#how nice it is to have an exact divide between morning and afternoon

[not-a-font]

"Good morning"

I say, at 11:59 am

"Good afternoon"

My friend replies, at exactly 12:00 pm

"12 O'CLOCK IS ON NOON NOT AFTER NOON!!!"

Interjects a voice from above

[youidiotprince]

ALT ER LOVE SERVER GIFT EXCHANGE: FIC SET

happy holidays @soluxogobsc! I’m so sorry for posting this at the last possible second, but I hope you enjoy these fragments of fic for your favorite evak pairings (evak, elu, and davenzi) during the holiday season, each echoing the one before, their love rippling across the parallel universes. you can read them all under the cut.

EVAK

Somehow, without Isak or Even even noticing, the holiday season had crept up on them and nearly passed them by. As soon as they started their winter holidays from their Universities, time lost all meaning to them, and suddenly it was the day before Christmas Eve and they hadn’t purchased a single gift or set out a single decoration. That evening, a bit in a panic, they divided to conquer; Isak hunched over the coffee table to wrap the gifts they’d bought for their friends and family earlier that day, and Even moved between the tree and the open storage boxes of decorations, trying to bring some spirit into their apartment.

Dispersed amongst the boxes were precious tokens of their five Christmases together, the odd bits and trinkets they’d accumulated over time, their shared life together viewed through this one time of year that meant so much to them. Even pulled ornaments for the tree from the boxes. Some were sentimental, like the strip of film Isak had gotten framed as a gift for their second Christmas together, stills from one of the many videos Even had taken of them over the course of their relationship; some were comical, gag gifts given to them by their friends; and some were just traditional, like the angel they would put atop the tree later. When Even found an ornament that Jonas had gifted to them the year before that he had forgotten about, a reindeer lifting its leg to pee like a dog, he turned to Isak, amused, ready to remind him.

“Isak, what is that monstrosity in your hands right now?” Even assumed it was the candle they’d gotten for his mom, since the package seemed vaguely cylindrical in shape, but it was buried in what seemed to be three layers of wrapping paper, all haphazardly crumpled around the object within, a few pieces of tape stuck on to try to pull it all together. Even’s eyes shifted to the three other presents Isak had wrapped in the last hour, each one worse than the last. “What have you done?”

Isak rolled his eyes good-naturedly, but Even cut off his reply. “How did I not know how bad you were at this?”

“I’m not that bad,” Isak tried to defend, but then he looked back to the gifts, the mess before him, and he saw it anew, as if for the first time. “Okay, maybe I’m that bad.”

“You’re absolutely hopeless.” Even’s lips were parted in disbelief, but they quirked up at the corners with amusement.

“Hey,” Isak warned, pretending to be offended. “I usually get help with my gifts for you, and you wrap ours for us. So, it’s honestly kind of your fault for trusting me.”

“Oh, it’s my fault? Really?” Even asked, voice teasing as he stalked towards him. Isak only nodded, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips that he fought to suppress. When Even reached Isak, he crouched in front of where he sat on the couch, their lips only a breath apart. “Are you sure it’s not just a little bit your fault for not disclosing your lack of gift wrapping ability?”

Isak shook his head slowly, brushing his nose against Even’s, raising his chin just a bit to look down at him.

“My bad, then. How can I make up for my grave mistake?”

Isak leaned into Even, closing the bit of space between their lips as the tension between them reached its peak. It was a short kiss, to both of their dismay, a quick treat before they got back to more pressing matters.

When Isak pulled away, he answered Even’s previous question by motioning to the supplies around him. “You can start by taking care of all of this.”

“We’re going to be up all night.” Even’s eyes drifted to the pile of unwrapped gifts next to Isak that he’d yet to even touch. Isak’s did the same. The clock was ticking, but when he looked back at Isak, whose eyes crinkled in the corners with his lingering smile, he couldn’t bring himself to dive back into it yet. The presents and decorations would be there in the morning. “Do you want hot chocolate? Let’s take a hot chocolate break.”

ELU

The first thing Eliott did when he woke up on Christmas morning was make hot chocolate, one for him and one for Lucas. He stirred the warm liquid with a candy cane and topped them both off with a big dollop of whipped cream. Mugs in hand, he bounded back into his bedroom, where Lucas still lay, duvet pulled up to his chin as his shoulders rose and fell in that slow, steady rhythm of sleep he knew so well.

“Lucas, wake up, it’s Christmas.” He set the mugs on the bedside table so he could shake Lucas awake.

“What?” The sound was thick with sleep and confusion, more groan than word.

“It’s Christmas! I’m bringing you hot chocolate in bed, and it’s Christmas!” Eliott sat on the edge of Lucas’s side of the bed, turning to coax him out of his sleep. He tangled his fingers in Lucas’s mess of hair and ruffled it. “Wake up.”

“Eliott, it’s too early,” Lucas grumbled, fighting to pull the duvet up even higher.

“It’s not even that early.”

“It is,” Lucas said grumpily, covering his face with his hands since the duvet wouldn’t budge from under Eliott. “Why don’t you come back to bed?”

“No, I left you a present under our little tree. Don’t you want to open your present?” Lucas had also left him a present under the tree, and maybe, just a little part of Eliott was so antsy for Lucas to wake up so that he could open his gift from Lucas. The anticipation had been killing him ever since Lucas kicked him out of the bedroom the night before so he could wrap it. Eliott liked surprises, both giving them and receiving them, but that didn’t mean he had the patience for them.

“The only present I want right now is more sleep.”

Eliott didn’t have to see Lucas’s face to know the exact pout he was sporting at that moment; it was one he knew well, the one Lucas used every time he didn’t actually mean it.

“You leave me no choice, Lucas,” Eliott said, sounding as if he really did regret what he would have to do. Because Lucas’s hands were still hiding his face and shielding his eyes, it was all too easy for Eliott to jump up from the bed and take the warm, cozy duvet with him. Lucas’s hands flew from his face to follow the blanket, trying desperately to grab onto it before it was out of reach, but the lingering sleep made his limbs too slow.

“Eliott,” Lucas whined, but he was finally wide awake and he was laughing despite himself. “Okay, but at least let me drink my hot chocolate in the comfort of my bed.”

Eliott gave in and dropped the blanket back over Lucas’s legs as Lucas reached for the decadent mug and cradled it to his chest. Eliott sat back down where he had been before and watched Lucas raise the drink to his lips, holding his gaze over the top of the mug. When he pulled it away from his mouth, there was a white line of whipped cream above his lip. It was too adorable and endearing for Eliott to resist, so he leaned over Lucas and pressed his lips to his, enjoying the sticky sweetness of this kiss. Lucas put the mug back on the table before sliding back down into the bed so he was lying flat, pulling Eliott with him. There was a fleeting moment in which Lucas thought he had won, that Eliott would come back to bed after all, but before he could properly process that thought in his love drunk haze, Eliott was pulling away, was standing up, was grabbing Lucas’s hands and dragging him along with him.

“Not yet,” was all Eliott said before he walked out to the living room of their apartment, Lucas begrudgingly following after one last exasperated sigh.

DAVENZI

“David, no,” Matteo grumbled with an exaggerated sigh as he tried to resist David tugging him to his feet to follow him to the kitchen. David’s sister had spent the entire afternoon baking cookies, and she wanted the boys to help her decorate them. David couldn’t say no to her, but grumpy Matteo, who had only gotten more and more comfortable around David’s sister, didn’t seem to have the same problem. So far, asking nicely and using sheer force had not been working, so David made one last attempt to motivate him.

“Why don’t you want to? Are you scared your cookies won’t compare to mine?” David taunted, hoping to strike Matteo’s playful competitive nerve.

“Please,” Matteo huffed, feigning indifference, but David noticed the way he sat up a bit more, like maybe he was giving in.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed that I’m better than you.” David leaned closer to Matteo, raising his eyebrows in a challenge.

Matteo squinted one eye at him before leaning forward too, meeting him in the middle. “How are we doing this then?”

“We’ll each decorate a batch, and then my sister can be the judge?” David offered, pulling away to consider.

“Won’t she be a bit biased? Is that really fair?”

“If anything, she’ll be biased towards you.”

“Oh, good, sounds fair then,” Matteo said, smug. “Let’s go.”

“There you guys are,” Laura said, turning at the sound of their continued teasing. As always, she was listening to music as she cooked, singing along to some traditional Christmas songs this time. “I was starting to get worried.”

Matteo sat on the kitchen stool and rested his head on David’s shoulder as David filled Laura in on their little competition and her role as the judge. She adored the idea, mostly relieved that she wouldn’t have to do the decorating alone after all. She had already mixed a few colors of frosting and put them into frosting piping bags, and she’d also laid out a few different kinds of sprinkles. David and Matteo each set a tray of cooled cookies in front of them, but didn’t start decorating right away.

“Should we start?” David asked. Matteo shrugged as Laura said they should, and so they did.

There was only one piping bag for each color of frosting, and somehow one of them always needed the color the other was currently using, which led to bickering and attempts to steal the bag from the other’s hands, followed by fits of laughter as the commotion would cause the other to mess up, squeeze too much out at once or miss the cookie entirely. The efforts to sabotage only increased as they finished more and more cookies, “accidental” shoves or elbows to the ribs turning to blatant attempts to throw the other person off when they were working on more intricate details.

Once, without thinking, Matteo smashed his hand onto one of David’s already decorated cookies, which successfully rendered the cookie useless in the competition, but it covered his palm in red and green icing, which David thought was the funniest thing until Matteo smeared said palm across David’s cheek, leaving bold streaks of color there. When David made a move to grab one of Matteo’s cookies, no doubt to smush it on his face in return, Laura saw the impending food fight and intervened.

“Okay, okay!” she called, reaching in between them. “Time!”

“What do you mean? This wasn’t timed,” Matteo said, but Laura just shrugged.

“I’m the judge. Time’s up.”

Matteo and David surveyed the damage, and they hardly had one decent cookie between the two of them. There was no way Laura could pick an honest winner.

Still, after a few seconds of examining the trays, Laura decided, “Matteo is the winner.”

“But he cheated,” David countered, motioning to his cheek.

Laura laughed and corrected, “You both cheated. You just got the worse end of the consequences.”

“I knew I would win,” Matteo said, beaming.

David pretended to pout, refusing to look at Matteo as he crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly.

“Hey, you have a little something right… there,” Matteo teased, licking his finger and swiping at the frosting on David cheek.

David tried to shrug him off with a yelp before he leveled him with a glare that lacked any real intensity. “You’re not funny.”

“And you’re not so better than me after all.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” And of course he didn’t. This was precisely what he loved about him.

[thetorturerwrites]

Lamb

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol​​. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Summary:  In the beginning, there was only Vader, the Sky Walker. He wandered the heavens, filling the void with the cosmos. 

To combat his loneliness, Grandfather Sky Walker created two brothers, twins: one drawn to light and one drawn to dark.

Their bond created all life as we know it. 

C/N:  18+ only; mythology AU; implied genocide; physical violence; self harm; bloody bloody blood

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Well, here I am again, and here we go again. Please take the content warnings seriously because I am not a nice girl; and herein, may lie not-nice-girl things.

This is my first foray into world building, and I welcome all feedback, critiques, and comments. :)

Special thanks to @kylorengarbagedump and @bexterbex for helping me develop this idea and get it ready for sharing.

***

In the beginning, there was only Vader, the Sky Walker. He wandered the heavens, filling the void with the cosmos. 

To combat his loneliness, Grandfather Sky Walker created two brothers, twins: one drawn to light and one drawn to dark.

Their bond created all life as we know it. 

You ran your fingers over the intricate gold leaf pattern on the book’s cover, remembering your lessons as a child. This Scripture, your grandmother’s most treasured possession, was the only part of your life you’d brought on this crusade. It was the only thing you couldn’t bear to abandon, even in the face of certain death.

You exhausted every avenue before taking on this last of your options. You demanded justice from the law only to be told you should keep your mouth shut. You went straight to the throne, but it shut to your caste, your people too low to deserve even an audience.

Selling every item of value, you had barely scraped up enough for the one-person craft, but it served its purpose.  You were here. You landed the shuttle on one of Chandrila's famed rolling hills, overlooking The Demarcation. You exhaled, shallow and nervous, and looked out over the horizon. The pilgrimage to this place, this day, was long and harrowing, but the sacrament itself would be quick.

Your fingers quaked as you shucked everything identifiable about yourself: blue pants your mother bought for your birthday; green shirt that belonged to your brother, found in the rubble of what was your family home; jade hair clip handed down from mother to daughter for generations. None of it would serve you now, and it would only be in the way. Trading the vestiges of civilization for religion, you donned your grandmother’s ample amethyst robe, lacing the silk ties that held it together, and grabbed up the athame she’d bequeathed to you at your initiation.

She enveloped you, your grandmother, and you buried your nose into her sacred garment to inhale the lingering scent. They were your world, lovely and loving, ground to dust beneath the machine of a war none of you pledged to fight. The Resistance descended upon your planet like a plague, and they left a great nothing, a slate wiped forcefully clean in their wake.

It was for them you made this trek, that you abandoned all logic and reason for faith. They raised you to share their doctrine, but it never served a single purpose for you in life.  Your grandmother and mother believed everything they’d ever taught you about the Twin Fathers. They wove the fabric of their lives, and yours, around it; and now, you clung to their prayers, your last hope in the face of something horrible and wholly dismissed by the universe.

There was no one to remember them, their faithfulness and devotion, but you.

Fathers, we pray. Bless this our food to the nourishment of our bodies that we may be strong in your service. Bless these our hands that we may share your great instruction with those in need. Bless our hearts that we may find the balance you have so righteously set for us.

Their prayers spilled over your dry lips, the only eulogy they would ever receive, and every holy word strengthened your resolve.

Clutching book and blade in one hand, you punched a series of numbers into the keypad nearest the bay door, extending the ramp. When it finished descending, you issued another command, the tiny keys lighting up with each pressed digit.

“Self-destruct sequence initiated.” The robotic voice vibrated the tiny craft’s walls. “Confirm.”

 “Confirmation,” you cast one last look around the shuttle that had been your home for a month, “Bravo Echo 2-4.”

“Countdown 2 minutes.”

Sunlight, warm and inviting, welcomed you as you stepped off the ramp. Squinting into its brilliance, you recalled the way your brother would read to you on lazy afternoons and how your family would picnic on similar grassy knolls. The beeping over your shoulder grew faster with each passing second, and you lifted the cumbersome dress around your knees, wasting no further time jogging down the hill. 

You were out on the flat land for just a second before the shuttle exploded into a fiery ball. You watched the blast shoot debris and columns of soot into the perfect sky. In another life, it would have scared you, shying you away from the destruction. Silent, stoic, you tracked plumes of grey smoke and the fall of ashes, comparing it to the devastation you found after the Resistance found your planet.

Days after the attack, you roamed fallen buildings and picked through still warm rubble. You had been too late, too far away. Knowing you could have done nothing to stop the strike was empty consolation. 

You could have died with them. You would rather have died with them. Now, all you could do was die for them.

On bare feet, you crossed the flowery field, taking in the array of purples and yellows. You lingered on the blue-green grass, feeling the soft stick of it underfoot, and you basked in the wispy clouds overhead. This was life, teeming with vibrant colors, but it all felt hollow, dampened. You wondered if everyone who came here felt this way, grateful that this beauty would be one of their last memories but unable to fully appreciate what they saw.

Pressing your lips into a determined line, you steeled your will and turned to The Demarcation, The Great Divide.

Grandfather Sky Walker tasked the twins with creating and maintaining The Balance. One would usher life; one would usher death; both harbingers of fate.

It was striking, a sudden upheaval of vitality in deference to darkness. Tendrils of fog mingled with melancholy dusk, and you spent a long moment admiring the space between one and the other.  This spot, this one impossible convergence, was balance. It was what every man strived to achieve, and no man could boast.

On the other side of the billowing veil, where you were coaching yourself to go, was The Ren’s territory. People far and wide spun countless tales about the land and its Master. It was a bottomless hole, they said, that would swallow you up steps past the boundary. It was an unending bog, and all who journeyed there were lost. All of its structures were built from the bones of the dead, and The Ren was the vicious king of an unforgiving wasteland.

Your grandmother, however, believed The Ren to be a merciful father, wise and misunderstood. He was the bringer of ends who did not differentiate between rich and poor. No creature was safe from his touch, and that made every creature equal in his eyes.

Whatever that land may be, whatever The Ren may be, there was nothing on the other side of that shroud that could compare to what you’d already endured. It was the way forward, your only way, and you bid yourself to go forth on deliberate steps.

Mirroring the track of your life, a balmy day gave way to a wintry gloom as you moved through the gauzy curtain, passing from one kingdom to another. The living world fell away, replaced by slender black trees that shot up to winking stars and stood adorned with wide, scarlet leaves. A ghostly breeze blew, shaking the leaves to delicately fall and blanket the spongy ground. You trod upon them carefully, uncertain what might lurk beneath the crimson carpet.

You took your time on the winding path, drinking in every otherworldly detail. Light pooled from a clandestine moon, and the very air shimmered under its grace. Midnight-colored blossoms dotted the road, mingling with swaying ferns. The stars shone so bright you could almost hear the twinkle, a delicate song tapped out to echo against the trees. Every inhale was laced with morning mist and rich earth.

The stories were wrong. This was no forlorn place. It was luminous, hallowed. Absent the touch of civilization, this land had bloomed unharmed, untainted. 

This world felt more real to you, more easily understood. Colored with variations of shadow, it was peaceful in its ashen palette.

Reaching the altar, you stared, both reverent and curious. How many had come before you to lay their lives down for The Ren? How many had died as a sacrifice? Surely, its ruddy color came from generations of blood spilled in offering.

It was a chalice to which you would soon be adding.

The stone was cold and damp, raising gooseflesh on your nearly naked form. It curved down in the very center, a macabre cradle for all those laid here. A blending of emotion and chill cast your skin in shades of flush and set every digit to trembling. It was as though the thing waited for you impatiently, its very existence demanding an offering.

Your skepticism at your grandmother’s faith dwindled when confronted with an exact duplicate of the altar upon which you’d taken your initiation rites. It was larger, but the ridges were the same. The slab of your childhood did not bear such a florid hue, but the sacrifices it received had been sugar, water, bread.

This shrine’s very construction felt haunted, a cauldron of souls made solid.

Hoisting yourself up onto the behemoth, you arranged your tools in the very center.  You set the athame at your right and spread the weighty purple velvet over the shrine, laying the fabric and yourself out as you would for a lover. 

Your lips trembled. Your knees knocked together. The cloak barely covered your body, and the little satin bows lent an air of innocence you could hardly claim as truth. You hoped, swallowed a handful of prayers, that The Ren accepted sacrifices as the stories told. Today, confronted with the reality of this place, you believed it more.

Tenderly, longingly, you ran your fingers over the tome once more. You lifted it and pressed a gentle kiss to its cover. It would lie beneath your head during this last of your chores and for however long your body would remain here. 

Closing your eyes, you conjured memories of your grandmother bearing witness to so many dead over the years and how you, filled with doubt and agony and hate, had failed to do the same for your family, your friends, your people. It had been too great of a thing, too much sorrow to compact into a single prayer.

The words came easily now, having been swirling and growing in your chest for weeks.

Into thy hands, Great Fathers, do we commend this soul, departed from the body, in payment for the souls still yet to come. We pray that you welcome her, keep her, and enter her into the great Balance so we may again feel the light of her love.

Swallowing your grief, you gripped the wicked blade tight. You had no more tears to cry. You brimmed with an awful energy, this ceaseless anguish bubbling up from your very marrow.

“Dark Father,” you brushed fabric away from your right leg and sliced a deep gash into the supple thigh before you could change your mind. “Hear my prayer.”

You hissed at the burn but smoothed your features into a stolid mask. You would do this for your family and people, who received no warning, no choice to convert or flee. You would make your entreaty to The Ren; or, you would die here and reunite with them. Whatever the outcome, this was your end.

“I commit my body to your hands. As your brother has given it to me, I give it now to you to use as you will. Grant me the grace of your ear that I may plead my case.”

Your breath stuttered, and you fought back the roaring in your ears so you could concentrate and carry on. Fixing your eyes upon the trickle of blood, you watched it turn to a pool and hurried to match it with another slash at your left forearm. Benumbed, you tracked the redness as it crested and spilled in every direction.

The callous cold seeped into your very bones, and you fell back against the altar with a gasp, fingers grasping for the book’s corner. You blinked, heavy lidded, as your face fell to one side, staring into the great forest beyond.

In your delirium, you thought you could see them, smiling and holding each other. Tears you thought you no longer had rushed forth, and you shook. Weakness or acceptance broke open the gate on your heartbreak, releasing a torrent of sobs and screams. There was no one to hear, to care, to chastise you for its futility.

You heard her voice, your grandmother’s tone the same that had been soothing your fears since you could remember, rubbing over you like a comforting balm.

