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sxfterhearts · 4 years

Text

53. [4:07 pm]

➳ pairing: yugyeom x reader

➳ genre/warnings: fluff fluff fluff, baker!au, baker!yugyeom, exchange student!y/n

➳ word count: 2,040 words

➳ summary: “Sit down, I’ll get it.”

➳ author's note: rach-stop-mentioning-food-in-every-single-timestamp-challenge: failed. just the thought of baker!yugs and bread has me feeling all soft and gooey inside. which is why i whipped this one up! it has been a phat minut since i last wrote so yea :”) (also i should mention italicised are korean!!) regardless i hope this will help brighten up your day a little!! sending many warm hugs xx

Your phone screeched from its resting place on the other side of your room, signalling the start of your day. It was strategically placed atop your wooden, old-fashioned dresser, with the sole purpose of motivating you to get out of bed and turn the damn thing off.

With a groan, you stretched all four of your limbs, releasing a satisfied yawn as your joints popped after a good nights’ rest.

It was late afternoon. The rays of sunshine splattered deep orange and gold as it sneaked past the cracks the half-open blinds, painting your tiny studio apartment with lazy signs of life.

You dragged your sleep-ridden body to the dresser, still reluctant to start the day after what was an immensely taxing Friday night. Having just arrived in this bustling Korean city a mere two weeks ago, you were somewhat proud of yourself for landing a part-time job to support yourself when you started your semester of exchange. The only problem was, it happened to be a bartending job in a rowdier part of Seoul, commonly patronised by sleazy middle-aged men and their younger lady companions.

It wasn’t like you had much of a choice, anyways. Your Korean was still very much at an elementary level, which didn’t prove to be a hindrance in the bar you worked at. Most of the drinks were named in English, and the owner of the bar, a surprisingly kind, motherly lady in her sixties, paid you well above the minimum wage.

Still, it was your second Friday shift ever, and it clearly took its toll on you. Staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you cringed. The eyebags under your eyes were so dark it could’ve easily been mistaken as a smoky-eye look gone wrong; your lips were awfully chapped and an alarming shade of red, while a few nasty pimples threatened to break through the surface of your skin.

In other words, you looked like a wreck.

Grabbing your phone, you checked the time. Ten minutes past four. Oh no, you winced internally. You were going to be very late if you didn’t leave your house in the next fifteen minutes. As though an internal switch flipped on, you turned the shower to full blast and stepped inside, sucking in your teeth as the cold water splashed against your skin.

In eight minutes flat, you were tugging on your beat-up sneakers and dashing for the elevator in your only pair of clean, non-alcohol-stained jeans and a plain white t-shirt that you conveniently picked off the pile of dry clothes on your sofa. You jammed the down button a couple of times, all while checking the time on your phone.

“Shit,” You cursed under your breath. 4:19. You couldn’t wait any longer.

Throwing all caution to the wind, you sprinted down the fire escape and did not stop for a single breath until you reached the final destination: a charming little bakery across the road from your apartment.

Rushing to the bakery just before closing time had become a habit for you. Amidst the chaos of moving and finding your feet in this new city, the bakery and its never-ending stream of patrons were your source of stability. Not only was it less busy and crowded during the evening, but it was also much easier for you to snag a couple of good bargains in the form of randomly-packaged, discounted breads.

The fact that the cute baker was the last one in store and in charge of closing up was just an added bonus.

A high-pitched, annoying chime broke him out of his daze. With a groan, Yugyeom straightened his slumped figure and stretched his arms above his head, releasing a satisfied sigh as his backbone cracked.

It was late afternoon. The rays of sunshine splattered deep orange and gold as it flooded through the drawn, white lacey curtains, painting his grandfather’s bakery with calm and relief; a peaceful conclusion. The end of daylight was drawing near.

He wiped a stray trail of saliva off the corner of his mouth before sucking on a mint. Checking the clock that hang above rack upon empty rack which usually contained baked goods, his palms inexplicably grew clammy.

4:27, Yugyeom mused. He shook his head to clear his spiralling thoughts. Keep it together, dummy. Just because she came the past few days doesn’t mean that she’ll come today too. She has her own life, her own friends, maybe even a boyfri-

Oh?

Just as his mind was about to veer off course and crash into the thorny garden of unrequited love, Yugyeom caught sight of a blurry figure at the corner of his eyes. Intrigued, he stood up straight and watched as you appeared in front of the bakery’s double doors. For a few seconds, you simply clutched your knees and huffed and puffed. Yugyeom could barely stop the shit-eating grin that split across his face and had to bite down hard on his bottom lip to avoid looking like a fool.

Then, you did the unexpected. From the back pocket of your jeans, you pulled out your lip balm and applied it on your lips, using the bakery’s glass window as a mirror. At that, Yugyeom threw his head back in a hysterical fit of laughter.

It was hard for him to explain the feeling in his chest, really. The first time you walked through the doors of the bakery, eyes twinkling with pure wonder and amazement as you browsed the array of baked goods like how a girl would admire a display of diamond rings, he was screwed. You captivated his interest as you fumbled for the right number of coins to pay for your discounted breads, tongue stuck out and head tilted adorably while doing so. He gave you, the damsel in distress, a helping hand, by laying all your coins out on the counter and ordering them from lowest to highest value. Probably not the most helpful of gestures, but Yugyeom liked to tell himself that he was performing his civic duty by welcoming a visitor of Korea through non-verbal currency explanations and an introduction to the locals’ favourite breads, pastries and drinks. That evening, the two of you sat on the high table by the window, slowly savouring melon breads, injeolmi toasts, ang butter or red bean butter breads and an assortment of cream cheese breads. While the breads were wonderfully fluffy and the sweetness was at an acceptable level, Yugyeom instructed you to wash it down with an iced Americano.

Since then, the mere thought of the bakery, going to the bakery, its breads and pastries, its drinks and Yugyeom coated your insides with sweetness. Admittedly, the reason why you kept visiting the bakery was to create more memories with Yugyeom and ride the amazing sugar rush you felt whenever you were around him.

After rearranging your hair for the nth time, you bravely pushed open the doors and walked in at 4:29pm.

“Hello!” You called out in Korean as you waved at him, a wide smile plastered on your lips. There was an obvious language barrier (you with your kindergarten-level Korean and him with his Game of Thrones-standard of English), but it wasn’t obvious. The two of you came up with creative ways to break it down.

“Hi Y/N! Sit down. I’ll get it.” Yugyeom answered in English, emerging from behind the counter with his trusty English-Korean dictionary and a matcha latte he prepared in anticipation of your arrival. He walked towards you with an air of confidence, reminding you of a model in a fashion show despite wearing his typical slacks and white button-up, with sleeves rolled up and cross drop-earrings adorning his ears. Yugyeom quickly set the items down before pulling out a chair, nodding towards it to encourage you to sit.

You muffled a giggle at his gentlemanly actions, but complied, nonetheless. You glanced over to the boy, sipping on the creamy drink as he retrieved two large plates from the cake fridge. Sure, the assortment of cakes should have been the main attraction, but your eyes drifted and settled on the stern look of concentration on his face and his prominent collarbones peeking out of his shirt. Unbuttoned, you assumed, as he was going to be off work soon.

You were halfway through the drink when Yugyeom returned to the table. He noticed this and didn’t pass up the opportunity to tease you about it. “Is it really good?”

“Thirsty. I just woke up.” You admitted, cheeks heating up in slight embarrassment.

Yugyeom’s wholehearted laughter filled the entire bakery.

“H-hey! Bad boy… Mean…”

“No, I…” Yugyeom stifled another round of laughter as he tried to pull himself together. “Cute. You wake up, come to see me in bread house.”

“Not ‘bread house’, ‘bakery’.”

“Ah, thank you. Bakery.” He tested the word on his lips, getting used to the pronunciation. “Bakery…”

“What are these?”

Yugyeom handed you a small cake fork while taking a seat. “Here. This plate is for tarts, and this one is for cakes. The tarts have the same filling – custard. But we use different fruits, like strawberries, berries, grapes and peaches. Whatever’s in season, really. Strawberries and cherry tarts are really popular in winter. Try some!” He reverted back in Korean whenever he was explaining, which was a great opportunity for you to pick up new vocabulary.

It was also a fantastic opportunity to try delicious pastries. You rotated through the entire plate painted in shades of pinks and green, taking a bite of each tart. Yugyeom just sat there, head in his palms, and admired the slight changes in your expression whenever you tried a new flavour. As creepy as it sounds, watching you eat the food he prepared was gradually becoming his favourite pastime.

“Cherry! That one is the best! It’s…” You quickly reached for the dictionary, softly muttering to yourself as you thumbed through the pages. “Here, acid. Acid, not too sweet. The strawberry one too.” Your eyes crinkled at their edges as they met his intrigued orbs, proudly smiling at yourself for learning a new word today.

“The word you’re looking for is ‘acidity’. ‘Acid’ is for chemistry.”

“Acidity?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Yugyeom reached over, his huge palm caressing the top of your head before ruffling your hair. You pouted and feigned annoyance, all while your heart squeezed and pounded away in your chest.

“Hey…” You protested weakly.

Yugyeom’s hand retreated. He placed it on the table, right next to your smaller ones. The distance between your hands taunted him; tempted him to close the gap and intertwine your fingers with his. Honestly, Yugyeom wasn’t used to this; wasn’t used to feeling like his insides were going to explode. His mouth opened and closed several times as he pondered his next move, wondering whether it would overstep your boundaries.

But then you stared at him in anticipation with your beautiful brown orbs, innocent and confused, as your lips wrapped around the straw of your matcha latte. Your gaze asked him an unspoken question, urging him on.

Yugyeom dragged your chair closer his, eliciting a high-pitched squeal from you. He rested both of his palms on top of your knees, gaining your full attention. “I like…” Yugyeom paused, catching his bottom lip between his pearly whites as the corners of his mouth tugged upwards. “I like this time with you.”

The soft giggle was purely involuntary, you swore to him afterwards. Yet, as you watched his expression flicker into one of panic, you were quick to cast out his worries. “No, no! Don’t get me wrong. Did you mean, you like spending time with me?”

“Ah, I was trying to be romantic. Stupid English…” Yugyeom cursed under his breath in Korean, unaware that you were familiar with the word ‘romantic’ due to the hours you spent (wasted) binging Korean dramas. “Yes, I do.” He said while squeezing your kneecaps in affirmation.

You had to remind yourself time and time again to keep calm in the presence of this charming man and his magical hands. “Me too, Yugyeom. You’re my favourite time of the day.”

Needless to say, your afternoon ritual continued for weeks and months to come.

76 notes · View notes

paintingwithdarkness · 4 years

Note

"i run the night slot on campus radio and some jackass keeps calling in to insult my music taste and request high school musical songs instead” with BluePulse please!

“Good evening, Tigers! You’re listening to Houston U’s nightly segment. I’m your host, Jaime Reyes. Y’all just listened to ‘Today is the Day’ by Yo La Tengo. Next up we have ‘Seven Nation Army’ by The White Stripes.” Jaime pressed a button on the console in front of him, starting the next song before adding on to his commentary. “If anyone has any requests, don’t hesitate to call in!”

Jaime switched off his microphone and let the song play, flopping back in his chair. Running the night segment of the Houston University campus radio was a pretty chill gig. It paid him above minimum wage for every hour he worked, he only had to work six hour shifts, and it was only five days a week. Besides that, it was a solo job, and no one was there to tell him what to do. Obviously there had been some ground rules when he’d been hired— no cursing on air, and he had to take call-ins from students— but other than that, he had free rein of the radio frequency and he could play whatever music he wanted from 6 pm to Midnight, Monday through Friday. All he had to do was press buttons on a control console, sit back, relax, and occasionally answer the phone.

Speaking of which... Jaime checked the time. 10:28 pm. Great, that meant it was almost time.

With a groan, he raised a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation, eyes squeezing shut. Every night for the past two weeks at exactly 10:30 pm, without fail, the same jackass student had been calling in to insult his music taste and request High School Musical songs instead. The first time it had happened, Jaime had been shocked at the audacity of the student, but had granted the song request anyway. (He had to. It was part of his contract. If a person called in with a song request, Jaime had to grant it. The only exception was if someone requested a song that was inappropriate to air. As long as it had clean/sensored language, and was free from overly explicit themes, Jaime queued up the song).

He mentally prepared himself. ‘Seven Nation Army’ was just about over, and Jaime already had his next song selected. If he timed things right, he could take the annoying student’s call during the next song, and wouldn’t have to subject himself to humiliation where everyone who was listening to his station could hear. It had only taken Jaime three nights to catch onto the trend.

As the guitar faded out, Jaime switched back on his microphone and addressed his audience, “That one’s a classic. ‘Seven Nation Army’ by The White Stripes. Hope y’all enjoyed that one. I’ve got a few more songs in store for y’all with the time we have left-”

The tell-tale ring of the phone interrupted him. Jaime had to bite his tongue to prevent the string of Spanish curses that wanted to fall from his lips from actually coming out. He had spent too long talking, and now he had to take the dreaded call on-air.

He took a deep breath, and had to layer on the enthusiasm thick as he ‘cheerily’ exclaimed, “It looks like we have our first caller of the night!” Jaime picked up the phone and gave the scripted greeting, “Hello, fellow Tiger! You’re on-air with Houston U’s nightly segment. Care to introduce yourself to all the listeners out there?”

Like all the nights previous when Jaime had asked this question, he got the same response. “Nah. I think I’ll stay anonymous. Keep things interesting. Though if you want a clue, I’ll tell you; I’m on the track team.”

Jaime scrambled for his notebook. That was the biggest clue he’d gotten yet about this mysterious student caller. It was almost like some kind of game. So far, every night when this student had called in, they’d said they wanted to remain anonymous, yet would give a clue about their identity. So far, Jaime had a bulleted list of eight items, with ‘track team’ being number nine. The other clues he’d received were ‘hates Indie Rock’ (which was Jaime’s favorite genre of music, thank you very much), ‘favorite movie is High School Musical 2’ (which was blatantly obvious, based on the songs this jackass student always requested), ‘favorite color is red’ (which told Jaime squat about who this kid was), ‘favorite food is chicken whizzes’ (once again, jack shit), ‘red hair’ (which was the first major clue Jaime had gotten), ‘green eyes’ (now it was obvious the kid wanted Jaime to figure out who he was), ‘5’9”’ (somewhat helpful), ‘Freshman’ (which eliminated 3/4 of the students on campus this caller could be), ‘mechanical engineering major’ (another somewhat helpful clue), and ‘gay’ (which, wow, Jaime would never out himself live on the air. This guy had some balls...).

After the mad scramble for a pencil, Jaime flipped the notebook open and single-handedly jotted down the new piece of information, balancing the phone against his ear with the other hand. When he was finished, he leaned back in the big leather chair, kicking his feet up against the edge of the desk in front of himself, feeling satisfied. Jaime knew he had enough information now to track down this annoying student and put an end to these stupid calls interrupting his radio show every night. Tonight would be the last time ‘We’re All in This Together’, ‘Bop to the Top’, or ‘Get Your Head in the Game’ would play during his segment, and Jaime was RELIEVED.

“Is that why you feel the need to call into my show every night?” Jaime fired back at the student. “So you can rope all of your track mates into singing ‘We’re All in This Together’ while you run in circles?”

An airy laugh was the response. And there a slight second where Jaime thought to himself, ‘Wow. That’s actually kinda cute,’ before his brain rebooted and he realized how counterintuitive that was. This guy was an annoyance that had to be dealt with. So what if he had an attractive laugh? It didn’t erase all of the other judgements Jaime had already formed of this student. And they were that this guy had terrible music taste and needed to find another hobby besides calling in every night to bug the shit out of Jaime.

“What better song to commemorate mutual suffering?” The other man laughed again.

Jaime scowled. ‘Mutual suffering’? Sure, Jaime knew the vexing student was talking about his track mates, but he couldn’t help catching the irony in the choice of words. As far as Jaime was concerned, the only one doing any suffering was him.

“So is that your request for tonight?” Jaime just wanted to get this over with already.

A contemplative “hmmm” made its way down the line, before being followed with, “Well, I was originally gonna ask for ‘Get Your Head in the Game’ but ‘All in this Together’ works nicely, too.”

“Por Díos,” Jaime mumbled under his breath. “¿No puede este idiota tomar una decisión?”

“Woah, hey, is that Spanish?!” Apparently Jaime’s mumblings hadn’t been quiet enough. “Yo hablo español!”

Jaime cringed. The pronounciation was terrible, but the enthusiasm was endearing. And dammit! He shouldn’t be thinking things like that. His train of thought was off the tracks again.

Without saying anything else, Jaime turned to his computer, quickly punched ‘We’re All in this Together’ into the song search bar, and hit play. He switched over the audio connection so that the only thing his audience could hear was the music, took a deep breath, and then made his rebuttal to the annoying student.

“You might want to work on that pronounciation, ese.”

The response was whiny. “Aww, it’s not that bad!”

Jaime cringed. “It’s not great, either.”

The student on the other line sighed. “Fine. But at least I have good taste in music!”

“That’s debatable.” Jaime didn’t know why he was dragging out the conversation. Usually after he granted this annoying caller’s request each night, the student rattled off a final jab at Jaime, before just hanging up. Why was he staying on the line tonight? Maybe Jaime just had to direct the conversation in that direction?

“My music is better than what you play every night. I’m doing you and your radio station a favor!” And yep, there it was.

“I don’t think people are tuning into my station to listen to the one High School Musical song you insist I play every night.”

Jaime could practically hear the smirk through the line when the other student responded. “Even if people are tuning in to listen to your crappy music, my song is still the highlight.”

Jaime groaned. He was growing weary of this conversation. “Do you listen to anything besides terrible High School Musical songs?”

That cute laugh caught in Jaime’s ears again. “Doi. A guy needs to have a little variety in his music. I’ve also got ‘Can’t Stop Singing’, ‘Turn Up the Music’, ‘Determinate’-”

Jaime’s eyes rolled skyward. “I’m gonna stop you there. Does your playlist contain any songs that aren’t from Disney Channel movies?”

A horrified gasp marked the beginning of the indignant response. “What’s wrong with Disney movies? High School Musical is the crashest movie series in existence.”

Jaime didn’t have enough time to think over the choice of the word ‘crashest’ before the other student continued rambling on.

“What other kind of music do you need?! Disney movies have great numbers, teach you about life and friendship, and growing up, and you gotta be kidding me if you don’t think Zac Efron is hot playing Troy.”

Jaime snorted a laugh for the last amendment to the other student’s statement. He’d only watched High School Musical once, and that was enough for him. And despite occasionally finding other men attractive (being bisexual himself), Zac Efron had never really done it for Jaime.

“I wouldn’t exactly call those ‘musical numbers’ as you put it, any type of masterpiece, however, I suppose you earn a pass for the friendship and growing up part.” Jaime smartly decided to skip the Zac Efron comment altogether, “I would say I’m more of a fan of the Disney animated movies. At least I can tolerate the Lion King and Aladdin sound tracks.”

A little puff of a chuckle, and then, “You should really get a better hobby than bashing on Disney movies.”

Jaime scoffed and immediately fired back, “You’re the one who calls me every night to bash on my music.”

“Oooh.” The other student made a hissing sound, as if a flame were being extinguished. “Caught red handed. But—” And here, Jaime could sense something dangerous was about to be said— “how about we settle this once and for all. You obviously don’t get out of the radio studio enough. What say you come to the next Houston U track meeting? We can settle this music debate once and for all.” Yep. That was a challenge.

Jaime took a few seconds to deliberate. He was curious to see who this mysterious caller was. Besides, what harm could it do? Jaime was not the type to back down when he was challenged. He had his pride and dignity. He would not be bested by this asshole. He was going to go to that track meeting.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, ese.” If the other student were there in person, Jaime could imagine shaking his hand to seal the contract.

“Alright,” the other student said, and if Jaime wasn’t mistaken, he sounded rather gleeful that Jaime had taken the bait, “I’ll see you there.” And then the line went dead.

Jaime ran a hand through his hair as he hung up the phone with the other. What had he gotten himself into?

The next Houston U track meeting was a week and two days since the fated phone call. Since that night, the mysterious student caller hadn’t rung Jaime’s radio station. It was a power move, and a good one at that. He had put the ball in Jaime’s court (or passed him the baton? That was a track thing, right?), meaning all responsibility was on him. In all honesty, Jaime was tempted to skip out on their ‘deal’. Sure, he’d agreed, but only because Jaime’d thought it was the key to get the student to stop calling. Now that the calls had stopped, Jaime saw no reason to get involved and draw attention back to himself. Maybe if he didn’t go, the annoying student would just leave him alone.

