#splitting js so exhausting

[life1tself]

bpd is so fun i literally am like freaking the fuck out over nothing but it feels like i just killed several people including myself. sometimes im so stuck i start to split on myself and convince myself that im just a truly bad person and that i’m hurting everyone around me. yay

[elliezlils11utt]

“you cant heal a bullet hole with a band aid”

summary: after Seattle you move to the farm to help ellie heal, yet she cant seem to let go.

pairings: mentally unstable!ellie x over caring!reader

contents: sfw? tlou au, no baby au, ellie isnt in a good place, ellie is an asshole, reader has no self respect, angst with some comfort. non sexual intimacy!

a/n: i had such high hopes for this and honestly its a bit shitty. i dont write angst. 🤷‍♀️

“Hey baby. How was hunting? Anything good?” The crease in your back straightens on impulse as you stand from the table. She stumbles through the door and kicks off her boots. Her eyes look down towards her feet. She ignores your first question and replies bluntly to the second.

“the usual.” good, this is good. some words are better than none.You help her out of her coat and hang it on the wrack. Her eyes meet yours for the first time in weeks, a cold no where behind them. The green looking into you. Her eyes flutter down your body and don’t leave, it’s almost judgmental look.

“Right. Uh- I made us dinner! You hungry?”

“You made dinner? You didn’t have to.” She sounds tired. So fucking tired. She plops down In the seat with a heavy sigh. She watched as you follow her to the table. “why’d you dress up?” She asks in her low voice.

you set her dish in front of her. “I dunno, wanted to look pretty. Is it too much?” You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in the fabric and flash her a cute toothy grin.

“yah, It’s not really ‘dinner-table-wear’, js wish you would’ve told me you were doing all this.” she sounds almost annoyed. Her voice laced with exhaustion. your smile slowly drops. ‘You can’t fix a bullet wound with a band aid’ you tell yourself again. Those words ring through your mind as you slide into the chair across from her. You just hum in response. Your girlfriend leaned back in her chair and folded her arms over one another. Her eyes fixed on you for a split moment before returning her gaze on the table. Another heavy sigh.

“look, im sorry. js tired i guess”

“yeah i know, i get it!! don’t be sorry..” you pick at your food mindlessly. Now it’s your turn to sigh. You grab her hand from across the table. Ellies eyes trace over your face, taking in all of you like she hasn’t in weeks. Her eyes trail down your eyebrows, to your nose, to your lips and back up again. Your grip on her hand tightens for a minute. She just looked at you for the first time again. For a brief moment everything’s okay. The sun shining through the sheer of the curtains, Joel in the next room playing guitar, your Ellie’s there giggling along with you, and the god forbidden name “Abby” doesn’t exist in your world. But of course that’s only for a moment.

“I didn’t mean to be like this, I’m just exhausted…”

“I know, I know baby. you still hungry? Or want me to run you a warm bath?�� Her hand tightens in your own.

“A bath sounds nice.” She leans back in her chair again, your fingers searching for hers as soon as they’re gone.

“ok els, of course. Go change and I’ll run the bath.”

Ellie disappears into the bedroom, and you let the bath run as you clean up the forgotten dinner. Ellie’s finally speaking to you. Maybe a dinner wasn’t what she needed but just talking to you. You don’t even care about the dinner anymore, just happy your girl was looking at you again. Really looking at you. The dishes clank in the sink, & your humming the tune to a song stuck in your head.

“Bath ready?” Ellie’s deep voice spooks you. As you turn around Ellie’s in her sports bra and boxers. scars lace her body, enveloping the entirety of her. Her abs littered with battle wounds and bruises. A green and purple patch apparent on her lower abdomen. her body has been through so much. it pains you to see her like this. these scars aren’t something that go away. god these remind you too much of what happened in seattle. how serious her injuries were then. you told her they would leave scars. you knew they would leave scars, but i guess a part of you wished they wouldn’t. ellie didn’t deserve them. A frown tugs and your lips. She catches you staring and pulls the towel in her hands over her stomach.

“Yeah, should be. Tell me if it’s too hot okay?” without words she stalks to the bathroom.

you lean on the doorframe as you watch her undress. “Do u want me to join you? Or do you want to be alone right now my love?” Your tone is so soft, you speak to her as if she could break at any moment. because she could.

“Please don’t leave me alone.” She whispers.

“Ok baby. Of course. I’m here.” You slip off your clothes and slide into the tub & motion for Ellie to follow. She steps in and lays her back to your chest, sitting within your legs. The two of you lay in silence just enjoying each other’s presence. She speaks up after a moment.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole. I hate when I get like this.” there she is.

“I know, your going through a lot right now. It’s okay, I get it. Don’t apologize.” You wrap your arms around her. You can tell she doesn’t know what to say. How to explain herself. She feels bad for treating you unfairly but can’t seem to shake the words that describe how truly sorry she is.

“I guess I just feel guilty…” she trails off. “Y’know, for taking it out on you.” Her head tilts up so she’s half looking at you, her fingers tracing circles in the water. Responding to Ellie’s words is hard. Ellie lost her father, but you were there in Seattle. You were with her. You were the one who almost died for her. And you are the one here with her now. Whatever she’s dealing with you’re right there with her. You may not have known Joel as well, but the pain of seeing Ellie like this is like loosing her. Anything to help your girl.

“I can take it. I know you don’t mean it. so for you, I’ll endure it.”

silence.

she cant say anything to you. she feels she doesn’t deserve to. your too good to her. way too good. “you cant heal a bullet wound with a bandaid” you speak softly into her hair. “you dont have to say anything. i know. im sorry”

[guilty-pleasures21]

hi pookie i hope you’re doing great ☺️!! ik u said i could request an au for the heretic princess so i came back for that 🫣(it was such a good fanfic i js couldn’t resist😭) i was wondering if we could maybe see how miguel and y/n are doing in the future? im not too good at ideas so if it’s too vague im sorry😭 and obviously if you don’t want to u don’t have to! thats all, happy holidays!!🎄❄️💞

Shites! This ended up so long, I needed to split it into 2 parts 😫! But I guess it's proportional to the time I took to respond to you? I'm so sorry!!! 😭😭😭😭😭

I just had a really hard time coming up with ideas! I knew I wanted to show them going through a tough time, but I was struggling so hard, babe. Just know that I really care about each and every request I get and sometimes I take AGES to respond to them because I don't want to pump out some half-arsed bs just to keep my counts up or whatever.

The heretic princess

Original story

BONUS

Part 1

Part 2

Warnings: Difficulties during pregnancy. Some angst that will be resolved, don't worry (I'm a firm believer of happy endings 😊).

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

     Candles flicker around the hall, bathing the large space in a warm glow. An emissary from the Hittite empire had arrived in your kingdom the day before and, needing the negotiations between you to go well, you’d welcomed him with an extravagant party once he’d recovered from his journey. You force a smile onto your face as everyone laughs at something the emissary has said, doing your best to ignore the bile pressing against your throat in response to the smell of the seasoned meats in front of you. 

     You’d never had such troublesome side effects when you’d been carrying your first two, but you’d found yourself struggling with your current pregnancy since the very beginning. Meena had waved away your concerns, reassuring you that it probably just meant that you were carrying a girl this time, and Iset had warned you against letting Miguel think of you as weak or unattractive in any way. But their words had only made you feel more isolated, drowning you in a sea of loneliness that pulled you deeper into its depths every time you swallowed down your exhaustion and fixed that perfectly radiant smile back onto your face. 

     Miguel brushes his fingers along your side, his arm curled around you in the way it always is whenever you’re seated next to one another. And the bile pushes against your throat more forcefully this time. You inhale deeply, forcing some air into your lungs, and eventually, the feeling recedes a little - enough for you to be certain that you will not be treating the visiting emissary to an unwelcome view of the dinner you’d just had. You curl your fingers around your husband’s and lower them, taking care to keep your movements slow so he won’t realise what you’re doing. You let out a soft breath of relief when he absent-mindedly begins brushing his thumb along the side of your buttocks instead, still completely oblivious to your discomfort. Then you turn to face him, sliding your hand along his shoulder and up to the side of his face. “Darling?” 

     “Hmm?” His entire body lit up at the sound of his wife’s sweet voice and he grinned widely when he turned to face you. Gods, three years and he still couldn’t believe that you were his wife! His sweet and kind and beautiful and intelligent best friend, and you were his wife now! “What is it, my love?” 

     Your smile turns genuine when you see the admiration shining clearly on his features. Your husband had kept his promise to remain devoted to you and you alone, silencing any suggestions of a second marriage so firmly that even his mother had stopped trying to shove Dina in his direction. You had already given him two sons, after all - two heirs - and you supported him better than any old advisor ever could, strengthening your diplomatic relations and increasing the prosperity of all your people equally. You stroke his cheek with your thumb and Miguel leans closer to you, his eyelids lowering slightly as his gaze falls to your lips. A soft laugh escapes your throat and you move your hand to his chest to stop him from pressing his lips to yours. 

