#incorrect elast

[incorrect-underrated-groups]

Rano: who’s ready to get tattoos everywhere except our faces cause we still need office jobs!

[doyoueverstopandthink]

umbrella academy as things my friends have said part 8:

luther:

"i think my college essay is going to be a commentary on a disney or pixar film"

diego:

"one of the homophobic guys is dressed as if he's staring in a queercoded detective show"

allison:

"i just wrote one of the best essays of my life with seven minutes left to submit it"

klaus: (over text)

"OFTOBER OCTOBER OCTOBER OCTOBER SMOKING CIGARETTES OOOOON THE ROOOOOOOFFFFFF

SHE LOOKS SO PRETTY AND I LOOOOOOOVVEEEE THIS VIEWWWWWWWWW

i'm on the verge of actually having a breakdown"

five:

"for a while i thought i wanted abed nadir's gender, but then i realized that i'm just autistic"

ben:

ben: how does someone know if someone is flirting or being friend

klaus: you guess

ben: i don't KNOW

klaus: i mean you could always. ask.

ben: Every Single One Of My Problems Ever Has Just Been Solved

viktor:

five: who will win, young adult vs elastic band

viktor: it's currently the elastic band

lila:

"BULLY THE FUCK OUTTA MARINES"

[lilianrennifer]

Wonhyuk: How do people stay in their house ALL DAY?! 😫

Baekgyeul: Easy. All my stuff is there and I don't 🙅🏻 like people.

[coyote-swims]

(domestic) equestrian alterhuman tips!!

hii! i'm grey, and i volunteer on a horse ranch. that means several days a week i'm around horses for probably close to 5 hours each day. i'm here to give you some tips related to things i've learned working with domestic horses! most of the horses i work with are either show or just plain domestic.

info under the cut!

1. Food

most of the horses on the ranch i work on eat either something called Gro Strong 33, ADM, senior feed, alfalfa, or a mix of these.

most of these are pellet-shaped, or shaped like a long, skinny cylinder. certain cereals can look like this, and if you're a domestic horse therian/kin/whatever, maybe try eating cereal like this!

many horses on the ranch also get supplements, most of which are just powders than range from a green color to tan to white. it gets mixed in with their feed, which they eat dry. you could, IF SAFE, mix vitamin powder or supplements into the feed/cereal

a few horses on the farm get their food soaked, so it's soft and easy to eat (ex. the seniors do, and a horse named Ethan who choked once does) this makes the food like a mush, and it gets soft and squishy. soaking cereal in your desired whatever could recreate this!

2. Gear

almost year round (expect for winter), most horses wear some kind of fly gear: most of the time either a mask or a blanket.

fly masks, which cover most of the horses face (their ears, eyes, side of face, and nose) are to protect from flies irritating them and biting them. the portion over their eyes is normally mesh. a normal face mask could help recreate this feeling, but it's not ideal. i'm not sure how you could recreate a fly mask tbh

fly blankets, which lay over their back and strap under their belly, are so flies don't irritate their backs. i've only met two animals that normally wear fly blankets, a mule named Duke who was allergic to flies, and a clydesdale who stayed at the barn for one night while traveling. this is pretty easy to recreate, just tie some sort of fabric to your back with the knot on your belly

some horses wear things called bell boots. these are bell shaped things that cover their hooves so they don't throw their shoes (their shoes fall off and get lost). any kind of this that has elastic around your ankles and kind of splays our over your foot can mimic this :)

most horses typically only wear shoes if they live on rough, rocky terrain, to protect their hooves from injury. any horse can wear shoes, though. it's just more common for ones that live on rocky terrain to have shoes. metal sole shoes or hard sole shoes can mimic the feeling of wearing horseshoes :)

thanks for reading! i may update this as needed. feel free to correct me if any of this is incorrect :)

special appearance from Lady the horse

[incorrectbungou]

I still have more quotes from friends and family to make into incorrect quotes:

Chuuya: “Put the cactus back with its friends now Dazai.”

Dazai: “But it’s making new friends!”

Chuuya: “Now before I make it best friends with your ass.”

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Kenji: “It’s a pupper with a porpoise!”

Yosano: “Did you just have a stroke?”

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Ranpo: “Snack time bitches.”

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Ranpo: “But my chalupa...”

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*after getting into an argument*

Dazai: “Hey! Look at that!”

Kunikida: “Look at what?”

Dazai: “I don’t know but I’m not wrong!”

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*driving past a farm*

Kenji: “Was that a fucking zebra?”

Atsushi: “When did you learn to curse?”

Dazai: “Holy fuck that is a zebra!”

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Kenji: *in tears* “I tried to save a bug by pushing him out the window and I put too much pressure on him and he just exploded!”

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Oda: “Where will Mori go when he dies? Heaven, hell, or purgatory?”

Dazai: “Well he’s a little bitch with no soul so according to my copy of the bible he’ll go to purgatory.”

Oda: “But where will he go?”

Ango: “He’s the personification of Satan so he’ll just reclaim his throne in the depths of hell.”

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Yosano: “I think my left ovary just screamed for help.”

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Chuuya: “Get that nice car out of here, everyone’s gonna think I bought it off drug money.”

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Mori: “Tell the dog what’s going on and say goodbye.”

Dazai: *to Chuuya* “I’m leaving for a month for work, you better not die while I’m gone.”

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Dazai: “There are so many cars.”

Chuuya: “That’s called TRAFFIC!”

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Ranpo: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS IS USELESS?”

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Chuuya: “Did you roll up that hose outside?”

Dazai: *half asleep* “We have a hoe outside?”

Akutagawa: “No I didn’t it was too much of a mess.”

Dazai: “We have a messy hoe outside?”

——————————————————————————

Chuuya: “I have power.”

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Chuuya: “Dazai is a fuckin freeloader, alcoholic, and a glutton!”

Dazai: “We should open that new bottle of wine.”

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Gin: *pulls up in a car next to Higuchi* “Hey there hoe, you take 20s?”

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Fukuzawa: “What are you eating?”

Ranpo: *angrily* “I’m eating a prepackaged healthy snack of course.”

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Cashier: “Did you pay yet?”

Akutagawa: “Nah man, but I’m just gonna go if that’s alright?”

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Poe: *playing the sims for the first time* “My sim doesn’t need a boyfriend, he just needs a raccoon.”

Ranpo: “I’m actually insulted.”

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Kenji: *singing* “Intercepted with LOVE!”

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Chuuya: *trying to get a dog to sit in his lap* “I know you want these thighs!”

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Tecchou: “This is a mistake...”

Jouno: “You only just realized that Sherlock?”

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Dazai: “When in Rome, I’ll fuck a Roman.”

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Kyouka: “I can hear you but I’m ignoring you.”

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Kyouka: “I’m only half kidding.”

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Jouno: *laughing hysterically* “Sorry sorry, I’m just imagining little emo Tecchou listening to Michael Jackson on repeat for 6 hours.”

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Jouno: “Tecchou ONLY likes Green Day and Michael Jackson.”

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Tecchou: “I feel like I’m getting stupider as I get older.”

Jouno: “That’s because you are.”

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Yosano: “I just want regular pants! Why are there so many tags? Why is there elastic in the waist band? I’m not that fat!”

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Ranpo: “Are you happy to see me or do you just have salami in your pants.”

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Dazai: “Sometimes you’ve gotta rub a penguin on your ass, you feel me?”

Atsushi: “I have never felt you less.”

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Ranpo: *to Kenji and Kyouka* “Santa flew over Yokohoma already? That’s a bunch of fucking bullshit! Where’s our presents?”

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*1am*

Poe: *almost falling asleep*

Ranpo: *kicks open door* “WAKE UP BITCH IT’S TIME FOR DINNER PART 2!”

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Dazai: “Fuck teachers.”

Kunikida: “Excuse me? I used to be a teacher!”

Dazai: “And look where that got us!”

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Fukuzawa: “Ranpo... you need to stop eating all the time... even when you’re bored.”

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Chuuya: “Fuck this, I’m defaulting to a box of wine.”

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Dazai: *changing a light bulb* “I’M GOING INTO THE LIGHT!”

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Nikolai: “Thanks for the support everyone, but I’ve decided to become a problem.”

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Chuuya: “Not to be dramatic, but if I don’t get into a homoerotic sword fight right the fuck now I’m going to lose my shit.”

Yosano: “I’d homoerotic sword fight you, but I don’t think I meet your requirements baby.”