More than yesterday, beloved. Less than tomorrow. Find me in the Balance.

“Nona, I’m coming.” 

Your fit rode your wounds and bled away to faint sniffles and glassy eyes. You stared up at what you felt had to be an eternally night sky and pushed your fingers through the growing sticky puddles. 

This was death, and you welcomed it. You would slip away into a dreamless sleep here in such a place as you never knew existed. Fatigued, breathing slow, your face fell to one side, eyes unfocused but still dancing from beauteous flower to leaf to timber.

He was a charcoal smudge, nothing more. His movement was so subtle your addled brain took him for a tree, black clad and too tall to be a man. He stepped through the maze, and what little tenacity you had left drained away.

He came to sit upon the side of the altar where you lay dying, tilting his head to look at you. You stared, bewildered and confronted with the most beautiful man you’d ever seen when you had been expecting The Ren, the great storied monster. He passed his hand over your face, and the sting of your wounds abated. The heaviness of your limbs lessened, and the burden of your body eased.

Feeling and consciousness and awareness flooded back into your senses, and you bolted upright. Understanding dawned, and you gaped at him, struck dumb by every mesmerizing feature. Ebony tresses crowned him brilliantly, and he looked back at you with deep, glittering eyes. His fair skin was sprinkled with twilight constellations, and his lips were full, lush, slightly pink.

This was The Ren.

Troubled by the absence of death, you surveyed your situation, shaking both tense hands into fists. The ritual robe clung to the altar more than it did to you, swirling lurid with your blood. Blood that still flowed, you realized. Wide-eyed and amazed, you studied this unnatural phenomenon. The wounds at your thigh and wrist still wept; they should have killed you, but there was now a sanguine loop wrapping each injury around to feed into itself.

“Why have you called me here?” His voice was gravelly, as though he hadn’t used it in millennia.

“Am I dead?” It was a staggeringly stupid question, but it was the only clear thought in your head as you stared at the vermilion ouroboros around your wrist.

“If you intend to answer every question with a question,” his enormous hand shot out to capture the flesh just above your forearm laceration, “you will be soon.”

He squeezed the wounded limb until you shrieked and tried to tug away. Deciding that he would not let you go until you appeased him, you licked dry lips and worked your mouth into a measure of moisture.

“Why did you come?” Your query shocked even you, and you snapped your mouth shut hard enough to hear the clap of your jaws.

True to his word, The Ren’s hand connected with your throat so fast you couldn’t say for sure he’d moved. In one moment, idiotic inquiries filled your muddled mind; and in the next, you were choking at the end of his arm.

“Your howling,” his fingers tightened at your throat, thumb rubbing into the pulse almost delicately. “The next question will be your last. Why are you here?”

Licking your suddenly too-dry lips, you studied him, wrapping both of your small hands around his wrist. This man, this deity, was walking death, and that he sat here with his hands upon you changed the very foundation of everything you believed to be true.

“I-I came to ask your favor, Dark Father.” 

He shoved you away and stood from his perch. Death’s gravity pulled you down again, and you whimpered, reaching for him as though it would prolong the inevitable. Your mouth worked on a plea, but none came.

“You’ve wasted your time. And mine.” He turned away and spat the rest over his shoulder. “Sparing virgins their lives or the lives of their lovers lost its allure long ago.”

Glancing back, he must have seen something, perhaps the abject apology in your face and on your outstretched fingers, because he snatched you from oblivion in a blink. You broke into wretched sobs, each lung-full of air quaking and painful. 

“I came here so you’d come for me.” You dug bloodstained fingertips into your eyes to staunch the tears. “And to ask for your help.”

He was ethereal, his presence just a step out of sync with the rest of the universe, and it was difficult to look upon. You turned your face to one side and tried to compose yourself. You were battling the significance of your loss against the staggering truth that The Ren was real and here.

“You come to ask favors but cannot even look upon the beast?” He closed the gap in a blur, and you shrieked, leaning away. “How do you plan to beg if you will not even open your eyes?”

Crowding in aggressively, he leaned over and braced himself with both sturdy hands on either side of your head, an effective cage. His gaze traced over every curve of your face, and you couldn’t move under the oppression of his scrutiny.

“You think you will make demands of me?” His voice changed, dropping to a malicious whisper as he brushed a lock of hair from your forehead, tracing it to its origin in your hairline.

He would eat you; you were sure of it. Razor-sharp teeth hid just behind those beautiful lips, and he would tear you to pieces. Bolstering yourself, you drew in a shuddering breath and looked up into the galaxy-filled eyes. You had to say the words. You had to tell him what brought you here, but you weren’t sure you could do it.

“The dying lamb has no value to the shepherd.” His suddenly gentle tone belied his impatience and interminable power. “Tell me why you are here; or, I will leave you to die.”

You stared at him for what felt like an eternity, losing yourself in his resplendent gaze. It was like staring straight into the sun, and every part of you felt branded by him. 

Your reasons for coming here meant little to him, you were certain. You pictured your family again and the horror inflicted on them.

The tension in your body loosened as purpose flowed through your veins once more. Your trembling lips blew out a steadying breath, which seemed to please him. He traced your lower lip with the very end of his thumb, waiting for you to speak.

“Retribution.”

[pickybearcub]

Getting to know Spider-boy: Chapter 1

Summary: Ten minutes. Ten minutes was all it took. She found his backpack in the alley and left before he got back.  Now, before Peter knows it, Ned thinks he has a secret girlfriend and Spiderman has to be her kibble runner.

Pairings: Peter Parker x OC

Warnings: None

A/N: So, just wanted to try posting my story here. It’s actually already complete on FF.net, but I’m going through it and making a edits, mostly to grammar and some inconsistencies in the story. I’ll post every few days, just to put a little time in between each chapter. Here we go...

Note: Dividers by @whimsicalrogers

Chapter 2 Masterlist

Hey mom.

I finally unpacked the last box! So I guess I'm officially moved in. The new place is nice, just like your friend described. It's a little small but more cozy than anything. I really like it. It's really different from the heart of the city. A good kind of different though. I'm looking forward to running at a more normal pace.

I got a part-time job at that café I was telling you about. I'm trying to see where I can get a second job to fill in the gaps.

Glad to hear things are going well over there. Aunt Annie must be glad to have you teaching a few students. Tell me about them when you come around.

Anyway, it's almost time for my shift, so... gotta go. Best of luck to you and everyone there.

Love yah~

 Nadia clicked "send" before shutting down her laptop. She pulled her dark hair up into a quick ponytail and slung on her bag while she walked to the door. Locking it, she twirled her keys before shoving them into her bag and jogging to the other end of the hall. She hopped down the stairs two at a time and set a brisk pace to her walk.

The young woman breathed in deeply as she walked through her new neighborhood. Soon, she was passing a few familiar stores and small businesses. A bell gave a cheery jingle as she opened the door to the coffee shop she now worked at.

"Good morning, Hannah."

"Morning, dear." An older woman, the owner, greeted from behind the counter. "You're twenty minutes early again."

Huh…

Nadia shrugged, walking around the dining area, starting to set up the chairs. "It's a step up from the half-hour early and waiting for you to arrive and unlock the door."

 Hannah gave a light chuckle. "You know you don't need to be so early, though it is nice."

"It's okay. I think I'm still used to all the rushing around I did back home." Nadia lived most of her life in a fast-paced city. Here in Queens, even if it was just ten kilometers away, everything felt calmer. She didn't have to deal with hellish traffic or the morning rush of people on their way to work.

She'd have to learn to adjust and slow down just a little more.

Another bell chimed as she left another shop later that afternoon. A bookstore to be exact. When her shift had ended at three, she'd gone around to explore more of her neighborhood. She got a little carried away browsing through the titles. Especially when more than half the store was filled with used books.

Nadia always thought that secondhand books were more interesting than brand new ones. Some had various marks left from their previous owners. Notes and highlights, dedications, and dog eared pages. Every once in a while, there would be a piece of paper or two stuck between the pages. Most were older and weren't in circulation anymore, which only added to their value even if they were sold at a cheap price.

The dark-haired girl smiled as she walked. She would definitely go by there again so she could actually buy something-

A heavy thump and a huff pulled Nadia from her thoughts, bringing her attention to a familiar young boy who was tugging at two black garbage bags.

"Hey there, Sora." The ten-year-old looked up, grinning when he saw Nadia. The boy's name was really Shaun, she just called him "Sora" because of the game he was currently addicted to.

"Hi, Dia!"

She'd taken a few babysitting jobs when she first arrived in Queens. Shaun had been one of the kids she’d looked after.

"Isn't it your brother's chore to take out the trash?" She walked to him and tried lifting one bag. It was a bit heavy. Definitely a little too big for Shaun to carry on his own.

The boy huffed again, pouting. "He hid my Nintendo again. He said he'd give it back if I took out the trash this time."

Nadia frowned. That wasn't nice.

"I'm at a good part of the game too." Shaun scuffed his shoe on the ground.

The young woman let a gentle smile onto her features before once again grabbing a hold of one bag. "Why don't I take one, and you grab the other. That way, you can get back to your game faster."

"Okay!" The kid grinned and took hold of the smaller bag.

They both carried the bags to the dumpster in the back alley. When the business was done, the boy thanked her and she told him to tell his parents what his brother had done.

Shaun nodded and scampered back out the alley quickly so he could get his handheld back.

Nadia sighed and dusted off her hands on her pants. That boy never listened to her about telling on his brother, Shaun was too nice.

She was about to walk out of the alley when she noticed her shoelaces were untied. Kneeling down to redo them she spotted something by a corner beside the dumpster.

"A backpack?"

She picked it up by the strap and looked it over. It was dark blue, didn't seem very old, and it was relatively clean. Who would throw out a good bag?

But then… it had some weight to it.

Huh…

Nadia hesitated for a moment before she opened it up. There were a few notebooks, a pen, some spare change, and a few pieces of paper.

This wasn't thrown out. Someone owned this.

No. Someone lost this.

Maybe some kid got bullied and the bullies dumped his backpack here.

She slung the strap on her shoulder. She'd check out the stuff more thoroughly when she got home.

Maybe she'd find an ID or something in one of the pockets. It was starting to get dark, so it wasn't logical to leave the bag and hope whoever owned it found it here. Someone else might take it.

Nadia started walking again and thought about what she was having for dinner that night. There was still some pasta leftover from the day before. That would have to do.

**Ten minutes later**

Peter landed nimbly in the alley where he'd left his bag. He let out a breath as he took off his goggles and mask.

Man. The fabric really made for stuffy breathing after a few hours using it-

Oh no…

He looked down at the empty corner of the alley and groaned.

His backpack was gone.

May would ask him how he lost another backpack after just three weeks. He really needed to find somewhere more secure to leave his stuff when he went on patrol.

On the upside, at least he didn't leave any of his Spider-Man stuff in there.

"New backpack, Peter?" Ned said as he put some of his things in his locker. "That's like the second one this month."

Peter scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah… Uhmmm… A dog chased after me and kinda ripped it."

"Oh! But you're okay right?" Peter's best friend asked, genuinely concerned. "You didn't get bitten, did you? I heard that you get five shots just in case of rabies. Was the dog foaming at the mouth?" He shuddered at the thought.

"No, Ned." Peter chuckled. His friend could get a little easily agitated or overly enthusiastic when it came to asking questions.

"Oh. Okay. Good then." The two walked side by side to their classroom. "You've been a little distracted lately. Maybe that's why the dog got you…." Ned mused.

"Enough about the dog, Ned. Let's just get to class." Peter sighed and tugged at the straps of his new backpack. He didn't like how he had to keep lying to his friend about certain things.

But his powers….

Being Spider-Man…

Knowing Ned, telling him wasn't really the best idea.

Besides, he was still getting used to his powers himself.

Nadia knew just how difficult and irritating it could be to lose your notebooks, especially when you were a student. Taking notes was difficult as it is. She riffled through the backpack she found to see if there was something with a name.

"Peter Parker…" She mumbled, finding a slightly crumpled quiz paper. Why did that name sound so familiar?

Sitting on a stool on her kitchen island, she lazily poked at the bowl of noodles beside the few papers she'd pulled out.

"Wow…" A breath of admiration escaped her as she found two more quizzes. Math and chemistry. He got A's on all of them. "You are one smart cookie."

She pulled out a notebook. Maybe there was some hint of which school he went to. She didn't want to go through the phonebook to ring up every Parker listed there. Flipping through the pages to find a doodle of a school mascot or a randomly scribbled school name or event, she twirled her fork through the pasta she had been eating.

Decathlon tm meeting – Friday

Band practice moved to Tuesdays

So part of a decathlon team and a band… Group of friends or school band?

There probably weren't many of the schools here in Queens that had a decathlon team, right? Academic or athletic though… Ugh…

There had to be something else…

Nadia had just been about to stick the noodles in her mouth when she reached a few pages near the back.

Her fork dropped from limp fingers right onto the paper with a splat.

"Crap!" She quickly tipped the notebook up to get rid of the pasta. There was now a reddish-orange spaghetti sauce stain on the page. She rushed to grab a napkin to clean up the mess before the sauce seeped to the other pages.

Underneath the blotch of pasta sauce were a few calculations, notes, and diagrams. The top of the page read-

Web fluid 1.2

---

Tags:

Well...Tell me if you want to be tagged X]

[marinette-sky]

Incantation of the Heart

A/N: Hey guys! Its been awhile since I have posted any sort of writing or fanfiction here! I finally finished the first part to this ML magic au, and man let me tell you...this took forEVER! I got stuck on writing about clothing! Can you believe it?? But yeah, hope yall enjoy this!  (also, my ao3 is pamplemousses so check me out if you like what you read <3)

Summary: Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a village mage who had made a comfortable life with her magic shop, ‘Ladybug’s Spells and Potions’. However, her fairly repetitive life was thrown into a tumult when Adrien Agreste, also known as Adrien the Enchanter, abruptly settled in her village one sunny morning. 

And he just so happened to be her new neighbor and rival vendor. 

Now, Marinette was never very fond of change, but by the will of the gods if she was not overwhelmingly enamored with this one. 

Word Count: 3,519

Rating: M (well, right now, its a cool T/G rating, but future content will be M)

Marinette had been tending to her garden that sun-drenched afternoon when the Change occurred.

The entire day leading up to that exact moment in time had been pleasantly uniform---which is how she preferred it to be. Marinette Dupain-Cheng had woken up promptly before sunrise to prepare various brews and elixirs for impending customers, which took her exactly until the first rays of light seeped through the cottage windows. After a minimalistic breakfast of rosemary tea and blackberry scones, the mage busied herself with dusting the wall of grimoires taking up residence on one side of the shop.

As soon as that was done, she took to the task of arranging the herbs she laid out the night before into their designated parcels to place neatly in the vacant spots of their shelves. When she finally settled behind the shop counter, steady streams of clients were waiting for her.

Not to say that there was not the occasional hiccup in her otherwise repetitive lifestyle, because there definitely were. Still, this bump in her day-to-day schedule was of no ordinary caliber. Oh, no.

The change just so happened to be Adrien Agreste, notoriously known as Adrien the Enchanter.

And he just so happened to be her new neighbor and rival vendor.

Now, Marinette was never very fond of change, but by the will of the gods if she was not overwhelmingly enamored with this one.

Adrien stood across the gravel road in front of the now-sold establishment, surrounded by moving crates and helpers. Although it was a fairly warm fall day, he looked sophisticated in a cinched black waistcoat and tightly-fitted slacks, his white button-up rolled above his elbows. His hair stopped midway down his neck, and the way the sun caught on his honey-blonde locks made out as if he were wearing a halo.

Even from afar, and only viewing the back of his being, Adrien was evidently well-built like the gods harvested him from the Garden with the perfect bolline. It felt as if she was gazing upon the male incarnation of Aphrodite and his crown of falling stars.

And if she stared too long, Marinette knew the god before her would turn around and reveal his true, glittering form and steal her vision away.

Suddenly breathless at her own spinning thoughts, Marinette ripped her gaze away from the male and instead focused on the bolline she had been previously putting to use by digging little pockets in the dirt for her wolfsbane seeds. Wolfsbane only germinates in riposte to fresh snowmelt, which is why it’s best to plant them in the early fall so that when winter comes they will have had long enough to ruminate. The budding herb was particularly popular with her customers for its antidotal effects on many poisons and the curse of lycanthropy. Because the seed placement is such a tedious process, it is crucial for Marinette to pay special attention when she sows them.

She would simply have to introduce herself later.

Determined, the mage worked fervently to finish the task she had started, trying her hardest not to think about Adrien. Minutes passed fairly quickly when she got into the groove of things and a good half hour went by before the last seed was bedded and sprinkled with specially iced water. Marinette beamed with pride at her handiwork, settling back on her knees to admire the yard. On each side of the stone path that lead directly to the shop entrance lay her numerous gardening plots that extended until the divider from the shop next-door stopped them. Every plot was nicely aligned and labeled so that customers could peruse for specific ingredients with little difficulty.

Sighing in content, Marinette let her stare wander across the way where all the excitement had been earlier. All the moving crates had disappeared from the street and the helpers were nowhere to be seen. In fact, only Adrien himself remained…and was he looking at her?

With a jolt, she realized he was indeed peering at her with an expression she could not pin down from a distance. Like a firefly in a mason jar, she panicked and considered her possible routes of escape.

Alas, too little too late.

Now he was waving good naturedly at her, flashing a charming smile that could make any glacier melt from its warmth. Marinette refrained from swooning.

Now he was walking (or rather, striding) over the gravel road to greet her from where she was kneeled in her garden. Why couldn’t he have caught her in something more appealing than a dirty pinafore?

And now he was standing a breaths-width away from her, shadowed by the sun and hand extended for her to take graciously. Marinette could scarcely move for a few dizzying moments before coming to her senses and accepting his out-stretched appendage.  

“T-Thank you.” Marinette managed to mumble, hyper aware of how firm and balmy his grasp was. Though they had only just met, he was squeezing her hand like they were long-time friends.

Adrien just nodded courteously and revealed another blinding smile.

“Think nothing of it! I’m Adrien Agreste, the new charms merchant around here. Despite what the name of my shop says, I can assure you that it is only a sobriquet.” Marinette spared a glance to the sign above his shop, which read ‘Chat Noir’s Charms and Hexes’. The names itself piqued curiosity in the mage, but she decided to hold her tongue until they got introductions out of the way.

Besides being popular for the title Adrien the Enchanter and his skills, he was also quite known for being a restless spirit. Adrien moved from village to village, opening up shops under different names and leaving under no discernable circumstances. His father, Gabriel Agreste, was an extremely gifted warlock in the occult world with very deep pockets; it was assumed that’s where he got the resources and funding to hop from place to place with no debts to pay.

“O-Oh, uh, I already know who you are, since you’re kind of well-known in the occult world…” Marinette cringed at the comment and cleared her throat. “A-Anyways, my name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng and I’m the owner of ‘Ladybug’s Spells and Potions’.” She gestured vaguely to their surroundings, smiling to soothe the stiffness of her manner.  

“Lovely to be in your company, Marinette.” Adrien replied without missing a beat, much to her relief. He let the pleasantries hang in the air between them as he took a moment to look around. His eyes seemed to sparkle when he restored eye contact with her again. It made her heart skitter in her chest.

“Are you a witch, by chance?” He suddenly burst, leaning forward ever so slightly. This made Marinette grimace and look away.

The pedestal she had put Adrien on shrunk.

Witch.

The very term was borne from the slew of bad apples that plagued their history as magic users, as mages. To her kind, ‘witch’ intoned to the forbidden practice of dark arts and blood rituals as a way of getting tasks or jobs done. Although she had delved little interest in the history, to dabble in forsaken magic was implicit to entering Lucifer’s den. Once a mage sought out the Devils’ shadow magic, the natural power coursing through their veins became irreversibly tainted, much like a poison apple.  

But, as the old proverb proves, ‘one bad apple spoils the barrel’.

During the dark ages, witchery became popular and numerous covens were formed, forever tarnishing their kins’ reputation. Hell, Marinette had ancestors that were active participants and leaders of these covens. Disturbingly, Marinette had heard hushed whispers from her own parents about her grandmother being a savant in witchery—

She did not wish to further ponder the matter.

Marinette let out a tired sigh.

“Adrien, I know you did not mean any harm by it, but please do not refer to me as ‘witch’. I’m a mage.” She informed him seriously, and then added, “Actually, around here, I’m referred to as Marinette the Mage.”

Upon hearing this, Adrien’s face crumpled like dead leaves in the autumn breeze, smile drooping to an ashamed frown. What little skin he was showing paled, and color rushed to his cheeks.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend you, and on our very first meeting!” He hurried to amend his mistake, holding up his hands apologetically. “Please don’t think badly of me, it was my mistake!”

Adrien was so distressed that Marinette felt a twinge of regret in her heart. Just a twinge, though.

