing here?” I manage. Jude looks the same as he did the last time I saw him, but somehow I’m surprised. I don’t know how I keep forgetting how gorgeous he is, as you’d think that something like that would be permanently imprinted in your memory, and yet it’s like every single time I’ve ever turned my head to speak to him I’ve been whipped across the face by his beauty.

“I… we…” He’s flustered. He’s never seemed flustered before, and seems bewildered by himself. I watch a blush come over his nose and cheeks. “College doesn’t start for a few weeks.” He manages. “And I needed to help out with something at home, so we decided to make a holiday of it.”

We. I look to my right where his girlfriend is sitting. She is an unmistakable presence, and yet at first I almost missed her. She’s head to toe in black. They both are, as though they plan to attend an extremely fashionable funeral. Her clothes are so contrasting to her hair which is the whitest, blondest blonde I’ve ever seen. She’s slim, languid, long hands and wrists and sharp collarbones, full lips and a button nose, the kind of pretty that makes ordinary girls feel like monsters in comparison. I imagine a photo taken of both of us side by side, and how I’d never look nice next to her, my dull, limp brown hair and unremarkable features would make me vanish into the wallpaper while she would positively glow with beauty.

I’m caught up in the situation, looking at her and looking at him, and I forget all about poor Izzy waiting for me at the door. She clears her throat gently and tells me she’s going to go inside and order her lunch. I feel a bit embarrassed that this significant moment happened right in front of her without her knowing the context of any of it, but I tell her I’ll follow her soon.

“This is Astrid, by the way. My girlfriend.” Jude says, as if she needed an introduction, as if I didn’t know that already, and I smile at her. “Evie.” The smile she returns is a bit thin and lukewarm, and she doesn’t take off her sunglasses so I can’t really read her face at all. My skin prickles, and for the first time I start wondering if I’ve made my return appearance at the wrong time.

“I never expected to just run into you.” Jude says with eyes that leap all over my face.

“Me neither, I…” I feel bad about cutting him out of my life for a guy who almost ruined my life. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has. Over a year now.”

I grimace as the most egregious moments from our last conversation float into my mind and I feel as though I have to blink them away. “I hope you’re doing well.”

“Yeah, I’m doing fine.” He pauses again, like he’s not sure how much I even want to hear. “We’re around for the next week. We’re going to be hitting some of the main spots in Dublin before flying back to Berlin. ”

“Touring around. Like tourists.” I cringe at myself.

“Yeah, it’s Astrid’s first time in Ireland.”

I look down at her and smile and tell her that she’s welcome, because that’s what I feel like I should say, but she doesn’t smile back, takes a berry from the top of her pancake stack and nibbles on it.

“I think that tomorrow we might do the whole Trinity library tour thing. It’s hard to come up with things to do when you, like, lived here for so long, you know?”

“Yeah I know, I couldn’t think of much either. But it’s not like you ever really do all of the touristy things when you live here, do you? Like the leprechaun museum or whatever.” We pull identical faces of disgust at each other and I find myself laughing. I look at Astrid. “What kinds of things do you like to do?”

She leaves a reluctant pause. “I’m not sure.” and her voice is gentle, accentless. She doesn’t even seem interested in looking at me, and then doesn’t say anything else when I leave the space for her to elaborate, so Jude finally explains for her, albeit a touch impatiently. “In Berlin we normally go out. Like, bars and clubs and concerts. We have a mutual love for music, so.”

“Oh, that’s so funny, I’m actually going to a gig tonight.” I point at Izzy through the café window. “Izzy is the singer, she’s playing later on, and actually I think Jen is going too.”

“Oh, well, she didn’t say anything to me about it.” A line appears between his brows.

“Maybe she forgot?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Well, I’m inviting you. Inviting you both.” I attempt yet another smile at Astrid who is now scrolling on her phone and feel a bit rattled by her, aware of her displeasure at my interruption. I give Jude the breeziest smile in my repertoire. “You better get back to your lunch, or your food will get cold.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Okay.” Jude says, still watching me with some disbelief. “Maybe we’ll see you later on?”

“If you’re at the gig, you will.” I give them a rushed goodbye and hurry inside after Izzy, my skin buzzing all over, heart thumping inside my rib cage.

“I’m sorry if that was awkward.” I mutter to her as I join her in the queue. “That was just my old friend, I haven’t seen him in a while. I think I should have just introduced you.”

“No it’s okay, it wasn’t awkward because you didn’t introduce us, I just felt weird about interrupting an argument like that.”

I blink. “Were they arguing?”

She looks out the window to where they’re sitting, their food uneaten, and it’s suddenly obvious. Their body language is tense and they’ve turned so that their torsos are angled away from each other, Astrid says something to Jude, and he says something back with a furrowed brow and a swipe of his hand. I suppose I didn’t notice it at first but now it’s so obvious, and I feel stupid. “Oh, they were.”

“Don’t feel bad. You didn’t know. What are you ordering?”

“Oh, um, whatever you’re having. I’ll just have the same.” I drag my eyes away from them. Whatever it is, it’s nothing to do with me.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky girl part 3 #he's back!#I always loved that shocked/enamored expression he has when he first sees her #and how nervous he is hehe

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istorkyou · 2 years

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The Price Of Love (Modern!Ivar AU)

A Modern!Ivar x F Reader

Warnings - See individual chapters. STRICTLY 18+

Synopsis - Money isn’t everything.

Word Count - 1685

Note - This is the second fic I ever wrote and I’m not sure why I never posted it. I think I started writing The Arrangement not long after and kind of fell out of love with this one. Still, it’s been festering in my completed docs for well over a year so I figure I might as well post it 😬 It’s fluffy, and maybe a little cheesy (and by a little I mean a lot!) so if that’s your bag I hope you enjoy it!

Moodboard - The beautiful moodboard is made the magical, amazing @serasvictoria. Thank you so much xxxx

This was beta read by my aussie wife who has left Tumblr. All love, all the time Lou x

Tag List - Let me know if you want on or off :)@smears-and-spots @punkrocknpearls @youbloodymadgenius @momowhoo @zuxiezendler @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @ivar-s-my-brat-tamer @pieces-by-me @heavenly1927 @berryonasummerevening @synnersaint @out-of-the-box-and-into-alchemy @petite-hime @serasvictoria @mimiiinspace @itsmysticalmystery @lonewolf471 @mylifeisactuallyamess @draculasbride-blog @love-all-things-writing @southernbe @redhead7799 @kaybee87 @ivarlover @ivarhoegh @idgafiamallthefandoms @darkphoenix5037 @profoundtyrantharmony @snarling-through-our-smiles @crazyunsexycool @xceafh @bragisrunes@noway4u @batmandallyboy @complicatedbutrare @readsalot73 @meandmycherrytree

Masterpost

CHAPTER 13

The dress comes, it doesn't quite fit right, it’s too long and the bust area is too big. You start to panic.

“My mother has a seamstress on staff, I will call her.” He's on the phone before you can stop him and your heart starts pounding. He leaves the room to speak to her, leaving you to stew in your own nervousness. Surely you won’t have to meet his mother? It will just be the seamstress? Shit.

“They are coming over in an hour,” he announces.

“They?” you gulp.

“Mother is coming. She wants to meet you,” he says, as if it’s nothing, as if you haven’t almost just lost your lunch with fear.

“OK,” nerves are coursing through you and no more words are forming.

The elevator pings an hour later and out strides Aslaug and an equally elegant woman with a pull-along case dragging behind her.

“Ivar, darling,” she pulls him for a hug.

“Mother, I would like you to meet Y/N,” he pulls his mother to you and you can see her run her eyes over you. You wish you had changed out of the short leather skirt and tucked in Nirvana t shirt before she got here, You suddenly feel like an imposter in her presence, like you don’t belong here at all.

“My dear, lovely to meet you,” she shakes your hand. “Esmé, shall we go into Ivars bedroom and get this dress fitted?”

You follow her into his room and Esmé is opening the case of her tools.

“Hi Esmé, thanks so much for doing this, the dress is too long and it’s a bit roomy around my boobs,” your head whips to Aslaug when you say ‘boobs’, is there an acceptable way to mention your tits in front of your boyfriends mother you met twenty seconds earlier?

“That is an issue I always have as well, Y/N,” Aslaug smiles at you briefly.

“So, which designer are you wearing?” Esmé asks you. “Some are easier to alter than others.”

“Oh, it’s not a high end designer, I sourced it from a supplier I use for my shop,” you tell her, walking over to Ivars en-suite where you have hung it on the back of the door.

“Oh! Ok, let me see it then,” Esmé says, you can tell she is a little shocked at your words.

You bring it out and hold it up for them to see, you slowly turn it around for them to see the back.

“Got it!” Esmé says excitedly, “we might also want to make sure the fabric near your bum is snug, don’t want anything on show when you sit down.”

“Oh god I hadn’t even thought of that,” you say with a worried look on your face.

“Don’t worry, will we make it fit like a glove,” she gives you a tiny wink.

“It’s rather plain.” Aslaug says suddenly, eyes on you waiting for an answer.

“Oh, yes it is, I suppose. The back is quite dramatic. It’s totally my style though,” you answered awkwardly.

“What you are wearing now isn’t plain,” she looks at you, but her face is totally neutral.

You can’t read her. Is she just making a statement? Is she being rude?

“Well, Mrs Lothbrok. This is the first time I’ve been to an event like this. I want to wear something that I am totally comfortable in as, honestly, I’m pretty nervous about the whole thing, I’m worried I will mess up in some way, that I will embarrass Ivar. If I am wearing something I love it will be one less thing for me to be stressed out about,” you tell her honestly.

She nods slowly, eyes not leaving you.

Esmé breaks the exchange. “Let's get you into it and we will see what we are working with.” She leads you into the bathroom, closing the door. You turn to face her, you don’t say anything, but your face must have an expression of fear on it. She walks to you, runs her hands up your arms in a comforting way and whispers “you handled it well. She appreciates candour.” You give her an appreciative smile.

“Right!” Esme says in a breezy loud voice, “put it on.”

When it’s on you both leave the bathroom and walk to the full length mirror. Esmé takes out her step and has you stand on it as she surveys the length.

“Y/N, I’ve got some shoes that would be perfect with that dress if you would like to borrow them?” Aslaug offers, “Ivar told me the colour of your dress and we are the same shoe size so I’ve bought some with me, he said you hadn’t found any yet.” Her face is almost hopeful.

“Thank you, that’s very kind Mrs Lothbrok, my heel collection isn’t big and I don’t think boots or Nikes go with this attire,” you joke. You see her smile as she pulls out some beautiful black stilettos with a line of sparkly stones running over them.

