#I’ve run out of good clothes/shoes to sell now everything in my closet I wear or has holes in it so I wasn’t able to make any money 😭

[gwyoi]

remaking my post since it lost traction -

earlier this month my car got towed and I got a ticket since I hadn’t renewed my tabs, I was able to get my car out of the impound but I still need to pay my mom back and to get new tabs so I don’t get towed/ticketed again

venmo

cashapp

paypal

10/22/23: $0/250

[theotherwasdeath]

the ethics of being a sugar baby (stevetony, rated T, 1.8k)

At first, Steve doesn’t even notice. 

In his defense, he’s had much more important things on his mind. Namely, Tony’s chest and immediate access to it. 

Later, he’ll look back on all of these nights and call himself stupid, clumsy, too caught up in the scrape of Tony’s beard against his chin and Tony’s hands in his hair to care about anything else. The catalyst for his realization is, admittedly, quite small. It’s something Tony says to him, after they’ve worn themselves out and collapsed onto sweat-damp sheets.

“God, you’re gonna make me replace my whole wardrobe at this rate. Not that I mind, of course…” Tony trails off as he turns to him and runs his fingers lovingly down Steve’s bare chest, which is covered in rapidly-fading bitemarks. 

That pulls Steve out of the hazy, post-coital space he’d been floating in. He wraps his arm around Tony’s waist, pulls him ever-so-slightly closer.   

“What do you mean, replace your whole wardrobe?”

Tony huffs out a laugh as he turns back around, once again becoming the little spoon. “Come on, you’ve seen what you do to all of my shirts. Look at the one on the floor! Completely shredded, you animal,” he says, kicking the blanket off the bed and making himself comfortable against Steve’s body. 

Steve tenses up, then, blood running cold. Logically, he knows that Tony has money. He knows that Tony can get more shirts. He knows that this is the future, and Tony doesn’t have to stitch up his shirts with a thread and needle anymore. He knows, he knows, he knows…

Tony elbows him in the abdomen. 

“Ow! What was that for?”

“We have been over this, Steven, I am not--”

“--you are not a stress ball, stop squeezing you, yes dear, whatever you say sweetheart.” Steve rolls his eyes at Tony’s theatrics, mouth turning up at the corners despite himself.

Tony exhales in a pattern that could be construed as a laugh. “Go to bed or I’ll sell all of my lingerie.”

Steve, knowing from experience to just drop the argument, lets his eyes fall shut as he tries not to think about how much he’s cost Tony.

***

Steve is nothing if not an expert at shoving down his feelings until they boil over like a lidded pot. As such, the next time he really pays much attention to this thing of his is when Tony drags him to go clothes shopping a few days later. 

He doesn’t enjoy the errand much, but Tony had been extra persuasive, with kisses along the back of Steve’s neck, that evil little man, he knows that’s where Steve is ticklish, promises of “it’ll be fun! We never go out anymore, baby, we’re so busy, spend some time with me,” and wide, pleading brown eyes, and Steve didn’t have the heart to say no. 

Tony takes him to the corner of 30th street and 10th avenue, into a store he actually recognizes. It’s bigger, brighter, and like everything in the future, very “Tony,” but he remembers his mother’s Neiman Marcus Company catalogs with their pages and pages of factory-made clothes, that year’s new hooverette [x] circled in red. 

Of course, the two of them aren’t going to look at house dresses. They probably don’t even make house dresses or corselets [x] anymore, thinks Steve, and even if they did, Tony wouldn’t want to wear them and-- Steve stops himself before he can think about Tony in garters anymore. They’re in public, for God’s sake. 

Tony pulls him aside to the shirt racks, hands him a few dozen button ups, and ushers him into the dressing rooms. The silk feels so smooth, catching in places against the calluses on his hands, almost too perfect to be held by him.

A small, guilty feeling in his gut tells him to check the price, but the selfish part of him, the one that wants to enjoy every aspect of being Tony Stark’s latest project, ignores it. 

No, instead Steve lets Tony dress him up like his own personal fashion model, and laughs when he puts together the most atrocious eyesore of an outfit in the world [x]. The bright red fedora clashes horribly with the crystal-covered shoes, and Tony had pulled on zebra-print boxers to go with the cheetah-print shirt, telling him “it’s not like anyone who wears these boxers is gonna be concerned with pants.” 

Tony drags him out of the store after a couple of hours, after wheedling him into getting another few suits and some shoes, with promises that they’ll go get them tailored for Steve’s shoulders and legs. He thinks about how his old Captain America costume always left him chafed red around his pecs and on the inside of his thighs, and tries to not blush at how off-handedly considerate Tony can be sometimes. 

After they get back to the tower, Steve collapses into bed, exhausted from their day out. As he drifts off, the guilt comes back, this time with a vengeance. 

Neiman Marcus is obviously a pricey store. Tony must have spent thousands on you today, and you don’t even have the decency to do something in return for him? To even offer to pay him back? You’re so selfish. You should be ashamed of yourself. 

Steve lies awake and focuses heavily on his breathing, wills his heart rate to go down, and promises himself he’ll be brave about his emotions tomorrow. 

***

That morning, he wakes up like he’s going into a warzone. In a way, he is; entering Tony Stark’s bedroom, uninvited, to snoop around? Terrifying. 

Tony is already long gone by the time Steve gets to his floor and creeps his way into the suite. The guilt makes a reappearance even as he asks JARVIS to unlock Tony’s bedroom door, his thoughts all converging on Tony’s even paying for you now. He took a day off yesterday to spend time with you, time he could have used to work on his SI projects, or the mountain of SHIELD paperwork that’s piled up lately, or anything except waste a day at a goddamn department store--

He shakes his head, tries to reassure himself with the knowledge that Tony wanted to go out with him, he wanted to spend time with him, that’s why he asked, but his heart won’t stop beating, oh God, he’s going to die at the doorway of Tony’s walk-in closet--

“Steve? What are you doing?”

He turns his head towards Tony’s voice, and now, of course, is when the second wave of panic and self-loathing hits, taking a nosedive into now Tony knows exactly how weak you are, he had to leave his job to check on you, and he tries to open his mouth, to explain himself, but all that comes out is a strangled noise as his knees threaten to give out.

Tony looks-- he looks worried, not angry. That’s not good. Steve can deal with anger, he knows how anger works. He’s not prepared for pity or concern. And that’s why he does the worst thing he could possibly do when literally backed into a corner: he lies to Tony’s face. 

“Nothing. I’m fine. I just… I missed you, this morning.”

Tony’s smarter than that, he’s always been able to see through Steve, so of course he calls him on it. “Uh huh, I missed you too, now tell me what’s going on.” He punctuates this with an eye-roll and an outstretched hand to pull Steve towards his bed.

They sit on the edge of the bed in silence for a few minutes, Steve too stubborn to talk, until Tony can’t stand it anymore.

“You know, I really don’t appreciate having my intelligence questioned, Steven Grant. It’s very unattractive. Here I was thinking that nothing you did could be unattractive and yet, you managed to prove me wrong.” Tony gives him a slight smile, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

Well, Steve might as well get it over with. Rip off the proverbial band-aid. 

“How much do I cost you?”

That makes Tony stop smiling.

“How much do you cost me? What’s gotten into you?” 

“I just- you said that I’m making you replace your wardrobe because I keep destroying your shirts, and they’re so expensive, and you buy me so many nice things and I’ve never offered to pay you back, and I don’t even know if I could pay you back because I don’t even have a real job, I’m useless and you deserve someone better than me--” Steve realizes, vaguely, that he’s getting more and more choked up, and that there are tears threatening to spill.

Tony pulls Steve close, lets him rest his head against his shoulder, which feels safer than it should. 

“Is this all because of what I said in bed a few nights ago?”

Steve means to say yes, but it comes out as a wounded-sounding whimper. 

“Oh, honey, you know you don’t need to worry about that. What’s the point of sleeping with a billionaire if you don’t get to be a sugar baby?” Tony’s running a hand through his hair now, and it does a lot in the way of calming Steve down. 

“But I shouldn’t be a… a sunk cost for you! That’s wrong, I’m taking advantage.”

Tony sighs at him, then, and pulls Steve’s head up to face him. “Look at me, you’re not taking advantage. I know what that feels like.” 

Steve makes an indignant noise at that, because how dare someone try to take advantage of Tony, which makes Tony poke his nose and say, “Hey, do not interrupt me when I’m trying to have a heartfelt discussion with you! We can talk about my tragic love life later, but let it be said that I, of all people, would know what it feels like to know that someone is only with you for the money.”

When Steve doesn’t respond, just stares at Tony with bright eyes, Tony continues. “I love spoiling you. I love taking you out around town like you’re Vivian Ward and I’m Edward Lewis.”

“I don’t understand that reference.” Steve feels his eyebrows knitting together in confusion, a familiar feeling when he’s around Tony.

“Have I not shown you Pretty Woman? You’ll love it.”

“Do you really mean it? You don’t, you know, think I’m selfish? For being like this? For not, uh, contributing?” Steve is just fishing for additional reassurance at this point; he’s done being brave about his emotions for the 

Tony smiles in full force, then, and moves to sit on Steve’s lap. “Oh, I’ll show you one way you can contribute. Take off your shirt.”

Steve does.

[incoherentbabblings]

Take Back the Cake, Burn the Shoes, and Boil the Rice (10/11)

Within two months there have been two murders of Gotham newlyweds moments after the ceremony. The only connecting factor was both brides wore the same designer’s work. Needing to establish who exactly is behind the crimes, Bruce enlists Tim and Stephanie to have the biggest wedding Gotham high society has seen in decades, putting a target on their heads not just for the killer, but Gotham society too. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

Ao3 Link Here!

Alfred was the one to come in and rouse them that morning. They hadn’t managed to get much sleep, instead quite content to just lay holding each other and talking. It was only when they heard Bruce return from patrol, did Tim finally push for them to at least catch a couple of hours rest. When Alfred came in, Stephanie, a little embarrassed at being caught, buried herself under the sheets, whilst Tim kept his head above to speak to the Butler.

“Hi, Alfred.”

“Good morning to you both. Ready for the day?”

“Serious question?”

Alfred smiled. “I’ve brought your breakfasts up, then Ms Andrews is arriving in two hours. I thought it would be best to put the bride in Miss Cassandra’s room. I have had it tidied to a presentable state.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Stephanie hummed from under the sheets.

“You are welcome.” Alfred paused as he left the tray next to Tim on the dresser. If he noticed the scattered clothes from last night laying around the bed, he did not comment. “Best of luck today.” He added, mirth gone for just a moment.

Tim nodded an acknowledgement, and then Alfred left the room.

Tim got up, Stephanie poking her head out from under the sheets to watch as he put on underwear.

“You’re staring.” He joked.

“Can’t I?”

He pulled out a threadbare t-shirt, the kind which was oversized and what he used to wear when he was a teenager, and flung it at her. Still awkwardly trying to preserve her modesty, she wriggled it on like a worm, then got up to join him eating a slice of toast and a small bowl of fruit yoghurt.

She hugged him from behind. Tim was thin and lean, with not much soft skin to grab. That didn’t really matter to her though, because it meant he ended up being something solid to cling to. Always there when she needed him. He reached down and held her forearms and she pressed kiss after kiss to his shoulder.

“Okay?” He said.

“Mm. Let me ask you that.”

She felt his chest heave, and he took her question seriously. “I envy you. How you can just bounce back.”

“We’re not our worst moments. I forget sometimes. But I always remember. Thanks to you and Bruce and Babs…”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You do a lot of the hard work too.”

“Hmm. Do you believe that though?”

“Believe what?”

“That we’re not our worst moments.”

He held her hand which was holding his tummy. “For you? Yes. For Dick? Yes. For me and Bruce…”

“Why?”

“It’s hard… to let go of everything. Really hard. Some days I still open my eyes and I, like, want more than anything for my mom to be the one to wake me up. She didn’t get the chance to very often and now on today of all days… She and my dad should be here. I can’t let that go.”

“Of all days? Tim… this isn’t for real.”

Tim stared at his closet, thinking of the one ring that remained to be gifted to Stephanie. “No.” He said. “But, maybe…”

Whatever Tim was going to say, he didn’t get the chance to as Dick kicked in the door.

“Morning! Ready to –”

Dick paused as he realized Tim was in his underwear and Steph was wearing his t-shirt. Both turned around, looking like deer caught in car headlights. If Tim was expecting Dick to start teasing him again, Dick surprised him, and he just smiled brightly.

“Cass says to hurry up, Steph.”

She let go of Tim. “Right. Okay.” She ducked around Tim to grab some toast and the glass of juice. “See you in a few, then?”

He kissed her, not bothering to hide it anymore, though the kiss was not as firm as he would have liked considering her hands were full, and said his goodbye. She padded away, and Tim would not see her again until she joined him at the Cathedral. When she shut the door behind her, Dick turned back to Tim, eyes bright and curious.

“We’ve been sleeping in the same bed since Bishop Sherborne’s death.” Tim answered before the question could be asked. Dick’s cheeks blew up like a pufferfish.

“What? No, no! How could you not tell me?”

“You would make fun of me!”

“I would never! So, have you…”

Tim burned red and Dick laughed so loudly and exuberantly it reminded Tim of one of Harley Quinn’s hyenas. “Ah! No! I could’ve given you advice!”

“I am not discussing this!”

“No, no,” said Dick, quickly making Tim’s bed and piling up the abandoned clothes in Tim’s laundry basket. As if it were the correct place for clothes that expensive. As he had done the night before, he sat on the bed, though Tim noticed he sat at the very foot, perched as little as possible on the mattress. “Before Damian gets here though... It was good?”

Something about the innocuous nature of the question set Tim off. “It was perfect. And it was with the girl I love more than anything and...”

Dick looked so happy at his brother’s breathless excitement that Tim just smiled back. He sat next to Dick, positively glowing.

“Worth the wait?” Dick asked.

“Yeah.” Tim sighed, and flopped back. “We promised, that no matter what happens after today, we’ll stay together for the aftermath. Bruce can go take a running jump.”

Dick squeezed Tim’s shoulder. “Don’t think you have to worry about Bruce’s approval for you two going forward.”

“Huh?”

Dick jerked his jaw over to the door. “Go have a shower and brush your teeth. Got a wedding to go to.”

Once again, after getting ready, Tim spent an uncomfortably long time fixing his hair. Damian had come in and out repeatedly, his boredom making him fidgety. When Tim had heard that the designer had arrived, he poked his head out the door, curious, but saw nothing particularly of interest about the woman. He didn’t really want to speak to her, for he knew he would have nothing to say.

Thanks very much for doing the job you’re being paid huge amounts of money to do. Or, Hey, you’re not a serial killer, are you? Both seemed a little blasé.

Cassandra also seemed to click something was off about Stephanie, and watched as the girl got ready for a shower.

“You’re walking funny.”

Stephanie dropped the towel in a spasm of panic. As she scrambled to pick it up, her brain conjured an excuse. “Oh my God. Cassandra.” She glared. “My leg is a little sore today. I spent a lot of yesterday on my feet.”

Cassandra would have accepted this, but when Stephanie came out of the shower in a towel, she saw the hickeys along Steph’s shoulders.

“Oh!”

Stephanie frantically put her finger up to her lip, begging Cassandra to be quiet. Cass bit her lip and pressed both hands to her face. She looked like a child at Christmas.

“Tim?” Cass breathlessly asked.

“Yes.” Stephanie hissed.

If she was expecting Cassandra to insist on Stephanie baring her heart and what had happened the past two months, she was surprised when instead Cass zeroed in on another facet. Still pressing her cheeks into a fish puckered look, Cassandra exclaimed,

“I didn’t know he bites!”

“Cassandra! God, can this wait until it’s all over, yeah?”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes but did not push.

“I’m going to get your makeup ready. I found a tutorial which looks good.” She said instead.

When Rebecca arrived, Cassandra did not hide how she wanted to be the one to help Stephanie get dressed, and made Rebecca sit to the side.

Stephanie had done her own makeup and Cass had helped with the hair. She had practiced on Stephanie over and over when given the chance, and as a result Stephanie had her hair braided into a crown, bangs and stray hairs curled to make her look softer. Cassandra had grown up practicing something until it became second nature, and so doing Stephanie’s hair was no different. It was when Stephanie looked to Cassandra, and asked what Cass was doing with her own hair, that they ran into difficulty. Cass had blinked, like the thought had never occurred to her, and Stephanie made her sit, so she could flat iron curl Cass’s raggedy mop, pinning in the white cherry and orange blossoms that Stephanie would also wear. It was the girliest moment the two of them had ever shared, but Stephanie thought Cassandra was enjoying the pampering.

Rebecca did some finishing hand stitches whilst Stephanie spent the longest time doing eyeliner and applying false lashes. She tended not to bother with most of this stuff. Concealer, mascara, out the door. She had escaped teenage acne (she tried not to think about the impact having a baby so young had done to her body), but she had bags under her eyes that on her worst mornings took up most of her eye sockets. Cassandra sat, peering over the woman’s shoulder, all dressed in her golden gown. She was not so subtly also watching Rebecca watch Stephanie, who was trying very hard to remain focused on her face.

Tim, meanwhile, was still fussing with his hair. Damian was lying on the floor, the cats and dogs smothering him in his boredom, whilst Dick annoyingly tapped his fingers on a dresser.

“…Do you want advice?”

“On?”

“Weddings. Since I’ve been to a few more of them than Damian or Bruce here.”

The joke was both a needle at Bruce’s non-presence and Dick’s strange running gag of making it to the altar, and Tim laughed.

“Sure.”

Dick grew frustrated watching Tim mess up his hair, so walked over and pulled his shoulders back.

“Let me do it, Tim.”

Feeling more than a little like a monkey being groomed, Tim let Dick fuss, especially after he saw Damian’s eyes glinting with jealousy that Tim was the centre of attention.

“You’re probably gonna feel like smiling or crying. That’s totally fine. Don’t try to act all stoic. You end up just looking constipated and your tummy will hurt.”

“Right.”

“Nothing is ever perfect. Something is going to go wrong. Don’t freak. Just take a breath, let it go, keep moving forward.”

“Right...”

Tim got the feeling the advice was less to do with weddings and more to do with life in general. Dick finished fixing Tim’s hair, then looked so deeply sad for a moment that Tim didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Just don’t waste your time with her.” Dick concluded.

“…Right.” Tim’s phone buzzed. “Time to go.”

Dick nodded. “Hold on. Damian, there’s a lint roller on the mantelpiece. You’re not going anywhere covered in cat and dog hair.”

Damian grumbled, but did as he was bid. Dick when he was in mother hen mode was a veritable hurricane of bossiness, and it was best indulged.

For the girls, Stephanie watched as the car drove away, being nosy and peaking at Tim in his black suit as they rolled down the gravel lane. She didn’t think anyone saw her through the window.

Alfred came in holding two boxes.

“The veil, which Master Bruce’s great-grandmother wore, and the earrings, which were…”

He trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence. Rebecca watched, eyes flittering between the trio, tugging a little too harshly on her stitches.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“You are welcome. I must say Mrs van Rijk has arrived with her flock of workers. I have half the mind to stay behind and make sure she behaves.”

Stephanie smiled, lips stretched as she was putting on her lipstick.

“No, you can’t! How else are Cassandra and I to get to the church?”

“Oh, I am sure you would find a way.” If there was one thing Stephanie had learned the past few weeks, it was that Alfred was as much of a control freak as Bruce and Tim, albeit his areas of expertise differed to the vigilantes.

“We’d run if we had to.” Cassandra said, not entirely joking.

Rebecca snipped the last of the thread and sighed, her eyes admiring her own work. “Right. That’s it. Anymore and I’m just fiddling. Let’s get you dressed.”

Stephanie blotted her lips, then did as she was told. Alfred remained present as an extra pair of hands, though Stephanie wasn’t particularly embarrassed of him watching her get dressed. Alfred was Alfred.

He handed her Martha’s earrings and pulled out the veil. They had practiced a few times how and where it would be kept in place, and sure enough, with Alfred doing the job, she soon had the front thrown over her, clouding up her sight.

It was a mid-length veil, as her dress train was already long enough without one extra layer making her look like a moving cloud. Handing Stephanie her bouquet, Cassandra bounced up and down.

“You look beautiful!”

Stephanie smiled genuinely. Rebecca watched with a pinched face, then finally she smiled.

“Okay, I’m off to the Cathedral now. I’ll see you there.”

“Thank you, Rebecca. I can’t say that enough.”

She turned around, staring at Stephanie by the window. She looked like she was about to cry.

“You’re welcome. Definitely one of my more beautiful brides!”

Stephanie looked at her feet hidden under the tulle skirt, looking ever so modest.

The lace of the bodice was a modern pattern which avoided looking like a doily. As Rebecca had promised, she had given Stephanie a high bateau neckline that plummeted in a v-shape down her spine to her lower waist. The sleeves went all the way past her thumb, creating an illusion that her arms were slimmer and longer than reality. Her already small waist had the skirt structured in such a way that it jutted almost horizontally out before cascading down and back. As the train was nearly seven feet long, it was an almighty skirt. With the flowers in her hair, earrings as her only jewellery, and a veil which left her hands free and covered her back, she looked fey and not entirely belonging of this world (or at the very least, Gotham).

“Indeed!” Alfred agreed. “Certainly, in my top three.”

Stephanie laughed as Alfred showed Rebecca the way out, and Cassandra tutted.

“She’s terrified.”

“Rebecca? Of what? Another death or getting caught?”

“Don’t know. And Bruce wouldn’t say.”

