#i asked her about why she decided to write in varying type sizes

[starblaster]

when i was in 6th grade i wrote a letter to karen hesse about her book, the music of dolphins, and she sent me back a postcard that i still have and cherish to this day

[morvantmortuary]

Who do you order the plushies from?! I’d love to get a chibi Laszlo for moral support.

Okay!! Thank you for your patience nonny, I had a draft of this the night you sent it in but then tumblr ate it, and I've been running around getting ready to travel for a bit, BUT! I'm somewhere where I'm stationary for a while, so I have plenty of time.

Welcome to Rae's Guide to Having a Plushie Problem ✨

Before we get started, a disclaimer on my part of Yes, I Know; I don't know why plushies are my main vice, I've been like this since I was little and I'm sure it has something to do with my attachment style/being kinda lonely as a Weird KidTM or something etc. etc. I only just got into commissioned plushes during the pandemic, and I tend to save up and order them around my birthday or holidays, bc they definitely tend to be my big splurge purchase for special occasions. :'D

This just means I have a decent amount of experience, though, and can hopefully help you make your choice!

So, primarily I tend to seek out plush artists on Etsy, so most of my links will be through there. You're welcome to search "plush commissions" or some variation of that phrase there to see what you can turn up, but I'm more than happy to walk you through the listings I've used before. For each of them, you'll definitely want to take a look at their initial price range and then contact them directly about what you have in mind for Las - have a couple reference photos for him in the outfit you have in mind to send to whichever one you choose, so that way if the price will go up depending on time needed/materials they can let you know. But also, know that depending on the size of the doll, outfit details might get simplified to some degree, so be ready to decide what traits you definitely want to keep/which ones you'd be willing to minimize.

(I'm so sorry if you already know how this process works, I just tend to overexplain things, both from a teacher and an ADHD standpoint :'D)

Tiny!Maxi and Tiny!Hex are from an artist in the UK called NoizFoxy - she's a sweetheart to work with, and asks lots of great questions about details. For Maxi, I sent her the reference art by my friend Toni that I've shown y'all before, and for Hex I just sent her a photo of Diego from my favorite photoshoot. She has multiple sizes of plush available in her listing at varying price points, so feel free to take a look for yourself; I like having the boys at 8cm bc I appreciate being able to sneak them into a purse or my work bag or whatever when I'm having an anxious day (and it makes it easier to take photos ngl). I maybe carry them around a little more than she'd recommend (Maxi's got a little bit of hair on the side of his head that's starting to come unglued), but he held up through me rotating him in my hand all through my exams and on all sorts of adventures so far, so I just consider it a sign of him being loved Velveteen Rabbit-style. <3

(Here they are close up for detail purposes, from when we first got Hex.)

If you’re looking for something a little bigger, I would recommend flightydollies, who’s based out of Texas! Their plush are made of fleece and felt, and tend to stand just a little taller than chibi!Maxi and Zemo (who I write about down below). They make characters from a dizzying array of fandoms, so definitely check their page to see if there’s anyone else you’d like! I know for a fact though that they’d be a great choice to make Laszlo or Zemo - because I asked them to make both for me a couple birthdays ago:

As you can see, they both came out beautifully, and they hold court on my dresser with my bat collection. <3 I don't tend to take them with me when I travel, bc I don't want to upset any of the details she attached in layers, but she stitches them very sturdily specifically to be loved on, they make wonderful little cheerleaders when I'm working!

If you want to consider less conventional plush types, like the tsum/stackable style plush, bbearpops is a lovely young artist based in Florida who makes those with all sorts of personalization options. They're most active on Insta if you want to look at their work beforehand, and they make tsums in multiple sizes as listed on their etsy (from 3 inches to 12, though IIRC I think you can ask for up to 17" if that's a workable price range for you). She used to work mostly in fleece, but I think for a slight upcharge she's recently started offering to make her plush in minky fabric as well. She's made a huge array of characters, so I think a Las in her style could potentially be really cute! Definitely check out her past creations, she manages to make them really detailed despite the sleeker anatomy!

Their insta can be found here, if you’d like to do some browsing!

If you want something more hugging-sized (11-15 inches), there's also APairAPlushies! She was also a sweetheart to work with, adding in lot of details I wasn't expecting to my commissioned Maxi, and her plushies tend to heftier in size/bulk - they'd go better in an overnight bag/suitcase, maybe not so much in a daily backpack. But if you need something to squish or hug really hard (or bury your face in and scream), this is the model for you! :D

(My photo of this version of Maxi is absolutely refusing to upload for some reason, but if you look at her etsy page, you’ll get a good idea. She surprised me with included bloodstains hidden under his waistcoat and a bloody knife crafted from eva foam, which was super sweet of her!)

If you want something a bit more detailed and articulated, then I would suggest StitchyButton - they have a blog here on tumblr and a twitter where they regularly post their work, and they make a variety of plush types! The version I recommend myself is the Cuddle variety, which is the largest on this list. It tends to have more exaggerated features, and is the perfect size to sit in your lap/on your bed. Their arms are bent at the elbows, which feels a bit like being hugged back at times if that's something you're in the market for :'D And because their legs are somewhat bent at the knees, they sit very well on shelves/ledges/boxes/etc! But Stitchy also makes dolls that are narrower in design that are more for decoration/admiring from afar, and they also-also make smaller bunny/kitten plushies that they'll dress up and add details to so they look like your character of choice (you can even buy them in pairs for your favorite ship, if you have one!). They're a fabulous artist, and while this entry is definitely on the expensive side of this list, they're absolutely worth it for their artistry. Their attention to detail is stunning, and every little touch is expertly made! If you're looking for a Las in a really specific outfit (like his dinner jacket from Delmonico's, or his big fluffy coat), this would be the one I recommend for sure. Please definitely browse their socials, even if you decide you want a different type of plush: their work is so pretty, I legitimately love going through and looking at other dolls they've made just for fun sometimes.

Featured for example purposes: Maxi, whom you've seen before! The light isn’t the best for all the little details, but he has tiny buttons on his waistcoat and little pocket flaps, and his hair is floppy and moveable with the way it’s attached. I didn’t even think she’d take the time to attach his watch, but it’s beautiful!

The most expensive item on this list would be the cotton/Kpop style dolls I've had made for both Maxi and Zemo - they can be made in multiple sizes, but are most usually found in 15 cm and 20 cm. In my experience, they also take a good amount longer than all the other plush on this list (bc you're usually ordering them exclusively from an artist overseas who's either embroidering the face/body details themselves, or has a connection with a factory that can do so). But they're the only ones that have removable clothes, and you can buy premade clothes/outfits/accessories for them on sites like am*z*n and aliexpress, if that's a selling point for you at all. (Though for a character like Las, I don't know that it would have a lot of appeal - most of the clothes that are ready-made tend to be ultra modern and brightly colored, in my experience. So unless you really want to see him in a pink hoodie or a bunny onesie, you probably won't have a lot of alternate options for him). However, this is a kind that's really popular in other countries, so you can find all sorts of interesting things for them if you know where to look. I actually have invested in a couple sort-of cheaper doll ita bags to customize/carry them around in, if I ever wanted to (which I've been meaning to make a separate post about for ages but just haven't got around to it, that being a hobby my adhd brain picked up over this last semester :'D).

Maxi was one I commissioned directly from a company over Twitter, and that was by far my most expensive purchase experience, so I'm not going to rec that info to you unless you ask me specifically bc I don't want to wish that on anybody lmao. (There were a couple moments I thought something was included in what I'd already paid that I then ended up having to pay for separately, I'll put it that way. Everyone was perfectly nice, it was just more than I was expecting based on my initial quote, which happens.) 

But for Zemo, I worked with Meizai on Etsy. She's a lovely person, and though her process has definitely started taking longer due to her growing popularity/COVID restrictions coming and going, she's definitely worth the wait and someone I'd order from again. She includes designing your doll from a reference photo in her base price for the doll itself (which is something other artists can charge for separately, depending on where you go), and the doll itself is usually always the same price (though depending on the level of embroidery/face and body detail involved, that could vary). The part where it can get about the same range as Stichy above is the outfit - she counts custom clothes as a separate order (as many places with similar dolls do), and that range can vary also depending on how detailed you'd want the outfit. A minimalist version of Zemo's clothes (which you can see in the photo below) ran me about the basic amount she usually has for clothes, but depending on what you'd want for Las/which outfit you have in mind, it might go up. Bc her process takes more time, you can sometimes go a while without hearing updates, but she tends to respond pretty quickly whenever I sent her a hello/progress inquiry. I think she's got new orders closed rn bc she's trying to keep up with her current batch, but if this is the style of doll you're inclined towards, I'd definitely keep an eye on her for when she opens them again!

(Behold! A smug chibi!Baron, with a funko pop for size/detail comparison.)

Okay, nonny, this is where my expertise runs out. Thanks for letting me babble at you about these artists; they're all a delight to work with and consummate pros in my experience, so no matter which one you pick, you’ll be in good hands! I also just really love plush as an artform as well as my main bad habit lmao. If you have any more questions, I'll be happy to answer them! Just let me know what's up, and thanks for your patience in the meantime <3 I'd love to see photos of your Laszlo, however he turns out (or even just when you get a concept sketch), and I hope he's everything you need in terms of moral support! Sending you lots of love from our neck of the woods! <3

[watchmegetobsessed]

SLEEPLESS

a/n: omg! it's been so long since i last wrote something for harry so it feels a bit weird but in a good way to be back. i've been spending more time offline so writing hasn't been going that fast like before, but im working on a few other stuff too! just please be patient with me, im trying my besti swear! so now enjoy this oneshot of two oblivious and stupid roommates who start sharing a bed...

pairing: Roommate!Harry x reader

word count: 8.1k

masterlist

Living with three boys has its perks but also a lot of downsides too. It’s not how you planned, you were set to move in with one of your friends from second year, but she bailed on you last minute, leaving you with no place to live when most of the houses were already taken for the next at least one year. You were bracing yourself to sleep under a bridge or something already when your heroes came along.

You went to high school with Harry Niall and Louis, but you weren’t exactly in the same friend group, just knew about each other. Then you ended up in the same Lit class freshman year with Harry and he was basically your pass into their little group. You hit it off pretty easily and you always wondered why you didn’t become friends before college. Later you had two more classes with him in the second semester and it was just all a coincidence that he found out about your living situation.

“Why don’t you move in with us?” he prompted one afternoon when you were studying together in the library.

“I’m not sharing a room with any of you, Harry,” you sighed, shaking your head.

“You wouldn’t have to. We had a fourth mate living with us but he dropped out about a month ago. You could take his bedroom.”

“Are for real? You should talk about it with the boys first, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind it. They like you too and if I’m being honest, the place could use the touch of a woman,” he smirked and you just rolled your eyes, but you were incredibly thankful for the offer.

So after talking with Niall and Louis about it and once they gave their amens on the situation, you officially moved in with the three of them.

You’d be lying if you said there hasn’t been times when you thought about choosing the bridge, living with boys is not exactly a dream. They are messy, sometimes loud and oblivious about certain things women do and need. You’ll never forget Niall’s face when you packed the shelf above the toilet with your tampons and pads. The horror in his eyes as he examined all the different sizes and types.

“But why so many? I don’t get it why you need the large ones and the mini ones too,” he huffed.

“Because I vary them according to the strength of my flow.”

“Bless you,” he scoffed and just walked away.

They tend to leave their clothes around the house and they don’t always realize when it’s time to let some fresh air into the place either. Harry has a sixth sense wanting to use the bathroom when you’re in and Louis always forgets to get rid of his spoiled food from the fridge. Tini things that surely got you thinking if it was a good idea to move in with them. But then there are times when you can’t even imagine sharing a home with anyone else than these three idiots.

The way Harry always leaves you a cup of coffee on the counter when he has an early class on mondays and wednesdays, how Niall always waits for you to get home after your night shifts at the restaurant you’ve been working at, but he always just says he was watching Supernatural on TV. You love that Louis goes out of his way to get you your favorite pastry for breakfast on sundays when he goes for his morning runs. But the absolute best is that you never feel alone or bored with these three around. Something is always happening and they make sure to involve you in everything, making you feel like part of their little pack.

Tonight is Thursday and Thursdays are movie nights in your home. It’s been a tradition since the first week and you haven’t missed any of them. Sitting on the couch at your usual spot, you laugh as Niall growls in annoyance when you suggest to watch another rom-com.

“Not again!” he protests, sitting on the floor by the coffee table you and Harry thrifted a few months ago after the previous one was broken at a smaller party held in the house.

“Why? I bet Harry would love it!” you grin, glancing at the guy in talk who is now entering the room with a big bowl of popcorn.

“Of course he would, because he is a pussy! And the two of you always team up, dragging Louis with you so I can never watch something I enjoy!” Niall whines as Harry sits next to you, not too bothered by his friend’s cries.

“Come on, I bet you enjoyed Crazy, Stupid Love last week!” you laugh, remembering how he whined for the first part, then fell asleep at the end.

“Love, if you think that was enjoyment, I wouldn’t want to be your boyfriend,” Niall scoffs and you gasp at his reply.

“Hey!” you snap at him, but can’t help laughing. This is how it always goes with you and Niall, the non-stop bickering can sometimes drive Harry and Lou insane.

“Okay, so what do you want to watch?” Harry asks, throwing some popcorn into his mouth as he gets comfortable, an arm resting on the back of the couch behind you, the other one busy with the snack in his lap.

“There is this new horror I’ve been dying to see!” Niall’s blue eyes light up right away, but you’re fast to break that shine.

“Nah, no way. I’m not watching a horror movie.”

“Why not?”

“Because I fucking hate them and they scare the shit out of me.”

“That’s like the whole point!” he protests, but you shake your head no again.

“What are you fighting about again?” Louis asks, walking into the room after his quick shower, the smell of his body wash filling the room for a few moments.

“I want to watch a horror movie, but Y/N is a little baby and she doesn’t want to.”

“I’m not a baby! I just don’t enjoy watching people get killed or demons sucking the life out of someone!” Niall just rolls his eyes at your response.

“But it’s always what you or Harry wants to watch, why can’t I choose just this once?”

“That’s not true, we watch movies you like too!” you retort, but Niall gives you an unimpressed look. “We watched that crime thing, that was your choice!”

“That was three months ago, Y/N,” he sighs and as you do some quick math you realize that he is right.

“Hey, he has a point. Let’s just watch what he wants this one time, yeah?” Harry curls his arm that’s been on the back of the couch around your shoulder and he pulls you to his side, squeezing you gently.

“But I hate horrors,” you pout, knowing well that it’s already kind of settled, you lost this battle.

“It’s just a movie. And if you get scared in the night, you can sleep at mine,” he offers with a wink that surely makes your heartbeat fasten a bit.

If you’re being honest, you’ve always had a tiny crush on Harry, even back in high school, when you didn’t really know him. He was the cool guy, but not the douchebag type, more like the one that was nice to everyone and earned their respect and liking. Getting to know him just proved that he really is a great guy, but you figured he would never feel the same way about you. These three guys only saw you as their sister and that was in a way kinda worse than being friend zoned, but there’s nothing you can do about it, so you just decided to come to peace with your situation. But that doesn’t mean you don’t get flustered when you see him wander around the house in just his boxers or when he gets a little touchy with you, which happens a lot, because that’s just how he is. Hands on your shoulders, a little squeeze on your hips, the gentle touch of his fingers on your back, they happen all the time and they get your pulse up every time. You can only hope it’s not that noticeable.

Niall finally gets what he wants and you agree to watch that stupid horror movie. It doesn’t start off too bad, but it quickly escalates and makes you shudder every time the screen gets a little darker or the music is foreshadowing that something is about to happen.

“Jesus fuck!” you jump a little when the killer appears out of nowhere in the scene.

“You alright?” Harry asks, peeking down at you.

“I fucking hate this dude,” you mumble, rubbing your face with your hands, to get your shit together. Harry chuckles lightly next to you, his arm pulling you to his side close and you gladly sink against him, the warmth of his body giving you some comfort and a sense of safety.

Your eyes are on the screen, but your mind is dancing around how his fingers are delicately running up and down your arm, drawing circles and little shapes on your skin. It could put you to sleep easily, even with the woman screaming on the screen after seeing her husband get killed.

“Just imagine the guy with a funny mustache,” Harry murmurs, leaning closer to you so he doesn’t bother the other two guys with his comment. “Or maybe in a ridiculous outfit.”

“Like… in a onsie?” you ask, squinting your eyes at the screen.

“Could be, yeah,” he chuckles quietly. “Just imagine him running through the woods in a onsie with bunnies all over it.”

You can’t push your laughter down, covering your mouth with your hand so you don’t bother the others. Harry just smirks, giving you a squeeze as you’re still melted against his side on the couch, legs pulled up to your chest, while his are spread out in front of him.

“Definitely not that scary,” you giggle and Harry hums in agreement.

“Would you mind getting a fucking room, you guys? You have two, in fact!” Niall snaps at you playfully, when you start laughing again.

“Sorry, sorry!” you clear your throat, your cheeks heating up at the comment, but luckily it’s dark enough to hide your embarrassment. Niall is always quick to make dirty jokes and tease you in a way that makes you nervous, especially when it involves Harry as well. He has made plenty of comments about you and Harry since you’ve moved in, implying that the two of you sometimes act like a couple or that you should hook up. Harry is always quick to shake them off, that’s how you know he couldn’t even take the thought seriously.

At the end of the movie you feel like it wasn’t bad, not with Harry holding you close at least.

“Will you be screaming tonight, Y/N?” Niall teases you, making you roll your eyes at him.

“Either way it’s gonna be your fault.”

“I can live with that!” he laughs, bidding his goodbye before he shuts the door of his bedroom behind him.

You do your usual evening routine, get ready to bed and by the time you’re done in the bathroom all the boys have retired into their rooms. The hallway stands dark in front of you, only a tiny bit of light coming from your bedroom since you left your bedside lamp on in there, but you still can’t help the eerie feeling that washes over you. That movie didn’t sit right with you and now you have to face the aftermath of it.

Switching the lights in the bathroom off you sprint into your bedroom, pictures from the movie flashing in your mind of the killer just jumping out of nowhere. You shut the door and lean your back against it for a moment, taking a deep breath. Tonight is going to be long.

No matter how hard you try, you just can’t fall asleep. You’re way too alerted, opening your eyes at the tiniest of sounds around you, which is unfortunate, because your window is looking over the main street, unlike two other rooms in the house, that are facing the small backyard. Harry and Louis have the luck to have those rooms.

Every time you’re about to fall asleep something from the movie sneaks into your thoughts and you get scared to death. Soon, you realize you won’t be able to sleep on your own tonight.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you wonder if Harry really meant that offer that you can sleep with him or not. Part of you is convinced it was just a joke, but when you hear someone shouting down the street you push your doubts aside and you quickly find yourself making your way to Harry’s room.

You knock on the room lightly, not wanting to wake anyone else up. The last thing you need is Niall seeing you go into Harry’s room in the middle of the night.

No answer comes from inside, but you won’t just leave it at that. Opening the door you’re facing another dark room, barely making out the furniture, but you already know the route by heart. Making it to the bed your eyes finally adjust to the darkness and you can see Harry lying on his side, sleeping peacefully. Squatting down you place a hand to his shoulder and give him a tiny shake.

“Harry?” you call out quietly, but his answer is just a huff. “Harry, it’s me,” you try again, squeezing his arm. He furrows his eyebrows before slowly blinking his eyes open, finding you in his sight.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” he asks in that groggy, low voice you love hearing in the morning so much.

“I can’t… Did you mean that I can sleep here if I’m scared?” you ask, afraid that he might just have a good laugh and send you back to your room. For a long moment, he just blinks at you before nodding his head and you feel relief washing over you.

“Sure,” he hums.

“O-okay then I’ll bring a blanket and take the floor and--”

“Shut up, you are not sleeping on the floor,” he growls, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into bed with him as he scoots over, making you space on the mattress.

It’s a bit weird at first, lying in bed with Harry, especially because it’s just queen sized, so there’s not much space between the two of you, but it seems like Harry doesn’t mind it so why should you?

Your nerves are a lot calmer with Harry next to you, but maybe it’s still because of the movie or because you’re a bit anxious about the whole situation, you just still can’t relax enough to fall asleep.

“Y/N, no one is gonna kill you here,” Harry speaks up surprising you because you thought he has already fallen back asleep.

“I know, I know,” you whisper, trying to sound convincing, but you can’t fool anyone, especially not him.

He huffs deeply and before you could realize what’s happening, Harry’s arm is curled around your waist, pulling you against him, spooning you from behind, the warmth of his body wrapping your figure almost entirely.

“If a murderer comes, they will have to fight me first, alright? Now sleep,” he mumbles against your hair, squeezing you gently. All at once, you couldn’t care about killers and dark shadows around you, because Harry was right there, holding you tight and there was nowhere you wanted to be more than right there.

