#i plan to get the rest of the pages edited and do a test print ^_^ i have some stuff planned for this year

[emmysealart]

printed comic yeah!! wahoo!!

this is a collection of the more, well, depressing entries of my diary comic from my freshman year of college. all the panels and characters were inked, cut out, and glued to another paper. a full version will hopefully be coming soon :)

[ruthoakenshield]

Very Good Friends (Chapter 8)

Catch up here: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7]

Reader x Henry Cavill, Reader x co-star named Dan

Warning: This tale is for 18+ readers ONLY!!!  Mentions of flashbacks: (rape, anal sex, non-con sex, abuse), severe  bruising and injury, mentions of suicidal thoughts, depression,  humiliation, and some fluff to make us feel better. Smut comes later on  in the story… Several chapters down the road… I promise!!!

If ANY  of the warnings upset you or make you uncomfortable, DO NOT read below  the cut! go find something else to read in this case.

If you are okay with reading those things then enjoy the tale below the cut.

Feedback and reblogs are appreciated. I do not own Henry nor do I have any  personal knowledge of him besides what is common knowledge amongst the  Cavillary. Any mistakes and typos are mine, story is not beta-tested.  GIF I got from the tumbler search thingy.

Sunday morning arrives and it is cloudy and raining. Henry lays on the bed, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain hitting the trailer as you sleep, head still on his Pec. Arms wrapped around his broad chest and fingers holding his shirt. your body still wrapped in the comforter burrito. Neither of you shifted positions as you slept, and he still has his cheek resting against your head. The scent of peppermint still comforting his thoughts. He smiles realizing you seemed to sleep through the night with no nightmares this time. He hopes you finally got some much needed rest.

He thinks about the things the counselor said yesterday and he wonders if the self-defense class would help you like it did the other women. It certainly couldn’t hurt. He thought it might help you if he took the class as well. Then you both could spar together. He decided he’d talk to you about it when you woke up.

He wondered if you would like to try drawing or painting or creative writing to help you sort things out in your pretty little head of yours. He decided to ask you about it as well.

It was the beginning of August and it was chilly now in the mornings and evenings. He hadn’t turned on the furnace in the trailer yet. Though you were in your comforter burrito, he was for the most part uncovered and a little chilly. He made a mental note to have maintenance check the furnace and turn it on for him.

Henry hears his phone chirp, and he glances over to the nightstand where it sat. He reaches over and frowns when he sees it’s his publicist. He grabs his phone and unlocks it to see the message from his publicist: “Henry, FYI: Someone leaked what happened to the paparazzi, but are playing Dan as the victim. They’re having a heyday. Try to keep y/n off of social media and away from tv. Her publicist and I are teaming up with the studio’s trying to do damage control. Be careful who you talk with and share info with till we find out who the leaker is.” It read.

He quickly replies to her: “The only people we’ve talked to about any of this is the hospital staff, the police, the executive of the studio and the counselor besides my agent, you, y/n’s agent and her publicist, and my PA. I don’t know if y/n talked with her PA at all. What all is being said about y/n?” Henry asks.

She replies: “They’re saying she is falsely accusing him and that she forced him, and wanted it rough and that she was mad at him for rejecting her repeated attempts to get him to date her. She’s being labeled as a whore, who is trying to ruin his career.

Sounds to us like it’s his agent trying to set her up to take the blame so Dan can get off scott free since she is new to the business. They seem to think she can be used as the scapegoat.

There’s several of your castmates who have already posted to social media defending y/n and saying that Dan was the one harassing her and not taking no for an answer and that HE was the one wanting to date her and she refused him repeatedly. They also stated that she didn’t show up for his going away party and was the only one to do so. (Though they don’t know her reason for not showing up – no one has been told of her injuries yet except the studio heads, the director and the producers.)

The studio is trying to figure out if they can salvage the film now or if they are going to have to scrap it now that Dan’s fucked it up with this PR stunt. There’s talk of going after him for damages if the film flops or if they have to scrap it or delay it and have his role recast and refilm all his scenes.” His publicist texts him.

Henry groans, making you stir. He caresses your head, and you fall back asleep. Henry rubs his face, his brows knitted, and his forehead creased with worry.

“Ugh!!! Ok. What do you want me to do? She’s staying in my trailer and is REALLY struggling to come to terms with all this. She’s been having nightmares and last night was the first night she didn’t have them and slept soundly (on my chest).” Henry messages back.

“I’ll ask the director. I think we need to let the cast see y/n and talk to her; or show them the photos of the injures she sustained and explain to them their extent, so they know just how badly she’s been hurt. I have the photos from the PD in case we needed to have evidence shared of her injuries. I’ve edited them so her face isn’t showing, and her privates are covered. The arm, thigh and torso bruising and the obvious hand bruises on her neck should be sufficient to convince them.

Everyone was wondering why her trailer was being searched by the PD and why it was removed, then Dan pulls this PR stunt and eveyone’s asking me and her PR what’s going on. All we told them was that Dan attacked y/n and raped her the night before the party. But they don’t know how badly she was hurt.

The doctor I spoke with who treated her said she had serious lesions both in her ass and her vagina and throat from what Dan did to her, and that they had bled heavily from the sex. He suspected that Dan had some kind of ribbed sleeve or harness with stiff ribs or nubs on it that was scraping her as he had his way with her that caused the lesions. He said they are meant to be used with lube and there was no lube in her at all in neither of her holes nor her throat. He said it would’ve been incredibly painful and exposed her to a high risk for infection and STD’s if he had any.

The police found an empty box of condoms in her bedroom garbage. It contained 36 originally, when they searched the bedroom garbage and the bathroom one, they came up with all 36 of them and most of them had her blood and his semen in/on them. They also found dildos in varying sizes, some insanely bizarre, in Dan’s possession with her DNA on them  buy only his hand / finger prints when they arrested him at his trailer. Judging by the security cameras’ he was in her trailer almost 12 hours.” She informs Henry.

He lays there in shock, he rubs his face and looks down at you. His face red with anger realizing you most likely endured at least 7 hours of this kind of torture. He cups your head with his hand and kisses your forehead. Wishing he had only known Dan’s intent and could’ve stopped it.

“Oh God! She said they watched one movie and she had put in the second one. Then she doesn’t remember what happened after that other than waking up twice to Dan fucking her. So, he was there at least two hours before he began to assault her sexually! God only knows how long it lasted and if he slept at all or raped her the entire time!” Henry replies. “I can’t imagine what she went through! No wonder she is emotionally shutting down and trying to just retreat inward! No wonder why she’s hurting physically SO bad!” he adds.

Henry caresses your head and back, he sighs. Not sure what to do now or how to help you. He just wants to cry knowing now, what you most likely endured. It was worse than anyone could’ve imagined. He hopes the cops throw the book at his idiot co-star. It just makes him sick what Dan did.

He snaps a photo of you asleep on his chest with his hand on your back, keeping his face out of the photo. Posting it to his Instagram page, he writes. “I am thinking of and praying for this wonderful, talented, incredibly kind, patient and amazing woman. You’ve endured more horrors than I could possibly imagine! I’m glad to know you and my support, thoughts and prayers are with you, Kitten, during this rough patch. You’ll get through it and shine all the brighter in the end. Keep your chin up our brave sweetheart, rest when you can, and don’t give up! We got your back!”

He sighs again and locks his screen. Setting it face down, he looks down at you and shakes his head in both amazement of what all you’ve endured, and sadness because he was not there to protect you and stop it. His heart aches for you. He closes his eyes and just holds you trying to be as supportive as he can.

About an hour later, he gets a group text from the director, producers and executive of the studio. “Please come to a meeting at the studio office today at 2pm to discuss current events and future plans for the film. Henry, bring y/n with you.”

Henry visibly cringes at the message. It either means they’re scrapping it, or they’re going forward and have some serious plans hoping to make this film work.

Henry carefully turns the two of you onto your sides, with you against the pillows you had propped there behind you when you climbed in next to him. He gently peels your arms off his shirt and he carefully slips himself out from beside you, propping you with more pillows to keep you hopefully asleep and comfortable for a while yet. He suspects his phone is going to blow up now and doesn’t want to disturb you.

Henry turns the ringer off, so it just vibrates and keeps it in his pants pocket as he gets up and heads for the bathroom. He does his thing and gets freshened up and goes into his room and changes clothes. About a half hour later, he starts getting messages from the other costars asking what’s going on. He sighs and does a conference call with them all while he is in the guest bathroom on the opposite end of the trailer, trimming his beard stubble, so you weren’t bothered.

He tells them he can’t say much about what’s going on until the meeting. He explains you’re staying with him in his trailer because it is where you currently feel safe and protected, and that you are really struggling with what happened to you. He asks them to please be supportive of you and to respect your need to just cope.

They ask if what Dan is claiming is true and Henry tells them no, it is quite the opposite. “Just be careful who you talk to about this. There’s a leaker somewhere and we haven’t been able to find out who it is. When we get to the meeting you all will be filled in with exactly what happened and how bad it really is. Until then, don’t comment to anyone about any of this.”

They ask if he has any idea if the film will continue or be scrapped. “I have no idea. My agent said they were trying to figure out what to do, there was talk of scrapping it if there’s no way to save it, depending on the public outcry; they talked about replacing Dan with a different actor and re-filming all the scenes he was in, and there was talk of going after Dan for damages depending on what is decided. I have no idea what option they chose or if they came up with other options. “It’s a PR nightmare thanks to Dan deciding to be an asshole.” Henry tells them.

“How is y/n doing, Henry? I mean really.” One co-star asks. Henry sighs, “She’s struggling big time. I am too. She is hurting immensely, both physically and emotionally. She’s been having nightmares and struggling to get restful sleep because of what Dan did to her. It just makes me sick to know what he did and be powerless to really help besides holding her and letting her cry and trying to be supportive and encouraging. You’ll understand when you see her. I hope they throw the book at Dan for what he did. He’s a monster as far as I’m concerned. No woman should have to go through what he did to her!” Henry growls, trying to keep quiet and not wake you up.

They are all quiet. “Henry, would you mind if we left her some encouragement outside your trailer? We don’t want to disturb her or anything, just want to let her know we’re thinking about her and support her in this and that we’re here for her. Whatever she needs.” They ask.

“That’s fine, guys. I’m sure she’ll appreciate any support we can give her. This isn’t going to be a fast recovery by any means.” He tells them.

“She’s such a great gal, Hen, I’m so sorry to hear Dan hurt her so badly. She was such a little ray of sunshine on set, always smiling and bubbly.” One costar comments. There’s murmuring of agreement amongst the co-stars. “Yeah, we all saw how Dan would treat her on set. I regret not reporting him now.” another costar says. Others murmur similar regret. “Well if you hear noise outside the trailer, don’t be alarmed, it’s just us. Okay, Hen?” they tell him. “Okay guys. We’ll see you around 2pm.” He tells them and hangs up.

More chapters to come...

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[oh-obrien]

Inscrutable {4}

Inscrutable: Impossible to Understand or Interpret 

Masterlist 

Relationships: Stiles Stilinski x Original Female Character

Word Count: 6,224 6,737

Warnings: None

Author’s Note: Part Four!!! Uhh lots of angst and a lot about Finley’s past. Also Scott makes an appearance. 

THIS PART OF INSCRUTABLE HAS BEEN UPDATED WITH MORE CONTENT AND HAS ALSO BEEN EDITED MORE THROUGHLY!

Finley woke up when she felt a body shift underneath her, a small groan slipping past the lips of whoever she had been sleeping on. Whoever she had been sleeping on? Finally, remembering what had happened with Stiles, Finley let out a small gasp and sat up, smacking her knee on the wall in the process.

“Fuck!”

“Oh God are you okay?”

Their voices came out at the same time and Finley sighed, leaning her head against the cool wall of her room. Stiles’ body had felt incredibly warm against her, and while the cool wall helped calm her nerves, she wanted to curl back up on him and fall asleep again “What time is it?” She cleared her throat and tried to find her glasses. She didn’t remember taking them off.

“Like two-thirty?” Stiles squinted as his phone screen lit up, “here,” he handed her the glasses she had been looking for. “You know I haven’t seen you with them before today, yesterday, whatever you want to call it,” he pointed out.

Finley thumbed at a smudge on the lenses and sighed. Her eyesight had been the one werewolf perk she had missed out on. Her dad had passed it off as a human gene she had gotten form her mother somewhere along the way and took Finley to an optometrist when she had been complaining of blurry vision at a young age. “I wear contacts usually,” she yawned, her nose crinkling up while she did. She watched Stiles sink back into the pillows while she climbed over him and off the bed. She quietly shuffled her way across her room to unplug her lights, making sure she set the plug down carefully on the floor.

“Well, they suit you,” Stiles mumbled, staring up at the ceiling while he rubbed at his eyes before yawning. Finley smiled and ran her fingers along the arm of her glasses, a feeling of happiness bubbling up inside her with his words.

Finley turned off the TV also and let the soft glow of the streetlight outside her window guide her back to her bed. “Are you feeling any better?” Stiles asked.

Finley sat at the edge of her bed letting out a yawn herself, “yeah. I’m- I’m sorry about that,” she whispered. “I uhh-” she trailed off, “I’m not usually like that,” she settled on. She looked over to Stiles whose eyes were trained on her figure. Even in the dark she could see him rather clearly, and she knew he had his eyes on her.

“Well, it’s okay to y’know. Have emotions,” he spoke into the darkness of the room. Finley scoffed at his response and closed her eyes, she still felt physically exhausted, and mentally drained. “I was just trying to help,” he added. Finley pulled her socks off and paired them together, putting them on her desk. “And it’s too late for me to leave now,” he added.

Finley sighed and pushed off her bed again. “I’ll take the floor, you can take the bed,” she said walking over to her closet to get an extra blanket.

“Or-” Stiles sat up, “you can come lay here again because I think the whole physical contact thing was really helping both of us sleep better, and all my friends back home know I’m a very touchy person,” he cocked his head to the side.

“But-”

“Lydia wouldn’t care and I’m planning on breaking up with her when she visits anyway,” Stiles ran a hand over his face and rubbed at the stubble on his chin, he had really just said that Finley wasn’t dreaming. “Now that that’s on the table, come lay down.” Stiles didn’t leave much room for Finley to argue, and quite frankly, she wasn’t complaining about that. Finley dropped the extra blanket in her hands and sighed, walking back to her bed, and crawling over Stiles to settle where she had been sleeping earlier.

Stiles watched as Finley climbed back into her bed while he adjusted the pillows so they both had plenty of room. She pulled her glasses off and reached over him to settle them on the dresser next to his phone and their half-eaten food. She let out a small sigh while she settled down next to him. “Before it just, kind of happened, I’ve never like,” she stuttered out.

“Here,” Stiles knew what she had been trying to say and laid down flat, straightening his arm out along the pillows and pulling Finley closer. He felt her head come to rest on his chest and his arm curled around her back, rubbing circles into her side over her shirt.    

She let out a shaky breath and Stiles watched her eyes slip closed while she rested her hand flat on his abdomen. “Thank you, Stiles,” she spoke quietly.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” he replied before closing his eyes.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Finley paced the tiled floors of her dad’s office, her claws digging into her palms and the heel of her Under Armor sneakers squeaking whenever she turned on her left foot. Maxwell sat quietly behind his desk, watching his daughter’s movements, and waiting for her to settle down. Neither party was unfamiliar with this course of actions, and both knew they just had to wait out Finley’s pacing while her brain processed her thoughts. “I don’t understand it dad!” She turned around to face her father, finally sinking into the leather chair that faced his large oakwood desk. She held her palms out and noticed that they were bleeding. Back to old, and bad, habits. Finley rested her palms up on her dad’s desk to show him the already healing cuts.

“What don’t you understand, Finley?” He asked while handing her a small towel. Maxwell and Finley had always been close, Finley had been a typical ‘daddy’s girl’, and once they started working together, they only grew closer. Taking a deep breath and watching her claws retract Finley looked up to her father. “Your eyes are still red, dear,” the statement dripped with sarcasm.

“Yeah, and I’m still full of pent-up anxiety,” she retorted, closing her eyes. When she opened them, she looked in the mirror next to her dad’s desk to see them back to their normal blue. Maxwell laughed lightly while he watched his daughter wipe the blood off her hands off, the claw marks already healed fully and her skin showing no sign that the marks were ever there.

“I can smell it,” he laughed lightly.

“Thanks dad,” Finley glared at him, “but to answer your question, I don’t understand anything right now,” she ran her fingers through her hair, wavy from the tight braids she had in it the night before. She hadn’t wanted to confront Stiles after they woke up that morning and had spent extra time in the bathroom taking her braids out.

Maxwell let out a long sigh while he stood up, walking over to his bookshelf lined wall, running his fingers over the spines of the books, obviously looking for a specific one. He ran his fingers over several incredibly old looking books before his fingers settled on one that was entirely black. Finley watched him wrap her fingers around the top of the book before he pulled it out. “Here,” he set it down on his desk and flipped it open, some dust flying off the pages while he flipped through. “Read it.” He turned the book around to face his daughter. The text had been printed in Latin, but luckily for Finley, her dad had subjected the twins to hours upon hours of Latin lessons when they were younger. Something about being ‘connected with family roots’ and learning Latin being a ‘rite of passage’ in their family.

Finley saw the word at the top of the page, ‘Mates’, printed in the fanciest script she had ever seen. “Nope!” She told her dad, pushing the book back. “Let’s show you all that money you spent on foreign language classes for me, and Cian paid off. Non, Nein, Net, Ne, and again, No.”

“Finley Louella!” Maxwell raised his voice and Finley simply sat back, flashing her red eyes at her father, testing him to actually try and tell her what to do. “I keep forgetting that doesn’t work on you anymore,” he let out a long sigh. “Just please consider it, you know your brother and Clara are-”

“Okay and Cian is the perfect son! Finley replied, “he’s not testy, he listens to whatever you say, he can live in the same house as the rest of the pack, and on top of it he’s planning on getting engaged this year for God’s sake!” She stood you and started pacing the room again, the periodic squeaking from her sneaker filling the room again. “I just! I don’t have a mate, dad! I’m not- I’m not that kind of person.” She looked out the window and noticed how rain still fell outside. If she got lucky practice would be cancelled and she could wallow in her own anxiety and pity for the rest of the day after work.

  Maxwell laughed lightly and closed the book, pushing it to the end of his desk. “You know, your mom was a human too, Finley,” he said quietly. “And I met her my sophomore year of high school, I just felt inexplicably drawn to her.”

“I’ve heard the story before dad,” Finley grumbled and glanced at her parent’s wedding photo that sat on her father’s desk. “I just, I don’t think there’s always a mate made for everyone,” she sighed. Maxwell let out a long sigh of his own, opting to give the topic up for the time being, instead he turned to the files on his desk.

“On another topic,” Maxwell thought shifting to something else may make his daughter happier, “I don’t want to say you’re right,” her dad turned a thick file towards her, the folder open, pictures of a green-ish, wrinkled figure with pointed teeth inside.

“It was a Djinn!” Finley grabbed the file and picked up the pictures. “I had been saying that for months!” She smiled and flipped through the pictures, each one confirming the suspicions she had for months more and more. She closed the folder and noticed the word ‘closed’ stamped across the folder in red ink.

Maxwell watched his daughter’s face drop and sighed, so much for that attempt at cheering her up. “Finely,” he started, “I- you know we couldn’t wait to act on this case.” He told her. Maxwell looked up and offered his daughter an apologetic smile, noticing the disappointment spreading across her face. “We couldn’t wait for you to be able to go back out to Nevada to finish the case and-”

“And this- this right here,” she threw the file on to her dad’s desk. “This is why I didn’t want to go to college!” Finley knew she acted unreasonably on occasion, but it truly had been the only way she could get her feelings across for years now.

Maxwell stood up, and flashed his fangs at his daughter, his look telling her that she should check her tone. It being the only show of power he really had left against his daughter. Early on Maxwell’s family, as well as his late wife’s, had informed the couple that Finley would, with no doubt, eventually present as a True Alpha. The couple had brushed it off for years, just contributing Finley’s actions and mood to her ‘strong willed’ personality type. However, when his daughter had eventually presented as a True Alpha, a couple months short of the twin’s seventeenth birthday, there had been a rift that formed in the family.

Maxwell belonged to his parents’ pack, with his mother being known as one of the most powerful Alphas east of the Rocky Mountains. Maxwell’s wife had taken the bite shortly before they were married, and with luck they had a set of twins, both who proved to be werewolves themselves. Finley had taken on the role of ‘the boss’ in the pack’s home almost as soon as she could speak and eventually all the other children who lived in the house found their place behind her.

Maxwell and his mother had sat down with Finley after her thirteenth birthday and had described in detail the power and responsibility that would come with being an Alpha. Finley had brushed the conversation off at the time, informing her father and grandmother that she ‘didn’t have it in her’ to kill someone else to take their Alpha status and she also decided that True Alphas were too rare for her to become one. She hadn’t considered that her grandmother, eventually, wanted to pass her power down to Finley.

Once she had presented as a True Alpha upon returning home from a particularly dangerous undercover job that her father had allowed her to take the reins on; a rift quickly started to form in the Mannulv Pack’s home. There had been a fight for power between Finley and her grandmother which had resulted in Finley moving into the guest cabin for most of her senior year of high school, deciding it would be the healthiest option for the entire pack.

After Cian had gotten into a fight with his father and one of his uncles about the mistreatment of his sister he decided to announce once they both finished college, he would be joining Finley’s pack with Clara. Splitting a pack obviously hadn’t been Finley’s intention. However, with her grandmother’s temper being so volatile there wasn’t another option. The Mannulv Pack simply couldn’t have two Alpha’s living in the same household without it ending in both verbal and physical fights.

“Finley you know it wasn’t about you being in college,” Maxwell sighed looking at his daughter, who eagerly waited to interject her opinion.

Finley sunk back down into her chair and opted to rip apart the towel her father had given her with her claws instead of ripping up her palms again. “Okay fine, but you could have at least told me after you had closed the case instead of waiting,” she opened the folder and looked for the date it had been closed, “a week and a half for me to find out myself.”

“And you should be more concerned about your education for now,” Maxwell held up a finger to keep his daughter from cutting him off. “But I think the whole mate thing has you a little bit on edge right now. I know you don’t like talking to your grandmother-” Maxwell watched Finley’s lip curl at the mention of her. “If you give me a minute,” he laughed, “I was going to suggest lunch with your uncle.”

