#package arriving at my local post office & then just sitting there before finally going out for delivery after like a week、

[hockeylvr59]

What Ifs, Part 3 || Jeff Skinner

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: I’ve been trying to write this part for at least six months so it feels good to finally get it finished. Hope you’re ready for some fluffy Christmas content in April, and a boatload of sexual tension and some idiocy. Set Fri/Sat Dec. 13th/14th. See next post & 010 tag for Jeff’s apartment inspiration and the Christmas tree inspiration. 

For a quick recap: You met Jeff at a spillway in northern PA and met up with him at a beach in Erie a few days later. After that daily conversation ensued and he visited you to go to a college football game before you surprised him at a Pens/Sabres game he didn’t think you were coming to. He kissed you postgame and murmured that he would very much like to fuck you after you teased him as he headed to the team bus. 

Warnings: sexual tension ||  Word Count: 5,472

~~~~~~

Light snowflakes were falling, landing on your car’s windshield and then quickly melting. Christmas music played softly over the radio, while you followed your phone’s navigation through the streets of Buffalo, New York. There was just something about Christmastime that caused little bubbles of joy and excitement to course through your entire body. Those bubbles grew two sizes larger when you thought about the week ahead. 

It had been a month and a half since you’d seen Jeff in the bowels of PPG Paints Arena, had felt his arms wrapped around you, felt the press of his lips against yours. Since then, you hadn’t been able to get those brief moments out of your head. Though you talked with Jeff basically every day, and your conversations had become more intimate, you hadn’t talked about the fact that he’d kissed you and you certainly hadn’t talked about his declaration that he would indeed like to fuck you. Finally though, after a month and a half, you were less than 12 hours away from seeing him face-to-face once more. 

Pulling into his apartment’s parking garage, you gathered the trash you’d accumulated during the six-hour drive before climbing out of the car, stretching out your body. You’d finished your last final this morning and per Jeff’s request had immediately packed up before hitting the road. You’d be asleep when he got in from tonight’s road game, but when you woke he’d be there and that was more than enough motivation to not delay your trip until tomorrow. 

Throwing your trash into your purse to take inside, you gathered the rest of your bags and locked your car. Stepping into the apartment complex’s lobby, you stopped at the doorman/security officer’s desk. Two minutes later, you had a key in hand along with a note and were directed to press the button for the fifteenth floor in the elevator. Stepping off the elevator, you searched for the right apartment, stopping in front of it with a sigh. Setting your bag down, you fumbled with the key for a moment but as soon as the door swung open you couldn’t help but smile. Though it was clearly a bachelor’s apartment, the atmosphere was immediately calming, something you very much needed after a long day. 

Setting your bags down, you slipped your shoes off and made your way into the kitchen where you leaned yourself against the counter to read Jeff’s note. His scratchy script urged you to make yourself at home, rambled about how excited he was to see you, insisted that you use the money he’d left on the counter to order dinner, and left channel information for the television so that you could watch the game. Just above the scrawled Jeff, his final sentence brought a warm flush to your cheeks. 

The guest bedroom is all yours if you want...but I’d love nothing more than to come home to you in my bed. 

You’d shared a bed before, but that was prior to the not so innocent encounter you’d had in Pittsburgh. Still, something pushed you to carry your things down the hall, past what you assumed was the guest room and into what was clearly the master suite. Leaving them on the bed to deal with later, you returned to the main living space of the apartment, taking a few minutes just to wander around. Jeff had pictures of his family on shelves by the tv which was hung on the wall above a gas fireplace. Looking out the window, you could see the arena just a few blocks away and couldn’t help but laugh knowing Jeff hated long commutes. Turning back to the apartment’s interior, you noted that his large sofa looked warm and comfortable, and he certainly had a chef’s kitchen even if he was no chef. As promised, there were a pair of twenty-dollar bills tucked under a fruit bowl on the island and you decided maybe it was time for dinner since it was nearly seven o’clock. 

After searching for local restaurants you decided that game food sounded good and so you placed an order for chicken strips, mozzarella sticks, pretzel sticks, and deep-fried cheesecake for dessert.  Since Jeff had threatened you not to even think about paying for the food yourself you complied and noted that you were paying with cash. With food on its way, you moved to try and figure out Jeff’s tv, settling it onto the channel for the game, pregame programming already playing. 

It wasn’t long before Jeff’s face came across the screen and immediately your heart fluttered. It was silly because you watched Jeff’s games all the time (at least when they didn’t conflict with the Penguins), but for some reason watching it while sitting in Jeff’s apartment felt different. Just before puck drop, you got the alert that your food was downstairs so after slipping on some shoes, you grabbed the cash and key and made your way down to get it. 

With dinner spread out across the coffee table, you got yourself a glass of water and settled in on Jeff’s couch. About midway through the first period, he snuck the puck through the goalie’s legs and into the back of the net causing you to let out a cheer. Just before the end of the second, he buried another puck past the goalie to give the Sabres a two-goal lead. Watching Jeff play so well made a content smile settle onto your face as you cleaned up your leftovers and trash before snuggling under the blanket that was tossed over the back of the couch. With your eyes occasionally fluttering shut, you missed what preceded the tussle Jeff was currently in with a player on the opposing team. Immediately anxiety filled your body, but soon you watched as Jeff was led to the penalty box appearing no worse for wear as he continued to chatter away. 

By the time the game ended, you had already started to fall asleep on the couch, so you decided it was time to head to bed, tidying up before locking the front door and retreating to Jeff’s bedroom. There you changed into pajamas before setting your suitcase on a chair in the corner. Brushing your teeth and washing your face was all you needed to do in the bathroom and after plugging your phone in, you flipped off the lights and tugged the covers back climbing into bed. Soon, with your body sinking into the comfortable mattress, you were out like a light. 

___

“Shh, it’s just me…go back to sleep.” You heard whispered as you stirred. You had no idea what time it was, but as the bed shifted beside you, part of you realized that Jeff had arrived home. Unconsciously, you shifted toward him and a warm set of arms draped around your waist as you settled your head against his shoulder and dozed right back off. 

When you actually awoke, the room was filled with the faintest morning light. It was only then that you processed the fact that your entire body was tangled with Jeff’s, pressed tightly against him. Your head was still on his shoulder, your bodies touching from your chests to your hips, and your legs were entwined with his. Your mind raced to figure out how to best extract yourself when you felt Jeff’s chest vibrate under you. 

“Morning.” He murmured, his voice groggy. Lifting your head, you glanced up to see that his eyes were still filled with sleep and he had a sleepy smile on his face as he gazed right back down at you. 

“Morning…” You whispered back, shifting the hand that had been curled against Jeff’s chest to run through your hair. 

“Sorry if I woke you coming in last night…” Jeff said, yawning softly. 

“I don’t think you did…” You whispered. “I don’t actually remember you climbing into bed.” 

“Then it was just your body that noticed.” Jeff teased. “Because you shifted to cuddle me immediately.” A warmth crept over your cheeks but Jeff’s smile only grew, still lazy and soft due to the early morning hour. “Was kinda nice,” Jeff explained with a small shrug. “Told you I wasn’t going to complain if you chose my bed.” He continued, his lips dropping to press gently against your forehead. 

After stretching slightly, you finally dropped your arm back to Jeff’s torso, your fingers grazing against his abdomen. A low groan slipped from his lips and he moved his hand to lace his fingers with yours. 

“As much as I wanna stay here…” He mumbled. “Want you to keep touching me.” He added under his breath. “We should probably get up before I have an even bigger problem.” This time when your eyes met his, they were a shade darker than just a minute ago and your saliva caught in your throat at what he was implying. 

“Mmmm...yeah…” You agreed, working to extract your body from his. “I um...I’m gonna use the guest bathroom real quick...do you have stuff for breakfast in your fridge?” Jeff’s expression was unreadable as he watched you climb from bed, making your way towards the hallway door. 

“I’m sure we can find something.” 

___

By the time Jeff made his way out into the kitchen, you had managed to find a package of pancake mix and some bacon and eggs in his fridge and were hard at work making breakfast. Without saying a word, Jeff moved to start some coffee before taking over the skillet with the eggs from your hands. 

“Let me help.” He chided. With the two of you working side by side, it didn’t take long to have breakfast made and once it had been served onto plates, Jeff paused, pulling you into his arms. “I haven’t had a proper hug yet.” He explained, almost whiny about it. Settling your arms around his waist, you returned his hug, enjoying the feeling of his arms around you. “So glad you’re here.” Jeff declared, kissing your head once more before pulling away.

Settled at his kitchen island you ate breakfast in comfortable silence. When you were finished, Jeff took your dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. As he did so your eyes raked over his body, dressed only in sweats and a t-shirt. He was so attractive that you had to force yourself to look away before he caught you staring. 

“So what’s the plan for today?” You murmured, not sure what exactly he had in mind since you’d let him plan pretty much everything. “Or I guess I should ask about today and the rest of this week?” You added, realizing that beyond the fact that he had one home and one away game, you had no idea what his schedule was like. 

Jeff turned to lean against the counter across from you as he responded, his smile bright and eyes twinkling. 

“I thought maybe today you could help me decorate?” He suggested. “We have the day off so I’m all yours. Then tomorrow we just have practice so I was thinking you could play tourist for a bit and then we could go out for dinner, maybe introduce you to Jack or some of the other guys.” After laying out his thoughts for weekend plans, Jeff paused for a moment to let you respond, and when you simply nodded he continued. “Monday we play at home, I already have your game ticket. Tuesday is a quick up and back to Toronto, we’re literally flying up in the morning and back after the game. I think a few of the guy’s girls are going if you have your passport on you and would be interested, but no pressure there if you want to stay here and veg for a day.” Warmth flooded through you at Jeff’s acknowledgement that this trip could be a lot and that if you needed some quiet time during it that was more than okay. At the same time though you couldn’t help but feel slightly overwhelmed at fact that he wanted you to meet his teammates and their significant others. 

Jeff pulled his lower lip between his teeth and his fingers rubbed at his neck before he spoke once more. “And then uh...Wednesday we have our team Christmas stuff, an official organization family skate in the morning and then Jack is hosting just the team and dates to his place for the evening…” 

“Oh uh…” You breathed, having no idea that all of that was going on while you’d be here. Sensing that your brain was spinning away from you, Jeff rounded the island. 

“But uh...we can talk about that later. I don’t have to go if you don’t want to. Let’s just see how things play out okay?” He offered and when his fingers laced with yours you found yourself nodding. “Good…” Jeff breathed. “I just want you to enjoy being here.” His concern, the way his eyes spilled over you, it all made you want to shiver in the best way. 

“So...decorating?” You mused, bringing your mind back to focus on the day ahead instead of dwelling on everything else and the weight all of it held. 

“Yep...go get dressed.” Jeff prodded, lifting you off of the stool with ease and placing you on your feet. His show of strength sent a spark through you and you nodded, retreating back to the bedroom to dig through your bag for clothes. Fifteen minutes later, you had pulled on a pair of jeans, a snuggly sweater, warm socks, and had done a really light coat of makeup before sliding into your tennis shoes and grabbing your coat. 

“Ready?” Jeff inquired from his spot on the couch in the living room. 

“Yep.” You replied, taking in Jeff’s similar outfit and the way it clung to his form. Sliding your phone into your pocket and grabbing your wallet, you followed him down to the garage, sliding into the passenger seat of his SUV with just a little help. Once he had pulled the car out onto the downtown Buffalo streets, his hand fell to rest over yours and you looked over at him, biting your lip at how natural the warmth of his palm felt. 

With Christmas music playing over his car’s speakers, the drive was quiet and almost a bit stifling. Then Jeff murmured once more that he was really glad you were here and the way he glanced over at you told you that he meant that with everything in him. 

“I’m glad I’m here too.” You replied, heart fluttering a bit no matter how much you tried to control it. Jeff drove out of the city and into the surrounding suburbs before pulling into the parking lot of a Walmart. When he parked, you climbed out, dropping down onto the pavement before meeting him at the rear of the vehicle. 

“And here I thought you were taking me somewhere more exciting than a Walmart.” You joked softly, bumping your shoulder into his arm. Jeff’s cheeks turned a little pink as he walked beside you into the store. 

“I figured we’d get the ornaments and garland and everything first and then head to the tree farm to pick the tree.” He explained rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t really have any decorations here.” He mumbled under his breath causing you to look up at him curiously. “I’m fairly close to home, usually traveling, and haven’t really had a reason to decorate before.” He shrugged. You nodded, letting him grab a cart as you followed him into the store. In the back of your mind you couldn’t help but focus on his words though. Neither of the first two points had changed all that much so was the driving factor the third...and if so was that reason you? Though you wondered, you didn’t ask, instead just pushing it to the back of your mind once more. 

Being that it was already mid-December, the Christmas section of the store was fairly well decimated and you watched Jeff’s eyes go wide as if he didn’t expect that. Giggling to yourself, you moved over to the rack of tree lights which was mostly empty but still had a few boxes of both white and colored left. 

“What color lights do you prefer?” You asked him softly knowing that was as good a place as any to start. Jeff looked at you like he honestly had no idea so you grabbed the remaining few boxes of white lights, tossing them into the cart he was pushing. 

“I didn’t expect everything to be gone.” He whispered softly as he pushed the cart down the empty aisles. There was one container of white glass ornaments tucked onto the back of a shelf but otherwise there really wasn’t much of anything. 

“Jeff it’s mid-December.” You murmured back leaning against the cart. Sensing his distress you rested your hand over his. “Is there a Michael’s nearby?” You asked, pulling out your phone to check when he didn’t seem to know the answer. Finding one about fifteen minutes down the road, you grabbed the container of white balls since they’d go with anything, a box of ornament hooks, and you then urged Jeff to head to check out with your meager findings. 

Back at the car, you plugged the address into his GPS and squeezed his hand assuring him that Michael’s would have plenty of decorations left for him to choose from. It didn’t take long to drive to the craft store and when you led Jeff inside this time you couldn’t help but laugh at the expression on his face at seeing aisles upon aisles of Christmas and other decorations. Starting in the aisle full of ornaments, you asked him what he liked and what kind of aesthetic he wanted for his tree. 

For a moment he just looked back and forth like this was too many options before finally pointing to some wooden carved ornaments and how those looked kind of cool. Finally getting somewhere, you smiled and pulled a few of each design off the hooks setting them into the cart. After suggesting various colors of ornaments which received faces with varying degrees of dislike, you finally picked up a container of dark green balls and a pondering face crossed Jeff’s face. 

“Forest green with the white balls from Walmart and the wood?” You reminded him trying to get him to picture how it would all look together. 

“Do you think it would look good?” He asked and when you nodded he offered his hand out for the container to put it into the cart. Spotting a similar container that was just a little smaller with silver balls, you grabbed those as well putting them into the cart and shrugging at his questioning glance. 

“You need at least a little bit of sparkle. So just a little metallic.” You insisted. Deciding that should be sufficient ornament wise, you moved down the aisles to find something that would serve as a nice garland and fit with the aesthetic Jeff seemed to like. A few aisles over you found strings of wooden balls and you showed Jeff before adding them to the cart. Then you disappeared into the depths of the store before coming back with wide-width forest green velvet ribbon which would give the decorations just a little bit more depth. 

Jeff just watched you maneuver through the store before asking if you had everything you needed. For a moment you nodded but as you made your way to the check out, you spotted pine cones and added a container of those as well knowing that would be the perfect finishing touch. 

“Oh…we need a tree topper too.” You said, stopping out of nowhere right in front of the cart before tugging him off in the direction of the toppers before picking out a simple but pretty silver star to go on top. 

“Now are we done?” Jeff asked, though his expression was one of amusement not annoyance. Pausing for a moment to look over what was in the cart, you then nodded finally letting him go check out with all of your goodies. It was going to be a pretty tree, well once you actually picked out a tree. 

As Jeff unloaded the cart, you noticed that he had picked up a few small wreaths. One was just plain and you weren’t sure what he had in mind for that but the other was simple but pretty and perfect for a door and the command hook he unloaded alongside of it suggested that he’d thought the same thing. There was also a tree stand which was probably going to be helpful, and a white faux fur tree skirt. 

It didn’t take long for Jeff to pay for all of the decorations before grabbing the bags and guiding you back out into the cold weather to the car. Shivering slightly from the wind, you tugged your coat tighter around you as you climbed into the passenger seat again, reaching for the seatbelt. 

Within just a few minutes of Jeff starting the car though, you were warm from head to toe and you realised he’d turned the seat warmer on for you. While you were still in a fairly commercial neighborhood, Jeff pulled into a Starbucks drive-thru and ordered warm beverages for the next part of your day. From there he drove even further away from the city and you watched the northern New York countryside pass by your window unsure of whether the warmth you were feeling was solely emanating from the seat and beverage or from the way Jeff made you feel. 

As you drove farther into the countryside, a light snow covered the ground and trees making everything look that little bit prettier. Seeing the tree farm up ahead you couldn’t help but bounce a little in your seat because this was something you’d never done before. Your family has always had an artificial tree so you’ve never picked out a real one before. 

Following Jeff because he clearly knew what he was doing in this regard, you moved through the rows of trees behind him, eyes wide at just how many there were. 

“Have you seen any you’ve liked?” Jeff asked, popping up behind you somehow after a few minutes.” Jumping a little you smacked his arm gently for scaring you. 

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking for…” You murmured. “It’s your tree.” You reminded, shrugging your shoulders after sticking your hands back in your pockets because it was cold. Jeff’s chuckle filled your ears and he reached to pull one of your hands out of your pocket, tucking it into his own as he led you down the row of trees pointing out a couple that he liked. Reading his body language, you urged him that the one he really liked but wouldn’t say so was the one and after that he handed you the keys, kissing your temple and telling you to go warm up while he got the tree paid for, cut down, and loaded up. 

From the car you watched as, with the help of the lot’s employee, Jeff loaded the tree up onto the top of the SUV and got it tied down. Soon after that you were off to head back into the city Jeff asking what you wanted for lunch since it was already that time of day. 

“I can just make something when we get back.” You assured him, not minding cooking for the two of you. Jeff murmured back that he didn’t invite you here to cook for him all week and you sighed softly replying that you didn’t come up expecting to not do anything all week either and that you could handle a few meals. A moment later he nodded, deciding that this wasn’t something worth going back and forth over and he turned his attention back to the road as the city loomed in front of you once more. 

Having reached the garage of his building once more, you moved to grab as many shopping bags as you could so that you could get them inside and ready to decorate the tree which you weren’t quite sure how Jeff was going to get inside and up to the fifteen floor as you had a feeling it was too tall for the elevator. 

You realized Jeff had come to this same conclusion moments after you did when he cursed under his breath. 

“Let me get all the breakable decorations upstairs and then I can come help you with the tree?” You suggested. Jeff seemed to agree but when you came back down, he was carrying the tree with the help of the building’s doorman, brushing off your help and just asking you to go wait on his floor to open the stairway door. 

Shaking your head to yourself, you took the elevator back up not envying the poor doorman helping Jeff to carry a tree up fifteen flights of stairs. At the top, you waited for them, holding the door up when they approached and then moving to hold the apartment door open as well before moving out of the way as they leaned the tree against a wall. While Jeff talked to him, you retreated into the kitchen to try and figure out what to make for lunch, deciding to make up a quick stir fry because that wouldn’t take long after defrosting some chicken in the microwave. 

You were grabbing some things from his freezer and searching for another pan when Jeff appeared behind you making you jump again. 

“You gotta stop that.” You chastised, looking over your shoulder at him. “And I hope you are going to do something nice for your poor doorman.” You added teasing, nodding when Jeff assured you that he was getting him game tickets and a signed jersey. When he asked if he could help you shook your head telling him that he should go figure out where he wanted to put the tree and get it set up so that you could start decorating after lunch. 

“Alright, just holler if you need something.” He agreed before moving back around the island to the living room leaving you to navigate his kitchen to make up a quick lunch. By the time you had all your ingredients ready, the chicken was defrosted and you put it into the pan with just a little bit of water to start cooking, adding in the vegetables shortly after that. When everything was looking good and ready, you added in the stirfry sauce and added the rice to the small pot of water you had brought to a boil. 

Within 20 minutes you were serving lunch onto plates and calling Jeff to come eat, laughing at how he was struggling with the tree. Moving to lend him an extra set of hands quickly, you managed to help him get the tree into the base and secured so that it would stand on its own. Repeating that food is ready, you smile at how flushed his cheeks are before moving back into the kitchen teasing that now you understand why he’s never decorated before. 

Getting ice from the icemaker you didn’t hear him say that he never had anyone worth decorating for, though those words would have brought tears to your eyes if you had. 

___

After lunch you let Jeff finish up the dishes while you worked on pulling all the decorations out of their bags. With everything laid out, you turned some Christmas music on from your phone to set the mood again. 

When Jeff came in he turned on his gas fireplace and taking a strand of lights you’d already plugged in and checked from you, he started to wrap the lights amongst the branches working his way from the bottom of the tree up. It was almost seamless, the rhythm you settled into with you checking the lights and unwinding them before Jeff took them to continue wrapping around the tree until it was fully lit once plugged in. 

“It already looks pretty.” You grinned signaling to him that he’d done good work with the lights. 

Jeff just smiled that bright smile back and you reached to open one of the containers of ornaments while also grabbing the box of hooks. Again, the two of you took turns putting hooks on the ornaments and handing them to each other, making sure that each color and type was dispersed evenly around the tree. As you hung one of the wooden ornaments toward the middle of the tree you felt Jeff press up behind you, hanging a silver ball above your head. The heat of his body made you shiver and as he pulled away his hand slid along your waist as he steadied himself. You didn’t say anything for a moment before asking him to hand you one of the green balls. 

Jeff pressed against you from behind twice more while tucking pinecones up into the branches of the tree and he slid against you while passing to grab the ribbon to drape around it. Each time he did so, a jolt sparked through your body, but that little voice in the back of your mind insisted that he didn’t mean it like that. Focusing on draping the wood garland so that it was spaced opposite the ribbon, you didn’t see Jeff’s eyes rake over your body or the way they softened as you hummed along to the Christmas carols. When everything was finally on the tree you reached to hand him the star to top it off insisting that he do it since it’s his tree. 