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Gin: “I’m only going if I get to shoot someone.”

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Kenji: “Oooo I’m about to go wild.”

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Ranpo: *to Poe* “This movie might scare you, but it’s fine, we have McDonald’s.”

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*through DMs*

Poe: *to Ranpo* “It sounds like you planned a really cool party, I’ll be there!”

*in different DMs*

Ranpo: *to Yosano* “YOSANO! POE THINKS THIS IS GONNA BE A COOL PARTY GET RID OF THE GLITTER GLUE AND MACARONI! WE CAN’T DO THE MACARONI ART ANYMORE!”

Yosano: “Well now this party is gonna suck. The macaroni art was the only reason we were throwing a party.”

——————————————————————————

Dazai: *shows Yosano a picture of Chuuya*

Yosano: “DAMN SET ME UP WITH HIM!”

Kunikida: “I thought you were a lesbian?”

Yosano: “Wait! Fuck! I genuinely forgot I was gay when I looked at him!”

@stinkyme

[fandomnerd9602]

Can you please make incorrect quotes for Y/N pranking Johnny for messing with his girl aka Benjie Grimm by creating explosion of fire extinguisher foam???

Y/N have same powers as original Super Skrull aka K'lrt... all powers of Fantastic Four

Johnny runs out of the room as it fills with foam…

Benni Grimm, She-Thing, tries to chase…

Benni: Johnny!

Y/N lassos Johnny with an elastic arm…

Y/N: I have half a mind to…what’s the word, baby?

Benni: hog-tie?

Y/N: yes hog tie you Johnny!

The rock giantess approaches Y/N and hugs them…

Benni: thank you baby

Y/N: anytime my favorite rock biter.

Fancast: Linda Cardellini as Benni Grimm/ She-Thing

[sugargoreguts]

hi! i don’t really post in this fandom but i wanted to make this guide for you guys since i havent seen anything like it yet! and obviously, you can stylize anything you want in any way you want, if you want to draw something “inaccurate”, GO FOR IT as long as you know you’re being “inaccurate”.

[ID: a multi-panel drawing guide in black on a white background. the first panel says “How to Draw: Spider-Gwen’s Shoes!” with a simple colored sketch of spider-gwen’s legs in a ballet pose. the second panel says: “I’m Saros and I do ballet! Ballet 12 years, Pointe 3 years. This is less of a tutorial and more some quick tips for artists who want to know how to draw pointe shoes.” The third panel says “First, let’s look at some refs” with a few pictures of pointe shoes and a picture of spider-gwen. The first picture is labeled: “Knot is on the inside (otherwise risks injury). Elastic: provides support, attached at back of shoe. Ribbon attached at middle of shoe. Flat platform. Sole.” There is an arrow pointing from the word “Sole” to the picture of spider-gwen, which says under it, “her shoes don’t actually have soles so it’s OK not to draw them”. The second picture is labeled “ribbons cross on foot, then wrap around ankle” and has an arrow pointing down on top of the foot. “This line is the goal (over the box)”. The third picture says “not over box” with a similar arrow, but pointing at an angle instead of straight down. It is also labeled “knots not tucked in” and “amateurish/incorrect and injury risk”. The fourth panel is titled “Common Mistakes” and has quick sketches of various different pointe shoes. The first one is labeled “Too pointy, no flat platform”, the second is labeled “Ribbons too high, injury risk (they only cross once)”, the third is labeled “Nonsensical, ribbons cross over foot, not above wrapped section” and the fourth is labeled “Injury risk, tuck knots in Please”. End ID]

[teamfreewill56-blog]

Mugen Train Drama CD Transcript 3.5

Mitsuri: Mr. Rengoku…Mr. Rengoku…

Rengoku: *wakes up*

Mitsuri: We’ve arrived.

Kyojuro: That’s a wetland a little further from town. The demon slayer members were observing the situation of the ghosts, while waiting for the arrival of Kanroji and I.

Demon Slayer: Thanks for your hard work.

Kyojuro: How’s it going?

Demon Slayer: The ghost is at the intersection ahead, heading south. The carriage can’t get in from here.

Kyojuro: Understood. What other things are worth paying attention to?

Demon Slayer: Although the demon walked slowly, if it keeps going it’ll end up in town.

Kyojuro: Just don’t let it go.

Demon Slayer: Yes. Please be careful. 

Kyojuro: Umu. Come on, Kanroji!

Mitsuri: Yes!

*Kyojuro and Mitsuri run together towards the town.*

Kyojuro: On the right, right?

Mitsuri: Yes! *gasps* It’s a crossroads! I saw it….

Kyojuro: Isn’t this already the edge of town?

*They stop*

Mitsuri: So big….There’s already a wall standing in front of me right?

Kyojuro: The demon’s footsteps are very slow. There’s no response when approaching from behind. Didn’t you notice us?

Mitsuri: Let me go first!

Kyojuro: We need to stop it here.

Mitsuri: Yes!

Mitsuri: What’s going on with this feeling?! It’s as soft as a konjac 

Mitsuri: Mr. Rengoku! This demon is so elastic! 

Kyojuro: Leave quickly.

Mitsuri: No I don’t want to meet you! Continuous Whisper!

Kyojuro: I’m here. The red blade of the red blade.Shouki’s legs are stopped in this village! Breath of Flame Kazuno type Shiranui

Mitsuri: Cut off!

Kyojuro: But that’s not the point. So tough but why were the Demon Slayers killed by this demon? Moving so slowly even if you can’t knock it down.It’s not like he’ll be killed. The air above is so hot, is it rain? Wrong this is--?! Run away Kanroji! Although he immediately escaped how come around that demon it’s like being surrounded by rain in an instant.

Mitsuri: Mr. Rengoku…Mr. Rengoku…After getting caught in the rain I couldn’t move my body.

Kyojuro: If you were caught by the rain just now, it’s like my body is tied up, can’t move? Let’s go now.

Mitsuri: Terribly sorry!

Mitsuri: *Being picked up* Am I…heavy?

Kyojuro: *laughs* There is no need to worry about this. *Puts her down* Under this bridge you can’t get wet in the rain right?

Mitsuri: Thank you very much.

Kyojuro: The ghost seems to be unable to move the other party with the rain first. Then solve it slowly. Is this the guy's blood demon art?

Mitsuri: The sky again?

Kyojuro: Like that ​. Shorten the distance between the rain. Behead it again!

Mitsuri: It’s rain!

Kyojuro: To me, Rengoku! How can the same trick be used twice! Sure enough, it is difficult to aim for unexpected movements. However, the range of rain seems to be limited.

Mitsuri: The two were dodged?!

Kyojuro: No! Incorrect. This blood ghost is not the one in front of you!

Mitsuri: Ah? Who’s is that?

Kyojuro: Where? Where to hide? On the bridge!

Demon: There is actually me, a human being who doesn't work. It’s really surprising. I’m not hiding. Because this mud ghost walks too slowly. So I took a break for a while. At this time, you appeared.

Kyojuro: Thousands of ghosts have been killed by the team. It’s you, right?

Demon: Don't find fault with me. I’m a gourmet. You won't eat bad food. This guy ate it. This mud demon. I just made them unable to move.

Kyojuro: Who can talk nonsense like this…

Demon: I'm going to kill you now. But I won't eat you. Like that it’s starting.

Kyojuro: This ghost can't just talk.

Demon: Are you still strong? The people you are talking about are the ghost killing team. Obviously, there is no strength, but you have to be strong. It's completely self-made. So it's not right for you to be angry with me.

Kyojuro: What?!

Demon: There are all kinds of people in this world. Rich people. Poor people. Excellent people. People with regret. Good-looking people. People who don't look well. People have been separated from the advantages and disadvantages when they are born. Same as this. Don't you think it's normal to have a life destined to be eaten? It's just that I happen to be the excellent side. It's the one that eats people.

Kyojuro: That's what you want to say. I don't want to listen to it at all. From now on, this red knife from my purgatory. I'm going to burn you to smoke!

Demon: Burn the ashes and smoke out. It's so scary. Speaking of which, Didn't you hear any noise in the town?

Kyojuro: What did you bastard do? Looking from the bridge to the town, you can see the fire soaring to the sky.

Demon: Did you see the town burning? As soon as people walked outside the building, it will start to rain. It's a rain of grace. Everyone will cheer. But if you get drenched by my two. No one can move. Next, I will strictly select young girls and children. The pleasure of taking away the baby from the mother's arms, then don't have a different flavor! Let this greedy mud ghost eat the rest. Sounds good, right? Then you go to hell, too. Blood Demon Art.