“But why? And where is he anyway? He’s supposed to be coming with me to the cathedral. I haven’t seen him all morning.”

Under normal circumstances, Stephanie would have been pacing and gesticulating, but as she was, hair arranged just so, dress so expertly tailored that she felt one dramatic turn would rip a seam, Stephanie remained static, fingers trying very hard to not start ripping off the flower heads of her bouquet.

Unhelpfully, Cassandra shrugged.

Alfred returned, and abruptly shame ran through Stephanie. Alfred sighed very happily at the sight of her, and tugged on his driving gloves.

“I am very much looking forward to this. Haven’t attended a wedding in decades.”

Cassandra left to grab a camera, hoisting up the skirt of her long dress so she could skip down the steps quicker. Alfred held out an arm, Stephanie reached for him, and they made their way out and down the stairs. Cassandra took several shots as they walked. The photos were never going to see the light of day, so Stephanie wasn’t sure for what purpose Cassandra was taking them.

When they reached the car, Cassandra and Alfred helped Stephanie get in, carefully piling the skirt around her so she wasn’t too uncomfortable for the drive over. Cassandra sat next to her with little fuss, her dress more streamlined and form hugging. It was bright yellow, as was decreed by the colour scheme, with a jewelled neckline and long sleeves. It was by far the most feminine Cass had ever been. Stephanie had asked if she was okay with this. If shit hit the fan on the day, if a fight were to ensue, Cassandra would have been hindered by the clothes. Cassandra had simply shrugged. It’s just a dress, she’d said. And fabric can be torn.

Stephanie conceded that Cass had a point. The girl would probably just flat out strip in the Cathedral if it meant she could fight easier. A complete disinterest in societal norms gave her a certain leverage someone like Stephanie or Tim could not as easily reach.

Alfred went to shut the door, but Stephanie reached out for him before he could do so.

“Alfred… Bruce can’t be happy with me wearing his family’s stuff like this. You can’t be happy.”

Alfred knelt with only the slightest of grunts, and took her hand.

“They are Master Bruce’s to give, and he insisted. And I agree. They are not going to get any use from Miss Cassandra, and I do not think that is a controversial statement.”

“It’s not.” Cass said, holding the bouquet and taking Steph’s other hand. Alfred nodded approvingly.

“So, as is the way with these things, it instead goes to the significant others of the male children. Just as Janet Drake’s items have passed to you. This is no different. This is all a means to a good end. Rather extravagant means if you ask me, but, alas, it’s been fun to pretend regardless. And I do not know what will happen five or ten years down the road. Maybe you’ll be gifted them again.”

“Alfred…”

“Mustn’t delay!” He stood up and got in the driver’s seat. “It is acceptable for the bride to be late, but it is not a habit we want to encourage.”

It had yet to start raining, but the air was muggy, and the clouds were dark. A few workers were coming in and out of the manor, setting up for the reception that, if all went to plan, would never be held. One or two people waved at the car, and Steph found herself waving back. One lady was jumping up and down she seemed so excited for Stephanie.

As they drove in, Cassandra asked, “Alfred, is Bruce already at the Cathedral?”

“Possibly,” Alfred answered, smoothly making his way across the island. “He came back very early this morning almost to immediately leave again.

“He told me if he was late, to start without him.” Stephanie said.

“Did he?” Alfred did not sound amused. “Oh, that’s no good. He must have a card up his sleeve.”

Stephanie made a little grunt and watched the streets as they drove through town. Cassandra’s hand was still in hers, and they were holding tightly onto each other.

She could hear the Cathedral bells before she could see the building. Bright, joyous ringing of bells indicative of a celebration. Her throat began to tighten, and Cassandra’s hands fidgeted in response.

“Oh wow!” Cassandra exclaimed. “They did have to put barriers up then?”

“So, it seems.”

“Huh?” Stephanie leaned forward as they slowed down and parked, looking over Cassandra’s shoulder. Behind the makeshift metal fencing, was a not insignificant number of people who looked like they had been waiting all morning for her arrival. When she caught their eyes, they began to cheer and wave.

“Oh.”

Alfred got out, first letting Cassandra out her side. Cass gleefully waved to the spectators, enjoying the positive attention, before making her way around to Stephanie’s door.

“People always like a high society wedding.” Alfred explained. “And we are the first family of Gotham, after all.”

Stephanie took Alfred’s hand and pulled herself out of the car. Cassandra dragged the rest of her skirt out, and Alfred got back in the car to drive it away. He would return quickly, before the ceremony started, and once the car was removed from blocking the view, Stephanie tried not to jump at the borderline hysterical screams that seemed to be coming from across the road.

Cassandra was fiddling, straightening her train and veil but Stephanie didn’t miss her whisper of, “Wave to them! They came to see you.”

Slowly, stiffly, Stephanie rotated at her hips, looking over her shoulder, to see a lot of very happy faces, all waving and smiling and cheering.

Gotham had its name for a reason. The city was oftentimes unendurably grim. People stayed here for one of three reasons: they had no viable option of selling up shop and leaving, they actively profited over the misfortune of its residents, or they tried desperately hard to prove there was something in this city worth staying for. The Wayne family, for all its flaws and scandals, were the highest profile example that the city had of the latter, and it had endeared them to the rest of the city’s residents. No-one with that much money would willingly spend that much time and effort into the city’s improvement, especially for someone like Bruce, who’s childhood had been ruined by the city’s worst inhabitants, unless they truly believed there was something worth salvaging.

It had been one of the things Tim and Bruce had put out in their statement, all those weeks ago. This was supposed to be a celebration for all of Gotham. Stephanie was somebody to project onto, Tim was somebody to admire. Staring at the crowds who were pressed against the fence, Stephanie also suspected that maybe it was also just because people were happy for a young pretty couple getting married.

She smiled and waved back, and the people cheered louder.

Cassandra handed Stephanie the bouquet then moved behind her to ensure the dress behaved. Stephanie did have to lift the skirt a little to get up the steps, but once she reached the top, she was met by the Dean, who was dressed to the gills in formal clothing, and Damian, looking adorable in a sharp suit and gelled hair. Stephanie didn’t miss the way his eyes widened at the sight of her.

The Dean stepped forward as Stephanie gave one last wave to the crowds.

“Welcome back.” He said.

“Thank you.” She said sincerely. “Don’t suppose Bruce is here, is he?”

“He is not with you?”

Stephanie sighed. “No.”

“He was out last night.” Damian improvised, “I have tried calling him but there is no answer.”

“Is he okay?” Cassandra asked.

“Probably.” Damian replied, a little unhelpfully.

“He told me, yesterday, that he might be late.”

The Dean nodded. “I can hold off for a little bit more then. Fifteen minutes.”

“Okay.”

He nodded at the door behind her. “Come in a little more so we can shut the doors. When the music starts, you must start your walk down, regardless of whether he is here. I can’t stop the entire Cathedral, not even for him.”

Stephanie nodded, whilst Damian saw Alfred coming in.

“Pennyworth, you have to keep phoning father. This is ridiculous.”

“Damian it’s alright.” Stephanie said soothingly, trying not to let her own worry seep in.

“It’s very much not alright.”

Cassandra sniggered, then continued to fuss. Alfred simply nodded.

“I will keep trying. I will go inform the groom.”

Dick was leaning on a pulpit, looking up at the stained-glass windows. Tim was next to him, but shoved behind, so he could not see Stephanie. Alfred approached the pair, looking a little frazzled.

“Okay?” Dick asked.

“Master Bruce said he would be late, did he?”

“Apparently. Is he not here with you?”

“No, Master Dick.”

“Great.” Dick tutted, leaning over to see Stephanie at the far end of the aisle. “Wowza.”

“Wow what?” Tim tried to look over Dick’s shoulder, but he received a nudge from Dick’s left knee for his effort.

“No peaking. Not until she makes her way down.” Dick continued to stare. “She looks good though.”

“Of course, she does.” Tim snapped. Dick looked back with a raised eyebrow, and Tim corrected his tone. “Of course, she does.”

“Hmm.” Dick looked back up at the rose window. Tim’s eyeline followed his, but Tim could not see anything that would make his brother glare so intently at the stained glass.

Minutes passed, and Bruce did not arrive. Stephanie, who was feeling more and more sick, gripped the flowers tighter.

The woosh of the doors opening and shutting quickly made Stephanie’s veil billow up and out, and when it settled, she very quietly swore to herself at the sight of four people who had snuck into the cathedral.

Kara pressed her hands to her cheeks, Bart waved, and Conner and Cassie stared.

“Wow.” Conner finally broke the silence.

Cassandra hissed like a cat, stepping forward like an overprotective bodyguard. “No! You four can’t be here!”

“Why not?” Kara complained.

Damian had also taken the defensive. “Because you were not invited! Don’t they teach manners in the mud pits you all grew up in?”

“Woah. Harsh little dude.” Conner dismissed Damian with a wave of his hand. “Listen, we just thought it was super rude to get ghosted the way we were, so as Tim’s rightful best man –”

“Well no, that’s me.”

“Shut up, Bart. As Tim’s closest friends, we just thought we had the right –”

She had never much patience for Conner’s posturing, finding his bravado a cover for how insecure he could be at times deeply frustrating. She liked Connor, she really did, when he was being genuine, so in that moment, when her stress levels were starting to peak, she cut in, asking,

“Can you sense Batman nearby?”

It caught Conner off guard, and he stopped and listened. She imagined if he were a dog his ears would be pricked up. “Urrr. No. Kara?”

“No.” She shook her head, making less of a show about it. “Why? Is he supposed to be?”

Cassandra sighed and grabbed Conner and Cassie’s hands, intending to drag them to a corner of one of the wings. “I will find them a seat. You want in on this? Sit quiet and behave.”

Taken aback, Conner began to argue. Cassie on the other hand, went along willingly, but turned to look at Stephanie.

“Good luck!” She chirped. “You look beautiful Stephanie.”

“Thanks.” Steph choked out. Kara noticed her friend’s growing distress and moved in close.

“We’ll keep quiet. Don’t worry. Think of us as an extra two bodyguards each for you and Tim. We won’t let anything happen to either of you.”

Hearing those words and seeing Bart’s emphatic nodding quietened Stephanie’s frantic heart. She realised that the idea of Bruce not catching the bad guy in time would lead to Tim being injured (or worst of all dying) was making her panic. She tried to make herself trust Bruce. And she tried to make herself trust the Titans. No way would Conner, Cassie or Bart let anything happen to Tim, and Kara would look out for her as much as Dick, Cassandra and Damian would.

Kara smiled as slowly Stephanie relaxed. When Cassandra returned for her and Bart, Kara gave Stephanie a hug, then tugged on Damian’s earlobe, who protested loudly at the physical contact. Bart waved goodbye, and then they were gone. Stephanie wondered if Tim had seen them, but as far as she could see through the fine mesh of the veil, Tim was hiding behind Dick far in the distance.

Cassandra returned once more, and the music started.

“No.” Stephanie whispered.

“You can walk alone. Damian and I are right behind you.”

“No.” Stephanie desperately wanted Bruce next to her, but for all she knew he was in trouble. He wouldn’t just flake on them. Well, Bruce Wayne might have. Batman? No way.

But she didn’t really have any other choice but to start walking.

She took one last unsteady breath, raised her chin, then began to walk down the aisle, Cassandra and Damian behind her.

She saw Tim jump out from behind Dick and take his place halfway down the aisle, where initially Bruce was supposed to hand her over, and she saw how handsome he looked, and she saw how happy he was. She smiled back, incredibly embarrassed, but also – strangely only to herself – very happy.

She didn’t pay attention to her college and high school friends sat with their phones out recording her, she didn’t look at the countless other rich folk she had been forced to make pleasantries with, she didn’t look at Mrs van Rijks endlessly judgemental eye, and she didn’t look at Rebecca Andrews once.

Babs and her dad would be somewhere in the pews, but Leslie was not, as far as she knew. Something had come up very last minute, as was a Doctor’s life, and she could no longer attend.

When she reached Tim, she curtsied a little so he could throw her veil back over her head. He was grinning so widely and did not seem one bit bashful about it.

“You seem happy.” She whispered, taking his arm as they finished the rest of the trek together.

“God knows why.”

She laughed, and they stopped in front of the Dean, who had a very serious expression on.

Stephanie felt Cassandra do last minute fixes, ensuring not a fold or curl was ill placed, took Stephanie’s bouquet from her, then went to sit down. Damian placed the rings on the Dean’s paper on the stand, then went to sit next to his sister. There was a very conspicuous gap between Damian and Alfred, but neither of them tried to think too hard about it. Dick seemed distracted, still looking up at the rose window, though no matter what angle Tim looked at it, he couldn’t see what his brother saw. It had finally started to rain. Some of the saints from the large stained-glass windows looked like they were sobbing as the water dripped down.

The music ended, and the Dean began the service in a booming tone that made Stephanie jump a little. She grabbed Tim’s hand tight and tried to focus on the service. She heard her mother sniff, and when she turned around, she saw Crystal looking very torn up. Stephanie smiled at her mother, trying to be encouraging, and Crystal mouthed back the word beautiful.

“…brings husband and wife together in the delight and tenderness of sexual union…” Stephanie whirled her head back around and tried very hard not to blush. Tim on the other hand, had turned as red as a tomato. “…in which each member of the family, in good times and in bad, may find strength, companionship and comfort, and grow to maturity in love.”

Tim squeezed her fingers, and the embarrassment faded. The Dean continued the opening monologue, and the pair pretended not to take anything too much to heart, Stephanie especially at the little bit about marriage being something “no-one should enter into it lightly or selfishly, but reverently and responsibly”.

Yes. Stephanie thought. Much responsible.

The Dean took a breath, then looked up at the congregation. “I am required to ask anyone present who knows a reason why these persons may not lawfully marry, to declare it now.” Stephanie and Tim waited for someone to stand up, to yell or jeer, for a gun shot to ring out, but nothing happened, and the moment of silence passed. Shakily, Tim exhaled. The Dean looked to the pair, and over his glasses, asked, “The vows you are about to take are to be made in the presence of God, therefore if either of you knows a reason why you may not lawfully marry, you must declare it now.”

Tim saw out the corner of his eye Stephanie shake her head, and his smile returned. The Dean nodded at the two, and then begun the declarations.

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, will you take Stephanie Brown to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?”

“I will.”

There was no pause in his reply, and he did not look away from her as he said it. It echoed from the acoustics of the cathedral, and distantly, Stephanie heard applauding from the outside. People had stuck around, despite the worsening weather, to cheer them on.

“Stephanie Brown, will you take Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honour and protect him, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”

Her voice was quieter, and much more emotional, but no less lacking in conviction, when she replied with, “I will.”

More cheers came from outside, and Stephanie looked down, at her hidden feet.

“Take her right hand now.”

Tim did as he was told. They were already angled towards each other, but they shifted a little more, ensuring that the rest of the family and congregation faded from sight and mind. The Dean adjusted his glasses and peered at his notes. “Repeat after me then. I, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, take thee, Stephanie Brown…”

Tim steeled himself and began to repeat after the Dean.

“I, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, take thee, Stephanie Brown… to be my wife… to have and to hold… from this day forward… for better for worse… for richer for poorer… in sickness and in health… to love and to cherish… till death us do part...”

Stephanie did not look away from him as he made the vow, and he was forever grateful she did not. She was smiling in that beautiful way of hers, where her cheeks grew pink, her eyes were half shut in their arc, and if she were any happier she was going to start laughing, and with her laughter came the snorting. Not the most dignified, but it was more contagious than Joker Venom.

Or at least Tim thought that.

Stephanie took his right hand, then repeated the same vow back to Tim. When he was finally passed her wedding band, he watched her eyes bulge a little at how sparkly hers was, but she didn’t look too displeased as he slid it on, making the final vow of the session,

“…With my body I honour you, all that I am I give to you, and all that I have I share with you.”

Stephanie had nice hands, like Tim. Long fingers that were well suited to playing the piano she rarely touched anymore. As a matter of fact, had she even looked at the piano in the apartment since she’d moved in?

She did have knuckles that would cause her arthritic issues in forty years’ time, as various injuries had left her with swollen knuckles. However, the worst it meant in that moment was the slight awkward pause as he fought to get the ring past her middle joint. She laughed, a bright giggle, as he screwed up his nose in concentration. He was trying very hard not to hurt her, and she stepped closer, as if it would make it easier for him.

It slid on, after a little bit of elbow grease, and sat comfortably around her left ring finger.

She repeated the same vow, then slid his own ring on.

There. Done.

Married?

Again, the pair waited for some commotion to happen. For Bruce to burst through the doors saying, So sorry I missed the start where are we at? For a bad guy to come crashing down, Batman high above, to bring the ceremony to an abrupt close.

But nothing of the sort happened, and the ceremony continued.

Tim realised that they were nearly at the end of the service. They were probably legally man and wife by this point… At what point were a couple legally married? Was it only valid until after they signed the register? Tim suddenly gawked at the fact he had overlooked this important factor.

It was soon forgotten though, when Stephanie leaned forward for a kiss, which he gave, mind going blank as it tended to do when kissing her. He forgot that his parents probably weren’t watching from on high, he forgot that Bruce was missing in action, he forgot Dick and Cassandra’s teasing smirks, Alfred’s English poker face, and Crystal and Damian’s reluctant happiness. He didn’t hear the church bells start to ring, the applause of the congregation, nor the final proclamation of the Dean.

He forgot about Rebecca Andrews pursed lips and expectant face.

Stephanie broke away first, and Tim slowly, reluctantly, took a step back. That was it right? They were married? Stephanie was his wife? For real?

It seemed Stephanie had a similar realization, and she looked to Tim. To his sinking stomach, it looked like she did not enjoy the thought.

Tim suddenly felt like he was going to burst into tears.

The Dean took their hands and joined them together. His voice giving one last boom, he announced,

“Those whom God has joined together let no man put asunder.”

A gun shot sounded, and Stephanie, acting on pure instinct, grabbed Tim and tugged him down on top of her. She didn’t know where the shot landed, but wherever it was, it hadn’t hit anybody. There was commotion, as people slowly realized what had just happened.

Abruptly, Dick’s eyes flittered upwards, and very sharply, very loudly, he exclaimed, “Shit.”

The rose window shattered, and two figures came crashing through. One of them was Batman, and he very gracefully landed on the font, balanced perfectly.

Glass rained down, Tim instinctively pressing down on Steph to protect her face from any shards.

Batman stood up, cape falling over the font, looking positively demonic in the Cathedral.

God, he really had wanted a spectacle, hadn’t he?

The other figure was a man all in black and he hit the floor hard. It took a moment, but everyone soon registered the number of guns he had attached to his person. He grunted, the shock of the impact too much for a moment, then he went limp, unconscious.

Instantly there was chaos, and the congregation erupted in shrieks and yells and shouts. People got to their feet and tried to flee. It took a moment, but Stephanie was still on the floor, Tim pressed on top of her, and she craned her neck, looking for Rebecca. There was another woosh of air, and suddenly her and Tim were surrounded by their family and the Titans. Dick moved away, towards the shooter, as Batman apprehended the man. Commissioner Gordon, quick to shift from happy family friend to police commissioner, also quickly joined the pair.

“We need the designer!” Batman emphasized to them.

“You both okay?” Conner asked, tugging Tim upwards. Tim looked a little winded, but was otherwise absolutely fine. Connor was having to yell over the commotion, and Stephanie, still on the floor, caught sight of Rebecca.

She was trying to leave the cathedral.

“No!” She cried out, jumping up.

“Steph!” Steph vaguely recognized the voice as Babs, but she was already gone, up and into the crowd.

She couldn’t run, even with the crowds that refused to part ways for her, as her dress was just too heavy and long to run effectively in, but that did not stop her from trying.

She apologized the entire time, shoving her way past people and allowing her train to be ripped to shreds as people stood on it. Rebecca had noticed her chasing after her, and had begun to try to escape faster.

Stephanie was the more experienced runner, so as soon as Rebecca managed to leave the Cathedral, Stephanie was immediately on her, throwing her down the stone steps and holding her tight. The rain was coming down as hard as ever, soiling her dress with the grime of Gotham. Her veil had come off when she ran, leaving her back prickling at the cold raindrops hitting her bare skin. The people who had so kindly been waiting for her and Tim to emerge for cheering were utterly baffled at the sight of the bride seemingly throwing a woman down the stairs.

The rain was so heavy that Stephanie felt herself becoming blind, knowing her makeup must have been running something terrible.

She became completely overwrought with emotion, and yelled out,

“Why were you killing all those brides and their husbands? Why did you kill Bishop Sherborne?”

She was screaming as if Rebecca had personally taken each shot, which was untrue, but Stephanie was surprised at how much the truth hurt. She’d still, in her gut, hoped this woman was innocent. Stephanie still didn’t even fully understand what involvement Rebecca had, but she was acting as if Rebecca had personally shot Tim.

People were pouring out of the Cathedral now, including Bart and Kara, who had managed with little trouble pushing to the front. They saw there was nothing to be done, and only watched.

Rebecca was in tears, shaking her head. “It isn’t me! It’s him! I swear, I’m a victim as much as you are! I didn’t have a choice! My career…”

Something about being called a victim set Stephanie off and she began to yell, “No! I’m sorry that you’ve been hurt, but seven people are dead! You had a choice!”

Commissioner Gordon came outside, ready to arrest Rebecca. Stephanie stood up and backed away, emotions running too high for her to think clearly, and turned to Bart and Kara. The rest of the family soon followed. Tim was soon enough pushing to the front and she instantly was in his arms. It was a ridiculous spectacle, they both knew, but they had done their job. Crystal quickly found her daughter, white faced and more than a little frantic, and needed more attending to then the couple who were shot at.