     “I think our baby is getting a little tired from all the excitement,” you joke, placing your hand over your swollen belly. “I should get some rest, my darling.” 

     Miguel nods and begins to get out of his seat. “Let us go.” 

     You stop him quickly, tugging him back down into his chair, and force your features into a reassuring expression. “You should stay here, my love. Keep an eye on the ambassador and make sure he remains entertained.” 

     You flash him a knowing look and Miguel straightens in his seat, taking your words seriously. “Of course, my darling. Though I will not keep you waiting for too long. I will make sure the ambassador is fully entertained before I take my leave as well.” 

     You slid your fingers up the side of his neck and into his hair and Miguel grinned as his eyelids fluttered shut at the pleasant feeling. He loved how elegantly you always carried yourself, your movements careful, your touch gentle. He opened his eyes again and his heart leapt into his throat when he saw how close your lips suddenly were to his. He leaned forward to press his lips to yours and found himself lingering there, his mouth parting slightly as his tongue requested entry into yours. You obliged him and he smiled as he kissed you, delighting in your sweet taste and the softness of you in his hand as he squeezed the flesh at your hips. You’d put on a little more weight this time than during your first two pregnancies and he almost couldn’t handle how adorable you looked with your cute cheeks and your plump body, all filled up with his little baby. Gods, you were perfect. 

     You swallow down your protests and press your lips together to keep from frowning: it would be a disaster if Miguel mishandled the situation and prompted the ambassador to take offence at your leaving early. But your best friend had always been extremely stubborn and though you were the only one capable of managing his temper, there were some things even you were unable to persuade him of: like granting you a single moment to yourself to breathe.

You adored your husband, of course, and thanked the Gods every morning when you woke up beside him and every night when you fell asleep by his side, but you’d felt absolutely wretched since you’d started showing and, despite your handsome husband’s kind and loving words of affection, you wished you had just a single moment to yourself to cry. But queens did not cry. Especially ones whose position continued to be threatened by the beautiful, untouched and unimpregnated young women milling about the room, all of them unabashedly parading themselves in front of your husband under the instruction of the few advisors still trying to gain control over the young king. 

     You move to stand and Miguel quickly leaps to his feet, wrapping you up in his arms to help you up. You lean into his touch, grateful for your equally strong and loving husband, and reward him with a kiss to his cheek after straightening. “I love you, duckie.” 

     His entire body heated up rapidly in response to your … everything, really! Gods, he loved you so much. And he bent over to give you a careful hug. “I love you too, kitty. I promise I will not be long.” 

     You giggle softly, reassured by the wide-eyed look of promise on your husband’s face, and pat his arm before finally retiring to your chambers. 

     You lie on your back in bed, the curtains drawn over your windows to block out the midday sun. Thankfully, your presence wasn’t required in the hall this morning, the only thing on the agenda listening to the pleas of petitioners needing help with some trivial issue or another. Miguel had brushed your hair away from your forehead to press a kiss there when you’d told him you were feeling tired and calmly reassured you that it was perfectly fine for you to get some rest. You’d let out an exhale of relief at his unbothered response and settled back into the pillows gratefully. But then Meena had rushed over to you, panicked by the King’s casual mention of you feeling rather tired today and request for her to look after you as he’d walked out the door. You’d patiently assured Meena that you were all right and just needed some rest, barely holding back from snapping at her in irritation, and finally, she’d left you alone. 

     You inhale deeply and shift in position slightly, trying to get comfortable in spite of your aching back, and eventually, you find the perfect position. A small smile creeps onto your lips as the pressure of carrying your baby slowly eases, and you notice yourself start to drift off, your body taking advantage of having the entire bed all to yourself. Then, “mama! Mama!” 

     Your eyes fly open at the rapidly loudening sounds of your children racing down the hallway to your bedroom and you blink away the tears that form at the corners of your eyes. Of course, you loved your children, they were the most precious gifts you had ever received from the Gods! But you were just so tired and so uncomfortable and all you wanted was a few moments of peace and quiet. You sniffle softly as you push yourself to a seat and lean against the headboard, then you force your lips into a smile as the door opens and your sons bound into the room. 

     “Mama!” Rio exclaims, climbing up onto the bed and crawling excitedly over to you. You hold your hands out to him in encouragement and he giggles happily when you cuddle him into your side and press a kiss to the top of his head. Your first son was an easygoing child, blessed with the unbothered temperament of his father - and all his looks too: soft, brown waves, deep-set copper eyes, a handsome little smile that even the old Queen couldn’t resist. 

     “Ma-ma,” your second son, Rafael, carefully vocalises. He’d just turned one and had started trying to form words, imitating whatever sounds his brother and parents would make at him. He was a little more fussy than your first, but he absolutely adored his older brother and followed him everywhere he went. You spread your free arm wide as Miguel lifts your baby onto the edge of the bed and Rafael toddles over to you eagerly. He lets out an amused laugh when he falls over onto the mattress, but he maintains his determined pace until he’s tucked safely into your side. 

     “Hello, my darlings,” you greet your children and husband, your exhaustion fading away slightly as the happiness of being with your family overcomes you. “What brings you here at this hour?” 

     You look to Miguel for a response and he grins at you proudly, clearly delighted by his own ingenuity. “They missed you, my love. And besides, I thought seeing them might help brighten your spirits.” 

     He sank on the edge of the bed and waited for you to congratulate him for his idea. You loved your children and always seemed a little lighter after spending some time with them, no matter the situation. It hadn’t completely escaped his notice how much of a toll your current pregnancy seemed to be taking on you, and though you didn’t seem to want to share the true extent of your difficulties with him, he would still do all he could to make you feel more comfortable. 

     You give your husband your best attempt at a grateful smile: he was only trying to help, after all, unceasingly showering you with his attention even when you felt like nothing more than a wretched cow. “Thank you, duckie. How thoughtful of you.” 

     He sits up a little straighter, basking in your praise as he always does, and you turn your attention to your sons. “How are you doing, my little babies? Is everything good?” 

     “Everything’s good!” Rio repeats, smiling up at you. His gaze jumps to your enlarged stomach and he turns onto his side to study it curiously. “Mama good? Baby?” 

     “I am good, my love,” you lie to your son, tensing up slightly when he places a cautious hand on your stomach. “Baby is good too. But be soft, okay? Baby is very soft, so you must be soft too.” 

     “Baby is soft?” Rio questions, his eyes sparkling at the tidbit of new knowledge. “I like soft! Soft is good.” He keeps his movements gentle as he glides his hand across your belly and Rafael quickly tries to follow suit, not wanting to be left out. 

     “So, regarding the Prince of Assyria’s visit,” Miguel begins suddenly. “I was thinking perhaps we could arrange it for next week?”

He continues speaking after that, but you’ve stopped listening. Next week?! You’d barely said goodbye to the Hittite ambassador and already, your husband was planning to host another important guest?! You pull in a breath, trying to tamp down your frustration, but suddenly everything overwhelms you: your children gliding their warm little hands across your stomach, their incomprehensible shrieks of excitement pounding at your ears, your husband raising his voice to be heard over them and, oh god. You clench all your muscles as the smell of what was probably meant to be your lunch glides in through the door, the mixture of spices and meat turning your stomach uncomfortably. 

     “Miguel!” you exclaim suddenly, unable to stand it any longer. “Can you stop?!”

And the room falls silent. Your sons pull their hands away from you and bury themselves into your sides, terrified by your sudden change in demeanour: you never raised your voice. They gaze at their father with wide eyes, waiting to find out what he’d done wrong, and Miguel stares at you in shock. 

     You never yelled. No matter how frustrated you got, no matter how far his power-hungry advisors or jealous mother pushed you, you never raised your voice. Definitely not at him. He studied you curiously, unfamiliar with the way your features had scrunched up in irritation, and watched silently as your expression quickly shifted into one of horror.  

     “Mi- Darling,” you begin, an awkward laugh sprinkled through your words. Oh Gods, what had you done?! How could you yell at the King?! The man who still had a line of girls waiting for him outside the palace even despite the wife and two young sons he adored more than anyone in the entire world! You shift in your seat, preparing to move across the mattress and get to your feet. “My love. Duckie, I-” 

     “Stop,” Miguel commands you, his voice soft, but firm. Your stomach gives another uncomfortable flip at the unreadable expression on his face and tears spring to your eyes when he reaches forward to take your children away from you. “You should get some rest, darling. Say goodbye to Mama, babies. We will have some lunch and then go see the horses. Would you like to see some horses, Rafael?” 