You slept like a baby. Harry’s closeness kept every nightmare away from you and the morning came with ease. Harry’s phone wakes the two of you up at eight, because he has a morning class at 9.30. The two of you are completely tangled up in each other, lying on your side facing each other, Harry’s arms are wrapped around you, while yours are hugging his waist. Groaning at the sound of his alarm, he rolls to his back to reach for the phone on the nightstand and then he finally turns it off. It’s bright outside, the darkness of the night finally long gone. You’re still groggy when Harry rolls back, his arm coming back around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world and in a sense, it feels like that. But as you both slowly wake up, you realize that you might be a little too close. Slowly but surely you let go of each other, rolling to your back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Hope I didn’t kick you in my sleep,” you smile at him, peeking over at him, hoping to break the awkwardness of the situation.

“No, don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, rubbing his eyes, before pushing himself up and off the bed. You follow him with your gaze as he steps to his dresser and grabs a pair of clean underwear. “I’ll put on a coffee while I shower, want one too?” he asks, though you know he could make one for you anyway.

“Sure, thank you,” you nod and he nods back, yawning as he walks out of the room, leaving you lying in his bed, a bit confused and kind of aching to be held by him again.

Two days pass by, everything is going as per usual, neither you nor Harry brings up that you spent the night in his bed that one particular time. Now it’s saturday and you all were planning to go out, but a sudden storm has cancelled your plans, so the evening turned into a cozy, lazy hangout instead of a wild party at some frat house.

Louis decided to work on a paper that’s due in two weeks, Niall has been relentlessly swiping on Tinder while you and Harry are spawled out on the couch, watching some shitty action movie that was on TV, since you both were too lazy to choose one and put it on. Deep down you’re a little happy you don’t have to spend the evening in a crowded, smelly house, drinking cheap alcohol.

Harry gets up from his seat to grab himself a drink just when Niall growls in annoyance.

“What is it?” you ask.

“They keep unmatching with me after we’ve talked a little!”

“Have you thought about the reason?” you smirk at him, knowing well that Niall probably isn’t the easiest to talk to, he surely takes it too far too soon.

“Well they probably don’t like that I ask them if I can go over,” he shrugs, making you laugh.

“You’d go over in the pouring rain?” Harry asks, returning to his spot on the couch. He puts his drink to the coffee table and instead of sitting into his previous position, leaning against the arm of the couch, he lies down, laying his head to your thigh, making your breath hitch for a moment.

“Of course not!” Niall rolls his eyes. “But I thought it would make them think I would do anything for them.”

“It makes you seem desperate,” Harry retorts, earning a questioning look from his friend. “What? It does!”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes it does,” you nod in agreement. “Going over in the middle of a storm just to fuck? Sounds like you’re having a hard time finding someone.”

“Women are so fucking complicated, and for what?!” he growls, before storming off to his bedroom, like an angsty teenager, leaving you and Harry alone.

He doesn’t move, his head stays on your thigh using it as a pillow. His curls are tickling the soft skin on your thigh and you have to fight the urge to play with his hair or scratch his scalp. You stay like this for the rest of the movie and when he gets up you almost want to pull him back.

“Alright, I’m fucked, I’m gonna go to bed,” he yawns, stretching his arms out into the air as he heads into his bedroom. “Good night, Y/N.”

“Night, Harry!” you call after him as you watch his frame disappear down the hallway.

Sighing, you slide down on the couch, cursing under your breath that you’re still so hung up on Harry. You really thought that you had it under control, but lately those damn butterflies are acting up in your stomach at everything he does.

“I’m pathetic,” you mumble under your breath just as the sky rumbles outside with a blinding lightning, making you jump with a squeak. “Shit,” you huff, already knowing that falling asleep will be a pain in the ass. Again.

You’ve always hated storms, they make you think that something bad is about to happen, a tree is about to fall into the window or a lightning will blow up the building. It’s kind of stupid, you know it, but you just can’t help it.

Tossing and turning, you jump every time a lightning flashes somewhere outside and a few seconds later the thunder rips through your whole body, almost making you fall off the bed.

“Oh God,” you let out a shaky breath. You have no idea how long it is until the Storm finally stops and you’d really like to have a good night's sleep. So pushing your anxious thoughts to the side, you get out of bed and head over to Harry’s room once again.

It’s such a deja vu from a few nights ago, as you gently knock on the door you wait again, but this time you actually get an answer.

“Yeah?” you hear him call out from inside and you slowly open the door, peeking your head inside. Harry is lying in bed, his head propped up against the headboard as he is scrolling through his phone. “Y/N? What’s wrong?” he asks, putting the phone aside as he sits up.

“I just, I-I know it’s stupid, but I was thinking… I don’t know--”

“Y/N, just tell me, alright? Come on in,” he gestures for you and you slip into the room, closing the door behind you before sitting to the edge of the bed next to him. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t sleep during storms…” you admit, looking into his eyes, hoping he gets the hint where you want to head with it. He stares back at you for a moment before he scoots over, lifting the covers up, giving you the green light to join him.

Relieved, you climb over to him, making yourself comfortable as he wraps the blanket over you, his arm immediately coming to cradle you, this time pulling you to his chest so your head is laid upon his shoulder, a hand gently placed onto his hard chest, probably right above where his butterfly tattoo is adorning his abdomen.

This is now easily your favorite place. Safe and tight in Harry’s arms, protected from anything and everything, like you’re in a little bubble as soon as you get on his bed.

Lightning strikes outside again and you shiver a little. Harry probably notices it, because he tightens his hold around you, as if it’s his way telling you that he is here and nothing bad is gonna happen. Eventually, you’re able to shut the outside out and only focus on Harry’s warmth, the touch of his hand on your arm and his even breathing. And then finally, you drift off to sleep.

This morning is different from the previous one you spent here. There’s no alarm since it’s Sunday, neither of you have anything in particular to do, so you wake up feeling rested, the Sun shining through his half drawn in curtains, no trace of last night’s storm can be noticed from where you’re lying in bed, the sky is as clear as ever. Sometime during the night you got tangled in a way where Harry is the one now cuddling you, his head lying on your chest, hugging you as if you were a giant teddy bear, his leg thrown between yours, lightly snoring against your sleep shirt. You can only see his mop of hair and the urge to play with them is back, but this time, you give in.

Leaving one hand on his back, you move the other one to his unruly locks, gently playing with one before you comb your fingers through it, lightly scratching his scalp. Harry hums in pleasure, shifting from his dreams back to reality, but he doesn’t move, just keeps humming as you massage his scalp.

“It’s not a good morning, it’s the best,” he mumbles groggily, making you chuckle at his words.

One of his hands is flat against your ribcage and the damned butterflies start dancing when you feel his fingers gently stroke your side as you keep playing with his curls. This feels so idyllic, as if you’ve been like this forever. You wish that was true.

Groaning as he stretches, Harry rolls to his back, making you instantly miss his body pressed against yours. He rubs his eyes, sighing deep as he blinks up at the ceiling a few times, then he turns his head to the side, looking at you.

Just when he is about to say something, outside his door it sounds like someone just broke a pile of plates and it’s followed by Niall’s usual annoyed growl. You both get out of bed to go and check what happened, not even thinking about how it might appear that you both are coming from Harry’s room in the morning.

Harry flings the door open and there is Niall, collecting pieces of a plate from the floor, his breakfast scattered down the hallway as well while he curses under his breath.

“What happened?” Harry asks, picking up a bigger piece from the plate.

“Fucking tripped,” he growls back, glancing up just for a moment, then back down, but then he processes that you’re standing behind Harry, in his room, in the morning. “What the fuck are you doing in Harry’s room?” he bluntly asks, quickly forgetting about the mess he just made.

“What?” you ask nervously, your pulse quickening in an instant. Harry stands up, seemingly not too bothered by Niall’s question.

“You slept in his room?!”

“She did,” Harry answers, leaning against the doorframe.

“Wait, are you two fucking?” Niall’s eyes widen, snapping back and forth between you and Harry.

“Just because two people sleep in the same bed, doesn’t mean they are fucking, Niall,” Harry chuckles, seemingly amused by the situation that’s got your stomach knotted. Louis’ door opens and he walks out, his hair a little messy, but already dressed, a mug halfway filled with coffee in his hand.

“Wha’s this circus out here?” he asks, looking around, his eyes scanning over the mess on the floor.

“Did you know these two are fucking?” Niall asks him and Harry lets his head drop back at his words.

“Are you?” Louis simply questions and you shake your head no.

“We are not. Y/N can’t sleep in a storm so she came over to mine.”

“Funny, she doesn’t come to me when she’s scared,” Niall scoffs.

“I never came to you because you don’t understand that sleeping together doesn’t mean sex,” you retort, though your ears are practically burning from the rising anxiety inside you.

“Wait, whoa. This wasn’t the first time you two slept together?”

“She was scared after your stupid horror movie too,” Harry shrugs.

“Wow, so are you guys a thing now or what?”

“Niall!” Harry growls and you’re not entirely sure what bothers you more. Niall’s shock and interrogation or the way Harry seems so cool and unbothered, like it’s no big deal. Maybe because for him it really isn’t, it’s only about the sleeping, nothing else, even though the cuddles are a little beyond the lines of friendship.

“What? I’m just asking the important stuff! Am I not allowed to tell dirty jokes to Y/N because you’ll cut my prick off?”

“You shouldn’t tell those anyway,” Louis chimes in and you nod in agreement.

Seeing that the conversation is just getting more and more awkward with each passing moment you decide to pull yourself out of it. Pushing yourself past Harry you mumble an excuse me before rushing back into your room, the three boys eyeing you curiously as you shut the door behind you, finally putting a physical barrier between you and them.

You shouldn’t be this offended, it’s not like any promises were made and you should have known better and not fall for him more than you already did. It was silly of you to think that there was anything more behind these nights spent curled up against each other, or when you woke up tangled and melted together. It was never what you hoped it to be.

Then and there you decide it’s better if you distanced yourself from him, or at least go back to how it was before. No bed sharing, no cuddling and preferably no bitter feelings.

It all goes well, because you have a pretty busy week after that day, you always have something to do and it’s not like you spent the night with Harry randomly, so it was evident that you stayed in your room so far.

But about a week later another storm was threatening to strike. The sky was gradually darkening all afternoon and now it’s only five o’clock, but it feels like eight. It’s Sunday, you’re quite exhausted since you were working until three. Niall was out somewhere with some of his coursemates and Louis went home for the weekend, won’t be back until Tuesday. It’s just you and Harry, who’s been sprawled out on the couch in only his sweatpants while you’re making yourself an early dinner so you can go to bed soon and have a good night’s sleep.

It doesn’t take long for the rain to start pouring, you’ve just gotten out of the shower when the first thunder rips through the place, making you gasp in fear. Harry’s head snaps around, looking in your way where you’re standing at the bathroom door, a questioning look in his eyes, but he doesn’t say a word. Ignoring his gaze, you just make your way into your bedroom, not even thinking about what could be on his mind. Is he thinking about whether you’ll ask to sleep with him again or he doesn’t care about it at all?

By the time you are ready to go to bed, the storm is fully raging outside, making your insides tremble every time you see a lightning or the thunder breaks the quietness in the house. You make one last trip to the kitchen, finding Harry leaned against the counter as he eats an apple.

“Going to bed early?” he asks as you pour yourself some water.

“Mhm,” you nod, avoiding looking at him.

“Everything alright?”

“Sure, I’m just tired,” you force a small smile onto your face just when a thunder rumbles outside, making you jump. Harry is watching you curiously and kind of expectantly, but you’re doing your best ignoring it. Instead, you just grab your water and head back to your room. “Good night.”

“Night, Y/N,” he calls after you, and you can feel his burning gaze on your back right until you close the door behind you.

Your plan to sleep a good ten hours goes right out the window. It doesn’t seem like the storm is about to calm anytime soon, so you’re stuck to suffer through it on your own. You’ll be damned to go to Harry’s, that would be an instant heart break and you just can’t take that right now. Long, torturous hours pass by with you lying awake in bed and part of you wants to go running over to Harry, but you force yourself to stay. It’s not happening tonight.

You fall asleep sometime after two in the morning when the thunder and lightning have stopped. Unfortunately, you need to wake up early in the morning, so when your phone’s alarm shakes you out of your sleep, you feel like absolute shit. Dragging yourself out of bed appears to be the hardest thing right now. As you make your way out, you are met with an all too familiar figure sitting at the small dining table, two cups of coffees in front of him, one obviously made for you.

Harry’s eyes snap up at you curiously, taking in your terrible looks as you head to the bathroom.

“Morning,” you mumble under your breath.

“Good morning’,” he nods in your way and though he doesn’t say anything else, you can tell he has a few thoughts about your current state.

Once you’re done with your morning business in there you join him at the table, barely able to keep your eyes open.

“Rough night?” he asks, eyes examining your face.

“Kinda.”

“The storm?”

You don’t answer, just nod your head. He remains silent, but you can feel that he is dying to ask another question.

Why didn’t you come over?

You’re glad he doesn’t actually asks you, because you wouldn’t be able to give either a normal answer or say anything without starting to cry. Instead, you just grab your coffee and head back into your bedroom to get ready for the day.

That week on Friday all four of you are invited to a party. At first you want to cancel, but some of your friends from classes will be there too and it’s been ages since you’ve been to a great party, so you decide to tag along with the boys.

For the first half of the evening you go your separate way, spending time with people you don’t actually live with and see every day. One drink follows the other, though you make sure you don’t go farther than getting tipsy. You’re not in the mood to deal with a nasty hangover in the morning.

Sometime after your third or fourth drink you run into Niall and he pulls you into their little circle that also involves Harry. When he sees that you’ve joined them, his eyes light up and goes out of his way to get next to you.

“I haven’t seen you in ages!” he whines, slurring his words as he wraps an arm around your shoulders to keep you at his side. He is definitely drunk, that you’re sure of.

“It’s been just about two hours, Harry,” you roll your eyes, but can’t push your smile down. You’d be lying if you said you’re not enjoying having him so close. Your dynamic hasn’t been the same since you stopped sleeping in his bed. Not that it was such a regular activity, it only happened two times.

“But I missed you, I feel like we haven’t… haven’t talked in so long!” he huffs, knitting his eyebrows together. “Have you been avoiding me?” he asks leaning closer, so your conversation can somewhat be private.

“That’s silly. Of course I haven’t!”

“But it feels like that,” he pouts with glossy eyes. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

“Sure,” you nod, the bitter taste of lying filling your mouth.

“Alright, cool,” he smirks and pulling closer he kisses into your hair before he engages with the rest of the group again, keeping his arm around you as if it wasn’t a big deal.

For the rest of the evening you simply don’t leave his side and not because he doesn’t let you, but because you don’t want to. Harry is not the only one missing the other, this week you’ve noticed that even though you’ve been keeping yourself busy, your thoughts always took you back to one particular, curly haired boy. Despite everything that’s been going on, he is your friend first and foremost who you love spending time with and talking about anything and everything.

Both of you are intoxicated, Harry a bit more than you, but you’re having a blast playing beerpong or ruining Niall’s chances with girls he is trying to pick up. You’re genuinely having an amazing time and it wouldn’t be the same without Harry.

Arriving back home your little group splits, everyone using the bathroom after the other and you’re the last one in line, because you always take the longest. By the time you’re finished, Louis and Niall are both locked up in their rooms, but Harry’s door is still open, some dim lighting illuminating the hallway. As you approach it, you find him throwing his dirty clothes into the hamper, but his head perks up when he sees you.

“Good night, H,” you sigh, quite tired and in need of a good sleep, but before you could head into your own bedroom, Harry grabs your wrist and pulls you into his. “What is it?”

“Sleep here,” he simply prompts, already leading you to the bed.

“Why?”

“Because I want you to.”

“I-I… I don’t--” you stutter, feeling flustered from his offer.

“Come on, you can’t say no,” he tells you, already crawling under his covers and then he holds them up as the invitation.

Taking a deep breath you follow him and make yourself comfortable in your almost usual spot. Harry’s arm falls over your waist in an instant, spooning you from behind as he hums pleased. But a few moments later he lifts his head, looking at you with concern in his eyes.

“You know you can say no, right? I was just joking.” Looking back at him you give him a small smile. Even drunk he makes sure you aren’t doing anything you don’t want to, but how could you not want it? You’ve been aching to sleep next to him all week, especially after the last storm when you suffered alone in your room.

“I know, Harry.”

“Alright, okay,” he nods, his head dropping back to the pillow. “I missed this,” he mumbles with a sigh.

“Yeah?”

“Mm, sleeping alone sucks,” he hums and in a split second, your heart breaks.

Harry didn’t want to sleep with you, he just wanted to sleep with someone and you were the one there. It has nothing to do with you.

You want to blame him, you want it to be his fault that your chest is now aching, knowing that it truly doesn’t mean the same thing to him it does to you, but you know you can’t. It wouldn’t be fair, so once again, you’re left with a sinking heart wrapped up into Harry’s embrace that suddenly feels burning.

“Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Harry.”

When the morning comes Harry is still sleeping deep beside you, an arm thrown over your waist, puffing warm air against the side of your head with every breath he exhales. Seeing him so peaceful warms your heart, but then you realize everything that happened last night, how he only used you because you were available and not because he wanted you.

You don’t want to wait for him to wake up and face him, your emotions would surely bring the best out of you. So carefully, you unwrap yourself from his hold and sneak out of his room, back into yours.

There’s no way you can face Harry right now, so before he could wake up you leave, planning on spending the day in the library, working on your assignments, hoping the school work will take your mind off of how badly you’ve been friendzoned.

Sometime after eleven Harry actually texts you asking where you went and you just tell him you have a shitload of school stuff to deal with. He asks if he can join you, but you tell him you’re with a group of your classmates, even though you’re sitting in an almost entirely empty library. He luckily doesn’t push it and leaves you to be. Hopefully he’ll be fine when you take another step away from him for a while to get your head straight and sort your emotions out.

You get home quite late, but not late enough, apparently. Because walking into the house you find the boys clearly getting ready to watch a movie.

“Just in time!” Niall beams. “Join us, Princess!” he laughs, grabbing himself a cola from the fridge.

“Oh, no, I have some things to work on--”

“Come on, you’ve been in the library all day, you can have a break!” Louis tells you and you know you won’t be left alone, they are just so persistent.

So you join them in your usual spot, which is of course next to Harry, though you’re trying to avoid his gaze that hasn’t left you since you arrived and by now you’re certain he knows you’re avoiding him. There’s a reason why he asked you last night if you’ve been doing it lately, he is not stupid, but this is not the time to deal with it.

With your inner crisis bubbling inside you, you completely forget to ask what you’re watching. A few minutes into the movie it becomes quite clear however.

“Is this a fucking horror movie again?” you ask, snapping at Niall, who just starts laughing.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Harry will gladly let you sleep in his bed tonight,” he teases, making your whole face heat up at his comment. Harry slaps his chest before he turns to you with concern filled eyes, but you pretend like you see nothing, turning back to the screen with your jaw clenched.

You’re fucked.

The movie is a fucking shitshow and leaves you traumatized. When it’s over, you think about why didn’t you just stand up and go into your room when you realized it’s another horror. For a change, this one was filled with demons and monsters that hide in the shadows, just what you need before going to bed. In the night. In a totally dark room.

Exiting the bathroom you’re already planning on watching something lighthearted and cheerful in your room, hoping that would make you forget the movie you just saw and give you the chance to actually sleep.

Walking past Harry’s room you see that it’s still open and you catch him expectantly looking at you when you appear in the doorway as you walk down the hallway, your eyes meeting for just a split second before you disappear from his sight and shut your bedroom door without a word behind you.

No matter how many random videos you watch on YouTube, some scenes from the movie are just imprinted into your mind and they have you trembling in fear. Every shadow looks like a demon or ghost, hiding in your room, ready to haunt and kill you and you’re on the verge of actually crying. It might not be only because of the movie, more like everything else that’s been bottled up inside you, added to the fear the movie has brought to you.

Shutting your eyes closed you try to take deep breaths and for a bit it actually seems to help, but that is until you hear the door opening. It gives you an instant heart attack and you can’t keep your tears back anymore.

A whimper leaves your mouth as the door opens and you can only see a shadow entering the room, totally not recognizing Harry in the dark.

“Y/N, hey, it’s just me! It’s okay!” he quickly clears, seeing how shaken up you are. He rushes over to the bed, one hand cupping your cheek, the other one finding your hand and before you could think, you grip it hard.

“You scared the living hell out of me!” you cry out, sobbing.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to check on you.”

Silence sets between the two of you that’s only momentarily broken by your shaky breaths as you try to calm yourself down.

“Why didn’t you come to mine after the movie if you were so scared?” he then asks, surprising you with how straightforward he is.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you mumble, blinking the remaining of the tears away as Harry stares down at you intently.