For a moment Jeff hesitated before he reached to set the star on top before stepping back to admire the tree with you for a moment before you shifted it back toward the wall and got it plugged in, adding water into the base now that it wasn’t going to be moved anymore. The final step was adding the skirt around the base which Jeff insisted you do since you were already down there with the water. Once that was done, you smiled at how pretty it looks and hugged him from the side declaring that it looked worthy of a magazine. 

Cleaning up the packaging, you watched as Jeff moved to hang the one wreath on his door while the other was placed under the fruit bowl in the center of his island with pinecones and a small green and white ornament tucked into it. 

“Good work Mr. Skinner.” You grinned, washing your hands from the pine so that any pollen didn’t irritate your eyes. “Your apartment is ready for Christmas now.” His dimple was showing and his eyes flashed with something you didn’t understand as you peeked over at him suggesting that they watch a Christmas movie since they were done decorating. 

Jeff agreed and you settled onto the couch handing him the remote as he pulled your feet into his lap before draping the throw blanket over your legs. After checking for your approval, he settled on Elf and you couldn’t help but smile as he quoted along to the movie. 

Pausing after one movie to order dinner in and eat, you settled back in, bellies full, this time putting on the first Santa Clause. Instead of sitting like you had before, this time you sat next to him, leaning into the same space. When his thumb dropped down to brush against your inner thigh part way through the movie you felt a buzz form low in your core that didn’t stem from the bottle of wine you’d shared with dinner. 

Jeff seemed to have no idea of what he was doing nor any idea the effect it was having on you. Yawning slightly, you murmured that you were going to go use his bathroom to shower if that was okay. You weren’t really paying attention to the movie anyway and you needed a moment to breathe. You’d thought that things with Jeff were different than they had been before Pittsburgh, but he hadn’t made a move or anything so maybe you were wrong. Either way there was no way you were going to stay sane with the pressure of his thumb against that part of your body. 

Tonight, when Jeff slid into bed beside you, you were going to keep some distance. As much as your body wanted to be close to his, it was for the best because there was no way you were going to make it through a week here with him if you didn’t, even if he was your best friend.

[girlsluvbot]

MATCHMAKER pt.1

pairing: roseanne park × fem! reader

genre: fluff, angst

about:

matchmaker /ˈmatʃmeɪkə/

noun

a person who arranges marriages or initiates romantic relationships between others.

"an enthusiastic matchmaker who continually tried to pair off the difficult bachelor with unattached ladies"

a/n: i'm back!!! hehe this goddamn thing took so long to write, i both despise and adore it with every fibre of my being. enjoy my blood, sweat and tears in the form of a fic.

You loved your job. Very few people are lucky enough to be able to relate to that statement, and you were thankfully one of them. Hell, not only did you love your job, you were extremely good at it.

Since you were a little kid, writing nas always been your biggest passion. Wether it was writing short stories, poems or essays about the french revolution, you were always happy when you were able to put your feelings and thoughts onto paper. This was the main reason why you became the manager of your local newspaper during middle school, high school and eventually even university.

You've won multiple writing contests and even people who had no idea what your name was knew one thing about you: you were an amazing writer.

Years of practice, your impeccable set of skills and a recommendation letter from your university professor secured you a job at Vogue almost immediately. After all this hard work, you finally achieved everything you were looking for. You were truly happy.

Until this very moment.

"Well, I don't know," the woman sitting in front of you made a disgusted grimace, "it just lacks any emotion whatsoever. I've quite literally never read something so stiff and akward."

And here they were. The first words of criticism you have ever recieved. You were so used to everyone praising your work, you didn't know how to react or respond.

Three months ago, you would have never gotten into a similar situation: simply because there was nothing about your work to critize. But a lot has changed in the past few weeks, and not exactly in the good kind of way.

When you first joined Vogue, you were the head editor and journalist of the spread dedicated almost entirely to interviews. Thats what you did, talked to celebrities and wrote about them. And that's what you were good at, almost too good.

Just a year after working in the magazine you got promoted. You were still the head editor, but now of a completely different part of the journal: one dedicated to a single topic. Love. This was bad news, very bad news.

Why, you ask? The reason was fairly simple but no less embarrassing. Even as the head editor of a spread all about love, you've never experienced it yourself. In other words, you've never been in love. And how are you supposed to write about something you know nothing about?

Your boss looks at you and shakes her head. She reaches for the stack of papers on the table in front of her and starts reading, "For example; 'His lips brushed against mine. They were soft. The kiss was short but sweet. I loved it.' What the actual heck? I kiss my cat more passionately than this." she took off her glasses and started massaging the crook of her nose.

"Listen, Y/N, I've read your previous pieces and they were simply wonderful. But this? I don't even know what else to say without hurting your feelings."

"I'm so sorry. I know, it's just that I dont have much experience in said area." you don't finish the sentence, hoping she somehow gets the memo. She doesn't.

"What area?"

"Love. I dont have much experience with love." you blurt out the words that have been on your mind nonstop since the day of your promotion.

"Oh, you poor thing" she leans back in her chair, her eyes scanning your every move, "Isn't that unfortunate."

You nod your head slowly, trying not to get offended at her words full of pity.

"How are you supposed to write romance stories then? This won't work." the woman grabs a post-it note

"Are," your voice cracks in the middle of the sentence, "Are you firing me?"

"Are you crazy? Of course I'm not," she hands you the piece of paper with a phone number, "We just have to improvise for the time being. Do you know Roseanne Park? She's the manager of our Matchmaker spread. You can be her assistant for the next few months, help her around, learn a thing or two. Hopefully your writing wont be so...bland after."

To be completely honest, you didn't handle changes well. Maybe that's why you were standing in front of your new, and hopefully temporary, bosses office, trying to build up the courage to knock on her door.

One of the reasons why you were so nervous was that Roseanne Park, the manager of the Vogue Matchmaker was insanely attractive. Admittedly, you did some online stalking the night before- okay, a lot of it. Here's the thing; you were a planner. Whether it came to your career, writing or even relationships, you liked to beprepared.

That's why after a few hours spent on the internet, you knew everything. The name of her sister (Alice Park), if the had a pet (yes, a fish named Joohwangie) and who her favorite band was (The 1975).

You weren't usually like this, so head over heels for a girl you haven't even met. But your writing, the reason you were here in the first place, didn't usually suck so after all, some things really do change easily.

Just as you reached for the dark wooden door in front of you, it opened before your hand could even touch it's sleek surface.

"Oh!" the tall woman stopped in her tracks. Thanks to your thorough internet digging, you instantly recognized her. Roseanne Park. Your new boss. A 'matchmaker' if you will.

"You must be Y/N! I've heard that you're going to be my assistant for a bit." your cheeks heated up for no apparent reason. Did she know the reason why you got transferred here so quickly? Every molecule in your body wished and prayed to every possible god out there that she didn't.

"Yeah, that's me!" you finally composed yourself enough to speak, but that didn't mean your voice didn't sound like one of a twelve year old boy going through puberty- high pitched and squeaky.

You examined her face more in depth, and realized quite a few things:

She was somehow even prettier in real life. How? you had no idea. Some people just really won the genetics lottery, you thought.

Her hair was red. Like undeniably, undoubtedly red. In all of the pictures you found yesterday it was either brown or black, so this change caught you off guard. You couldn't complain though, because this girl looked like a hotter version of Ariel with a much better sense in fashion (and music).

"Have you been standing out here for too long?"

"Oh no, I just arrived." lying has never been so easy.

"Great! I'm gonna go downstairs to grab a package but you can look around the office while I'm gone," she opened the door a bit to let you walk in.

You did as she told you and entered the room. The door closed behind you without you noticing, the only thing you could focus on was this girl's office. It looked just like you would imagine heaven to look like- full of light, white furniture and expensive looking leather couches.

There were pictures everywhere: a dozen of four young girls (one of them being Roseanne), a few more of her with famous celebrities and one of a familiar looking face- her sister.

You carefully walked towards the table in the middle of the room, not wanting to damage anything. You noticed quite a bit of unexpected clutter, and above everything a print of the brand new Vogue issue. A woman on the cover flashed you a beautiful smile as you picked it up. The headline stated: Kim Jisoo talks acting, NYFW and love.

You flipped the glossy magazine pages to find the spread dedicated to said interview and noticed just what you were looking for: the author of the article. The credits at the bottom of the page revealed a nice surprise- Author; Roseanne Park.

"Well what do you think? Is it a good article?" your soul almost left your body when you realized who was standing next to you. You quickly put the magazine down, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to touch your stuff. I just saw the cover and..."

"Oh my gosh, are you kidding? That's completely okay, I don't mind." she pointed to the journal, "That interview is actually one of the favorite pieces I ever wrote, and not just because it's about Jisoo. Plus, my friend took the pictures, so it was extra fun." She opened the spread again and pointed to a name credited right next to hers, Photographer; Lalisa Manoban.

"Oh wow. I've seen her pictures before, they're really good. I with I could take photos like that. Seriously."

Here's one thing to note: when you're nervous, you ramble. Like a lot. Some people would say its better than staying silent, but let's be honest- it's like stepping into a puddle instead of mud. Not a disaster, but there's still plenty to complain about.

Thankfully, Roseanne only giggled, "I know exactly what you mean. I hope you'll get to work with her someday."

You both stared at the magazine spread for a second before Roseanne broke the silence.

"But now, let's get to bussines. Sit down please, this might take a while," she pointed tkwards one of the leather couches you noticed earlier and took a seat at the other side of the table.

"So, as you probably already know, my name is Roseanne Park. As a manager of Matchmaker, my job is to read these letters," she grabben a handful of papers for emphasis, "and respond to them, give advixe basically. The title 'Matchmaker' comes from the fact that the majority of the letters talk about love. Any questions so far?"

When you shook your head no, she continued, "As my assistant, your job is fairly simple. You're going to sort and read through the hundreds of letters I recieve weekly and pick the most interesting ones for me to feature. And occasionally, you might accompany me to a few interviews. Sounds good?"

You slowly nodded, processing all the new information. Letters, answers, interviews and a hot boss. That doesn't sound so bad.

"Great. So Y/N," she suddenly stood up, "Would you mind going with me to Subway? I'm starving."

By the time you were finished with lunch, you had a new point to add to your list of realizations about your new boss:

She loves food, and by loves I mean LOVES.

The moment you arrived at the restaurant, food was the only thing she would talk about. She told you about what she had for dinner and breakfast, what kind of snacks she hid in the office and what kind of salad she was getting alongside a baguette.

After she actually managed to get a bit of calories into her system (thanks to a foot-long chicken turkey sandwich) the conversation finally got more interesting.

Don't get me wrong, you could listen to this girl talk for hours, no matter the topic. But after listening to a thirty minute long monologue about why pineapple pizza is the best thing ever invented, even you have reached your limit.

"So," you start, in an effort to break the ice, "how long have you been working at Vogue?"

She squints at the toast in front of her, trying to remember, "About five years? Yeah, it's gonna be five years in May."

"Oh wow, that's impressive."

She tilts her head, "Is it? I mean, when you work as often as I do, time just goes by. I don't even remember the last time I went out with my friends to discuss something that wasn't work related."

You pout, regretting the choice to ask her about work.

"But at the same time, I love what I do so I can't really complain. What about you though? Why did you decide to become a journalist?"

"Oh, I started just a year ago. And I studied literature, so I guess becoming a journalist made sense."

"Why did you study literature then? There's so many other better paying jobs out there."

"I don't think anyone works in such a field for money, that's for sure," you try to lighten the atmosphere, "Well, my mom wanted to become a writer, but she got pregnant before she could finish her book and she's been pretty much busy ever since. I guess her love for books kind of rubbed off on me."

Roseanne nods, to let you know she's listening. "I'm glad you and your mom have such an important aspect of your lives in common. My mother wanted me to become a lawyer, I doubt she's ever read even a single fiction book in her entire life."

"What does she think about your job now?"

Her lips tighten and she crosses her arms. "I don't know. I haven't talked to her since," her eyes seem empty, their signature spark gone. You can tell you struck a nerve. "I haven't talked to her since I moved out."

"Well, I'm sure that she's proud of you," you can't help but add.

Rosie lets out a dry laugh, "You don't know my mother then," she slowly pushes her plate away, "I think I'm full so I'm gonna head back to the office."

Sometimes it's better to keep your mouth shut. You learned this the hard way.

You head back after your lunch break ends, alone. Even though Roseanne walked you through everything she expects you to help around with, you know that your job doesn't start and end with sorting through letters.

You softly knock on the office door before heading in. She's already sitting there, behind her desk. Without looking up from her laptop, she scoffs, "You're late."

"It's just five minutes," you shrug, not taking her tone seriously. Finally, she raises her sight to meet yours. Even without her saying anything, you understand. Do not play around with fire.

You mumble an apology and quickly run to the small hallway at the other side of the room which leads to your own (significantly smaller) office.

"What makes you think I'm done?" Turning around, you notice that her eyes are piercing through your back. Unsure of what she expects you to do, you walk back in front of her.

"While you were out there doing god knows what for two hours," you resist the urge to roll your eyes, "I already did your job and sorted through the letters. You're welcome."

She walks around the table and pushes a thick stack of papers against your chest, "That means you'll be doing my job and write replies to them. Can you handle that?"

You try not to show her how terrified you are. You? Giving relationship advice? Sounds like a recipe for a royal disaster. Instead, you rise your chin and smile, "Yes ma'am."

She visibly winces at the formal title, but still nods and returns to her seat. You take this as a sign to head back to your spot and do your job. Well, her job for now.

You sit down calmly and shuffle through the papers, trying not to look too freaked out. What the heck are you going to do now?

A quick peek at your boss reveals that she's either busy with work or just flat out ignoring you.

Trying to remain collected, you pick out the top letter from the pile. The first paragraph reads:

Hi Rosie! I'm a huge fan of your Matchmaker spread :) I never thought I'd be the one writing you a message but here we are hahaha. (Let's hope this gets featured!)

You roll your eyes but continue reading,

Me and my boyfriend have been dating for just about two months and I would describe our relationship as 'lowkey'. We first met at a bar a last year but we surprisingly didn't immediately hit it off.

With a raised eyebrow you skip over a page full of sappy descriptions and relationship stories, before getting to the end of the letter.

So what should I do? He's really sweet but I'm not sure if I'm ready to meet his family just yet.... please help! Love, Courtney.

You fold the paper back to it's original state with a quiet gulp. What on earth did you get yourself into?

[envydean]

It’s been a pretty quiet year from me fic wise, I published 26 fics this year (a total of 87,575 words), but I also posted my first serial posted “long fic” (it wasn’t very long as long fics go, but it was long for me), I took part in the Destiel Harlequin and the Trope Celebration. A lot of my writing wouldn’t have been without the @writersofdestiel​ discord who are a bunch of awesome and encouraging people. In the background I have been working on my longest fic yet which I’m excited to share hopefully soon! 

But onwards to this past year! Fics are ordered by date written from oldest to newest.

Angel On Stage | Destiel | T | 1,597 Castiel is the new dancer at Balthazar's club, and Dean gets to watch his practice show and accidentally falls for the guy.

A Time Between Moments | Destiel | T | 591 There’s that time, just moments after they’ve crawled back into bed after washing off their orgasms, when their breaths are just evening out... they lay apart, each on their side, facing one another. Blue meets green, in that time in between moments.

Bluebells | Destiel | T | 6,188 Dean's magic has been steadily running out ever since he moved to the city and his weary body is begging for a vacation. Bobby's direct orders to do so have him heading to the White Mountains to soak up some much needed earthly magic and along the way he picks up something else out of the storm. 

Nothing More | Destiel | T | 707 The words sit in Dean’s messaging app, waiting to be sent. One hand is wrapped around a glass of whiskey and the other hovering over the send button. Happy Valentine’s Day

Chocolates at 9am | Destiel | T | 1,201 Dean gets in early to place a rose on his assistant's desk under the guise of a secret admirer. Except that it turns out the admiration is both not so secret and mutual.

Shiver | Destiel | E | 1,267 The ice is cold as Cas slips the cube between his lips and sucks until the harsh edges have melted. He holds it between his teeth as Dean squirms beneath him, cuffed to their double bed with a towel beneath his hips.

Back On The Tracks | Destiel | T | 1,012 Dean and Cas go back to their old boarding school to attend their daughter's track and field day and end up competing in a three-legged parent's race.

Naps for Dogs and Men | Destiel | T | 1,500 The golden retriever has been coming to Castiel's house for several weeks, taking a nap and then going back on his way and Castiel finally sends a note to his owner. 

What Do You Wish For? | Destiel | E | 1,500 Dean, Cas, and their senior high school friends are on their annual camping trip. The sun has set and Cas wants some space to reset himself after a lot of socialising and Dean joins him.

Sexy Nine | Destiel | E | 1,500 Dean's excited that his package from Sexy Nine has arrived, only when he goes back up to his apartment, he gets stuck in the elevator and calls the fire brigade after maintenance doesn't answer. He certainly gets more than a rescue out of it when one particular fireman recognises the shop's symbol on the box.

Privacy On The Top Floor | Destiel | E | 5,008 Dean Winchester visits his husband's workplace with a duffle bag of kinkiness. It's private up on the top floor where Castiel resides in his position as CEO and he doesn't shy away when Dean ties him down and brings him to the edge again and again and again...

Teardrops For You | Destiel, Charlie & Dean, Charlie & Castiel | T | 1,500 The accident killed her and left Dean alive and emotionally broken. He's a disgrace. His best friend is dead and he can't even cry for her. 

No Man's Waters | Destiel | T | 21,092 When Castiel is cast out of his territory for disobeying orders for war, he’s left to perish in No Man’s Waters, the treacherous depth between the Garrison Territory and the Huntsman’s Territory. Nothing survives there, and Castiel is barely holding on to life when one of the Huntsmen Merfolk comes to his aid. 

Raspberry Jelly | Destiel | M | 1,729 After Castiel walks in on Dean wearing a pair of panties and grinding against Cassie Robinson, an awkward (tired-brained) conversation happens that almost ruins their friendship - until it doesn't.

Christmas Sweaters In June | Destiel | T | 1,500 “Love,” Cas says suddenly in his ear. It makes Dean’s heart jump and his lungs constrict. “Wha-what?” Dean stutters, head turning to Cas whose eyes are still fixated on the screen. “L-O-V-E. Love, it’s the one you’re missing from this round.” Dean looks back down at his screen and sees Cas’ finger linking the letters together. “Oh,” Dean breathes.

Pump It Up | Destiel | E | 1,577 Dean's laid out on one of the beds in the club as Castiel walks around him, soft touches to his skin but little else. He's been told not to move and he's trying so hard.

A Mark For You, A Mark For Us | Destiel | E | 1,462 Sam takes Claire and Emma for the week while Dean and Cas have some time off and they decide to spend the first day of their vacation in the shower and in their bed, marking each other up now that they don't have to hide it.

Intoxicated | Destiel | T | 1,443 Cas finds Dean drunk in the fourth bar he searches after Dean sends some worrying texts to him. Dean has surpassed his flirty, chatty self and fallen headfirst into feeling utter desolation. It leaves Castiel to pick up the pieces. 

The One Where Castiel Impersonates A Police Officer | Destiel | T | 5,294 (Supernatural Trope Celebration) When Castiel finds a police badge lost under the cushions of his local coffee shop, something compels him not to take it back right away and instead he uses it to make his good deeds which includes asking a man to move his car - a man that is, in fact, a police officer.

Touch | Destiel | E | 17,167 (Destiel Harlequin Challenge) After Dean’s injured during a scene with an inattentive and, in hindsight, abusive dom, Dean decides he’s done with being a sub for anyone. Then he meets Castiel in a bar and he helps Dean out. Dean can tell from his years of being a professional sub, that Castiel is very much a Dom. They spend a casual night together and only meet again when Dean crawls back to Purgatory and finds Castiel there. Only, Castiel isn’t looking for any sub, he’s looking for a domestic discipline relationship. Dean’s been a sub for too long to deny that it’s something he’s thought about in the past and he tentatively decides to give it a try on the basis that it’ll be casual sex only, but it’s not long before that begins to change.

Up On The Rooftop Greenhouse | Destiel, Michael/Dean | 5,017 Michael Shurley is Dean Winchester's true mate. Except, Dean has been in love and dating the Winchester house gardener, Castiel Novak, for nearly three years and Dean doesn't want that to stop. He needs to find a way out of the impending wedding before it's too late, especially when Michael shows his true colours.

A Game of Cat and Cat | Destiel | G | 1,638 Dean hasn't been a fan of Castiel ever since he was brought home. But something makes Dean want to win him over and he decided a gift of a mouse would be a good way to start.

If Castiel Was A Cake | Destiel | T | 2,017 Castiel comes home to a stressed Dean baking a lot of cakes. So, he decides that a gathering of friends is the best way to keep Dean's mind off everything and it comes with a bonus extra Castiel has been waiting on for years.

The Dare On Your Lips | Destiel | T | 1,540 Dean Winchester has had the biggest crush on Castiel, but believes that Castiel isn't interested. Then on one drunken night, Dean is dared to kiss Castiel.

The Baton | Destiel | E | 1,672 (part of the one thousand and ninety-four days verse) Dean's exhausted but Castiel comes back with a surprise which is bound to get them tossed in solitary if they're caught. It's a promise of a good time, and Dean can only hope he gets an orgasm out of it too.

As The Mistletoe Hangs | Destiel | G | 857 Dean has a new tradition when the boy next door - his best friend - comes knocking on Christmas Eve.

[thisnerdsadventures]

summer reflection

remarkable that 12 weeks have passed so fast. 10/10 would not recommend the whole time passing thing. Main reason is you end up sad because something that was fun is over because time passes, like what even

once again, cannot speak highly enough about my summer experience and the people i met. I feel like last year I met a lot of other interns, but this year I mostly got to know my team a lot more! Got a chance to read my post from last year, and I’m pretty sure I bothered my host even. more. this year with questions literally all the time!! so thats amazing

I definitely feel like last year was a lot of “oh my god what is happening WOW THIS IS ACTULALY HAPPENING wait what is happening OH MY GOD ITS HAPPENING” but like for 11 weeks straight with little pause, and this year was a lot more "ah yes i feel more like a Full Time Adult” because I was more primarily hanging out with my team rather than other interns, and my project also felt like a much more complex thing that i had more ownership over. Which was cool! we stan personal growth

I would say that looking back, I think I should’ve set more clear goals for myself because having literally had like four days in between the start of my internship and the end of final exams, I didn’t really have any concrete mental preparation going in, and once I was there, it mostly just like “Ah. I’m here. What now,” especially since I had interned there last summer as well. But even on the first day, I knew that the summer had a lot of potential to be more involved than last, mostly because I was actually. sitting. with my. team. (a ConcEPt) and they seemed to talk to each other. at full volume. reMarkaBLE. Overall, I would say the whole experience was cool because part of it kinda gave off startup-y vibes (we had /basically/ our own half-floor/conference room/phone room, and there were only 20 Photos folks in our whole office), but still you felt like part of a larger larger org, like in conference calls and office-wide events and other infra stuff.

