#our only real issue is nail trims

[tea-time-terrier]

Paw-brush-treat-reward-repeat.

[pretty-batty]

The Shoe

Eddie x Original Female Character Pt 6 of Eldath's Priestess 2431 Words

Warnings: Reefer Rick slander, not canon compliant, causal racism from Chrissy's mom. Bi Eddie. Jealousy, intrusive thoughts, rumination, body image issues, hurt/comfort. Now on ao3 Thank you again to @anakinkshamer! My beta reader and bestie.

Summary: An unbearable question threatens our lovers' great reunion.

Having Eddie back in her life was like a dream. Waking up to him beside her, the sun streaming through the curtains and forming a halo around his deep brown curls. The sweetness of his sleeping smile was only lessened by Judy’s desire to get up. As, just as he used to, Eddie’s sleeping body had boxed her in.

She sighed, sitting up and stirring from the bed. They had to wash a lot of sheets the past few days. Of course, that was only when they connected in bed. They worshiped each other everywhere and found any way to give each other pleasure. Even if it was through a touch over clothes.

But Judy saw the filth in his stitches, the irritation of his skin around it. They weren’t even surgical, just doubled up embroidery thread. They needed to be changed. Margie called in an order shortly after Eddie entered their home again. For surgical silk thread, isopropyl alcohol, surgical steel needles. Wayne was well-versed in stitching up skin. Not being able to afford healthcare for generations did a lot for practical wound care.

Judy attempted to crawl out of bed from the foot, only to be nabbed by two loving arms and dragged back to her pillows.

“Nooo.” Came a deep whine, but Judy continued to wriggle out of his embrace, “nooo.”

“Eddie, I got stuff to do.” She smiled, kissing returning each sleepy kiss from his lips. “Gotta pick up that stuff from the drug store, take care of your stitches.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, dragon-man. Maybe eat some food, shower, figure out how to brush your teeth correctly, trim your claws.” She smiled as she listed each thing, tracing her finger over his nose. Eddie did the same, his dark talon running along the slope of her nose. She wasn’t wrong, his claw began to hook over now.

“Do I need like…dog nail clippers? Maybe what they use for horses?”

“They’re called nippers.” She slowly crawled her way out of his arms, not knowing how exhausted she was until her feet graced the floor.

“Sure.” He groaned, finally sitting up and stretching. Judy gazed at his body and smiled. “Like what you see, Buttercup?”

“Always.” She finally stood up, rolling her head from right to left, crackling each time. “Pass my slippers and glasses, please.”

Eddie did so, allowing her to shuffle with protected feet and clear eyes to the side of the bed, giving him another kiss. She hummed, “stinky breath.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Another kiss, and the couple got ready for the day together, taking turns in the shower. One sitting on the toilet seat lid. Eddie first, then Judy.

As Judy showered, she’d catch a glimpse of Eddie’s face. Biting and pursing his lips, trying to make seductive faces in the silliest way. Anything to get Judy to smile at him again, to giggle and snort at him, to make him feel real. And she gave him what he longed for, flicking some water at him through the gap in the curtain.

But all morning fun must come to an end, and a clothed Judy left the house. Her hair blown dry, the volume returning but contained, makeup on but moderate to make her look as if there were nothing there. She had to hide her joy, but it was impossible to conceal it completely.

That was until she reached the drugstore, no longer in her car, standing and looking at the first aid supplies.

“Well, if it ain’t Judy Sondheim.” The voice was thick with grit, the accent faked in an attempt to sound less threatening.

“And if it ain’t Reefer Rick,” she answered, “still selling weed to minors?”

“Well, I had someone doing that for me.” He sighed, “if only I had been there to protect him, but I still had time on my sentence.” His hand rested heavy on Judy’s shoulder, unwanted, scratchy. “How y’all holding up?”

Judy tried to pull back her venom, “ya know…hanging in there.”

“Yeah,” he sucked his teeth, “he uh…was a good kid.” A somber nod.

More angst poured against her teeth. Weed and shrooms, less hard drugs, those were never a problem. But Rick always had more. His pockets were always deeper. Always ready to make a sale. He would always go harder if you needed to. If not shrooms then acid, dmt, pcp, if not weed then prescription drugs, Xanax, Oxycodone, Ketamine…Heroin.

Judy cocked back her venom in her mouth, “Which he? Eddie or my brother?”

Rick simply froze, giving a pat on her shoulder before turning to leave the aisle. “Good to see you again, Judy.”

After her trip to the drugstore, she caught a glimpse of the remembrance wall. Chrissy’s picture was the largest. Her place of death was no longer visitable, so her mother set up one in the most accessed area in Hawkins. She allowed others to place their photos, missing loved ones, faces of the dead, but Chrissy’s was going to be the largest.

Judy often wondered if it was something her daughter would have wanted. She remembered when Chrissy and her mother visited the record store the spring before Judy left.

Chrissy was such a mousy little thing around this grim woman, with that perm and gritted smile. She remembered watching Chrissy linger in the rock section. Classic rock, mind you, nothing too hardcore. Her mother was thumbing through Doris Day. Judy simply waited for them to make their purchase.

“Excuse me, miss?” The woman said, “yes I’d like to know if you have any recent music from the classics?”

“Sadly, many of the crooners haven’t put out music since the seventies. Any time someone asks for new music from the genre, I point them to Lionel Richie.”

“Isn’t he” her voice tapered to a hiss, but still with a jovial smile, “colored?”

Judy tried to contain her desire to roll her eyes, make a bitter statement about how he was a freemason as well. But if the woman was this bigoted, she might take that and run with it.

Judy simply said, “You are unlikely to find anyone who produces the same sound you’re looking for who isn’t Black, ma’am.”

“You don’t need to be rude about it.” The woman commented, “is there anyone else more helpful?”

“No, ma’am, just me.” Judy didn’t realize that her sharp tongue would alienate yet another customer, sending the woman to the arms of the Star Court mall and their record store that was twice a big and had a wider selection than Judy could ever dream.

And as Mrs. Cunningham wished her a pointed good day, sweet little Chrissy followed. So different from the bubbly teenager Judy had seen her senior year. Time was beginning to weigh on Chrissy, and her mother’s constant hammering voice was forming her into something palatable. Something Chrissy, herself, did not wish for, but did not fight back.

Two years later, she saw that finished product in that photo. Too thin, forced smile, eyes glossed over and empty, cheer uniform fit to chafing.

So why in the Hell was she in Eddie’s trailer?

There was no way he’d harm her, but why was she there in the first place? Why would she die and implicate him by her presence? What the fuck was Cheerleader Chrissy Cunningham doing in Judy’s boyfriend’s home?

They were probably fucking.

Judy slammed that door shut in her mind.

Hell no, Eddie wouldn’t.

Chrissy may have been pretty, petite, primmed and perfect. She may have been present when Judy was 5 hours away. And she knew Eddie would forget about things he could not see.

But she was not Judy. Not in the slightest.

Chrissy was small. A lot of men liked smaller women, made them feeling bigger, more in control. And Judy was taller, heavier. Not petite. Not pretty. Everything about Chrissy was petite, her face was cute, even her nose like a pleasing whisp.

Not like Judy.

Hag face. Jew nose. Dark hair too quick to tangle itself. Wide thighs to ripple and wrinkle. Breast to smother and wrestle control of. Thick and soft, hard to lift and handle like a doll. Not thin, not small.

A lot of men loved that smallness. To control, to fetishize for some lust for power.

Maybe Eddie did too. Deep down, clamped in his chest, a hidden shame. With his taste in men there was no shame, but there was shame his secret love of petite, skinny, goyishe women.

And Judy spiraled in this fiction, in the walk to her parked car, in the drive back home, in pulling into the driveway.

Oh, she stewed on this fictitious narrative. Oh God, the guilt she felt while she stewed. She could be wrong. She hoped she was wrong. She was probably wrong.

But what was Chrissy Cunningham doing in Eddie’s trailer?

As Judy returned home, surgical silk and other medical necessities in a paper bag, that nagging pain didn’t stop. As she unloaded her horde onto the dining room table, the ache dropped into her feet, and filled her up to her gut.

I need to know.

So, as Eddie sat on the edge of her bed, waiting for her to get back, she approached him.

“Why was Chrissy Cunningham in your trailer?”

Nothing, he froze, eyes wide in a stare that burned a hole in the bedroom rug. His gaze grew wide and vacant.

“Why was she in your trailer, Eddie?” Judy asked again.

Eddie remained silent, eyes brimming with tears.

She waited for a moment before continuing. She had to know, the aching in her gut pressing into the matter further. “Were you going to fuck her, Eddie?”

He silently shook his head, hanging his head and hiding behind his curls.

Judy knelt down and peered into his eyes. “I want to trust you and leave it at that. But there was a dead cheerleader in your trailer. I know you didn’t kill her, baby, but why was she there in the first place?”

“She…” He sniffed, running his hands down his face, “she wanted drugs. Harder than weed. I agreed to sell her…” His breaths became more erratic, realizing that the truth was going to be more upsetting than the idea of cheating. “Ket…” He clamped his jaw shut, holding his jaw in his fist.

“Ketamine…” Judy whispered, voice breaking, “Rick had you selling ketamine?”

He looked up to see Judy’s gray gaze grow wet with tears.

“It wasn’t just ketamine either, was it?”

He shook his head again, sucking in a shaking breath before sighing, his knee bouncing neurotically. “PCP, Coke, Oxy, Xannies…”

Judy stood up, facing away from him, and waited for the shoe to drop, there was one last drug she knew he’d hide. And judging by his reluctance to finish his list, she did it for him. “Heroin.”

Eddie started rocking himself slightly. The fear of losing her, upsetting her, hurting her was overwhelming any control he had over his body. To Judy’s disappointment, he did not disagree, did not shoot the accusation down in disgust. And that nagging ache in her gut dispersed through her body, sending a cold shock along her skin.

“Rick said that it was the fastest way to make enough cash to get out of here.”

“Rick? Why would you trust a fucking thing Rick says? He’s the reason Joey is in the ground.”

“We don’t know tha-”

“Don’t.” Judy snapped, turning around and facing Eddie. Her face was hot. Her pale olive skin reddening with rage, “don’t you dare. He got Joe hooked. He was his main supplier. Refusing to sell to him was not an act of kindness or brotherly love, he just didn’t want to be held liable.”

Eddie immediately quieted. Judy continued, “if he actually cared about you, he wouldn’t have had you selling hard shit that could get you or Wayne jailed for possession. He just wanted to make sure his product got moved while he was locked away.”

“I thought…”

She shook her head, opened her door and walked to the bathroom. Before Eddie could catch up with her, she closed the door. She ran cold water in the sink, splashing it on her face to keep her from boiling over. Eddie’s weight shifted from one foot to the other, as he always did when he waited for her, then a gentle thump of his forehead against its wood.

His plea was muffled, overtaken by the sink. She turned the water off, allowing Eddie to repeat himself. “Please let me in.”

She finally spoke. “You made a promise. When you started working for Rick, you promised me that you wouldn’t sell hard shit. Not after Marty, and not after Joe.”

There was nothing Judy wanted more than to be held by Eddie, as she had been in every horrifying moment that she could remember. Her rage had subsided, and soon fizzled out when she heard him answer her.

“I know,” he whimpered, “I know I did Judy. I’m so sorry. Just…please…” His voice was lower, having sunk to his knees.

Judy felt cold. That itch in her veins reaching out in need of Eddie, a primal and senseless ache. It embarrassed her to feel it. She needed him to tell her everything was going to be okay. She needed to feel his fingers in her hair, his heartbeat beneath her ear. Finally, she opened the door, his face falling against her thigh. Sinking to her knees beside him, hands on the carpet of the hall, legs on the bathroom linoleum, she gazed at his red, puffy face.

They both were ugly criers.

“Baby girl,” he sniffed. Judy’s jaw clenched in bliss, eyes closing at the sweetness of his voice. “Please forgive me. I didn’t do it to hurt you. I was just stupid. I wanted more money, and I believed Rick when I shouldn’t have. I made a really bad choice.”

She leaned into his face, gently dragging her nose along his. Their foreheads pressed together. “I know.”

“I thought these ugly-ass limbs and mangled face were the worst of my punishment. But I couldn’t live with these consequences if it meant losing you.”

She leaned into his chest to Eddie’s relief. He scooted them to the adjacent wall, beside her bedroom door. Judy sat between his thighs, her legs beneath one of his, tucking her head beneath his chin. His arms closed around her, clutching her to him. “I just wish it never happened.” She whispered.

“Me too, Buttercup.”

Thank you for being patient. I appreciate the time you take to read this. I smile at every like I receive, kick my feet at every reblog. If you wish to be added to the tag list, please comment.

Tag list: @loserboysandlithium

[the-expose-on-girls]

Mean Girls Become Mean Moms

"The Terrifyingly Nasty, Backstabbing, and Altogether Miserable World of the Suburban Mom"

By Julie Suratt

Excerpts:

"Here I’d thought all moms were in this muddle together—one big happy family, for better or for worse—when actually, just the opposite is true. It turns out that suburban life is dictated by the kind of tribal behavior I thought we’d grown out of: popular girls and their obsequious minions willing to do anything to fit in. But this time, with kids, money, and jobs on the line, the stakes are even higher. And so you have countless grown women cowering behind their beautifully trimmed hedges in bucolic towns around Boston, trying to avoid getting 'fired' from their friend circle while simultaneously hating every minute they have to spend with those ladies who lunch. It’s a mom-eat-mom world out there, and I was pretty sure the Wayland Yacht Club was just the tip of the iceberg in this particular suburban nightmare."

"Ironically, Leslie suspects her Queen Bee, whose husband is in sales, doesn’t have that kind of money to lay out. 'She puts a lot of effort into looking like she’s got more than she does'—shopping on eBay for designer brands, carrying a Whole Foods reusable bag but shopping at Market Basket, and doing her nails at home—'yet ‘checking in’ from a salon on Facebook,' Leslie says incredulously. She always put herself in charge of the check at dinner, and 'she’d put in less than everybody else—after ordering more drinks and expensive food,' Leslie adds."

"Of course, there’s a flip side to a Queen Bee’s charm: They often use emotional bribery to keep their minions loyal. They get close very quickly to learn secrets that can be used against people at a later date. 'I’ve seen clients in tears talking about how they’d discuss a marital issue with the Queen Bee, and then it would be shared with the group,' Hurowitz says. 'Queen Bees believe that they are in charge of disseminating information, and that’s part of how they maintain power.' Had Melissa done that to me? I’ll admit that although I’d walked in with eyes wide open, our conversation got personal fast."

"Leslie says her Queen Bee booted her because she decided that she 'hadn’t behaved in a manner befitting of the group' at a party. 'I wasn’t feeling well and had only half a drink,' Leslie explains. But the Queen Bee thought Leslie was drunk—a no-no among these ladies, who seem to think it’s their job to keep the suburbs clean and morally upright. 'They’d created this perfect image of themselves, and they wanted everything to exemplify this image,' she says—even as they stabbed each other in the back in their attempts to clamber up the social ladder."

[sassysuitdonut]

Maintaining Foot Health: The Role of Regular Medical Pedicures

Have you ever considered how important it is to take care of your feet? Are you the one who is neglecting to allocate time for foot care? If your answer is “yes,” then it’s high time to rethink your approach to foot health. Because Feet are your body’s foundation, so keeping them healthy is vital to your overall health. Moreover, maintaining foot health is essential for overall well-being and quality of life.

Taking care of your feet is crucial, especially if you have diabetes. There are two ways in which your feet can be affected. Firstly, the blood supply to your feet may be impacted, leading to slower healing. Secondly, nerve damage can cause a loss of sensation in your feet. This means that you may not even realize if you have minor cuts or blisters, which can eventually develop into ulcers. However, by properly caring for your feet and promptly addressing any issues, you can prevent foot problems. It is advisable to have your feet regularly checked by an expert podiatrist to identify any problems early on and avoid complications.

What is a Medical Pedicure

A medical pedicure, also known as a medi-pedi, is a professional treatment performed by a podiatrist or a specialized foot care practitioner. Unlike cosmetic pedicures, which focus primarily on aesthetics, medical pedicures address foot health concerns. They involve thorough cleaning, trimming, and treatment of the toenails and skin, focusing on maintaining and improving the health and function of the feet.

At Happy Feet Podiatry Clinic, we believe that a pedicure is not just a luxury, but an essential part of foot health maintenance. Our expert podiatrists use their specialized knowledge and training to provide a pedicure experience that not only leaves your feet looking beautiful, but also helps to prevent and address foot problems. Whether you are looking to pamper yourself or need to address specific foot concerns, our Medical Pedicure Treatment in Muscat, Oman is the perfect solution. Book your appointment today and experience the Happy Feet difference.

What role does a medical pedicure play in the overall maintenance of foot hygiene?

Here, we can explore a few of the benefits of Regular Medical Pedicures.

Preventing Infections

Medical pedicures can help decrease the risk of infections in your feet. Regular medical pedicures are effective in preventing fungal infections like athlete’s foot and onychomycosis (nail fungus) by maintaining cleanliness and dryness of the feet. Thorough cleaning and proper maintenance can lower the chances of bacterial infections, especially for those with diabetes or weakened immune systems.

Diabetic Foot Care:

Regular medical pedicures are a game-changer for people managing diabetes. They’re not just about pampering—these sessions are vital for keeping a close watch on neuropathy, and catching nerve damage early. Plus, they’re a powerful preventive measure against ulcers, a serious concern in diabetic care. By staying on top of foot health, these pedicures can make a real difference in overall wellness.

Timely Identification of Foot Issues:

Regular appointments with a foot care specialist are key to staying ahead of foot issues such as bunions, hammertoes, and other deformities. These proactive visits ensure problems are caught early, allowing for timely intervention and effective treatment. Don’t wait for discomfort to escalate—stay proactive and keep your feet healthy with regular check-ups.

Customized Solutions:

Healthcare professionals are equipped to provide personalized solutions to ease discomfort and improve pain relief for those suffering from foot pain. They may recommend custom orthotic devices or prescribe specific exercises designed to target the root causes of the pain. By tailoring their approach, these professionals ensure effective relief and enhanced comfort, empowering individuals to regain mobility and quality of life.

Pain Relief:

A medical pedicure has the ability to alleviate pain in individuals experiencing foot issues, such as corns, calluses, or ingrown toenails. By seeking the expertise of a foot care specialist, these conditions can be effectively and safely treated, resulting in reduced pain and discomfort. It is important to address corns and calluses promptly, as they can potentially impact your walking pattern and potentially contribute to the development of other foot conditions if left untreated.

The above-mentioned are primary benefits of regular medical pedicures, which help maintain foot health.

It’s crucial to ensure that your pedicure is performed by a qualified professional, ideally a podiatrist or a trained foot care specialist. Happy Feet is the leading Podiatry Clinic in Muscat, Oman and we specialize in a wide range of services tailored to address diverse foot conditions. Whether it’s managing foot pain, diabetic foot care, treating sports injuries, or correcting foot deformities, our expert team is dedicated to providing comprehensive and effective care. Trust Happy Feet for professional podiatry services that prioritize your foot health and overall well-being.