“These I think. Do you like them?” She walks over with them in her hands. You can see the name of the designer inside and your eyes widen, knowing how much the cost.

“They are beautiful, Mrs Lothbrok, thank you. I will take very good care of them.” Your eyes don’t leave them.

“Please, call me Aslaug.” Your eyes meet hers and you smile and nod.

“Aslaug. Thank you.”

You slip the heels on and Esmé sets about her work as you and Aslaug chat about your shop and, of course, Ivar. Your face lights up when you talk about him and you can see it pleases her.

When the dress is pinned in place you turn to the mirror to give yourself the once over. Esmé has worked wonders. It looks sensational on you, it’s like she’s waved a magic wand and made you look ten times better than you usually do.

“Jesus, Esmé. You are amazing, look at it!” Esmé laughs at you.

“Now we have the task of getting it off you without stabbing you with any of the pins. I will only need a couple of days for the actual alterations, shall I drop it back here when I’m finished?”

“No, I will come and get it from you, I don’t think your place is too far from my shop so I’ll give you my number, just text me when it’s ready and I will pick it up.” You smile at her. “Thank you so much, I’m so happy with it.”

“You do look radiant in it, Y/N. I take back my comment about it being plain. It’s classic.” Aslaug nods at you. “Jewellery?” She asks, eyebrows raised.

“Sorted, my best friend is a jeweller and she’s making me something special,” you reply.

“Thank you for hooking me up with Esmé and the beautiful shoes. It’s much appreciated,” you smile at her.

You all head towards the door of the bedroom when you get a sudden burst of bravery.

“Aslaug, can I talk to you alone for a minute?” You smile at Esmé who leaves the room quickly.

“I just wanted to address this ‘‘gold digging’ title I’ve been graciously bestowed by the media,” you say awkwardly, your heart is beating so hard you think it might bust out through your chest, you are wringing your hands together.

“I want to assure you that I am not that. I have never taken anything from Ivar, and I have no interest in his money. I own my own shop, I do alright for myself, I have a strong work ethic and I’m not with him for any other reason than I’m very much in love with him.” You take a massive, steadying breath.

“I know dear, he has told me all about you. Endlessly.” She laughs. “I know that you took him to task over the bracelet he tried to give you. I’m aware you don’t like material things,” she says slowly.

“I like nice things, Aslaug, I just like them better when I’ve worked hard for them and can buy them for myself, that’s what I’ve always done and that isn’t going to change just because my boyfriend is successful.” You shrug. Her eyes narrow at your words.

“There’s no harm in letting the man you love spoil you a bit though, Y/N,” she whispers with a cheeky smile on her face.

“Without wanting to sound like a chess ball, I prefer it when he spoils me with attention and affection. I just hope you understand that I don’t need him. I want him.” You reply. You can see on her face she approves of your response.

“I appreciate how upfront you are, Y/N. Ivar is a brilliant judge of character, and he trusts you completely and therefore so do I,” she tells you and you nod quickly.

You both see them out to the elevator and when the doors shut you feel all the tension leave you.

“So how did it go?” Ivar asks excitedly.

“I’m not really sure if your mother likes me or not,” you grumble.

“Of course she does, I heard her use the word radiant, she’s not free and easy with compliments.”

You notice his gait is more laboured than usual as he comes toward you for a kiss.

“Ivar, please tell me you didn’t spend the whole time I was with your mother pacing the apartment? You are in pain, I can see it.” You hold his hand frowning at him.

“Not the whole time…” he looks at you with puppy dog eyes, trying to avoid a telling off. You tut at him.

“Go and sit down, I will get your medicine.” You walk back into his bedroom to get the tablets he needs. You head back out to the living room and see him lying on the couch.

“Will you rub my legs, please?” he asks tentatively. He’s always shy about asking for this. You smile at him, hand him his pills and a drink and get into position.

“Anytime.”

Chapter 14

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dannyellis · 5 months

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chenfabags · 7 months

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Chenfa Packaging is a leading provider of custom durable canvas tote bags in bulk, offering a wide range of high-quality, durable, and eco-friendly solutions for businesses of all sizes. Our canvas tote bags are not only practical and versatile, but they also serve as an effective marketing tool, providing a great way to showcase your brand and promote your business.

At Chenfa Packaging, we understand that every business is unique, and that’s why we offer fully customizable options. You can choose from a variety of sizes, colors, and designs, and even have your company logo or message printed on the good-quality canvas tote bags. Our team of experienced designers is always ready to assist you in creating a design that perfectly represents your brand and resonates with your target audience.

We are committed to delivering top-notch quality and exceptional customer service. Our lightweight canvas tote bags are made from premium materials, ensuring they are sturdy and long-lasting. We also offer competitive pricing and fast turnaround times, making us the go-to choice for businesses looking for cost-effective and reliable packaging solutions.

Choose Chenfa Packaging for your bulk custom eco friendly canvas tote bag needs. We are dedicated to helping your business make a lasting impression.

#foldable #canvas #tote #bag

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indiancorporategift · 11 months

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Lunch Boxes, Tiffin Box, manufacturers, suppliers, oems, oem manufacturers, exporters, traders, dealers, manufacturing companies, producers, India

Phone no-8178152173

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hvtableware · 1 year

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Elevate Your Lunch: Discovering the Durability and Style of a Melamine Lunch Box

　　Lunchtime isn't just about nourishing your body; it's also an opportunity to elevate your dining experience. Enter the melamine lunch box, a versatile and stylish choice that combines durability with aesthetic appeal.

　　1. The Melamine Advantage:

　　Melamine is a type of plastic that is known for its durability, versatility, and resistance to staining. It has been widely used in the foodservice industry for years, making it an excellent choice for lunch boxes.

　　2. Durability That Lasts:

　　One of the standout features of melamine is its exceptional durability. Melamine lunch boxes are designed to withstand the rigors of daily use. They are shatterproof and resistant to chipping, making them ideal for both kids and adults.

　　3. Easy to Clean:

　　Melamine lunch boxes are effortless to clean, which is a significant advantage when you're on the go. Most can be cleaned with a quick wipe-down or placed in the dishwasher for hassle-free maintenance.

　　4. Style Meets Functionality:

　　Melamine lunch boxes come in a variety of colors, patterns, and designs, allowing you to express your personal style. Whether you prefer a classic, minimalist look or something more vibrant and eye-catching, there's a melamine lunch box to suit your taste.

　　5. Versatile Compartments:

　　Many melamine lunch boxes feature multiple compartments, making it easy to keep your meal components separate. This is particularly useful for those who enjoy bento-style lunches or want to keep sauces and dressings separate from their main dish.

　　6. Ideal for All Ages:

　　Melamine lunch boxes are suitable for all ages, from young children to adults. They are a great choice for packing school lunches, work lunches, picnics, or snacks for a day out.

　　7. Environmental Considerations:

　　Melamine lunch boxes are often seen as an eco-friendly choice. They are reusable and can reduce the need for disposable plastic bags and containers, contributing to a more sustainable lunchtime routine.

　　8. Heat Resistance:

　　While melamine is not microwave-safe, it is heat-resistant, which means it can withstand hot foods without warping or melting. This makes it an excellent choice for packing hot or cold meals.

　　9. Safe for Food Contact:

　　Melamine is approved by regulatory agencies, such as the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA), for use in food contact items. It does not contain harmful chemicals like BPA, making it a safe choice for food storage.

　　10. Pairing with Accessories:

　　To enhance your lunchtime experience further, consider pairing your melamine lunch box with complementary accessories like reusable utensils, cloth napkins, and an insulated lunch bag. These additions can elevate your lunch and make it more enjoyable.

　　11. Care and Maintenance:

　　Caring for your melamine lunch box is simple. To keep it in top condition, follow these tips:

　　Hand Wash or Dishwasher: Most melamine lunch boxes are dishwasher-safe, but hand washing with mild soap and warm water is recommended to prolong their lifespan.

　　Avoid Microwave Use: Melamine is not suitable for microwave use, as it can become hot to the touch when holding hot foods.

　　Avoid Sharp Objects: Be cautious with sharp utensils, as they can scratch the surface of melamine. Opt for plastic or wooden utensils when eating from your lunch box.

　　12. Sustainable Choice:

　　By choosing a melamine lunch box, you're making a sustainable choice. These lunch boxes are built to last, reducing the need for disposable containers and contributing to a greener lunchtime routine.

　　In conclusion, a melamine lunch box is a durable, stylish, and environmentally friendly choice for those looking to elevate their lunchtime experience. With a wide range of designs and compartments to choose from, it's easy to find a melamine lunch box supplier that suits your style and meets your practical needs. Whether you're packing lunches for school, work, or a picnic, a melamine lunch box can add a touch of durability and sophistication to your dining routine.

#Melamine Lunch Box Wholesaler #Melamine Lunch Box Exporter #Melamine Lunch Box Price

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newbory · 2 years

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Keep Up With the Latest Trend with a Highly Functional Backpack

Try colour-scheme duffel or a bright, too big tote if you must get some jobs completed before heading to or leaving the office and require a bag to carry it all. Or, if you want to get back in shape, shop for the new gym backpacks. In comparison to laptop sleeves, laptop cases and Functional Backpack bags have a bigger interior and an extensible carrying strap or handle. Laptop covers come in a range of designs and are made to make it easier to travel with your laptop, computer equipment, Sports Functional Backpack, and personal goods by road.

Several types of bags for various occasions

Students, outdoor lovers, and traveller’s favour rucksacks as their preferred kind of Laptop Backpack Bag. This kind to convey:

There are many of places to get effective backpacks for mountaineering and sports. Among them are useful Backpack Bags for bike riding equipment and condensation. Compact and lightweight hydration backpacks are available. They are designed to deliver hands-free moisture and range in capacity between 3 to 10 litres. On the other hand, cycling gear rucksacks have additional pockets for riding gear and clothing in addition to those meant for water intake. Most of them include extra room on the front for helmets and LED lights. They have a capacity of 10 to 30 litres.

In addition to offering items of excellent quality and affordable prices, we guarantee quick deliveries. Having more than 13 years of experience, we enjoy making the best, most We provide our consumers with contemporary, premium stuff. We have worked with some of the recognisable businesses in the world and given them access to a wide selection of bags, including luxury bags and unwoven drawstring promotional gifts.

If you are seeking for a reputable Backpack Bag Suppliers, do not hesitate to contact us. Within 12 hours, we will answer to your inquiries. Friends from all over the world are gladly invited to work with us and develop enduring friendships. We look forward to your questions and enquiries!