“I have like, four uncles on your side, that’s helpful,” Finley gave Maxwell a deadpan look.

“Your uncle Cayden,” Maxwell watched his daughter’s face peak with interest. “And he suggested Quarry House.”

Finley closed the file and shoved it across her father’s desk. “Okay, why are we still sitting here?” She grabbed her dad’s car keys off the ring by his office’s door and threw them to him. “And don’t give me the ‘I’m working’, crap. It’s Saturday you most definitely are working on your own time right now so let’s go!” Maxwell laughed and caught the keys to his own Range Rover, picking up his jacket and following Finley out of his office.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Stiles sat at his desk, a container of food from one of the on-campus dining locations in front of him, and a pencil in his free hand. He had been trying to finish his homework for his statistics class but couldn’t seem to focus on much of anything. Instead, he found himself typing out a message to Scott, asking if his best friend had time to video chat. Not even a minute later Stiles watched as a Skype call from Scott started coming through his laptop.

Feeling a smile pull at his lips, Stiles slid his pencil behind his ear and answered the call. “Hey!” Scott’s face was entirely too close to the screen and Stiles laughed hearing Malia tell him to ‘move back dumbass’ in the background. “Ahh the lady is over, hey Mal!” Stiles spoke while Scott moved back from his computer. Scott sat cross-legged on his bed, looking exhausted but still content, but girls seemed to have that effect on the True Alpha. A dopey smile pulled at his lips and his hair sat tousled on top of his head.

“Full moon was last night, man,” Scott shrugged, “gotta take the energy out somehow.” Stiles fake gagged and he heard Malia laugh loudly from somewhere in Scott’s room.

Stiles shoved another bite of food into his mouth, “I don’t need to know any more about your sex life than I already do,” he mumbled through the food. “That goes for you too, Malia!”

Scott sank back into his pillow and ran his hand over the stubble covering his chin with a guilty smile. “Speaking of sex lives,” Malia climbed into bed with Scott and sat halfway on his lap. She clearly had one of his t-shirts and the couple looked like they had woken up not too long ago. As much as Stiles had loved the time he had been in a relationship with Malia, he was more than glad she and Scott could make each other happy now. “Scott said you were staying with some girl last night,” she raised one of her eyebrows.

“Scott!” Stiles groaned and the werewolf in question just raised his hands in surrender. Letting out a long sigh Stiles set his plastic fork down and picked up his water bottle. “First,” he turned his head, so it appeared as if he faced Malia, “we did not have sex. Second I’m still in a relationship with Lydia-”

“Who you’re planning on breaking up with when me and her come to visit,” Scott cut him off.

Stiles waved his hand to dismiss Scott’s comment. Stiles knew he planned to break up with Lydia soon, and he knew most of his friends knew that already because Scott can’t keep his mouth shut. In his mind though, it still felt wrong to talk about.

Lydia had been his dream girl since third grade, and after the events with the Ghost Riders, he felt more than lucky to have finally gotten to call her his girlfriend. However, the charm of their relationship had worn off quite quickly. Sure, the sex had been great and so had their friendship beforehand, but they were just too intellectually similar to have a stable and long-lasting relationship together.  Stiles knew breaking up with her would be the best decision for them both in the long run, but he still dreaded it.

“Yes, thank you for reminding me Scott,” he sighed. “Can I continue with my train of thought now?” Stiles watched Malia slap a hand over Scott’s mouth and Scott must have licked her hand because she pulled it away and wiped her palm on his cheek. “Ew,” Stiles mumbled.

Scott and Malia both turned back to the computer with guilty smiles. “Sorry, Stiles,” Scott gave his best ‘puppy-dog-pout’, probably hoping that it could somehow get Stiles to ignore his and Malia’s flirting. “You know how it can be sometimes,” he added. Stiles felt a small pull in his chest, but nodded, nonetheless.

“I get it, no worries,” Stiles hoped Scott couldn’t pick up on how upset he felt though the computer. “But yeah, I went over to her dorm, err suite, to work on that project for intro to law,” he held up the folder full of documents he had printed. “And I felt terrible from lacrosse, because they show no mercy here apparently,” he saw Scott crack a smile, “yeah, yeah. Not all of us magically heal!”

Scott started to laugh, and Malia kicked him in the shin. “Jerk, listen to Stiles,” she mumbled.

“Thank you, Malia,” Stiles spoke. “Anyway, she insisted it would be fine if we didn’t work on it, she showed me how amazing a heating pad can be for sore muscles, and then we ordered dinner. Somewhere after that I found out she looks just like her mom, and apparently it’s normal to keep booze in your dorm?” That last part came out as more of a question. “Uhh she’s hot, like H-O-T, hot, found out she’s never had a boyfriend, somehow.  She actually got ditched by the guy she was into at prom for his ex-”

“What an asshole,” Scott interjected. Scott who seemed amused by Stiles’ rambling, and he would let Stiles ramble as long as he needed to if it would help him work out his feelings for this new girl he had found. Although Stiles lived across the country now, he still held his place as a member in Scott’s pack. And as an Alpha, Scott felt partly responsible for the happiness of his packmates.

Stiles nodded, “right?” He ran his hands through his hair and leaned back more in his desk chair. “But then she kinda had a little emotional meltdown and I offered physical comfort, then she wound up dozing off and I felt bad waking her up to leave and I fell asleep too. Somewhere around two-thirty we woke up, I admitted I planned on breaking up with Lydia, she got a little skittish and then we fell asleep again.” Stiles let out a long breath of air from his nose after he finished speaking.  Scott took a moment to process all of what Stiles had just said and looked over at Malia, seeing if she wanted to speak first.

Scott closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before speaking, knowing he had to speak first. “And you feel this strong for this girl after only a week of knowing her?” Scott asked. He knew there were hook-ups that happened in college, but this, this wasn’t just a hook-up. Scott knew Stiles well enough to understand that much.

“Finley,” Stiles started with. “Her name’s Finley, but yeah. I just feel so drawn to her and I can’t pinpoint why I do.” Stiles knew something just felt right with Finley, he knew it the moment he had sat next to her in class, but he couldn’t figure out the why. Not knowing the why had been driving him crazy since Monday. Stiles didn’t like not knowing the ‘why’ in life. Finley was attractive, that couldn’t be disputed, but it wasn’t just her looks that had Stiles absolutely enthralled with her. When they were together it just felt right, the type of right he can’t explain.

  Malia looked at Scott and took her opportunity to speak, “sometimes you just know when you meet the right person,” she shrugged. “And no one’s denying you that, Stiles,” she looked at Scott who had hooked his chin over her shoulder. “But you haven’t even broken up with Lydia yet. You don’t know how you’re going to feel after you do.”

“I mean, I agree with her Stiles,” Scott interjected. “I’m going to be there when you do break up with Lydia, but I can’t move into your dorm and stay in D.C. afterwards if you get too sad.” Scott was only partly joking; as closed off and reserved Stiles could be, everyone knew that he when he felt he felt deeply.

Stiles sighed but nodded at the same time. He knew that Malia and Scott were right, but he also knew that he didn’t want to let Finley slip through his fingers when she was currently right in front of him, he’d never let that one go if he lost her so quickly. “All I can promise you two is that I’ll try and move slowly. Okay?” Stiles saw a look of disapproval cross Scott’s face, but he quickly switched the topic.

“So there’s this new beta working at the station and-”

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Maxwell and Finley walked into The Quarry House Tavern and saw Maxwell’s youngest brother, Cayden, waiting for them in the overflow area. Cayden stood up with a bright simile and walked over to hug Finley, who enthusiastically returned his embrace. Cayden smelled like the pack house, he smelled like home, he smelled like all the relationships she wanted so desperately to rebuild but knew she couldn’t. He had been the uncle Finley was closest to growing up, while he was so much younger than his other siblings, and still in a different stage in life when the twins were born, it allowed them to form more of a relationship with the youngest of their father’s siblings.

“How’s college going, pup?” Cayden asked Finley once they had been seated.

Finley whined in the back of her throat. “I’m eighteen Cay,” she huffed out, flipping the page on her menu. “M’not a pup anymore. But it’s going fine,” she looked at her uncle over the menu.

Maxwell sat silent while he flipped through his own menu. Cayden raised his eyebrows at his niece before setting down his own menu, “and that’s why you smell like a boy?” He asked suspiciously.

“Dad!

“I took you here to talk to Cayden, Finley,” Maxwell still didn’t look up from his menu. “And I hope you’ll do so.” Finley took a deep breath and willed herself to keep her emotions in-check, especially the day after the full moon. She always felt extra emotional in the two days leading up to and after the full moon, and sometimes she found herself acting on feelings she knew she shouldn’t, whether it be with compassion or anger.

Cayden thanked their waiter who set down glasses of water in front of the trio, all three of them putting their orders in also. Finley made sure to order something large and messy so she would be able to limit her time speaking. “So?” Cayden asked again. “Your dad said something about you having met your mate?”

Finley looked at Maxwell and flashed him her fangs as best she could in a public space, assuring him they would be having words on the way back to his office. “I mean,” she shrugged looking at her uncle, “I honestly don’t believe in the whole, mates thing.” She offered her somewhat honest opinion.

“So, you don’t think what your brother and Clara has is genuine?”

“Well, I do, but-”

“Me and your aunt Gina?”

“That’s different, and-

“Your dad and your mom?” Finley felt her breath catch in her throat when her uncle mentioned her parent’s relationship. She also noted the uptick in her father’s heartbeat and the frown his face pulled into. Even with her mom having passed away well over ten years prior, it still tended to be a sore spot for the family; everyone knew not to bring her up unless she needed to be mentions in a conversation. Cayden, of all people, knew that the most; so, Finley recognized that her uncle wasn’t using her mother against her, but was using her to help Finley open her eyes.

Finley pulled her bottom lip between her teeth while Cayden took a sip of his water, trying not to lash out at him for mentioning her mom when she knew his intentions were pure. “You really can’t compare all of those relationships to my situation,” Finley mumbled, drumming her fingers on the table.

Cayden shrugged, “why not? All those relationships are ones where the pairs are mates. Where, at one point, both parties were almost complete strangers who just felt so drawn to the other. There had been no other word able to describe their connection.” Finley knew the story of mates.

Mates were two halves of a soul, separated by the Gods when the souls were given physical bodies to live within. Both halves spent their entire lives looking for the other, and once a soul found their other half they could never again be separated unless death forced them to part. Nearly everyone in the Mannulv pack had found their mate, their pack had been known for their success in finding their mates to the rest of the were-world. The pack had also grown at an exponential rate since most of the children were deemed old enough to officially marry their mate and make them an official member of the pack.

Finley would be the last cousin in her generation to find their mate. However, finding her mate meant that she would also be the first not to make her mate a member of the esteemed Mannulv pack. “I don’t-” Finley closed her eyes. “I just really don’t deserve to have a mate, and they don’t deserve to be dragged into my mess,” she mumbled. “My mate would deserve a stable pack to lean on, not, my mess. I uhh, actually plan to tell Cian he’s no longer welcome to join my pack with Clara,” she told Maxwell and her uncle. “Joining grandma’s pack is safer, it’s guaranteed stability.”

“Finley,” Maxwell said quietly. He hadn’t realized his daughter had been struggling so much with her family issues. He knew she had struggled in the past, but he didn’t realize that it still weighed so heavily on her conscious. Heavily enough to make the decision that years down the line her brother wouldn’t be welcome in her own pack.

“Stiles,” Finley said quietly so her uncle could hear. “His name is Stiles, and his best friend is Scott McCall, he already has a pack, he might be human but that’s his pack,” she saw her uncle look at her dad. “We,” she paused and took a deep breath, “Grandma has humans in her pack, and you see how connected they get,’ Maxwell looked at his brother to make sure he had also picked up on Finley’s slip of her tongue before he looked back to his daughter. “And I’m not planning on breaking up another pack because I couldn’t keep my attitude in-check when I was younger.”

Finley saw Cayden’s eyes soften and he reached out to grab his niece’s hand across the table, but she quickly pulled her hand away. “Finley, you can’t believe what your grandmother told you in the middle of a stupid fight,” he sighed. “Sure, you were strong-willed- to say the least when you were younger, but that’s not why you’re a True Alpha,” he told her. Finley knew the story of True Alphas; that they become an Alpha based solely on the strength of their character, their virtue and sheer willpower, but sometimes Finley didn’t feel like she had truly earned the title.

“I never- I never asked for this,” she dropped her cheek into her palm, watching the ice cubes float around her glass of water. “I never asked to be an Alpha. I never asked to,” she choked up a little bit, “to practically get kicked out of my own pack.” Finley sniffled, wiping away a couple of tears that had run down her cheeks. “I- I didn’t do anything to deserve it. I’ve just been myself. I lost my mom and my pack; do you know how many other wolves would be dead by now if they were in my position?”

Finley watched both her father and her uncle’s gazes soften as she used the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe away the rest of her tears. She didn’t like being emotional, she didn’t like to seem weak or easy to rattle in front of other people. However, she knew that the past week had been testing her emotional boundaries, and she had reached the end of her rope. “It hurt, y’know?” She asked the question not expecting or even wanting an answer. “Moving into the guest cabin it- it really stung. I missed out on a lot living out there, and quite frankly it sent me into a spiral I would never wish on anyone,” she spoke quietly but with purpose. “I’d say that was worse than being flat out rejected by the pack. I would have rather been kicked out completely than live a hundred yards away but not be able to see anyone or really go into the main house.”

“Finley-” Maxwell tried to interrupt his daughter, but she just shook her head.  

She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to keep talking, to lay it all out on the table, just like she had wanted to for over a year now. “Werewolves, we need physical comfort from our pack, their scent. You know that right?” Both her father and Cayden nodded. “Think about it, I haven’t had any of that really for more than a year now,” Finley mumbled. “I felt too awkward at Pack dinners because Grandma wouldn’t let me sit at the same table as her, so I just started cooking for myself in the guest cabin. Grandma never really wanted me at movie nights or anything because the pups would feel the tension, so I tried to make myself scarce.”

The year and three months of no true contact from the pack had taken a large toll on Finley. Two weeks into her isolation of sorts, she had developed severe insomnia. After a month she had dropped nearly thirty pounds and felt mentally and emotionally numb. She had missed a rather large chunk of several her cousin’s children growing up, missed out on really being a part of their life like she wanted to be. She missed engagements and pregnancy announcements. At weddings she had been expected to greet guests then sink back into the shadows. To other packs, her presentation as a True Alpha would been seen as a weakening of her grandmother’s power if they ever found out.

Her problems only started to get slightly better after Cian expressed his concern for his twin. He had started to steal pieces of clothing or bedding from the Pack house for Finley to sleep with and started making sure she cooked properly for herself. He would often sneak away on weekends to go for runs with her, help her to still feel somewhat connected to the pack. He spent full moons with his sister rather than the pack.

“No one intended for that to happen Finley. We just didn’t want-”

“Didn’t want to upset everyone in the Pack more than they already were,” she nodded. “I didn’t want to either, like I said. So again, making myself scarce just seemed easier than forming an even larger rift in the family,” she took a deep breath. Finley wiped away more of her tears and nodded, opening the conversation for her father and uncle.

Cayden looked over to Maxwell, but the two brothers couldn’t determine who should speak first through just looking at each other. Instead, Maxwell waved his hand and motioned for Cayden to speak first. “I still don’t understand what all of this has to do with you having found your mate. Shouldn’t that just help you feel better?”

“In theory yes-” Finley started.

“But,” Maxwell cut her off, “if I’m following correctly without a Pack to bring her mate home to, she doesn’t feel worthy of even having a mate since she doesn’t have anyone to show them off to or gain approval in their relationship from.” He looked to his daughter to make sure he followed her correctly. “Especially since he’s a human.”

Finley just nodded as their food got set in front of them, “ding, ding, ding. We have a winner!” She laughed lightly taking a bite of her sandwich. “And before you ask me why I can’t change that it’s natural instincts, werewolves want a pack, I don’t have a pack at a moment really, therefore I feel like a failure,” she put it into simple terms. “Even if I am an Alpha, I’m not really adjusted enough to function on my own yet.”

“So how can we fix the whole, pack animosity issue?” Cayden asked her. “Because that seems like the root of most of the problems you currently have going on.”

Finley took another bite of her sandwich so she would be able to collect her thoughts while she chewed, wondering what news she should break first. “Well, you see. Last night I kind of fucked up,” she trailed off.

“She had a little moment and her mate,” Finley glared at Maxwell after he said that. “Sorry. Stiles wound up offering her physical comfort because he claimed he’s just a touchy person, and he wound up staying the night.” He used the words his daughter had said when she burst into his office at nine that morning.

Finley saw her uncle’s eyes widen and she shook her head and waved her right hand. “No! No! We didn’t fuck,” she closed her eyes and let out a low growl. “We didn’t have sex,” she corrected herself. “He actually admitted that he’s planning on breaking up with his girlfriend in uhh- a week or two.”

“Now she’s more emotionally attached than she would like to be,” Maxwell added. Cayden nodded and shoved a fry into his mouth, clearly thinking.

He nodded slowly, clearly thinking. “What if we,” he motioned between himself and Maxwell, “talked to your grandmother and finally knocked some sense into her?” He asked, watching Finley’s reactions carefully. She seemed to bristle at the mention of her grandmother, her heart rate increasing and her scent giving off anxiety.

“I really don’t have a choice at this point, do I?” Finley knew that her dad and uncle talking to her grandmother would re-open old wounds and would bring to the surface problems long buried. She realized that also meant sitting down and talking with her grandmother at one point in the near future; trying to explain that she didn’t want her grandmother’s power but only wanted to learn how to harness her own power for when the Pack would be transferred to her.

Maxwell sighed and drummed his fingers on the table, clearly thinking about saying something to his daughter that she wouldn’t want to hear. “Finley, you also need to recognize that presenting as a True Alpha automatically means taking your grandmother’s place once she passes, no one else in the pack can take her place now.” Maxwell watched a look of betrayal pass over his daughter’s face while her heart rate exponentially increased. “I’m not saying that to scare you-”

“Then I should have been told that a year ago!” She raised her voice slightly, but promptly dropped it when both men across from her flashed their own fangs. “I’m serious! I would have tried so much harder to maintain a relationship with that old hag if I knew I would be taking over her pack when she bites it!”

Cayden jumped into the conversation again, “no one thought you were ready for that information back then,” he spoke.

“Oh yeah,” Finley laughed, “because I’m so much more ready now after being emotionally beaten down for over a year now?” She shook her head and took a long sip of her water. “I’m shit at math but, that just really doesn’t add up.” She grabbed her phone off the booth from next to her and stood up, pushing away her half-eaten food.

“Finely if you just-”

However, she didn’t let her father finish speaking. “It’s fine, the rain let up. I- I need to go, I’ll call you later just- I need time right now.” She quickly tried to gather her thoughts. “I’ll call you when I’m ready.” With that Finley quickly found herself on the streets of Washington D.C. feeling lost, only knowing one person she wanted to see in that moment.

She found her fingers flying over the keypad on her phone, scrolling through her contacts before she pressed on the name that she had been looking for. Holding her phone up to her ear while she walked, she listened to the dial tone, trying to control her breathing and push off her oncoming panic attack.

“Hey, everything okay?” She heard the voice on the other line pick up.

“No. Stiles, I- I need to talk to you.”

[fullregalia]

20/20.

This year, in hindsight, was a real write-off. I had grand plans for it, and while I ushered it in in a very low-key manner since I was recovering from the flu, I’d expected things to look up. Well, you know what they say about plans (RIP, my trip to Europe). I got very, very sick in early February, and I’m not entirely sure it wasn’t COVID. Since March, the days have been a carousel of monotony: coffee, run, work, cook, yoga, existential spiral, sleep. My Own Private Year of Rest and Relaxation, if you will. Of course, life has a way of breaking through regardless; I attended protests, completed my thesis, graduated from grad school, took a couple of road trips upstate, and celebrated the accomplishments and birthdays of friends and family from a safe social distance. It was all a bit of a blur, and not ideal circumstances to re-enter the real world, or whatever this COVID-present is. 

Throughout it all, in lieu of happy hours, coffee dates, and panel discussions, I’ve turned even more to culture and cuisine to fill the the negative space on my calendar where my social life once resided. However, since a global pandemic ought not to disrupt every tradition, here’s my year-end round up of what made this terrible one slightly more tolerable. 

TV

After an ascetic fall semester abstaining from TV in 2019 (save for my beloved Succession), I allowed myself to watch more as the year wore on, and especially after graduation. I caught up on some cultural blind spots by finally getting around to The Sopranos, Ramy, Search Party, and Girlfriends. I wasn’t alone in bingeing Sopranos, it absolutely lived up to the hype and then some; this Jersey Girl can’t get enough gabagool-adjacent content, pizzeria culture is my culture!

Speaking of my culture, there was also a disproportionate amount of UK and European shows in my queue. Nothing like being in social isolation and watching the horny Irish teens in Normal People brood. I’m partial to it because I share a surname with the showrunner, so I have to embrace blind loyalty even though there was, in my opinion, a Marianne problem in the casting. Speaking of charming Irish characters with limited emotional vocabularies, I belatedly discovered This Way Up a 2019 show from Aisling Bea and Sharon Horgan. And while Connell and Marianne are actually exceptional students, I found the real normal people on GBBO to bring me a bit more joy. Baking was abundantly therapeutic for me this year, and watching charming people drink loads of tea and fret over soggy bottoms was a comfort. I also discovered the Great Pottery Throw Down, and as a lifelong ceramics enthusiast, I cannot recommend it highly enough if you care about things like slips, coils, and glazing techniques. GPTD embraces wabi sabi in a way that GBBO eschews flaws in favor of perfection, and in a time of uncertainty, the former reminded me why I miss getting my hands in the mud as a coping mechanism (hence all the baking). Speaking of coping mechanisms, like everybody else with two eyes and an HBO password, I loved Michaela Cole’s I May Destroy You; though we’ve all had enough distress this year for a lifetime, watching Cole’s Arabella process her assault and search for meaning, justice, and closure was a compelling portrait of grief and purpose in the aftermath of trauma. Arabella’s creative and patient friends Kwame and Terry steal the show throughout, as they deal with their own setbacks and emotional turmoil. Where I May Destroy You provides catharsis, Ted Lasso presents British eccentricity in all its stereotypical glory. At first I was skeptical of the show’s hype on Twitter, but once I gave in it charmed me, if only for Roy Kent’s emotional trajectory and extolling the restorative powers of shortbread. For a more accurate depiction of life in London, Steve McQueen’s series Small Axe provides a visually lush and politically clear-eyed depiction of the lives of British West Indians in the 60s, 70s, and 80s. Lastly, how could I get through a recap of my year in tv if I don’t mention The Crown. Normal People may have needed an intimacy coordinator, but the number of Barbours at Balmoral was the real phonographic content for me.