They would have to stay behind, offer an excuse of how they knew Rebecca was suspected of being complicit in murder (Batman had contacted Bruce after the engagement announcement, convenient as the man funded him after all, who had then asked if Tim and Steph were willing for their engagement to be put at risk the way it was, to which they had said yes, wanting to help). They were also informed of where Bruce was – officially (crashed his car on the way over and had gone straight to Leslie’s. Thank goodness it was nothing serious. Dick had gotten a look in his eye showing that he was already thinking of how to wreck another one of Bruce’s old cars) and they were told that, despite not getting to sign the register, the two were still – for all intents and purposes according the Church – married. Signing the register was just the civil, legal notice confirming it so.

Tim had seen the sick look on Stephanie’s face, and had gone with the “can we get back to you once we’ve calmed down” excuse.

The Dean, quite ready to be rid of the Wayne’s for another thirty years, agreed.

Left standing in the rain, knowing that this was going to be an absolute disaster come the following morning, and surrounded by frightened and confused wedding attendees, Tim went to bury himself in a hug with Stephanie. She granted it immediately and held on tight, her makeup completely ruining his perfect black suit.

“I’m not leaving.” She whispered, for his ears alone, and Tim’s heartbeat grew steady once more.

[artificialqueens]

Mateo's Eight 1/8 (Branjie)--athena2

Summary: 

Con artist Vanessa Mateo has just been released from prison, and she’s planning one last heist to erase her debts and start a new life for herself.

But for this to succeed, she needs the help of the very person who ratted her out to the cops: her ex-girlfriend, Brooke Lynn Hytes.

(An Ocean’s Eight AU).

A/N: I’ve been planning this for a while, and I’m excited to start posting! You also don’t need to see the movie to read this. It follows the main points of the movie, but I did make some changes here and there. Thank you so, so much to Writ, for letting me throw this idea and all my plans for it at you, for always supporting this, and for beta-ing! I’ve never done a full-length movie adaptation like this before, so I would really appreciate any feedback you have!

—

The first thing Vanessa does when she gets out of prison is get a slice of pizza.

Standing on the sidewalk in the black shirt she’d been wearing six months ago, too thin now for the late-winter chill, Vanessa gratefully burns her mouth on the cheese and lets grease drip down her wrist. She never thought she’d miss grease so much. She gets another slice and eats it in a few bites, crunching on the crust as loud as she can, breathing in the oregano and oil like it’s oxygen as winter sun warms her shoulders.

She’s home. She’s free.

There’s enough money in the box of her just-returned things for a cab to her mother’s, where she’ll have to live now that going back to her old–their old–apartment isn’t an option. There’s a heart necklace in there too, but Vanessa doesn’t want to think about that. She shoves it in her pocket to sell later, because she might as well get some money out of the betrayal.

She knocks on the apartment door with still-greasy fingers, and the sight of her mother’s face, so much brighter without the Plexiglass barrier in between them, has her instantly sobbing in her mother’s arms. Vanessa hasn’t been able to touch her for six months, and finds her fingers moving down her mother’s skin, the same caramel color of her own, starting to wrinkle from stress more than age. Vanessa is hit with a surge of guilt that most of the stress is probably from her.

“I’ve missed you, Vanjie.” It’s her mother’s old nickname for her, and Vanessa breaks down further. It gives her some glimmer of hope that everything will be okay, despite the medical bills she knows are lying around somewhere. Those thin pieces of paper have been following them for a year now, weighing down on their shoulders like a ton of bricks.

“I’ve missed you too.”

It’s nice to just be Vanessa for a few minutes, to be her mother’s daughter, the girl who had Rihanna posters on her walls and acted out soap-opera storylines with her dolls and ran around the apartment dodging bedtime.

She lets her mother kiss her until her face is more sticky lip gloss than skin. A loud yipping sound rings out, and something furry launches itself at her legs. Vanessa steps back and scoops up her dog, Riley, his tongue slobbering all over her and tail wagging fast enough to take flight.

She’s home again. She’s normal again. Maybe she’s not returning home to anything exciting, but everything smells like the perfume her mom wears, and the couch cushions are broken in just right, and the walls are still a soothing cream color. It always felt like time stood still here when she was a kid, everything always the same, but now she appreciates the stability, the sense that nothing has changed even if she’s been missing from this world for six months.

Her mother heads to the store so they can have Vanessa’s favorite foods for dinner. Vanessa wants to go, wants to do something as normal as grocery shopping, but she walks outside and gasps, heart hammering.

She can’t do this. Everything seems too big after such a small cell. The massive gray-blue sky is large enough to swallow her up, the buildings like giants looming over her, the street as wide as the ocean. She resigns herself to the soft pink walls of her childhood bedroom. She resented this room as a child for being the size of a shoe-box, wanting the massive rooms kids always had on TV. She has never been more grateful for it than now, secure in its narrow walls. It’s like she can breathe again.

The room is incomplete, missing most of her clothes, her makeup stuff, the fluffy bathroom that usually hangs in her closet, the old silver jewelry box that was her mother’s. Those things were all in their apartment, the apartment Silky and A’keria were supposed to go to and get the stuff for her, because Vanessa knew as soon she was hauled into the cop car that she wasn’t going back to that apartment again.

She doesn’t want to do what she’s about to do, but she has to.

She plugs in her long-dead cell phone and calls Silky and A’keria, who barge through her apartment door 10 minutes later and sweep her into a suffocating group hug. Vanessa’s not surprised to see A’keria wiping her eyes after, and her body burns with love for her two best friends.

“You meet any hot lesbians like on Orange is the New Black?” Silky asks eagerly, and it’s just the thing to break the awkwardness of not knowing what to say, of the realization that Vanessa missed months of dinners and movies, that everyone’s lives moved on while hers was trapped in a cell.

“Not one,” Vanessa says around a laugh. “But this one guard was totally into me. I coulda won her over, I bet. Had a little reunion on the beach, Shawshank Redemption-style.”

“You got game even in prison,” A’keria says, smiling, and Vanessa is just grateful no one’s mentioning the person that landed her in prison.

“I miss anything good?” Vanessa asks.

“A’keria broke up with her bum-ass boyfriend,” Silky reports.

“Even threw his clothes out the window,” A’keria says.

“Damn.” Vanessa sighs.

“You didn’t miss much else, though. Oh, and I got your stuff at my place.” A’keria reassures her.

“Thanks.”

“It’s good to have you back, Vanj.” Her warm hand settles over Vanessa’s shoulder, and she’s not going to cry, she’s not–

“How’s it feel to be free again?” Silky asks.

“Good.” It’s all Vanessa can really manage, the fact that she can wake up and eat and even pee whenever she wants now something she’s still struggling to grasp. It only makes what she’s about to say even harder.

“I have something planned,” Vanessa begins, bracing herself for the reaction.

“Are you out your damn mind?” A’keria yells. “You’re on parole!”

“Say it louder, those people down the street missed it,” Vanessa bites out.

“Look, Van–” Silky says.

“No,” Vanessa cuts her off. “I need to do this. I spent six months on this. I know who the mark is gonna be, I know the people I need to scout and get involved, and I know this can work.” This plan is the only thing that got her through the past six months, working out the details and practicing the exact words needed to build her team while she choked down food that tasted like Styrofoam and wrecked her back on a sorry excuse for a bed. She needs to do this, because otherwise the past six months have really been a waste.

Vanessa plows on, laying down the words she knows will get them. “It’s even bigger than the last one. Money I need. Money you need. Enough to set us all for life.”

Silky crosses her arms and stays silent. It’s no secret Silky is constantly in danger of losing her teaching job with all the budget cuts the school faces. She’d taken up street scams and pickpocketing–skills she taught Vanessa–to pay off her student loans and buy supplies and snacks for her classroom, which have to come out of her own (or some unsuspecting person’s) pocket.

A’keria lowers the index finger she was about to wag in Vanessa’s face like some old schoolteacher, no doubt thinking of her home jewelry business that never took off, the dead-end jewelry store job that keeps her home with her overbearing mother and asshole stepfather. With the money Vanessa’s talking, A’keria can buy her own damn island.

“We’re listening,” Silky says finally.

Vanessa fights her grin as she runs through the basics, alive with the familiar buzz of laying down a plan, watching it come to life from her mind. She doesn’t mention the full price tag but tells them both all their financial problems will be solved in one night.

By the time she’s done, they’re both onboard, and the fun begins.

—

Vanessa has to take deep breaths, her nails digging into A’keria’s arm as they walk down the sidewalk to get her next member in.

“You good, V?” A’keria asks gently.

Vanessa just nods, because this breathless fear of being outside when it was all she dreamed of for six months isn’t something she expected, or knows how to deal with. All she can do is keep breathing, keep moving, keep focusing on her plan.

She’s chosen all the players carefully, people she knows herself or knows through others. They’re not all scammers, just people with enough to lose, who can be easily persuaded into her plan and can be trusted to carry out their end of the plan.

The storefront is outlined in red, flowy dresses in reds and pinks and golds filling the window, some brightness on this dreary street. A bell chimes as they open the door, welcoming them to Red Hot by Scarlet Envy.

Scarlet is perched behind the counter, twirling her bright red hair. Vanessa’s only met her once at a party, but she hasn’t changed, still happy with her up-and-coming celebrity design label despite the debt and shady loans she buried herself in to make it happen.

After a hug from Scarlet, Vanessa begins just as she planned. “How would you like to dress Plastique Tiara for the Met Ball?”

Scarlet’s eyes widen. “Are you kidding me? I’d love to! But she’s Plastique, and I’m, well…” she gestures to her small store with its water-damaged ceiling.

Vanessa smiles. “I can make it happen. I just need one small favor. One small favor for me, and you dress Plastique Tiara, you get a bigger store, and”–Vanessa lowers her voice– “all the money troubles you got yourself in are gone.”

Scarlet blinks, mouth falling open, not even bothering to deny Vanessa’s information.

“Okay,” she agrees.

Yvie takes mere seconds, despite being the only person Vanessa has no dirt on to coerce into it. She’s an old friend of Silky’s who does stuff with computers, so far beyond Vanessa’s basic social media stalking skills that she doesn’t even try to understand it. They meet at some internet cafe and Vanessa is only one sip into the overpriced coffee she missed so much when Yvie agrees, saying she’d love to stick it to the man and asking if there’ll be snacks at the meeting tomorrow. Vanessa makes a mental note to buy chips.

Nina is a little harder to convince. She has a nice house in the suburbs, working over-the-phone scams and hijacking deliveries from transport trucks–blenders, coffeemakers, designer suitcases, bikes, air hockey tables–that she keeps or sells for profit.

Aside from the scamming, she’s goodness personified, the last person you’d suspect of anything, perfect for what Vanessa needs from her.

“Well,” Nina says, “I could use a little excitement.”

Vanessa puts a check mark next to her name.

—

Vanessa scrapes her plate clean at dinner, her mother’s cooking the last thing that truly makes her at home, comforting and cozy like a warm blanket. The joy continues as she slides into bed, on a real mattress, ready to fall asleep with the hope of the freedom she’s getting herself, until she remembers the last name on her list. She doesn’t want to call this person. She can’t call this person, and instead she calls A’keria to see if there’s a way around it.

“Tell me the truth,” Vanessa begins. “Do I need to call her?”

“Who? You mean Br–”

“Don’t say her name to me,” Vanessa snaps.

“I know things didn’t end well with you two–”

“She ratted me out to the cops! I went to prison because of her!” The anger burns through her, fresh on the thought that she went to prison by not just anyone, but by someone she had slept with and kissed and even loved. Six months of itchy clothes and a freezing cell, of having to see her own mother through a screen, of feeling absolutely worthless, of missing family dinners and not seeing her friends, all because that bitch couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

“Hey,” A’keria says calmly. “I know that. I know. But you have to call her, Vanj. She’s your right-hand woman. We can’t pull this off without her. You know we can’t.”

A’keria is right, which only makes things worse. Vanessa needs to call her. No one can keep things organized like her, stick exactly to the schedule like a human clock. Vanessa can pretend all she wants that this plan will work as it stands, but she knows in her heart she needs to make that one last phone call.

—

Vanessa strides to the counter confidently, trying not to act like the coats in her arms are worth a whole month’s rent. Being calm is the key, like she buys coats with three zeros in the price tag all the time.

“Hello.” She keeps her voice soft and polite as she approaches the counter.

“Hi,” the cashier says. She’s around twenty and Vanessa has been watching for a few days to make sure she gets this specific cashier. One who’s new, but not new enough to need a manager.

“I’d like to return these.” Vanessa plunks the coats on the counter, rehearsing her answer for the next inevitable question.

“Do you have your receipt?”

“I don’t, but I never wore them. They still have the tags and everything.” She even grabs one and shows it to the cashier, who smiles sympathetically, having no idea Vanessa just grabbed it off the rack a few minutes ago.

“We really need a receipt to return them. Do you have an account with us? Or the credit card you bought them with?”

Now is the time. Vanessa has seen enough middle-aged white ladies with expired coupons in her own retail days to get this next part right. She purses her lips and straightens her posture. “I’ve been shopping here for years, this is ridiculous! I just bought these.” Just a touch of anger, not enough to attract attention.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. If you’d like to speak with customer service—“

Vanessa loosens her shoulders, putting a smile back on. “You know what, I’ll just keep them. Could I trouble you for a bag?”

Vanessa walks away from the counter with her coats neatly folded inside the bag, heart racing and giddy with joy. She did it. She can sell two and start working on her father’s medical bills, and maybe give the third to her mother; her worn coat can’t offer much warmth in this November chill. She’s so lost in her excitement that she doesn’t notice where she’s going and walks right into a wall.

“Shit.” She takes a step back. A very tall, very blonde, very green-eyed wall. “Oh, sorry, I…” she forgets every word in the English language, forgets even her own name, at the blonde’s shy smile.

“You were good. Really good,” the blonde says, and something in her reluctant tone suggests she doesn’t give compliments often, that this praise truly means something.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Vanessa tries to stay cool, even as the blonde’s flashing green eyes set her whole body on fire. She had only prepared for getting caught at the register, not by strange blonde women.

“A cashier who wouldn’t need a manager. Waiting towards the end of a shift, when no one gives a shit anymore,” the blonde continues. “Even the coats. Expensive, but not enough to have security tags on them.”

She’s caught. Caught on her first real con, aside from the street scams she’s done. Vanessa swallows hard, considering her chances of outrunning the blonde’s mile-long legs in their slim red pants. Damn, Vanessa really needs to stop staring at those legs if this lady is about to bust her…

“Hey, I’m not gonna rat you out,” the blonde says, like she’s reading her mind. “I’m just saying you’re good, and if you ever want a partner…” She pulls a piece of paper from her glittery silver blazer and scribbles something down.

Vanessa reads a phone number in tiny, neat handwriting.

“I’ll consider it,” Vanessa says, though she’ll probably have to sit on her hands to keep herself from calling the second she gets home.

The blonde smiles. “I’m Brooke.”

“Vanessa.”

—

Vanessa holds out as long as she can, until it’s nearing 1am, moonlight arcing through her window. It’s almost like she’s purposely sabotaging herself, waiting and waiting to lower the chance that someone will answer.

Her thumb hovers over the phone. The contact name is still in there as it was before prison, with a bright red heart emoji after it. Vanessa remembers deliberating over putting it there, finally deciding it was okay after their second date.

Aside from her mother’s cell and the really good Thai place down the street from her old apartment, it’s the only phone number she has memorized. She could probably dial it in her sleep. She used to double- and triple-text that number, sending pictures of dogs she saw on the street, selfies in bed with the comforter revealing just enough skin, rants about how slow everyone in front of her was walking, goofy pictures of herself trying on enormous sunglasses bigger than her head.

And the replies used to come just as fast, Vanessa’s heart leaping with each one, her fingers flying to the phone to see what texts she’d gotten back.

She presses the call button, breath caught in her throat, half hoping there won’t be an answer and half-hoping there will be.

All she gets is a robotic monotone telling her this number is no longer in service, and Vanessa releases her air, unsure if she’s relieved or not. She really doesn’t want to hear that voice, but she’s going to need to if she wants this to work. Should she try to Google her? Or maybe…

The burner phone.

They had both discussed business through those old Nokias. The odds that she still has hers, and still has the thing on, are slim to none. But Vanessa thinks of how hard it will be to find a job now, how hard it will be to start over after prison. She thinks of her mother working too hard in her hospital shifts, the medical bills still unpaid. She thinks of all the people she had promised this would be a success, all the debts that would be repaid, all the freedoms won. She has to try.

Her fingers move without thought over the phone, like just another day, and she almost drops the phone when it rings. The rings trill in her ear for what feels like hours, her heart racing. She’s about to hang up when the line clicks.

There’s a pause, a sharp intake of breath on the other line. Vanessa remembers those gasps of air, had pulled them out of soft lips as her hands tangled in that blonde hair…

“Who is this?”

The nerve. Vanessa’s fist clenches in anger. If it wasn’t a Nokia, she probably would’ve bent her phone in half. The nerve for that voice to be so soft and hesitant, when it had caused her half a year behind bars. The nerve of asking who it is when she knows damn well it can’t be anyone else.

“You know who this is, Brooke. We need to talk.”

[segenassefa]

5: How to Thrift Without Looking Like Macklemore: Sustainability and Shopping

This blog post is in collaboration with Envly, a black-owned, online platform promoting awareness, community, and sustainability. Thank you so much for the opportunity to collaborate on this post, and please make sure to follow and check out their page for updates on their amazing work!

I dare you to find me one person that doesn’t enjoy spending money on clothes, or who doesn’t feel even the smallest rush after buying a new pair of pants or shoes. However, in the progression towards adulthood, one should always strive to be ethical and live sustainably.

In high school, I began actively shopping in thrift stores, forgoing fast fashion and online retailers. I was able to find more clothing more aligned with my personal style, without breaking the bank, and participate in a more ethical source of consumerism. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized there are some brands that are notoriously hard to find second-hand (looking at you, Los Angeles Apparel), but I still find unexplainable joy in the thrift store experience.  

The average Canadian throws out 81 pounds (37 kilograms) of textiles annually – about the weight of a newborn calf1. Additionally, clothing sent to landfills is made using synthetic materials – think polyester, rayon, nylon, and acrylic - and when broken down, releases toxic gasses, such as carbon dioxide and methane gasses2. Additionally, modern capitalism is built off of exploitation and the use of sweatshop labour in countries such as Bangladesh and Honduras results in minimal wages, disregard for human wellbeing, and some sketchy business practices. If that isn’t enough (and you feel like looking closer to home), the California Bureau of Labour Statistics notes that the second largest work force in Los Angeles is the cut-and-sew labour force (read: textile and garment labourers). Of the 46,000 individuals who comprise this labour force, 71% of these individuals are immigrants3 – making textile production inherently anti-black and anti-POC.

But fret not! There are ways to get your shopping fix that are ethical and reduce the amount of textile waste greenhouse gas emission we put back into the planet. So, for some tips on how to be a sustainable shopper, keep reading4.

To the left, to the left (everything you own in a box to the left)

Between social media, fashion magazines, and subversive advertising, it can be hard to distinguish what in our closet we need, versus what we want (or what we’re told are “closet essentials”). Empty your closet and be objective about what you need and what you don’t. The baby t-shirt you kept that your grandmother gave you? Those warm sweats from high school with holes all through the bum? Leggings that are about 2 inches too short and are threadbare in the inner thigh? Toss, babes.

Create four piles – donate, toss, alterations, and keep. One way to simplify this process is to create a mood board (Pinterest is good for this) for a clothing style you like and would actually wear.

Another trick to help this process is to establish something of a personal uniform. Do you find yourself always gravitating towards denim and flannel combinations? Do you enjoy bright colours and unconventional silhouettes? Whatever it is, take the time that you need – I would recommend anywhere between 3 hours or three days – and get to it.

Keep a list and check it twice.

Now that you have a better idea of the state of your closet, create a list of pieces that you don’t currently own, but would wear quite regularly if you did. A plain black hoodie? A simple, going-out dress? A nice blazer for work? Add it all to a list and organize it whatever way you’d like – whether it’s whatever comes to mind first or in order of personal importance.

Preparation is key

 If shopping is a sport, then thrifting would be akin to a marathon. Before you head out, make sure you give yourself ample time to shop around and make informed, well-thought out decisions. New, COVID-era regulations have required many thrift stores to restrict the usage of their dressing rooms. To get around this, my favourite thrifting outfit has been things that mould to the body and are easy to try clothes on over; things like body suits, tank tops, biker shorts and leggings. Bring some headphones to really put yourself in the zone and make sure you have a fully charged phone battery – helpful for directions, checking sizing, and for the impromptu FaceTime call to friends to ask, “How do I look?”. Also make sure you understand a store’s return and exchange policy to avoid any unwanted purchases.

Go virtual

Kijiji is not just for sneaker resellers and creeps looking to prey on young women for affordable housing. When looking for more niche wardrobe essentials (think winter jackets, bags, and sneakers), apps like Envly, Poshmark, Kijiji, and Depop can be your best friend. My motto is someone, somewhere is always selling something that you want5. Don’t be shy to arrange meetups to save on shipping and price negotiations.