     Rafael babbles happily as your husband carries him out of the room with one arm, your older son’s hand clasped in his, and you swallow down a sob as your husband continues to shoot you a vague expression while your sons wave goodbye to you. 

     Finally, you’re alone, exactly as you’d wished for. Only now, you find yourself regretting every second of it.

[interative-tekst-blog]

Hii I'm the one who ask for the fluffy stuff with Akashi and Aomine ! Sorry I wasn't clear enough, my bad (and thanks for your oh-so adorable answer).They're separated, like each of them has his girlfriend ! No poly. Hope it's okay for ya

1st ask: Hi there! <3 So glad to discover a new knb blog haha. Can I have some fluffy time with Aomine & Akashi with their gf ? Like...dunno, take cares because their gf is exhausting because of school project... Ah it's up to you ! :D (sorry if my english isn't perfect i'm not native haha)

A/N: Hello! (´｡• ω •｡`) Thanks for clearing that up, I apologize for the long and unannounced hiatus on this blog (///￣ ￣///) I hope you like it! There is a general prologue and then it branches out into their separate ways. The parts for Aomine and Akashi will be separated and indicated (I hope that makes sense...). There is no warnings for this one! Just a lot of fluff! And academic suffering I guess.... This felt very real to write actually (ﾒ﹏ﾒ) Aomine's is also a bit flirty because that's what felt most right for him, I hope you don't mind! Enjoy! ~Admin JS

The day dragged on like flies on caramel, the syrupy smothness nauseating and entrapping, leaving you feeling in the emenency of drowning in the slow and sweet density of hours that refused to pass. If not for the pressing matters at hand, you would have given up on trying to work straight through this neverending day long ago, but with the deadline of this project fast approaching and your role in the group being scripting the entirety of the presentation, you decided to seclude yourself in the library in hopes of finishing off the base on which everyone will work out their own parts.

Your group of peers were as involved in the planning of the project as rats are involved in the admnistration of a professional kitchen — which is to say they intented to take all of the marbles and none of the responsability. You tried to resent them, but there was already enough on your plate to chisel away your forbearance for you to knowingly create a matter out of this. To put it simply, you rather just be done with it.

You felt the steady beating of your heart in your temples, rhythmic like the drumms that made thousands march into war, a collective percussion of thunder and lighting that, for a split second, even made your vision lose focus. You'd definetly be needing something for that headache later.

You use your tired hands to rub your face, trying to wipe away the exhaustion brought on by overworking yourself beyond the typical studying hours; ambition and sacrifice always walk hand-in-hand and you, aspiring and young student, seems somehow forever stuck in the liminal space between the two. You get your phone to check the time and catch a glimpse of your reflection on the sleek glass screen; your last year, and all of which that came with it, was visibly taking it's toll on you.

Checking the time, you knew the library would close soon. Only a few — those who were desperate in long and strenuous study sessions and the reckless, like yourself, who worked with little to no regard for their personal well being and health — remained in scattered tables full of their personal choices of research medias. You tried an experimental stretch and decided, as soon as you heard the painful cry for help coming from your spine in form of a loud and obnoxious "crack", that it was time to call it a day and give some rest to the tissues that held your existence together. It wasn't like the topics of your research were still making sense anyway; you'd get nowhere with this considering your current state of fatigue.

You had slowly started gathering your things, packing in no rush at all and even stopping at some point to just contemplate your aliveness and feel your own breathing, when you heard a familiar voice coming from behind you:

"I had a feeling I'd find you here."

Akashi Seijūrō

You turn in your chair and are greeted by Akashi's cordial smile, polished and sweet and elegant and everything that brings immediate peace to your mind. "Ah, Akashi-san!" you exclame no louder than a whisper, your expression surprised and joyful like a child's. You keep the cordiality out of habit, muscle memory from the majority of the time when your relationship must be kept out of prying eyes, despite the fact you are mostly alone on this part of the library.

The rumors circling the Akashi family heir are already too much without any real fuel to them, and the redhead prefered to retain at least this part of his life a private matter. To you, it was just as good. Remaing under the radar and avoiding all that came with being a known face in a school like Rakuzan was an awfuly difficult asset to obtain.

"You've forgotten, haven't you?" he asks, pulling the chair besides yours to sit down. There is no real bite to his words regardless of the contents of his phrase. You scour the corners of your drained mind to try and remmember if you had any plans programmed with him for today. When you do recall, you cover your mouth with yours hands, completely stunned.

"I'm so sorry, Akashi-san. Really. Time got away from me. I just wanted to get as most as possible done today and ended up forgetting we were meeting up..." you set your expression into a apologetic one, regretful of the choice you made when you decided to keep on going after-hours. You simply did not remmember your plans to meet up and go home together. "I've held you up so long as well..." you make an exasperated noise, lowering your head on your arms on the table "Ahhhh, I'm so sorry!"

"That's alright. You were imersed on your work. That's very respectable, _______. Besides, I was also finishing some pendencies from the council, so you haven't held me up at all." he touches your back and awaits expectantly for you to look up at him. When you do look up, kepping your face still half concealed by your arms, you notice how his smile is warm and affectionate as he moves his hand up to you hair to pet it, amusement so obvious in his expression that his eyes are almost closed. You feel your cheeks heating up at that, flushed by the carefree display of affection in a place so public. "I just wanted to know if our plans are still standing."

You have heard how some of the students on the corridors sometimes refer to him as Prince, or even as Emperor, and although most of the time those aliases seem to you just immature and vain and too constricting to define Akashi's personality, there are times when you can't help but think you've gotten yourself a prince charming straight out of a fairy tale.

One of thoses moments is when he's playing. In court, he's as capable and mighty and commanding as the most remarkable of the emperors of times long past and, even with the sudden change you felt in him on his first year after the Winter Cup's loss, his imposing excellence remained as a second skin to him. It was mesmerizing, watching him play, you pictured him as sublime as a force of nature — equal parts wonderful and frightening in a way that made it impossible to look away.

Another one of thoses times was when you see him smiling at you like that, with the set of his shoulders spelling nobility and poise, his eyes glinting with something candid and honeyed and when his actions suggested all of the devotion he felt for you. You love him, dearly, and you find reprieve in the fact that the feeling is mutual. You raise your head, moving your chair closer to his.

"O-of course!" you stutter "That's it... If you still want to..." you speak slowly, as if testing the waters; a pointless disquiet tainting your voice. You hear his hushed laughter and there's sparks flying in your heart and butterflies in your stomach as if his laugh is the sound angles make when they sing in devoted content. He finds you endearing, and it becomes obvious by the way he relaxes into a more youthful posture and behavior when by your side. You love seeing him in the council meetings, and training in court, with his posture firm and impressiv; but nothing brings you more joy than watching him slip into the adolescent boy he is when there is no invisible expectation to fullfill and drive him to perfection.

"Of course I want to." he answers, lowering his elbow to the table and using it to prop his head on his hand, finding a better position to look at you from. "I know we were just going home, but I think we deserve a treat after this much work. What do you say? Are you hungry?"

Your first instinct stil is to let your humbleness win you over, even after so much time with him. You know he doesn't mind taking you in fun — and, most times, expensive — outings; in fact, he has told you more than once how he loves to spoil you rotten. Even so, you bite your lip in reticence and inhibition before answering in the way of propriety that you family raised you to:

"Wouldn't it be a problem for you? I don't want to be a bother." you ask. He sighs, almost unaudibly, and holds on of your hands in his.

"Certainly not. You could never be a bother to me, ______." he is final in his response; you are sure you can the sound os a gavel ringing distantly. After this, his face softens with love and hope "What do you feel like eating?" he presses you for an answer just with the look on his eyes that, besides being gentle and patient, is also demanding. You smile shyly, feeling your body's response to the prospect of food. And good food, considering the places Akashi has taken you before. You hope he can't hear the growl coming from your stomach.

"How about some guioza?" you propose.

"Sounds great. I know just the place." he smiles, standing up and offering his hand to you. After you have also stood up, he takes you backpack with him; you try to stop him, but he's having none of that. "Come on, I believe the driver is already waiting for us by the gate." you walk with him, watching with fondness as he passes by the librarian and greets her. She seems almost as warmhearted as you. You try to take back you belongings, only for him to switch the arm he is using to carry it with until he frustrates all of your tries.

He holds the door open for you to pass in a real gentleman manner, smiling as you timidly cross the open passage. After you gone through, he goes after you, calling your name. That gives you a pause, turning on your heel to stare at him expectanly.

"When we are alone, it would please me greatly if you called me just Seijūrō."