On the other hand, if he didn’t go, wouldn’t that just give the other student more incentive to start calling him again? Not only would Jaime continue to get bashed for his music taste, but then the other student would also be able to expose him as a liar. That was definitely NOT the reputation Jaime wanted to have. He had no choice. He HAD to go to that stupid track meeting.

It didn’t mean he didn’t drag his feet the whole way to the field though. Even with his ticket and getting there five minutes early, it was near impossible to find a seat. Jaime had no idea a sporting event like track would be so popular. What was so special about a bunch of guys running around in a circle?

It took a little shoving and some mumbled “sorry”s and “excuse me”s before Jaime was finally able to plunk down next to a young couple, in one of the only empty seats left. They seemed like nice enough people; the man even tried making small talk with him once Jaime sat down; but Jaime’s shy demeanor prevented the conversation from launching into something deeper.

Once the couple was no longer paying him much attention, Jaime surreptitiously slipped his little pocket notebook out of his jeans and flipped it open to the page where he had noted all of the little clues his mystery caller had given him.

Unfortunately, only some of them were usable in this context. Clues about the other student’s personality and preferences wouldn’t help Jaime identify anyone. Only the clues the track star had given Jaime about his physical appearance would be of use. He was looking for a redheaded, green-eyed, 5’9” Freshman. Should be simple enough.

When Jaime glanced down to where the runners were stretching by the starting blocks, he immediately noticed three boys with red hair. Luckily, this track meet was only a Houston U event and other schools weren’t participating. That meant one of the three was his mysterious caller.

From this distance, Jaime couldn’t judge eye color, and height was difficult to gage. He supposed he would have to wait for the announcers to give the names and grades of the competitors. Hopefully only one of the redheads would be a Freshman, and Jaime could find his culprit.

Within a few minutes, a runner was at the blocks for every lane. The first event was the 100m sprint. Everyone on the team would be participating. Only six could go at a time, and the announcer said that there would be three heats. Unfortunately for Jaime, the announcer didn’t bother with the names of the competitors since everyone was running, but he hoped that at least the winners would be announced, in case his redhead happened to be one of them.

In the first heat, two of the three red-haired boys were lined up at the blocks. Jaime trained his eyes on them. The first boy was in the second lane, and the other in the sixth lane. Hopefully one of the two would win so that Jaime could narrow down his suspects.

When the starting gun fired, all six runners took off like rockets. The pure speed was quite a shock for Jaime to witness. Within fifteen seconds, all six runners crossed the finish line.

“Winner!” The announcer shouted, once first place for the heat had been determined. He held up the arm of one of the redheads Jaime had been watching. “Senior Wally West with a time of 10.8 seconds!”

An elderly couple three seats over from where Jaime was sitting sprang out of their seats cheering. “Yeah, Wally!” shouted the man. His wife was enthusiastically clapping.

When they sat down again, the couple next to Jaime (conveniently sandwiched between him and the cheering couple) turned to face them.

“Wow!” the blond man next to Jaime exclaimed. “That’s his fastest time yet!”

The other blond man laughed (and it was then that Jaime noticed the striking resemblance). “He’s been working hard. Of course, he’s no match for Bart, but just maybe Wally might have a shot at beating him in the 3200m.”

The brunette woman of the younger couple hummed, a smirk resting on her lips. “I don’t know about that one. Our Bart’s got Thawne blood, too. He’s got runners from both sides. Wests... not so much.”

“Mel!” the man next to Jaime gasped, scandalized. “I thought we said no family rivalry at track meets?”

Immediately the brunette woman, Mel, appologized. “Sorry, sorry.”

“That’s right,” the man from the elderly couple interjected. “You have to remember Donny’s got some West blood himself. Iris was a West before she married me.” He slung an arm around the graying red-haired woman sitting beside him.

It was then that Jaime was able to piece it together. The young blond man— Donny— sitting next to him, was the son of the elderly couple— Iris and her husband (unfortunately Jaime didn’t have his name yet). The younger brunette woman— Mel— was Donny’s wife, and one of the runners— Bart— was their son, and the grandson of the elderly couple. Wally— the runner who had just won the first heat was a relative (?) of the two couples.

By the time Jaime was done puzzling out the relations, the next heat of runners was already at the starting blocks. Unfortunately, the other redhead, whom Jaime guessed was Bart, was not in this heat.

The starting gun fired, and the race was over within fifteen seconds again. The winner was announced, and the runners of the third heat took their places.

Jaime’s gaze zeroed in on the redhead in the first lane. That must be Bart. Mel and Donny were balanced on the edges of their seats next to Jaime.

As soon as the gun fired, Bart was nearly a quarter of the way down the lane. He was insanely fast. Jaime wouldn’t be surprised if he hit an Olympic time. His teammates stood no chance.

When he was announced the winner, Jaime had to do a double take at the 9.63 second time blinking on the screen behind him. That was more than a second faster than Wally, who had won the first heat.

“‘Attaboy, Bart!” Donny yelled.

The exclamation caused Bart’s attention to be drawn towards them. He waved proudly at his parents, and then his gaze caught on Jaime. Even from this distance Jaime could see the electric green eyes trained on him. There was no mistaking it now. Even with the other redhead to consider (since Jaime hadn’t heard his name or grade announced yet), he was certain Bart was his mystery caller. There was something in his eyes— a knowing glint— that made Jaime nervous. Could Bart know who he was?

It wasn’t completely impossible. Because he ran the campus radio at night, Jaime had a page on the school website. His name and picture were plastered right along side Cassie and Gar’s. Cassie had the morning shift from 6 am to noon, and Gar’s comedy segment ran from noon to 6 pm, when Jaime started. All Bart had to do was look him up and he would know exactly who Jaime was.

In retrospect, Jaime easily could have done the same to figure out who his annoying caller was. Once he’d received the track team clue, he could have pulled up the roster and narrowed his suspects down. He could have ruled out Wally because he was a Senior, and possibly even the other redhead based on his year. The announcer had said that Bart was a Freshman when he’d announced him as a winner, so Jaime figured he was the most likely of the three to be the caller. He matched all of the physical descriptors.

There were two more sprinting events that followed, each doubling the distance of the previous. After witnessing the 100m event, Jaime wasn’t surprised when Bart came in first for the 200m and 400m. It was honestly impressive. Bart was talented both in the art of running and annoying Jaime over phone calls. Truly difficult feats.

Once the sprinting events were finished, the competitors moved onto the field. Unlike the sprinting events, some members of the team sat out. Jaime noticed only six members of the team were participating. Two for discus, two for shot put and two for javelin. Neither Bart nor Wally was one of the six. The other redhead on the other hand, was lined up at the javelin throwing line.

Jaime paid him little mind. As soon as the announcer introduced him as a Senior, Jaime tuned out completely. Now there was absolutely no doubt whatsoever. Bart was his mystery caller.

While the field events took place, Jaime watched Bart stretching out on the side of the track. He was surprisingly limber. And Jaime had nothing to blame but the part of his mind attracted to men when he watched Bart bend over in his running shorts to stretch out his hamstrings. He had really nice legs, among... other things.

Jaime shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking things like that. He’d come here to put Bart in his place because of the annoying phone calls. Not admire his amazing calves.

When the field events were over, some members of the team moved back onto the track for the hurdle events. Again, Bart was not amongst them.

“He doesn’t do hurdles either?” Jaime accidentally mused aloud.

Donny turned to look at him. “First track meeting?” he asked, kindly.

Jaime felt a blush crop up on his cheeks. He hadn’t meant for his comment to be out loud.

“Yeah,” he admitted, despite his embarrassment.

Donny gave him a smile. “They each only do one event plus the sprints. You’ve got the three field events, hurdles, and long distance.”

“Oh.” Jaime nodded to show he understood.

Donny outstretched his hand. “I’m Don.”

Jaime shook Bart’s father’s hand. “Jaime,” he returned.

When Don took his hand back, he used it to point to his wife. “This is my wife, Meloni.”

The brunette woman waved at him.

“And my parents, Barry and Iris.” He gestured at each member of the older couple as well.

Jaime ducked his head shyly. “Nice to meet you all.”

The pop of the starting gun drew their attention back to the track where the hurdlers had just taken off from the blocks. Jaime watched on in interest, amazed at the skill that had been displayed today. He’d never imagined a track meet being this entertaining.

After a few moments, Don turned back to him. “Who’re you here for?” He pointed down at the track members surrounding the edge of the rubberized circle, cheering on their participating teammates.

Jaime felt that blush bloom on his cheeks again. Should he be honest? He was sitting right next to Bart’s parents. What if they started asking questions he didn’t have the answers to?

“Uh, I-I’m here for Bart.” He didn’t really have any other options. He didn’t know the names of any of the other track members.

Donny’s green eyes suddenly lit up. “Bart didn’t tell us his boyfriend was coming! It’s quite a coincidence we ended up sitting next to one another!”

Jaime gave a hard blink, processing the sentences that had just exited the blond man’s mouth. “Uh, we’re not-”

Meloni cut him off. “Oh! You’re the one who runs the campus radio! I knew your name sounded familiar. Bart talks about you all the time!”

The first thought that went through Jaime’s mind was, ‘Does he now?’. There was no mistaking it. Bart was 100 percent the annoying student who called into his radio segment each night. And Bart knew who he was. As soon as this track meeting was over, Jaime was definitely going to have some words with him.

“It’s so nice to finally get to meet you!”

Jaime didn’t know whether he should burst their bubble. Don and Meloni seemed like genuinely good people, and they were happy for their son having seemingly found a relationship. Although their assumptions weren’t true, Jaime knew he would feel extremely bad telling them otherwise.

Luckily, there wasn’t much time for him to dwell on the subject. As soon as the winners for the hurdling events were determined, the obstacles were cleared off the track and the next set of runners were lining up at the starting blocks. Two heads of red hair immediately caught Jaime’s attention. Bart and Wally were lining up in lanes one and two, while a few more of their track mates joined them in the other lanes.

“Who do you think it’ll be this time?” Barry posed the question aloud.

“I think Bart’s got a running shot.”

Everyone groaned at Don’s poor-quality joke.

“I apologize on my husband’s behalf,” Meloni mostly addressed Jaime, “What he meant was that Bart’s been working on his pacing. He’s the fastest on the team, and has always taken first in all of the sprinting events, but Wally always gives him some good competition for the long distance stuff.”

Jaime nodded thoughtfully. Bart had definitely been fast; no doubt about that. But he was curious to see how he would do in an event that required more endurance. Apparently he would actually have some competition this time, unlike in the sprinting events where Bart had left all of his teammates in the dust.

When the starting gun fired, Jaime found himself actually holding his breath. This first distance was 1500m, just shy of a mile. Jaime could remember having to do the one mile run in P.E. back in high school and how much of a pain it had been. The best time Jaime had ever gotten was just over six minutes.

For the first lap or so, Wally and Bart were neck and neck. The rest of their teammates were about half a lap behind. Then, when they went into the second lap, Bart kicked it up a notch, pulling ahead. Wally kept his own even pace, a schooled look of determination set over his features, while Bart’s lips transformed into a confident smirk.

By the final lap, Bart and Wally were shoulder to shoulder again. It was clear that Wally had the superior skill when it came to pacing, as he had been able to keep the same speed the whole time, whereas Bart’s speed had varied in spurts, depending on his level of endurance. It was unclear which one of them was going to win.

When Jaime looked around at the stands, he could see fans eagerly debating which one of the redheads they thought was going to win. The general consensus seemed to be Wally, but Jaime had a feeling his High School Musical-song-loving caller had a trick up his sleeve.

When they reached the last 100m or so of the race, the stadium burst into cheering, each person of the audience shouting encouragement to their respective runner. Against all odds, and to the surprise of many, Bart burst into a full out sprint, easily overtaking Wally, and crossing the finish line with an enthusiastic whoop.

Jaime was absolutely shocked to say the least. After running three laps, how had Bart found the energy for that last burst of speed?

A time of 4.02 minutes flashed on the screen behind them as the announcer proclaimed Bart the winner. Meloni and Don broke into cheers beside Jaime, and Barry and Iris clapped as well to show their support. Even Jaime found a small smile working it’s way onto his lips as he clapped, in awe of the impressive speed Bart had just displayed.

There was a few minutes between events while the results of the race were recorded and the next set of runners lined up at the starting blocks. Again, both Bart and Wally were among the competitors. This time, the distance was more than double what they had just run at 3200m. Jaime was curious to see how Bart would hold up against the longer distance.

When the starting gun fired, all of the runners took off as a group, rather than Bart and Wally distinguishing themselves from the pack right away. With eight laps to go, Jaime supposed it made sense. No point in going all out during the first half of the race, only to burn out when it really mattered. Bart and Wally would probably wait until the final few laps to burst ahead of their teammates.

Around and around the track they went, keeping pace with one another until the sixth lap. As soon as they passed the starting line, all of the runners kicked it up a notch, and gaps between the competitors became more noticeable. As expected, Wally and Bart pulled ahead of everyone else, and chatter broke out amongst the crowd about which redhead it would be this time.

Barry and Iris seemed to have their money on their nephew (Jaime had finally pieced it together when Barry made the comment about Iris being a West before marriage), whereas Don and Meloni, being the proud parents they were, were betting on their son to come out on top. Jaime couldn’t help being biased, and was also rooting for Bart. After all, he was the whole reason Jaime was at this track meet to begin with.

Bart was giving his all. Halfway into the last lap, he was ahead of Wally by a few steps. It seemed like he had the win in the bag. Then out of nowhere, Wally pulled the same stunt Bart had last time.

Jaime could see Bart do a double take when his cousin passed him, but there was nothing he could do. Bart’s strength was his speed; not endurance. He was only able to give about 80 percent, whereas Wally had paced himself better, and could pour 100 percent of his speed into the last leg of the race.

While Jaime was disappointed to see Bart take second, he was still impressed overall. Wally had beat Bart by two seconds, but Bart had beat the rest of his team by nearly ten seconds, meaning he and Wally had had quite an impressive lead.

Barry, Iris, Don and Meloni were engaged in a chat about the outcome of the latest race, but Jaime found his eyes glued to his not-so-mysterious (anymore) caller. Despite losing the last event, Bart seemed to be a good sport. He and Wally were standing on the sidelines, getting a quick drink and catching their breaths before the final event was set to start. Between gulps of water, Jaime could see the cousins teasing one another, egging each other on, and hyping one another up for the competition of the next race.

When they were called over to the track for the last event, Bart elbowed Wally in the ribs with a cocky smirk on his face, and Wally retaliated by pulling the smaller man into a headlock to ruffle his hair. Jaime didn’t quite know what to make of it, other than that Bart seemed to have a cocky, playful personality. It explained why he had been so adamant about playing the stupid identity game he had roped Jaime into over the phone during his radio segments each night.

The last distance was 5000m, or approximately 12 laps. Just thinking about that much running made Jaime want to cry. Needless to say, he wasn’t a huge fan of running. Other sports, sure, but running was not something Jaime enjoyed for himself. He would have to give massive kudos to Bart for having enough dedication to running to put himself through the 12 lap race.

Again, all of the runners stayed in a pack for the majority of the race. By about lap eight, it was clear who the real endurance runners were. The six competitors had spread out, a few feet behind one another, with Wally leading. There was a black-haired guy on his heels, and following behind him were Bart and another black-haired runner, a little shorter than the man in front of him. Two more runners were taking up the rear.

Laps nine, ten and eleven passed without much change. It wasn’t until they got into the final lap that Bart mustered the energy to pull ahead of his two black-haired teammates and take up the trail behind his cousin.

Wally’s winning time of fourteen minutes and two seconds flashed up on the scoreboard, followed by Bart’s time of 14.08. Jaime almost had to do a double take. When he calculated the math, it meant Bart had averaged a time of approximately a minute and eleven seconds per lap, and Wally had been faster still!

While the judges and officials were confirming the results of all of the events that had taken place, the stadium around Jaime burst to life as audience members began to make their exit down to the track to meet with and congratulate the athletes they had come to support. Beside him, Don, Meloni, Barry and Iris stood from their seats and gathered up their belongings, preparing to go congratulate Bart and Wally on their wins in today’s events.

“You should come with us, Jaime,” Meloni suggested when Jaime didn’t stand up with the rest of them.

Immediately, a stone sank in the college student’s stomach. What would Bart think if he saw Jaime with his parents? He and Bart hadn’t even met yet. How would Jaime be able to explain if Bart’s parents brought up the boyfriend issue?

Reluctantly, Jaime got up to follow the two couples down to the track. He was sweat-dropping. He really hoped Bart’s parents wouldn’t make things awkward.

As soon as he was in range, Don slung an arm around his son’s shoulders, congratulating him on his multiple wins. Meloni also smothered Bart in a hug when she got her opportunity, cooing over how well he had done. Beside them, Barry and Iris were doing much of the same to their nephew, expressing their awe of Wally’s endurance in the long-distance events. Meanwhile, Jaime stood awkwardly by, waiting for a chance to hopefully have a chat with his not-so-mysterious caller.

When the Allens finally separated from their son, Jaime locked eyes with Bart. There was a glint in those green irises that Jaime couldn’t place. It wasn’t good or bad per say; Jaime could only describe it as making him feel on edge, ready to tip one way or the other.

As soon as Meloni noticed the stare between the two boys, she immediately turned on Bart, much to Jaime’s horror.

“Bart! Why haven’t you introduced us to your boyfriend? He’s such a handsome young man.” She used an insistant hand to push Jaime forward, so much so that he almost stumbled and fell into the chest of his supposed “boyfriend”. Luckily, Bart’s hands came up and caught him by the biceps before that could happen.

Both his and Bart’s eyes widened. Pink burned hot on each of their cheeks. Jaime took a quick step back. He felt like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“Well?” Don goaded. “Don’t be shy! I’m glad to see my son’s finally been able to put the Allen-family charm to use! How long have you two been together?”

Jaime could feel the color in his cheeks getting darker by the second. Bart was still giving him this weird look, as if it weren’t his parents who had instigated this whole conversation in the first place. The prolonged awkward eye contact was making Jaime uneasy, and he was tempted to just speak up and shut down Bart’s parent’s idea about him and their son being in a relationship, but before he had the chance, Bart was clearing his throat to speak.

The track star raised a hand to the back of his neck, and Jaime had to do a double-take at the innocent “embarrassed” façade he was now putting on. “Well,” he said, playing bashful, “Guess the cat’s out of the bag, Babe.”

Jaime’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates upon hearing the pet name. Bart was just going to go along with this?!

Without preamble, the redhead slung his arm around Jaime’s shoulders, crushing him into his side in a display of “affection” for his parents’ benefit. “Jaime’s a little shy,” Bart said, when Jaime failed to fill in the silence. “He wanted to keep our relationship a secret. I’m actually a little surprised he came to the track meet today.”

Bart subtly bumped Jaime’s hip with his own, which was a cue for him to talk. It took a moment for the raven-haired boy to scramble for a response. He would play along... for now.

“I had to see if you were as good as you were making yourself out to be,” Jaime had noticed Bart’s encoded message; he hadn’t expected Jaime to take his phone call seriously and show up. Jaime was giving his own back in return (I had to discover who the annoying caller was).

Bart chuckled. “Would I ever lie to you?”

Jaime had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Now the guy was just laying it on thick.

“Of course not, Chiquito.” The pet name came out from behind clenched teeth.

Luckily, Mel and Donny seemed to buy their act. When it was clear they were in the clear, Bart asked, “Mom, Dad, is it okay if I have a few minutes alone with my boyfriend?”

Meloni and Don shared a look before Don said, “Okay. But no hankey-pankey behind the bleachers!” He waved a finger at them, teasing smile in place over his lips.

Jaime felt himself going pink. “Of course not, Sir,” he managed to get out, in spite of how mixed up this situation had gotten.

Bart grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him a little ways down the track so that they were out of Meloni and Don’s hearing range. As soon as he had the opportunity, Jaime whirled on him.

“What the hell was that back there, ese?” Jaime hissed.

Bart shrugged. “They bought it, didn’t they?”

Jaime felt his eyes narrow into a glare. “Why didn’t you correct them?”

Bart did another shrug, this time with a knowing expression on his face. “It’s not like you said anything either.”

Jaime’s glare fell apart under the truthful accusation. It was his fault for not immediately shutting down the idea when Don had first brought it up to him in the stands.

Bart placed his hands on his hips and began rocking back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels. “In all honesty, I’m actually surprised you showed up.”

Jaime emulated Bart’s pose, resting a fist against his hip and gesturing with the other. “Well, I couldn’t risk you calling back during my segment tonight and accusing me of being a liar in front of my entire audience, now could I?”

Bart tilted his head in such a way that Jaime had to repress the thought of ‘Oh, that’s cute,’ before it accidentally slipped out of his mouth.