“It’s, uh, quite alright Adrien. Really, you didn’t know.” She soothed awkwardly, combing her hands through one of her pig-tails to keep her fidget-y hands busy.

“Are you sure? I just grew so excited; it has been far too long since I have made the acquaintance of someone of your kin.” Adrien gave her a nervous stare, lips parting as he leaned inwards. “As you know, magic users have become less and less of a common phenomenon from the lack of…breeding.”

Oh, gods.  

Momentarily strung by this, she mutely nodded.

He wasn’t wrong, seeing as many magic users become so caught up in their own powers they essentially wither into ill-socialized hermits, refusing to marry in fear of having to pass on any of their hoarded knowledge of magic to a heir.

“Y-Yes, I’m just surprised you forgot calling someone like me a ‘witch’ was offensive.” She giggled in good humor to assuage his discomfort. “Ah, perchance could be you’re too—”

Marinette caught herself before she could finish with ‘sheltered’. Gods, that was close. She would rather be stripped of her powers than ever say something so bold to his face, and in such a casually brazen manner too.

Adrien, jumping at the distraction, slanted his eyes curiously at her. A small smile dangled from his lips, but it was vastly different from the polite one he wore when he first greeted her. He couldn’t know, right? Marinette felt very warm all of a sudden.

“Too what?” Adrien asked coyly, cocking his head to the side in the most natural way possible. He gazed at her from beneath his eye lashes, batting them innocently.

Marinette had a sinking feeling that he knew what she alluded to.

Could enchanters gift themselves the power of telepathy?

Oh, gods, she was finished.  

“N-Nothing, forget it! I should probably take my leave, midday rush is about to start.” Her face flamed despite the chilly wind that gusted against them with impressive bravado. Adrien let out a short, harmonious laugh that Marinette knew would ring in her head the rest of the day.

“On that note, I should get back to my shop. I promised an old friend he could visit, maybe you know him?”

“Oh? Mayhap I do.” Marinette amiably replied, glancing at the sundial that lay nearby. They were really cutting it close.

Then again, Adrien Agreste was worth the fuss.

Adrien grinned devilishly. “Well, I guess I’ll have to invite you over next time he visits for you to find out. Bring a friend, too. I would love to get to know you more...”

He half turned away, and breathed her name like it was the most charming thing to have uttered at that moment, “…Marinette.”

And with that Adrien whisked himself from her sight like magic, leaving Marinette in a state of utter and total disarray.

No wonder he donned the title Adrien the Enchanter, because he had already cast an enchantment on her heart.

 Two weeks puttered by without incident and the Autumnal Equinox was almost upon Yoke Elm Village, much to the excitement of Marinette. The autumnal equinox was essentially the first day of fall, which was a big deal to the supernatural and superstitious residents of the village. To celebrate the ushering of a new season, a festival was being held in the town square that evening.

“Alya, hand me another bowl, I’m about finished with this one.” Marinette said as she grinded her incense mix of marigold, passionflower, and fern into the mortar. This was the last batch of ceremonial incense she needed to complete before they could pack all the sets onto her cart to sell before the festival began at sundown. Marinette had been handpicked to be a vendor for the special occasion, having been given the honor to make the traditional incense that would lighted for the sacred ritual that evening.

Unfortunately, Adrien had also been chosen to contribute to the festive event, being given the task of supplying harvest charms to all the farmers and horticulturists as part of the ritual.

In those two weeks of preparation for the event, both Marinette and Adrien had not seen hide or tail of each other (except for their run-in at their local sundry market, which is how they found out why the other had been so preoccupied).

It frustrated Marinette to no end.

It also frustrated Marinette to know that her close circle of friends was getting to know Adrien better during this time period without her.

Though, that was all by chance, of course.

Marinette met with Alya that same day and chattered happily about her intense infatuation with Adrien Agreste. Alya, excited and mystified by her best friend’s abrupt obsession with Adrien, hung onto to every detail. In fact, Alya went out of her way to meet Adrien after their talk. She caught him right as he was about to leave for a rendezvous with an “old pal from his adolescent years”, who turned out to be Alya’s boyfriend of two years running, Nino Lahiffe.

They all got along splendidly, from Alya’s recounting of their outings.

Pushing the thoughts from her head, the female sighed deeply and held out her hand for the next bowl.

“Mari, there are no more bowls to hand you.” Alya waved to the empty counter before them, “We’re done.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow at her friend’s plural suggestion.

“Pardon me, I mean you’re done.” Alya tossed her auburn hair behind her shoulder dramatically and carefully pushed off of the bench they were both occupying to avoid snagging her cape.

Alya had already donned her festival wear before venturing to Marinette’s cottage. She fronted a shimmery tan cape gown and a long, thin black cape tied around her shoulders. The tan fabric was layered with black lace from neck to floor, a small slit going up each side of the dress. A black corset belt sat snugly at her waistline, nearly hidden from view by the smooth tulle cloak that encased her figure. To top it all off, Alya had chosen to wear elbow-length gloves that matched indiscriminately with the corset belt.

Needless to say, she was alluring enough to earn the blessing of any grove faerie and harvest god that gazed upon her that evening.

“That’s what I thought.” Marinette let out an entertained laugh as she stood up to remove her work apron, feeling accomplished and relieved that the hard part of her work was done. All she had to do now was transfer all the incense to her cart and book it down to the festival.

Marinette and Alya quickly gathered up all the incense in their baskets and exited the mage’s work shed, which was located behind her shop. The work shed was usually where Marinette tinkered with her magic; inside, she had a work bench, a mixing cauldron, and a three tier shelf that contained all her most prized and precious spellbooks. Additionally, it was where she stored her market stall cart, but that had already been prepped with decorations and moved to the foyer of her home.

The duo entered the shop through the back entrance and hastily loaded all the incense onto the cart. With Alya’s help, the task was finished with plenty of time to spare. While Marinette was busy re-adjusting a frilly bow tied to the bar of the dolly, Alya pounced on her with unexpected vigor.

“What in the--” Marinette yelped, finding herself being steered by strong arms.

“Marinette, we need to get you ready!” Alya cooed as she forced her away from the foyer and towards the stairway on the other side of the shop. “You want to look good for your darling Adrien, right?”

“Erm, well—I wouldn’t call him that, but yes—,” The mage stuttered, affronted by the affectionate nickname.

“That’s what I assumed. Now, cease your henpecking ‘round the incense and go get dressed!” Alya did an impression of a crotchety woman, which caused Marinette to giggle. Alya took this as an opportunity spin her in the direction of her room, successfully tearing her away from the cart.

When the mage began to protest more, she winked playfully, revealing the coal powder dusted on her eyelids, “I’ll look after everything else while you’re away!”

“But—”

“No arguing! Come, come!”

Marinette pursed her lips in resignation as she was hustled up the stairs, the sudden activity causing the picture frames on the wall to tremble as they passed. Thankfully, none of the frames tumbled from their perches by the time Marinette reached the threshold of her bedroom, which was a wooden trapdoor embedded in the ceiling. Magical sigmas had been carved all around the frame of the door, meant to ward off any evil spirits and ill-intending creatures that bumped in the night while Marinette was slumbering.

At least, that was what Marinette told people.

She smiled to herself at the thought as she vanished into the ceiling, the trapdoor rattling as it sunk back into the frame.

 Less than half and hour went by before Marinette finally emerged from her chambers, taking great care not to snag her dress on any of the splintered wood railing as she descended the steps to her foyer. Once she reached the bottom, she practically flew into the adjoining room where Alya was, eager to show off her newest hand-crafted creation.

Alya looked her up and down, whistling appreciatively.

Marinette had decided to match the theme of her gown to the theme of the festival, hence her look being less revealing and more accurate to the history of the event. She had taken an A-line chemise and sewn it to a black, calf-length skirt to establish the dress silhouette. After a bit of needle magic, she turned the skirt into jumpskirt and proceeded to add tulle underneath the body of the gown to fluff it up (for extra measure, she added a silk lining under the tulle to keep it uniform). Marinette then embroidered an elaborate pattern of falling leaves onto the skirt, using magic thread to make the leaves change colors periodically. For the chemise top, she spelled the plain white color to shimmer under moonlight and made the shoulder-sleeves sheer. She also sewed a strip of lacy ruffles along the front buttons and along the collar, making the color outline of the ruffles a gradient of reds, oranges, greens, and browns. As a final touch, Marinette donned an underbust corset to complete the look. In addition, she wore black stockings and lace-up boots.

“What do you think? This one took me ages to finish, even with a bit of magic.” Marinette did a little twirl, lifting the skirt up in a mock curtsy. This made Alya giggle.

“It looks incredible! You look incredible! I just know Adrien will think so, too.” Alya circled Marinette, absently caressing the dress fabric in admiration. It really was an intricate gown, with all the patterns and magic done on fabric.

They both chatted excitedly about the dress for a minute or two more before deciding it was time to leave for the festival. Marinette and Alya hustled the cart out of the cottage door with little difficulty, although there was a bit of a fuss when Alya stubbed her toe on a cobblestone and cursed loud enough for passing festival-goers to throw them annoyed glances. Nonetheless, they both pushed the cart out onto the main road and began their trek towards the townsquare.

Before Marinette could completely leave, she remembered she had not closed up the shop. She rushed back to the cottage, telling Alya to continue on without her. Once she was well up the road and out of earshot, Marinette ducked herself back inside and called out to the shadows.

“Tikki! You can come out now, we have to go!”

A red blur darted out from the stairs and zipped right into her awaiting palm. Tikki yawned and stretched out her arm-like appendages, smiling sweetly up at her as Marinette tucked her into the pocket of the gown. As she was leaving, she swiped the black cloak hanging on the coat hook by the door. It had little embroidered ladybugs lining the edges of the cape and hood, as well as a gold clasp. The mage donned the cloak and swept outside, locking the door as she went.

Marinette fumbled in the midst of her rush to meet Alya, her mind on the weight in her pocket.

Ah, yes. Tikki was a secret she would take to the grave.

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Pernicies (Eros p.t. 11)

Billy Hargrove x Reader, Jonathan Byers x Reader (Unrequited)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

Word count: 3314

Warnings: swearing, drinking, sadness

Author’s Note: I’m having way too much fun with this, that is all

Permanent Tag: @hotstuffhargrove @denimjacketkisses @steveharringtonofficial @flamehairedwritings @flamehairedwritings @nistaposebno @hargroovin

Series Tag: @hargrovesgoldilocks @wtf-richarddd @sighsophiia @baebee35 @ijustwantahugfromtennant @rhyxn @wearemightyghosts @toriasaysso @random-stupid-stuffs @so-not-hotmess @warsintothestars @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @angellastor @aaliyonte @baileythepenguin @sleepyspacegal @kingbouji3 @abbyed

You and Billy didn’t speak until Vicki Matthews’ eighteenth birthday party, three weeks later. During that time, you divided your days equally between Jonathan and your friends. You spent more and more time at Barb’s grave, which gave your comfort and a sense of her still being with you. You imagined her ghost holding you as you wrote her silent letters in a journal you’d bought shortly before it was announced that she’d been killed by Hawkins Labs. It was a nice for two reasons-one, it was quiet, as cemeteries often are, and two, Billy didn’t know where it was, hell he didn’t even know about Barb, that was one area you kept private. Sitting in the silence each afternoon, in the bitter cold, you felt as though the plot was calm in an ever present storm. It was better than being home where everything felt like a wake, except the memorialized was still alive and haunting the halls. Here, you felt like you didn’t have to be strong all the time, if you needed to cry it was okay, there was no judgement. You didn’t believe in any one type of afterlife and ghosts weren’t exactly something you thought much about, but you knew her energy was there, holding you and keeping you company.

This was the longest you’d gone without talking to Billy. When you fought, which seemed to be often, you almost always made up. And Billy certainly had tried, he’d been haunting your locker and outside your classes for weeks, but every time you got close, he’d leave. It was almost a game of cat and mouse, except you weren’t chasing back. It seemed Billy couldn’t decide if he was the cat or the mouse, chasing and running wild. It was disconcerting, but you knew him too well. He wanted to apologize or at least talk, but his pride acted like a wall and he couldn’t pass by it. He needed you to come to him, to bypass his walls and make him feel he was in the right and his effort was noticed. But this time you couldn’t submit to his feeble vanity. He’d hurt you too much this time. He was a hypocrite and if he couldn’t admit to it, you wouldn’t force him to.

But just because you and Billy weren’t talking, didn’t mean Valerie stopped talking to you. In fact, it was the exact opposite-she wouldn’t leave you alone. Every day as you headed towards Stacy and Freddie, she’d grab your arm and try to force you over to her and Billy’s table. You knew this was for two reasons; one, she wanted you two to make up, and two, if you were there then she had an excuse to not let Billy feel her up over the meatloaf. Every single time you refused, stating the same reason:

“I’m not in the mood to be your pathetic third wheel.” You’d say, parroting Billy’s cruel word. Valerie would always come up with an apology and a cheap reassurance that you weren’t a third wheel, but you never listened.

Today, however, was different. As Valerie grabbed you to force you around and you tried to rip your arm away, crying out “Val, you know as well as I do that this isn’t going to happen.” She led you not to Billy’s now infinitely more empty table, but over to Carol and Tina and Vicki Matthews, who all seemed deep in plans.

“I’m not gonna make you sit with sad sack Hargrove, relax, I’m gonna let you in on the biggest secret of the year.” She said, forcing you onto the bench seat next to Tina as she squeezed in next to Vicki. “Even Jodie doesn’t know about this.” She said, as if to prove how secret this was.

Carol slid a sheet of portrait sized paper over to you, written on in purple and pink pen, bubble letters framing the title ‘Vicki’s super secret birthday bash’. Underneath was a rough map of Vicki’s house and the address.

“Intriguing, so what makes me so special that I get to know about this?” you asked, reading over the poorly drawn map, noting the exits and closed off rooms.

“We aren’t smart.” Vicki said simply, earning several slaps and hushes from her friends, silencing her.

“What Vicki means to say is that we need help planning this thing, we aren’t exactly planners.” Carol said, tapping the map.

“All we need is a swift backup plan, in case what happens at Val’s thing happens here.” Tina added with a shrug.

“So…you want to know how to not get the police called on you?” you asked, squinting at the map.

“No, Val got in so much shit with her parents when they came home, the house was a mess.” Carol replied smoothly.

“Oh, well that’s easy. Hand me a pen.” You said, earning grins from girls as they began their own planning.

By Wednesday morning, you’d sold all of Jonathan’s photos back to their owners for increasingly high rates based on their incriminating nature and by that night everything was set for the perfect party, complete with cleanup plan and a very strong backup plan for if the neighbours called the police on them. On Thursday, the invitations were handed out and Valerie was already trying to get you to come to her place to get ready, promising a ride there if you did. You declined the offer, only because it came with a hinted at addition of Billy. You promised you’d call her if you had any problems with getting ready, which she laughed off, declaring that if you could pull off your perm every day, you could handle dressing for a party. You didn’t tell her that you might not come at all.

Finding Jonathan nowadays was easy, generally he was seeking you out too. On Friday afternoon, with a flyer in hand, you waited for him in backstage as Kristy Swanson stumbled through her fifth attempt at Juliet’s balcony monologue. When he finally did arrive, he looked nervous, more so than usual.

“Hey…you whispered, pulling him into the darkest corner you could find, nodding to your stage manager, Robin, to turn a blind eye to the whole situation.

“Hey.” He returned, his lips connecting with the curve of your neck, pressing feather light kisses up your neck and over your jaw with the focus and determination of someone trying to become chess champion of the world.

“You coming to Vicki’s thing tonight?” you asked, your hands wrapping around him as you dragged your nails over his spine, making him either shiver or cringe.

“Haven’t decided yet…” he muttered into your hair, pushing your hips into his.

“You should, it’ll be fun.” You replied.

“Will Nance be there?” he asked, pulling away to look at you.

You shrugged “Maybe, I haven’t seen her much anymore. Not since the whole fallout with Steve again.” You replied.

Jonathan hummed. You both knew that Nancy got rejected by Steve for Vicki Matthews, a very embarrassing moment for all involved. You hadn’t discussed this with Nancy, nor with Jonathan as you didn’t know if it would be a good plan.

“I’ll be there.” He said and you rushed to hand him the flyer as your director finally called Kristy to stop and sent her offstage in a huff, which you’d need to protect her royal blue velour dress from, already having to sacrifice the headpiece to her wrath, watching her toss it to the ground.

“I gotta go, but I’ll see you there, okay?” you said, pressing a kiss to his stubbly cheek and rushing off to follow behind Kristy, snatching her hat off the floor and nodding to Robin to warn the other stage managers of her. You didn’t have the immediate luxury of waiting for his response, if she ruined that dress then your school would owe Haven Point’s professional theatre about eight hundred dollars in damages, money you knew the drama club didn’t have.

You ended up getting to leave rehearsal at eight thirty, due to Kristy’s lack of memorization skills and temper tantrums.  You managed to fix your hair in between scenes, thank god for the endless supply of hairspray in the makeup crew’s supply. Climbing into your car in the dark, you wished you lived closer to everything. You rushed home as fast as you could.

Getting ready was a hassle now that Valerie had a standard for you to hit. You threw on bright magenta dress you’d picked for its ruffled skirt and long sleeves, the only reason Valerie had even agreed to get it was the low back and the length of the skirt on you. You added to your makeup, choosing silver eye shadow and a moody purple lip. You rushed out the door before your father could stop you waving goodbye and climbing into your car, speeding to Vicki’s comfortable home, a safe distance between yours and Valerie’s.

The party was just starting to get interesting when you arrived, it had already been on for an hour, everyone who was there was drunk or getting there. The well plotted living room was crammed with drunken kids. The whole thing looked lively. You hadn’t seen Valerie or Billy yet, but that seemed like a good thing. Stacy and Freddie were having a heated conversation in a corner, seemingly both unhappy and horny. Vicki and Steve were dancing in the middle of the room, so sickeningly happy looking at them made you feel like you were getting a cavity. You were happy for both of them, Steve finally looked happy since his breakup with Nancy and word on the street said that he chose Vicki over her when given his second chance, a rare sign of growth for such a vapid boy. You were very happy with the idea of people watching for the whole night, you almost wish you had a camera to document the whole thing in all its debaucherous glory.

You hardly gotten one drink in you before Tina and Macy had grabbed onto you, pulling you into the living room again, crying over the thumping music “That hoe! Look at her!”

There stood Nancy and Jonathan in the middle of the room, kissing like actors did in the movies, slowly and softly with a sort of languid, gentle passion that burned like a warm fireplace on cold winter’s night.

Macy shoved a shot into your hand, turning to you with glazed over eyes and a face that looked to be sympathetic. “Fuck him, he’s a dickhead and she’s a whore, you can do so much better, my boyfriend has a single older brother I can tooootally set you up with-” she rambled and you nodded, taking the shot in a single gulp, your head snapping to follow the sound of screams of both terror and excitement. You found yourself pushing your way into the crowd and once close enough you saw two worrying things.

One, Billy was beyond pissed and stalking off towards to nearest exit.

And two, Valerie was sucking that tiny sophomore’s dick in the middle of Vicki’s party.

You had to go. You had to check on Billy. You rushed to follow him out.

He wasn’t quick on his feet, in fact he was insanely slow and off balance. He was definitely drunker than he’d like to admit and you were more than in the right to take away his keys. You wished that Tina hadn’t laughed of your idea of having a sober key master of  sorts to collect keys and not relinquish them to those too drunk to drive. Now you had to save his drunk ass.

“Y/N wait!” a voice called out behind you. For a second, you almost thought it was Valerie, trying to stop you or him or maybe both. But you knew the voice well enough to know that this was only going to end up being a distraction.

Nancy and Jonathan were chasing after you, both wearing anxious, guilty expressions. You stopped for them, waiting to hear whatever they had to say so you could get out.

“Y/N I am so sorry I didn’t mean to steal him away again and-” Nancy started, only to be immediately be cut off by Jonathan.

“And I’m sorry if I led you on I didn’t mean to I just-”

“I just really like Jonathan and-” Nancy started

“I just really like Nance.” and Jonathan finished. If it wasn’t so sickeningly sweet you’d think it was planned.

You looked from the pair of them and back to Billy, who was still humbling between the half finished beer in one hand and his keys in the pocket of his tight jeans. You grabbed them each by the hands, leaning in to smile at them.

“Look, I’m not upset, I knew you were into each other. Be happy, be together, you have my blessing or whatever. Mazel tov!” you said, letting them go and rushing off.

“But…” Nancy called, bewildered and very clearly uncomfortable.

“Mazel tov!” you waved, rushing to Billy. You got there just as he got the keys out of his pocket and you snatched them away.

“What the fuck…” Billy growled, dropping his drink to the ground and reaching out for his keys.

“Ah ah.” You said, pulling them quickly out of his reach “You’re not driving anywhere, not this drunk.”