You let your jubilance seep through your face in the form of a juvenile smile, finding unmatched gratification in noticing that he mirrors your expression; there he is, your Seijūrō. The version of himself he shows only to you. His words are like an echo of a conversation from long ago, when he first requested you this. Your heart skips a beat just like that first time.

"It would make me very happy to do that as well, Seijūrō."

You let him take your hand as you walk to the car, happy and warm and full of young love.

Aomine Daiki

You felt the soft warmth of hands on your tensed and weary shoulders and stretched your neck to look up at the source of that dark and sweet voice, rolling like molasses off Aomine's tongue and reminding you that the reason for every sugar rush you ever had since you met him was this saccharine tone.

You made a small murmured sound of greeting and composed your face into a more recptive expression, letting your youthful joy transpire into your features and allowing your lips to form a spent smile that revealed not only the whites of your teeth to the blue-haired boy but also your contentment with his presence.

"Oh, hm... Hi, Daiki. I was just finishing up." You whisper to him while you try to rub away the fatigue off of your eyes when his airy laugh fills the silence sorrounding both of you as he sits down on the chair opposite of yours, not even trying to keep his tone down. This granted some stares from tables closer to yours, but you dind't noticed; the gravity of his presence was so jarring that you could do nothing besides let yourself be pulled to orbit around him.

"They really didn't come to help you out at all, did they?" he shakes his head, clicking his tongue on his front teeth, incredulous when you purse your lips and shrug, responding with a neagative "hm-hm". "You should just take their names out of the project and not tell anyone. Your doing all the work anyway, so is only fair." He muses, unimpressed, like it's only logical.

"That's cruel, even for you." you laugh, gathering the rest of your belongings and packing everything up nicely enough. "You know I can't do that. Besides, I much prefer it this way. I can do everything how I so please and they don't get to question it. They only get to say 'Thank you, _______, you'd saved us so much time' and at least try not screw up the presentation. Y'know?" Aomine gives you an impressed whistle and rests his elbows on the table between you.

"That's bossy." he reaches in your direction and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his warm and calloused hand soft against the skin of your cheek, staring into your eyes like he just found one of the wonders of the world shining in them, showing you the most handsome, most desarming, most youthful and playful smile he has in store. "I love it."

You can feel your blush creeping up your face in the direction of you ears, like fire burning up a hill. Your heart if so full of delight in that moment, being the sole object to that gaze. Aomine stares at you like you are the most precious rarity he has ever had the honor to look upon and the verity that blooms in the bright of his dark blue eyes never fails to make you feel exactly like treasure. You're caught so off guard you don't now how to respond, but that is not a problem considering that Aomine continues talking to you.

"You know, I was alredy planning on taking you out to eat or something today, but I guess I'll have to take you to that new place you been nagging me about. You deserve it after all of this.work" your eyes roll at that, but you had, in fact, been talking a lot about that new ramen place that opened just down the school street. However, his intonation surprises you, the choice of placement for the emphasis seemingly strange, and your confusion must be clear in the furrow of your brow because he explains: "Since you seem so tired and all... I think your not well enough to walk all the way there."

You open you mouth to protest, yet more confused than you were before, your frown even deeper. When Aomine stands, faster than what should be possible for someone as tall and broad as him, comprehennsion starts to dawn on you like the first lights of the day. Your slow and tired brain cannot bring you to react fast enough and, when you finally realize, he is alredy scooping you up into his arms along with all of your belongings.

"Daiki!" you protest, trying your best to keep your school skirt in place while on his firm hold and also trying to stop you backpack and folders from falling to the gound. You pass by the librarian in record speed right as she notices the ruckus your sappy boyfriend is causing in this place of knowledge. Most of the other worn-out students don't even have time to react to him as you pass them, you don't even notice how some girls stare in envious amazement. You turn to stare at Aomine's face and scold him but lose the courage as soon as you notice his expression, shinning eyes and big childish smile composing his features into something you cheerish more than anything else in this world.

It's insanely captivating, this bright expression of his, — which is something you have alredy said to him, albeit his desbelief in it — and before you even realize your expression starts mirroing his. You feel silly, and happy and warm and the long day of work seems like a speck of a faraway memory by the time he has ran with you out of the school library.

[misserinmarie]

Somewhere Real by Shira Erlichman

Get in, George Eliot. I packed PB&Js. I’m bringing that rainbow parachute we held hands under as eight year olds. Get in, right beside Autumn, beside every manic pixie dream girl screenplay written by a man, beside “bad weather,” beside Allegra’s pomegranate split into five uneven offerings, beside Allegra herself, she’s a mother now, as I write this. Get in, television and all the extinct hardware of the nineties. Montel, Jerry, Ricki, get in. I’m driving. Get in, exes. Tell me about life without me, pick the music, thread a threat through my dumb brown hair, something like you were always so then let the rain finish your sentence. Get in rain, but don’t hog the air. I’m running away. I’m tired of not being a monk. Get in, “You’re So Vain,” and five o’clock shadows and how hard it is to not talk to my brother. We went a whole year and a half. Get in, year and a half. Get in, therapist with the good haircut and bad advice. You too, Michael Jackson. I’m so sorry you had to be Michael Jackson. The kind of snow that only fell when I was young, get in. Or maybe it’s just how I saw it, get in. I’m trying desperately not to sound cute, which is, of course, adorable. But, please. Eleven siblings killed in the camps, get in, next to my grandfather. Pillheadedness, get in. Pema Chodron’s forehead and everything behind it, get in. I’m not going to say it again: buckle up, put a daffodil behind my ear, touch my shoulder from the backseat, write my will for me, tell Mary Ann Evans I can hear her humming, it’s fine except it’s driving me nuts. I’m aware that I’m crying, get in, sit next to K. The baffling intelligence of starling and uteri—front seat. I’m only five feet tall, too many strangers pick me up as a gag, my recurring dream is that I choose this life again—keep your hands inside the vehicle. The mandolin I inherited because of genocide, keep me awake all night. Morgan, I just want to watch your hands protect a flame. Everybody, I’m sorry, I’m doing my best not to lean so hard on metaphor I avoid where I am. This road invented itself. Even though I get the facial expressions right, I’m a poor listener, get in. Greasy haired, bucktoothed, gets distracted easily, deodorant stains, secret crush on Kathryn, come on in, throw your book bag out the window and tell me your favorite color. Turquoise, get in. The locker they shoved Gabby into and I didn’t do it, but I didn’t stop them, get in. The line between where you almost went and where you’re going: they call that a fork. Funny. Every time I let the moon roof slide open, but there was no moon, get in, hurry slowly, slow up, slur your worlds, say you’re sor- row, admit you loved the uglier twin while arm-in-arm with the one older by a second. Oh, cherishing, get in, it’s not too late, get in, the diner never closes, get in, put your feet on the dash, I’m stopping at a—I can’t believe they call it this, two commands: Rest! Stop! The game is we rush into the gas station, you buy me a souvenir I most certainly don’t need, and I, you. I found this keychain, it blinks your name, they never have mine, get in. Get in, world, death, time. I swear I’ll turn this car around if you don’t hot box us vapid. The day the stars come down and start walking around like they own the place, God said, I’m quitting, get in. The game is I spy, the game is who can be quiet the longest, the game is hold your breath there’s a cemetery. Order me fries. Order me lungs. Order me around. Order my manuscript. Here’s a handful of pennies, of ketchup packets, of sky. I know you’re exhausted, get in, I’m driving you home. Roll down your window, the forecast is alive. The dog’s kicking in his sleep which means a brain the size of a lemon can squeeze a whole dream. Poor poet, get in, you never could say goodbye with grace. Lucille, get in. Dead family, get in. I want to show you something: I had no map when I started and now here I am, somewhere real called loving you, get in.

[gdsplay]

I'm a casual BB listener (though I adore TOP), but I'm big on TVXQ, and even though they split long time ago and Yoochun lost the case against one of the women who accused him of assault, there are still OT5 fans. Brace yourself, they won't ever stop, and they don't get any less annoying :/

I can’t imagine the tvxq fandom, isn’t their many different divided parts of that fandom? Some are against Yunho and Changmin, or fans who only like Yoonho and Changmin then others disliking just JYJ back to fans who support all but Yoochun. Which js totally understandable, Yoochun is an awful person himself. That must be pretty exhausting to sort through. I’m aware these fans won’t give up, it’s in their nature but a taste of reality needs to hit them sooner or later since they assume it’s so unrealistic for an active 4bang. It will come.

[katvara]

(Text:

Foxy: Here, have something to drink guys.

Rockstar Foxy: Mom said we can only have water!

Foxy: Soda IS water. It just has stuff added to it.

Funtime Chica: You know “Funtime” Freddy is going to take those out of your check, right?

Foxy: Shut up, Chicer...)