“Why would you think you’d bother me? I like having you there.”

“But it’s… Doesn’t matter,” you sigh in defeat, but it just concerns him even more.

“No, tell me!”

“Harry, just go back to your room. I’ll be fine.”

“You definitely won’t and I’m not leaving until you don’t tell me what’s going on,” he protests firmly and you lose your patience to keep lying to him.

“You just wanted someone to sleep with yesterday, okay? You didn’t need me. And… I don’t want to depend on you more than I should.”

Harry stares back at you with a blank expression and you feel like this is going to be the end of your friendship. You have to come clean about your feelings and he’ll tell you that he doesn’t feel the same way. But then he speaks up and the tables turn faster than ever.

“Y/N, I wanted you to sleep with me last night. Not just anyone. You.”

“What?”

“I really thought we have been on the same page, but apparently, we’re not even in the same book,” he sighs, confusing you even more. “Wasn’t it suspicious how things have been between us lately? The way we slept, the mornings, did you think these are normal things to do?”

“I-I thought that… it didn’t mean anything to you.”

“Well it did,” he replies and you breath hitches in your throat. “I was trying to take it slow, see how you’d react to everything and I thought you were feeling the same way. But then last time you didn’t come to my room when there was a storm and I thought that was your way of telling me that you want to pause whatever’s been going on.”

You’re just blinking in shock, listening to his words. This is nothing you expected.

“But then you seemed like you opened back up last night and you agreed to sleep with me, thought we were back on track, but then you were nowhere to be found in the morning, avoided me all day and now you would have rather spent the night crying here alone than to come over to me. What did I do? Just tell me, because quite frankly, I have no idea what we are doing anymore, Y/N,” he sighs, clearly tired of this insane game you’ve been playing without even knowing.

“So… you did all of this, because… you…”

“Because I like you, Y/N. But there’s a possibility it’s already way more than just a strong liking,” he admits with a soft chuckle that melts you in an instant.

“Oh god, I could cry again, but not out of fear this time,” you tell him, making him laugh as you scoot closer to him on the mattress. “I feel the same way, Harry,” you softly tell him, your hands finding the base of his neck while his hands have wandered to your waist so now he is pulling you towards him until he ends up in his lap. His face is now so close, and even in the dark, you can see the cheesy smile on his pink lips.

“You’re not saying this just to keep me here because you’re scared to be alone, right?” he asks, clearly joking, earning a wholehearted laugh from you.

“No, but I guess that would be a major benefit of it.”

“I’ll protect you from all the demons and killers under one condition,” he smirks, his face already inching closer, his nose is already touching yours.

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“I get to kiss you.”

“Deal.”

You barely say this one little word, his lips are already on yours, kissing you in a way that almost knocks all the air out of your lungs. You press yourself up against him, his arms curling around you, holding you tight as if he is already protecting you from everything that scares you, though you can’t really think about the stupid horror movies now that you’re kissing Harry.

He pulls you down with himself making you lie on your back as he holds himself up above you, his lips parting from your just enough so he can look into your eyes.

“How about I kiss you every time you feel scared?” he prompts, pecking your lips gently as you pull your legs up and his hips settle between your thighs, while your hands dance down his back.

“Alright, I’m in,” you smirk at him and for a moment he just stares back at you, smiling wide, in complete awe that it’s finally happening. Then he cocks his head to the side before speaking up.

“Are you still scared?”

“Very,” you nod. “I’m shaking.”

“Good,” he grins before his lips press onto yours again.

Thank you for reading! Please like/reblog if you enjoyed!

[internalsealpanic]

The Thorn pt.1

summary: “Please what, Kitten? I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

 or my 6 thousand word essay on why I want more Sugar daddy!Slade fics.

a/n: This is just straight up smut Never combine stress thirst plus an amazing enabler. Thanks to @littleredwing89 for basically co-writing. Also I need more case fics with undercover gentlemen’s clubs stuff.  I will edit this for grammar later. 

warnings: mentions of murder and sexual assault (for the case), mirror sex, collars, oral (male receiving), choking, kind of public sex?, size kink (this is to be expected at this point), strength kink,  reader is kind of a dumbass, and praise kink. 

villain’s masterlist or masterlist

Saying this wasn’t your scene would be like saying the sun is bright. Obvious but wholly inadequate in describing just how out of your depth you are. You cross your arms over your chest in a futile attempt to shield them from prying eyes. The soft fabric of your lingerie feeling too little in contrast to the men clad in expensive suits leering at you as they passed your skittish form.

 You try to swallow down the nervousness. You try to tell yourself this is fine, that it’s just for the case. But the silk collar tied tightly around your neck and your own fraying nerves made it extremely difficult to ignore just how vulnerable you felt. 

 God, what made your awkward ass think you could pull this off?

 You lift your head, eyeing the other men and women around you. You all wore matching silk ribbons tied into bows behind your neck, a circular, silver tag hanging off of it. You wrinkle your nose at how young some of them look. Some barely look old enough to be anywhere near a place like this. 

 Part of you feels thankful that you shut Nicky’s idea down to go with a leather lingerie set but the stark contrast of your lacy lingerie set made you stand out too much in the sea of leather. It made you stand out just enough to color both your cheeks and ears from the amount of attention you were getting. You close your eyes trying to ignore the heat permeating from your skin. You try to focus on the details of the case. 

 For the last 8 months, there’s been an increase in the number of young men and women going missing and turning up dead. The assumption had been that it was due to the increase in gang activity but something felt off about the deaths. 

 Nothing was consistent. The victim type, the area, and even the M.O. of sexual assault were varied. Only the mode of death was even close to being consistent but even that presented its own problems. The injuries were too clean, too efficient for the killer to have drawn any pleasure from it especially when contrasted with the victims’ other injuries.  Normally people who make those injuries have a certain type and a certain way of doing things. And the clean efficiency of the disposal method had easily ruled out any of the local gangs. 

 When you brought all of this up to your boss, he waved you off saying something about looking into it. Somehow not getting fired after screaming at your boss (probably because you’re one of the few crime scene techs willing to stay in this shithole), you decide to conduct your own investigation. The more clues you uncovered (out of sheer spite) the more they seemed to point to an organized crime group, likely involved in trafficking.

 Finally, after a month and a half of searching, you found a solid lead. Augustus Klineberg. Despite the name, he was new money. At least, here in Merit.  

 “I’m his type!”

 “And so are a dozen bodies laying around in the lab, what’s your point?”

 “Sita, got me a part-time job at the Thorn.”

 It hadn’t been easy. The thorn was an exclusive gentlemen’s club that specialized in certain kinks. It had taken Sita a week to even get you an interview but after that they eagerly accepted you with worrying enthusiasm. Either way, this conversation was simply a formality. 

 Bernard stares at you and you watch as his entire being crumples into the dining room table. He turns to his husband pleadingly. “Nicky, Please, my love, talk some sense into her.”

 You turn to Nicky who is innocently sipping from his coffee mug filled with whatever ungodly creation came to Bernard in the dead of night. He tilts his head back seemingly collecting the right words. “Y/n has a point.”

 “No! Not you too!”

 “Yes!”

 “Bern, think about it. Klineberg would never suspect her and unlike most of Klineberg’s victims, Y/n is a ninja gremlin.”

 Bernard gives him a withering look while you snort. Nicky shrugs and continues to drink his, what you assumed was, liquid crack. 

 “Y/n, are you sure about this? The Thorn- Well, it isn’t exactly like your other undercover jobs.” You give both of them a cocky smile, biting into your mini waffle. “It can’t be that hard. All I have to do is sit there and look pretty.” At that little remark, Nicky burst out into a fit of laughter loud enough to wake the neighbors. 

You run your hand through your hair still, feeling flustered. You need air. 

 “Hey Nina, I’m gonna need like maybe 5 minutes.”

 “Sure, just don’t blame me for whatever excuse I give the bossman,” Nina says, shrugging at you. She flips her red curls over her shoulder, winking at a patron and tilting her hips to show off her curves. Both you and the patron are slack-jawed and entranced. Maybe you should try that sometime? Some time being after you stop gawking at Nina’s ass and probably also after you take in some air. 

 You shuffle away awkwardly keeping your eyes to the ground. You shrink into yourself easily as you cut through the crowd. This case was going to be the death of you and Bernard’s eulogy would just be a very short but satisfying ‘I told you so’. 

 Mercifully, you find a quieter area. You would have preferred to go outside but standing alone in a dark alley in skimpy underwear might be a bad idea. You flatten yourself against a wall and close your eyes. Maybe you could tell them you aren’t feeling well which isn’t entirely untrue. You felt sick being this vulnerable. You should probably leave before you do something stupid. 

 A hand on your wrist drags you back to reality. It takes absolutely everything in you not to break his wrist. You open your eyes to see Klineberg hoovering in your personal space. 

 “Are you ok?” He asks, the concern in his voice sounding synthetic. You try to wriggle out of his hold not bothering to hide your discomfort. You note how his smile seems to get bigger as you struggled more. Clearly, he was enjoying your discomfort. 

   “Thanks for finding her for me. The manager said she’d be in this general area but it’s quite hard to see with just one eye.” Slade says casually, settling a large hand on the man’s shoulder. Your heart stops. Of all the people you had to run into-

  Klineberg eyes him skeptically. You have to respect him for that. You’ve faced Slade several times before, only making it out due to luck or hours of planning. If you were Klineberg, you’d be pissing yourself. Despite the almost friendly expression Slade had on him, you can tell this wasn’t up for negotiation. And apparently, so can Klineberg seeing how he dropped your hand. 

 Slade waves a neatly dressed man over. The man eyes you appraisingly and your heart takes an express elevator to your throat. Were you that obviously out of place? 

 “We’ll be taking a room.”

 “Of course, sir,” The man answers politely, finally, taking his eyes off of you and handing Slade a key. 

 Wait. We?

 Slade starts walking without a word, the crowd parting for him easily.  You briefly look back at Klineberg who is still looking at you like he’s going to tear you apart with his bare hands before following Slade.  

 You walk behind him wordlessly. Your mind is still reeling from the fact that Slade ‘Deathstroke: The Terminator’ Wilson just saved you from your target and your own terrible acting and is mortified by the fact that he has now seen you in skimpy lingerie. The steps you take are measured, making sure to stick close to him but not too close.  You keep your eyes to the ground as you walk behind him, hoping it’s enough to hide the expressions cycling through your face. 

 You two enter a room. It was unexpectedly spacious even under the dim neon lights. You look around finding the room furnished with expensive decorations looking nothing like the seedy gentlemen’s clubs you’ve busted before save for the pole in the middle of the room. It looked more akin to an expensive hotel bar, again, save for the pole. The darkness of the room and the quiet flow of the music set quite the intimate atmosphere which just made you that more skittish. 

 Slade makes his way across the room, eyes searching the corners and spaces of the room. He nods seemingly satisfied with the setup and likely not spotting any recording devices. Your stiff shoulders loosen a bit, if nothing else you could at least speak plainly now. 

 Slade takes his suit jacket off, revealing broad shoulders and the outline of strong back muscles. Your throat dries. Something warm stirs in you and you’re gawking again. God, you really need a better reaction to attractive people. 

 Slade holds out a glass of whiskey to you, a playful smile on his handsome face. He doesn’t seem to mind you staring at him. You swear viciously not skimping on colorful words but walk over to take the alcohol regardless. It’s on his tab and you honestly needed some alcohol in your system if you’re going to talk to him.

 “So, working for the cops not work out for you?”

 “Nah, my last sugar daddy just kicked the bucket, so I’m looking for a new one,” you say, giving Slade a wry smile.  You watch him cross one leg over another easing into a relaxed position through the wall. It was polished to a mirror shine. You guess that’s the kind of thing rich people liked. 

 “Hmmm, that can be arranged.” You choke on your drink. You scowl at him. He simply shrugs at you taking a sip of his whiskey. 

 You hear the door open, forcing you to pretend to be civil. A man around your age, dressed in a classic waiter’s outfit comes in with a tray of whiskey and two glasses. You don’t know how but you can tell the whiskey is worth more than your apartment. This doesn’t help your urge to punch Slade. 

“Will you be requiring any special toys tonight, sir?” The straightforward tone of the question makes you stiffen more than anything. The man’s eyes flicker towards you but his focus remains squarely on Slade who eyes you openly before smiling and saying “No, thanks, Anthony. I think we’ll be just fine.”

 "If you say so, sir. Please feel free to let us know if you need anything." 

 You wait for Anthony to leave before turning the full force of your scowl at Slade.“How the hell did you know his name?”

 Slade regards you impassively over the rim of his glass. You refuse to break eye contact.  He raises his hands in mock surrender.  “Alright, Kitten, you caught me. I do frequent this club quite a bit.”

 “You kinky shit.”

 He eyes you again, his eye clearly tracing your curves. “I’m not the one sitting here in their underwear with a collar on. Speaking of which-” Slade nods his head towards something in front of both of you. 

 You look at the pole, blinking dumbly as a smile spreads across his face. He tips his head to it. “I did pay for your time and the customer is always right.”

 Your mouth twists into a snarl as the tips of your ears run red. “You are insufferable.”

 “Don’t make me call the manager.” You sigh at the unspoken ‘it is definitely going to blow your cover and get you shot. At best.’ and begrudgingly you make your way to the pole. 

 You grip the pole in front of you, flexing your fingers against the cold metal. Anxiety thrums under your skin. Your eyes flick nervously to Slade who’s got the audacity to sit comfortably, sip whiskey, and smirk at you as if he was completely in his element. 

 “No need to be shy. Be a good girl and give us a good show,” he says, winking at you. Your hackles rise and your face pulls into a frown before rearranging itself into a sultry smile. You put one heel in front of you, hooking your leg around the pole and grinding your clothed sex into the metal in an undulating motion that has Slade clenching his hand around his glass. You try your hardest to grin and you suspect you’ve failed. Not that Slade’s noticed considering his eye is laser-focused on your ass. 

 With your one leg on the floor, you push yourself into a spin. Your body tips back as your hand runs down your face, chest, and abdomen drawing attention to the plains of exposed skin and delicate fabric accenting your shape. Pulling your body back up, you let your body slide down to the floor. Your legs split as soon as you made contact with the floor giving him a full view of your ass. He whistles appreciatively, tilting his head. You watch him through thick lashes, eyes bright and predatory under the neon lights. You roll onto your hand and knees. He smiles down at you watching the sweat drip down the valley of your breasts.  You were a sight to behold. 

 Slade pats his knee. “Come here, kitten.” Hunger flashes in his blue eye. It sends a warm shock through your system. It’s odd being looked at like that but you can’t feel yourself getting too concerned over it. Not when it sends a pleasant hum through your mind. 

 You crawl towards him in time with the movement, slow and steady in its place. Stopping in front of him. A large hand grasps your chin, thumb brushing against your bottom lip.  

 You sit on his lap, hand grasping his broad shoulder. Embarrassment floods back into your system now that you’re this close, now that you had the full force of that hungry gaze on you. You feel your skin heat and the weight of his gaze makes your stomach flip. 

 Seduction was other people’s gig, not yours. 

 Large hands settle on your waist, pressing circles into your skin. The buzzing feeling in your brain returns and you refocus on your task. His hands slide down the side of your body, fingers digging into your hips. His hands follow the circular motions your hips make on his crotch and guides you over the growing bulge. You hear his breath catch and hiss as you grind down on his crotch. You wrap your hands around the silk tie dangling from his neck and roughly pull him into a kiss.  

 His fingers dig into the meat of your ass drawing an embarrassingly loud yelp from you and giving him access to your mouth. You suck on his tongue and receive a pleased groan from him. Your tongues wrestle for control as he kneads your ass, making you mewl and moan into the kiss. You break the kiss needing air while Slade admires his work. 

 When Slade dips in for another kiss, you pull away pushing off of his broad chest a flirty smile dancing across your features. You turn from him, heels clicking against the floor as your show off the lushness of your figure.  In the mirror, you see Slade settling back into his position and grinning at the corners of the room again. His arms relax on the back of the couch. 

You close your eyes and let the music swallow you whole. You don’t dare hazard a glance at the mirror. You sashay your hips to the music, loosening your tense muscles. You open your eyes giving Slade your best seductive smile. You run your hands up your body, tangling into your hair. 

 You bite your lip as you slide them back down. Your fingers catch against the collar. Slade’s mouth twists.  

 You ease your arms out of your bra and let it drop to the floor. Your nipples pebble in the cold night air. The sight of them makes the corners of Slade’s mouth twitch. You push past the warmth stirring in your stomach in favor of trailing your hands down your body. Your fingers toy with the straps of your panties, watching as Slade licks his lips in anticipation.  You slide the flimsy garment down your legs, bending over and giving him a good view of your wet pussy through the mirror. 

 Stepping out of them, you toss them at Slade, who just to be an asshole, catches and pockets them. He grins at you and shrugs unapologetically. You scowl at him putting as much venom into your features as much as possible.      

You sway your lush hips in time with the music, letting the slow beat dictate the rhythm of your movements as you saunter towards him. You swallow, the silk collar still wound tightly around your neck. The intensity of his gaze makes you painfully aware of your nakedness but the embarrassment heating your skin shoots straight to your core, making you shudder. 

 Reaching him, you straddle his thighs, your plump ass grazing over his growing bulge. You moan, mouth-watering at the sensation. Your mind dwells on the feeling, your insides growing slick at the thought of him inside you. 

 Your fingers trail up your thighs and up over your stomach. You watch as his eye follows the slow tantalizing movement. His large hands grip onto the plush headrest of the couch, squeezing them as his face twists just a smidge with a mix of exertion and frustration. 

 You give him a playful smile as you slow the gyrating of your hips. A growl rumbles from his chest and you snap your hips back against his erection, the loose movement of your body hypnotic like ocean waves. Tipping your head back into his shoulder, exposing the column of your throat to him. Your hips continue to undulate against him, feeling the deep bass of the music ripple through your body along with the shockwaves of heat coming from your core as you grind it against his bulge. The coarse feeling of the fabric against your core making your knees grow weak.  

 A sinful moan tumbles out of your lips followed closely by breathy panting. You let your eyes slide shut soaking up the sensation of his suit against your skin. You reach behind you hooking your arms around Slade’s broad shoulders to steady yourself as your press closer to his large form. He presses his lips to your neck, the prickle of his beard against your skin making you shiver. “Yeah, just like that, kitten,” he murmurs against your skin, a large hand settling on your thigh.

 You push further into him. You grind your hips, the movement deep and slow. Your hand tangles in his hair, gently guiding him to your lips. Your lips move against each other just as your bodies do, slow and sensual. You catch his lips between your teeth, nipping at it. He chuckles at your invitation, sliding his tongue inside your mouth and joining your lips once again. Below you, you feel another large hand hook onto your thigh. Both hands grip your thighs fiercely pulling them further apart, exposing your sopping pussy to the cold night air. 

 Slade breaks away from your kiss, his panting breaths hot fanning your face. You stare at each other with half-lidded eyes, lust bright in them even in the low light. He captures your lips again in a quick kiss before planting one on your shoulder. “Play with yourself,” he says, the command steady and rough against your ear. 

 The tone of his voice makes you shiver as you reluctantly release your hold on his shoulders. Keeping one hand tangled in his hair, you slowly slide your hand down your body, mewling into his skin when you reach into your neglected folds. You slip two fingers in immediately. You shudder and bite your lips trying to stop any obscene sounds from escaping. 

 A hand tilts your chin, coaxing you. “Good girl, look at yourself. Look just how wet you are just for me, kitten,” Slade says, nibbling at your ear. You yelp, your hips bucking into your hand, ass rolling against his member. You watch yourself in the mirror red-faced, open-mouthed, and sinful. Your dripping sex is in full view only obscured by your hand as your fingers dip in and out of your core. Slade’s eye never leaves the mirror even as he plants kisses against your skin. His large hand grasps your neck making sure you don’t look away from the mirror. You think of how easily he could break you and you feel like you’re on fire. 

 You're so close.  You’re so so close. You can even see the desperation carving itself so plainly on your face. Anxiety and arousal mix into a potent cocktail in your gut. The nervousness from earlier rearing its ugly head. You whine in frustration, adding in a third finger but you can’t seem to reach over the edge. You hear him chuckle behind you and see him grin into your skin. At least, one of you was having fun. 

 He gives your shoulder another rough kiss, leaving a mark before speaking. “Having some trouble, kitten?” You wrinkle your nose at his tone but...in truth, you were. You bite your lip not knowing what to say. You’re so close but… the venue made you shy and that was an entirely different problem.  Using the hand on your neck, Slade tilts your head towards him, the heat from his lips ghosting over yours. “All you have to do is ask for help, kitten,” he murmurs against your lips. The vibrations send another shockwave of desperation wreaking havoc throughout your already oversensitive body. 