A faint pink blush rose to Bart’s cheeks. “I guess I did kind of back you into a corner, didn’t I?” He raised a hand to the back of his neck, and it was the moment that Jaime realized Bart was genuinely sorry for having done so. While he may have wanted Jaime to show up today, it was clear now that he wouldn’t have used Jaime’s absence as blackmail against him if he had decided not to show.

Not wanting Bart to feel guilty, Jaime shrugged it off. “No es gran cosa.”

A smile worked its way onto Bart’s mouth. “I have no idea what that means, but I’m guessing by the look on your face, you’re not actually all that bothered by it.”

Jaime sighed. “Well, besides inviting me here so I can tell you how much I hate granting your High School Musical requests every night, what exactly is the reason?”

Bart scoffed. “I can’t believe you had the audacity to say that to my face!” He was trying to deliver the line seriously, but the smile on his lips told Jaime that he wasn’t actually offended.

Jaime shrugged, a small smirk working its way onto his own lips. “What can I say? Disney Channel movies are cheesy, and their sound tracks are even worse.”

Bart chuckled. “Your music is too depressing. You need something more upbeat. Less lyrics about death, sad childhoods, and oppression. ‘We’re All in this Together’, right ah-me-go?”

Jaime cringed, both at Bart’s pronunciation and at the stereotypes. His music was more complex than what Bart was making it out to be. Besides, Jaime wasn’t here to argue anyway. Bart had invited him to this track meeting with ulterior motives, and Jaime was determined to figure out what they were.

“Not all of my music is depressing,” Jaime countered. “Besides, you ignored my question. Surely you had some kind of motive in inviting me here besides to just discuss your terrible music taste. I want to know what it is.” Jaime raised both eyebrows.

An unexpected pink blush rose to Bart’s cheeks, covering up the freckles sprayed like paint across his Caucasian skin. “I wanted you to notice me.” Jaime nearly missed the words, for they came out of Bart’s mouth in a whisper.

“You wanted me to notice you?” He repeated the statement, hoping for a bit of an explanation.

Bart’s blush deepened, skin in competition with his hair for reddest feature. His green eyes were piercing the ground, seemingly in an effort to burn a hole big enough to burry himself in to avoid such embarrassment. His fingers twisted harshly against one another. His whole aura had changed from the confident runner he had been on the track to nervous schoolboy.

“We’re in the same physics class.” Bart’s sneaker kicked up a puff of dirt as he ground his toe into the sand.

Jaime blinked. He’d never seen anyone like Bart in his physics class. Was he that non-observant that he had missed him?

“I-I usually sit behind you.” It sounded like Bart was struggling to admit something difficult. Usually Jaime was the shyer one in conversations, so he completely understood what it felt like having to lead a difficult conversation. But he wanted to get to the bottom of this. Bart was on the edge of a confession, and Jaime had to know what it was.

“I noticed how a-attractive—” Bart’s blush deepened yet again— “you were pretty much as soon as I laid eyes on you. I-I wanted to get to know you better, so I asked around a little. Turns out Cassie’s a mutual friend of ours. She told me a little bit about you, from working with you at the radio station, and I did a little bit of research on my own. I looked you up on the school website. I started calling in to your station. I kept asking Cassie if she could find out more about you for me. Your favorite color, food, movie... Any hobbies, or things you like. I started piecing together this picture of you in my mind, using our conversations on the phone to confirm or deny my theories about you. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I was desperate for you to notice me, so I started dropping hints on the phone, hoping you would take an interest. But you didn’t. And I-I can understand if-if you don’t feel the same way but IthinkIaccidentlyfellinlovewithyou.”

Jaime blinked hard. “¿Qué?” That last bit had left Bart’s mouth in an unintelligible jumble of sounds. Had Bart just admitted he was in love with him?

When Jaime snapped out of his confusion and looked back at Bart, he saw that the track star was struggling to hold back tears. A salty droplet fell from his chin and landed on the ground between them, creating a dark spot in the dirt. His shoulders were trembling with the effort to not let out a cry.

Guilt settled hard in Jaime’s stomach, like a boulder being dropped into a lake. The aftershocks were still rippling through his system. The pieces were slowly coming together.

Bart was in love with him, and wanted the feeling to be mutual. He had called in to Jaime’s radio station, hoping that he could get Jaime to take an interest in him. He wanted Jaime to pursue him, that way he would know for sure that Jaime felt the same way. And Jaime had taken an interest; he’d just done a poor job at showing it.

Hesitantly, Jaime reached a hand forward in an effort to get Bart to look up at him. “Por favor, no llores. Lo siento, I-”

Bart took a step back, angrily wiping his tears away with his fists. “No. I-it’s stupid. I built this idea of you up in my head, and it’s probably not who you are at all. I was just desperate and wanted you to like me back. And I know that me calling you every night was probably annoying and that you probably aren’t even into guys-”

Jaime surged forward, grabbing onto the other boy’s bicep with one hand and cupping his cheek with the other, and did something that surprised himself probably even more than it surprised Bart.

Bart froze, teary eyes wide in shock as Jaime’s lips smashed against his own. He was too surprised to react.

As soon as Jaime realized what he had done, he pulled back, blushing madly. Despite his embarrassment however, he couldn’t help the truth that fell from his lips.

“I am.” When Bart still looked confused, Jaime rushed to clarify. “Into guys. Into... you. I’m bisexual.” He raised a hand to nervously rub at the short raven hairs along the back of his neck, chuckling awkwardly.

Bart seemed to snap out of his stupor. “You’re into me? I didn’t think you were interested. I thought you only came today because I was blackmailing you.”

Jaime’s awkward laugh turned amused. “If you think I showed up today because of your so-called ‘blackmail’, you need a new definition for the word.” He moved his hand from his neck, slipping it into his pocket to pull out his notebook. Jaime flipped it to the page where he had taken down all of the little clues Bart had given to him over the phone and turned the book around to show it to the track star. Bart’s green eyes widened slowly as he read over all of Jaime’s scrupulously written notes.

“I wrote down everything you told me about yourself.”

Bart’s gaze slowly ascended from the page, an awed look in his eyes. Hastily, Jaime closed the notebook and placed it back in his pocket. He shifted his weight from foot to foot in consideration before finally saying, “I’d like a chance to get to know you. I want to give us—” Jaime used a finger to gesture between himself and Bart— “a chance. If that’s... crash?” He tested out the word he’d heard Bart use during a few of their phone calls.

The redhead’s face lit up like a child’s after receiving a piece of candy. “Yeah! That’s totally crash! When are you free?”

“Uh-” Jaime pulled out his phone to check his calendar, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder.

“Time to get this show on the road, Kiddos.” When Jaime looked up to see who the hand belonged to, he saw Bart’s father standing between them, his other hand grasping onto his son’s shoulder. “Who knows what you two would get up to if Mel and I left you alone any longer.” Don playfully shook his head, before turning the eyes Bart had inherited from him on his son. “Your mother and I were college sweethearts, too. We know what kind of things kids your age get up to.”

Both Bart and Jaime blushed at the implications.

“Dad!” Bart groaned in embarrassment.

Don chuckled, as if it were all in a day’s work embarrassing his son. He turned to Jaime. “We usually go out as a family after track meets to celebrate. Everyone’ll be there. It’s a good opportunity for Bart to introduce you to the family. If you’re up for going, Jaime?”

The raven-haired student shared a look with his boyfriend? friend? person-he-thought-was-very-attractive-but-wanted-to-get-to-know-a-little-better-before-dating? Bart shrugged.

Jaime felt put on the spot. He and Bart had just discussed the possibility of beginning a relationship, and now he was supposed to meet the ‘rents? Not that he hadn’t already, but that was beside the point. Going out for a meal with Bart’s parents, grandparents, cousin and who-knows-who-else, and having to pretend that he’s madly in love with someone he was just meeting for the first time today? This had the potential to kill any chances he and Bart had at actually beginning a real relationship.

“I’m sorry, I already have plans,” was what Jaime wanted to say. Instead, he said, “Sure. I’d love to get to meet your family, Cariño.”

“Good evening, Tigers! You’re listening to Houston U’s nightly segment. I’m your host, Jaime Reyes-”

“-and his amazing boyfriend, Bart Allen-”

Jaime had to stifle an ‘oomph!’ as his boyfriend of three glorious months slung an arm around his neck and plopped down on his lap, leaning in close to the microphone so that he could be heard, too.

“-Next up we have ‘Flourescent Adolescence’ by Arctic Monkeys-”

“-And after that, ‘I Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You’ from High School Musical!” Bart slammed a finger into the ‘play’ button, starting the next song in the queue, before swinging his leg around so he could straddle Jaime’s lap and drag him into a kiss.

When they pulled apart, Jaime had a pout on his lips. “Who let you in here?” Bart wasn’t supposed to be in the studio, especially when Jaime was live on the air.

The younger smirked deviously. “Cassie might have loned me her key so that I could pay my boyfriend a visit while he was working...”

Jaime shook his head. “Of course she did.”

Bart booped his nose with a fingertip. “Don’t act so put out. You know you looooove me.”

Jaime shook his head, trying to keep a poker face. “Nope. You just tainted my reputation by saying that we’re gonna play High School Musical songs voluntarily. How could I love someone who would pull such a slanderous act against me?”

Bart poked his nose again. “You looooove me.”

Jaime shook his head. His lips threatened to quirk up into a smile. His poker face was cracking. “Nope.”

Bart hovered his lips dangerously close to Jaime’s own. “Admit it, Babe. You love me more than anyone in the world.”

Jaime’s mask crumbled. “Yeah,” he finally admitted. “Te amo con todo mi corazón.” He pulled Bart that little inch forward to kiss him again.

Unfortunately the phone cut their loving moment shorter than either boy wanted. Jaime picked it up.

“Hello, fellow Tiger! You’re on-air with Houston U’s nightly segment. Care to introduce yourself to all the listeners out there?”

“Yeah, Jaime, it’s Gar. I’m glad to hear that you finally found yourself a good partner, but next time you might want to make sure your mic is off before making any declarations of love while you’re live.”

Crimson bloomed to life across the entirety of his face while Gar hung up on the other end of the line. Immediately, the radio host leaned forward and flicked off the switch to his microphone. Jaime buried his face in his hands.

“I hate you!” He directed at Bart in an embarrassed moan.

Bart chuckled. “Nah. You looooove me.”

Here it finally is @purple--waffles! I’m so sorry it took me so long! I’ve been slowly working on it since the day your request arrived in my asks. Life is crazy, and I haven’t had a whole lot of time to write recently, but I really wanted to finish this for you. My mind ran with the prompt, and even though it took me awhile, hopefully the length makes up for it??? Maybe? Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

#young justice #yj #bart allen #jaime reyes #kid flash #impulse #blue beetle #bluepulse #asks #answers #writing requests #sorry this took me a little while to finish

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erosofthepen · 3 years

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How do you motivate yourself to get through your shifts and do your work, especially when you’re in a slump?

Great Question! I have no good answer for it!

Considering I was nearly kicked out of school this year, I'm not sure how effective my methods are. I did maintain my place on Honor Roll with high marks, wrote an essay that was highlighted in my history course, and found out that i'll be graduating early, but still, I had a whole conference with administration about how I was not going to be welcomed back next year, and that happened only 2 months ago. They called during the last week of exams and asked me to register for next school year. funny.

I have very poor time management, and especially with my autism, if i don't make a plan every morning about what i'm going to do, I absolutely won't get around to it. So, a few months ago, my unplanned schedule was basically this:

Monday: Work 8-4, come home, listen to music for 2 hrs, say you're going to do school work, don't do it, go to rugby practice, eat food, go to bed saying you'll do coursework tomorrow since you don't have work.

Tuesday: Procrastinate all day until 8pm, turn one assignment in, go to bed.

Wednesday: Refer to Monday.

Thursday: Like Monday and Wednesday, expect manage to turn in 2 quizzes at 10pm.

Friday: Wake up at 5, turn in 3 assignments, work from 8-4, come home, nap. for 5 hours. make dinner. Go to bed saying you'll do work on the weekend.

Saturday: Nothing gets accomplished except for scrolling on tumblr for 6 hours, and going to HEMA class.

Sunday: Procrastinate all day until 6pm, where you turn in 10+ assignments in a row and still manage to get passing scores on them.

Yeah.

Anyways, that's usually how it goes for me, especially in the slumps. My motivation? I don't even know if I have one for all of that. except maybe becoming a history professor in the future (but recently i've been exploring the possibility of becoming a sword fight scene coordinator. I would rock that)

But, now that it's summer, my motivation for getting through work and my shifts is working on writing and coming home to my computer, where I can relax with all my mutuals. Also, i remember that if i get paid, even with my minimum wage job, I come closer and closer to having enough money to visit Scandinavia. And building Clara's Castle.

During work, I mostly have to change coffee and clean up the dining room and bathrooms, so it leaves a lot of time for me to daydream as my body goes on auto-pilot. Many, many fic plots and ideas are created as i'm unclogging the men's room toilet. Meditate on that next time i release a fic. As strange as it sounds though, daydreaming often lets me get through my shifts, and helps me wind down on the drive home.

Something that also gives me motivation is working out. It's not even related to work, but working out in my freetime helps me feel much more energized and focused the rest of the day. It's been raining and storming lately tho, making morning runs are hard to do, but even just stretching for 15-20 minutes before work makes my day so much better.

Not sure if this is what you were hoping for anon. I must say, i am not some magical deity that has everything in their life planned out and follows a routine to make sure it happens. Alas, i am just a gorgeous bisexual with swords who has terrible time management and a minimum wage job. You'd probably be best taking advice from people who have already been there, done that, and are older and wiser. I'm not the best person to turn to for advice in this area.

#anon #anon ask #ask #asks #claraofthepen #claraofthepens advice

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lockdownuk · 4 years

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Lockdown Diary Part 1

A personal account during the lockdown in the UK due to the Covid-19 outbreak.

23/03/2020 8:30pm Boris Johnson, UK Prime Minister, gives a live address to the nation to, effectively, put the country on lockdown to stem the spread of the deadly coronavirus strain, Covid-19.

Many of us have been self-isolating for days but this latest development within the UK in reaction to the pandemic feels very serious and very scary. I decided to keep a simple diary and where better but online.

Day 1: Last night Boris called it, today we’re doing it. I had started working from home (wfh) yesterday as had most people at my work (RCI)..last week I had been preparing laptops as fast as poss for everyone. Even just today, the idea of going into work seems alien and dangerous. Now lockdown (ld) means that it would soon be illegal to do so unless utterly necessary.

Online, FaceBook (fb) especially, is awash with reaction…a lot of calling out people who are out and about in greater numbers than 2, which is against ld rules.

Day 2: Just trying to let work occupy my thoughts and time which is easy enough ‘cos everyone I support (IT engineer) is new to wfh and is having teething problems with all the new laptops. Meanwhile, I keep abreast of comings and goings online…actually socially interacting more than I might otherwise, weirdly

Day 3: Highlight of the day is an online quiz organised by a chap called Jay Flynn on fb…a bunch of us took it as individuals while chatting on Messenger while Jay streamed quiz over fb live and YouTube. It was a good crack and I had two cans of Coors Light which got me pissed!

Day 4: Work is still mad - so many people with IT issues wfh…it’s challenging trying resolve all these probelms remotely but I am rising to it. I actually enjoy it. It satisfies my want for problem-solving.

The ld is in full swing but it’s very early days. The news is dominated, obviously, by Covid-19 and the ever changing stats of infections and deaths. Today, for example, the USA took over, from China, as the country with the most infections. I know there will be an end to all this and I am determined to be there, going out, getting pissed down the pub, gigging, shaking hands with my mates, hugging anyone and everyone who’ll let me - it’ll be a proper party. But I am filled with a dread that it’s going to be a fucking long time coming.

This evening was spent virtually with Foggy, Ham and Andy P…doing a quiz - a rehearsal for Foggy in the hope of doing one to a wider audience next week. It was good fun and great to have a few beers chatting with everyone, Later I video called Fog and we drank ‘til gone midnight, putting the world to rights. I was well pissed.

Day 5: First non-work day of the ld. Housework, daily walk, out for supplies (drop a script order off…queuing outside boots for 15 minues!, bread, baccy and booze). This evening, I’m listening to the next album in NME list of 1985 albums I’m working through - Grace Jones Slave to the Rhythm…fucking pain in the arse ‘cos it’s not on Spotify so I am searching for each song, in order, on YouTube. Plus eating and drinking, of course. Quick video chat with karen and Grace, Dan in the background. I wanted a tin of kidney beans for chilli but Karen hasn’t got one ffs. Burger it is. They are all playing scrabble - I’d love to join in…

Day 6: A quiet day…housework, cooking, daily walk. Highlight was a half hour chinwag with dad who, as I would expect, despite his 84 years, is coping and doing just fine. Most other people with a dad that age would have, on top of their own concerns, something more to worry about during this crisis….for me, it feels like I’ve got someone to turn to, should I need to.

Day 7: Work is starting to feel more routine but it’s a long way off being in the office, which is never routine anyway. That may seem surprising since I do IT support but it’s a varied role, especially at the modern dinosaur of an organisation that is RCI. I try to be as disciplined as possible but I miss not dressing for work, not driving to work, not needing to actually prepare lunch (until lunchtime). I don’t actually need to shower every morning. I don’t think I have to ordinarily but do because I’m mixing with others in the office. I certainly don;t need to now. I only mix with me, so showering becomes a chore but I’m doing it every other morning in the name of the aforementioned discipline. I am worried how long RCI can keep going before laying staff off. I dread being out of work full stop, let alone during this ld, or even thereafter. I think the economies of the world will need time to recover so finding work will be tough à la 2008. I think, if lay-offs were to occur, I’d be in real danger. Last in first out and all that. But, I’ll cross that bridge if and when I come to it.

Day 8: At work there was a large online meeting whereby the MD told us that RCI are going to furlough some staff. The UK, and Ireland staff will be consulted this coming Thursday and Friday (it’s Tuesday today). I shall be reading up on what the furlough arrangements are in the UK due to Covid-19. I know the government have set aside some money, I need to know what I might get paid and how to claim it. In the past, when I’ve been out of work, I’ve been entitled to jack shit other than JSA, This time around, should I be laid off as I expect, I might not have to eat into my savings, fingers crossed. Meanwhile, I have decided to knock up another blog with a photo of myself each day of the ld (from now on) - it’s a sister to this diary.

Day 9: Actually typing this on day 10. Yesterday was a strange day as I contemplate being furloughed (hope for the best, expect the worst)…I’d be paid 80% of my wage according to what the government have said to assist in the Covid-19 crisis…so, were that to be true, I’d be OK money-wise, although still earning way less than I want to prepared for retirement (I am currently still waiting for feedback on a pay increase request I put in at work last year!) I’m more worried about how I would fill my day if I wasn’t working. So, that being said, I flopped and moped about all yesterday evening after my daily walk and, without achieving much at all, didn’t find time to write this entry on the right day…so maybe I can fill my days without much effort!

Day 10: I was furloughed today, starting 5pm tomorrow (Friday 3rd April) and it’s fucked me off. I know it’s not personal but, actually, do I? They’re cutting back the Kettering Desktop team by one, redacted It seems obvious to do this by the ‘last in, first out’ maxim but what about money? others are on more than me (redacted). What about offering it voluntarily - others might go for 80% pay for fuck all - others have family at home to occupy the day (redacted) . A little bit of me thinks it might be preferable furlough me (redacted) …others seems to be a favourite and that annoys me. It annoys me because I think I shoot myself in the foot too often. I’m too vocal about some of the (redacted) decisions and practices at work, plus other reasons that I know but can’t be bothered to type. But, my point, is I don’t play the politically correct, corporate game and therefore forget to look out for my own best interests. FUCK.

So, as of tomorrrow evening, I’ve no work to do. The challenge will be to find a way to occupy my day. I’ve already registered to volunteer for the NHS during the ld…let’s see what becomes of that. And I’ve signed up for web development course. I’m going to get fucking pissed this w/e, starting early tomorrow evening.

Day 11: It’s day 12 as I am writing this entry…that might tell any reader, and remind me, that I did as I promised and got pretty drunk. I spent the day geting my work affairs in order i.e. clearing down support tickets assigned to me. I did a good job, nothing left to handover to the remaining team (Jim, Cristina and Mark) and onky one ticket put into the assigned pool. Some nice converstaions were had with associates, many of whom are, too, being furloughed. Nice words were said and Jim and Mark both were supportive in conversations and messages - they both know I don’t wnat this and, I think, they are both relieved it’s not happening to them. 5 pm arrives and I shutdown my work laptop for the last time for at least 12 weeks. After my daily walk, I video chat with Karen, crack open a beer, make Chinese chicken curry (fucking loads, fucking tasty), finish watching The National Theatre stream of One Man, Two Guvnors (really good, see twoinchreview) and the caught up with, and talked bollocks with Andy, Marc and Ham - we tried getting Rog in on it, no dice. I then watched The Heat (I fucking love that film), ate some more, smoked several single-skinners, drank, in total, three cans, seven bottles. I went to bed shortly after 4am. I felt resigned to my furlough and pleasantly wasted.