[thepensivepost]

From Aches to Healthy Nails: Tips for Preventing and Treating Nail Disorders

Having strong, healthy nails is essential for everyone: men and women. But between life’s daily stressors and our busy schedules, many of us don’t pay attention to our nails until it’s too late – usually when something goes wrong. And if you're in Vegas? try to check out the Best Vegas Nail Salon and ask the experts! more info

Whether you notice pain or redness around your nail beds, experience uncomfortable hangnails, or just want to take preventative measures, now’s the time to get serious about taking care of your nails!

In this blog post, I'm going to give both men and women some professional tips on how to keep their nails the way they should be - from preventing major ailments to quick remedies for common issues click here. So let's dive in and learn together all there is to know about looking after our hands' beauty accessories!

Overview of common nail disorders

Nail disorders can be a real drag, both literally and figuratively! From brittleness to discoloration to thickening, these annoyances can make your manicures a nightmare.

Fortunately, most common nail disorders are treatable with the help of a physician or podiatrist. In the meantime, there are various solutions you can implement -- using customer-grade products such as nail strengtheners and moisturizers -– to ease some symptoms.

And by establishing a regular care routine, you can actively prevent its recurrence in the future!

Understanding the causes and symptoms of nail problems

From discoloration to fungus, the problems your nails may face can be daunting and seem unapproachable. Taking the time to understand what causes nail issues and being aware of potential symptoms can help you tackle any issue head-on.

Causes and symptoms of nail problems:

1. Nail problems can be caused by several different things, including infection, injury, and skin conditions.

2. The most common symptom of a nail problem is pain. Other symptoms can include redness, swelling, and discharge from the affected area.

3. Nail problems can often be treated at home with over-the-counter medications. However, more severe cases may require treatment from a doctor or dermatologist.

4. Some common home remedies for nail problems include soaking the affected area in warm water, applying an antibiotic ointment, and using a bandage to protect the area.

5. More severe cases of nail problems may require oral antibiotics or surgery. In some cases, the affected nail may need to be removed completely.

6. Nail problems are relatively common, and most people will experience at least one during their lifetime.

7. Nail problems can usually be prevented by keeping the nails clean and trimmed, and avoiding activities that can lead to injury.

8. Some people are more susceptible to nail problems than others, due to factors such as genetics or underlying health conditions.

9. Nail problems can be unsightly and painful, but they are usually not serious and can be treated effectively

When to seek professional help?

Regardless of how independent and self-sufficient we would like to appear, there are always times in life when professional help can make a big difference. It not only affects your feelings and well-being but also pushes you closer to your goals more quickly.

Seeking help doesn't mean you are weak or inferior; it just indicates that you understand the importance of getting appropriate assistance from an experienced person who is equipped with the right skills and knowledge.

Therefore, don’t feel ashamed or awkward, take a proactive step towards seeking assistance early on to save yourself time, energy, and future distress.

Maintaining good overall health for healthy nails

Taking good care of your nails involves taking good care of yourself. Keeping your body healthy is the key to strong, sturdy nails that can be grown out long or kept short.

Eating a balanced diet with plenty of fruit, vegetables, and protein will ensure your nails get all of the nutrients they need to compete in the modern world.

Exercise is important too – not only does it burn calories but it also increases blood flow which helps keep our bodies running like well-oiled machines.

Getting enough rest and sleep every night is essential for overall health and helps prevent breakage and splitting in our nails thanks to better mental clarity.

Lastly, don't forget hydration! Staying hydrated helps strengthen nails from the inside out, keeping them looking great no matter how often you change up your manicures!

Caring for your nails with occasional trimming and regular moisturizing, wearing gloves during household activities that put hands at risk, and consulting dermatologists about disorder recurrence or suspected changes in the nails should serve as common practices for avoiding major issues.

Furthermore, learning more on various topics from reputable sources and living a healthy lifestyle are two important aspects to aid in the prevention or symptom relief of nail disorders. For those looking for professional nail treatments from a reliable salon in Las Vegas, Best Vegas Nail Salon has years of experience providing excellent salon care that work to keep hands beautiful and healthy. So book your appointment today—you’ll be happy you did!

[hansolmates]

g.p.s - god, parents suck | m

summary; seokjin just wants to enjoy the disney treatment and you are more than happy to deliver pairing; dilf!jin x hotelier!reader genre/warnings; crack, humor, gets a lil emotional, teenage daughter issues, one very minor allusion to a daddy kink LOL, a very vaguely implied sex scene, so CHEESY  w.c; est. 5.1k a/n; wee my first jin fic! this is for @btsghostiewritersnet​ #DynamiteDads event! I was supposed to go to disney this year but sadly miss rona had to cancel our plans so this is just pure self indulgence. as always thank u to @eerieedits​/ @chillingtae​ for the disney dream fic banner!

if you like it give it a bippity-boppity-boop on the like and share buttons! ✨✨✨

“Left, left!” Seokjin cries, holding onto the emergency break for dear life, “not my left, your left!” 

“We’re facing the same way! We have the same lefts!” 

“Clearly not if we’re going right, Sweetheart.” 

“But the GPS says to go right!” 

“In four-hundred feet, keep left at the fork,” Google Maps interrupts pleasantly.  

“That’s it. Kim Yeji, pull over!” 

“But Daaaaaaaaad,” yet his daughter complies, sadly pulling over at the edge of the road. She doesn’t even have to step on the gas, just turns the wheel slightly so she can land slowly, pathetically on the gravel. 

“Angel,” Seokjin says levelly, reaching over to unclick the seatbelt. “I will drive the rest of the way, I gave you time to practice for you have to drive to college but we can’t get on the highway like this.” 

“You never let me do anything.” 

“What, I do! Who let you go to prom in that sequined excuse for a dress?” 

“Uncle Namjoon!” 

“Fine, I’ll give him that! Who let you dye your hair to a crisp—” 

“Uncle Hoseok!” 

“Uncle–” Seokjin is affronted, jabbing the seatbelt in it’s locked position when he gets in the front seat. “Forget it, let’s just have a peaceful drive for the next few hours until we get to the hotel,” he removes Yeji’s phone from the holder, placing it in her lap. 

“Dad,” she waves her phone around, pointing to Google Maps, “you need the GPS to get there.” 

He scoffs, “No, I don’t. We’ve been to Disney plenty of times. I know where we’re going.” 

“Oh yeah? When’s the last time we went to Disney?” 

“When you were two? Three?” 

Yeji relaxes in her seat, not ready to argue with her dad once more. “Alright, lead the way,” she gestures vaguely to the empty parkway, devoid of life for miles. 

Seokjin is undeterred, reaching over the console to pat Yeji’s blonde hair. He turns on the radio, only to be met with the sound of crunchy static and terrible country music. Cutting the radio, he immediately switches to an old Disney CD, telling Yeji to let it go as he pulls into the open road. Reddish dust clouds around the car briefly, ripping against the tires as they drive off to their hotel. 

“Is this the Princess Hotel?” 

“Nope, this is the Prince S Hotel.” 

You can’t help but grin at the way your current customer’s face falls. He’s a handsome thing, all plush and pillowy in the cheeks and lips. Despite his daughter hanging off his arm like a limp noodle—after all it’s past 2AM and they’ve probably been driving for hours—he still manages to look somewhat put-together despite you telling him they’ve got the wrong place. 

“Told you, use the GPS,” her daughter chastises weakly, tucking her cheek in his shoulder. 

His kid’s a pretty girl, kind of reminds you of when you were a teenager. “The Princess Hotel is about an hour away on the other side of the Disney resorts,” you say slowly, noting from the way the girl is swaying on her feet that her father must be equally as tired, “although, I would suggest staying here for the night. Your daughter’s about to fall asleep on my counter.” 

At the pointed look you’re giving the teen, Seokjin puts a protective hand on her slim shoulders. “Yeji-bear, why don’t you lie down for a bit,” he leads her over to a spare couch. “We’ll call our booked hotel,” he says shortly, looking over his shoulder to give you a forced smile. 

Ah, you’ve seen this scene one or two times in your days working at Prince S. A father too prideful to admit he may have messed up just a little with the directions, and a child that probably argued or simmered so hard on the way they’re passed into a stupor on your lobby couch. Tonight, or your early morning is a little special though, you’ve never seen a father as handsome as the one in front of you, exasperatedly calling up their real hotel reservations. 

“What? My reservation has been revoked?” her daughter groans when he jostles around his lap, knocking her head, “how can you do that? Past the time? I thought this was Disney!” 

You drum your nails against the counter, using your other hand to pull up your guest list for the night on the computer. The father, now furrowed in the face, walks up to you and leaves his daughter on the plush couch. 

“One double bedroom for the weekend, please,” the father pulls his cards out, flicking it to your side of the counter. He places down his car keys in the available holder, “I parked out front, you do valet right?” 

With a nod, you get to work. “Take it they weren’t very accommodating?” 

“They gave our hotel room to some Make-A-Wish Foundation kid!” he cries exasperatedly, hands in the air as you patiently book the room. Your eyes linger longer than usual on his driver’s license and ID: Kim Seokjin. Even his driver’s license mugshot looks handsome. He rests his arms against your counter, despondent. “Is it terrible for me to hate on some kid with a terminal illness?” 

“A little,”  you shrug, slipping his keycard under his elbow, “but I mean according to your, Yeji-bear,” you can’t help but giggle at the nickname, “if you used the GPS you’d be at the correct hotel.” 

“Don’t remind me,” Seokjin glares, hauling his and Yeji’s luggage in one hand, “baby, let’s go upstairs c’mon.” 

You watch the small family trudge to the elevators,  sleepily walking forward like zombies. No one spares you a second glance, they never do, so it gives you ample courage to take a look at Kim Seokjin’s toned body. Broad shoulders, a Dorito-trimmed waistline, and long legs that you want to climb up on.

Oh, daddy. 

“Hey,” Yeji pops up on your counter, looking much perkier than she did hours before, “do you have my dad’s car keys?” 

Trying not to raise your brows at your young guest, you give her a smirk, leaning over the counter. A spunky thing, with sharp eyes with a pretty cat-tipped eyeliner shape that has her looking well put-together. You wish you had your shit together as a teenager, you barely have it together now. 

“I do,” you quip, “why?” 

“I wanna get Starbucks,” she says simply, “the pineapple matcha is to die for, and I want to drink as many summer specials as I can before it’s over.” 

“Valid,” you reply, going into your master key to retrieve all the guests’ keys. Taking Seokjin’s from its holder, you note the expensive make. Peering up from your desk, you look at Yeji’s innocent features. Before you place the key in her waiting palm, you snatch it away, “Why do I have the feeling you’re doing something that you’re not supposed to be doing?” 

Yeji tilts her head, “I don’t think it’s any of your business,” 

Sassy. You like it. “Get me a grande matcha frappe and your secret’s safe with me.” 

“Deal.” 

Watching Yeji drive off in the large Hyundai Palisade gives you a little twinge of worry, but you quickly tamp it down to motherly instinct. If you were Yeji’s mom—which you’re definitely not, you’d be worried. Naturally, you feel similarly. 

The hotel phone rings, the red light from 921 blinking on your switchboard. Flipping down the room number you pick up the receiver, “Prince S Hotel, how can I help you?” 

“You do booking, valet, and housekeeping?” Seokjin’s exasperated voice says in your ears, “who would I call if I want breakfast?” 

“That would also be me,” you reply wryly, twisting the curly wire between your fingers, “we advertise ourselves as a hotel for the quality, although we are much smaller with only thirty rooms. Sort of like a bed n’breakfast, getting the true royal treatment.” 

“Would the royal treatment consist of some extra towels and a continental breakfast?” 

“You got it.” 

A little cliché of you to do the whole “whistle while you work” segment—a lacy apron to make sure your uniform doesn’t get dirty, a spot of coffee to keep you peppy and setting everything up on a gold trimmed cart. You didn’t think you’d see Seokjin again, especially after how upset he was about his room. 

With a little rap on his door, Seokjin invites you inside to set up. Their room overlooks the valley as opposed to the busy roads, so it’s a perfect way to rise with the sun. He immediately reaches for the coffee as you drag your little cart in, completely ignoring the cream and sugar on the side. After a long sip, he moans in pleasure. 

“Ah,” he exhales, a sound that has you teeming. You grip the handlebars a little tighter than usual, “Maybe it was fate that we ended up here.” 

“Maybe,” you fight the urge to bite your lip, because Seokjin has no idea how cliché of a line that is. He isn’t even speaking directly at you, talking in front of the sun like it’s his morning routine. “Say, have you seen Yeji around?” 

“Ah,” you shug, pretending to be oblivious, “I think she went out for a walk.” 

He turns to you, giving you a quivering brow, “She hates walking. Probably calling her friends in Korea or something.” 

Of course she doesn’t like walking, you think, that’s why she took your car for some overpriced drinks. 

Instead, you place the fresh pancakes and sides on the guest table, making sure everything is organized and in order. You place the towels atop the haphazardly made bed, making sure to put two mints on top. It isn’t customary to include mints, but you think the mints your hotel has taste great and deserve to be shared around more often than not. 

“So, it looks like you’re ready for Disney,” you remark, taking note of his outfit. He has on blush mid-thigh shorts, stretchy and made from a canvas fabric that looks airy and comfortable. Around his neck is a little portable fan, and on his head is an old Mickey baseball cap. 

“Ah, just for today and tomorrow! Sunday is my ‘me’ day,” Seokjin says, dashing across the room at the sight of fresh food, “Yeji is meeting with some cousins and will be spending the rest of the weekend with them.” 

“Sounds like a fun weekend,” you remark, turning to leave. 

“Will you be working the rest of the weekend?” 

This is supposed to be small talk. You try to convince yourself that Seokjin is just being polite, wondering if his service is going to be impacted by you being around or not. There must be nothing sexual, or just mere attraction, going on between the two of you. Well, maybe on your side of things. The pink shorts and the baseball cap are doing things to your body that you barely understand. Unfortunately, the eager apples of his cheeks and the innocent upturn of his lips lets you know that any possibility of returned affections is virtually nonexistent. 

“It’s my weekend off,” you fight the twinge of excitement when you see Seokjin pout, “but Park Jimin relieves me, and he’s definitely a much better host than I am. He’ll make sure everything’s taken care of.” 

“Does he make better pancakes than you?” Seokjin asks, swirling a bite in a ribbon of maple syrup.  

“I’m afraid not,” you smile, “he makes a mean breakfast burrito though.” 

He shrugs listlessly, eating slower. He takes his time to make sure every pancake is cut in equal two-centimeter pieces, taking his time as if he’s savoring the last of your home-cooked meal. “Not sure if I’ll be completely satisfied then.” 

With a firm smile, you wheel your cart out as fast as you can. You can’t keep up the facade now, not with your trashy mind and your dampening panties ruining your sense of self. Quietly slamming the door behind you, you’re met with Seokjin’s spitting image. 

Yeji tilts her head at you, eating you alive with her dead-on stare. She places the keys and your matcha beverage on your cart. 

“Did my dad confuse you or something?” 

“Is it that obvious?” 

“He’s like that,” Yeji shrugs, taking a long sip of her drink, “don’t worry, I’ll put in a good word for you.” 

A good word? With an uneasy smile you wheel away, ignoring the burn in your cheeks.

“Can I have the keys?” Yeji asks the next morning, minutes before your shift ends.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. You’re sure Yeji is a wonderful kid and has a good heart, but she’s seriously putting your five-star Yelp review on the line. Cocking one eyebrow you say, “What, need your Starbucks fix?” 

“Do you know how to parallel park?” 

“Why, need a teacher?” 

“It’d be better to have someone nearby to make sure I don’t park into a guard rail.” 

“Does Seokjin approve?” 

“You obviously know the answer to that,” Yeji replies, “and you and my dad are on a first-name basis, huh?” 

Fighting the heat in your cheeks, you busy yourself by locking up the money box and key tin, but not before grabbing the keys to the Palisades. “I’m doing this for you because I have impeccable customer service skills,” you feign haughtiness, leaving your front desk and scanning your ID to clock out. 

“Not because you think my dad is hot?” she follows you out the door. 

“Do you always talk about your dad like that?” 

Yeji is silent as she takes the keys from your grip, and you follow her in the passenger seat. A scent that’s fruity yet musky fills your nostrils, and you hug your arms for comfort. This is painfully awkward, at least in your point of view, but Yeji pays no mind as she connects to her Spotify playlist and turns on the air conditioner. 

“I’m not one of those prissy daughters that try their damn hardest to make sure their dad doesn’t date,” Yeji murmurs, adjusting the mirrors, “anyone my dad dates will be better than Hyehwa. He deserves to be happy for all that he’s done for me.” 

“Hyehwa?” 

“The biological carrier for nine months,” Yeji replies dryly. 

Your heart pinches, squeezing against your ribcage as you put two and two together. Hyewha, who you’re assuming is, or was Yeji’s mother, is definitely out of the picture. Yet seeing how confident Yeji is with herself, and how much he loves her father and wants him to be happy, is clear in your eyes. 

“You are one cool kid,” is the only thing you can say, hoping you don’t have that silly heartened look in your gaze. 

It seems that you do, because all she does is roll her eyes and put the car in drive. 

It’s nearly one in the morning when you get the call. 

You’re off the clock, but it’s graveyard hours and you and Jimin are craving pizza. So while Jimin tends to the last minute guests, you pick up a cheesy pie and hide behind the desk while Jimin does his job. 

You’ve polished off half the pie when the main phone rings, and Jimin sighs heavily. Late night and early morning calls are the absolute worst. 

“Get the hospital on speed dial,” Jimin jokes, but not really because the last time someone called at one, you really did wish you had an ambulance on-site. 

“Prince S hotel,” Jimin spins the cord between his fingers, looking like a dreamy teen heartthrob as he leans against the counter. He immediately swings the phone over to your greasy fingers, “it’s a personal call.” 

Wiping your hands on the box, you raise a brow. “Hello?” you ask, wholly confused. 

“Mm, it’s Yeji,” the voice slurs on the other line, “I need help.” 

“A-are you drunk?” you say, incredulous.

“Yeah, me and my cousin snuck a bottle downtown,” Yeji sounds nervous, and you unconsciously grip the phone tighter, “can you pick us up? I can drop you my location if you give me your number, please. My dad trusted me with the Palisade this weekend, I can’t let him know what happened. I know I’m always trying to get under my dad’s skin and whatever but I don’t want him to lose my trust, what we did is a dumb mistake.” 

A part of you feels for Yeji, you’ve done dumb shit like this when you were young. All those fond memories are nothing but memories, and definitely not reflective of your current life now. 

The rational, intelligent part of you knows that you should probably call Seokjin right now and tell him what’s going on. You don’t really want to get involved in their family matters, especially when as of late you’ve been inserting yourself in Yeji’s antics. 

With a sigh, you pull up your Lyft app, already knowing whose side you’re on. 

It takes no more than fifteen minutes for you to arrive at the scene, Yeji and what you assume is her older cousin sitting on the curb of a dilapidated Krispy Kreme, sadly polishing off a whole box of glazed donuts, Well, her cousin is polishing off the box, Yeji is taking nibbles at her proffered donut. 

You sigh, pulling Yeji up. You see tear-streaks, her previously perfect cat-eye smudged off and running down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, sounding not as inhiberated as she did before, “I bothered you.” 