Kyojuro: Human beings can’t choose their own birth. But since you have come to the world. People should practice their own lives. And fulfill their respective responsibilities. To help the weak, it’s my duty!

Ruka: To help the weak. It is the duty of a person born strong. It is the mission that you must take responsibility to complete. Never forget it. 

Kyojuro: Mother, even until today I have never forgotten your words.

Demon: It’s really boring. Blood Demon Art.

Kyojuro:  Flame breathing first form

Demon: This guy--is so fast!

Kyojuro: Unknowing fire!

Demon: Ah! Unexpectedly it would be you.

Kyojuro: I said it, right? My red sword of flame will burn you to ashes! 

Kyojuro: Kanroji can you move?

Mitsuri: My body is free again! I’m on!

Kyojuro: Get rid of that big demon.

Mitsuri: Yes!

Kyojuro: Your muscles are great. Strong and flexible. The body of this ghost, you can definitely cut it off. Got it? We need to breathe well.

Mitsuri: I see!

Kyojuro: The breath of fire, fifth form, flame tiger!

Mitsuri: Ah--! Cut..Cut it off! I cut it down Mr. Rengoku!

Kyojuro: Beautifully done.

Kyojuro: We go to the town, rescue the people from the fire! I will never let anyone die! Kanroji, don’t let the fire expand again. You go and demolish the building to prevent the fire from spreading. I will go everywhere to search and rescue people who could not escape.

Mitsuri: Yes!

Kyojuro: Everyone needs to be saved! 

[randombush3]

Floss Got Hot V

[series masterlist]

summary: A lot of mistakes are talked about, but all goes well in the end.

word count: 6971

warnings: brief talk of murder but nothing too gory/detailed

notes: I think this could have gone very differently but I’ve worked out the future for this series so it’s going this way instead. It took me ages because I was busy, sorry.

Oh, and the Dune slander is warranted. Shut up.

Venice Film Festival has its ups and downs, but comparatively, nothing is worse than waking up in a hotel room with a hangover the size of a blue whale and a hyperactive little sister. Flo had been very incorrect in the assumption that her now-grown-up baby sister would not still crash in her room after she’s had too much to drink on holiday. It seems that some things never change.

Raffie’s prodding index jabs her one last time before rousing any noise, and when it does, it is muffled by hair and pillows and white bedsheets. “Why are you so awake?” grumbles Flo, pushing the head away from her. “‘S too early. Go back to bed.”

Quirking an eyebrow up at the misjudgement of the time of day, Raffie quickly huffs, “Mum and Dad said to meet them at breakfast,” dragging her sister out of bed because she is taller and stronger and all-round better (this is debatable, Flo thinks). “Get your arse ready. I have a lot of questions for you.”

“I thought I answered every single thing you asked about the film, Mole, what more could you want from me?” Flo sighs dramatically as she stands up, tightening the elastic of your jog pants around her waist. The soft fabric reminds her of you. Only your clothes seem to feel comforting, a sheet of unexpected armour that automatically lessens the pounding headache.

“You’re so sneaky with your love life,” is all her sister says, promptly leaving the hotel room along with a confused actress struggling on one leg to find a second sock.

When she joins the youngest Pugh in the hallway, she is met with an equally inquisitive expression from her brother, forgoing any pleasantries about having a good morning. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” he asks, pride clearly hurt by whatever the fuck is going on. She doesn’t miss the concern in his eyes.

They step into the lift and Raffie won’t stop looking at her phone, giving Flo no other option than to stare at herself in the mirror — she will not be having any kind of conversation with interrogation-Toby when she already feels awful. (She does look great though.)

The restaurant is almost empty seeing as it’s nearly over, tables mainly empty and used rather than occupied with chattering people, but the now-complete set of Pughs share what’s left of the buffet between them before making conversation.

Stomach satisfied, Raffie finally spills what’s been on her mind, “How come you didn’t tell us you and Y/n broke up?” It’s supposed to be sort of quiet, considering Flo is beside her, but something sets her volume on kilter and she ends up catching everybody’s attention. With a ‘hngph’, Flo chokes on her orange juice. Her sister shrugs, taking it as a question. “She didn’t come to Venice, she was on a date with someone else… Uh, it’s everywhere, Floss?”

“You broke up?” Granny Pat is heartbroken. And confused. Almost as confused as Flo is. “You only just got together!”

“No,” states Flo, flatly. “we didn’t break up. What the fuck, Raff?”

“She kissed another girl,” Toby cuts in, voice smooth and factual, as though he’d known. Did he think you wouldn’t last? Had he always thought this? “She doesn’t cheat.”

“That is fucking news to me.”

Toby continues, “Do you remember Irén? The one whose parents own an oil company.” The Pughs do. Pretty and rich, picked you up from family brunch once. You’d spent the whole time gushing over how brilliant your new girlfriend was. “Yeah, Irén lives in Budapest. I thought you guys were living together, but clearly you’re not.”

“Is this a joke?” It has to be a joke. “You guys are just… No?” Raffie clocks the emotion in her sister’s voice, and realises very suddenly that Flo might not have known about this breakup. She passes her phone down the table, but Flo only watches a second of the video before slamming the device down and storming off. Well, running off. She’s more hurt than angry.

“I’ll go,” Deb says, standing up. Raffie apologises excessively, not worrying whether or not her phone has been smashed by the force of Florence’s assault. It takes her boyfriend, Toby, and her dad to convince her that Flo won’t be upset with the messenger. After all, you’re not supposed to shoot them.

The words that first come to Flo’s mind are so vile and bitter that she can only hope she never encounters a mind reader who finds out what they are. Deb then catches up to her, placing a steady hand on her shoulder to halt her daughter’s march to anywhere that isn’t so suffocating. Flo feels suffocated, but allows her mother to pull her into an empty corridor. Deb wipes her tears, the motions ingrained into her muscles over decades. She will always be there for her children.

“I waited so long for her,” Flo’s voice comes out cracked through a sob, “and she’s not really even mine, clearly. I just…”

“I don’t think Y/n is breaking up with you, and I’ve taught her better than to do it like that,” Deb comforts, articulating the words perfectly because she believes them. She places a soothing hand on her daughter’s back. “Your flight’s today. These conversations are best had in person, and you don’t know whether she wanted to be kissed.”

Her voice sharpens, straining against the lump in her throat. “Oh, they looked pretty fucking cosy!”

“It’s Irén, Flossie.” Deb knows all of your friends, she could make a list from memory. “Next to Toby, Irén is her best friend.” Deb frowns briefly, and then corrects herself, “was.” Through school to when you broke up.

Flo knows exactly who she is because Irén was Public Enemy #1 to 18-year-old Florence Pugh. She had finally become an adult and you were in a relationship? It wasn’t fair. She hates Irén. “Mum, are you seriously on her side? I get that she’s like your daughter or whatever… She fucking cheated on me!”

“I’m saying you should let her explain.”

“Well, it’s not like she’s tried.” Did she wake up to thousands of apology text messages with you grovelling and begging her for forgiveness? Nope, with a popped ‘p’. You didn’t even send her a text to say you’re leaving her for some ex-girlfriend who’s richer and prettier and more your type! She should have listened to the warning about people like you, people who don’t seem to live in the same world as everyone else. People who have everything. People who don’t need anything else.

Flo checks her phone to verify her point, albeit wistfully hoping someone’s tagged her in the biggest internet joke of all time. You’re not in a different timezone, so to her the only explanation is that you are asleep in someone else’s bed, tired out from an evening of infidelity or a rebound. Flo feels nauseous at the thought.

But then, as if some beacon of hope, her phone pings and the lock screen is obstructed with a single notification.

You: Can you come home?

She finds that evil of you to say. Evil, because now is not the time to be reminded of how safe you make her feel or how she could have two babies and a house somewhere exotic with you in the future. Home is you, you are home, and your (ex?)girlfriend is seething.

“See,” Deb says, vindictive until she remembers the situation. “She wants to explain everything in person. Are you packed up?”

Flo frowns, but it slowly becomes a scowl as the thought of you with Irén takes over. “No, Mama, I don’t—”

“Let her explain. Give her that.”

- - -

When Irén’s comment sets in, you realise what has just happened. That she had kissed you, that you had kissed her back.