Day 12: A subdued day…didn’t wake until gone 1:30pm. Jaded but not really suffering. Mooched about, social media, listening to music, watching telly, farting about on the iPad. My daily walk, over the last fews days, has taken a twist…I am trying to run parts of it. Mainly short distances, 80-100m (I estimate) three, maybe four times. It’s fucking knackering me out. I used to run everywhere when I was a teen. Attempting to run now just makes me feel fucking old. Well, I am, so that’s about right.

Day 13: Another day like yesterday except I got up at 10:30 and didn’t feel jaded. The subdued feeling comes from the realsiation that the ld isn’t being treated as seriously as it should be across the board. The news and even posts by locals on FB (Oundle chatter group) suggest groups still meeting up. The weather this w/e has been a factor - 17°c today. I think a total ld will be enforced soon and that would fuck me off. My daily walk is pretty essential for me nowadays not least for the ‘good for your soul’ benefits that dad has always mentioned. Even today’s walk saw a car parked at the gates to the field on the way to Ashton and people on a blanket soaking up the sun, dogs off their leads and people (looked like a family) playing footy on South Road field. Individually they are not presenting any danger, what with the fact they are either living together or far away from others. But they are flaunting the rules and the more that happens the less likely they’ll carry on getting away with it, which will mean total ld for all! I finished the 50 1985 albums today. It mostly confirms to me that I only listened to two albums released that year (Kate Bush, The Waterboys) any other vinyl I spun would have already been in my collection pre-85.

The sausage casserole I made for tea was fucking lush - 4 birdeye chillies. I saw and spoke with Dan and Grace this morning, they were just coming back from a walk. I am pleased to fuck they are together and sorted out the issues they had earlier this year.

Day 14: My first day proper of furlough. Finished my two inch review of the NME 50 albums. Long chat with Rita, quick one with dad. Messaged Sam about Romiley’s present - she’s 10 on the 9th April (Thursday) - ordered some Lego thing from Amazon. Turned the car engine over (reminded myself the driver-side wing mirror is fucked) and moved it to another spot in the Co-op car park - bumped into Matt T. He’s struggling - no work coming in and he can’t claim any of the money on offer ‘cos he’s not being totally honest about his circumstances - made me realise I’m not that bad off…..but I feel depressed about it all, especially with the news that Boris has gone into intensive care.

Day 15: I began a diploma (?) course on web design with Shaw Academy (it was free). They have actual classes (which are recorded) which you schedule yourself. The first one was, I have to say, really interesting - I look forward to continuing. On my walk today, I saw a car parked at the gate to the field at the bottom of Riverside Close; it was branded with Cunninghams Estate Agent with a 01536 number. I am pretty sure I saw the driver walking her dog (unleashed) on the field. I took a photo and rang the number. Yes, I ratted the culprit out…fucking annoys me that I had to. Better than reporting to the police, all round. Hopefully her work will put a stop to her doing it and, the more people that adhere to the rules without the police getting wind of infractions, the more likely we’ll be able to continue to exercise away from home.

Day16: More online learning including checking out other sites (pluralsight) for more learning opportunities. Coded my first web page, basic but mine, in HTML and CSS. A few beers & smokes and watching White Boy Rick in the evening, interspersed with the usual social media / messaging shit, incuding this entry, of course!

Day 17: Typing this on Day 18. After a few beers last night while chatting with Fog (twice - the first chat ended with him ‘having’ to go to bed. Later, I noticed he was commenting on FB, so I video called him…round two of chatting!). I got quite fucking pissed. Bed around 4am.

Day18: Up at 1pm. Long walk today, 7 km. Anything over 40 minutes, I’ve realised, results in a hypo.

Day19: Well, having gone to bed at gone 5am I got up at nearly 1pm feeling far better than I should have. Breakfast followed by a walk, spoke with Karen (mowing her front lawn) and Dan. He and Grace have split up which is sad news but he seems OK. Went shopping (milk and sweets) and ended up with a shit load of booze, the post of which on FB was quite amusing. Homemade burgers for tea (they’re in the fridge as I type) - gonna try and make Five Guys…

Day20: The Five Guys burger attempt didn’t go as well as I wanted. I think less than 5% fat mince just doesn’t bind that well. However, I managed to get something resembling a burger into the bun and, with cheese, hot sauce and jalapeños, it was tasty enough. More of the same when I finish typing this entry. Strange Easter Day today, as I knew it would be. The best thing I saw today was a video Tom posted on FB of him and Molly doing a mashup of Starsailor and George Michael - Tom on guitar singing the former, Molly singing the latter. It was fucking fantatstic.

Day 21: Easter Monday. Surreal…it’s feeling very surreal now, this lockdown.

Two things that bother me right now:

i) The political point scoring on FB. I get it, I really do…people like to bring up ‘obvious’ failings in the party’s mistakes. For example, Marc posting comparisons between UK and Germany’s figures of cases and deaths due to Covid-19. I doesn’t make impressive reading for the government and it should be held accountable. But not fucking now!

ii) Will they introduce rotational furloughing at RCI? It’s only been a week, 11 to go. And, it bothers me that I was furloughed rather than Mark. Pathetic of me, I know! But, should it last the 12 week stretch, I want to go back to work and let someone else have the chance to have fuck all to do all day! That being said, I’m still learning web design through Shaw Academy. Even today, bank holiday, I revised Lesson 2.

Day22: Nice catchup with Dad today - he and Rita seem to be more than OK with lockdown. I actually cannot wait until we can meet up at The Farmers again!

Day 23: While I had a Corvee engineer come to the house today to do a gas safety check (I waited upstairs while he was here, self-isolation and all that), and had the fourth online web design lesson, had a trip to Boots to pick up insulin, got milk from Tesco’s, saw American Rachel and had a chat (while we both queued to get into Tesco’s) and had a very nice walk along a different route from the norm, in the pleasant sunshine and watched Contagion on Netflix - all today - I AM STILL BORED AS FUCK!

Day 24: I had plans for today - revise the last two lessons of Shaw Academy’s web design course, investigate a ethical hacking course, do some washing, clean upstairs (or at least the bathroom) plus all the usual stuff. Then, as a reward, have some beers. Well, guess what. I am not having beers this evening. I managed the laundry. Plus I manged to subtitle my YouTube perfect snabby video (something I have been meaning to do for a while, but, come on!) It took me fucking ages. But it is funny! So, a fucking far from fruitful day. Plus the government announced at least 3 more weeks of lockdown. There’ll be loads more, I reckon. Tomorrow…I promise I’ll be better tomorrow…

Day 25: I did do better! Firstly the Corveee man fucked the boiler which I only noticed late yesterday but still managed to get sorted today. I did some excellent revision and learning of HTML (tags) and CSS. I cleaned the bathroom and hall. And I discovered TikTok (fucking excellent dancing and funny vids) plus discovered a new FaceBook word game (Sam sent me an invite) called WordBlitz and I am pretty good. Having beers now (nearly 11pm).

Day 26: Today I found myself calling 111. I had a pain in my side last night, I thought it might be constipation! That not being the case (!), today I went to 111.nhs.uk and, following their questions, it recommended I seek out a GP straightaway. Once I let the website know that is not possible, it directed me to visit walk in centres. I spoke with Karen thereafter - for advice about whether it’s a good idea to enter such an establishment - I really don’t want to increase me chances of catching the Covid-19 virus. Karen recommended ringing 111 since the website does not take into account my diabetes (so bloody sensible a suggestion!)

After ringing and answering many questions, the lady said she’d get an OOHS GP to call. The doctor called soon after and it seems most likely I have a grumbling appendix (chronic appendicitis) and to ring again (well, 999) if the pain becomes unbearable.

I now have a bag at the ready for hospital which I really hope I don’t have to use. Today, I have, therefore, done fuck all - not even a walk - but I am having a beer now (midnight) and shall attempt to sleep as well as possible and hope this pain subsides naturally…

It occurs to me that I turn to Karen when things become flumoxing - my excuse, this time, is she works at the surgery but that was mere convenience.

Day 27: My ‘appendicitis pain was the same when I woke up (10:20) but no worse. I managed to change bed clothes and clean my bedroom but didn’t risk a walk (in case something drastic happens when I’m in a fucking field).

People’s responses and questions online have been heartening (Rachel Harris, Susie Grange, Bethan, Jo, Tracey Weber, Debbie De Prisco and, not least Dan). As the day progresses, I feel better but not right. I spoke with Dad about it and, as I told him, I shall ring Oundle GP tomorrow. Meanwhile, I did Sam Clew’s FB Live quiz, which was good, and am now having a beer or two.

Day 28: The pain in my side has definitley diminished. I called the Oundle surgery today to talk about what treatment I should have for ‘grumbling appendicitis’. The reseptionist organised a call back from a GP - Dr. Cash. Basically, he said he didn’t believe the condition existed, that acute appendicitis doesn’t happen after the age of 35, and ‘his gut felling’ is it will all just clear up.

I shall seek a more sensible diagnosis after lockdown and hope it doesn’t flare up again before then.

Day 29: I sent an email to the team at work today (Jim, Mark, Cristina and Sueanne). I hadn’t heard from them and I wanted to check in and, also, make a point that I will be posing the ‘rotational furlough’ question to HR at some point. It was as I wrote the email that I realised it’s only been two weeks and two days of furlough, and that includes Easter! Seems so much fucking longer. Anyway, everyone replied and it was good to hear from them….Mark came off his bike and broke ribs and collarbone! Lesson 5 of the Web Design course with Shaw Academy. It’s becoming apparent that, if you don’t pay for the course ‘toolkit’ it’s all rather patchy! The instructor dives into lines of code (HTML, CSS and Java) with no explanation….I feel like I did on the ifrst lesson of further maths ate Stamford School! I shall soldier on and beef up the missing parts with W3Schools (a great website and learning aid for coding). Two quick points. I am no longer running any part of my daily walk; hurts too much. I am addicted to Wordblitz and TikTok. Day30: I am writing this on day 31, I just forgot yesterday! It was a non eventful day. I did watch Midnight Run (again!) and had a couple of midweek beers though.

#diary #tumblr diary #lockdown #covid19 #lockdownuk

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thejilyship · 7 years

Text

Wishing you all a good evening

AN: Part 1 of who knows how many. I’m guessing that it will have four or five parts, but also, those are famous last words because I’m terrible at making things short. I’ve accomplished it once, but only once. We’ll see.

WC: 6.3K

UCL News didn’t have any particular ring to it. It didn’t garner a lot of attention and actually seemed to have the ability to make signs, newspapers or t-shirts invisible.

Lily Evans had been working in the UCL news department since she was a freshman, and three years later, she was one of the lead anchors on the cable access news program that ran from six to seven three evenings a week. She had first joined because her friend Mary had decided at the time that she really wanted to be a news anchor. But then Mary decided that maybe she wanted to be a zoologist and got a job at the local zoo, and Lily had already made friends and decided to stay. Working for the show awarded her credits. And she got paid. It was less than minimum wage, but still something.

When she’d first started school she hadn’t a clue what it was that she wanted to do. She was just sticking her toes in the water and peeking around and trying a little of everything. Now that she was a junior, she had long since declared a major. Digital Media seemed to be the smart choice given her utter fascination with the production of the show.

Over the last three years, she’d found that she very much enjoyed being in front of and behind the camera. She liked directing the cuts, she liked piecing together the stories and the clips that they added when they did more in-depth stories, she liked working on the writing, the editing; all of it really. And working for the station was a very low risk way to get experience. She heard from one of the professors who worked in the department that there were only about twelve people who regularly watched their news program. And Lily could guess which twelve professors remembered to tune in every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

“And that’s been the news,” Her co-host said with a brilliantly dazzling smile.

“We do have one more announcement to make however,” Lily said with a practiced lilt to her voice. Mary made fun of what she called Lily’s ‘television voice.’ But Lily knew that everyone who had ever been put in front of a camera screen in this news room had a different way of talking than when they were off screen.

“Yes, this is actually going to be my last broadcast,” His name was Michael and Lily had never really liked him, though she could appreciate that he had a certain presence about him. And that’s why he’d been picked up by a public news station that reached more than twelve people. “Starting Monday morning, you can find me working as a junior anchor over at Good Morning London.” She could hear how proud of himself he was, and she tried to remember that people were allowed to be proud of themselves, that he should be proud. He hadn’t even graduated yet and he was a junior anchor on a highly rated show.

“We’ll miss you around here, Michael.”

“Of course you will,” He said, which wasn’t what they had scripted, but Lily kept smiling. “I’m the best thing about this show.” Lily’s brows shot up a bit and then Michael laughed. “Only joking, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Thank you,” She said a bit more tersely. “Wishing you all a good evening, I’m Lily Evans.”

“And I’m Michael Diggory.” And then the red light went off and Lily pushed herself away from the desk.

“There was no need to be a dick, Diggory.”

“What does it matter, only twelve people saw it.” He rolled his eyes and started walking away. Lily wasn’t the only one that knew their show didn’t have a wide audience of course. It was a running joke among most of the members of the crew. But even if there were less than twenty people (out of the thirty thousand that to school at UCL) Lily still wanted to make sure that it went over perfectly. Or as close to perfectly as she could get it.

She pulled her hair up into a loose plait and started towards her ‘dressing room’ of sorts. It was actually just a closest that had all the jackets and blazers that the people who were going on air wore, but when she’d become an anchor and started staying later most nights to work on different pieces for the show, the space had just sort of become hers. Not officially of course, but Michael had always found it annoying that she had a designated space and he didn’t. He picked his backpack up off the couch that was behind the camera and left without saying much to anyone.

Lily sat down at her desk and pulled out a notebook, making a few notes that she could remember from the show, and then headed towards the breakroom to get a coffee before she sat down with Marlene McKinnon and Emmett Dackery to re-watch the show. It was Friday, and most people were going out, but that’s what Saturdays were for in her mind. Friday nights were spent working on and perfecting their show.

“It was a great run,” Marlene said, pulling her glasses down from her almost insanely bushy hair and pushing them up the bridge of her nose. “Apart from Michael being terrible that is.”

“I could probably catch up with him before he reaches his car and give his new viewers something to look at for Monday.” Emmett offered, though it was all in jest. Emmett was well over six feet tall, with a very large stature, but the only time he ever hurt anyone was when he was playing rugby.

“Oh please do it,” Marlene sighed, “I can’t stand him and his pompous attitude. He drives me nuts.”

“He’s a ponce.” Lily agreed, albite with a bit more vulgarity. “But he’s gone now.”

“He is gone now. Which means that we’re going to have to go through our last round of auditions on Sunday.”

“You couldn’t allow me a moment of reprieve?” Lily asked, sighing as she thought about the audition process to come.

“There is no reprieve when we only have one anchor.” Marlene pointed out.

“He was supposed to be here next week.” Lily muttered, pushing open a door at the end of the corridor that they’d been walking down and taking a seat in front of the computer. Their station wasn’t all that well funded, but they made due with what they had rather splendidly. Two cameras, one new computer, three older ones, a greenscreen (that had once been a world map, but Lily and Marlene had painted over it) and a few other odds and ends.

“I know, but now this was his last show and we’re going to have to find his replacement sooner.” Marlene ran a hand through her hair and then pulled up a wheelie chair next to Lily. Emmett did the same and the three of them proceeded to watch through their show, make notes of ways to improve and talk about their potential new anchor for their Monday show.

“You could just do it on your own until we find someone who fits.” Emmett suggested.

Lily shook her head, “I don’t think Professor Flitwick would like that. The point of the show is to give people an opportunity to try and if we waited for perfection he might intervene.” Normally their professor who was in charge of the students who ran the station was a hands-off kind of guy and Lily liked it that way. “Though you know, you could always be my co-anchor.” She grinned, leaning closer to him and giving him her best ‘oh-please-would-you’ smile.

Emmett shook his head and laughed. “You know that I can only be here during Friday and Monday’s shows. You need someone who can be here for all three shows.” Lily sighed and looked over at Marlene, though she’d be beating a dead horse if she asked again.

“Don’t look at me.” Marlene said in leu of answering the unasked question and Lily sighed.

“Alright, so you two are useless and I have no co-host.”

“There are people coming in on Sunday.”

“I know I know, but that’s the day before the first show we do in a post-Michael world.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair and pulling out her ponytail, only to put it back up again. “And I’d like a bit more time to prepare-“ Just then there was a loud cheering that came from the main room down the hall.

“You think they put on the football game?” Marlene asked Emmett, since Lily had no interest in any of the school sports. Though she could be caught at a Rugby game supporting Emmett.

“They usually do.” He nodded, leaning back in his chair to try and hear what was going on.

“Five more minutes of footage and then I’ll release you.” Lily assured him with a smile.

“Five more minutes. You can have ten if you’d like.” He smirked, and Lily shook her head.

“Just five will do,” She jotted down another note, her page now entirely full of things to go over on their Sunday meeting. “I really am dreading Sunday.”

“I know,” Marlene said. “But I’ll bring you one of those donuts you like from that café by the river-“

“And I’ll be here.” Emmett winked, causing both girls to chuckled. He was a nice bloke, always flirting and causing a laugh.

“Well with donuts and Emmett, I should be able to get through anything.” Lily nodded, ex-ing out of the program now that they’d finished watching everything except Michael being a dick. Lily didn’t need to see that again.

“POTTER! POTTER! POTTER!” Came a cheer from down the hall and Emmett jumped to his feet.

“I love you both, but I have to go and see what’s happening.” He raced off and Lily and Marlene waved him off.

“You know, I think we should revamp the website.” Lily mused, adding another note to her paper.

“You suggest doing that at least once a month.”

“Well I don’t much like it.” She shrugged. “We’ll get it there though.” She grinned. “Do you have plans for tonight?” Marlene nodded.

“I do actually. Benjy and Bertram invited me to go to this ‘Art in the Dark’ thing over in Hyde Park. Apparently, everyone’s going to get high and draw with chalk all over the pavement.” She shrugged.

Lily laughed and nodded, “Sounds like something Mary would be into.”

“How is she anyway, I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“She’s good,” Lily shrugged. “Busy. She’s pre-med now. I think this one will stick.”

“Oh.” Marlene put a hand over her heart. “Our little flower child is growing up.”

“You’re the flower child, Mary is more the wild child.”

“And what does that make you?” Marlene asked, standing up and reaching for her bag that she’d ditched in the corner of the room before the show started.

Lily pursed her lips and shrugged one of her shoulders. “I am and always have been the mum friend.” She said. “Don’t forget to drink water after you get drunk tonight and text me when you get home.”

Marlene chuckled and leaned over to kiss Lily’s cheek. “Will do love. You’re not just going home are you? Because you can come with me if you want.”

“Oh no, I have plans.”

“Library plans?” She asked, raising a brow.

“No, actual plans.” Lily said, though she remained vague since she didn’t actually have plans. Marlene accepted that Lily was not going to tell her whatever her plans are and left with a smile and promised to see her on Sunday. Lily took her time packing up, making sure that everything is in its proper place or turned off before locking up the ‘production room’ and heading back to the main stage. They used an old projector to watch the game on the wall where the green screen normally was. Every Friday they watched the games, and every Friday, Lily left before they were over.

She used to like football. It had been something she’d played as a kid and in secondary school and she’d gone to too many games to count with her dad. But then he died, and she lost interest.

She waved to a few people on her way out and then started towards the train station. She didn’t have a car, and didn’t care to have one. She didn’t think there was much use of a car while living in London. Especially as a student, when the furthest place she would have to go on a daily basis was normally within walking distance of her flat.

She felt her phone buzz in her pocket as she reached the train station. She pulled it out and saw that she had four texts from Mary.

Mary: Don’t hate me.

Mary: Our fish is dead.

Mary: Also, we’re out of milk.

Mary: Also, I invited a few people over to watch the game.

There was about an hour in between the last three. Lily was a notoriously terrible texter. She couldn’t even blame it on the fact that she’d just been doing a show, because she could have been doing anything and the thought to check her phone just wouldn’t have dawned on her. Her phone was mainly used to call her mum and to make sure her drunk friends made it home alright.

Lily re-read Mary’s texts as she sat down on the train and narrowed her brow.

Lily: We don’t have a fish??

Lily: Also you’re lactose intolerant??

Mary: Okay well I found a dead fish in our flat. And my girlfriend is not and drank it all because she’s a twat

Lily: Well that raises some questions. And You really do know how to pick ‘em

Mary: Are you sure we didn’t have a fish? And you can’t be mean. At least I’m trying.

Lily: Positive. Ask your girlfriend about it.

Lily: I can be mean. It’s what I do best.