“Y/N, back down.” He warned, his glare loose and sloppy instead of tough and hard as it usually was.

“Now, if you want to leave, I’m driving you. You can stay, if you want, but you’re not getting these back.” You jingled the keys in his face for emphasis before pocketing them.

“You’re not driving my car…” he muttered to the grass.

“Alright, then we can take mine, but I wouldn’t leave my car here if I was you. You know how bad Tommy wants to screw someone in the back of a sports car.” You reminded him, nodding towards his royal blue baby with its driver’s side window permanently rolled down.

Billy groaned, nodding softly “You’re right…” he admitted, heading towards the passenger side door. “If you get one scratch on Sheila I’m killing you.” He warned.

“You named your car Sheila?” You giggled, watching as he turned red; no sober man would ever admit their car’s name that loudly and you both knew it. Billy didn’t respond, only adding to the humour in the whole situation. You chose not to press him on the subject, climbing into the driver’s seat.

You’d only driven stick shift once, when your father had to physically hold your mother in the backseat when she’d tried to hurt herself again. That was over a year ago and you felt shaky on the controls, but now you’d made your bed so you had to lie in it. You turned on the ignition and put the car in gear, reversing out of Vicki’s street, shifting gears and pushing forward, trying your damndest to not grind the clutch into dust. Billy’s head had lulled against the seat, his eyes shut tightly into a permanent grimace.

“You know…” you tried “I’m really proud of you tonight, you didn’t even leave a mark on that kid, and I know you really wanted to.”

“Val wouldn’t like it…” Billy muttered, not bothering to try to hide his disdain.

“Yeah well I think Val got enough of what she wanted tonight.” You replied, turning off of Vicki’s street and down one of the main roads.

“She was just drunk…” Billy said, his grimace turning into a scowl and his head unconsciously turned to you, his eyes still shut tight.

You knit your brow “You don’t need to defend her, Bee.” You said, watching him from the rear view mirror.

“Yes I do…” he replied gruffly.

“No you don’t, Bill,” you sighed “She cheated on you, she did you wrong, you don’t have to defend her.”

“Yes I do.” He pressed, nearly growling.

“Why?” you demanded.

“Because I love her!” he cried, his eyes snapping open, wide and red. Only now it was obvious to you that he wasn’t angry, he was as close to heartbreak as he’d ever been in his whole life. “I love her and she loves me and I know that we’re gonna be fine.” He breathed, nodding as though you had said it.

And in that moment, you had two options, both of which would break his heart. You could tell him what you saw or what you felt he could understand. You chose the latter.

“You don’t love her.” You replied, keeping your eyes on the road. You couldn’t bear to look at his face. You knew that what you’d just said would hurt him, but it had to be said.

“Yes I do.” Billy said and without even looking at him, you knew he’d crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw clenched tight and teeth grinding.

“No, you don’t Bill.” You pressed, your voice softer and kinder than before.

“How the fuck do you know how I feel?” he snapped.

“If you loved her, you’d be there, handling this. You would’ve knocked out that stupid sophomore and dealt with the aftermath. You wouldn’t be sitting here with me.” You explained.

“You forced yourself into this! I wanted to go home, take a breather, and handle this later.” He cried “And since when do you know anything about being in love anyway?”

You huffed “I know about love.”

Billy rolled his eyes “Oh yeah sure, sure you know all about it. With your stories and your books and the creepy way you watch people! Newsflash, sweetheart, that isn’t understanding love, that’s being a pathetic creep and-” he was ranting, well more rambling drunkenly at you. But it still stung, like salt rubbed into an open wound.

You felt tears begin to well in your eyes and, if only to get him to shut up, if only to keep yourself from crying. “I’m in love with you, you absolute asshole! You stupid, short sighted, senseless, careless, awful man! I love you. So you don’t get to say shit.” You cried, pumping the brakes roughly and turning off the engine.

Billy laughed. No, laughed wasn’t the right word, he guffawed. He laughed like you were the funniest person on earth; it came deep from his stomach and echoed throughout the cramped space. You thought he couldn’t hurt you anymore more than he had thus far, you’d sworn he’d already torn your heart from your chest and stomped on it. But this was the final blow, the knockout punch to any of the belief he could ever reciprocate your feelings and the last shreds of your already torn apart confidence. You had been the most vulnerable you could be with him and he laughed. Hot tears began to slip down your cheeks and you were quick to brush them away as you pulled the keys from the ignition, pocketing them again.

“I fucking hate you. And now you’re stuck here. Come find your keys when you’re sober and less of an asshole, if you can ever figure that part out.” You snapped with the last of your unshaken breath before you forced the door open and then yourself out into the cold night air.

Billy watched you, gaping like a fish; he hadn’t thought you were serious. He thought this was some stupid joke that was laughable. But as he saw your spirit break and your ego fall away, he was hit all at once in the heart. You loved him and left him stuck far too big in the pit of emotional quicksand you’d left behind. As you marched off into the night, you left him stuck and stewing, a tornado in his mind ripping through his soul.

He was so fucked.

[relivethesplendor]

In the spring of 1997, when Victor Valdovinos was in seventh grade, he showed up to school one day to find a big-budget film production under way: All around him were tractor trailers, mobile dressing rooms, and people with walkie-talkies behaving as though they owned the place. The movie was Apt Pupil, Singer’s first project after his breakthrough, The Usual Suspects.

Filming took over Eliot Middle School in Altadena, northeast of Los Angeles. Late one afternoon, after basketball practice, Valdovinos stopped in an empty restroom. While standing at a urinal, he says, he felt a presence behind him. He turned and saw a bespectacled man in his early 30s. It was Bryan Singer. He looked Valdovinos over; Valdovinos remembers him saying, “You’re so good-looking. What are you doing tomorrow? Maybe I could have somebody contact you about putting you in this movie.” (Through his attorney, Singer said that he did not know who Valdovinos was and denied that anything had happened between them.)

The film, which was based on a Stephen King novella, starred Ian McKellen as Kurt Dussander, a former Nazi concentration-camp commandant living in Southern California, decades removed from the war and trying to keep his past a secret. The other lead was a 14-year-old named Brad Renfro—cast as Todd Bowden, Dussander’s neighbor, who discovers the Nazi’s secret and threatens to turn him over to authorities unless the old man tells him in graphic detail about the atrocities he committed. One scene has Todd taking a shower in his school’s gym, which triggers images of Jews in a gas chamber.

That scene would lead to a series of lawsuits against Singer and the production. At least five plaintiffs, all minors between the ages of 14 and 17, were extras in the film and, in essence, claimed that members of the crew had bullied them into stripping naked for the shower scene. The boys and some of their parents said they’d been aware that the job called for partial nudity, which they had been led to believe meant wearing a Speedo or a towel. One of the crew members later said he thought that there had been a screwup the day of the shoot—that only the adult extras were supposed to have been asked to appear naked, and that somehow the minor and adult extras had been mixed together. The Los Angeles County District Attorney’s Office declined to press any criminal charges; the suits—which alleged negligence, unlawful sexual harassment, invasion of privacy, and intentional infliction of emotional distress—were settled for an undisclosed sum, and all parties were bound by confidentiality agreements.

By Valdovinos’s account, his experience on the Apt Pupil set was far more upsetting. After being dropped off by his father one morning, he was directed to the locker room. Shooting was about to begin. He remembers that the locker room had been divided—a screen here and lights over there. A crew member gave him a towel and told him to disrobe completely and wrap the towel around his waist. He was 13 years old. He hadn’t yet had his first kiss.

“I’m hanging out,” Valdovinos says. “All of a sudden, Bryan comes in. He goes, ‘Hey! How are you?’ Real cheerful. And I’m like, ‘Hi.’ I can’t remember his exact words, but he was kind of just saying ‘Come back here.’ He kind of directs me; he kind of grabs me; and he takes us to the back area, which was kind of closed off. Like, this is the whole locker room”—Valdovinos gestures to suggest the space—“they’re doing their stuff over there, and I was back here, in the towel, with no shirt and no clothes on, sitting on one of the locker-room benches. Bryan’s like, ‘Just hang out here. It’s going to be all day. Don’t worry.” Singer left, and Valdovinos waited for what seemed like hours.

Eventually, he says, Singer came back and made small talk. How are you doing? Do you need anything? “Every time he had a chance—three times—he would go back there … He was always touching my chest.” Finally, according to Valdovinos, Singer reached through the towel flaps and “grabbed my genitals and started masturbating it.” The director also “rubbed his front part on me,” Valdovinos alleges. “He did it all with this smile.” Valdovinos says that Singer told him, “You’re so good-looking … I really want to work with you … I have a nice Ferrari … I’m going to take care of you.”

“I was frozen. Speechless,” Valdovinos continues. “He came back to where I was in the locker room throughout the day to molest me.” (Three sources confirmed that Singer did drive a Ferrari at the time, and we were able to verify Valdovinos’s description of how the set was arranged and of certain people he says he met there. His father told us he remembers dropping him off for the filming and thinking that perhaps his son would become an actor. Singer’s lawyer said that he could find no record of Valdovinos’s having been an extra and questioned why Valdovinos was not able to produce a pay stub or other documentation.)

Valdovinos says that although he did end up being used as an extra in a number of takes, he couldn’t ever bring himself to watch Apt Pupil. His brother Edgar did, though, and when Edgar told Valdovinos that he didn’t appear on-screen, Valdovinos replied, “That dude was, like, touching on me.” Edgar pressed for more details, but Valdovinos didn’t explain what he meant to his brother, who is now deceased. “It was embarrassing. I didn’t want anyone to know. So I locked it away.”

By Valdovinos’s account, his life changed after the molestation. When he was 16, he got his girlfriend pregnant, and they had a daughter. “I was trying to prove that I was a man,” he says. He had been an A and B student and a standout football prospect, but he stopped going to classes and was kicked off the team. He dropped out of school for six months and worked a series of minimum-wage jobs—at a fast-food restaurant, a deli—before returning and eventually graduating.

Valdovinos and the baby’s mother argued; he was arrested after a neighbor reported a domestic disturbance. They broke up when their daughter was six months old. Valdovinos had other failed relationships. Years later, an affair with a married woman, estranged from her husband, ended in catastrophe: an arrest and a year-long jail sentence for domestic battery, drug possession, and driving a car without the owner’s permission. He lost one job after another.

Valdovinos began to question how his life might have gone differently if not for that locker-room encounter with Singer. “What if he never did this to me—would I be a different person? Would I be more successful? Would I be married?” As he watched the Harvey Weinstein scandal unfold, Valdovinos thought, “Me too—only I was a kid.” He considered going to Singer’s house and knocking on the door and asking him, Why? He thought about going public. But who would believe him?

[blueyesandleatherjacket]

Our last winter, 14/31

► Our last winter - Human!Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler. ► Written for @doctorroseprompts 31 days of ficmas. Day 14: Bows. ► AU Verse, Teen. ► 1,252 words. ► A/N: This is a prequelle to Ghost of you.

“Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is time for home.” - Edith Sitwell.

Maxence was fighting with the tie he was trying to knot around his neck. It was Monday morning, it was early and he was already mumbling because nothing was going the way he wanted it. He wasn’t a man who liked wearing a suit and tie. It was more the type of Tegan. Maxence preferred a more casual look. Jeans and T-shirt and trainers were the perfect combo for him. However, he was convoked in Harvey McArty’s office this morning. Harvey was the big hoss of the Centre of Researches for Contagious Diseases, the only person above Maxence. He had no idea of why he was convoked and it was making him anxious. Was it because he had been absent a full afternoon the previous week? Or was it about the Christmas party? Anyway, he was a nervous wreck and he wanted to hang himself with this tie rather than wearing it.

Rose wasn’t working this morning but she was up. She hated sleeping in when her husband had to work early. He had refused his breakfast. He preferred not taking any risk though he was feeling much better. He couldn’t be absent once again without a good explanation. Apparently, the ‘my wife needed some time off’ wasn’t a good excuse. His team had tried to cover for them but it hadn’t worked. Maybe that was why Rose had made the evil cookies for them. She had made nice little packages with a bow on them for every member of the team. He would be happy to see all those mean cookies away from his home. His Sunday had been completely ruined because of them. Rose hadn’t said that it was because he was too fond of food and couldn’t resist it but she had thought it. She had taken the blame on herself and taken care of him though.

Maxence tried once again to make a perfect knot for his tie but he could only notice that it was a complete fail once again. He looked at himself on that mirror. His shirt was half in his pants and half out, he had missed one button and his collar was a mess. He really looked ridiculous. He didn’t understand how people could choose this way of dressing. It was so annoying. He sighed deeply and just gave up. If he couldn’t even do a knot for his tie, he wouldn’t be able to knot the bow tie sleeping in his drawer for years. The remains of what felt like another life.

  “Don’t forget that the cafeteria is closed today. It’s food supplies day.”

  Food supplies day. The only day in the month where they were closing the cafeteria to fill the kitchen and make a stocktake. Once a month, everyone in the building had to bring something from home or to eat in a restaurant or fast food close to the lab. Usually, Maxence was taking a lunch bag specially prepared by Rose. But since he was refusing her to cook anything for him, he would have to go and buy something. If he survived until lunch that was.

  “You sure you don’t want me to make you a little something?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

  Rose was eating her breakfast in the kitchen and checking their schedules of the week. It didn’t prevent her from hearing the annoyed tone of her husband. This meeting with Harvey was really disturbing him and getting on his nerves. The message had arrived a couple minutes after he woke up. Rose was herself being worried. Harvey was never giving last minute appointment to his employees. Something must be wrong and she hoped Maxence wouldn’t be in too many troubles for whatever reason it was. She finished her coffee and put the cup in the sink. She just filled it with water and climbed upstairs.

  “Damn tie,” mumbled Maxence.

  Rose couldn’t help but chuckle. It was always fun to see Maxence fight with a tie. Even after all those years, he still couldn’t put one on without complaining about it. Rose walked up to him, tied the tie and put his collar properly. She fixed the button he had missed and put the shirttail in his pants.

  “There. All better.”

“I hate it.”

“I’ll bring you another outfit this afternoon.”

“It will be so long without you.”

“You’re gonna be overwhelmed with work. You won’t even see that I’m not there.”

“Who am I gonna eat with?”

“Take Tegan with you. He barely comes out of the lab.”

“It’s not like being with you.”

  He pulled on his shoes now and complained again about how formal shoes were hurting his feet. Rose was watching him, amused. She thought that the suit and tie look suited him well. He just needed to have his hair shorter. If they didn’t get home too late tonight, she would do something about that.

  “What if I’m sacked?”

“You won’t be.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because you’re the cleverest scientist of the building. Harvey can’t sack you. He needs you too much.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Definitely not.”

  This battle would have been lost too if Rose hadn’t given him this victory. He was on the nerves because of this meeting and she didn’t want to add more on his shoulders. He had enough already.

  “I like it when you’re being all formal.”

“That’s the only positive thing to this penguin outfit then.”

  Rose chuckled and brought him closer to her to kiss his lips tenderly. He would feel better after the meeting and he would be less pessimistic. She didn’t know what Harvey wanted from him but she doubted that it was bad news. It didn’t stop her from being worried for her husband. He was head of the department and he was taking the responsibilities for everyone if a member of the team was making a mistake.

However, as Maxence realised it later, he wasn’t the only one to have been convoked this morning. Every chief of every department was waiting in front of the Harvey’s office. He was making them enter one by one. No one was coming out furious or desperate so it could only be good news. Maxence was the last one to be asked to enter the office. He was still nervous when Harvey invited him to sit down on the chair facing him.

  “I’ve kept my best element for the end of it.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.”

“This convening has scared everyone but you can be reassured, I’m not gonna sack you.”

“I was convinced you would.”

“Actually, I’m rewarding all the heads of departments for the hard work they had done this year. Christmas is coming and we all need a little help financially. Our budget enables me to offer you a bonus this year.”

  Harvey pulled out a cheque and dropped it in front of Maxence. The scientist took it and his eyes grew big when he saw the amount of money on it. It was way too much. Had all the others heads had the same amount or was it because he supposedly was the best element?

  “I can’t accept this, sir.”

“You’re the first one telling me this,” replied Harvey, an eyebrow cocked. “Why is that?”

“I’m not the only one working hard in this lab. All my team deserves this bonus. I’m not any better than them. Some worked harder than I did.”

“That’s why I’m thinking of you as the best of all the persons working for me. Not only are you clever, but you’re also the most humble and generous man I know.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

  Maxence put the cheque back down on the desk and pushed it toward Harvey. He stood up. For him, this meeting was over so he was about to leave but Harvey asked him to stay. Maxence turned around to see him tearing the cheque into pieces and pulled out his chequebook and a calculator.

  “I’ll leave it to you to announce them the good news.”

  Maxence was astonished. By refusing the bonus, he hadn’t expected Harvey to actually divide the amount into the number of persons in his team. Everyone was getting a little bonus today thanks to him. He liked this option better than the first one. He convoked all of the persons working under his command and gave all of them an envelope with a bow on it. For Rose, he did it differently. He put a bow on the envelope but also on himself so when she came to bring him a new outfit, she found him smiling with this huge box around his arm.

  “Why have you decorated yourself?”

“Miss Spitz, since I’m wearing formal clothes and since we all had a bonus today,” he gave her the envelope, “will you make me the honour of coming for a lunch in the restaurant of your choice?”

“A bonus?”

  Rose frowned and opened the envelope. She had the exact same reaction as Maxence did in the morning. She glanced back up at him with the cheque in her hand and a surprised expression on her face. He couldn’t help but kiss her. He was so happy right now.

  “Harvey was giving bonuses to all the heads of departments. I couldn’t accept it just for me so he shared the amount between all of us.”

“I bet you’re the only one to have done this?”

“Obviously.”

“Do I get to unwrap my gift after the restaurant?”

  A smirk on her face, she was playing with one end of the bow on his arm. They better be quick if she wanted to unwrap him later. It meant he had to keep the bow and strangely, it wasn’t bothering him that much…

Our last winter © | 2018 | Tous droits réservés.

×××

Buy me a coffee?

[no-dull-days]

Nicaragua Turismo

Prior to Somoza, Central America was a republic consisting of El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Panama and Guatemala. The law of the land, was that all business owners had to get their businesses approved by a number of politicians located in present day Honduras and El Salvador. Because the locals in these regions knew business owners would pass through their neighborhoods with livestock and other valuables, business owners were regularly robbed. This is why El Salvador and Honduras are still particularly dangerous today and Nicaragua houses hard working business owners who provide millions of dollars of exports to a variety of countries. Nicaragua is by far the safest country in the region for this reason.

Nicaragua travel guide tips: You should be very protective of your belongings, carry small amounts of cash, and a few duplicate laminated copies of your passport. Familiarize yourself with Dengue and Chikungunya virus. Be careful who you speak to about Nicaragua’s president and tumultuous history. Photographing government buildings is illegal. Don’t draw attention to yourself.

Nicaragua Travel Guide

Vast jungles are evident from the air along with an aviation graveyard clearly from the civil war. I pass through a small airport with no major delays and locate a man holding a sign with my name on it. Two hours later, I arrive in a small surf community. Spread out over half an acre are ten dorms, huts, and casitas housing small groups and couples. Meals cost between three and five bucks. I was walking distance to the beach and rented surf boards for $5/day. I met almost everyone in the small community and rented an ATV to ride through the jungle. I zipped through cities and local attractions. I read books on the beach and thoroughly unwound. No need for a Nicaragua travel guide when basking in the beach sunshine.

Transportation in Nicaragua

If you take shuttle vans or hostel arranged transportation, you’re gonna pay about 300-500% over market value. If you’re traveling beyond the “too weak vacation” you’re gonna want to save cash wherever you can and taking buses will save you more than a few bucks. Even if you’re only here short term, taking buses are just more exciting. They add a lot to the adventure. Bus stations might be intimidating if you don’t speak Spanish, but I can assure you, they’re easy. There’s no announcements or indication when you arrive at your intended destination, but it’s fairly clear by the scenery and signs. Otherwise, simply point to your destination on the map and ask.

Lines form in front of the signs and fees are collected on board. Fair warning, buses get quite cozy. Transportation is roughly C$30-70 (about $2 US). If you take a taxi, be sure to ask the rate before you get inside.

Cash in Nicaragua

Nicaragua uses the Cordoba. Many businesses accept US dollars though. You can order international currency from your local bank if you request it in advance. It’s much easier to pay for everything in native currency because it’s exact. You may even pay more using US dollars because of a conversion rate. You can also get Cordobas from ATMs, but you’ll pay a percent of the transaction to your bank.

Nicaragua travel guide tip: To obtain cash, you can also get Cords via the black market. Men hold enormous stacks of money on street corners throughout the country. I don’t know who they work for or how they make a profit, but they’re very convenient. Know how much your US dollars are worth before approaching, and give them $5, $10 or $20 bills. They give you Cords. Though this is the black market, it’s safe. I’ve used them numerous times in multiple cities without problem. Do this transaction in public though.