“I think,” she whispers, “you didn’t like that.” Her hand reaches for your shoulder, trying to reconnect the distance you have immediately shoved between the two of you, but she pulls back, mirroring how you recoil from her. She studies your expression hopefully, but finds nothing positive to smile about.

“I’m in love with her.”

“I know.”

You meet her eyes, puzzled. “You kissed me in front of all these people.” Irén doesn’t say anything, but crumples her face as if she’s about to cry. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re beautiful.” You shake your head. That cannot be her answer. She doesn’t know what else to say. You were there, you looked good, something told her you could be hers again.

“You don’t get to call me beautiful.”

“Why? Millions of other people say it or, rather, comment on it on social media. I mean, I’ve seen edits of you, Y/n.” You choose to ignore both the fact that there are edits of you and that Irén has seen them.

“No, but you mean it,” you whisper, scared of the sentence you’re saying. Irén is nodding her head as if it will change how you feel. “I don’t want to have this conversation here.” You stand, collecting both of your things, and walk away, leaving her with nothing to do but follow.

Though the car ride to you and Flo’s (you cringe at the thought that it’s hers, really) Airbnb is silent, you’re bursting to speak once you get inside. You’re not angry for the best part of your monologue, and she doesn’t disagree with any of your statements. In fact, she responds that you are intelligent and deserving of things you wouldn’t let yourself believe you are, and that she loves you and would do anything for you and… The list goes on.

“It’s not that I don’t love you, it’s that I don’t want to,” tumbles out of your mouth, and the woman in front of you breaks in half. You step closer to her, scared she’ll fall, and place a hand on her back. “You deserve better than that.”

“You don’t get to decide what I deserve,” she hisses, shaking you off. Irén regains her stature and almost squares up to you. “You are what I want. You are what I think about every waking moment of a life I only lead because I made a mistake!”

“A mistake needed to be made. I don’t want to fix it.” All these years later, you say you don’t want to fix it. As if you hadn’t spent nights dreaming of what could have been, just like she has.

“But you agreed to–”

“No, I think I’ve found the woman I want to grow old with.” Irén, again, breaks in half. Maybe quarters this time. “And it isn’t you.”

With that, she is in no fit state to leave, so you offer her a cup of tea and sit beside her on the sofa. Rubbing salt in the wound, she calls it, but you insist because it’s late and chilly and she can’t be pictured leaving here with black pools of mascara underneath red eyes. “I don’t want to be pitied,” she mutters, taking your peace offering between her hands and sipping it all the same. “I’ve loved you since the day I met you, and you don’t want to feel the same.” Irén recites her outline as if trying to commit facts to memory. That’s what they are: facts. Yes, you love her. No, you don’t love her enough. No, she is not enough for you. No, she will never be enough for you.

“Will you tell her?” At your confusion, she makes her question clearer, “will you tell your girlfriend?”

“Yes.” There will be videos or pictures or both. You had noticed a few camera flashes in the opera house. Irén’s family is hardly out of the media these days, considering how controversial openly killing the environment is. She’ll find out somehow. “I do love you, Irén. I’d let you stay over, but Flo will be back tomorrow and I think we can agree that she’d definitely not want you here.” Irén is tempted to bring up Zach, but withholds her comment.

“I wish I never made you choose,” she whispers, “I wish I never said anything. I… It’s the worst mistake I’ve ever made.” Her lips catch your gaze and your lips suddenly press against hers.

Billie goes mad.

Irén grunts in surprise and then you’re no longer on top of her and are collecting her things and pushing her out. She splutters a response because you kissed her, not the other way around, so why are you pretending you’ve been assaulted and can never see her again?

Why are you with Toby’s little sister?

Once the door slams shut, you stumble backwards until a heavy body halts your movement. Billie had been waiting for Irén to leave, quietly sitting on her bed beside the TV, patiently hiding her time before she could cuddle with you like she’s been doing since she got here. Dogs don’t go nuts like that, especially not Flo’s (yours?). She barks at you a couple more times, gruff telling-offs, and then nudges you with her snout to get you into your bedroom.

It smells of Flo and you feel trodden on. You crumple on the bed, Billie settling next to you, and use your phone to distract yourself from the series of oh-so-bad decisions you’ve made tonight.

Toby’s texted, but your reply doesn’t feel right.

You find yourself calling your mother. She picks up because you’d never dare unless you were dying, and is disappointed to find that she actually has to be a mother for once.

“Why are you in such a state?” she asks nonchalantly. “I can’t really talk at the mo, my darling. Eddie has brought out a marvellous wine, and Sophie is beating me at poker.” You can hear the embers of a dinner party in the background, but also the soft sound of tyres on gravel. “Oh, it’s nothing, Sophie. Y/n is calling from — where are you again, darling?”

“Budapest, Mummy.”

“She’s in Budapest! With that actress, the one she’s seeing. Oh, yes, lovely and progressive. Yes, the actress is the girl from Little Women.” You groan and your mother holds her conversation with the Countess of Wessex to reprimand you. “What is it, Y/n?! Can it not be saved for someone else?”

“No,” you reply flatly, despite being in the state she mentioned earlier. You’re a quick cryer, you can’t help it. “Irén and I went to the opera tonight—”

“I thought you hadn’t spoken to that girl in years—”

“No, Mummy, I haven’t since we broke up. But I met with her tonight, and she kissed me, and then I kissed her, and now I don’t know what to do.” You hold your breath, waiting to see if your mother even acknowledges that you are in a relationship with real emotions.

“A little infidelity has never hurt anyone!” She promptly fails that test. “Do you love Irén still?”

Blatantly, you lie, “I have never loved Irén—”

“Do you love her?” She tuts at any protest you groan in an attempt to avoid her question. “Darling, if you’re so unsure that you won’t answer, should you really be with your actress?”

“Yes, I love Irén. But I love Florence more.” Far more. Irén is a grain of sand on Flo’s beach.

“Well then, tell the actress that you were drunk, and tell Irén that she imagined the whole debacle! Manipulate them both, my darling, before either can manipulate you. And, believe me, Y/n, you are very easily manipulated.” At your stunned silence, she assumes her advice has been given and received, and that you are absolutely, one-hundred percent fine. “Once you return to London, I’d like to go for a coffee. We could meet with some of my friends and their lovely daughters, make a day of it with shopping and… Better yet, Sophie would like to know if a weekend at Bagshot is on the table. We can go riding, or you could go shooting – I know you do love to go shooting. Sophie also says you can bring your actress with you if all is not lost, and treat their home as a country hotel.”

You sigh. She’s never of any help and you’re not sure why you called her. “I’ll think about it. Give them my love, I am off to shoot myself now.”

Billie whines and you hang up, your phone sliding off the mattress and onto the floor as you collapse onto a dog that isn’t even yours. “I’ve really fucked it all, haven’t I, Bills?” She seems to agree and begrudgingly becomes your temporary emotional support animal. “I shouldn’t have kissed her.”

Irén is like a magnet, she always has been. Since you met her you’ve wanted her, and when you had her you took it all for granted. The year you dated was a blissful ideal world, but it didn’t last. Her sister was sixteen and had been found dead in a forest. Fifty-seven stab wounds. A ruthless, cold-blooded murder, a man who’d tried to groom her and had failed miserably.

You remember finding out before your girlfriend and having to tell her. You remember her screams and her unwillingness to believe a word you said. Irén had loved her sister dearly, they were incredibly close.

A fortnight had passed since her death and your girlfriend was a shell of a woman she had once been. You’d been splitting your time between Oxford and their family’s house in St Albans. Irén had had enough of it and wanted all of your attention or none at all. She presented the date of her sister’s funeral, and asked if you’d come — it was obvious to her that you would — but you paused, you hesitated. It was summertime, and A-level results day happened to be taking up your calendar.

“Whose results do you care about so deeply?” she asked bitterly.

“Flossie’s.” You gulped. She wasn’t a fan of Toby’s family because they seemed too normal for you. To her, you were divine and majestic and deserving of the most eccentric and wealthy characters as relatives, not some random people from Oxford.

The build up since you broke the news to her snapped whatever rationality she was holding onto. “She’s going to get three Cs. What’s so interesting about that? It’s them or me. Us.”

You couldn’t choose then. Rethinking it now, you would choose Irén, despite your current infatuation with Flo. It was wrong to leave her like that, girlfriend or not. You made a bad choice.

But Flo doesn’t know that, she isn’t aware of what happened. She knows two things for certain: Irén and you kissed at the opera, and Irén was your girlfriend a decade ago.