“Not at all,” you soothe, running a hand down her braids. You try not to melt when Yeji nearly leans into your warmth, but backs up at the last second, “I’m happy that you called. Would rather know that you’re safe now than later, yeah? I’m not mad at you,” you assure, pulling a crumpled brown napkin from the pizzeria to dab at her ruddied cheeks. 

“Hi, I’m Jungkook,” you turn your head dangerously slowly towards the cute muscle pig who’s still sitting on the curb, “Ya deserve a five-star Yelp review for this service—” 

“But I’m mad at you,” you pointedly ignore his drunken charm. He looks old enough to drink, which only further annoys you because he should be the one taking care of Yeji, “get in the damn car, Youngkook.” 

“It’s Jungkook—”

“Get in.” 

He swallows his tongue, and you notice Yeji stifling a giggle at your attitude. She wordlessly hands you the keys, clamoring in the front seat while Jungkook takes the whole back row. Yeji tiredly informs you the address to her cousin’s hotel, and you drive off into the night. 

“Did I ruin my dad’s chances with you?” you think that Yeji has no clue what she’s saying, but there’s a little sliver of heart in her tone. Her face is pressed against the window, the cold glass on the verge of keeping her awake as she stumbles in and out of consciousness. 

“You could never do that,” you mumble, and you smile when her eyes willingly flutter shut. 

“Hey, babe,” you practically hear desperation in Jimin’s voice.

“Jimin, no,” you already know that his request is sitting prettily on the tip of his tongue, “it’s my weekend off. I’m not getting out.” 

“But someone requested your pancakes,” he whines, and you can practically feel his pout on the other line, “and he said and I quote ‘I’ll be able to tell that you made them.’ I feel threatened!” 

“Did they offer to pay in diamonds?” 

“N-no. But he said it’s his daughter’s special weekend and he’d be really thankful if you’d come by and make your breakfast for him.” 

Daughter? Yeji. You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. You have your own room separate from the hotel, a deal that has you living rent free in exchange for your hard labor five days a week. “Heat up the stove for me and crisp the bacon,” you mutter, hanging up and throwing the phone under the covers. 

Tugging your hair back and throwing on a large hoodie, you put on your slippers and pad down the little sidewalk that leads to the hotel. The sun beats down on you immediately, willing you to go back to your air-conditioned room to fall back asleep. Swimming through the soup that is the Californian air, you shuffle inside Prince S and make a beeline for the kitchens. You brush through busy employees, flashing a quick smile and “good morning” as you get to your station.

Jimin is already there, sitting at your workspace. All your ingredients are sitting out: flour, eggs, butter, vanilla, baking powder, baking soda, buttermilk, and fresh berries. However, Jimin makes  no moves to attempt cooking, instead looking at you with pursed lips and waiting for you to get a move on. 

“Get your butt off my counter,” you slap his thigh disapprovingly, pulling your sleeves up to start mixing the ingredients, “you’re dirty.” 

“I embrace being dirty,” Jimin replies majestically, kicking his legs back and forth. His Doc Marten creepers wave in your vision, “thank you for swinging by. He said that it was really really important that you come in and make them. Daughter’s request.” 

“They’re lucky they’re a cute family,” you mutter under your breath, although the words aren’t laced with malice. 

The batter is fluffy and puffy, rising with the scent of melted butter and caramelized sugar. You take careful fingers towards the berries, creating a smiley face in the uncooked pancakes. 

“Is your maternal side kicking in?” Jimin says in your ear, and you swing at him with your spatula. 

“Leave me alone, art is being made.” 

“Sure,” Jimin hops off the table, patting your shoulder, “I got a date with room 69,” you roll your eyes, there is no such thing as room 69. “So please continue to be awesome and finish off this favor by delivering it to Mr. Kim’s room.” 

“Jimin, no!” you don’t care that half the staff is staring at you amusedly, the other half uncaring because they’re so used to the two co-managers. “I’m not wearing—I’m not wearing pants.” 

You gesture to the obscene amount of bare legs out in the open. California’s hot as hell, you try to wear as little layers as possible. However, in the workplace you like to keep a modicum of decency. Even though Kim Seokjin is fine fine fine, you have decorum. 

But Jimin’s already off to visit the guest in room 69 and you’re stuck with a pile of fresh hotcakes and none of the workers want to get involved in your shenanigans. Typical. Begrudgingly, you force your Hallmark-esque smile and arrange the gold trimmed cart, taking care to put extra berries in the fruit dish. 

It’s a simple transaction. Get in, drop off the food, accept the tip if Seokjin feels generous, and get out. The door to room 921 looks larger than life, intimidating like the gates to heaven. You knock firmly, but gingerly. “Room service?” the voice that escapes your lips is your sugary professional voice, one that makes you wince immediately. 

A muffled “coming!” has you bristling at the door. You curse yourself, looking at your bunny-clad feet and your legs disappearing under your hoodie. 

As soon as Seokjin pops his head open you blurt, “I swear, I’m wearing shorts underneath this.” 

“Uh,” and that forces him to look at your legs. Dammit, it was a good intention but the wrong way to go. “Good to know,” he coughs, opening his door wider. 

The room is much messier on Seokjin’s side of the room, now filled with Eeyore and Baymax memorabilia. A large, white Baymax plush sits innocently at one side of his untouched bed. You crack a smile at that. 

“Where’s Yeji?” you ask lightly, putting both stacks of pancakes down on the available table. You absently wipe the crumbs off, leading the little pile of food-crust to the garbage can. 

“Yeji?” Seokjin asks, “why would Yeji be here?”

The way you put the cutlery down instantly slows, “You called Jimin this morning saying you needed pancakes specifically made by me to give to Yeji.” 

“Who?” 

“Jimin?” you raise a brow, losing your high-pitched commercial tone. “Tiny, annoying blond guy?” 

Seokjin stares.

You stare back.

“Yeji’s at her cousin’s townhouse,” Seokjin states plainly. 

“No, you called and said Yeji wanted pancakes—” No. 

Yeji, or Jimin, or both called you and set it up. 

“Oh, Jimin’s an idiot,” you tap your head lightly, wanting to bop out any potential embarrassing memory that has burned in your brain, “must’ve misheard. Or is hearing ghosts! Honestly he isn’t the right mind I’m so sorry I reallygottaneedto—” 

You can’t even breathe let alone exhale the rest of your sentence, so you instead do the only thing you can do—run away. You don’t bother to exude grace as you plop any trash on the cart from yesterday’s room service, whipping the cart around so fast that the side wheels fly off and pop a wheelie. 

“We don’t have to let the food go to waste,” Seokjin says pointedly, probably watching you like he’s watching a comic show as you try to bolt out of the room. 

The door is closed, and the little hallway is too small for you to put your body and the cart between the walls. You’ve trapped yourself. Maybe you could just leave the cart and dip? You’re sure there’s at least two extras downstairs. 

“It won’t,” you reply dumbly, “I can eat it in the breakroom or something, I haven’t made breakfast for myself yet. I mean, I was kinda craving an avo-toast this morning, but pancakes are always a classic.” 

Seokjin snorts at your incessant rambling, carding a hand through his chocolate locks, “I’m trying to ask you to stay for breakfast.” 

“You’re trying to—oh,” you mirror his expression, running a hand over your hair so it pulls out of its already messy style. You haven’t done much physical activity this morning, but you feel absolutely breathless as you’re glued to the cheap carpet, taking in Seokjin’s wide glassy eyes

“And if you stay for dessert, I’d like to thank you properly,” 

“I didn’t bake dessert,” you hide the shudder in your throat when he steps closer, pinning you against the cart. Your knuckles must be transparent by now due to how hard you’re gripping the cart. 

“You didn’t,” Seokjin agrees, “but you definitely brought it.” 

You yelp, actually, a whole little dolphin-squeal escapes your lips as Seokjin puts his hand against the wall. You’re actually living a Disney-esque scenario that you do not want to be in. Seokjin’s either trying to give you the Eugene-Signature-Smoulder, or the Prince Naveen charm that isn’t very charming. 

“You’re a cheeseball,” you try to snap back, but it only comes out as a small reply, fitting of your cramped situation. 

His buttery brown eyes are clear and warm, and his sweet scent envelopes your form. You feel impossibly small, sinking deeper and deeper into your hoodie until you feel the heat of his voice sinking deep into your skin. 

It’s then that he leans in and whispers in your ear, his voice a simple request, “Please tell me that you’re interested in me too.” 

Something clutches softly in your heart, tethering you to Seokjin’s gaze. You wonder how many times Seokjin goes through this scenario. You wonder if he’s happy being a bachelor. You figure that many partners must have doubts being tethered by a teenage daughter, or if Seokjin is used to fleeting hook-ups.

“Have been since check-in,” you reply smoothly, finding your breath and looking up from your eyelashes.

Seokjin’s lips find yours, and you swear you’re lip-locking with Cloud Nine. They’re soft and supple and taste a little like maple syrup as they mingle with yours, and you can’t help but weave your hands through his equally silky strands, tugging him closer as he hooks his arms under your bare thighs. 

He gives your bottom an experimental squeeze, leading you to the unmade bed.

Needless to say, breakfast has to wait. 

“So, I’m going to throw a cliché.” 

“Sure, we’re in Disney.” 

“Why me?” you slap his bare chest when Seokjin laughs, pouting, “I mean it! All I did was look cute and give you pancakes!” 

“So you admit you’re cute,” Seokjin smirks. 

“C’mon don’t change the subject, tell me!” 

Even though this hotel is partially yours, you’re still amazed at the softness of the Egyptian cotton as it engulfs both your bodies. Maybe it’s because you’re warm and bathing in the noon afterglow, maybe it’s your bed partner. Still, it feels divine as you lounge in bed, sipping champagne (left by the door, courtesy of Jimin.)

“Mm, caught you driving around with Yeji in my car.” 

You sit up straighter, clutching the sheets to your chest, “You saw us last night?” 

“You were also out last night?” Seokjin tilts his head, “I meant when you taught her how to parallel park.” 

“Oh fuck—I mean,” you slap your forehead, knowing you can’t get away with this one, “Let’s just say I helped her out of a sticky situation. Don’t blame Yeji, blame Yeji’s bunny-headed cousin.” 

“Noted,” Seokjin throws an arm around you, snuggling closer. You relax into his hold, melting between the sheets and his soft skin, “Knowing you’re pulling through for her. Let’s just say I’m a little soft for my daughter, no matter how old.” 

“She’s wonderful,” you say genuinely, taking slow sips of your bubbly drink. 

“Wanna go visit her for lunch? I’m supposed to be meeting her in an hour.” 

You don’t feel deterred or nervous to see Yeji, or even the possibility of meeting Seokjin’s extended family. So you agree, run back to your room quickly to throw on a reasonable summer outfit that doesn’t consist of hooded sweatshirts and booty shorts. 

Seokjin offers to drive your sedan, and since you feel a little princess-ish today you decide to let him take the wheel. After a few minutes attempting to drive in the direction of the townhouse however, you lower the volume on the radio. 

“Jin? I think you’re going the wrong way,” not only do you live here, but you went to the townhouse last night and you’re sure it’s in the opposite fork, “do you want me to plug it in the G.P.S?” 

“I know my way, hon,” Seokjin waves you off, confidently streaming through the oncoming traffic. You smile nervously, you have a feeling this situation has happened once or twice. 

“Oh, is that why you ended up in my hotel?” you tease, “because you’re so good at directions?” 

“Duh,” Seokjin reaches for your hand atop the console, “after all, my intuition led me to you.” 

[doberbutts]

On Consent and Autonomy

Having a discussion with a friend about this sort of thing reminded me that I never typed anything up with Tiki’s journeys through this outside of adding onto various posts already talking about how little dogs like chihuahuas don’t get to have boundaries a lot of the time, and how a lot of the shitty aggressive little dogs are simply dogs who were never allowed to express a boundary without drawing blood.

One of the most important things to me with my animals is, and always has been, consent. I use it with my exotics, I use it with my domestics. There are things that my animals must allow me to do- nail trims, baths, teeth brushing, etc- but for the things that are required I do a lot of no-nonsense desensitization and a lot of fearfree veterinary methods to allow the animal to see that while these things are non-negotiable, they’re also not that bad and don’t have to be the worst thing ever.

But for everything else, there’s always consent involved.

I’ve spoken before about how there’s the issue of autonomy and consent especially with little dogs, who have their buttons pushed and their boundaries ignored simply because of their size, because it’s not like if you harass a doberman into biting you, because an angry chihuahua can do the same damage an angry doberman can. How little dogs especially are favored for the “living toy” and “fashion accessory” factor above all else, and how many of them are so undersocialized and underexercised that they don’t even seem to grasp that they can walk from place to place by themselves and just expect to be carried everywhere by default. How many actually don’t like that and dislike the idea of the looming behavior us freakishly tall humans tend to exhibit while interacting.

One way I managed that entire problem with Tiki was simply asking for consent to pick her up or put her down. She first learned that she could actually move from place to place on her own, and then she learned that she could accept or reject the offer to be held, and then she learned that she could ask to be held or put down. Simply by giving her a cue for both up and down, and allowing her to navigate that while earning her trust that I wouldn’t suddenly change the rules. Even to her last day, she understood the difference between her previous life of being scooped up without warning or consent, and the life I had built for her to accept my offered choice of being held tight to me.

When the vet brought her to me one last time, she was squirming in the vet’s hands to get down. When I offered her the chance to be held, she leapt into my arms and cuddled close. She was delirious with fever and couldn’t hold her own head up, but she still recognized the offer of comfort, and she chose to have her final moments held tight to my chest.

But- that’s not the only consent-based training I practiced with her, or with the various dogs at my job who struggle with the same thing.

In our training videos, you could see me tossing a treat a short distance away to encourage her to leave me. Training can put a lot of pressure on a dog, especially a dog that may be sensitive or struggle with confidence, and the tossed treat provides a “break” from expectations as it allows them to disconnect and disengage, giving them a chance to destress by sniffing, shaking, or running around a bit before returning to you. My general rule of thumb is that if I toss the treat and the dog does not immediately return for more training, they are asking for space or even for a longer break. This is a bit different if the dog is simply distracted by its surroundings- for those, I will encourage them to come back by calling them. But more and more I have found that these sensitive dogs actually develop more and more tolerance to that pressure, because they are allowed to back off when they feel overwhelmed, and rejoin you when they feel more confident. Of course, it is key to keep your training lighthearted and fun regardless, but especially so with these sensitive dogs that need a little extra boost. No one likes learning that feels like a chore.

Another thing I do is during playtime. If I begin to suspect someone is getting too aroused or overwhelmed, I remove the aggressor from the situation and bring them a few feet away. If the recipient does not want to continue the interaction or needs space, they typically will walk away. If instead they come bounding over to harass the aggressor to rejoin play, then the game was fun and everyone was having a good time. If I have removed someone too late for a peaceable interaction (ie: I stepped in as aggressive corrections began happening), then both are taken aside to calm down before being re-released to opposite ends of the play area and they are monitored closely to ensure their next meeting and interaction does not result in a grudge match. I frequently use a three-strikes method with this- you get three chances to not be a giant dick before playtime is over. After that point, you may watch (if you are quiet), but you are outside of the play area and on leash. Very rarely do I need to employ that method more than once before the dog in question connects that dickish behavior = no more fun, and it keeps everyone else safe in the mean time. More often I have dogs that learn how to play appropriately, respond to social cues and minor corrections well, and to alter their play to suit a variety of partners and groups.

I also do this with human-to-dog playtime! Tiki loved biting and wrestling hands, and once again especially with a smaller or more sensitive or less confident dog, it’s easy to accidentally overwhelm or scare or hurt your dog without realizing it. To prevent this, I do push the dog away during a wrestle match. If the dog bounces away from me, or continues to bounce but holds a position just out of reach, then generally that is a cue that they were becoming overwhelmed and need a moment to recover. If the dog immediately pounces on my hands again, then once again the game was fun and everyone was enjoying themselves.

Dogs cannot speak English or any other human language. That’s not to say they don’t understand us, but their ability to say these words are so limited that outside of a handful of studies we truly haven’t seen too many instances of dogs communicating with words we humans can understand. That does not at all mean they cannot consent. I frequently ask the dogs “do you want ___” or similar. While yes, most of the things I ask them are things I’ve built up very positive associations with- a walk, a cookie, their dinner, to go play- the fact remains that all of the dogs in the house are used to hearing us ask if they desire something. Before I give Creed a cookie, I ask if he wants it. Before I take him to potty, I ask if that’s what he needs. Before I offer him something to sniff, I ask if he wants to. There are, in fact, times where I give him something and he spits it out. I ask him, “do you want ___” and sometimes he really does walk away. No, he didn’t want that right now.

It can sound silly, asking dogs what they want, asking for consent, things like that. But it’s also not as difficult of a concept as one might think! Having seen so many dogs aided by these methods and more, I can’t imagine going back to force a dog to do something (non-essential) it genuinely didn’t want to do. What exactly is the harm in allowing your little dog to say no sometimes to being picked up? What exactly is the harm in allowing your sensitive dog to say it needs a break from training? What exactly is the harm in allowing your dog to say it needs a moment to calm down while playing? The harm in not allowing these things is the very real prospect of getting bitten. Allowing them? Don’t really see any negative side-effects.

[birbleafs]

[fic] It’s A Matter Of (In)Convenience

Series: Saiki Kusuo no Ψ-nan || The Disastrous Life of Saiki K. Rating: T Genre: Humour, Breaking The Fourth Wall Character(s): Saiki Kusuo, Aiura Mikoto, Toritsuka Reita, Kaidou Shun, Kuboyasu Aren, Nendou Riki, Yumehara Chiyo, Teruhashi Kokomi Warnings: None, save for canon-typical shenanigans Summary: Saiki Kusuo’s plan for a quiet Sunday spent shopping for desserts in an ordinary konbini is thrown into disarray when he runs into several… inconveniences, much to his dismay. A/N: I've been re-reading/re-watching Saiki K. during this quarantine period and I haven't laughed this hard since I was into Gintama. This series has given me so much ridiculous joy, it’s great for helping keep anxiety and existential despair at bay lol. Fic can also be read on AO3

_______

Saiki Kusuo could not say he dislikes commuting by public train but he’s not particularly a fan of it either. After all, it’s exceedingly more troublesome and vexing for someone like him, encumbered with psychic abilities beyond human comprehension. He’s unable to switch off his telepathy at will, so it’s no small feat being stuck in a packed cabin and trying to filter out the cacophonous thoughts of fifty-odd passengers buzzing incessantly in his mind throughout the long ride to the next town. Distance isn’t an issue today, however. Not that it had ever been an issue, mind you—he could teleport to almost any location he so wished. But Kusuo had long since mastered inconspicuousness into an art form, and teleporting to his destination and appearing seemingly out of thin air in the middle of a packed convenience store was sure to draw unwanted attention to himself. No, it’s not worth the risk, even for such a coveted goal at the end of his journey. Besides, Kusuo is a man of principle, one who does not easily succumb to using his powers for self-interest. He will do this the ordinary, pedestrian way.