Larger interiors and an extendable carrying strap or handle are features of backpack bags are available with https://newbory.com/product-category/backpack-bag/ . A variety of styles are available for laptop covers, which are designed to make transporting your laptop simpler. Hydration backpacks have a capacity between 3 and 10 litres and are made to supply moisture hands-free. Cycling rucksacks include additional compartments in addition to those designed for carrying water that are used for apparel and riding accessories.

About the Company:

Newbory Bags was found in 2008, mainly dealing with cooler bags, lunch bags, picnic bags, duffels, backpacks etc. We supply products with good quality and competitive price, we also promise timely shipment.

Phone Number: 86 21-60672055

Email: [email protected]

#Sports Backpack Bag #Bag Backpack Manufacturers #Backpack Bags

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sumiranmasterbatch · 2 years

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How do black masterbatches benefit the plastic industries?

In this industrial blog, we will focus on a plastic industry-centric important product, Black Masterbatch, and the role of Black Masterbatch Manufacturer India in developing a quality-driven range of Black masterbatches.

Before we move forward, it makes sense to learn about a few relevant things, including masterbatches and additives. This move will help you understand the product better. At the same time, general readers will get to know the product in simple language.

Understanding masterbatches

Right from morning till we go to bed, we come across a wide range of plastic-made items and objects, including pipes, water bottles, dust bins, lunch boxes, chairs, CDs, and many more. It isn't glorification if we say life can't be imagined without plastic. Containers come in numerous attractive colours. How does that happen? Here comes the role of a masterbatch. Masterbatch is an additive that imparts colour to products and a host of other properties.

A mixture comprising pigments and additives is heated together. This mixture acts as a carrier polymer. Afterward, this raisin is left to cool and cut into small pieces called granules. These granules impart different types of colours and a host of other significant properties.

From basics, let's now move toward the main subject, Black Masterbatches.

Learning about the Black Masterbatches

These types of masterbatches typically contain high concentrations of carbon black, ranging between 15-50%. It is dispersed in thermoplastic resins. The thermoplastic resin is acting as a carrier or binder. There are a few other commonly used pigments, including nigrosine dye and bone black.

This product is manufactured with up to 50% of carbon black content in its composition. Therefore, it becomes eligible for use as black pigment in many plastic applications. For in-depth information, speak with a leading masterbatch manufacturer.

Salient features

The product is famous for numerous salient features and properties, including:

High Jets

UV Stability

Uniform Dispersion

High-Temperature Resistance

No Issues of bleed or bloom

Ease of processibility

Applications of the product

The business-centric product has found many applications in plastic-based industries. These include:

Pipes and Film Extrusion

Rotomolded Tank Molding

HDPE Pipes and extrusion

Geo Membranes,

Non-Woven Bags,

Drip Irrigation

For High Jet

Gloss film

UV sensitive

Geo Textiles,

Furthermore, the industry-centric product is useful in a host of other industries, including, electronics, wire, cable, etc.

With the advent of technology, Black Masterbatch manufacturer is manufacturing a variety of quality-driven masterbatches.

Industries

Coming to the industries wherein the brilliant business-centric product is used, it is used namely in:

Building & construction

Agriculture

Automotive

Packaging

In addition to the above major industries, the product is used in many other industries. You are advised to get in touch with Black Masterbatches manufacturer India for detailed information. The UV stabilizer-based product is designed with different types of polymers, including LDPE, LLDPE, and HDPE, enabling the processing of the high-quality product.

Customization

The black masterbatch is available in more than 100 shades to choose from. In addition, an established masterbatch manufacturer offers customized solutions. In case, you are looking for customized solutions, connect with a leading Black Masterbatch manufacturer.

Connect with Sumiran Masterbatches

Are you into the plastic industry? Are you looking for a leading masterbatch manufacturer in Ahmedabad? If your answer to these two questions is yes, then join Hands with Sumiran Masterbatches. The professionally managed company is a leading manufacturer and supplier of a wide range of masterbatches, including White Masterbatch, Black Masterbatch, Colour Masterbatch, and Additive Masterbatches among others.

#black masterbatches manufacturer india #Masterbatch manufacturer #black masterbatch manufacturer

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lengthbag · 2 years

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Three Main Features Considered by the Lunch Bag Manufacturers

Over the years, we have noticed how the demand for lunch bags has increased. It all connects back to the need for organization in their lives. People have been avoiding the need for such storage bags and boxes for different things that it was hard for lunch bags to make it to the light. Especially people who are busy with their lives and do not feel the urgent need to carry or even buy “unnecessary” storing bags.

However, times have changed, and people have realized that everything has a different purpose and should be entertained accordingly. The lunch bag suppliers soon got the hint to study the market and understand their needs and expectations.

Here are a few features that lunch bag suppliers consider before manufacturing the bulk.

Weight: One of the most important features to put in the bags is they should be lightweight. Lunch or any edible pack is heavy enough to become an extra load on the person. The lunch bags should be lightweight so that people do not feel burdened in any way.

Waterproof: The lunch bags should be manufactured with waterproof material. The inside and the outside of the bags should be water soaking, resistant, or completely proof. Since lunch and bottles can leak some liquids from the seal, it should not ruin the clothes and the bag too.

Compact Size: The size of the lunch bag should be compact yet spacious enough to keep all the lunch stuff and still not feel to be extra big. The lunch bag manufacturers produce different sizes and designs to ensure every portion of the target people is satisfied with their requirements.

Lengthbag is one of the leading companies to manufacture high-quality bags. We specialize in all types of bags and sizes. With many years of expertise and experience in the sector, we have managed to create a huge clientele that trust and support us. Our primary goal is to satisfy our clients and deliver their desired products on time.

#lunch bag supplier #lunch bag manufacturer

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starry-knight-skies · 4 years

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Title: A Helping Hand Summary: After an accident at work that left him without his arm, Virgil decides he needs some help around the house. Not wanting to be a bother to his friends though, he decides to put his robotics skills to the task and builds Logan. It really does help to have an extra set of hands around the house. Chapter 1

Six o clock, a quiet alarm that barely had time to sound before it was shut off. Logan liked the quietness that the night offered, and would prefer to get his to-do list done while the world slept, but he knew he couldn’t. While the world slept, so did Virgil, and he would never do anything that had the remote possibility of waking him from his slumber. They agreed that six was a reasonable time for him to get started though, and he quickly stepped from his small room.

First things first would be to clean up Virgil’s workshop. He tended to leave a mess once he started working, and by the time he was done, he didn’t have the energy to put his things away. Logan would like to put everything away right away, but Virgil tended to finish after the designated ‘quiet time’, so he was stuck waiting until morning. He pulled the door open quietly, frowning at the squeaking the action produced. He added 'oil door’ to his list of things to do. He flipped on the lights, closed the door behind him, and got to work.

Wires and circuits littered one workbench and Logan took the time to separate and organize each piece and put them in their proper storage container. That took a good bit of time, but he was finally able to move on to the next workbench. This one held sheets of metal of various sizes and gears and a half-assembled arm. The arm was carefully set aside but stayed on the bench, while the rest was put away. The metal sheets were placed back in the large bin in the corner and the gears sorted by size on the shelves. All that was left to do was sweep up the floor and that only took a few minutes and Logan put the broom back in the storage closet where it belonged.

Another alarm sounded and Logan made his way into the kitchen to get a pot of coffee started. He laid out everything he’d need to make some pancakes and eggs, setting everything out on the counter before stepping back. He decided to grab some bacon as well before turning, heading out of the room and down the hall. He stopped at the room at the end, knocking quietly before opening the door and stepping into the dark room. Sunlight was peeking through the curtains, and Logan stepped past the bed and over to them.

“Time to get up, Virgil.” Without another word, he pulled the blinds open, filling the room with light. He turned towards the bed and a long noise of displeasure sounded from the pile of blankets on it. He stepped over to grab the blanket on top before it could be pulled up over a freckled face and dyed hair. “Come now, you’re the one who wants me to wake you up.”

Another long drawn out groan before the pile of blankets shifted and Virgil sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “Why do you have to be so precise all the time. Ever hear of sleeping in?”

“I am the way I am because that’s how you programmed me.” Logan pointed out, taking a step back as Virgil stood up. “Coffee has been started and your breakfast will be ready by the time you finish your shower.”

Virgil muffled a yawn, shuffling past Logan and made his way out of his room and down the hall. “Yeah thanks.”

Logan knew Virgil wasn’t a morning person, so he didn’t, couldn’t, really take offense with his short tone. He made his way back into the kitchen and back to the food that he left waiting. He knew how long Virgil would spend on average in the shower, and he waited so he could time it just right for the food to be done and on a plate on the table by the time Virgil was showered and dressed. He could hear the sound of him moving around as he cooked, and as expected, he was just setting the plate down as Virgil sat down at the table.

Logan had made sure to cut the food into bite size pieces in deference to the fact that Virgil wouldn’t put on his prosthetic until he left for work that day. Mornings and late at night is when he normally feels the most discomfort, and Logan set some painkillers by Virgil’s coffee cup. Virgil took them without complaint, and Logan picked up the plate once the last bite was eaten.

“Do you plan on going in to work today?” Logan asked as he moved over to the sink to quickly wash the plate and fork. Virgil could do a lot of his work from the comfort of his apartment, but he did try to go in a couple times a week just to get more materials and socialize with the few coworkers he could tolerate.

Virgil hummed softly, finishing the last of his coffee as he stood up. “I’m going to go in for a couple hours. Pat wants me to oversee a delivery coming in with some metal from a new supplier. We’ll probably get lunch, but I’ll be back before three.”

Logan nodded, finishing up the dishes as Virgil went to his room to finish getting ready for the day. Once finished, he made his way back to the bedroom and stepped over the dresser to wait. His eyes idly tracked Virgil as he moved around the room, the fabric from the dress he wore swishing slightly with each step. Virgil tended to wear either dresses and skirts, clothes that were easy to get on with one hand, or sweatpants around the house.

It wasn’t long before Virgil was stepping over to him and holding his arm up, and Logan turned, picking up the prosthetic from the top of the dresser and moving to attach it. It was designed to fit comfortably where Virgil’s arm ended at his elbow, even if wearing it for too long caused a lot of discomfort. He stepped back once it was attached and watched as Virgil bent and unbent his arm, checking his mobility.

“Alright, I’m off. I’ll send a message if I’m coming back early.” Virgil shrugged on a jacket before making his way out to the front walkway. Logan followed behind, grabbing his bag from the hook and slinging it over Virgil’s shoulder when he held his arm out.

“I’ll be here waiting and ready when you do.” Logan gave him a smile, taking a step back.