Doctors make about $1,500 US dollars/ month and people who have nice jobs make about $3-400/ month, so the dollar will go a long way. In Leon, one of the more expensive cities, I paid about $15 US for a very nice meal in a fancy restaurant. To save more cash, get yourself a Sawyer Water Filter and fill up a water bottle throughout the day. Otherwise, you’ll pay about C$200 Cords/ day for water.

San Juan Del Sur, Nicaragua

I could’ve stayed longer, but I knew it was time to move on. My next adventures took me to San Juan del Sur, a small beach community with a thriving nightlife filled with Aussies, Canadians, Israelis, Americans, and a few Europeans. They had dangerously wicked Sunday fun-days. What else would you expect from a city without a police department? This didn’t bother me since I’m not a big drinker, go to bed at a decent hour and wake up with the sun.

San Juan Del Sur and up the west coast of Nicaragua have a thriving surf culture with schools and villages to match their six foot swells and gorgeous beaches. It’s in these areas where people can take guided tours and ride ATV’s through the city, jungles and beaches. I paid $90 for three hours. Moreover, there’s horseback riding, zip lining, and volcanoes to explore. There's internet cafes for workaholics and techies, and colonial cities such as Leon and Granada with 17th century architecture. You’re bound to run into a number of expats here.

After leaving a bar one night though, a few very persistent girls tried to lure me off the main drag. If I followed them, I knew I'd be mugged. Nicaragua travel guide tip: If you’re bar hopping after dark, stay on the main street only. Do not under any circumstances venture down to the beach away from the crowd. Also, leave your phone and wad of cash at home. San Juan Del Sur is accessible by bus. However, it’s easier if you’re in a group to take a cab and split the fee. If you’re going to a surf village or hostel, some places will arrange a taxi for you and wait with your name on a card. I’d recommend San Juan Del Sur for surfing, nightlife, and tours.

MiraFlor, Nicaragua

MiraFlor is a great cloud forest about 15 miles northeast of Esteli. About 90 minutes away because of poor road conditions. There’s upper and lower MiraFlor which is basically dense forest and less dense. The upper region is far better and occupied by organic farmers. The food here is sensational. Everything I ate was organic. I paid $45 for one night in a casita with two queen beds. Three meals were included with coffee and water. $15 got me a guided horseback tour through the mountains plus a dip in a secret waterhole. There’s massive toads in MiraFlor, sloths, puma and other wildlife. Safety was no concern in MiraFlor. Nicaragua travel guide tip: You can book a tour through Cafe Luz.

Matagalpa, Nicaragua

Matagalpa is similar to Esteli, but a little nicer. It’s not a tourist or colonial city. Just a normal city with lots of people working and going to school. It’s in the mountains about two hours from Esteli. It’s nice to walk around for the day. Nicaragua travel guide tip: If you visit Matagalpa, stay on one side of the river. Same with Esteli. Rivers are like railroad tracks divided by the good and bad side of town. Matagalpa is also in the coffee region. You could certainly crash here for the night if you’re visiting a nearby coffee plantation. Safety was no concern. I’d recommend Matagalpa for stress free simple living.

Sebaco, Nicaragua

Sebaco and the small surrounding cities are filled with farmers. I’ve never seen more people without teeth. Most-likely from sugar cane. Sebaco is about an hour from Esteli and costs C$20. I took a bike taxi to a museum and explored the city. I met a few locals and had lunch with a family. I spoke with a variety of locals all of whom couldn’t have been nicer. Visiting Sebaco was like being in an Indiana Jones movie. Sebaco was educational, fascinating, and a massive culture shock. Safety was no concern.

Managua, Nicaragua

Managua is the nation's capital and is very dangerous. The only reason you’ll have to visit Managua is for the airport. You may also be in Managua to catch the TICA bus if you’re going elsewhere in Central America. The TICA bus is the same as a Greyhound. Managua is also where you’d catch flights and buses to Nicaragua’s east coast or Caribbean islands.

Nicaragua travel guide tip: Managua is not a sightseeing city. It’s a hub for business and transportation. Do not walk around alone. Do not flash valuables. Do not visit Managua after dark. Do not take random taxes in Managua. Crime and kidnapping are in abundance here.

A ticket to Panama on the TICA bus is $90 US and about $45 to Costa Rica. There’s information stations all over the country but all buses leave from Managua. Managua is accessible from just about anywhere in the country. Don’t take a cab to Managua because they’re expensive and it’s common for tourists to be overcharged. When going to Managua, know where you’re going and how to get there. My experience in Managua is during the day. Get in and out of town in the morning or early afternoon. Masaya is about 2.5 hours from Managua. Or you can take a cab for $25-30 US.

The City of Masaya

Aside from traveling in Haiti and Jamaica, Masaya has a massive Rastafarian presence. I walked the streets looking for a room to rent and stumbled upon a restaurant. I feasted, eating an entire chicken, salad, gallo pinto, vigorón and sopa de mondongo. I chased it down with four beers while watching a soccer game as two ceiling fans kept me cool as a cucumber. I paid $2.30, said goodbye to my new friends and waddled out. I smoked a cigarette with the door man who carried a full size axe over his shoulder. We watched a man with scrotal lymph edema waddle with great difficulty.

The city has a large Christian presence. Michael Jackson, Phil Collins, and Bryan Adams along with other 80’s music was quite common. Nicaragua travel guide tip: You must possess a sense of adventure to enjoy yourself here and shopping is a must! Wallets, clothing, souvenirs, machetes, bracelets, kitchenware, clothing, and gorgeous artwork are in central downtown.

Masaya Volcano Park

About 15 miles outside of the the city of Masaya is a Volcano Park. There’s a C$100 entrance fee and it’s C$100/person for the 5.5 mile cab ride to the top. There’s a number of hiking trails and great views of a smoking volcano. It was C$25 to get from the volcano park to Granada via bus. I was so disconnected from everything I’d ever known. I took a bus from Masaya and set my feet down on an empty highway submerged in dense jungle. It looked like the big man upstairs cut a straight line through the jungle with a disposable razor. Across the way, was the entrance to Masaya Volcano.

I walked straight up to the edge and inhaled the noxious volcanic fumes. It reminded me of that favorable scent of gasoline. I also thought of the evil dictator Somoza and how he threw his opponents into this very volcano. I went to the top of almost every peak. I even ran up the slopes where the scent of sulfur was powerful.

Granada, Nicaragua

It was the first time I was rooming with other people. Three nights in, I went to dinner with a girl from my room. Five minutes away, I knew something was wrong but we kept walking. Upon return about an hour later, I shook hands with the guy who stole my credit card and rang up a $1,400 tab in Managua. Everyone in our room was robbed. I experienced organized crime, first hand.

Granada attracts the most tourists because of it’s nice hotels and expensive restaurants. It also attracts an onslaught of criminal rings from Costa Rica. In this case, it was a four man team. Each had their own role. Two of them got beds in separate rooms and locked an empty locker. They stuffed their beds and staked out the room. Two other men were brought in to strike up conversation. They kept the managers and other travelers occupied while their friends robbed nine lockers in two rooms.

When I was here in the high season (November to May), I was on a private tour that took me boating through the Granada Isletas where monkeys climbed on the boat and ran across my lap. The Granada Islets are over 200 islands with an abundance of wildlife. Islands are owned by locals, aristocrats, and foreigners, while others can be rented for private events. You can arrange a tour from a guide in the plaza.

Granada doesn’t resemble any of the other cities, nor does it resemble Nicaragua. Though Granada is the nicest city in the country, it’s a hot spot for crime. I think we all know, getting robbed isn’t so much about the money. It’s the feelings of violation and loss of trust. Maybe this was a good thing, because you shouldn’t be trusting anyone while traveling alone.

Nicaragua travel guide tip: I was robbed. I know others who were robbed. I was conned by locals and a lawyer. If you're robbed filing a police report at the police station for insurance wasn't too bad. After eight days here, I experienced more scams and deception than any other city. Isletas below.

I’d recommend a short afternoon in Granada to see the Isletas then spending the night at the Apoyo Lagoon, about 20 minutes from Granada. If you do stay in Granada, look for a hotel or hostel that does not allow people from Central America.

Mombacho Volcano

Mombacho volcano can be seen from Granada. It’s a huge volcano with hiking trails and spectacular views from within jungle terrain. In the off season, it’s a cloud forest which is definitely fun to hike through and explore the mysterious land with lush greenery during tropical rains. In the high season, the visibility is far better. The only way to visit is on a tour, during which you’ll learn about flora, fauna, and the hundreds of highly poisonous reptiles living in the habitat.

Since Mombacho is adjacent to Granada and I wouldn’t recommend visiting Granada, I’d recommend another rain forest and or volcano such as Masaya, MiraFlor, Cerro Negro, Ometepe, or Indio Maiz. You can certainly see Mombacho in the morning, tour the Islets in the afternoon, then take a cab to Apoyo Lagoon.

Apoyo Lagoon

Anxious to leave Granada, I shopped around and found a taxi for $15 US. About 20 minutes away from Granada is a small slice of paradise. It’s a gorgeous lagoon. I paid $12 for a bed in an empty dormitory. There’s private rooms for $29, but there’s no point when it’s so quiet. I was the only one in a room with six beds, four fans, and steel lockers. I found about a dozen hotels, hostels, and resorts on the lagoon. There’s convenience stores scattered throughout the area. Wherever you decide to stay there’ll be restaurants. $12 includes access to kayaks, inner tubes, and a floating dock to hang out on. Meals cost between $3-$5. Nicaragua travel guide tip: Don't miss out on Apoyo Lagoon!

Maderas Beach

Maderas Beach has a series of surf schools and nice resorts. It’s located about 30 minutes south of San Juan Del Sur and only accessible in an off road vehicle. It’s located just beyond the dense jungle. Howler monkeys are common in these parts. They’re monkeys that make creepy howling noises and throw poop if you get too close. Some of these beaches are private, but most are open to the public. There’s excellent surf, fresh food, and passion fruit smoothies. Mid summer, there was an international surf competition in this region with over 300 competitors from 70 countries. Nicaragua travel guide tip: There's quite a few 3-5 star resorts scattered throughout this region.

Beaches in this area have some amazing homes overlooking the water from massive cliffs. Property values have risen from $8,000 to over $150,000 in the last 5-7 years. Imagine seeing this every morning when you wake up. I’d recommend this region purely for surfing.

With a wide array of activities to choose from and epic smoothies, Nicaragua is a true adventure. Healthy food is plentiful and there’s an endless supply of photo opportunities. Avoid unpaved streets after dark and sectors of town on the other side of rivers. If you've enjoyed this Nicaragua travel guide, please share. Thanks for reading.

[carolina-bleus]

Snow Day (Richonne Date Night- December)

Beep beep beep beep!!!

The shrilling broke through early morning silence. Michonne reached an arm from under the mound of blankets and slapped the alarm off.  She kept her eyes closed for a few minutes more before pushing the blankets aside and sitting up. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and sat blinking slowly, trying to fully wake up.

“That thing could wake the dead,” Rick mumbled. He opened his eyes and gave Michonne sleepy smile.

“I’m sorry. I thought I would wake up before it went off and woke you up. Go back to sleep.”

“Why don’t you get back under these covers with me?”

“I’d love to, but I need to get the kids up for school. You know that becomes a monumental task during the winter...especially the closer they get to Christmas Break.”

Rick sat up and stretched. “I have some extra time since I don’t have to go into the office until later. You can relax in bed a little longer while I get the kids up.”

“No, it’s fine. You never get to sleep in.”

“And neither do you. Let me do this.”

Not having to battle the kids to get up and get ready did sound heavenly to Michonne. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you!”

“Why are you thanking me? I’m not doing you a favor. I’m being a parent and your partner. It’s like when guys at the office talk about babysitting their kids. All I can think is ‘how do you babysit your own kids’. Men need to quit acting like raising kids is the main responsibility of their wives.”

“I see that topic gets you heated.”

“It does. Our kids are a blessing to me and I don’t get to spend as much time with them as I like. It irritates me when I see other guys treating fatherhood like it’s a joke.” Rick shook his head in disgust before noticing the expression on Michonne’s face. “What?”

“You know seeing you get heated makes me heated in a much different way.”

“Is that so?” Rick shifted closer to his wife. “How much time do we have before the kids need to get up?”

Michonne climbed back into bed. “They don’t have to be up for another,” Michonne glanced at the clock “35 minutes.”

“Then why do you get up so early?”

“Because it takes everyone of those minutes to make sure they are up and in the bathroom. You know they only voluntarily get up early on Christmas morning and the last day of school.”

“Are you sure we’ll have time to do this then?”

“Rick, you know I’ve always been an overachiever,” Michonne said as she straddled her husband. “We’ll just do a little preview of what’s to come after our date tonight.”

Before the couple could go any further yelling erupted in the hallway. Seconds later, little fists began pounding on the bedroom door.

“Mama! Daddy! Mama! Daddy! Wake up!”

Thinking something was wrong, Rick and Michonne leapt out of bed and pulled their bedroom door open. Their two youngest children hopping up and down in excitement with huge smiles on their faces.

“Dre? Judy? What is going on?! Your mama and I thought something bad happened!”

“It’s snowing!” Judith screamed as she and Andre raced into their parents’ room. They headed straight to the window seat that faced the front yard. Andre climbed up first and then helped his littler sister up. They opened the window and squealed at the sight below.

Michonne, her heart finally calm, walked over and joined the kids at the window. The land had been transformed overnight. The light from the streetlamps bounced off of snow everywhere the eye could see and it was still falling.

“What’s going on?”

Michonne turned away from the window to see 15-year-old Carl now standing in the doorway rubbing his eyes. “Did you come to join the party, too?”

“No, I was sleeping when I heard all the yelling. What happened?”

“We’ve got to work on your reaction time, Carl,” Rick said dryly. “According to your brother and sister, it’s-”

“It’s snowing!” Andre and Judith said in unison.

That perked Carl up. “Really?” He walked into the room and kneeled on the window seat with his younger brother and sister. “There is no way we are going to school in all of that. I bet we’re getting a snow day,” he said excitedly.

Rick and Michonne looked at each other. They were in no way prepared for that possibility.

“They said we might get some snow, but they always say that and then we race to the store and buy bread and milk and then nothing happens. The one time we don’t go to the store, we wake up at the North Pole.”

Rick laughed at his wife. “You’re being dramatic, babe. I’m sure it’s not that much snow. This is Georgia after all.”

“Take a look outside, Mr. Weatherman.”

Rick stepped over and looked out the window. “We need to head to the store as soon as daylight hits.”

“Can we get cookies, Daddy?” Andre asked with his face still pressed close to the window.

“I want hot chocolate!” Judith added.

“Alright, everyone get away from the window before you get too cold. Why don’t y’all go back to bed while Daddy and I watch the news and see what’s happening with the weather?”

“We want to watch the news, too, Mama. Can we stay in here with you and Daddy?” Andre asked. When Michonne was slow to answer, Andre turned to Rick. “Can we stay, Daddy?”

“Of course you can, son. Y’all climb up in bed.”

“Yaay! Come on Judy. Carl can you help us up?”

As Carl gave his little brother and sister a boost up onto their parents’ bed, Michonne stared at Rick with a raised brow. He grinned back sheepishly. He was such a pushover when it came to their kids.

Once the little kids were snuggled between their parents and Carl was stretched out across the foot of the bed, Rick turned on the news.

Let it snow. Let it snow. Let...it...snow! Welcome back to Channel 7 News. We all woke up to a surprise this morning....snow and lots of it! Chief Meteorologist, Bradley Smith, gives us the rundown on what happened and what’s still to come. Brad?

Thanks, Keisha! The system we’d been watching for the last few days shifted dramatically to the east overnight. It has left us with more than five inches of snow on the ground with more to come throughout the day. Before it’s all over, we are going to be measuring our snowfall in terms of feet, not inches! Coming up, I’ll give you the exact totals we can expect.”

“Okay, Brad. Well, everyone, if you all don’t have your provisions by now, you better get them soon before we are all snowed in. The Governor has already declared a state of emergency and asked that everyone stay off the roads if they can. It looks like everything, including businesses and local governments, are either already shut down or will be soon. As expected, school closings are coming in fast and furious. The following school and districts have already announced their closings...”

On the bed, the kids held their breaths as the closings were read off in alphabetical order.

“Harrison Country Day, King County Schools, Lip—"

The news anchor’s voice was drowned out by the sound of cheering coming from the kids of the Grimes’ household.  

“If we get like six feet of snow, we may not even have to go to school next week!” Carl exclaimed.

Michonne chuckled. “We are not getting six feet of snow and your exams won’t be canceled next week if that’s what you’re hoping.”

“You shouldn’t destroy your son’s dreams. Not cool,” Carl joked. “Well, I’m going back to bed. I’ll see y’all this afternoon.”

“You’ll see us when the sun rises,” Rick corrected. “We need to get to the store and stock up before everything is gone.”

“Can I drive?” Carl asked hopefully.

“We’ll see,” Rick offered. “Go on back to bed and we’ll wake you later.”

“Alright.” Carl rushed out of the room before Rick changed his mind.

“Are we really going to let him drive in the snow?” Michonne asked worriedly. “He just got his permit. He might not be ready.”

“He isn’t ready to drive the whole trip, but I think we can let him drive down our street some on the way back. This will be a good learning experience for him,” Rick said before turning to the little ones still in bed. “Y’all ready to go back to your rooms? You can sleep in a little longer.” Rick hoped the kids said yes to going back to their rooms because he really wanted to finish what he and Michonne started earlier.

Judith stared up at her father. “We want to sleep in here with you and Mama. Can we?”

Michonne swallowed back a laugh as she watched Rick’s hopeful expression slip as he answered.

“Sure you can.”

Michonne climbed into bed and watched Rick close the curtains and start the fireplace going. It would have been a nice, cozy way to start the snow day...if it had been just the two of them. The kids were already fast asleep by the time Rick got into bed. Judith was snuggled up to Michonne. As soon as Rick settled down, Andre rolled over and snuggled up to him. Rick looked down at them and then over to his wife longingly.

“I really need to learn how to tell them ‘no’.” Rick sighed. “I guess this snow day means no date night tonight.”

“Doesn’t look like it’s happening. I guess there’s always next month,” Michonne said wistfully as she stroked her sleeping daughter’s hair.

“That’s what we said last month.”

Rick and Michonne had been so busy with work, their kids, and the holidays that they hadn’t been able to spend much personal time together. They’d hoped to make up for it this month, but the snow day just threw a wrench in those plans.

A few hours later, the Grimes family was standing in the grocery store surrounded by what felt like all of King County. Rick and Michonne had managed to snag two carts. They decided to divide up their lists to get in and out of the store as fast as possible.

“Who is going with me and who’s going with Mama?”

“Judy and I are going with you, Daddy,” Andre piped up.

“I’m going with Mom,” Carl said.

“Alright.” Rick put Judith and Andre into his cart. “No wandering off from each other. You can get lost in here today. Remember we’re going to meet over by the salad bar when we’re done. And whoever gets there first, text the other group. Are we ready to head out?”

“You want us to synchronize our watches before we leave, Dad?” Carl joked.

“Very funny. Just stick close to your mother. We’ll see you guys later.” Rick pushed the cart towards the other side of the store.  

Michonne put her arm around Carl. “Looks like it’s you and me, buddy.” 

“Jude and Dre only go with Dad all the time because they know he can't tell them no. You know they are going to come back with a cart full of junk food because Dad can’t say no to Jude and Dre.”

“Well you should understand since that's exactly why you always wanted to go shopping with me when you were little.”  Carl looked off to the side. “I don't know what you're talking about.” “Oh really?” Michonne scoffed. “You don't remember begging to get that giant can of chocolate pudding when you were nine? “In my defense, I'd never seen a can of pudding that size.” “That's because it was meant for cafeterias, not our house. It was also meant to be eaten by a group of people...not one little boy.” “Ugh. Don’t remind me. I still hate pudding to this day.” Michonne and Carl laughed at the memory. “Alright, let's get started so we can get out of here. You push the cart.” Carl was less than enthused about that. “Seriously?” “Hey, you said you wanted to drive get some driving in today.” “Funny, Mom,” Carl said dryly before he pushed the cart towards the produce section leaving his mother smiling after him. It still gave Michonne's heart a little jolt whenever Carl called her 'mom'. When she first met him, he was still a little boy sad and angry over the loss of his mother who'd died giving birth to Judith. When Rick brought him into her art therapy class that long-ago day, she hadn't realized she was going to meet the love of her life in Rick and the son of her heart in Carl. 

The trip to the grocery store took longer than anyone wanted, but they made it out in one piece and with everything on their list and then some.  “Mama, can we go play in the snow now?” Judith begged. 

“Are all the groceries put away?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s suit up and head outside!”