anyways, felt like this summer was more team-focused rather than company-focused, which was a different feel from last summer, but would rec! really could see myself coming back full time to the team, but got a couple more years to go first :D

cool stuff that happened in the last eight weeks of my internship (since my first post was the first four weeks)

went to some vegan food festival in cambridge

played basketball a bunch of times with some local alums

volunteered at a local org called Cradles to Crayons, who basically puts together care packages for underprivileged kids in the Boston area

filmed a vlog. or two

worked on a hammock

drank kombucha

the great california trip of 2019

went to a red sox game. we hit so many home runs!

went to canobie lake park for the CAM office outing 

met some youtubers! (gaby and allison, from just between us, or buzzfeed)

saw dear evan hansen. yes i cried a lot. but also before this we went to this great italian place in kendall called sulmona and had a delicious cheese board. i really do think this was a strong highlight of the summer

went to revere beach with a friend and got spring shabu shabu at 9:30pm at night

saw the farewell with some people from my team. continued to cry some more. we then ate ice cream and hot fudge we found in the office straight from the container

n e w y o r k

had 4 mock interviews. was slightly stressed

Theres no better place but here to mention the gochujang grilled cheese. some smart person decided it was a great idea to put gochujang in grilled cheese. this was an ingenious idea

Made a photobook filled with memes for my host. Shipped it to my dorm, but forgot that i was a) moving out of the dorm, likely before it would ship and b) very possibly leaving the country before it would arrive. continued to be slightly stressed

made dumplings at a team offsite. got flashbacks to when i was a child making dumplings and got shamed for not wrapping them well

formal friday! and cake

went on a boat cruise in the harbor! but not before our bus driver got lost and proceeded to drive 3 times around south station and then twice around the entire seaport before finally arriving 1.5 hours later when we had essentially traveled two miles

played board games. in the process might have scared the shit out of someone

my uncle/aunt/cousin came from taiwan to visit boston! we ate a lot of food

Moved dorms

got caught in an awk work situation where i almost got carded at the door during happy hour

presented my project twice. i cannot explain over text the level of memes i put in my slides, but it was good. very quality, if i say so myself. overall, was not a fool

went to gyukaku for end of internship lunch! and my manager’s manager’s manager gave me eggs from his chickens. played more board games to finish out my last day. fell out of a chair

wow that was actually quite a lot lol. anyways this summer was def a W, despite all the project challenges, MEng crises, and dealing with living by myself with most friends in other places for the first time in a hot sec. Because of the aforementioned, I think I was actually kind of stressed this summer, but I think the biggest W of this summer was definitely meeting my team, I’ve def never been in a work environment where in just 12 weeks, I was able to feel this comfortable being myself and to laugh and have fun. anyways, I’ll leave it at that, the next few posts will probably be “Why I decided to MEng”, “interior decorating to avoid responsibilities”, “top 10 recs to start out freshman year” and “semester 4.1 preview”!

[whisker-biscuit]

Harley Quinn is Not A Good Role Model: Chapter 10

Rated T-M for language and graphic descriptions of violence

Pairing: Dr. Flug/Black Hat

Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world’s most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he’s ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.

Black Hat has other ideas.

Chapter 10: Icarus

Warning: This chapter contains references to graphic violence and derogatory homophobic slurs and prejudice. Please tread with caution.

After the whole ‘moving 505 to his new room and trying to keep Black Hat from killing us both’ fiasco, Flug was entirely prepared to sit in the security room watching security feed of the two most secure cells for the rest of the night, sleep be damned. He’d already set himself up in one of the desk chairs, with paperwork, a decent neck pillow and at least 1,500 grams of nonperishable foods. This was mostly thanks to his sudden, bizarre camaraderie with Lucas – and Ben, to a lesser extent – who gave him access to the screens and got the other guards off his back.

He had finally gotten comfortable in the swivel chair, armed with a granola bar and a formal request for time off for that EPPA convention in a month, with his legs propped up and his bag snugly fit against the pillow, when one of his phones buzzed. It was the one in his left coat pocket, which signaled a personal message instead of a work one from the phone stuck in his right. Flug grumbled to himself and shifted to reach for it, and found an email for the arrival of an order of cosmetics from the website recommended to him from the nurse.

That order had been fairly expensive, and the last thing he needed was for it to sit unguarded at the local post office for who knew how long.

Despite his severe misgivings, the psychiatrist was forced out of his vigilant post and away from the security feeds, taking his provisions with him. He knocked on the doorframe to get the closest guard’s attention, explaining the situation and asking for a temporary fill-in while he went to retrieve his package.

“Don’t worry, Doc,” she batted her lashes at him, “I’ll do anything for you.”

It didn’t really make him feel better.

On the way out of the lobby, Flug was so stuck in his worries that he nearly collided with a nurse carrying a large bundle of standard patient uniforms. Clothes fluttered to the ground in heaps and left the poor girl with only a single pair of pants in her grasp.

“Oh, I’m s-so sorry, I’m so,” he crouched at the same time she did and they collided heads, causing both to fall back on their butts and rub their new respective bumps. “Owww…”

“Nnngh,” the nurse’s eyes were barely visible past her dreadlocks, which cascaded down to her chest. She lifted her head to look up at him and recognized his face at the same time he read her nametag.

It was Susie, the quiet nurse he had given 505’s prescription to nearly a week ago. It felt like much, much longer. They sat awkwardly across from each other with large eyes, then simultaneously realized the uniforms were still on the floor. The girl hastily made to pick them up and Flug wasted no time in joining her, grateful for something else to distract him.

“I’m – I’m really sorry about that.” He offered meekly, keeping his head down and away from her. If he’d looked up he would have noticed she was doing the same.

“No, no it’s no trouble,” Susie mumbled, embarrassment present in the red flush across her dark warm cheeks. “I should have watched where I was going.”

“Ah, m-me too.” They got all the fallen clothes together and began the tedious process of folding and stacking each pair. Flug was painfully aware of the large metal clock ticking away above the entrance. As soon as the last shirt was placed on top of the pile he scrambled to his feet, sneakers squeaking against the marble floor.

“Thank you,” the nurse carefully hefted the uniforms as she stood up, putting one hand on top to keep it steady. She looked more closely at him. “I haven’t seen you in a few days, Dr. Slys. Are – are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’ve been j-just great,” the psychiatrist resisted the childish urge to tap his foot. “A lot on my plate with a new p-patient, that’s all. Everything’s great.”

“That’s good.” Susie shuffled, a bit more relaxed now. “We’ve all been worried about you, Doctor. That crim – that new inmate, Black Hat, all the nurses avoid his room and I don’t know how you can do it. How are you so brave?”

“I’m not, um, I’m not brave. Not that brave. It’s just my job.” Flug brushed out his lab coat, head ducked. “I appreciate your c-concern, really, but I’m fine. Nothing I can’t survive – handle! Nothing I can’t handle,” he amended quickly at her pinched face.

“Okay…” the nurse bit her lip. “That’s…good to hear, Dr. Slys. But we’re here to help – the nurses. If you need anything. Please don’t be afraid to ask.”

“I won’t,” the words were sincere. “Thank you and…” he gestured jerkily at the clothing, “I’m so sorry about that.”

Susie shook her head, grateful smile dimpling her face. “No, it happens. They’re dirty anyway.”

They parted ways a little less awkwardly than they had met, and Flug felt relatively happy until he caught a glimpse of the clock and nearly had an aneurysm. Sprinting down the building steps and into the parking lot, the psychiatrist reached his reserved parking space in the span of fifteen seconds and had to take a quick breather against his car.

It was a silver Chevrolet Cobalt, modeled in 2008 and in good condition. Wasn’t fancy, wasn’t what most of his staff had, but it got the job done and he was going to use it for all it was worth before getting anything else. Besides, no one suspected someone of his occupation drove anything like this. Better for avoiding media after a press conference or whatever else.

Better for keeping a low profile. It kept him safe.

The post office was almost completely void of people, thank god, and Flug waited as patiently as he could while the postal worker checked through his ID and verified the transaction. The package wasn’t too big to fit in his arms, but the skewed weight had him juggling it clumsily as he strode briskly back to his car. He stuck it in the passenger seat and buckled it up for good measure. Safety first and all that.

Instead of taking it back to his apartment, he made an executive decision to just drop it off in his office before resuming his watch of 505’s situation. That decision was regretted quite a bit when he was halfway down the hall and turned the corner only to stare at the barrel chest of Dr. Bautista.

His luck really sucked sometimes.

The other psychiatrist looked down his nose as if the doctor wasn’t worth his head turn, but then his eyes lighted on the box in Flug’s hands and did a double take.

“Make-up? You bought make-up?” He sneered in a way that had Flug gritting his teeth. “I didn’t know you were that kind, Dr. Slys.”

“Excuse me,” the psychiatrist tried to walk around, but Bautista matched his step backwards and folded his arms, making it nearly impossible to move forward without brushing into him. “Please, Doctor, I really need to get through.”

“Is that why you had me kicked off the inmate’s case? Scared I’d see this?” The larger man stabbed an angry finger into the package, almost knocking Flug off balance with the force of the tap. “Is this what’s under that dumb bag? Shit like this?”

“I d-don’t need to explain anything to you. A-And I asked you to move.” He tried to shove past but was stopped again. The box creaked a little under his grip. “Dr. Bautista, please, I talked to the director a-and she approved my request, th-that’s all there is to it. She wants us t-to work out our differences and I can’t do that if you won’t let me through!”

There was a tense moment of standoff, but Flug was sick of this day and sick of bullies with names of the letter B and he refused to be the first to crack. His coworker’s hard gaze trailed down to the box again, a defeat hidden behind contempt.

“Is this why you wanted my intern, too? Gonna make him dress up like those freaks on TV? Turn him into a queer, like you?”

‘you’re German, aren’t you? Why you gotta be a fuckin’ queer?’

Flug sucked in a breath and Bautista realized in that instance what he’d said, what he was doing. The bigger man metaphorically backpedaled and looked nervously around for any sign of other employees.

“Forget it, forget what I said. Do whatever the hell you want, he’s your intern now anyway, he’s not worth my time. And neither are you.” The psychiatrist pivoted on his heel and stalked away, eyeing nearby closed doors apprehensively as he went.

Left behind was a psychiatrist struggling to keep himself from falling apart right there in the hall.

He booked it for his office, hands shaking so much that the box’s contents rattled haphazardly. The moment he reached his little sanctuary and the door was shut Flug collapsed to his knees, hunched over the package and headwear pressed into its top.

This was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to have moved past this, give or take a paper bag and some shaky stuttering. He had moved past it, hadn’t had such a bad episode since before the Institute, before restraining scary inmates and psycho patients and dealing with…whatever Black Hat was.

But the memory bubbled up in familiar sickness and the doctor had just enough sense to reach up and lock the handle above him, fingers trembling with the effort. His hand dropped, boneless in his lap, and Flug stared in horrified awe as the yellow glove disappeared, the white lab coat disappeared. In its place was exposed pale skin, with the red overcoat clashing terribly with the icy ground and the snowy air. He couldn’t feel the cold, but it was right there, right there and he was back he was –

A cough made him look up.

 It was a group of five men, all their heads shaved to the bone and with near-matching tattoos right at the nape of their necks – barely visible from the high-collared heavy blue jackets they shared. He was not one of them, had never seen them before and hoped never to again, but a job was a job and he wasn’t going to complain, especially not here. They were mostly ignoring him anyway, grumbling to themselves about the frigid wind as they all waited behind that warehouse.

Their hit wouldn’t be there for another ten minutes at least, however, and he could sense their restlessness even as he pulled and twitched at his coat. He hadn’t had the chance to do his good-luck straighten-up routine when he’d left this morning, and it was filling him with irrational, irritating dread.

One of the smaller skinheads finally got bored enough to look his way, and he bit his tongue and kept his expression carefully neutral as the man approached.

“So you’re, like, really the guy helpin’ us out here?” It was said nonchalantly, in the tone of someone who very literally had nothing else better to do.

“That’s right,” he replied, eyes landing somewhere just under the other’s gaze. Directness was dangerous, was seen as challenge, but avoiding the face altogether was often seen as an insult. He’d toed this beam plenty of times and was well-versed in the physical whisperings of others.

The man scrubbed at the thick line of stubble under his jaw, itchy and miserable from the cold. “So what’s your deal, then? She said you were German, like honest to god bloodline and everything.”

He stilled the movements of his hands. “Yes, I am. My name was on the contract, if I remember right.”

“Oh, yeah,” more scratching, “that’s right, I saw your name, yeah. That really was German, huh. You ever think about joinin’ one of us ‘stead of her? Less rules and shit.”

“Ah, I don’t know,” he glanced over at the rest. One or two were starting to pay attention. “It’s really good pay, I guess. And she lets me use her lab, I can build whatever I want, whenever I want. It’s hard to leave a setup like that, you know?”

“Sure,” the skinhead reached a scarred hand to his neck and rubbed aggressively at the inflamed skin under his swastika. It was very recent, possibly within the last few days if his math was right.

“Stop fuckin’ with it,” gruffed one of the largest members, who stood and stretched before stepping heavily to join the two. “It’ll get infected and then you’re gonna cry like a bitch for weeks.”

“I ain’t gonna cry like no bitch,” the obvious newbie snarled, agitated by the cold and the teasing. “Only bitches here are all of you, huddled together over there for warmth. It’s pathetic.”

“Mm,” the older, larger man looked over the non-member with a skeptical look to his eye. “You’re kinda scrawny for your age, aren’t you? For your work?”

He kept his face clear, going for a simple shrug of shoulders and a slight fiddle of his coat zipper. It wasn’t the first time hearing this question doubting his appearance, but he had come prepared and equipped and demonstration would persuade these men much more than words. If only the damn target would show up.

“He kinda looks like a queer.”

The suggestion was much more unexpected and he stiffened up, eyes moving very slowly to look at the newbie, who sneered and stared at him with newfound amusement.

“Izzat true? You a queer?”

“No,” he said, firm and strong and leaving no room for suspicion. “I’m a scientist.”

The bigger, older man gave a few deep, rumbling chuckles and nudged his irritated companion. “That was a good one, come on.”

“Wasn’t nothing,” the younger one responded, shadowed face getting darker every second. “It wasn’t even an answer. I thought he’d at least give me an answer. You afraid of something, kid? Got something to hide?”

“Don’t call him kid, you’re barely growing pubes, idiot.”

The two skinheads started slinging insults at each other, and the rest of the gang was perking up at the sight. In the meantime he edged away, very slowly and as quiet as he could be in the snow. His sense for danger was always reliable and it was telling him that if their hit didn’t arrive soon, something was going to happen.

Something very, very bad.

Of course, he was only about a meter further from the verbal brawl before the newbie turned angrily back to him and spat at the ground.

“Just answer the fucking’ question, Aryan. You gay or not?”

“I’m not gay,” he insisted, but this question was not one he had mastered a safe answer to, had never had to before, and something must have shown on his face, in his voice, in his words maybe – because the larger, older man straightened up abruptly with practiced ease. The gaze of the young new one became sharp and predatory and hovered somewhere between eagerness and loathing.

It wasn’t until all five began to circle him that he realized he was hitting the cold back of the warehouse.

“Repeat that for me,” said the older, larger skinhead, and he was starting to think this one was the leader, the way he seemed to tower above them all and demanded respect, and an honest answer.

“I’m not – gay!” He insisted again, words slipping only because of the sudden closeness of one man to his right. It startled him into a voice crack and that was all the prompting they needed. He was pinned to the wall by three different pairs of hands and his head smacked painfully against the metal.

“Hang on, hang on guys,” hissed a voice belonging to one pair of grasping hands. “We gotta do the job first, right? She’s not gonna pay us if we don’t do the job.”

“I’m not working with a fucking fag,” hissed another. “Got enough of that shit in the world already, it doesn’t belong here with real people. It’ll taint us all if we don’t stop it.”

“But I’m not – I’m not…!” He tried to cry out just as a gloved hand slapped him hard and stung worse than the cold ever could.

“Shut up.” It was the newbie, eyes blazing and manic. “You’re German, aren’t you? Why you gotta be a fuckin’ queer? Bet you’ve been wanting to fuck all of us this whole time, huh. Bet it really gets you off bein’ around real men for once.”

“What should we do with him?” Asked the hesitant one again. “You know she’ll put a hit out on us if we kill him, you – you guys know that.”

“I know,” rumbled the larger, older man quietly. He was standing behind them all, overseeing as was his position, but his gaze had landed on the back of the newbie’s neck. Something passed his visage, and for one moment there was no white in his eyes. “Pin him to the ground, on his back.”

They complied eagerly and he fought for every centimeter of height lost until someone got impatient and punched him hard in the stomach. He collapsed immediately, gasping for breath even as they stretched his arms out and sat on his legs.

“Chase, give me your cigarette.”

“What?! Why the hell –”

“Just fucking give it to me!” The tone left no room for argument and he watched in stuck terror as a half-used cigarette traded hands to the older, larger skinhead, who walked around and crouched right above his head.

He stared, pleading and cold and hurting and asking for a single shred of mercy. But they had both played this game for a long while and thus both knew there would be none.

“I think,” the soulless black look was back. “The best way to do this,” a giant, meaty hand gripped painfully in his hair and stilled his shaking head. “Is to show our employer exactly what we think of little creatures like you poisoning our perfect race.”

The burning tip hovered a millimeter from his wet right cheek.

“You said you’re German. I think it’s time to embrace your roots.”

The tip came down.

And Flug cried silently into his square paper mask.

Hey guys, this one was a heavy one and I apologize for it. If it triggered or upset anyone, please let me know and I’ll give more warning in the beginning of the chapter. Please keep in mind that this story as a whole will continue to deal with heavy topics like this, but it isn’t my intention to sugarcoat these things or paint them as insignificant. 

Thanks for listening. Last chapter is tomorrow and then we’ll be all caught up. Hope you all have a good one.

[tumblunni]

Man today was A Chore. I got some good stuff done in the end but the middle of it felt awful and im just relieved it ended on a better note i guess? I had to spend like three hours sitting waiting for a package listening to some horrid old ladies talk about how child abuse is great and all the flaws of modern life stem from the fact we dont smack kids anymore. And like..fuckin.. "Ha ha remember how we used to fail all our classes and lie and hide our grades because we were scared of our parents and do anything to try and make the beatings hurt less BUT NOW IM AN ADULT I KNOW MY PARENTS WERE TOTALLY RIGHT YES" And friggin discussing all these beatings and LAUGHIng?? Laughing about being beaten and about going on to beat their own kids like ha ha this is so fuckin normal and just the logical conclusion of everything?? Like these were GOOD MEMORIES?? Fuck man i was like that gif of the dude with the giant vein in his head it was SO HARD to just sit there and try not to hear what they were saying. I actually ended up buying like 20 scratchcards just cos i was running on autopilot and trying anything to distract myself. (Only wasted 10 pound tho cos i won a few quid along the way and lost it again lol)

And gahhhhh after all that waiting i just get told my package didnt arrive today and i just have to come back tomorrow! So i went home super depressed and had to try and talk myself out of it and yeah. AND THEN i get a phonecall from the post office literally right then, saying 'yo whoops the parcel arrived a lil late, come get it before we close'. It was kinda funny, like me conquering myanxiety self hateness actually summoned a good luck better resolution to the story?? And i rushed down there and managed to get the parcel and all the post office people were REALLY NICE,like they'd gone kinda mom friend on me from seeing me come in and out asking for this parcel for the whole entire day. I dont know either of their names but thank you nice red hair lady in charge of the parcels and scratchcard corner grandma who chatted with me! If i see them again another day i have to go into the post office, i'll be sure to say thanks!

So yeah anyway i FINALLY have everything sorted now to do my Lets Play of the new pokemon game! I probably wont be able to start it til saturday evening or sunday morning though? Cos tomorrow i have the Big Stress of meeting again with my estranged sister and hoping i can maybe repair our bond. I dunno how long we're gonna hang out or even what we're gonna do or if its gonna go well, aaaa!! And then on saturday i need to wake up super early and catch a million buses to get to a cool art class place. Maan its been a busy week lol!

Oh!! And the stuff of actual success today!! Cos yeah some stuff did go well before the big post office trashness, and i need to focus on that instead of the awkward middle. Big good thing the number 1! I met with my support worker and had a really nice meeting in the new cafe in the local library. She was just super nice and gave me a great motivational talk about how i was handling this whole sister thing really well and she was proud of me. She said she got my voicemail i left for her during the whole thing and she was really sorry she was late replying to it and she was really worried how it all went. I totally forgot i even sent her that voicemail during all the mess! So i just got caught up in the panic and forgot to call her back, aaa!! Im glad she knows im okay now! And we had a nice hot chocolate and she said she's also proud of the progress i've made in going out and being social more often, pointing out how when she first met me i was too nervous to go to this cafe and now we're havong a nice day here. And i was like "but thats not a very big accomplishment" and she was like "ITS BIG ENOUGH, BUNNI!!!" Dammnit what did i do to deserve these kind people? *sniff*

Oh, and then she also helped me learn how to post an international package and IT IS FINALLY DONE!! Summon-daze, keep an eye out for parcel number 1, containing 25% of all the books i have for you!! They said it should reach you between 5 to 14 days. Sorry its so long, it seems the christmas rush starts a whole damn month early! *sigh* And i feel proud of myself for pulling it off, it was so stressy and embarassing aaaa. Just the soul pain of asking so many questions of the post office lady and holding up the line and having to go back and forth and be like 'is the parcel ok now? No?' *awkwardly crabwalks back again* But now i know! And i can definateky handle it all better next time! And aaaaa i just really hope it all goes well and i hope she likes the books and i hope i can afford to send the rest soon!