Do your research

Not all clothing is made the same, and while it may be nice to be oblivious to things such as material or authenticity of an item, it pays off in the long run. My favourite material is cotton, and while 100% cotton may not be cheap, it is more accessible than people would want you to believe – as well as better for the environment and easier to maintain. If you notice that a majority of clothing in your closet is a certain material, then try to stay within your comfort zone and be vigilant. Also make sure you read the care labels on your thrifted items! There’s nothing worse than throwing a cute item of clothing in the wash, only to have it shrink 3 sizes when you pull it out.

Sew what

Maybe you don’t need any new clothing, but you’ve held on to some ill-fitting items for too long. Don’t worry! Toronto is full of tailors with reputations that precede them, and for a decent price. Feel free to DM me for my favourites from Mississauga to Scarborough.

Patience

Before you head out to the thrift stores, understand that one of the sacrifices for sustainability is convenience. Thankfully, we have brands like Envly changing that, but with thrifting and second-hand shopping, it is important to remember you won’t find everything you want all at once. Unlike your favourite fast fashion brands, you won’t find everything you want on your list all at once, but feel free to look at your thrifting adventure like a treasure hunt – it’ll be more than worth the wait.

Sources

1 https://rco.on.ca/the-average-person-throws-away-37-kilograms-of-textiles-annually/

2 https://www.upworthy.com/9-reasons-you-shouldnt-throw-away-clothes-and-4-things-you-can-do-instead

3 https://www.forbes.com/sites/syamameagher/2020/02/05/the-not-so-hidden-ethical-cost-of-fast-fashion-sneaky-sweatshops-in-our-own-backyard/#644c8b5525d1

4 While these tips are focused around clothing, they can also be applied to home goods and entertainment, including furniture, appliances, electronics, and entertainment media.

5 My best Depop purchases include my black Telfar, and my North Face Nupste 700 – both which were preloved, and over half off the retail price.

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Bad Blood - Chapter 31

You can read it on AO3 or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here. 

__________

Panic drives Stiles upstairs when the shouting starts, but it’s muscle memory that takes him to the room he hasn’t set foot inside for six years. He doesn’t even realise what he’s done until he’s already pushed the door open and he’s staring his old life in the face.

The bedroom isn’t exactly how he left it—Stiles is pretty sure there wasn’t day when his comforter wasn’t in a pile on the floor and there was crap from one side of the room to the other—but all his things are here. All the things that ten-year-old Stiles loved so much.

His comforter has the Transformers on it.

There’s a plush Yoda sitting on his pillow.

His bookcase is full of Animorphs books—ha!—and comics and Lego figurines.

There are glow-in-the-dark stickers of stars and moons and planets on the ceiling.

This is a little boy’s room.

This is what Kate and Gerard stole from him. Not just possessions. Not just dumb stuff. They stole that little boy from Stiles.  

“Stiles?” his dad asks him.

Stoles jolts, and spins around. He didn’t even realise his dad was behind him. If Gerard was here, he’d get punished for letting someone sneak up on him like that. He blinks, and sees the arrow sticking out of Gerard’s busted eye. It calms him more than something that grisly should.

“You, um,” Stiles says. “You kept it all the same.”

“I couldn’t bring myself to do anything else,” his dad says. His eyes shine, and he swallows.

Downstairs, Allison and Victoria are still yelling and then, abruptly, it stops. The sudden silence feels even quieter than it should.

“I don’t remember everything,” Stiles says. “I don’t remember how to be him. That kid you lost.”

“I don’t need you to be him,” his dad says. “Kiddo, I just need you to be you.”

Stiles snorts. “Still figuring that one out, to be honest.”

“Yeah?” his dad asks, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. “Well, you take all the time you need.”

Stiles moves further into his room and reaches out to pick up a plastic toy from the desk. It’s some cheap crap that looks like it came out of a Happy Meal or something. He turns it over in his palm. “Do I… I mean, am I staying here now? With you?”

“I’d like you to,” his dad says.

“In this room,” Stiles says, “that’s full of kid stuff?”

“I’ve got boxes in the garage,” his dad says. “We can clear some of this stuff out now, if you want. Because I have to tell you, there is nothing in that closet that will even come close to fitting you now.”

Stiles thinks of his clothes back at Gerard’s house. “Shit. The photo of Mom and me. It’s at Gerard’s place. And my passport too. I need to get those back, or it’ll totally fuck with that cover story about the grandparents.”

“We’ll make it happen,” his dad says. “And, since I haven’t been able to say this in six years, watch the language, huh?”

Stiles flushes warmly. “Yeah, sorry.”

“I guess I’ll let it slide,” his dad says. “Extenuating circumstances.”

Aren’t they, though? Stiles squeezes the plastic toy in his hand until it hurts. “I’m not that kid,” he says again, his voice rasping. “That kid who fit into those clothes. I’m sorry.”

“I was making a joke, Stiles,” his dad says, his forehead creasing. “A pretty shitty joke, apparently. Hell, I’m not going to treat you like a little boy, Stiles. I promise. It’s going to take us a while to find our feet around each other again, but I don’t…” He sighs, and drags his hand through his hair. “I don’t have any expectations of you, you understand? I just want you to be happy here.”

Stiles swallows past the ache in his throat. “Okay. I’ll try.” He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip in an effort to ease the word out: “Dad.”

It sound so big.

Dad blinks, and his eyes shine with tears. “We’re gonna make this work, kiddo, you’ll see.” He clears his throat. “Now how about I get those boxes from the garage?”

***

Allison goes home with Victoria, though she promises to be back tomorrow. Stiles spends the afternoon going through his old stuff, with Derek beside him. Derek is… Derek is like a fire that Stiles leans towards on a winter’s night. He’s warmth and comfort and a silent promise that he’ll keep the cold away. He laughs at some of the t-shirts Stiles holds up.

“This was fashion?” Stiles asks. “Was this ever fashion?”

“I bet you were the coolest ten-year-old on the block,” Derek says.

Stiles tosses a bright red flannel shirt at him, and Derek bats it into the closest box.

“Don’t even pretend,” Derek says. “You’d still wear that if it was in your size.”

Stiles snorts, but doesn’t answer. He thinks that maybe Derek is right. Like right now his closet at Gerard’s place is full of blacks and grays and dark, muted colors. The kind of clothes that people didn’t notice. The kind of clothes that made him blend in. Stiles could wear bright red now if he wanted, or any color at all. Having that choice seems suddenly dizzying somehow, so he inhales slowly and reaches for the next shirt.

He holds up a small Batman t-shirt. “Okay, I’d wear this one if it fit.”

“You could probably get that in your size,” Derek says.

“You think I could get superhero underwear in my size too?” Stiles asks, tugging out a pair of blue and red Superman underpants.

“Oh,” Derek says with a smile. “Please do.”

Stiles snorts out an ugly sounding laugh, and feels his face burning.

He’s relieved when they turn to the toys and books.

“Hey,” Derek says, and bumps their shoulders together.

Stiles glances at him.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Derek says.

“Last night you stepped in front of a bullet for me,” Stiles says. His mouth feels dry. “I can handle a little embarrassment.”

Bullets and guns and blood and death though—Stiles knows those things. He doesn’t know this. He doesn’t know smiles and teasing and long gazes and want. He doesn’t know them at all.

But he wants to.

He shifts so that he’s sitting in front of Derek. Derek is cross-legged on the floor, and Stiles is on his knees. Stiles lifts a hand and discovers that it’s shaking, like he’s in the middle of an adrenaline dump. He brushes his fingertips against Derek’s cheek, and watches the way it pulls when Derek smiles softly.

He’s so beautiful.

He’s so beautiful, and Stiles is allowed to think that. Gerard can’t take that away from him. He can’t force Stiles to push it down, to suffocate it, the way he did with the memory of the boy in Budapest. Stiles is allowed this.

He leans in, letting his eyes close, and then his lips—a little rough and chapped—are pressing gently against Derek’s. It’s not the same kiss from the party. It’s not heated and desperate. It’s soft and slow, because, for the first time in his life, Stiles has all the time in the world.

It’s a new sensation, and he clings to it tightly.

Stiles has all the time in the world.

***

It’s a strange thing, to feel like a guest in the house he grew up in. When it’s dinner time, Dad and Peter are the ones getting everything together, not Stiles. It’s weird, because he thinks he remembers where the plates are kept, but also, they’re not his plates anymore, are they?

Dad makes spaghetti bolognaise and pairs it with store-bought garlic bread, and Stiles isn’t used to eating such carb-heavy food, at least not when he hasn’t trained in days, or even been on a run. There’s even dessert, which Stiles isn’t used to at all—a hot apple crumble with cream. It tastes so nice that Stiles doesn’t even mind feeling a little over-full.

Stiles rinses the dishes after they eat, and Laura puts them in the dishwasher.

“Laura?” he asks.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

She looks over at him, her brow creased. “What for?”

“For tricking you,” Stiles says. “For, um, for shooting you.”

She shows him a shaky smile. “You scared the fuck out of me, Stiles. I was ready to rip your throat out there for a second when I thought you’d double-crossed us. But you saved us.”

“So we’re good?” he asks cautiously.

“Stiles, you savedus. Of course we’re good!”

And Stiles lets out a breath he thinks he’s been holding since last night.

***

That night Dad sets Stiles up with his laptop and directs him to Amazon.

“Get a phone,” he says. “And some clothes, and shoes, and toiletries, and whatever else you need. Don’t worry about the total, okay?”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Dad says. “The Argents are paying.”

“Guess I’ll get a laptop too,” Stiles says.

“As long as it’s a top-of-the-line one,” Dad tells him with a grin.

Laura and Derek sit on either side of him on the couch, and Laura offers unsolicited advice on fashion, and Derek keeps reaching over Stiles to jab her in the arm whenever she does. There’s a movie playing on the TV, but none of them are watching it.

“Der, you probably need a new comforter, and sheets and a pillow,” Stiles says. “Your room was kind of a mess.”

“Oooh!” Laura leans forward. “And I bet we need new kitchen stuff too.”

“The kitchen was barely touched,” Derek says.

“The couch might have been though,” Laura says. “Do they sell couches?”

It’s fun, Stiles thinks, in a weird way. It’s fun to make the Argents pay for Star Wars themed potholders and an ugly expensive lamp just because Laura likes the look of it. It’s fun, right up until Stiles thinks of everything the Argents owe the Hales, and how a crazy online shopping spree is nothing compared to what they’ve really lost.

And then Stiles thinks of a werewolf pack in Kroměříž and what he took from them.

He shoves the laptop in Laura’s direction, and pushes himself off the couch.

He hurries down the hallway and into the kitchen, and shoves the back door open. He stumbles down the porch steps and into the yard.

The night is dark and cool.

He can hear a neighbor’s television playing a fraction too loud, and, out the front of the house, a car passing in the street.

His rich, carb-heavy dinner heaves in his stomach, once, and then twice, and Stiles doubles over and is sick on the lawn. Then, stepping away from the mess, he drops to his knees and presses his hands to his eyes.

He’s a killer.

A murderer.

Stiles is the monster, and he has no right to be laughing at Star Wars potholders and ugly lamps.

A warm hand on his spine startles him. For a second he thinks it’s Derek—it’s alwaysDerek—but when he twists around, he sees that it’s Dad.

“Come on, kid,” Dad says, and draws him into an embrace. “It’s okay. It’s okay, son, I’ve got you.”

And Stiles leans into him and howls.

[the-asia-trip]

Days 1-2: Tokyo, Revisited

On my last trip to Japan, to save money, I opted for a 22 hour series of connecting flights from Boston to Zurich, and then Zurich to Tokyo. For an additional 8 hours of airtime, I saved about $200. When booking this trip, I didn't make that mistake again.

My journey began roughly two days ago, with a 13-hour direct flight from Boston-Logan to Tokyo-Narita on Japan Airlines. I can't put my finger on it, but there's a very distinct "Japan smell," and I instantly smelled it upon getting onto the plane. Somewhere between "clean" and "foreign." As I sat down in my seat, a whole wave of sensory memories came flooding back to me. 

The flight was uneventful, which is, of course, what you want in a flight, and filled with little Japanese details. Before takeoff, the flight crew announced that turbulence was expected on the route, but it only amounted to a few small bumpy sections. Perhaps this was just Japan's culture of risk-aversion at work, though: better to prime people to expect turbulence and not get any than the other way around. Also, every seatback TV screen had some kind of holographic coating, so that it's impossible to see what other people are watching unless you're looking at the screen head-on. They love their privacy, the Japanese.

Over the course of our 13-hour trip, we passed over my hometown, as well as Montreal and Alaska. I always forget about Alaska; this crazy massive chunk of land 1/3 the size of the lower 48 states just perched up at the top of the continent. Over the Gates of the Arctic National Park, the views were so arresting that I spent about an hour with my eyes glued to the window. 

Another highlight of the flight: apparently, Japan Airlines has a series of inflight informational videos about all of their destinations. About 8 hours into the trip I discovered their video about Boston, and it's one of the most unintentionally hilarious things I've ever seen, for reasons I can't really articulate.

We landed in Narita at around 4:50 Japan time, almost 4 am EST. From there, it was a race against the clock to get to my hotel, check-in, and pass out. Right now, in Japan, the sun rises at around 6 am and sets at about 5:30, so by the time I got out of the airport, it was nighttime. After a 1-hour high-speed train trip into Tokyo proper and about 10 minutes on the subway, I arrived at my hotel. 

On this trip, I decided to do myself a favor and get a proper hotel room. While capsule hotel-ing was fun last time, on this trip, I'm older, wiser, have a little more disposable income, and wanted my own bathroom. I’m staying at the MyStays Kanda, a part of the same chain as my favorite capsule hotel from the last trip. The room is small, but still offers a full-sized bed, a bathroom with a tub and a shower, a table, a chair, and a little closet/storage space for clothes and shoes. After unpacking all of my things and showering, I fell asleep.

Jet lag is a funny thing. It's basically the human body being unable to comprehend the concept of modern high-speed travel. A trip that used to take half a year now takes half a day, and everyone's brains are still trying to process that. Mine very much included.

On my first night in Tokyo, I slept from around 8 pm to 1:30 am. Not great, but not terrible. After trying and failing to sleep for another 3 hours, I got up and went for a walk.

My first official meal in Japan was a visit to an old favorite from the last trip, Yoshinoya, a chain restaurant specializing in beef and rice bowls. They have locations in California, so those of you reading this on the west coast would do wise to appreciate that. I started with a Kalbi Beef bowl, immediately followed by a small can of BOSS-brand coffee from a vending machine outside.

Ah, Japan.

After breakfast, I walked over to the Imperial Palace. Japan is the only country on Earth that has an Emperor as their head of state, and frankly, that's a huge vibe. Something about "emperor" as opposed to "king" or "prince" or "duke," it carries so much gravitas. Only Japan can still pull something like that off.

The Imperial Palace has been the residence of the Emperor since 1868 and occupies a huge chunk of downtown Tokyo. Situated on a walled island in the middle of the city, it's not hard to miss. Of course, being an official state residence, I wasn't able to go inside, so I settled for walking around the perimeter of the moat. 

After that, I hopped on the subway over to Akihabara, a favorite spot from my last trip. Akihabara is Tokyo's gaming and Anime mecca. If it's weird and Japanese, you can find it there. The people-watching is world-class. 

The contrast between the Imperial Palace and Akihabara is about as good a metaphor for Japan as I can try to come up with. It's a country that's at once hypermodern and steeped in millennia of distinct traditions, culture, and history. There's simply no other place on Earth like it, and as you can tell, I'm a big fan.

It was still around 7 am at this point, so there weren't many things open in Akihabara, and I headed back to my hotel. 

Later that morning, I took the subway over to Harajuku, another favorite spot. What Akihabara is to gaming and anime, Harajuku is to fashion. Alongside the likes of Milan, Paris and New York, it's widely recognized as one of the world's fashion hubs, and you see it when you walk around there. People look like they've just stepped off a runway. 

In Italian, they have a word for people who look cool without looking like they're trying to look cool: sprezzatura. "Studied carelessness." The kind of guy who just happens to be wearing a suit and a pocket square to go get coffee and have a cigarette on a Tuesday morning in Rome. There is no such word in Japanese: when it comes to fashion, people here try hard, and most of the time, they pull it off. 

After several hours of walking, people watching and window shopping, I stopped into a little hole-in-the-wall whose name escapes me for some noodles, served cold alongside a bowl of fiery broth. You dip the noodles in the broth, but don't let them touch otherwise. Not to be confused with ramen or udon, noodles that arrive in broth. Very different. 

From there, I headed over to Ikebukuro to the Evangelion Store. Evangelion is one of my favorite shows of all time, and there's only one store that sells officially licensed merchandise from it. Naturally, I had to go back since I'm here.

Throughout my day, I kept having little moments that reminded me of what drew me to Japan in the first place. There’s a thoughtfulness that goes into everything here that I haven’t seen in many other places. It may still be me looking at the place with rose-colored glasses, but nevertheless. It’s really something. 

With merch acquired, still running on about 5 hours of sleep, I headed back to my hotel to relax. I managed to remain awake until around 10 pm, and slept until about 4:45 this morning. For my 6.5 hours of bed-time, I logged about 4.5 hours of sleep, according to the sleep-tracking app on my phone. Again, not great, but not terrible for night two in the polar opposite of my normal timezone. Stay tuned for more!

[my-one-love-is-music]

Be My Player 2? Ch. 39

Also in AO3!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hunk! Pidge!” Keith shouted as he turned the corner and found them at the other end of the hall. People glanced up as he sprinted past, giving him curious looks. “Hunk! Pidge!”

They paused and glanced over their shoulders, sharing a look at finding Keith chasing them down. He slowed as he approached, bracing his hands on his knees when he stopped to try and catch his breath.

“Finally,” he gasped.

“Keith? Is everything okay, buddy?” Hunk asked. “You’re not running from anyone are you? Because I’d rather not be the victim of a chase. Police or otherwise.”

He shook his head. “No. I’m not being chased by anyone. I just had to find you guys.”

“You could’ve texted us, you know,” Pidge scoffed. “There’s this great thing called a cellphone. Really helps with communication.”

“Pidge, I love you, but shut up,” Keith forced out, straightening and placing a hand on his side to try and ease the stitch that formed.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Now tell us what you wanted. You’re not normally one to run across campus looking for someone.”

Keith pulled out his phone and unlocked it, the email still open where he’d read it.

“Here,” he said, handing over his phone.

Pidge and Hunk bent over the phone, confused looks morphing into understanding and glee.

“You did it!” Pidge said. “I knew you could!”

“Congrats man,” Hunk said, patting him on the shoulder.

“It’s just an interview,” he muttered, face heating up.

“Just an interview my ass,” Pidge scoffed. “It’s still an interview. And that’s what’s important. This is an awesome accomplishment. Don’t sell yourself short just because it’s not a job offer yet. Give me all the details.”

“I’m really excited and it’s over Skype. Obviously, since I can’t just fly down there yet. And, well, you read it, the offer is for an interview later next week.”

“And you’ve already sent them your acceptance of course,” Pidge said with a nod.

“Oh, wait yeah I need to do that,” Keith muttered. He hit the reply button and typed out his response.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Pidge cried, smacking him in the arm.

Keith jolted and looked up at her, shocked. “What?”

“I can’t believe you,” she admonished. “All that talk about wanting to get a job and move to Florida and you can’t even accept an interview for one within two minutes of getting the email.”

“It’s not like I’m going to lose the interview opportunity if I don’t respond right away. That’s not how it works,” Keith argued.

Pidge shook her head and crossed her arms. “I still think you should’ve accepted before even considering coming to find us.”

Keith stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth, reading his reply once before he hit send. “Sorry, I guess,” he muttered, pocketing his phone. “I was just so shocked I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t know what to do.”

Hunk smiled. “Don’t worry, man. We can help you out with that. Like we told you before, you’re not going through this alone and we’ll help you every step of the way.”

“Thanks guys,” Keith murmured, warmth spreading through him.

“We’ll even help you figure out what to wear,” Pidge offered. “We all know you’re horrible unless it involves black.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Shut up. And I’ve got Saturday morning off if you can make that work.”

Pidge punched him in the arm. “We’ll be there. No sweat.”

Keith smiled at them both. “Thanks. I mean it. Thank you.”

Hunk cooed and pulled him into a tight hug. “We’re happy for you, man. And like we’ve been saying, we’re going to help you land this job so you can be where you need to be.”

Keith swallowed, a lump forming in his throat at being faced with his friends’ blatant kindness and the possibility he might actually get what he wants.

~~

Keith shuffled through his apartment; mind set on getting into his bed as fast as possible. He wanted to sleep, but he knew Shiro would be calling him soon for their nightly chat and needed to stay awake just long enough to get a few words across.

And he was looking forward to breaking the news to Shiro that he had a job interview. He wasn’t going to tell him where it was yet, but he was going to tell him it was happening.

Keith toed off his shoes as soon as he was through his bedroom door and shoved his jeans down around his legs, kicking them in the general direction of the laundry pile. He unbuttoned his shirt and added that to the mound of discarded clothes.

He grabbed a clean pair of boxers and a large shirt and changed, falling into bed, and nearly asleep with how comfortable it was. He rolled onto his side, forcing his eyes open and reached for his bedside table, frowning when he didn’t find his phone.

Keith grumbled and forced his eyes open, finding the table empty. He sighed and pushed himself upright, wary to get back on his feet and retrieve his phone. He was in the middle of weighing the pros and cons of crawling when his ringtone went off in his pile of discarded clothes.

He jumped to his feet and rushed to his jeans, fumbling with the pockets until he managed to get his phone free. Shiro’s name flashed across the screen and Keith nearly dropped it trying to answer.