In any case, travelling out of Hidariwakibara-chō to neighbouring Tonari Machi on a random Sunday morning would also mean the chances of him running into certain... inconveniences are very nearly zero. Forty-five minutes and twelve stops later, Kusuo beams in quiet triumph as he walks past the automatic sliding doors and into the aforementioned convenience store, barely registering the musical jiggle over the speakers. He steps through the sparse crowd, pausing midway through the snack and desserts aisle when he finally catches sight of the neat row of orange boxes with silver trimmings on the top shelf. Kusuo allows himself a tiny grin as he reaches for a box, eyes bright with anticipation as he gazes upon its wondrous contents—three cups of chocolate brownie and cherry parfait, infused with coffee jelly and topped with dollops of luscious cream and cinnamon sprinkles. A simple but unmatched delicacy right here in this nondescript konbini, he thinks, savouring the glorious moment a little longer. Still, as fate would have it, he would be reminded in less than ten seconds that his life is but an unfortunate series of daily disasters, and his current reprieve short-lived. And it comes in the form of a young woman who had waltzed through the crowd and is now latching onto his arm with garishly pink manicured nails, her wavy blonde hair already casting a dark cloud over Kusuo’s face. Aiura Mikoto, resident soothsayer and trendsetter gal. Inconvenience No. 1. Ah. So it begins. “Wassup, Kusuo!” Aiura chirps a little too brightly. Already two or three mob characters in the konbini are throwing scandalized looks their way, but to Aiura they’re nothing but background scenery and lazily drawn silhouettes. “Who woulda thunk we’d meet here like this? It must totes be our destiny as soul mates, fer sure!” Isn’t it more because someone is totes a stalker? Kusuo deadpans telepathically her way, even as he makes no real attempt to avoid Aiura’s smothering embrace. Instead, he fixes her with a stare as blank as stone canvas. This is an invasion of privacy. Also, what’s with the meta observation in the previous paragraph? Stop messing with the readers like that. “Man, you sure are a ray of sunshine sometimes,” Aiura pouts, before she breaks into a giggle and relents. She unlatches herself from him, putting some distance between them. “Anyway, can’t your BFF like, just accidentally bump into you while shopping for the same box of snacks you no doubt travelled all the way out here for?” So you admit you really are a stalker then, Kusuo counters drily, only to frown again at the sudden creeping presence of another aura. He feels the weight of another arm draping carelessly over his shoulder, followed by the brusque yapping of an over-eager and desperate hot-blooded young male in his ears. “Yooo, Saiki-san! What a coincidence!” Toritsuka Reita, the spirit medium and an exemplary specimen of the most depraved life-form, the lecherous scum. Also known as Inconvenience No. 2. Saiki Kusuo, a man most unfortunate, lets out a weary sigh. “I see you’ve got that accusatory glare painted all over your face.” Toritsuka wags an annoying finger before Kusuo. “Now, now. Before you also accuse me of stalking, Mister Doom and Gloom, let me just say that I’m only here for one thing.” He flicks a furtive glance towards a discreet corner of the magazine section. The shelves are filled with magazines wrapped in plastic, large R-18 stickers plastered across the covers and over the spines much like indecent warning signs. Toritsuka dabs towards the third shelf, waving a mini poster at both Kusuo and Aiura, and this sentence then abruptly proceeds to describe the close-up of said poster—a particularly titillating centre spread featuring a curvaceous model’s skimpily clad... assets. “Surely there’s no better reason to be here now than for the special compilation of EROmag’s Greatest Upskirts And Panty-shots Of The Month!” Toritsuka exclaims, echoing the thoughts of all resident perverts. “Ugh, grody to the max,” Aiura says, lips curled in utter revulsion. For once, the stars are aligned and Kusuo finds himself wholeheartedly agreeing with her sentiment. Before he can get a retort in edgewise however, he’s unceremoniously tugged closer into Toritsuka’s one-armed embrace, who then proceeds to thump a hand over Kusuo’s chest in a grand show of obnoxious male posturing and solidarity. “You women will never understand,” Toritsuka counters with an ingratiating smirk. “But Saiki-san and I, we’re bosom buddies, connoisseurs of refined aesthetics. Together, we’ll finally gaze upon those heavenly lace panti—A-ACKK!!” He hacks up a lung just as Kusuo nonchalantly drives a sharp elbow right into his solar plexus, causing him to stagger backwards onto the floor. Bosom buddies? Kusuo echoes ominously, glaring daggers at the pathetic writhing form before him. Pretty sure that ridiculous thump you just pulled is both an outrage and insult of my modesty. Hey, can I call the police? I’m calling the police. Aiura nods at that, lips curved into a Cheshire grin and looking extremely pleased with herself as though she’s the one to suggest calling the cops. “Delusional sleazebags should just crawl back into the garbage bin where they belong. Like the skeevy trash panda that they are, right Kusuo?” “Who are you calling delusional, huh?!” Toritsuka snaps, jumping back to his feet. “I’ll have you know that Saiki-san and I have been nothing but the most loyal, the tightest of all bosom buddies—” Refer to me as your bosom buddy again and I’ll crush your windpipe, Kusuo interjects without missing a beat, and the EROmag poster in Toritsuka’s hand spontaneously combusts into flames. “Argh, not the panties!!” Toritsuka yelps, watching in despair as the poster shrivels up in the blaze, only to catch sight of the eerie, voidless depths of Kusuo’s inscrutable gaze. The spirit medium pales at the split-second reminder of his fleeting mortality, sweat dripping down his nape as he carefully backs away from the precarious jaws of death. “B-B-Bros! I-I meant that we’re the best kind of bro-some buddies, ahahaha! T-That is to say, brotherly and wholesome—R-right, Saiki-san? So don’t get all conceited just because you’ve got big knockers, Tits McGee!!” “Pfft, brotherly and wholesome? As if!” Aiura scoffs, unimpressed. “You’re about as wholesome as your d*ck aura and a college frat boy’s porno stash. Just admit you ain’t nothing but a tiresome anime trope!” “Look who’s talking, Miss Fanservice. This is a wholesome shounen series, so how about you take those bazongas back to Hooters where they belong!” “Haaah? You looking for a fight, you raunchy racoon?!” “Bring it on then!” Kusuo scowls at the petty squabbling, exasperated at how easily his quiet Sunday was already going awry, much like the metaphorical train wreck poised for a manic spiral off its rails. He decides to take his leave then from the two inconveniences bickering loudly, making his way towards the self-checkout station near the entrance. He pays for his items, stealthily packing them away with a subtle flick of his psychokinesis, and is only a few paces away from complete freedom at last when the generic musical jingle blares from the speakers overhead. “♪~Welcome to F☆mily Mart Konbini, We Guarantee 99.9% Shopping Satisfaction! It’s A Matter of Convenience~! ♪” Kusuo frowns at the jingle. Why is it only 99.9% satisfaction? And really, a matter of convenience? Not when he’d already run into two inconveniences in a row and all in a convenience store. Is God conspiring with the universe and pulling a sick prank on him right now? What a horrible sense of humour. The automatic doors at the entrance slide wide open then, and in saunter three terribly familiar faces—Kaidou Shun, Kuboyasu Aren, and Nendou Riki. Inconvenience No. 3, No. 4, and No. 5 respectively. “What did I tell you, Aren? Not only did we manage to beat traffic, but this unexpected change in my Sunday routine would’ve thrown a wrench into Dark Reunion’s plans of attempted kidnapping. Too bad I, The Jet-Black Wing, am always several steps ahead. Heh.” “Uhmm, yeah I guess… Hey, Shun, look! There isn’t a queue for the limited edition Ginta-Man figurine raffle tickets here at all. Good thing you insisted we meet at the crack of dawn—Tch, Nendou, don’t dawdle around and block the entrance like that! What’re you looking at anyway?” “Oh? I thought I saw my pal just a few seconds ago...” “Huh, Saiki’s here too-?! Oh, you mean that. Don’t be daft, Nendou, that’s just a cardboard cut-out of that kiddie hero show, Cyborg Cider-man Mark II.” Seriously?? Kusuo curses irritably as he dives inconspicuously out of sight from the passing trio, right into the bath and shampoo aisle. It’s just been a series of inconveniences one after another this morning, the metaphorical train wreck already hurtling itself past the edge of no return. Good grief, what a pain. May as well have the rest of the cast show up next— Another cheesy musical jingle, another swoosh of the sliding doors, and— “Waahh, it’s really you, Kaidou-kun!” “Hello, what a nice surprise to run into everyone here.” “Oh, hey there, Yumehara and... Offu~! T-T-Teruhashi-san?!” Saiki Kusuo, ever the suffering protagonist, drags a hand over his face. See? God hates him. Two aisles over, he can still hear Aiura and Toritsuka’s voices drifting over: “Man, I’m sick of looking at your pervy mug. C’mon, Kusuo, let’s ditch this loser—Huh, where did you run off to, Kusuo?!” “Your petty squawking has given us all an earache and must’ve driven Saiki-san off as well!” Oi, oi, Kusuo flinches inwardly, seized by a helpless fear of watching his quiet Sunday careening off the cliff and further away from his grasp. Quit yelling out my name like that and throwing me to the wolves already! Too late. At the mention of Kusuo’s name, Nendou cranes his neck 270 degrees Exorcist-style like a hideously monstrous owl and rushes over to Toritsuka’s side. “Oh! Did you just say my pal is here?!” he exclaims happily, shaking Toritsuka by the shoulders like a dog shaking an unfortunate chew toy. “I knew I’d seen him when we walked in earlier!” Not to be outdone by Nendou, Teruhashi also leaps forward before Aiura with none of her previous composure, her unblemished, porcelain visage now dusted with a hint of rose, a conflicted mix of perplexity and (envious) shock pooling in her angelic eyes. “D-Did you say ‘Saiki’?! H-Hey, Aiura-san, you did say ‘Saiki’ and not actually ‘Kusuo’, right? M-My, I must have misheard things, right? R-Right?!” “What the heck is going on? Is Saiki really here?” Anxious, Kusuo grits his teeth at the growing clamour as his friends converge from all corners of the store towards the aisle where he’d been forced to hide. Guess there’s no avoiding it after all, he frets despairingly, and in less than a nanosecond, teleports unnoticed from the konbini to an empty street outside. Kusuo sighs, relieved to have finally escaped. Minor inconveniences aside, perhaps a quiet Sunday spent savouring chocolate brownie and cherry parfait in the comfort of his home isn’t beyond his reach yet. What? Didn’t he just use his powers for self-interest to teleport out of a sticky situation? Foolish readers, that was for self-preservation and completely acceptable, of course. He holds his shopping bag close, pleased that he���d managed to avoid a disaster, and begins to walk down the street—only to freeze mid-step when he feels a sudden splitting headache jolt through him… A flash of images appears: Aiura and Toritsuka crouching in fear together, Kuboyasu bracing his bleeding arm, Kaidou screaming shrilly as he shields Yumehara and Teruhashi from a masked man brandishing a gun, Nendou digging his nose with his pinky—That’s just disgusting, no one wants to see that, stop it!! The vision finally ends, and Kusuo lifts a hand to his face, massaging his temple to clear the precognitive fog from his mind. An armed robbery, huh. He lets out another resigned sigh. Good grief—What a pain, Saiki ‘I-don’t-(but I actually really do)-care-about-my-friends’ Kusuo mutters internally in annoyance, even as he yeets himself head-first into other people’s business and right back into the convenience store to stop a future robbery. Still he smiles, eyes soft with perhaps the slightest flicker of affection for this dysfunctional bunch of people in his disastrous life. Someone has to protect them and save the day, after all.

  –End–

[ventcovers]

Upgrades to 10 Hideous Air Vent Covers: Advantages of New Pacific Register Company

Don't let unsightly air vent covers distract from your home's aesthetic. Take a look at these great-looking improvements that you can buy or build yourself.

Marble it to the gills If your old air vent covers are detracting from the charm of your new marble floors, Metro Marble Repair is here to help. Custom floor signups are available in tile, glass, granite, porcelain, and limestone. Simply give them your supplies, and they'll create the ideal vent shroud for you. Sheet Metal with Designs Purchase some patterned sheet metal to take a more innovative approach to repairing an unsightly air vent shroud. Measure the vent openings then cut them to fit over the vent with caution. Bear leather gloves when chopping, then file down any rough edges with tin snips. If required, paint the covers, fasten the metal to thin wood strips, and seal the cover with small screws.

Using a Fiberglass Plastic Air Vent Shroud.

This air vent shroud option is only for use on walls and ceilings, and it is a luxurious and sleek upgrade to standard covers. Installing the device is as quick as sticking it to the wall or ceiling with self-adhesive silicone. Attempt a Butterfly Although this is not a cost-effective choice, you might hire an artist to make air vent covers for you. Jerzy Sanecki of SaneckiArt, an Etsy customer, designs one-of-a-kind air vent covers, such as this butterfly style.

“I purchased five complete vent covers from Jerzy and am incredibly satisfied with the results. They are simply gorgeous and lovely, and we have already got compliments on them in our new home,” one reviewer says.

Check out these 100 stunning before and after home makeovers that will astound you.

Make an attempt at a minimalist style.

Through using the Aria Vent, you will achieve a minimalist look. When they go about making "seriously beautiful air vents," this maker has DIYers and industry pros in mind. With drop-in mounting technology, the original Aria Vent has a sleek, futuristic appearance. Minimalism is one of the 15 home patterns that Millennials are embracing.

Make Use of an Ancient Shutter

Consider converting an air vent that is prominently placed on a wall into a piece of art. Find an old interior window shutter and hack it down to size for the air vent. The shutter should be completed with trim before being primed and sprayed. Attach some D-rings to the shutter and hang it on the wall. Here's an example of how it'll look when it's done. You can find a lot of antique window shutters on Etsy. Check out these 12 easy-to-make room dividers, one of which is made from repurposed shutters.

It's a Tile Matching an air vent to the rest of the architecture will prevent it from being an eyesore on your floor. Custom tileable in-floor vents with a welded aluminum frame and reversible insert are accessible from Tile Lines. You have the option of cutting your tile to match! Here's how to tile a DIY backsplash, when we're on the subject of tiles.

Consider a mirrored finish.

Install mirrored finish air vent covers for a streamlined look that blends in with the surrounding fabrics. This option was designed to replace old louvered grilles and is a perfect match for walls and ceilings. Big mirrors are among the 52 objects that will make your home seem more expensive.

Air Vent Mask in Brushed Nickel, Art Deco

Install these chic air vent covers to bring more Art Deco flair to your house. These covers, which come in a range of sizes and finishes, are simple to install—just drop it into the opening with no tools needed! Taking a look at these 15 retro home patterns that are resurfacing. Use a period-style air vent shroud to add some style to your room. You'll enjoy this period-style scroll pattern air vent shroud if your home decor is more Victorian. It's made of cast aluminum and has a luxurious black finish due to a baked-on powder coating. It's also rustproof and needs no repair! Do you want to give your home a Victorian feel? The following directions will teach you how to build a Victorian screen home.

Ground Air Vent shroud (DIY)

Okay, I understand that this DIY floor air vent shroud isn't for everybody, and that's good. This idea would not have been my cup of tea if it hadn't been thrust upon me. We have kittens, you know. There are ten of them. Cats can also be jerks at times. And cats have a history of peeing on things when they're feeling extremely jerky. They pee down stuff, in this situation. And that's just what our cats did: they peed down the vents in our floor.

Now, I understand how revolting it is. I debated not posting it and our eventual patch on the site because it was so revolting. But, as you know, I tend to keep it real around here, and I think that if I'm having this dilemma, there must be other pet owners out there who are as well. So, if I can help any fellow feline lovers out there fix this heinous dilemma, I'll take the risk of missing a few readers in the process. Anyway, this concern began when we first moved into the house where we now live. We didn't have this problem in our old house because it didn't have floor air vents, so we were surprised to see our cats piddling down our cool, clean air vents in our new home. We did everything a cat owner could do in this situation—made sure there were enough clean litter boxes open, using feline pheromone diffusers, etc.—and it helped a bit, but we still had the problem on occasion. I ultimately decided to strategically position furniture to cover as many air vents as possible, but some air vents stayed exposed. We searched for floor air vent covers to buy to fix our dilemma, but the only ones that looked like they could fit were made of plastic and would crumble into a million pieces if stepped on. We had to come up with a plan because there was no way I was going to put up with this and keep our house smelling like we had so many cats, even if we did have too many cats. These are designed to go over regular 4 x 10 and 4 x 14-inch floor air vent signups. Since signups come in a range of sizes, if you don't have the same sizes as us, you'll need to do some weighing and estimating to ensure a decent match. We built them to fit snugly in the back and front so they wouldn't slip around, but we made the cover 3′′ wider than the floor openings to prevent pee from getting under the sides of the air vent, which are open to allow air movement.

“But people are going to fall right over these!” I can hear some of you shouting at the computer screens now. Let me ask you a question: how much do you walk on your house's floor air vent signups? Floor air vents are usually positioned in inconspicuous areas and/or parallel to a wall. When wandering around indoors, people naturally leave a foot or two between themselves and the walls. And as long as you don't make them the same color as the floor you're going to use them on, they'll be easy to find.

• Timber planks 10′′ x 3/4′ for the top of the air vent sheet. They usually come in 6-8′ lengths, but do the calculations to work out how many you'll need based on the number of air vents you want to protect. These are made of Pinewood, but any heavy wood would do (softer wood might split if it does ever get stepped on, but I still think the chances of that happening are pretty slim). • 1′′ x 3/4′′ wood planks for the air vent cover's foundation These may be difficult to come by, so you can have to break a wider plank down to size. If you do buy them, they usually come in 4-6′ lengths, so do the math and work out how many you'll need based on the number of air vents you want to protect. These are made of Pinewood, but any heavy wood would do. • Finish screws, 16 gauge, 1 1/2 inch • Weathered Gray Varathane wood polish (buy at Lowes) • Baby Gloves with Valspar Chalky Coating (buy at Lowes) • Uncolored Valspar Sealing Wax (buy at Lowes) Please note: I'm sharing the type and dimensions of the wood I purchased so you'll know what I used for this project, but you can use different types/sizes of wood if you can't find the same type/size wood at the hardware store or if you have scrap wood.

Instruments:

• Saw with no rope

• The Nail Gun

• Paint Brushes

• Cotton Rags

• Palm Sander

Directions: Cut the top and sides of the wood to match your floor air vent register's dimensions. For the 4′′ x 14′′ air vent register, we used dimensions of 17′′ x 9′′ for the top of the air vent shroud (two pieces of 10′′ x 3/4′ wood plank cut to fit) and 17′′ x 3/4′′ x 1′′ for the sides of the air vent shroud (two pieces of 3/4′′ x 1′′ wood plank cut to the 17′′ duration for the wide air vents). The top of the air vent shroud (two pieces of 10′′ x 3/4′ wood plank cut to fit) and 13′′ x 3/4′′ x 1′′ for the sides of the air vent shroud (two pieces of 3/4′′ x 1′′ wood plank cut to the 13′′ length for the large air vents) are the dimensions we used for the 4′′ x 10′′ air vent sing-up.

As seen above, nail the two top pieces to the two side pieces. Now comes the exciting part! Apply a wood polish and brush away the excess with a towel. Give at least a couple of hours for the paint to dry before going on to the next stage. Allow at least a few hours for the chalk paint to dry before going on to the next stage. Using the palm sander, distress the soil. It's completely up to you how much or how little you distress (or even whether you do it at all)! Using a wet towel, clear some pollen.