The way my husband’s Foxy collection is set up, her Rockstar Foxy and Wolf plushies look like they’re climbing all over Jumpscare Foxy, who always has a tired look on his face since we removed the batteries (for my sanity). This has led to the headcannon that JS Foxy is a broke college student working the crap shift at Freddy Fazbear’s to pay the rent. He’s tired all the time since bills take up his food budget, so he usually ends up eating “extra” pizzas that were ordered (by Funtime Chica) and never picked up. He hates his job, but loves hanging out with FT Chica who hates working there ALMOST as much as he does.

Funtime Freddy is their manager who never seems to come out of his office unless the District Manager comes by, and that just to yell at everyone that the pizzaria isn’t clean enough and that they have too much overtime.

JS Foxy’s only joy in life is going home and playing video games, but sometimes his aunt Karen shows up before his shift ends to drop off her kids, Rockstar Foxy and Twisted Wolf. She tells him that her precious babies can only eat gluten-free, dairy-free, non-GMO pizza, with no sauce (since Twisted Wolf is allergic) (he’s not) and absolutely NO MEAT. They are allowed to have ONE no-sugar-added snack for desert, and can he look after them until about 1 am, since that’s when her charity gala ends? And since he’s their cousin, she doesn’t have to worry about paying a babysitter, so she’ll be leaving now, make sure they’re in bed by eight, bye~

JS Foxy usually just splits one of his pizzas with them and sneaks them sodas anyway. He then spends the night alternating between cleaning (FT Chica’s motto is “You do a half-assed job, I’ll do a half-assed job, and together we’ll make a whole ass.”) and making fun of Karen’s Instagram, which Twisted Wolf knows is the reason she adopted him, to show off how “diverse” and “progressive” Karen’s family was.

But at the end of the night, when JS Foxy is exhausted and smells like degreaser, he takes the kids to his apartment and lets them choose between Netflix and the PS4. RS Foxy and Twisted Wolf, who never get to watch anything but Joel Osteen and Veggie Tales, can never decide, so JS Foxy pulls the TV out of his room that has the ION logo burned into the bottom corner since that’s all he gets with his antenna and sets up both for the kids. He lets RS Foxy play anything he wants (he even has his own account on the Playstation, and he loves it since JS Foxy is the only one to call him “Rocky”) and Twisted Wolf gets set up with Twister on the smaller TV. It’s his favorite movie that he can’t tell his mom about, since the title of it is the same as his name, and JS Foxy still calls him “Bill” every time it rains.

Eventaully FT Chica shows up with a case of beer for her and JS Foxy and more sodas for the kids. While they smoke and bitch about work on the porch, RS Foxy and Twisted Wolf make a fort on the living room floor and pass out, game and movie still going.

Karen doesn’t show up for her kids until 9 am the next day, making JS Foxy late for his morning shift (thank you Baby, for calling in hungover sick again). She doesn’t understand why they never want to leave JS Foxy’s rathole when they have a perfectly fine home across town.

[thedancemostofall]

Somewhere Real, Shira Erlichman

Get in, George Eliot. I packed PB&Js. I’m bringing that rainbow parachute we held hands under as eight year olds. Get in, right beside Autumn, beside every manic pixie dream girl screenplay written by a man, beside “bad weather,” beside Allegra’s pomegranate split into five uneven offerings, beside Allegra herself, she’s a mother now, as I write this. Get in, television and all the extinct hardware of the nineties. Montel, Jerry, Ricki, get in. I’m driving. Get in, exes. Tell me about life without me, pick the music, thread a threat through my dumb brown hair, something like you were always so then let the rain finish your sentence. Get in rain, but don’t hog the air. I’m running away. I’m tired of not being a monk. Get in, “You’re So Vain,” and five o’clock shadows and how hard it is to not talk to my brother. We went a whole year and a half. Get in, year and a half. Get in, therapist with the good haircut and bad advice. You too, Michael Jackson. I’m so sorry you had to be Michael Jackson. The kind of snow that only fell when I was young, get in. Or maybe it’s just how I saw it, get in. I’m trying desperately not to sound cute, which is, of course, adorable. But, please. Eleven siblings killed in the camps, get in, next to my grandfather. Pillheadedness, get in. Pema Chodron’s forehead and everything behind it, get in. I’m not going to say it again: buckle up, put a daffodil behind my ear, touch my shoulder from the backseat, write my will for me, tell Mary Ann Evans I can hear her humming, it’s fine except it’s driving me nuts. I’m aware that I’m crying, get in, sit next to K. The baffling intelligence of starling and uteri—front seat. I’m only five feet tall, too many strangers pick me up as a gag, my recurring dream is that I choose this life again—keep your hands inside the vehicle. The mandolin I inherited because of genocide, keep me awake all night. Morgan, I just want to watch your hands protect a flame. Everybody, I’m sorry, I’m doing my best not to lean so hard on metaphor I avoid where I am. This road invented itself. Even though I get the facial expressions right, I’m a poor listener, get in. Greasy haired, bucktoothed, gets distracted easily, deodorant stains, secret crush on Kathryn, come on in, throw your book bag out the window and tell me your favorite color. Turquoise, get in. The locker they shoved Gabby into and I didn’t do it, but I didn’t stop them, get in. The line between where you almost went and where you’re going: they call that a fork. Funny. Every time I let the moon roof slide open, but there was no moon, get in, hurry slowly, slow up, slur your worlds, say you’re sor- row, admit you loved the uglier twin while arm-in-arm with the one older by a second. Oh, cherishing, get in, it’s not too late, get in, the diner never closes, get in, put your feet on the dash, I’m stopping at a—I can’t believe they call it this, two commands: Rest! Stop! The game is we rush into the gas station, you buy me a souvenir I most certainly don’t need, and I, you. I found this keychain, it blinks your name, they never have mine, get in. Get in, world, death, time. I swear I’ll turn this car around if you don’t hot box us vapid. The day the stars come down and start walking around like they own the place, God said, I’m quitting, get in. The game is I spy, the game is who can be quiet the longest, the game is hold your breath there’s a cemetery. Order me fries. Order me lungs. Order me around. Order my manuscript. Here’s a handful of pennies, of ketchup packets, of sky. I know you’re exhausted, get in, I’m driving you home. Roll down your window, the forecast is alive. The dog’s kicking in his sleep which means a brain the size of a lemon can squeeze a whole dream. Poor poet, get in, you never could say goodbye with grace. Lucille, get in. Dead family, get in. I want to show you something: I had no map when I started and now here I am, somewhere real called loving you, get in

[suzanneshannon]

Never Build a CSV Importer Again

(This is a sponsored post.)

CSV import as a process is broken. Messy customer data, edge cases, encoding formats, error messages, non-technical users: importing data into applications is a huge pain! Ingesting data has been long neglected as a software product experience, leading to customer frustration and wasted engineering cycles rebuilding what those users already expect to have. It’s a major distraction for product teams focused on building core differentiating features.

We’re going to look at the problems with turning messy spreadsheets into structured product data, how it’s typically addressed, and how Flatfile Portal solves the technical and user experience challenges inherent in CSV import.

If you’re a software developer and have built a CSV parser before, you know how frustrating it is to dedicate valuable engineering sprints to just one component of the customer onboarding. Building an entire CSV importer means addressing user experience and technical edge cases that result from involving humans in a highly technical ETL process. Trying to bake in more advanced functionality such as data normalization, column-matching, or even refining the interface itself results in developers building an entirely new product before the first one is even finished!

Investing engineering sprints to maintain an outdated data importer, or worse, building a CSV importer from scratch is now a pain of the past. Today, we’d like to show Flatfile Portal, which allows developer and product teams the ability to revamp their entire data import flows not in weeks or months, but in minutes. Did we mention you’d save thousands of dollars in development costs?

Get Started →

Common Problems with CSV Import Experiences

Importing CSV data is often one of the first interactions users have with a software application, especially “empty box” products. Unfortunately, there are too many ways that this data import experience can cause customer frustration, or worse, churn.

For users, an inefficient importer experience will cause them to question the value of the product itself.

“If the app can’t import my data easily now, what’s going to happen once my data is finally uploaded?”

Your customers shouldn’t have to battle with these kinds of CSV import errors (Source: Flatfile)Digsy.ai shared their experience with handling data imports for their real-estate CRM product prior to integrating Flatfile Portal. Not only was the team strained on resources from building and maintaining a proprietary data importer, but Digsy’s engineers also spent ten or more hours per new user cleaning up and formatting incoming customer data. Occasionally, these users would churn, rendering all that work fruitless.

Thankfully, there’s an out-the-box CSV importer that can do all this on its own, and with just a few lines of code.