Turning my attention across the Channel, after the trainwreck that was Emily in Paris, I started watching a proper French show, Call My Agent! It’s truly delightful, and unlike the binge-worthy format of "ambient shows” I have been really relishing taking an hour each week to watch CMA, subtitles, cigarettes, and all.

Honorable mention: The Last Dance for its in-depth look at many notable former Chicago residents; High Fidelity for reminding me of the years in college when my brother and I would drive around listening to Beta Band; and Big Mouth.

Music

My Spotify wrapped this year was a bit odd. I don‘t think “Chromatica II into 911″ is technically a song, so it revealed other things about my listening habits this year, which turned out to remain very much stuck in the last, sonically. I listened to a lot more podcasts than new music this year, but there were some records that found their way into heavy rotation. While I listened to a lot of classics both old and new to write my thesis (Paul Simon, Leonard Cohen, Prokofiev, and Bach) the soundtrack to my coursework, runs, walks, and editing was more contemporary. Standouts include: 

Saint Cloud by Waxahatchee, which makes me feel like I’m breathing fresh air even when I’m stuck inside all day 

La Bella Vita by Niia, which was there for me when I walked past my ex on 7th avenue (twice!) and he pretended that I didn’t exist 

Fetch the Bolt Cutters by THEE Fiona Apple, because Fiona, our social distancing queen, has always been my Talmud, her songs shimmering, evolving, and living with me every year 

Shore by Fleet Foxes, for the long drive to the Catskills 

Women in Music, Pt. III by HAIM, because these days, these days...

Musicians have been reckoning with tumult this year as much as the rest of us, and the industry has dealt with loss on all fronts. I’d be remiss not to talk about how the passing of John Prine brought his music into my life, and McCoy Tyner, who has been a companion through good and bad over the years. 

Honorable mention to: græ by Moses Sumney; The Main Thing by Real Estate; on the tender spot of every calloused moment by Ambrose Akinmusire; Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers; folklore by you know who; and songs by Adrianne Lenker. 

Reading

What would this overlong blob be without a list of the best things I read this year? While I left publishing temporarily, books, the news, and newsletters still took up a majority of my attention (duh and/or doomscrolling by any other name). I can’t be comprehensive, and frankly, there are already great roundups of the best longform this year out there, so this is mostly books and praising random writers. 

Last year I wrote about peak newsletter. Apparently, my prediction was a bit premature as this year saw an even bigger Substack Boom. But two new newsletters in particular have delighted me: Aminatou Sow’s Crème de la Crème and Hunter Harris’ Hung Up (her ”this one line” series is true force of chaotic good on Blue Ivy’s internet). Relatedly, Sow and Ann Friedman’s Big Friendship was gifted to me by a dear friend and another bff and I are going to read it in tandem next week. 

On the “Barack Obama published a 700+ page memoir, crippling the printing industry’s supply chains” front, grad school severely hamstrung my ability to read for pleasure, but I managed to get through almost 30 books this year, some old (Master and Margarita), most new-ish (Say Nothing, Nickel Boys). Four 2020 books in particular enthralled me:

Uncanny Valley: Anna Wiener’s memoir has been buzzed about since n+1 published her essay of the same name in 2016. Her ability to see, clear-eyed, the industry for both its foibles and allure captured that era when the excess and solipsism of the Valley seemed more of a cultural quirk than the harbinger of societal schism.  

Transcendent Kingdom: Yaa Gyasi’s novel about faith, family, loss, and--naturally--grad school was deeply empathetic, relatable, and moving. I think this was my favorite book of the year. Following the life of a Ghanaian family that settles in Alabama, it captured the kind of emotional ennui that comes from having one foot in the belief of childhood and one foot in the bewilderment that comes from losing faith in the aftermath of tragedy.  

Vanishing Half: Similarly to Transcendent Kingdom, Brit Bennett’s novel about siblings who are separated; it’s also about the ways that colorism can be internalized and the ways chosen family can (and cannot) replace your real kin. It was a compassionate story that captured the pain of abuse and abandonment in two pages in a way that Hanya Yanagihara couldn’t do in 720.

Dessert Person: Ok, so this is a cookbook, but it’s a good read, and the recipes are approachable and delicious. After all the BA Test Kitchen chaos this summer, it’s nice we didn’t have to cancel Claire. Make the thrice baked rye cookies!!!! You will thank me later.

Honorable mention goes to: Leave The World Behind for hitting the Severance/Station Eleven dystopian apocalypse novel sweet spot; Exciting Times for reminding me why I liked Sally Rooney; and Summer by Ali Smith, which wasn’t the strongest of the seasonal quartet, but was a series I enjoyed for two years.  

Podcasts

I’m saving my most enthusiastic section for last: ever since 2018, I’ve been listening to an embarrassing amount of podcasts. Moving into a studio apartment will do that to you, as will grad school, add a pandemic to that equation and there’s a lot of time to fill with what has sort of become white noise to me (or, in one case, nice white parents noise). In addition to the shows that I’ve written about before (Still Processing, Popcast, Who? Weekly, and Why is This Happening?), these are the shows I started listening to this year that fueled my parasocial fire:

You’re Wrong About: If you like history, hate patriarchy, and are a millennial, you’ll love Sarah Marshall and Michael Hobbes’ deep dives into the most notable stories of the past few decades (think Enron and Princess Diana) and also some other cultural flashpoints that briefly but memorably shaped the national discourse (think Terri Schiavo, Elian González, and the Duke Lacrosse rape case).

Home Cooking: This mini series started (and ended) during the pandemic. As someone who stress baked her way through the past nine months, Samin Nosrat and Hrishikesh Hirway’s show is filled with warmth, banter, and useful advice. Home Cooking has been a reassuring companion in the kitchen, and even though it will be a time capsule once we’re all vaccinated and close talking again, it’s still worth a listen for tips and inspiration while we’re hunkered down for the time being. 

How Long Gone: I don’t really know how to explain this other than saying that media twitter broke my brain and enjoying Chris Black and Jason Stewart’s ridiculous banter is the price I pay for it.

Blank Check: Blank Check is like the GBBO of podcasts--Griffin Newman and David Sims’ enthusiasm for and encyclopedic knowledge of film, combined with their hilarious guests and inevitable cultural tangents is always a welcome distraction. Exploring a different film from a director’s oeuvre each week over the course of months, the podcast delves into careers and creative decisions with the passion of completists who want to honor the filmmaking process even when the finished products end up falling short. The Nancy Meyers and Norah Ephron series were favorites because I’d seen most of the movies, but I also have been enjoying the Robert Zemeckis episodes they’re doing right now. The possibility of Soderbergh comes up often (The Big Picture just did a nice episode about/with him), and I’d love to hear them talk about his movies or Spike Lee (or, obviously, Martin Scorsese).      

Odds & Ends

If you’re still reading this, you’re a real one, so let’s get into the fun stuff. This was a horrible way to start a new decade, but at least we ended our long national nightmare. We got an excellent dumb twitter meme. I obviously made banana bread, got into home made nut butters, and baked an obscene amount of granola as I try to manifest a future where I own a Subaru Outback. Amanda Mull answered every question I had about Why [Insert Quarantine Trend] Happens. My brother started an organization that is working to eliminate food insecurity in LA. Discovering the Down Dog app allowed me to stay moderately sane, despite busting both of my knees in separate stupid falls on the criminally messed up sidewalks and streets of Philadelphia. I can’t stop burning these candles. Jim Carrey confused us all. We have a Jewish Second Gentleman! Grub Street Diets continued to spark joy. Dolly Parton remains America’s Sweetheart (and possible vaccine savior). And, last, but certainly not least: no one still knows how to pronounce X Æ A-12 Boucher-Musk.

[kibocode2021]

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However, eCommerce marketing can be both catchy and time-consuming. Many marketers spend hours each day trying to customize and perfect unique aspects of their brand's eCommerce experience. This can involve producing content for every one of the personas, hand-crafting product recommendations, testing tens of new promotions, and more.

Fortunately, smarter and much more automated eCommerce features can help you adopt innovative marketing strategies with less effort. For example, artificial intelligence (AI) can enable you to create personalized product recommendations that in fact get better over time with no manual intervention. You wind up selling more while freeing up the time to organize your next major product launch.

As a marketer at Adobe, I know firsthand how eCommerce technologies can help you reach and nurture new electronic clients. In this website, I will discuss seven ways Kibo code quantum Commerce makes online marketing brighter, more personalized, and a lot more successful.

#1: SERVE FRESH, PERSONALIZED CONTENT

Content helps customers locate you on Google, and it's a critical part of the customer experience. But content is not sufficient -- it also must be personalized. The more personalized your content is, the longer visitors will remain on your site -- and the more likely they are to purchase. Thirty-seven percent of executives say that personalized content and product recommendations increase customer lifetime value.

Page Builder, available exclusively with Kibo code quantum eCommerce, is a package of content creation tools which makes it easier to quickly assemble content and tag it for various audiences and stages of the customer travel. It lets business users create, edit, and print content pages with no developer. Key functions include flexible drag-and-drop designs, reusable content blocks and blocks, video backgrounds, and point-and-click button creation.

It's a fast and very affordable way to build web pages without the frustration of searching multiple royalty-free inventory libraries for photos, videos, and other rich media.

Overall, Page Builder allows online businesses to craft much more personalized content in less time and for much less money. Plus, as I inform our customers, it really pays for itself. On average, companies that switch to  Kibo code quantum Commerce spend 61 percent less time producing content.

#2. PROVIDE PERSONALIZED PRODUCT RECOMMENDATIONS

In addition to personalized articles, online shoppers need personalized product recommendations. Research suggests the vast majority of customers (84 percent) will look at brands' product recommendations at least sometimes.

A great illustration of this phenomenon is shopping on Amazon. Based on what you do on the site, you'll see product ratings," also bought" recommendations," also viewed" recommendations and more. This approach is a big part of why Amazon accounts for 40% of online commerce in the U.S. Client expectations are likewise being set outside of the shopping experience. Netflix, for instance, provides individually-curated content recommendations and "binge-worthy" suggestions to viewers.

It's no surprise, then, that merchandise recommendations account for up to 31 percent of eCommerce site revenues. Adding product recommendations to your website, however, requires intelligent technology. Manually creating product recommendations for each persona and every phase of the customer travel can be hugely time-consuming. And guide merchandise recommendations can easily get rancid as seasons and market conditions change.

Automated product recommendations that rely on machine learning, nevertheless, really improve over time. And they can raise your conversions by around 70 percent. I urge them to anybody who is marketing online.

#3. COORDINATE STRATEGIES ACROSS CHANNELS

For the best results, your advertising and marketing strategies should connect numerous stations. For instance, clients could earn loyalty points for your internet store by sharing your content on social media. Your website might feature content from consumer communities. Or clients who return merchandise to your store could get coupons that are redeemable online.

I've found an eCommerce platform with support for omnichannel commerce is essential for effective cross-channel advertising. Otherwise, cross-channel marketing can be almost prohibitively labor-intensive and error-prone.

#4.BUILD CUSTOM SITES FOR DIFFERENT BRANDS, MARKETS, AND SEGMENTS

As your company grows and your merchandise catalogue expands, your website will get larger and attract people -- may be a whole lot more people. At some stage, you might choose to set some of your goods into their own branded stores, which means it's possible to provide a more targeted experience to your clients. Or you might choose to add new sites with local language and cultural cues for clients in various geographies.

But growing your business can be hard if you have to set up and configure new software each time you put in a brand new online storefront.  Kibo code quantum Commerce permits you to manage multiple sites for different brands, client segments, or geographies from a single admin interface and database. It greatly simplifies the administration of your digital stores and permits you to examine your company throughout channels.

All this means you can easily add and administer all the websites you want to deliver a high quality personalized experience. In my experience, this type of capability is critical to your own brand's ability to climb.

#5.GIVE VISITORS A CONCIERGE-LIKE EXPERIENCE

ECommerce advertising isn't a one-way exercise in which your brand talks and clients listen. Ideally, it's a two-way interaction, or it ought to be. Today's clients are frustrated with slow email and call center response times when they have questions -- and also these response times are only getting more. In fact, a recent analysis shows that 62 percent of organizations discount customer service emails.

That is where live chat comes in. Live discussion can help you engage customers who are stuck and help move them down the funnel to buy.  Kibo code quantum Commerce integrates with dot digital Chat, Drift, along with other live chat applications so you can offer help exactly when your buyers need it. Chat agents can be triggered by client behavior in your website or initiated by visitors who need assistance. Or you can use chatbots for easy questions. Already, almost 60 percent of live chat connections demand chatbots in some way.

With live chat and chatbots, you can answer clients' questions quickly and accurately, eliminating barriers to purchase without a great deal of additional time, effort, or cost. I believe it's one of the easiest ways to show clients that you're placing them .

#6. GET PEOPLE ONTO YOUR MAILING LIST

Email marketing remains around for a reason: It works. On average, every dollar invested in email advertising generates a return of $42. And email marketing is a important part of most companies' eCommerce advertising plans. You may use it to keep clients informed and to alert them to new, personalized supplies. Email may also help you reach customers who have abandoned their shopping carts.

For email marketing to really get the job done, however, you need to continually grow your listing with qualified new prospects. Ideally, every page of your eCommerce website should get an email contact type that blends into the rest of your shopping experience. If you capture email addresses, your marketing team can send customized offers to customers and direct them back to your website. I also suggest that an email address catch field should be a part of the checkout procedure for new clients.

#7. CONTINUALLY ANALYZE WHAT'S WORKING AND WHAT ISN'T

ECommerce marketing is a shifting target. What works today won't always work tomorrow. That's why always assessing how customers interact with your own promotions, articles, etc., is critical. Kibo code quantum Commerce can be obtained with a Business Intelligence module that allows you analyze customer behavior across all of your brands and sites, discovering insights which will allow you to better your own

eCommerce

experience and drive conversions and expansion.

As soon as it's easy to get caught up in day-to-day operations if you're growing quickly, I recommend that marketers dig into business intelligence reports quarterly or monthly to identify trends and evaluate strategies. In these dynamic COVID-19 days, the frequent analysis could help customers stay ahead of mercurial customer shifts.

WHAT'S NEXT?

I feel that high-quality eCommerce marketing does not have to be painful. With greater automation, you can really adopt more sophisticated strategies and get far better results in less time. Instead of constantly tinkering with individual campaigns, you can look ahead towards your company's next new prospect.

[luckyspike]

Definitely Not a Wizard - A Good Omens Fanfic (or: Crowley breaks several rules of Aziraphale’s bookshop)

Me at 9pm: I’m just gonna write a quick fanfic just to get some of this energy out.

Spongebob title card: Several hours later.......

Anyway look it’s more fic with Crowley and kids because I’m a predictable sap that likes children interacting with eldritch horrors.

--

In the days following the Nahpocalypse, and indeed, the years, Crowley and Aziraphale settled into a routine. They moved out of the city, and set a primary base of operations up in the countryside. Retirement, Aziraphale had initially thought, was appealing. Oh, he’d keep the bookshop open one or two days a week, he had said to Crowley, as the demon drove the Bentley to the chalky cliffs of South Downs, just initially, until he settled in, but probably after a year or so he’d be ready to let it go.

Crowley had nodded and said nothing. He was no Agnes Nutter, but he had known Aziraphale for 6000 years, and he was fairly certain ‘letting it go’ was not anywhere on the agenda in the future.

He was right. Four months in, when the winter was harsh and the weather was hideous, Aziraphale found Crowley in the greenhouse, lounged back in an overly-ornate garden chair, fingers steepled, glaring at the plants lined up before him. An iced coffee rested on the arm of the chair beside him, condensation running down the outside of the cup in the pleasantly warm humidity of the greenhouse. The plants, trembling, steadied somewhat when the angel came in, brushing his hands absently through their leaves while Crowley rolled his eyes. 

“What is the point,” he said, gesturing to the row of comforted plants, “of menacing them if you’re just going to come through and tell them it’ll all be alright? I’ve been working on that aptenia for weeks! I nearly had it!”

“Ah, well, I’ll bring it comfort in its brief life, I suppose. Say, Crowley,” the angel pulled up a chair beside the demon, who was watching carefully as the aptenia stilled for a moment, and then resumed trembling, perhaps more than before. “May I impose on you?”

Crowley paused. “Depends,” he replied, eventually. “Can’t say I’m really in the mood at the moment, angel.”

Aziraphale waved his hands and laughed a little. “No, no, not that, you incorrigible old snake. No, I’m wondering if you might be available to … well, I’m thinking of opening the bookshop a bit more. You know. Just … obviously not selling anything.”

“You’re bored,” Crowley observed, languid and smug, reclining even more aggressively in his chair and taking a leisurely sip of iced coffee. “You’re bored and you need me to drive you to London so you can open the bookshop more and -”

“Yes, that’s what I just said,” the angel answered, peevish. 

“Are you lonely? Not enjoying my company enough?” There was no offense in it, no meanness. He prodded Aziraphale in the side. “Not as fun to intimidate me, eh? Just don’t give the same thrill of customers.”

Aziraphale glared. “Do you want to drive me to London three days a week or not?”

Crowley sipped his drink again and let his head fall back, feet propped up on a potting table. His eyes closed, although he never stopped smirking. “‘Course. Been waiting for you to ask for the last two months.”

“You don’t have to be so self-satisfied about it,” Aziraphale said with a frown, settling back in his own chair with his arms crossed. “Smug.”

“Don’t I? It’s sort of my scene, angel.”

“Hmph.” Aziraphale didn’t argue. Rather, he looked to the demon, dozing to his left, and then to the rows of plants in the greenhouse. And then he smiled, broad and honest and full of mischief. “You know,” he said, suddenly raising his voice to a near-shout, “he really quite likes all of you!” Crowley’s eyes snapped open. “I see the way he looks at you all sometimes! He’ll never say it, but he does like you, all of you, in his own way!”

“Angel!”

Aziraphale rose, and primly brushed the non-existent lint from the front of his waistcoat and pants. He turned to Crowley and smiled with divine beneficence. “I must protect and comfort. It’s my scene.” He started to walk away, back to the cottage, stroking the plants on the opposite side of the row, this time. They leaned toward his touch. “Would you mind tomorrow, by the way?”

“I might,” Crowley muttered.

“Excellent. I’d like to open the store at nine, if you wouldn’t mind.” The doors closed behind him, and Crowley crossed his legs as he glared after the angel, arms crossed over his chest. 

“If you don’t mind,” he repeated, mocking. “He’s lucky I like him.” He raised his voice, and glared over the greenhouse full of plants. “Unlike you lot!” With a grunt, he hoisted himself to his feet and began stalking through the rows of plants. “Surprise inspection! I’d better not see a single blemish, you miserable heaps of pre-compost!”

Miraculously, he didn’t. Not even a single droopy leaf. Even the aptenia. In the cottage, Aziraphale smiled and turned his page.

It did start as a chauffer arrangement*. Three days each week, Crowley drove Aziraphale into Soho and dropped him off at the bookshop. Sometimes he would come in and spend the day, sometimes he would leave and ramble around London. On occasion he would go on a day trip elsewhere, usually Tadfield. In the spring, he enrolled** in a university physics course. He did homework. It was interesting, and a nice way to spend the time besides, now that he was more-or-less retired.

Well, mostly retired. He did tempt his classmates to procrastination and cheating at times, because old habits die hard, and they were university students anyway so they hardly needed a full temptation. Just a gentle push, really. Also, Aziraphale noted somewhat astutely one night over wine, if everyone procrastinated studying then the average grade for the test would be a bit lower, possibly resulting in a generous curve, which Crowley invariably benefitted from. Crowley, mid-way through an equation, glared at him for the remark, but didn’t dispute it.

“Oh, I need a favor,” Aziraphale said after a minute, and more fevered scratching from Crowley as the worked at the equation more. The demon glanced up.

“Aziraphale, if you’re going to open the shop four days each week, we might as well move back to London.”

“Oh? Oh! No, no that wasn’t what I was thinking of.” 

“Oh.” Crowley propped his chin in his hand and tapped the pencilpoint on the paper. It was a wonder he didn’t have smoke coming out of his ears, Aziraphale reflected, the way he was looking at the paper. 

Well, Aziraphale had said math might be wise to take first, before physics. No one to blame but himself, really.

“I have an appointment tomorrow,” Aziraphale said, continuing when Crowley hummed in distracted acknowledgement. “I’m meeting a woman about a first-run printing of Harry Potter. With the shop only being opened a few days per week, I’d hate to close it down for a few hours in the middle of one of the days for the meeting.”

“Why? Planning on selling something?”

“No, but people do like to browse.” He leaned forward and to the side slightly, so he would poke into Crowley’s field of vision. “Would you mind watching the shop for me for a few hours while I have my meeting?”

“Huh?” Crowley looked up, and then visibly re-wound the last minute of conversation in his mind. “Since when do you buy fantasy?”

“It’s a cultural phenomenon, Crowley.” Aziraphale waved a hand. “And that’s irrelevant, besides. Would you be able to watch the shop? Please?”

Pursed lips as the demon considered the request. More idle pencil-tapping. The point snapped off, and Crowley didn’t seem to notice. “Just … just make sure nobody messes up the books, right?”

“Yes. And don’t sell anything.” Aziraphale’s eyebrows arched as he allowed himself a hopeful smile. “Please?”

Crowley sighed. “Yeah, I can do that. Fine.”

During the commute in to London the next day, Aziraphale distracted himself from the no-less-than-twelve near-discorporations by quizzing Crowley on Bookshop Management Principles. “Are children allowed?”

“Only if accompanied by parents,” Crowley recited, monotone. “And they cannot touch anything earlier than a fourth edition, or the books in the children’s section.”

Aziraphale smiled. “And what if someone wants to buy a book?”

“Encourage-them-to-leave-but-please-don’t-terrify-them,” Crowley replied, mechanically. “How long is this appointment? An hour? It’s not like your shop has just huge amounts of foot traffic, Aziraphale.” He looked to Aziraphale and read the expression on the angel’s face. “Two hours?”