Apply a layer of sealing wax to the surface and brush away any residue with a towel. There's a lot of discussion on whether you can wax before or after distressing; I usually do it after because it covers the exposed wood as well as the chalk paint (and these will use all the protection they can get if my cats try to poop on them, which they haven't yet). Both of our air vent covers have been assembled and are ready to be mounted in the building! If you're having a similar issue with your cats as we were, I hope this DIY floor air vent shroud will come in handy! Our cats have been avoiding the freshly protected vents so far, and it's awesome to have them back in operation, particularly with the 100+ degree temperatures of our summers approaching! Thank you for coming, and please let me know what you think or whether you have any questions!

Pacific Registry Company sells decorative wall grilles and overhead registers.

And the tiniest information will make a huge difference. Decorate a mundane and uninteresting region of your home with something amazing. Most vent covers are dull and unknown, and they frequently neglect beauty and appearance in favor of functionality. Air vents, which are used to limit or re-direct airflow in your house, are frequently ignored by homeowners, resulting in missed opportunities to add elegance and decorative appeal to every room. Request decorative register and vent shroud made of aluminum, brass, wood, plaster, resin, and stone from our vast inventory of completely customizable decorative sign-up and vent covers. It's never been easier to fit vent grilles to your unique style; use our range of vents to accent all of them. If you've been unimpressed or otherwise uninterested in the vents in your house, it's time to think about how this frequently neglected detail will relate to the overall design and décor you're striving for.

CHECK OUT OUR INVENTORY OF DECORATIVE REGISTERS AND VENT COVERS, CEILING REGISTERS, AND FILTER GRILLS ONLINE.

COVERS FOR VENTS Our high-quality heat signups and grilles are simple to customize to suit your room, from unusual old homes to renovated houses. When a heat vent consumes a large amount of space on your floors or walls, it's important to balance it with a sophisticated, long-lasting heat sign-up or grille. Below, you'll find a range of refined types and sizes. Rejuvenation has vent covers and floor signups for your house.

When it comes to home decor, the slightest specifics will make all the difference, so consider replacing your old covers with one of our waterproof styles. The Classic Brass grille, which measures 4 x 12 inches and is made of sturdy cast brass, is one alternative. This grille brings refinement to the space with its sleek Revised Classic style and low profile. Combine it with other home accents like a BRASS PLANTER or a wall sconce. Wood floor signups are also available from Rejuvenation, and are suitable for having a Northwest Contemporary design look. The Wood Slat floor register is available in three sizes to fit your needs. To fit your furniture, pick from oak, maple, or cherry wood. Consider one of the Traditional Aluminum grilles in black enamel if you choose a Sleek Industrial look. Rejuvenation has all the home hardware you need in a range of classic designs in addition to these vent covers.

New vent covers and a floor register have a range of advantages.

Changing minor details inside the space will go a long way toward changing the overall appearance of the room, as previously described. Space is automatically updated when you swap your old vent covers and floor signups with one of this brass, aluminum, or wood alternatives. Change the switchplates to create a unified look; Rejuvenation has switchplates in a range of finishes to complement these floor signups and vent covers, as well as other fixtures and drawer, pulls to accommodate your house. Look through the collection for beautiful and long-lasting pieces for every room.

With registers and grilles, you can monitor the airflow in your house.

Airflow to and from the HVAC unit in your home is controlled and directed by signups and grilles, which keep your living room comfortable while concealing the ductwork. Lowe's has a large range of grilles, signups, and air deflectors to ensure that ventilation is directed where it is required most. Take a minute to calculate the size of the duct opening so you know what will work, and take note of the covering so you can find a fitting piece for the opening before you go shopping.

Inventories

The distinguishing feature of these usually slatted covers, which can be found in the floor, wall, or ceiling, is a lever that allows you to open or close the air vent to alter airflow into the room. Floor signups come in a variety of materials, designs, and finishes, allowing you to use them as a decorative feature that often blends in with the rest of the room's hardware and fixtures. From scroll styles and oil-rubbed bronze finishes to light oak choices that blend in with hardwood floors, you'll find one that suits your room perfectly. Is your vent in your baseboard rather than on the floor? Lowe's also has baseboard signups that can match these gaps.

A grille's task is to draw air out of a room and return it to the heating or cooling system. It varies from a sing-up in that it lacks a damper to regulate airflow. Many small grilles will be mounted in the building, or a single wide grille will be installed throughout the ceilings or walls. They are available in a range of fabrics and finishes to match your personal taste.

Controlling the passage of air

Will you need to steer incoming air in a certain direction? Air deflectors mount to your vents to divert air, whether you're shielding plants put under vents or need to force air away from seating in the living room. These options vary from magnetically connecting to the sign-up to designs with multiway deflection, allowing you to quickly construct a calming environment. Are you looking for a way to help spread air more uniformly in a room? Ceiling diffusers are an excellent alternative. Want to monitor the temperature of a room without using the thermostat? Air vent covers prohibit air from accessing signups, causing it to reroute to other regions. A vent shroud can also help save electricity, and some come with a magnetic feature for simple installation.

Lowe's has the goods you need for efficient ventilation in your home when it comes to the air conditioning vents. Reggio sing-up and other brands are available to equip your home in both feature and design. With our Purchase Online, Pick Up in Store option, you can easily complete your heating and cooling project.

Visit Our Official Website

Additional Resources:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Register_(air_and_heating)

Location: https://goo.gl/maps/45C2MV4Tbo9hwKuA8

[snarkomancy]

The spell of teleprojection was tricky, the sorcerers were to speak with one voice, by joining hands and thoughts. Even then, it turned out to be a devilishly strenuous exercise, partly because the distance was so considerable. The clenched eyelids of Philippa Eilhart quivered, Triss Merigold panted, and sweat beads ran down the high forehead of Keira Metz. Only the face of Margarita Laux-Antille expressed no fatigue.

The small room plunged into semi-lit darkness, suddenly, a mosaic of light began to dance along the dark wood paneling. Outlined by a white glow, an orb appeared above the round table. While Philippa Eilhart chanted the last incantations, the orb came up right in front of her, on top of one of the twelve chairs placed around the table. An indistinct silhouette took shape inside it. The projection was not very stable, the image flickered, but it soon became clearer. 

“Holy shit,” Keira muttered, wiping her forehead. “Do they not know of glamarye or any other beauty spells in Nilfgaard?” “Apparently not.” said Triss from the corner of her mouth. “They certainly have not heard of fashion either.” “Neither have they heard of make-up.” said Philippa quietly. “But don't say a word now, girls. And do not gape at her. We must stabilize the projection and greet our guest. Strengthen me, Rita.”

Margarita Laux-Antille repeated the formula of the incantation and gestured to Philippa. The image flickered several times, it started to lose its vague picture and unnatural glow, the contours and colours became more acute. The sorceresses were now carefully observing the silhouette that was facing them. Triss bit her lip and glanced at Keira.

The woman within the projection was pale and her complexion was ugly. She had bland, expressionless eyes, narrow bluish lips and a slightly hooked nose. She wore a bizarre, conical, rather crumpled hat. Thin, dark, greasy hair hung from underneath it. Her robes were loose and shapeless, black with a silver trim, and frayed at the shoulder making her look unattractive and neglected. They were embroidered with a circle and a crescent star which served as the only decoration worn by the Nilfgaardian sorceress. Philippa Eilhart rose, trying not to unduly expose her jewels, her laces and her cleavage. 

“The venerable Lady Assire,” she said. “Welcome to Montecalvo. We are delighted that you have accepted our invitation.” “I accepted out of curiosity.” said the Nilfgaardian sorceress with an unexpectedly pleasant and melodious voice, instinctively adjusting her hat. Her hands were thin, marked with yellow spots, and her nails were broken and uneven, obviously bitten. “Only out of curiosity,” she reiterated, “however the consequences could indeed prove to be disasterous for me. I beg you to give me an explanation.”

“I will do so in a moment,” Philippa nodded, motioning the other sorceresses. “But before then, allow me to call the projections of the other participants of the meeting and make a cross-presentation. I ask a little patience.” The sorceresses united hands again and resumed their incantations. The air in the chamber rang like taut wire from the ceiling coffers and once again descended in a glowing haze, filling the room with flickering shadows. Above three of the unoccupied chairs, spheres of pulsating light began to form, the outlines of the silhouettes within becoming visible. 

The first to appear was Sabrina Glevissig, wearing a provocatively low-cut turquoise dress with a large, standing lace collar, which formed a beautiful setting for her curly hair crowned with a brilliant diadem. Next to her, emerging from the misty light projection, was Sheala de Tancarville in a black velvet gown trimmed with pearls, her neck wrapped with a silver fox boa. The Nilfgaardian sorceress nervously licked her thin lips. Just wait for Francesca, thought Triss. When you see Francesca, little black rat, your eyes will pop out of your head. Francesca Findabair did not disappoint. Her dress was the colour of blood, revealing her appetizing form. She wore a necklace of rubies, an ambitious hairdo, and her doe eyes were encircled with keen elven makeup.

“Ladies, I wish you all welcome to Montecalvo,” said Philippa. “I took the liberty of inviting you here to address some issues of significant importance. I regret that we meet as teleprojections, however, due to the times and the distances between us, a real meeting would have been impossible. I, Philippa Eilhart, the mistress of this castle, as hostess and instigator of this meeting will handle the introductions. To my right, Margarita Laux-Antille, the head of the Academy of Aretuza. To my left, Triss Merigold, of Maribor, and Keira Metz, of Carreras. Next, we have Sabrina Glevissig, of Ard Carraigh and Sheala Tancarville of Creyden, representing Kovir. Then Francesca Findabair, known as Enid an Gleanna, the current ruler of the Valley of Flowers. And finally Assire var Anahid of Vicovaro, from the Empire of Nilfgaard. And now ...”

“And now I will say goodbye!” Sabrina Glevissig yelled, pointing at Francesca with her hand covered in rings. “You went too far, Philippa! I'm not going to sit at the same table as the damn elf, even as an illusion! She failed to clean the blood from the walls and floors of Garstang. The blood she and Vilgefortz spilled!” “I beg you to observe the proprieties and keep your cool.” Philippa leaned on the edge of the table with both hands. “Listen to what I have to say. I do not ask anything more. When I finish, each of you will decide whether to stay or leave. The projection is voluntary, it can be interrupted at any time. The only thing I ask of those who decide to leave, is to keep the secrecy of this meeting.”

“I knew it!” Sabrina moved so suddenly that for a moment she came out of the projection. “A secret meeting! Secret arrangements! In short, a conspiracy! And the intent is clear. Do you mock us, Philippa? First you demand that we keep this from our kings and our colleagues, which you have not seen fit to invite. And there sits Enid Findabair, by the grace of Emhyr var Emreis the reigning ruler of the elves of Dol Blathanna, who actively supports and arms Nilfgaard. That's not to say I'm not more amazed at the projection of a Nilfgaardian sorceress here in this room. Since when did the sorcerers of Nilfgaard cease to profess blind obedience and docile servility towards the Imperial power? And what secrets are we talking about here? If she's here, its at the knowledge and consent of Emhyr! At his command! She is the eyes and ears of the Emperor!”

“I doubt it.” said Assire var Anahid calmly. “Nobody knows that I participate in this meeting. I was asked in secrecy, which I have preserved and will maintain. It is also in my own interest to do so - if my participation came to light, I'd lose my head. For that is why there is such servility among sorcerers in the Empire, they have a choice between slavery and the scaffold. I have undertaken a risk by accepting your invitation. I did not come here as a spy and I have only one way to prove it, my own death. Just break Lady Eilharts request of secrecy. If the news of our meeting leaves these walls, I lose my life.”

“For me, the betrayal of this secret could also have unpleasant consequences,” Francesca smiled charmingly. “You would have a marvelous opportunity for revenge, Sabrina.” “I will get revenge in some other way, elf.” Sabrina's black eyes flashed ominously. “If the secret comes to light, it will not be through my fault or carelessness. Not mine!” “Are you implying something?” “Of course,” Philippa Eilhart interjected. “Of course, Sabrina gently reminds us of my work with Sigismund Dijkstra. As if she herself had never maintained any contact with the agents of King Henselt.” “There is a difference,” Sabrina growled. “I was not Henselt's mistress for three years, let alone his spies!” “Enough of this! Shut up!”

“I agree.” Sheala de Tancarville suddenly said outloud. “You've said enough, Sabrina. Enough already about Thanedd, enough about espionage and personal affairs. I do not come here to take part in such discussions or to listen to you spread your resentment and bombard us with insults. I'm not interested in the role of mediator, and if you invited me here with this intention, I will say it was to no avail. Indeed, I already suspect that I participate in vain, and I unnecessarily lose precious time at the great expense of my research work. However, I will refrain from making assumptions. Finally, I propose we call on Philippa Eilhart to begin, so we can finally learn the reason for this gathering. We will learn the role in which we play here. Then, without unnecessary emotions we will decide whether we should continue the show or lower the curtain. The discretion of which we are asked to commit, of course, obliges us all. And I, Sheala de Tancarville, will personally take appropriate action against the indiscreet.”

None of the sorceresses moved nor uttered a word. Triss did not for a moment doubt Sheala's warning. The Koviri  recluse did not make threats she threw to the wind. “We give you the stage, Philippa. I ask that the venerable congregation remain silent until you are finished.”

Philippa Eilhart rose, rustling her dress.

“Dear sisters,” she said. “The situation is serious. Magic is threatened. The tragic events of Thanedd, thoughts that I remember with regret and reluctance, have shown that the effects of hundreds of years of seemingly conflict-free cooperation, can be forgotten in the blink of an eye, when excessive private interests and ambitions emerge. Today we are in a breakdown, a disorder, and we run into mutual hostility and distrust. This is what happens, when things begin to spiral out of control. To regain control, to prevent a terrible disaster, we should take a strong hand to the helm of this ship carried away by the storm. Lady Laux-Antille, Lady Metz, Lady Merigold and I have already discussed this matter and have reached an agreement. Rebuilding the Chapter and Council destroyed at Thanedd is not enough. Besides, no one is capable of rebuilding both of these institutions, and there is no guarantee that it will not be infected by the same disease that destroyed the previous one. We propose a completely different, secret organization that will serve only the affairs of magic, which will do everything in its powers to prevent a disaster. For if magic dies, this world will perish. Just as centuries ago, a world devoid of magic and the progress it brings will plunge into chaos and darkness, it will be drowned in blood and barbarity. All ladies present here are welcome to join our initiative, to actively participate in the proposed secret group. We have invited you here to hear your views on on this matter. I am done.”

“Thank you.” Nodded Sheala de Tancarville. “If the ladies will allow me, I will begin. My first question, Philippa; why me? Why was I invited? Repeatedly, I rejected my candidacy for the Chapter, and I refused a chair on the Council. Firstly, my work consumes me. Secondly, I thought then and still think that there are, in Kovir, Hengfors and Poviss others, more deserving of these honors. I ask, why I was invited here and not Carduin? Not Istredd of Aedd Gynvael, Tugdual or Zangenis?”

“Because they are men.” said Philippa. “The organization, which I have mentioned should be composed exclusively of women. And you Assire?” “I withdraw my question.” The Nilfgaardian sorceress smiled. “It was the same as Lady de Tancarville's. The answer satisfied me.”

“This smacks of feminist chauvinism.” sneered Sabrina Glevissig. “Especially from your mouth, Philippa, after your change of ... sexual orientation. I have nothing against men. In fact, I love men, and life without them I can not imagine. But ... After a moment's thought ... I believe this to be a wise concept. Men are mentally unstable, too sensitive to their emotions and you can not count on them in times of crisis.”

“It is true.” admitted Margarita Laux-Antille calmly. “We constantly compare the results of the of the Aretuza adepts to those boys from the school in Ban Ard and the comparison falls invariably in favour of the girls. Magic requires patience, delicacy, intelligence, common sense and tenacity. It needs one to bear calmly and humbly their setbacks and failures. Men lose to ambition. They always want what they know is impossible and unattainable, and they do not notice what is possible.”

“Enough, enough, enough.” Sheala pouted, though not hiding her smile. “There is nothing worse than scientifically manufactured chauvinism, shame on you, Rita! Although ... I agree also with the unisex structure of the proposed convention... or, if preferred, Lodge. As we understand this is for the future of magic, and magic is too serious a matter to entrust its fate to men.”

“If I may,” Francesca Findabair said in her melodious voice, “I would like us to stop the rambling speculation about the nature of the domination of our gender, this harbours no discussion. Let us instead focus on matters relating to the proposed initiative, the purpose of which is still not entirely clear to me. The timing is not accidental, and is clearly related to the war. Nilfgaard has invaded and forced the Northern Kingdoms to the wall. So behind the vague slogans that I have heard, is hidden understandably, the desire to reverse the situation and defeat Nilfgaard? And then to skin the audacious elves? If so, Philippa, we do not find common ground.”

“Is this the reason why I have been invited here?” Asked Assire var Anahid. “I do not devote much attention to politics, but I know that the Imperial army has the advantage over your troops. Aside from Lady Francesca and Madame de Tancarville coming from a neutral kingdom, all the ladies represent kingdoms which are hostile to the Nilfgaardian Empire. Do you expect me to see this magic word of solidarity, as an incentive for treason? I'm sorry, but I do not see myself in that role.”

Having finished her speech, Assire leant, as if to lay her hand on something that was not in the projection. Triss thought she heard meowing. “She has a cat!” whispered Keira Metz. “I bet he's black ...” “Not so loud.” Philippa hissed. “Dear Francesca, dear Assire. Our initiative should be absolutely apolitical, that is its basic premise. We will not be guided by the interests of races, kingdoms, kings and emperors, but the good magic and its future.”

“Driven by the good magic,” Sabrina Glevissig smiled mockingly, “but still forgetting to ensure the welfare of witches? And yet we know how our fellow sorcerers are treated in Nilfgaard. We talk of being apolitical, but when Nilfgaard wins and we find ourselves under Imperial power, we will all look like ...” Triss moved uneasily, Philippa let out a barely audible sigh. Keira looked down, Sheala pretended to adjust her boa. Francesca bit her lip. Assire var Anahid's face did not flinch, but was covered with a slight blush.

“I just wanted to say... It's a sad fate that awaits us all.” Sabrina finished quickly. “Philippa, Triss and I, all three of us were at Sodden Hill. Emhyr will make us pay, as we will pay forThanedd, and for the entirety of our involvement. But this is just one of the reservations that stops me from agreeing to the declared political neutrality of the convention. Does participation in it mean the immediate resignation of the active and political, after all, service that we act in now with our kings? Or will we remain in this service and serve two masters at once: magic and power?”

“When someone tells me that he is apolitical,”Francesca smiled, “I always ask which of the policies he is referring to.” “And you know for certain he does not mean the one that he follows.” said Assire var Anahid, looking at Philippa. “I am apolitical,” Margarita Laux-Antille raised her head. “And my school is apolitical. I mean all political types that exist!” “Dear ladies,” Sheala spoke. She had remained silent for a long time. “Remember that you are the superior sex. So do not behave like girls who are fighting over bowl of sweet treats on the table. The principle proposed by Philippa is clear. At least to me, and I still don't have enough reason to consider you to be less keen of mind than I am. Outside of this room, be who you want, and serve whom you want and for whatever reason you choose to, as faithfully as you wish. But when the convention is gathered, we will deal exclusively with magic and its future.”