“Hello?” he asked, finally getting a hold on it.

“Hey baby,” Shiro greeted. “How was work?”

Keith relaxed, some of his stress and exhaustion washing off him. “Not too bad. A bit busy, but we weren’t swamped and got through it without too much trouble. How are things with you?”

“Been fighting to keep above water with my schoolwork. I feel like job applications have fallen to the backburner a little bit, which isn’t something I really want to let happen.”

“I get that, but that doesn’t mean you should sacrifice your schoolwork in favor of doing a bunch of applications. Save them for the weekends if you have to.”

Shiro sighed. “Yeah… Anyway, how are things going with you? Any job interviews lined up that you want to tell me about?”

Keith bit his lip, trying to keep the grin from pulling the corners of his lips upwards. “Well…”

“Wait, really?!” Shiro asked, nearly shouting.

Keith pulled the phone away form his ear and chuckled. “Yeah, really. I got an email today about an interview for next week.”

“Congrats, baby! I knew you could do it!”

Keith felt himself flush. “Thanks. I was getting a little stressed so it was nice to finally get some good news. I was worried I’d graduate before getting an interview.”

“I told you you didn’t have anything to worry about. You’re going to do great. What’s it for?”

“A research assistant position. It’ll give me the chance to do something with my degree at least.”

“I’m sure you’re going to have no problem landing it. You’re smart and amazing and there’s no way they won’t love you and want to hire you right away,” Shiro gushed.

“I don’t know about that,” Keith said, rolling onto his side. “But I’m hoping that I’ll get lucky and it’ll pan out. It’ll make getting through the rest of the year easier. Less stress.”

“You’ll get it,” Shiro said. “I know you will.”

Keith thought about all the time they got to spend together over Spring Break and how vivid he imagined their future to be. This was just one more step to getting closer to that future. As long as Shiro wanted it too.

“Thanks, Shiro. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I think I should be the one saying that to you,” Shiro said, voice soft.

Keith pursed his lips, wanting more than anything to tell Shiro that he would be just fine without him. So many people were just fine without Keith. And Shiro would be just fine without him.

Keith, on the other hand. Keith needed Shiro like he needed oxygen to breathe. Shiro was the glue that held him together no matter how bad things got. He was becoming as important as the sun that rose in the east and gave life to the Earth. He was incredible and different and beautiful like the stars and galaxies that dotted the universe and shined bright in even the darkest of corners.

“Keith?” Shiro asked. “You there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry, just got caught up in my own head for a bit.”

“Nothing bad, I hope. If you need to talk about it, I’m all ears,” Shiro said, voice sincere and as meaningful as it always was when they were talking or if Keith had an anxiety attack.

“Nothing bad,” Keith confirmed, smiling up at the ceiling. “Just thinking about how much I love you,” he said, keeping his voice light.

Shiro chuckled. “I love you, too. Any other fun or exciting things going on that I should know about?”

“Not much. Pidge and Hunk are going to come over this weekend to help me pick out something for my interview…”

~~

Keith hurried to the door to his apartment when he heard the knocking. He’d been sitting in his room staring at his closet for an hour trying not to let the stress and anxiety of his upcoming interview overwhelm him.

He yanked open the door, not bothering to check through the peephole since there were only two people who’d reasonably be knocking at his door.

“Have no fear, the greatest duo is here,” Pidge said, walking past him towards his bedroom.

“Well I hope you’re the greatest fashion duo because I still have no idea what I’m going to wear,” Keith muttered, locking the door as Hunk followed Pidge through his apartment.

“Runway design, not so much,” Hunk said. “But interview attire? I think we’ve got your back.”

“You’ve got potential,” Pidge said, already elbows deep into his closet, sifting through his shirts and pants. “It helps that you needed nicer clothes for your job. But you’re definitely going to need more variety when you show up for work.”

“I’m not even guaranteed a job,” Keith huffed, plopping down on the edge of his bed next to Hunk. “It’s just an interview.”

“And it’ll only be an interview if you keep thinking like that,” Hunk said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve got the skills to get the job. You can do it. You will do it.”

Keith pursed his lips, tired of arguing with them over this.

“How about this?” Pidge asked. She held out a dark grey shirt and a pair of beige chinos he couldn’t even remember buying.

“Looks good as a preliminary option,” Hunk commented. “I think the real test is going to be having Keith try it on.”

“Do I have to?” he groaned.

“Yes,” Pidge said, tossing the clothes to him. “Not only should the colors match, but they should look good on you, too.”

“Fine, fine,” he huffed. He shuffled out of his bedroom and into the bathroom, hanging his clothes off the doorknob to keep them from getting rumpled on the floor. He switched shirts quickly, slipping his arms through the sleeves and doing up the buttons.

He pulled on the chinos and carefully tucked his shirt into them, making sure it was flat over his stomach and didn’t twist in any awkward way. He gave himself a onceover in the mirror, not finding anything too impressive.

He felt like he was trying too hard. Like a little kid trying on his dad’s clothes to try and seem like an adult when he really wasn’t one.

“Hurry up!” Pidge called. “Your adoring fans are waiting to see.”

Keith snorted and pulled open the door. “Don’t hurt yourself by calling yourself ‘adoring.’”

He stepped around the corner and waved at what he was wearing. “How does it look?”

Pidge nodded. “I approve. Hunk?”

“Nice color scheme, Pidge. Although…I think we should make sure that’s the best option available.”

“Agreed,” Pidge said with a solemn nod. She hopped up and returned to her search deep through Keith’s closet.

“Why can’t this one be good enough?” Keith scoffed.

“Do you want it to be good enough or do you want it to be the best?” Hunk asked.

“Keith, you don’t happen to own a tie, do you?” Pidge asked, voice muffled.

Keith sighed. He loved his friends to death and they were the literal greatest, but they could also be the worst.

~~

Keith rubbed his hands across his pants. His palms were sweaty and he was fighting to keep his fingers from trembling. The collar of his shirt felt like it was choking him and he wanted nothing more than to run away and hide instead of suffering through an insanely anxiety-inducing interview.

He’d woken up that morning with a supportive string of texts from Shiro and it reminded him of the many reasons he was doing this.

He glanced at the clock, watching as the numbers changed. He still had two minutes to go until the start of his interview. Assuming the panel was going to send the skype call right on time. He took a deep breath. It shook as he let it out. He could do this. He could do this and it was going to be great and he was going to get this job and move down to Florida to be with Shiro.

He had to believe it was possible. No matter what. He had to believe he could do it and that just might keep him from epically failing in an explosion of death and fire.

Keith jumped when the Skype ringtone broke the silence around him. He placed a hand over his heart, fighting to calm his heartbeat. He wiped his hands on his pants one more time, forcing a smile on his face as he hit accept.

The image formed, revealing three people sitting at a table in the middle of the room. Keith hid his hands in his laps, twisting them together as they shook.

“Good morning Keith,” one of the men greeted with a smile. “Can you hear us alright?”

“I’m hearing you loud and clear,” Keith said, clearing his throat which was suddenly dry. “How are all of you doing today?”

The panel grinned, each murmuring good things about their days.

“We’ll go around and introduce ourselves really quick and then we’ll get started,” the man continued. “How does that sound?”

“It sounds great,” Keith said, voice cracking at the end of his sentence. He fought down the blush that made its way up his cheeks and cleared his throat, listening intently to the names and titles of everyone sitting in on his interview.

“We have a set of questions we’re going to go around and ask you and then you’ll have a chance to ask us anything. I’ll go ahead and start,” Dave, the first man who’d spoken, explained. “Can you tell us a little bit about why you’re interested in this position and relocating to Florida?”

Keith took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, the thought of Shiro helping to calm him. He opened his mouth and started to speak.

~~

Keith sighed and collapsed back into his chair. He scrubbed his hands over his face as the last of his nerves and adrenaline wreaked havoc on his system. He didn’t feel like it was good enough. He didn’t think he was smart or charming or incredible enough to stand out against every other person they were no doubt interviewing. Most of them closer than Keith probably was.

They seemed to like him. But he knew that was no guarantee to their actual feelings about him and his qualifications.

Keith reached for his phone, pulling up his texts with Shiro.

Keith: Interview’s done

He waited, hoping Shiro’s answer wouldn’t be long before it came through. His phone started vibrating wildly in his hand, Shiro’s name and picture filling the screen.

Keith smiled and answered it.

“He-”

“How’d it go?” Shiro asked, grin evident in his voice. “I bet you did amazing!”

Keith chuckled and shrugged a shoulder. “It was okay. I kind of feel like I wasn’t good enough. Or I wasn’t what they were looking for.”

“I’m sure you did great! From what you told me about the position, you’re plenty qualified. You have the training at least and they certainly can’t expect you to know everything right off the bat.”

“Maybe…” Keith hedged. “They said they’d let me know next week if I made it to the next round of interviews.”

“You’ve got this. You’ll probably be the first person they call,” Shiro swore.

Keith chuckled, feeling warmth bloom in his chest and drive away some of his uncertainty. He wasn’t going to get his hopes up. He didn’t want to assume anything and then feel like shit if nothing came out of this.

“How about this,” Shiro continued, oblivious to the thoughts swirling around his head. “It’s been a while since we had a nice night together. I’m thinking we could use a date night. Forget about job applications and interviews, forget about all of the final projects and exams coming up and we can just enjoy being together and watch a movie or show or something.”

Keith shoved away the immediate desire to protest they didn’t have time for something like this and they needed to get as much done as they could while they had the time. His life was packed enough as it was. He didn’t need to overwork himself and stress. Besides, Shiro would bug him until he gave in anyway.

“That sounds amazing,” he agreed. “Does eight your time work?”

“That would be perfect,” Shiro murmured.

“Awesome. Now I can use all the time I have between now and then to get as much work done as I can.”

“Keith…” Shiro said, voice low.

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I won’t work too hard. But I would like to get a few things done before classes and work tomorrow.”

“Good. Talk to you later?”

Keith nodded. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Later, baby. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Keith said, voice soft.

Keith sighed and ended the call. He leaned his head back, his anxiety quiet for the moment.

If you enjoy my work, please reblog or consider buying me a ko-fi!

[captain-krazy]

Christmas in London - Chapter One AU!Tom Hiddleston Fan Fiction by Captain-Krazy Fluff 2566 Words ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A/N: There is no smut in this story. Summary: Tom and Jess are friends and Tom takes her to London for Christmas so she doesn’t spend it alone in her apartment, like she usually does. However, the more time they spend together they both realize they may actually have feelings for each other after all. But will either of them say anything to the other, or act on their feelings? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Any plans for Christmas?’ Tom asked Jess as they sat on his sofa and watched a movie

‘Nah, just gonna hang around my apartment and binge watch those sappy greeting card channel movies. Maybe start looking for a new job’

'That sounds…. Fun?’

'Well, you know me…. I’m tons of fun!’ Jess replied as she popped a piece of popcorn in her mouth 'What about you, what are you doing?’

'Oh, I promised my parents I’d come home this year. I haven’t spent Christmas with them in a few years because I was traveling for work. My sister and brother and their families are all going to be there too’ Tom said with a smile on his face 'It’s the first time since my sister got married that the whole family will be together. Mum even got us all tickets to see the Nutcracker, it’s her favorite ballet’

'Wow…. Now that does sound like fun’ Jess said

'You should do something, go somewhere. You’re not working right now anyway’

'Yeah, it is, but I don’t have anywhere to go, no one to visit. Hence the sitting around my apartment’

'You could always go to a someplace warm and tropical. Lie on a beach, go swimming, meet a guy and have a holiday fling’ Tom suggested, wiggling his eyebrows on the last bit

'I’m not much of a ’tropical’ person and it wouldn’t feel like Christmas to me someplace like that. It would probably cost a small fortune to book a trip anyplace right now, and like you said, I’m not working right now’ Jess said with a sigh ‘Not to mention that I can’t even find anyone to have flings with here, what makes you think I’d find someone someplace else?’

Tom gave a half smile and then went back to watching the movie. Except for the occasional laugh, the two friends sat in silence for the rest of it. When it was over neither of them really wanted to get up so Tom put the TV on the channel Jess mentioned earlier. Some random movie about a girl getting stuck in an airport during a snowstorm while heading home for the holidays was on. When it was over Jess stretched her arms over her head before standing.

'I guess I should head home, it’s getting late’

‘Yeah, I guess it is’ Tom replied as he stood and walked toward the front door behind Jess.

After she had her coat and scarf on he gave her a hug and told her to drive safe, and let him know when she arrived home.

A little over a week later as she sat on her couch reading job postings online Jess received a text from Tom

*Hey…. Is your passport up to date?*

*I think so…. Why?* Jess replied, a little confused as to why Tom would be asking her that

*Go check and let me know*

*Why do you need to know?*

*Just humor me and check…. Please* Tom sent, along with the praying hands emoji

Jess let out a groan and wondered into her room to find her passport, once she did she saw that everything was up to date, and she didn’t need to renew for another 5 years.

*Yeah, it’s up to date…. Now why did you need to know?* she replied. A few minutes went by before she received a reply

*Because…. You are coming to London with me*

Jess reread the text a couple times to make sure she was actually reading what she thought she was, when it finally registered in her brain she hit the phone icon and dialed Tom’s number.

‘What do you mean I’m coming to London with you?’ Jess said as soon as Tom answered, not even giving him a chance to say hello ‘This better be a joke Hiddleston!!’

‘Um…. Hi…. And no, it’s not a joke. I just booked you a plane ticket’

‘What….. Wh- Tom, you CAN’T be serious! I can’t just drop everything and go to London with you!!!’

‘I’m 1000% serious, and yes you can! You’re not working, and you told me last week you had no plans for Christmas’

‘I have…. Plans’ Jess replied, a little sad at the fact that she really didn’t

‘Job searching and binge watching Christmas movies does not count as plans’

‘I… I can’t go, Tom. I could never afford a hotel on such short notice, they probably cost an arm and a leg this time of year! Not to mention paying you back for the plane ticket!!’

‘Okay, first; you do not have to pay me back for the ticket, I have a shit ton of miles from work, and its part of your Christmas present, you can pay back a Christmas present. And secondly; you don’t need a hotel because you’re staying at my parent’s house with me and the rest of my family’

‘Tom!! I can’t just show up at your parents’ house unannounced!’

‘You’re not showing up announced, I spoke to my Mum a couple days ago and they would love to have you’

‘But-‘

‘NO BUTS JESS! YOU’RE COMING WITH ME!’ Tom said forcefully, a tone in his voice Jess had never heard before ‘Pack a suitcase, the flight leaves Thursday at 3:30pm, I’ll pick you up at noon!’

And with that Tom ended the call. Jess sat down on her bed and stared at her phone for a few moments before laying back and staring up at the ceiling as she tried to process the fact that she was going to London in a few days. She let out a sigh as she rolled over and buried her face in a pillow. The next morning when she woke up it took her a moment to realize she had fallen asleep in her clothes. She reached for her phone and noticed it was almost dead, as she plugged it in she saw that Tom had sent her a text while she was asleep,

*It’s very cold in there, make sure to pack warm*

She rolled her eyes before standing and heading into the bathroom. After she was showered she went back to into her room to get dressed and figure out what to pack. She drug her suitcase out from under her bed an flung it on top, when she opened it she discovered that she still had stuff in it from her last trip,  a couple pair of shoes, some jeans, some makeup, and the dress she wore to a friend’s wedding. She took the dress from the garment bag it was in and held it up to herself, running her hands over the soft deep blue fabric, she really did love the dress, it was one of the only times she actually felt pretty.

She debated for a moment about taking it with her, but in the end decided against it. She draped it over the chair in the corner as she started going through her closet and dresser, throwing what she was taking onto her bed. After a while she went into the bathroom and pulled out her travel toiletries and put them into a plastic bag. When she went back into her room she started folding her clothes and placing them nicely into the case, leaving her big winter coat out, still unsure as to whether she wanted to wear it to the airport, or just pack it and pull it out when she got to there, for now she just tossed it over to the chair in the corner of her room.

She still couldn’t believe this was happening, she was actually going to London, a place that she had always wanted to visit, especially at Christmas. Even though she was still upset at Tom for spending what she could only guess was a small fortune on a last minute plane ticket, she was also extremely excited. As she continued to pack her phone pinged, letting her know she had a text message, she decided to ignore it at first, but it pinged again a not even a minute later. When she grabbed her phone she saw that they were both from Tom, she also noticed there were a couple that she hadn’t seen. The first two had been sent when she was in the shower and the other two were the ones he just sent

*Want to grab lunch?* *Jess??* *Are you mad at me?* *I’m sorry I yelled on the phone last night*

*I’m not…. Mad* she sent in reply. Ever thought she was a tiny bit mad at him

*Are you sure? It usually never takes you that long to reply*

*I was in the shower when you sent the first 2 and then I started packing so I didn’t see them until now*

*Soooo, you’re really not mad I did this?*

*I am a little mad, but I’ll probably be over it by the time we leave…. lol*

*Great!! So food??*

*Yeah, food sounds good*

*On my way*

A couple days later it was time to leave for London, Jess was so excited she couldn’t sleep and when she finally did, she ended up sleeping through her alarm. When she woke up she was scrambling around, showering, getting dressed, and packing the last of her things. She decided not to wear her big coat since it wasn’t too cold and she just shoved it into her suitcase just as Tom sent her a text to let her know he was outside. Jess grabbed her suitcase and her purse, making sure she had her passport and headed out the door. As they drove Tom told Jess about a Christmas festival his Mom loved, and a few other events they could attend, less than an hour later they were at the airport waiting to go through security.

‘So, this Christmas festival you were talking about, what goes on at it?’ Jess asked as they settled into their seats for the long flight ahead

‘It’s a Christmas festival, Jess, what do you think goes on?’

‘I don’t know, I’ve never been to one. That’s why I was asking’

‘Well, I haven’t been to it in years, but as I recall there is a group of Carol singers in costume that walk around the grounds singing, there are booths selling wears, there’s a stand that sells hot cider and mulled wine, another that does roasted chestnuts’ Tom explained as the flight attendants started making their way down the aisles with refreshments ‘There’s a skating rink, and a pageant that the kids church choir puts on. My Mum said that they added a nightly light show year before last.’

‘That all sounds so fun’ Jess said with a huge smile on her face ‘Hey Tom, in case I haven’t yet, I just want to say thank you. I really, really do appreciate you bringing me with you’

‘You’re more than welcome, Jess’ he replied ‘Merry Christmas’

A few hours into the flight Jess fell asleep, she didn’t wake until Tom gently tapped her shoulder to let her know they were getting ready to land. When Jess was finally able to stand after landing her body was stiff and one of her feet was asleep, causing her to limp up the jet way, by the time they reached baggage claim her body had loosened up and her foot was awake.

‘Alright, they’ve really changed this airport since I was last here’ Tom said as he tried to figure out where to go to get a cab ‘Ah, its this way’ he said, pointing to where the sign hanging from the celling told him where the taxi stands were

‘TOM!!! TOM!!’ a man’s voice yelled through the terminal

Tom and Jess both turned and saw a man running in their direction, waving a hand over his head, Tom smiled and started walking toward him.

‘Owen!! Hey man, what are you doing here?’ Tom asked as he hugged the man

‘Mum asked me to pick you up’ he replied ‘It’s so good to see you! How’ve you been?’

‘I’m great! Oh, this is my friend Jess. Jess, this is my brother-in-law, Owen’

‘It’s nice to meet you Owen’ Jess said as she shook his hand

‘Come on, I’m parked this way. I promised everyone I’d have you home in time for tea’

As they made their way to the house Jess stared out the window with a smile on her face, amazed at how beautiful everything was. The trees and ground were covered in a light layer of snow, making everything sparkle. When they pulled into the neighborhood her smile got even bigger, every house had massive amounts of decorations, she couldn’t wait until it got dark and they were all lit up. The further they drove through the neighborhood the bigger the houses seemed to get, when Owen finally pulled into a driveway Jess’ jaw dropped even more, it had to be the biggest house on the block. Owen offered to help them with their luggage, but Tom and Jess both said they could handle it, so Owen headed in to let everyone know they were there

‘Tom…. this is your house? It’s HUGE!!!’ Jess said as they got out of the car ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were rich?!’

‘It’s my parents’ house, and I didn’t tell you I’m rich because I’m not’ Tom replied as he pulled their suitcases’ out of the trunk ‘My parents are’

‘That’s something that rich people say!’ Jess retorted as Tom closed the trunk, he let out a chuckle and they made their way into the house.

When they stepped inside Jess’ jaw dropped again as she looked around, there was a huge decorated fireplace the living room to her left, a staircase with lights and garland on the banister in front of her, to her right was a formal dining room with a huge table and more decorations everywhere.

‘Tom!!’ a woman said as she came out of the dining room, she had an apron around her waist, she walked over and threw her arms around him, giving him a tight hug ‘Welcome home darling!!’

‘Hi Mum, it’s so good to see you’ Tom replied as he hugged her back, after a few moments the hug broke and she took a step back and smiled up at him, she then looked over at Jess ‘And you must be Tom’s friend’

‘Yeah, Mum this is Jess. Jess, my Mum, Susan’

‘It’s really nice to meet you Mrs. Hiddleston, thank you so much for having me’ Jess replied as she held her hand out to Tom’s Mom, but Susan just wrapped her arms around Jess and hugged her tight

‘Oh, please, call me Susan’ she replied as she loosened the hug, but left her hands on Jess’ arms ‘and it’s a pleasure to have you here, dear’

‘Where is everyone?’ Tom asked

‘Your Father had to run into the city for a last minute meeting, he should be back soon, and everyone else is in the kitchen making cookies and getting tea ready’

Susan then motioned for everyone to follow as she headed back to help them, Tom wrapped his arm around his Moms shoulder and pulled her close as they rounded the corner and disappeared into the dining room. She smiled to herself and looked around as she followed them. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Next….