She put her phone back in her pocket and looked around the train. There weren’t many people on. Lily figured they had all already made it to where they wanted to go by now. All the students were at the game, or at a pub watching the game, or at someone’s flat watching the game. Or if you were friends with Marlene, you were getting high in a park to do chalk art. Lily hoped that Mary had invited some people that Lily knew.

oOoOoOo

Lily found herself crammed onto her sofa between Emmeline Vance (Mary’s twat girlfriend who actually wasn’t a twat, but a very nice girl who Lily actually liked quite a bit) and Dorcas Meadows. Hestia Jones was there, and Gwenog as well. Lily was glad that Mary hadn’t been lying when she’d said that she’d invited a ‘few’ people over. She’d said that before and Lily had walked into a full-blown party. And they didn’t have room for that. But this was nice. She liked these girls.

“Jesus that boy is fit.” Hestia rested her chin on her palm and sighed longingly.

“Are you staring at Potter’s arse again?” Gwen asked, giving her cousin a look. “Because we’re going to see him tomorrow and I’ll tell him that you’re at it again.”

“Oh, come off it. You know he’s fit.” Hestia and Gwen both played football for the girl’s league. Apparently on Saturdays the boys and girls practiced together.

“Okay I won’t tell James, I’ll tell your boyfriend.” Gwen threatened.

Hestia sat up straight and leaned over to push Gwen off the couch. The older girl fell onto the floor and Lily laughed into her drink. “My boyfriend knows that James is fit. Everyone in the bloody school knows he’s fit.” She said indignantly, pushing herself to her feet.

“He’s not that fit.” Lily shrugged, and suddenly all eyes were on her. She sighed and pushed her way off the couch. “Okay he’s fit but he’s not as fit as everyone makes him out to be. Like there are bloke who are better looking. But everyone just ogles him, and it doesn’t make sense.”

“Being good at football makes you better looking than you already are,” Emmeline said, as though that explained it all.

“I understand that some of you feel that way, but I think being a nice bloke, not having your head up your arse and being able to hold an actual conversation about something other than football makes you more attractive.”

“You had one conversation with the boy two years ago.” Mary sighed, “You have to stop bringing it up.”

“He was sloshed.” Dorcas chimed in.

“And none of you are friends with him- with the exception of Gwen,” She said before the girl could protest. “So you can’t tell me that he’s not as conceited as his twitter feed would lead one to believe.”

Emmeline shrugged, “I always read his tweets as though he’s trying to be funny. When he writes, ‘Who’s the greatest center forward of all time?’ he’s just being cute. Not conceited.”

Lily pursed her lips and shook her head. “He tweeted out yesterday ‘Aren’t you all so lucky to have me?’ How did that not make you throw up a little in your mouth?”

“Okay that’s not really cute,” Emmeline laughed, “But we are lucky to have him.”

“All I’m saying is that a little humility would go a long way.”

They couldn’t really argue with that, but Mary did anyway. “You’re just pissed because Michael was a little bitch on air today.”

“You saw that?” Lily sighed, forgetting about James and all ready to go off about Michael, which they let her, until the commercials ended, and the game came back on. Mary motioned her over to the kitchen and leaned up against the counter.

“You alright?” She asked.

“Yeah, I’m just going to be stressed out this weekend. I should be completely fine or infinitely worse come Monday night.” She grinned and Mary reached out and pinched her cheek.

“You really like, Em?” She asked, looking over at the couch and biting on the tip of her thumb, a nervous habit of hers. “Because what you said over text-“

“Mary, I was just giving you a hard time.” Lily interrupted. “She’s great. Even if she drank all the milk. It’s probably for the best since I never finish a carton and we end up with spoiled milk.” She smiled. “She’s a nice girl and she seems to like you.”

“She does seem to like me,” Mary smirked. “And I think I really like her too.”

“Good.” Lily laughed. “Now did you really find a dead fish in our flat?”

oOoOoOo

They went out after the game, which Lily had been expecting. They all got ready- Lily lent some clothes to a couple of the girls and Mary did almost everyone’s makeup after insisting that she knew what she was doing since she’d been watching nothing but makeup tutorials on YouTube for the past week.

“I’m thinking of making my own channel.” She said, though she’d already had three beers by this point, and as a rather small girl, three beers was enough for her to properly buzzed and boarding tipsy, so no one took her seriously, but since they were buzzed as well, they were enthusiastic about the idea.

When they finally made it to a pub, Lily was surprised to see that it was packed. This was their usual place, and while it could get busy, this was a bit much. Even for a Friday night. After the game, everyone usually went to a pub closer to campus. This pub was out by their flat, and yet it was packed with college age kids, and many of them looked as though they were coming from the game, wearing face paint or jerseys.

They got some drinks, miraculously found a table and then headed out to the dancefloor. Mary and Em were the first to disappear and then Hestia’s boyfriend materialized. Gwen found someone to dance with and then Dorcas excused herself to use the restroom. Lily stumbled back to her table, feeling almost relaxed now that she’d have quite a bit to drink. Her mind always seemed to be buzzing and it was rather hard to get it to quite down, but a night out helped.

“Is this seat taken?” She looked over, already rolling her eyes at the tired line.

“Yes, all the seats around this table that have jackets and purses on them are in fact, taken. Shocking, isn’t it.” She asked, raising her brow. But then she looked at the bloke who had spoken and her brows shot up even further.

“Coats and purses are inanimate. I don’t think they’ll be bothered if I get off my feet for a few. After all, I have been pretty busy all night.” James Potter smirked at her as he took Mary’s empty seat. He had a beer in his hand, his hair was all mused from the events of the night and he wore a smile that made it seem as though he and Lily were friends. Which they weren’t. Lily was more than a little surprised to see him sitting there. She’d had a few classes with him over the years and knew that he had a way of making himself at home wherever he was, but they hadn’t spoken to one another in two years. And even then it had only been one conversation- and a short one. That had gone very poorly.

“They won’t mind, but I might.” She said, shifting in her seat.

“But you might not,” He said, still smiling at her. He reached up and pulled at the collar of his shirt, the fabric sticking, parts of it grass stained.

“You didn’t think to shower before coming out?” She asked, most likely because she was on her third drink of the night and it was clear that he hadn’t decided to take a shower between winning the football game and coming out with his mates. Or alone. She didn’t see anyone that seemed to be waiting for him to come back. Though at least his presence at the pub explained why there were so many people there. He must have told a bunch of people were he was headed after the game.

“I thought about it, but then decided that it’d be a waste of water. No one has ever left a pub thinking that they didn’t need to shower. Then there’s the fact that I look rather sharp in my uniform.” He grinned, leaning a bit closer and Lily could smell the alcohol on his breath mixed with the smell of sweat. It was a common smell for someone in a pub to have, but she still leaned back. “Beside, people like to get pictures of me in my jersey.”

She narrowed. “Alright, so then why did you decide to sit down here?” She asked. They were surrounded by people who would love to be graced with his presence, but Lily was not among them.

He met her gaze and held it for a moment before turning his head and looking around the bar. “You really don’t like me, do you? You know, I think you might just be the only person on campus.” Lily snorted. “Alright, not the only person. But one of the only girls.” He said, looking back at her again.

“It’s not that I don’t like you,” Lily said, because she didn’t dislike him, she didn’t really know him. She knew that she couldn’t judge a person on one drunk conversation that was held years ago. And while he was a bit arrogant online… well, a lot of people acted one way online and a different way in real life. “I just don’t think that being able to kick a ball around a field should award you special privileges. I’m not going to act like we’re friends just because I’ve heard your name a million times. I’m treating you as though you were any other annoying bloke who decided that they can sit on my friends’ coats for the sake of chatting me up.”

“Oh, so that’s it, is it. You can’t play football.” He smirked, nudging his elbow against hers and completely ignoring the latter half of what she’d said.

Lily pulled her arm off the table and shook her head. “I can play fairly well actually, that has nothing to do with anything.” She sighed. He narrowed his eyes at her and then took another swig of his beer.

“Saying you play fairly well to someone who plays-“

“At a collegiate level. Which most people do. My dad played football in college.”

“Saying you play fairly well to someone who plays as well as I do,” He repeated himself, adding emphasis where he deemed appropriate. “Is often taken as a challenge. Is this where I invite you to the field and see if you can score on me?”

She looked at him, catching the way his lilt changed when he said ‘score.’ “No.”

“You wanna dance?” He asked completely unperturbed. Lily laughed, shaking her head.

“I’m good, I’m just waiting for my friend to come back from the loo.” But as she said that, she saw that Dorcas had found someone else to dance with on her way back to the table. That didn’t mean that Lily wanted to dance with James though.

“Are you sure? I’m a great dancer,” He grinned, taking another drink of his beer.

“I’m sure. I’m getting the feeling that you think you’re great at everything.” Again, he didn’t seem to notice what she was saying.

“I think people would like it if we dance.” He said and that piqued Lily’s curiosity.

“What? Why would other people care if I danced with you?”

He shrugged. “You’ve got quite a presence on campus. A very different presence than my own, but you have almost as many twitter followers as I do.” Lily shook her head.

“I run the twitter for the school news station.” She said shrugging. It was different, though she knew that being connected with the news station wasn’t the reason that she had so many followers. But what else was she going to say? That everyone knew her because of all the different classes she took? Because of all the different clubs and activities, she’d taken a part of over the years?

“You use your own handle though.” She could tell that he wasn’t buying it. She wondered if he followed her. She would have noticed that though, right?

“Well that’s because no one pays any attention when you preface a message with UCL News. I wanted people to listen so-“

“It’s funny. That’s what I was getting at.” He grinned. “You’re funny.”

“On twitter.”

“Not in real life?”

“No I mean, you came up to me to ask me to dance because you’re impressed by my twitter? Everyone is funny on twitter.” She laughed.

“I didn’t ask you to dance because of your twitter.”

“Well then why did you ask me to dance?” She asked, though she wished she hadn’t almost immediately. When you asked a boy that you didn’t want to dance with that question, you never got an answer that you knew what to do with.

“Because you’re fit and I want to dance with you.” He shrugged. “Have you changed your mind yet?”

“No,” She said, though she could feel herself becoming less annoyed and more amused by the minute. “You know, you’re a bit ridiculous.”

“I’ve been called worse,” He shrugged, still smirking at her. Lily laughed again, not at all surprised by that. “See, I make you laugh! The least you could do is dance with me.”

Lily pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I’m almost drunk first of all,” She said, holding up a finger, “So I’ll laugh at anything. And secondly,” Another finger. “The least I could do is not dance with you. It’s continue to talk to you even though you came over her and took my friends seat and started talking to me without invitation.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it a few times before bringing his drink up to his lips and Lily looked away feeling triumphant. “Just how bad of an impression did I leave on you?” He asked, looking over at her and bringing up the first time they’d interacted for the first time since he’d sat down. Lily was surprised that he even remembered it in the first place. “I mean Remus said that I was a right prat that night, and I believe him, but I figured you might not remember.”

“Who’s Remus? Because he has the right of things.” Lily said, taking another sip of her drink.

“He usually does. He actually works for the school newspaper.” He said, “You work with the newspaper, right?”

Lily shrugged, “If we’re doing a big piece we collaborate sometimes.” She nodded. “But I don’t normally- I mean I’ve not personally been in that part of the building.”

He nodded, “Well he told me that coming over here was a bad idea.” She looked over at him.

“Then why did you do it anyway?”

“Sirius said he was wrong,” He shrugged and then made a face and shook his head. “Well he said that you wouldn’t remember that I’d made an arse of myself last time. Though he agreed that I’d made an arse of myself last time. And then suggested that if I came over here, I’d make an arse of myself again. I took it as a challenge, but maybe I should have taken it as a warning.”

Lily didn’t know who Remus or Sirius were, but they both sounded like they had good heads on their shoulders. “Why do you remember talking to me two years ago?” She asked. “I remember it because everyone is always talking about you and to be quite honest, I’ve not had too many run-ins with blokes who’ve talked to me like that.”

“Well that’s good,” He chuckled, rubbing his hand at the back of his neck. “I don’t know what I was going for, but I guess saying I’m drunk isn’t exactly an excuse. I’m sorry.” He said, looking her in the eye again. She pursed her lips and finished her drink. “I don’t normally talk to people like that.”

“Well thank you for apologizing,” She said, not sure what else she should say on the matter. “Did Gwen say something to you?” She asked, not sure what had spurred this. “Is that why you’re here?”

“You know Gwen?” He asked, brightening up a bit now that he was no longer trying to look contrite for his apology.

“Obviously, since I just ask you if she talked to you.” She said, wishing that she hadn’t finished her drink already. James noticed her fiddling with an empty glass and jumped to his feet.

“I’ll get you another drink,” He said, looking even more lit up now that he’d set a task for himself.

“You don’t need to-“ But he was already on his way to the bar and Lily closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. She wasn’t sure what was going on. Why was James Potter sitting next to her at a pub after one of his games? Why was he apologizing to her and buying her drinks and asking her to dance with him? None of this made much sense.

He came back with a new drink for both of them and Lily thanked him, still feeling a bit off kilter. She looked around, waiting to see one of her friends giving her some sort of single to let her know that they were behind this.

“So, do you like working at the station?” He asked, re-taking Mary’s seat for himself, this time angling himself more toward Lily, who was still sitting facing forward.

“Yes, I do like it.”

“It must be fun to get to be on the telly every other night.” He grinned.

“I enjoy it.” She nodded, looking over at him and trying to gauge what was going through her mind. It wasn’t uncommon for blokes to try and chat her up, but he seemed a bit more persistent than usual. And it wasn’t as though he didn’t have other options. Other options who wouldn’t be giving him clipped short responses because they couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t left yet.

“Do you- I mean I know that you’re an anchor, but do you help with the writing of the show too? Or is that a different job?”

It was public knowledge that she was an anchor, as she did have quite a few people following her on twitter, and she posted clips of the broadcast quite frequently. Even if only twelve people watched, she was still proud of the work that her team did. “I do a bit of everything.” She said, “I’m majoring in digital media and so I like to try my hand at all the different parts.”

“I really liked the story you all did about the- oh what was it- top ten places to nap in the library. I know it was just a fun little piece, but it was funny,” He laughed. “And I totally agree with you about the best place to get coffee on campus. Definitely Hoppers.”

She sat up straighter and looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You- You watch the show?” She asked, not sure exactly what it was she was feeling in that moment. Confusion seemed to be a theme of this conversation.

“Oh yeah,” He nodded. “I’m a student at UCL aren’t I? Why wouldn’t I watch it?”

It was Lily’s turn to gap for a moment and then she shook her head. “No one watches it.” She said. “Well twelve people watch it actually, but that’s basically no one and you’re telling me that you watch the show.”

“Twelve people?” He raised his brow, surprised to hear that. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“We get a couple hundred views on the clips I post to our website, but only twelve people watch the actual broadcast.” She repeated. “Only twelve people sit down and watch the entire broadcast and you’re telling me that you’re one of them?”

He shifted in his chair now. “Well I don’t catch every episode. It’s the Friday one’s that I normally miss since were right before our game- but it’s always on in the locker room.”

“Is it the only channel that you get?” She was aghast.

He laughed and shook his head, “No, it’s just what we have on. You have a good show-“

“I know that it’s a good show.” She said, putting her hands up. “My surprise isn’t because I think that we don’t have a good show. We all do a great job with editing and writing and I’m even impressed with the lighting most nights. But no one watches. Working for UCL News is to get experience and learn how everything works more than anything else. Michael used a few reels for his resume, but- You really watch?”

“I’m quite glad that Michael is done.” James sighed, ignoring her repeated question as he’d already answered it. “The two of you were always professional, but he was so stiff half the time and he never delivered the lines right when the two of you were trying to have a bit of repartee on air.” Lily couldn’t say anything to that. She agreed of course, he was right, but she couldn’t say anything because she was still flabbergasted that James Potter of all people, watched the show.

“Who’s going to be on now that he’s gone?” He asked.

Lily shrugged, clearing her throat so she could speak. “I’m not sure yet. He was supposed to be here through the end of the upcoming week, but decided to have tonight be his last show and now we’re without a second anchor. We’re holding auditions on Sunday but it’s all rather last minute.” She said.

“Sunday.” He nodded. “Well whoever you get has to be more fun than Michael, right? I mean what was it that he said right as you were signing off? He was the best part of the show? That’s a load of shite.”

“I thought you said you don’t watch on Friday.”

“I also said that it was on in the locker room.” He shrugged.

“You did say that.” Lily nodded, now chewing on her lip.

“So you view it as practice then? You want to be an anchor?”

“Yeah, sure.” She shrugged, not really wanting to talk about her future plans with her.

“You think I could be on one night?” He asked and Lily chuckled.

“I told you, only twelve people watch the show.” She said. “If you’re on the show, only eleven people would watch.”

“You said that it was good practice though.” He argued. “And I need some practice time on air. If I plan to keep playing football then I’ll eventually be interviewed, and I’d rather my first time not be in front of the entire nation or something like that.”

Lily took a drink from the drink that he’d brought her and shrugged. “I don’t see why not.” She said. “We’ve had student athletes on before. They were usually in one of the digital media classes or journalism classes, but still.”

“That’s awesome. Thanks, Lily.” He said, grinning at her again. She gave him a tight-lipped smile in return. “So, you want to dance now?” He asked, and Lily rolled her eyes.

“I think I’m still good.” She said, pushing herself away from the table. “I’ve got to go and check on my friends.”

“Alright,” He got up from the table as well. “I’ll see you on Sunday.”

She didn’t catch that, or she would have turned around to correct him.

#my fic #jily #jily fic #part one #wishing you all a good evening #it feels good to write something again #and I was hit with ANOTHER idea today so hopefully I can post another fic after this #but anyway #i hope you like this #half of this is jily having one conversation #jf

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niall-is-my-dream · 7 years

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The Bucket List - Chapter Twelve

You'd got back from golf on Wednesday at 2:30 and spent the next two hours in bed together, savouring every moment you had before he had to leave to finish packing for his trip. You'd laid there holding each other, staring at him while he spoke. You'd taken your time having sex, exploring each other knowing it would be a while before you saw each other again.

You'd had your dance class with Katie that night so that had been a distraction from Niall. Thursday had been busy to, you'd had swimming, food shopping and jobs around the apartment to do. You'd made a list of bits and pieces you needed to finish furnishing it and were trying to sort out your spare room.

Friday night you were playing at the pub so you headed over there in the afternoon and spent some time with your Pops filling up the snacks and drinks behind the bar.

"I like Niall." Your Pops said as you were both worked. "Such a nice young man, you wouldn't realise he's a famous singer, very down to earth."

"You only like him cause he's Irish and likes golf!" You said chuckling.

"Ha! Well??!!!" He said chuckling. "Look, I know I'm not your real Pops but I think of you as one of my own. Your Mam and I love you dearly. When you first came here over a year ago now we couldn't help but be protective knowing you were on your own with no parents. We just want you to be happy and we like Niall very much, I just wanted you to know that."

"Oh Pops, you soppy git." You said as you reached over and embraced him. "Thank you for being protective of me and for being an amazing Pops. I'm sure my parents are looking down on me and are happy I've got you, Mam and Michael."

"Just don't go falling in love and moving away with him!" He said. "Your Mam will go nuts!"

We both laughed. "Don't worry, I won't!" You said.

You carried on sorting the bar out and were joined by your Mam not long after. She'd brought over dinner from their house for you all to eat in the staff area out the back. Rachel one of the barmaids had just started her shift, so you and your Pops escaped out the back to eat. Since it was the summer she'd been slow cooking a ham all day and had prepared a salad and new potatoes to go with it. Your Pops grimaced at the lettuce he'd been given, but knew your Mam was just trying to keep him relatively healthy.

You loved these two with all your heart. Mary and Bob had been married 36 years and had moved to London 28 years ago when Michael was 5. They wanted a good school for him and better job prospects. They'd taken on The Charm in Putney over 18 years ago and were well known and liked. They did charity nights, quiz nights and loved having live music. They always opened up on Christmas day for a couple of hours, welcoming in everyone for a pint and a mince pie. You absolutely adored them.

You often felt sadness at the loss of your own parents, but knew you'd always be supported by Mary and Bob. They were not interested in your money, always refusing your offer to help. So you often worked behind the bar to save them some wages being paid out and you liked to take them golfing and for lunch. You paid for trips to the theatre for them but they always hated accepting. Far too proud and Irish for handouts.

After you'd eaten, you headed out to the bar to find James and the lads setting up.

"Hi Annie!" James shouted across the bar. "You ok?"

"Yes mate, you?"

You and the lads chatted for a bit as you helped them set up. James had asked you to play banjo on a song by Mumford and Sons that they were planning on singing. It was one of your favourites and you knew the part so happily agreed. You also said you'd play the piano for Ophelia as that proved a popular one when you'd played it a few weeks ago.