The Grimes family made the most of the rare snow event. They made snow angels and lopsided snowmen. Andre even got his Dad and brother to help him make a snow fort. The snow play culminated in a kids versus parents snowball fight. It was more competitive than expected. What Andre and Judith lacked in power, they made up for in stealth. While Carl would distract Rick and Michonne with rapid snowball fire, one of the little ones would sneak around and get their parents from behind.   By the time mid-day rolled around, the family was tired, damp, hungry, yet happy. Michonne was in the midst of fixing the family lunch when Rick walked into the kitchen.  "Lunch will be ready in a few minutes. Are the kids all clean and dry?" "Yeah, Dre and Judy had their baths. I assume Carl took a shower. And I got just finished with mine." Rick wrapped his arms around his wife and kissed her neck. "I hate that you and I couldn't take one together." "We’re all starving. I had to get showered and changed quickly so I could get lunch on the table." "We could have saved time by showing together. Then the both of us could have made lunch even faster.” Michonne laughed as she pulled out of Rick’s embrace. "We'd still be in the shower right now and the kids would be starving. Remember the last time you tried that 'let's save time by showering together' line, we ended up late to our own engagement party." "Yeah, but it was worth it." Michonne smiled at memories of that night. "Yeah, it sure was." "What are you guys smiling about?" Carl asked as he walked into the kitchen. "On second thought, don't tell me, I probably don't want to know." He grabbed a cookie from the jar.

"Don’t ruin your appetite,” Rick advised. “Where are your brother and sister? We are about to eat lunch soon." 

“They’re upstairs playing. Do you guys still need me to babysit them tonight? Michonne glanced outside at the heavy snow that was coming down. "Unfortunately, I don't think we are going anywhere tonight." “Sorry Mom. That sucks.”

“It's okay. We'll just get to spend more time with you guys. We'll make it a family night.

“But y'all are always spending time with us and doing things for us. Don't you want to spend time with just each other for a change?” 

"We will," Rick assured his son. "It just won't be tonight. Why don't you go call your brother and sister down to eat while your mom and I finish up here?" "Okay." Carl glanced back as he walked out of the kitchen and saw his parents talking and laughing quietly with each other as they put the finishing touches on lunch. The last thing he saw before he headed to the stairs was his parents share a quick kiss.

After lunch, the family settled in to watch Christmas movies while munching on the snacks they'd gotten at the store. Andre and Judith sat in between their parents on the love seat. Carl sat on the opposite couch.  "Jude, Dre...why don't y'all come sit with me on the couch?" Carl suggested. Andre shook his head. "We want to sit with Mama and Daddy." "There is more room over here, plus, I have candy." Judith's eyes lit up at the mention of candy. "Do you have Big Cats?" "Yep. And I have Crazy Cheese and crackers, Dre." Judith and Andre looked at each other and then at their parents. "We're going to sit with Carl, okay?"  Rick chuckled. "Okay, Dre. Y'all go sit with your brother." Andre and Judith piled up on the couch with Carl and dove into the snacks he had for them. Rick and Michonne cuddled together under a blanket on the love seat. Carl smiled before turning his attention back to the movie.

About an hour into the second movie, Carl noticed that his parents had fallen asleep. He turned to his younger siblings.

"You guys want to help me with something?" Without much prodding, Andre and Judith readily agreed. "What are we gonna do?" Judith asked. "It's a surprise." Carl stood from the couch. "Come on."

"Mom, Dad wake up."

Rick and Michonne woke to find Carl standing over them. "What's going on?" Rick asked groggily. "It's time for dinner." Carl explained. "We slept till dinnertime? I didn't even realize we'd fallen asleep." Michonne sat up. "Don't worry, you guys will eat soon." "Babe, you want me to use my indoor grill and make some burgers?" Rick offered. "No, you guys don't understand,” Carl interrupted. “Dinner is ready. We made it." "We who?” Rick asked in confusion. “You ordered a pizza? I thought everything was closed." "No, just go change and come to the dining room." "The dining room?" "Yes, Mom. I'll see you guys in a bit. Put on something nice." Carl rushed back to the kitchen. Rick and Michonne looked at each other and wondered what their kids were up to. "Babe, why did Carl have on his church clothes?"

 Michonne shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough. Let’s go change.”

After freshening up and changing, Rick and Michonne walked into the dining room. They were shocked with what they found.  The lights were dimmed and candles flickered on the table. Soft music playing in the background completed the intimate and romantic feel. "Welcome, I'll be your maître d’ for the evening. Table for two?" "Uh, yes, please," Rick answered. "Right this way." Carl led his parents over to the table that had two places set with Rick and Michonne's best china and cutlery.  Carl waited for his parents to be seated before he continued. "Would you like to start off with a drink?" "Yes. What do you recommend?"  Michonne smiled as Rick played along. "The sparkling cider," Carl suggested. "What’s the vintage?" Carl looked flustered by his father’s unexpected question. "Uh...2017." Rick nodded. "Excellent year. We'll have that." "I'll be right back with your drinks." As soon as Carl entered the kitchen, Andre came out holding a silver platter. He, too, had on his Sunday best. "Hello. Would you like an oderb?"  Carl stuck his head through the door. "Hors d’oeuvre, Dre."  "Sorry. Would you like an or-derb?" Carl sighed and went back into the kitchen. Michonne bit back a smile at her two sons. "We'd love some, sweetie." Andre presented a plate of crackers covered in Crazy Cheese. "I made them all by myself," he said proudly Rick grabbed two crackers from the platter for Michonne and himself. "They look delicious, son. Thank you."  There was more canned cheese than crackers visible but Rick and Michonne ate the salty treat like it was the best thing in the world. Andre beamed on his way back to the kitchen. Carl returned with the chilled sparkling cider and filled the wine glasses of his appreciative parents. They were parched from the crackers and Crazy cheese.

 “I'll be right back with your salad course.” 

Rick took a sip of his cider. "Can you believe Carl did all of this?"  "He was determined that we'd still have our date night. He's amazing kid." Rick caressed Michonne's cheek. "We've done a great job raising him." "Yes, we have."  Carl came back and placed two salads in front of his parents. "Your first course is a mixed green salad with goat cheese, pears, walnuts, and cranberries." "This is really fancy, son,” Rick said, impressed. “How did you come up with it?" "Actually, it's just a salad mix that Mom bought today."  "Well, I'm glad you decided to make it part of our meal. I can't wait to dive in. Good job, son." "Thanks, Dad,” Carl mumbled. Like his father, Carl wasn’t one comfortable being the center of attention. “Uh, I’ll be in the family room watching Judith and Dre so you'll have some privacy. Just text me when you’re ready for the main course."  "Text? But we don't have our pho--"  Before Michonne could finish the sentence, Carl produced her and Rick's phones and placed them on the table.  "Don’t worry, they're on silent. I know you said it's rude to have a phone out at the dinner table, but I figured it was better than walking in here every 10 minutes, you know, in case you guys wanted to kiss or something." Rick held back his laughter at Carl's blush. "We'll text you when we're ready, son."

"This salad is amazing." Rick sat back and started laughing.

"What is it?" "I just remembered Carl said you picked this up today. Only you would pick up a salad in preparation for a snow storm while everyone else is getting junk food." "Hey, I got junk food. I just really wanted some salad, too. It's all about the balance in life."  "I know that firsthand,” Rick agreed. “You've balanced me out since we first met. You brought both Carl and me back from the edge of the dark place we were headed to after Lori died. I'll never be able to thank you enough for that. I don’t know where me, Carl, or Jude would be if you hadn’t come into our lives." "You don't have to thank me. You and Carl came into my and Andre’s life exactly when we need you the most."  Michonne was a newly single mother when she met Rick and Carl. Andre's birth father, Mike, had ended with him walking out on his girlfriend and young son. Rick, Michonne, Carl, and Andre had all helped each other heal and move beyond their losses and their bonds and love for each other were unbreakable because of that. Thankfully, Judith had grown up experiencing only the happiness in their family.

"I got your text. Here's your main course." Carl looked back behind him into the kitchen. “Come on, Jude. It’s your turn.”

"Hi, Mama. Hi, Daddy." Judith made her first appearance of the night. She carried one covered plate while Carl carried everything else on a large tray. "I helped make this." This turned out to be a steak panini filled with peppers, mushrooms, onions, and provolone cheese for Rick and a turkey, swiss, bacon, and sliced green apple panini for Michonne. They both had a side of steak fries and a bowl of soup to round out the hearty meal. "You guys did great! These are our favorites!" Michonne paused as she examined her sandwich further. "Is there something wrong with your food, Mom?" "It looks great, Carl, I just think someone did a little quality control on mine." Michonne held up her sandwich. There was a little bite taken out of it. "Judith!" Carl exclaimed. "I made you and Dre grilled cheese sandwiches and fries. That's your favorite." "But Mama's sandwich is my favorite, too. I just wanted a little taste. Mama said we should always share. You don't mind do you, Mama?" Michonne looked at the little girl that she'd raised since she was practically an infant. "I don't mind, sweetie." "Sorry, Mom. Come on, Judith."  Carl hustled his little sister out of the dining room. There were no further mishaps with dinner as Rick and Michonne talked and ate their fill. By the time they pushed their clean plates away, they were stuffed. Rick rubbed his full belly. "Carl might need to go to culinary school. He has the magic touch with those sandwiches." "He really does. I don't think I can eat another bite, but I'm sure Carl has dessert waiting for us. I'd hate to disappoint him by not finishing the meal he worked so hard to make. Plus, you know sweets are my weakness." "I thought I was your weakness," Rick joked. "Actually, the kids are my weakness. You're my strength," Michonne said softly. Rick swallowed back his emotions and leaned forward to give his wife a sweet kiss.  "Let's dance," he whispered against her lips. "In the dining room?" "We don't need that much room because I plan on holding you as close to me as possible."

"Mama and Daddy are dancing!" 

Carl looked over to his brother and sister peeking into the dining room. "Get away from the door and leave them alone. We need to make dessert," Carl said sternly. But when he turned away from his brother and sister, he had a huge smile on his face at what they'd just told him.

All three kids brought out dessert...a large ice cream sundae with two spoons. Rick and Michonne looked at each other and knew there was no way they could eat all of that. Through an unspoken conversation, they both knew the perfect solution. "Kids, thank you for the delicious meal. We are so proud of you all for making it for us.” Rick smiled at his children. “The time alone was really nice, but how about Mama and I go up and change and when we come back down we'll all pile up on the sofa and share the sundae?” Andre and Judith quickly approved of that plan while Carl hesitated. "Are you sure? Don't you want the rest of your date night to yourselves?" Michonne shook her head. "I can't think of a better way to end this perfect night than spending it with all of the people I love most." "I agree with your mother. Everyone go put on your pjs and meet in the den."  The family reconvened in the den and devoured the sundae before settling down to watch another movie. After a short while, Rick, Michonne, and Carl were the only ones still awake. "Thank you for tonight, son." "It was nothing, Dad." "No, it was everything. You are growing up to be an amazing young man. I'm so proud of who you are and who you're becoming, Carl." Carl blushed at his father's praise. "Your father's right. You're thoughtful and kind. You’re so resilient and intelligent. You have a wonderful and beautiful life ahead of you and I'm glad I get to be part of it. I'm so glad you became my son. We love you, Carl."  Carl ducked his head down, hoping his long hair would hide the tears welling in his eyes. "I love you guys, too."

Later that night, after everyone was in bed, Michonne and Rick lay in each other’s arms watching the snow fall gently past their bedroom window.

Michonne sighed happily. “This turned out to be a pretty great day, huh?”

“It was an amazing day thanks to that son of ours. But you know what will make it an amazing night?”

“Another panini?” Michonne joked. Her laughter turned to a moan when Rick slid a hand down into her pajama bottoms.

“Well, we probably will need one later because we are definitely about to work up an appetite.” Rick began to slowly work his fingers inside of Michonne. “Don’t you just love snow days?”

“Let it snow. Let it snow. Let it ahhhhh...”

[superprincesspea]

Simon’s Advent Calendar: December 2nd

Synopsis: You’re so excited to see the snow but you know someone who’ll be even more excited.

Warnings: Simon/You, Simon x OC, Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 1584

Snow had fallen overnight leaving a perfect fluffy white blanket covering every surface inside and outside of the Sanctuary and like winters before the world had ended you couldn’t resist it. You pulled on two pairs of socks, winter boots and enough layers to keep you toasty before opening up the curtain that separated Tom’s side of the room from yours.

He was already stirring, his hair standing on end from sleep and his blankets kicked onto the floor. “Mommy?” he said, rubbing his eyes and no doubt wondering why you were so full of energy before breakfast.

“I have a surprise for you,” you whispered, rumpling his fly away hair. “Look outside the window…”

“Has Santa been?” he squealed, springing into action.

“Not Santa,” you said quickly, feeling the never ending guilt that always came when you thought about the man in red and the sort of Christmas’ you wished you could give Tom. Still, even without the promise of Christmas morning he was falling excitedly from the bed, pushing an empty milk crate to the window and standing on the tips of his toes to see outside.

“Snow!” he boomed, not wasting a second before shooting from the room and thundering down the hall like a pack of 10 small boys rather than one. With a smile you chased after him, watching as he ran outside in his over sized PJ’s and scooped up his first snowball of the year.

He held it out proudly, paying no regard to the cold that must have been seeping through his socks and you couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Can we build a snowman?” he called out, piling his snowball on the ground.

“Shoes first, Tommy,” you said and he looked at his feet, deciding you were right before running back inside.

After a quick breakfast you returned to the snow clad in hats, scarfs and gloves courtesy of some of your more generous neighbors. Tommy quickly found his little snowball pile and continued his frenzied scooping with you helping him to pack the snow together and form it into a ball. It was cold but fun and the look on his face was worth the runny nose you’d probably have tomorrow.

For what felt like the hundredth time you readjusted the woolly hat that kept falling of his head and spotted Simon hovering in the background. He smiled and on instinct you smiled back, giving him all the invitation he needed to stroll over.

“You could do with a shovel,” he decided, sizing up your little lopsided snowman like this was serious business.

You squeezed your hands into balls, trying to fight the numbness that was already creeping through your gloves. “You’re probably right,” you admitted and without another word Simon disappeared, leaving you to wonder if he was planning on returning before you spotted him with a wheelbarrow overflowing with shovels.

You couldn’t help but laugh, hiding it under your breath as he parked his wheelbarrow besides the snowman. To say this was an odd turn of events would be an understatement. You were a worker and Simon was a Savior and in the Sanctuary those roles created a clear divide. You’d only ever seen him from afar and from afar is exactly where you liked to stay, avoiding him and anyone like him whenever you could.

“I’m Simon. What’s your name, kiddo?” Simon said, kneeling in front of Tom and even on his knees he still dwarfed your four year old.

Tom looked at you for reassurance, taking heed in all the times you’d warned him never to talk to strangers. “It’s okay...” you said.

“I’m Tommy.”

“Well, Tommy, you look like a big boy. What are you? 9 or 10?” Simon teased, seeming to know the exact way to get Tom to laugh.

“I’m four,” he announced excitedly, his eyes shining bright.

“You can’t be four. A four year old couldn’t have built this,” Simon exclaimed, gesturing to the snowman, who at that precise moment decided to topple over.

“I did!” Tom squealed, his face filled with pride and his chest puffing out before he glanced at you and admitted, “Mommy helped me a little bit.”

Simon glanced at you too, the smile on his face making your cheeks pink before he turned his attention back to Tom. “So, you think you can handle one of these, Tommy?” Simon asked, holding out a little red trowel.

Tom nodded enthusiastically taking it from Simon and wasting no time in testing it out.

Simon even had a shovel for you and when he handed it to you, your heart began to flutter reminding you that not only were you a woman but it had been a long time since you’d had any kind of attention from a man. Even if he was a Savior. “You really don’t have to do all this, I’m sure you’re busy,” you said and Simon’s grin widened.

“There’s always time for snowmen.”

You would have imagined it to be painfully awkward to spend the morning with Simon but it wasn’t. Simon seemed to genuinely enjoy talking with Tom and Tom lapped up the attention, barely giving you a second glance as they worked together, shovelling snow into a wheelbarrow before adding it onto what was quickly becoming the biggest snowman you’d ever seen.

More than anything you enjoyed listening in on their conversations as Tom tried his best to behave and speak like he thought a big boy ought to and you were almost sad when there was only one thing left to do.

“The face!” Tom chimed, clutching tight to his hat which was filled with all the rocks he could find.

“Lift me higher, Mommy,” he begged, his arms outstretched and when you picked him up to the snowman it was clear you couldn’t give him enough height to put the finishing touches in place.

“Allow me,” Simon suggested, his arms held out and to your surprise Tom took them, his weight hoisted onto Simon’s shoulders with little effort.

But no matter how nice the morning had been you still couldn’t quite ignore the fact that Simon was a Savior. The man who was making funny faces out of sticks and stones was the same man who stood by while Negan melted people's faces and tied them to the fence. Since you’d arrived at the Sanctuary you’d been terrified of Negan and that had made you terrified of Simon and anyone else who stood at the top.

“We should be heading inside now,” you said, picking Tom off Simon’s shoulders. If nothing else it was already past lunch time and you’d long since stopped having feeling in your toes.

“But I wanna build another one!” Tommy complained, having far too much fun to stop.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you told him and he huffed, his grumpy face fixing firmly into place. Like you, he knew there’d be no snowman tomorrow. Tomorrow you’d be back to working and he’d be back to being bored.

“Thank you for today,” you told Simon as politely as you could before taking Tom’s hand and leading him inside.

“Let’s have hot chocolate,” Simon called after you. Apparently Tommy wasn’t the only one who didn’t want the day to end.

You looked back at him and he shrugged his shoulders, “it seems the thing to do after building a snowman, don’t you think?”

“Please Mommy?” Tom begged and before you knew it you were all in Simon’s room while he double checked he had enough hot chocolate for three. He did, and Tom was jumping up and down with excitement at the prospect of it.

“You can hang your wet clothes on here,” Simon gestured, removing his hat and hanging it on a clothes airer.

“Do you have any legos?” Tom asked, oblivious to the fact that his new best friend was a grown man.  

Simon laughed, pulling off his coat. “Sorry, kiddo but I do have this...” he said, strolling across the room and pressing the power button on a Nintendo.

Tom couldn’t shake his coat off quick enough and even if he had no idea what he was doing he was soon glued to the TV.

You couldn’t deny it. Sitting in Simon’s room with a hot chocolate was even nicer than building the snowman and yet again they were playing together. Simon, showing Tommy how to work the controller while you watched from the sofa.

When your mugs were empty you cleared them away, taking the opportunity to wander around Simon’s room, your eyes scanning his shelves crammed with books and spotting a small gold photo frame. The picture behind the glass was crumpled, a well loved wallet sized photo promoted to the protection of a frame. One of the smiling faces in the picture was Simon, the other a little boy not much older than Tom and the resemblance between the two was unmistakeable.

With a heavy heart you put the photo back into place, looking over your shoulder at Simon who was crouched on the floor giving Tom careful instructions on how to play the game. This morning all you’d seen was a Savior but now you could see something else. A Father.  

You sat back on the sofa, watching them laughing together and whiling away the rest of the afternoon in much the same way. When it was time to go home Tom asked if you could both visit Simon again and without a doubt you said, “yes.”

Thank you for reading :)

Tagging my forevers:

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[microsuedemouse]

HEY HO

WERE YOU WONDERING WHAT GWEN’S APARTMENT IN RAH LOOKS LIKE?

I had some floorplan sketches (close to this, though not exact) but when I went to draw rooms in perspective I discovered that I’d gotten... very rusty with that kind of thing. So I decided I’d hop into Google SketchUp and put the place together quickly for my own reference. It’s missing some details (mostly due to me just forgetting) but it’s kinda fun I thought? Good ref for me to keep my writing consistent and for anyone who wants to draw anything here, me included

I’m gonna make some tweaks to this yet but if you want any other angles (or even access to the file), or if you have any questions, hit me up! I’ve thought way too much about this.

Quick notes here and more detail under the cut:

All of the furnishings are from the 3D Warehouse - it’s been a long time since I used SketchUp much and I’m not THAT skilled any more, lol. I edited some colours and sizes but that’s about it.

I know it’s a bit big to really be realistic... I have excuses.

it’s a fanfic, guys.

floorplans are hard. the bedrooms and living room were actually supposed to be a smidge smaller but scaling is tough and this program is a bit of a hassle at times.

it’s cheap bc it’s in a shoddy neighbourhood and totally lacks storage? or something?? idfk

LET’S JUST SAY THIS ISN’T PERFECTLY TO SCALE OKAY I only meant it as a guideline

(Many) room-by-room details and goofy headcanons/trivia below:

Outdoor-

the hall is an outdoor one, like you get in a lot of motels. going out the front door, the stairs are a few units to the left. this apartment is on the third floor of five.

the units are arranged symmetrically, so the balcony has one wall to divide it from the one on the other side. in the other direction they might occasionally see their neighbours out on their own balcony, but they’re two bedroom-widths apart, so it’s not too bad.

eventually David buys a couple more chairs for the balcony so they can all sit out there. to Gwen’s surprise, he really likes the urban view, even if he misses the trees and nature he can see from home or camp.