And then also i was brave enough to go to the other cafe too! I had to kill a lot of time so i had a second hot chocolate at the other place lol. That one is more busy and standard restauranty instead of a small library place, so its a little more imposing. And i actually had a small sandwich too! Somehow eating things in public is one degree more scary than drinking a drink? Dont ask me to explain my anxiety lol, even i dont know! XD it was weird eating a sandwich with a knife and fork tho?? Like the lady just gave me a knife and fork and i felt too polite to say 'umm actually i ordered a sandwich so here have them back'. It was a toasted cheese so the bread was all warm and chewy and really hard to cut! Really really nice though, it helped heal my soul from all the stress. Oh and i tried an american root beer for the first time! Its so cool and weird! Like a slightly bitter/salty sweetness combo? And how it foams up like beer even though its a soda??? Thats so WEIRD AND NEATO!!! Oh and umm maybe i should give myself some points for making conversation with the post office people too? I was so awkward and anxietyish so i feel proud that i managed to articulate myself well enough to actually ask for my parcel, and then they were just so nice and tried to chat with me and i...vaguely managed to chat back, lol.

Oh oh oh! And also i bought a shoes! I shall officially dub them The Murder Shoes~! It was a really good deal in a clearance thing at the supermarket, for shoes that actually looked pretty awesome! These big neat boots covered in WAY TOO MANY metal studs and belts and awesomeness! Theyre like goth cowboy aesthetic?? I love them, i dont have too many professional shoes and these are that but also funky cool!

So yeah several good things happened but the bad bit in the middle was just so long and frustrating that it left me in a big downer mood where it was easy to forget the good stuff. Writing it out like this kinda helps! And also to remember i have stuff to look forward to for the rest of the week! And, well, more challenges to face, but i feel more optimistic now!

[myselfinserts]

​❝ you are lucky to have a family, that’s all i’ve ever wanted. ❞

“Damn, stupid, fuckingneck trap.”

“Relax, Regi, it look fine onyou.”

Regi let out a sigh, finishingadjusting his tie as the elevator ascended to the top floor. It was ReginaldGladstone’s first day in court as a defense attorney. His uncle was only actingas aid this time. It was a murder case. Definitely not what anyone else wouldhave taken as a first. But the accused was an old friend of the family, theirneighbor and local mailman Mr. Clifton. The old man didn’t have a violent bonein his body. Regi couldn’t leave this case to anyone else. Still, thatdidn’t stop him from being terrified. First case nerves, he supposed. 

In hindsight, perhaps he shouldhave taken Elbert’s advice on leaving this case to someone else. 

Ohwell, hethought. Too late now. I just have to fight hard.

Elbert let out a huff as theirelevator finally arrived and rolled out. “Honestly Regi. No need to getall flustered.”

“I’m not flustered, I’mnauseous.” Regi sighed, gripping the handle of his suitcase tightly as hefollowed after his uncle. “I just hope I’ll manage to surpass expectationsand save Mr. Clifton. He doesn’t deserve to be put behind bars. He’s such a sweetold man.”

“It is strange someone decidedfor him to be the fall guy.”

“I don’t think it was just that,”Regi said. “There feels like there’s a piece missing. Like, isn’t it kind of weird there wasn’t any mail in the house? Even the most immaculate home owners leave junk mail out. And Mr. Clifton said he’s been having to deliver strange packages to for sale houses lately...”

“Now you’re thinking like a defense attorney.” Elbert reached up and pat him on the back. “Keep that in your back pocket. It might come in handy.”

The two came to a stop justoutside the defendant’s lobby. Out of all the people he expected, he didn’texpect Madame Rosine to be waiting for them. He especially didn’t expect her ina soft pink suit jacket with a black skirt and a cravat. Last time they’d runinto each other was at a charity event, where she wore a black velvet dressthat accentuated her red eyes and soft white hair. No matter what she wore, sheterrified him. 

Elbert, on the other hand,seemed almost mesmerized. Almost. Hard to staymesmerized when your longtime rival shows up unannounced.

Rosine gave the two a politenod, raising an eyebrow. "So, today's your first trial and you bring anold man and a green suit. Not exactly what I call a well prepared look,Gladstone."

Regi felt his face heat fromembarrassment. "I…it's the only suit I have, Madame. Plus, forest greenlooks good on me."

"Ésme, stop it," Elbertgrumbled. "Kid's already nervous enough as it is. Doesn't need the ChiefProsecutor criticizing his wardrobe before his first case. That's what thatAllard kid is for."

"Hey! Don't talk aboutÉtienne like-"

Rosine scoffed, looking themboth over. "You sure you're in a position to talk, Manabu? Last I checkedpolka dot ties and graphic shirts aren't allowed in courtroom 1202."

Elbert pouted. His eye began totwitch at the sound of his given name. "This is a protest for the lack ofaccessible ramps in this fucking building! As you can clearly see-"

"The shirt says 'where's myfucking ramp'. Yes, I understand." Her stern gaze turned soft. "Didyou file a complaint with the city council?"

"Of course!"

"I'll take care of it then.I know who to kick to get shit done. Expect the ramps by the end of themonth."

"Oh." Elbert's faceturned a deep shade of violet. All anger, vanished. "Well, uh. Thanks, Iguess."

"Not a problem,"Rosine assured. "Anything for an old friend."

Regi looked between thembriefly. He wasn't sure why, but by the looks on their faces and the way Elbertwas blushing, he was sure he was seeing something he wasn't meant to be seeing.Something tender. Something secret.

Definitely somethingI'll have to ask Marianne about later.

He quietly tried to tiptoeaway, before getting tapped on the shoulder by Rosine's teacher's pointer. Hefroze, slowly turning to look at her. "Y-yes, ma'am?"

"I just stopped byto wish you luck," Rosine assured. "No need to be so nervous aroundme. Just focus on taking this case through to the end." She smiled."You can handle this, Mr. Gladstone."

Regi relaxed, resistingthe urge to hug her. "Thank you, Madame. I'll do my best." He paused."Uh…if it's not too off limits, you wouldn't happen to know who I'm goingup against?"

"Just Evelake.You've met before, right?"

"Yeah, we used tobe classmates. Been a while." He tried his best to hide hisdisappointment. Milon Evelake was a fine prosecutor, he wouldn't deny. But hewasn't the person Regi had been envisioning as his first opponent. He expected someonemore…

Oh, who am I kidding? hethought. I was hoping for them. Not him. Dammit.

"Knock themdead," Rosine said, turning to leave.

Elbert lookeddisappointed. "You're not gonna stay and watch?"

"I have to sit inon another prosecutor for their evaluation coming up. Were I not needed there,I'd be happy to watch your protégé in action. Good day, gentlemen."

Regi watched her go for but a moment before holding the door open for Elbert. “Do you think the person she’s observing is-”

“Focus on your client,” Elbert chided. “Don’t make me have to take over for you mid-trial because you’re pining.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk.”

“EXCUSE ME?! ELBERT SILVERSON DON’T DO PINING!”

Regi let out a groan. Between the case, Evelake, and Rosine, he was not ready at all. 

I need a miracle.

Yep. I need a miracle. 

Regi was panicking, going over the evidence again. The testimony given by Rally d’Villaine was almost airtight. No contradictions. It wasn’t hard. Everyone in the neighborhood knew Mr. Clifton’s daily routine. It wasn’t that hard to recall. But unlike Evelake, who seemed more or less content with the evidence, Regi knew it would be easy to lie about this. 

“I saw Mr. Clifton walk up to Vicky and Tim’s house around 11:45 in the morning on Thursday while working on my car. They let him inside after he knocked, like usual. Vicky always makes him a cup of coffee while on his routes. He exited the house about ten minutes later, blood on his clothes and a pained expression on his face. I panicked and called the police before locking myself in the garage so he wouldn’t kill me too. The police showed up not long after that.”

Evelake snickered. “As you can see, your Honor, Mr. d’Villaine’s testimony lines up with the autopsy report. The defendant was scene going into the house around the same time as the time of death. He was covered in both victims’ blood, and his fingerprints were on the murder weapon. I’d say that’s sufficient enough. He even has a key to the house!”

There has to be a contradiction here. Something is really really off about this. What could it...wait...he said it was Thursday...That’s it!

Regi slammed his hands on the bench. His blood boiled and his voice was tight as he managed to shout at the top of his lungs.

“OBJECTION!!!”

Everyone stared at him. The audience was whispering rapidly. Rally seemed near terrified. The judge was in shock. Elbert was smirking knowingly. Evelake, however, almost seemed smitten. He tried to ignore that. 

“You claimed that my client was at the Rosenbelle house on the day of the murder for coffee,” Regi stated. “While that’s a very common occurrence even I can attest to, Mr. Clifton and the Rosenbelles don’t do coffee on Thursdays.” He walked up to the evidence table, holding up a bag of receipts. “These are the receipts Mr. Clifton keeps from every trip he takes to the Rose Dust Cafe, which his wife owns and runs. On Thursdays, however, she volunteers at the local senior center during the lunch rush-”

“Objection,” Milon cooed. “Why is any of this relevant?”

“I’m getting to that, your Honor.”

The judge nodded. “Very well. Continue, but get to the point.”

“Yes, your Honor.” Regi opened the bag, laying the receipts out in order of date. “Mr. Clifton drops off his wife at the senior center before returning to the cafe and ordering the Hero’s Heart Lunch Special, Tim’s favorite. And he brings it over by noon so Tim can have it with his medication!” He holds up the receipt for the day of the murder. “As you can see, his signature is clearly legible on the receipt, which is marked for 11:48 am. Considering it’s almost a twenty minute walk from the cafe, there’s no way that he could have been there when Mr. d’Villaine claims he was!”

Rally’s hands started to shake. “B-but he, uh, took his car! Yeah! That’s it!”

“Mr. and Mrs. Clifton don’t have a car. Mr. Clifton walks all over town and avoids being behind the wheel for his health. Poor eye-sight plus high cholesterol and diabetes? He wasn’t going to chance it. Even has a doctor’s note for work allowing him to continue his job with the postal service on foot.” Regi grinned, feeling a rush. “Pretty easy to do, given how small Elspie Village is. If you want, we can call his doctor and the employees of both the cafe and the post office on shift that day. As well as the staff at the senior center. Pretty sure a whole lot of people would be willing to testify, given that Mr. Clifton is the town’s only reliable mailman.”

“Th-that doesn’t mean shit!” Rally shouted. “What about his fingerprints?! Huh?! They’re all over the murder weapon!!!”

“He’s got you there, Regi-poo,” Milon teased. “What do you say to that?”

Regi shrugged. “Of course his prints would be on the wrench. It’s from his tool kit. That he lends out frequently to his neighbors and uses to help them with repairs on his off days. It’d be stranger if his prints weren’t on it.” He held up the wrench, pointing to a mark on the handle. “His initials are right there on the handle. Narrowing down who else used the prints would take us through the whole neighborhood.” He leveled his eyes on the witness. “Though according to Mr. Clifton, Vicky said she lent the tools to one of the other neighbors for a car project. And there’s only three people on that particular street who own cars.” He aimed a finger at the witness, eyes ablaze with a strong determination. “And YOU claimed you were working on your car that day!”

“W-wait-” Rally started. 

“You live right across the street-”

“Wait a minute-”

“You know Mr. Clifton’s routine-”

“I said wait-”

“You’re one of the only people who own a car on that street-”

“Shut up-”

“It would have been easy for you to get into the house and kill Vicky and Tim Rosenbelle!”

The witness let out a long, choking squawk of a groan, pulling at his hair and shaking his entire upper body side to side. The court was starting to errupt from shock. The judge smacked down the gavel to try and bring back order. Regi felt confident he was on the right path. 

Evelake, however, couldn’t stop laughing. 

“What’s so funny?” Regi asked. 

“Nothing really,” Milon shrugged. “Just that I don’t see why little ol’ Rally here would wanna kill Vicky and Tim. Everyone loved those old coots, right? Why would Rally kill them?”

“....Yeah,” Rally said slowly, regaining composure. “Why would I wanna kill them?”

Dammit, Regi thought. I thought I almost had him. But the motive. They want a motive. Why would he wanna- Wait, that’s it! I got it!

“It’s because of the mail!” Regi declared. “Mr. Clifton mentioned that he’d been delivering strange packages to that street to various houses marked as ‘for sale’ as of late. However, as stated before his eyesight is failing. While he is the best mailman in the village, even he wouldn’t be immune to sometimes accidentally delivering the wrong package to the wrong house. Whatever has been coming in the mail might have been valuable enough to kill for. At least, to the killer, anyway. And the entire Rosenbelle house was cleared of every piece of mail, right down to the junk mail and magazines.” He tried to hold back from marching up and punching the man. “If I had to guess, based on your little hobby and the fact you work at a dealership, I’d say you’re smuggling illegal or stolen car parts, but guessing isn’t what need to be doing. I’d like to request Rally d’Villaine’s mail be brought in as evidence-”

“There’s no need for that....” Rally sank to the floor, shaking as he gripped the podium. “No need at all.”

The judge raised a brow. “Meaning?”

“...It’s over...I confess...I did it.” He sighed, tears filling his eyes. “Vicky and Tim opened one of the packages when they heard something break. I’d come over to collect them without being noticed but they saw me and asked what it was ‘since I’m so tech savvy’ and asked if it could be fixed. I panicked. I had the tool belt on. By the time I came to my senses...” He looked over at the defendant. “I’m sorry, Mr. Clifton. I never meant to frame you.”

“I forgive you, dear boy.” Mr. Clifton gave him a sad smile. While the apology sounded sincere, and probably was, Regi knew that Mr. Clifton would never fully accept it. His best friends were gone. That was a pain he’d carry for the rest of his days. But he had too big a heart to let the man go to prison without hearing those words. 

The bailifs took Rally d’Villaine out of the courtroom in cuffs. The room had gone quiet. Regi returned to the bench to hear the verdict. 

Mr. Clifton was declared ‘Not Guilty’.

Regi stayed in the defense lobby for nearly an hour after the trial, sipping on the cheap coffee served there. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t believe he won his first case, but it was bittersweet. He’d known the Rosenbelles. He’d known their friendship with the Cliftons was one of the most important parts of the village. Everyone would be mourning for a long time. The community would probably never emotionally recover from his. They still hadn’t from the even over a decade ago.

“Come on,” Elbert said softly. “We better get going before we hit traffic. I’m sure Tanith wants to update us on her training.”

“...Okay.” Reluctantly, Regi got up from the couch and followed his uncle to the elevator.

Elbert reached out and took his hand. “Hey. You did good, youngblood. I’m proud of you.”

Regi nodded. “It hurt.”

“It does sometimes.”

“Does it get better?”

“No...but it gets easier.”

“Better than nothing, I guess....”

They got into the elevator, descending in silence. Soon he’d have to take another case. He’d proved himself today. There’d be expectations now. He’d meet them as best he can. 

I just wish I’d not gone against Evelake. I’d rather it’d have been-

The elevator made it to the ground floor. The doors opened.And Regi couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped him. 

Milon was standing in the lobby, talking to someone in a white mask covered in flowering red vines. They were holding a poncho in on arm, a suitcase in hand, and a stack of papers in the other arm. They wore a lovely white shirt with a wine waistcoat and black trousers. Regi knew that puff of blue hair anywhere. 

“Luci! Hey, Luci!”

The masked person looked over at the sound of their name, quickly turning back to bid goodbye to Milon before hurrying out the building. Regi felt his heart sink.

“What was that about?” Evelake asked. “Normally Adaire sticks around to check out the newbies.”

“No idea,” Regi sighed. “I wish they’d talk to me...”

“Probably intimidated by your psychic-lawyer family.” Milon shook his head. “You are lucky to have a family. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I’m sure they want it too. Under that weird mask, that is.” He gave Regi a wink before heading to the door. “If you’re interested, you know where to find me.”

Regi watched him go, sighing in defeat. “This is gonna be a long career...”

[baileymarie1793]

“Welcome to the Boys Club”

First and foremost, happy International Women’s Day!

Due to the occasion, I’m going to finally get this off my chest... Just a fair warning: I have been contemplating this post for more than a year. I’ve been trying to find the right time and the right words to say. I think I’ve finally found them.

I’ve never really referred to myself as a feminist, though I’ve always had strong opinions about gender equality. This is mostly due to the fact that the feminist label has often been misconstrued as “men-hating femi-nazis.” Don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what I mean by that either.

However, the real definition of feminism is quite literally “the advocacy of women’s rights on the basis of equality of the sexes.” THAT I fully stand for.

Now, this post is not meant to bask in the unfairness of being female or to completely overlook the progress that has been made over the years - though let’s not forget that we’re not even a century removed from women earning the right to vote - but rather, to point out why advocating for equality (especially in the workplace) is STILL necessary.

These are my experiences as a young female working in the journalism industry:

Let me begin by pointing out that these are only a select few of my personal experiences in my particular career field - but that doesn’t mean that things like this don’t happen to others like me in other fields.

Straight out of college I began working for a TV news station as a “photographer.” This title is misleading, though, as I was really a videographer. I covered my own stories, interviewed people, helped write script, shared it all on social media and posted it on the web. I’d create full TV packages that were aired without ever seeing my face. I was what you called “behind the scenes.” My boss was male. All my “photographer” coworkers were male except one. When I joined the staff as the only other female photographer she happily accepted me, saying “welcome to the boys club.” I didn’t think much of it at the time - but now, it has stuck with me.

I never gave it much thought about being only one of two female photographers at the station - let alone one of only a handful in all of the stations in our market and state. I was also the only female photographer that regularly covered sports in our market - aside from our female sports anchor at the time. The majority of my male coworkers and counterparts at other stations befriended me, shared jokes and advice, and overall treated me no differently than they would anyone else. For that, I’m grateful. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t encounter otherwise.

In one instance, I was set to cover a story about an archeological dig. I set about my assignment as I would any other. I spent more than an hour interviewing participants, videoing their progress and pubbing the story to social media. I returned to the station and produced a package on the event and went about the rest of my day. My boss asked if he could speak with me about the story - which was also not an irregular occurrence. He would routinely sit down with photographers at the station to assess things they did well with their stories and other things they could improve on.

But this time was different.

My boss and I rewatched my piece and at the end, he looked at me and said, “do you know what could have made this better?” I responded with some shot ideas and sequencing variations among other suggestions, but he shook his head and said, “It would have been better if you had worn pants.”

Yes. You read that correctly. 

I was a little taken aback by the comment. I was raised to dress for the job you want - and at the time I had aspirations to be in front of the camera, not behind it. I routinely wore dresses, skirts and blouses to work. Nothing scandalous. Always business appropriate and almost always with closed-toed shoes, as that was a requirement directly from my boss. I felt I was dressed in preparation to look professional on behalf of the station to those I encountered when covering stories. I had never had complaints from upper managers or HR. I had never run into issues covering anything from football to traffic accidents to shootings to weather. 

My boss looked at me and said, “If you had worn pants, you would have been able to get down on your hands and knees in the dirt and really take the viewer into this archeological dig with you. You would have been able to get down into that pit and get in close.”

I was dumbfounded. Just because I wore a skirt did not prevent me from getting in the dirt, nor did it prevent me from accurately covering the event. (However, regardless of how I dressed, I was not permitted to get into the archeological dig pit period.)

I politely informed my boss of these facts. However, it did not change his mind. And it never did through to my leaving the station. 

This is just one incident.

While at this same job, I had the “pleasure” of covering the 2016 election. As someone living and working in a swing state, it was extensive coverage, to say the least. 

On one occasion, I was slated to travel to the state capital to cover a town hall campaign event for one of the vice presidential candidates. 

Now mind you, as a photographer I was trained to use and operate live trucks and live shot equipment. Meaning, those great big trucks with the big towers on top that stretch up into the sky with all the cable and such - yeah, I drove them and ran them.

I arrived at the campaign event several hours early, which is common. The secret service typically allows media outlets a one hour window to set up their equipment before the venue is shut down for a security sweep. If your large equipment is not there in that window of time, you’re usually not permitted to bring it in later - at least, not without a ton of hassle. 

I arrived early and parked my large truck beside the curb in a prime spot to begin pulling yards of cable into the venue. I was moving equipment into the auditorium in shifts when I walked back toward the live truck to find another photographer waiting for me. This photographer was from the largest station in the capital’s market. He yelled out to me before I could make it back to him, saying, “Hey lady, are you a part of this station? Where’s your photog at? I need him to move his truck.”

I politely informed him that I was the photographer and this was my truck and I was not moving as I had arrived early to park in this space. He looked appalled and said, “since when do they allow women to drive live trucks?”

Without batting an eye, I replied, “Since now AND I do it in heels.” 

I continued to carry in equipment and pull cable into the venue. I never moved my truck. I never made eye contact or spoke with him again. He stood there, mouth agape for at least a minute before he moved on in a huff.

These are just two small run-ins I had while working at the station... but it didn’t stop there. It continued into my next job.

After more than a year working in the TV news industry, I decided to leave. I changed jobs for many reasons, but that’s not the point of this post... Regardless, I continued my journalism career as a multimedia reporter for a local newspaper. 

I’ve had the pleasure of meeting with elected officials from all levels of government, teachers, coaches, students, activists, and general residents. I’ve been met with professionalism, respect and occasional appreciation and admiration. That’s part of what makes the job truly rewarding.

However, sexism still happens.

At the paper, it hasn’t come in the form of nasty social media comments or disrespectful interviews. It has come in the form of “good-intentioned” comments from higher-ups in the company.

It’s important to note that we are currently in the midst of another wave of the feminist movement. We’re in the era of the Women’s March and #MeToo and #TimesUp campaigns, with female inequalities such as the gender pay gap and sexual harassment and assault taking the forefront. 

Comments and behaviors that used to be ignored, dismissed or overlooked are now being addressed and reprimanded. And I’m convinced that a lot of men are taken aback by the shift in change. Sexist commentary that were once dismissed as “jokes” are now being pointed out and rebuked in the open - igniting a new trend in what should be considered “normal” behavior among colleagues. 