The pub started getting busy and you and the lads decided to kick off with the music early. Katie and Willie walked in just as you were about to start playing. You saw them both over at the bar and waved to say hi. The set went great and after you'd finished your bits your Mam came over and greeted you with a Guinness as she always did.

"You did great as usual sweetheart!" She said.

"Thanks Mam." You said giving her a kiss.

She went back to collecting glasses and you made your way over to Katie and Willie.

"You guys ok?" You asked.

"Yeah, good thanks hun, how have the last few days been, missing Niall yet?!" She said smirking.

"Ha! Fuck off with your teasing!" You replied. "I'm actually fine, I think I'll get used to him being away for periods of time. Plus I'm used to being on my own a lot."

"He been texting you?" Willie asked.

"Yeah, here and there but he's busy with his job so I don't expect him to be in contact a lot and he's only been gone a few days."

He had messaged you that morning suggesting you make your instagram private in case you were contacted which you had done straight away. He knew it would only be a matter of time before someone released the picture of you leaving the restaurant together. As worried as your were about being contacted by fans and press you were more worried about your Step Mum, Step Sister and ex contacting you. You'd already formulated a plan in your head and that was to tell them to fuck off. You thought this was an excellent plan, Katie had agreed.

"Katie, do you think you could get the week of the 20th off?" You asked.

"Probably why? Isn't that when you lads are going away?" Katie asked Willie.

"Yeah it is." He replied.

"Well, I was thinking if they're going away we probably should to. Somewhere hot, maybe a spa place, my treat?" You said.

"Ooohhhh sounds like a good idea, can't let the lads have all the fun!"

"I'll have a look over the next week and let you know. Just find out Monday if you can get it off work and text me then I'll book something."

"Ok hun, I will."

You walked back that night to your apartment with Willie and Katie and promised to catch up with them sometime this week, suggesting a bbq at yours next Sunday when Niall was back.

The week without Niall actually flew by you'd been so busy. You visited your parents for dinner, got some new furniture which you had built yourself. You'd taken a picture of the bedside cabinet for your spare room and sent it to Niall showing off your handyman skills. He'd been impressed! You'd been swimming twice, food shopping, golf with your Pops and had even worked a couple of shifts at the pub. You'd had dance class with Katie and she'd come over to yours after and you had eaten pizza and drank wine whilst you looked at holidays online.

Niall face timed you Thursday lunch time. It was the evening time where he was.

"Hey babe, you ok?" You said smiling. He looked tired.

"Mmm I'm ok, tired though and missing you." He said.

"I miss you to, not long now, couple of days."

"I know I can't wait. So I was asked in an interview this morning about you."

"You were?"

"Yeah, they asked me if I was single and I said no that I had started seeing someone recently."

"You did?" You said smiling.

"They asked me about you and I told them that you weren't a celeb and that I wanted to keep you private for now so that your day to day life wasn't disrupted too much. That ok?"

"Yeah of course babe, I said before whatever is best for your job."

"I know you did. I'm sure the picture of us leaving the restaurant will appear somewhere now." He said sighing.

"Doesn't matter we can deal with that at the time." You replied. "When are you back anyway?"

"Flight lands at about 11pm Saturday night. So will try and sleep a bit, get over some jetlag and I'll come over to you Sunday afternoon."

"I can't wait, although I'm having Katie, Willie, Deo, Martin, Michael and Claire over for a bbq sunday. Everyone coming over about 12."

"Sounds good, I'll join you at some point when I'm awake if that's ok?"

"Course it is, you want to stay at mine that night?"

"Already planned on doing that." He smirked. "Can't wait to hear you moan my name!"

"Ha! You are a dirty boy Niall Horan!"

"I know, but you love me!"

"I do." You said quickly before realising what you'd said.

Fuck!

"Anyway, I'm due at the pub in half hour so I should get going." You were flustered now.

"Annie?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"You do?" You said your heart beating like crazy and your smile growing wider.

"Yeah, a lot actually. Missing you so much it hurts."

"Niall?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you to."

And he smiled at you.

"Wish I could kiss you right now." He whispered.

"I know, wish I could kiss you to. Only 3 days to go." You replied.

"Yep, 3 long days."

Chapter Thirteen

https://niall-is-my-dream.tumblr.com/post/168297576598/the-bucket-list-chapter-thirteen

#niall horan #one direction #chapter twelve #the bucket list #niall imagine #niall fan fic #niall smut

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god-hunter · 4 years

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A New Chapter

It happened! After 2 months of excruciating wonder and fear of what happens next, I finally moved into my new home. Today is the first day of the rest of my foreseeable future. And honestly, it feels pretty good...

This is gonna be a shorter one. I don’t really want to talk about Women tonight.

Instead, I’ll talk about my day. And maybe the overall plan and how things got to how they are now. So it started with the break up on 2/10. We both knew it was over in our minds, but bringing it out was still so shocking to both of us. In the 2 weeks that followed, we were still in denial. We were beyond civil, and blissfully, unromantically platonic, still sharing the same bed. I was eventually going to move into the 2nd bedroom and slowly move my stuff when I was ready. That first week was all about telling my close friends what happened and processing the changes myself. Week 2 was about looking at as many places as possible, and thankfully, that search ended pretty soon within that week, because I found this amazing 2 bed-room apartment. It just wasn’t ready yet.

I was given a loose timeline of “2 months” which freaked us both out. That’s when the blissful honeymoon started to crack in Week 3. We started to act like exes and got in a fight, and that’s when it was very clear. I had to get the Hell out of there.

By week 4 I had moved back to my parent’s house. Just bare essentials at first. A week’s worth of clothes was packed for work. That entire time I was helping my brother out with a project, which took my mind off of moving and breaking up. So that was actually really good for me. But news of Covid-19 spreading to our area was already starting to get worrisome. It was weird to start seeing friends socially distance themselves from plans we made to hang out, or to postpone future possible dates to a mere 2 weeks from now. Its not that I wasn’t taking it seriously, but... I just didn’t expect it to get as bad as it did.

During Week 5 this hit me more. The project was now over, but enough time had passed that now I felt that the 2 bed-room would be more ready for me to move in. I had taken weekend trips to the old apartment and packed up as many things as possible bit, by bit. I believe it was during this week that I had all my boxes from the old apartment, now in my parent’s house. I checked in with my future landlord, to see what the progress was on this place, and was both surprised and appalled by the work he was putting in. He allowed me to leave boxes in his basement, here and there, weekend by weekend. But the next time I saw it, this place was completely gutted. It looked like a brand new apartment. And it certainly wasn’t move-in ready at all. I mean... There was no Toilet!!! Or shower head to speak of. He was re-installing outlets... It was insane. This really frightened me, honestly. I started to think, “Oh God... what am I doing?”

But regardless, week 6 & 7 hit. And that’s where this gets weird, because that’s also when Covid got serious. Like, really bad. My shitty job was horribly irresponsible and terribly in denial when it came to the whole pandemic. They insisted on touting us as essential because we keep other businesses open. Process Serving businesses that work with courts in harassing people to pay their mortgages. Yeah... that’s really great. That’s exactly what the World needs at a time like this. It made me sick. And day by day the Governor was announcing that 25%, 50%, 75%, 100% of non-essential businesses... Stay Home!

Still, our company pressed on, selfishly. About 3 memos went out that I remember. The first one stating that this is business as usual and we will be unaffected. That one really bothered me and especially another co-worker of mine. The 2nd memo was something about cutting hours and lowering wages, but by that point I wasn’t comfortable enough to come in. I had excused myself and my boss was very understanding, all things considered. So I can’t really complain too much, in that regard. The 3rd memo we got that next Monday, which was last week.

On Week 8, on 3/30, my job had a mandatory conference call, which my boss instructed me to dial into via text. They officially let us go. A whole team of us, canned. Just like that. This news wasn't actually surprising to me, and it wasn’t much of a blow considering half the World was going through this. Still though, I heard that applying for Unemployment Insurance was a nightmare, and now we were officially a part of that nightmare. And that really worried me. That week, I had to wait for Thursday to apply, while trying to figure out my new normal. It was terrifying, and yet relaxing at the same time. It was the unwanted vacation or more-accurately sick time that I never asked for. Only thing is, it’s not a vacation. Not when you can’t go anywhere and all the fun places are closed... No, man. This is Quarantine dude... And facing this reality was really hard on me.

On Week 9 I was still going on walks. Despite the news telling us to stay inside at all costs. Don’t go out unless you absolutely have to... I figured that was subjective to sanity needs. But no, man... It’s become Really socially frowned upon here, if you don’t wear a mask when you go outside... And that probably scares me the most. I haven’t been sick. Every Spring, allergies spike up and I always get a little cough. That hasn’t really picked up yet, but I’ve been waiting for it. And I’ve been very worried about my parents.

Back to the apartment... For about 2 or 3 weeks, in this time, I’ve been bringing boxes over to the new apartment and leaving them in his basement, like I said. Now that was finished and the only thing that was left was to contact movers and organize getting furniture over to this place.

There was drama with the Ex that I had mentioned before, but it didn’t really prevent me from getting my TV stand when I wanted to. That was technically the first piece of furniture I brought into this apartment last Friday.

But now Today, on this Saturday, the 11th everything went very smoothly. Almost like clockwork! It wasn’t completely perfect but... let’s get into that.

So the Ex was a pain in the ass, and she wanted me to move my dresser out of the bedroom BEFORE the movers got there. I didn’t like this at all, considering that’s their job, but she made a good point that she wanted to hide away in 1 room that she could be safe in while strangers enter her home with whatever they might be carrying. [Covid has been hitting her Germaphobia HARD. I dealt with a little bit of that last Friday, myself. I didn’t take offense though]

With that, this was more-less my schedule for the day.

At 8:00 I got up and wasted no time getting ready. I put the last of my stuff in overnight bags, had breakfast and started to freak out at the amount of stuff I was bringing over. I had way more than I thought I would have.

At 9:00, my brother came over as planned to help put the TV in my backseat. We ended up using 2 cars, which was very necessary. His car held all of the groceries that don’t need refrigerating and a bunch of bags of clothes. My car too, held a significant amount of clothes, my box of movies/video games, my PS4 and my TV. Amongst other random things we kept remembering. I didn’t leave the house in the best mood, and I felt bad about that. I know my Mom was sad to see me go. But I’ll see her tomorrow...

At 10:20, my brother and I got over to the old apartment. I wasn’t excited to go through any of this, but my Ex was actually really pleasant to be around, happy to see me, and helpful in the process. My brother and I got the dresser out of that bedroom with relative ease, I cleaned off the table I bought and then we waited for the movers to get there. They weren’t really friendly or warm, but they took what we needed out of there, by noon.

At around 12:40, we were all at my new place and that’s when I started feeling way better. I’m omitting an emo goodbye to my Ex, because I just don’t want to deal with it right now. She’s really happy for me, and now that we’re truly apart without anything physically binding us together, now the healing can really begin, I think. [I had a whole 2 hour talk about her with my Mom the other day. I don’t miss living with her at all... I am afraid of living alone though...]

For the rest of the day, my brother and a good friend of mine helped me move boxes from the basement into the apartment, while the movers did their thing with the furniture. I paid the guys at 1:30, called the pizza place right on time, because the pizza arrived right as the movers got paid. So I literally paid for one thing, and then the other. The “set up party” got started.

That’s it’s own little thing, but I won’t get into it. I had invited at least 15 friends to help me with this move before Covid got really bad. Covid fucked the whole thing up and each of my friends backed out. I understood, but it really sucked. It forced me into this mover situation, but honestly that was for the best. In a way.

I almost forgot one very important thing. 2 actually. 1, the movers couldn’t get my Couch into the living room!!!! So. I don’t have a couch... and 2, they didn’t rebuild my bookshelf, because it was IKEA furniture. They didn’t want to deal with anything being complex or whatever. I accepted it, and said if they could just disassemble it and bring it there, I’ll rebuild it myself.

But when my friend found that out, he was really upset. “They should do their damn job! Don’t act like they did you a favor!!” He’s not wrong. A different company that I used absolutely took it apart and reassembled it without any questions or problems during the last move. [Unfortunately this time around, they weren’t around. I think they’re temporarily closed for business.]

Regardless, when the movers left, the 3 of us worked on rebuilding this unit until my friend had to leave for work. The pizza was delicious though and I was really glad to see him. He really loves the place and it’ll be awesome to hang out here for real when this is all over. My brother and I finished the unit and then he bounced.

This takes us to about 3... This was it. Now I’m on my own.

At first I was nervous, but then I started to have fun as the chore of cleaning off my kitchen table became this nice activity of setting up my new digs. Before I knew it, the kitchen was clean. Then I focussed on other boxes and just emptied them one at a time. Hangers were hung in closets, a lot of tape and Saran Wrap was thrown out, of course my TV was set up, so there was entertainment as I was doing this.

I definitely gave a tour of the place on FB. Talked to a few people, but then kept going. The main project became to clean up the Living Room and make it look more habitable. I was pretty happy with it, and when TV got stale, I was able to set up my Record Player, plug in an aux cable and have my iPod play nice and loud. Already I was feeling more at home.

A silver lining to not having a pullout couch any more, is that I was still able to take out the mattress. So now I have a make-shift mattress in my bedroom. I didn’t get hungry again until 7:30, where the first pie was already finished, between the 3 of us, today.

I needed milk for Cereal tomorrow, so I got that really quick, along with 2 bottles of soda. Otherwise, I’ve been drinking beer all day. I don’t even have water, dude. [I could drink the tap, but come on...]. I’m gonna buy a filter soon. Maybe tomorrow...

When I got back, I called my Mom and filled her in about my day.

I’m also omitting that I forgot my PS4 power cable... This time I have my controllers and HDMI cables, but... yeah. I dun fucked up. Which is exactly why I was trepidatious this morning!

Hopefully that’ll be rectified tomorrow though, when I visit my parents for Easter. I knooooow, I know. Stay Home! This is literally 1 Day after my Move. Its almost, NO difference. And I’m not ready to be alone for a holiday yet. So Easter Ham Dinner it is!! It’s gonna be more of a Late Lunch probably, which is even better for me.

My Mom & I had bought a bunch of groceries for me on Friday that we kept in the fridge and freezer. I purposely didn’t take them, because I knew they’d be thawing out in the car for hours on end before getting to my place. It was the right move. Instead, I’ll be grabbing those tomorrow, after our Easter Ham and bring them over in one solid trip. [Hopefully with my PS4 cable.]

I apologize if this is getting a little more mundane the further we go, but this is what my life is looking like right now.

Things regarding almost all of my contacts have gone very cold this week, which I found pretty alarming, particularly the day after my birthday. I know it’s not personal. One day on FB, I got all this birthday love which really kept me going during Covid, while waiting for this move to happen. Then the next day... no one wanted to talk to me. Like I mean, literally no one was around. Or they were just upset and didn’t really want to talk...

And it really sucked, because I had a major headache and was almost feeling sick by the end of the night. It really made me worry.

I did get to host a “party” on PS4 for Green that day, as I tried to unlock the co-op mode in that game for us, but so far that’s a fail.

Zombie was also really sweet to me on my birthday. She made it really clear that she wants to grab a beer when this is all over, so that’s cool.

Same goes for Social Distancer, to a lesser degree. She reached out to see if I was okay, and our conversations are a little boring, but it’s still nice to talk to her.

Gamer Girl is also equally attentive in regards to my move and this new song a day challenge I’ve been doing on FB. It’s kinda nice...

This is what my life has come down to... Succumbing to Facebook in order to get through my day and get out of my head. When I’m not feeling creative enough to try writing or music that is...

But now it’s different. I don’t feel stuck any more... Now I’m liberated. At least for the moment.

There’s a certain novelty to being independent right now, and I am very much in the Honeymoon with this place. Even without my couch or PS4. But I can’t wait to figure that out either.

I’m gonna end it there folks. I’ve said it before, but I’m gonna say it again. When all of this started 2 months ago, I thought to myself... “By the time this whole thing is over, we’re gonna come out of this in a completely different place.” But now that thought has taken on a whole new meaning...

#A New Chapter #rants #raves #2 months ago #8 Week rundown #Moving Journey #old place #new place #The Ex #Green #Zombie #Gamer Girl #Social Media #Covid-19

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manuelclapid · 6 years

Text

December 11, 2018 AsktheBuilder Newsletter

If you're a new subscriber, greetings and salutations! If you've been getting the newsletter for a while, thanks for remaining here.

This has been one of the craziest years of my life.

All sorts of great things have been happening with my three kids. Just last week, my son got a fantastic new programming job after taking an immersive online course for three months that taught him computer programming. As you might imagine, he's very happy as are Kathy and I. He starts on December 31st of all days.

One of the people in his class was a woman in her mid-fifties. There's a negative unemployment rate in much of the coding industry right now. If you can fog a mirror and write compact code, you can get a job. Age doesn't seem to be a barrier. The recent factory tours I've done hammer home the importance of programming skills. Some of the highest-paid employees at the factories are the programmers and maintenance crew that keep the robots working non stop. Think about that. All that said, if you have kids or grandkids trying to think about their future, don't forget the trades. I've been a master plumber since age 29 and right now, here in humble central New Hampshire, I'd have no issue charging out at $125 an hour.

Do the math - that's $1,000 per day in gross wages. We NEED plumbers, electricians, carpenters, GREAT roofers, etc. People you love can have a rewarding and fulfilling career in the trades.

My Daughter's New House

I've not shared much about my daughter and son-in-law's new home up in Downeast Maine. There were a few delays, but here's what things looked like at the job site last Thursday.

You're looking at the back of the house in this photograph.

The garage foundation is to the right with two floor drains - one under each car. The notch is for a 6-foot-wide overhead door that faces the backyard. It's perfect to drive a lawn tractor through. The two men are spreading gravel in the crawlspace. The slab for the crawlspace is scheduled to be poured this Thursday or Friday. Next Monday, the framing starts and I'll be there recording video of the entire process. Wait until you see all the video. The Structural Building Components Association is partnering up on the project and every piece of the framing was built in factories in Maine.

The floors will be floor trusses, not solid joists. The advantages of floor trusses are too numerous to list. I'm creating a special video just about these wondrous things!

All the walls were made in a factory and will be put up like Lego blocks in just a few hours.

The roof trusses are giant attic trusses with an 18-foot-wide room in them that runs the entire width of the house as well as the garage! The roof trusses have a built-in floor truss in them.

Basically it's MAGIC. I'm sure you can see the advantages of using pre-fabricated building components, right?

There's virtually no waste. The framing time is condensed to a few days instead of a few weeks by an on-site crew shivering in the cold wind.

The accuracy of everything is within a tiny fraction of an inch.

CLICK HERE to discover what lumber yard near you has all you need and how you can incorporate floor trusses, pre-fab walls, and any roof truss you can dream up for your next home OR room addition! Yes, you can have your room addition built in a factory too!

Recent Columns

I've published a boatload of NEW COLUMNS over the past few months. If you want to keep up with me, all you have to do several times a week is CLICK HERE.

Please consider bookmarking that page and just go there to see what's new. Here are a few that may be of great interest to you:

Radon - You Should Be Aware!

Your Cooooold House - Why and Stop Algae and Moss

Most Common Roof Leak Locations

Amazon Shopping?

Are you doing more Christmas shopping at Amazon.com?

If you CLICK HERE to get to Amazon, you help ensure this newsletter keeps coming your way with FREE tips how to save lots of sweet moola!

Thanks!

That's enough for today.

I've got to get ready to get up to Mt. Desert Island.

Tim Carter

Founder - www.AsktheBuilder.com

Certified ORGANIC Stain Remover - www.StainSolver.com

Radio Operator - www.W3ATB.com Do It Right, Not Over!

The post December 11, 2018 AsktheBuilder Newsletter appeared first on Ask the Builder.

from Home https://www.askthebuilder.com/december-11-2018-askthebuilder-newsletter/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

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thegregorybruce · 6 years

Text

December 11, 2018 AsktheBuilder Newsletter

If you're a new subscriber, greetings and salutations! If you've been getting the newsletter for a while, thanks for remaining here.

This has been one of the craziest years of my life.

Do the math - that's $1,000 per day in gross wages. We NEED plumbers, electricians, carpenters, GREAT roofers, etc. People you love can have a rewarding and fulfilling career in the trades.

My Daughter's New House

I've not shared much about my daughter and son-in-law's new home up in Downeast Maine. There were a few delays, but here's what things looked like at the job site last Thursday.

You're looking at the back of the house in this photograph.

The floors will be floor trusses, not solid joists. The advantages of floor trusses are too numerous to list. I'm creating a special video just about these wondrous things!

All the walls were made in a factory and will be put up like Lego blocks in just a few hours.

The roof trusses are giant attic trusses with an 18-foot-wide room in them that runs the entire width of the house as well as the garage! The roof trusses have a built-in floor truss in them.