Front hall-

coming in the front door, the bathroom’s on the left and there are hooks on the wall to the right for coats and things. shoes are generally left under those. it’s usually kind of a mess.

Bathroom-

I meant to put a mirror over the sink but I forgot lmao

the bathtub is too small for Gwen or David to really use for a ‘nice’ bath (they would have to be sitting up), but it works for Max bc he’s tiny

the plumbing kiiinda sucks - not enough to be REALLY off-putting but enough to notice

Kitchen-

this is all after David’s moved in, so his table is there, making the whole space a bit more usable

the decor is kind of dated (the stove is yellow and so is the backsplash), the blue cushions on David’s bench seats don’t really match, but it’s all functional

another thing I forgot to include: Gwen kept the three chairs from her old table and put them around the outside of David’s table, just in case they needed them.

the kitchen doorway is open, with no door in it

the microwave is to the left of the stove; other appliances (toaster, kettle, coffee maker, etc) kind of clutter the space to the left, around the sink. Gwen always just shoved things back into the corner if they were in her way, but David starts putting them away when they’re not in use, because he likes having space to move when he’s cooking.

Living room-

the purple chair is Gwen’s. the corner shelf is overflowing with books. They pushed the tv stand over a bit to fit David’s green chair in there too.

there’s a shitty lamp on the side table next to the couch, which is also where Gwen dumps things like take-out menus and notebooks and stuff. David often puts them away while tidying up and as a result Gwen never knows where any of her shit has gone.

when the couch-bed is in couch form, the coffee table (David’s, way nicer than Gwen’s old one) is pushed up closer to it, leaving some space between there and the tv stand. Max and Gwen sit there while playing video games, or they perch on the end of the bed if it’s pulled out.

(Much later, after David moves into Gwen’s room and the couch is back in couch form almost all of the time, they buy Max a beanbag chair for gaming)

fun trivia: that tv model I used has a still from M*A*S*H onscreen, which led me to imagining Gwen and David watching M*A*S*H in the afternoons... I love

there are no blinds or curtains or anything over the sliding door for the longest time. in the winter the living room starts to get pretty cold and David buys a nice heavy set of curtains to keep the heat in - he doesn’t mind the morning light but the temperature starts to be a problem.

Gwen’s room-

for some reason I could not edit that particular bed model’s colours? I imagine her bed is always that messy but her bedding is shades of purple, not grey.

I forgot to rotate the mirror in the corner to not be at a stupid angle... I also forgot to include the garment rack I imagine she has, in want of a closet. the object across from the end of her bed is a tall dresser.

once David (eventually) starts sharing her room, they move his wardrobe in next to her dresser, get a second bedside table, and find a longer desk they can both use at once. the room’s a bit crowded by then, but it’s workable.

there should be a laundry hamper somewhere idk

Gwen leaves her stuff in piles all the time by nature but David’s pretty tidy. eventually she starts learning to pick up after herself just so she knows where her stuff has gone. because if he puts it away she might never find it.

Max’s room-

he’s not wild about sharing the space with David but he makes it work. once he eventually gets his own computer they have to coordinate desk time. (Max gets priority if it’s homework-related.)

additionally: once Max has his own computer, David remembers Max’s search engine habits and puts parental controls on there. Max hates them. David forgets how to use them immediately after installation and Gwen is the one who has to figure them out and monitor them in the future.

Max doesn’t have much stuff with him at first (as you all know) but over the years he covers the walls in posters and stuff that Nikki and Neil have sent him (and later Maureen, as well, once he comes to like her more). 

once David’s moved into Gwen’s room and has his own desk/moves his wardrobe out, Max’s furniture situation also changed over time. he gets a bookshelf (mostly for movies and games, more than books) and later his own armchair, plus he keeps his beanbag chair in there when he’s not using it in the living room.

the rug came from Maureen. she thought his room could use a little something bright, especially given the bland paint job in the apartment. he loves it but he’ll never tell her.

he’s a nester and a pillow-hoarder. any time Gwen or David replace their pillows he takes over the old ones, adding to the pile of softness that is his bed (and eventually his floor). he also aggregates blankets over the years, though at a slower rate. his whole room is very comfy, actually.

[jj-parr]

Testing... 1,2 (Pt 1) || JJ selfie

The time had finally come. Spring break. While most students looked forward to spring break as a time to sit around, sleep, enjoy the sunlight, and generally relax, Jack-Jack Parr was going to enjoy his for the exact opposite reason. He was offered a prestige internship to potentially train and become a part of a squad of Hit Wizards. While it was never his ideal dream to be a hit wizard it was certainly more than what he could fathom as his future career, and according to most of his professors his skills at dueling were what made him an ideal candidate. Not only that, but he could finally do more and save people in a more real way than he was ever capable of before. He could be the hero that he had wanted, or that many others wanted when they felt their backs against the wall.

That feeling of pride only increased as he stepped foot outside the Ministry of Magic’s elevator to his floor within the Magical Law Enforcement division. There were people rushing and bustling about every which direction through the large hallway and darting in and out of the various offices that it was comprised of. Checking the paper he received that morning, Jack-Jack made his way down the hallway to the room written down. It was close to the end, but as soon as he stepped in, he realized why.

Partial-classroom and partial training grounds, the room was neatly furnished and divided into separate sections for unknown purposes that the Parr could only guess was training. Sitting within the classroom-esque square were several people all quite a bit older than JJ expected. One girl, three guys. But as she turned about in her chair to spot the newcomer into their midsts, it was clear she was far more intimidating than any of them. Jack-Jack froze and grinned, giving a short wave as they all slowly, one by one, turned in their chairs. “Hey, I hope I’m in the right place.”

“Probably not.” One guy said, loudly and with a chuckle. Jack-Jack didn’t waver and just laughed with him.

“Maybe not. Hit Wizard training camp?” He asked, still as bright as ever.

“Yes it is.” A voice called from the front of the class from the oldest looking man in the room. That being said, he didn’t look much older than his mid to late twenties, but it was still significant to a sixteen year old. The man rose from his seat and easily crossed the room, extending a hand out to the Parr. JJ gave a firm shake--as his dad coached him during one afternoon--and smiled. “I’m Rodney Hayes.”

“Jack-Jack Parr.”

“Jack-Jack?” The girl said as her face screwed, ready to laugh.

Without missing a beat, Jack-Jack shrugged, “Guess my parents liked the name so much, they used it twice.” She laughed, encouraging the others to do so as well. Apparently, that’s all that needed to happen, for whatever strange looks were given soon dissipated. Of course, the Parr also wore his leather gloves with the false finger today, just to ensure impressions and to allow him to even touch hands with the others. Rodney left and took his seat, as JJ followed and grabbed his own in the second row next to one of the smaller boys.

“Ride your broom in?” The loud guy called to his left, clearly eyeing up the gloves curiously.

“No. Floo. Why?”

“You can take those off, you know.” Looks like explanations had to come early.

“Not really. False finger. Glove kinda keeps it on, and without a pair I just look like a really weird Michael Jackson, but with less style.” Instantly the room became interested in him, in a way he wasn’t used to. They wanted to know. “I figured I should shake someone’s hand before it gets noticed.” he said, laughing it off once more as the loud boy beside him started roaring.

“Fair enough. So long as it doesn’t slow you down! Kraig Cowert.” A snide smirk crossed the girl’s face behind Kraig. “Not a word, Norma!”

Norma chuckled and unceremoniously leaned over the table, extending her hand for a shake, “Norma Becks. And you better call him Kraig Coward if you want on my good side.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” JJ said as Kraig made a grab for Norma’s arm that flew shy of the mark as she ducked back into her seat and gave a kick at his. They were both smiling and joking, and while the continued Jack-Jack turned to eye the smaller boy next to him, “Hey, Jack-Jack--”

“I heard before. Waldo Roman. Why are you so late?”

“I’m late?”

“By a few weeks, actually.” Rodney said, chiming in. He eyed Jack-Jack over, trying to figure something out, as if it were a puzzle. “Why so late?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask whomever set this up.” JJ knew why, however, and he knew that after this week he��d have to explain why he’d be gone for a little bit longer before coming back.

“Well, you’re going to be behind. We did a lot of training already. Magical curses and counter-curses and assaults and ways to hold up the targets. We also got a rather good ethical lecture.”

“Ethical?” JJ asked. “During the internship, when we finish the training portion by the summer we become essentially full hit wizards, except with more overhead than the rest.” Waldo, the smaller boy, said. He froze there, but as JJ still had a confused look on his face, it was clear more needed saying. “It means it’s dangerous and we get what equates to a license to kill on sight of its one of the targets in the registry. Obviously we shouldn’t, because we’re still interns and not full hit wizards, but it’s still an option. That’s what it was on.”

Jack-Jack blinked at him, unsure as to what he should say. “Yeah… no worries. Killing someone isn’t exactly something I plan on doing.”

“Then why are you here?” Kraig said, his eyebrow arched. Norma had a similar look. Apparently the good will JJ had earned before was wearing off.

“I mean… Obviously I’m aware it might happen, or likely will, but I’m not going to go looking for a fight until I get more information. I’m not going to just grab the license and start traipsing around looking for dark wizards to kill on my first day.”

Rodney shrugged, “Would make a good way to rise in ranks.” The others seemed to agree, if only silently. Jack-Jack nearly felt himself sweat. What had he gotten himself into?

Thankfully, he was saved, as the loud thundering boot steps of one Mr. Wendl Fuller marched into the room, his uniform freshly pressed and his nametag in clear display. He eyed them all as they sat up a tad straighter, their attention paid up front rather than to each other. Even Norma seemed to react differently. There was a hunger in the room that was palpable, and Jack-Jack couldn’t help but feel it as well inside his own gut. He wanted this, and he wanted to do well. The competition in the air driving him on to act as they did.

Wendl reached the front of the room, fixing them all with a heavy glare, “Mr. Parr? So nice to see you finally. I’m not going to go over any materials we covered before, but from this cute little letter they sent me I apparently don’t need to.” he said, waving it in the air. The hunger seemed to pique then, as they all resisted looking around. Jack-Jack felt incredibly on the spot. He nodded, remaining emotionless on his face. “Good. Because all during this week we have last minute training before testing. Mr. Parr’s schedule here makes the testing a little early, so you better all work hard or you’ll be gone. Got it?” JJ wanted to die, internally. He didn’t want to be the reason for things like this.

Heads nodded and they resisted turning once more, but with what emotion JJ couldn’t tell. Instead, Wendl turned to the board and sighed, “Now let’s get to work. Assault patterns and effective capture techniques, part two.”

With that, the lesson began. JJ took notes, concentrated, and the few times he looked about he noticed how focused the others were as well. This wasn’t like school, it was real life. They were all doing this not to just learn, but to stay alive. Even learning these things was important, and they all understood it. As much as he was worried about their approval now, JJ felt a sense of thrill and relief at the new curriculum presented to him. He was excited for the practical application of it all, and to just get out and do it.

The lesson concluded earlier than expected as everyone seemed to take a large sigh of relief from their concentration. Mr. Fuller turned about and packed up his notes and his bag methodically while the others did the same. JJ followed along, carefully taking glances at them each in turn. What came next? It wasn’t a full work day, clearly.

“Parr!” He snapped to attention, “Did you bring clothing you can actually move in?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. We’re doing drills next and then straight to dueling practice. Get yourselves ready, all of you! Move it! I wanted you out of my sight five minutes ago.” All of them scrambled, JJ included, straight to the locker rooms to change. It was quiet in the boy’s, and with only one girl JJ could assume it was the same for Norma. He took his clothes and bag and made his way to the stalls to change rather than out in the open. Thankfully due to Hogwarts’ new fitness policy, forcing him into this situation often, the Hufflepuff was accustomed to handling the odd looks until his method of changing was taken as the norm. It was better this way.

The drills were done mostly quietly, except for a few jabs here and there between Norma and Kraig who seemed the most daring, but also the friendlier of the bunch. Rodney, who had first broken the ice, was as determined as ever, never breaking his concentration to engage, except to steal a few glances as JJ and Waldo as they both seemed to struggle a bit more in the physical area of their drills. Waldo, on the other hand, seemed to be hyper aware of everyone else and where he stood in the pecking order. He was measuring himself and them all, always. JJ wondered how they saw him, and how he watched them all trying to take in their personalities and their strengths. He sorely didn’t want to disappoint.

By the time drills were done, it was time for dueling. They all whipped out their wands, gathering together and still slightly out of breath as Mr. Fuller stepped up to eye each of them. “Alright, so who gets who? Rodney! Kraig! You two go off. Norma, you get the newbie. Knock him on his ass a few times. Waldo, you get whomever wins out of these lot.” JJ turned to Norma, who seemed to be grinning and loving the idea of knocking him down, but first they got to watch Rodney and Kraig.

Both were good, but where Kraig clearly preferred power, Rodney was all experience and tact. In the end, he won, though it was clear that under different circumstances Kraig would have. They grinned, helped each other up, and separated. Next it was Norma and JJ.

His heart was pounding in his ears and in his chest and he felt halfway sick and half like he was a cartoon character with a boulder he just swallowed forming his new body. He swallowed as Norma shot out the first curse, easily raising his shield and deflecting. A few more, and he continued to play defense. Fuller wasn’t having it and began yelling from the sidelines, “You going to attack her, Parr, or do you not hit girls?! Grow a pair!” Norma smirked and shot off a few more as JJ swapped hands for his wand and threw up a shield only to reach around and duel cast out two of his own rapid fire spells. The look on her face was clear as she blocked one and failed to block the second. A growl and she came back after him with a flurry of light that he quickly cast the right shields for, before attempting to merge two shields together, as Violet taught him. As it took shape with the first one, her spells started bouncing back at her, catching her once more off guard.

Norma was whacked down as Fuller chimed in once more, “NORMA! You gotta take that, girl?! Show him what’s-what!” She was on her feet in a second, launching a series of spells and starting to step about him, slowly getting closer as she looked for a weakness. Fuller didn’t seem to stop it, so it appeared as if this dueling ring meant that he had free reign. JJ jumped to the side, avoiding a few and lashing out a shield for the others. As he turned he tossed out two of his own with his wandless hand as she struggled to dodge. Then, out of nowhere, she bum rushed him, yelling and forcing him to take more than a few steps back. Clearly, whatever her plan, it was working, for as he stepped back she yanked up something and caused him to trip, sending him flailing back as she rushed closer, ready to put her wand to his chest.

JJ put one hand down, casting a shield on it and setting off a small explosion directly at the ground. Dust shot up and he rolled to the side as Norma came to a skidding halt, hissing and rubbing her eyes. JJ, due to his shield, was fine, and also out of the way of her wand that would have been pointed at his chest. Instead, his own drew up and was aimed directly at her, no more than a foot away. Fuller eyed them both as they stared each other down. “Fuck, you two. Stop making googly eyes and separate. Parr, congrats, you won. Norma, what the hell was that charge in? Do that in the field and they won’t all get as deer-in-the-headlights as him. Got it? Separate. Rodney gets Waldo. Whomever wins gets Parr. The others go run some fucking laps or something.”

Norma sighed and held her hand out to shake, and JJ did so with a grin. She wasn’t as happy, but she wasn’t furious either. It was just business. Rodney won against Waldo, and then again against JJ, but only barely. A slip of footing and a whole lot of out-maneuvering did him in, and as the two shook on it, Rodney set off toward the field. They would get less exercise than the others, but clearly it was still necessary. JJ followed and after a few laps they retreated inside to join the others for a very late meal.

“Parr!” JJ turned about in the nearly empty hall as the others waved him over. He smiled, sitting down with them happily, all tension from the day seemingly drained from their faces with the addition of food. Kraig’s booming voice was the first one to echo out, “We have a bet, and I need it settled. What the hell did you do?” “I saw it! I’ll just--” Normal started as Kraig elbowed her.

“I cast a shield and then cast an explosion. I hoped it would bounce off the shield and make me move and… turns out I was right.” Kraig looked stumped as Norma burst out in laughter, pointing in his face.

“Ha! I told you, jerk! I saw the shield.”

“You can’t cast two at once, so no you didn’t. You’re both just in on it.”

“Pay up, cry-baby.”

“You can, actually.” JJ interjected, “You gotta be able to cast wandlessly though. And also sorta… divide up your brain? It’s not easy. I had shields blowing up in my face for months.” He laughed, Norma watching him curiously as Kraig sputtered. Waldo, who had been quiet, raised his eyebrow in curiosity.

“Is that how you lost your finger?” He asked as their table went quiet. Rodney sighed, as if to say that it was rude while Kraig and Norma looked on expectantly.

“No… Amputation. My hand got fucked up so I lost it.” He smirked and held up his hand, “But I got a great joke out of it whenever I tell someone to read between the lines.” JJ pinched the gloved finger that was false and folded it back in an unreal angle to roll up the cloth. The table burst into laughter and cheers while Waldo and Rodney even cracked a smile and a laugh.

[demondeanismybaby]

When You Try so Hard

Pairing: Jared x reader, mentions of Misha and Jensen

Word count: 1793

Warnings: Mild angst, TW:Self-harm, talks about reader having depression

Summary: You meet Jared and he gets to know the real you, the one you keep struggling to hide, but instead of leaving you something amazing happens.

A/N: So thinking about Jared’s slogan on always keep fighting inspired me to write this. That sometimes it nice to think about how things might not always end so horribly and that sometimes fighting means you could have a future where awesome things happen. Anyway this is single!Jared for the purposes of this fic.

Meeting Jared had been a total fluke. Walking in to the coffee shop, you were desperate for you afternoon jolt, holding a hand to shield your face from the sunny skies. You were so concerned with getting a latte you weren't watching where you were going and smacked against something hard.

"Argh," grasping your nose, "why is this happening?"

You were trying to keep it together but it has been a rough morning. Trying to see past the tears that were forming you could make out the cloudy shape of a dividing wall that you had smashed into.

"Hey? I saw your accident there," a guy was walking up to you and started shoving a napkin into your hand, " I think your bleeding."

You took what he had given you and pressed it against your nose, when you pulled back you could see it stained red. So you put it back and trying to gain your bearings made your way to the bathroom. Eventually the bleeding stopped and your vision cleared. Since clearly the universe hated you, you decided you were going to go home and stay in bed forever, it had already been days since you had been out anyway. You heard a tapping sound and figured that whoever it was could wait to pee for another minute while you collected yourself.

"Hi, I just wanted to make sure you were doing OK," it was the guy from earlier.

His concern helped you to feel a little better so you straightened your hair and dabbed off your face one last time before going back out into the lobby. "Yeah, I'm alright," you said trying to meet his gaze but he was insanely tall, "anyway I'm y/n, thanks for the help." You stated to head back over to the counter, carefully this time, trying to finally get your drink. As you were busy ordering you felt someone slide in beside you.

"Jared," the man said holding out his hand to you, "how do you feel about some company?"

Shaking his hand you figured with those gorgeous hazel eyes, and long brown hair his company might be worth staying out for a while.

"I'd love some."

He chose the table, it was as far towards the back of the place as possible, the light from the windows facing the street hardly touched it. It felt intimate. Soon you were trying not to choke on your drink as you sipped it between stories Jared told you. His whole demeanor was easy and light, he sat backwards in his chair wrapping his legs around the bottom, he was like a giant kid.

"Well," you stood after over an hour of banter, "I should be getting home."

His face fell a little, but recovered as he rifled through his bag pulling it a scrap of paper and jotting something down. Again, he wadded something into your hand, as he wrapped you in a welcome hug. As you pulled away you unfolded it, it was a phone number. "Please call me sometime," his look was nervous.

Trying to reassure him, you told him the truth, "trust me, I will." After that day you had spent more lazy days chatting and getting to know Jared. He worked in television, that's why he was in your area. They filmed nearby and he stayed for part of the year in a small apartment. He told you about his football team, where his family was from, and eventually he told you more.

You couldn’t recall the exact day that Jared figured out your secret. There must have been a precise moment but you started noticing the small changes between the two of you. The days when he came to see you, and your face would still be red and puffed out from crying, or you wouldn't move from your bed the entire time he talked to you. Crawling next to you he would play with your hands or show you funny videos on his phone. He never asked what was going on but he did enough when he saw you to let you know that he understood something was awry.  

Dragging your feet across the muted pink carpet, you winced as your passed by the window. Sunlight poured in, reminding you in the biggest way imaginable that you were yet again, at home alone in the middle of the week. It had been days of calling off work, and there seemed to be no end in sight. Your phone vibrated against your leg, and pulling it out you saw it flash Jared and some long line of text, you shoved it back in your jeans just wanting to be alone.