“This is exactly how I imagine it.” Philippa Eilhart confirmed. “I know that there are many problems, as well as doubts and ambiguities. We will discuss them at the next meeting in which all will take part, not as a projection or illusion, but in their own person. Your presence will be regarded not as a formal act of accession to the convention, but as a goodwill gesture. We will decide together whether such a convention should be created. All of us. Fairly.”

- Baptism of Fire

[7-wonders]

Naked & Afraid

Summary: You finally (unwillingly, like everything else that’s happened to you since that night in the parking lot) meet your father-in-law in what is arguably some of the weirdest circumstances you’ve ever dealt with.

Word Count: 3734

A/N: What, Claire finally updated Mad Love? Hell must’ve frozen over and pigs are surely flying! Feedback is always appreciated (even the h8ers; bring it on hunny I’m always up for a throwdown), and if you liked this chapter I would love if you would reblog and/or leave me a comment!

Read Mad Love (part one) HERE | Read Totally F***ed (part two) HERE | Read The Isle of Flightless Birds (part three) HERE | Read A Hard Day’s Night (part four) HERE | Read Pour One Out (part five) HERE | Read Where Angels Fear to Tread (part six) HERE

Every single thing about Michael Langdon and the life that he lives is the epitome of luxury, so it comes as no surprise that the en suite bathroom that has been deemed yours is just as opulent as everything else you’ve seen. After an incredibly long week that’s seemed to stretch for months, the large, ornate bathtub is the only thing on your mind. After Michael cut dinner short tonight, an issue with the Cooperative requiring his attention, you found yourself sitting on your bed and trying to figure out what to do with an unexpected free evening. Your head is still spinning after everything that’s happened in the past couple of days, and a long bath is where you tend to do your best thinking and decompressing. Today, especially, there’s a lot to think about.

The sound of rushing water fills the bathroom and echoes off of the large granite walls (who has granite walls?). Sticking your hand under the steady stream, you fiddle with the knob for a few moments before finding your ideal temperature. The bathtub starts to fill quickly, and you pour a generous amount of some fragrant lavender bubble bath into the water. You sit back on the balls of your feet, waiting for the bath to fill to your desired depth before rushing to turn it off. Glancing one last time to make sure you remembered to lock the door, you yank your clothes off of your body before sinking into the bath.

You sigh audibly once the hot water covers your body, the heat immediately going to work at relaxing your muscles. Relaxing against the back of the porcelain tub, you turn your phone on to play some music and stare up at the ceiling. There’s a chandelier, because of course there is. Although the signature black is prevalent throughout the room, you’re pleased to see some accents of purple and silver as well. Your thoughts, which can never just remain on one topic for an extended period of time, quickly shift to what’s happened yesterday and today.

The major thing is, of course, the kiss that you shared with Michael mere hours ago. More specifically, why the hell did you reciprocate the kiss? He certainly didn’t use his magic on you; even if you didn’t know what magic felt like when it was used on you now, the stern warning that you would beat his ass scared him enough to not even consider it. But, it’s not as if you like him. At best, you’re starting to tolerate him. That doesn’t mean you’ve ever thought about kissing him before, no matter how soft his lips actually are.

Maybe it was a lapse in judgement? Or maybe drunk (Y/N) was still lurking in the darkest recesses of your mind, just waiting for a moment to come out and screw everything up. A single kiss does not equal attraction of any kind. Michael’s arrogant, nosy, doesn’t understand boundaries, is the literal Antichrist and, to top it off, kidnapped you to be his unwilling bride. But at the same time, he obviously didn’t have a very loving or normal childhood, and he’s been used as a puppet by so many: Ms. Mead, the Satanists, his father. You don’t empathize with him, or even excuse his actions due to what he’s gone through. You do, however, understand why he acts the way that he does; maybe that makes all the difference.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but it’s obvious that you did. One moment, you’re relaxing in a bathtub and pondering how weird your life has gotten, and then you blink and you’re here. Well, wherever ‘here’ is. Everything’s dark, as if you’re standing outside in an empty field with no sign of stars, the moon, or any lights. Your eyes take a minute to adjust, but even then you’re still unable to see any sign of life. Although you can’t see anything, you can feel that something, or someone, is here with you.

The hair on your arms prickles, goosebumps rising as you feel a pair of piercing eyes watching you. The worst part, though, is that you can’t tell which direction they’re looking at you from. Just when you turn around to try and catch them, the feeling’s from behind you. It’s everywhere: Your back, your arms, your side, your face. At times it feels like you’re nose to nose with this entity, even though there’s nothing there. Your breathing picks up, nervously coming out in visible puffs as you wrap your arms around yourself. Looking down suddenly, you’re grateful that you’re not still naked in this dream (or vision, or premonition). You’re wearing the same clothes that you were wearing earlier today, almost as if you had dressed yourself while asleep.

As far as you can tell, you’re alone. That is, until you’re not. You spin around in a slow circle one last time, shrieking loudly when you come face to face with a man. A small smile has his pink lips upturned, showing his amusement at your fear. He’s tall, tall enough that his neck is bent in order to look at you. His unruly black hair somehow manages to look like he styled it that way, and his hazel eyes seem to flicker and crackle with sparks. You stumble backwards, desperate to put some space between you and this stranger. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, reminding you of how Michael looks when he smells your fear in the air.

“Who are you?” Your voice, although you attempt to sound strong, comes out shaky and hesitant.

“I am known by many different names, and I possess many different faces.” He quips, taking one long step closer to you. “Mmm, but of course you would not recognize me as I am now, right, sweet (Y/N)?”

“How do you know my name?”

He doesn’t answer. In a split second, he’s changed from the man with the mop of black hair to a tall man with brown hair and brown eyes, a trimmed beard on his face. If it weren’t for the same sparks in his eyes, you would have thought it was a completely different person.

“Does this not work for you, either?” His form changes again, to that of a teenage boy in an ill-fitting sweater and ratty jeans. His blond hair hasn’t been combed in a while, but he has the same brown eyes as that of the man before him.

“Stop doing this!” You snap, half-tempted to smack him.

“Oh, but I think you will quite enjoy this next form.” Suddenly, Michael stands before you. It looks just like the Michael you know, except for those eyes. Michael’s eyes, the real Michael’s eyes, lack that odd flame in them that this person has.

“Change back.” You say through gritted teeth. You’re not sure why the sight of him makes you feel so odd, but it does.

“You are no fun at all.” He sighs, reverting back to the original form that you first saw him in.

“I’m going to ask you this one more time. Who. Are. You?” Your hands are balled into fists at your sides, and you can feel your nails digging into the calloused flesh there.

“‘The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.’” He quips. It sounds familiar, what he’s saying, but you have no clue where you would have heard something like this before. “Why did you react the way that you did when I assumed the image of my son?”

“Your son? Who’s your…” You trail off upon realizing the only person that he could possibly be referring to as his son. He smirks, knowing that you’re hoping with every fiber of your being that he’s not who you think he is.

“Such a smart woman you are, (Y/N).” His voice drips with the same saccharine that tempted Eve when she stood at that lonely tree in the Garden of Eden, listening to the lies of the serpent as he whispered in her ear that the Forbidden Fruit would provide her the same knowledge that God himself possessed. “Surely you have heard some of my names. Beelzebub, Mephistopheles, Lucifer--” he cuts himself off, and the grin that he shoots your way has you shuddering at the mere sight of it, “--Satan.”

“You can’t be, I--how am I here?” There’s so much about this situation that’s wrong, but for some reason your mind latches onto the sheer absurdity of waking up in an actual hellscape.

“My dear, I’m the Devil. A mere parlor trick is all it took to get you into my domain.” He spreads his arms wide, proud of the desolate landscape that stretches ahead for miles and miles.

“I’m not your ‘dear.’” You retort, eyes widening when you realize that you just sassed Satan himself. Instead of stealing your soul and banishing you to the Ninth Circle of Hell, which is what you’re expecting, he stares at you for a moment before laughing loudly.

“See, everytime I think that I chose the wrong mortal to be my son’s companion, you prove to me that I made the correct choice.” He seems proud of himself, standing tall and with his chest out.

“You ruined my life with your ‘choice.’”

Satan’s face falls, and he takes another step closer to you. “I have given you the opportunity to be great!”

“You stole my free will!”

“Thanks to me, you will rule the New World side-by-side with Michael. You are the missing link to bring about our plans for the Apocalypse. My son, as I am sure you have noticed, is all too human. I blame his mother; gentle, impassioned Vivien did not pass many things down to Michael, but she did manage to give the boy an overly caring heart. He needs someone to fulfill his heart’s desires, and who better than the one who was handpicked for him?”

“The Apocalypse,” you scoff, choosing to ignore the last part of his spiel for now as you look the Devil right in the eyes. “Why do you even want to bring about the Apocalypse? Once everyone’s dead, there’s no more new souls for you to torture.”

“Hell is not just made up of the souls of the damned, (Y/N). Legions of demons, swarms of locusts and scorpions, plagues that mankind has long since forgotten. My domain shall no longer be restricted just to Hell. Instead, Hell, and all of her beasts, will wreak havoc upon the Earth.”

“You want to kill billions of people, just so that you and your buddies can get your jollies?”

“Chaos and disorder are what keeps the world running. I am merely trying to make sure that only those who can survive the most chaotic of situations will populate the New World. Which, might I remind you, you shall have a hand in ruling.”

“I don’t want your fucking crown or kingdom.”

You go to whirl around, hoping that there will be some door that you missed when you first woke up here, but you’re faced again with Satan. When you try to back away from him, a ring of flames encircles both of you, effectively trapping you with him. He snatches your wrist, and your eyes widen at the sharp talons digging into your skin.

“Did your mother never teach you that gratitude is a virtue?” His voice comes out as a thunder, shaking the very ground that you stand on.

You really should tone down the sass and backtalk, but you can’t help it when a man as arrogant as any you’ve ever met stands mere inches away. “That’s really rich, coming from the literal Devil.”

“You foolish, insolent little girl. You have no idea what I am capable of.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as he loosens his grip on your wrist, allowing you to snatch your extremity back from him. You rub the skin, visibly marked and bleeding in areas where the talons pierced through, as gently as possible while trying to gain some feeling back into your tingling hand.

“I embody the seven deadly sins,” he continues. “I can become your greatest desire…”

You haven’t been looking at him while attending to your wrist, but your movements stop at the sudden change of voice when he reaches the end of his sentence. Moving your eyes slowly upwards, you let out a harsh breath when you’re greeted with Michael’s smirking face. The Michael doppelgänger slowly walks towards you, lifting a chilly hand up to your face and caressing your cheek.

“Don’t touch me.” You mutter, unable to look away from his cerulean eyes.

“C’mon, (Y/N),” even his mocking tone sounds just like the Michael that you know, “don’t play coy with me. I can see into the deepest parts of your soul. That purity that you try so furiously to embody, tinted black in some areas. You desire me, even though you hate to admit it.”

“I don’t.”

“Liar.” He whispers, breath ghosting across your face while he moves even closer to yours. “The very essence of your being calls out for me, just as I call out for you. We were created for each other. No matter how much you try and fight it, we belong to each other. Soon enough, your mind will give into what your soul already knows.”

“Stop it!” You shout, shoving him away from you.

Satan goes stumbling back, caught off-guard by your sudden attack and nearly topping into the flames. When he rights himself again, he has a devil’s grin plastered across his original face.

“As I was saying, I can become your greatest desire, but I can also transform into your worst nightmare.”

He starts to shift and change, body convulsing as bones grow from out of nowhere. Satan’s no longer a man, although was the title of ‘man’ ever one that could be bestowed upon him? Instead, he’s a horrific, imposing creature with multiple heads that almost looks like some sort of dragon.

“‘And I saw a beast coming out of the sea,’” he bellows, all of the heads combining their voices to form a roar that has you clapping your hands over your ears. “‘It had ten horns and seven heads, with ten crowns on its horns, and on each head a blasphemous name.’”

Vaguely, you realize that the heads are quoting some part of the Book of Revelation, but you don’t have time to wonder about if the Devil has the Bible memorized when the heads of the beast unhinge their jaws, showing off their gaping maws and the dim glow of fire being conjured from deep in their belly. As the heads start to lower towards you, you drop to your knees and let out a blood curdling shriek.

Michael senses your panic before he hears your terrified screams. He springs up from his plush leather chair in his office, abruptly ending the phone call he was just on with a couple of world leaders. Your screams permeate the air, Michael’s heart pounding in terror at what you could possibly be experiencing right now. In his mind, there’s no time to waste. He blasts the bathroom door open the moment that it comes into view, hoping that you’ll forgive him for barging in on you while you’re nude.

Your subconscious, which Satan had pulled into Hell the moment your eyes slipped closed for longer than a second, had jolted back into your body upon sensing your imminent demise. In your panic, you had slipped under the water, inhaling mouthfuls of it as your lungs tried to breathe normally again. Your hands cling to the lip of the tub, almost like you’re worried that something will swim up from the depths of the bath and attempt to drag you back under. Alternating between screaming and coughing up the water that has invaded your lungs, your eyes remain clenched tight.

Michael reaches for you before his mind can start to think about the repercussions of doing so, arms slipping under your body and pulling you out of the water. His suit is soaking wet now, but he doesn’t care. He’s never seen you like this before, so terror-stricken that you can’t even open your eyes, and it shakes him to his core. You thrash against his firm chest, sure that Satan has shifted back and captured you in hell. It’s only when you hear his frantically calm reassurances that your body stops writhing.

“Hey, you’re okay, it’s fine. I’m here, nothing can hurt you.” He soothes you, waiting patiently for your eyes to flutter open.

“Michael? It’s...it’s actually you, right?” Your voice is meek in a way that he’s never heard before.

“Why wouldn’t it be me?” Your eyes fill with tears at the memory, and you shake your head before burying your face in his chest, sobs wracking your body. “What happened to you?”

The only sounds you make are the small whimpers that slip past the barrier of your mouth, floating to Michael’s ears. His fingers go to your back, freezing when he remembers that you’re naked. Hesitantly, he grabs a towel and wraps you in it, though you’re still too shocked to even care. Michael holds you tightly against him, rubbing circles on your back and listening to your heart to make sure it evens out. It takes a while, but it slowly manages to go to a rate that wouldn’t have an Apple Watch alerting its owner of a possible heart attack.

“(Y/N), is it okay if I get you dressed?” If your head wasn’t pressed against his chest, he wouldn’t even be aware that you had nodded in response to his request, the movement was so small.

Michael can tell that the steady metronome of his heart is calming to you, so he remains silent while he runs another towel through your hair. He’s gentle with you, almost like you’re a wisp of smoke he’s managed to capture in his hands; one wrong movement, and you’ll disappear. He helps to tug the black nightdress over your head, looking up at the ceiling while he inches it down past your thighs until you’re modest. A wave of his bejeweled hand makes the bathtub start to drain, the sound of the water level receding helping to fill the silence of the bathroom.

You’re exhausted, although you’re not sure if it’s from the near-drowning that still has your lungs feeling like they’re burning or the fact that Satan literally had you in Hell with him. When Michael picks you up in his arms, you don’t even bother to protest what he’s doing. The covers of your bed have already been turned down, likely the work of a maid slipping in while you were first in the bathroom. Michael sets you down amongst the plush pillows and starts to pull the blankets up around you, but stops when you grab his hand.

“It was Satan.” You mutter, tired eyes gazing up to see his panicked reaction.

“What?”

“Lay down with me.” Patting the spot on the bed next to you, Michael slowly slips his shoes off before sliding in next to you. You smile slightly at how he still respects your space, fingers just barely brushing against yours in an effort to not piss you off. “I must have fallen asleep while I was taking a bath. It felt like I only blinked, and suddenly I was in this pitch black landscape…”

You tell him everything about the confrontation with his father, only leaving out the part where Satan accused Michael of being your greatest desire. He listens intently throughout your entire story, saving all of his comments for after you’re finished.

“Why did he show himself to you?” Michael mutters, almost as if he’s talking to himself.

“Does he normally not do that?”

“I’ve never actually seen him before. My father has an...odd way of communicating with me, and that usually involves some sort of visions or rituals. I don’t understand why you’re--” he cuts himself off, jaw tightening while he lets out a sigh. “--he’s not pleased with either of us.”

“He couldn’t just have a friendly conversation with you instead of dragging me to Hell?”

“This was intended to be a message that would resonate with both of us. Would you have taken me seriously if he had spoken to me during a ritual?”

“You already know I wouldn’t.”

“Then what better way to voice his displeasure than by getting the skeptic, the unwilling second part of this equation, to be the messenger?”

“I don’t understand why he’s not pleased, though. I married you. Isn’t that enough?”

Michael grimaces. “You’re far more headstrong than he thought you would be. I think, when my father was picking a bride for me, he imagined that she would be this demure little thing who faithfully worshipped Satan and had already accrued a body count by her eighteenth birthday. You are almost the exact opposite of that, and it infuriates him. Any wrench in our plans means more time that’s wasted.”

“What you order on Amazon versus what shows up.” You joke, chuckling when Michael stifles a smile. “C’mon, that was funny!”

“It’s time for you to get some rest, (Y/N).” Michael reminds you, stroking your damp hair back from your face. His clothes are no longer wet, and you briefly wonder if he used his magic to dry them before nerves seize your stomach.

“Wait! Please don’t leave me.” You plead, gripping his arm tightly with both of yours. Michael looks concerned, and you sigh. “I’m scared that he’ll get me again if I fall asleep.”

Michael’s arms wrap around you, securing you against his chest. That steady rhythm that makes up his heartbeat starts to calm you again, and you use the sound to ground yourself.

“I won’t let him anywhere near you, I promise.” You can’t be too sure, considering how fast you drift off, but it feels like he lays a kiss to your forehead.

Michael keeps his promise, remaining with you until long after you’re asleep. When his own eyes start to slip closed, he allows himself to fall asleep next to you, protecting you no matter what.

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[designsfromtime]

When It All Goes South: A Designer’s Nightmare

Back in 2013 a client named “Nicole” contacted me.  She had been searching for a designer to work with for several years and wasn’t satisfied with the “talent” she had found thus far. She stumbled across my website, found my contact information and gave me a call. She had a stash of fabrics and some basic ideas and we spoke on the phone at length . . . A conversation that lasted over an hour. 

I had been a seamstress since I was a pre-teen. My grandmother began teaching me to sew when I was a child and I sort of “fell” into historical costuming by happenstance in 2001. That happenstance being my 16 year old daughter wanting to join RenFaire with her friends and had to have a parent join with her.  I used my experience as a seamstress and began dabbling in historical clothing. I made our garb and it was “passable” - barely! LOL Of course I’m judging myself by my current abilities, but hey...we all start somewhere. 

Fast forward to 2012. My husband had died from on-the-job injuries sustained in his position as a law enforcement officer and the kids and I relocated to Bonney Lake, Washington. My husband’s death provided me and my adult kids with a generous retirement, so when we relocated to Washington State I was fortunate enough to retire as a Medical Transcriptionist and pursue my costuming full-time. 

Enter “Nicole.”