Basically it's MAGIC. I'm sure you can see the advantages of using pre-fabricated building components, right?

There's virtually no waste. The framing time is condensed to a few days instead of a few weeks by an on-site crew shivering in the cold wind.

The accuracy of everything is within a tiny fraction of an inch.

Recent Columns

I've published a boatload of NEW COLUMNS over the past few months. If you want to keep up with me, all you have to do several times a week is CLICK HERE.

Please consider bookmarking that page and just go there to see what's new. Here are a few that may be of great interest to you:

Radon - You Should Be Aware!

Your Cooooold House - Why and Stop Algae and Moss

Most Common Roof Leak Locations

Amazon Shopping?

Are you doing more Christmas shopping at Amazon.com?

If you CLICK HERE to get to Amazon, you help ensure this newsletter keeps coming your way with FREE tips how to save lots of sweet moola!

Thanks!

That's enough for today.

I've got to get ready to get up to Mt. Desert Island.

Tim Carter

Founder - www.AsktheBuilder.com

Certified ORGANIC Stain Remover - www.StainSolver.com

Radio Operator - www.W3ATB.com Do It Right, Not Over!

The post December 11, 2018 AsktheBuilder Newsletter appeared first on Ask the Builder.

from Home https://www.askthebuilder.com/december-11-2018-askthebuilder-newsletter/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

0 notes

andrewmawby · 6 years

Text

December 11, 2018 AsktheBuilder Newsletter

If you're a new subscriber, greetings and salutations! If you've been getting the newsletter for a while, thanks for remaining here.

This has been one of the craziest years of my life.

Do the math - that's $1,000 per day in gross wages. We NEED plumbers, electricians, carpenters, GREAT roofers, etc. People you love can have a rewarding and fulfilling career in the trades.

My Daughter's New House

I've not shared much about my daughter and son-in-law's new home up in Downeast Maine. There were a few delays, but here's what things looked like at the job site last Thursday.

You're looking at the back of the house in this photograph.

The floors will be floor trusses, not solid joists. The advantages of floor trusses are too numerous to list. I'm creating a special video just about these wondrous things!

All the walls were made in a factory and will be put up like Lego blocks in just a few hours.

The roof trusses are giant attic trusses with an 18-foot-wide room in them that runs the entire width of the house as well as the garage! The roof trusses have a built-in floor truss in them.

Basically it's MAGIC. I'm sure you can see the advantages of using pre-fabricated building components, right?

There's virtually no waste. The framing time is condensed to a few days instead of a few weeks by an on-site crew shivering in the cold wind.

The accuracy of everything is within a tiny fraction of an inch.

Recent Columns

I've published a boatload of NEW COLUMNS over the past few months. If you want to keep up with me, all you have to do several times a week is CLICK HERE.

Please consider bookmarking that page and just go there to see what's new. Here are a few that may be of great interest to you:

Radon - You Should Be Aware!

Your Cooooold House - Why and Stop Algae and Moss

Most Common Roof Leak Locations

Amazon Shopping?

Are you doing more Christmas shopping at Amazon.com?

If you CLICK HERE to get to Amazon, you help ensure this newsletter keeps coming your way with FREE tips how to save lots of sweet moola!

Thanks!

That's enough for today.

I've got to get ready to get up to Mt. Desert Island.

Tim Carter

Founder - www.AsktheBuilder.com

Certified ORGANIC Stain Remover - www.StainSolver.com

Radio Operator - www.W3ATB.com Do It Right, Not Over!

The post December 11, 2018 AsktheBuilder Newsletter appeared first on Ask the Builder.

from builders feed https://www.askthebuilder.com/december-11-2018-askthebuilder-newsletter/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

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bog-wytch-grymm · 8 years

Photo

My Missing Best Friend Has Been Sending Me Letters From Nowhere, And No One Can Explain It

written by Kiersten Edwards

It all started with a letter.

Who even gets letters anymore? Who sends them? Real pen-and-paper letters, handwritten with care, slid into an envelope and dropped into the nearest mailbox. Emails are easy but to send a letter you have to buy a stamp. Who does that? I certainly don’t, and I couldn’t remember the last time I got one until…

“Riley!” my mom shouted up the stairs.

I had just stepped out of the shower and ignored her to wrap a towel around my dripping torso. I rubbed the steam from the mirror and leaned forward, frowning at a small pimple on my chin.

“RILEY!”

I pulled open the bathroom door. “WHAT?”

“You’ve got mail.” She was standing at the bottom of the stairs, a crisp white envelope in her hand. She waggled her eyebrows and said, “How old fashioned.”

I laughed. “Probably junk. I swear I paid my credit card this month.”

“Sure you did.” She winked and placed the envelope on the bottom step. “But it’s not junk. The address is handwritten and it looks like it’s made quite the trip to get here.” She shrugged and disappeared into the living room. I heard the television switch on and Dr. Phil’s condescending voice drifted up to me.

Thinking nothing of it, I went to my room to get ready for work. It wasn’t until I nearly stepped on the letter as I came down the stairs that I remembered. I stooped to pick it up, turning the envelope over. It was not so crisp and white after all but rather crumpled and dirty. It looked as though it had been dropped several times and possibly stepped on. But on the front it said, in neat cursive writing, my name and address. Something about the smooth looping handwriting was familiar and I curiously tore it open to remove several small pages of rough, cream-coloured paper. As I unfolded the pages I immediately recognized the writing as my best friend Brianna’s. She’d always had the most perfect penmanship, making my handwriting look like a chimp had been given a pen and paper.

Dear Riley,

I write to you from a land far, far away where the days are long and the nights longer. The stars are strangely bright here, as though they are closer to this place than to the rest of the world. Strange birds flutter around sometimes when the sun is going down, making noises that resemble coughing men. I caught sight of one just yesterday, and I am disturbed to report that these birds are unlike the birds of this world. Their eyes are blood red and their feathers an oily black—demon birds from beneath the ground. I don’t glance up at them anymore but I sense they are looking down at me.

The grass here is also very strange. It grows in a way that makes it look as though there is a constant wind blowing, perpetually leaning one way. The green shade of the blades is unlike any other I have seen—one of the locals told me it is stained from the blood of thousands of fairy creatures from a war that was waged many hundreds of years ago.

The utter strangeness of the place I’m in doesn’t end there. Every Sunday evening when both the sun and the demon birds have gone, I begin to hear strange cries in the wind. They start quiet, but get louder and louder as the hours drag by. By midnight there is just one cry made up of hundreds, and it is an eerie sound.

No one will tell me what is going on, but I sense there is a great secret here. The people treasure their mystery and my questions are waved away carelessly. I hope this letter finds you in good health.

Yours truly,

Brianna

I stood in the hallway staring down at the pages in my hand. What the hell was this? I turned the envelope over again and saw that there was no return address, only my own address accompanied by a very ordinary stamp.

“Who’s it from?” my mom asked as she strolled by with a mug of coffee. I jumped and seeing the look on my face, she stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Just Brianna being a weirdo.”

My mother chuckled. “I’m glad she hasn’t changed. Is she still at…?”

“Dalhousie? Yeah. This is her last year though.”

“Well write her back!” My mom went back to the couch to resume her show. “Tell her I say hi.”

I took the letter up to my room and reread it. Then I read it again. And again and again and again, until the words swam in front of my eyes and I was left more confused than when I’d first started. Brianna had always had a strange sense of humour, but she’d never been much of a storyteller. This letter was strange alright, but written in a way that was almost… believable.

I reached for my phone on my bedside table and shot Brianna a text.

Hey freak. I got the letter you sent. Are you minoring in creative writing now? Your parents will be so proud. Big $$$.

I read what I’d sent and added,

Call me. I miss you!

Though we’d been best friends since we were nine years-old, I hadn’t spoken to her in almost two weeks. She always tried to make time for me but she had school, I had work, and our schedules rarely matched up. I tacked the letter up on my corkboard beside a smiling photo of Brianna and I, grabbed my purse, and headed out the door. When I started my car I saw that the clock read 9:05. I was already late for work and it would take me 15 minutes to get there.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

A busy day at work kept my mind off the letter. I work at a veterinary clinic and Mondays are always crazy. Within the first hour we had five dogs who had swallowed something they shouldn’t have and a cat who had lost a toe and was bleeding profusely.

It wasn’t until I walked through my front door that Brianna’s strange letter came back to me. I shrugged off my jacket and fished for my phone at the bottom of my purse, where it had stayed all day. I felt a sting of disappointment when I saw that she hadn’t texted me back. She was a busy girl, but she always managed to answer my messages almost immediately. Maybe she was swamped with homework, or out with her cool university friends. Or maybe she had joined some messed up writing circle where they sent their friends weird-ass letters for fun. Whatever. Maybe I’d try calling her tomorrow.

The next morning there was still no word from Brianna. This put me in a foul mood and the first half of the day passed in an irritated fog. But then the next day came with no word, and then the next. The rest of the work week passed before I dialled her number as I sat in my office, bored out of my mind. Friday afternoons were always slow and I couldn’t shake the paranoia that she was ghosting me on purpose.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring

“Hey! You’ve reached Brianna’s cell. Please leave a message or text me instead and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!”

The beep sounded and I said, “Hey loser. Did you misplace your phone again? I texted you forever ago and you didn’t respond. Very rude.” I fiddled with the pages of the calendar on my desk. “Your letter was super creepy. The fact that you sent me a letter in the first place is also creepy. Please call me back before I call the Creep Police.” An older man with a startled looking parrot burst through the front door. “Gotta go. Talk to you soon.”

Brianna didn’t return my call that weekend, and worry began to take over the anger in my chest. This was very unlike her. The longest she’d ever gone without texting me back was three days, and that had been two years ago when she’d gotten very drunk and thrown her phone out of a taxi window. Brianna was a goof, a little too spontaneous, but never a bad friend and never one to leave texts and calls unanswered. I decided that if she hadn’t reached out to be by Monday, I was going to contact her parents.

I was putting on my mascara Monday morning, wondering what the hell I was going to say to Brianna’s mom and dad, when I heard my name being called from downstairs.

“Is this a thing now?” My mother was holding an envelope, same as the first, with a big grin on her face. I must have looked at her strangely because she said, “What’s with the face? I think it’s cute.”

I took the letter from her without a word and went back to my room.

“Don’t you have to work?” she called. I closed my bedroom door and heard her mutter, “Alrighty then.”

The writing on the front was identical, my name and address in fine cursive. The envelope was similarly dirty and stepped on. I opened it slowly, oddly fearful of what was inside.

Dear Riley,

I trust you’ve been well since I last wrote you. Letters don’t often find their way here, so if you’ve written me back it is likely I will never receive it. The oddness of the situation I’ve found myself in continues. A few evenings ago, I could have sworn I heard one of the birds call my name. It was only once and a small noise amidst the cry of the many birds above. I think of it endlessly and it disturbs me deep within my soul. The shopkeeper that I sometimes speak with says everyone hears their names now and then—it simply means the birds know who I am now. They know that I’m here.

It is this same shopkeeper that has offered me answers to some of my many questions. He has told me that every murder that has ever occurred in this place has happened on a Sunday. He says this goes back hundreds, maybe even thousands, of years. When I asked if this had something to do with the horrifying cries I hear on Sunday evenings he only stared at me and placed a finger on his lips. I gather that my questions are unwelcome and possibly even dangerous to be asking.

But I will not stop asking. A curiosity has bloomed within me. Surely you understand.

Still yours,

Brianna

I dropped the pages like they were fire and rubbed my hands across my face. What was going on? Why was she sending these to me? Why hadn’t she called me back? I grabbed my phone and dialled Brianna’s number with shaking fingers.

“Hey! You’ve reached Brianna’s—”

I hung up immediately and punched in the number to Brianna’s house. Her mother answered on the second ring.

“Riley!” she squealed. “What a delight. We just got caller ID and I’m still not over how handy…”

“Mrs. Lawrence, have you spoken to Brianna lately?” I interrupted.

“Brianna? I spoke to her just last week, why?”

“When last week?”

“Sunday afternoon.” The tone in her voice changed. “Why? What’s wrong?”

I took a deep breath. “Last Monday I got… well I got a really weird letter from her in the mail. I just thought she was trying to freak me out or something but…”

“What kind of letter?”

“I don’t know how to explain it.” I got up and took the first letter from my corkboard. “It’s in her writing but it doesn’t sound like her. It’s written like she’s telling a story or something.”

“Did you try calling her?”

“Yeah I did.” I struggled to keep my voice from trembling. “But she didn’t answer. I texted her too. I figured she was just busy but today… Today I got another letter in the mail.”

There were several moments of silence. Then, “Could you come over here Riley? And bring the letters?”

“Of course,” I said. “What are we going to do?”

“I’m going to call the police,” Mrs. Lawrence said. “John told me yesterday Brianna hasn’t been answering any of his calls or texts.” John was Brianna’s dad and they’d always been extremely close. I could hear tears in her voice. “Oh, my god, I didn’t even think twice when he said that…”

At first the police didn’t seem very concerned. A girl away at university not answering her phone? You know how girls are. Friends, boys, school—she probably was just preoccupied. But when the subject of the letters came up, things got very serious. Two detectives came to the house to ask some questions. Was I sure she had written the letters? When was the last time we had seen her? When had we spoken to her? Had we tried speaking to any of her friends?

“I have her roommates number,” Mrs. Lawrence said tearfully, pulling out her phone. The detectives sat quietly as she made the call, but it was a short one. No, she hadn’t seen Brianna in more than a week. But her shoes were gone and so was her overnight bag.

“I figured she had gone home for a visit,” I heard Lauren say. She had been Brianna’s roommate for almost two years and sounded frightened.

“Usually we would wait before launching an investigation,” said Detective Kingston after Mrs. Lawrence had hung up. “But these letters raise some suspicions.” He held one letter in his hand and his partner was frowning down at the other.

“They’re very strange,” said Detective Peltier. Her brow was furrowed as she read the pages. “I don’t know what to make of them.”

“We’ll get into contact with the university right away. And I’ll need the roommate’s number for any further questions,” said Detective Kingston. “In the meantime, keep your phones on you.” He leaned forward to touch Mrs. Lawrence’s arm. “Don’t worry. We’re going to get some answers. And please,” he looked to me, “let us know if any more letters come.”

The next Monday another letter did indeed arrive. My mother handed it to me with a grim look on her face, and I called Detective Kingston immediately. Upon his request, I didn’t open it. A mix of anxiety and curiosity was burning a hole in my chest as I opened the door and handed over the letter.

“Any news? Can you tell me anything?” I asked desperately.

“Nobody has seen her,” Detective Kingston said, his voice heavy and tired. He had bags under his eyes and his clothes were a little disheveled. “I don’t understand…it’s like she packed up and disappeared into thin air. I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he added quickly, “so keep this to yourself. But there are no records of her taking a bus or a train… nothing. Even the cameras in her apartment don’t show her leaving.”

Days went by in a haze. I was a zombie, tormented by thoughts of my missing best friend and the letters that kept coming like clockwork every Monday morning. Around noon an officer came to pick up the letter and deliver it to the detectives. They confided to me that there was nothing traceable about the letters themselves. No return address, nothing to hint where the paper was from, and the place Brianna described in increasing detail simply didn’t exist. Once the letter had been looked over by the police, forensics, detectives, evidence team, whatever, it was returned to me. I knew this was unusual; in any other case, the evidence would be kept indefinitely. But the problem was that they had no case. There were no fingerprints on the letters besides those of post workers who had handled them. There was no evidence to suggest she had been kidnapped. The only thing that was certain was that they were written by Brianna. When I was feeling up to it, I would read the letters I hadn’t gotten a chance to open myself before placing them in a folder I kept beneath my bed.

“Riley, are you at home?” Three months had gone by since the first letter had arrived. Brianna’s birthday had passed, Christmas had gone by, New Years had come and gone. There were still no leads, so I was surprised when Detective Kingston called me on a Thursday evening.

“Yes. Did you find something?”

“We don’t know. But we’re coming over with a photo. Stay put.”

The detectives had several stills of a man standing at a post box. He was dressed oddly, in dark clothes that looked handmade and hair that was long and unkept. He was glancing over his shoulder as though keeping watch for danger. In his hand was a suspiciously familiar looking envelope.

“One of our video technicians was going over footage from cameras situated near Brianna’s apartment.” Detective Peltier handed me the pictures and pointed at the envelope in the man’s hand. “Look familiar to you?”

I felt oddly numb as I stared down at the stills in my hands. “The envelope, yes. But not the man.”

“We put him through our facial recognition software and got nothing,” Detective Kingston sighed. “Unfortunately this footage is fairly old. It’s from Monday, November 14th. This was the only time he was at that mailbox. This guy could be anywhere by now.”

Numbness was replaced with a sense of overwhelming dread. “That’s the day I got the first letter,” I whispered.

“Hold on.” Detective Peltier held up her hands in a halting motion. “This guy looks like he’s delivering the letter. How could it have possibly arrived on the same day?”

“Maybe the postal service was extra fast that day?” said the other detective. “What’s the timestamp again?” He took one of the stills from me and squinted. “8:30 in the morning.”

Both detectives looked to me expectantly and I thought I was going to throw up when I said, “I got the letter around 8:45 in the morning. Just before I left for work.”

Nobody said anything for a long while. My thoughts ran circles in my head, questioning how this could be possible. Letters don’t get from Halifax to Toronto in fifteen minutes. Girls don’t just vanish into thin air, not in real life. Brianna would never run away and she certainly didn’t commit suicide. The more time that went by, the further we were from answering all the questions we had and the further away we got from the possibility of finding her.

“What is happening?” Detective Kingston asked quietly.

Two more months passed. Eight more letters. Eight more strange accounts of sideways grass, talking birds, and screaming in the wind. Hope was draining from me like blood and I was beginning to feel empty.

On a quiet Tuesday morning at the clinic, my cell phone rang. Usually I never answer personal calls at work but I had this feeling deep within my core that something was wrong. I didn’t recognize the number and this made me feel worse.

“Hello?”

“Riley,” said Detective Kingston. I could hear it in his voice—sadness, dread, regret, and a hint of anger.

My hand went over my mouth. “No. Please no.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

They had found Brianna’s body in a forested area just outside of Halifax, partially decomposed in a swamp flooded by the April thaw. A jogger in the woods had stumbled across the corpse when his dog tried to drag the body from the marsh. The teeth marks on her right arm were small compared to the rest of the trauma she had suffered prior to her death. Her autopsy revealed she had been beaten, hit over the head with something heavy, dragged to the dumping site, and then strangled by a pair of large hands. All of this was horrific as it was, but the real fucked up thing?

She’d been dead for months.

They never caught the man who’d delivered the first letter, and I suspect they never will. There are no witnesses to speak to, no leads to follow. Her murderer left no DNA, no fingerprints, nothing. Brianna’s brutal murder was and still is a mystery.

It’s been difficult coming to terms with the fact that I’ve been receiving letters from my dead best friend, but after the funeral I became accustomed to the idea. Even after death, Brianna had reached out to me.are connected.

You see, the letters still come. Every Monday morning I check my mailbox and there it is, that dirty stepped-on envelope filled with cream-coloured paper and looping cursive writing. The police asked if I wanted the letters to stop coming. The post office said they could put a block on them, have them thrown out before they got to me. I refused. These letters are all I have of Brianna now.

Dear Riley,

Life goes on in this strange place. Yesterday I took a walk through a bizarre forest filled with white trees with black leaves. Have you ever seen such a thing? I asked a villager what the trees were called, but they would not tell me. I’m getting used to my questions being answered with silence. It seems customary here to only stare when I inquire about anything.

A few of the birds follow me now. I have begun to enjoy their company despite their unusual appearance. Sometimes they whisper things to me, but they have said I’m not allowed to tell you what they say. I know we are best friends and are supposed to share everything, but I find I am unable to even try to write down their words. I’m under their spell.

I had the strangest dream the other night. You came to visit me but you were you very frightened, telling me I was not safe and had to come with you. I tried to follow but I could not. Perhaps you will come visit me? You could stay as long as you like.

I hope you keep all the letters I send to you. You might need them one day.

Sincerely,

Brianna

Find more scary stories here! New stories every Saturday at 6pm est!

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mistleto-3 · 8 years

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Crying for the Moon: Part 8

MikoTotsu Werewolf AU

Pairing: Mikoto/Tatara

2,930 words. For MikoTotsu Week 2016.