[ohnohetaliasues]

1+2p Hetalia High {Ch.5}

(Kat)

I no longer know what is happening in this story.

ALSO THIS IS MY 900TH POST WOOHOO--

Alright, on with the story.

3rd Person's POV

I ran into my house and locked everything.

This... This is still in first person.

I caught my breath when I was done. So now I have 2p!'s after me. Great. Just great. I leaned on the wall and sighed. It's been a long day and i'm tired. I decided to just relax upstairs on my computer and not do anything else today.

(Time skip to Sunday)

I was woken up by my phone ringing. It was an unknown number so I was hesitant to answer it. I decided to just answer. "Hello?" I asked sleepily. "H-Hey {Kat} it's Matthew." Matthew said. "Oh hey Matthew. How did you get my number?" I asked suspiciously. "I-It was on your fridge. A-Alfred thought it would be a good idea to have your number."

...

Why in the world would I put my own phone number on my fridge?

 Matthew said. I chuckled and rolled my eyes. That was exactly something Alfred would do. "So why'd you call?" I asked. "I-I was wondering if you wanted to go ice skating with m-me today." Matthew asked. Ice skating with the master of hockey? Heck yea. "I'd love to Matt!" I said. "T-That's great! I'll pick you up at around 11?" 

I like ice skating.

Matthew asked. "Sure! See you then." I said hanging up. I got out of bed and stretched. I checked the time. It was 9:00. I rummaged through my clothes and decided to wear my maroon canada flag shirt, 

I don’t have one of those.

bright teal jeans, and some {purple} sneakers. I also got my ice skates out of my closet. (Outfit in my profile)

There was no link.

It just looked like this: 

 I went into my bathroom and brushed my and hair and teeth. I went downstairs and checked the time again. It was 10:30 so I had half an hour to eat and make breakfast. I decided to just heat up something the countries brought over yesterday. I heated up some of the crepes Francis made. 

I love crépes. 

They were so good! I finished them off and put the plate in the sink. My doorbell rang. "Oh he's here!" I said running over to the door. I opened the door to be face to face with the blushing Canadian. "A-Are you ready to go?" he asked. I nodded and locked the door behind me. Matthew and I walked over to his red pickup truck. 

Okay then.

Thanks for that unnecessary detail.

He opened the door for me and I put my purse and ice skates in and sat down. 

I do not own ice skates.

He closed the door and and went over to the driver's seat. He got in and started up the truck. We drove to the skating rink and parked. We walked in together.

Fast scene change.

I’m kind of partial to more detail, but that’s just me, and I’m picky.

We both had skates so we only had to pay for the entrance fee. We laced up the skates and Matthew gracefully went onto the ice. He was doing spins and axles while I was sticking to the sides trying not to fall on my butt. Matthew skated over to me "Do you need help {Kat}?" he asked. I nodded and said "I haven't skated for a while." as he pried my hands off the sides. "Just relax {Kat}" he said as he guided me across the ice. 

He put his hands around me to steady me and make sure I don't fall. I could feel his blush. He and I glided around for a little. "Okay now i'm going to slowly let go. You try to do it by yourself." he said slowly letting go of me.

RThat sentence was very redundant.

 I tried to keep my balance but started to fall. I waved my arms frantically trying to stay up. Matthew stabilized me then let go again. I started to get the hang of it. "I'm doing it!" I said excitedly. I eased into going faster. Matthew smiled. I started to go towards him but was bumped by someone. I knew I was going to fall. Matthew reached out to me but ended up falling. I landed on the ice kind of hard. Ow. That didn't hurt much but it still hurt. I felt something on top of me and looked up to see Matthew. Matthew realized he was top of me and blushed profusely. "Looks like we both fell on our butts huh Matt?"

I don’t want to be forced to use that gif of Megara again. 

Although this is sort of cute.

 I said chuckling. Matthew scrambled to get off me "I-I'm s-so sorry!" he said getting up. "It's fine Matt. Accidents happen!" I said smiling. He held a hand out to help me up. It was hard since we were both wearing ice skates. He helped me up and we continued to skate. After about an hour we decided to stop. I unlaced my skates and out my sneakers back on.

I dunno about you guys but my ankles always hurt after a long time skating.

 "That was really fun Matt. I had a great time!" I said as I waited for Matt to put his shoes back on. Matthew blushed again "I'm glad you liked it {Kat}." Matthew said as he finished putting his shoes on. I noticed a concession stand selling F/F ice cream. 

Cookie dough.

"Do you want to get some ice cream {Kat}?" Matthew asked standing next to me. I nodded and we walked over to the stand. "Two ice creams please." Matthew asked the man running the stand. (Get the reference get an internet cookie) 

Do you think I live under a rock?

I pulled out my wallet but Matt payed the man before I could hand him my money. "It's okay {Kat} I got this." he said smiling.

"You didn't have to Matt!" I said as he handed me the ice cream. "I asked you out didn't I? It's my treat." 

We didn’t even specify what flavor we wanted.

Matthew said blushing. I smiled and ate my ice cream. Suddenly an older woman said "Aww you two make an adorable couple!" while staring at us. It was my turn to blush. I've never actually had a boyfriend before. I tried to tell her we weren't a couple but she had walked away. Matthew walked closer to me. "F-Funny how s-she thought we were a couple huh?" Matthew said. "Y-Yea." 

IT’S TOO C L I C H É

I said. We finished our ice cream and walked back to his car. He drove me home. We walked with me to my front door. "S-So this is it." Matthew said. "Yea I guess!" I said smiling. "I-I'll see you at school tomorrow." he said very slowly walking away. "Bye Matt!" I said. I went up to him and gave him a peck on the cheek then went inside.

Matthew's POV

I stood there surprised as she went inside. She kissed my cheek. I held where she kissed it with my hand. {Kat} kissed my cheek. I quickly went to my car and and drove off. When I got far enough away from her house I had a little freak out. 

When {Kat} had noticed me the first day of school my heart had fluttered. She was so pretty just sitting there with her beautiful {Brown} hair and her dazzling {Green} eyes. She even got Ivan off of me. It had taken all of my courage just to call her. I was almost certain she wouldn't remember who I was. I was even more sure she would've said no, but she did both. My heart was doing back flips when she said yes. When I watched her skate she looked so graceful. 

I looked like a walrus trying to fly, most likely.

Smiling on the ice rink with her perfect smile. She even kissed me before she went inside. I am the luckiest man in the world. I drove home happily. When I got home and I walked in with a skip in my step. I put my keys on the rack. "Hey Mattie! Where were you!?" 

By the front door, idiot.

Alfred asked playing video games on the couch. "I went out with someone." I said joyfully. Alfred paused his game and turned towards me "Seriously dude!? What's her name!?" Alfred said smirking and smiling. "It was {Kat}." I said. Alfred frowned. "Really?" he said with a far away look. "What's wrong?" I asked worried. "N-Nothing. Good for you bro." Alfred said going back to his game. I was worried but left him alone.

Alfred's POV

I can't believe Matt went out with Y/N. I don't think he knew but...I have a huge crush on her.

I EXPECT NOTHING ELSE.

I’ll see you guys later.

~Kat

[mrtroy]

Oh, Confidence

I love reading biographies, and I especially like autobiographies.

I find it fascinating to hear people’s stories, learn how they got to wherever they got to in the realm of public presence, and love to find out what the key steps were to get there along the way.

One common theme in almost every biography I have ever read is the tipping point between when the subject gained the confidence to go from one level of success to another. That point where they, ‘get over the hump’ mentally.

In nearly every instance – no matter if the subject was a business tycoon like Steve Jobs or Phil Knight, inventors like the Wright Brothers, or nearly any one of many athletes I’ve read biographies on – confidence is its own form of currency. Some of the subjects, Jobs for example, were never lacking in confidence. This type of person came at their profession with a certain level of vigor and bravado as if they never questioned anything.

Others, like the Wright Brothers, needed to see success build from flight test to flight test before they had the confidence to conquer flying.

As it often does, athletics also provides a good microcosm for life as a whole when it comes to the topic of confidence. Many, many athletes on whom I’ve read biographies have documented their struggles with confidence. Some struggle to the point just before they get over the mental ‘hump,’ before finally gaining the confidence to excel at the highest levels of their sport.

Others still reach the pinnacle of achievement, only to have an erosion of confidence lead to a similar decay in their performance. One of the most shocking examples of this is the story of Andre Agassi, the famous tennis player. If you have any interest at all in the psyche of athletes, and the fragility of maintaining one’s edge, I would highly recommend reading Agassi’s book, ‘Open.’

If you’re unfamiliar with Agassi, his story is fascinating. He was a child prodigy in the late 80s and early 90s. At the age of 22, he won Wimbledon, became the number one ranked player in the world, eventually won all four grand slam titles, won an Olympic gold medal… On the tennis court, there’s pretty much nothing the dude didn’t win.

Even still, Agassi always struggled to maintain the level of confidence one might assume from a man of his stature. He chronicles a match in his book – I think it was at the French Open – where he’s playing a player he should easily have been able to beat. And yet, he stood across the court from his opponent very literally wondering if he would even be able to hit the ball back over the net if it was served right to him.  Things got so bad for Agassi during one stretch that despite being a top-10 ranked player for 16 out of an 18-year span, in 1997, he fell to number 110 in the world.

He had all sorts of things going on in his life – losing his hair, doing drugs, secretly dating Barbara Streisand… - but Agassi openly admits that he just ‘lost it.’ His confidence was gone. And he was reduced from an all-time great, to a guy who could barely return a tennis ball over a net.

How many times have you seen a pitcher in baseball who is striking out batter after batter, and then as soon as two or three opposing players get hits, all the sudden the mojo is gone. Or, a basketball player who has made ten three-pointers in a game and all the sudden she feels like she’s going to make every shot she takes.

Confidence is king in sports. As my dad always used to tell me – and lots of other dads too – if you think you can, or if you think you can’t, either way, you’re right.

Why is that? What causes that?

Confidence is based on having done something before and getting a certain result, yes. But it’s also about believing that you’re going to be able to do something again.

If you’ve done it before, you can do it again, right?

You’re confident, because you know how to do something. You know the level of effort necessary to get the job done. You know some of the mental hurdles you faced the last time you did it and they help prepare you for what you’re about to face in your current trial.

If you got an A on your last test, you’re more likely to believe you can get an A on your next test. If you failed your last test, it’s a lot harder to be confident you’ll get an A this time around. Even if you studied a lot harder than last time, that shadow of doubt is there because you didn’t get the A the last time.

--

If you’re still reading, you’ve read 800 words about confidence, and unless you didn’t know you were looking for a new tennis autobiography, there’s probably not a whole lot here that you’ve learned yet. So, where am I taking you?

I’ll tell you.

The irony in all of this about confidence is that it’s everything the world sells you, and it’s largely useless.

Whoa. Whoa. Whoa…

Yes, you read that correctly.

Confidence, despite being the currency of top athletes, glorified in teaching curricula (yes!! I think I just used the plural of curriculum for the first time in my life!!) and parenting manuals alike; despite being sold by clothing designers, plastic surgeons, motivational speakers, and on and on and on and on…. has little to no lasting value.

Now, that doesn’t mean self-worth doesn’t have value, but it’s the sources of this value that we should think more about.

Consider this:

Basically every advertisement you’ve ever seen in your life can be boiled down to, ‘you’ll be more confident if you buy this!’ (I have written many of them…)

Need more confidence for a date? Buy a new pair of shoes. Need more confidence about your appearance? Buy this new workout apparatus. Need more confidence pulling into work? You don’t want a used Chevy. You need a BMW…

Don’t get me wrong, these tactics work. But they only work for a short time.

Those same new shoes – let’s say they are some dope new Converse you customized online – eventually they get dirty, and instead of wearing them to your friend’s party to make an impression on that cute little somethin’ somethin’ from down the block, you leave them in the closet and maybe they only come out when it’s time to let the dog out in the middle of the night…

New cars get dings. Workout equipment can have a surprising second life as an auxiliary closet for those clothes that never seem to get hung, but let me know ten years in if that treadmill still inspires the same level of confidence as the day you bought it….? I’m going with probably not…

Now, before you get on me for arguing against human nature, I’ll beat you to that point. I understand that part of the human condition is that we crave new things to pique our collective interest, and after a while, there’s nothing wrong with buying a new pair of pants. And there’s nothing wrong with those new pants fitting snugly around your back side to the point where you feel pretty good about yourself walking into a room…

But, time after time, what happens when we keep having to use confidence as currency to get us through everyday life?

Eventually, life bankrupts us, unfortunately.

You can only buy so many new things. You can only get into such good of shape. You can even get to a point where money, or fame, or recognition no longer are enough to get you past the mental hurdles in front of you.

What is the solution?

Well, to find it, let’s get to the root of why depending on confidence leaves us to come up short.

As I simplified earlier, confidence is based on a result you’ve seen before. If you’ve seen it, you can picture it again.

Okay great, but what happens if the circumstances change?

You ran five miles, but now you have to run ten. Five you know you can do, because you’ve done it before. Ten? Ten seems twice as hard as five, are you sure you’ve got that in you?

At mile six, a huge hurdle is crossed because in your head, you know you’re past the half way point, and you’re closer to the finish that you are the start. But what about in the middle of mile eight? You’re out in no man’s land. A big hill comes up on you, and all the sudden it gets really easy to stop running. You start playing the mental games, and they are toooough.

When things change, we’re less likely to have seen them before and when we haven’t seen things before, our confidence wanes. We try to draw back on similar experiences, but because they’re not exactly the same, it’s hard!

That leads me to faith.

If confidence is believing because of what you’ve seen, faith is believing in spite of what you haven’t seen.

Rooting your convictions in faith vs. confidence is a huge difference.

How much doubt do you have that the sun is going to rise tomorrow?

None. You have supreme faith, because you’ve never seen the sun NOT rise.

You can put a good deal of faith in the sun because it has never failed. It has never changed in its ability to rise.

Now, the day the sun doesn’t rise, every day after that, you will start to wonder. You’ll no longer have total faith, because your confidence will have been shaken. The sun could rise every day for five years, and MOST of your faith would be restored, but there would always be that linger doubt in your mind, about that one day in ’18 when the sun didn’t rise…

So, what’s the solution?

Simply put, don’t live on the currency of confidence. Confidence fades like the red out of a well-worn pair of Chucks.

Put your hope in faith. Put your faith in things that doesn’t change.

But, you say, even the sun will burn out eventually – that’s science. So how many things can you put total faith in??

I only know of One… And there’s a decent biography on Him, too… 

[lolainblue]

Jane’s Journal -- Day 127

A/N :  This is the final Journal entry. The second book in the series will be starting next. 

T/W: Angst. Mentions of past drug use and mental health issues

December 24, 2003   Day 127

   I wish I could say that I took Aunt Carys's advice to heart, lept up and called Roger, but a large feature of that Hughes tenacity lies in a sort of stubbornness and bloody-mindedness that makes it hard to change tracks. I started wallowing a little less as I stepped outside myself and saw the bigger picture, but the riff between Roger and myself had grown an into an ocean and I wasn't sure how to bridge it anymore. Somewhere along the line, my anger with him had morphed into shame at the way I had behaved.  I missed him with everything that was in me but I was too much of a coward to pick up the phone.

   His show would be wrapping up with a Christmas Eve matinee and then, according to Mom, he was going to catch an evening flight home so he could be here for Christmas. He had asked her repeatedly if I would be in attendance. I wouldn't let her say. I wouldn't give her a definitive answer. She had finally lost her temper with me and pointed out that just because I was the one that brought Roger into our family it didn't give me the right to single-handedly toss him out. He'd already had enough of that in his life. It was time for me to grow up and stop behaving as if this were some middle school spat. Roger was family. We had all agreed on that a long time ago, and in our family, we didn't throw people away when they upset us.

   Properly cowed, I came up with a plan and booked a flight to New York. I figured I need to settle things at the apartment at the very least and I thought maybe Roger and I could share the flight back and have a long overdue talk. When I showed up at the apartment on the 23rd however, there was no sign of Roger at our place, and judging by the refrigerator contents he hadn't been staying there recently. My plan had hit a snag.

   I was left alone to drift aimlessly through the now alien space. When I walked into my bedroom my heart nearly stopped. I realized the last time I had set foot in the place was before flying out to see Shannon back in August. The room was still a mess from packing, with rejected clothing piled on the bed. I spotted his old Def Leppard t-shirt that I had often slept in when he was gone, and several 30 Seconds to Mars t-shirts I had considered taking with me but ultimately left behind. My stomach turned as I picked the first one up, and I had brought it to my nose to see if there was a trace of his scent left behind before I even realized what I was doing. Angry with myself, I tossed it onto the center of the bed before grabbing the wastebasket from under my desk. I started throwing in everything that reminded me of Shannon or Jared, walking through the house to gather CD's and postcards, notes, pictures, stuffed animals from the midway, even the boots I had bought to wear to the first concert of theirs I had gone to. I was surprised how much of it there was. I tossed the bag into the hall closet in case Roger wanted any of it and went back to packing up my room.

   I spent that night in the apartment by myself. I had hoped Roger might come home despite indications that he wasn't living there anymore but he never appeared. I spent the next morning finishing my packing, my belongings all sorted into neatly labeled boxes in the center of my bedroom that I could easily have a service come and pick up later. Then I ordered lunch, showered and dressed for the theater.

   The performance was sold out so I was reduced to taking my chances with whatever scalpers would be on hand. I knew it was risky, but “Fortuna favet fatius.', fortune favors fools and soon I found myself with a rather choice seat, nervously thumbing the glossy program and waiting for the show to start.

   Our junior year the drama department had put on an adaptation of Anne of Green Gables. Roger had done amazingly well at the audition and had landed the part of Gilbert Blythe. I was overjoyed. Anne of Green Gables was one of my favorite books and I was so proud of Roger. He'd done a few shows before and had been okay, and he'd worked very hard rehearsing for the part but when it came time for the actual performance he had bombed. It wasn't just simple stage fright, he had suddenly become that weird kid in the fourth-grade play that said all his lines in a strange falsetto while he grinned at the audience and did incongruous things with his hands. He refused to go on after the first night and the understudy had to finish the run. He had been heartbroken. He'd already made big plans to become a famous actor, it was part of our “Roger and Janey Take Over the World” scheme, and having his hopes dashed just crushed him. It had taken months of Daphne nagging him to get him to start taking acting classes. I wasn't sure how we had gotten from there to here, him starring as Bob Cratchett in NYC in a not exactly Broadway but not exactly a dive theater either production of A Christmas Carol. I hoped that we would be able to iron things out so he could share that journey with me.

   To say I was terrified when he made that first appearance on stage would be putting it mildly. But to be honest, if I hadn't known it was Roger in the role I might have not even realized. He had transformed himself completely, And where the hell had that British accent come from? I know being American I probably wasn't the best judge but he sounded spot on to my ears. I was completely blown away by his performance, and judging by the people sitting around me, so was the rest of the audience. I was bursting with pride by the time the curtain fell.

   I am going to tell you right now that whoever says beauty is overrated is lying to you. I have lived on both sides of that road. Plain Jane would have been ushered back out into the street with the rest of the crowd. I knew I was going to need Hot Jane today so I had come prepared, dressed to the teeth, carefully coiffed and wearing what felt like half the Barney's cosmetic counter on my face. It took a total of eight minutes to charm my way backstage to the dressing rooms.

   Roger had just sat down to start removing his makeup and there was a girl seated on the table in front of him, giggling and tossing her hair while she crossed and uncrossed her obscenely long legs. Roger looked about as interested as a lion who'd been offered a broccoli sandwich. I giggled at the sight and Roger dropped the sponge he had been holding before rapidly turning my way.

   “Janey?”

   “Hey, Rog.” My mouth was suddenly dry but my eyes weren't. It felt like we were seeing each other after being separated by war, tired and battered bystanders who had found each other again at a refugee camp. I had worried that he would be angry with me, that I had been so steadfastly cold with him that he would never be more than an acquaintance again. Instead, he lept to his feet, nearly knocking his hapless admirer off her perch and rushed toward me, sweeping me up in his arms and swinging me around so enthusiastically that one of my wildly impractical heels went flying off my foot. I remembered again he was too good for me.

   “I'm so sorry, Roger,” I tried to explain. “I should have come to you and tried to work things out months ago....”

   “Hush,” he told me as he sat me back down and scrambled after the shoe I had lost. “I was terrible to you when you needed me. You don't have anything to apologize for.”

   “But I do....” I protested.

   “Let me get cleaned up and changed and then we can argue about it all you want,” he said. The girl who had been flirting with him gave me a haughty look and then flounced off, probably wrongly assuming I was her competition. “Oh shit, I've got a flight back home tonight! Aren't you going home for Christmas?”

   I nodded. “Mom gave me your flight info. I came into town to see you last night but you weren't home. I packed up my things at the apartment but I'm on the flight home with you.”

   Roger frowned and sat down in his chair again with a heavy thud. “I don't understand. What did you pack? Why?”

   “I'm going to Tanzania with a volunteer group. I don't know when I'll be back in the States. It could be months or it literally be years. I don't need anything that's there, and I figure if you wanted to sell the place or move if everything was already packed up all you'd have to do is call a service to come collect it. I can just pay for a storage until I suss out what to do next.”