She doesn’t tell you what time her flight gets in, so you’re on a call with the management at Chaos Zanzibar when she storms in. Guns blazing, she shouts your full name within a second of stepping over the threshold, and is ranting at you for a minute before you and Billie emerge from the bedroom, the call spoiled and ended.

“How could you?” she questions coldly, loudly. Billie’s tail wags, unrelenting against her legs, and she manages to love on the dog while having a go at you (it’s deserved, you know). “If you didn’t want me, you could have said something— You could have texted or called or… tweeted? I get why you wouldn’t want me, Y/n, I fucking get it, okay? But you didn’t need to shove it in my face — in the whole world’s fucking face — like that! She’s beautiful and she’s... You love her, you love Irén; do you not?”

Stunned into pathetic silence, you gulp. “I’m okay with you not loving me anymore, but you didn’t need to shove it in my face,” Flo states, her words barren and lifeless.

In a split second of mercy, your brain resumes its function and you are about to speak. Billie begins to growl, drawing both of your attentions, and you can’t seem to get the words out. Traitor.

“It’s not that you’ve broken up with me, but rather, you told me you loved me and then kissed your gorgeous, rich, funny, perfect ex-girlfriend in fancy clothes at a fancy place where both of your fancy lives fit right in. I get that I’m not…” She pauses for a deep breath, sharp and quick. “I get that I’m not your type, Y/n, I know you’re embarrassed to be with me sometimes but—”

“I’ve never been fucking embarrassed to be with you, what the fuck are you talking about?” you shout over her, angry because it’s not true. None of this is true. “And why have you come to terms with a non-existent breakup? Two fucking kisses isn’t going to destroy this, Florence, okay?”

This is news to her.

Two kisses. Not just the one, not just a singular moment of weakness.

“Where was the second?” she asks quietly, as if trying to not be sick.

“Here.” Flo pales. “She kissed me at the opera, and so I brought her here to talk. She was so…” You neglect to finish your sentence, “and then I kissed her goodbye.” Not that she knew it was a goodbye until she was out the door. “It’s Irén, Floss.”

“Everyone keeps saying that!” But what does that mean? How do two words justify you kissing someone else?

She takes a deep breath, eyes searching around the apartment to focus on anything but what she’s going to have to ask you. Nothing’s changed, really, in the two days she’s been gone. Except, everything has.

“Why did you kiss her?” She tries to be calmer. You raise your foot to step forward, but her eyes narrow and her steely glare wards you away. Billie whines, yawns, and slinks her way back to her bed, lying down with a grunt that says she is over her mum’s return and very much done with this argument. “Am I not enough?”

Suddenly, you see it. Her insecurity. The cracks in the porcelain, the bubbling magma waiting to erupt. She doesn’t think she’s enough for you. And you don’t know how to express how wrong she is.

“I…” Flo wants to snatch up your hesitation and scream and cry and run away, but she takes another deep breath and waits patiently. “I made a bad decision, and if I hadn’t have done it I think I would have been married to her.”

“Bad decisions do seem to be ending your relationships,” she sneers.

“No, you don’t understand.” You shake your head, trying to shake off the memory, trying to shake off the current situation. “Her sister’s funeral was scheduled for the day your A-level results came out. We were all so proud of you, because how the fuck does a seventeen-year-old balance A-levels and a movie? I told her I couldn’t go. She made me choose, said if I didn’t then we were over.” Flo was there. She knows exactly what choice you made.

She grimaces, feeling guilty. “I was so horrible to you that day.” She had ignored you throughout the entirety of the celebrations, jealous of a girlfriend that hadn’t even bothered to come, because you looked beautiful and she didn’t want to think about that.

Florence realises that she’s taken you for granted her whole life because of the same insecurity that is tearing you apart right now. “I had no doubt you’d ignore me, Floss, but I was there because not being there didn’t seem like an option.”

“But that’s different,” she whispers, back on track. Louder, she states, “you should have told me before you kissed her. I deserve to know when my relationships have ended.”

“It hasn’t ended.”

“You said you would have married her.”

Grappling for words, your volume spikes and she flinches. “But I didn’t! I’m not married, am I? And I’m not going to be married at all because my girlfriend won’t accept my proposals.” Flo laughs and then hates that you’ve made her do so. “I kissed Irén to say goodbye, because I never got to. We are not due for a goodbye kiss, ever, so stop trying to get one!”

“You should have thought about that before you—” Every single part of your body has told you to kiss her now, and who are you to ignore that?

Flo has missed you, and she cannot deny that.

She pulls away from you for a moment, finding it very hard to keep her frown when you look like that, “I’m still so cross with you,” she murmurs, “and I don’t want you to ever do it again. And Irén has to be told that, explicitly. And I… I want to meet her.”

“What?!”

“For coffee…? Not to kill her.”

“Why do you want to meet Irén?” you ask suspiciously. From one extreme to the other…

With an impish smile, Flo says, “That is none of your business. Just tell her that we should do it some time. I have a feeling she won’t be able to say no.”

“Fine.” She nods and you cup her cheek to return to your overdue kissing. You lean in but sigh and pull back. “Don’t kiss Irén,” you start, wondering if maybe that’s what Flo is planning. “I know I did, but you can’t. If you’re going to kiss anyone, kiss Saoirse Ronan. Or Scarlett Johansson.”

“Both are like sisters to me,” Flo groans as if you should know this.

“To you. If you kiss them, I’m doing it indirectly.” She rolls her eyes and pretends she never heard that. “No, forget that. That means you’ve kissed—”

“Bring it up and I’ll never stand remotely close to you again.” Flo shudders and you decide that it’s her being cold, not disgusted. You find her hand, slipping your fingers between hers. They feel like home.

She exhales slowly and her breath brushes your neck. You sigh. “You don’t think you’re my type.” Flo is surprised; she wasn’t expecting something so earnest and serious to come out of your mouth. “Why?”

“I’m not wrong, though, am I?” You shrug because her question is irrelevant. To reiterate what you’ve asked her, you begin to repeat it, but she interrupts tentatively, “everyone I have ever seen you with has fit perfectly into your life… seamlessly. They’re not carbon copies of each other, but they are all your equals. They match you in intelligence and complexity, they have lives that are thrilling to hear about but not overly dramatic. They went to boarding schools and they vote for the Green Party because they’re influential enough for a stupid cross on a piece of paper to not matter and they want nothing more from life because they have it all.” Her list renders her on the verge of tears. “I don’t have that.”

“Yet I am not in a relationship with any of them, because someone with everything has nothing to lose.” People like that don’t realistically have time to love someone other than themselves, because in order to have everything for yourself, you’ve got to stop focusing on others. Too many girls have acted as if you were disposable (sometimes you enjoyed it, but that’s not the point). “You don’t need to fit into a category of my exes unless you want to become one, Florence.”

She laughs — a shaky, chesty sound — and manages to wipe the tears that now seem to be rolling down her cheeks without remorse. “I love when you call me Florence.” You raise your eyebrows. “Do it again.”

“Florence.”

“Ooh.” You smile. She seems happier. You know she’s not going to immediately listen to what you said, but eventually it will get through to her. “Also, sometimes I wonder if you’ve ever had to defend any other of your girlfriends that much to your family, and sometimes I feel like I’m just Toby’s little sister to you, and I hate how you pretend your work isn’t draining and that you don’t get tired like the rest of us humans. Oh, and I think about how your admirers must hate me for dating you because I was talking to my very own posh friend, believe it or not, and she said you used to be a sought after bachelorette—” Embarrassed, she cuts herself off. “Let’s have sex right now.”

“What?”

She definitely hasn’t been abducted by aliens; rambling is very much a trait of hers.

“No, ignore all of that emotional, sorry-for-myself stuff. I haven’t seen you for two very long days. The whole movie is fucked, and I’d like to be too.” She continues sputtering like a dying car, trying to explain her demand further, but you lower your gaze to the navy sweatshirt she’s wearing. Billie lifts her head, both of you turning her way once you hear the jingle of the tag on her collar, but reads the room quickly and (concerningly) easily and goes back to her snooze.

“Is this mine?” You tug gently at the fabric between her chest. Florence nods; she took it from you in July, when you wouldn’t have noticed its disappearance. “You decide this relationship is over and you still wear my clothes?”

“I didn’t want it to be over,” she replies, irked by the jab. “I don’t want it to ever be over.”