Virgil gave him a two finger salute as he left, and Logan made sure to lock the door behind him. There were too many expensive items in the apartment to risk leaving the door unlocked, even with Logan here to protect it. He wasn’t built for combat or defense, so it was better to take precautions when he could.

There was still a lot of cleaning and organizing to do before Virgil returned home, so Logan turned and got to work.

#logan sanders #virgil sanders #a helping hand #starry writes #analogical #obsessed Logan

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ansgar-martinsson · 4 years

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The Best Intentions - Part 3

The Best Intentions

Part 3

“It is no imposition, believe me,” Ansgar replied. “As much as I despise the fact that your building is suffering problems, I do enjoy solving them now and again.” He surreptitiously allowed his gaze to follow the path of her hands as they straightened out the denim of her skirt. He saw a strength in her movements, a power in the way her muscles shaped beneath the fabric - a power matched by her forthrightness. Not overwhelming, mind you… not false… not pretentious… just… present. This one - she knew what she wanted and how to get it, that much was obvious.

And admirable.

“Perhaps,” he continued, “you would like to change into something more suitable for structural investigations before we begin.” With his eyes, he indicated the Louboutin pumps, still lying discarded on the stage floor. “Why don’t I go take a look at the sprinkler heads installed backstage, and you tell me where to meet you when you’re done.”

Jo’s comfort came in the form of a pair of old broken in trainers (stained with paint from the tech shop), faded, ripped jeans (exposed knees from load-in from her last theatre job in Paris) and a ratty, old, black short-sleeved t-shirt (sprinkled with holes). She kept a wardrobe on hand in her office for days like this. Box office days, she dressed smartly, prim, proper for all the old biddies spending their pension on Puccini. Tech days, she wore black from head to toe. On opening and gala nights, she felt at home in a little black dress or a gown. Dressing for an office meeting felt like work.

The computer and its dancing screensaver called to her in the corner to research the lighting issue. The ramifications meant long hours of interviewing new candidates for her design or technical team. But that would have to wait… the rest of the repairs needed another pair of eyes, the haunted blue of the engineer. Something weighed on him, a brooding quiet, a dark hurt, a something that she couldn’t quite read yet.

She breathed a sigh of relief as the oh-so-soft denim whispered against her skin. She blew a kiss at her borrowed Louboutins, promising another night in them… soon-ish. She returned to find Ansgar wandering around backstage, making notes on a clipboard, knocking on walls with his fist, shining his torch this way and that, and testing the pulley system for the flies.

“Thank you,” Jo said announcing her presence, “I… this works.” She threw her arms out beside her palms out, displaying a tattoo on her left forearm. “Much more me for days like this.”

“Where do you need me?” he tucked his notes under his arm. His gaze followed her arm and the flash of color he saw.

“Ah, under the stage.” She pointed below her feet. “The sprinklers may have caused water damage? The hydraulics for the turn table works only when it wants.”

“Temperamental,” he commented with a chuckled grunt. He took control, leading them off stage right to the staircase for the other area. “Have you used the pyrotechnics down there?”

Jo followed closely at his elbow, anticipating questions about the integrity of the areas she showed him. “Not since… not last season.”

“Any of the directors turn in specs for it for the upcoming?”

She shook her head though he didn’t look at her. “Not yet. The designers haven’t either. We still need to find a team for The Flying Dutchman.”

Jo asked Ansgar to look over the box seats and the arrangement of it. The dip of the seats had started scaring some of the older audience members, fearing they’d fall into the orchestra below. The wall between dressing rooms seven and eight had begun to warp. The floor in the rehearsals spaces needed patching and sanding. She toured through with a careful ear listening to his tips and concerns, and possible hidden agendas amongst her crew.

When they were through the laundry list of items, Jo found some relief. She stood at the top of the orchestra, hands gripping the back of a red velvet seat. “I love my work, Herr Martinsson. I haven’t an ounce of talent of my own, but I love this place. I’d love to see it sparkle again. And so would Harold.”

Ansgar stared, his focus narrowing on her. “I’m sorry. Harold?”

“The opera ghost,” she teased. “He’s been with us the entire time.”

He humored her and offered her a good natured laugh, stepping in to stand beside her, looking over the sea of red. He placed his hands on the seat beside her. “Well, Joline… and Harold… I think I can help.”

She looked down and quieted the tiniest of swells of disappointment in her belly when she saw a wedding ring on Ansgar’s left hand. Attractive men were always married; she should know, she’d married one. “We both appreciate it. Harold and me.” She pushed a smile to her lips and brushed his shoulder with hers.

“Well,” he said, “we’ve a duty to our ghosts; to make sure they’re happy with the things they’ve left behind, don’t we?” Ansgar’s speech slowed as he spoke, the impact of his own statement not lost upon him.

His thumb, in an autonomic motion, tucked into his palm, the tip of it rubbing against the underside of the golden band that remained around his finger.

“I’m sure Harold will be supremely happy,” the woman by his side quipped. Ansgar’s lips quirked into a small smile, partly at her praise, partly at the fact that she had missed his passing discomfiture altogether. Or so he’d hoped.

In further hope of distraction, he raised his clipboard, running his finger down the list he’d made. “Well, Froken Lindberg,” he said, “if that is all of the issues, then, I think I ought to get back to the office and get this to my project manager. Get her on contacting the subs and suppliers immediately, get warranty claims made and bond claims if need be.”

“You mean Froken Wiessing?”

“No,” Ansgar shook his head. “But I think… well, Julia and I will have some other things to discuss.”

“Anything I need to worry about?”

Ansgar looked down at her and smiled. “Not anymore. Listen,” he said, “I apologise for all of this happening, I apologise for my company being so unresponsive, it’s… it’s not like us… not like me at all. Quite the opposite.”

“I know,” she shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s all being sorted now, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” he affirmed. “Are you sure?”

“Well,” she grinned up at him. “There is one more thing you can do.”

“Name it,” he challenged.

“Take me to lunch. I’m starving.”

Ansgar laughed. It felt good to laugh again… very good. Truly, honestly good. “Of course,” he bowed his head, smiling. “You name the place. It’s the least I can do.”

Jo discovered Carousel her first week as House Manager. The Mediterranean outdoor café suited her low-key wardrobe and Ansgar’s higher end threads. The grilled rib-eye tasted of heaven on a plate but Jo loved making a meal of the appetizers instead of gorging herself on mains. As she angled into the wooden bench, she wiggled-slid behind the oblong table, “The gazpacho and watermelon should be a sin.”

Ansgar folded himself into the chair at the head of the table, to her left. Grinning at her, he took in the colorful and lively atmosphere. It all seemed so… normal. So ordinary. Comforting normality of his home.

Her voice dropped to a sensual moan. “The sweet and the savory…” She rolled her eyes skyward. The grumble in her stomach wasn’t just hunger but curiosity about her lunch companion and this need to prove herself worthy as House Manager. After months of chasing attention at Martinsson Construction, she now felt consumed by this mad drive to show him that the house and how it ran remained safe in her hands.

“I brought the mockup of our final mailing and advert campaign… the last push to get asses in the seats for the new season.” Ticket sales and revenue secured her position. As it was her first full season as manager, it was final examinations on her worth. “We open in September with The Marriage of Figaro.”

His finger traced along the glossy production photographs of women in wide elaborate frocks and taller wigs. The text read clean and concise, listing titles of the upcoming operas, dates, the box office website, and other means to purchase tickets or sponsor levels. “Impressive,” he nodded.

“Did you get your invitation to the opening night gala? My staff sent them round to all the executives at your company.”

“Uh… no… no. I’ve been away,” he repeated his mantra from earlier. “I’ve not caught up on correspondences. I assume that Britta has added it to my calendar.”

Jo wrinkled her nose, “This is boring to you.”

“Not at all. Your… passion is admirable actually.”

Her wide blue eyes met his and kicked herself for flirting with him. She shouldn’t encourage this. She couldn’t.

But it was one lunch. One lunch couldn’t hurt.

It’s only lunch, Ansgar thought.

But it was true what he’d said, he admired her passion. it seemed to permate every inch of her, seep from her pores. Passion - well, it was extremely attractive. Her passion for her job, her passion for her art - for it was her art, he knew. Even if she wasn’t the Prima Donna, or a visual artist or a composer or even if she wasn’t a musician or a set designer or a lighting designer, it was still her art.

Like his work with steel and glass in structural engineering, he knew her expression of her self came with the craft of engineering logistics.

“Tell me,” he said, stabbing up a forkful of spinach salad, “what’s your talent utilisation style?”

She cocked an eyebrow at him over the rim of her water glass. “My what?”

Ansgar swallowed and nodded. “I mean… your management style. How do you… how do you manage to keep all those….”

“Artistic types in line?” She chuckled. “Sometimes it’s like herding cats… cats who have been rolling in catnip and have eaten an entire bag of Smarties. You just have to know how to use the right toys to fiddle them out and get them to pay nicely together.”

“Oh.” Ansgar laughed. “Sounds a bit like my situation, except sometimes my cats have been chewing on the Valium tablets or tippling at the brandy. Most sluggish, and they simply do not want to come out of their hidey holes.”

She inhaled through her nose. “So I’ve noticed.” She flashed him a closed-mouthed grin followed by a slight cringe at the brazenness of her words.

Which again made Ansgar laugh. “Touche,” he tossed. “Okay, change of subject,” he smirked. “This Gala of yours, this opening night do you’re organising.”

She shrugged. “What of it?”

“Well, I suppose I’d like to know when it is.”

“Why, do you want to go?” Her sudden burst of eagnerness made her grimace. “I mean,” she composed herself. “Do you plan to attend?”

Here goes nothing, Ansgar thought.

“I believe I do,” he said, plainly. “That is, if you will allow me to accompany you for that evening. It’s the very least I can do.”

Jo pushed her spoon through what was left of her gazpacho, watching the bits swirling round the bottom of the bowl. She smirked, her head bounced slightly on the sound of humor. “When I stormed your castle this morning…” She chanced her gaze back up, “I… well, uh… I didn’t think…” she spread her hands wide and circled around the half eaten dishes they’d consumed, “this would happen.”

Ansgar laughed with her, matching her mirth. The exaggerated and animated gesture unexpected but none the less amusing. He dipped his head in an almost bow. “Admittedly, this wasn’t my agenda for the day.”

She pointed upwards and nodded, dropping the last of her pride, and then shrugged, “It was the least I could do.”

The imitation of him was spot on and he gave into a good-natured chuckle at his own expense. He’d extended that precise statement to her more than once, to assuage his guilt, to be the attentive and present CEO that he should’ve been, to be the man he believed himself to be. “Fair play, fair play.”