   “Janey...” The smile that been on Roger's face when he embraced me was gone and I felt terrible. “I thought that...” He swallowed hard and picked up the makeup removal pad again and started dabbing harshly at his face. “So you are still mad, at me.”

   “No.”

   “Then why are you leaving me again?”

   “I'm not leaving you, Roger. I'm trying to fix myself.”

   “You're not broken.”

   “Actually, yeah, I really am. But I'm working on it.”

   He didn't say anything else as he continued washing away the stage makeup. When he had finished he looked back at me and I swear his face looked years older, deeply tired in a way I had never seen on him before. I wondered what had happened to him during the last 127 days. A bad feeling began to take root in my gut.

   “You were brilliant out there, Roger. I'm so proud of you,” I offered.

   He nodded. “Can we go home now?”

   “Sure,” I said, spotting his coat hanging on the wall and handing it to him. “Anything you want.”

   *************************************

   Roger already had an overnight bag ready for his trip to the airport but I needed to swing back by our place so we hopped on the C-Line for a last trip home together. He was quiet the entire way, and although I tried to fill the awkward silence with tales of my travels, Roger never engaged, just quietly nodded and folded his hands over and over themselves. I didn't want to cause a scene in public so I let it go and just kept on with the nervous chatter but I was so relieved to finally reach our stop I practically jumped off the train and power walked until we were inside our building and through the front door.

   “When is the last time you were even home?” I asked him as we shed our coats in the foyer.

   “A couple of days ago, actually. We had a cast thing last night. That's why I wasn't here,” he explained.

   “Oh.” I had kind of hoped he'd been staying with someone else maybe, or just leading too fabulous a life to be bothered to come back to an empty apartment. I looked at the keychain in my hands, the door key still separated from the rest. “Do you want me to leave my key?” I asked. “It doesn't seem right for me to just come and go when I'm not really living here anymore.”

   “I thought you were back. When you showed up at the theater, here, in New York and all... well I just thought you were back.”

   I shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, not meeting his eyes. “I already committed to this volunteer thing, Roger. And I think it's going to be good for me. I'm getting back out in the world again, for real, not just a spoiled little party girl.”

   “You aren't a spoiled little party girl, Jane.” Roger's voice was quiet and uneven and I didn't know where this was going but I could feel my own lips starting to tremble.

   “I was so spoiled and helpless and blind....” I managed to mutter before he cut me off.

   “It wasn't your fault Jane. You don't have to do penance.”

   “I knew better. Or at least I should have. You told me how Shannon was, I saw it myself before I even let him back in...”

   “I don't mean Shannon.” Roger avoiding looking at me when he said it, but the lump in my throat was there just the same.

   “Roger. Please don't....”

   “Someone has to say it, Jane.”

   “No, they don't. It's not like I don't know.”

   “I think it is. Do you want to know what I've done for the last five months? I've worked and seen a therapist. Because as broken as you think you are I'm a hundred times worse.” Roger sat down in the middle of the floor, crossing his long legs one over the other. “I could never help him, Jane. I couldn't reach him, I couldn't stop him, and couldn't stop  you or me...”

   I sat down on the floor across from Roger, pulling his hands into my lap. “Roger, it wasn't like that.”

   “I was so fucking scared, Jane. Jared said you had seemed so hurt, you were completely lost, and you weren't talking to anyone...”

   I hadn't thought of things that way. I really hadn't thought much of anything through at that point, I was a whirlwind of my own grief and anger. “I'm sorry, Roger. I would never leave you like that. I would never....” A chill like ice water in my veins passed over me. “Roger, what do you mean you couldn't stop you?”

   “Not like that,” he said a little too quickly, pulling his hands back from me. “I just … dammit, Jane. Everyone keeps leaving, like I'm nothing. Jefferson didn't even... “ Roger's breathing had become shallow and I could see the distress in his eyes. “The only woman I've ever dated longer than a week dumped me while pretty much saying she could do better. My mother died and my entire family apparently voted to keep me away from the funeral. I pushed my best friend away. I pushed all my friends away, all the good ones that is. The only ones that would even put up with my shit...”

   Roger let himself fall forward, his head nestling in my lap. I wrapped my arms around him as best I could. “I'm so sorry, Roger. I knew you were in trouble. I tried to help...”

   “I know,” he sniffled. “I was so angry with you for running off with Shannon but I never told you how bad things were for me. I tried to numb it. It didn't help.”

   Boy that was one area I did know about. “No, it never does,” I observed.

   “Promise you won't  hate me, Jane.”

   “What? I would never hate you, Roger. I think I've been as angry with you as I ever have the capacity to be. Like I'm done now. I've used it all up, forever, for the rest of our lives. There is nothing that could make me hate you.”

   Roger began to sob and I started to cry with him. If I had thought, even for a second, that things were this bad with him I'd have chucked my whole temper tantrum walkabout right then and there and gone to him. I felt terrible. And I didn't even begin to know how to make it up to him.

   “Do you remember that night that Shannon was here, and I was so grouchy, and I disappeared all night?”

   “Jesus, how could I fucking forget, Rog. You were a mess when you came home. Like you'd been dragged through every gutter in Manhattan.” Roger may have been scared when I had my meltdown but he had scared the daylights out of me weeks before that.

   “I did something...” he sniffled wetly and I leaned back just enough to reach the box of tissues on the console table behind us.

   “Have you talked to your therapist about this?” I asked him as handed him the tissue.

   Roger blew his nose and nodded. “I should have talked to you though. That day. Before I did it. But I got it in my head that you didn't count, that you were just stuck with me somehow....” he trailed off again. “I was so fucking stupid, Janey, and I'm sorry, and if I could take it back....”

   I wrapped myself around him, the way I had in the shower that afternoon, and held him as tightly as I could get my arms to latch onto him. “it's okay. Whatever happened, it's over now.”

   Roger stopped crying and he gripped my arm tightly. When he spoke again his voice was even softer than before, and flat, as if he were trying to keep as much distance as possible between himself and what he was telling me. “I sold myself that night. For drugs," he confessed.

   “What?” I heard the words but I couldn't get them to make any kind of sense. “Why would you do something like that? You didn't need the money, I know you didn't. And I didn't think you were using that much....”

   “it wasn't for the drugs or the money,” Roger confessed weakly. “I just wanted to have value. I wanted to be worth something. Turns out I'm worth quite a bit in ketamine and coke.”

   “Oh Jesus," was the only thing I could manage to choke out.

   “Yeah, he and I aren't on speaking terms,” Roger joked weakly.

   I thought back again to that day, to stripping off Roger's stained and soiled clothing, the marks on his skin, and I wanted to throw up. I could actually feel my stomach turning and I looked around for something to vomit into. I told myself I couldn't though. I couldn't let Roger think that I found him sickening. I didn't want him to take it as a rejection. I gulped in air and closed my eyes and tried to get my heart under control. How the fuck had we come to this? “Roger you need to see someone.” I protested.

   “I am,” he reminded me.

   “Well, I don't think it's doing you much good. Look at you.”

   “Jane, this happened back in July. I am able to tell you about it now because I've been seeing someone. I have a long way to go but I”m working on getting better too. I was just hoping we could do it together.”

   I  grabbed him even more tightly, even though it was too late to protect him now. Of course, we could do it together. Nothing else mattered to me anymore except keeping Roger safe. “Okay, okay, sure.” I couldn't stop myself from sobbing and Roger began rocking us both back and forth. “I'll do anything it takes. Just please don't... please don't....”

   “Same for you,” he sobbed back at me.

   “I love you, Roger. I don't need anyone else.” I told him. “I won't ever leave you again.”

   “I love you too, Janey. And you will. But it will be on our terms next time and we'll be ready.”

   We cried on that floor together for the better part of an hour before we had to clean ourselves up and head to the airport. By the time we got back to my parent's house we had pasted our smiles back in place and for the all the world we looked just like we always had, two best friends, out to take on the world together. But we had torn the lid off and looked inside and we had seen how deep the cracks in our souls went. I didn't know how we were going to do it, but we were determined not lose each other to the darkness inside them. Nothing was going to drive us apart again.

@thepromiseofanend  @msroxyblog@nikkitasevoli@maliciousalishious@llfd1977 @mustlove6277@fyeahproudglambert @little-poptart @snewsome756@guccilowell

[four-pages-zine-blog]

Issue 1: Tass

How long have you had your store: I started officially selling clothes after I finished college in 2013 and moved back home to the suburban midwest, so I guess 5 years now! I was working at the local newspaper at the time but was looking for an extra way to kill time, not necessarily even to make money. I started with Poshmark and loved connecting with other people who liked similar clothes, which was actually kind of rare for where I lived. I loved being able to see people showcase their own style in the form of their own closets and let people “shop their closet”. I also became really interested in clothes trading, which I like doing with my irl friends, so the fact a lot of people were willing to trade items was also really cool to me and something I hadn’t seen before.

How would you describe your shop? I think the clothes I sell are kind of more one-off like something that would be worn as a funny statement piece - I love a bright color and bold pattern, power clashing, and anything rainbow, glittery or that can incorporate faux fur in a tasteful way. It’s pretty reflective of my midwestern lifestyle and probably the clothes I consistently have the most of are windbreakers and winter coats, the main way we can express ourselves here for half of the year or more… There are a few sticker art projects I have in my store that I started doing around 2012 out of boredom when I was still in school, the most prominent one probably being the 6 foot tall Britney Spears poster that’s completely covered in (vintage) Lisa Frank stickers but never intended to actually finish or take seriously. Over the years I used sticker collaging as a way to keep my mind off things and have it be a means to add color and vibrancy to otherwise more plain posters/art.

When I first opened my shop in 2013, I made a holographic wall out of posterboards to hang my clothes on and that was my first store display on Poshmark and Etsy and always tried to have unique ways to show my clothes ever since, and to change the look of my store at least once a year. I’ve wavered between thinking having consistent “branding” is best and thinking it’s best to change as my ideas change, and have ended up going with the latter at whatever expense that has had, resulting in my store bio now being “Hi I’m Crazy Branding” lmao. The last time I re-did my store I got a mannequin from the city off Craigslist that I painted hot pink and move around my yard or put against different backdrops/bright colored walls to model the clothes. At one point I put velcro on the back of all my stuffed animals plushies and trolls and stuck them to a white wall in my apartment I was living to use as the background. I used to love to bring around solo holographic poster boards to my friends’ houses before we went out so that we could all take pictures behind them as the backdrop, portable aesthetic is essential.

What era or year is your favorite in fashion? My favorite looks are early 90s minimalistic grunge but not too minimal - Black jeans, velvet dresses, and plain tees, all of that, but then on the flip side I love the super excessive part of those eras of fashion too, like rainbow everything and floating glitter inside plastic holographic accessories. My favorite outfit of all time is something my aunt gave me from her 80s closet, it’s a long elastic teal leopard mermaid-style skirt with a matching teal leopard flowy button down shirt, all cotton and polyester. I love outfits that are completely matching like that and have been seeing that lately in brands that I follow, so I hope that sticks.

What item of clothing in the world are you lusting after or saving up for?

One of those new robot dresses that react to your moods or whatever lmao but if I’m being more realistic there is a designer who I really love that I found on Instagram who knits beaded sweaters using like thousands of different colored beads and completely covers them. They’re works of art and I would love to have one some day and be able to support an artist too! I’m definitely always lusting after new pairs of plain black pleather platform (but not too high anymore) shoes. I love the brand Hot Lava and I guess if I'm saving up for one thing it would be their "Barbed" rainbow matching bralette/pants combo.

Favorite clothing brand/brands and why? Since I usually only buy thrift for myself these days, my favorite brands are probably just based on design only but I love Discount Universe and other sequins-covered clothes or otherwise outlandish/tacky patterns, especially if they’re owned/designed/produced by women - Wacky Wacko, I have the Tabloid Dress they made a few years ago and it’s one of my favorite of all time even though I never wear it I also LOVE everything from Big Bud Press and YardSale666 in general.

What music do you like, does it play a role in your personal style? The music I listen to most now is probably "experimental pop" and growing up I loved pop punk. Both of those have affected my style and stayed with me to this day, I still wear skinny jeans and slip on Van-style shoes most often no matter what else I’ve layered on top of it. I used to like to purposely wear edgy clothes and do my hair to provoke a reaction out of people when I was younger - my brother would pass down band shirts to me that said things like “What the F*** are you looking at?” (lol) and I would cut them off into a crop top and wear it with a super long high-waisted thrifted pink and purple plaid skirt. That was definitely my go-to outfit for like an entire summer straight. I’ve always liked clothes that makes a statement even if it’s in a literal way with words, clothes with a lot of text on them, and I really like the new wave of DIY embroidery, especially on thrifted or up cycled clothes. Band tee shirts were also just like a huge part of growing up for me, buying them at shows and collecting them and wearing them all the time. Also in my shop I have a guitar that I completely stickered/bejeweled which was one of my longest running projects that I really want to make more of. It was one of my brother's old acoustic guitars that he let me completely deck out and it perfectly combines the femme pop elements I love with an actual instrument. Music and fashion are so intertwined all the time I think, and clothes/accessories are something that always stuck out to me about singers and bands too! I love how fashion plays a role in music today too and can make or break an entire aesthetic or era.

Does living in your city/state inspire you? Where are you most creative? Yes lmao living in rural suburban Illinois actually inspires me a lot and I’m probably the most happily creative here. When I lived in the city, things were a lot more stressful so it made me work on a lot of projects to distract myself, but I eventually burned out from that pretty bad. I get inspired by midwestern people but mostly in a way that most people find cringey, I mocked it more when I was younger but now try to tastefully incorporate it into my looks. State Fair Chic is inspiring to me. My mom has a lot of handpainted and iron-on sweatshirts for different holidays that are staples of my closet. Living in the midwest and being bored definitely made me thrift more and imo makes the thrifting better, it made me always be working on craft projects, and always changing my hair and style.

What things do you love to create? I think my favorite things to create are entire rooms and looks, I like to make different aesthetics through combining colors, furniture and fabrics that all feel familiar even if it’s a little chaotic. My long term project with my bedroom was turning my walls of thrifted art (with 20-30 framed pictures) into matching colored frames that fit the whole look of the room, so I guess just really getting at the details of design. I think I’m pretty tacky so I like to stick to things that embody that and will always love stickering huge projects, painting everything plain into bright colors and incorporating anything I find thrifting or in the garbage into larger art aesthetics. My favorite thing to do is thrift and upcycle clothes, furniture, wall art, lamps, etc. anything that I see “potential” in lol.

Who are some of your favorite artists?: There are a ton of artists I follow that inspire me every day, definitely just “regular” people or like more lowkey artists. People who thrift or collect and refurbish toys are amazing to me and I love the doll community on IG. Witches or people I’ve met through astrology who are creating more spiritual art inspire me every day with their words and presentations. I also love comedians and movies, I love John Early and Kate Berlant and recently saw they collaborated with Peggy Noland and Seth Bogart of Wacky Wacko so that was iconic to me.

I collaborate a lot with my brother who has done a lot of graphic design stuff for me over the years. He makes resin toys of his own and designs t-shirts. He’s great at painting and drawing, two skills I never was good at that I really appreciate in him that he is always willing to lend a hand to me. He is two years older than me and went to school for advertising so exchanging ideas and doing projects with him is something I like to do too. He also has more of a background in music production so we recently started trying to make music together. We both love combining fashion and music!

What album do you recommend to pick up ASAP? Hayley Kiyoko - Expectations, hands down the vibe for summer

Follow Tass on Depop!

Depop.com/trashbitch 

[rodrigohyde]

Everything You Need to Know About Spring Cleaning Your Closet

How to Spring Clean Your Closet

There is something about spring that always seems to inspire cleaning. As temperatures warm up after a long, dark winter spent inside with little opportunity to ventilate with open doors and windows, you might find yourself digging through layers of coats, scarves, and sweaters in your closet. While looking for those warm-weather essentials, you have probably said to yourself, “It's time to clean out this closet.”

RELATED: 8 Ways to Give Your Bedroom Sex Appeal

This means it’s the perfect time for a good spring cleaning. We talked to some experts who know a thing or two about how to get a closet organized and keep it that way. It’s not as difficult a task as you might think.

Start With a Plan

First things first: Don’t be too hard on yourself if you have accumulated a lot to deal with since the last time you cleaned out the closet). Not everything has to be tackled at once. California Closets design consultant Nicole Caswell recommends tackling one section at a time so the whole project isn’t overwhelming.

“The easiest way to to start the decluttering process is to really see what you’ve got. Go into the project knowing your end goal,” says Caswell. “Do you want to minimize your wardrobe, display your clothing, or organize your pieces by season? You will more likely achieve a well-organized closet if you are focused on a specific end result.”

“Avoid stress with a realistic goal,” San Francisco-based professional organizer Molly Cole of Cole + Co. tells us. “A lot of my clients tell me they feel like they make an even bigger mess when they try to organize their closets.” She advises that even if you only get rid of a couple of items, you’ll feel better about your project if you achieve what you initially set out to do. “Have a plan for the items you decided to part with [and] remember to give yourself time to make that run to [a donation center such as] Goodwill.”

Michael Dimopoulos of Lazy Susans Cleaning Service in New York City recommends taking the following into consideration before starting: “If I’m just seasonally rotating my wardrobe, I need to be clever about what stays and what goes, in the event that I need to find a particular item.”

Know Your  Personal Limits

“Our closets are extremely personal, and there is not a ‘one method fits all’ approach to reorganizing your belongings,” points out Caswell. “Some might want to toss out their items and save the bare minimum, while others may want to keep everything and maximize their storage space.”

“Any method that gets you past procrastination is the best one for you,” agrees Lynnette Khalfani-Cox, clothing resale app Mercari’s finance expert and founder of Ask The Money Coach. “[According to a recent Mercari study] Americans currently have an estimated $93 billion in unused stuff cluttering our homes … just take the first step!”

The KonMari Method is the organizing method du jour, but watch for variations on the theme. “It’s important to remember that nostalgia is not your friend,” says Cole. “Many people want to hold on to items, not because they have any practical use, but simply because it brings up memories” She encourages her clients to think about the actual memory an item is connected to. Does it bring up a happy memory or a sad one? “If it’s the latter, it’s probably time to let it go,” she says.

“KonMari is very popular, but I found that it wasn’t for me,” The Container Store’s closet buyer Jimmy Seifert says. “It’s extreme … We like to hold on to things that have meaning … It’s easy to get rid of something that you’ve been holding on for years if it doesn’t mean much to you.” He swears by the Japanese minimalism book titled “Goodbye Things,” wherein author Fumio Sasaki changes his life by getting rid of everything he doesn’t absolutely need. “That actually pushed me to go beyond my comfort zone.”

RELATED: How Often You Should Be Replacing Your Sheets

Seifert recommends hiring a service, suggesting that some can even help with a move; purging, packing, and organizing as you leave one dwelling for another.

“It’s very important to give your space a once-over and remove items — especially big ones — that you want to get rid of before you start,” Cole says as a big believer in purging before organizing. “This clears up space and makes organizing much easier in the long run. I like to designate a space for those items outside the ‘organizing zone’ so you’re not stepping over anything or creating more clutter.”

Jordan Barnes, senior director of brand and communications at Mercari, likes to follow this rule of thumb: If you haven’t worn it or used it in a year, get rid of it. “Take a good look at all the stuff in your closet you’re no longer using,” she says. “Think about why you bought it. Maybe you moved to a new city with different weather. Maybe you upgraded to a newer phone. Maybe you just never got around to actually wearing those athletic shoes. You bought all that stuff for good reason [and] so will someone else.”

Maximize the Most Minimal Space

Even professional organizer Dimopoulos admits to feeling the limitations of space. “Living in New York City, unfortunately most of us don’t have much of a choice but to keep some things in off-site storage. You could vacuum-seal heavier items such as coats jackets, and bags, and stack them on top of one and other to maximize the space … or the lack of it.”  

Start by paying attention to how you fold. Cole recommends the KonMari folding method (check out YouTube for how-tos) for storing items vertically in drawers, maximizing space and accessibility. Sort clothes in the closet by type, then color. “Organizing is not just about clearing clutter; it’s also about making things aesthetically pleasing,” she points out. “I like to use this notion when organizing a closet, primarily because [it] tends to involve a lot of daily decision-making … which can cause stress and anxiety. If you wake up to a nicely organized closet, you’ll not only feel less stressed as you get dressed for work, but you’ll also feel a great sense of accomplishment when you get that daily reminder of the hard work you put in to organizing that space.”

The Container Store

“When I am done with everything, I then have the space to coordinate and organize T-shirts, hanging or folded together, long-sleeved T-shirts, sweaters, shirts, jeans, trousers, etc.,” Dimopoulos agrees. “Everything has room to breathe. The ability to see everything is important. I now feel lighter and cleansed and have a sense of being organized.”

Caswell likes utilizing boxes, jewelry drawers, slide-out pant racks, and cabinet doors to store, display, and organize clothing. “When everything has its place, clutter is eliminated,” she points out. “When hanging clothing, make sure to purchase higher quality hangers that are preferably all the same. By keeping hangers, boxes, and containers consistent, your closet looks instantly cleaner.”

Of course, as a buyer for The Container Store, Seifert isn’t short on storage ideas. “Basic shoe storage is probably the most common issue. We also have hangers for just about anything: wooden are best if you have the space, but we also have space-saving ones. Bins and storage boxes are next: I use bins for things that I wear often, keeping them lower in my closet so I can see them. Boxes go up high for seasonal stuff. We also recommend drawer dividers to keep like items together. We have plastic versions, as well as cedar to prevent pests [such as moths].”