Trapping yourself in the tiny bathroom, looking down on your arms, you saw the criss-crossing patterns of scars. The blade in your hand caught your attention as the light played off the metal glinting into your eyes. Holding your breath you told your self to stop, you weren’t alone, you didn’t have to do this. Pressing the tip against your wrist you saw a drop of blood well up there, hesitating, then there was a knock at the door. Trying to ignore it, you were torn at what to do, the pounding got louder. The metallic clink echoed off the sink as you threw it down tugging at your sleeve.

Jared stared at you, his brows knit together, inspecting you. “I was knocking for like five minutes, didn’t you hear me.”

“Yeah,” you opened the door but walked away not wanting to look at his face, “I was busy.” Even to you, it sounded like a weak excuse.

“Your bleeding,” his tone was tight, so unlike the first time he had helped you with a wound.

You glanced down at your sleeve, realizing faintly that you must have pressed down harder than you thought, there was blood dripping into your palm and staining your clothes. “Yeah I was cooking something, must have slipped.”

He was running through your apartment, sitting down on the couch you watched him, everything seeming sort of fuzzy. Then he was next to you lifting up the arm of your shirt and pressing a towel against your wrist.

“Please, just tell me the truth, I promise whatever is going on I am here for you.”

It stung slightly, the scratch of the material against the cut. Looking at Jared bent over you studiously examining your sliced up arm, it dawned on you, he was telling the truth. And you wanted to tell him. As he cleaned up your arm, and you felt him carefully wrap some of the bandage you kept on hand around it, you told him everything. Crippling depression kept you stuck in bed, feeling the joy of being alive sucked out of you, the only time you ever felt anything real was when you cut. You told him about your family, your past, and all the while he just listened carefully.

“I get it, you know,” he said after you had lapsed into silence, “there are times when I am supposed to work or do a scene and it just hits me.” It was there, with him crouched on your floor holding your arm delicately between his strong hands, that you felt like you actually knew another person. Not some front that a typical person puts on just to live in the world but knowing them deep down. You had a connection. After a while you both sat there quietly, noticing the silence was so intense you could hear your breathing, then Jared broke through it.

“You know you’ve just got to keep fighting, always keep fighting.”

You felt tears form, and slowly fall at his words, you wanted to fight because you saw that someone else could do it. You weren’t alone.

There were dark days, times when he would be the one in bed, his head heavy on his pillow and you would be the one working hard to see that brief smile flicker on his face. Other times it would be you, he would come to your place and bring you dinner, encouraging you to have one more bite.

After a while he asked you to move into his place, it was weird being so close to the set he worked on. He introduced you to his friends, his co-star Jensen. Suddenly you had friends, people who would come over just to talk even when you silenced your phone because it felt like too much. Misha would walk up to the place, jumping on bed with you and jostling you around until you would crack a smile.

After dealing with being depressed on your own for so long, it was weird, being with Jared was like having a best friend and more. There were times when you expected him to get tired of you, to blow up when you had a bad day and took it out on him without thinking, but he always talked to you always communicated. 

You were standing by the door waiting for the minute Jared was supposed to be home. Everything was all set up, you had cooked dinner and were excited to share the big news, tapping your foot nervously you waited.

As Jared opened the door, he jumped back slightly, dropping the small package he was carrying, “Woah dude, I was not expecting that.” He cocked an eyebrow at you as you stood still in front of the door.

“I’ve got some news,” you were literally bursting to tell him not even caring that he had barely walked through the door. You could see him eyeing the table, it wasn’t a romantic spread but it still wasn’t an everyday occurance, “as you know I have been working hard in therapy, and tonight marks a special anniversary.” You kept plowing on, even though his attention was divided, “it’s been a year Jared, one year since I stopped cutting.”

That did it, he turned looking at only you.

“I know,” he said as he handed you the package, it was small and wrapped in a fairly jovial flower print pattern that had you laughing as you opened it excitedly.

Underneath the childish wrapping paper, what you saw had you choking slightly, it was a tiny black velvet box. You knew what came in boxes like that. You just opened your mouth and gaped at him.

“Open it,” Jared was watching your every movement.

You complied and nestled inside was a glittering diamond ring, set in a white gold band, “what, is, happening?” You couldn’t believe this meant what you thought it did.

When he got down on one knee though you started to cry, but for the first time in your memory, they were happy tears.

[screenbrick4-blog]

Simple Sourdough Focaccia: A Beginner’s Guide

Sourdough is having a moment. Longtime sourdough bakers may cringe at this proclamation, just as our grandparents likely roll over in their graves when they hear “toast” is a thing.

But it’s true. I cannot open a magazine without seeing a feature on a bakery and its naturally leavened loaves; I cannot scroll through instagram without seeing a crumb shot of a halved sourdough miche, a beautiful web of irregular holes, or an intricately scored, thick-crusted boule being presented like Simba to the animal kingdom.

My interest in sourdough in recent months has been spurred by a number of requests about how to make my mother’s peasant bread with a sourdough starter. Initially, I thought why? The beauty of the peasant bread is that it doesn’t require a starter or a long rise or any fussy techniques; it can be on your table start to finish in three hours. Everyone will rave.

Over the years, I’ve been able to answer questions relatively easily about how to make the peasant bread morph into something else: a boule with a thick crackling crust — thank you Jim Lahey — or a thinner round to use for pizza or something palatable for the gluten-free crowd.

But achieving that sour taste — even a subtle sour taste — is something yeast, even with a long slow rise cannot achieve. And, moreover, natural leavening is natural leavening — no yeast allowed.

So I began experimenting. I tried reviving my old starter, long neglected in my fridge, and when it proved altogether spent, I ordered one from Breadtopia via Amazon. I followed the instructions to activate it, and within a day, I had a vibrant, bubbling starter.

After a bit of trial and error, I soon found a nice rhythm, mixing the dough in the afternoon, letting it rise all evening, splitting the dough into two portions and plopping each into a buttered Pyrex bowl in the morning. By early afternoon, the bread was ready to bake. The resulting loaves looked just like the peasant bread, golden crusted, soft crumbed, but with a nice subtle sourness. (Photo below.)

Using the sourdough peasant bread proportions, I decided to make focaccia, my favorite, a bread I love for so many reasons: its versatility — sandwich bread, appetizer, dinner bread — and its flavor and texture: the oil-crisped crust, the generous amount of salt, the chewy crumb.

I also think focaccia is an ideal bread with which to begin a sourdough journey. Why?

First, it requires no special equipment — not a Dutch oven or a Baking Steel to create a thick crust; not two Pyrex bowls to create a golden, less-thick crust. You likely have a 9×13-inch pan somewhere in your kitchen. This is all you need.

Second, it requires no tricky shaping technique on a floured work surface. Shaping free-standing sourdough boules is an art and it takes practice and repetition. It’s a beautiful thing when you get the hang of it, but it can be frustrating until you do.

Third, it requires no scoring. With focaccia, you don’t need a razor sharp lame — you use your fingers to dimple the dough.

Curious about Sourdough? Let’s Start From the Top.

You need a sourdough starter. If you don’t know of anyone who will share his/her starter with you, buy one. In the past I’ve purchased one from King Arthur Flour and, more recently, from Breadtopia via Amazon. Both were easy to feed and activate. There is a photo below of how the Breadtopia starter arrives. To activate, follow the instructions on this video. It’s simple.

Why Buy (or Procure) a Starter?

First, if you’re curious about sourdough, get to it! Making a starter from scratch takes weeks. I did it once many years ago following the instructions in Tartine Bread, and after nearly losing my mind, I literally jumped for joy when I dropped a spoonful of my starter into a cup of water, and it floated. Making a starter from scratch is a really cool exercise, and it’s something to be proud of should you succeed (or not!), but why not start experimenting with an active sourdough starter while you build a starter from scratch on the side? (If you do want to build one from scratch, check out this post on The Perfect Loaf.)

Second, feeding a mature starter will help you understand how to build one from scratch. You’ll observe how a starter rises and falls, what happens when you feed it more regularly, what happens when you neglect it, how it smells at various stages, etc.

Third, they’re relatively cheap (or free if you get one from a friend).

Fourth, maybe you embark on a sourdough journey and decide it isn’t for you. Why go through the trouble of building a starter till you know you enjoy the process of sourdough baking?

Begin with an Easy Recipe

As noted above, I think focaccia is a perfect sourdough-bread-baking starting point. It will teach you the fundamentals of working with sourdough without the potentially frustrating steps of shaping, scoring, and baking with a Dutch oven. The recipe below also can be baked in a loaf pan, another great option if you do not want to deal with shaping and scoring and Dutch ovens.

If, however, you are after that artfully scored thick, burnished crust, Emilie Raffa’s recipe for High-Hydration Sourdough is another great, easy recipe.

Final Thought

Sourdough not your thing? You can still make excellent focaccia without a starter and even without a long, slow rise. 

How to Make Sourdough Focaccia: A Step-by-Step Guide

Get a starter. If you don’t have a starter and don’t have a friend who can lend you one, I recommend buying one. I bought mine from Breadtopia via Amazon, and I’ve managed to keep it alive for 6 months now. Win!

I store my starter in this quart container. When I’m ready to use it, I discard some of it, and add about 45 g flour…

… and 45 g water. You don’t have to be exact, but when you’re getting started, I think it’s helpful to weigh both the water and flour. Depending on how long the starter has been in the fridge, it may need one or two feedings before use.

If you stick a rubber band around your starter vessel, you’ll know when …

… it has doubled and is ready for use.

If you need reassurance as to if it’s ready, you can do the float test: drop a spoonful of starter into a glass of water. If it floats, it’s ready.

As with all bread, when mixing sourdough doughs, it’s best to weigh everything with a digital scale. Start with 100 g starter.

Add 10 g kosher (or other) salt.

Add 440 g water.

Stir to combine.

Add 512 g all-purpose flour.

Stir to form a sticky dough ball.

Cover with a towel or bowl cover, and let rise for 18 hours at room temperature:

After 18 hours, it will look something like this:

Drizzle with some olive oil.

Deflate the dough by pulling the sides into the center. Video guidance here. At this point, the dough can be refrigerated — just cover the bowl with a bowl cover or towel and stick in the fridge. Do this if it makes sense given your schedule. Remove 5 to 6 hours before you plan on baking.

Dough, ready to make it’s second rise, which will take 5-6 hours. Love this USA Pan.

After 5-6 hours, the dough is ready to be dimpled and stretched and salted. Bake at 425ºF for 25 minutes.

Just-baked sourdough focaccia:

Print

Author: alexandra

Prep Time: 24 hours

Cook Time: 25 minutes

Total Time: 24 hours 25 minutes

Yield: 1 loaf 1x

Description

Adapted from my favorite yeasted, slow-rise focaccia recipe — overnight refrigerator focaccia — this recipe replaces the yeast with a sourdough starter.

If you like video guidance, I made this in Instagram Stories.

What you need to make this recipe…:

…a sourdough starter. I bought mine from Breadtopia via Amazon. It was easy to activate. There are no instructions on the package itself; follow the instructions on the video here.

…time. Once your starter is ready to go, this recipe requires an initial 18-hour rise, followed by a second 5- to 6-hour second rise. After the initial 18-hour rise, you can deflate the dough, and stick it in the fridge for 8 to 10 hours (maybe longer), which might help you regarding your schedule. Keep in mind, when you remove the dough from the fridge and transfer it to a pan, it will still need to rise for another 5- to 6- hours.

…water. Apparently, chlorine in water can adversely affect sourdough. Leaving water at room temperature for 24 hours will allow most of the chlorine to escape.When I am in the habit of making sourdough bread, I fill a large pitcher with water and leave it out at room temperature. I use this for my sourdough breads and starter. Truth be told, I’ve used water straight from the tap and have not noticed a difference.

Potential Mixing and Baking Schedule:

Mix dough at noon. Deflate the dough the following morning (between 6 am and 8 am). Transfer to pan and let rise for another 5- to 6- hours, so until 11 am or 1 pm (or so). Dimple and bake.

Mix dough in the morning (between 6 am and 8 am), let rise all day, deflate at 10 or 11 pm (it won’t be quite 18 hours, but that’s OK), transfer to the fridge, remove at your convenience: 5 to 6 hours before you have the opportunity to bake it.

Mix dough at night (between 9 pm and 10 pm), deflate at 3 or 4 pm. Transfer to the fridge, remove at your convenience: 5 to 6 hours before you have the opportunity to bake it.

Scale 1x2x3x

Ingredients

100 g active starter

10 g kosher salt

440 g water, room temperature, see notes above

512 g all-purpose flour

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided, plus more for drizzling

Nice, flaky sea salt, such as Maldon

Instructions

Place the starter, salt, and water in a large bowl. Stir with a spatula to combine — it doesn’t have to be uniformly mixed. Add the flour. Mix again until the flour is completely incorporated. Drizzle with a splash of olive oil and rub to coat. Cover bowl with a tea towel or bowl cover and set aside to rise for about 18 hours.

Drizzle dough with a tablespoon of olive oil. Use your hand to deflate the dough: pull the dough from the sides and press it into the center. Video guidance here. Turn dough over so seam-side is down.

Place 2 tablespoons of olive oil into a 9×13-inch pan. (I have been using this USA Pan, which I love. I have had no sticking issues. If you are using a glass pan, you may, as a precaution, want to butter it it first — I have had disasters with bread sticking when I’ve used oil alone with other baking vessels.) Plop dough into the center of the pool of oil. Rub top of dough with oil. Leave alone for 5 to 6 hours.

Heat oven to 425ºF. Rub hands lightly with oil, and using all ten fingers, press gently into the dough to dimple and stretch the dough to nearly fit the pan. Sprinkle generously with sea salt. Transfer pan to the oven and bake for about 25 minutes or until golden all around. Remove pan from oven and transfer bread to a cooling rack. Cool at least 20 minutes before slicing.

Category: Bread

Method: Oven

Cuisine: Italian

Keywords: sourdough, bread, focaccia

Incidentally, this same recipe can be used to make sandwich bread. More on this soon. You need one large loaf pan, 10×5-inches, such as this one.

As noted above, this same recipe can be baked, like the original peasant bread recipe, in buttered Pyrex bowls. More on this soon.

Just-baked sourdough peasant bread.

Sliced sourdough peasant bread.

Posted By: alexandra · In: Bread

Source: https://alexandracooks.com/2019/03/22/simple-sourdough-focaccia-a-beginners-guide/

[newstfionline]

The ‘Ivanka Trump of North Korea’ captivates people in the South

By Anna Fifield, Washington Post, February 10, 2018

GANGNEUNG, South Korea--They marveled at her barely-there makeup and her lack of bling. They commented on her plain black outfits and simple purse. They noted the flower-shaped clip that kept her hair back in a no-nonsense style.

Here she was, a political princess, but the North Korean “first sister” had none of the hallmarks of power and wealth that Koreans south of the divide have come to expect. In looks-obsessed South Korea, many 20-something women list plastic surgery and brand-name bags as life goals.

Most of all, Kim Yo Jong was an enigma. Just like them, but nothing like them. A woman with a sphinx-like smile who gave nothing away during her three-day Olympic-related visit to South Korea as her brother Kim Jong Un’s special envoy.

“I thought Kim Yo Jong was going to be so serious, but she smiled all the time, so she made a good first impression,” said Kwon Hee-sun, a 29-year-old South Korean woman attending the women’s ice hockey match at the Winter Olympics on Saturday night. The Korean teams had been combined--three North Koreans were playing on the merged team.

“I’m curious about her. I wonder if she’s married. I think it’ll be very meaningful if she comes to the game,” Kwon said. She soon got her wish: Kim Yo Jong showed up to cheer on the united Korean team.

Kim is “the Ivanka Trump of North Korea” because of her family connections and her ability to be a compelling saleswoman, said Sue Mi Terry, a former Korean analyst at the CIA who is now with the Center for Strategic and International Studies in Washington.

South Korean television drew that exact parallel, noting that Kim Jong Un had sent his sister to the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games, while President Trump was sending his daughter to the closing.

Very little is known about the current generation that runs North Korea: leader Kim Jong Un and his glamorous wife, Ri Sol Ju; his reclusive older brother, Kim Jong Chol; and his younger sister, Kim Yo Jong.

We know that the Kims, the children of second-generation North Korean leader Kim Jong Il and his Japanese-born ethnic Korean wife, Ko Yong Hui, all spent several years at school in Switzerland. We know Kim Jong Chol likes Eric Clapton because he’s been spotted at concerts around the world, most recently in London. We know that Ri used to sing in a propaganda band. But that’s about it.

We don’t even know Kim Yo Jong’s age. The South Korean intelligence service says she was born in 1987; the U.S. government thinks it was 1989.

So when she arrived in South Korea on Friday afternoon, becoming the first member of North Korea’s ruling Kim family to come South since the Korean War broke out in 1950, South Koreans were enthralled.

If the outside world is puzzled by this regime that threatens nuclear war and deprives its people of food and information, just imagine how strange North Korea seems to those in the South. They speak the same language, share the same myths, love the same food. Yet the leaders are so foreign.

The wall-to-wall coverage began even before Kim stepped off her brother’s private jet at Incheon airport, west of Seoul, on Friday afternoon. Television cameras broadcast footage of the runway, waiting for her to arrive. They noted that the plane had been given the flight number 615--a reference to June 15, the final day of the first inter-Korean summit in 2000. It was auspicious.

In the VIP room upon arrival at Incheon, television cameras show a smiling Kim gesturing to Kim Yong Nam, the 90-year-old who is technically North Korea’s head of state and was technically leading the delegation.

Both Koreas are bound by Confucian hierarchical rules that prize age and maleness, and stipulate who should sit where according to seniority. Those rules mean, without question, that a 90-year-old male head of state, should sit in the best seat.

But South Korean papers marveled at Kim Yo Jong’s “humbleness.”

Then, from the moment she stepped out of the airport, there was a media scrum around her--well, around the four North Korean bodyguards who surrounded her as she walked through train stations and Olympic venues.

When she arrived at the Blue House for a meeting with South Korean president Moon Jae-in on Saturday morning, the cameras zoomed in on her high cheekbones and her fine ears. No detail was too trivial to be noticed, commented on.

Look at her posture, the commentators said. She sat so upright--maybe she’d been a dancer like her mother--and was so well-mannered.

Look at her unusual handwriting, they said after Kim Yo Jong wrote a message in the guest book at South Korea’s presidential Blue House, which--of course--then appeared everywhere. The cross strokes were all angled, making her handwriting look like a kind of calligraphy.

“I hope Pyongyang and Seoul will become closer in the hearts of Koreans and will bring unification and prosperity in the near future,” she had written.

Somehow, Kim managed to pass the whole visit without uttering a word in public. Moving through the crowds, she kept her Mona Lisa face on and her mouth closed. When local journalists asked her how she felt to be in South Korea, she didn’t respond. She just smiled. Footage from the meetings she had with Moon again showed her smiling and relaxed, but the cameras didn’t catch a single word.

“I thought she was really pretty,” said Moon Jin-young, a 19-year-old student. But she wasn’t sure how humble the visitor was. “She didn’t look nice because she kept her chin up all the time, so it looked as if she was always looking down on others.”

Certainly, Kim Yo Jong, who is under American sanctions for human rights abuses related to her role in censoring information, was treated like royalty during her visit.

The government provided a Hyundai Genesis, a luxury car that media noted could be made bulletproof, to ferry her around. She stayed in the five-star Sheraton Grande Walkerhill hotel on the outskirts of Seoul, which markets itself as “the ultimate place to relax and unwind.”

For lunch with Moon, the North Korean delegation was served grilled flatfish, soup with dried fish balls, buckwheat crepe with persimmon sauce and two types of kimchi. There was dried persimmon and walnut cake for dessert.

Then for dinner, her South Korean hosts took her to a fancy restaurant in Gangneung, on the east coast, before the hockey game.

Vice President Pence, who was also in South Korea for the opening of the Winter Olympics but studiously avoided Kim, had worried in advance that North Korea would “hijack” the Olympic Games with its “propaganda.”

Pence and his staff were alarmed by news last month that South Koreans were dazzled by the arrival of Hyon Song Wol, a singer in North Korea’s all-female Moranbong Band and a rising political star in Kim’s regime.

His worries were well founded.

Those who saw Kim at the hockey game were puzzled by mismatch between the gruesome stories they’d heard and the slight young woman before them.

“Kim Yo Jong kept smiling, and she seemed nice,” said Lee Ryoon-ryong, a 25-year-old man at Saturday’s match. “I was surprised because she looked different from the image I had about North Koreans.”

He figured, however, she must have a strong personality behind that smiling face.

Indeed, Terry warned against being sucked in by Kim’s good cop routine. “Kim Yo Jong is totalitarianism with a human face,” she said. “She is acting as a goodwill ambassador for a country that has earned no goodwill.”