But although this change is beginning to take place, that doesn’t mean it has fully transitioned yet. 

A new female employee was recently hired by our company. And let’s just be honest, she is a beautiful woman. There is nothing wrong with having good looks - however, that does not stand as a free pass for inappropriate comments.

Recently, several male managers made a trip from their headquarters to pay our paper a visit - most specifically to meet the new employee but also to check on the status of things at our different offices. A female coworker and I spent the morning tidying up the office and getting our work done ahead of time to prepare for their visit - unsure of how long they may stay and how it might derail a typical day’s work.

The group arrived after lunch, a loud gathering of about five men in our office lobby talking sports and swapping jokes. None of them asked about the state of the paper. None of them bothered to talk business. 

They stayed for less than a half hour, talking amongst each other, then when they readied to leave, they offered an odd farewell: “we hear guys will be hanging around here a lot - y’all be good and stay out of trouble.”

They laughed, repeating the phrase as they waved and headed out the door. It’s important to note that one of these men is the company’s HR manager.

What was that statement supposed to mean? 

There were no congratulations for a job well done or offered assistance for any work-related difficulties. Just a lobby full of sports talk and a dismissive “y’all be good” due to “boys hanging around,” as if we were pieces of meat on display for dogs to walk by and select for their pleasure.

I have spoken about these incidents to close family and friends. And there has been one overwhelming resonating response: “that’s just the way things are.”

But WHY? It’s doesn’t have to be. These types of occurrences should NOT be normalized. They should NOT continue. 

I am not here demanding immediate change - but I am begging for more respect when males address females. That is NOT too much to ask.

In the year 2018, I was hoping I shouldn’t have to state that women are more than objects to be viewed by the male gaze... but here we are.

My hopes on this International Women’s Day and all days going forward are for positive, gender equalizing changes... For being treated with respect for my work ethic and not just my looks... For equal pay for equal work... For not being complimented just for beauty but applauded for being strong.

If that makes me a feminist, then so be it.

[colleenmurphy]

@writervega​ { see what happens at like 1AM? This. All the feels! }

‘Just pick up the phone and give him a call, Colleen.’

The tiny voice in mind screamed and she had reached for the phone and dialed nearly seven times but before anyone answered she slammed it down in a fit of anxiety.

‘What the hell could I possibly say to him? I’d just freeze up.’

She scolded herself harshly as she looked about the apartment she called home. It wasn’t, not truly. The walls weren’t painted a calming deep blue and floors creaked in all the wrong spots. The bed was far too lumpy and even the washing powder didn’t have the same smell she was used to.

‘You chased a stupid dream and now you’re  here in this...place. Without the only person that truly loved you just as you were and you have only yourself to blame you foolish foolish girl.’

Looking out her window she saw the bright lights of the city below her through the window. This was the land of opportunity she had been told but every day she saw the homeless and the beaten out in the streets. No one smiled and everything had a sun bleached worn out look to it. There was no sunshine and rolling hills and if she wanted to see something green her only chance was making a trek to Central Park. She had ended up getting mugged at a stop light on the way there and decided that it was a sign to just go back to the studio apartment she was spending an arm and leg trying to keep. Food was a luxury and every night she ended up crying herself to sleep because she was starting to forget. Never his face but his touch. The warm weight of his arms around her as he slept and the steady sound of his heartbeat as he held her. He had colored her world in bold streaks and they had washed away the day she stepped off the plane.

“Think, Colleen. Think.”

Closing her eyes slipped away to a memory. The sound of gulls overhead and the lapping of the Bay. Basking in the spring sunshine for a moment between downpours had been a favorite past time of theirs. Garden valleys they explored on summer afternoons. He was always there with her and she could hear his laugh as he called her name. Opening her eyes she looked around the room and found herself surrounded by the crushing cold loneliness that was now her life. There were no gulls or green rolling valleys. There was no peace for her because Jasper wasn’t here.  The cogs in her mind whirred and she snatched a pen from the table and her notebook. Twenty minutes later she had polished what she thought was simply a poem. Setting it to music took her another hour as she had to trek all the way up a floor to borrow a neighbor’s guitar. One cassette tape later and Colleen was sitting cross legged on her living room floor trying to figure out what she was going to say.

“Jasper...God I hope you get this package. I know the guitar’s out of tune a bit but I had to get this to you. I don’t know what to call it just yet.  I’ve tried calling you and I’m never sure what to say...I’d probably just freeze up. I miss you. I love you.”

Slowly and steadily she started to pluck at the strings as she had seen him do time and time again. Three false starts and two sobbing fits that she was sure were on that tape she finally got it how she wanted it.

This is really not my home Oh where are you my lovely Johnny? I'm afraid and all alone There is no peace for me I'm sitting in the stranger's room Playing at the stranger's table Shining empty like the moon There is no peace for me

She continued on and slipped the tape into a case and wrapped it carefully before writing out the address that was her forever home.

Mr. J. Kennedy

53 St. Brendans Avenue, Woodquay, Co. Galway

Pressing a gentle kiss to the package that it was protected from every single for of disaster and mishandling she could think of it she insured it the next day at the local post office from her apartment and prayed that it made it to Jasper in once piece unharmed. She felt the telltale signs of an oncoming rainstorm as she scurried back to her tiny one room apartment and promptly fell into a fitful sleep until her alarm roused her for another night of shift work this week. Colleen Murphy had truly become a true Irish washer woman as she headed towards the all night Blue Ribbon Industrial Laundry that dealt with all manner of linen services.

‘Go home you daft thing! Surely you’ve got enough cash squirreled away for a one way ticket back to where you truly belong.’

A bit of math in her head she soon figured out that it would take another $200 dollars to make it back to Ireland and to the man she loved more than anything in this world. She could do it. She would pick up more hours at the Old Towne and work at the Blue Ribbon on weekends. Hell, she’d take to minding her neighbor’s children if it came down to it. Perhaps if she timed it right she might arrive back to Jasper before he even received that tape.

As she stood out under the overhang for some much needed fresh air and a cold half of some sort of sandwich she looked up at the hazy stars wondering if Jasper had gotten himself up yet. According to her watch it was nearly 6AM over there and she had always been the morning lark.

“Mo ghrá thú, Jasper.”

[ciathyzareposts]

Shadow of the Comet – Flight of Icarus

By limbeck

Things have progressed more smoothly in this session, with a bit of excitement and a lot more exposition. I finished the previous one after getting a quest from Mr UNDERHOUSE to get a diary from the Mayor’s safe and with Miss PICOTT vehemently refusing to give me her Bible. I need the Bible to find the aforementioned safe’s combination.

No amount of talk seems to change Miss PICOTT’s mind, so I leave her and do some more walking around. My wanderings bring me to MYER’s shop again. He obviously does not mention WILBUR or keys casually left on counters, but he gets to what he knows best: business. He tells me he received a lot of nice new goodies overnight, such as a cheap locket, an even cheaper brooch and more photosensitive plates. I buy the lot, because I still have access to Mr GRIFFITH’s funds. I feel quite satisfied with my purchase, but as soon as I get out of the store, the pin falls off the brooch.

I have been scammed!

I go immediately inside to ask for a refund, but MYER just acts as if everything is in order. I decide to roll with the punches and see the positives. The pin I now have in my inventory may still be used to pick a lock. Not the one in the cemetery though.

I pay a visit to CURTIS’s shack, but he is not in. I wonder if he is dead, like poor JUGG. In the tavern, ZEKE again offers me some of his water for beer and mocks me when I don’t buy one.

Sorry, I just spent $3 on a broken brooch and a fake silver locket.

I then go to the pharmacy and order three more pills, just to be on the safe side. I have money and I want to be alive to spend them. Dr COBBLE was seen leaving the pharmacy but I could not interact with him. It is nice that the NPCs seem to follow their own schedule. It is not critical to gameplay, but it is a nice touch. They are simple actions, but most of them are realistic and help with the immersion and the feeling that you are indeed in a living town.

Further down, I come across BISHOP outside of the Archives. I approach him and try to talk to him about TYLER, but he gets scared and says he indeed has something to tell me, but at a place and time to be determined later. With that, he leaves.

Finally I am back in front of the post office and in the company of Miss PICOTT. I try to give her the brooch, but she is offended that I try to “buy her respect” with worthless shiny baubles. I double my bet, offering her the $2 locket instead of the $1 brooch and she happily accepts and trades me her Bible for it.

Just before I propose to Miss PICOTT

Reading the Bible, I get three options:

Austin, errr John 3:16 from Saint PAUL’s epistles

Peter doing something in front of some 120 people from the Acts of Apostles

The Number of the Beast from the Apocalypse

Well, we needed a number that symbolises evil to open the Mayor’s safe. I am pretty sure that the Number of the Beast fits that role perfectly. But we first need to get to the safe. The Mayor is rarely at his office, which is good, but access to it is forbidden by his very diligent and busy clerk. So, I go to the Town Hall ready for a confrontation with a clerk.

He seems to have called in reinforcements

I arrive just in time the annual town hall clerk conference or it’s just lunch break. When I try to talk to anybody, I find out that I am facing a dialogue puzzle. It takes me a few tries to get it right:

I first tell that I need to go to the Mayor’s office (yes, in his absence)

Then I try to bluff my way in and tell him that the Mayor himself invited me to admire Illsmouth from his window. The clerk, Mr SWING, swallows it hook, line and sinker and concludes that I am the photographer.

I correct him that I am a reporter and I am free to walk upstairs.

I walk in the Mayor’s office. There’s nothing interesting in it apart from the safe, hidden behind a painting.

Not that hard to spot if you want my opinion

I open it and get to the task of opening it. I am presented with three slots with very slowly sliding numbers. I put 666 and hope for a satisfying click, but I am disappointed. Apparently the Number of the Beast itself is not evil enough. I try a couple more times and I get arrested.

I try again after reloading. I suppose I am given three tries to get it right (or infinite with reloading). I must note that the Bible is not working any more, so I should have noted down what I read.

A screenshot would also work I suppose

After a bit of thought, I put the page number in the Bible, where the number of the Beast is mentioned. So, either all Bibles have the exact same layout or there is just the one Bible in town and they pass it around. Either way, it doesn’t really make much sense as a solution, but I only had a few options, so I will not complain much.

When I open the safe, I find a diary and a cigar case. I take both. But now that I have the diary, I find that I cannot give it to UNDERHOUSE or use it. UNDERHOUSE in particular congratulates me for taking it and then tells me to put it back where I found it.

Was this some kind of initiation challenge?

I am seriously confused this time, so I walk around the town again. The fact that all NPCs are still where I left them indicates that the scene I am playing in has not yet changed. I have noticed that once I reach a milestone, all NPCs just move to different locations. Walking around this time just gives me the same dialogues.

I do come across CURTIS and GREENWOOD (the blind man) walking out of the latter one’s house and into the forest. I follow them, but I lose them as soon as I enter the forest. Are they buddies from old out for a walk?

While in the forest, I decide to try and use the cigar case. Nothing happened there. I focus on the ‘there’, because as soon as I return to the village, PARKER takes initiative and unscrews the case. Inside it is a deposit note. I head to the post office, but I cannot use it. I return to the Mayor’s office and now I can read the notice! It is about a parcel delivery under WILBUR’s name. Reading of the notice IN the Mayor’s office make me think that I can only read the diary in there. I am correct. I sit on his desk and receive the first batch of exposition for the day.

I am not that interested in you, JONAS. Feel my indifference

The diary belonged to JONAS HAMBLETON, father of WILBUR and CURTIS. JONAS made his fortune at sea and signed an unholy pact with NARACKAMUS and an ancient god of the sea, named Dagon, in exchange for immortality. He sacrificed or offered (it’s not clear) his wife to that foul being and in return, he got his two sons. JONAS claims that some plans of theirs were foiled by BOLESKINE, but he also says that time means nothing to him and the stars will be right again. WILBUR has the gift of “begging to the stones”, whatever that may mean. JONAS’s burial place is where earth, sky and water come together. Could that be a beach or something? Finally, he speaks about some families (four in number) and the same number of statuettes, which he guards in his crypt. According to my journal, I need to find these 4 statuettes and wait for the comet to pass to stop those 4 families. I must say that the narrative during the cutscene could use some improvement. It was too dry and not up to Lovecraftian standards. Anyway, it seems as if JONAS is still alive.

Thanks for the hint JONAS

After reading the diary, I put it back in the safe and walk to the post office, a bit shaken I must admit. Miss PICOTT and CYNTHIA are gone from the front of the post office, which signals that something has changed in the game. I’ve reached a new milestone.

Walking to Ms WEBSTER at the post office counter, I give the notice for WILBUR’s package and she hands me the package without many questions. Now, I would find that very funny if I had not had some horrible experiences with the post service here in Ireland recently. Anyway, I wonder why the Mayor would keep WILBUR’s delivery notice in his safe.

The parcel contains a frock, like the one that WILBUR wears. He only buys his ritual cloaks in Boston I am told. Later, I meet Mr COLDSTONE, who offers me a drink at his house. I hadn’t saved for a while, so I decline, but I am sure this would be another death scene. One of my responses could have been that I was going to the Lighthouse. Why would I go there? Is it where JONAS’s tomb lies? Maybe I’ll take the not so subtle hint and go there. At least I have the proper disguise for it.

But closed minds prevent me from putting it on

Before I visit the lighthouse though, I decide to go to the cemetery, in case the tomb is there. On my way I meet Mr BISHOP, who offers me his help, as he believes I have come to lift the curse that haunts Illsmouth. I also learn that the HAMBLETONS are out for me. I still cannot get in the cemetery, so I head to the lighthouse.

Whenever I try to put the frock on in the open, I am interrupted by the locals (in one case CYNTHIA, who threatens to call the police). For me this is a nicely executed comic relief in the game. I go to my room, but still cannot change there. Sometimes you just can’t get rid of a bomb.

After failing to set myself free of the conformism that clothes bring, in various locations, I succeed to change behind the well and only behind the well.

Modesty for the fourth wall

I then go to the gate for the lighthouse, which is guarded by the two gorillas. I grunt at them when given the option and they let me pass. I suppose being more articulate would give away that I am not WILBUR.

At the base of the lighthouse, I take the frock off and try to find a way in. With the door locked, there is only one way in and that is through the window, by using the rope ladder I had picked up very early from outside CURTIS’s place.

Have I mentioned already how deep in the uncanny valley these cutscenes lie?

I run to the top of the lighthouse, where I realise that the two goons were not fooled for long by my disguise and are after me. I lock the door to the balcony, but something tells me that I am again in a time-constrained puzzle. Fortunately I only have a limited number of objects to use and interact with. A sundial has a mechanism which opens and reveals a set of wings. There is also a lamp that has a candle in it.

If I try to use the wings, I fly off the balcony and crash to death like a proper idiot. Fortunately I happen to recall the myth about the flight of Icarus, who flew too high and the sun melted the wax that held his wings together. Now, if only I had a source of wax… I take the candle and place it on the ground. I try using the wings again, thinking that I would use them on the candle, but the candle is not lit and I get a Wile. E. Coyote death again.

Third time is the charm and this time I first use my magnifying glass to light the candle and use the melted wax from it to strengthen the wings. I can then use the wings to fly safely away and land in the middle of the gypsy camp in the forest.

The lighthouse is far to the right, but I seemed to fly in from the south.

It was satisfactory to solve this puzzle, simple as it was. I like it when I can use an item multiple times during a game. In this case, it was the magnifying glass. I don’t expect a sonic screwdriver or a passe partout, but I see no reason to discard potentially useful items after using them only once in a puzzle.

On the other hand, the whole lighthouse sequence didn’t really make sense. I learned nothing out of it and it only progressed the plot in a ridiculous manner. Who keeps a set of wings on top of a lighthouse? Why couldn’t I just find the gypsies just by wandering through the forest? Why did I want to go to the lighthouse in the first place?

Back to the gypsy camp, I speak to the fortune teller, who is the only person or thing I can interact with, and I am treated to my second exposition sequence of the session. This one features Lord BOLESKINE himself, who tells me that I have to repeat what he did 76 years ago and stop the cult of the Ancient Ones (and get mad in the process I suspect). All the exposition is given in a nicely stylised scene in ochre tones. I liked this one better than JONAS’s diary.

It can also be used as a puzzle screen for Gobliins 2.

Lord BOLESKINE tells me that Illsmouth was built where an ancient temple used to stand. A temple, in which horrific sacrifices to the Ancient Ones were performed by a sorcerer. When the comet passes in two days, I will have to stop their unholy plan to bring those extradimensional horrors back to Earth. What I must do is go to where JONAS HAMBLETON is buried, which I assume must be in the cemetery.

It is night again when I get out of the forest and head to the cemetary. Outside of the pharmacy I meet Mr BISHOP again, who tells me that Dr COBBLE has proclaimed JUGG’s death a suicide, but he does not believe it. I don’t believe it either. BISHOP seems as if he wants to run away, but he also mentions a cemetery key. I ask him for it and he gladly lends it to me. I’ll next go to the graveyard, but I want to have a quick walk around first, because the scene has again changed and I need to be sure I have not missed something.

I feel vindicated. In front of MYER’s shop there is some rotten fish in the bin. I pick it up to cover my own smell of fear.

I use BISHOP’s key and I enter the cemetery, which I must say is very nicely drawn.I see a light at the keeper’s house, but I’d rather ignore it for now. Wandering around, I pick up a bar and a piece of rope. I also notice some named tombs: PRATT, ELIZABETH SULLIVAN, BELLA BLASKO, but I cannot see any use for them. So, I ignore them and go in the crypt, which has even nicer artwork.

Artwork from cemetery and crypt. I like the use of colours

The gate to get deeper is barred, but nothing that a good iron bar cannot open. Of course I drop to my death again, because I forgot to tie the rope and use it to climb down. Once I do so, I arrive at the beginning of what I remember was a horrible maze.

I will stop the session here with the realisation that I never went to pick those three pills from the pharmacy. I hope I will not come to regret it. I expect a full showdown in the next session, which will result in insanity or, if I am lucky, in my death.

Session time: 1:40 Total time: 7:40

Sanity lost: 5 from the double exposition Total sanity lost: 17 (I need more candles. Leave no shadow alive. I can still hear that violin from under the bed.)

Note Regarding Spoilers and Companion Assist Points: There’s a set of rules regarding spoilers and companion assist points. Please read it here before making any comments that could be considered a spoiler in any way. The short of it is that no points will be given for hints or spoilers given in advance of me requiring one. Please…try not to spoil any part of the game for me…unless I really obviously need the help…or I specifically request assistance. In this instance, I’ve not made any requests for assistance. Thanks!

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/shadow-of-the-comet-flight-of-icarus/

[theliterateape]

Hope Idiotic | Part X

By David Himmel

 Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. Catch each new part every week on Monday and Thursday.

FOLLOWING THE FIRST MONTH AT THE SALES COMPANY WITH A MONETARY TARGET OF $750 — THE EQUIVALENT OF ONE JOB POSTING — Lou never again hit his goals. As a result, he was never paid more than the $1,430 a month base salary. He would not make sixty grand that year.

And it wasn’t just because he hated his job with every fiber of his being and sucked horribly at it. His team was designated to call on south Texas. The desk jockeys made daily calls to towns like Corpus Christi, Victoria and Galveston. His leads were mostly shipping companies. It was September 2008, and the economy was weak. Lou knew it. He knew it the day he arrived in Chicago over a year ago. And it seemed that it was only getting weaker. It was further evidenced by most of the leads he spoke to telling him, “We’re just not hiring right now. In fact, we’re laying people off.” But like a date rapist deaf to the word “no,” the desk jockeys were encouraged to push forward.

“If they tell you they’re not hiring at the moment, you respond that we’re helping them plan for the future,” the douchey twenty-two-year-old sales trainer said to Lou’s class of trainees. “By having job postings up, they are able to gather names and résumés to put on file so that when the need to fill a position opens up, they already have a large stack of qualified candidates to choose from. Thus, the hiring process is shorter, readying the business to function efficiently!”

ProCore was peddling lies. Before he moved and was looking for jobs, he created an account with them. Not once did he receive any job alerts for anything even remotely resembling the interests he put into the system—although he did get notifications to become an Avon Lady. With no businesses hiring and many job postings advertising unavailable positions, Lou was struggling to sell an antiquated product.

And on September 13, Hurricane Ike smashed into Galveston and other small towns along the Gulf of Mexico. Ike killed nearly two hundred people and caused approximately $29.5 billion in damage. Worst of all, the devastation forced most of the businesses on Lou’s lead list to close.

“Brian wants us to leave messages of condolence on the companies’ answering machines,” Lou told Michelle at home a few days after Ike hit.

“Who is Brian again?”

“My manager.”

“What are you supposed to say?”

“’This is Lou Bergman from ProCore. I hope you and your loved ones are safe. All of us are thinking of you and wishing you the best for a speedy recovery. When you get back on your feet, please give me a call. Let’s rebuild your business together.’”

“That sounds ridiculous.”

“Completely. The stupidest thing about it is that these people may or may not come back to work, possibly after having their home washed away or losing a family member, to a soggy answering machine message from some assholes trying to sell online job postings—but even worse is that we were supposed to make the clients think that we were local. Like, I’m supposed to read the local papers online for each city I was calling so I could have a point of conversation, you know? So let me ask you this, you think they’re wondering why we’re not underwater along with them? Of course they are. It’s a fucking scam. These people are crooks.”

“So you’re not going to hit your number needed for the commission again, are you?”

“I really doubt it.”

Two days later, Lehman Brothers Holdings collapsed, causing a massive wave of panic throughout the financial world. The Great Recession had begun. That day, with no companies to call on, Lou’s entire team was glued to streaming videos and news stories about the collapse. Lou played online Tetris.

He wasn’t surprised or fascinated because he knew something like this was coming. The hiring freezes, the layoffs, the crumpling real estate market—it’s why he removed his house listing a year ago when, after two months on the market, no one looked at it once. And for the first time since moving to Chicago, Lou didn’t feel so alone. Finally, everyone else was panicking. Knowing that relaxed him more than he’d been in a long time.

By early December, ProCore’s downtown offices were looking more and more vacant—like Detroit. Each Monday morning had one less desk occupied as desk jockeys were being laid off. Team managers were being let go, too. Rumors began to circulate about a massive layoff. The panic was enormous. Lou pulled Brian aside one Thursday morning.