 He tilts your head back to look at the mirror. You can feel your ears warm at the thought of begging but you’re a hair’s breadth away from your end. Biting your lips and furrowing your brow, you take a steadying breath but it still comes out breathy when you exhale due to the hand squeezing your thigh drifting closer to your core. He presses slow circles into your inner thigh with his thumb, his teeth nibbling at your shoulder leaving marks. A vicious curse leaves your lips blunted by a moan that follows it. 

 “Slade, please. Please. Sir, please.”

 “Please what, Kitten? I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

 You tighten your grip on his hair and roll your hips against his. He growls in your ear but he doesn’t budge. “Use your words, kitten,” he commands, sounding far more patient than he actually is. You whimper, rocking against him. He holds you still, fingers digging into your flesh and body leaning into yours. “Words.”

 You pant, hot breaths loud in your ears. Whether it was his or your own you were hearing, you didn’t know and didn’t care, not when your head was jumbled with the buzzing under your skin. You swallow. His eye following the movement of your throat and the silver glint of your tag winking at you in the mirror. “Slade- Sir, please- Please, I need you. I need you inside me.”

 “That wasn’t too hard now was it?” He says capturing your lips in a rough kiss. You scream against his lips when you feel two large calloused fingers thrust into your core, stretching you replacing the ache in your core with a burning stretch. Slade releases you, steadying you so that your eyes are once again on the mirror. You both watch as his fingers pump in and out of you, the room filling up with your moans. “Keep your eyes on the mirror and watch as I make you cum.”

 He presses his thumb against your clit. The syllables of his name coming out garbled and incoherent. You cum with a whimper. Your body shakes uncontrollably, your bones melting. Your lungs take in greedy gulps of oxygen feeling like the wind’s been knocked out of them. Slade lets your head lull back against his shoulder. You press little kisses against the powerful muscles of his neck. “Thank you, sir.”

 Slade removes his fingers from your pussy, leaving you feeling empty. “Clean up the mess you made,” he orders, pressing wet fingers against your lips. You open your mouth letting them in. You slide your eyes shut and swirl your tongue around them. You bob your head taking them in deep. You moan, rocking your hips against his still hard cock, letting yourself imagine what it would be like to take him into your mouth. Your enthusiasm earns you a hiss from Slade. You smile as you continue to suck on his fingers and rock your body, the fire in the pit of your stomach reigniting. You flutter your eyes open. In the mirror, you see Slade, brow raised and mouth wrangled into a shape of wry amusement. “See, I knew you were a good girl,” he says voice strained. You grind your ass into him as you moan around his fingers. You gasp when a rough hand grasps your breast, nipple pinched between calloused fingers. 

 “Are you that hungry for my cock, kitten?” he asks, removing his fingers from your lips. Both your lips and his fingers glisten with your saliva. You nod not trusting your voice to be steady. He thankfully accepts it.  

 “Well, have at it,” he says, hands repositioning themselves on the back of the couch easing into a more relaxed position and looking as smug as humanly possible. He really is getting his money’s worth out of this. You shift your body making sure you brush up against his erect member as you did so. He looks almost pained when you finally face him. You drag your hands up and down his shirt, his muscles barely hidden by the soft silky material. You lick your lips, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. You slide yourself down his body, hands kneading and worshipping every stretch of muscle they come across. Fuck, they feel so good to your touch. 

 Getting to your knees, you rest your cheek against his knee. You let mischief shape your features. He quirks his brow at you, tilting his strong jaw urging you to move on. You massage his thighs as you pull yourself up. You undo his belt tossing it to the side. You pinch the zipper of his pants between your teeth and pull it down, grinning as you do it. Slade lifts his hips a bit to help you ease his pants and boxers down. Your mouth waters visibly when his cock springs free in all its glory. You gulp audibly as you figure the logistics of fitting all of it into your mouth. 

 “Take your time, Kitten. I’ve requested you for the whole night. We have time.” He drawls, smug. You roll your eyes at him finally deciding that head-on was the only way to tackle this. You lick a strip up his member paying special attention to the large vein running down the middle. You flick your eyes up to him, seeing his muscles tense. You grasp the base of his cock tight in your hand, kissing the tip and giving the slit a long, languid lick. The taste of precum wakes your taste buds. You hum, sucking lightly at the head, your hand twisting up and down his cock. His jaw tightens, the strain of keeping his hips still tightening the muscles of his thighs. 

 You spread your legs wide as you sink your head down taking him in and giving him a good view of your wet pussy. You take him in as far as you can, gagging when the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. The corners of your eyes sting with tears. You still yourself, letting your throat relax around him. You pull yourself back up. Your plush lips massage his length as you go and your warm hand not trailing far behind. You keep your mouth on the head of his cock before sinking back down. His sheer girth is sure to make your jaw ache but you couldn’t make yourself care, not when you’re growing wetter the more you worship his cock. Slade for his part looked like he was gonna tear the couch apart every time you sank down to take is cock on, the fluttering walls of your throat driving him up the wall. The soft music of the room was now barely audible against the mingling sounds of your moans. Slade’s unrestrained voice was dripped with whiskey and sin. 

 His cock twitches in your throat and it’s the only warning you get before cum splashes against the back of your throat and fills your mouth. You choke but when your eyes meet his, the muscles of your throat work automatically to swallow his load. The movement followed closely by his eye. You pull back, light-headed. He grabs your chin, tilting it up to inspect your mouth. He hums satisfied.  “Kitten, that mouth of yours is definitely worth more than the price of admission.” He says brushing a thumb against your bottom lip as you pant. 

 A familiar ache in your core returns when your eyes land on Slade’s still hardened cock.  

 “Of course, a little cockslut like you wouldn’t be satisfied ‘til you’ve been filled,” he chuckles pulling you into his lap so that you’re facing the mirror, your dripping pussy hovering over his saliva covered cock. The throbbing head teasing against your sensitive folds. He kisses your shoulder, his teeth pinching your skin leaving another red bruise. You whine as he guides your hips, moving them to ever so slightly brush your core against his cock. 

 “Sir, please. I need you. I- I need you to fuck me,” you beg, hands tangling in his hair and eyes watching his member in pained hunger. You sound so needy but you also needed him inside you filling you up. 

 Slade hums in your ear approvingly. He pinches your ear lobe between his teeth, making you keen. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” That was the only warning you got before his hands guide your hips down onto his engorged cock. Your walls flutter with every inch, stretching you with every inch. A hand cups your breast while he continues to guide you down onto his cock. Rough calloused fingers knead your breast as he whispers compliments into your skin in between kisses. The cacophony of sensations is almost too much for you. 

 “Such a good cockslut, look at how well that tight cunt of yours is taking me in.” You roll your hips, urging him to quicken his maddeningly slow pace. He simply chuckles at your attempt as both his hands steady your hips. You almost cry in relief when he finally bottoms out. You pant savoring the burning stretch tearing at your insides. Pleasure and pain mingling in your sense.  

 Slade rests his chin against your shoulder, lips pressed to the shell of your ear. “Kitten, I want to watch you fuck yourself on my cock,” he says, in a low commanding tone making you shiver and leaving no room for arguments. You grip on to his arms, nails digging into the meat of his muscle, to steady yourself. You lean forward to get yourself into a better angle. 

 Ah ah ah

 Breathy moans and the slap of skin against skin filled the air as you roll your hips against his. You watch yourself in the mirror, breasts bouncing, mouth hanging open, and tongue lolling out getting lost in the pleasure. The mixture of shadow and light highlighting and isolating the frantic need carving itself onto both of your faces. The coil in your stomach twists as your eyes meet his in the mirror. Icy blues trailing up and down your body possessively.   

 His hand wraps around your throat, squeezing it gently as he trails kisses up your spine. Your hips stutter, your walls squeezing around his cock. “You like that?” he whispers into your ear, putting just the tiniest bit more pressure around your neck. You feel your walls flutter around him and he moans in your ear. His other hand squeezes at your hip, nails digging into your soft flesh.     

 With a growl, he snaps his hips against yours almost violent in its intensity. You let out a loud yelp. Slade jackhammers into you like a madman, pummeling your pussy. His tongue dragging against your sweat-covered skin.  “Cum with me, Kitten,” he grinds out, nipping at your ear. Your pussy clenches and unclenches around him trying to squeeze his cock, gripping him as if not wanting to let go of it. He bites a hickey into your neck and you feel the coil in your stomach burst. You feel a flood of warmth fill your aching core as Slade lets himself go. 

 He turns your body around to face him, careful not to separate you two. He pulls you into a deep kiss as both of you ride out your orgasms. 

 Your body slumps against Slade’s, head resting on his shoulder and chest pressing against his. Your breaths come out in puffs fanning against his neck. Slade presses a kiss to your forehead. You yawn and kiss his throat, his pulse hot against your lips. 

 “Satisfied?” he asks, pulling your wrist to his lips nipping and leaving marks on it. You wonder just how many marks he’s left on you and if he’s technically allowed to do that. It just seems bad for business. 

 “Yes, sir,” you answer, nuzzling into his shoulder. He chuckles, rubbing his large hands soothingly over your aching muscles. He holds you tenderly for a while, both of you basking in the afterglow.  

 Through thick lashes, you see Slade look at his watch. You whine when he starts to shift. Wrapping your arms around him, you press your body closer. You see his brow wrinkle and have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. Sucker. 

 Slade gives you another kiss as he reluctantly extricates himself from your warmth. You shiver at the motion. Your oversensitive walls flutter making him groan. You whimper at the feeling of emptiness as he gently places you on the soft cushions of the couch. He places another kiss on your forehead then your shoulder then your wrist as he drapes his jacket over you. “Sorry, kitten, I have some business I need to take care of,” he says tucking himself back into his pants. “But if you feel like a repeat performance, feel free to come back,” he continues, fixing his shirt as he grins down at you. Your stomach flips despite how tired you feel. 

 You watch him walk away then stop. “Oh and I’ll be keeping these,” he teases, holding up your panties and tucking them back into his pocket. You try to sit up intent on throwing the entire bottle of whiskey at him but your limbs fail you, still feeling like jelly.

  The next time you open your eyes is when you feel someone patting your cheek lightly. 

 “March,” Anthony’s voice comes out in a haze. It takes a second for your mind to recognize the name as your alias. You take a deep breath trying to quell the panic from being woken up. 

 “What time is it?”

 “A quarter past one.”

 Good, you’ve only been asleep for an hour.  

 “Thanks.”

 “You’re pretty lucky. Looks like Mr. Wilson was feeling generous,” Anthony laughs, thumb pointing to the stack of cash by the whiskey. 

 That asshole. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading! 

a/n: This will be a 3 part series because I am thirsty as hell. 

  Tag list:  @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan , @lucy-roo , @multifandomgirl-us , @idkmanicantenglish ,@birdy-bat-writes , @americasmarauders , @l-inkage , @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical

[fakefreshdeadfish]

I made food and it inspired me to write this:

Dramatic reading by @undeservingcontainer : https://www.instagram.com/tv/CICVEFwJvHm/?igshid=27869vof41vj

Imagine you and your girlfriend are going out for a date night, and she picks this new Italian place that opened up right around the corner. And your like, that’s cool I love supporting local businesses because I’m cool and sexy and so is my girlfriend. This is true. You are both 5’10” and unstoppable.

You go and as you enter in the restaurant you notice that it is much smaller on the inside than one would expect, and all the decor is varying shades of Red and yellow. Like walking into a lasagna. You sit down, and you notice there’s only one waiter and a few other staff- none of them Italian. You assume this from their shirts that say “nope, not Italian”

You and cool girlfriend decide to split a pizza. You are young and modern and view each other as equals. pizza is the food of the people. You love onion, garlic, and beef and she loves green beans. She is so quirky. If she left you, you know exactly which friends would fall out of touch with you. You wouldn’t blame them.

You place your order for your heathen onion, green bean, beef pizza to the waiter who looks exactly like your brother, but 10 years older with salt and pepper hair. His name tag just has the 7/11 logo on it.

After several minutes the waiter comes back looking very nervous and about 5 inches taller.“We’ve run out of pizza dough. Actually, I can’t be sure there ever was any. I apologize for the inconvenience.” Chanting can be heard from the kitchen. You make eye contact with the bartender who wags her finger at you.

Concerning that they would run out of a main ingredient so early in the night. But you are non-confrontational, and it’s honestly none of your god damn business.

“What should we do then? Do you have any recommendations?” Asks your girlfriend. She’s always getting down to business, no funny stuff. You both look down at the menus which now seem to be the size of those tiny bibles people pass out on the street. There are only cartoon pictures of food.

“Well we can just put more cheese in it? Just to make up for the lack of dough. More cheese makes everything better. That’s what my brother always said.” He refuses to meet your gaze. The bartender has not stopped wagging her finger.

“What will you serve it on?” You ask cautiously.

The waiter shrugs and mumbles, and motions his hands in what seems to be the shape of a snow globe rather than any type of dishwater. You nod to dismiss him.

The waiter comes back a few minutes later cover in oil. Muffled sobbing can be heard from the kitchen. He presents you with an old pan full of a red bubbling tomato sauce and topped with what you recognize as a whole bag of Parmesan cheese. This is not at all a pizza.”

“Here you are. Sorry that it is not at all a pizza. But mmmm all that cheese. Yummy yummy.”

His words embarrass you. You remove your vegan leather trucker hat as heat rises to your cheeks.

The waiter pulls out two giant spoons. “These are the biggest spoons you’ve ever seen. You deserve them because you two are very cool and sexy.”

All three of you shoot finger guns and wink at each other saying “Ay!” The bartender is still wagging her finger.

As you dig into your not pizza, you realize despite it not at all being a pizza, it’s pretty good. Because most things involving tomato sauce and a ton of cheese are good things.

As you chew, an unexpected heat hits the back of your throat. Your girlfriend coughs in a way that suggests the utmost betrayal.

“Why is this spicy?!” You call to the waiter who is now behind the bar writing the word “wine” on some “hello my name is” stickers and slapping them in bottles of brown liquor. Where the bartender stood, there is now a cardboard cut out of Howie Mandel.

“I put a shit ton of red pepper flakes in it.”

“Why?”

“Well... because it’s not at all a pizza.” He chuckles. His chuckles morph into a heinous cackle. All the other patrons join in on the laughter. We’re they always there? Your girlfriend giggles uncontrollably, occasionally snorting, because she may be sexy and cool, but she’s also humble. Laughing sobs can be heard from the kitchen.

In the midst of the chaotic chorus of laughter you nod your head, gazing into your giant spoon. Your reflection is not inverted like the laws of physics want it to be. A smile comes to your lips. Your eyes well up with tears of joy? Relief? Fear? Pepper? And you whisper breathlessly:

“It’s not at all a pizza”

[five-hxrgreeves]

I Won’t Back Down - Five Hargreeves x OC

Word Count: 1,982

You can stand me up at the gates of hell But I won't back down I'm gonna stand my ground Won't be turned around And I'll keep this world from dragging me down

1 |  2  | 3 |  4 |

Pt. 3- Monday, April 1, 2019

The morning of the first dawned with a bright blue sky and perfect spring temperatures, almost in  mocking irony of the fate it would meet later on that same day. Suspecting nothing amiss, Lola began her usual morning routine of getting ready for school. After brushing her teeth, she went to her closet and decided on a pair of jeans, a white, long-sleeved v-necked shirt with black polka-dots and after brushing her hair, hesitated over a choice of hats that she owned. While there was no strict dress code at her school, she did like to make a good first impression on Mondays. The rest of the week was up for grabs.

Coming to a decision, she reached for a yellow hat with a navy-blue ribbon around the crown that was tied in a bow and placed it jauntily on her head. The brunette was somewhat known around school for her unique accessories so she’d only been indecisive over which style she’d wanted, not actually whether or not to wear a hat. She then pulled on a pair of riding-styled boots and picked up her backpack, sliding her deck of cards into the back pocket of her jeans. Lunchtime was usually a boring affair so it was often when she would practice her magic- sometimes with a crowd to entertain.

On her route to school, Lola passed the familiar Umbrella Academy house and wondered what transpired within the walls, remembering the strange man she’d met the previous week. She wondered how long it had been since all of the siblings had seen each other since from Vanya’s book, it hadn’t seemed like they’d lived under the same roof for a long, long time. A smile flickered across her face as she thought of grown-up superheroes attempting to act like real siblings and the interesting, chaotic bickering that might ensue.

(Of course, she had no idea that such arguments might result in the end of life on earth.)

After that, the day passed as it usually did, with millions and billions of people completely unaware of what the night would bring.

--

Once dinner was over, Lola scraped her plate clean and set it in the dishwasher before turning it on to run, blatantly unaware that this would be the last time she did such a mundane action for a long, long time. Then, she made her way into the family room where her mother, father and uncle were sitting on the couch about to watch TV. Both men had their traditional after-dinner drink of two fingers of whiskey while her mother sipped on spiked hot coffee.

“Mom?” Lola asked.

“Yes, dear?”

“I’m going to the basement now, all of the dinner dishes are cleaned up.”

Her mother’s blue eyes- the ones she’d inherited- flicked to the younger girl, “alright, but don’t stay up too late. It’s a school night, you know.”

Her uncle grinned, “yeah,” he said, breaking to take a sip from his glass, “wouldn’t want you to show up all grumpy for school tomorrow.”

Lola sighed and nodded in acceptance, “alright, I’ll do my best,” she said, knowing it was more than likely she’d lose track of time anyway.

Moving first towards her mother, then father and finally her uncle, she gave them each a goodnight hug and exchanged their daily I love yous.

(She would be grateful that these were the last words she’d ever said to her family. At least she wouldn’t have to live wondering if her family had known she’d loved them.)

Then, she went to the basement.

Not even a mile away, the beginnings of an altercation were occurring at the house the size of a single block where the seventh, disregarded member of the family of superheroes was receiving a hostile welcome at the introduction of her new boyfriend, Leonard Peabody.

--

Lola liked her basement. It wasn’t terribly large but it wasn’t terribly small, either. Half of it was unfinished and the other half was lived-in, creating a perfect balance. In the unfinished side, metal shelves that one might see in a hardware store stood floor-to-ceiling with various tools and stored holiday items. Paint cans, electric machinery, extension cords and other items one would normally find in a shed were scattered haphazardly along the shelves.

In the other half, a carpeted floor of some green color stretched from the back wall to right before Lola’s writing desk. On top of it sat an old, brown-leather couch, a black wooden coffee table from IKEA and a TV hung mounted on the wall. After the carpet ended, removable foam-padded tiles formed the floor. This was the area where Lola’s desk sat which was a large, white table. The desktop itself was almost empty except for her half-filled notebook, three different-sized candles, a pencil sharpener and a pencil holder. Her papers- both for school and other things- were stored in a hand-me-down brown file cabinet that stood to the left of her workspace.

Before sitting down to write, the brunette carried out her ritual warm-up: lighting the candles, flipping to the next available page, sharpening her pencil and placing her reference books on her desk- The Book Thief, of course, and her new book from Vanya Hargreeves. Then, she pulled her deck of cards from her back pocket and placed the rectangular box carefully on the lower-left corner of her desk, making sure to match up the corners of the box with the outlined shape created by the corner. She wasn’t sure why she did this, it just was something she absolutely had to do before she finally sat down.

Once finished, Lola made sure to flip the electric lights off and returned to her seat which was a rolly-chair with one broken wheel. She began to write surrounded by her small pool of glowing, flickering light.

Today’s memory is from when I was six. (Note to self: find a better opening.) It was my first time at the store for hours on end. Usually, a babysitter would come by and pick me up but I suppose she cancelled. (NtS: get more details. Just kidding, nobody cares about that.) Anyway, I was super bored and since I was little, I didn’t have any schoolwork to do. I wandered around the store for a bit, probably causing mischief. Anyway (you already said that, dummy) the funny part is that I sat down at a group of mannequins because there weren’t any other seats and I must’ve sat so still that everyone thought I was one because when I finally stood up, a woman screamed. I didn’t know why at the time but it happened again when I was older. Then I started doing it for my own amusement. It was funny to see people think that I was a fake, plastic doll only to realize I was actually real. Sometimes, I even went to the back and dressed in clothes that would soon be modeled by the mannequins- although I think the effect was ruined because I didn’t fit them.

--

A story up and a block over, the altercation had grown to a full-blown verbal assault, the main four members of the family heatedly questioning the new boyfriend’s insistence on them coming to their sister’s concert. The seventh member, feeling hurt and angry that her family wouldn’t, just once support her, felt the tension build up within her, her emotions unusually high from the lack of medication she’d consistently taken for years until this week.