You smirk. You could apply that to another situation. She presses her lips to yours again, a steady kiss, a pleasurable one. It’s you who bites down on her bottom lip gently, and it’s you whose tongue is in her mouth, not the other way round.

Flo can’t help but wonder how you kissed Irén. Was it like this? Is the way you kiss her reused, was it ever even original? Maybe you kissed Irén like this before you ever thought about her own lips. No, that’s not something you’d do. The way you smile into her when she sighs and moans can’t be what you do for every girl you’ve ever kissed. You didn’t love them.

All you’re thinking about is a way to get the sweatshirt off her without stretching the fabric. It was expensive, and if it becomes any more baggy it will drown her.

- - -

Despite the initial reaction, Florence allows for everything to be fixed pretty simply. Yes, she’ll secretly work through her emotions with Livvy, and you’ll do the same in your own way, but the relationship concerning the two of you seems to be strong enough to withstand two errors.

It takes two long conversations — one with Flo, one with Toby — to repair most of the damage, alongside a short phone call with Flo’s publicist, a woman who has no reason to like you and therefore does not, to convince her you’ll never be naughty again. Flo and you wonder if your relationship needs confirming, and after another phone call with her publicist, the woman acquiesces and allows her client to tell the world profoundly and proudly that the woman who fucks her is you. (She doesn’t exactly phrase it like that, but they all know.)

With that, it feels like she’s free to love you now, something that she hadn’t even realised had been restricting her. For instance, on a random Tuesday she throws jeans at you and takes you to a local restaurant, unafraid of the giggling teenage girls who approach to ask for a photo. You even take the photo.

Millie and you fly out to London a few days later, and you miss your girlfriend. She calls you during your meeting, the first time she’s had the chance in two days, and you end it to talk to her. No one appreciates that except for the two of you, but not a single soul dares to argue with your stern look.

You lean back against the leather desk chair, propping your legs up on the new glass table in the Chaos boardroom. “Hello,” you greet, smiling but not prepared to make the first needy comment. “You okay?”

“Yes!” She’s excited. It must be, what, four in the afternoon there? What could have possibly happened. “I have news. Good, great, FANTASTIC news.”

“Do tell.” You chuckle as she glazes over your tone.

“Justina called.”

Your silence isn’t promising at all. You find Flo’s words rather disappointing. You’d expected to hear she’d won an Oscar or something with that level of squealing. “Flossie, babe, I don’t know who Justina is. Why did she call?”

“Justina Blakeney, interior designer.” She sighs. “Y/n, the famous one who’s doing our flat.” Oh. Oh!

“Is she done?! Is it done?!”

“She said she’ll happily give you a tour today!” You wish Flo could be here to see it with you, because it’s something that should be done together. Your girlfriend picks up on your hesitation. “Hey, we’re wrapping next month. The London Film Festival is in October, so I get to be home for at least two weeks. You’re there now. Go look round, make it smell like you.”

“I’ll ring Toby to see if he’ll smoke with me.”

She laughs sarcastically, in a way that tells you to absolutely not do that. “Justina said to just meet her at the building. That way you can sort out the concierge service — you’ll be better at that than me.”

“Okay,” you agree, noticing the suits waiting outside. They try not to make it seem like they’re watching you, but they definitely are. Who is so important that the meeting ends early during a discussion about the entire management system? they must think. You roll your eyes. “I have to go. I will look around and sort everything once I am done with my meetings. Hopefully I can just go straight into working at the flat.”

“I’m glad it’s our flat.” You’ve set up a joint account for bills. Toby was in awe that she even got you to talk about money.

“Me too.” You can envision the way her soft, very kissable lips smile, hearing it in her voice. “I love you, yeah? Talk to you later.”

The meeting bursts back into session when they see you’ve hung up (technically it’s a new meeting, but it’s the same people talking about the same thing who have clearly all misheard your ‘this meeting has ended’ for ‘give me fifteen minutes and then continue to bore me to death’). You glance at Millie, satisfied with the notes she is taking.

Notes like that are handy, and you have her email them to you as you hail a black cab to take you to your new home.

It’s not too far from the Chaos head office, conveniently, and you know your city quite well. Especially seeing as it’s Holland Park, a twenty minute walk from your family home. That’s unfortunate because now you will have no excuse to avoid checking what has been stolen by the staff in the house.

You ask Flo why she bought a flat so close to where your mother lives, and Flo is in disbelief that your mother spends any time in the city, coming back at you with the question of her current location. Sheepishly, you text that she’s in Surrey, and find that your girlfriend does love to brag when she’s right. It’s not like Mum wants to see you anyway.

“Is this it?” the driver asks, his gruff voice sort of soothing once you realise what exactly you’re about to do. Not only is this the first permanent (to an extent) residence you will ever have, but it is shared with a woman you fall in love with more every time you think about her. Which is a lot. Meaning you love her a lot.

Justina, you presume, waves. You haven’t had a chance to look her up yet, and so you pretend not to see her for a moment, acting as if you are replying to a deathly important email, and search the web. Yes, that’s her. She’s American, she’s good at what she does. Known for colour. It comes as no surprise that Flo has chosen her, and you’re sure your girlfriend will adore the place.

“It’s so great to meet you!” she says enthusiastically when you emerge from the car. “Although, I did have to change half my designs when Flo called me. Congratulations. And props to you for letting her choose everything.”

You laugh. “I don’t mind what it looks like.” When you stay in hundreds of hotels, design becomes a blur. Nothing is special.

She leads you inside the building, giving you a brief rundown because they’ve been working on it for a while and seem to have good bearings if the happenings. There’s a swimming pool only accessible to the ten apartments in this block and a gym with new equipment. Justina mentions a cinema room, but doesn’t go into detail. You suppose Flo has designed your own private place to watch really, really bad horror movies — anything else is ‘watched’ in various states of undress paired with very inappropriate noises and activities.

Justina talks during the journey up the lift. “This place is pretty new. We looked at a few townhouses together, but she wanted a very specific vibe, and this place was great. I mean, your apartment has tons of space, and the whole complex is beautiful.” You nod. You know how to deal with interior designers and architects and such because of the hotels. “And we went for something really colourful.”

“How much designing did Flo do?” When did she do it? They’ve been working on this place forever. Flo is very particular and surprisingly fussy when it comes to her first-ever, real flat.

“Quite a lot!” Justina says happily, proud of her client’s enthusiasm. The doors ping open into a corridor with glass walls and plants everywhere you look. You walk a few paces forward, and then Justina turns right. Your new home has a hot pink front door.

“She definitely chose that.” It’s almost like Valentino paid her to do it. You smile. “Fifth floor.” You commit that to memory (it’s not difficult) and wait for Justina to pat herself down, presumably to find the keys. She pulls out a small keychain, handing it to you.

“It’s your place,” she explains. You grin. She didn’t expect you to show much emotion, but her heart grows from your pure, unbridled joy.

The door swings open and you feel consumed by Flo. Like, how will you ever miss her? The flat is her essence; her heart and soul. There’s a grand piano in the living room, a record player beside it. The sofas are all a different colour; green velvet to brown leather. Justina gives you a little tour, and you hang onto her every word, in awe of the place. Your place.

There are three bedrooms; yours and two for guests. Both guest bedrooms are safe from the speaker system in place, connected to the record player and your phones, and have views of the park. They smell like lavender, you note, and Justina is thrilled that you pick up on that. Each room has its own lavender bush.

Eventually, you get to your bedroom. On the outside, the door is the same black-painted wooden one that the other rooms have, but it’s deep blue on the inside.

Your bedroom is large but cosy, with a TV against one wall with a sofa facing it, and a bathroom on the other side.

The bed itself is massive and high up, and when you sit it feels like diving into a cloud. Justina clears her throat and glances upwards. You follow her eyes.

Flo has put mirrors on the ceiling.

You blush. “I gather she designed this one?” Justina nods.

- - -

“So where are you right now?” Flo is enjoying the modern technology that is FaceTime.

“The study. I’m supposed to be working.” As if your laptop is even open.

“I love what she’s done with the wallpaper. It’s beautiful.” It’s funky. “Is it practical, the room? Everything works?” For someone so far from a job like yours, she understands the office necessities. Maybe she memorised what goes in there while coaxing you out of the hotel’s version with varying methods on many occasions.

“Yes, it all works. I’ve sorted your clothes out roughly, and I need to start collecting mine when we stay at the hotels.” Your wardrobe is currently what’s in your suitcase. Chaos London has a few items you’d like to bring back, but you’re sure you have enough clothes between Budapest and Flo’s wardrobe to keep you going for a long time. “The mirrors on the ceiling were a nice touch.”