Introducing: The elegant import button for web apps

We call it Flatfile Portal, and it was born out of frustration from continuously re-building CSV importers, parsers, and uploaders. Flatfile provides data normalization, CSV auto-column matching, and a modernized UI component with a few lines of JavaScript. Customers implement Flatfile in as little as a day: a massive improvement over 3-4 engineering sprints with continuous maintenance tacked on.

An animation of an import completed with Flatfile Portal. (Source: Flatfile)

Let’s look at issues associated with traditional CSV import experiences and how Flatfile Portal addresses them.

Issue 1: Unclear Guidance

Users tend to struggle with CSV imports, and usually have questions before the CSV is even uploaded. Here are questions users may ask during an import:

Can I upload XLS, XLSX, or XML files?

What is UTF-8 encoding?

What if my file is 9.7 MB?

Is it a problem if my file has special characters in column headers?

What happens if my spreadsheet columns don’t match the required fields?

How do I fix my data? Do I need to save a duplicate CSV and upload that file instead?

Unless your users spend a lot of time exporting and importing spreadsheets, they’re not going to think about these situations until the moment they import their data.

It shouldn’t be up to your users to read through intimidating data import documentation or watch a 15-minute tutorial on how to import spreadsheets into your product. Surprisingly, developers aren’t spared either! Although engineers understand the complexities of importing spreadsheets into an advanced system (like Microsoft Azure), there is still an exhaustive amount of content they need to ingest before their first import even happens.

A highly technical product like Microsoft Azure attempts to reasonably present developers with extensive documentation for importing user data. (Source: Microsoft Azure)Your product experience should make it simple to import CSV data without requiring users to become data scientists. The same goes for the technical understanding required to build a CSV importer to begin with, a goal we’ve dedicated reaching with Flatfile Portal.

Here’s an example of a simplified CSV import solution for a CRM from Portal, created in less than an hour complete with complex data validation.

A demo of how Flatfile Portal helps software engineers quickly build a data importer with a few lines of JavaScript. (Source: Flatfile)Portal is standardized, responsive and customizable to specific branding needs. With Flatfile, users will instantly know to:

Import their data using a CSV or XLS.

Match their spreadsheet columns in the next step, (if Portal’s 95% fuzzy-matching doesn’t catch it during an import.)

Click “Continue” to begin their data upload.

There’s no need to overwhelm the user with warnings about file encoding, incorrect date formats, or what fields are required. Portal solely focuses on importing CSV data from the user and making it a delightful experience during this first data onboarding touchpoint. Mapping columns and validating data will be completed at a later stage once the importer has matched the spreadsheet header columns using human-in-the-loop machine learning.

Portal’s JS configuration allows data models to be replicated in minutes instead of weeks. The label matches a CSVs column name, and the key is how you’d like the imported data to be saved in the JSON output. Portal also provides powerful validation options to work with any data model requirement and supports regex, data normalization, and server callbacks for those unique validation use-cases.

Once the data model has been built into the JavaScript config, all that needs to be done is to trigger the importer from within your product, typically by way of a button through a JavaScript call. If your application can execute JavaScript, you can integrate a truly modernized CSV importer, in minutes, and at a fraction of the cost.

With Flatfile Portal, you and your users won’t have to worry about things like file sizes or encoding formats causing problems during import. Portal helps you manage imported data via the browser or through a server-side process, enabling you to split and upload large CSV and Excel files without dropping imported data.

A Flatfile demo that shows how you can reliably split and import data from multiple customer files. (Source: Flatfile)Flatfile allows users to import CSV data from multiple files intuitively, without dropping data or doing manual splitting. In this demo, users are allowed to import spreadsheets containing three different sets of data. Not only will this help make their files more manageable, but it’ll make it much easier for your product team to ingest and organize customer data on your backend into a consistent structure.

Customers shouldn’t have to think here. CSV importers should be designed — error messages and all — to make data onboarding a quick and painless experience for users.

Issue 2: Inefficient CSV Column-Mapping

The next source of frustration often appears when poor column-matching functionality is in place.

As an example, let’s say that a Mailchimp user wants to import as many contact details into the email marketing software as they can. After all, it might be useful to have their business title or phone number on hand for future list segmentation.

However, initializing the import results in some data being skipped or dropped entirely:

This is how Mailchimp’s CSV field-mapping system displays unmapped data. (Source: Mailchimp)The app doesn’t recognize three of the four spreadsheet columns in our file. In order to keep the unmatched column data, the user has to go through each field and manually assign a matching label that Mailchimp accepts.

This is the case with many products that ingest user data, especially CRMs. Not all data will be used during an import, however, the decision to allow custom field submissions, in this case, should be left to the user; rather than removing their data prematurely.

We know what you’re thinking: “Why not just provide a pre-built spreadsheet template?” However, this is hardly a solution to the problem and will only create more work and frustration for your users. Especially those that bring in thousands of rows of data, or have 40 column headers (yes, we’ve seen it!)

The problem here lies within the customer data onboarding experience. Optimizing CSV import features within a product has been a difficult and expensive project to take on for product and engineering teams. That’s where Flatfile’s machine-learning, auto column-matching solution comes in handy.

Portal automatically learns which incoming fields are matched to which columns from each of your users. This results in a ‘human in the loop’ machine-learning experience that is truly unique to your product’s data model. Portal will automatically match imported CSV columns to your data model based on user inputs and consistently learns over time.

The importer also caches column assignments regardless of session, so a user that uploads ten CSV files in a day will get most if not all of their columns matched automatically.

ClickUp, powered by Flatfile Portal, has leveraged human-in-the-loop for its productivity web app.

The main data import modal for users that want to import tasks and projects into ClickUp. (Source: ClickUp, powered by Flatfile Portal)Portal is designed to help users of all technical expertise. Instructions are clearly provided as to what the user can upload, and the fields required. In addition, Portal’s manual data entry feature allows users to preview what sort of data can be imported into productivity software. This helps users preserve as much data as possible, rather than realize too late that the data importer didn’t recognize their columns and dropped the data out without any notice.

Configuration flags extend Portal’s functionality even further. For example, the allowCustom flag specifies whether you’d like users to add custom columns during the matching step. Using ClickUp as an example, one could add a column for “Billable”? As a boolean field to track whether a task is billable. Allowing users to place columns on the fly results in a shift of control not seen with legacy CSV importers – shaped by a product’s unique data model requirements.

Portal’s column matching step:

Portal asks users to identify column names for accurate mapping. (Source: ClickUp)This step asks users to indicate where their column names live. This way, the importer can more effectively match them with its own or add labels if they’re missing. Some CSV data may only contain values rather than column headers.

Next, users get a chance to confirm or reject Portal’s column matching suggestions:

From Slite.com

Portal uses a machine-learning column-matching system to automatically map users’ imported data. (Source: ClickUp)

On the left, users will find the columns and values they’ve imported. The white tab to the right provides them with automated column matching within ClickUp’s data model. So, “Task” will become “Task name”, “Assignee” will become “Task assignee(s)”, “Status” remains as is and so on.

If one of the labels in the CSV doesn’t have any match at all, the importer calls attention to it like this:

Flatfile Portal calls attention to labels or CSV values that don’t have an exact match in a product. (Source: ClickUp)

In this example, the Priority response of “High” was detected. But “Medium” was not. However, there’s no need for the user to guess what the correct replacement should be. The importer provides relevant options like “Urgent”, “Normal” and “Low” to replace it with. No need to re-import their CSV, or change the cell value prior to importing the data.

Once all spreadsheet mappings have been resolved, the user can easily “Confirm Mapping” or discard the column altogether if it’s proven unnecessary.

From Slite.com

Users get a chance to confirm CSV labels and clean up their spreadsheet results before importing their data. (Source: ClickUp)Finally, users get a chance to review any errors detected with their data:

From Slite.com

Validation errors detected in ClickUp’s data import appear in red. (Source: ClickUp)In this ClickUp example, “Task Name” is triggered with the “isRequired: true” flag which requires users to submit data for that particular column. Whenever any validation fails in Portal, you have full control over how error messages are displayed to the user – all inline within the importer.

The “Only show rows with problems” toggle in the left-hand corner makes error rows easy to spot and address quickly.

This keeps users from having to:

Review the original CSV file and fix errors before re-importing again.

Import the data and do the cleanup afterward in the app.

How do you set up this system of column-mapping and error detection? Portal does most of the work for engineers.

From Slite.com

There’s no need to build a custom data importer with Flatfile Portal. (Source: Flatfile)Portal is configured via a JavaScript code snippet. Any labels, keys, or validation rules specified in this code will be reflected on the customer-facing importer. This allows for complex validation on things like phone numbers or normalizing multiple date formats:

This Portal demo provides the pre-written JavaScript code on the left and a sample of the importer output on the right.Flatfile Portal is truly a turn-key CSV importer built for SaaS applications. The critical part to integrating Portal is configuring the JS snippet to your product’s required data model. In other words, tell Portal what data needs to upload from users, what is the correct value, and whether you’d like them to add their own custom data.