--

The spot was also great for people-watching. While Gimbel Brothers has mostly ordinary clients, there are some cases that are more noteworthy (NtS: fix wording, sounds awkward). There are many people who bring children to the store as well. On Mondays, there is an average of twelve children, usually after school. The number varies throughout the week until Saturday where there are usually fifteen or twenty. One time, as an outlier during the holidays, there were twenty-five. I know this because I counted them. I don’t usually do it intentionally and I’m sure I miss some customers but for some reason, all the numbers stick in my head. The funny thing is, I’m terrible at math. I’m also really good at cards, though. I’ve never lost a game of War or Go Fish. My uncle says I’m a counter, which I suppose is true. I’ve also counted all the sequins on one of our formal dresses, just for fun. There were two-hundred and eighty-six.

--

As the sky grew dark outside, the argument in the large house had reached an all-time high with Leonard Peabody outwardly insulting his girlfriend’s largest brother, inciting his anger and riling him up purposefully, causing him to throw the first punch. The seventh member of the family desperately tried to pull her boyfriend away, to save him from an assault that he would surely not survive. She was right about that, but there was nothing she could do. There was only one person Number One listened to and it wasn’t her.

--

Anyway, back to people-watching. There was once a rich woman who came to our store. No one could figure out why; we’re not exactly the high-end type. She brought her daughter with her, a pretty, blonde girl with bright blue eyes. Almost like mine, I think, but they looked better on her. I heard her tell Brittany that she wanted to get her granddaughter ‘normal clothes,’ except she said it like an insult. I figure that when her granddaughter came to visit, all she provided were expensive outfits and the girl spilled on them, teaching her the lesson of buying cheaper clothes for little kids. She didn’t say all of that but I made up the story to go along with her request.

--

Standing over Leonard’s body, the seventh member of the Hargeeves turned on her brother, eyes shining white against her pale face. In his hand, he held a bloody, glass eyeball. Her siblings crowded together, trying to calm her, but she spent all of her life being calm and she was tired of it. Turning her gaze to the academy, the building shook under a ten-point-zero earthquake, the bricks and concrete falling down in rapid succession. Tearing her gaze away from the sight of her childhood hell, she let sound waves resonate through the street, knocking over buildings and causing them to collapse, burying her siblings in rubble. Carelessly, she walked away as anger, sadness and hatred fueled her steps to her apartment where she changed and gathered up her violin for the world’s last performance.

--

She was very posh too, with fur and everything. She stood still long enough that I could study her coat, which had thirty spots. I’m not sure if it was real fur (if it was, she’s a horrible person), but she certainly acted very high-class, even speaking a little nasally and tilting her head up to look down on Brittany. I think it might’ve been because of Brittany’s skin color. The woman didn’t seem to be very accepting of hard-working people that looked different from her.

--

At ten o’clock pm, the close of the concert, sound waves so large they felled the building and many blocks over swept through the city. A short, dark-haired woman with a glowing white light in the center of her chest rose above the destruction, sending out pulses of sound to the far-reaching corners of the world. With no one to stop her, no one to shoot a gun next to her ear, the bottled power exploded from her chest sharing with everyone the feelings of hurt and neglect that she’d been forced to endure throughout her childhood. One person alone survived in a basement not much deeper than the fictional character’s she admired, writing away and completely unaware that the world above had changed beyond recognition.

[esabri]

German in English wie as ich I seine his dass that er he war was für for auf on sind are mit with sie they sein be bei at ein one haben have dies this aus from durch by heiß hot Wort word aber but was what einige some ist is es it Sie you oder or hatte had die the von of zu to und and ein a bei in wir we können can aus out andere other waren were die which tun do ihre their Zeit time wenn if werden will wie how sagte said ein an jeder each sagen tell tut does Satz set drei three wollen want Luft air gut well auch also spielen play klein small Ende end setzen put Zuhause home lesen read seits hand Hafen port groß large buchstabieren spell hinzufügen add auch even Lande land hier here muss must groß big hoch high so such folgen follow Akt act warum why fragen ask Männer men Veränderung change ging went Licht light Art kind aus off müssen need Haus house Bild picture versuchen try uns us wieder again Tier animal Punkt point Mutter mother Welt world in der Nähe von near bauen build selbst 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wahrscheinlich probable Bett bed Bruder brother Ei egg Fahrt ride Zelle cell glauben believe vielleicht perhaps pflücken pick plötzlich sudden zählen count Platz square Grund reason Dauer length vertreten represent Kunst art Thema subject Region region Größe size variieren vary regeln settle sprechen speak Gewicht weight allgemein general Eis ice Materie matter Kreis circle Paar pair umfassen include Kluft divide Silbe syllable Filz felt groß grand Kugel ball noch yet Welle wave fallen drop Herz heart Uhr am vorhanden present schwer heavy Tanz dance Motor engine Position position Arm arm breit wide Segel sail Material material Fraktion fraction Wald forest sitzen sit Rennen race Fenster window Speicher store Sommer summer Zug train Schlaf sleep beweisen prove einsam lone Bein leg Übung exercise Wand wall Fang catch Berg mount wünschen wish Himmel sky Board board Freude joy Winter winter sa sat geschrieben written wilden wild Instrument instrument gehalten kept Glas glass Gras grass Kuh cow Arbeit job Rand edge Zeichen sign Besuch visit Vergangenheit past weich soft Spaß fun hell bright Gases gas Wetter weather Monat month Million million tragen bear Finish finish glücklich happy hoffen hope blume flower kleiden clothe seltsam strange Vorbei gone Handel trade Melodie melody Reise trip Büro office empfangen receive Reihe row Mund mouth genau exact Zeichen symbol sterben die am wenigsten least Ärger trouble Schrei shout außer except schrieb wrote Samen seed Ton tone beitreten join vorschlagen suggest sauber clean Pause break Dame lady Hof yard steigen rise schlecht bad Schlag blow Öl oil Blut blood berühren touch wuchs grew Cent cent mischen mix Mannschaft team Draht wire Kosten cost verloren lost braun brown tragen wear Garten garden gleich equal gesendet sent wählen choose fiel fell passen fit fließen flow Messe fair Bank bank sammeln collect sparen save Kontrolle control dezimal decimal Ohr ear sonst else ganz quite pleite broke Fall case Mitte middle töten kill Sohn son See lake Moment moment Maßstab scale laut loud Frühling spring beobachten observe Kind child gerade straight Konsonant consonant Nation nation Wörterbuch dictionary milch milk Geschwindigkeit speed Verfahren method Orgel organ zahlen pay Alter age Abschnitt section Kleid dress Wolke cloud Überraschung surprise ruhig quiet Stein stone winzig tiny Aufstieg climb kühlen cool Entwurf design arm poor Menge lot Versuch experiment Boden bottom Schlüssel key Eisen iron Einzel single Stick stick Wohnung flat zwanzig twenty Haut skin Lächeln smile Falte crease Loch hole springen jump Kind baby acht eight Dorf village treffen meet Wurzel root kaufen buy erhöhen raise lösen solve Metall metal ob whether drücken push sieben seven Absatz paragraph dritte third wird shall Hand held Haar hair beschreiben describe Koch cook Boden floor entweder either Ergebnis result brennen burn Hügel hill sicher safe Katze cat Jahrhundert century betrachten consider Typ type Gesetz law Bit bit Küste coast Kopie copy Ausdruck phrase still silent hoch tall Sand sand Boden soil Rolle roll Temperatur temperature Finger finger Industrie industry Wert value Kampf fight Lüge lie schlagen beat begeistern excite natürlich natural Blick view Sinn sense Hauptstadt capital wird nicht won’t Stuhl chair Achtung danger Obst fruit reich rich dick thick Soldat soldier Prozess process betreiben operate Praxis practice trennen separate schwierig difficult Arzt doctor Bitte please schützen protect Mittag noon Ernte crop modernen modern Elementes element treffen hit Schüler student Ecke corner Partei party Versorgung supply deren whose lokalisieren locate Rings ring Charakter character insekt insect gefangen caught Zeit period zeigen indicate Funk radio Speiche spoke Atom atom Mensch human Geschichte history Wirkung effect elektrisch electric erwarten expect Knochen bone Schiene rail vorstellen imagine bieten provide zustimmen agree so thus sanft gentle Frau woman Kapitän captain erraten guess erforderlich necessary scharf sharp Flügel wing schaffen create Nachbar neighbor Wasch wash Fledermaus bat eher rather Menge crowd mais corn vergleichen compare Gedicht poem Schnur string Glocke bell abhängen depend Fleisch meat einreiben rub Rohr tube berühmt famous Dollar dollar Strom stream Angst fear Blick sight dünn thin Dreieck triangle Erde planet Eile hurry Chef chief Kolonie colony Uhr clock Mine mine Krawatte tie eingeben enter Dur major frisch fresh Suche search senden send gelb yellow Pistole gun erlauben allow Druck print tot dead Stelle spot Wüste desert Anzug suit Strom current Aufzug lift stiegen rose ankommen arrive Stamm master Spur track Elternteil parent Ufer shore Teilung division Blatt sheet Substanz substance begünstigen favor verbinden connect nach post verbringen spend Akkord chord Fett fat froh glad Original original Aktie share Station station Papa dad Brot bread aufladen charge richtig proper Leiste bar Angebot offer Segment segment Sklave slave ente duck Augenblick instant Markt market Grad degree besiedeln populate küken chick liebe dear Feind enemy antworten reply Getränk drink auftreten occur Unterstützung support Rede speech Natur nature Angebot range Dampf steam Bewegung motion Weg path Flüssigkeit liquid protokollieren log gemeint meant Quotient quotient Gebiss teeth Schale shell Hals neck Sauerstoff oxygen Zucker sugar Tod death ziemlich pretty Geschicklichkeit skill Frauen women Saison season Lösung solution Magnet magnet Silber silver danken thank Zweig branch Spiel match Suffix suffix insbesondere especially Feige fig ängstlich afraid riesig huge Schwester sister Stahl steel diskutieren discuss vorwärts forward ähnlich similar führen guide Erfahrung experience Partitur score apfel apple gekauft bought geführt led Tonhöhe pitch Mantel coat Masse mass Karte card Band band Seil rope Rutsch slip gewinnen win träumen dream Abend evening Zustand condition Futtermittel feed Werkzeug tool gesamt total Basis basic Geruch smell Tal valley noch nor doppelt double Sitz seat fortsetzen continue Block block Tabelle chart Hut hat verkaufen sell Erfolg success Firma company subtrahieren subtract Veranstaltung event besondere particular viel deal schwimmen swim Begriff term Gegenteil opposite Frau wife Schuh shoe Schulter shoulder Verbreitung spread arrangieren arrange Lager camp erfinden invent Baumwolle cotton geboren born bestimmen determine Quart quart neun nine Lastwagen truck Lärm noise Ebene level Chance chance sammeln gather Geschäft shop Stretch stretch werfen throw Glanz shine Immobilien property Spalte column Molekül molecule wählen select falsch wrong grau gray Wiederholung repeat erfordern require breit broad vorbereiten prepare Salz salt Nase nose mehreren plural Zorn anger Anspruch claim Kontinent continent

[feelingfolegandros]

Day 2,3,4, - Wednesday, October 28 - Friday, October 30 2020

Apparently I’m a masochist, because I scheduled two client sessions for my second day back. Well, technically they scheduled themselves that day, but I blame myself for opening my calendar up so soon. Oh well, c’est la vie! I am blessed to have work! Especially work that doesn’t really feel like work. And really, the most lovely people somehow want to work with me, so that feels great. 

The first one was at 9:30am, and I thought I’d do it in my bedroom, because I have a little desk setup in here that is something in between a coffee table and a side table with a very loungey chair with pillows to cushion my butt.. I love it. However, the internet in this room doesn’t always love me. The connection in this particular room isn’t so stable, and it was making it difficult to have a flowy conversation with my client. After moving into the main room where B.W. was working away on her laptop (we’ve joked that it’s our coworking space), I couldn’t concentrate... When I have a one-on-one session, I really need total silence and privacy otherwise it kind of all goes to shit haha...I decided to ask my client to reschedule and she happily obliged. Phew! We had our proper session the following morning (Thursday) and it went well. 

On Thursday, I turned on TV in the living room/ coworking space for the first time and someone’s Spanish Netflix account was still logged in. Score! Not because I need to use a Netflix account (My Dad pays for a shared family account, thank you very much), but because I didn’t have the patience to figure out how to log in or type in my Dad’s email with the freaking TV remote. I gleefully watched Season 4 Episode 1 of Keeping Up with The Kardashians while lying down on the couch eating pasteli (I think that’s what they’re called.. It’s these Greek snacks made of sesame seeds and honey). I don’t think I’ve seen this season before… But it takes place c. 2009 or so when Khloé has her whirlwind romance with Lamar Odom and they get married about a month after they first start dating. Honestly… iconic. I found myself drawing parallels between Khloé and myself. The situation with my boyfriend also feels like quite a whirlwind although I’m not expecting a proposal nor a wedding anytime soon. However, I can’t say I haven’t already fantasized about our Big Fat Greek Beach Wedding, possibly held at the same taverna we met at. 

On Wednesday night, I went for a solo walk in the early evening in Chora. I love being alone here. I spent a lot of time alone on Folegandros when I came for the second time from mid-September to early October. Later, Z.X. came over, mostly because he forgot his phone charger. He ate too much and was a bit stressed about some things regarding his house (which he is renovating himself) so I made him a mint tea. The next morning (Thursday), I discovered we had fresh mint in the garden! So lucky! The mint made an appearance later the same day when I brought a bunch of it to my friend C.D.’s house. He is the brother of the bride of the wedding where Z.X. and I met. I met C.D. at the taverna he works at in the summer alongside his sister. They’re both amazing and funny and warmhearted. C.D. basically lives next door to B.W. and I, and we both paid him a visit - bundle of mint in tow. He boiled water in a traditional Greek coffee contraption for our tea, and we all drank our beverages outside, even though it rained earlier that day. He made himself a freddo espresso with milk. 

C.D. worked in IT in Athens for much of his life, but moved here at the end of January for a fresh start, away from city life. The four of us - the two Greeks Z.X., C.D., and the two Berliners B.W. and I all moved here for the same reason this year… Very interesting! It’s nice to be around people that are all still enthusiastic about the island. Some OG locals, ie. those who were born and raised here, are a little more jaded after the decades they’ve been here. Living somewhere, anywhere, long enough, you’re bound to find things about it that irritate you, even if you live on an island where each beach you go to is more beautiful than the next. 

Today is Friday. Z.X. proposed we go to the beach today, so he picked B.W. and I up around 13h. Before that, we put a load of laundry in and I took the garbage we’ve accumulated over the past couple of days to the bins near the bus stop. (It’s important to note that the plumbing here on Folegandros like much of Greece, is not that robust, so you’re not supposed to flush paper down the toilet. So most people put their used toilet paper in a bin. Hence, part of the reason why we had accumulated two medium-sized bags of garbage in a few days.) I realized on my way back home that there were bins much closer to the house. Another too-late realization was that the shortcut I took on the way there cut through a sheep’s / goat’s pasture. I did notice some poop as I was walking through, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. Are goats chill? I have no idea… I won’t take the risk again, and I also noticed two locals taking the official shortcut which doesn’t involve shuffling over two waist-height concrete walls… It involves using makeshift ladders to scale them! 

Back to the beach! This time, we went to Livadi beach near the port. While B.W. was gleefully swimming parallel to the shore, Z.X. and I were standing about ankle-deep in the water. Suddenly, we felt the submerged sand below us slowly, surreally shift. (Too many “s” words, but I’m leaving it… hahahah) I’m not sure who mentioned it first, but we soon concluded it must have been an earthquake. It reminded me of the only other time I felt one - just over a decade ago when I worked in a giant office building one summer. To me, it felt like a strange tear in the time-space continuum, a strange physical and existential headache, and like techtonic plates below were shifting (which I guess they technically are). Anyway, Z.X. and I got out of the water, more in awe than afraid, and he called one of his friends, who also felt it, and experienced it as dizziness. He checked his phone and there was indeed a 6.6 earthquake further north in Greece. On Samos, two teenagers lost their lives, and in neighbouring Turkey, there were more deaths and injuries as part of the country experienced a tsunami. 

Z.X. and I planned to see each other next on Saturday night, but he called me later on Friday saying that Ireni’s Restaurant (my favourite) was serving rabbit tonight, he was going to eat there with a few of his friends, and would I like to join? Hell yes I would… Hell yes I did. Ireni - a Greek grandmother / matriarch / goddess / chef extraordinaire - obviously stewed those rabbits for us like they were the last rabbits she’d ever stew. They were served very simply with French fries, but we also had chorta (bitter greens) and Greek salad before the main event. Everyone drank alcohol… white wine and Raki I believe, probably beer too, while I had my usual neró (water). It was my first time eating at Ireni’s since the summer, and I was so delighted to be back there. Meeting Z.X.’s friends was great too. One of them lives on Folegandros too, and has a lot of common with Z.X. The other two live in Sifinos (either that or Sikinos… so confusing!) and were in town for a month or so. They could all speak varying degrees of English (more than my pathetic amount of Greek) and it was yet another elbow in the side from God or whoever to learn some more of this beautiful language. Photos from that meal below...

That’s all for now. I have a lot of catching up to do on my daily life here… Both in writing and in general (all shall be revealed soon), but I hope you’re enjoying reading all of this, whoever you are....

[lizzytheauthor]

Hey-o, not sure where I’m gonna upload my writing yet, probs google drive but I haven’t gotten around to it yet, so here’s the prologue to the new thing! Also, this is going to be horror, so if you are unnerved easily, or don’t handle horror easily, you might want to avoid this. There will be themes of questioning reality, loss of time, loss of free will, and more. I’ll try to tag what’s applicable this prologue is (mostly) tame though.

Prologue

“You know, you’re lucky! This center has only been open for about a month. People are already raving about how it’s going to ‘revolutionize the field of psychology’. It’s booked straight through the next year.”

I continue staring out the car window. Whatever this state worker thinks is comforting...well, clearly she’s never actually talked to a kid before, or rather, taken note of their reactions.

“’Completely cured in two weeks of less!’ Doesn’t that sound great?” she continues.

She’s practically begging for me to feed into her. I don’t.

“Well, I’ve already taken a handful of kids there, and they have seen remarkable improvement so far.” she pauses, to see if I say anything.

I see this, center? No, this looks more like those old crazy houses in the horror films. The kind that have ghosts around every corner. The bronze plaque on the gate reads, ‘The Institute of Revolutionary Hypnosis’. Two weeks and I’ll be cured? Sounds unlikely. How can you ‘cure’ someone of the trauma of seeing...I don’t buy it.

We pull up and get out of the car. I look up at the building, and spot a woman staring at me through the window, 3rd floor up, long brown hair or black? It’s a bit creepy, but I suppose you find those kinds of people here don’t you?

“Come on, now, please?” I hear a tinge of irritation in her voice. Which she quickly tries to mask with that please at the end.

It only comes off as bitter to me. I’ve always been good at reading emotions though, maybe to others they wouldn’t see it.

As we walk towards the door I see two very large, very intimidating, men on either side of the double doors, which also seem larger than normal. Maybe. Between them is a lady, she seems young, but still older than me.

She lets out a far too cheerful, “Hello! You must be…?”

The social worker answers for me, “Ah, this is,” she reads her clipboard, “Ralph Gingham?” she looks over at me for confirmation, I nod. “He’s scheduled for treatment, you should be expec-”

“Yes! Ralph! We’ve been waiting for you. C-PTSD, right? Probably some other things rattling around in there too, eh?” the receptionist lady says this with a smile that seems off. I don’t like how happy she is discussing my mental illness. This whole exchange feels off and artificial. Like they are both read the lines for a play, and I’m trying to guess the blanks.

“Yea, I was under the bed when my parents were killed. I guess it fucked me up or something.” I can’t help myself, maybe it’s their cheerfulness. I can’t stand the happiness of everyone around me, while I’m…

“Well aren’t you a cheery one!!” she interrupts my thoughts with the statement. Not a question. “Well, let’s get started with the tour! I can take him from here.”

Almost imperceptibly, I feel like I see her wink, at the state worker. No, maybe not. I don’t know. Maybe. Who knows?

We enter the lobby, past the large men. I get the feeling I won’t be getting past them if I think about fleeing. It’s large, and mostly empty. There’s a desk, with a chair and a computer, and a phone. The typical stuff you would expect from a reception desk. Some potted plants scattered around, although they look fake. Nothing offensive, and perfectly normal.

“So, let’s start! I’m sure you’re dying to see where you’ll be staying for the next two weeks!” Every word out of her mouth feels rehearsed, very well rehearsed.

“Uh, sure. I guess.” As we walk into the first hall, it only just occurs to me that none of my stuff is here. Wait, “Oh, hold on. My backpack, I left it in the-”

“Oh no worries, I’m sure you can handle two weeks without your game boy!” she sticks her tongue out at me, and I’m immediately offended. “All your clothes, food, entertainment, everything! We supply it here. No pesky outside communication to disturb your thoughts, your recovery.”