“Probably closer to three. I expect there will be bartering.”

“Hm.” The Bentley rumbled on. “I’ll still manage just fine.”

“I’m sure you will, dear.” Aziraphale patted Crowley’s arm, and there wasn’t a trace of irony in his smile. “I have no doubts.”

Crowley did leave for a few hours after dropping Aziraphale off - likely to hunt down a decent cup of coffee and spread a few wiles around, which would be typical - but he did return ten minutes before Aziraphale planned to leave for his meeting, coffee in hand. Aziraphale smiled, and looked him up and down, hands clasped in front of him as he appraised the demon before he left.

He looked nothing at all like a shopkeeper. But he looked everything in the world like Crowley, which was, in Aziraphale’s opinion, much better. He laid his hands on Crowley’s shoulders for a second, smiled, and then turned to grab his briefcase. “Remember, keep an eye on teenagers, and don’t let anybody fold the pages or bend the spines, and don’t sell anything.” This last was said in unison with Crowley, who tried to look annoyed but mostly just looked amused. 

“I can handle it, angel. I incited original sin, I think I can manage a shop for three hours.”

“That’s … not reassuring.”

Crowley pushed Aziraphale - gently - toward the door, giving him an extra nudge between the shoulderblades at the threshold. “Have fun getting your letter to Hogwarts, see you in a while.”

“It’s a first edition Harry Potter book, not -”

“Goodbye, Aziraphale.” The bell over the door tinkled as the door closed. On the other side of the glass, Aziraphale was glaring at him. Crowley waved and, with a sigh, the angel turned and started off down the sidewalk to his meeting. Crowley watched until he faded out of sight and into the throngs of people on the London sidewalks, and then turned to the shop, empty at the moment, hands in his pockets. “Right.” Aziraphale always kept a chair by the window next to the perpetually-unused register, and Crowley dropped into it, appreciating the sunbeam coming through the window and the warmth it provided. He closed his eyes, and briefly considered Going Snake just to enjoy the sunbeam all the more, before his withered and blackened but surprisingly-resilient sense of duty chimed in with the opinion that Aziraphale definitely would not approve of either napping on the job or watching the store in the form of a ten-foot-long viper. And certainly not both at once. He would probably even be cross.

Crowley opted to play a game on his phone instead. 

It was a full 45 minutes into his shift before a customer entered. She was college-age, dark hair and eyes, vaguely reminiscent of someone he’d known in Mesopotamia. Maybe an ancestor, he considered. Probably not, though. That was a long time ago. She looked around the shop, obviously at a loss as to where to begin, before she caught sight of Crowley in his chair. She straightened a bit more, and he sat up slightly, under the pretense of politeness. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi.”

“Do you … have any Ursula Le Guin?”

Crowley raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “No idea.” There, that ought to put her off browsing around. She cocked her head. “Just watching the shop for the afternoon, sorry. Not really clear on all the inventory.”

“Oh.” She looked to the shop, and her shoulders relaxed a little as she looked across the stacks of books, the shelves with their haphazard organization. “Is it OK if I look around?”

“Yeah.” Crowley pulled his phone back out and propped his feet up on the table with the register on it. “Of course. Let me know if you need help.” The look she gave him indicated she rather doubted there would be anything he could help her with, and she wandered off into the shelves. Crowley settled back in. Suited him fine. He returned to his game, although he kept one ear on the woman, and would glance up from his game on occasion, just to make sure she wasn’t up to anything, like stealing or worse, trying to buy something. 

She had been in the shop for about fifteen minutes when another customer entered. Crowley almost groaned. Unreal.

At least this one seemed more than passingly familiar with the bookshop. She paused at the threshold and nodded to Crowley, trying not to make a show of looking around the store. “Mr. Fell not in today?”

“He’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Crowley answered, counting down the minutes in his brain. “Had a meeting.”

“Are you a … friend of his? Watching the store for him?” She watched Crowley nod in agreement. “Ah. Er, I’ve been coming in on my lunch for the past few days to read a book.” She glanced to the other woman in the shop, and then took a step closer to Crowley, lowering her voice. “Mr. Fell said it was alright, only I couldn’t afford to actually buy the book.”

“Yeah, some are quite valuable.” Crowley became conscious of the tone of his voice, the sprawl of his knees, and wrenched the temptation knob down to a respectable 5 out of 10***. He looked back to his phone. “If he was alright with you reading over lunch I’m not going to stop you. Just don’t, you know, fold anything or anything.”

She stood back a little, visibly disappointed. “Great,” she said, though her voice was a little flat. “I’ll be careful. Thanks.” The book in question was set to a table to the side, which had no labels but was piled high with books rife with bookmarks, and she took it from the pile before walking softly back through the shop to the little sitting area by the wall opposite the register. Crowley forced a smile when she looked to him, before she opened the book and settled in to read.

Eventually, the first customer of his inaugural shift at A. Z. Fell & Co. left, looking disappointed. He smiled and waved at her as she went. The second customer also left, about forty-five minutes after coming in. She paused at the table after she set her book back down, obviously considered saying something to Crowley, and then thought better of it, leaving with a subdued smile and a little wave, which he returned with rather more enthusiasm than necessary.

Two confused customers in as many hours, he thought. Not too bad. With a little more hostility he might even be able to make them disgruntled. Maybe there was something to this bookshop thing. He continued with his game, and considered it further. One hour to go, he thought, and he started tapping his foot to the game’s music out of sheer infernal cheer.

Two-and-a-half hours into his shift, the bell above the door tinkled again. Crowley looked up, and then down. Faintly, an alarm bell sounded in the back of his brain.

An unattended child.

Oh, sure, they’d established that unattended children weren’t allowed, but Crowley was rapidly realizing that Aziraphale had not told him what to do in such a circumstance. The kid was looking at him, though, all wide green eyes and a messy red hair piled into an attempt at a ponytail. “Hi,” she said quietly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you lost?”

The girl stepped back, toward the door, and then glanced into the street outside. “No,” she answered. “Um, my … my dad is out there talking to a friend, just there, and he said I could come in and look around.” Crowley thought about that. Well, she was just looking. Right? No harm in curiosity, he thought, without a trace of irony. Besides, she was probably … ten? Eleven? Thirteen? Somewhere in there. Crowley had never been good at guessing human ages, and he hadn’t gotten better with time. The girl looked worried. “That’s alright, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Crowley made a decision, and secretly hoped that Aziraphale would not mind or, even better, would never find out about it at all. “Yeah, s’fine. Just, ah, be careful with the books. They’re all … very old.” He looked to the children’s section. “Oh, except those back there. You can look at those.”

She looked to the indicated section, and then turned back to him, obviously slightly offended. “Those are for kids.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. Which is why I pointed them out.” He paused. “You are a kid, aren’t you?”

Scratch slightly offended, now she was clearly offended. “Yes I’m a kid. But I don’t like to read kid’s books.” She looked around. “What’s the oldest book here?”

Crowley shrugged. “Dunno. Not my shop. I just work here.”

She frowned. After a beat, she turned away, and started to wander the shelves, looking but not touching, studying the dusty spines and the gilded titles. Crowley watched her for a minute, and then settled back into his chair, even going so far as to pull his phone out as if to play his game, but he never started it. As inconspicuously as possible, which was very inconspicuous indeed for a 6000-year-old demon, he watched her. She would pause, now and then, in front of a book. He could see her hand twitch at her side, or clutch at her paisley skirt, but then she would think better of it, and move along the shelves, never touching anything, only looking.

Five minutes in, he asked, “So what kind of books do you read, if not kid’s books?” She looked at him over her shoulder. 

“I like … books about history,” she settled on. “And. Well, and some kids books. If they’re good. If they have like, good magic in them and stuff.”

Ah, magic. Crowley squashed down the urge to nod. That was alright then. He was beginning to wonder if she was truly a human child, and not some kind of supernatural being that looked twelve-years-old but didn’t read kids’ books and had self-control more impressive than some adults. But no, magic was alright. Human kids loved magic. 

“I like Lord of the Rings,” she went on, continuing her perusal of the shelves. “My dad always says he thinks it’s too complicated for me, but I read it anyway.”

“No harm in it,” Crowley agreed. He’d tried to read The Hobbit once, years ago, but he’d gotten bored ten pages in and promptly stuffed it into a shelf at Aziraphale’s shop, never to pick it up again. “Did you read all of them?”

She nodded, and this time when she looked at him, her eyes were a little brighter, a little less wary. “Nearly,” she said, eagerly. “I’m on the last one - The Return of the King. Did you read it?”

“Nah. Just saw the films.” Her face fell. “They were good films, though,” he added, somewhat unconsciously. “Er.”

She serpentined down an aisle, looking the books up and down, her hands alternatively playing with her hair, or picking at her skirt. “I don’t know what to read next,” she said, unprompted, right as Crowley decided she was probably alright, and anyway this level wasn’t going to beat itself.

“Huh?”

“After I finish the book, I mean.” She sighed, the troubled sigh of a pre-teen facing a significant personal crisis. “Mum says I should just re-read them, really savor the parts I liked best the first time around and maybe find even better ones the second go-round. But I want to read something new. I don’t feel like re-reading them right now.”

“Ah.” 

She looked to him. “I was going to ask you for recommendations, since you work in a bookshop, but you haven’t read them.” She shrugged. “My maths teacher might know a good book for next. He gave me The Hobbit in the first place.”

“Maybe.” Crowley stared at his phone for a minute, and then, in a fit of benevolence that made him feel slightly nauseous, he got up, and crossed the shop toward the girl, hands in his pockets, studying the shelves she was in front of as he drew even with her. She watched him, carefully. “You like magic, you said? Good magic?”

“Not like stage stuff,” she clarified quickly, in case he had any designs of pulling a quarter from behind her ear or a length of scarves from his jacket. She did not know how near of a miss she had had in that department. “Like real magic.”

“Right, obviously.” He traced along a shelf of books, which were not organized by any recognizable system at all, and then stopped. He considered the book in front of his hand, apparently - A Brief History of the Sonnet, First Edition - and the girl looked dubious, before he reached between books, and pulled out another one, which had not, prior to that moment, looked like it could have existed. The girl blinked.

“Did you just - ?”

“Stage stuff,” he said, dismissively. “Old trick. Anyway, here. You might like this one.” She looked down to the cover, orange and battered, with a garishly-rendered suitcase on the front. With legs. And teeth. She raised her eyebrows. “It’s got real good, proper magic in it. And it’s funny.” She looked to him, and he shrugged. “I like funny ones.”

“Right.” She turned the book over, slowly, and then looked back to him, suspicious. “It doesn’t have a price tag. Where did you get this from, anyway?”

Crowley beamed. “A magician never tells his secrets, didn’t you know?” She gave him a look that suggested of course she did, and to stop being ridiculous. “Must have been an oversight, missing the tag. I think it was …” he licked his lips, under the guise of thinking, considered the strength of the metal smells coming from her backpack, and said, “Two pounds.”

“I don’t know if I have that.” Nevertheless, she carried the book up to the register, and plopped her bag down on the table to rummage through. “I’ve got ... “ she studied the handful of coins, and then looked to Crowley again, although this time there was an accusatory undertone to her look of amazement. “Exactly two pounds.”

“Lucky coincidence, then.” His watch clicked - three hours - and he glanced to the door. “You buying it or not?”

“Are you a wizard?”

“No.”

“Only you’re wearing all black, so if you are a wizard, you’re an evil wizard.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not a nazgul, are you?”

“I have no idea what that is,” said Crowley, completely honestly. “So I’d imagine not. Listen, you want the book or not? I bet you’ll like it.”

She looked from him - a hint of a glare, which was novel - to the book, and back to him. And then she laid the coins on the table. “Okay. But if I don’t like it, Mum always says I should ask for a refund.”

“You won’t get one here.” He pointed to the ‘Returns welcome,’ sign, and then miracled it to say ‘No refunds, no returns,’ hastily, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

“Wait that sign -”

Crowley didn’t hiss. He didn’t growl or do anything menacing. He’d already broken two rules of Aziraphale’s bookshop, and he’d be blessed if he’d break any more. Instead, he looked to the street, where the girl’s father apparently suddenly realized his daughter had been missing for the last twenty minutes, and looked into the shop, wide-eyed and bewildered, before he caught sight of her through the glass doors and waved.

“Oh, would you look at that! Looks like your dad’s looking for you, well, so sorry to see you go, but hope you enjoy the book -”

“You are a wizard!” the girl said, a broad grin spreading across her face, even as Crowley placed his hands firmly on her shoulders and started pushing her toward the door. “That’s not stage magic, I know it can’t be -”

“Not a wizard!” he interjected with forced cheerfulness. “Don’t tell anyone that! Definitely not a wizard! Goodbye!”

“Dad, this guy’s a wizard!” she said, pointing to Crowley, before he pointedly shut the door behind her. The girl’s father looked to her, and then to Crowley, through the glass of the door, and then smiled a tired smile, offering up a shrug as if to say, Kids, right? Crowley nodded, and then turned on his heel, heading straight back to his chair and his blessed game and the quiet bookshop where there were no children or customers and certainly no wizards.

He’d have to look up nazgul or whatever later.

When the bell tinkled again - again - five minutes later, Crowley did groan in exasperation, a little, but he bit it off before it hopefully became too noticeable. He looked up and Aziraphale, briefcase in hand, met his eyes. He looked, confused, from Crowley, to the change on the table, and back to Crowley.

“What did you do?”

Crowley stammered for a second and then managed, “Nothing.”

“You sold a book,” Aziraphale said, in a low voice. He looked back to the change. “You sold a book for two pounds.”

“I didn’t.”

“You sold a book to a …” he closed his eyes, and Crowley winced. He could feel the angel’s energy stretching out, feeling the space, reading the recent past as easily as Crowley might read a gossip magazine in the coffee shop checkout. Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open. “You sold a book to an unattended child!” He dropped the briefcase, the better to put his hands over his face. “Oh, Crowley.”

The demon sank into the chair a little. “Wasn’t one of yours,” he muttered, defensive.

“You’re going to tell me next the child saw you conjure a book out of nowhere?”

“No,” Crowley said, and it wasn’t a lie. He honestly had no intention of telling Aziraphale anything of the sort. “No, just, ah, said I’d nip around the back and get it. I got it from … somewhere else. Another shop.” He paused a minute, and considered that. “It was stealing. Very demonic.”

Aziraphale was looking at him with weariness, and possibly frustration, but that seemed to be softening to amusement more and more by the minute. “But it definitely wasn’t one of mine, was it?”

“Definitely not,” Crowley confirmed. “So really, I only broke one rule. And I did get two other customers to leave without buying anything, so overall a net win for my first day, don’t you think?��� Aziraphale didn’t roll his eyes - not quite - but he did smile. “You get your book?”

Aziraphale sniffed. “It has a coffee stain in the middle of the fourth chapter. It’s going to take time to get it out. No miracles,” he said quickly, when Crowley opened his mouth. The demon’s mouth clicked back shut. “And would you believe the woman didn’t want to come down on the price at all, even with that? I spent the better part of the time negotiating with her over the value of a coffee stain on a book versus the value of the cup of coffee itself.” He sighed. “Honestly.”

Crowley nodded sympathetically. “The absolute gall.” He stood, made a show of stretching, and asked, “Since you’re back and all, I have a little errand of my own I need to run. Mind if I step out?”

Aziraphale frowned, and then nodded. “Of course not. Thank you,” he went on, his face softening into a smile, “for watching the shop, Crowley. Even if you did sell something.” He glanced behind him. “And … and changed the sign. What did you do?” He blinked when Crowley kissed the bridge of his nose, and then watched as the taller of them walked out the door with his typical swagger, without another word. He watched him go, smiling all the while, and then turned back to the change on the table. “You’re ridiculous,” he sighed to himself, in the bookshop, his smile never fading, before he swept the change into a donations tin by the register, and set about his new book.

Two blocks away, Crowley ducked into one of the chain bookshops, glancing furtively around before he did, in case Aziraphale had tailed him. With no puffy, wonderful, probably extremely judgy angel in sight, he slid through the door, and made a beeline for the sci-fi/fantasy section, careful not to make eye contact with anyone on his way through the store. 

His personal collection was down by a book. He needed a replacement. He found it, there on the shelf, with the rest of the series, and picked it out, thumbing through the pages and not smiling when a favorite passage caught his eye. Definitely not smiling. He closed the book - probably time for a re-read, he thought - and turned to the door (certainly not the register - he might be going a little soft in his retirement, but not that soft), but he paused. Just a minute, he thought, and he wove through a few more shelves, pausing in front of a rather impressive display of The Lord of the Rings and all associated paraphernalia. He frowned. And then, under his breath and inaudible to anybody else within earshot, he said, “Oh, why not. Isn’t as if I don’t have time,” before he grabbed The Fellowship of the Ring off the shelf, and slithered out.

-

* No capital ‘A’ required.

** Meaning he showed up and nobody questioned his presence there.

*** He generally rested at a natural 9, but was capable of levels between 12 and 15 when pressed.

[prorevenge]

Contractor abandons project mid-way, resulting in damages. Tries to go off the grid. But I found him and now he's paying me every penny.

This is a bit of a long one so I will try to keep some details out that aren't necessary to the story but if I am happy to answer questions if something isn't clear. This whole story takes place over the course of a year, Appx Dec 2016 into Dec 2017, and through March this year.

So the story begins with my needing to hire a contractor to repair damage to a pole barn that I was constructing on our property. The structure was partially done when a storm hit and the structure had substantial damage. So, we bid a few contractors and the guy that seemed to be the best one (who was actually a referral from a friend), we signed a contract and he started work within a week. We had also signed with him to complete the structure after the insurance portion was completed because his crew could do this much more efficiently and a better job than we could do ourselves (which is what we were originally doing).

His crew completes the insurance portion of the job, but then abandons the project just before starting the rest of it. No call, no email, nothing. I called and texted, and not one of my contact points was ever returned. At this point it was late December, and we thought maybe he and his crew had holiday plans but would resume right after. Then another windstorm hit and his crew hadn't braced the partially-completed structure correctly....and it almost collapsed again.

I tried for 2 weeks to find him. I even drove out to the address on the contract we signed. Which ended up being a house on a rural road, next town over. I knocked on the door, seeing his car there. No one answered. I stopped by this house several different times, trying to catch him. The last few times, his car was no longer there but the work truck of another company was. Wanting to know if he owned the house, I pulled up the tax records for it in the county it was in. Name on the house was not registered to him. So, sounds like he rented or at least was staying with a friend. The company info on the truck was registered to someone unrelated and not on the tax records. The tax records showed that the actual taxpayer of the property lived elsewhere. Here where I live, the property owner name is listed and if they do not actually live at that property (such as in using it for an investment), their address that would have the actual tax bill sent to is also on there.

Given that knowledge, I pulled the court records for him to see if maybe he had been recently arrested or if there was any other info. What I found was about 30 years of driving offenses, including a lot of DUI/DWI charges, and other records. At this point I figured he was long gone and being as I hadn't paid out any money to him for work that was not complete, I would just move on. At least until the structural engineer I hired to assess the damage to the work that was done, stated that the structure had to be started over on that part, and the building materials that the contractor had left scattered around the jobsite were also unusable due to being left improperly stored. I had hoped that the structure could just be pulled back into place and re-secured but I was told this is not the case.

So began the bigger drama and my determination to find him. So far, his negligence has cost $1200 for a structural engineer opinion (our insurance company paid for a 2nd opinion because they didn't like what ours said), $2500 for insurance deductible to the newest contractor hired to repair the exact damage that happened 3 months prior, and $7,000 in materials that his insurance company refused to cover or pay for, and my insurance policy on the project did not cover either. The adjuster for his insurance company said that he was able to locate the contractor but refused to give up any information for him directly.

That and the fact that the project wasn't finished had detriment to my farm and boarding business because two of my pastures that were connected to where the building was sitting, couldn't be used. This limited my ability to use natural pasture grass in summer months by rotating pastures for each herd, and had to purchase hay, which gets quite expensive.

By the time the building was completed, and I could get my pastures back to normal, I had losses of over $14,000. Because I didn't know where he now lived, I used the only address I had for him to file for small claims court, which here has a limit of $15,000. The court documents I served came back undeliverable. This meant that I was kind of stuck because a court date cannot be scheduled until all parties are properly served. But how do I find an address for someone who doesn't seem to register to any particular address directly?

Time was still on my side as this was still early-mid last year. So I kept a watch on social media for anything with his name, which was a VERY unique one. If there was another man of the same name within this state, within even the same metro area, it was unlikely because of how unique the name was. Then one day this past fall, after google searching the name again, there it was: his Facebook page. His name hadn't shown up before on FB with several searches. Not sure why this was the case. Even better, all his settings were set to public. I could see everything he wrote about. Including his recent commitment to stay sober earlier in 2017 (just after he abandoned my project), and... his employer's name! He had posted a pic of him on a jobsite and someone asked where he worked now. He named the place. So a quick google search and voila! Got an address to serve him court papers to. So I re-filed with the new-found address. But I still needed a home address to enforce the judgement once I won the case.

So what did I do? Seeing that he was listed as 'single' in his page, I used a fake FB profile that I originally had in use to test various features I enable on pages that I start up under my real profile. Truthfully, i only used that profile for that purpose to make sure the settings I put in place truly work. But now it would serve another purpose. Getting this guy to give me all the information I needed, playing on his being middle aged and single.

To create my alter ego, I found a website of a cute blonde lady in her 40's (so as to not be too young for him, since he was around mid-40's himself), and just yanked pics. I only set one to the profile photo, and would use the rest if he asked for more. I changed all the pics in the profile to look like it was a typical page of the average mid-40's female.

Holy crap did this work... and it worked so well. I used some information I found on his page to strike up a conversation about stuff stolen out of his work truck in the alley behind his house (big clue!) and it was reported to the city police dept (he named the city, so another big clue).

So, using this information, and telling him I had grown up in the same area, I got him to give me a general area where he lived. Keeping conversation cool like "is the pizza joint still there? They've been around forever" etc so he wouldn't get suspicious. Thank goodness for Google Maps giving me a better idea of that area so I could talk about it like i did in fact grow up there. In reality, I have only ever been in that city twice, and other times drove through on the way to somewhere else.