One of my biggest faults, if you can classify it as a fault, is that I am generous. Generous with my time. Generous with my talent. Generous with my friendship. And generous with my trust. This generosity gets me in trouble. It has for my entire adult life, and more especially since taking my talents public and opening my website and Etsy store. But it also has affected my personal relationships. I am a Leo. Astrology likes to paint us Leos with broad strokes. So, for the record, I’m not the attention seeking, spotlight loving, glory hog people may associate with being Leo, but I have a big old fluffy lion heart and I’m driven. 

Another factoid: I’m very intuitive. I won’t go into the “I see dead people” stories or the dreams that come true. That’s a story for another time. I’ve used that intuition as a designer. In most cases I can tune in with my clients and get a real ‘read’ on their tastes and have pulled off some pretty awesome costumes as a result. It’s why I like it when a client gives me the freedom to follow my creative inspiration rather than constrict me to follow “their” vision to the exclusion of my creative input. That’s the one time I will own my Leo-ness. I work best when I can take the lead as a designer, but I’m VERY sensitive to my client’s input. So my process is usually a 60/40 mix. 

After that long conversation, I didn’t hear back from Nicole until 2016. She’d relocated from New York to California and was now “ready” to proceed with a gown commission. Great! She sent me a huge box of fabrics and trims she had been collecting for over a decade. She had some great fabrics that I was itching to get my hands on, but she wanted her first commission to be made out of a blue “patterned” upholstery weight velvet she had in her stash. Not my recommendation to use upholstery weight velvet, but I will make do with what my client’s have - unless it’s simply too hideous or won’t drape properly.

I sketched out the gown she communicated she wanted, and pitched my ideas for embroidery, sleeves, and such. I took her deposit and when her reservation rolled around I began working. As I was in the process of embroidering the gown pieces, she called and pitched me the idea of me using a reproduction of an Elizabethan embroidery pattern used on waistcoats of that time period. She wanted her forepart “completely” filled with that pattern. I gulped, and agreed - even though I knew it would be extremely time consuming.  Now, mind you - - If I charged FULL PRICE for such a piece, using the standard fee scale for commercial embroiderers, it would have cost in the range of about $1000 or more!  But, I was more concerned with making “her” vision a reality and enjoying the creative process and I DIDN’T CHARGE HER extra! (Oh my god, what the hell was I thinking?). There’s that generosity getting in my own way again. 

We had continued to communicate over a period of time even after her commission was complete because I “thought” we had built a friendship. We had quite a lot in common - aside from our love of costume and RenFaire. What I was to learn later (at the beginning of 2019) was that she was my friend so long as she was getting something out of that relationship. Stay tuned, I’ll get there in the telling of this story.

So, I designed the blue gown you see in the link at the end of this page and shipped it to her. She was ecstatic with my work and immediately we began planning a “peacock” themed gown. As part of my process as a designer, I generally ask my clients to send me three pictures of their favorite gowns they’ve seen. There were no pictures she could send me for “reference” as this was her dream gown. I sketched out a gown, incorporating designs from a picture I had seen, and she LOVED IT. The only issue was the embroidery pattern. Did she want this Elizabethan style gown to be more “literal” in theme with peacock feathers and a full peacock, or just “touches” of a peacock theme such as the color of the gown. So, I began to scour the internet and vendors for anything to do with Peacocks. 

While I strive for authenticity in the cut of my design, my challenge as a designer is to meld the "historical purist" with my client's vision or "fantasy" and produce beautiful and functional ensembles that hit as many points as possible; and offer the public a vignette into each respective time period. While I adore projects that strive for more historical accuracy, what's more important to me as a designer is pleasing my clients, working within their budget, and encouraging their love and knowledge of clothing from bygone eras. So, while peacocks were not a historical theme for the 16th Century, I was game.

The gown went through several iterations in terms of embroidery patterns. Whenever I thought we had nailed down a concept (for the embroidery), she would call me or send me pictures and pitch more ideas for this gown. I’m always open to my client’s input, but the process just kept going...and going...until finally we had reached the date of her reservation!  She hadn’t even purchased her fabrics yet! The fabrics were actually the easiest part of the process. We knew what colors we were to use but she hadn’t purchased the yardage we had discussed. With time running short, and the fact that I generally have a very full commission schedule on my calendar, I rescheduled her peacock gown to my next available opening and pitched the idea of using some of her other fabrics and use the time I had to design something else. (See the Red Pomegranate Gown in the link at the bottom of the page). That brought us to about April of 2018.

Over the ensuing months, we continued to discuss the peacock themed gown and she could not settle on an embroidery pattern. I kept sketching, and keeping notes on her feedback, and searching for patterns that might work. She finally came to the decision that she didn’t want it to be too “literal” with peacock feathers AND a peacock portrait - which she had decided that’s what she wanted (a portrait). So, I began researching and sent her pattern after pattern after pattern. She finally came to a decision, and I breathed a sigh of relief. We had discussed this damn gown ad nauseam and I was ready to just get on with actually building it rather than to talk it to death.

With a final concept in mind - or so I thought - she went to the website where I purchase my silks and attempted to order the fabric in the colors we had previously chosen. However, the fabric we were planning to use was now out of stock. So, the gown was postponed ONCE AGAIN.

It was going to be some time before the fabric we had chosen would be in stock again, and because of that delay I had to give her reservation away to another client. I mean, this IS my bread and butter! And I had broken a hard and fast rule and hadn’t asked her for a deposit. How the hell could I when she kept changing the damn gown!  I charge by the pattern piece - Every piece I physically sew together, but the embroidery is factored into my estimates. The intricacy of the embroidery would affect my fees, so I couldn’t really nail down an exact number - other than the basic estimate I had worked up months earlier.

In the meantime, she had more fabric waiting to be used and I had an concept I thought would be beautiful: pairing a pale gold and cream damask brocade with a blueish-lavender silk and embroidering it with blackberries. I had my digital artist digitize the patterns: realistic looking blackberry clusters with multicolored leaves and glass beads to create the actual berries. So, when her reservation date arrived ONCE AGAIN, I was all set to start the embroidery process. But wait! NOW, she decided at the last minute that she already had a gold colored gown she had purchased years ago, and she really wanted to revisit the peacock gown. So, once again, we were back to discussing embroidery.

She kept pitching me wild ideas such as a peacock head and body on the bodice stomacher with the tail extending into the forepart. Huh?? Is this an Elizabethan gown or a Charles Worth gown? I mean, come on! I’m good but that wasn’t an idea that would translate into an actual finished gown, at least not an Elizabethan style gown. So, following her EXPRESSED desire not to over do the peacock theme I found a pattern that was beautiful and suggested we use it on the stomacher of the bodice and a mirror image at the bottom of her forepart. I sketched up the concept, and found a beautiful filigree embroidery pattern for the skirt facings - a style SHE had suggested. She had previously expressed she didn’t want to over do the peacock theme by adding peacock feathers, but now, once again, she was changing her mind. Now she DID want peacock feathers on the forepart and sleeves. OK!  We’re making some headway - so I thought.

She was in a car accident and suffered a head trauma. It wasn’t serious but it rang her bell pretty good but she had to have major dental work as a result, and then her son had to have surgery and she postponed the gown due to financial constraints.

When she was ready, we picked up where we left off a few months prior. With the main “peacock” for the bodice front chosen (or so I thought) I waited for her to send me her fabrics. I waited - and waited - and waited. Come to find out, the dye lot of the color she had chosen for the main color of her gown was MUCH different from the original swatch and she HATED the new color. So, now we were back to purchasing ALL NEW fabric swatches and deciding on what colors to use. FINALLY, after weeks of debate and more phone conversations, she decided on her colors. So, she purchased her fabric, and we were all set to proceed - so I thought.

It had been several months since we had discussed her final embroidery choices, so with her swatches and my sketch I created a design board showing all the concepts, colors, embroidery patterns, etc., that she had agreed to use. I then told her in order to proceed I would need her deposit. Now, keep in mind, I’d lost thousands of dollars already by giving her multiple reservations - turning away multiple commission requests in order to accommodate her. But she was my friend....right?

After receiving my design board she decided she did’t like the embroidery pattern that SHE HAD AGREED TO USE months earlier, and was now back to searching for a better peacock. I took a deep breath, and I drew on my professionalism, and said, “Ok. . . You tell me what you want to use.” She then sent me a drawing she had done years before - which she previously nixed because she had decided against peacock feathers and a peacock portrait! ARRRGHHHH! You feel my frustration yet?

During these two years my brother - my ONLY brother - fell ill. He was a renowned physician who was revolutionizing orthopedic medicine using stem cells to regrow cartilage and other ground breaking treatments that were changing lives. He traveled all over the world teaching, and treating patients, as well as keeping a full patient load in his Bellevue, Washington practice. He kept his diagnosis secret - even from me. Turns out, he had pancreatic cancer.

Approaching January 2019 he had lost so much weight he was flesh draped over skeleton. I knew he was sick. I knew it was serious. My intuition kept telling me it was pancreatic cancer, though he had not confirmed my suspicions. I’d watched our grandmother succumb to the same disease. But stubborn man that he was, and dedicated to healing people, he refused to accept his mortality. He suffered two years WITHOUT PAIN MEDS in order to be able to legally treat his patients. Can you imagine? He would writhe in pain, screaming while his daughter held his hand all night, then get up in the morning and treat patients -  lying down in between appointments just to make it through the day. That was dedication! That is the kind of integrity he had. That was my beautiful brother. I like to count myself cut from the same cloth in terms of work ethic, but I pale in comparison to this man. He was a genius. I’m not fricking exaggerating out of familial bias. He wasn’t content just to understand bio-mechanics and the physiology relating to orthopedics. He wanted to understand the whole body - and he DID. He was hands down the BEST diagnostician I had ever seen in my 20 years working for multiple doctors as a transcriptionist.

Towards the end of January 2019, he called me and asked the kids and I to gather together so he could talk to us. “I have pancreatic cancer.” He admitted, “But I’m not giving up!” He rattled off the treatments he was still trying, and apologized when I began to cry. I cried like I hadn’t cried since my husband died. Three days later, we got a call from my niece telling us he was in the hospital and we’d better hurry. I sat by my brother’s bedside for about 12 hours - along with his wife, son, daughter, my kids, and a select few family and friends - and watched him slip away. That brilliant mind that had saved so many lives was riddled with toxins and infection and he was now septic. He kept shaking his head, trying to clear the fog that infected his brain - all the while stating, “I think I can beat this!”  He passed away that night around 10 pm. And I was now alone in this world without my brother.

Over the following couple of days, my assistant, Lalana, began fielding all my calls and commission requests. I was numb with grief. I worked just to keep from collapsing in on myself but I wasn’t functioning very well. My brother was the only sibling I had left in my life. His death took me back to the day my husband died, and it was all I could do to keep moving. We come from sturdy Scottish stock. My grandparents were farmers, and southerners who had survived the depression. I’m tough, but I know when to say “Uncle.”

To others I looked like I was functioning fine. But inside, i was hanging on by a gossamer thread so when Nicole contacted me TWO DAYS after he died and left a voice message about wanting to discuss her Peacock gown, I wanted to just run away and hide. I sent her a text message and explained to her that my brother had just died and that I was in a very bad place. She being a therapist I thought she would understand and could empathize. Instead, she said “I just need ten minutes of your time.” I read the text, took a deep breath and reiterated that I had just WATCHED my brother die and that I was depressed and grieving and that I couldn’t discuss her gown right now. I asked her to give me a couple of weeks to right myself and we’d pick it back up then. She’s a THERAPIST she’ll understand and respect that boundary, won’t she? -  I was wrong. 

Over the following two days, she continued to insist that she just needed ten minutes of my time, just TEN MINUTES and couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t talk to her.  I gaped as i read her messages. “Jesus Christ, why isn’t she getting it?” I thought. I took a deep breath, and tried again, this time a bit more strongly. I told her I was grieving, I was sad, I was depressed, I was crying intermittently, and that I simply didn’t have the energy to discuss her gown RIGHT NOW. Surely, that will get the message across? NOPE. She continued to harass me, stating she just needed to talk to me on the phone for ten minutes and then she would leave me alone to grieve. WTAF?

 I tried again to assert my boundary, clinging to my professionalism, but mostly trying to salvage what I thought was a meaningful friendship. I repeated that I wasn’t going to talk to her on the phone but if she wanted to send me a message by Marco Polo I would listen to it when I felt a bit better. NO! She insisted I discuss her peacock gown on the phone as she didn’t communicate well in text messages or emails, but that she just needed ten minutes. Reality?  There has NEVER been an occasion where this women only talked for ten damn minutes! I knew that! - And I wasn’t going to give in to her bullying. Once more, I wrote back that I could not talk to her about her gown, that it was the farthest thing from my mind at the moment. That’s when she did a 180% turn and I realized this woman is not my friend. A friend wouldn’t DARE ask me to set aside my grief to hear her ideas for a gown that had been DISCUSSED ad nauseam. She fired back in a vicious diatribe during which she claimed that she NEVER agreed to the embroidery pattern that I had used in my design board and that I was being unreasonable. “I” was being unreasonable?  Are you frigging kidding me?  

The more she pushed, and bullied, and accused, and attacked, the more I stood my ground and she went NUTS!  I realized then that I was dealing with a true narcissist. I’d been raised by a malignant narcissist so I knew what I was dealing with now that her sheets had been pulled. What shocked me out of my socks was that she was a THERAPIST?  My god!!!  How insensitive and selfish can you be? It wasn’t bad enough that I just lost my beautiful brother, but I was also facing the reality that the person I had confided some of my darkest, most painful moments - someone I thought was a friend - turned out to be using me. So long as she got her way, we were great pals. The SECOND she didn’t get her way she turned VICIOUS and turned on me. At that realization, I invited her to find another designer and that it was clear to me that we weren’t friends after all.

She continued to harass me and sunk to passive aggressive comments such as “I thought we were friends,” stooping so low as to contact another designer who had made her a Victorian gown (which she complained to me about in regard to the quality of her work) and proceeded to trash talk me to this woman. I know because she accidentally shared the conversation with me on Facebook messenger thinking I was this other woman. I got to see who she REALLY WAS - and yes, I called her out on it.  

Did I mention how much I abhor drama? 

She went on the Elizabethan Costuming page and posted a picture of the blue gown I made her and claimed it was “her design.” She stated that her previous designer had retired due to “arthritis” and that she was looking for a new designer to work with her. Pictures of my work are all over the internet, ya’ll! People on that page recognized it as my work and were outraged that she was accepting accolades for a gown she had not “designed” or constructed. Her only input had been providing the fabrics and telling me what pattern she wanted on her forepart embroidery. I then began receiving alarmed messages on Facebook asking me if I was no longer accepting commissions, and then in my Etsy store informing me that someone named “Nicole” was claiming she had made a gown that they knew was mine. When she was called out by people who knew my work, she began to bad mouth me and my integrity. She contacted the moderators of the Elizabethan Costume page on Facebook and portrayed herself as a victim - which they swallowed hook, line and sinker, portraying herself as professional and a therapist!  Eee Gods! *rolls eyes* They banned me AND anyone who called attention to her lies. Meh, so what. I wasn’t broken up about it. I banned her from my page, blocked her number and ended up having to SPAM her contact info on Etsy as she proceeded to bully and attack me for days following trying to elicit a reaction from me or engage me. The worst thing you can do to a narcissist is to ignore them. So, I did. 

So, what’s the moral of this story you may ask?  Well, I will tell you.

For all those who are self-employed, or are designers, I have this sage advice:

First, never, ever assume that friendly people are your friends. To quote a very old Scottish proverb: Bees with honey in their mouths, still have a sting in their tails.

Second, separate your business from your so-called friendships. I don’t care if it’s your BFF!  ASK for a deposit NO MATTER WHO THEY ARE! - And don’t put them on your calendar until they do.

Third, set boundaries for your time from the JUMP! Don’t accept calls when you’re off the clock - or sick, or your brother just died! Don’t make allowances for bad behavior because you are friends. Keep your business separate, that way your friendships stay CLEAN - - or, you’ll find out whether or not they really are your friends.

Fourth, anyone who tries to bully through your boundaries - even if they claim to be your friend or they’re a family member - should not be allowed to win by attrition.

Fifth, don’t take a difficult client because you “need” the money - it can, and often will, come back to bite you in the arse!!

Sixth, if a client contacts you and her name is Nicole F******* and she shows you pictures of MY work and wants you to design something for her. . . RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!!

LINKS: 

BLUE GOWN:  https://www.etsy.com/listing/620394045/womens-plus-sized-spanish-gown-custom?ref=shop_home_active_46&frs=1

POMEGRANATE GOWN:  https://www.etsy.com/listing/605925091/womens-renaissance-dress-elizabethan?ref=shop_home_active_59&frs=1

[praphit]

Doctor Sleep and The Mystical Black Man

So, I saw the trailer for this movie. I quickly realized that this was a sequel to my favorite horror movie "The Shining".

And I quickly realized that this movie trailer was promoting a movie that was STUPID - not just "stupid", but "sssToopid!" Nahmeen? There is so much about "The Shining" that I enjoyed, and it seemed as though this sequel was just going to be amping up the supernatural elements. Normally, it would have bothered me that a movie titled "The Shining" wasn't really about the shining. But, Jack Nicholson is so good!

I didn't care for his wife though. I could never tell whether Shelley Duvall's character was supposed to be kinda "out there" or that maybe Shelley Duvall simply wasn't a good actor. I also didn't even care about the kid and his shining. Like I've said many times before, kids aren't very interesting. Give him some crazy pills, punish him for writing “REDRUM” on the wall, and send him to his room! Give me more Jack and that creepy hotel! 

I was so busy shouting out "sssToopid!" throughout the trailer that I didn't notice what the movie was titled.

Later on, I saw a poster for this movie. 

Now, at this point, I still wasn't connecting this poster with that trailer. I saw the title and said to myself - "This is sssToopid." What the hell does "Doctor Sleep" mean anyway? I saw from the poster that Ewan McGregor is in it. What is HE Doctor Sleep? Is this a horror movie? What is Ewan McGregor the villain? How is he putting people to sleep? What is he choking them out? So, there are vampires, werewolves, demonic spirits, and then Ewan McGregor?! Look at this picture.

His nose is bleeding. Do you know why his nose is bleeding? - cuz he was thinking too hard. This is our villain??! C'mon, man!

Say it with me now - "sssToopid!"

But, once I finally connected the two, I then realized that because I'm a big Shining fan, I'm going to have to see this craptastic movie!

So, here we go! - the sequel to "The Shining" that we didn't need or ask for:

This sequel is about the little kid that I didn't care about (Danny).

Now, people, I'm about to put a hard lesson on you. Sometimes, cute kids grow up to be jerks. NOT ALL OF THEM! But, take ten cute kids you know... at least half of them will grow up to be jerks. People, this is not me talking, this is math!

Danny was one of the unfortunate ones. Danny grows up to be a real piece of shit. He does something awful in the beginning of this movie that is never really resolved. Perhaps it's bad writing or maybe they're just hammering home what a piece of shit Danny actually is.

Let's say that they made a movie from the perspective of the person who shot Bruce Wayne's parents. The shooter feels terrible, runs off, fixes his life and moves on. Some might be like "Wait a minute! What about the family that he destroyed?" ROLL CREDITS :) I'm talking about it more than the movie did, so I'll move on.