I have no reason to trust her, but I can’t exactly go running out the front door. So, I guess that’s that. I’m excommunicated from the world for two weeks.

We walk through the hall, I think I missed what the receptionist said. I feel like we’re heading towards a cafeteria, but that’s all that is, a feeling. The hall is spotless, no smudges, no cobwebs, nothing. I’d swear it was painted yesterday, but as I drag my hand across the wall, no paint comes off on me.

I bump into the now stopped receptionist.

“Excuse me, could you not do that?” she asks me.

“What?” I feign ignorance, though I know she’s talking about my hand along the wall.

“The uh, dragging your hand. Hitting the doors bothers the other...roommates” the pause she has before roommates bothers me, but not nearly as much as the fact that I didn’t notice any doors in the hall before. Normally if I drag my hand along a wall I can feel the gaps for a door, or something.

I didn’t with this hall. I decided to just listen to her, and walk obediently by her side.

“Thank you!” she resumes her cheerful tone and her quickened pace.

We enter the cafeteria, and it’s tidy. Not quiet, but not loud. The first thing I notice is that the people in here seem to be of widely varying ages. Some old ladies, some younger boys.

“I didn’t realize everyone here was so...varied.” I say.

“Oh yes, there’s no issues between roommates, since the treatment just works that well. Honestly, we cure you after just two or three sessions, but we need to keep you for a little longer to make sure nothing comes back.” she points to a sign in the cafeteria, ‘Days since last incident: 439’

“I thought you just opened last month?”

“I don’t know where you learned that, but no, we’ve been open for 439 days,” she pauses, smiling at me, “as you can see, we’ve never had an incident. And we don’t expect that to change any time soon.”

I don’t believe her. I don’t know, maybe I don’t believe the social worker. Who knows. I’ve never heard of this place either way, and I can’t exactly look it up, can I?

We make our way to the line workers, the people serving the food. All of them are smiling as they work, which doesn’t seem. I don’t know, it seems off, but not overtly so. “Hi Miranda,” one says with a wave.

“Hey Brian, how are you feeling today?” neither of them breaking their smile

“Fantastic! Here for some food?” it was just then that he notices me, “Oh! Hello sport. How are you?”

Miserable, actually, thanks for asking.

“I’m good. Thanks.” the words leave my lips, but they weren’t mine. Maybe they were? Miranda gives me a look, it makes me feel like she’s happy that I said that.

“Wonderful, always great to hear. Want some pizza? It’s pizza Friday!” he says this with such conviction, I believe him.

I could’ve sworn it was Thursday though. Maybe the days are just blending together, I’ve never been great with dates, even in school.

“Uh,” I look at Miranda.

“He can have a slice, we do have a schedule to keep though.” she says, glancing at her watch.

I happily accept the plate, with a slice of pizza. Maybe I’m just hungry, that’d explain some of the off-ness, right?

We continue walking, we exit the cafeteria, and enter a different hall. I think. Honestly, I can see myself getting very lost here, “Hey, Miranda. What do I do if I get lost?”

She responds, “Oh, you won’t get lost, I promise. This tour is very informative.”

Never breaking her cheerful attitude. She certainly seems confident. This place must take in other types of mental illness? Certainly not everyone is great at navigating this place. I mean, I got lost my freshman year of high school over a dozen times. My high school must have been at least half the size of this place, if not smaller.

On the second floor it’s just...doors. So many doors, and halls.

“This is where most people sleep, obviously the caretakers won’t be sleeping here, but all the roommates do.” Her use of caretakers unnerves me.

“Caretakers? Why do you keep saying roommates? Will I have to share a room?” I can’t stop the questions. They just kinda spill out of me.

“Oh, a quizzical one. The doctors, the watchers, me. That’s what I mean by caretakers, just people who will be taking good care of you.” she pats my head, which makes me feel condescended to. “As for the sharing a room, yes, you will. Just one, we have two people to each room. Most people like the company.” She smiles at me again. “Trust me, you’ll love them.”

Each door has a number and a plaque next to it, with two names each. Seems similar to the hospitals I’ve seen. We walk through a couple hallways, and we stop at room 39. I read my name, ‘Ralph Gingham,’ and underneath, the name, ‘Pete Mozzato’.

“Here’s your room!” she opens the door as she says this. This Pete isn’t here, so I guess he’s out and about. “Pete is really swell, I think you’ll get along nicely.”

“How old is he?” I ask. Again, without thinking.

“He’s 19, same as you.” she gives a brief pause, “We don’t segregate people during relaxed activities, like eating, or playing, or such. But we do try to match each person with a person the same age for sleeping arrangements. ‘It helps the circadian rhythm’”

She says this, but I don’t really understand, nor do I think that’s true. Either way, at least I’ll have someone who can relate to me somewhat.

“And that’s it! You’ll see that we have some decent outdoors equipment, and activities, in the back. Kinda hard to miss those.”

“But, I feel like I haven’t seen a whole half the building, let alone the 3rd floor!” I may have raised my voice a bit.

“Hush, hush. No need to raise a fuss. The third floor is for treatments, you’ll see it plenty. The rest is just other rooms. You’ll see there’s bathrooms scattered about, and you know where the cafeteria is. You also know where there’s activities. That’s all you need.” she walks into my room, expecting me to follow.

And I do.

“I’m sure you’ll want to relax a bit, your schedule is printed on the calendar on your half of the room, Welcome to The Institute of Revolutionary Hypnosis!” She closes the door behind her as she says this. I want to go open the door and yell at her, but I don’t.

Schedule says my first ‘treatment’ is at 9am. I look at the clock, on the wall above the door, and see that it’s already 8:01pm. It’s strange. I didn’t even notice the sun going down, but a glance out the window confirms it. Guess I’m here, let’s hope this helps me.

[kiwi-cake]

Mated (werewolf!luke)part 2

masterlist

A/N: I’m thinking about making this a series because it’s so fun to write! Let me know if that’s something you guys would want

When Y/N was little, she used to have really bad nightmares. She would wake up crying every night and inevitably wake her parents too. Now, if she had the same dreams now at 19, it wouldn’t phase her. But to a kid, having a dream about your class laughing at your macaroni art or the boogie man was pretty damn scary. She did eventually grow out of it though, as most kids do. She hadn’t had a real nightmare since she was 10 years old. Which is why she was pretty damn freaked out when she woke up in a cold sweat after a very realistic dream about a big, mean dog. This had been the third night in a row of nightmares about things that lurk in the forest, and it was getting really old. College students have enough trouble getting enough sleep as it is, she didn’t need this extra subtraction from her already minimal amount of sleep.

“It’s probably because you always eat crisps right before bed,” Michael suggested, sipping his tea. They were sitting at Costa in between classes. Y/N insisted a coffee place because she hardly made it through her communications lecture without falling asleep. She looked terrible, and Michael made sure to tell her the minute she walked in the shop, ‘Jesus Y/N you look like you’ve been ambushed by a flock of geese!’ He wasn’t exaggerating. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun (but not the cute kind) and she had deep circles under her eyes.

“What do crisps have to do with nightmares?” she grumbled.

“You’re not supposed to eat past midnight, it gives you bad dreams. It’s some sciencey shit about metabolism and brain waves,” he said over a mouthful of almond croissant.

“I think I’ve been sleepwalking,” she says in a lower tone, so the other nosy college kids couldn’t hear, “I wake up with dirt and dried leaves on my feet. And my window is always open just a crack.”

“It’s the crisps Y/N, I’m telling you.” So that night, Y/N did everything right. She didn’t eat past 6 (even though her roommate offered her leftovers from the bakery she works at), she got in her comfiest pajamas, and drank chamomile tea right before bed at strictly 10pm. It really seemed to work, or so she thought. She had zonked out after ten minutes and dreamed of a rabbit peacefully nibbling on a patch of clovers. That is, until her foot was suddenly really cold and wet. Her eyes burst open and she somehow found herself in the middle of the forest, wearing an oversized t-shirt, with her favorite socks soaked in a freezing puddle. This would have been very aggravating to Y/N (nothing is worse than a wet sock) if it weren’t for the huge golden wolf standing two feet from her. This was not the wolf who had haunted her dreams, but it still seemed familiar to her. She was about to suck in a deep breath and scream as loud as her lungs would allow, but then she realized that she is definitely still dreaming. Wolves do not exist in the real world, and if she screamed in her dream then she might scream in real life and really piss off a building full of sleeping college kids. So she tried to rationalize. The wolf did not seem threatening, it was just kind of standing there. She tested this theory by taking a careful step forward. When the wolf did not react, she took a few more steps until she was face to face with it. It actually hunched down a bit so she could see it’s face better. This wolf seemed to be amused at her cautious actions.

“You’re not so scary, you know,” she said to it and it looked back at her indifferently, “The other wolf I usually dream about isn’t so friendly, but you’re kind of just an oversized puppy.” And if this weren’t a dream, Y/N would think she imagined that the wolf rolled its eyes at her. It all of a sudden laid down with a big thump, and at its new height it began to sniff at her bandaged leg.

“I got it caught in some animal trap,” she explained, “pretty clumsy, right?” She decided to sit down with the wolf since her leg was kind of hurting for some reason. She timidly reached a hand out to pet its silky golden coat. The wolf stiffened up at first, but then leaned into her hand. Its eyes struck her now that she was so up close. They were a deep blue and they were unlike any animal’s eyes she had ever seen. Usually, dogs have an innocent, almost empty look in their eyes. They were lucky enough to not have to worry about getting a good gpa and paying bills. But this wolf’s eyes held so many emotions that she didn’t know animals had the capacity to feel.

“This is pretty cool, I’ve never been able to lucid dream before,” she said, resting against a tree, “Thanks for showing up instead of that other wolf. It’s been a while since I’ve had a good night’s sleep.” She yawned and her eyelids started to feel heavy. The wolf made a sudden decision to lift itself from the ground and walk off without even looking back. She called out a goodbye, but wasn’t too concerned about what dream wolves do when they’re bored of being in a dream. The moss below her was all of a sudden very comfy and she could probably fall asleep against this tree. She heard the crunching of leaves, this time coming toward her. It couldn’t be her wolf friend, as these steps were much lighter. She felt like she was in that christmas movie waiting for the ghost of christmas present to pay her a visit. To her surprise, Luke stepped out from the trees, not the ghost.

“Oh hey Luke,” she waved, “what are you doing in my dream? Are you mad I’m in the forest again?”

“No, it’s evidently not your fault,” he said, crouching down, “c’mon I’ll take you somewhere nicer to sleep than a rotten tree stump.”

“Okay!” she held her arms out and he lifted her up easily, “I met a nice wolf today.”

“Did you?” she could hear the smirk in her voice.

“Yeah. It was really big and had pretty fur that was super soft when it let me pet it. He must use a high end conditioner,” she reached up to poke at his curls that were a peculiarly familiar color. He peeked at her from the corner of his eye, but didn’t tell her to stop.

“You look tired. Close your eyes, we’ll be there soon,” so with that she rested her head against his shoulder. She could smell a very nice woodsy smell on him and she drifted off to his steady breathing.

For the second time that week, Y/N woke up at Luke’s house. She quickly assessed her body and found no injuries, which begs the question: how did she get there? The door creaked open and the grumpy forest patrol she had come to know as Luke stepped in. He seemed to already know she was awake.

“So uh, quick question, what the hell am I doing here?” she demanded.

“Not much of a morning person, I see,” he grimaced and looked over her face a few times. He handed her a glass full of a thick green smoothie and instructed her to drink.

“Fine. But only because I love smoothies, not because you told me to. And don’t ignore my question.”

“Drink first, then we’ll talk,” she eyed him suspiciously for a second, but then decided he didn’t look like the type to drug someone via smoothie. She downed the whole glass quickly then looked up at him expectantly.

“What do you remember from last night?” he asked.

“I went to sleep in my dorm and I somehow woke up here… also, that’s cheating, you can’t answer a question with another question.”

“You don’t remember anything at all? Not even the slightest detail between going to sleep and waking up here?” he seemed frustrated at her lacking short-term memory.

“I mean… I guess I had a weird dream that I was in the forest, but I’ve had that dream every night.”

“Alright, I guess we’ll do this the hard way,” he said, grabbing her hand, “come with me.”

“Is this where you take me to your sex dungeon?” she joked as he pulled her through the hallways of the house to a big window with the curtains drawn.

“No, that would be rather forward of me. I always wait at least a month before I introduce the sex dungeon,” he said, before pulling back the curtains. The window overlooked the grounds of the house and the surrounding forest. There was a nice garden, a pool, and some landscaping that looked like it belonged at a castle.

“Nice view you have here, but what does this have to do with last night?” she said, chewing on her lip.

“Look closer,” he urged. She peered in between the trees in the distance and saw at least ten giant wolves walking the perimeter of the grounds. They were all varying colors and sizes, but the smallest would still tower over her. She turned to Luke with wide eyes and he looked back cautiously, as if he was expecting an outburst. He was probably right to expect an outburst.

“THEY’RE REAL? Those giant wolf things actually exist?” she placed her hand on her head in disbelief.

“Listen, Y/N, I know it must seem very scary to you right now, but there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Nothing to be afraid of?! One of those things definitely tried to make me its late night snack, there’s plenty to be afraid of!”

“I know, and I’m sorry about that. The younger wolves don’t have much experience with humans while in their wolf form, but he wasn’t going to eat you, we don’t do that.”

“We??” she felt stupid. Of course he was one of them, how else would he know about it? All of the memories from her dreams came flooding back to her. He had the same eyes as the wolf from last night, the same hair color. He nervously ran a hand through his hair and nodded.

“Oh my god, I’ve been plopped right in the middle of a teen fantasy show. Are you sure this isn’t just an elaborate prank?”

“We both know it’s not.” They sat in silence for a few minutes while she processed everything. He seemed to be, for whatever reason, very invested in her reaction to the news.

“How did I end up in the forest last night Luke?” she stared blankly at the floor.

“You, uh, sleepwalk apparently, or at least you have been the past four nights. You always come close to where the house is,” for some reason he seemed bashful about giving her this information.

“Then how did I end up in my dorm the other nights?”

“I carried you back. I thought if you never remembered that you encountered our kind then you would stop coming. Last night I realized that wasn’t going to happen.”

“How did you know where I--- never mind, I don’t want to know,” she tried not to think about the fact that he definitely saw her period underwear laying out on her chair waiting to be put away.

“Do you have class today?” he scratched at the back of his head.

“No, why?”

“I think it would be a good idea for you to see some of us up close. It might help with your nightmares.” He stood up from the little bench by the window they were sitting on and gestured for her to follow him. She considered flipping him the bird and getting the hell out of there as fast as she could. That would be the smart thing to do. But she had to know more about this new world that she never knew existed, so she followed him.

First, he led her back to what she now assumed was his room that she had slept in twice. He handed her an oversized sweater and some sweatpants, which she was grateful for since her pajamas from last night unfortunately did not include pants.

“This will help the others know not to harm you. As long as you’re near me or have my scent on you, you’ll be perfectly safe,” he explained. However, despite his reassurance, she was practically shaking with fear as they neared the wolves outside. He stopped walking and peered down at her with a confused expression.

“What’s wrong? You weren’t like this last night with me,” it was still a little weird to think of Luke and the golden wolf as the same thing.

“You’re not scary,” she muttered, eyes trained on the ground. He brought his hand to her face and tilted her chin up so she would look at him.

“Listen Y/N, you know how wolves in the wild have a leader?” she nodded, “we have the same thing. I’m the alpha here which means everyone is compelled to do as I say. So if I tell them not to touch a single hair on your pretty little head, then they won’t.” She felt a little better after that. Somehow, she knew that Luke would never let anything happen to her, even though she’s known him for less than a week.

“Now come on,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer into his side, “you need some exposure therapy.” The proximity of his body had an immediate calming effect on her, she even stopped nervously biting at her nails when they came upon the closest wolf, a reddish brown colored one. It was the biggest of all the wolves around them, though still not as big as Luke. Its eyes were a sparkling hazel color, and it seemed perfectly calm as they approached.

“Y/N, this is Ashton. He’s kind of my second in command when I’m feeling democratic,” Luke said, eliciting a snort from Ashton. The wolf sat in front of her and held up a massive paw for her to shake. She giggled at his very dog-like gesture and she felt Luke let out a breath he must have been holding in.

“You’ll like him, he’s proper domesticated. He’s even house trained when he wants to be,” Luke jokes and Y/N didn’t think she’d ever get over the sight of a wolf rolling its eyes. From just behind Ashton, she caught the sight of a familiar black coat. Luke tightened his grip on her hipbone as the wolf who attacked her nights before approached with its ears down and hesitant footsteps. Luke was glaring daggers at it, though it kept moving towards them. With the way all three of them were looking at each other, it seemed like they were having some kind of conversation that Y/N couldn’t hear. Whatever it was, Luke wasn’t happy about it.

“Y/N,” he suddenly turned to her, his angry eyes softened a little, “Calum would like to apologize for what happened the other night. Would that be okay? It’s alright if you don’t want to.” She looked back over the the wolf staring at her with pleading brown eyes. The way he looked now, she didn’t think he could hurt a fly. She supposed there was no harm in hearing an explanation.

“That’s fine,” she agreed, toying with the sleeves of Luke’s oversized sweater. The wolf, Calum, stepped forward and laid down before her, his head on the ground while he looked up at her shamefully.

“Calum says he’s very sorry for hurting you. His first change was much later than all of ours, so he’s still not fully in control of his wolf form. It’s sometimes hard for young wolves to distinguish between an enemy and a harmless human,” Luke translates for her. The wolf whines at her feet, and she gets the feeling that he had no control over his actions.

“It’s okay,” she crouched down to pat the wolf on the head reassuringly, “one time I thought someone was breaking into my dorm in the dark, so I hit them with a broom, but it turns out it was just my roommate getting back from her boyfriend’s place. She had a nasty lump on her head for a few weeks, and I felt terrible.” The wolf wagged its huge tail back and forth, having the same effect as an industrial fan. She chatted with him and Ashton for a bit (translated by Luke), and she eventually just felt like she was hanging out with two dogs with a really good understanding of meme culture. Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her sweatpants, and she checked her notifications for the first time that morning. She had three missed calls from Michael and an endless stream of texts. She sighed and excused herself from the two huge wolves and Luke to call Michael.

“Y/N! Where are you? I went to your dorm and you weren’t there and Rebecca said she hasn’t seen you since last night,” there was barely one dial tone before Michael answered the call and started interrogating her.

“I’m uh...” she looked up to see Luke and the others watching her warily. Something tells her that people like her aren’t supposed to know about this place or what happens here, so she lies to Michael.

“I went on a morning jog,” she says.

“Since when do you exercise?” he shouts. And if fantasy movies had taught her anything, it’s that werewolves have acute senses and they could probably all hear her conversation.

“Shut up, I exercise,” she snapped.

“The only time I have ever seen you move faster than a leisurely walk was when you woke up 5 minutes before stat and had already used up your absences,” he laughed, “plus, don’t you still have that bandage on your leg? You shouldn’t be running.”

“It’s none of your business what I do with my leg!”

“Whatever… come back to campus there’s a code red.” Code red was their word for a risky situation with one of Michael’s female flings. He tends to always hook up with these crazy chicks at parties who usually don’t take it too well when he doesn’t call them the next day. She usually has to step in and diffuse the situation. One time, this girl hooked up her amp in the campus square and started singing a song exposing intimate details of their hookup. Y/N was the one who had was the one who had to unplug the amp.

“Not again… I’ll be there in ten,” she hung up the phone, and announced that she probably shouldn’t overstay her welcome.

“Do you want a ride back?” Luke offered.

“I probably shouldn’t,” she shook her head, “he will never believe I was running if I’m not at least a little bit sweaty.”

“Right…” she couldn’t help thinking he looked a little disappointed, “I’ll walk you to the gate.” They walked in silence until they reached the heavy duty gate that opened to the unpaved  road leading back to civilization.

“No more sleep walking, okay?” he said, opening the gate for her.

“I can’t make any promises, but if you find me again just let me wake up in the woods alone. Waking up in a nice bed after that is positive reinforcement, you’re coddling my subconscious!”

“Proper psych major, aren’t you?” he laughed, “Be safe.” She walked through the gate and there was a short pause before she heard it close. She had to force herself not to look back behind her and make sure the whole place didn’t disappear as if it was all a dream. She walked a few minutes before she felt a buzz in her pocket. An unknown number texted her,

“It’s Luke. Text me when you’re home so I know you got back alright”

“Since when do werewolves have phones?” she replied.

“You’ve got a lot to learn about me sweetheart…”

Please remember to to request if you want more parts!

[3packsfrom21]

Ma Belle France - Part 1

I wrote most of this a week ago, but alas, I’m only posting it now. Enjoy.