Here’s a JS snippet you might use to customize Portal for a basic contact list:

An example from Flatfile on how to configure the JavaScript with your own keys and labels for a basic contact list import. (Source: Flatfile)You can then use validators to set strict rules for what can appear in the corresponding fields:

To recap:

It’s not easy building a CSV importer in-house. Integrating Flatfile Portal allows you to focus on building differentiating core features unique to your product’s experience, knowing that the CSV import component is taken care of, and optimized.

Build a robust data importer with Flatfile Portal

One of the reasons we build SaaS products is so customers can effectively manage their businesses without the costly overhead of outsourcing to a third party, or the costly practice of trying to build everything themselves.

Importing data doesn’t need to be the reason for customer frustration or churn during customer data onboarding. It’s easy to see how users can be frustrated with the inconveniences of common CSV import errors. Take advantage of a tool like Flatfile Portal whose sole product focus is designing faster and more seamless customer data onboarding experiences for your customers, partners, and vendors.

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[terrysacia-blog-blog]

14 Questions To Ask A Divorce Lawyer - And Many More Can Save You Money

14 Questions To Ask A Divorce Lawyer - And Many More Can Save You Money

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So, you’ve decided to schedule a free divorce consultation and you’re wondering what questions to ask a divorce lawyer so you’re better prepared. 

That’s a huge, frightening first step. Your first action towards making separation concrete. The sooner you meet, the better things can turn out in your favor as your divorce goes on. 

One of the most important things to remember when meeting with a lawyer your first time is going in prepared. A consultation without preparation of questions to ask a divorce lawyer runs the risk of becoming a sales pitch, or you leave without any information — a waste of your time! 

Your situation is unique, but here are some questions that you can have prepped to ask your lawyer beforehand. They’ll give you a better idea of your case and how reliable your chosen lawyer may be. 

How Often Will We Communicate / When Will You Be Able to Communicate?

This is one of the most important things to have answered. You are navigating one of the toughest journeys a person can be saddled with. You will have a LOT of questions and unique situations that will occur. 

You want to be sure that you are able to get questions handled by your lawyer in a prompt manner.

This is about putting your mind at ease, so you should be in touch with your lawyer at LEAST once a month — preferably, closer to once a week depending on both of your schedules. 

Will I Have Access to My File?

Your case file will be the centerpiece of your divorce proceedings. At the end of the day, it belongs to YOU. Your lawyer should be able to give you a copy of your file within a reasonable period of time. If, for some reason, your attorney is hesitant to hand over a copy of your file, or wants to keep parts of it away from you, be wary. 

Will You Provide References?

The answer to this question is Yes. A lawyer should have no trouble providing you with several references to his or her former clients. If they cannot, they have either had no success representing people in the past or they do not have enough experience in the field. Either way, it’s a bad sign. 

Note that it is completely acceptable for the attorney to ask you to wait while he contacts his former clients. While many people agree to be “consistent” references and provide their contact information to anyone who’s interested. Not every office will have these types of references. Your law office may need to have someone reach out for reference approval first. 

Who Will Work on My Case? 

We cannot stress this enough. This is very important to get the answer to. Will the person you’re having a consultation with be handling your case? Or, are they only there to pitch the office’s services to you? 

If they won’t be the one working on your case, is it because they have another lawyer on staff who specializes in divorce law? Or, will they be offloading a lot of work to administration staff or a paralegal? If it’s the latter, be hesitant. You are paying the price of a lawyer to have a lawyer work for you.

(About) How Much Is Divorce Cost-wise? 

We’ll tell you this now: you won’t get an exact number. That’s perfectly fine. However, your lawyer should be comfortable giving you a rough estimate, or, more accurately, estimates. 

Divorces can be handled amicably or spiral into long, brutal fights that require court appearances. During a free divorce consultation, an attorney should be able to explain the ways costs can add up when divorces go a certain way. You don’t want to be blindsided by a huge check if your divorce begins to spiral. 

This is also a good time to ask HOW you’ll be charged. Will it be on retainer or hourly? If it is hourly and you’re just working with the staff, will it be the same hourly price? What about other costs that could occur? Additionally, what is the billing policy if hourly — will you be charged for 5 minutes or half an hour? 

If money is a concern for you, you can request a budget cap so your costs don’t end up spiraling out of control. 

What Is the Process for a Divorce?

A lawyer with experience should be able to devise a couple of scenarios showing different ways the process could pan out. Your attorney should be able to explain the standard process and rough time frame for a divorce case, what they’ll take care of, and what you’ll need to do. 

Just like the cost, the process of divorce is not set in stone. However, you will want to leave with a rough idea of how long it could take. 

What Documents Do You Need?

Law is mostly paperwork, so you’ll want to know what information and documentation to start digging up. There isn’t much extra to say about this one. 

What If My Spouse Wants to Make Things Difficult?

This is an absolute worst-case scenario. Unfortunately, divorces happen where one spouse simply doesn’t want to give a single inch. They want the divorce to be a war, no matter what. They are not in it to win, they’re in it to cause as much pain and trouble as possible. In cases like this, it can feel like your divorce will go on for years. 

What Are My Options?

There are different ways a divorce can pan out. There’s traditional filing, of course, but there are other ways as well. These include uncontested divorce, collaborative divorce, or mediation before traditional filing. 

Your case is your own, and based on the information you give your lawyer, they should be able to explain your options. Based on your case, they should also be able to explain why (or why not) these options are applicable to your specific case. 

Do You Prefer Going to Court?

We can’t tell you what the answer is, but this may be a good question to ask your lawyer. It can help you get a feel for your lawyer and his opinion on how to handle issues. You’ll want to be mindful of someone who seems eager for war. It might feel good to have someone aggressive in your court, but conflict is always more expensive, more damaging (emotionally and otherwise), and can cause you to lose in the long run. 

What’s a Reasonable Child Custody Agreement?

Uncertain, but it can be comforting to have a professional opinion. After all, that’s why we go to experts for cases like this. 

The thought of losing custody can be terrifying, so it’s good to hear what the most reasonable case is, as well as what the best and, God-forbid, worst case is. 

Your lawyer can also provide advice on what not to do. Many people end up with terrible custody deals because they made foolish decisions during the divorce. An attorney can advise on things to avoid and inform you of the common mistakes people make that cost them custody. 

What Counts as Assets?

You can bring a list of the big things that come to mind, like your house, your car, retirement funds, bank accounts, etc. Be prepared for more questions from your lawyer as you discuss the most reasonable way to split up these assets. 

Are There Concessions We Should Give?

You can’t win everything in a divorce. There may be things you need to surrender so you can gain what is truly important to you. Trying to “win” every fight will only prolong the divorce, add to your attorney’s bill, and possibly leave you with less than if you had simply sought out a mutual agreement. 

What About My Pets?

Of course, your kids and their custody will come up, but it is also important to bring up whether you or your ex-spouse is keeping the family dog or cat. Many people are not ready to give up the family pet when they split up, and pet custody agreements do exist. Your lawyer should be in YOUR corner, and if he’s scoffing at the fact that you want to keep your pet, it’s a bad sign. You love your pet, and he should be willing to find a way for you to see them. 

Questions to Ask a Divorce Lawyer

This list of questions to ask a divorce lawyer isn’t exhaustive. If there are any issues that have been concerning you, add them to the list of questions to ask a divorce lawyer. Remember, they’re not only there to handle your case, they’re also there to help you navigate this painful and complex process. 

[fitnesswomenshealth-blog]

'I might have to cancel my first holiday in two years because I can't find respite for my husband'

New Post has been published on https://cialiscom.org/i-might-have-to-cancel-my-first-holiday-in-two-years-because-i-cant-find-respite-for-my-husband.html

'I might have to cancel my first holiday in two years because I can't find respite for my husband'

Wrestle: Kevin and Marie Murtagh have not had any respite for two many years because he was disabled by a car or truck incident. Photograph: Seamus Farrelly

‘I could have to terminate my initially getaway in two yrs because I are not able to find respite for my husband’

Impartial.ie

An exhausted total-time carer may perhaps have to terminate her to start with holiday getaway in two years due to the fact there is no respite centre in the State offered to consider her partner.

https://www.impartial.ie/irish-news/overall health/i-may well-have-to-cancel-my-initially-getaway-in-two-years-due to the fact-i-cant-locate-respite-for-my-partner-37342780.html

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An exhausted complete-time carer may have to cancel her to start with getaway in two decades mainly because there is no respite centre in the State readily available to get her husband.