She smirks. “Can’t wait to be freed from the deadest book on Earth.” Dune is okay. You read it and it was so long. She tried and ended up on top of you with the book thrown across the room and the page number lost; a perfect excuse to never pick it up again.

“I bet I could fund a movie for you,” you brag, enjoying the look of horror that she gives you. “Can you imagine the headlines? Are you a gold digger or am I after fame?” Your joke has a truth to it, that lingers bitterly at the back of your throat. That’s what people currently like to debate. To them, your relationship can only be a play for power.

“On Saturday, I’m bringing Billie to you. She needs to get used to home.” You smile. Home. It’s home.

“And you? We need to christen every possible surface as soon as the universe allows us.”

“Latest I can book a flight for is Sunday evening. Up for a challenge?”

tags: @pewpughpew @ridleypugh @jeyramarie @flosbelova @kassies-take @delfiore @yelenabelovasbxtch @xsophiesx @slut4milfs69 @sunshadesnrainbowz @wandasbb @karsonromanoff

[darkwood-sleddog]

Hello

I was wondering if you could take about what you look for in a sporting dog's conformation, especially for draught work, particularly what parts of the conformation you look at to determine soundness? What does good movement look like in a dog? What does bad confo and movement look like? Are you able to get an idea of what a dogs confo is like/how sound the dog will be when it's a puppy?

(Question from curiosity as I realised that while i know this stuff about horses i didnt know a thing about dogs and then i starting wondering what dog people look for)

Let me preface this with the fact that I'm not a breeder and I also don't advocate for inexperienced clients choosing puppies, I'd much prefer an experienced breeder or mentor that works their dogs in harness to do that. Additionally there are some other draft breeds, such as the Greater Swiss Mountain Dog and other carters, that I am not familiar enough with to make assessment of their similarities with freighting sled dogs, although I'd guess they share a similar need for correct moderate angulation and bone.

Freighting sled dogs, while bigger than racier sledding types, should still be an agile dog, not coarse or overly heavy. The depth of chest is approximately one half the height of the dog at the shoulders with the deepest point being just behind the forelegs. The sternum should not be overly protruding but should be able to be felt, chest should be muscular upon inspection in mature dogs.The dog should be ~slightly~ longer than it is tall with a thick, muscular neck and a level, if not slightly sloping top line.

(Above: Correct malamute with correct top line)

(above: incorrect top lines)

(Inuit Qimmiq during Ivakkak showing level top line and correct ~slightly~ longer than tall proportion)

Good feet and joint construction are essential to all sled dogs. With freight dogs they should have perfectly straight front forelimbs with the elbows close to the body, but still able to move freely.

(above: examples of incorrect front constructions)

(above: Canadian Qimmiq showing correct front construction and good bone, foot proportion and overall musculature)

The carpal joint should be strong and flexible, the pasterns only slightly sloping with good elasticity and are short in length compared to non freight dogs.

(above: examples of bad pastern construction).

(above: correct front and pastern construction)

Rear legs should be muscular with the width of the thigh carrying down to the hock, the stifles are well bent. From the rear back legs will appear straight.

(above: incorrect rear construction)

(above: correct rear construction)

(above: Greenland dog team showing uniformity in rear construction, good muscle tone and good thickness of bone).

The dog should have thick bone and appropriately large feet for holding up that bone. Feet are a large, rounded snowshoe shape, neither a hare foot or a cat foot, and large in proportion to the dog. Toes should be arched with thick paw pads. Back paws should be slightly longer than the front paws.

(above: incorrect foot construction)

(above: Slash and Zombie showing correct foot size and proportion in relation to the dog. Note that Slash is the ideal freighting height and weight for a Malamute, but his feet are as large as Sigurd's (we've measured), who is 5" taller and 20 pounds heavier.)

(above: various Greenland Dogs. Notice the proportion and size of the feet.)

Movement of a dog will also be indicative of its construction and quality for work: freight dogs should have steady, efficient movement (a fluid, tireless trot is ideal), and should never appear choppy or paddling. Freight dogs do not single track, but tend to converge on a center line when speed increases.

(above: correct relaxed movement, notice where the front toes are in the reach of the dog)

(above: Sigurd showing correct movement over uneven ground).

(above: various working bred malamutes showing relaxed trots).

(above: Greenland dog team in various gaits, again notice where the front extension is during movement).

(above: Qimmiq participating in Ivakkak showing various gaits of correct movement)

While freighting sled dogs also have other qualifications I'd look for overall (correct coat type and head shape to work in an arctic environment), sled dogs are overall built from the ground up. I'd much rather have a dog with correct feet, angulation and muscle tone than I would a dog that does not have those things but has correct coat type and breed ideal head shape.

The above descriptions are consistent across all of the freighting sled dogs. If you're interested they are here: The Alaskan Malamute Illustrated Standard (where I have pulled some comparative images), The Greenland Dog Standard, The Canadian Eskimo Dog (Inuit Qimmiq) Standard, and the Dog Qualifications as described for the Ivakkak Traditional Sled Dog Race (Inuit Sled Dogs ONLY allowed).

THIS video from the Alaskan Malamute Club of America is also very helpful when it comes to understanding correct movement.

I also recommend: Structure in Action, The Makings of a Durable Dog for those interested in canine conformation for various types of work and performance.

[incorrect-underrated-groups]

Romin: you don’t want to date me I’m a handful

Wonhyuk excitedly: I have two hands!

[imachaoticghost]

COD x Karma masterlist

Warnings : Each chapter has its own warning but this fic deals with very dark topics such as child trafficking, death, abuse and many others. It’s a crossover between Black Widow, Modern warfare, and a bit of my lore added. The reader is sometimes referred by their call sign (Karma) or their old reaper name (Athena) but if the characters aren’t referring to those two ‘personas’ she will simply not be addressed by any name. Reader is gender fluid but they are slightly female coded and AFAB. The plot is there, it’s just wonky. No beta we die like men :)

OC in which the reader is based

🖤: WIP - ❤: Romantic - 🧡: Platonic - 💔: Angst - 💙 : fluff

Snippet n°1

Prologue

Chapter one : like a spider in its web (drag them in your trap) 🖤🧡💙💔

Chapter two : like a bird to a nest I will be your fortress (as long as you don’t fly away) 🖤🧡💔

One shots

How I think the relationships are

You don’t own me💔🖤

Elastic heart (song fic)💔🖤

Incorrect Quotes

Part one

part two 🖤

Most likely to

🖤

[lilianrennifer]

Wonhyuk: Why is Yejun crying? 😭

Rano: He took one of those "Which E’last Member Are You?" Buzzeed quizzes.

Wonhyuk: Oh, who'd he get? 🤨

Rano: You.

[takeonmetakemeon]

The close margins in the US House have finally brought national attention to Vancouver, Washington and the areas surrounding it. Though much of that attention is poorly informed.

The rematch between moderate Democrat Marie Gluesenkamp Perez and far right Republican Joe Kent is expected to help determine which party controls the House next year. It is on everyone's top 5 list.

The race that was largely ignored by outsiders and seen as an easy Republican win in 2022 has attracted millions of campaign dollars from the parties this year.

The incorrect assumptions of faraway political analysts transformed Rep. Gluesenkamp Perez's almost predictable victory into the largest upset of the 2022 election.

There are a few things political analysts get wrong about the region. First, it is not Democrat but it is also not Republican. Second, the vote is a little more elastic than it is in areas with similar demographics. Third, the region rewards pragmatism and moderation. And most importantly, the population has been represented by women more often than men in the past 70 years. Yes, *70* years.

Pundits could not imagine that Jaime Herrera Beutler, a Hispanic woman, could have outperformed a typical Republican in the district. It was difficult to compare her to other Republicans since she was the only person who had represented it since it was reduced in size and lost liberal-leaning Olympia in 2012. So, unable to imagine that she could be individually popular, they took her numbers as the district baseline.

Jaime Herrera Beutler was moderate and pragmatic. That sells in the district. She was also originally from Clark County. That matters to long-term residents of the area who aren't necessarily thrilled with the flood of Portland and California housing refugees that has transformed the entire region.