“Look, I’m just tired of people talking about it. Is a companywide layoff coming?”

“Not that I know anything about,” Brian said.

“Would you tell me, or the rest of the team, if something were going down?  If there were reason for concern? You know, so we can begin looking for new jobs—not that anyone is hiring, as we well know.”

“I would tell you guys. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “This recession is really real.”

Lou and Michelle met for a drink in the Loop after work that day. Her office was experiencing a similar panic, but with far greater implications. Equity partners were actually being fired, not just at the Chicago office, but also in L.A. and Boston.

“If they’re firing equity partners, they won’t think twice about firing me,” Michelle said.

“No one from your practice group has been let go, right? With all of the firings and cuts, your department will probably see a spike in business. People are going to want to sue. You’re needed right now. It’s all about labor and employment. Besides, you’re a woman. They won’t fire a woman. That would be bad business. Diversity requirements and all that.”

Riding home on the bus, they encountered a traffic jam at the corner of Lake Street and Michigan Avenue. There were ambulances, fire trucks and cop cars with their lights flashing. A large group of people had gathered around the plaza of a residential high-rise. Everyone on the bus looked up from their books, newspapers and magazines and peered through the windows at the scene.

“It’s probably a bomb threat,” Michelle said.

“No way,” said Lou. “If it were a bomb threat, the entire block would be quarantined. Someone jumped. This is a suicide. I bet there’s a puddle of blood and guts and bones in that plaza.”

“You’re disgusting,” she told him, trying to keep her laughter to a reserved level.

The next morning, Lou was shaving in the bathroom when he heard Michelle shriek while she read the morning’s news online. He ran out. “What is it?”

“Last night…”

“Yeah?”

“You were right. It was a suicide. It was Sam Tallisker.”

“Should I know who that is?”

“He was an attorney at my firm. He worked two floors above me.”

“And now he’s working forty floors below you.”

“That’s not funny, Lou. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe this. They let him go last week, which I hadn’t heard. He’d been with the firm for like twenty years. I can’t believe this.”

She stood up from the desk and threw herself into Lou’s arms. She cried. Lou held her and stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. She looked at him. Her eyes were red, tears streaked her face. It was an unusual sight because Michelle so rarely cried. Not during movies, not when she and Lou had fights, not when she read his love letters that she claimed made her “heart melt.” He wiped the salty streams from her cheeks.

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “This recession is really real.”

Nothing had really gotten to her until this suicide. Not living with her unemployed and under-employed boyfriend over the past year watching the economy be ruined. It wasn’t the reports he gave her of hiring managers telling him they were on a hiring freeze or even hearing from a placement-agency headhunter that there just weren’t any jobs out there. It wasn’t his sleepless nights or the pointless fights she and Lou got into about his struggle to find a good job that made her see the recession was real. It was another attorney—someone she occasionally shared an elevator ride with—killing himself. A man who had a strong career under his belt who probably had plenty of money saved up and an absurd severance package equal to the hundreds of thousands he’d been earning for decades. A man who was in a comfortable position to sit back, enjoy the time off and plan a new strategy for when the market improved; maybe even go back to his old firm. Maybe go live on an island and snorkel his life away. Lou was struggling every day to pay for a pack of gum, and he was expected to rise above all the odds in a system working against him.

He wondered why she never cried for him, but tears were appropriate for a barrister who threw himself out of a window. And then he thought that maybe he would kill himself but quickly dismissed that idea because then he’d miss out on the little bit of sympathy she started to have for him.

“Yes, Michelle. The recession is really real.”

✶

FRIDAY THAT WEEK, A COMPANYWIDE EMAIL WENT OUT AT PROCORE letting its employees know that a mandatory meeting would be held at four o’clock that afternoon. The entire floor of the office fell silent after it came through. A few moments later, the collective anxiety filled the floor. People began congregating and talking. Lou concentrated on his Tetris game.

“This is it. We’re all fired,” one of the desk jockeys said. “I bet they’re closing the office. Why would they do this before Christmas? I’m going to have to move back in with my parents.”

Because there were so many employees, several gatherings took place. Lou and Leslie’s team were stuffed into one of the conference rooms with three other teams. Jen Grady, a sweet but pushy devout Christian from the southwest region team was praying with her hands clasped and her head down.

“Ask Him if He’s hiring,” Lou said to her.

One of the HR managers walked into the conference room. She was with a middle-aged man wearing a sharp suit. She introduced him, but Lou missed his name. All he caught was that this guy was the CFO of the company. The conference room grew quiet.

“As you know, we’ve seen a sharp decrease in sales this last quarter,” the CFO said. “This is not because of the fault of any employee of this organization, but rather a result of a variety of compounding effects from the recent economic troubles. Having said that, we are forced to cut our staff significantly. Effective immediately, you are no longer employed with ProCore.”

Jen shrieked and began wailing. Others shifted uncomfortably where they stood shoulder-to-shoulder with their unemployed brethren. There were murmurs and deep sighs. Lou laughed. “Of course,” he said to Leslie.

“All of your logins and passwords have been removed, so you will not be able to access any files you had on your computers,” the CFO said.

“What?” Jen cried out. “But I have photos on my computer!”

“Not any more you don’t,” the CFO said. “You should return to your desks to gather your belongings. Your manager will be there with a box for your things and a packet with your termination papers. They explain everything and include documents allowing you to sign up for COBRA. You should sign the termination agreement and fax it into the HR department as soon as you can so you can receive your final paycheck.”

“Fax it?” Lou asked. “I don’t have a fax machine at home. Can I just walk it in to the office on Monday?”

“We don’t want you to have to take any more time out of your day than you need to,” said the CFO.

“Hey, man. I’m unemployed. I have nothing but time.”

There were some snickers from the others. The HR manager looked away. The CFO stared Lou down. “Find a fax machine. If there are no other questions…”

“I have one more,” Lou said.

“What.”

“You’re not doing this just so we have to use the site to look for work, you know, to increase traffic, boost your numbers?” More snickers from the others.

“No. This decision was strictly based on current economic viability. However, I encourage you to use the job-finding services that ProCore offers.”

“Oh, no thank you. I’ve already got my résumé on ResumeWorks.com.”

The others erupted in laughter. The CEO and the HR manager left. An empty cardboard box was waiting for Lou and Leslie on their desk chairs. Brian was standing nearby.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Lou.

“You lied to me.”

“They told us last week.”

“Was it a seniority thing?”

“Mostly, yeah. I couldn’t tell you. You understand that.”

“Not really. A heads-up would have been helpful. You know, in the interest of being professional at the core.”

At the apartment, Lou sat in the desk chair with his feet on the windowsill looking at the skyline. It was a cold, gray day and the view was a little hazy through the low clouds. The smoke and steam from the other buildings below his window rose out of their stacks and wiggled above their roofs. The cars zipped by on Lake Shore Drive, into and out of downtown. Outside, the city looked alive in the frozen air. Inside, the ice floating in his glass of scotch cracked as it slowly melted. He sat like that, sipping at his drink focused on the billowing smoke until Michelle burst through the door.

“Oh, sweetheart!” she said. “I am so, so sorry.” He had called her while waiting for the bus back home. She dropped her purse and her coat on the floor and ran to him. She threw her arms around him and kissed his lips, his cheeks and his forehead. She put herself in his lap. “They didn’t give you any other real reason as to why?”

“The economy. I told you things were crumbling. I’ve been saying that for more than a year.”

“I know you have, sweetheart. I know. All right, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to move your flight back home for Christmas so you’re with me. Since you don’t have to work now, you can get out there sooner. Because what you need right now is to be around people who love you. You need Chuck and Neal.”

Michelle called the airline and with honest and charming sadness she told the operator about Lou’s layoff situation. It was Christmastime so the operator was sympathetic and changed Lou’s flight without cost.

✶

THAT MONDAY, LOU DROVE TO BRUSHWOOD TO VISIT WITH HIS GRANDPARENTS and see how Pop was feeling. He also needed to use Pop’s fax machine to send in his termination agreement.

Grams made lunch. Grilled cheese sandwiches on rye bread with tomato slices and tomato soup. “Well, I’ll tell ya.” Pop said. He often began conversations this way. It was like he had been thinking of the words long before speaking them. As a result, everything he said was a well-thought-out and deductive idea. Thinking before speaking was one of the few traits Lou didn’t inherit from his grandfather. “It’s not easy out there right now. I read the other day that the National Bureau of Economic Research says we’ve been in a recession for a year already.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you people,” Lou said. “It’s not that I haven’t been trying to find work.”

“Of course not, honey,” Grams said as she ladled soup into his bowl.

“And the only reason I took this job was because I had to. I needed something.”

“Maybe you should consider a different career,” Pop said.

“What do you mean?” Lou asked.

“Find something with growth potential and stability. Maybe you go into the sheet metal business with your father’s company.”

A decade ago, Benjamin purchased a century-old sheet metal factory located a few towns over from Brushwood where the blue-collars lived. Benjamin knew nothing of the heating, ventilation and air-conditioning business, but the land was valuable and the company was profitable. It was purely a real estate venture.

“I don’t want to work in sheet metal. What would I do?”

“I’m not saying you need to be a union worker, but maybe you can learn the business and become a partner eventually. Working for family is always best.”

“Why can’t the family own a newspaper? Why can’t I just make a career doing what I want to do and what I’m good at?

“Because you have to make money and be secure. And sometimes, the things we want to do don’t allow us to always be secure.”

“You didn’t want to go into real estate,” Grams said to Pop.

“That’s true. I didn’t want to follow my father’s footsteps into the family business.”

“What did you want to do?”

“I wanted to be a psychiatrist. I’ve always been fascinated by the mind and the human condition and our environment and how it all affects us.”

“Do you wish you had gone to school and become a shrink?”

“No. I made the choice. And it was the right one. If I’d gone to school, it would have meant delaying starting a family with your grandmother. It would have taken time to build my practice before I could earn a decent living wage. I was home from the war and getting married and needed to earn a living. It just wasn’t feasible.”

“But once your practice was built, you’d be fine. And wouldn’t your dad have helped you out along the way like mine has done for me?”

“I’m sure he would have. But I didn’t want to put that burden on him.”

“And you don’t regret not following your dream of being a psychiatrist?”

“Eh. It all worked out.”

“I can’t do that, Pop. I can’t just turn my back on what I’ve always wanted and change my mind just like that. ProCore was just a job, but writing is—was—my career. That’s what I want to do.”

“Then you have to find a way to do it where you can rely on steady employment.”

“Well, right now, no one has steady employment.”

“We always need teachers. You could be a teacher. Write your books during the summer.”

“Didn’t you talk Uncle Jack out of being a teacher?”

“I wouldn’t say I talked him out of it. He was having trouble finding a job, and I suggested he consider the insurance industry. It’s steady and provides a good living.”

“You’re like the muscle of the Career Mafia.”

Pop laughed and took a sip of his soup. “Oh, God. This tastes terrible. I’m sorry, Adina. Nothing is tasting good to me.”

“Try the sandwich, maybe you’ll like that,” she said.

“It doesn’t even look appetizing.”

“What’s the matter?” Lou said.

“This medicine they’re giving me for the cancer makes everything taste awful. Everything has a metallic taste.”

“Why don’t you get some pot? That will make you hungry enough to choke anything down.”

“I have some pills with THC in them. They cost one hundred dollars each. And they don’t help.”

“So get some real pot. I bet your grandson Aaron can hook you up—and wait a second, you didn’t want to be a burden to your dad by asking for his help. Am I a burden?”

“Of course not, Sweetie,” Grams quickly answered.

✶

THAT NIGHT, MICHELLE WANTED TO GET THEIR CHRISTMAS TREE. The year before, they walked to the empty lot next to the elementary school in their neighborhood to buy the tree and carried it the few blocks home. Now it was a tradition.

“It’s supposed to snow tonight. Just like last year. Can we get it tonight? It’ll be romantic.”

Lou loved Christmas. He loved the songs and the lights and presents and the parties and the movies. It’s the season of giving. But Lou was still broke. And unemployed—again. How could he give anybody anything?

He knew Michelle wouldn’t be okay if he suggested they not exchange gifts. And she sure wouldn’t be okay if he made her something. Like if he were to write her a story or something like that. Plus, he would have to buy gifts for her parents, too.

Fuck, he thought.

He couldn’t provide her with anything. Not a Christmas, not a birthday and not an anniversary.

At the apartment with the tree, she tuned the stereo in the apartment to the adult-contemporary radio station, which had been playing Christmas music since the day after Halloween. She nursed a glass of wine as she sang along to the radio. Lou drank two glasses of scotch before he finished stringing the lights.

“You need to make your gift list and send it to my parents,” she said.

“They don’t need to get me anything.”

“Well, they’re going to, so send it to them. And I need to see it, too. And you and I need to figure out who gets them what. Did you see their lists? Dad sent them this morning. And what about your mom? Did you figure out when we’re doing Christmas with her? I don’t want to do it too close to before we leave for Vegas. And preferably not on a Sunday night because you know I need Sunday nights to prepare for the workweek. We only have two more weekends before we leave.”

“Can we do it on a weeknight when you’re not working too late.”

“I always work late, you know that.”

“So then maybe duck out early one night.”

“Lou. This is my busy season.”

“Why? You’re not in retail.”

“Some of the clients I work with are.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“I’m just too busy to have Christmas with your mother on a weeknight. I have to work so I can pay for our trips, okay? Do you even know what you’re bringing to Cabo?”

That was another thing. Michelle was turning thirty and she wanted to celebrate it and their second anniversary together in her favorite place on earth: Cabo San Lucas, Mexico.

Not only could he not afford Christmas, he was the paid guest of Michelle’s on a trip for her big birthday. That was an expense a boyfriend should cover. Lou should have been able to buy her plane ticket, at least split the hotel cost and not have to worry about emptying out his tiny bank account when the check came from her birthday dinner. And how big a night would their anniversary be on New Year’s Eve? He couldn’t provide her with anything. Not a Christmas, not a birthday and not an anniversary.

He fixed himself a third drink. “I’ll talk to my mom and see what day works. If I take us out to dinner on Saturday, would you be okay to do Christmas with her Saturday afternoon? Like a Christmas brunch here?”

“Sure. That’s fair. We can get cheeses and meats and I can open those new champagne bottles I got from my wine club.”

“That’d be perfect. Thank you.”

“Have you looked at any of the links I sent you for possible birthday dinners for me in Cabo?”

“No. I haven’t.”

“I feel like you’re not excited about this trip.”

“I’m excited.”

“You don’t act like it.”

Lou was irritated because the trip was still three weeks out. He had just been laid off and although he had no money, he had to bribe her with dinner so she’d agree to have Christmas with his mother. Meanwhile, he was borrowing money from Benjamin to pay his half of the rent and buying plane tickets to Las Vegas to spend Christmas with her parents. He had other things on his mind that took precedence over her birthday dinner twenty-one days away. She would veto anything he picked anyway. She always did.

 “I love traveling,” she said. “It’s my passion. You know that. And I love planning trips. And this is an important trip. It’s my thirtieth birthday and our second anniversary. I get really excited about these things, and I need you to get excited, too. I need to know you care about the things I care about so I know you care about me.”

“Jesus Christ, Michelle. You get excited like a puppy piddling on the floor months before every vacation. That’s you. That’s how you do things. I do things differently. I get excited as we get closer to the actual vacation. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. It means I have a ton of other shit to do before I pick a restaurant for you that you’ll disagree with anyway. I have to decide what to buy your parents for Christmas first. One expense at a time, please.”

Michelle glared at him for a moment. “You just ruined tree-decorating night. Congratulations.”

They finished hanging the ornaments without speaking to each other. The radio still played holy, jolly Christmas tunes. Lou did everything he could to keep from laughing at Michelle. She was so angry. He was so drunk.

Tree-decorating night, he thought. Who the fuck calls it that?

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX

[rgmonzon-folio]

Mambabarang For Hire

Betsy was an office clerk by day, a mambabarang by night.

 She stood at five flat, her curvy body accented by her tailored office uniform, her face round and painted with only the slightest make-up, her skin brown and smooth. She was smart and well-mannered, partly because of her parents’ upbringing, partly because they spent for her education. She grew up mostly ordinary, if not for her penchant for insects, which was perhaps the influence of her male cousins who loved to trap beetles in match boxes.

Her barang business started long into her career in advertising. She guessed she had already been casting hexes as part of her day job, persuading people to buy things they never really needed. She was always well spoken and dutiful, easily one of the firm's best assets. If she had any flaw, it was that she loved vengeance. She didn't enjoy it for herself since she was strangely a forgiving person, and she didn't make much enemies, so she poked her nose into other people's fights, helping officemates exact their revenge. What started from simple blackmails turned to the dark and mystical eventually.

 Soon, things escalated enough for them to put a simple, almost nonchalant poster down the office that read in bold print: Mambabarang for Hire. The board they had for ads wasn't claustrophobic, it allowed for space and breathing room instead of filling every nook and cranny with a variety of print ads like in college bulletin boards. It was easy enough to spot in a busy city, as it should, lest they all be fired from their jobs.

 The ad contained the following first few copies: MAMBABARANG FOR HIRE! Have revenge at the tip of your fingers! The proceeding lines had Betsy's professional email address which used an alias, as well as her cellphone number, and a simplified link to a Google Form, which served as a simple application to Betsy's hexing services.

 The survey looked like this:

 Name: *optional

Name of target:

Sex of target:

Offense of target:

 What kind of insect would you prefer to use with the hex?

 cockroaches

beetles

maggots

ants

others (pls specify:)

     Please select a duration of your hex:

 1 day (Php 200)

2 days (Php 350)

3 days (Php 500)

5 days (Php 650)

1 week (Php 800)

     Thank you! That is all. May you wish to inflict more specific hexes than specified above, feel free to request the Mambabarang via this email address: edna_giustina@gmail.com . Services charges vary depending on package availed.

 The very first request came about a day after the ad was posted. It was a woman whose husband cheated on her, a typical case. She wanted the mistress to pay the price. She requested the maggots to torment the ‘tramp’ for a day.

 "Good choice!" Nathan, Betsy’s closest, perhaps only friend, smiled while reading the form response. "Maggots are hrrr," he shuddered in revulsion. "I once saw a trash bag with a hole on the alleyway. I thought it was filled with rice until I took a closer look. My mistake! The grains looked like they were moving, but they were actually maggots! Invasive little things!"

 "Yeah," Betsy nonchalantly agreed. "Especially when you have poor kitchen hygiene."

 "Ughh," Nathan groaned, "I will never forgive Ton Ton for that!"

 "Come on," Betsy stood up as she switched her PC off, the form response fading into black. She slung her handbag over her shoulders and tucked her swivel chair beneath her desk. Together, she and Nathan headed out of the office.

 "What, you can't work your dark magic here?" Nathan sniggered.

 "I can't bring jars full of creepy crawlies to work, can I?" Betsy eyed him mischievously. "Unless that's what you want-"

 "No!" Nathan's face turned ashen. He loosened his tie and adjusted his collar. "I'd rather not see how these things work. Although I am extremely curious."

 "But curiosity killed the cat," said Betsy as they crossed the street along with dozens of other people trying to beat the 5p.m. rush.

 "Yes, and this cat would rather not know how the kalaguyo would end up with maggots sprouting from her nose, mouth ears and.." Nathan paused, "her unspeakables."

 "Well, the process is more tolerable than the result, I assure you," said Betsy as they reached the end of the road where jeepneys stopped over. Barkers' yells polluted the already thick city air, and the pair waited for a jeep en route to their homes.

 "I'm glad the result isn't something both you and I have to see," Betsy eyed Nathan, who snickered then smirked in response.

 When a jeep with enough seats finally arrived, the pair boarded. "Shouldn't the husband be punished, too, though?"

 "Eh, if it were up to me then yes," Betsy scoffed, "it takes two to tango."

 "So would you? Would you make maggots squirm from the treacherous husband's ass?"

 Betsy shook her head. "That's not what the client wants. That's not what I'm going to do."

 "Ah, I see," Nathan nodded, "you're not gonna get paid for the extra service!"

 "Nathan!" Betsy feigned offense, placing her hand on her chest like ladies did in black and white movies. "Is everything I do a money making scheme to you?"

 They both laughed, while the world heeded no attention to the pair in corporate attire, talking about hexes and maggots. "But I hadn't thought about it that way," Betsy considered, tapping her index finger on her chin. "The extra service, I mean. In fact, I can hex anyone I want! Anyone that crosses me, really."

 "But maybe I'm better off not putting too much input into things," Betsy concluded with a shrug, and she noted by Nathan's nod and expression that he agreed. She noted that she should ask him soon how she got a friend that supported such a.. shady endeavor, to say the least.

 That night, she took it upon herself to call him after the ritual, feeling certain that she would have her first satisfied customer the next day. Her giddiness kept her from the lull of sleep for a while, as she thought about how the husband’s sneaky seductress would find her maggots. She laughed, at thought that it was better than any late night drama local networks could ever come up with. She fell asleep quite satisfied.

 By the end of the next two weeks, Betsy already had five customers. She took note of the people and the reasons, two of them she knew personally. But of course, as a professional, she knew she had no right to disclose what she's learned.. except with Nathan. She couldn’t help but tattle especially about their high school principal having her way with an enemy from the school administration. Nathan didn't find it hard to believe, however. Mrs. Cuevas always was such a.. questionable character.

 "I'm surprised she isn't a witch herself," Nathan hissed, sitting at the edge of Betsy's desk as she finished the remainder of her lunch. Betsy responded by raising an eyebrow.

 "I mean - I didn't mean that that's what you are!" Nathan stood, suddenly panicky and defensive, raising his splayed fingers. "I think you're a perfectly normal human being, Bets!"

 Betsy proceeded to scowl at him before her lips broke into a grin. When Nathan's eyes scrunched in confusion, Betsy broke into a laughing fit.

 "Just kidding, Nate!" she struggled to speak as her laughter died down. "I guess that's what's I am," she nodded, to which Nathan also responded with a nod and a grin.

 "I just, haven't thought about that way."