As their laughter faded, Jo addressed the elephant that sat between them, pink and plump and ripe for a tickle. She chose her words carefully, mincing them so as not to wound or offend. “I don’t want your obligation.”

Then she waited, stealing another glance at the ring on his left hand, curled around a pint.

Don’t entertain it, Jo. Not for a breath, not for an afternoon, not for a thought or some scorching hot sexual fantasy. Your mother had a sense of humor, naming you after Dolly Parton’s other woman, but don’t be that woman, Jo.

You’re not that woman.

Clearing her throat, she covered her pause and stray thought. “Well, that’s not entirely true. I do actually want your obligation.”

This was met with a furrow of his brow and his fingers brushed the sexier than sin stubble at his chin.

“My professional self would feel satisfied… I’d get off—I’d celebrate it!”

Pull it together… Jesus, Jo!

“As CEO of the company that built my building,” she carefully spoke without a trace of arrogance, “I absolutely want your obligation. But me? Jo, me?” To illustrate her point, she splayed her hand over her heart, inadvertently accentuating her breasts. “She… she doesn’t want your obligation.”

Ansgar lowered his pint from his lips, his movement slow and controlled. He seemed to consider her words as if each one were a bead of condensation that hung on the glass. “I think you’ve misunderstood me…” That was the moment he struggled with a way to address her.

“I understand it. Your company and your name are in jeopardy, but I’m not looking for that kind of publicity. I won’t say anything to the press. As long as the work in the theatre is fixed by opening,” she waved her finger between them, “we’re sorted. Hell, make it a restoration special, to the press if you want… your good deed for the community, for Stockholm. We’re square.”

Ansgar couldn’t help but smile at her take on his invitation. A diplomatic and thoughtful, perhaps even pragmatic solution to the complication that brought this woman trampling down the door to his office. If he read her correctly, he’s piqued her interest, if the lack of drink thrown in his face were a sign. She remained his lunch companion, another indication that he hadn’t piqued her anger. He couldn’t use work obligations to spend an evening with her.

Using a different tactic, he began, as his grin intensified, “Well, as long as we’re square—“

Before he could say anymore, she cut him off, “Hey! I got an obligatory lunch for my efforts.” She grinned over a piece of seasoned bread she shoved into her mouth. “That was the least you could do. My gala,” she shook her head, her speech muffled by bread, “would go above ‘the least.’”

#the best intentions

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indiancorporategift · 1 year

Text

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kyvir · 5 years

Text

Sincerely Yours

Sarada loves her job, and lost an opportunity because the President gave it to his son, Boruto. Why did Boruto take it? Because he heard there was a feisty manager on the team. Watch them fight, argue, tease, flirt, “accidentally” fall in love, and deny it to the bitter end.

Rating: M Pairing: BoruSara

Collaboration with @kairi-chan!

Chapter Three

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Sarada woke up with a massive headache. Blinking her eyes open, she struggled to get up and realized she was back in her room. How… did she get back in her room? Trying to recall was making her headache worse, so she stopped that immediately. A quick look at her clock told her it was time to get up and get ready for work.

Work. Fuck. Did she really have to?

She groaned but pushed herself to get in the shower, and tried her best to get her back in shape. Despite it only being Wednesday, Sarada decided to dress down a bit, but still looking professional. She opted for black pants and a white button-down shirt, and low heels today. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail and applied little makeup. Maybe today, she’ll go get coffee first before even entering the office.

As she entered Ninbucks, the baristas greeted her cheerfully and did her best to smile. She ordered a bigger cup this time and an extra shot of espresso.

“Ooh,” The barista commented. “Long day?”

Sarada chuckled. “You have no idea. I don’t even remember what happened last night.”

The barista laughed. “Then that means it was great.”

“Surely,” Sarada smirked. She would have to ask Inojin what happened. If he was already there. It was only 9:23 am. Still early.

Sarada collected her coffee and made her way into their office and to her desk. The two weren’t there yet. The previous night must have been wilder than she expected. But what caught her attention was that she already had an email sent that morning from Boruto, and the lights in his office were already on.

Did he… get there before she did? What the hell.

Taking a seat and looking at the papers on her desk, Sarada tried to ignore the emails Boruto sent in, but another came in, this time, on their office chat platform.

Shikadai: You in the office already?

Sarada lifted her brow and replied.

Sarada: Yes, I am. Why?

Shikadai: Damn, you clean up fast. You were dead before nine, you know? Lol.

Sarada: I know I got drunk, okay? Ugh. Who brought me home?

Shikadai: Boruto carried you to Chocho’s car. You guys left around ten. Too early. You can’t drink as much as you used to!

Sarada growled. She was out cold, and her boss had to carry her? This was insane.

Sarada: No, he didn’t. I wasn’t that drunk. I could walk just fine.

Shikadai then sent her a photo, it was blurry but clear enough for Sarada to see that Boruto was carrying her in the parking lot, following Chocho.

Shikadai: Inojin rode with you two. He can tell you what happened.

Sarada’s cheeks burned. Oh my fucking god. This was not happening. This. Was. Not. Happening.

Reaching for her coffee, Sarada downed half of its contents in one go and reread the messages. Nope. they were still holding the same contents.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. How embarrassing! She had to apologize. This was his first week of work and he had already seen her drunk and had to carry her!

Quickly, she opened the email from Boruto. It was nothing urgent, he was just asking for a follow up on the numbers he requested the day before, with some extra instructions added. She found it weird, she never had to make a report like that before. But still… Quickly, she sent an email to Wasabi to ask for the details and then closed her laptop.

Did she have to go to his office now? She was still so embarrassed. Well… better now when the two weren’t there yet, right?

Sarada stood and then walked towards his office. She noticed someone had just scampered out of it, looking a little distressed and… scared. That was… odd. Anyway, she still knocked on his door.

“What is it?” He asked.

Sarada wanted to jump away from the door, but opened it anyway, taking a peek inside. “Good morning… it’s me.”

Boruto was sitting at his desk, glaring at his computer with half-lidded eyes and pouty lips. After a few seconds, he looked over at her and grunted, “Mornin’.”

For a moment, his grouchy greeting made her want to sass him, but seeing that he had dark circles under his eyes, she bit her lip and stopped herself. She came here to apologize, not ruin his day.

“I just wanted to… thank you for last night. And also apologize.” Her eyes looked everywhere except for his face. She noticed he had put up some new things in his office. A new map was placed on the wall behind him, a pencil holder with a peculiar, sunflower pen, and a few picture frames. One caught her eye in particular.

It was a photo of him in his graduation toga, with his arms wrapped around a girl with long black hair and blue eyes.

Did he have a girlfriend? Sarada looked at the sunflower pen, and found it was the only thing “girly” enough in his office. It was from her. It had to be.

Her hands clenched by her sides and her eyebrows twitched. Well. Isn’t that typical? He’s already taken. How this guy was taken, she wouldn’t know. Sure, he was handsome and had a really really cute smile but come on. This was his first job! What, was that girl still studying or something?

Oh my god.

What if he’s into younger girls?

Sarada quickly took a look at the frame again, the girl was more than a foot shorter than him, and not wearing a toga, too.

Fuck. Confirmed it. She was younger. Definitely younger. Oh my god.

That’s just… disgusting. Liking younger girls! Sarada gritted her teeth. But she looked to only be a few years younger… definitely in the legal range.

Why was she even getting so worked up about this? It’s not like she cared who he dated, right? Sarada huffed and crossed her arms across her chest before looking at him, her eyes were hard, and she had forgotten why she was even here in the first place.

“Can I go now?” She huffed again.

“Jeez, what’s with the sudden attitude?” Boruto grumbled, lips poking out in a more profound pout. “I thought you were sorry and thanking me and all that?”

Sarada looked at him and felt her jaw slack by the tiniest bit. The way he was pouting made him look like such a baby. He looked so… cute. Sarada felt her cheeks fill with heat and recalled what exactly her business was doing here.

“Umm yeah, I wanted to apologize for last night. I… didn’t know what was going on anymore. I totally blacked out.” Shit. Why did he have to keep looking at her like that? He was too cute, and she forgot why she was fuming in the first place.

“Don’t worry about it. It happens.” His voice was lower than usual and he was speaking so quietly as if raising his voice would be too much for him to handle. “Did you get that report for me?”

Sarada replied, “Yes. I requested the numbers but haven’t gotten them yet. Is it okay to submit it after lunch?”

“Yeah,” Boruto muttered and then sighed loudly in comparison to every word he spoke. “Whenever. I don’t care.”

Her lips pursed and she studied his face. He looked tired and drained. Did he not sleep right last night? After all of those shots, she would have thought he would sleep like a baby. Unless… “Are you… hungover?”

“I’m sorry?” Boruto looked at her, brows raised and eyes narrowed.

Whoops. Looks like she poked a nerve. “Sorry, you’re just not as… happy as usual. If you’ve got a headache, I’ve got some aspirin in my bag.”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m happy.” He scowled.

That scowl seriously convinced her otherwise, though. “Of course,” she giggled. “My bad. I’ll go get your report ready.”

“Wait.” Boruto groaned. “The aspirin?”

Sarada looked over her shoulder with a warm smile on her face. “I’ll bring it right over.”

With that, she left his office and walked back to her desk, rummaging through her bag and pulled out two pieces of aspirin. She then went to the pantry to get a glass and filled it with water, too. Right before she brought it over, she went back to her desk to get a post-it and scribbled a note on it. She stuck it on the glass and then went to his office. Sarada placed the pills and glass down without a word and left, not wanting to be around when he read the note.

“Have some ramen for lunch, it helps. :)”

As soon as Sarada got to the desk, she plugged on her earphones and got to work. There were a number of promotions that were left hanging and she needed to wrap them up to get Boruto’s approval for the budget before sending it over to finance. After sending a few emails to settle things, she printed out the papers for his signature and then left them on a pile by her left.

Inojin was out on field duty today, doing a product shoot for their new ramen line, and Chocho was out meeting suppliers and agencies. She was getting texts from them, asking for quick decisions and approvals for the content they were going to sign off on. This, on top of finishing the report Boruto wanted. Even if the latter wasn’t urgent—or so he claimed—she wanted to have it done first, so she could have fewer worries as she scrolled through the proposals that Chocho and Inojin quickly sent over.

To say it was overwhelming was an understatement. She didn’t even realize she skipped lunch, as she went through the report and told Inojin to wait and talk to her the following day before approving another product shoot and the concept he wanted to go with. Chocho was fighting him for another idea, and Sarada really didn’t want to play referee right now. It was so much easier when they all reported to the director, as he had to make all the important decisions and defend it to the board if they ever made a mistake.