She graduated from what was one of the largest high schools in the county at the time, one that straddled the rapidly urbanizing unincorporated areas outside Vancouver and more traditionally-minded, still-rural areas of Clark County. Middle-aged voters (or nearly middle-aged) could and did say online "I went to high school with her" or "I went to school with her brother." As a politician she lived in Camas, a formerly rural mill town that now encompasses firmly middle class neighborhoods filled with Portland's population overflow, a white working class central core and a rural fringe. Its most famous resident for something like 30 years now is Tonya Harding.

In 2020, WSU-Vancouver political science professor Carolyn Long, moved to the district from Oregon specifically to run in the race. As did Joe Kent before he ran in 2022.

Marie Gluesenkamp Perez *also* moved to the district from Oregon a few years before running for the seat, though she plays up her mother's roots in the state. She's what J.D. Vance would be if he had moved to eastern Kentucky and shared the economic struggles and cultural outlook of the people he claims to represent and defended them instead of lecturing them.

Jaime Herrera Beutler was a talented politician who understood her district instinctively by way of living her entire life in its cultural midpoint. Her only mistake, politically speaking, was misjudging how primary voters would react to the attack on the Capitol on Jan. 6 and her subsequent vote to impeach Donald Trump. It could be decades before any politician matches her results. They were not the baseline.

So pundits universally overestimated the partisan makeup of the district. Then they could not imagine that a different but unknown Hispanic woman could compete against an inexperienced white man with a mystery income source who looked good on TV and sounds like he spends all his time on the internet.

She could and she did. A far right Republican (a label Joe Kent did not dispute in 2022 even as he claimed his repeated interactions with the Nick Fuentes crowd were coincidental and wholly unintentional) does not have a natural advantage against a moderate Democrat.

In this district a man also does not have an advantage against a woman. That was becoming true when my mother voted for the first time, though it took a highly qualified, unusually thick-skinned woman to win then. Repeatedly. But it is definitely true in an era when all her grandchildren can vote. What kind of expectations do you imagine her granddaughters have? In a one-time ship-building district that includes the great-granddaughters of a multitude of Rosie the Riveters?

It is not surprising that a centrist small business owner living in rural, heavily-forested Skamania County could perform better than a political science professor who moved to the district *after* declaring interest in the office, as center-left Democrat Carolyn Long did in 2020.

Nor is it surprising that this district would replace a popular moderate Republican who belonged to the Problem Solvers Caucus with a moderate Blue Dog Democrat whose policy positions are barely distinguishable from hers. General election voters liked Jaime Herrera Beutler so much they almost cloned her.

I wouldn't make any predictions about the outcome of the race, though. The great majority of voters are voting to decide which party will control the House, making individual candidates irrelevant to them. I considered it a toss-up in 2022 and consider it one again, though I think Gluesenkamp Perez has slightly higher chances this time around.

If Joe Kent can add all of the votes for the other Republican in the primary to his 39.3% share, he would win the general election with 51.5% of the vote. But he is not the automatic heir of every vote that went to the more reasonable Republican, Camas City Council member and retired attorney Leslie Lewallen (i.e. a reasonable person with actual qualifications).

That's not how the district works. It's probably not how any district works.

Note that despite Gluesenkamp Perez's decidedly un-liberal voting record, not a single Democrat ran against her in the primary. Her only non-Republican opponent was an independent who ran against the genocide in Gaza and received 2.55% of the vote. All but the most die-hard liberals voted for a Democrat who is currently conspicuously absent at the national convention.

Local Democrats rallied around her in 2022 (her liberal Democratic opponent withdrew from the primary and supported her campaign instead) and they did it again in 2024, just as they and Democrats across the nation have rallied around Vice President Harris.

In today's partisan times, Rep. Marie Gluesenkamp Perez is not guaranteed victory, but she has the advantage. Washington's top-two primary system means there will be no third candidate on the general election ballot. There will be no one for liberals to vote for in protest. All they can do is decline to vote at all in a race where the only other candidate is a far right conservative. Some may do that, which is one reason the race is unpredictable.

At the same time, moderate Republicans can see her as someone who will represent them on multiple issues but won't join with the establishment-hating, democracy-undermining, party-destroying Republican fringe. As some did in 2022.

Given the candidates in the race, House Speaker Mike Johnson's recent embrace of Joe Kent is embarrassing. Not only is he unqualified, he's an extremist who would get along well with Reps. Matt Gaetz and Lorena Boebert. Rep. Gluesenkamp Perez was certainly more supportive of him than Kent would have been had he represented the district during Republicans' internecine political wars.

He is, it seems, more concerned with reaching out to the Republicans who fought him than the Democrats who supported him. In the process, he may have stabbed himself in the back.

And oh yeah, I also wouldn't bet on Trump winning in the district a third time. Not that anyone really cares.

[wisteria-lodge]

just dropping in this description of Ishmael and Queequeg cuddling in bed, because it might be just the coziest thing I've ever read.

***

We undressed and went to bed, at peace with our own consciences and all the world. But we did not go to sleep without some little chat.

How it is I know not; but there is no place like a bed for confidential disclosures between friends. Man and wife, they say, there open the very bottom of their souls to each other; and some old couples often lie and chat over old times till nearly morning. Thus, then, in our hearts' honeymoon, lay I and Queequeg—a cosy, loving pair.

We had lain thus in bed, chatting and napping at short intervals, and Queequeg now and then affectionately throwing his brown tattooed legs over mine, and then drawing them back; so entirely sociable and free and easy were we (...)

Little and little we found ourselves sitting up; the clothes well tucked around us, leaning against the head-board with our four knees drawn up close together, and our two noses bending over them... We felt very nice and snug, the more so since it was so chilly out of doors; indeed out of bed-clothes too, seeing that there was no fire in the room. The more so, I say, because truly to enjoy bodily warmth, some small part of you must be cold, for there is no quality in this world that is not what it is merely by contrast (...)

If, like Queequeg and me in the bed, the tip of your nose or the crown of your head be slightly chilled, why then, indeed, you feel most delightfully and unmistakably warm. For this reason a sleeping apartment should never be furnished with a fire, which is one of the luxurious discomforts of the rich. For the height of this sort of deliciousness is to have nothing but the blanket between you and your snugness and the cold of the outer air. Then there you lie like the one warm spark in the heart of an arctic crystal. (1)

We had been sitting in this crouching manner for some time, when all at once I thought I would open my eyes; for when between sheets, whether by day or by night, and whether asleep or awake, I have a way of always keeping my eyes shut, in order the more to concentrate the snugness of being in bed. Because no man can ever feel his own identity aright except his eyes be closed (...) Upon opening my eyes then, and coming out of my own pleasant and self-created darkness into the imposed and coarse outer gloom of the unilluminated twelve-o'clock-at-night, I experienced a disagreeable revulsion. Nor did I at all object to the hint from Queequeg that perhaps it were best to strike a light, seeing that we were so wide awake; and besides he felt a strong desire to have a few quiet puffs from his Tomahawk. (2)

Be it said, that though I had felt such a strong repugnance to his smoking in the bed the night before, yet see how elastic our stiff prejudices grow when love once comes to bend them. For now I liked nothing better than to have Queequeg smoking by me, because he seemed to be full of such serene household joy then. I no more felt unduly concerned for the landlord's policy of insurance. (3) I was only alive to the condensed confidential comfortableness of sharing a pipe and a blanket with a real friend. With our shaggy jackets drawn about our shoulders, we now passed the Tomahawk from one to the other, till slowly there grew over us a blue hanging tester of smoke, illuminated by the flame of the new-lit lamp.

[Queequeg] now spoke of his native island; and, eager to hear his history, I begged him to go on and tell it. He gladly complied. Though at the time I but ill comprehended not a few of his words, yet subsequent disclosures, when I had become more familiar with his broken phraseology, now enable me to present the whole story such as it may prove in the mere skeleton I give.

***

(1) Melville is correct

(2) Melville thinks that a tomahawk is a) a type of pipe b) a pacific islander thing. Melville is incorrect

(3) Ishmael and Queequeg have met due to being assigned bed-mates at an inn. The racist landlord thought that Queequeg would freak Ishmael out and get him to leave. obviously this backfired.

[cerberus-x3]

How to be me in 7 simple steps! 1. buy stained and discounted OP with incorrect sizing from closetchild (and be unable to return it) 2. cut it up and sew it into an elasticated skirt 3. guilt 4. GUILT 5. carefully seam rip the lace out of the bodice part (now removed) 6. G U I L T 7. follow 20dollarlolita and get inspired to sew again

i can make more things now. wristcuffs? a blouse? socks?