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AO3

Twenty thousand yen. That was the cost of the cheapest bike Tatara could find for sale, and he had nowhere near that amount of money; his father was struggling to make ends meet as it was. By now, winter had firmly seized hold of the town, and it was getting far too cold to walk to school and back every day- it was a long trek from his home and back, and Tatara didn’t want to spend too much time in the cold and risk getting sick; he didn’t really have money for medicine or doctor’s visits. He would have gotten the bus to class and back, but the fare would have quickly added up to more than Tatara could afford; while he did have a weekend job at the corner store near his house, most of his wages went to keeping the lights on and the fridge full when his father wasn’t able to, which was another risk of getting sick- missing a shift at work wasn’t really an option. Not that he complained, but now that he had no bike, the fact he’d been unable to save up for an incident like this was inconvenient. Not to mention that there was only a week until the full moon, and being without his bike would make getting to Mikoto’s house a struggle. He’d be willing to walk there, of course he would, but once again his worry was that his immune system wasn’t exactly the strongest, and an hour out in the freezing cold didn’t seem like the best idea.

When he’d finished class the day after Mikoto had gotten into that fight, he’d found his bike no longer fastened to the rack where he’d left it- in its place, the severed chain of his bike lock lay in a heap on the ground. He had his suspicions that the theft had something to do with the rumours still circulating about him, which had only been stoked by the news that Mikoto had broken someone’s nose in his defence.

When he told Izumo of his conundrum the next day, he’d instantly offered to spot him the cash.

“I can’t let you give me that much money; I’ve no way to pay it back.”

“Ya can’t be without a bike, though. How’ll ya get to class?”

“I’ll have to walk…”

“Your house is miles from here, Totsuka. You’ll freeze.”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“Tell ya what. Pick up a few shifts helpin’ out at my uncle’s bar, work off the cost of the bike. We could always use a few extra hands.”

“Seriously? Are you sure that’s alright?”

“Of course. We can’t have you strugglin’ to get to school an’ back. Not to mention gettin’ ta Mikoto’s place; he’s seemed a lot happier now ya’ve been goin’ over and takin’ care of him after full moons. My uncle knows about Mikoto; he won’t mind ya borrowin’ some money to make sure he’s alright.”

“You’re an absolute lifesaver!” Tatara threw his arms around his friend in gratitude, though he had to admit he was a little curious as to why Izumo’s uncle knew about Mikoto’s condition, but the bell to signal the end of the lunch break rang before he had a chance to ask.

After school that day, Izumo accompanied Tatara into the town to visit the cycle shop and helped him pick out a replacement for his stolen bike, along with a sturdier bike lock, then paid with his uncle’s credit card.

“Are you absolutely sure he won’t mind? I don’t want you getting into trouble…”

“My uncle is more the front-of-house guy; I deal with all the money. He isn’t too good with numbers, so he leaves that stuff to me; he won’t even notice.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Just lemme know when you have a few hours spare to help out.”

Wheeling the bike out of the store, Tatara felt a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He thanked Izumo a dozen times before his friend finally told him to piss off home with an exasperated smile, though Tatara hadn’t been able to resist shouting another “thank you” over his shoulder as he rode away.

The next day was a Friday, the busiest evening of the week for the Kusanagis’ bar, so Tatara volunteered to lend a hand and headed over for his first shift after class. He’d visited the place before, but never stayed long in the bar itself; when he and Mikoto went over to hang out with Izumo, they spent most of their time in his bedroom in the apartment above the establishment.

While Izumo and Mikoto were technically neighbours, the bar was on the main street, whereas Mikoto’s house was set back off the road, accessible only by a long, gravel driveway. It was easy to miss from the main road; the pub was on the very edge of the small village, and the woodland that surrounded the settlement swallowed Mikoto’s house from view.

When Tatara pushed open the door, a bell jingled to announce his arrival, and Izumo poked his head out from the back room at the sound.

“Ah, Totsuka, you’re early. We don’t open for another half an hour.”

“I figured I might as well make a good impression, help out if I can.”

Izumo rolled his eyes. “We’re pretty much all set for opening by now. How’s the new bike?”

“It’s great, I love it,” he said with a grin.

Izumo walked around the bar to take a seat on one of the red velvet stools in front of it, and Tatara sat beside him.

“Have you seen Mikoto since the other day?” Tatara asked.

“Yeah, I went ta check in on him a couple days ago; he seems pretty happy about being able to stay home an’ sleep all day.”

“I didn’t expect much different,” Tatara said with a chuckle. “So… you said your uncle knows about Mikoto’s... condition?”

“Ah, yeah… That’s quite the can o’ worms you’ve opened there.”

“Sorry, if you don’t want to talk about it…”

“No, no,” Izumo interrupted. “Ya oughta know, seein’ as you’re involved in all this now. The only reason’s cause Mikoto’s lived next door to me my whole life; we were only born a couple months apart, so we grew up together. The night Mikoto was turned, we were both nine years old. Our houses were both attacked; he got bit, and the wolf killed my parents.”

“I’m sorry… I had no idea…” Tatara had always wondered why Izumo never mentioned his parents, but he decided now that he knew, he would’ve preferred to have remained oblivious.

“It’s alright; it was a long time ago. The wolf’s urban legend around these parts; people say there are still wolves in these forests, even though wolves went extinct in Japan more’n a hundred years ago. Most people in the village are pretty sceptical about it, ‘specially the younger ones; they pass it off as stray dogs in the woods, or as a story people made up to stop kids venturin’ too far into the forest and gettin’ lost. I never believed in it when I was a kid, but Mikoto’s grandfather was very superstitious, and he wouldn’t let him play outside on a full moon when he was little.”

“His grandfather?”

“Yeah, I never knew anythin’ about Mikoto’s parents. He was raised by his mother’s father, a strict old guy, he was. Never let Mikoto believe in Santa Claus or anythin’ like that, said it was nonsense, but he was obsessed with this fear of wolves, and I never believed a word o’ it before I saw it the night my parents died. Mikoto’s grandfather called it ‘Kagutsu,’ said it was named after Kagutsuchi, the fire deity, because it has red fur, but I ain’t never heard anyone else call it that.”

“Red fur? Like Mikoto?”

“You’ve seen Mikoto’s wolf form?!”

“Of course I have… Mikoto didn’t tell you that?”

“No! How aren’t ya dead?!”

“What did Mikoto tell you, exactly?”

“He said he told ya about his condition, and ya came ta keep him company the day after the full moon, an’ it helped him feel better quicker, ta keep his mind off it, which I thought was why ya needed to go see him.”

“Ah…” Tatara chewed his lip.

“I take it that ain’t what happened?”

“Not exactly… I went over after school, the night of the full moon, to bring him some soup and to see if he needed anything, because I thought he was sick.” Tatara purposely left out the part about bringing him flowers. “And I went looking for him and I found him in his room, and he started yelling at me to get out of there, then he transformed.”

“Christ… And he didn’t attack you?”

“No. He recognised me; he said, well, not said, but I asked him if he normally lost himself when he transformed and he nodded, but for some reason he didn’t when I was there. So I just hung out with him, chatted with him to keep his mind off stuff, and I ended up falling asleep on him. When we woke up in the morning, I stayed to look after him because he felt a bit under the weather. It seemed like it was my presence that stopped him losing his mind, so I offered to stay with him every full moon.”

“Bloody hell…” Izumo’s mouth hung open in astonishment. “Just… be careful, okay? If it was a fluke…”

“It wasn’t.” Tatara cut in.

“How can ya be sure?”

“Because it’s happened more than once now, and he recognised me both times.”

“Well… still be careful. You never know what could happen, an’ he’s dangerous when he doesn’t know who he is; I’m like a brother to him, an’ he doesn’t even recognise me when he’s in wolf form.”

“Really?”

Izumo nodded, a grim expression on his face, and he pulled up his shirt to reveal three parallel lines gouged into the skin of his abdomen, raised and pink against the surrounding flesh. The scars were old and fading, but the wounds they commemorated had evidently been quite gruesome.

“He did that to you…?” Tatara asked quietly as Izumo tucked his shirt back into his waistband.

“The first time he transformed. Thankfully he didn’t bite me, so I didn’t end up a werewolf myself, but I had to get a lot of stitches. I never told ‘im about what he did; it wasn’t his fault, so he didn’t need the guilt, but I think he figured out that somethin’ happened ‘cause I was off school for about a week after it happened.”

“So if he normally can’t control himself, what used to happen on full moons? He said he usually wakes up in the woods covered in blood…”

“We did our best every month to try an’ lock him away, but he almost always managed to escape, so my uncle an’ I ended up barrin’ the doors to keep ourselves safe, an’ we faked a burglary at the bar to encourage the neighbours to beef up their security systems. Thankfully, we don’t think he’s hurt anyone since then- he normally keeps to himself up in the woods and stays outta the town, but a few people’s pets have gone missin’ and stuff like that, and the deer population in the woods is goin’ down. We think he just panicked that first night. My uncle hasn’t forgiven him, though.”

“Why not? It’s not like Mikoto did it on purpose…”

“No, but he also looks a lot like Kagutsu, and my uncle never quite got over his vendetta against him; he’s always wanted to avenge his brother and sister-in-law, and the resemblance between ‘em is pretty striking. Obviously, he’d never act on it; he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt Mikoto. While he ain’t exactly Mikoto’s biggest fan, he’s no barbarian. He wouldn’t kill an innocent kid.”

Tatara nodded slowly, a forlorn expression on his face. “Well… at least, if I’m right, your uncle won’t have to worry about Mikoto anymore.”

“I admire your faith, kid. You trust him an awful lot, based on a couple o’ nights.”

“I just… have this feeling about him.”

“…I’m sorry if this is outta place, but I have ta ask: do those rumours about you an’ Mikoto bein’ a couple have any groundin’ in reality? Obviously I ain’t gonna judge if they do…”

“No. We aren’t a couple.”

“…You’d like to be though, wouldn’t ya?”

Tatara felt his cheeks heat up at the question. “W-what? Of course not…”

“You’re a terrible liar, Totsuka. I’ve see the way ya look at him, the way ya talk about him, the way ya always stand so close ta each other. You like him, don’t ya?”

Tatara’s eyes darted about frantically as he scrambled for some plausible denial, but he drew nothing but blanks. With a sigh, he admitted: “Yeah, I do. It’d never work though, so… please don’t tell him.”

“Why doncha think it’d work?”

“If I’m right, then I’m the only thing stopping him from losing his sanity on full moons. If he doesn’t like me back, it’ll just make things really awkward. I want to help him; I don’t want things to be too unbearable between us that I couldn’t do that anymore.”

“Mikoto isn’t exactly the type to care about awkwardness,” Izumo pointed out.

“Still, it’s not worth the risk. It’d be selfish of me to put Mikoto’s mental health on the line like that, and that is what I’d be risking. He was obviously really suffering, knowing he could potentially kill someone, and I’m the only one who can give him peace of mind about that.”

“You’re talkin’ as though there ain’t a chance he’ll like you back.”

“What, you think there is?” Tatara’s voice was sceptical.

“I mean, he obviously ain’t a homophobe, or he’d care more about the rumours goin’ around about you two, but he only cared when people started pickin’ on you for it. But aside from that, I’ve never seen him warm up to anyone like he warmed up ta you. Anyone else he would’a told to scram, but he let you stick around, even though he hasn’t made any new friends in over 8 years. You should go for it.”

“Just because he likes me as a friend doesn’t mean he’ll want to date me.”

“Ya said you fell asleep on him, right? Was that in his bed?”

“…Yeah, so what? You said you used to top and tail with him.”

“Yeah, when we were six. Nowadays, sharing a bed with anyone is about ten levels too intimate for someone like Mikoto, and he let you do it. ‘S kinda romantic, don’t you think?”

“That’s a bit of a stretch… It’s not unheard of for friends to share a bed. And he was a wolf.”

“Was he a wolf in the morning, when ya woke up?”

“Well, no… he’d changed back by then.”

“Exactly. Somethin’ tells me you’re playing down how romantic it actually was. I told ya, you ain’t a good liar.”

“Okay, so I woke up and he was sort of spooning me, but he was asleep…”

He was interrupted by Izumo chuckling.

“Shush…” Tatara grumbled. “He just doesn’t seem like he’s interested in guys… he doesn’t seem like he’s interested in anyone. Have you ever heard him say he has a crush?”

“There’s a first time for everythin’. Stranger things’ve happened.”

“You spouting clichés doesn’t prove anything,” he protested.

“I still think ya should go for it.”

“I told you, I can’t risk him turning me down; if he isn’t into guys, I’ll just make a fool of myself.”

“What if I found out for ya?”

“What, find out if Mikoto is into guys?”

“Yeah.”

“…As long as you promise not to tell him I like him, then I guess…” Tatara conceded reluctantly, but he felt his pulse stutter in his chest. The possibility of his feelings for Mikoto ever being requited was not one he’d considered. Hell, he’d never even intended for anyone to know about his crush, much less help him find out if there was a chance he could act on it. But Izumo, who’d known Mikoto longer than anyone in the world, seemed to think he had a shot, and Tatara didn’t know how to feel about that. Of course, he was hopeful, but the prospect of commitment and of what might happen if he messed things up made his heart beat so quickly that his chest ached.

“I promise. On the condition that, if he does swing that way, you ask him out.”

“Fine.”

The hopeful part of Tatara was sort of glad that his hand was being forced; it had been less than a month since he’d realised his feelings for Mikoto went a little further than friendship, and it was already becoming unbearable. Just being around Mikoto made his throat dry up and his head go hazy and his words turn to gobbledygook as he tried to speak them, and it would be a welcome relief if he could put an end to that as quickly as possible.

But of course, there was also the quiet pessimist in the back of his mind that wanted to indulge his fantasies about Mikoto having feelings for him a little while longer before they either became a reality, or were destroyed.

“Come on, it’s almost opening time,” Izumo said gently, but there was a mischievous smile on his face.

#mikototsu week #suoh mikoto #totsuka tatara #mikototsu #k project #k fanfic #fic: cftm

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ghostlypeachkryptonite · 6 years

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I don’t know about anyone else who blogs but I do it because I enjoy it. But despite enjoying it, I wish I could make a real living out of it. So, my big question for last month was- can I make my blog profitable and turn it around in 30 days?

This site works with different sites and affiliate link programmes in order to recommend products and services that you might like. If you choose to click certain links and buy something, the site earns a small commission.

Where do we begin?

The first place I had to look was my site, and this meant having a hard look at it to see what was wrong. Now, remember, blogging is an individual thing and everyone who blogs has the right to fly their freak flag proud. Unfortunately, this does not mean that it will pay the bills. I also had to consider the ways that a blogger can make money, what my theme(s) are, and if this was something that I wanted to keep doing. I’ve been at this for a few years now and I have no intention of giving up. So what gives? Why am I not rolling in the dough that other bloggers claim to be making?

Why you are not making money

Let me be clear, this list is not actually mine, this is a collection of different things I have heard other bloggers say when people go “why am I not making any money?” or “why is my blog not successful?” and I don’t agree with all of them.

You aren’t putting the time in- I’m on the fence with this one because I know bloggers who claim to have massive amounts of traffic and have a healthy wage coming in, but only “work” at their blog one day a week for a few hours. I can spend a day getting my entire site planned out in advantage for the week and that will be my posts sorted and scheduled. But then again, I have heard of bloggers who claim they are putting in 60+ hours a week with it and are getting no-where.

You have no idea what you are doing- Sit and think for a minute, and ask yourself this question- do you know what you are doing? You might say yes but in the back of your mind you know it is a no. Blogging is a highly complicated business to work in, and as much as we would like to think that popping some words on to the site will be enough, it’s not. Trust me, I’ve learned that the hard way. There are tax laws, marketing rules, ASA guidelines, and individual social media hoops to jump through.

You don’t have a niche- This one I am completely against. Why? Because I don’t have a niche and I don’t want one. I am one of those highly complicated individuals that likes some variety in my life, and if I was made to sit and write about the same stuff every day, I would go insane. I love health and fitness, I love reading, I love life. So why should I either pick one subject to write about, or have around 10 different sites just so that each one has a niche?

You aren’t self-hosted- Again, this is one that I am on the fence with. Yes, being self-hosted has its perks because you can gain more sponsored posts and things like that. But, I know plenty of bloggers who have used free sites and been very happy with their lot. The only problem is if your free hosting site thinks that your content is offensive or they take a dislike to it, they can wipe your site out without notice. I don’t know of any bloggers that have had this happen to them, and it does sound a bit urban legend like, but apparently is it true. If you do want to switch to self-hosting, I really like Lyrical Host.

Your spelling is terrible- This sounds really mean, and I am guilty of this too, but spelling matters. I have seen people go nuts over a spelling error, which is kind of sad. Mistakes happen, and most of the time people will ignore it. But if you are always making spelling mistakes then you are in trouble. People don’t want to read a blog that is filled with spelling mistakes and grammar Nazi fodder.

How do bloggers make money?

As a blogger, I have a few ways that I make money, and they are open to everyone who has a site (especially if you are self-hosted).

Sponsored posts- You have probably seen the disclaimers popping up on my posts from time to time that tell you if a post is sponsored or not. In a nutshell, sponsored posts are normally advertising a product or providing a backlink to a site and money has exchanged hands (or the virtual equivalent of money exchanging hands). I just want to stress that point, because I have seen people kick up a fuss because someone linked to someone else, not all links are paid for! Sometimes those links are there to reinforce a point or the blogger in question just likes the company. But, yeah, you can get paid for those links too.

Affiliate marketing- I do different posts, but my beauty posts are generally packed with affiliate links to Amazon so that you can by the products for yourself. I’ll be honest, I love telling people about the beauty products that I use, and I love to review them when the bottles are empty. Hence, Empties from the Bathroom was born. There are loads of affiliate marketing schemes that you can sign up for with different companies, it is just a case of looking around to see what one will fit with your site.

Ads- I have ads running on here and it can be a great way to make money just for having traffic coming through your site. The more traffic you have, the more money you make. I am currently using Adsense for my ads but there are others out there. Mediavine is used by the bigger bloggers, but Adsense is open to small to medium bloggers.

What can you do to turn it around?

As I am sitting writing this, it is the beginning of October and I am very aware of the fact that Christmas is around the corner, 2019 is knocking at the door and I’m due my fourth baby at the end of January. If you are reading this, you have arrived hoping that I have the magic formula because Christmas comes around every year, the cost of living keeps getting higher, and you would love nothing more than to shut up the nay-sayers you think you have a “silly little blog” and you want to rub it in their faces that your “silly little blog” has just paid for the family holiday, paid off the mortgage etc. You know who I am talking about, everyone has one, and your feelings are completely natural. And you know what? I might just have the answers that you are looking for.

Get organised- You need to treat your blog as a business because it is. First of all, work out your goals. I want to be earning £XXX per month. I want to blog about X, Y and Z. You need to work out what you want to do. Then organise how to do it. I post every day, and I post about different things. But I have a theme. Mondays, I do movies. Tuesdays is KappaCino Book Club. Wednesdays are my beauty posts, so it is either an unboxing, a PR package, or Empties from the Bathroom. Thursdays are supposed to be house goals and Fridays are supposed to be Fitness Fridays, but these don’t tend to happen because something else always comes up. Saturdays are about my mini-missions and weekly tasks. Sundays are social Sundays and the site has either a guest post or The Big Quiz. It’s not perfect, but it is a start. And I am tough with myself but making sure that I post every day.

Learn everything- I went on a real learning kick when I decided to turn the site around and read everything I could about blogging. There are loads of free e-books that you can download that can help you turn things around. Even if the information in them isn’t perfect, you should be able to take bits and pieces from each source and slap it together to make something that will make sense for your site.

Be social- Are you involved in any blogging groups? If not, you need to be. First of all, they are packed with resources that have been reviewed by other bloggers, so they can point you in the right direction. You can also get involved with other bloggers for things like round-ups. What is a round-up? Basically, have you ever seen those posts “21 fun things to do with your kids” or something like that? Those are blogger round-ups. Someone has collected blog posts from a load of bloggers (with their permission of course) and popped it into one big post. Why? Because it is a great way to drive traffic to sites. People are lazy and like collection posts because then they don’t have to look too hard themselves, and if they like the look of your “idea”, then they might click through to get the fun recipe/activity. It is win-win for everyone involved.

This sounds too good to be true

Maybe, maybe not. But I can tell you that my site has seen a real difference the last while. I am so confident with what I have just said, I am willing to publish my income reports for the next few months. To look at the traffic and stats, it doesn’t look the best. But, this is a snowballing thing. I might have started this in September (and not seen any amazing results because I spent a week or two trying to find out how to do it) but in the first week of October I saw a massive upswing with stats. You will just have to check back next month when I publish my income report to see how I have done, the changes I have continued to make, and if I have learned anything new. But to answer the question at the beginning, yes, if you follow the tips in the above section, you could see a positive change in your site within 30 days. Mine took 30 days for a real upswing, I challenge you to beat me!

Is it possible to create a profitable blog within 30 days? || A year to make a million I don't know about anyone else who blogs but I do it because I enjoy it. But despite enjoying it, I wish I could make a real living out of it.

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furiousconnoisseurcomputer-blog · 6 years

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