He ends up running away from himself, his alcoholism, and all of the crappy things he has been doing.

He runs off and meets a lovely man. I call him “lovely”, because at first sight of Danny (who is a stranger to him), he offers him shelter, a job, and a path to sobriety. A bit contrived wouldn't you say? Maybe there are people this thoughtful, selfless, and compassionate in the world... I damn sure haven't met them. People like that aren't raised in Baltimore (where I live). Here, if you ask someone for a dollar, you might get punched in the face.

So, Danny gets the miraculous help that he needs, and then finds someone else on this journey away from himself - a little girl who also "shines". This girl's shine is the strongest around, apparently. This girl has a cult of... pretty much vampires (who feast off "shiners") following her, which eventually springs a now clean Danny into action - this is the plot/thrill/horror.

Rebecca Ferguson is in this, btw 

- she plays the cult leader. SHE IS AWESOME! She nails the role! You can see why someone who's lost would be drawn to her and the cult. You can also see why the cult loves, respects, and fears her. So, if you're looking to start a cult, be sure to take plenty of notes from Ferguson's performance, and you'll be on your way! If done properly, being a cult leader pays well!

I also must mention that the mystical black man made his appearance again (played by Carl Lumbly). He’s actually the unsung hero of this movie. 

It's always good to have a mystical black man in your life. If you don't have one, you can count on me:)

There's a lot to love about this sequel (despite me making fun of the writing); it actually surprised me. I spoke about Ferguson, but her cult also has life to it. A lesser movie would have simply had randos in the background and never get into their personalities, or any dialogue or backstories. You get a sense of family from the vampire-like cult:) The CGI in this is also dope! All of the way through I was digging it. And I love the battle fought against alcoholism here. Danny wasn't some lovable, functional drunk - he was a drunk asshole like his drunk asshole dad. It was real. I thought that the movie handled all of that well.

My only real issues come again with the writing ( mainly at the end). There are a handful of plots lines that don't really need to happen (which would of helped this film be shorter, and it def needed a trim). The main thing that didn't need to happen is going back to the infamous hotel (not a spoiler - you see that action in the trailer). Now of course we want that epic fight at the end. I'm simply saying that based off of the writing, it didn't make sense. Going back to the hotel is stated as very dangerous, the little girl then asks "why they should even go back?"... and she is not met with a strong reason - cuz there isn't one. And everything that happens in the hotel from that point onis... kind of absurd. BUT, none of this took  away my enjoyment of the film. I didn't care about lil' Danny, but I care about the piece of shit he became. I care about the world of the shiners. And did I mention Rebecca Ferguson?? She has a hold on me. I'm willing to be her first cult member.

Grade: B

I have to say that the naked, old, ghost woman from the first movie is back! - and freer and more unashamed of her ghostly body than ever before.

It's like she couldn't wait to be nude and in front of the camera. There were times when it seemed like the camera person wanted to move away from her, but she wouldn't let them! - she wanted that close-up, baby!

You might notice that I didn't mention "Doctor Sleep" much. Yeah, that's because this movie doesn't either. Not unlike "The Shining" not really being about the shining. "Doctor Sleep" isn't really about the good ol doc. The doc is Danny, though I won't tell you why. But, even if I did, it honestly wouldn't matter. Him being referred to as that doctor does not move or build the story at all. THIS movie was actually all about the shining.

The way that this movie ends, I'm sure they'll at least think about another sequel. And I'm sure it'll have a title that has nothing to do with the movie. It'll be titled "Nude and Creepy", but won't actually be about that nude and creepy ghost lady until the 4th installment.

[purplesurveys]

559

Have you today?

Looked in a mirror? Yeah, I was looking at myself while brushing my teeth earlier.

Watered a plant? I don’t think I’ve done that in the last few years.

Worn denim? Nope, I’m staying in today. And I kinda have to anyway, because it’s a holiday. Washed your hair? Yep, I took a long shower a few minutes ago. Been in pain? Yes, woke up to the same toothache that’s been bothering me for a few weeks now. The pain is on the down low at the moment, but yeah it was there when I woke up.

Had a nap? Not sure if it counts as a nap, but I decided to sleep in today and kept waking up a few times the whole morning until I finally woke up for real at around 11:30. Brushed your teeth? I already mentioned that I did this, yes. Kissed someone? I gave my dog some kisses today, but not a person. Used a cheese grater? I’ve eaten one meal today and it didn’t need any cheese. Eaten something sweet? Nope. Spoken to a stranger? Also no. Like I said, I’m staying in today. My introverted ass is tired from the last few weeks of working and socializing. Dropped something? I don’t remember doing so...I’ve only been in bed all day. Felt upset in some way? I’m feeling a little down, but I wouldn’t call myself upset. Drank coffee? I took two painkillers in one day yesterday, which is bad in itself; I wouldn’t want to mix coffee into my system.

Walked for more than thirty minutes? Nah, the furthest I’ve walked today is to the bathroom to take a shower. Signed up for something? That’s a no. I really should have picked a different day to fill this up, hahaha. Travelled in a car? I didn’t drive today and don’t plan to until like Tuesday, because that’s when I have to go back to school. Opened a can? Here’s a tiny secret: I don’t know how to open cans :c Thought about doing something crazy? Nah, I’m not feeling too crazy today. Listened to a new song? As a matter of fact I am. Spotify will sometimes play you a bunch of new songs it thinks you’d like based on the music you do listen to, and that’s the playlist I have on right now.  Written in a notebook? I have not. Fed an animal? I gave my dog the rest of my lunch when I didn’t feel like eating anymore. Checked your emails? I had to answer a couple of them, yes. Told someone you love them? No, not yet. Made a phone call? Nope.

Have you in the last week?

Travelled on a bus? I haven’t been on a bus since my high school class went on a retreat to Baguio four years ago. Washed your face? Yep, yesterday. My face was feeling oily for some reason so I used some facial wash we had in the bathroom. Used a blender? I don’t think I’ve ever needed to use a blender before. Received a phone call? Yeah, Gab calls me most nights. Talked to someone you dislike? I had to talk to this girl who has a known attitude problem because we’re working on something together in a subject that we’re classmates in. She hasn’t shown me her rotten side just yet but I’ll be more than ready if she does. Consumed alcohol? Yeah, I went to two Halloween parties in the last week :/ Eaten pasta? I don’t think I have this week. Planned for an event? We don’t have any upcoming events so there’s nothing to plan for to begin with. Asked someone for a favour? Yep, I asked my classmate Gia to bring her VGA adapter because I needed one to do my report for history class and I don’t have an adapter of my own. She’s super nice and helped me out. Watched something funny? Yeah I mean I make it a point to watch at least one funny video a day so that my days aren’t completely shitty. Trimmed your nails? I have not, which explains why they’ve grown out so much lately. Browsed Reddit? I haven’t been browsing Reddit as much lately because I’ve been busy, but I did open the app at least once within the last week. Talked to yourself? I often talk to myself while driving alone. Purchased tickets for something? I did not this week. Felt like you were annoying someone? Always. Cleaned a toilet? Nope. Reminisced about the past? I mean, my friends and I always do in one way or another. Used headphones? No, my old headphones have been busted for yeeeeears now. Laughed with a friend? I spent time with several groups of friends this week, yeah. Which is why I’m completely socially exhausted now. I’m using the undas weekend to recharge. Cooked dinner and then didn't feel hungry? I don’t cook, so this is an automatic no. Written a list? It was a to-do list of stuff I had to accomplish before the undas break, if that counts. Played an instrument? Technically I did? I was sleeping over at Rita’s place last weekend and their guest room had a ukulele lying around, so before I fell asleep I do remember strumming the strings for a few minutes, even though I had completely no idea what I was doing. Felt jealous or envious? Always do. It’s my worst deadly sin. Ignored a text message on purpose? Always. Congratulated someone? I always make it a point to congratulate my friends for their leaps, whether big or small.

Have you in the last month?

Made a piece of art? Art is my weakest suit and it’s something I never even try to dabble in, because I know I would be horrible.

Rewatched one of your favourite tv shows or movies? I always rewatch Friends, and I did attempt to do a rewatch of Breaking Bad before El Camino was out on Netflix, but I didn’t get to finish it because uni had kept me very busy.

Called a plumber? There wasn’t any need to.

Been to a see a doctor? No. I definitely should go to the dentist, though. Finished a book? I haven’t been reading. Had a crush on someone? Of course.

Travelled on a train? Nooooooo I hate the public transport system in this country. Worn heels? I haven’t had to in the last month. I wish I owned more pairs to just wear casually to school though; it wouldn’t hurt looking like a bad bitch around the college hahahaha. Been to a friend's house? I’ve been to Gabie’s and Rita’s houses.

Shared a bed with someone? Yes, Gab has slept over a couple of times. Been to see a movie at the cinema? I think it’s been more than a month since my sister and I saw Hello, Love, Goodbye at the movie theater. Paid attention to celebrity drama? Meh, loosely. I know of the issues, but the drama lately hasn’t been too juicy. Felt anxious? AL. WAYS. Taken an elevator? On the days we were too lazy to take escalators. Given someone the cold shoulder? I don’t think I’ve done this recently. Purchased a new book/game/movie? I didn’t purchase it but I downloaded Mario Kart on my phone. Applied for a job? Nope. Used a printer? Yes, I’ve had to print papers and handouts for several classes. Had lunch in a park? We don’t have any parks, and anyway it’s usually too hot to eat outside. Gotten a manicure or pedicure? Not a fan of either, so no. Made an appointment? No. I did ask my mom to schedule a dentist appointment because my 21 year old kiddie ass is still too anxious to do it myself sjdklsdfdfhdkhskdjfsjffskfhkjsfh Had a blood test done? NO. Is this the one where they prick your finger? NO THANKS BYEEEEEE Suffered from a major bruise? It wasn’t major but I did briefly get a nasty bruise on my knee a few weeks ago. It was probably from PE but I never was sure where it came from. Researched a topic in-depth? I kinda have to; I’m working on my thesis for the next year or so.

Have you in the last year?

Been to the beach? Yes, several times. The most recent time was last August in Nasugbu, which was kinda bad timing on our end because we usually get bad typhoons in August haha. But it was the last week of summer and we wanted to do something fun before we had to go back to school, so off we went. Visited someone in the hospital? Thank goodness I haven’t had to. Played pinball? No, but I have played races on Waluigi Pinball courses on Mario Kart if that counts HAHAHAHA Travelled on a plane? Yes, several times. Worn a costume? I have. I went as Dora for Halloween this year. Been thrift shopping? Yesssssss. I got into it a few months ago when I saw a few stalls at a local mall selling really trendy tops for much cheaper. Thought about getting pregnant or got pregnant? Neither. Made a big life decision? I decided on my thesis topic, which is personally a pretty huge decision to make. Changed a lightbulb? Nope. I don’t know how to. Framed something and put it on your wall? I haven’t. My wall has stayed the same for like three years now. Been stargazing? Nah. Haven’t really had the time to. Made a new friend? New people who come into the org. Added to a collection? Obviously I’ve gathered more receipts from my dates with Gab within the year, but I haven’t gotten around to organizing any of them. They’re all just piled up in my wallet. Been to the dentist? No, but I have to UGH this toothache is out to kill me I swear. Broken up with someone? Nope. Held a baby? I don’t think so but I wish I’ve gotten to do it D: Created a budget? I mean I always carefully plan out my weekly allowance, so yeah. Confessed feelings for someone? I already did that three years ago. Had surgery of any kind? Nope. Quit a job? I have not. Been in a car accident? No, thank jeebus. Purchased something worth over a grand? Not yettttt, but I’m planning to for Christmas. Been on vacation at least 500km/300mi from home? Yes, when we went to Batanes and Albay. Applied for an academic course? Does enrolling for a semester count? Had your photo taken by a professional? No not yet, but very soon when I get my graduation photos taken.

[polyrolemodels]

Mx Nillin

1. How long have you been polyamorous or been practicing polyamory?

Personally? Less than 5 years. I’ve been non-monogamous with my nesting partner, Falon, for about 4 years now, but neither of us explicitly identified as polyamorous until we started seeing our best friend Kate about a year ago. 

2. What does your relationship dynamic look like?

Falon and I are legally married and live together in a tiny apartment with a cat and two guinea pigs. We’re in a romantic, sexual, and emotional relationship with our best friend, Kate, who lives on her own a short drive across town.

Kate doesn’t want to ever get married or live with anybody else. She really values having her own place to herself and so do we, so, it just works out for everybody really well! We all see each other multiple times a week, binge watching Netflix shows, playing nerdy tabletop games, going on date nights, checking out local events, or trying out threesome positions for ourselves and then blogging about them [http://mxnillin.com/will-it-threesome-double-dip/] LOL

Though Fal, Kate, and I are in a closed polyamorous triad together, we’re all still non-monogamous to a degree. Each of us has a friend or two we sometimes share nudes and flirt with outside of our relationship, but the three of us are all romantically committed to each other.

3. What aspect of polyamory do you excel at?

Ugh, honestly, I wouldn’t say that I “excel” at anything so much as I’m just doing the best I can to look after my own health and wellness while also striving to be the best partner I can be to Kate and Falon.

I used to be REALLY bad at the whole self-care thing and it lead to a lot of fear, anxiety, insecurities, and jealousy in my past relationships. I almost exclusively relied on those who I was intimate with to just comfort me until I felt better. In some cases, I put the entire onus of my mental and emotional health onto my past partners. Unsurprisingly, that created some incredibly fucking unhealthy behaviors as I sought out a pretty constant supply of comfort, validation, and assurance from them in order for me to feel happy and secure in those relationships.

That’s not so much an issue for me anymore, and I’m really proud of that because it has taken a lot of hard work to unlearn those toxic behaviors, develop healthier personal habits, and overall better communicate with the people who I love. I’m also much more on top of taking my anti-depressant pills, and going in to see my counsellor, when necessary.

That’s not to say I’m some stoic, chill master of my emotions or anything. Insecurities still crop up, jealousy sometimes rears its head, and on occasion a little validation is appreciated, but I think all of that is pretty natural

4. What aspect of polyamory do you struggle with?

The stigma. Holy shit, the stigma

I‘ve never loved two people at the same time, and in the same ways, before. I’ve never been committed to two partners at once before. Like, it’s no exaggeration when I say that my relationship with Falon and Kate has shattered my entire perspective of life, love, family, the institution of marriage, identity, politics, and so much more.

And all for the better, I might add!

But polyamory isn’t something you see reflected back at you by society, especially not in any sort of positive, judgement-free way. It’s not a relationship structure that’s even sorta socially, politically, governmentally, or economically accepted, let alone widely acknowledged, talked about, written about, ore seen out in public. And it sure as shit isn’t represented in a lot in literature, or art, or media of any kind… at least not in ways that don’t tend to be fetishizing or tragic. 

I mean, when’s the last time you’ve seen any sort of show about an everyday non-binary queer navigating life with their poly family? Never? Yeah, me neither.

All of this has led to us having to pretty regularly endure super shitty, awkward situations of us having to be in the closet depending on who we’re interacting with at any given time. Trying to remember who you’re out to, and who is SAFE to be out to, is exhausting and stressful for us all.

And that fucking blows. Yet it’s oftentimes necessary for all our safety.

5. How do you address and/or overcome those struggles?

I talk about it with my partners. A lot. We check in with each other pretty often and we don’t let difficult discussions go undiscussed for long. 

And I write about it too! Maybe too much at times haha.

I find that by putting myself out there, speaking up about my experiences and relationships, it has helped me empower others in their poly relationships while offering me the opportunity to learn from them as well. Especially other sex bloggers, writers, and workers.

I’ve also surrounded myself with a pretty amazing little family of queer and trans folks who have been wonderful supports in my life.

6. In terms of risk-aware/safer sex, what do you and your partners do to protect one another?

Clear, concise, honest communication has been key. Fal, Kate, and I are all aware of each other’s past partners and we’ve all tested ourselves for STI’s. Currently, we’re all fluid-bonded together, so, condom usage isn’t really there like it used to be. However, we still make sure to boil any sex toys that are shared (between uses), keep our nails trimmed, use lube as needed, and generally make sure that we’re listening to and respecting each other’s boundaries.

7. What is the worst mistake you've ever made in your polyamorous history and how did you rebound from that? 

Not sure if this is really a polyamory mistake so much as it is a boundaries issue. A couple years ago, shortly after Falon and I were married, I had JUST started blogging about how non-monogamy worked for us when we became good friends with somebody we had met through our local LGBTQ+ community. Early on in the friendship, the three of us mutually masturbated together, but we were very explicit in expressing that we were not looking for a relationship of any kind and that the three-way ‘bating was just for fun and probably not a regular thing. 

End of story, right?

Not so much. While Fal and I felt that we were very clear, and that our friend had understood, he instead doubled down. Over the months that followed, he ended up inserting himself into our relationship in a lot of invasive ways that on their own looked innocent enough, but when considered all at once were actually quite manipulative. Then one day he tries to show up at our house to talk with Falon, and when they said they weren’t feeling comfortable taking right now (he was being very pushy) he just forced the conversation anyway by professing his love to them. Oh, and me too, but only as an afterthought when Falon made it clear they were NOT interested.

Things went downhill from there really fast as we started to realize the real degree of his intrusiveness, complete with finding out he had been self-sabotaging opportunities for himself because he had this thought in his head that we’d all live up living together.

Anyway, it’s a long story overall but Fal and I learned a lot about what we were and weren’t comfortable with and set even cleared boundaries with others. That whole thing was bad enough that it almost turned us off from non-monogamy and polyamory altogether though. Luckily, we worked through it because several months after that gong show things started up with Kate, which has been amazing!

8. What self-identities are important to you? How do you feel like polyamory intersects with or affects those identities?

I am a fat, queer, non-binary, loud, foul-mouthed sex blogger with hairy tits, a girl cock, and a full-on fetish for actively subverting social roles and expectations… so of course I’m also polyamorous haha. Seriously though, over the last several years I’ve radically transformed myself as a person, to better reflect who I’ve always been but didn’t feel safe or confident being until my late twenties. I had to, because if I didn’t I was on the fast track to self-destruction [but that’s another story entirely]. 

Now, for the first time ever, I feel empowered to live my life as my authentic self and it turns out that a big part of that has included being polyamorous. Monogamy, at least in how it exists in our culture, has always felt incredibly restrictive, uncomfortable, and toxic to me personally; whereas falling in love with Falon and Kate, opening myself up to them both and forming our queer little polycule, has felt like the most natural thing in the world to me since I came out as queer and trans.

(Bonus: Do you have any groups, projects, websites, blogs, etc. that you are involved with that you would like to promote?)

You can find the vast majority of my work on my blog at www.mxnillin.com. One of the most popular features there is "Mx Nillin Fucks", a blog post series in which I stick my girl cock in a wide variety of inanimate objects, mostly foods so far,  as makeshift masturbation sleeves and write about how good or bad it is. This year is themed "Back to Basics" and has focused on classic masturbation items (banana peels, socks, DIY penetrables, melons, etc.). Outside of this you can also find me regularly participating in #SexEdPornReviews tweets for The Crash Pad Series.

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Support Inclusive Polyamorous Representation at  https://www.patreon.com/PolyRoleModels

[riejuebelta1979-blog]

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