 A moment of comfortable silence passed as she finished her cheap cafeteria macaroni. She brought her monitor back to life and logged into her online account for her debit card. She cracked a grin as she saw her clients’ payment coming in. Nathan whistled as he bent down beside her to take a closer look. He then looked around to check for officemates snooping around. “Wow, this is actually a.. good business venture. Income-wise, I mean,” he whispered.

“I could give you a percent of it,” Betsy shrugged nonchalantly.

 “N-no!” Nathan backed away from the screen and straightened out, loosening his tie. “That’s not what I meant.”

 Betsy beamed at him, a hand scrolling through her mouse absentmindedly. “Don’t worry Nathan, you’re like my adviser here. I think you deserve it.”

 “Doesn’t mean I should take it,” Nathan shrugged, heat rising slowly from his neck to his face. Betsy only sighed and rolled her eyes.

 “We’ll have dinner then? It’s on me,” Betsy suggested.

 “Aright,” Nathan nodded and smiled, “that sounds nice.”

 Several weeks had passed, and the lives of Betsy and Nathan proceeded like that. Betsy would get her occasional customers, and they would go out to eat once the paycheck rolled in. To her surprise, she was making enough money to amp up her savings.

 She never really had reason to have second doubts on her clients request, until one morning when she’d just gotten to the office and checked her Gmail. Her temples were already pounding with sharp pain. She massaged her thumbs against them, doing little to repress the feeling. Her eyes were hot with sleep deprivation. She scanned her emails anyways, occasionally drinking her to-go coffee, and saw the first hex form for the day. The client had wanted to hex Nathaniel Bautista.

 Betsy’s chest tightened. Panic overpowered her headache, and she frantically swiveled around to scan the office for any sight of her friend. He wasn’t there yet.

 Her hands grew clammy, as she held her mouse and coffee. She let go and cracked her knuckles, not knowing what to do. She breathed in, and realized she hadn’t even read the client’s reason for wanting to hex her closest and perhaps only friend. She felt like her blood was rushing to her head all at once, with her heart working overboard.

 Part of her didn’t want to know what Nathan had done - she came across several horrid offenses reported by her clients, from abuse to rape. She hoped it was just a jealous person, Betsy knew Nathan was handsome enough to have left some sort of trail of disappointed hearts. If she would’ve found out that her friend was a rapist, Betsy wouldn’t know what to do.

 Her eyes finally made their way to the client’s response, which read: I just want him to feel bad for once. His life is too perfect, his life always was perfect. He got everything he wanted. It’s unfair. That’s good enough reason, right?

 Betsy let out a sigh of relief. She even smiled for her client’s reason - though her eyes glinted with malevolence. Somehow, a name from high school resonated in her, a name of someone who had always been jealous of Nathan. She shook her head, dismissing the idea, as there could be a number of people jealous of her best friend, and the information would be of no value to her anyways. She valued the anonymity of her clients.

 But she still lingered upon the question, her hands clasped under her nose. While she hexed a number of offenders for grave reasons, she had also hexed a number of offenders for petty reasons. She even had a feeling some of her clients just wanted a distasteful prank. A knot twisted in her stomach. For the first time, she felt panic at the thought of what she had done to the ‘offender’ of Mrs. Cuevas, and of the rest of the clients that followed.

 Offenders - she had called them targets in her form.

 The funny thing was that oftentimes she knew the targets had shady personalities, however, save from Mrs. Cuevas, she knew nothing about her clients. She did value their anonymity...

 She ended up asking herself whether she would hex Nathan anyways.

 Her immediate answer was no. No way in hell, she thought, of course not! She then felt guilt creep against her skin, like goosebumps that seeped inward, until there was a chill in her chest. There was no amount of money in the world that would make her harm Nathan, Nathan who had stood by her side all these years, Nathan who she easily ironed out her disagreements with. Nathan who was never her enemy even when they fought, they just forgave and forgave without second thought. With Nathan as a friend, Betsy never had adversaries of her own.

 And it wasn’t like what her clients paid her was much, they were more than a stretch to get her even domestic plain tickets.

 But what if the client had good reason? a voice inside her pressed. What if Nathan had killed or raped behind your back?

 Betsy reclined on her swivel chair and closed her eyes, which were still hot from last night’s excessive computer monitor exposure and lack of rest that followed. She heard the glass double doors of their office open and in came Nathan, wearing a particularly well-fitting polo shirt, his hair neatly trimmed and framing his face nicely, the gold watch Betsy had given him glimmering under the florescent lights. Her breath hitched and as he caught her eye, his brows creased in concern.

 “Hey, what’s up?” Nathan asked, placing his 7-Eleven coffee on Betsy’s desk. “You look.. out of it. The extra work got you last night?”

 Betsy nodded, still tense.

 “Hey,” Nathan’s eyes panned to Betsy’s screen, exposing a form response, “you have a client for today-”

 Betsy switched off her monitor before Nathan could read its content. “Yeah, I don’t feel like checking that right now,” Betsy let herself heave a nervous, strained laugh.

 Nathan sat at the free portion of her desk, which Betsy realized she never filled up for him, and took his coffee again. “Is it starting to be too much?”

 Betsy nodded, relieved with the chance to give a genuine answer. “It’s just, the things I know, the things I found out,” she sighed. “I mean I knew people were capable of doing bad things, gas chambers happened in World War Two for Pete’s sake but, it just all seems to real.”

 “I understand,” Nathan nodded, gently placing his hand on hers.

You always do, Betsy smiled weakly, but said nothing.

 “Tell you what,” Nathan reciprocated the smile, “we should relax later. When was the last time we went to a bar and let loose?”

 “Too long,” Betsy sighed.

 “Then let’s go tonight! Tomorrow’s our day off and I’ll be the designated driver,” Nathan offered, beaming.

 “Sounds great,” Betsy agreed.

 When the night fell, the smell of alcohol made Betsy’s stomach churn before she even sipped much of it. They sat by the counter of a particularly crowdless bar, a bottle of cold beer in hand.

 “Come on, Bets! Relax,” Nathan urged, resting a hand on her shoulder.

With a sigh, Betsy took a swig of beer, and muttered, “I think I don’t want to be a witch anymore.”

 Nathan’s brows raised in shock.

 “It’s-- It’s too much,” Betsy concluded with another swig. Tiredness already slackened her arm and leg muscles, so she knew she didn’t have much power in her to drink more than her current bottle of beer. “I don’t know what I was even thinking, to be honest,” she gave a strained laugh, and another swig.

 “Easy there,” Nathan warned, brows creased. He grabbed her wrist to stop her from taking another swig. At this rate, she would be out cold and he’d have to drag her all the way to her house, only to face her mother’s stink eye.

 But that’s not where they ended up after the bottle of beer was discarded. Instead, Betsy was facing the rim of the bar’s dirty toilet, the graffiti all around the walls swimming in her head. Her stomach was churning, and something was clawing her way out her throat, but for a while, nothing was coming out.

 Nathan was patiently waiting behind her, carrying her things. He had told her not to kneel on the shady bar floor, as her knees were exposed by her pencil skirt. But her tired body gave in, so he just put a length of tissue under them.

When there was a frantic knock on the door, Betsy finally threw up. Dozens of small, black cockroaches landed on the already repulsive toilet. Tears streamed down her eyes, and her heart clenched in fear of whether anything else would come out next - or what could come out next.

 For all the times she’d used her clients hatred, she never knew she had learned to hate herself.

[wayneooverton]

6 totally badass women I’m obsessed with right now

Despite 2018 seeming like it was perhaps a giant dumpster fire for women around the globe, woman did a tremendous job of getting. shit. done.

From the bravery shown by the women of the #MeToo movement, to historic wins for women in the midterm elections in the US (particularly of women of color), to Spain appointing a majority-woman cabinet, to Iranian women watching the World Cup in a stadium next to men for the first time in decades, to women in Saudi Arabia finally being legally allowed to drive, the list is long. It was a good year for us.

In honor of International Women’s Day, I’m sharing a little list of badass women I’m currently obsessed with right now. I cut this list down from 17 to 6 because, holy hell, there are a lot of women that deserve some bragging right now and each one deserves her own blog post. I bow down!

Please leave a comment to let me know who I left out, and who else I should be obsessed with at the moment (because there’s always room for more in my closet shrine!)

1. Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi

If you were alive during 2018 (which I’m assuming you were since you’re reading this article) you probably didn’t escape the year without first hearing about Free Solo.

Perhaps you weren’t interested or didn’t really understand, but surely  you’ve heard about the epically superhuman efforts of Alex Honnold, a free solo expert who achieved his dream of scaling 3,000ft of a vertical wall in Yosemite National Park without a rope.

It has rightly been dubbed as one of the greatest athletic feats in the history of mankind (NBD) and watching the event is equal parts exhilarating and holy-shit-I’m-sweating-in-places-I-didn’t-even-know-could-produce-sweat terrifying.

When you hear about Free Solo, people normally talk about two things:

1) how amazing Alex Honnold is (and he is amazing)

2) what a great film Jimmy Chin produced (one of the greatest adventure photographers of all time)

Ok great, enough about them, let’s move on to the real star of the show.

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It was a day … @stellamccartney @carolyntangel @thefashionguitar @mhmakesithappen @jimmychin @alexhonnold @sannimccandless @freesolofilm here we go….@c_albert #oscars2019 @oscardelarenta @idaorg thank you to too many who made this possible thank you #avillage

A post shared by Chai Vasarhelyi (@chaivasarhelyi) on Feb 24, 2019 at 12:38am PST

What no one ever seems to talk about is the co-director and all around inspirational badass Chai Vasarhelyi and her role in all this.

So who is she? I’m glad you asked. Chai is an uber-ambitious 39-year-old woman who grew up in Manhattan and when to college at Princeton. She finished her first documentary, A Normal Life, at age 24 that told the story of 7 college-aged friends in the middle of the Bosnian Conflict.

I can’t even tell you one interesting thing I did the year I was 24. Her film won the Tribeca Film Festival. Casual.

Moving on! She spent the next decade making films about Senegal, honing in on her knack for storytelling and showcasing raw human emotion. Let’s fast forward a bit because I could literally talk for hours about her and we’ve got a lot of women to cover.

Chai found herself in the presence of Jimmy Chin (who she initially blew off because why not, you do you, girl). He asked her for some tips on his film, Meru, which had been kicking around for years, not managing to make it into any film festivals. She let him wait in limbo for three months before she got back to him and agreed to take a look.

Chai turned the now famous Meru from doomed, super bro climbing porn film, to a genuine story that went on gain high praise from elite film festivals everywhere.

How’d she do it? She insisted on re-shooting basically everything except for the actual climbing. All of the storytelling, all of the interviews with the climbers, all of the interviews with the family members. She revisited all of that and pulled out real human emotion that she felt viewers could connect with. And she was right.

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More Ampas / Baftas and more @brockcollection what a break from being a mud drenched Doc filmmaker feels like being Cinderella…..thank you @freesolofilm @thefashionguitar @carolyntangel 🙏❤️

A post shared by Chai Vasarhelyi (@chaivasarhelyi) on Feb 8, 2019 at 11:51am PST

And as a surprise to literally no one, she did the same thing for Free Solo.

She took what easily could have been a niche climbing film and turned it into an oddly relatable and universal story: perfection vs death, love vs. focus, ethics vs. filming an incredible feat. For her efforts and diligence, this documentary made people feel things other than fear and exhilaration.

She gave the audience and understanding of the complexity of the whole project. Oh, and she’s married to Jimmy Chin in case anyone actually cared. And they just took home an Oscar!

2. Jacinda Ardern

You didn’t think I was going to write this list without mentioning one of the most badass world leaders of all times, did you? Especially from the country that was the first to give women the right to vote!

As a leader of the first Labour government in New Zealand in a decade, Jacinda Ardern shares values common of a leftist party: investment in health, education, climate action, public housing, and social justice. Excellent start, but hundreds of politicians share those values and push those agendas.

So what makes Jacinda so special?

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Happy Diwali! If you’re in Auckland (or even near it) pop along to the festival at Aotea Square

A post shared by Jacinda Ardern (@jacindaardern) on Oct 19, 2018 at 8:22pm PDT

For starters, Jacinda has absolutely no time for what others expect of her outside of her job responsibilities.

All those bogus questions about family woman usually get when they run for public office? Nope! Jacinda wasn’t having any of it. She was elected and promptly announced her pregnancy like it was NBD, had the baby in a public hospital and became the first world leader ever to go on maternity leave, where she graced the world with a charming Facebook Live video of her and her daughter Neve.

When she was ready to go back, she went and her partner (not husband, mind you!) stayed home with the baby. I love a good gender role swap!

She continued her year getting shit done as the Prime Minister and also being an amazing parent.

She brought her new baby to the Nelson Mandela Peace Summit where she spoke moments after handing off the babe to her partner (She also got her baby a special UN pass for the event). Through her actions, she is normalizing being in a position of power as a new mom, breastfeeding at work, and having her partner be the primary caregiver.

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Welcome to our village wee one. Feeling very lucky to have a healthy baby girl that arrived at 4.45pm weighing 3.31kg (7.3lb) Thank you so much for your best wishes and your kindness. We're all doing really well thanks to the wonderful team at Auckland City Hospital.

A post shared by Jacinda Ardern (@jacindaardern) on Jun 20, 2018 at 11:14pm PDT

Enough about her baby. Let’s talk about her career accomplishments. In her short time as president, she has already:

Introduced the Families Package that delivers more money to families with children and reduces child poverty

Passed a bill to allow leave for victims of domestic abuse

Made the first year of tertiary education or training fees free

Increase student allowances and living cost loans by $50 a week

Passed the Healthy Homes Guarantee Bill, setting minimum standards for all rentals

Passed law banning overseas speculators from buying existing houses

Set up a ministerial inquiry into mental health crisis

Introduced legislation to make medicinal cannabis available for people with terminal illnesses or in chronic pain

Increased the minimum wage to $16.50 an hour (and announced this year another bump up to $17.70 by April of this year)

Set the zero carbon emissions goal and began setting up an independent Climate Commission, ended all new bids on offshore oil and gas exploration

And announced a phasing out of single-use plastic bags nationwide

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It’s been a while since I gave an update on the work to eradicate M. bovis, so here it is…. We’ve had 74 properties infected so far. 36 farms have now gone through the process of having their farms given the all clear and restocked – I visited one of those farms today to talk about their experience. We still have things we need to improve (and we made a few extra announcements on that today) but we’re also still very committed to eradicating Mycoplasma Bovis.

A post shared by Jacinda Ardern (@jacindaardern) on Oct 8, 2018 at 5:28pm PDT

Oh, and she greeted the Queen of England wearing a traditional Maori cloak. What’s that? A country treating its indigenous population with even an ounce or respect and dignity!?

3. Melise Edwards

Melise has become one of my favorite women to follow on Instagram. Not only is she a sponsored rock climber, but she’s also an actual brain scientist AND social justice warrior.

She refuses to sit behind her climbing success without also tackling issues for women and communities of color in the outdoors. She refuses to accept the erasure of dark-skinned women in outdoor advertising and when she gets hate mail for it, she straight up calls those bullies out.

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The truth is: I've had so many negative interactions in the climbing community in recent years that have arisen due to conversations surrounding diversity, feminism, privilege and inclusion that I find myself sometimes uninterested, angry and afraid to be a part of the local community. . . There have been the friends from my city & back home who block, unfriend and unfollow me, though first letting me know that "demonizing white people" by asking for folks to recognize our many collective forms of privilege and the impacts of recent historical oppression on minorities is divisive and racist against white people. . . There have been the strangers and local climbers who are all too comfortable harassing and trolling me online with the added bonus of getting to see them here in the gyms when I climb. There have been the in-person conversations at where people seek me out to tell me I'm playing the victim and that racism and sexism are not really issues. . There have been the prominent climbers and first ascentionists who vehemently oppose these conversations and message me condescending remarks. There has been a man twice my age writing a blog post on his institute's page about my fragility. And on top of this, we see chronic affronts and attacks on POC & other underrepresented groups within the outdoor community and society at large daily. It comes from friends. It comes from strangers. It comes from leaders and people in positions of power in the industry. It comes from people who would rather not get involved. . . These things make it difficult to "just go climbing" and push myself within a hobby that used to give me so much joy. My life is amazing and I'm so thankful for where I am and all that I do. There are also many incredible people and groups in this industry who are doing invaluable work. But if I am being honest, I am struggling with my waning passion for a community and hobby I used to love. (Photo by @andreasassenrath)

A post shared by Mélise | Seattle, WA (@meliseymo) on Feb 26, 2019 at 12:02pm PST

Her passion and dedication is infectious and makes me want to do better:

“I yearn for the day when multiple women of color can be featured for an advertisement or photoshoot within and beyond the outdoor industry; for the day we don’t need to have several white women or men in the shot for the photo to be inherently successful. . I yearn for the day POC can get paid and aren’t questioned or criticized for wanting to get paid for their work and time. This means valuing their time, chronic advice, labor and the information they provide enough to actually compensate them. (E.g. how do I make my company more diverse?) . . I yearn for the day when more people of color make up the staffing at large companies and folks don’t call on *that one POC you know on Instagram* to ask for chronic free education and labor. . Companies: Diversify your staff. Diversify your marketing. Take actual efforts to support POC in the outdoor community beyond superficial displays that do not get at the root of the problem (e.g. inviting a panel of POC to talk for free at your events.) . Finally, please stop asking POC to only come to your events to talk about diversity instead of their amazing careers in the outdoors, recent adventures or athleticism. We can all do better when we learn how rampant these issues are in our community and seek to change them. I believe in you all.”

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Marketing in the outdoor industry and society at large is strikingly homogenous. Even attempts to diversify marketing efforts will usually feature one light skinned, white passing or racially ambiguous woman still out numbered 10:1 by white models and a usually all white staff. . . Similarly frustrating is the chronic expectation for POC to continually offer free labor to *thank* companies for daring to care about diversity. Superficial means of supporting diversity will be offered without ever addressing the issue at the community, staff, company and marketing level. . . Companies need to do better to represent the diversity of our communities. . I yearn for the day when multiple women of color can be featured for an advertisement or photoshoot within and beyond the outdoor industry; for the day we don't need to have several white women or men in the shot for the photo to be inherently successful. . . I yearn for the day POC can get paid and aren't questioned or criticized for wanting to get paid for their work and time. This means valuing their time, chronic advice, labor and the information they provide enough to actually compensate them. (E.g. how do I make my company more diverse?) . . I yearn for the day when more people of color make up the staffing at large companies and folks don't call on *that one POC you know on Instagram* to ask for chronic free education and labor. . . Companies: Diversify your staff. Diversify your marketing. Take actual efforts to support POC in the outdoor community beyond superficial displays that do not get at the root of the problem (e.g. inviting a panel of POC to talk for free at your events.) . Finally, please stop asking POC to only come to your events to talk about diversity instead of their amazing careers in the outdoors, recent adventures or athleticism. We can all do better when we learn how rampant these issues are in our community and seek to change them. I believe in you all. (PC @andreasassenrath)

A post shared by Mélise | Seattle, WA (@meliseymo) on Feb 2, 2019 at 9:56am PST

4. Cristina Mittermeier

In case you haven’t heard, global warming is real. It’s happening right now and us humans who have expedited global warming are generally not being helpful at all.

Good thing there are people like Cristina Mittermeier to show us the way forward. (And if I haven’t lost you at this point, congrats, you understand science!)

The Mexico-city born marine biologist has some notable accolades but her strength goes beyond her studies and awards. Cristina is an expert storyteller and sheds light on what’s going on in the world, whether at the bottom of the ocean floor or in some of the most remote indigenous villages in the world. She photographs them, tells their story and gives hope for the possibility of a mindful, sustainable future.

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What might seem like a featureless snow-covered landscape to us is an invisible map filled with smells that lead to prey and mates for polar bears. While the future of this incredible species remains uncertain and concerning, the unwavering hope that so many of you have for vulnerable wildlife tells me that our ability to protect them has never been more diverse and more promising.

A post shared by Cristina Mittermeier (@cristinamittermeier) on Oct 7, 2018 at 9:23am PDT

At her core, she wants her audience to really truly think about what it means to be a human and our undeniable link to other species and the responsibility to look after fellow life forms.

In 2005, she created a league of Conservation Photographers (hello new dream job!) to help give a platform for photographers working on environmental issues. She’s also co-founded a nonprofit called Sea Legacy, with legendary photographer Paul Nicklen, that works towards protecting the world’s oceans through storytelling.

If that’s not enough to convince you to be obsessed with her as well, I’ll leave you with this quote.

“To roam the farthest corners of the Earth, where wild creatures live, is a privilege reserved for an adventurous handful. But even though most of us may never feel the chill of Arctic air through the frozen flap of an icy tent, images can help us understand the urgency many photographers feel to protect wild places. My work is about building a greater awareness of the responsibility of what it means to be a human. It is about understanding that the history of every living thing that has ever existed on this planet also lives within us. It is about the ethical imperative—the urgent reminder that we are inextricably linked to all other species on this planet and that we have a duty to act as the keepers of our fellow life forms.”

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Blue whales are the largest animals to have ever existed, reaching mind-boggling dimensions of 100 feet long and upwards of 200 tons on a diet composed almost exclusively of krill, tiny-shrimp like crustaceans. It was a joy to be in the water with this gentle giant off the coast of the Azores. I had never had an encounter with a blue whale before. While the hunting of blue whales was banned by the International Whaling Commission in 1966, endangered fin whales are still being hunted in Iceland in defiance of a world wide ban of commercial whaling in 1986. Follow the link in my bio to learn more. This work was performed under the authorization n.0 XX-ORAC-2018 issued by the Government, on February 22, 2018.

A post shared by Cristina Mittermeier (@cristinamittermeier) on Jun 23, 2018 at 8:42am PDT

5. Mirna Valerio

There’s a myth in the medical world that fat people cannot be considered fit.

There’s phony talk about the importance of BMI (spoiler: it’s absolutely worthless for determining health) and the unarguable need to shed pounds to achieve health.

This simply is not true and Mirna Valerio is here to prove it.