I was able to narrow down the area he talked about, and using that info, I pulled the police report records from that city. There were 3 reports done within the same area on that same day he reported. So... using that information, I pulled the county tax records to see who owned the houses. I found 3 houses within that area that could possibly be rentals since the owner name and taxpayer billing address did not match. This could be a long-shot to find the person, but I didn't have anything to lose by searching. Just as I was about to call the homeowners to see of anyone by the name of the contractor rented from them, he posts some info on his page that made the calls completely unnecessary. He posted the name of his roommate in a status update, who I then check out the profile of. The profile lists the roommate's landscaping business. A quick google search of that business name and BINGO... his state business registration address matched 1 of the 3 addresses I suspected to be the rental house.

So now I have his home address. He had already been served at his employer's address for the court date. Fast forward to the court date. He didn't show up, which I suspected he wouldn't so I got default judgement. Between serving him papers and the court date passing, the FB profile I was using to talk to him was helpful in getting info out of him about his life, his job situation, how much he made per hour (me feigning knowledge about what construction trades paid), and the fact that he was looking at changing employers. He even told me the name of that employer. So I was armed with info, should he decide to not work with me.

He played right into my hands. Once I got the official judgement from the small claims court win, I decided to contact him myself on FB using messenger. I sat down and wrote out a whole paragraph to him, first typing it on Word so that I could print it out and edit it, and have my husband read it as well.

I wrote that while I was angry at him, I was going to give him ONE chance to work a deal with me, rather than using our state dept of revenue play collection officer for me. I hate dealing with our state dept of revenue. They make the IRS look like Sunday school teachers. But...if it came down to that I would, and they would start garnishing his wages, and here they take 25% of each paycheck after taxes, and have the person's employer do it for them, and then send it to me. However, I hate letting the state be the middle-man because they just complicate things. But I told him straight out that if he refused to work with me directly, I would go to that extreme. I told him that I know he's an addict and has had struggles in the past. I told him that knowing he has had struggles, I was willing to work with him directly and give him an opportunity to offer a monthly payment amount that works for him and his budget, rather than have the state decide the amount for him.

To shorten this up... he replied, agreed, signed (and had notarized) a monthly payment agreement, complete with a list of manual labor tasks that he could use in place of a payment or two to help with some projects on my farm.

TL;DR Contractor ditched a project, resulting in significant financial damages that I could not recover via insurance. Used social media and my intimate knowledge of how to use public records to find people, along with a fake FB profile that appealed to his lonely side. Ended up finding him after over a year, and used my knowledge and rights of the court system to get him to pay me monthly rather than garnishing his wages, which I had every right to do. So far so good and it is nice having that payment show up every month.

(source) (story by Meschugena)

[calligraphist-artemisia]

I’ll Take Her Place (Chapter 19)

Summary: AU. When Allura breaks the news that she is to wed Prince Lotor in order to continue the peaceful relationship between Altea and Daibazaal, Pidge knows that she has to do something to change that. And so, with a little help, she comes up with a new plan. A better plan

Pairings: Keith/Pidge (main) ; Shiro/Allura (minor) and Hunk/Lance (minor) ; one-sided Lotor/Allura

Edit 11/18/2018: Since inserting links is currently causing my posts to not appear when you search through the tags, I’m removing them from my most recent chapters until this issue is fixed. To find the rest of the chapters, just check my page and it’ll be under “My Voltron Fanfiction”. I’ll be doing my best to keep the masterpost up-to-date. (For mobile users, every chapter has been tagged with “arranged marriage au”, which may be your best shot at finding the other chapters.)

To find me on AO3 or fanfiction.net, my penname is “kishirokitsune”

Chapter 19

Why?

Why was it so hard to tell her?

It should have been so simple! It was only one sentence: “I am Keith.” That was it. Easy.

Keithir growled into his pillow, his ears pinned back as he took a moment to vent his frustration. He really wanted to tell her as they sat there at the overlook on Olkarion, but every time he tried, he couldn't get the words out. Either she beat him to talking by offering him a piece of dessert or one of the local wildlife would make a noise to distract him.

(Okay, so that was a poor excuse. He knew that. He didn't need Thace to tell him that no less than five times since they arrived back at the Castle of Lions.)

At least he managed to surprise her with one final gift – the book on Galran technology he ordered just for her. The beaming smile on her face was well worth the effort he put in to get a copy printed and bound for her, which was rarely done as digital versions were considered easier to deliver and took up less space. Personally, he thought it was nice to have a few physical copies around.

Other than his inability to tell her the truth about his alias, their date to Olkarion had been fantastic. The food was delicious and conversation flowed as they sat and looked out over the forested valley. It was more perfect than he'd dreamed.

Everything about his future had shifted over the course of the last two months, which he had expected when he agreed to Katie's proposal, and yet...

Keithir rolled over onto his side, contemplating his unexpected friendship with the Green Paladin. A friendship which was steadily growing towards something more.

He slowly exhaled.

That was the reason it was so hard.

He liked her.

A lot.

For more reasons than he could accurately put into words.

And it terrified him, liking someone that much. If he went about things the wrong way, telling the truth about “Keith” could ruin the balance they'd established. It could bring down their whole friendship!

That was why he needed the right moment. It was why he didn't march down and knock on her door to tell her the truth.

I don't want to mess this up. The desperate thought seized him, derailing the rest of his thought process. But what if I'm already too late?

“Pidge, you look beautiful!” Allura gushed as Pidge stepped out of the fitting room.

“You said the same thing about the last fine,” Pidge said, twisting to check out her reflection in the mirrors around her. Just like the last five, the dress flowed over her body and down to the floor. The silk-like material was light and the skirt shifted with every movement, while the bodice pressed firm against her, accentuating her slight curves.

Nilani eagerly moved forward to help her arrange the skirt, tutting over the length and altogether simplistic design. “It needs something else. More layers? No, no, that would be too much. Perhaps beading? A lace overlay?” The half-Altean rambled on to her herself, paying no mind to Pidge's put-out expression at the thought of trying on more.

When Nilani invited her down to try on “a couple” of gowns, she'd expected three or four, not the twenty-seven waiting for her once she arrived. And that was after Allura and Lance had to step in to curb Nilani's desire to put her into more elaborate gowns, reminding her that Pidge had requested a simple, more modest style.

Allura cleared her throat. “How do you like it, Pidge?”

“Uh, well...” Pidge tried to focus on her reflection and ignore the way Nilani hovered nearby. It was pretty enough, with wide straps over her shoulders and a scooped neckline that was almost too low for her comfort.

“A no, then,” Allura said, recognizing the uncomfortable pause for what it was. She strode over to the rack of gowns as Pidge stammered out excuses, not wanting it to seem like she hated all of the hard work Nilani was doing to accommodate her.

Nilani herself watched the princess with curiosity in her gaze as Allura went through the rack until she found one that met her approval. She carried it over to Pidge and pushed her back into the dressing room, going right along with her to help unlace the back of the one she had on.

“Sometimes you have to be a little more forceful about these things,” Allura advised in undertone. “Nilani is a brilliant seamstress, but sometimes she gets so caught up in what she's doing and how she can make it even better. Don't forget, this is all about what you want. If you look at it and you don't like it or if you'll feel uncomfortable wearing it, you won't offend her by telling the truth.” She stepped back when the dress was loosened enough for Pidge to slip out of it. “Now tell me, what do you think of this one?”

For a moment, Pidge thought Allura was testing her and she almost turned it away without really looking at it, but the lace turtleneck caught her attention and the more she looked at it, the more she found herself liking it. “I'll try it on.”

Allura beamed.

Daibazaal.

The home world of the Galra.

Pidge was a bundle of nerves as Keithir helped her down from the shuttle and she set foot on Daibazaal for the very first time. There were only a few guards there to meet the pair of them and Shiro, who Keithir picked as their chaperon for the trip. She'd already been told it would be a low-key affair, with few actually knowing the date and time of their visit, so the lack of crowd was an expected thing and helped a little to calm her. At least she wouldn't have a big audience if she messed up.

She held onto Keithir's hand, letting him take the lead while she looked around, mesmerized by the massive, gleaming buildings and the unusual reddish sky. Architecture wasn't really her thing, but that didn't make it any less fascinating to see the stark differences between the more sleek and bright Altean buildings and the sharper edges the Galra were prone to.

They quickly moved into the citadel, escorted by a handful of guards. Keithir was quiet at her side. Actually, he'd been quiet for most of their journey, lost to his thoughts and unusually inattentive.

What if he's changed his mind?

It wasn't the first time that thought crept in to poison her good mood. And just like with the others, Pidge pushed it away. If Keithir had changed his mind, he would tell her. Or she hoped he would. They only had two weeks and three days left until the end of their courtship and then they would make an official announcement of their engagement.

Pidge became hyper aware of how warm Keithir's hand was around her own.

Two more weeks.

She swallowed, glancing up at his face, wondering if he'd realized the same.

Their courtship was coming to an end, bringing their marriage into full focus. She wracked her mind, trying to remember what, if anything, she'd read about Galra engagements. Was there a proposal involved? How was it done? And what about the engagement period? Were there rules or steps to follow for those three months as well, or were they going to be too busy with wedding planning to worry about that? What about--

Keithir gently squeezed her hand. “Is everything okay, Katie?”

“Oh, um, yeah,” Pidge lied unconvincingly. “Sorry, I was just thinking about something. Where are we going first?”

“It's not anything interesting, but I thought I'd show you and Shiro where you'll be staying while we're here. You'll share connected rooms. I hope that's alright,” Keithir said, raising his voice enough for Shiro to hear as well.

“That sounds perfect. What better way for me to keep an eye on Pidge?” Shiro said teasingly.

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Ha ha.”

Shiro took her sarcasm in stride. “Well, that is my job as your chaperon.”

Keithir looked amused by their banter. He waited until he was sure they were done before telling them the rest of his plans for the evening. “Mother and father ave invited us to join them for dinner. After that, I thought I'd show you around the citadel, if you'd like.”

The spark of anxiety that came up every time Pidge thought about talking to Emperor Zarkon fizzled out with the knowledge that Keithir wanted to give her a tour.

But what if--

Pidge violently beat back her dark thoughts as she squeezed Keithir's hand and smiled up at him. “That sounds great.”

He was going to be in so much trouble if Thace found out what he was doing, but he just wanted a quick moment alone with Katie. They were safe at the citadel; not even Lotor would dare try anything right under Zarkon's nose. (Not that he had to worry about that, as he'd been assured Lotor was off-planet.)

Dinner went smoothly thanks to Shiro, who struck up a quiet conversation with Zarkon regarding security at the wedding. Katie seemed much more relaxed without the Emperor's attention on her and it was a relief to see that she was comfortable talking to the Empress when asked about her current projects. All of that gave him the confidence to do what he'd been meaning to do for weeks.

He couldn't keep waiting for the perfect moment to present itself, so he'd have to create one himself.

There was a balcony he loved to relax at. Well, it was more of a retired crosswalk for the guards, which overlooked a stretch of the inner-city to the east. The view was a spectacular one and the wind was rarely harsh.

“Wow,” Katie breathed as she leaned against the rail, gazing out over the capital city.

As much as he wanted to, Keithir didn't allow himself the pleasure of standing back to watch her for long. He walked up next to her, close enough that they were almost touching. “I've always come up here when I wanted to be alone to think. Something about it helps me clear my head. Makes it easier to talk about things.”

His heart was pounding in his chest as he turned to meet her eyes. “Katie, there's something I need to tell you.”

“Is something wrong?” she asked, looking almost afraid to hear the answer.

Keithir shook his head. “No! No, nothing's wrong. I just...” He paused to take a breath. “I'm--”

“Well now, isn't this a pleasant surprise.”

The sound of that voice, thick like too-sweet honey, had Keithir instinctively moving in front of Katie, shielding her from view. He narrowed his eyes as his brother joined them on the balcony. Behind him was his personal servant, who stood back with his head bowed.

“What do you want, Lotor?” Keithir demanded.

Lotor made a show of acting shocked. “Why, I merely saw my dear little brother and his bride-to-be out here all alone and came to say 'hello'. Is that such a crime to you?”

Everything about him was cold and controlled, his voice ringing with a falsely pleasant tone that set Keithir's nerves on edge. Whatever his brother was there for, it certainly wasn't to say “hello”.

“Well now you have. You can go now.” Keithir didn't care if he was being rude. He wanted Lotor as far away from Katie as possible, as soon as possible.

Lotor tutted softly, whether from the demand or something else. “And leave the two of you alone? As your older brother, it is my duty to escort you back to your chaperon. After all, it would be most unfortunate if anything were to happen to you while you're out here all alone.”

Behind him, Katie inhaled sharply at the unspoken threat.

“We can find our own way back,” Keithir said, maintaining eye contact for another few seconds.

Show no fear.

And then, calmly and dismissively, Keithir turned and ushered Katie away from the balcony, wanting nothing more than to get her back to Shiro and off of Daibazaal. His parents would understand his reasons for cutting their trip short.

He needed to talk to Kolivan. Everything about what just happened felt weird to him.

And since when did Lotor have his personal servant follow him around the citadel?

“Keithir?”

A gentle touch to his arm had him slowing down so Katie wasn't running to keep up with him. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn't think – He's not supposed to be here. I don't know how he found out we were visiting.”

“It is weird,” Katie agreed, easily keeping pace with him as they descended a flight of stairs. “Shiro needs to hear about this.”

“You can tell him on your way back to Altea.”

“You're coming with us, right?”

Keithir didn't hesitate for a second. “Of course I am.”

I'm not letting you out of my sight.

On impulse, he reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. Katie looked startled by the action, but didn't pull away. Instead, she moved a little closer. And despite everything, a tiny burst of affection settled in Keithir's heart, soothing him.

Whatever Lotor was planning, they'd get through it. Together.

[jswdmb1]

S.O.B.

“I'm gonna need someone to help me

I'm gonna need somebody's hand

I'm gonna need someone to hold me down

I'm gonna need someone to care”

- Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats

As I think about this year we just closed out, I noticed all of the retrospective accounts focused on specific events, and other big news stories that caught our attention. That makes plenty of sense, but it doesn’t seem truly representative of what really impacts each of us on a daily basis.  It’s the little things that happen every day that don’t seem like much at the time but add up to something significant.  This was true in 2018 for me as what really impacted me was one relatively small achievement that happened every day, one-day-at-a-time.  For the first calendar year in a very long time, I spent it sober.

As I write this, I am questioning the wisdom of going into this topic as I did when I discussed suicide earlier last year.  As a matter of fact, this is one of those posts that has been sitting on the shelf for a long time.  Once I pulled it back out a few weeks ago, I planned to post this on New Year’s Day, but couldn’t pull the trigger.  I went back and forth with it in my mind and even did some rare editing (and reediting) before finally hitting the “Post” button.  But, as hard as it was, I knew I had to do it to try and break the cycle of shame that comes with those who deal with problems with alcohol and/or drugs (or any addiction for that matter). 

I was also inspired to push ahead with this by one of those small, random events that happen which get forgotten about when you look back on a year.  This morning, with a ton of things on my to-do list, I instead leafed through the morning newspaper (yes, I still get it in print).  I was perusing through the “Health & Fitness” section (which I normally throw right out indicating the high level of procrastination I am facing right now), and came across a small column buried on the second page.  A writer by the name of Chris Erskine pens a essay each week called “The Middle Ages” and this week’s entry was titled “Grief and joy can surge along the same channel”.  I rarely give you links, but stop right now and read it here: https://www.latimes.com/home/la-hm-erskine-column-20181222-story.html.  Here is a man who lost a son and a wife in the same year and still has the courage to write with humor and inspire others.  Reading it was enough of a push to finally get me to finish and post this.

So, when it comes up in conversation that I do not drink, it is usually followed by two questions that have the same answer: When did you stop? and Will you drink again?  My reply to both is I don’t know.  I actually do not remember the last drink I had.  It’s not that I was blacked out or so drunk that it got erased from my memory.  It was just not a significant event at the time for me to mark it in my mind as an occasion (i.e., I didn’t know it was my last drink).  As far as what happens going forward, anyone who has faced the prospect of going sober knows that you take it one day at a time.  You wake up in the morning with the same challenge you had the day before, and you go to bed each night grateful for the sobriety you had that day.  You don’t ask for anything more and, in return, you don’t have to worry about tomorrow until it gets here.  To try it any other way is overwhelming and seems to rarely be successful from what I’ve heard.  

The second question seems to be the part that really throws people.  In a day and age where answers are certain and immediate, leaving something so big open-ended seems uncomfortably fluid.  Actually, it’s quite the opposite as it’s quite liberating to have something so important that you don’t have to think about beyond the current moment.  For me, the heart of anxiety is worrying about the past and/or the future, but with sobriety all you worry about is the present which is very calming.  Rather than thinking about how to stay sober for the rest of my life (which by definition is an indefinite period), I just focus on getting to the end of the day.  With that approach, every day is a success and my effort feels rewarded versus waiting for a result that never comes.  There may be a day where that doesn’t happen, and while I am not planning for that to take place, I can’t possibly know for sure so I don’t spend much time worrying about it.  

I suppose the first question also causes confusion.  I concede it is odd that one wouldn’t know when something seemingly so significant happened so I guess I owe some explanation.  I was still drinking and taking certain prescription medications in a way they weren’t intended when I went into my out-patient hospitalization program for treatment last fall after I basically had what they used to call a “nervous breakdown”.  I needed Ativan in the morning and a few drinks after getting home at night just to get through the first few days of the program, which were intense.  When you go through a program like this, nothing can be hidden easily as you become so attached to it and the people you are with that any dishonesty eats at you.  I quickly disclosed my continued behaviors, and without going into a lot of details, came to the conclusion that I needed to stop drinking and using drugs (except of course those prescribed by my psychiatrist and taken properly).  That was it and I don’t remember the day it happened or when I had that last drink before coming to that decision.  If I was more self-aware at the time, I may have noted it, but instead I moved on to the next thing and quickly forgot anymore details of the event.

As for the time that has elapsed, it’s again one-day-at-a-time.  The first few months were definitely harder and certain milestones (death anniversaries, holidays, etc.) really tested me.  I went to a couple AA meetings, which gave me some good perspective, but I decided this was something I needed to do for myself and by myself, so I stopped going to those.  Gradually, I came to realize that I just felt better physically, mentally, and emotionally when I was sober.  It became less about giving something up and more about receiving positive benefit from a fundamental change I made in my life.  That motivated me to keep going and even as I sit here at least fifteen months later, I stay focused on how I feel and not so much about how I got here or why I even chose to get sober.

The problem with sharing this story is that it is so personal that I don’t think it is interesting or useful to anyone else. That’s why AA meetings didn’t work for me. I’m not knocking AA. It’s a great organization that has helped a lot of people, but they seem to have a black and white view on alcoholism/addiction where I think it has many shades of grey. I also think that you are the only one who can decide if you have a issue to deal with or not. Early on, I had some folks close to me wonder if I really was an alcoholic. My response was that I was the only one there for every drink poured, every pill swallowed; and every joint smoked, so no one else can make that call but me.  Each and every person needs to make the same determination about their own habits and come to their own conclusions that make sense for themselves.  For example, I am on several medications for depression and anxiety that are directly contradicted by the use of alcohol (they don’t just put that on the label for fun).  Alcohol really negates the impact of the pills and in some cases can make them dangerous.  By quitting drinking, I was able to finally allow the medications to start doing what they are supposed to and that has been a big part of my feeling better.  While this was big for me, that may not be the case for someone else.  Again, that is why it is so hard to give advice other than to trust your gut and to do what you feel.  That’s always going to be a better litmus test that what someone else can tell you.

I really could go on and on about all of the other wonderful things that come with sobriety, but I will share just two.  One is the wonderful support you get from friends and family.  That is where you really find out what unconditional love is.  The second is finding out how much of the world shares this problem.  One of my coping mechanisms is to drink non-alcoholic beer.  It really helps give me a crutch in social situations where I usually would be drinking.  When I started out, I thought that this is going to be weird when I go into a bar or restaurant.  Turns out, lots of people drink N/A beer and I have had some servers even disclose to me discretely on the side that they do not drink either and appreciate what I’m doing.  Those kind of experiences can’t help but give you confidence and inspire you to keep up the fight.

Usually when I finish one of these I feel good for getting it put together and get a peaceful energy that often comes from journaling, but after writing this one I’m exhausted. It seems like posting these thoughts is self-indulgent, but I’ll let the individual reader decide that for themselves. As I always say, if even one nugget of information is useful to one person then I think it is worth it to put it out there. I’m too spent to even come up with a great ending to all of this (that implies my other posts have great endings, which I know is not true, but it sounded good to say). I’ll just leave you with one piece of advice that fits most situations: take it one day at a time and let your personal journey, whatever that may be, develop on its own.

Peace and Happy New Year,

Jim

[hydrus]

Version 440

windows

zip

exe

macOS

app

linux

tar.gz

I had an unfortunately short week, but I did some good work. The tiled renderer has nice fixes.

tiled renderer

I regret the tiled renderer, while good most of the time, had crashes when it did go wrong. To stop this with any new errors that might pop up, the whole block now has an additional layer of error catching around it. If a tile fails to render for any reason, you now get a black square, and if some coordinate space cannot be calculated or a portion of the image is truncated, the system will now print some errors but otherwise ignore it.

A particular problem several users encountered was legacy images that have EXIF rotation metadata but were imported years ago when the client did not understand this. Therefore, hydrus thought some old image was (600x900) when it then loaded (900x600). In the old system, you would have had a weird stretch, maybe a borked rotation, but in my new tiled system it would try to draw tiles that didn't exist, causing our errors-then-crashes. The client now recognises this situation, gives you a popup, and automatically schedules metadata regeneration maintenance for the file.

some misc

You can now set a custom 'namespace' file sort (the 'series-creator-volume-chapter-page' stuff) right on a page. Just click the new 'custom' menu entry and you can type whatever you like. It should save through your session and be easy to edit again. This is prep for some better edit UI here and increased sort/collect control, so if you do a lot of namespace sorting, let me know how you get on!

I prototyped a new 'delete lock' mode, which prohibits deletion of files if they match a criteria. I am starting with if a file is archived. You can turn this mode on under options->files and trash. It mostly just ignores deletes at the moment, but in future I will improve feedback, and maybe have a padlock icon or something, and eventually attach my planned 'metadata conditional' object to it so you'll be able to delete-lock all pngs, or all files with more than four tags, or whatever you can think of.

new builds to test

This is probably just for advanced users. If you would like to help test, make sure you have a backup before you test anything on a real database!