I’m beginning to realize that bus time is blog time. Thus, as we embark on this 7 hour bus ride (followed by a 9 hour layover and then another 8 hour bus ride), taking us from Nancy in Northern France to Barcelona, I’ll give another brief update on our travels. 

We’ve been in France for 10 days now. We began our time by flying into Paris. Our first night was far from romantic - we spent it on an icy marble floor in the airport. Dear airports everywhere: please, PLEASE provide a carpeted space for travelers. As much as we love the comfort of cold, hard rock, we would still prefer carpets, even with the additional dirt and bacteria they may hold. What’s worse is that the room was pumped full of AC. Jessica’s lips were positively blue by the next morning. The experience was even more fun because at this point I could no longer walk on my left leg. Lynece mentions why in the last post, if you’re unsure. Turns out you need to give advanced notice in order to acquire an airport wheelchair, but Kiana and Lynece sure had fun giving me piggy-back rides. I’m certain that if Lynece was writing this, there would be ample space dedicated to lamenting this entire airport experience, complete with many pronounced exaggerations, but I’ll leave it here.

The next morning saw many fun adventures: the small town Alberta girls learned how to call an Uber (thank you Jessica for your patience in teaching us); we learned that our AirBnB was a 45 minute walk from the nearest metro station (which ordinarily would’ve been fine, but my leg complicated matters a tad); and most importantly, we took a nap. Then, after much deliberation and a thorough massage on my leg (which helped), we called another Uber and headed for the city centre. Our day in Paris was dreamy. To cut the walking, we rode electric scooters around. I would now say that this is the best way to see Paris. There’s nothing quite like scooting along past the architecture and grandeur of Paris - the Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, the Alexandre III bridge, the Louvre - with the wind in you hair and the river by your side. This all may sound a little romantic. It was. 

The next day (September 4), we took an eight hour bus ride to Strasbourg. We ended up spending 6 days in Strasbourg; we couldn’t get enough! The city holds twice the population of Red Deer, but is only a bit larger in size. It is right on the German border. In fact, you can take the tram into Kehl, the neighbouring city in Germany. Some of the most memorable moments spent here, for me, involve the street musicians playing anything from horns to violins to the cello; the tiny, winding streets; the fresh pastries in the morning; the various different fresh cheeses that we bought from the market; the thrift store, full of the funkiest colors and patterns (the limited backpack space strikes again and I’m still sad), and so on. But I can’t fit it all into a list. 

The second day there, we went to see the famed Notre Dame de Strasbourg cathedral. We knew nothing of what to expect. We took the tram, were walking along the adorable French/German style streets; we rounded a corner and were suddenly met with the most gargantuan, astounding, colossal (pulling all the stops on the adjectives here) superstructure. A sight that quite literally makes you gasp, as you look up, up, up, at the dark brown coloured, sculpture clad, monstrosity (in a good way). It is a gothic cathedral, one of the few early gothic cathedrals with only one spire. We spent a while there - the time frame changes depending on who you ask. The story goes like this. When we walked in and began to admire the front of the cathedral, we noticed Jessica was missing. Little did we know at the time, that she had gone ahead at her own pace, unsure of where we went. She completed her tour of the entire cathedral, only to return to the doors to find the three of us still standing there, admiring the front of the church. We had yet to move. You see, Jessica appreciates cathedrals like an ordinary human; Kiana, however, loves cathedrals like a mother loves her children. So, of course, our tour of the cathedral (Jessica’s now second tour) was marked by many long pauses and ponderings. Jessica found a seat at some point and began to wait. It got worse when Kiana discovered that the earliest portion of the cathedral was built in 1190. Jessica claims that Kiana stood in the same square foot area for twenty minutes, rotating with wide eyes and mouthing “1190!” Thus, while Kiana argues that we were there for around 45 minute to 1 hour, Jessica is certain that it was at least 2 hours. The important part, I suppose, is that we did eventually manage to leave. It was a close one. 

The rest of our time in Strasbourg was largely spent at a relaxed pace. We explored the streets, took the tram into Germany to do some shopping (this is much more in line with Jessica’s preferences - we had to apologize for the cathedral incident somehow), spent time in cafes and in our lovely French-style apartment. We did laundry (this was a remarkable event) and visited the palace. Altogether a laid-back approach to the city. 

Other than that, I can tell you of one other marked experience: the day of the unfortunate meal. In our time in Strasbourg, we passed by one particular restaurant that seemed to be always packed with people. So, we decided we would try and eat there for our final dinner in the city. In order to fit it into our budget, however, we knew that we would need to eat very little else all day. And so, the day came. We had some croissants and bread for breakfast, a very disappointing milkshake for lunch, and we anticipated supper with hopeful hearts. We wore the new shirts and fun earrings we’d bought in Germany (feeling very dressed up). At the restaurant, we admired the quaint French atmosphere. Then, we looked at the menu and were surprised to find that all of the food was between 5 and 7 euro - pretty cheap for the area. But not to worry, we soon noticed a different menu posted on the wall, with prices still cheaper than, but more closely aligned with, what we’d anticipated (around 10 euro). When trying to order, we were informed that the wall menu didn’t open until 6:00p.m. So we waited the 5 minutes (literally 5 minutes) to order, feeling affirmed that we must be ordering off of the dinner menu, rather than the paper-copy lunch menus. We each ordered a dinner item (admittedly, we had very little idea what we were ordering, even with our proficient French) and got a dish off of the lunch menu to share.

The shared lunch dish came rather quickly. A warmed piece of bread with thick pieces of unmelted Brie on top, sprinkled with walnuts and drizzled with honey. Delicious, but we were so glad that we hadn’t relied on the lunch menu for our dinner! We were hungry. We then braced ourselves for a wait. We were the first ones to order dinner so the wait would likely be a bit longer. Surprisingly, not more than 6 minutes later, two waiters came carrying four plates. We thought, “oh good, how efficient!” Then they put the plates down. We each had one piece of toasted bread, cut in half, with melted cheese on top. The toppings varied slightly - Lynece had one piece of bacon (she wanted to make sure it was clear that it was one and only one piece) in her melted cheese and Kiana and I had a sprinkling of walnut pieces and a drizzle of honey. Jessica even had some bruschetta on top. But that was it. A piece of toast. With melted cheese on top. We wondered if they’d made a mistake, but remembered that they’d said the names of the dishes as they sat them down, and they were all correct. So, we sat there, trying to enjoy the “meal” we’d fasted for, wondering what the difference was between the lunch menu items and the dinner menu items (besides the price). To put it into perspective, we spent about 85 dollars on 5 pieces of toast and 4 beer. We finally determined that the cheese we ate must’ve been gleaned from the nomadic cows of the Amazonian rainforest. Regardless, the evening was a rather large disappointment. Fortunately, we were able to rectify the situation at our next destination. 

On September 10, we caught a bus at 1:30 in the afternoon for Nancy, in order to meet up with one of Kiana’s friends that she met through Champfleuri (Capernwray). It was lovely to be able to stay with Marie and her husband Josue for a few days. On the 11th, we went with Marie to an afterschool program (of sorts) for children. We played games with the kids, ages ranging from 4 to 12. Later in the evening, we made up for the disastrous Strasbourg meal with a raclette dinner. Raclette is a French dish where you dip delicious meats and potatoes in various different melted cheese fondue-type dishes. It is heaven. We had enough left over to feed all three of us again, and we stuffed ourselves pretty-well to the brim. We then explored Place Stanislas (a famous square in Nancy), all lit up at night, before returning to Marie’s. To sum it up, our time in Nancy was a taste of true French living. We are so grateful to Marie and Josue for opening their home to us - this is truly the best way to travel. 

And now (September 12), here we are (thankfully - we almost missed our bus this morning), on our way to a sunnier and hotter Spain. We plan on being in Spain for around two weeks, before returning to see Southern France. Jessica will be leaving us on the 18th, sadly! She’s been a great addition to our traveling team, often much more level-headed than we. We’ll miss her moments of sass. 

------

As an aside, I think it is worth noting that my leg is feeling much better! Yay for being able to walk places. Thank you to those of you who kept me (and all of us) in your prayers. We appreciate it more than you know. 

You can expect a post about Spain coming in the next few weeks. Also, in response to the many inquiries, we will post pictures on Facebook at some point soon! We aren’t exactly the most attached to social media - it is more labor than love. It is also possible that we may be able to coerce Kiana into writing something on here at some point. She might be finished by next year this time. ;) Thanks for reading!

Cheers // Janae

[noplotnostory]

Test to see if I still can...

A NSFWednesday Monsters in Mythology

So, I’m working on my first ever skelesmut, and I wanted to make sure that the proper skeledick was used in this fic. I ended up going with the most common type of skeledick utilized in UnderTale skelesmut, but this was still a fun topic, so here’s a Monsters in Mythology about it.

Now the reason why this is a Monsters in Mythology instead of a normal NSFWednesday post is actually related to a prior Monsters in Mythology about my favored theory on the nature/origins of the skelebros. Specifically, that they are, in fact, spartae. Or spartoi. Again, the spelling varies from source to source...

But the point is that they are identified as both men and skeletons. Literary sources lean more towards the “man” thing, but visual depictions of spartae/oi are almost always skeletal.

Now this could be because Ancient Greek storytellers had a bit of a bias regarding the “default state of being” as Overly Sarcastic Productions points out in her Trope Talk video about Manly Men (the relevant information here being that much like “white straight male” has been considered the default character template for much of Western Literary History, the default character template in much of Ancient Greek literature was usually “Greek bisexual male”), so describing the spartae/oi as “men” might have been an assumption, especially after they demonstrated aptitude in combat, participated in the founding of a city and began to breed with humans.

Or it could mean they had visible genitalia.

I mean, both skelebros have features that make them clearly not-human-skeletons, so why not?

There’s even precedent for this in animal biology. I didn’t actually know about this until I stumbled upon an article on Cracked.com titled “5 Ways Evolution Designed Your Body To Be Awesome At Sex” and read the final item on the list. Apparently, most male mammals actually have a bone in their penis known as the baculum (have fun writing Sans pun with that), and since there’s a significant amount of monsters with animal features and quite a few have sort of mix-and-matched features, we can’t rule out the possibility of the skelebros having some skeletal features that resemble other species more than the human skeleton. Since this bone basically makes it impossible to not have a boner (unless magic skeleboners can move? Somehow? I’m no expert on this, I’m just trying to get people thinking about all the options) it does make how clothes fit a little questionable, but they were already skeletons so Sans clearly is wearing a belt or has a drawstring or elastic band in his shorts if he’s not actively using gravity magic to hold them up? Whatever. How skeletons wear clothes is a subject I just don’t feel ready to tackle in depth.

Moving away from the “All Bone” possibilities but not quite entering the “ectojunk” category yet...ok, I’ll level with you, the basic idea of this post and several links for reference (which have been supplied thus far, as I believe in providing sources) have been sitting in my drafts for a while. As a result, there are currently two reasons why this section isn’t happening the way I was hoping it would.

Reason One: The Tumblr Purge.

While text posts are still allowed (maybe?), fanart blogs have taken a hit and some have been removed entirely. This includes a blog that had gone by the URL “rexphilia”. I had only discovered this blog and it’s fanart shortly before I even heard about the then-upcoming purge and gotten sick almost immediately after. Between my preoccupation with my own posts, the ongoing conflict between myself and the dreaded season known as winter, and the fact that I had known about this blog and had gathered (now useless) links to include in this post for less than a day before setting this whole thing aside in my drafts to focus on other things, I have no clue where to find this artist, now and therefore am unable link anything to credit them or provide screenshots for reference. Best I can do is provide the name I know them by (rexphilia) and describe what I can remember about their fanart. Which is, coincidentally enough, the thing that I wanted to reference in this post to begin with: Their skeledick design.

Rexphilia’s depiction of skeledick (both Papyrus’s and Sans’s) was black with white rib-like ridges that kind of remind me of the rib-like decor on the jacket of Ghost Lewis from Mystery Skulls Animated know that I’m actually reading that description and was that the inspiration for the design? Was Rexphilia a fan of MSA? Or am I remembering the placement/shape of the ridges wrong because I watched a video reviewing MSA earlier today? OH, CHEESE, I DO NOT WANT TO THINK ABOUT LEWIS’S GHOST DICK! NEXT PARAGRAPH! NEXT PARAGRAPH!

Reason Two: My memory capacity (or lack thereof).

Ok, so I could have sworn for the longest time that I had at one point read a fic where Sans had a black skeledick, sans the white stuff. I also could have sworn for the longest time that the fic in question was puppehgal’s oneshot “The After Show”. But rereading that fic’s description of skeledick leaves me...conflicted... Don’t get me wrong, it’s still a very interesting and unique depiction of skeledick (and skelebro anatomy in general) and the fic itself is still something I would readily recommend to fellow fans of Sans/Reader smut, despite not being tagged as such (it’s told through the perspective of an “Anonymous Human Female” who is referred to in the second person throughout), but this particular skeledick could be interpreted as a visually distinct variation of ectodick instead of a permadick, depending on how much control Sans has over that magical webbing. Since this is a oneshot of what is tagged as a One Night Stand, neither the human character experiencing all this nor the readers enjoying the written version have the context to know either way.

If everything had gone as planned, the Non-Bone Permadick section would have contained an accurate description of rexphilia’s depictions, links to fanart containing said depictions, and a linked mention of “The After Show” that isn’t wishy-washy on whether or not the skeledick presented in said fic is, in fact, a permanent feature of Sans’s anatomy. It would have been glorious.

Now for the fandom’s most prevalent version of skeledick: Ectogenitalia.

I’m not going to bother linking anything because there are so many fanfics and fanart with this particular type of skeledick, it would be kind of pointless. You probably know what I’m talking about, anyways, if you’re reading this post.

There’s a reason this option is the most popular: Depending on your personal interpretation, ectojunk can be a free pass to give the skelebros any type of genitalia their partner (or the content creator) desires. If ectojunk is naturally customizable and the skelebro attached to and/or summoning said ectojunk has sufficient control over his magic in intimate situations, he can have male parts, female parts, change the size and shape of said parts, move or alter said parts while maintaining a position or motion in which the movement or alteration of said parts would probably catch someone off-guard, and possibly, maybe, depending on who you ask, be detachable for long-distance use.

Unless you just want to experiment with other headcanons or aesthetics, color seems to be the only potential problem.

In most depictions, Papyrus’s ectowhatever is always orange and Sans’s is always blue, because these color schemes are the Commonly Accepted Fanon, but there are people who have other theories on what color the magic forming the skeledick ought to be.

This is totally fine. My dear friend @popatochisssp is one of those people and her smut is so delicious that I’ve praised it in three different NSFWednesdays and her reasoning for the magic color she uses totally fits with her headcanons concerning the skelebros and her portrayals of them in said fics.

But people that aren’t decided on their headcanons on what the color should be are left with uncertainty. Since I’m one of those people, I guess I’ll just avoid mentioning the color completely.

@ladyarkytiorofdunans

[asbiecat]

Writing a fiction series is like herding cats.

All right, here’s part two of how to make a book! This is entirely about how plans are completely pointless sometimes, and what I do to actually get the words on the page – and then make the words make sense after they’ve been thrown up.

 Most of my ‘drama’ was created by sitting there going, “Hmmm… this character/these characters are really happy. What can I do to make them miserable? Good. How are they gonna react? Is that too much? Yes? No? Hey, Shawn, what do you think of this?” Sometimes he offers even worse things, sometimes he says it’s too much. It varies. :)

 A lot of times I just put the characters in situations and see what they do. Sometimes Shawn and Megg, who know everyone as well as I do anymore, go, “This character wouldn’t do that,” and I go, “You’re right. REDO.”

 I have gotten and taken (and passed on as well) a lot of advice for plot development, conflicts, battles, and relationship development from my readers. This is because I ask for feedback all the time. I’ve personally had one romantic relationship in my entire life, never been abused (just harassed), and participated in zero weapon fights (as long as you don’t count LARP, which I do not). However, I’ve read a lot, watched a lot, heard a lot, and have a very active imagination – and I’m very open to suggestions. Not all of them work for what I’ve built, but if I hear a good idea that I just can’t use right now, I write them down to consider later. My books are not built around a vague main character that could be anyone – or that the reader can sit themselves inside of like a ride, so I can’t just bend the characters to places they wouldn’t normally go. Even when put in extraordinary circumstances, like they usually are, they have to stay true to themselves. My editors and early readers keep the train on the tracks.

 My preferred location to write: on the couch or at my desk, in the dark with the screen brightness on my laptop turned down, usually wearing a hoodie with the hood up so you can barely see my face. Sometimes I wear fingerless gloves, but my current computer is a gaming computer that gives off heat, so that hasn’t been necessary for a while. I do most of my writing from 10pm-2am, because by then I’ve done enough chores and the girls are in bed. This is a lot harder to do now that I work at 8am, but I’m bad and recently started drinking coffee (yeah, I’ve been a writer for 17 years and just this year started drinking coffee).

 I also do a lot of editing on my phone anymore, because I’m away from my computer so much. I read things in Word on my phone, and then copy out lines that I need to fix and paste them into OneNote with my notes about what’s wrong with it. This is synced so I can just grab it on my laptop without having to hook my phone up to it, and then make the edits when I’m at my laptop.

 I used to write in notebooks when I’m on the go. I’ve filled several of those half-sized notebooks (they fit in purses better than full-sized ones and are easier to hide). I still carry one, but I type so much faster than I handwrite, and I know that I’ll just have to retype it later, so I usually don’t bother anymore. It’s also easier to get a good, natural flow for things when you’re typing it. It’s not as fast as my thoughts, but it’s a lot closer.

 I also have terrible handwriting – mostly a result of my brain moving faster than my hands can move. Related, I have mild carpal tunnel. It was only ever really bad when I was pregnant with my first kid, but if I strain my wrists too much I’ve gotta wear braces for a bit. This is a terrible thing to have for someone who writes, draws, sews, and just in general makes so many things with her hands. It doesn’t stop me though, just makes me whine while I keep doing everything anyway.

 I reread stuff I’ve written CONSTANTLY (except The Dark. I don’t read it anymore because the amount of changes I want to make to it are just too numerous – it mentally exhausts me), and I’m almost always making tweaks, edits, and updates, but lately I’ve been reading The Haven and The Hunt to see how the characters were interacting in them, now that I know how they’re going to develop ten years down the line (The Shield/The Streets). Sometimes it surprises me, the subtle things that were in there that I don’t remember consciously choosing to put down. I’m pretty sure I’m just ghost-writing for a bunch of fictional people. I only think I have control over this.

 One example is the sexuality of one of my characters. When I first wrote the stuff, I was a Catholic grade school kid. You know, uniform and everything. Obviously, everyone was just straight then, even if it wasn’t implicitly stated. Then I got older, and the characters stayed the age they were – and when I was finally older than they were, it kind of shocked me. I wrote these people in their early twenties when I was thirteen. I’d been through college, and was in the adult workforce now – and the group of people I called friends was more diverse than the group of people in my head that had been my companions for over a decade.

 The Haven was already done, but The Hunt and the rest of the series was still fluid, so I decided that I needed to change some stuff up. There was no reason that many of the couples I had yet to establish needed to be the way they were. Two of my early readers pointed out that one of the established couples made no sense, so I completely deleted any reference to their relationship (which I agree was contrived, and not organic), and ended up putting one of those people with someone else – that they were a far better match with. The other half of that split couple, if I ever think she can heal enough to trust someone else, will probably be with a woman – certainly not a man. She’ll never trust men enough to do that.

Also, I had been kicking around the sexuality of one of the main characters of The Haven for a bit, not really able to decide what I wanted him to be. Realizing I had a lack of diversity, I figured, why not make him gay? It actually added a lot of character and color to his story, and explained a lot of things I had made part of his character already.

 There’s another pair in The Hunt that was always ‘a thing’ but never to the extent I have now declared them to be. Because I gave the trio in this book so much attention, I had to really dive into their characters in a way that I never had before. Ignoring this was not possible anymore, so as I wrote I was entertained by both the conflict and the unexpected harmony they had. They pretty much hijacked my attention the whole book – especially because at the end of it even I wasn’t sure how to make it turn out.

 Also in that book, one of the characters is bisexual. He didn’t start that way. He started off as just a player who flirted with a lot of girls, but then I made him flirt with a guy to pass the time and was shocked to see the outcome. I say this like I was reading someone else’s book… but that’s exactly how it went. I just sat back and said, “Uh, are we doing this, guys? I guess we are… Well, here goes then!” After I finished writing I went back and searched throughout the book to see if I had to fix anything regarding the bi character that I didn’t realize was bi, and to my surprise, all references he had previously made to his sexuality were very ambiguous. He’d always said that he wanted to settle down eventually, but not yet, and had never once declared a gender for the person he was looking for. The only time someone declared what he was, it was someone that was not him, so I just adjusted that line, and voila, he’s bi, like he apparently wanted. Seriously, I don’t really control this, I’m just herding cats.