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Guess what y’all? I’m a swimsuit model too! I loved this shoot with the talented @insecto, Carlos Palacios, in Costa Rica for @skirtsports! I never thought in a million years I’d be doing #swimwear photoshoots on a beach on top of a SUP board in #halfmoonpose baring, well not quite all, but more than I am used to… ## WELCOME TO MY NEW WORLD! Also this bathing suit is available the link in my bio—use code MIRNAVATOR for a 20% discount! #swimsuit #beachphotography #womenwhomove #optoutside #bathingsuit #bareitall #bodypositive #bopo #photography #bodylove #effyourbeautystandards

A post shared by Mirna Valerio (@themirnavator) on Feb 25, 2019 at 11:30am PST

Mirna has essentially been an outdoors obsessed athlete all of her life. From field hockey and lacrosse in high school to now being a full-on ultramarathon runner in her adult life. She started blogging (Fat Girl Running) in 2012 as she was training for her first marathon and as her support systems grew, so did the haters, flooding her inbox with negative comments. But Mirna never let the haters get her down. She loves her body and is consequently chasing our stereotyped perception of what fitness and health look like.

“They don’t like to see me on a cover of a magazine because I do not represent what fitness means to them,” she says. “I want to continue sticking my big ass into places where people think I don’t belong. That has been the nature of my life—I’m going to do it and I’m going to do it proudly.”

“We are much more than our bodies. Whether it’s body image, our choices to be moms or not, our career choices—we are more than our bodies,” Valerio says. “We’re so powerful beyond our wildest dreams.”

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An excellent morning on the #wildwoodtrail at #forestpark in Portland with new friends @erin.nicksmartin and @rossmaxloudness from my awesome Facebook Group FATGIRLRUNNING. We had a great time exploring the #trail, enjoying the peeks of sun, and most of all, each other’s company. So happy to have our community! #fatgirlrunning #trailrunning #optoutside #runtrails #trailandultra #trailrunning #outdoors #urbantrails #portlandtrails #runner #zapposrunning #empoweredbyrunning #hylandspowered

A post shared by Mirna Valerio (@themirnavator) on Dec 27, 2018 at 12:51pm PST

As a runner, author, and educator, Valeria has secured her voice encouraging everyone, especially the youth, to get outside where they can test their own mental and physical strength. She advocates for green spaces in cities and supports more price-public funding for school trips.

“It’s not just a necessity for urban kids, but it’s a necessity for kids all over no matter what their level of privilege is and no matter what their level of exposure and access is,” she says. “Whenever I think of the outdoors, it’s not only a place to be myself and live in my introverted ways, but I also look at the outdoors as a place of bonding with other people and having these really deep, profound experiences with nature that you can’t have looking out a window.”

6. Pattie Gonia

Pattie Gonia is the world’s first backpacking queen and honestly, this is exactly what we need right now in these trying times.

Some days the news is so dark and our world leaders are so questionable that you might want to crawl into a tiny cave and not come out until everything is fixed but then, like a ray of sunshine and hope, emerges Pattie Gonia, the viral drag queen who dances on top of mountaintops in platform heels and everything in the world seems a little more manageable.

Yes!

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SURPRISE BISH !!!! park ranger pattie is here to write you a ticket for being TOO DAMN FABULOUS. 👑 & o no sis we’re not done yet. 💥 your fine is to tell someone u know needs to hear it how fabuluz they are too. 🧚🏻‍♂️ & u know y??? because this is our year to shine TOGETHER. so u better watch out u better not hide i’ll be patrolling these here parts & should u choose to be too fabulous again just watch me i’ll pop out from behind a tree (BOO!!) w these au natural hairy leggz & say u too wonderful AGAIN here’s another 1 !!!! . whooole lewk by queen @katienashbeauty photo by queen @erinoutdoors photographed on jumanos native lands . #servingyounationalparkSERVEice #nationalparkservice #nationalparks #outdoors #neature #nature #alewk #amajorlewk

A post shared by Pattie Gonia (@pattiegonia) on Mar 4, 2019 at 12:30pm PST

Pattie graced us with her presence less than six months ago but has already made waves across the world.

Pattie is portrayed by fellow Nebraskan photographer and Eagle Scout Wyn Wiley. If you aren’t familiar with various state identities in the USA, let’s just say that Nebraska is not the easiest state to be apart of the LGBTQ group.

Nevertheless, Wiley unapologetically embraces his inner queen and we’re all a lot better because of it.

But Pattie Gonia is more than a feel-good IG feed to make you smile. Wiley’s ultimate goal is for Pattie Gonia to inspire more people to get outside and enjoy mother nature, especially those who have historically been excluded from the outdoor community, including the LGBTQ community, people of color, and bigger folks.

He hopes to achieve this by having Pattie Gonia lead groups of newbie hikers and using sponsors to help provide gear for those who can’t afford it, because let’s be honest, outdoor gear can be as expensive as hell and historically, spending leisure time outside is a huge fucking privilege.

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THE BEND & SNAP TRAIL EDITION ♻️💃🏼🌲 ugh isn’t trash on the trails the most sad moment??? let’s keep our trails clean & do it while looking fab && snatched & cute as a bb prancing deer. not only for us but for all the animal babes friends we share mother natch with!!! remember, we have one earth to have our party, let’s not leave the house trashed. pick up your trash. it’s simply good etiquette, queens. . keeping our trails is clean is as easy as you brining a simple plastic bag to not only pack out your trash but what was left behind by other people. even if you pick up a piece or two of trash on a 30 min hike that can do wonders to keep mother natch looking snatched. . outfit by clothes my mom got me for christmas video by @charlieronan edit by @adamkingman #recycle #packout #packinpackout #protectourparks #nationalparks #hikevibes #litter #trash #stateparks #parksandrec #11thessential #leavenotrace #staywild #colorado #redrocks #denver #nature #fierce #drag #dragqueen #dance . video taken on cheyenne and ute native land

A post shared by Pattie Gonia (@pattiegonia) on Feb 7, 2019 at 12:22pm PST

On a more personal level, Pattie is a way for Wiley to explore his more feminine sides.

“In my normal life, I’d say I’m pretty straight-passing,” he says. “But when I put those boots on, it feels like a girl when she puts on mascara for the first time – it unlocks a different side of you that you haven’t seen before. I think femme is important. I think masculinity is important. I think it’s all inside of us.” If everyone accepted this gender fusion, the world would be a much better place.

Trust me. Better yet, trust Pattie.

Spill! Who are some badass women you’re obsessed with right now? Comment below and share some inspo!

The post 6 totally badass women I’m obsessed with right now appeared first on Young Adventuress.

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[lotsofdogs]

A Random Tuesday + Ryder is Three Months Old

Hey friends! As I sit down to write the first part of this blog post (all of my work seems to be completed in small fragments these days!), the sun is shining through my office window. After several back-to-back days of clouds, rain and storms, it feels nice to see the sun again! Temperatures are back to the mid-80s in Charlotte right now which makes me feel a little ridiculous for decorating our house for fall over the weekend but since Hurricane Florence had us hanging out at home, it seemed like a good time to knock it out.

Hello pumpkins!

I wanted to pop in today to share another random day-in-the-life recap with you guys and give you a peek into our Tuesday. Let’s get to it!

Morning

All plans I had for waking up before the boys went out the window when Ryder was up before the sun with me with no intent to go back down. Thankfully Ryder almost always wakes up in a great mood, full of gummy smiles and sweet baby chirps. He’s often content to kick and wiggle on a blanket in the mornings so I got dressed for the day and then brought Ryder downstairs with me and set him up on the floor while I made coffee and spent some time going through one of the chapters of my small group’s most recent study.

Ryder wasn’t up for too long before he was ready for a cat nap and so I swaddled him up, placed him in the Rock ‘n’ Play, made myself a smoothie and then got some work done on my laptop while he snoozed.

(Sorry it looks so gross! I swear anytime I add cocoa powder to a smoothie it instantly looks like cat puke.) 

I spent my early morning work time tackling emails and following up on some upcoming partnerships before I heard Chase calling me from his room. Ryder was making noises as well, so I quickly nursed him and then we headed into Chase’s room to get dressed and read some stories before preschool.

Whenever I walk into Chase’s room in the morning he almost always asks me, “Mom, you have Baby Ryder?” and immediately wants to get in his little brother’s face. It’s actually been a nice little incentive to help Chase get dressed at warp speed since I tell him he has to be dressed like his little brother before playtime can begin. We read The Cat in the Hat and played in Chase’s room for a bit before making our way downstairs for breakfast and a little more playtime before we needed to head out the door.

Chase only has school two mornings this week thanks to a hurricane-related closure on Monday and a teacher work day today and he was more than ready to see his teachers and friends. He ran inside and gave me a dinosaur growl goodbye. (He was a velociraptor yesterday, in case you were wondering.)

Once Chase was settled in school, Ryder and I made our way to boot camp!

While Ryder hung out in childcare, I went through a total body strength workout that looked like this:

(The workout includes my modifications since I’m still modifying quite a bit.) 

It felt good to move and sweat and Ryder seemed to do well in childcare. I chatted with some friends for a bit after my workout and then we headed home so I could nurse Ryder and get a little work done before preschool pickup. Ryder wasn’t in the mood for a long nap so my work time was cut a bit short but I took advantage of a very awake and very happy baby to snap some pictures of him to celebrate three months with this sweet guy!

I just love the way Ryder reacts to happy faces, voices and smiles. It’s almost like he looks at the world around him through the eyes of a tiny human sponge that just wants to absorb everything. His big gummy smiles seem to overtake his whole body and he’ll often curl up into a smiley ball that makes me smile right along with him.

Afternoon

Before heading out the door to pick Chase up from school, I figured I should take advantage of an awake and happy baby and made myself lunch. Everything came together quickly thanks to yet another Daily Harvest harvest bowl (the obsession continues!) and this time I added some shrimp and pumpkin seeds to the red lentil bowl.

(FYI you can use the code pbfingers to get three free cups on your first Daily Harvest order if you want to try it out!) 

After I was done eating, I loaded Ryder into his car seat and the two of us picked Chase up from preschool before making our way back home. I let Chase unwind and play in our family room for a bit while I nursed Ryder before corralling everyone upstairs in Chase’s room for a nap time picnic. (I told you guys I do this ALL the time! So random but it works!)

Once Chase was down, I brought Ryder into our bathroom and put him in his Dock-a-Tot so I could grab a quick shower before I nursed him and put him down for a nap, too. With both boys sleeping, I made myself a bowl of oatmeal with peanut butter (random snack but I was starving) and then began typing up this blog post. I ended up having TWO hours of time to work in the afternoon yesterday which felt like such a gift from my guys! It wasn’t fully uninterrupted (Ryder isn’t the most solid napper) but it still felt amazing to have time in the middle of the day to wrap up a future blog post and continue to chip away at my inbox.

Ryder was up before Chase and once he was done nursing, he seemed content to hang out with me in the kitchen in a little bouncer seat my friend Lauren gave me at preschool pickup yesterday. Ryder LOVES the bouncer seat in Burn Boot Camp’s childcare and since Lauren is doing a massive purge of baby things, she asked if we wanted her old one and I jumped at the offer. Ryder is a huge fan!!

With Ryder happy in his new bouncer seat, I quickly assembled dinner which looked like chickpea pasta paired with kale and shrimp. (I loosely followed this recipe from Clean Eating Magazine.)

We haven’t had the chance to get to the grocery store yet this week but I cooked up a big bag of shrimp we had in the freezer on Monday which worked well as a quick protein source in both my lunch and our family’s dinner. Freezer food for the win!

Evening

Chase woke up from his nap right around the time that we had a package delivery at the door. He was excited to thank our favorite UPS man (he’s practically a family friend at this point) and we immediately opened the large box to find the new comforter I ordered for our master bedroom.

I’m excited to see how it looks but sliiiightly concerned Ryan may veto this particular design choice and say it’s too frilly for his taste. We’ll see!

We spent the rest of the afternoon at home splitting time between our backyard where Chase “helped” clear our patio of debris from the weekend storm (thank you Aunt Laurie for his sweeper brush!) and our kitchen where we made a new batch of chocolate energy bites with dates, oats, peanut butter, flax seed, honey and cocoa powder.

Since Chase took a longer nap than usual yesterday, he was amped around dinnertime and had no interest in settling down to eat. He was also pretty content to play by himself with his toys and since this coincided with an evening cat nap for Ryder, I decided to roll with it and took advantage of the time to clean up the kitchen. Ryan arrived home a little after 7 p.m. and after a quick round of soccer with Chase, we all settled down for dinner. I reheated the pasta I prepared earlier in the day and we dug in!

Eventually we made our way upstairs and did the whole bed time routine. We finally had both boys asleep around 8:30 p.m. Ryan and I chatted for a bit before we were both ready to call it a night. I read my book until my eyes could no longer stay open. (I’m currently reading Total Control by David Baldacci. I like the story line and look forward to reading it at the end of the day but there’s something about the way the author refers to the main female character that irks me over and over again.)

Today should be a good one over here as Chase has the day off from school and we have some fun plans with friends at a local park on the agenda this morning! I hope you all have a great Wednesday and I hope to see ya back here tomorrow for a yummy recipe I have coming your way!

[Read More ...] https://www.pbfingers.com/a-random-tuesday-ryder-is-three-months-old/

[goingrvway]

Broken Mail Box? What’s Up With That???

Citrus Heights, CA – sister’s house

Above is your typical US Postage Mail Box…open the door, put in your letter or small package, shut and walk away.  It has three moving parts…the door slot to drop the mail, the lock on the door for the postal service employee to open, and the door this lock is in.  Three moving parts.

This mail box above only has two moving parts….the slot to put the mail in has no door, so you have a lock and door for the mail person to open when they gather the mail.  To the right you can see a mail person getting the mail out of the mail box.  These mail boxes have been around for most of my life…although they were an “Army Green”, and I vaguely remember seeing a few mini boxes on a post, but they did not hold very much mail.  I have also seen some that look like they are twice as big as the ones shown…but the bottom line, they are all very simple…two or three moving parts to them.

So how funny was it when I pulled up to the mailbox in front of the post office near the local grocery store and saw this sign.  “Don’t Drop Mail!!!  Mailbox not working drop you mail inside.  Sorry for the inconvenience.”   Yep, not only can’t the post office keep a simple mailbox in operation…the person who made the sign to notify that it functionally is not working, could not even make a simple sign that made sense.  I was not the only one who thought it was funny.  A couple pulled up near the box to address their letter and put on a stamp, and as I walked in to mail my letter, they pulled up next to my car.  “One would think that they could keep such a sophisticated piece of equipment in operation,” I said.  They laughed.  Saw them both in the store a few minutes later shopping, and we had another laugh about it.

Speaking of mail…have you ever watched the tracking of one of your Amazon orders?   It is 1,750 miles by car from San Antonio Texas to Citrus Heights.  My last order originated in San Antonio…went to Erlanger Kentucky, then Stockton California, then Vacaville California, then finally to Citrus Heights.  By car that is 3,640 miles.  But hey, I ordered on Thursday, got it on Saturday…can’t beat that, can you?  Well, yes you can.  On Tuesday, August 29th, I finally remembered that Marcia needed a new mouse for her computer…she has been having problems with it for a good month.  We had been back in Sacramento for about five days, and I promised I would get her a new one as soon as we got to town.  Seeing her “mess” with her bad mouse again to get it to work, I got online with Amazon, and ordered two…one for a backup.  As I was checking out, I saw that if I spent 9 more dollars, they would deliver TODAY, before 8 pm.  So I upgraded the mouse she was going to use, and the other mouse is similar to the one I use. Sure enough, around 7:15 pm, the package arrived.  It too came in from San Antonio…but it flew directly to Stockton, then to West Sacramento and delivered by Amazon Delivery truck (like the one shown here to the right…no name, just a plain white van).  With Amazon buying Whole Foods, and plans to build more (or take over other stores and convert them), I am sure the delivery options for same day service will grow and grow.  They already give you the option to have your order (not large items) sent to a Whole Foods Store, so you can pick up your Amazon package after work, and pick up some eggs, milk, and ready to heat up dinner on your way home.  And the great thing about that is that no one is going to rip off the package sitting in your mailbox, or at your front door before you get home.  Wow!  Everything sure has gone a long way since the days of the Pony Express…which, by-the-way, had its western terminal right here in Sacramento.

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[thlovesover-blog]

X-mas

Did you invite me? Or did I invite myself? I don’t remember. I planned a trip to Paris. I had been there once before but that was certainly not enough. That time I was to see another side of the city.

The hotel was somewhere not exactly on the outskirts but in the district inhabited by immigrants. Luckily I arrived in the daytime, it was still light, so I could enter offices and ask about my destination. It seemed not a well-known place. It took time to find it and passing across the bridge filled with immigrants selling and buying something was quite a fearful experience. The following day was easier. I got used to it, I found it even friendly, though so incredibly dirty!

For the first time in my life I travelled in winter. Paris was an immense sea of light when seen from the plane. What a contrast with my dear little Motherland! Christmas decorations in windows attracted by their simplicity and exclusiveness. I was going to be impressed even more in Italy.

I roamed along the streets, attended Centre Georges Pompidou resembling a huge refinery. Looked at its strange exhibits sometimes like a total fool. No, this type of art is definitely not for me.

Sacre Coeur as if had been floating in the winter sky above the city. Using underground, following the map, reading signs in French was a challenge. Getting this experience at about fifty might sound silly, and actually sorry I hadn’t had it before.

I found a café in rue Rivoli where I learned that not only Russians and post - Soviet products are fond of cheapies and takeaways. Smart looking madam had another helping of a side dish, filled a plastic container and placed into her handbag. Life can be miserable even in this feast city.

Looking round Notre Dame was a must. French gothic is oppressive unlike Italian. I got out of there as if I got out of the grave. By the way there is a tomb to Jean of Arc inside.

Another great experience of that winter was flying from Paris Charles De Gaulle Airport. For a traveller like me who chose package tours because of their price and because of the fear of getting lost or something it was a shock. I guess it is the size of my native town with far better developed infrastructure. The main thing was to get to the right terminal at the right time. And I succeeded!

The plane was packed like a barrel with herring! Young Italians were flocking to the south. I was sitting literally in the back row. Had a feeling of a local bus going to the nearest farm. The flight was noisy at the beginning, but don’t remember much as seem to have fallen asleep as soon as they reached the altitude. I woke up right in time for landing.

You were waiting for me at the airport. The drive to your studio didn’t take long. It was the same small cluttered messy place. But you definitely tried to bring some order into it. You bought some handmade pies to treat me after the flight. They were delicious. You bought me a set of towels of nice cream white colour with my monogram! How touching! I knew that you had been looking forward to my visit. Never before did I feel so much desired.

It must have been the most remarkable Christmas of your life. You didn’t have Christmas dinner with your father. You didn’t go to give presents to your sister. You stayed with me. Now I feel that it was wrong to deprive you of your family in holiday time. Our parents are old and we really have to devote more time to them not to have ill consciousness afterwards.

But that winter I had a different opinion.

I think it was pouring for 2 consequent days. Later there were reports on TV about floods in some streets. We didn’t care. Luckily the window right above our bed wasn’t leaking. The bed was narrow for two of us in the rare moments when we were lying side to side. I seem to have been hanging on the very edge. Or was squeezed to the wall. Or vice versa. Really neither of us cared. What sexercises did I show you that time? I don’t remember. They were quite a few as you confessed later. Something you had never tried and you were impressed.

Though as time showed none of that helped to keep you.

When it finally stopped raining we got outside to find all the impressive Christmas decorations in the shop windows and in the streets. That’s where I got inspiration for all the following years school New Year Decoration contests. Must say we won all of them.

We went for pizza somewhere up the hill. Not only was I astonished at the choice and the pizza itself, I was amazed at the service most of all. How personal it was. I was literally fascinated with the waiters’ work. They seemed to be flying from table to table. They were always asking if all was well, if we needed something. After pizza we went for a stroll along the road to have a look at the night city and honestly to lose at least a few calories. Wasn’t that urgent though. There were some other exercises that helped well to burn them.

One more day was devoted to a long train trip to Cinque Terre. On our was we stopped at Santa Margherita, walked along the shore. There was a storm in the night and the beach was covered in seaweeds and wood carried by the waves. Elderly couples holding hands, elegant age signoras with grandchildren, people with pets were passing by. Smartly dressed signors were playing chess on the benches.

I envied. I envied their life. I envied their being well cared at their old age. I fear mine!

It was almost 16 plus! Incredible temperature for me in winter. I couldn’t help stretching on the bench putting head on your lap and enjoying the warmth of the southern sun which I was scarcely supposed to see and to feel within the following few months.

By bus we reached Cinque Terre. We climbed up the hill to see the castle but it was closed. Still I took the most incredible pictures of the neat multi-coloured houses, of you on the pier. I tore some eucalyptus leaves and put them into my pocket.

On the way back an elderly signora draw my attention. We were on the bus when she entered. I couldn’t tear my eyes off her. Mink coat, high heels, gold ear rings and rings. Fashionable hairdo. How I wanted to be her when I am at her age!

Yesterday I checked my old coat pockets. The eucalyptus leaves are still there. All dry and broken but keeping the smell and bringing the memories.

I didn’t feel butterflies in my stomach then. What a pity.

Was it then or in summer that you wanted to introduce me to your father? I refused, telling that I don’t know the language, what would I talk to him about? So it didn’t happen. Alas.

I was leaving before your birthday. I remember bringing you two gifts. One was a hand made spectacle case which you didn’t like at all. And you weren’t even able to disguise it. The other one was a watch which you were wearing for the next few years. I got a stylish leather handbag which I’m still carrying as the best handbag ever.

You took me to Bologna. Even the drive there was memorable. A perfect sunny day. I was basking in the warmth on the chair next to you, I stroke your hair, you kissed my hand. Of course there was a sandwich and the last macchiato in the Autogrill cafe.

Again we parted.

Me: Landed Warsaw thanks a lot for everything happy b-day have good party miss you kiss.

Back home I dived again into my usual school routine. Classes at work and classes at home. Twelve hour working day. To earn just for one more trip to see you? Or something else in Europe? To buy some new clothes to show off at work? Or to have at least some sex? No answers.

You were having fun with friends. Had your archery, took part in competitions even though the prize might have been just a bottle of ketchup. You went somewhere for silly experiments which I always laughed at. You lived your life where there was work but also there was rest. There was time for hobbies. There was time for books.

I didn’t have that. What’s the use of all my University education then I wonder?

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