A user has been working hard on replicating the recent macOS build work for the other releases, cribbing my private build scripts together into a unified file that builds on github itself from the source, as well as rolling out a Docker package. I have had a look over everything and we agree it is ready for wider testing, so if you would like to help out, please check out the test v440 builds here:

https://github.com/hydrusnetwork/hydrus/releases/tag/v440-test-build

These should work just like my normal builds above--the scripts are using PyInstaller and InnoSetup as I do on my machines, so it all assembles the same way--but we are interested in any errors you nonetheless encounter. We may need to hammer out some stricter library version requirements for older machines, since until now we've basically been relying on my home dev environments staying static until I next remember to run pip update.

Once we have these working well, I'd like to use this system for the main build. It makes things easier and more reliable on my end, and should improve security since the builds are assembled automatically in clean environments with publicly viewable scripts rather than my random-ass dev machines using my own dlls, batch files, and prayers. Who knows, we may even defeat the anti-virus false positives.

Also, if you would like to try the Docker package, check it out here:

https://github.com/users/hydrusnetwork/packages/container/package/hydrus

I don't know much about Docker, so while I can't help much, I'll still be interested in any feedback. If and when we are ready to switch over here, I'll be updating my help with any appropriate new backup instructions and links and so on.

Please also remember that running hydrus from source is also always an option:

https://hydrusnetwork.github.io/hydrus/help/running_from_source.html

As we went through this process of automating my builds, we've improved the requirements.txts, and I've learned a bit more about automatic environment setup, so I hope I can also add some quick setup scripts for different platforms to make running from source and even building your own release much easier.

full list

tiled renderer:

the tiled renderer now has an additional error catching layer for tile rendering and coordinate calculation and _should_ be immune to to the crashes we have seen from unhandled errors inside Qt paint events

when a tile fails to render, a full black square will be used instead. additional error information is quickly printed to the log

fixed a tile coordinate bug related to viewer initialisation and shutdown. when the coordinate space is currently bugnuts, now nothing is drawn

if the image renderer encounters a file that appears to have a different resolution to that stored in the db, it now gives you a popup and automatically schedules a metadata regen job for that file. this should catch legacy files with EXIF rotation that were imported before hydrus understood that info

when a file completes a metadata regen, if the resolution changed it now schedules a force-regen of the thumbnail too

.

the rest:

added a prototype 'delete lock' for archived files to _options->files and trash_ (issue #846). this will be expanded in future when the metadata conditional object is made to lock various other file states, and there will be some better UI feedback, a padlock icon or similar, and some improved dialog texts. if you use this, let me know how you get on!

you can now set a custom namespace sort in the file sort menu. you have to type it manually, like when setting defaults in the options, but it will save with the page and should load up again nicely in the dialog if you edit it. this is an experiment in prep for better namespace sort edit UI

fixed an issue sorting by namespaces when one of those namespaces was hidden in the 'single media' tag context. now all 'display' tags are used for sort comparison groups. if users desire the old behaviour, we'll have to add an option, so let me know

the various service-level processing errors when update files are missing or janked out now report the actual hash of the bad update file. I am chasing down one of these errors with a couple of users and cannot quite figure out why the repair code is not auto-fixing things

fixed a problem when the system tray gets an activate event at unlucky moments

the default media viewer zoom centerpoint is now the mouse

fixed a typo in the client api with wildcard/namespace tag search--sorry for the trouble!

.

some boring multiple local file services cleanup:

if you have a mixture of trash and normal thumbnails selected, the right-click menu now has separate choices for 'delete trash' and 'delete selected' 'physically now'

if you have a mixture of trash and normal thumbnails selected, the advanced delete dialog now similarly provides separate 'physical delete' options for the trashed vs all

media viewer, preview viewer, and thumbnail view delete menu service actions are now populated dynamically. it should say 'delete from my files' instead of just 'delete'

in some file selection contexts, the 'remote' filter is renamed to 'not local'

next week

I had a run of IRL stuff eating my hydrus time, but I think I am now free. I'll catch up on smaller work and keep grinding at multiple local file services.

[sushilabassyear1fmp]

Final and additional experiments

Hand embroidery (early sample)

This sample took a long time to do, perhaps 5 hours causally on and off which is already far too long to be worth doing for a final piece. For this experiment I wanted to layer the printed text with some embroidery to make the piece crowded and uncomfortable which I believe it successfully did do. Aart from time being an issue moving forward another issue is it is a bit too neat, while I wanted to hand sew so that It would be personal I and to be a bit freer with the text, when I hand sew it feels like it had to be perfect when I would want my text to be rougher to show a quickly written note, not a neat perfect note. Because of this I will try to use machine embroidery, I will have a lot less control of the machine which should help me create a rougher piece. On this sample I also tried out embellishing a gold coin onto the fabric, this worked but I will push it further in a future sample and experiment more with how much of it is covered and showing.

Advanced embellishments

Here I pushed what I did in my last sample further, I tried a few methods of getting the coins stuck onto the fabric, one of them is too neat and uniform I want them to be freer and much more random, they must be secure so that the coins don’t fall out but also have enough of the gold showing to make it obvious what it is which this sample shows well.

Machine embroidery

I wanted to basically recreate what I did by hand on the machine, this was a lot freer and rougher like I predicted but it was also a lot faster which will be a huge benefit going into my final making weeks. I will maybe write a bit smaller on my final as the text seems a bit large and maybe too legible right now, however this is easily fixable In my final.

Overlaying fabric choices and experiments.

I have 3 main options for an overlay fabric, netting which is white and has small but obvious holes in it. Tulle which would be either off white or white which is see through all over, soft and delicate or organza which is finer than tulle but less soft while keeping the delicate nature. I want to try the hand applique and sublimation printing on each fabric to test the use of these fabrics and weather they are useful for my final garment. The fabric has to show layers well as that is the intention for the final and it needs to take well to being hand embroidered on to be useful on my final.

The netting and organza took well to he hand embellishing, the method for hand embellishment which would be most delicate is when I sew only a small amount of the petal instead of going all around the petal with stitching, this still holds the petal without being bulky and ruining the look. This will also leave the petals hanging a bit which goes with the petals falling idea for my final. The tulle did not take well to the embellishment so it is knocked out of the running. Next I printed onto the 2 remaining fabrics, an idea which only occurred in the print room, both are synthetic which is good as technically the dye should stick but I was concerned that like with the big green nets that I put through the press a few weeks ago I was concerned that the fabrics would shrink or melt. However both of them did well when I put them in initially just to flatten them out, next I printed petal emblems on them. The netting had an interesting effect as there are considerably big gaps between strands it created and interesting negative space appearance which was not what I was looking for. The organza however did very well, it was delicate but oddly bold, you can layer more than one on top each other and it creates an effect with a lot of depth.

Final piece.

Making

What I thought would be a small task ended up taking 4 times as long as I thought it would. In practice I didn’t come across any major issues but when it came to the final everything went wrong.

The bobbin kept catching on itself which lead to a build up of thread on the inside of the garment, while this isn’t an aesthetic issue it did create some technical issues as the needle struggled not to get caught on it, this made the lettering a bit rougher than intended but as the idea of the text was a bit rough looking it isn’t too noticeable. To cover the roughed up fabric from the unpicking I add words over it so that is isn’t obvious that there is faulty fabric underneath.

A mistake I made In the final which didn’t happen in my samples was a oversight on my behalf, I sewed the top right of the bodice to the middle thought the embroidered lettering, this ruined the fabric when I unpicked it, the unpicking took about 2 hours as it was detailed and layered stitching which is not easy to undo especially when working with the fabric I was using. This set me back a day so I took 2 days of work (on and off) to finish the bodice machine embroidery. After that getting the machine embroidery done it is time to add the embellishment by hand, I add several gold coins wrapping in dark thread spread as randomly (and strategically) as possible to make it look natural and not have one side too gold heavy.

With the front panel of the bodice done I added the invisible zip into the back 2 panels before sewing the bodice all together (I will find out this is a mistake in the future) with half the zip in I then sew the darts for the back pieces and sew the bodice panels together, once this is done I do the same with the skirt panels. After the skirt panels are done I add the overskirts to the base skirt at the waist. Once that is done I am ready to attach the skirt to the bodice.

I notice that there is spare fabric in the bodice and it wont fit into the skirt, I thought I would overcome this by making sure I used my full seam allowance for the bodice however this didn’t solve this issue so I made the darts in the back panel bigger to use the extra fabric. Once I added the waist seam I then tried to add the bottom of the zip to the skirt which should have worked in theory however it was time consuming to make it match up and fit, it didn’t help that I was using a straight foot to sew the zip in instead of the zipper foot, the zip broke and I had to take it out which took a long time and messed up the fabric (as previously mentioned the fabric doesn’t take well to being unpicked) I decide to wait to see my tutor before putting another zip in and move on to the hem of the skirt, sleeves and neckline. While it pins flat, when I sew it all the hems pucker a bit (quite majorly on the neck) and I decide to hold off calling the garment finished until I can confer with my tutor.

Friday 14th May 2021.

14th of May 

Friday schedule. 

10-12 industrial machine induction. 

12-1 overlock seems and organza. 

2-3 add zip 

3-4 facing for neck and sleeves.

4-5 sketchbook printing 

5.30-7.30 blog write ups, plan sketchbook pages and scan in finished sketchbook pages ready for final submission. 

Of this list I achieved everything before 3pm, I also had help from the pattern cutting tutor to make a facing for Tuesday, I will cut the fabric over the weekend and I will bring it in on Tuesday so that I can be taught how to add a facing. I didn’t get any sketchbook work done but I will prepare images to print on Tuesday. I have also managed to scan the first few finished pages in ready to be put on the pdf.

 Additional planning 

To insure l stay on top of everting l make sure to makes small manageable lists to help motivate me and keep track of what needs doing and when

Finishing’s. 

As the edges were rather rough after a talk with the tutors we decided to overlock all the edges which meant undoing the original hem and we also added another invisible zip where the first one broke. After this was all done the piece looked a lot cleaner. In future I would overlock all edges on the inside of my seems and hem edges, this stops fraying and gives a clearer finish.

As my organza layers frayed a lot too I had those overlocked, the effect is prominent but it adds to the design. The effect of the overlocking is that the edges of the organza looks like a flower petal which matches the rest of my floral themed garment, the overlocking didn’t make the piece look too bulky as it was done on the mini overlocker which sews smaller. The stiches didn’t add too much weight to the hem either meaning the layers still float and are not held down by the hem which was another worry.

Last 2 weeks detailed schedule.

Friday 14th – After university – plan the next few weeks. Add to final evaluation.

Weekend – mostly blog and maybe look for photoshoot locations.

Saturday 15th – Blog day. 4 hours at least of intense blogging. Upload sketchbook pages to tumblr. Cut out facing.

Sunday 16th -  2 hours of blog making changes as discussed with tutors and 2 pages of sketchbook plus plan a few sketchbook pages.

Monday 17th – Official photoshoot plan with write up to back up decision. Prep images for printing for sketchbook.

Tuesday 18th – Get Paula’s help with sewing the facing in. Photograph final garment on mannequin and maybe shoot in front of university if there is a suitable location. Print images for sketchbook and scan in more pages for pdf.

Wednesday 19th – Food shopping so not much university work.

Thursday 20th – Photoshoot if not done. Finalise evaluation. Finish sketchbook.

Friday 21st –  Edit final photos. Hand in all physical work if done. Work on blog.

Saturday 22nd – blog

Sunday 23rd – blog  

Monday 24th -  hand in digital.

Making continued

Tuesday 18th

I sewed the facing in, had the hem finished, had the last of the seams overlocked. This was a fairly quick process. Now it is done i can begin to properly prepare for my photoshoot. 

Most of my blog was finished yesterday at home so today i printed images for my sketchbook and i will hopefully get around 5 or so pages done by 10pm tonight including pages with fashion roughs. 

As for the rest of the week l will take a break on the Wednesday part from doing the photoshoot. Thursday l will make progress on m sketchbook and prepare printing for my sketchbook to do on Friday. On Friday l will hand in my final garment and final sketchbook after scanning it in ready for my digital submission which l will have ready for Monday.  

[daybyjae]

The Tale of a Desk

I finally have a functioning desk setup!!

My History with Desks:

I have been needing a new desk setup for months now. From May 2020 up until this past February. That may come as a shock to you as this past year being the working and schooling from home era, desks were a necessity.

I've had a desk for the majority of my life. My childhood bedroom set came with a desk, then I later bought a replacement before I went off to dorm where bedroom desks were a given. Even though I've always had desks rarely did I fully utilize them. My childhood desk was a catch-all during my sloppy phase. It held books, school papers, clothes, hair products, everything!! Because of this I never used it to study, do homework, or even read as the entirety of its surface area was occupied. Fast forward to my late teen years I wanted to get rid of the desk. I was aware that the desk was causing more harm than good, feeding into my clutter habit. So I downsized to a small desk that I intended to use as a vanity since I wasn't going to lie to myself and say that I'd actually do any work on it. I still have it to this day, it's still fulfilling the role of a vanity as I store makeup and hair products there but it's too small to function as a desk for me.

When I went off to dorm for college I had no choice but to finally use a desk. I was determined to do well in school and I knew that the best way to limit procrastination was to separate my areas of work and rest. It also helped that in the tiny room that I shared with another person that it was the only seating with a flat surface in front of it. Instead of using a dining table for a desk (as I had been for most of my life) I was using a desk as a dining table. The truth of its role was a constant reminder to get work done. When I returned to college again last year I fell back into the routine of getting most of my work done at my desk. However, once the panoramic pandemic hit I wanted to not only separate work and rest but also put creativity in its own realm. At this point, I was still dorming but my roommate had left so I had an extra desk.

I made that my creative space. I would paint, read and even edit videos at that desk. I loved having a designated fun space and it helped me out of a couple cycles of the lockdown blues. When that semester ended it was time for me to move on and out, I rented a small room in Brooklyn. Sadly there was no space for a desk so I couldn't create a solid work or creative space there. I would do whatever work I had in bed and but it was only a temporary stay so I made it work. After 3 months of renting that room, I went off to rent my own apartment! I was ecstatic but slightly broke. I had just put down over $5k to move in and I had to spread out my furniture purchasing. For about the first 6 months of my living in this apartment, I had no desk OR dining table. This is especially wild since I worked from home for months. I moved my vanity desk from my childhood home into my space but it was too small for what I needed plus I didn't have any chairs. I spent the first three months furnishing in other ways as to not completely blow all my money in one go. The last 3 months were spent hunting for a desk. Now I know what you're thinking, "It doesn't take that long to find a desk", but in a pandemic it does!

I had a particular size and style in mind to match my current space and the options were limited so I was saving. The first desks that I was looking at were upward of $200 so I had to double-check my decision and would then always change my mind. One day I had FINALLY decided on a desk but two issues arose. One, it was constantly out of stock in the color that I wanted. Two, the shipping was $50. The desk I ended up getting ended up being around $90 but it was coming from IKEA and they don't do free delivery. This lead to me trying to bulk up my order so that the purchase would be "worth it". I finally bit the bullet in February as the $50 on top of the actual price of the desk still kept me under my original budget.

How I Will Use the Desk:

With this desk, I had a few things in mind. Yes, this is a working space (typing this on her right now) but I also wanted it to be my creative space. Since I'm not in school and I go out for my job all the work that I do at this desk is leisurely work. Education and self-administered projects that I do for me and me alone. Because of that, I don't feel the same need I did when I was in school to separate creative space from working space. At this desk, I will continue to learn and grow in whatever avenue that piques my interest. I will hone my writing, study math, edit videos, paint, and oftentimes eat at my desk ( still don't have a dining table).

When I have the time and energy I choose a subject to learn or introduce myself to. Some of the educational work I have done on my own time have been; using Codecademy to learn the basics of different coding languages, taking Coursera courses on whatever they are offering for the great price of free, use my college provided Linkedin Learning account to learn the basics and intricacies of a variety of topics and currently I am teaching myself statistics through Khan Academy. I love to learn even about things that don't immediately impact me. My true goal in life is to learn about as many things as I can and those online resources that I mentioned are just a few ways that I work on my never-ending status of being a student.

Let's talk a little more about the creative side of this desk. I already told you about some of the fun things that I will do here but let's dive into it a little more. I have been writing and editing more even before I got this desk since I started working on this blog and posting videos for it but I want to expand. When it comes to writing I want to improve not just my grammar and wording but also my physical handwriting. I have pretty bad handwriting, certified chicken scratch, and I plan on improving that. This will probably be a project that goes across several years but we all need a starting point and mine was simply to actually have a flat surface to write on. I started journaling before I had the desk to get some thoughts down and actually use my handwriting more often but I would have to cut it short since writing without a table or desk is pretty difficult to do for long periods of time. Now with this desk and the excess of time caused via coronavirus I can easily journal two pages without my wrist crying out for help. Today I even started to watch some videos on how to improve my print. The true goal is to be able to produce amazing calligraphy but I understand the value of baby steps so I will start off small for now.

I will especially plan at this desk! I love to plan out my days, weeks, goals, habits, whatever comes to mind I will try to plan for it. However, it felt somewhat counterproductive when I would hunch forward in bed to plan out my day and week for productivity. I plan my best when my mind and body feel good and planning with poor posture didn't make sense.

Hobbies I plan to test out/improve that benefit from having a desk

calligraphy

editing

painting

sketching/ drawing

planning (yes it's a super fun hobby, fight me in the comments)

people watching through my window

comment how you're personally enjoying your desk besides school and work

Simply Benefits of Having a Desk:

The separation between leisure and work. I have goals with my home studies, I don't have goals for my streaming consumption.

I have already felt an increase in productivity. Since I know have a designated space to work it is easier to focus. It has even made falling asleep easier. With my bed no longer being a place of productivity I can sleep easier and faster with far fewer tossing and turning.

My room is less empty. I moved into my current apartment around 6 months ago and it is still pretty bare. Having this desk take up some of the blank white space feels good and makes me happy when I see it.

I'm not sure what my desk status will be in my next home but hopefully, it takes less time to figure out.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it.

[miscolliding-planets]

Chapter 5: Another Galaxy

Eight(8) months later...

"Which shoots are booked for this next couple of weeks?" I asked the staff as I entered the meeting room.

"We have Bodie, of the KPop group GRITZ, flying in 2 days from now for his solo interview and photoshoot," Monica, my secretary relayed. "The next day, he will be coming back for another shoot and interview but for a different magazine, this time with Iain Yoon of Paradigm along with Blake Harithai. Oh, it will also be a street shoot," she continued. "Three days after that, Taylor Thanee booked a studio while Iain Yoon will also come for a music video shoot in one of our other studios," she fired again.

"About that..." I interrupted Melanie, "Which studios will they be using?" I asked.

"Mr.  Vajarodaya only requested for a small studio so we decided to place him on studio 1. Mr. Yoon asked for a large space where 'a greenhouse-like set' can be set up, that's why we gave him studio 3," Melanie instantly responded as she looks through her planner. "Mr. Vajarodaya also said that he will be bringing his own crew," she continued.

"How many people is on his crew?" I asked as I also checked schedule on my calendar.

"He said there will only be 10 people that will be working with him," she answered after checking.

"Right. Please make sure that they properly go through admitting procedures and keep to the guidelines," Melanie noted it on her page as she hums her acknowledgement. "What about equipment? Do we have to provide any?" I also checked with Melanie.

"We'll be providing his lighting equipment and the basic props for his set," Melanie relayed as she hands me the shoot briefs.

"Did he specify any specific light he requires? What props are needed for his set?" I asked, genuinely curious as I check the list that is on the brief.

"He wanted lamps, a wooden chair, a large wooden crate box, and a wooden ladder. As for studio lights, he needs four, with 2 of them being colored. He said he will also need a set of reflectors," she read off the list that she is also holding.

"What about the backdrop? Did he not require specific colors or textures?" I asked as I need more elaborate details since I did not see it on the brief.

Melanie checked only on her copy and was appalled that this bit was not included. "I will ask his side for more details," she assured me as she goes through her planner for the contact detail she needs.

"Get their reply, ASAP," I told Melanie as she started composing a message. I turned to the other people on the room," Danny and Gene, please make sure that all props, lighting, monitors and all other equipment are ready the day before the shoot," I addressed my tech team.

"Yes, Ma'am," they nodded their head as they go over each of the briefs for the list of needed equipments.

"Please make sure that each of the props are in place at least a few hours before the shoot begins, if not a day early," I addressed the art team next. "I need every detail of the set to be ready so we can start the shoots without a hitch. If you need anything--some help or whatnot--tell me as soon as it comes up, okay?" I demanded for their affirmation.

"Yes, ma'am," both Ares and Collette answered.

"Melanie, please also check the dressing rooms and see if they had been clean at least a few hours before the shoot starts," I interrupted Melanie's typing again.

"Sure, ma'am," she affirmed and went back to composing her message.

Remembering that the main dressing room for studio 3 is being renovated, I paused. "We're half-way through renovations on studio 3's dressing room, right?" I asked, "and, studios 1 and 3 connected by a single dressing room?" I added, not waiting for any of their responses.

"Yes, Ma'am," Melanie absent-mindedly answered.

Putting the shoot brief down, I turned to all of them. "When will the renovations end? Is there still a long way to go?"

"They had just started gutting the walls and floors after tearing down most of the existing walls. There is still a few weeks left before it can be finished according to Manny," Ares relayed.

"Is the shared dressing room big enough for the two teams to work?" I wondered.

"I heard that Paradigm will also only be working with a small team that is why we also asked if they don't mind sharing the dressing room and they agreed," Colette reassured me.

I nodded in satisfaction and began going through the shoot briefs for the main shoots as Melanie finishes composing the messages that she needs to send out, needing to go over the briefs and check each detail. Finding some key points that seem vague, I encircled some of the details that I needed to clarify. Melanie finished composing her drafts and picked up the shoot briefs that need to be gone over. I finished going over the various papers in my hand and went back to the brief for Bodie's solo shoot.

"I see that Christina's going to be Bodie's make-up artist," I pointed as I looked at the paper in my hand. I deemed it most important to address as she did not have a great track record when working with our projects, "Just please make sure that she's not gonna act up and will actually follow the concept and plan," I instructed. "Collette, please explain the concept of styling for the shoots," I started the discussion.