But now… it was all on Sarada.

The promotions with bigger reach, of course, needed the director’s approval. As well as designs for billboards and commercial times and prices. But social media content, as well as their online campaigns? Trivial things that the director shouldn’t be worrying about. Product shoots and point of sales designs? Nu uh. It was now on Sarada’s turf and being the perfectionist she was, didn’t make things easier for her to decide.

At one point, she told the two to prepare some slides to justify their own ideas and present them to her after lunch the next day. The two complained, naturally. When did they ever need to convince Sarada? Well, now they did. She was their boss and responsible for them and the brand.

She only tore her gaze away from her screen when Namida came by her desk. “Hey, Sarada,” She grinned. “Here are the numbers you wanted. Oh, and I added your Job Orders there. Apparently, they need approval from the director to proceed.”

“What?” Sarada asked, completely at a shock. “The previous one didn’t need to!”

“Yeah but…” Namida shifted her gaze away. “We found that some numbers didn’t add up last time. And well… we just want to make sure this time around instead of digging up for things.” She looked back at her with an apologetic smile. “Sorry…”

She sighed and removed her glasses. “No, no. Don’t be sorry. It’s okay. I’ll have them approved. Just… give me a sec.”

Namida held up her hands. “It’s okay, you can give them to me at four. I won’t be leaving until later. I’ll have them processed ASAP so you can get your money.”

Sarada smiled tiredly at her. “Thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it!” Namida grinned before leaving her desk.

These reimbursements were meals with suppliers, as well as some trivial approvals like gas and Uber rides. They all happened more than a month ago and she was irritated that they had only brought it up now. Well… there was no point in waiting.

She looked at the clock and realized it was already well passed two, and she hadn’t even eaten yet. “Shit.” Debating whether she should eat first or go to Boruto’s office to have a million things signed took her a good minute. But gave up and decided to have it approved and over with. Her report wasn’t even ready yet…

Oh well. He said it wasn’t urgent.

She gathered up all the papers and walked to Boruto’s office, knocking before opening the door to take a peek inside. “Sir?”

Boruto looked from his computer to her, looking a little more alert than he did earlier. “Come in.”

She walked in and held a pile of papers in her hands. “I need these for your approval.”

“Alright.” He grumbled before muttering a string of unintelligible curses.

She pretended not to hear them and handed the papers over, waiting for him to look through them for a while before asking, “would you want me to come back? One is for the billboard, the other for a commercial and the next two are campaigns for the new line.”

“Yeah, just give me an hour,” Boruto told her as he studied the papers on his desk.

“Okay…” Sarada left his office and plopped back on her desk. She looked at her inbox, and there were more emails. A quick alt-tab and her report was only halfway done.

“Later…” she muttered to herself and went through her purse to get her phone and wallet, making a quick run to Ninbucks for a sandwich. Perhaps some iced coffee, too. She deserved it. The day was going by way too fast, and she needed to get more work done.

After ordering, she took a seat and scrolled through her phone. Replying to her father, asking how her day was going and if she was still going to stay at their house for the weekend. Sarada replied quickly and asked him to ask her mom which cake she wanted for her to bring. As she got her order from the counter, she sat back down and found he already replied.

“The chocolate one with strawberries,” Sasuke replied.

Sarada giggled. “Which one? The one with white cream or black?”

She watched the three dots jump around a few times before getting a response.

“The one you always get…”

“I get mama both.”

“Just one.” He replied instantly.

“Then white or black?”

“I don’t know.”

Sarada laughed and replied that she would ask her mother instead. Sasuke thanked her and she finished up her sandwich. Checking her watch, she had only been gone for fifteen minutes. Not bad. Sarada picked up her things and sipped on her coffee, feeling so much better that she finally had something in her tummy, and the coffee was an added, yet welcome, bonus.

Their area was still empty, Chocho and Inojin probably didn’t want to go back to the office anymore. It was getting pretty late, anyway. She shrugged it off and got back to her computer, ready to face her emails again.

After a few emails sent, she went back to the report, and started fixing the numbers up, formatting and color-coding the cells and tabs, making it all the more readable. Sarada prided herself with organized and functional files, and the finance team often asked her why she didn’t opt to become an accountant instead.

Numbers were good, but she loved being in marketing more. Besides, she still got to crunch some numbers, but also got to write and be around some art-related things. It was cool. And she did it well.

Finally finishing the report, she typed up a quick email to Boruto, explaining how the file worked, what the colors meant, and which tab he can find the information he needed on.

Hi Boruto,

Attached is the monthly sales report. If you have any questions, I’m at your disposal.

Warm regards,

Sarada

Finally. She could breathe again. The big tasks she set for her day were done, and it was only three-thirty. Maybe she could go home early today, get some groceries done and curl up to watch Ninflix.

Maybe.

The idea of resting got her excited but remembered she had to text her mother about which cake she wanted her to bring for the weekend. As she was engrossed in her texting she didn’t realize someone was standing in front of her desk.

“Taking it easy?” Boruto asked and then dropped the stack of papers on her desk.

Sarada gasped, nearly jumping out of her skin and dropped her phone on her desk as the papers landed. She looked up, ready to give whoever it was a piece of her mind. Her brows furrowed more to see her boss grinning from ear to ear.

“Hardly,” she replied, barely containing the anger in her voice. She took a quick look at the papers, all signed with some post-its on it for extra instructions. “Did you see my report, too?”

“I was just finishing up when you sent it, I’m heading back to read it over now.” He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “While you get back to your texting.” Boruto snorted and looked annoyingly smug as he walked off, going back to his office.

Sarada glared after him and stuck out her tongue when he wasn’t looking. “I will go back to texting,” she muttered under her breath. “One that you disturbed!!!” She gritted her teeth and typed quickly, finished her text to her mother followed by, “MAMA I HATE HIIIIM” with angry and crying emojis after.

She put her phone down and took some deep breaths to calm down, and it wasn’t long until she received another text from her papa.

“Tell me to come and I will.”

Sarada giggled. Her mama was quick to forward that message. She replied she was fine and she’ll tell them all about it on Saturday instead.

She tossed her phone back in her bag and went back to her emails, cleaning them out and making sure to flag those that needed a reply the following day. Opening her drawer, she pulled out more post-it’s and started writing tasks on different colored ones and stuck them on her table, arranging them according to urgency.

It was already five-thirty, and still no email from Boruto about her report. Just a little more and she could call it a day, hoping that he wouldn’t bother sending her another task or a follow up for anything else.

After she arranged her desk and cleaned up, right before she could turn her laptop off, she got an email from Boruto. Sarada groaned and read it.

Hi Sarada,

Thanks for sending the report. The numbers are looking good, keep this up and we will hit the target in no time.

Make sure to add the projection for the campaigns next month and then align with Supply for the added stock for the next three months to support the demand.

Nice format. I like the colors. :)

Cheers,

Boruto.

Sarada smiled at seeing he added an emoji but rolled her eyes at his signature. Who uses “cheers”?

Chaotic people. That’s who.

Oh well. He seemed like the type anyway.

Sarada flagged his email and then scribbled on another post-it to write Shikadai an email, and set a meeting with him to finalize the following day.

With that, she turned her laptop off and gathered her belongings. Time to call it a day.

Sarada exited the office and headed towards the elevator, a little shocked to see that Boruto was already there, waiting, and playing with his car keys. He noticed her approach and turned to look at her, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“Finally finished?”

Sarada smiled back and nodded. “Yup. Finally!”

“Heading straight home?” He asked casually and then the elevator arrived and the doors slid open. “After you.”

Impressed with his gentlemanly tone and gesture, she entered the elevator and waited for him to enter before pushing the button for the ground floor, and Boruto pushed the button for the sixth.

“I have some grocery shopping to do, and then yes, go home.” Noticing the floor he pushed, she asked, “You drive to work?”

“I do. What about you?” He asked, blue eyes peeking at her.

Sarada couldn’t help but look at his eyes. Even in the dim elevator light, they looked so bright. “I take the train,” she replied before looking away, turning her attention to the screen, indicating what floor they were on. Anything to keep her from looking at his eyes. They were so… alluring.

“The train? That must suck.” His nose scrunched as if he couldn’t fathom the idea. “I could give you a ride if you want.”

Her dark eyes widened. Getting a ride home would be nice, but no. She didn’t want to intrude. “Oh no, it’s okay,” Sarada held her hands up. “I have to stop by the grocery, and besides, I don’t want to trouble you.”

Boruto chuckled softly and played with his keys again. “It’s no trouble, really. I don’t mind.”

She bit her lower lip. It was tempting. The train would be cramped around this time, and she didn’t really need to do the groceries… “no, really. It’s okay. You look like you need to rest a little more today, boss.” She grinned cheekily at him, hoping he wouldn’t mind being teased. At least, today, she learned he was a grumpy little baby when he was hungover.

“Fine. Your loss.” He shrugged, smirking. “Do you live nearby?”

“Yeah, I live by Eleventh Avenue, near the convenience store. You?”

“Oh, really? I live on Fifth. Not too far.” Knowing this only seemed to make him smugger.

Sarada rolled her eyes and the elevator dinged, opening up to the parking lot. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you then.” Boruto nodded, still smiling as he walked out.

Sarada waved at him with a small smile on her face as the elevator doors closed. The elevator felt a little lonelier now that he was gone, but Sarada brushed it off and got out as soon as she reached the ground floor.

The walk to the station was nice. The air was cool and the crowd wasn’t as bad yet. A quick stop at the grocery made her mood lift, choosing some fresh vegetables and crackers, along with a cheap bottle of wine and chips. Tonight, she would have a salad for dinner, but reward herself with wine and chips as she watched a few episodes on Ninflix before bed.

The night was looking good.

xxx

#cheers #chaotic people club #borusara #borusara fanfiction #borusara multichapter #boruto and sarada #Sincerely Yours #kairi chan #ss-tyytyy #borusara office au #chapter three #borutoxsarada

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the-sinnamon-rolls-blog · 6 years

Note

HS AU HC: Kairi is a student council pres & Izzy is the school delinquent that skips class & is seen as a bad influence. Kairi is tasked to make Iz into a model student or else she'll be stripped off her position & Iz will be expelled. This won't be an easy task for both because Iz skips class... to earn money?!??! For tuition??? I dunno aaaaaaaaa hope this is fine??? itsokifyoudontanswer aaaaaaaaa

Title: Misunderstandings

Rating: T

Genre: Friendship / Humor

Beta read by: @theizzypeasy

A/N: Combined two prompts for this fic! :)

To be student council president was actually one of Kairi’s dreams.