RELATED: How to Make Your Apartment Look Bigger

Seifert also shared his thoughts on plastic, both for its environmental impact, as well as whether it’s good for clothing storage. “It depends on what you’re storing,” he says. “We use the phrase ‘fur, feathers, and leathers.’ All of those things need to breathe. If they don’t, they can deteriorate or get moldy, so we recommend cotton storage for them. I wouldn’t put them in a box: Bins are best, or hangers. Cottons and synthetic materials are fine in plastic, though — I use clear plastic boxes for all my sweaters.

“As an alternative to plastic, we carry a brand of post-consumer fiberboard boxes from Sweden called Bigso,” he continues. “If you’re going to buy plastic, buy high-quality products that will last a long time and that don’t have to be replaced often because they crack and break easily. When you are done with them, they can be recycled.”

Donate, Sell, and Recycle the Rest

Still, now that your closet has been organized and styled, donate what you can’t sell to local charities. “It’s a good idea to review your items at least once a year,” says Caswell, “and if you don’t wear it, find it another home.”

Dimopoulos is a big believer in giving away clothes such as great sweaters, jackets, bags, and coats. “Luckily, I’ve always had someone in my life whose taste in clothes I admired … and who had the best brands that I couldn’t afford,” he says. “I love hand-me-downs. In fact, [over half] of my leather jackets, luxury brand bags, wallets, and coats are from upscale brands that I’d never buy at full retail.” Don’t be afraid to give things to friends and family that might not be as concerned that last season’s styles aren’t exactly “au courant.”

He even suggests doing what he does and always buying second-hand since, by his thinking, it means he saves more. “So yes, I ‘pay it forward’ by donating my excess wardrobe items.”

A quick survey of some of the larger “thrift” charities’ websites suggests that you can donate just about anything, from clothing, shoes, and boots to hats, gloves, and scarves, even some housewares and collectibles. Don’t donate things like personal care items and fragrance. The “Golden Rule” of thrifting applies here: Don’t donate to others that which you would not buy yourself (even if you’re not a second-hand shopper).

Toss or better yet, recycle pilled knits, clothing with holes, used swimsuits, underwear and socks … and anything that smells too bad to ever freshen up or that is badly stained. There are resources for clothing recycling such as Planet Aid which focuses on specific populous areas, TerraCycle which allows for bulk shipping of old textiles, and Earth911 which has an easy search feature that makes it quick and easy to find a drop-off location near you.

If you feel like taking the time, this is also the point at which your discipline may turn profitable. Apps and websites such as Let Go, Mercari, Grailed, Poshmark, The Real Real, even Amazon or the granddaddy of them all, eBay, may allow you to turn certain items back into cash. If you’re a real brand or label fan who has only worn your expensive things a few times or less, this has more potential than clothes or accessories that are in your regular rotation.

Khalfani-Cox suggests doing a quick search to see how much items similar to yours are selling for. That will help you decide whether it’s worth the effort to sell them or just make a donation. “For things you’d like to donate, bear in mind that, over the past few months, organizations like Goodwill say they’ve been overwhelmed due to the popularity of the KonMari tidying method,” she says.

A New Hope

Once those donations are made, Seifert recommends paring down shopping habits now that you’ve got room for a fresh start. “I find myself buying things that aren’t as trendy, focusing on more classic items that I can have for years if I take care of them,” he says. “I may have less, but what I do have is higher quality. I buy a lot more solid colors so I end up purchasing less all around. That’s a good next step.”

Spring is always a great season to whip that closet into shape and start the green season fresh. Remember, this is not reality TV: Do things at your own pace and set realistic goals. Ask an expert for advice, which could be an organized friend, a hired hand, or even just found within the pages of a book. Be sure to have a clear separation between the “toss pile,” and what you’re keeping.

If you live in a small space, and can afford it, don’t overlook off-site storage if that’s the best solution for you. The “spark joy” conversation may be one best saved for your therapist … even Martha Stewart admits to having a bit of a hoarding mentality. Once you’re done, remember to sell, give away, or donate your cast-offs to your favorite charity.

You Might Also Dig:

How to Upgrade Your Wardrobe for Each Decade of Your Life Your Comprehensive Guide to Packing a Carry-On Like a Pro How to Bring Pantone's Color of the Year Into Your Home from AskMen Style https://www.askmen.com/style/fashion_advice/how-to-spring-clean-your-closet.html

[kafriend]

the best outfit subscriptions

One of the questions I am asked A LOT is about subscription clubs. You know - those monthly (or bi-monthly) services that send you a box of outfits.

In theory, that sounds like a great idea, doesn’t it? In reality, it’s way too easy to get sucked into it and before you know it you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole and you have MORE crap in your closet that you really don’t like and can’t return.

HOW FRUSTRATING!

I’ve tried several of these services to get an idea of the experience my clients are / were having. I quickly realized there were some themes between most of these services.  I also realized that I may be way too hard on them from a client perspective (but hey, shouldn’t they be able to style me too?).

Because I see real value in these kinds of services, I want to share my experiences, how to get the most out of the money you spend on these services, and THE BEST OF THE BEST! 

Some things I learned:

When you tell them what colors you wear, they will not hear you. Honestly. I do not wear pastel or muted colors. I also rarely wear floral. My reasoning is very clear: I do not look good in muted colors. I do not like floral. But, guess what I get in almost EVERY SINGLE box...muted colors and florals. 

When you explain what your style is, they will not hear you. Like with colors I don’t wear, there are styles I do not wear. Now, hear me on this one. I speak the same “industry lingo” that these stylists do.  Yet, they will send me things I will not wear - this leads me to wonder about the quality of training, is the person packing the boxes REALLY a stylists?  Is a random computer program choosing the clothing to pack for me? Now, admittedly the process to fine tune your personal style might take a few months to work out the kinks...I don’t think it should take any time to understand things like “I do not wear midi or maxi dresses. I only wear dresses to the knee...no longer”. Or, “my style is NOT conservative at all, I prefer the newest edgy trends” And you got it - in my box I am STILL getting maxi dresses/skirts and dresses that look like a lawyer should wear it to court. NOT something a lead stylist would wear to work. 

Sizing, surprisingly, is usually spot-on.  This one shocked me. Almost across the board, the sizes I get from these services is typically right.  I think it REALLY helps to submit pictures with your profile.

WHAT WARDROBE SUBSCRIPTION SERVICES DO I SUBSCRIBE TO?

You all know I WILL NOT suggest something to you unless it is something I use in real life. This is why I’ve suggested Bobbi Brown and Kiehl’s cosmetics / skin care to so many of you.  Both of these services will send you 2 or 3 complete outfits. They will also send fill-in pieces if need be. 

TRUNK CLUB

This is Nordstrom’s subscription club. They send you what they call a trunk.  A trunk is a shipment in a box filled with clothes. There are several reasons I’m happy with this:

It’s Nordstrom - because of that, I expected exemplary customer service. I was not thrilled with the online style profile that I completed when I set up my account. 

Variety - they will send everything from business suits to workout wear, undergarments, jeans...you get the point. Everything. They even have a version of the Trunk Club for men! 

Ability to chat with my stylist - there is a function within the app (and website) where you can text / chat with your stylist. I have found this to be VERY helpful.  

It’s Free! Well, if you have a Nordstrom card.  If not, the styling fee is $25...which comes off of your bill when you purchase something from your Trunk. The pieces they send are not everything you see online or in the stores.  I think there are a few select brands they send (and by few, there are a LOT).  

They will send shoes!  Most of these services don’t send shoes, and honestly - that is the one thing I will likely always purchase. 

You can reject things before they send to you. Once your trunk is styled, you can log on and ‘yes’ or ‘no’ things - and offer feedback to your stylist. I take FULL advantage of this!  And, remember - you are not going to hurt anyone’s feelings if you say no to everything!  I’ve don't it. That just means I didn’t want / like / need anything that she pulled, START OVER! 

TRENDSEND

I’ve been a subscriber of Evereve’s Trendsend since they started the service.  I think I was probably one of the first subscribers.  I do know for a fact that a real person who works in the stores will pack your box.  Here are some other notables:

If you work with someone at your local store that you like (and who knows you and your style), you can request her.  It’s the most helpful to find someone at the store who has your style, and request them.  This works VERY well.  

The store’s style is more casual, so if you want / need things that are outside of the daily jeans, t-shirt, sweater cute look - this might not be for you.  Of course the store also has dresses, jackets etc., but the overall vibe is more casual. 

No shoes. This is a bummer. The store sells shoes but they are not part of Trendsend. And, they will not include jewelry. This is a new thing, initially they did. Who knows, this might come back.

They are really good about including sale items and keeping within the budget you set when you set up your profile. 

Although you can’t chat with your stylist, you can add things to your ‘wish list’ from the Evereve website and tell your stylist (through your profile on the Trendsend webpage). I have done this and have had great success.  It really helps me when there is something I want but don’t have time to run up to Indianapolis to get it. 

Once you receive your box, you will have 5 days to try everything on and return what you don’t want. I push this. ALL THE TIME. You will get email reminders to ‘check out’.  I have replied to those emails if I need extended time. So, if you travel - no worries!

The styling fee is $20 which is automatically deducted from any clothing you purchase.  No shipping and returns are free. 

TIME TO SIGN UP!

I encourage you to give it a try.  You can skip a month, choose every 2/3 months - whatever works into your budget and lifestyle. You can cancel at any time. You really have nothing to lose!

...and if you need help with that online Style Profile - you have me!  I can help. 

Subscribe to TRUNK CLUB HERE

Subscribe to TRENDSEND HERE

[thegirlsinthefirehouse]

Descendants, Chapter 11

-----

“The sun, it burns ussss,” hissed Holtzmann, coming out of the sun and back into the fire station.

 She and Erin had gone out on a call at a thrift store that was having trouble with a cursed object that had been donated. It wouldn’t stop screaming. They had dealt with many of those in the past couple of years, but never so shrill. Erin’s ears still hadn’t stopped ringing.

“Now I know how you felt when the balloon popped in your ear,” said Erin loudly to Holtz.

“Yell it down a couple of notches Erin!” Holtz yelled back.

“What?” Erin said back loudly.

“Okay you two,” yelled Patty, walking up to the both of them. “How did it go?”

“Fine,” said Erin, leaning her left ear to Patty. It was the less ringing one. “Can you put this in our cursed items inventory? It’s clean.” She gave Patty a stone figurine of a ballerina.

“This was screaming?” asked the municipal historian.

“Loudly,” said Holtzmann. “And by clean, we don’t know if there are any curses on it. But we could touch it at least.”

“We should probably check it before we tag it and put it away,” said Patty.

“You and Abby can look it over for us while our hearing comes back,” said Erin, rubbing her ear and grimacing. “And Holtz needs to empty the trap.”

“I’m letting you get your wife out of the lab,” Patty said to Holtz. “She’s been in there working.”

“On what?” said Holtz. Patty shrugged.

“She’s sketching, all I know.”

“She must have thought of something,” said Holtz. She really needed to get the noise out of her ears and brain. She headed up the stairs to her lab. Abby was sitting at one of the tables with her earbuds in. Patty had been right, she was designing something new. While Holtzmann did most of the creative work, Abby sometimes had ideas that they had been working on together to bring to fruition, usually with Erin’s input once they had a roughed out concept. Although Holtzmann would rather her wife not be working in the lab, she was grateful to see she was wearing the apron and her radiation badges. She headed over to the containment unit, her ears still ringing, but less so. She stuck the trap in the machine and turned it on. She could barely hear the low roar, followed by the buzzing after a few minutes that let her know it was cleaned out.

Now that she was in the quiet of her lab and could only hear the low hum of her machines, she was starting to be able to hear somewhat normally again. She went over to Abby’s side and found a drawing she couldn’t quite understand at first. It was long and cylindrical, almost like the tall cans of soda and energy drinks they had started selling years ago. But there was a contraption inside of it that she was trying to follow. It was Abby’s annotation at the end that made her excited. She tapped Abby on the shoulder, who paused her music.

“This goes into the proton pack?”

Abby took out her earbuds and nodded.

“It’s risky, but I thought about it early this morning when I couldn’t go back to sleep. Short bursts of energy, like my glove. It could take out a lot of PK energy in one sweep instead of a steady drain.”

“This... I like this,” grinned Holtzmann. “I’m so turned on right now by your handiwork Abigail.”

Abby ignored Holtz’s tone. “If you could get this to work, this would be helpful in the field.”

“This is going to take a massive amount of energy though,” said Holtzmann, following Abby’s notes. “It would make the pack way, way too hot.”

“It’d need venting constantly,” said Abby. “It’s workable... maybe?”

“Oh, it’s workable alright,” said Holtz. She kissed Abby on the lips quickly before going over to pick up an extra pack that she had built for experimentation. It was the first one that was going to get the upgrade. She looked back at her wife.

“But what shall we call it?”

“I was thinking it sort of works like a dart,” said Abby. “Multiple darts hitting a target at once with the same intensity.”

Holtzmann smirked. “So a Boson Dart?”

“If that’s what you want to call it, then yes,” said Abby.

“I like how you think,” said Holtzmann, plopping the pack up on the table. She pushed down the goggles she had been wearing on top of her head.

“You up on your Slavic black magic?”

Abby thought about it for a moment. “Not since that brief stint in college.”

“Patty could use your help on the cursed object we brought back. It’s got some Russian text on the bottom. Erin--” “Good,” said Abby, not letting Holtzmann finish that thought. “I’m getting tired of this apron.” She got up, grimacing at how it had bunched up her shirt. When she went to straighten it, Holtz noticed something as she pushed on the cloth around her abdomen. She knew every curve on Abby’s body, and this was completely new.

“Whoa,” she said softly. She put down the screwdriver and went over to Abby’s side. She put a hand over Abby’s, stopping her from moving.

“You’re showing.” Holtzmann rubbed a hand down Abby’s middle. Her uterus was sticking up just enough to be noticeable just about at her navel, making a definite pooch that wasn’t there before. Holtz had to admit, she hadn’t expected to see anything for a few more weeks, so this was definitely a surprise.

“Been a day or two,” said Abby. She made a face. “I thought I was just bloated at first.”

“You need to gain weight,” said Holtzmann. “25-35 pounds. You’re still not eating enough.”

“You can do it for me,” said Abby, grimacing. “The eating and the gaining weight thing. I’ve already gained three pounds and I throw up practically everything I eat.”

“Next time around,” said Holtz. She laughed softly. “I can’t believe you’re showing.” She smiled happily at Abby, rubbing a hand over her tiny baby bump.

“I’d better get to Patty,” said Abby. Holtz looked up and realized Abby was blushing slightly.

“Abby?” she said. Her wife shook her head, smiling ruefully.

“It’s nothing. Sometimes I forget how love can be so big sometimes.”

Holtzmann grinned, but she made a mental note to ask Abby about it later. Right now she wanted to get to the pack design and she knew Abby would enjoy helping Patty find a reference to the cursed statue and why it had been screaming so loudly at them.

-----

“Shoes,” said Abby loudly towards the bathroom. Holtz came back towards their bedroom, toothbrush in hand, a little confused at her lover’s comment.

“Shoes?” Abby pointed down to her Chucks with a sigh. “They are too tight.” Holtz grimaced. “We’ll get you another pair Abs. You can’t help the ankle and feet swelling,” said Holtzmann.

“Yeah, but they’re like my security blanket,” Abby said with a grimace. “I need them.” Holtz had to stop herself from being annoyed at her wife. She was stalling, and Holtz couldn’t blame her for that. Today was the first real appointment with the obstetrician and Abby really didn’t want to go at all. It didn’t help that she had already been nauseated and throwing up since she had been awake. Breakfast had been an adventure.

“We’ll get you another pair of security blankets,” said Holtzmann, trying to be sympathetic. Abby had her moments of frustration for the engineer, but pregnancy hormones were a very real and short-term personality altering thing. Normally her wife was independent, fierce, and took shit from nobody. But the constant assurances and the fearful tears she had before the ultrasound were something Holtz hadn’t been expecting. It made her wonder what she really would have been like pregnant. She had quietly marveled at how Abby was holding together, even if she was being a little aggravating at the moment.

“I know,” said Abby quietly.

“Converse should be paying you to wear them anyways,” said Holtzmann, squeezing her hand and putting her toothbrush back in her mouth. “Seriously Abby, we need to look into product placement deals.”

The idea made Abby laugh, which was a blessing to Holtzmann’s ears.

“I see that going over with the city really well.”

“We should be getting better contracts,” said Holtz, waving her hand in the air. “I mean millions.”

“And what would we do with millions?” Abby said, pulling a pair of brown boots out of their closet and going over to the bed and putting them on. Holtz gestured to her chest.

“You could buy me that cute pregnancy t-shirt I showed you online that read: ‘She’s carrying the baby, I’m carrying the beer.’”

“In where? Your proton pack?” Abby interjected, straightening her clothes.

“A pack that carries beer,” said Holtzmann, looking starry-eyed. “That’s genius!”

“Very warm, slightly nuclear beer,” snorted Abby.

“The system needs more coolant anyways,” said Holtzmann. “I’ve been thinking too, Abs. We need to make a trap compartment so we all can carry one.”

“They could just strap on to the belts,” said Abby. “Like you were doing with the grenades.”

“And the PKE meters,” said Holtz. “That’s a good idea.” She started back towards the bathroom to finish her teeth.

“We’ve got to go, Abs or we’ll never catch the train.”

“Go get Patty to call her friends at the MTA,” said Abby. “Wait, I’ll go downstairs and find her.”

“Now I know you’re stalling,” said Holtz, groaning. She rinsed her toothbrush and mouth quickly and marched back over to the bedroom. “Abigail Leslie Yates, you--”

“Oooh, whole name. Someone’s in trouble,” said Erin, knocking on the open door. “Letting you know Patty and I are going on a call, then out to the cemetery that Patty wants to go look at that supposedly has some peculiar Gypsy graves. We’ll see you later for our weekly dinner, okay?”

Holtzmann took that moment to wrangle her wife by the collar of her shirt or Abby would have tried to follow Erin and Patty out on the call just to get out of going to her appointment.

-----

“I don’t think my body can take much more blood loss,” said Abby. “Just exactly how many tests are they running?”

“Enough,” said Holtzmann, reading a text from Patty. “Was it just me, or did the doctor seem a little confused when the nurse introduced us as Doctor Yates AND Doctor Holtzmann?”

Abby laughed at that while Holtz responded to Patty. She heard Abby sigh after a minute. She was behind a curtain getting changed. A physical exam was part of the process, and it wasn’t something Abby was looking forward to since it was slightly invasive.

Holtz had already made the joke earlier that morning that she could do that part and just tell the doctor, but they both knew that wouldn’t work. Abby came around the screen, the lower half of her body wrapped in a sheet, which delighted Holtzmann because her lover seemed so unsettled. She rubbed Abby’s arm, hopefully taking off some of the anxiety.

“At least the doctor is well qualified and is not judgemental.”

“That doesn’t make it much better Jills.”

“It’s necessary?”

“The whole thing’s just uncomfortable,” said the brunette, sitting back down on the exam table. She glared at the stirrups hanging down on the end.

“Again, it’s necessary. He’ll check to see to make sure nothing’s going to hinder the baby’s arrival, make sure there’s room to grow, and see if your cervix is nice and tight.”

“I know that, but does it help my nerves any?” said Abby.

“No, because a medical professional will be all up in your hoo-ha and it’s not even slightly erotic.”

“Yeah, the last guy who had his fingers up in there was trying to search for his heterosexuality and failed miserably,” grimaced Abby. Holtz looked perplexed.

“Wait, you dated a gay man?”

“Not at the time, no. He has since become a karaoke king at all the gay bars in Michigan, apparently. I know I’ve mentioned Reyland before.”

“I need to see this,” said Holtz, looking intrigued.

“You live in New York and see other members of the LGBT community every day,” said Abby, cocking her head sideways to look at Holtzmann. “New York Pride Parade next year, you can see thousands if you want.”

“Not the saaaaame,” said Holtz. “You dated him.” So you want to meet my exes now?” Abby said, shifting her legs so she could cross them at her ankles.

“Just curious to see in person those who came before me,” said Holtz, smirking.

“It’s a short, but varied list?”

“You know, I am still surprised Erin wasn’t on it.”

“I love her, but no.”

“I know you've said it before, but still. Why not? You two were close.”

“Erin... she’s.... Erin. We needed each other as friends. I think any further and the whole book thing would have been more explosive than it had been.”

“She burned the only two copies of your book, Abby. I don’t know how that could have gotten any more explosive. Or did it implode?”

“Both... really,” said Abby, thinking. “She was scared, I was furious she up and disappeared without a word. I became the laughingstock of the campus and I’m sure most of Ann Arbor. I didn’t care, obviously, but what hurt was that she didn’t care at all. About any of it. Including me.”

“Good thing it all changed,” said Holtzmann.

“I don’t know if it’s better or worse,” said Abby. She looked around the room. “Right now I’d say it’s worse.”

“That’s only because you’re about to be on your back and with your feet in those stirrups,” Holtzmann commented as the door swung back open, letting the nurse and the doctor back into the room.

“This is why I generally avoid physicians,” said Abby with a sigh in Holtz’s ear as the nurse directed for her to do just what Holtzmann had said. The blonde couldn’t help but grin as the nurse gushed over how cute they were holding hands. <– Prev | Next –>