For Bodie's shoot, the styling puts emphasis on everyday men's fashion. So, most of the pieces are versatile, fashionable pieces that can be worn day-to-day. The outer wear ranges from colorful, artsy pieces with bold prints and designs to structured coats and blazers with unique details that can be worn in corporate settings. On the other hand, the group shoot's styling will be centered around grunge-y, street fashion. The pieces of clothing that will be used are also trendy and versatile that everything can be worn day-to-day.  I only had to interrupt a few times since I needed clarification on the points that I encircled.

I was very satisfied with the presentation and just had to emphasize on the importance of communicating with the artists' respective styling teams. This is to prevent getting clashes of various kinds. Communication is imperative since some of these artists are in exclusive endorsement contracts which prevents them from wearing certain brands. I don't want to face disputes and lawsuits regarding breach of contracts or whatnots. The meeting ended with a reminder to everyone to thoroughly check on their respective tasks so that we can proceed with the projects smoothly. I also asked Monica to send me the message drafts she composed so I can check on them.

Everyone exit the room as soon as the meeting ended to rush to their respective departments and get started on their tasks. I gathered all the papers and briefing notes and placed them inside my notebook for safe keeping. I walked out of the meeting room and went back to my office. Rebooting my laptop from its sleep, I went on to put down the schedules. I also jotted down the most important tasks that needs to be double checked on sticky notes. It's so that I will be reminded of each task regularly. I also checked my emails and made sure that Monica has sent the drafts I was asking for. After seeing her email and name at the top of the list, I immediately opened the documents attached and get to working on editing and polishing the letters. It only took me a while to edit the pieces since Monica already did a great job on composing them. I immediately sent them back to Monica before standing up and going to the various departments to check on their progress.

3 days later...

I arrived on the set a few hours earlier than scheduled to make sure the sets are properly set up. I brought Apollo with me since I was sure that I will be staying at the studio the whole day. He also boosts the staff morale, relieving their stress in between outfit changes and shoot breaks. Right now, he's resting on a corner to avoid the crowd and be out of the way of all the movement that's happening. I watch as Gene's team setup the spotlights that are on the ceiling while Danny and his assistant, Carl, setup the studio lights. I had Gene test out the spotlights and see if all the colors work. The colored setting will be used for some of the frames. Gene next went on to setting up the monitor screens that will be used.

After making sure that there is no problem with the lights, I went to the dressing room to check on the clothes that Bodie will be wearing for the shoot. I saw Colette's team arranging the various types of clothes on racks that line one wall of the room. It has been arranged by category and color while the shoes are lined on the floor on top of their boxes. I also saw Christina setting up various kinds of makeup and tools on top of the dressing table. I also checked the changing booth to make sure that it is clean and no unwanted, miscellaneous item got lost in there. After the satisfying inspection, I came out to check if Gene was done setting up the monitoring screens. For Bodie's shoot today, he will be working with the up-and-coming photographer Todd Wasart. He's already setting up his camera and laptop, hooking it up onto the monitors with Gene.

I was about to approach Todd when I heard pounding footsteps coming my way. I had turned in time to see Bodie's lanky-yet-muscular body catapulting on me. I put my hands up to soften the blow, if not completely stop Bodie from throwing himself at me. Aside from he's quite heavy though he's thin, there is a discrepancy in height; at least from my part. You see, the man's 178cm in height, he's 5,10". On the other hand, I'm only at a whopping 153cm tall--which is equivalent to 5'0 feet. In other words, I will be smothered by him. Though I tried, my efforts are yet again proven unsuccessful since he managed to put me on a chokehold of a bear-hug.

"Oh, how I miss you, Noona!" he shouted as he laughingly lifts me off the floor.

"BODIE!! PUT. ME. DOWN!" I screeched between labored breath as he continues to hold me so tightly, tapping his shoulder. I looked behind him and saw his manager shoot me an apologetic look, like always. I waved a hello from wherever my hand is trapped and went back to tapping his shoulder, trying to do it harder.

"Nope! You have to tell me that you also miss me," he naughtily taunted as I continued to struggle and try to push myself off him. He smiled at me mischievously and proceeded to tighten his already suffocating chokehold.

"Oh gosh, Bodie! Just let me down. I can't breathe," I screeched again.

He laughed at me but still proceeded to release me from his hold. I punched him on his arm which made him exclaim in pain. "That's what you get for messing with me," I huffed as I fixed my clothes and my hair. Bodie laughed as he soothes the spot I punched. "You better not do that again, jacka**," I tutted.

Apollo came up to us and happily sniffed at Bodie before nudging him to ask for some pets. Bodie happily squatted down to give Apollo pets and hugs as he tells him, "Hey, bud! I missed you, too! Seems like the feeling's not mutual with your mama, though," he laughs.

"Shut up!" I protested as I fixed my hair and my clothes. Bodie just laughed as he continued to pet and play with Apollo. I leaned on the table behind me as I observe them rough house. Apollo is pretty close with Bodie and his group members since he had been around them ever since he was a puppy. I smiled at the sight of them and just let him mess with Apollo a little bit more. I'm certain that they've missed each other.

Apollo walked away from Bodie a few moments later, as if having enough of the rough housing and just wanting to go back to sleep. I laughed at Bodie's bewildered expression. "He says you're no fun anymore," I teased him which made him give me a fake hurt expression, causing me to laugh louder. Bodie stood up and started brushing dust off his knees. "So, you guys did decide not to re-sign with the company..." I opened the topic.

Bodie paused from dusting off his clothes. He looked at me and smiled, albeit sadly. "We had to decide which is a better option for us at the moment," he shrugged as he responded. "It's all good now. We just have to make more time and expend more effort. But, it's a nice start," he proclaimed as he went back to dusting his clothes again. He gave his shoulder one last pat before facing me again. "I'll say hello to the staff and go get my makeup done, now. I'll see you later," he hugged me and strutted to the people scattered all over the studio.

Bodie started going to each staff, giving them his greetings with a bright smile on his face. He came to each and every person he saw and politely said his 'hello's. I  pushed myself off the table and walked out of the studio to the dressing room. Bodie came in a moment later, heading straight to the makeup chair. Christina immediately worked on Bodie as I supervised her work. I just wanted to make sure that she does not overdo anything nor overstep her boundaries by coming up with her own styling plan apart from what we required of her. I'm glad to see that she stuck with what we required of her and styled Bodie the way we want. Colette gave Bodie the first outfit he'll he be wearing and Bodie went on to change. They made a few adjustments and added on accessories to complete the outfit. Bodie gave me one last smile along with a wink--as if telling me that he knows I find him fine--before walking out of the dressing room. I shook my head and strutted out of the room after him.

[killfaeh]

Back to childhood with AppleWorks

Hi everyone! Today I'm going to tell you about a very old software that kept me busy for many, many hours during my teenage years and that I've had the pleasure of rediscovering these days. Apple fans will have glitter of nostalgia in their eyes, others will have the opportunity to discover a beautiful tool that has not forgotten to be compatible with Windows. It is AppleWorks! AppleWorks was an office suite, installed on all Apple computers of the time, which, in addition to the classic word processor, spreadsheet and Power Point presentation, also offered a vector drawing tool and a bitmap drawing tool. It was my first experience in digital drawing and photo manipulation and with a bit of inventiveness, I was able to get some amazing things out of it. Behind its apparent simplicity, this little soft hides an unsuspected power. Let's go for a little trip back in time!

Small overview

The painting module

Gallery of illustrations

Install AppleWorks (Yes! It still works! )

Small overview

AppleWorks is 6 softwares grouped into one. When you launch it, it offers you the possibility to create 6 types of documents: word processor, spreadsheet, database, presentation, bitmap drawing, vector drawing.

I quickly talk about Spreadsheet, Database and Presentation because I never used these modules. Anyway, know that with Spreadsheet you could make like with Excel, with Database, create databases and with Presentation, make like with Power Point. (You can click on the images to enlarge them to full size.)

And here are, then, the 3 modules that I really used!

The word processor

I wrote all my comics scripts, presentations and internship reports there when I was at school, until my dad bought Microsoft Office. Hard to compete with the Word arts. 8D Except that Microsoft Office did not offer vector drawing software, nor bitmap drawing software. So it was not about to dethrone AppleWorks.

The vector drawing module

This module helped me a lot to make diagrams to integrate in the word processor, draw dungeon plans for our Donjons and Dragons sessions, make some logos or paste editable text on images like my comics pages. I particularly liked its ability to generate gradients that roughly matched the shape in which they were applied, and there are recent vector drawing technologies that still can't do that and that's a little bit annoying to me. And finally, here is the module where I really spent the most time!

The bitmap drawing module

Well... Some geometrical shapes, a pencil, a brush, a filling tool, an eraser... So far it doesn't look much different from Paint. Wait until you see what it is capable of. :p

The painting module (bitmap drawing)

To begin, AppleWorks 6 is not the first version of AppleWorks that I worked with and already at that time, I had my little habits and what a disappointment for me when I didn't find my favorite features !! Looking for a little bit it turned out that they were just a little hidden and just needed to be tidied up a bit. Because yes! This small software already had a customizable interface by drag and drop as on a modern Photoshop!

Now all is clear, we can get to the heart of the matter: drawing! :p I've already mentioned the toolbar on the side earlyer, which is already familiar to you if you've ever used Paint. Now, let's move on to the area just below: the palettes. AppleWorks offers a limited palette of colors.

You can combine the selected color with a pattern to apply. Some of them look like manga screentones.

Some fun colorful patterns are also available.

And finally a small palette of gradients is also available.

Well... A few funny patterns, some gradients. It's enough to have fun for 5 minutes, but nothing special. We will going not very far. That's where the real work begins. :p Do you remember? A few moments ago I added buttons in the horizontal bar at the top, including this one.

And this is what it opens!

A customization window! :D Not enough colors in the default palette? Never mind! You can create as many color palettes as you want.

Not enough patterns either in black and white or in color? You can create as many pattern palettes as you want!

The default gradients palettes is too poor? No problem! You can create as many gradient palettes as you want! And for the moment, I spent a lot, a lot, a lot of time on this section! You can make circular gradients.

Linear gradients.

And gradients that fit the shape in which you apply them. Well, it's far from perfect with concave shapes, but it already allows for interesting things.

And to give the coup de grace to Paint, with AppleWorks you could even create your own brushes! :p

There are even some effects available such as blurring.

This AppleWorks is a piece of cake in the belly! :D Now that we know about its possibilities, I propose to show you a small gallery of what I was able to do with this software from end of nineties to middle of 2000s. :D

Gallery of illustrations

Let's start with the very first drawing I made with AppleWorks in 1998. We didn't have a scanner at the time, so I had to do it entirely with the mouse. It was also a time when I didn't have much notion of saving the original files and I considered that as soon as I had printed the drawing, it was no longer worth keeping it on the computer to save space (the hard drive was 4 GB). So this is a scan of the printed version you see here. x)

A good old Darth Vader! (1998)

Well, making a drawing from A to Z entirely with the mouse was laborious, so I also used AppleWorks to create backgrounds and print them. Then I would do my drawing by hand and cut it out and paste it onto the printed background. I was able to make interesting effects by understanding the limitations of the software and exploiting them. By understanding that gradients were composed of a series of solid color bands, I could make focus line effects by filling them with the filling tool with a different patterns or gradients.

This posing remind some Dragon Ball character (Between 1998 and 2000)

It is also with AppleWorks that I made my first attempts at photo manipulation. I used photos from an encyclopedia we had on CD-ROM and manipulate them by tinkering them and copying and pasting small pieces here and there. Then I printed my montages and paste them onto the comics pages.

My montages were mainly used for space scenery. (1999 - 2000 in collaboration with my sister)

This software really pushed me to be creative to get what I wanted out of it. I had even managed the tour de force of pasting a white lineart over a photo.

(2000 - 2001)

In the absence of layers, I had to work on 2 files in parallel and with the lasso select tool. And then one day, our first scanner finally arrived home! There the serious things could begin! I was able to stop trying to make drawings with the mouse and use AppleWorks to put in color drawings made with the traditional way. So I was able to go further from the end of nineties. It obviously started with Saint Seiya. x) (You can always click on the images to enlarge them to full size.)

I loved the Aquarius saint. He was my favorite character from Saint Seiya. ^^ (2000 - 2001, this way)

At the beginning I was just doing solid colors, but as I experimented with the features and learned how to combine them, I ended up getting more and more advanced renderings.

Aoshi Shinomori from Kenshin and Ashram from Record of Lodoss War. These two were also my favorites characters at one time. (Between 2004 and 2006)

If you have enlarged the images you must have noticed that the line is particularly crenellated. There was no antialiasing, no layer system with opacity levels, no tolerance threshold for the filling tool. So it had to be black, or white, but not in between. As a result, AppleWorks was not really adapted to work on drawings with small details, hatching or heavily detailled backgrounds...

I tried anyway. :p These last 4 examples I think I made them between 2004 and 2006. The comics pages come from the first version of the Nécrotech project which is currently in a dormant state (but which I intend to resume one day). You'll notice on the first image of the last page some effects whose style stands out a bit from the rest. It's normal, I made them in another old painting software, Art Dabbler, but this is another story. :p In 2007, I got tired of suffering, I started to use The Gimp, in 2008 I bought my first graphics tablet, in 2009 I embarked on the Photoshop adventure and you know the rest: I sold my soul to Promarkers and Clip Studio Paint. And then there are days like that, we fall back into childhood. (Click on the image to see it at full size and distinguish the pixel patterns. I know, I repeat myself, but the devil is in the details. :p )

Last week, I decided to make a theme of the Drink'N'Draw from A to Z with AppleWorks to see what I could get out of it with 15 more years of experience in drawing and illustration. 8D With some tips you can get a pretty amazing result! I am happy with the result, especially the colors. It wasn't done without pain. The feature I wanted to take full advantage of (customizing color patterns) is buggy on the Windows version of the software, so I had to set up a Mac OS X Snow Leopard virtual machine to be able to do the finishing touches. What an adventure! In any case, AppleWorks is always well adapted to make pixel art and this experience has allowed me to learn new things applicable in recent and professional softwares. I had never really tried pixel art, which I love, by apprehension of the execution time. I think I found the trigger to get serious about it. I will explore it further. :D Well, well, well! But in fact, calculating gradient patterns for pixel art with shaders shouldn't be complicated. I think I will add such an effect in Péguy ! :D

Install AppleWorks

You've read it right! You can still install and use AppleWorks in 2021! :D

Windows

I did the test with Windows 8.1 on my Cintiq Companion tablet from Wacom, and in the comments it seems that it also works very well on Windows 10. To do this you will first install the latest version of QuickTime 7 which you can find on this page. You double click on the installer and you do next, next, next... Even when you are asked if you have a product key. It is not mandatory and useless for our needs. Then you go to this page and download the first file. You unzip the file and double click on the installer, then same procedure as before: next, next, next... You can do retro digital painting now! :D

Mac OS X

Apple computers have changed so much in 20 years that it is now impossible or at least very complicated to run the original programs on today's machines. The manipulation therefore consists in using the Windows version with the Wine emulator. If I had no problem with the procedure, it may seem a bit complicated for non-technical profiles so I simply propose you to download the final application I created myself via this link on Google Drive. You just have to download it, unzip it (with a double click) and launch it. If you're a computer geek and want to get a version of AppleWorks without the color pattern bug, you can get the .dmg here and install it in a Snow Leopard virtual machine.

Be reasonable about the size of your files. This is an old software that will have trouble supporting surfaces exceeding 2000px by 2000px. There is a way to cheat a bit, it is by creating a vector drawing file and creating a bitmap drawing surface inside.

That's all for that nostalgic moment. I think I will come back with some illustrations made with AppleWorks in the future. :D Have a nice day and see you soon! Suisei

P.S. If you want miss no news and if you haven't already done so, you can subscribe to the newsletter here : https://www.suiseipark.com/User/SubscribeNewsletter/language/english/

Source : https://www.suiseipark.com/News/Entry/id/308/

[stone-man-warrior]

January 13: 2021: 5:50 pm: +++++++++++++++++

See, it’s all fucked up, I am not permitted to edit my own post that I created just a few moments ago.

Lives depend on this information reaching the people it’s intended to reach.

I am not in control of my own account here on Tumblr, others are throttling everything I do.

====================

Edit: 6:11 pm:

I have my own ways of overcoming problems that confront me.

Access to a un-hijacked tumblr text box is a challenge, but I was able to access this one I am using now, but it’s not easy, takes time, and most of all, it spoils the thoughts I need to explain so that you and I can regain some freedom, not be killed like so many millions of others have been, all brutally murdered, no one has noticed.

This may help:

At some point in around 2006-2008, I was able to reach some help, was contacted. The help was hijacked. Clyde Baum of 333 Jackpine took control of the helpful people through efforts of the county Sheriff, and other Oregon government officials.

Clyde posed as author of the information that was used to get the help to take notice.

It’s been a long time since then.

All the while, those helpful people have been fooled, and I have been cut off from communications by phone, internet, US postal mail, all means of communication are controlled in ways that are beyond what I am able to fully know.

I know I have throttled this whole time.

I know that those who assisted Clyde Baum have been luring those helpful people to various traps that are set to kill them, and that I get blamed for their disappearance, so, more helpful people are sent to see what happened to the previous group. Those people are sent into the same traps, and disappear, never to be seen or heard from again.

Every once in a while, from the address at 520 Jackpine, I hear the words:

“I understand now”

I suspect those words come from people who are laying on a torture rack at the time, and they were the helpful people that I am unable to reach.

Those words, spoken in distress, as bait, so that I too, will walk into a trap by trying to save the people who came to help me, but were directed to Clyde Baum.

Sometimes, Sean Sparacino of 545 Jackpine, is the one that claims to be the author of this account, and the original cry for help that got attention so long ago. Sometimes it’s Sean Sparacino’s daughter, Theresa Sparacino who claims to be the author of the cry for help that was noticed so long ago. I have a girls name, the terror bastards get a lot of milage out of the “Boy named Sue” situation that happened.

Clyde may be dead. If so, they need to perpetuate the lie some other way. Females work as well as males do for the switcheroo to take place.

The terror army can and does swap houses with one another as necessary to fool others who come to investigate. Address are only as good as your own research will prove. I recommend using this account as guidance for the research.

But, in all of this time, no one has successfully reached me to speak with me in person, by phone, by US mail, by email, smoke signal, carrier pidgeon, or any other way.

All attempts to reach me have been hijacked, all of that time.

In person attempts to reach me have been met by murderous terror soldiers, who capture and torture those who came to help.

Be advised, one more time:

The State of Oregon is no longer part of the USA. It appears to be part of USA on a map, but only on a map. The entire state’s population, many millions of citizens, were all killed, and replaced with Canadians. They vote. SAG arranges shills on the ballots, and the terror soldier replacement citizens vote as they are instructed to vote.

California is in the same condition as is Oregon. All of the California population was killed, and replaced with Canadians. Some are from Mexico there.

The exception to that rule is that many victims were “tested”, given a choice, to become a Christian Pirate, or, be forever hunted for take-out, murdered.

I have survived in that state of being hunted for a long time.

Decades.

The four counties, Josephine, Jackson, Douglas, Klamath, are estimated to be occupied and controlled by 175,000 terror soldiers all armed with nitrous oxide and swords. They are trained in very un-conventional terror warfare. Innocence of appearance is their main defense. Lies are a primary function. They are collectively masters of Deception and Illusion as a team effort of choreographed thousands of soldiers work together to create a false reality in the cities and towns, business and recreation areas.

The state looks as if there are no problems.

The reality is that they have perfected their ways, the terror runs the towns to appear as they normally function at all levels of commerce and government.

They occupy every last address in the state, other than mine.

I am gravely outnumbered, and poisoned on a daily basis, kept on a short leash, and attacked almost every day.... for that past ten years at least.

Please send help.

Please send US Military.

Please send medical services.

Bring your own hospital.

===============================

Edit: 7:15 pm:

This Twitter post from BBC news is a hit order to take-out Ozzy Osbourne.

Refer to my other posts from today and yesterday.

They will kill him and blame me. It’s been done many times. I get blamed, investigators come to see what’s going on, are sent next door to Monroe’s at four-three-four Jackpine, directly into traps that await them there. Spring loaded wire snares, and at least one spring loaded sword that works with a motion detector, and resets itself, requires no maintenance.

The investigators continue to show up. All are killed after they are tortured if the snares don‘t kill them.

I am used as bait, powered by lies, on the graves of innocent victims.

This email promotion from American Music Supply supports the BBC news hit order, works like a WH signature, on a BBC hit contract.

The link to the email web page is not functional, will not go to the URL.

The link URL only shows up a this, with a blank page:

https://mail.google.com/mail/u/1/

Thusly:

I am not going to show the advertised hit order signature elements.

Save Ozzy Osbourne, listen carefully to what he has to say, save the world.

=================================

Edit: 7:45 pm:

now for something completely different:

Global Mass Murder Scheme Example Only Few People Know:

Fact is:

Damascus, the oldest continuously inhabited city on Earth, was bombed off of the face of earth within the past ten years or so.

There is very little news coverage of the event, some YouTube videos that show a lot of rubble, and almost absent of explanation are available.

Western air forces destroyed Damascus.

There was more to the offensive than aerial attack.

A plan to kill the survivors was included, planned, roled out, deployed, and appears to have been successful.

The plan included that there would be some “Walmart Equivalent” pop-up supply facilities along a route from Damascus ground zero, to France. The survivors where fed propaganda printed information dropped from “other” aerial drops in the region. The printed material explained some details about where the survivors could find survival supplies, food, water, clothing, very basic items along a route to France, where information I have suggests that France was said to be sympathetic to the survivors. Details are sketchy about the propaganda drops, but the fact that Damascus was destroyed is not sketchy, nor is the arrival of well equipped people from the east, in France, after Damascus was destroyed. That is all documented, available to study, make assessment.

That was the plan to kill off the survivors, is to provide them with what they needed to seek shelter in France, with maps, routes, clothing and food supplied to them while on a pedestrian march of many miles in harsh conditions, fool them, bring them to the place where they would be killed, in and around France.

So, where are all of those people?

The video’s available online depict the refugees as offensive people. I don’t have explanation for that.

The part I know of, the secret information, is the “Walmart Equivalent” of pop-up survival supplies of clothing, shoes, food, and water, That is the terminology used by the few people who know of this, “Walmart Equivalent”. I know of the propaganda aerial drops, and that the information on it explained a route to take to find supplies and sympathy.