—

The door clicked closed behind her and she let out a deep breath. When she wasn’t in class, she was handling student council business for the upcoming school fair. Her other council members had been busy as well, and although they were reliable, Kairi wished they were confident enough to make decisions on her behalf, especially when it really wasn’t too much of a big deal.

The sun was beginning to set, casting orange glows into the student council office. The main table was a mess, there were bags, notebooks, forms, applications, and files all over. A box of pastries was left open and cookie crumbs littered the top of the main floor plan for the festival. Kairi didn’t bother to turn the lights on, as she liked how the setting sun casted a dramatic glow over the room.

Before she could even take a seat to start on the stack of papers neatly filed at the head of the table, which was her designated space, the door opened, and a small girl came in, with glasses too big for her face. “Sorry to disturb…” her voice was small, and the poor thing did look terribly sorry. “But…” she held up a red folder, covering half of her face.

Kairi smiled and asked, “What is it? A supplier being difficult?”

The girl shook her head. “No… it’s the student behavior report and umm…”

Kairi furrowed her brows and bit her lower lip. These reports came in once a month, and if she recalled right, they were usually held in a white folder, not a red one. “And?”

The girl took a step back from the sudden bite in Kairi’s voice, but she willed herself to come closer and handed the red folder. “We have a problem student… it’s the new girl.”

Kairi quirked a brow up and took the folder. She skimmed the pages and instantly recognized the picture. “Izzy?” She held the paper up. “What kind of problems is she causing?”

The girl looked down and pointed at another page in the file. “She has been skipping class, and getting kind of violent with teachers and the other students.”

“Violent?” Kairi didn’t even bother hiding the shock in her voice. “You mean like, physically?”

Izzy didn’t seem like the violent type. But then again, she was new, and Kairi only had a few classes with her.

The girl nodded. “It’s getting kind of out of hand, and well…” she began sweating. “Maybe you should read the last document in the folder. It’s for you.”

Kairi went through the files and saw that it was, indeed, addressed to her. She pursed her lips when she saw it was signed by not only the guidance counselor but also their principal. “Okay, I’ll take a look. Thank you.”

The girl bowed and made her way out the door. Right when the door clicked closed, a loud shriek came from inside the room followed by a, “WHAT THE FUCK?”

—

The next day, Kairi held on to a stack of files with her left arm, and a cup of coffee with her right. She sipped on the dark liquid as often as she could while she made her way to her classroom. With every sip, her aura became brighter, and her steps lighter. Once she entered, a few early birds greeted her and she returned their smiles.

She set the papers down on her desk and took another sip as she looked out the window. Kairi could see her reflection and realized that no amount of coffee could cure her growing eyebags. A line from the letter flashed before her mind’s eye and she closed her eyes, willing it away.

There’s still time, she thought.

There was no way that this new girl was going to ruin everything she had worked for. She needed to remain the student council president. There were too many people just waiting for her to fail and she would not allow them to have the pleasure of telling her that they were right–that she couldn’t handle all the pressure and responsibility.

Kairi swirled her coffee in a light circular motion to mix it up and then drank it all down. Once it was empty, she headed out the door and tossed the paper cup into the trash can.

There’s work to be done.

—

Kairi walked around to Izzy’s homeroom section, but she wasn’t there. She resorted to waiting outside the door, but five minutes ‘til the bell rings, she told herself she would try again later.

Izzy didn’t show up until the fourth period. Her uniform was slightly crumpled, and she looked tired. She mostly kept to herself as she settled down on her desk and pulled out a notebook.

Kairi wasted no time and approached her. “Hi, Izzy.” She gave her a small wave and a smile.

Izzy looked up and hesitantly replied. “Hi.”

“Where have you been?” Kairi asked casually, a smile still on her face.

Her ears dropped down, but she tried not to look frightened. “I just got back from lunch.”

Kairi digested what she said and nodded. Another girl was passing by and she turned her attention to her, “Excuse me, can you please hand this to your next teacher? I’ll be talking to Izzy. I’ll have her back as soon as I can.”

The student took the light green slip and looked at the contents. She nodded and scurried away.

Green slips. They’re excuse slips, specifically issued by the guidance office. It usually meant two things: One, you’re being called in for them to check on how you’re doing. Or two: you’re in trouble. Izzy nervously looked back and forth at the slip and at Kairi, she knew it was the latter.

“Oh, you’re not in trouble,” Kairi laughed. “Not really. But I do need you to come with me. I need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay…” Izzy followed her out of the classroom.

Once the two of them reached the student council office, the other girls working on the festival were just packing up to head to class. As Kairi smiled at them, they hurried up and left the room, greeting her along the way.

“Izzy, have a seat. I think we have cookies here somewhere. Want some?” Kairi started rummaging through the boxes on the table, looking blissfully unaware of Izzy’s discomfort with the situation.

“Ummm…”

“Right, you’re probably wondering why you’re here and skipping class, despite doing that for the entire morning,” Kairi spoke as she fished out a cookie and took a bite. She pushed the box towards Izzy, who reluctantly took a brownie and nibbled on it. “You’re here because it was brought to my attention that you’re…” Kairi made air quotes using her fingers, “misbehaving.”

Izzy took a big bite of the brownie, making her mouth occupied with the pastry. Since her mouth was full, she did not reply. Whether this was intentional or not, Kairi couldn’t tell.

“Now,” Kairi took a bite of the cookie and continued, her words slightly muffled, “I asked around and heard some pretty bad rumors. I’m usually the last to hear about these things and believe me, I was really the last to know about certain things you’ve been doing.”

Izzy kept chewing, the pace slightly faster.

“Skipping class and getting physically violent is one thing,” Kairi said slowly, “And I really don’t know why, but it seems like the guidance and principal left it up to me to make sure you straighten up.” She ate the last bit of cookie and said, “I can use my usual tactic and speech on why being a good student is important for your future, but since there are things at stake for me…” her gaze darkened, “You will cooperate.”

Izzy gulped the brownie down but still did not speak.

Kairi waited for a while but when Izzy still did not say anything, she walked over and offered her a cup of water. “Drink up. You have a lot of explaining to do.”

Izzy took the cup and aggressively drank it all.

The two of them talked until the sun had set, and the two of them walked home, still talking things over. They had dinner at a nearby restaurant and some sweets, but still discussing things. It was heavy, but at least Kairi had more clarity after talking to her.

She found that Izzy was actually really fun to talk to and be with, and she didn’t sound like the rumors at all. Izzy’s a new girl in a school wherein the students had formed their friendship circles since they were in kinder. Kairi was a new girl herself and understood the struggle but the circumstances Izzy presented to her were far more difficult and understandable.

“Thank you for dinner and… dessert.” Izzy thanked Kairi in front of her home and added, “I’m sorry for the trouble and–”

Kairi waved her off dismissively, but she laughed. “No worries, darling. At least it makes more sense to me now.”

Izzy nodded. “Okay. Just text me if you need help.”

Kairi waved and grinned. “For sure. Good night.”

“Good night!” Izzy went inside her home and Kairi made her way back to her house.

There was more work to be done.

—

With a cup of coffee in one hand, the red folder clutched closely to her chest, and a million things on her mind, Kairi made her way to the principal’s office. She took sips of her coffee and maneuvered her way through the students in the halls.

“Lazy, I’m telling you. Don’t get Izzy as a groupmate. She doesn’t work!”

Kairi stopped in her tracks and slowly turned around. There was a group of girls huddled by the window, gossiping about the new girl. Kairi pursed her lips and asked them, “What were you saying just now? That Izzy doesn’t contribute?”

The girl seemed shocked that she was heard but nodded. “She doesn’t help or do her part.”

Kairi gave her a quick head to toe glance and immediately noticed the section patch on her blazer. Thinking quickly, Kairi asked, “Is she even in your section? Have you had a class with her?”

The girls froze. “N-no.”

Kairi held her head high and said before walking away, “Then you really shouldn’t be saying those things. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Finally, Kairi arrived outside the principal’s office. She hadn’t even finished her cup yet, but she knocked on the door anyway and waited for the assistant to call her into the office. The guidance counselor was already there, chatting along. Kairi entered the room and greeted the two of them respectfully before sitting down on the vacant chair for her.

“Kairi,” the Principal started, “I assume you’ve received our letter and completed your task?” He asked and added a joke, “I was surprised not to receive any questions or clarifications from you.”

Kairi smiled. “None was needed.” She placed the red folder on the desk and beckoned the two of them to go on and read its contents.

The principal took the first few pages, while the guidance counselor took the latter one. The guidance counselor spoke, “I see you overused your slips the other day…”

Kairi shrugged one shoulder up. “I assure you, it was necessary.”

“I believe you mixed in some of your festival plans?” The counselor inquired, and held up some papers, outlining supplier details for food, tents, and printing. “A mistake, I’m sure,” she laughed.

“Oh no, it’s no mistake.” Kairi took a sip of her coffee and placed it down. “Your request to mold Izzy into a model student was really unnecessary–like that caveat, you placed about me losing my position should it not happen.” The two of them were appalled by her boldness, but before one of them could speak up, Kairi continued, “You see, Izzy usually skips class because she meets with suppliers who only operate during office hours because she needs to make money to pay off her tuition. I checked her grades and although they aren’t the best, she passes everything.”

Kairi pulled out a sheet, with Izzy’s latest grades, not a red mark in sight. The principal and counselor took a brief look and then back at Kairi.

“Going back to those documents, I brought them here to have them signed. We found suppliers to cover for all the food, tents, printing, and everything we’ve been struggling to find, for half the price.”

The two adults were baffled, speechless, really.

“Izzy found them for me. If you sign, she promises to go to class and no longer skip.” Kairi only grinned “Oh, and just so you’d be sure she’ll fulfill her end of the deal, attached underneath all the documents is a promissory note, written and signed by Izzy herself.”

The adults looked at each other, at the documents, at Kairi, and then back to each other. Kairi sat in her chair, a victorious smile on her face. The three of them spoke some more in the office, but Kairi left as soon as the principal signed the suppliers’ documents and forms. The guidance counselor stayed behind, to discuss other matters.

Kairi clutched the files to her chest, feeling spectacular that she had won this time, and was able to accomplish a lot, just by talking to one person. A small smile grew on her face and she felt thankful that she got to keep her position, get the festival together, and get Izzy off the hook. Well… sort of.

Once she exited the office, she found Izzy standing there, fiddling with the strap of her bag. Her ears perked up. “How was it?”

She handed the folder to Izzy and grinned, “Good to go. All signed and you’re cleared.”

Izzy took the folder, and her tail came up. “Really? That’s great! And umm…” she swallowed. “What about you?”