 By the way, my previous publisher questioned the intimacy of Malk and Traphian’s relationship in The Haven and wanted to make them a little more manly. I resisted this, because doing so would detract from what I wanted of them in that book. I also resisted this because it humored me that Malkarai and Traphian were apparently threatening to masculinity, and I am all for threatening the shit out of that, ha. If anyone had any doubts about how tough Traphian is, they’re seriously insecure.

 When I first wrote Division 53 in the early 00s (I called it The Dark Series then) the plot was not overarching and unifying throughout the series. It was just a literal series of books with the same setting, and was set up kind of as a set of a trilogy (Dark, Manhunt, Reign of the A*******, with a bonus prequel, Prodigy), a pair (Streets, System), and a single book (Ripper). I’ve since put in a pervasive plot, recurring villains, developed way more of the characters into main instead of supporting characters, split Manhunt into The Haven and The Hunt (+ a lot of things that didn’t exist before), deleted Reign entirely, added two books (The Shield, The Conspiracy), removed the prequel, and made the stories more mature in many ways. 90% of the fights in the series have been written, brand new, in the last two years.

 I learned a lot about writing in grade school, high school, and college, but even though I spent a large portion of the high school and college years figuring out how to get published, I’ve learned the most about writing work for publishing and public consumption in the past three years. I’ve learned to let go of things for the sake of pacing, to rewrite and not get so attached to things, and to take all opinions worth a grain of salt, professionals and amateurs alike. This knowledge is why I don’t read The Dark anymore. I know that I need to sit down and rewrite a lot of it to make it stand next to the rest of the books on equal footing. It isn’t bad, but it isn’t as good as I could make it today. I’m trying not to look backward for now. A new version of it can always be released in the future, but I need to tell the rest of the story first.

[fenton-bus]

Sagan's Comet

(a prologue)

   ∞

2020

 If there is a causal relationship between the popularity of Barry Eisenberg's autobiography and the complete loss of journalistic integrity exhibited by the Manhattan press no one acknowledges it. In spaces formerly occupied by actual news, one can now find awed descriptions of the fun way the eighteen year old Portland native verbally decimates the Buzzfeed contributor brave enough to cross the threshold of his lair. Articles dedicated to examining the significance of his hoodie collection (consisting solely of secondary colors) are written with the zest and intensity of individuals delivering the defining information of the age. Between covering Syrian conflicts and Zayn's solo career these adults with journalism degrees they allegedly worked hard for print wild speculation about what Barry's digital watch says about him as a person, maps his evolution from monosyllables to making a Newsweek reporter cry whilst thanking him for the opportunity through her tears, and publishes three thousand word think pieces heavily suggesting that he is the voice of his generation.

Two months into his junior year at Columbia, Barry becomes a meme.

According to the lanky, mustachioed Starbuck's barista (who enjoys all the benefits of tumblr fame for two glorious minutes before he's brought down by an old "problematic" Burning Man post.) he waits in line every other Thursday before his Applied Calc class, and one morning he is informed-with an unfathomable regret-that they are currently out of bran muffins.

Barry allegedly makes a face that defies the descriptive power of the written word.

Skylar totally believes in fate. He was meant to come in that day, despite dancing on the precipice of being fired for coming to work after ingesting some "herbal refreshment". He was meant to get dragged behind the counter to fix the espresso machine, meant to turn around to grab the wrench at the exact moment Barry made That Face. He grabs his phone, snaps a pic and before Todd can offer the dude a blueberry substitute, twelve hundred people have added gross looking block text to Skylar's post. That Face becomes a universal constant just as relevant when describing reactions to sexism (When ur in a patriarchal society ) as it is to receiving troubling medical news (TMW UR DOCTORS ALL: GENITAL WARTS!!!?!1) . Kids aim That Face at unprepared parents in the aisles of Toys R Us. Girls just trying to enjoy happy hour with their besties clock the dudes halfway across the bar with The Face and the "you're the only ten I see" dies in the bros' throats. Tired moms schlepping their kids from one hellish interpretative dance class to another collapse against the seats of their Subaru Foresters and That Face all over the traffic cop worried about his quota and are let on their merry way with a stern warning. After announcing a pop quiz in Applied Calculus Professor Bevens is hit with sixty-two different versions of That Face.

The effect is so powerful\disturbing the professor decides to take lunch in his office that day.

When Mike Wallace asks Dr. Josef Stenberg why we, as a culture, are so fascinated the noted historian and scholar replies that The Face "effortlessly and intrinsically captures the depth of the human experience."

∞

There is a three day period wherein The New York Times makes a genuine attempt at substance before all parties involve realize how difficult it actually is and decide that mining Barry's first two years at MIT for scandal is much more creative use of their time.

The seven article series proves so popular the rate of traffic often causes the site to crash, to the point where the NYT puts an ad for a new head of IT in its own newspaper. (An error brought to their attention by the former IT supervisor as she storms out of their office making two very rude gestures with both of her hands.) The articles come dangerously close to reporting the significance of the solar ray that's currently powering the campus greenhouses and the fifteen classroom\lecture halls running on fossil fuels before remembering it's audience and veering back to the good stuff: in addition to campaigning long and hard to get one of his professors fired, (because the individual is a plaintiff in a current lawsuit his name has been redacted from all documentation in order to protect his identity. In any further documentation he shall be referred to as Mr. S.) Barry starts a (still active) war between the physics and computer science majors, stages a ninety-day sit in at Lanctom Hall and refuses to attend class until the United States converts to the metric system, attends seven out of his ten classes in his pajamas, builds a Death Ray, stages his own funeral, and has regular off-campus lunches with Neil Degrasse-Tyson where (according to an unnamed source) they discuss plans to reanimate Carl Sagan.

The Times receives countless emails from current and former MIT professors the content of which ranges from "Come on guys" to paragraphs of legal jargon, but because facts are annoying and can easily ruin a good time, they only publish one. For Mr. S who is, at this very  moment, teaching a remedial chemistry class in a Hoboken public school, seeing his words in print gives him the necessary courage to take out an entire page of the Op Ed column for the sole purpose of calling Barry an "odious, mouth-breathing cretin" (among other, more foul monikers) and insist that his time at MIT is "the most convincing super villain origin story I've ever seen." Buried in the seventh paragraph under piles of incoherent rage is a fairly lucid comparison to Lex Luthor, which all things considered, Barry rather likes.

At six-thirty the following morning,

Don't you have young minds to compromise?

appears in the comments section of Mr. S's article. The user name is something banal and forgettable, but the 25 x 37 armadillo icon is responsible for the overjoyed intern's giggle snort and the frantic search for a 2013 Scientific American article in which Barry mentions that armadillos are often underestimated because of their size and deceptively docile demeanor.

∞

2017

So.

Barry wakes up in Naldo's body, which because he invents time travel when he's fifteen and perfects localized teleportation over summer break his freshman at year at MIT isn't even the weirdest sentence he's ever had to type. It isn't even the strangest thing that happens that year, (that literal prizes goes to Sergey Abermoff a stunningly mediocre marine biologist who wins the Noble Prize for his contributions to Alaskan Puffer Fish research. From March to August Barry is engaged in a furious letter-writing campaign to the Academy because seriously? Dr. Gloria Hernandez discovers and isolates what appears to be a second God particle but generous funds are being allocated to his dad's favorite Red Lobster entree? No.) While he makes a concentrated effort to document his daily experiments, and somewhat less dedicated attempts to record his thoughts about more personal subjects (he objects to the use of the word "personal" in this context because it implies a mutual exclusivity between the personal and the scientific where no such distinction exists, but he digresses) spontaneous ionic transference is apparently unworthy of documentation. Reading through the accounts of the incidents of that spring, scholars and historians alike are surprised to find only the briefest, most perfunctory outline of events.

It's an odd, tangential footnote in most textbooks, and even the larger more expansive biographies tend to refer to it transiently. One of the foremost examples of this phenomenon being Edgar Chen's Event Horizon which glosses over the events in a way Joan Collins of the New York Times calls "whimsically dismissive". Of the archived articles, research papers, essays, books, films, digital recordings and miscellaneous sundries that number in the thousands only two hundred and eighty-six contain references to the events of the spring of 2017. Of that number one hundred and thirty-seven are passing references, eighty-five are footnotes, five are visual references ( two screen grabs, a gif, and two vague scenes in the Cern documentary and the feature film Singularity, all of which are subject to intense and varying interpretation) forty- two are allusions in popular fiction,  twelve are auditory, and seventeen are references to supplementary reading material that contain descriptions of the events so vague they border on unintelligible. In chapter four of Jackie Iron's (famed director of the Crabnormal Behavior Octo-thrilogy) tell-all Shellin' Out, Barry writes:

"I've never been fond of the "body-swap" trope. At best it's a cheap device used to create a sense of empathy between two characters possessing diametrically opposing viewpoints. At worst it's a study of the traumatic power of unrelenting body horror, a state of such brutal, paradigm-shifting physical and emotional dissonance that it's difficult to imagine surviving the encounter without constantly testing the tensile strength of  reality for the remainder of one's natural life. Why would a writer subject their audience to something so terrible?"

Strangely, Barry's autobiography makes only a passing reference to the event. He glosses over his years at Columbia (there are a few offhand references to a Washington think tank he attends in the summer of 2017) but expands upon graduate school in such unrelenting, excruciating detail that chapters forty-seven through fifty-three are known to make a few students nauseous. The clinical, almost detached narrative  prompts  Melanie Fung, freshman human interest columnist of the Columbia Daily Spectator, to write: "The text habitually  bathes Eisenberg in the soft light of scientific heroism, but the more personal, and possibly, more interesting threads of the narrative are glaringly absent."

It isn't until Jill Suarez publishes The Eisenberg Principle that the personal elements of Barry's life-coming out to his parents, the bullying he experiences in school, the two week period he spends in Renaldo Montoya's body-are recounted in detail.

[thedatasciencehyderabad]

17 Prime Data Science Purposes & Examples You Need To Know 2021

An enterprise analyst profile combines a little bit of each to help companies make information-pushed choices. Hard expertise required for the job include information mining, machine studying, deep studying, and the ability to integrate structured and unstructured data. Experience with statistical analysis techniques, such as modeling, clustering, data visualization and segmentation, and predictive analysis, are additionally a giant part of the roles. Data scientists create them by running machine studying, information mining or statistical algorithms towards knowledge sets to predict business scenarios and sure outcomes or behavior. Though the position of a data analyst varies depending on the corporate, normally, these professionals collect knowledge, process that knowledge and perform statistical evaluation using normal statistical instruments and strategies.

These algorithms can catch fraud faster and with higher accuracy than people, merely due to the sheer quantity of data generated every day. For example, you might collect data about a customer each time they go to your web site or brick-and-mortar store, add an merchandise to their cart, complete a buy order, open an email, or engage with a social media publication. After making certain the data from every source is correct, you have to mix it in a course referred to as data wrangling. This may involve matching a customer’s email address to their credit card data, social media handles, and purchase identifications.

It may also be used to optimize customer success and subsequent acquisition, retention, and progress. So robust soft skills, significant communication and public talking capacity are key. In addition, results ought to all the time be related back to the enterprise goals that spawned the project in the first place.

There's also deep studying, a more superior offshoot of machine learning that primarily uses artificial neural networks to analyze giant units of unlabeled information. In another article, Cognilytica's Schmelzer explains the connection between Data Science, machine studying and AI, detailing their totally different characteristics and the way they are often mixed in analytics functions. From an operational standpoint, Data Science initiatives can optimize administration of supply chains, product inventories, distribution networks and customer support. To a more fundamental degree, they point to increased efficiency and decreased costs. data science course in hyderabad additionally permits corporations to create enterprise plans and techniques which might be based mostly on informed evaluation of customer habits, market developments and competition. Without it, businesses might miss alternatives and make flawed selections.

I am trying to find out the greatest career path for me in huge information or enterprise intelligence. Predictive causal analytics – If you need a mannequin that may predict the chances of a selected event in the future, you should apply predictive causal analytics. Say, if you're offering money on credit score, then the likelihood of consumers making future credit funds on time is a matter of concern for you. Here, you'll have the ability to construct a model that can carry out predictive analytics on the fee historical past of the customer to foretell if the future funds shall be on time or not. Machine studying delivers correct results derived via the evaluation of huge knowledge sets.

With Data Science, vast volumes and numbers of knowledge can practice models better and extra successfully to indicate more precise suggestions. A lot of firms have fervidly used this engine / system to advertise their merchandise / recommendations in accordance with user’s interest and relevance of information. Internet giants like Amazon, Twitter, Google Play, Netflix, Linkedin, imdb and plenty of more use this system to enhance personal expertise.

Here is considered one of my favourite Data Scientist Venn diagrams created by Stephan Kolassa. You’ll notice that the primary ellipses in the diagram are very related to the pillars given above. What occupation did Harvard name the Sexiest Job of the twenty first Century? There remains no consensus on the definition of Data Science and it's thought-about by some to be a buzzword. Signal processing is any technique used to investigate and enhance digital alerts. This picture illustrates the private and skilled attributes of a Data Scientist.

Read up on what a knowledge cloth is and the means it will use AI and ML to transform information structure and create a new competitive advantage for companies that use it. These corporations have plenty of open Data Science jobs out there right now. Here are some examples of how Data Science is reworking sports activities beyond baseball. While both biking and public transit can curb driving-related emissions, Data Science can do the same by optimizing highway routes.

Some of the best examples of speech recognition products are Google Voice, Siri, Cortana and so on. Using speech-recognition characteristics, even if you aren’t in a position to type a message, your life wouldn’t cease. However, at occasions, you would notice, speech recognition doesn’t perform precisely. Procedures such as detecting tumors, artery stenosis, organ delineation employ varied methods and frameworks like MapReduce to find optimum parameters for duties like lung texture classification.

It’s additionally very useful in that Data Scientists typically should current and communicate results to key stakeholders, including executives. The greatest thing that every one Data Science tasks have in widespread use is the need to make use of tools and software programs to analyze the concerned algorithms and statistics, because the size of the pool of knowledge they're working with is so huge. Data scientist is doubtless considered one of the highest-paying job titles, and there's a high demand for professionals who're in a place to fill the assorted duties of the role. On the other hand, citizen Data Scientists may be hobbyists or volunteers, or might obtain a small amount of compensation for the work they do for major corporations.

Starting from the display banners on various web sites to the digital billboards at the airports – nearly all of them are decided through the use of data science algorithms. Data scientists are professionals who source, gather and analyse large sets of information. Most of the business decisions at present are based mostly on insights drawn from analysing data, that is why a Data Scientist is crucial in today’s world.

Please discuss with the Payment & Financial Aid page for additional information. No, all of our packages are 100 percent on-line, and available to participants no matter their location. Our platform options include quick, highly produced videos of HBS faculty and guest enterprise experts, interactive graphs and workout routines, cold calls to keep you engaged, and opportunities to contribute to a vibrant on-line group. Catherine Cote is an advertising coordinator at Harvard Business School Online. Prior to joining HBS Online, she worked at an early-stage SaaS startup where she found her passion for writing content, and at a digital consulting company, where she specialized in search engine optimization.

Data analysts are often given questions and targets from the top down, perform the analysis, after which report their findings. No matter what path is taken to learn, data scientist’s ought to have advanced quantitative information and extremely technical skills, primarily in statistics, mathematics, and pc science. One necessary thing to debate are off-the-shelf data science platforms and APIs. One may be tempted to suppose that these can be used relatively simply and thus not require important expertise in sure fields, and therefore not require a robust, well-rounded Data Scientist. Below is a diagram of the GABDO Process Model that I created and introduced in my e-book, AI for People and Business.

Before you start the project, it could be very important to perceive the various specifications, requirements, priorities and required price range. Data scientists are those that crack advanced information issues with their sturdy experience in certain scientific disciplines. They work with a quantity of components associated with arithmetic, statistics, computer science, etc . Traditionally, the data that we had was principally structured and small in size, which might be analyzed through the use of simple BI tools. In addition, Google offers you the choice to search for images by importing them. In their newest update, Facebook has outlined the extra progress they’ve made in this space, making particular notice of their advances in image recognition accuracy and capacity.

The recommendations are made based mostly on earlier search outcomes for a person. But there are many different search engines like Google, Yahoo, Bing, Ask, AOL, and so forth. All these search engines make use of Data Science algorithms to ship one of the best results for our searched question in a fraction of seconds. Considering the fact that, Google processes greater than 20 petabytes of knowledge every single day. Over the years, banking firms learned to divide and conquer information by way of buyer profiling, previous expenditures, and other essential variables to analyze the probabilities of danger and default. Yes, Data Science is a good profession path, in fact, one of many very best ones now.

If you’re new to the world of data and want to bolster your abilities, two phrases you’re prone to encounter are “data analytics” and “data science.” While these terms are associated, they discuss different things. Below is a summary of what each word means and the means it applies in business. “In this world of massive data, primary data literacy—the ability to research, interpret, and even question data—is an increasingly priceless ability,” says Harvard Business School Professor Jan Hammond within the on-line course Business Analytics.

This programming-oriented job includes creating the machine studying fashions wanted for Data Science applications. Machine learning and data science have saved the monetary business hundreds of thousands of dollars, and unquantifiable amounts of time. For instance, JP Morgan’s Contract Intelligence platform makes use of Natural Language Processing to process and extract important knowledge from about 12,000 commercial credit score agreements a year. Thanks to Data Science, what would take around 360,000 guide labor hours to complete is now finished in a few hours. Additionally, fintech companies like Stripe and Paypal are investing heavily in data science training in hyderabad to create machine studying tools that quickly detect and prevent fraudulent activities.

Applying AI cognitive applied sciences to ML methods can result in the effective processing of information and information. But what are the key variations between Data Science vs Machine Learning and AI vs ML? Simply put, synthetic intelligence aims at enabling machines to execute reasoning by replicating human intelligence. Since the principal objective of AI processes is to show machines from expertise, feeding the best data and self-correction is crucial. AI specialists depend on deep studying and natural language processing to assist machines establish patterns and inferences.

Retailers analyze customer habits and buying patterns to drive personalised product suggestions and targeted promoting, marketing and promotions. Data science also helps them manage product inventories and provide chains to maintain items in inventory. Data science permits streaming companies to trace and analyze what customers watch, which helps decide the brand new TV reveals and movies they produce. Data-driven algorithms are also used to create customized suggestions primarily based on a consumer's viewing history. It’s cutting-edge now, but soon a data cloth shall be a vital software for managing data.

The term was first used in 1960 by Peter Naur, who was a pioneer in laptop science. He described the foundational aspects of the methods and approaches used in data science in his 1974 book, Concise Survey of Computer Methods. [newline]There are many instruments out there for Data Scientists to make use of to govern and research huge portions of knowledge, and it's important to at all times evaluate their effectiveness and maintain attempting new ones as they become out there. Data scientists must depend on experience and intuition to decide which strategies will work greatest for modeling their data, and they should modify those methods constantly to hone in on the insights they seek. Data science plays an important role in safety and fraud detection, as the end result of the large quantities of information allows for drilling down to search out slight irregularities in knowledge that can expose weaknesses in safety methods. Delivery companies, freight carriers and logistics providers use Data Science to optimize supply routes and schedules, in addition to one of the best modes of transport for shipments.

Whereas knowledge analytics is primarily centered on understanding datasets and gleaning insights that can become actions, Data Science is centered on building, cleaning, and organizing datasets. Data scientists create and leverage algorithms, statistical fashions, and their own customized analyses to collect and form uncooked information into something that can be more simply understood. Some of the key variations however, are that data analysts sometimes usually are not laptop programmers, nor answerable for statistical modeling, machine learning, and lots of the other steps outlined within the Data Science process above. Many statisticians, together with Nate Silver, have argued that Data Science isn't a model new field, but quite another name for statistics. Others argue that data science is distinct from statistics as an end result of it focuses on problems and methods unique to digital knowledge. Vasant Dhar writes that statistics emphasizes quantitative knowledge and description.

They handle knowledge pipelines and infrastructure to transform and transfer data to respective Data Scientists to work on. They majorly work with Java, Scala, MongoDB, Cassandra DB, and Apache Hadoop. This web site makes use of cookies to improve your experience when you navigate through the website. Out of these, the cookies that are categorized as necessary are saved in your browser as they are essential for the working of primary functionalities of the internet site.

Yet, to harness the power of huge knowledge, it isn’t necessary to be a data scientist. Hopefully this article has helped demystify the info scientist position and other associated roles. More and more today, Data Scientists should be capable of utilizing instruments and technologies associated with huge amounts of information as nicely. Some of the most well-liked examples include Hadoop, Spark, Kafka, Hive, Pig, Drill, Presto, and Mahout.

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