The rest of the information is all available to see on YouTube.

That information was gained in Oregon USA before the time of the Damascus bombing.

Has absolutely nothing to do with Ozzy Osbourne, or that BBC hit order, or the AMS signature email advertisement. It’s just more indication of the calibur of information about global terrorism that I have gained, but no one is interested in, can’t reach help, and am stranded in every way, been stranded, and it looks as though I am going to stay stranded, captive in my home, while being used as bait for killing the helpful people I need to reach.

===================

Edit: 8:20 pm:

Speculation of the Damascus survivors includes that perhaps they never made it to the sympathy.

Speculation includes that some other group of people arrived in France, to put on a show, for purposes that are unclear, but would be “Brexit” related, where Britain is attempting to gain full control of all of Europe, same way the Canadians are taking USA, and the Hong Konger’s are taking China. So, if the speculation has merit, it will show that some British ruled nationals arrived in France in place of the ones from Damascus, who could have been eliminated at the “Walmart Equivalents” along the “Propaganda Route”. Perhaps they were all from India, posing as Damascus bombing survivors, to take France, or other neighboring European nations.

========================

Edit: 8:35 pm:

405-825-0929

That is incoming call to my phone, 12:53 pm today.

I did not answer the call, there was no message left by the caller.

A Bing search of the number produces results indicating a Oklahoma phone number.

So, why is that happening?

I have received calls from Oklahoma in the past, maybe the same number. I only get incoming phone calls from a small repeating group of similar numbers, they include:

Oklahoma on rare occasion.

Walgreen’s is by far the most frequent caller to my phone.

Pain Specialists of Southern Oregon call almost as often as Walgreen‘s does.

Calls tend to come from Brookings, Coos Bay, Reedsport, Eugene Oregon, more often than any other group of “Wrong number” variety of calls, and that is the only explanation for them, other than the truth, which is that they are all terror associated in some unknown way, and tend to happen in close proximity to one another. A call from Brookings is often accompanied by a call from Coos Bay or Eugene within a day or two.

I have completely disregarded answering any incoming phone call. It’s too dangerous to answer the incoming calls. Incoming calls are often accompanied by a gas wielding group of terror soldiers who use the distraction qualities of a phone call to make a physical attack at my home while I am engaged in a phone call, not watching the front door and windows as I have been doing for the past ten years or so.

In the past, such calls have come to my phone, I answered them, an attack took place, I defended while on the phone call, the people on the other end of the call could hear me defend while on the phone call. Often, the intruders were injured badly, I open the door, tell them “Walk towards the door” and then to leave.

Then continue with the call, having completely forgotten that anything out of the ordinary occurred while on the calls. The addition of Medazolam (Versed) airborne gas, to the nitrous oxide, prevents memory retention of events that occur while exposed to the Medazolam/nitrous mixture. Often, I recall details of fighting that happened, three days later. It’s not easy to remember, it takes much concentration once a small detail is recalled, then, the recollection can be partially remembered. Sometimes, I am able to manage to place some object somewhere out of place, after a fight, so that later, I will find the object, see that it’s not where it’s supposed to be, and that has proven a useful way to remember that something happened there, near that object. guitar picks work good for that, just toss one somewhere, out of place, to see it after the poison gas wears off and try to figure out who I fought against in defense.

no one calls me though, very rare are the incoming calls. They are all from Oregon terror cells.

Please send help.

The communications don‘t work the way they are supposed to work.

11-5-2020 at 2:06 pm, this Canadian number called my phone, and is among the most interesting of all calls I received last year: 289-232-9855.

I did not answer, don‘t know who it was, is a scary number, scary circumstances, more so than the others because of the Canadian source of the call.

One of the problems with the communications around here is that there are so many Stingray Surveillance Units in the hands of the terror cells. All of the major retail outlet terror cells have one, and many terror family cells were also issued Stingray equipment. What’s more, is there are Kingfish hand held models all over the place, and, there are Huawei Hong Kong Knock Off variety of all of that stuff. The Huawei versions have more features than the name brand models do. So, the incoming calls are not necessarily associated with the numbers shown on the caller ID. Even someone with a copy of Yahoo Messenger version 8 can make a phone call, and type in any phone number they want to as the source number, it’s not like phone manipulation is a big secret, or is even hidden, the problem lies with utter incompetence of national security persons to recognize that technology is not always about it’s functionality, practical usefulness, or socially redeeming life enhancement. Often, such as the case with Blu-tooth, the whole idea of technology, is to aid the terror army in their efforts to rule the world.

=============================

Edit: 10:23 pm:

I want to point this out.

My suspended Twitter account, one of three recent ones, and many others from Beta Twitter from 2008, shows me this, and other pop-ups from time to time as I access the account. In case you are not aware, a suspended twitter account only suspends use of posting new Tweets, you can access and read the “news” from your suspended account, as I do from time to time. I took a hiatus from accessing the Twitter account at all, for about one month, did not access at all, to see if any changes would occur here locally around me if I don’t use Google products, which is not easy to accomplish. Google has installed many terror cells around me in the neighborhood, they are very offensive, highly intrusive, and deceptive people. So far, that hiatus has not produced any noticeable changes in the local surroundings that I can see.

There is also a message they present that asks me to review my phone, these messages show up daily, at the time I first access the account if I access it daily.

There is another that says “You are in control”, is very disturbing. I have very little control of any online activity I do.

These are the contents of an alternate Gmail, email account I opened a couple of years ago, the address is fully visible here on Tumblr when I make screen shots, yet the only thing in the inbox in “Privacy notification updates” from Google, and returned, “Undeliverable” mail I sent trying to get help. That seems to be what the privacy is about, not mine, but Google’s privacy is what they are concerned about.

Google is Twitter.

Twitter is Google.

Google is Vatican.

Vatican is Google.

YouTube is Google & Vatican.

Pope Francis, is Google.

Jorge Mario Bergoglio = Pope Francis

The Bergoglio = Google

There is no privacy, there is only piracy.

==============================

Edit: 11:22 pm:

Local Update:

A walk to the mailbox produced an empty mailbox, nothing but air in there.

At Sunflower terror cell north of 3747 Russell road, an unusual car port light was illuminating the underside of a metal roof in the distance through the woods.

At Monroe’s, a very bright, small, intense light came on as I walked around the bend in the driveway at where that Offensive trailer is at. That small intense light comes on often when I take a walk, is not predictable, difficult accurately describe other than the thing turns on when I take a walk, stays on only for about three to five seconds, and is not always the same lightbulb, that condition happens with many different bulbs, on different days at the Monroe chicken coup, the bigger one today, there is another chicken coup that also has a light that may or may not turn on as I walk by. There is a television or other glowing light happening inside the Offensive Trailer there. I cannot see if there is a vehicle parked at the trailer, it’s too dark out.

Someone was hiding near the Monroe pond, or, blu-tooth speakers were used to make sounds of someone moving through brush.

Someone coughed in the far back part of the 520 address as I was near my gate on my driveway at the same time that the sounds of brush were heard at Monroe pond. The whine of the water well always comes on as I take a walk, sounds like the Tazmanian Devil cartoon noise when it begins to spin, like a dynamo turbine.

There is someone at the 445 Bell terror cell. The house over there has been all dark for a few weeks, no cars or traffic, all of the Bell’s personal items are all gone, but someone is either in the garage there, or, used a remote control to make illusion that someone is inside the 445 Jackpine garage. The garage light was on as I stepped onto the roadway towards the mailboxes, then the garage light at Bell’s 445 was off by the time I saw that I had no mail.

The sound of pressured wind was present from two directions as I returned to my gate. From the back porch at Monroe’s was a low pitched “whooooosshhhhh” noise, and from 520 was a slightly higher pitched “whhoooossh” sound as I reached my gate on return walk from the mailbox.

The 598 tan trash can is still on the ground at the corner, lid open, the black one is gone. There are no other cans out on the corner.

Myers has both porch lights on. The main one is extreme bright. From my front driveway, I can see that Myers has a “all the lights in house on“ condition.

Dietricks have two yellow bug light bulbs illuminated, close together, from a distance it makes illusion that there is a vehicle with parking lights on. There is no parking lights, they are bug lights.

Chapman‘s still shows signs of strangers there, many internal house lights on in unusual places.

520 is dark other than the laundry room light was on, and the usual bedroom light that I can see as I step out onto my porch, is always on, for the past five years that one has been on non stop.

Freebergs is not remarkable, same as last night, some string of light on near the road is per usual there.

I may have seen a very quick flash of light in the Monroe Pole Barn as I passed by, it was very fast, could have been a reflection, or other “artifact” of vision that can happen when looking around at lighting. I did not hear any noise to go with the instantaneous flash of light.

Conditions at Monroe’s are far too complex to choose one thing over another thing for saying which of the things is more offensive. It’s all offensive, all of the time at the Monroe terror cell at 434 Jackpine Drive. They use a vast vocabulary built of yard items, trash, animals, the direction the animals are walking (lately is chickens, and some white, web footed birds that I don’t know if they are ducks or geese, or Deese, or Gucks. I have no idea what kind of birds they have walking around at Monroe’s, they had some goats a while back, but they killed those), cars and where the cars are parked, what direction the cars are parked, sideways, or in reverse, fire is used there as a communication tool, a telescope in the yard over there gets moved around, is left out in all weather, I never see anyone use the telescope, the direction the telescope is pointing is important to someone, somewhere. Every detail at Monroe’s is used as communication tool, is intended for the Google terror cells to interpret, some is done to get a reaction from me. Lots of stuff, all is very offensive, in a seemingly non-existent way.

There are many electronic gizmo’s hidden all over the place at Monroe’s.

It was warm, 40 degrees, clear sky, lots of stars, absence of wind.

I could hear no traffic noises from the freeway, or any on local roads.

That is all.

=======================

Edit: 1-14-2021: 12:33 am:

Some reminders of local conditions around the area of North Valley, the area I live at:

Corner of Three Pines and Oxyoke is British stronghold called “Baby Shell” by the locals, I have made reports about the place having been a store twenty years ago where they sold only pistachio nuts for $5 per bag, green, red, tan color. They got offended if you not purchase the pistachios there, and they had nothing else for sale. Since that time, the small corner house has been a child day care, a farm, is next to small park where freeway travelers are lured, it was a fake Shell Station for awhile, is now back to being a small farm sort of place.

Across from there on Monument is the Centurylink ISP & Phone Company master terminal access boxes where the orange fiber optic cable is transformed into packets of phone lines that lead to the many neighborhoods around here. Inside of those master access boxes is where much of the communication problems are at, the wires in there are all connected to the wrong terminals intentionally. All of the nighborhoods feed on a box like those that are at Monument Dr. and Three Pines Road, and the neighborhood packets all go to the wrong neighborhoods than the ones mapped at Centurylink. It’s not uncommon to see a white van there, one with the name of a Heating and Air Conditioning company logo, HVAC repair, there, inside of those boxes and moving the wires around from time to time. That white HVAC van comes and goes from the Oxyoke neighborhood towards the north when I see it.

Those access boxes are out front of a set of houses that are the same color as ,my house, a tan color, and that place protects the access boxes, all houses with a view of them, and beyond protect the terror installation of crossed wires in the boxes. That system of intentionally spaghettied wires is a model for other terror controlled cities around the nation.

Towards the freeway from Three Pines on Monument starting at the tan color house is all called “AARP”, and is associated to AARP, are all terror cells associated with AARP and the Democrat Political Party. The AARP sub companies, “The Hartford Insurance”, “Consumer Cellular”, a plethora of services marketed towards Medicare Beneficiaries. are all used to target elderly and disabled people for take-out murder hits.

Down the road on Monument on the left as you go towards the freeway at Mile 66 there is a house where two residences are at on the same lot, can see both from the road, there is often a log truck there, and lots of what looks like junk is all in the yard there, that house is owned by one of the Josephine County Judges, is bad news, extreme caution advised there. There is a house across the street from there that usually has some orange cones out front at the road side, and a full size Tee-Pee is also out front there, or next to the one with the cones, all of that is part of the County Courts take-over. I think the Melinda Spain Family Terror cell lives at the Tee-Pee, or the cones house... the one on the nearest street corner is a good place to look for Ms. Spain, or at Ray’s Food Place. Melinda Spain is part of the Lorena Chapman sub-terror-cell called “The Knight Mares”, a group of what used to be attractive women who all own horses and horse property, are “Whale Hunters”, for taking down powerful men, and their wealth. Melinda Spain, Adrian Witcherly, Diane Woodruff, Ms. Colley (Mark Stephens wife, Building Inspector), Dana Moran... are some of the “Knight Mares”, you can find them at JP Morgan Chase Bank also, are bad news, stay away.

That place at the freeway on-ramp that is a ODOT Service Yard w/big pole barn structure is the source for the materials used to make “Kate Brown Confilgration Fires”. They keep large quantities of wood chips there on hand for making the smoke that is used for fooling everyone, and is a source of much thievery of Oregon Treasury Funds at the State Capitol level. Asplunde Tree Service is in charge there lately, not always, they rotate, sometimes is Wright’s Tree Service, sometimes is Trees Inc. that runs the “Kate Brown Confilgration Fires” for stealing lots of money from Oregon.

South from Three Pines on Monument has become too dangerous for me to go, it’s been about 8 or 10 years since I turne right on Monument from Three Pines, however, some hilights include the “Antler’s Market”, a nice looking small block & mortar store down the road on the right about two miles, is a killing field and terror supply house. The “Vinyard School” is in that direction, there are some horror stories that have been told about Vinyard School. The Three Rivers School District schools, north Valley High School, Flemming Middle School, and Manzanita Elementary are that way on Monument, all of the students were brutally murdered, many were taken on field trips, never returned, some were pushed from the cliffs at Table Rock in Medford area, about 100 feet down to their deaths, fourth graders. The schools are a sad story, I cannot tell about them, it hurts too bad to remember the children, my own children may have been killed there, I don‘t know.

The Rural Metro Fire station and the County Sheriff worked along with people with British accents for killing all of the children, and using some of them as sex slaves. The fire station is just south of the schools on Monument next to the machine gun factory called “Crowder Machine”, they make the custom .25 that are used by the female terror soldiers, and child terror soldiers.

That fire station is across the street from some small, dilapidated looking non descript businesses, inside one of the three buildings there is a trailer, inside the trailer is where one of the county judges runs a steak house, is a “Speak Easy” for the very best steak available anywhere, and the judge is the chef in the trailer inside the building. They serve three pound Porterhouse there.

Further down the road across from Ray’s Food Place is a place called “Just Makin‘ It” a statue company that is owned by Dan & Lynn Fauley, they used to be family friends, are terrorists. They are the people who made the statue bomb that exploded the bus in Medford at the Sears on February 7 2017 or thereabout when so many sheriffs from all over the place came to kill me, along with Senator Corey Booker.

==================

Edit: 1-14-2021: 2:12 am:

From there it gets worse.

At Three Pines and Russell Road, either way you go on Three Pines, is bad news. The “Ye Olde English 800 Medieval” terror cells all live in that area, a circle that goes from “Baby Shell” at Oxyoke, all the way around to the train tracks at Three Pines and Hugo Road. All of that, in and around that area contained within that circle is the Olde Medieval Torture Terror Cells. They are among the hardest of the hard core terror pirates, have absolutely no respect for human life or animal life. They will put your infant child in the microwave, then tell you the baby has a fever, and they will offer a ride to the hospital. They come back after that from the hospital to cook your cats, and blame you for that while the doctor is amputating your babies arms because of the fever, and the courts will send the sheriff to arrest you for the dead cat.

no one will help the baby, the fourth graders, the babies mom, or the cat. Instead, they go have the best steak available anywhere at the judges secret steak house speak easy, where they serve three pound porterhouse steaks cooked to perfection by the judge himself.

[fpugreenlight]

The Genesis of Volume 1

The Green Light was a bit of a mystery when I joined. 

In the fall of 2018, Taylor Benton, then-product editor and current editor-in-chief, approached me with the invitation to join a reading board for FPU’s student-run literary journal. I didn’t even know what a literary journal was at the time, much less The Green Light. Intrigued to learn more about this anomaly, I agreed.    

I have worked on The Green Light every year since and have become rather intimate with the inner workings of the journal. Yet one thing has remained a mystery throughout these years: the first volume. 

When I updated the website this year, The Green Light faculty advisor Dr. Daniel Larson provided me with PDF copies of the previous volumes—except for Volume 1. The Green Light had started before Dan was at FPU, when it had been overseen by Dr. Adam Schrag, who now works at the University of Minnesota. It was unlikely that Adam would have a PDF copy of Volume 1 that I could upload to the website.   

I was discontented knowing that we not only had an incomplete set of volumes, but also that we were missing the original volume—the one that started it all. I had never even seen the first volume, nor had any of my fellow editors. Fortunately, I got in contact with one of the co-founders of The Green Light: Laurel Samuelson, who told me that Hiebert Library had a copy of the first volume in the archives. I retrieved the sole copy of Volume 1 and scanned it into a PDF. 

Samuelson also connected me with the other co-founder Eleanor-Prudence Nielsen, and I interviewed them regarding the beginnings of The Green Light and the production of the first volume. 

“I happened to be eating lunch with Elle [Eleanor-Prudence] when Dr. Adam Schrag (now at the University of Minnesota) approached us about submitting a proposal. Adam was also the faculty advisor for The Syrinx at the time, so he was already a huge support for student voices and knew what the publishing process entailed. Having heard a rumor about Elle’s plans for the journal, Adam took the initiative to start advising the project and roped me in since I also happened to be at the table. . . . Thus, Elle and I became the co-founders and co-editors of the journal,” Samuelson wrote. 

Nielsen and Samuelson started The Green Light with hopes of creating a lasting space for the FPU community to test the waters of publication. “Apparently FPU had had a few other literary journals in the past, but they had petered out. This time around, we hoped the publication would gain traction as a valuable space for community expression which could be sustained by the students who came after us,” Samuelson stated. 

The iconic name of the journal perfectly matched the spirit of its founding. “We mulled over so many different ideas . . . but The Green Light really stuck,” Nielsen wrote. “Many of us, at the time, and most of us probably still, wanted at least some kind of career in or around writing, creative writing. And I couldn’t help but get The Great Gatsby out of my head. In The Great Gatsby the green light across the bay represents desire, it represents a want so proud it hurts. I suggested it because of that reason. I want to be a successful writer so bad it hurts,” Nielsen wrote. Samuelson added: “When we were coming up with a name we settled on “green light” because 1) it was a highly accessible literary reference and 2) it’s a broadly recognized sign for ‘go!’ which was the entire point of the project. We were hoping that the accessibility of The Green Light would encourage artists from the entire community to share their work, especially those who felt discouraged or excluded from literary participation by their field or experience.” 

The Green Light began as a small project published through The Syrinx. Samuelson stated that “for all intents and purposes it was a literary free-for-all.” Nielsen and Samuelson garnered interest in the journal through flyers posted around campus, advertisements on The Back Page of The Syrinx and word-of-mouth. Soon various authors—including Nielsen and Samuelson themselves—began sending submissions to The Green Light.

The next step was devising a method to choose which submissions would be published. Nielsen explained that she and Samuelson hoped to create a way “to whittle submissions down to publications in a way that felt fair and still gave Laurel and I a chance to see our work published.” They decided to assemble an anonymous reading board: “A panel of faculty and students read each work without getting to know who wrote each piece. Then, with their judgements, we curated the selected pieces,” Nielson explained. The review board turned out to work too well. Samuelson noted: “At the time the selection board was not very balanced. We got a little too worried about wanting to be taken seriously and while there were two students represented, only one of them was not at all related to English or the Humanities. The rest of the board was associated with the English department, which may be why the selection process was actually very harsh for that first issue . . . I feel a bit like we failed the audience we were trying to reach.”

They then set to work creating the final product. “Formatting was a nightmare and took a very long time, especially since at that point neither one of us had used InDesign before,” Samuelson wrote. Nielsen mirrored this sentiment: “I remember sitting up really late one night, Laurel in the basement of my dorm room on the computer doing InDesign edits, and formatting for hours.”  

When the final product was printed, Nielsen and Samuelson hustled to disperse the first volume to the FPU community. Samuelson wrote: “We did not have a very formal distribution process, so we just sort of handed the journals out to all the people who had submitted as well as the selection board and then scattered the rest about campus with the newsstands. . . .”

Samuelson reflected on the aftermath of the creation of the first volume: 

“We had talked about a sort of publication event, but we were so dead by the end of it that we couldn’t plan anything. It so happens that 2015-16 was also an exceptionally difficult year for many in the FPU community, so even though we were happy to have the journal finished it was sadly anticlimactic and overshadowed by its circumstances. I think what I felt was a strange mix of disbelief, sorrow and peace. That’s a strange way to feel when viewing the fruit of your (extensive, untrained) labor, but it was the only way I really could feel about it. That journal was really, really difficult to put together—and it seemed almost more difficult to get anyone to pay attention to it who wasn’t already obliged to do so by association. The end product felt less like a huge institutional triumph and more like the premature birth of a quiet, malnourished infant. The labor was hard and I was pretty depressed afterward, but the product was also unbelievably touching and precious.

The first volume ends with a short story by Quaid Ens that I thought was really beautiful. It’s called ‘The Steadfast Green Army Man,’ and it narrates the rejection of a freshman who has to decide to forgive the young woman who wreaked havoc on his heart even as she lives on in ignorance of what she has done to him. I sort of felt that same way about the journal. It was actually pretty hard to say yes to it again after the first year, but it got easier as we gained more support.

This publication was really hard to build. We had a lot of support and have been blessed by the many talented students who have not only sustained but expanded its purpose, but the network of empathy The Green Light creates was and is hard-won; but it was hard won for the sake of loving its community. I hope FPU will reciprocate by continuing to support and contribute to the journal. The purpose of The Green Light is to continually invite the reader to feel a right to artistry and, further, to act upon it. The space has been maintained, so I hope FPU’s community will continue to answer the call, to follow the sign and to give its members permission to begin.” 

In a different sentiment, Nielsen reflected: “Overall the first edition was a wonderful experience and if I’m being honest it makes me really sad that I haven't been able to be part of it since. I'm glad to hear it's still going.” 

The Green Light is coming up on its fifth rotation of publication and has grown significantly since its conception in the autumn of 2015. Though the look and feel of the journal morphs each year, one unifying thread remains constant: the celebration of artists in our community.   Kassandra Klein Communications Editor