“I’m good, too.” Kairi grinned. After a second, she pointed a finger at Izzy and reprimanded her, “I told them you’ll be going to class from now on, and no more getting violent!”

Izzy held up the folder like a shield. “Yes!”

Kairi stepped back and smiled again. “Great! Let’s get to class.”

A/N: Thank you so much for sending all of your High School headcanons for Kairi and Izzy! We loved reading and creating content inspired by your ideas.

We are now closing our asks for High School headcanons to make way for a new one. Can you guess what it’ll be? Here’s a hint: it’s someone’s birthday next week.

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Thank you again for reading and supporting our works!

The SINnamon Rolls is a webcomic series by Kairi and Izzy

#fiction #original fiction #sinnamon rolls #the sinnamon rolls #the sinnamon rolls kairi and izzy #kairi and izzy #kairi #izzy #high school au #fiction high school au #writers on tumblr #OC #original characters #original story #story

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eyeodyssey · 6 years

Text

Film Production Log #3

A frame from “The Death Of A Home″. What year is this? It’s been a long time coming that I finally got around to writing another one of these things. It’s three months into 2019 already and I hardly even noticed, made a rude awakening when I looked to the calendar to see that it went from 28 back to 1. With all that, it hit me that I hardly wrote about the progression of any of my current film projects in that period of time. I thought I had a rough idea of how the passage of time worked, as it turns out I know as little about a concept as abstract as time as I do about every other thing in life that defies explanation. There’s a reason why I simultaneously dread everything and nothing after all. I’ve written through many variants of this first paragraph beforehand, each draft starting off with the same “long time coming” comment, which gained further relevancy with each rewrite. Let’s go and cut this ongoing habit before it goes beyond simple procrastination into flat out absurdity.

A frame from “The Death Of A Home″. Like mentioned with the second production log, we spent most of the December of 2018 haphazardly preparing a forced move that we had to undergo with the sudden gentrification of our apartment at the time. This wasn’t the first time I faced the systematic Kafkaesque horror of gentrification. I was pissed, to say the least, and I did the only thing I could do, I documented it. With The Death Of A Home as it is currently, all the footage from the move itself has been compiled and made into a rough cut, adding up to my first proper feature length film at an hour and 12 minutes. The film is comprised of long shots, with scenes ranging from a crew of biohazard workers cleaning the basement of a black mold infestation that was never reported to the tenants to a sequence where long kept hand-painted furniture is forcibly discarded (tossed down a staircase into the back lot to lead to a rain of multicolored paint shards). The whole film will also be accompanied by a harsh noise soundtrack, I mostly have Merzbow stuff playing throughout as a placeholder. I’ll be shooting on the side some abstract visual sequences for the documentary, communicating certain details of our story that weren’t captured on film. I have a lot of ideas brewing for the mixed media techniques I could use for creating these images in a live action format, specifically ones that return to the sort of trash bag special effects that I used in my prior film concerning the subject of gentrification, Weightless Bird In A Falling Cage. Setting foot in the new apartment, the first thing we came to notice was the absolutely vacant house next to us. The building was completely abandoned with electricity still hooked up, looked like no one set foot there in years. Having it face the bedroom every day, with our constant visual subjection and time to contemplate we came to the conclusion that something was gonna happen to the building at some point. It was clearly the middle child to an estate that left it to rot. Just in time for when we wrapped up unboxing everything, the building caught fire. At first I didn’t pay much mind to the sound of sirens driving through (it’s an Atlanta custom). It eventually hit me that something wasn’t quite right when I looked to one of the windows to see bright red, Suspiria technicolor light shining through.

A frame from “Burning Fragments: Mode 3 - Winter 2019″. Did I go out to have a look? Of course, so did the rest of the neighborhood. Made an interesting meet your neighbor type of gathering, to say the least. I also brought my camera with me, and I came back with a metaphorical stack of raw footage along with a slow-cooked pair of lungs, the film is more important though. From that raw footage, I got the visual edit for the short Burning Fragments, a part of my seasonal “Mode” series that was first kicked off by Hard Drive and continued by my currently unreleased Factory Dreams. Burning Fragments is a montage of morbidly humbling sequences, from a roof visibly caving in through the smoking windows to medical staff cautiously carting out a stretcher, prepared for the worst case scenario. No one came out injured luckily, though I don’t mention that in the film (to keep up the haunting atmosphere). Power was cut to the building, the fire was put out and the street stunk of smoke for the next month. I thought it smelt like a smoked rib, one neighbor of ours said it smelt exactly like pot smoke.

A frame from “Factory Dreams: Mode 2 - Fall 2018″. Right around there was where we thought the story would end, but several days later the building went back up again. This time around I went to one of the firefighters to ask what started the fire in the first place. As it turned out this second eruption was from the ongoing work of someone who had a great disdain to a singular sofa in the abandoned building. The first fire was started off by the arsonist setting this certain sofa aflame, and the guy returned to the scene of the crime to incinerate it for good. Our friendly neighborhood sofa arsonist is still on the run to this day. Going into rapid-fire mode, some other noteworthy moments of the year so far include: OS updating, film editor street fighting, more OS updating, cool experimental film screenings (as seen in my documentary Moonlight Tunnel), one last OS update for good measure and discovering the new OS is as thought out as a tumble down a staircase.

Kafka’s Supermarket sorta ended up bunched between everything, seeing one quick, sporadic development at a time. The issue with actors still stands, gotta track down some people for the film to act in those pesky performed segments. It all goes smoothly until you’ve gotta spend the time and physical resources of other living, fleshy beings into your freaky unscripted cinematic daydreams. Around the end of February, I collaborated with local collage artists Steven and Cassi Cline to write the dialogue for the film, collage literature style. We took several different approaches when it came to fully fleshing things out, some were done as experimental writing games while others were the more familiar cut n paste technique. The script took a wide variety of resources, including the FBI documents printed from the internet archive, the prologue of a Georges Bataille philosophical text and a book on nuclear weapons. I was largely the supplier when it came to the process, while I do visual collage stuff often I’m less of a writer (both letter by letter and cut up source by cut up source). Readings of the literary collages will be interspersed throughout the film with an announcer who seems completely detached from the surreal nature of the scenes he describes. Burroughs’ approach for writing Naked Lunch aside, the primary source of inspiration for this detail comes from my memories of a radio clock that we had during my childhood. I would tune through channels with it searching for classical music, but most often I’d find news stations. Not knowing anything about politics at the time (being 5 to 6 years old and all), the nature of what was being discussed was completely alien to me. With how Kafka’s Supermarket is focused on the nightmarish distortion of everyday life in capitalist America, I felt it was necessary to recreate the atmosphere of those broadcasts that confused me all those many years ago. One detail that left the production hung for a significant amount of time, as minuscule as it may seem, was the masks the actors would be wearing. The visual style of Kafka’s Supermarket was adapted from my 2017 zine What Brought Me To This Point, an experiment in nihilistic writing that focuses on the mental state of a man with prosopagnosia and a non-specified mental illness. My general understanding of prosopagnosia at the time was admittedly limited, I had just heard of a condition where someone couldn’t recognize faces and something about the idea creatively resonated. From this, all the characters were designed with the same basic facial template, prioritizing the bare essentials of the human face with an emphasis on the uncanny. Kafka’s Supermarket further branches out this aesthetic in using it as a wider embodiment of the lack of individual personality in a capitalist state, where everything is selling to a set of categorized markets that represent the general populace.

A frame from “Kafka’s Supermarket”. The thing is, human heads aren’t structured like these figures I was drawing. I spent an absurdly long time contemplating how exactly I could recreate the look of these characters not only with a budget but with a budget without having it look too “store-bought” in a way. The main catch was I was going by realism and not surrealism. At that point, I briefly lost sight of what exactly I was doing. We all make mistakes. I brooded on how I could convincingly recreate an abstract illustration. It took until I started reading the screenplays of Kōbō Abe that sense hit me again when I questioned how it would be done in a theater production. That was when I remember that I’m making a non-narrative experimental film, not something like a superhero fan film where a certain level of suspension of disbelief is expected. Since then I plotted out an alternative that’s simultaneously more affordable than anything I was theorizing beforehand while also being more surreal and true to the theories and atmosphere behind Kafka’s Supermarket (and even it’s predecessor, What Brought Me To This Point). Since then I’ve found myself further experimenting with the fusion of film and theater, specifically the use of minimal props and images to convey a greater concept. I’ll be reposting cast calls for actors through the next several days, hoping for the best while I also simultaneously pester a nearby grocery store for permission to shoot a short sequence on their property. Productions like this are the ones that leave me realizing the oxymoronic nature in pursuing capitalist chains about the production of strictly anti-capitalist cinematic rhetoric.

A frame from “Empire Of Madness: A Wilderness Within Hell 2″. While juggling well more than a handful of personal projects (all the films mentioned earlier, a second chapter of Iron Logs and a harsh noise album experiment), I also convinced myself that I can get back into animation again. I was publicly tiptoeing around the idea of a second Wilderness Within Hell film for a while, and now it seems that it will likely be a thing with Empire Of Madness. It’s not really a direct sequel as much as it is a continuation of the style that was first started with Madhouse Mitchel. Set in the same age of industrial totalitarian inferno as Madhouse Mitchel, Empire Of Madness follows the life of Prometheus after his divine punishment for giving mankind knowledge. Having finally passed physical torture in the complete separation of his physical body, Prometheus wanders the Earth as an anomalous figure that assembles itself in a seemingly manufactured, mechanical nature. With pieces of his blood and flesh inherited by every man and woman with his given wisdom, he is inconsequently responsible for a curse put on all of humanity that destines man to collapse in paranoia and violence. Prometheus is shunned by everyone who crosses his path, seeing him as a sickly demon. Prometheus comes to realize that aside from his physical torture, the true act of divine punishment enacted on him will be the experience of having his own creation slowly destroy itself while it collectively tries to kill him.

A frame from “Empire Of Madness: A Wilderness Within Hell 2″. I’m simultaneously writing the film’s screenplay while I draw certain visual intensive scenes. Like I mentioned I’m still a bit rough around the edges with writing, so for this phase of production, I’ll actively study Kōbō Abe’s scripts and also the screenplays to an Akira Kurosawa film and Battleship Potemkin. I’ll still in a way aim more to minimalism with how certain things play out, with this series’ influences in Japanese guro art it’s more inclined to create a certain nightmarish atmosphere above all else. While Madhouse was largely anti-systemic rage, this film leans more to bleak existentialism. Bits of the soundtrack are already recorded, the main theme can currently be heard here. That’s about all I have to write for now. Now to wait another four months until I post anything text based on here again.

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