Marie Murtagh (69) from Navan, Co Meath, has been searching soon after her partner Kevin given that he endured head and other injuries in a auto incident two decades back.

Ironically, he experienced purchased the car to celebrate profitable a struggle versus throat cancer when the crash occurred, resulting in him undergoing a tracheostomy.

She had been hunting forward to her to start with getaway and crack since the accident with a journey to Lanzarote, which her daughters had purchased as a existing.

The only respite care available to get Mr Murtagh (70) was in Co Down, and Mrs Murtagh claims she was advised she could wait up to two several years for a area any where in the 26 counties.

That statistic mirrors waiting moments in Meath on your own, where by 70 grown ups with a disability are now struggling with a huge delay of between a few and four years for a respite spot.

Meanwhile, 30 children in the county on a ready record confront up to a year in advance of they can entry a location, according to figures acquired by community Sinn Féin TD Peadar Tóibín.

Ms Murtagh mentioned: “I was so on the lookout forward to a split, to remaining me all over again for a small time. I am devastated.

“We’re hoping to form out some family members care for him but it’s going to be hard for them all.”

She added: “Neither of us have any type of existence any far more. It can be like a vicious circle that we are unable to get out of.”

Mr Tóibín stated: “It truly is cruel that the ready instances for adult respite providers in Meath by yourself is up to 4 yrs.

“We are speaking about carers who do sterling do the job out of enjoy and sacrifice for their relatives.

“Searching right after an individual 24/7 can have a intense toll on their personal physical and psychological health.”

The HSE had not responded to a question by time of going to push but in a parliamentary question to Mr Tóibín, the Neighborhood Wellness Organisation explained: “The HSE recognises the require for supplemental respite provision throughout the Midlands/Louth/Meath Group Wellbeing Organisation and in that regard is actively operating to increase provision of exact same.”

Irish Unbiased

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[coin-river-blog]

Some say blockchain technology is going to revolutionize the music industry. Haven’t we heard this somewhere before?

In May, Wired posted an article listing 187 things blockchain was supposed to fix; it included everything from curing cancer to making pornography more affordable. The list was not exhaustive, however. It didn't mention, for instance, the music industry, though many companies have sprung up claiming they will use the technology to save the industry.

Of course, the claim is appealing. The record industry has never really recovered from the "disruptions" of the past two decades, and it desperately needs a new economic model.

It's an industry with a long history of extracting work from artists without properly remunerating them, and blockchain promises to empower artists and help them receive their fair share in an industry where revenue tends to be devoured by corporations at the top of the food chain, while artists themselves get scraps.

Multiple companies have created blockchain applications for music distribution. While some of these seemed to wither away – launch dates never met, social media pages on the projects slowly going quiet – others had little promise to begin with (some were essentially "it's Bandcamp, but you can pay with bitcoin!").

Still, there are benefits blockchain could provide. Most obviously for tracking royalties. The need for improvements on that front have been highlighted by the recent history of streaming service Spotify.

Last year Spotify bought blockchain company Mediachain, which described itself as a "a peer-to-peer, decentralized database for sharing information across applications and organizations."

This acquisition followed a $43 million lawsuit over royalties Spotify failed to pay. The company said it simply didn't know who was supposed to receive the royalties. The Mediachain acquisition, Spotify claimed, would give it a new tool to help cut through the confusion.  

In a blog post describing Mediachain, founder Jesse Walden explained:

"Platforms like Spotify and Soundcloud have an incentive to find a reliable, long-term solution to the fractured data problem in order to avoid future lawsuits. Spotify seems to be leading the charge, having recently committed to 'fix the global problem of bad publishing data once and for all.'"

This comment suggests Mediachain was not intended to supplant the current, dominant music delivery platforms. It instead offered a solution that could be utilized by those major players. So with Spotify now possessing Mediachain, was that "global problem" solved "once and for all"?

The January following the acquisition, Spotify was again sued over unpaid royalties, this time for $1.6 billion.

(ETHNews reached out to Spotify for a comment regarding how, or if, the Mediachain acquisition has altered Spotify's practices, but we received no response.)

Spotify's business model is remarkable in many ways. In spite of being arguably damaging to the artform itself, in spite of having accelerated the contraction of artists' revenue, in spite of the fact (if the lawsuits are any indication) that the company regularly gives itself deep discounts by neglecting to pay for the music it streams, the company still manages to be utterly unprofitable.

Last week Spotify released a quarterly report announcing a $100 million loss. It was the third quarter in a row Spotify lost money. What is even more remarkable is that these losses are occurring during a period in which Spotify continues to increase its listener base. And it's not just Spotify that continues to grow. A Nielson report indicated that in 2017 Americans listened to about five-and-a-half more hours of music per week than they had one year earlier.    

What that statistic indicates about the value Americans place on music is certainly debatable. Possibly all those listens mean love of music is at an all time high. Or it's possible music is now appreciated with a fervor similar to that usually reserved for wallpaper – not engaged with deeply, but always there, blandly present in the background. But whatever this increased "consumption" of music indicates, the question still remains: Why, if people are continually listening to more music, can no one seem to be able to turn a profit?

An article in Fortune placed the blame for Spotify's failure to profit on record companies. No matter how many subscriptions the service sells, went the argument, record companies will continue to squeeze. As evidence, the article cited recent federal legislation that would extend copyrights to 144 years. Spotify can only really be profitable (again, according to the article) if it is allowed to give away other people's work nearly for free; unfortunately record companies have stables full of aggressive attorneys and charming celebrities who apparently prevent this from happening.

Spotify (and other "disruptors") created a business model that can only be profitable if content is virtually free; ergo, content should be free. The utter strangeness of this argument went completely unacknowledged in the Fortune piece. 

eMusic, possibly the oldest streaming music service, has come to a similar conclusion. According to a white paper recently issued by the company, the problem facing musicians is that middlemen take such a large chunk of the money that musicians can't make a living. A chart included shows artists typically receive only 10 percent of revenue, while publishers, labels, and retailers get the remaining 90 percent. The solution to this problem is (you might have already guessed) blockchain.

By using blockchain, according to the paper, eMusic will be able to change that split a simple 50/50. Half to service providers, half to the artists/labels. Since blockchain allows for automation of royalties payments, publishing companies are no longer need to be involved.

The plan appears to be an attempt to create a comprehensive platform that allows for a more direct interface between artist (and/or record companies) and service providers, taking money that would historically go to publishers and reallocate it to those service providers, including, but not exclusively, eMusic. The paper does admit getting those other providers to participate may be difficult. It states: 

"We are under no illusion that convincing established service providers, such as Pandora or Spotify, to incorporate our blockchain platform will be easy."

So why would these other providers, ostensibly eMusic's competitors have any interest in participating?

"By championing an equitable split of revenue, artists distributed through eMusic can better-negotiate promotional support and will be given more weight in profit-driven algorithms that drive music recommendations on major retail platforms."

By using blockchain to cut publishers out of the equation, an artist can pay streaming services a bigger percentage, which will incentivize those services to play that artist's music more often.

Essentially it is payola. Rather than empowering artists, the plan seems like a method to increase the tribute paid to those already in control, a very different picture than that described in the more optimistic predictions. Like this one:

"For independent or new artists, this technology will cut costs effectively. Music companies will have to readjust their business models because blockchain will be at the center of this power dynamic shift from big corporations to artists."

The statement of blockchain's potential is eerily similar to this comment also heralding an increasingly decentralized future, in which independent artists can gain some power:

"It's no longer about a big behemoth beaming something at a mass audience … It's about a mass of niche audiences picking and selecting what they want at any given time."

But that second statement is not about blockchain; it's from a 2005 New York Times article about how the internet had created an opening for independent music labels to thrive. For the music industry, blockchain is now promising some of the same benefits the internet promised, yet failed to deliver, more than a decade ago: greater control for artists and freedom from the dominance of a few huge companies.

Some of us, those old enough to remember the first time we heard the word "email," may experience some déjà vu when we hear these claims about blockchain's potential. And many of us may be skeptical when told that a new technology is about to undermine the control of billion-dollar corporations.     

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[democratsunited-blog]

Democrats are fed up with Nancy Pelosi

https://uniteddemocrats.net/?p=7736

Democrats are fed up with Nancy Pelosi

Things are not looking good for House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi, D-Calif.

Between centrist and far-left Democratic candidates publicly declaring their opposition to her speakership and a new survey showing a significant number of Democrats think she should be replaced, the congresswoman’s tenure as a party leader may actually be in jeopardy.

Asked whether Democratic leaders in the House should “keep Nancy Pelosi,” an impressive 49 percent of Democrats said the party should “elect someone else,” according to an American Barometer survey released this week by Hill.TV and HarrisX.

[Related: It’s not just centrists: Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez dodges on Nancy Pelosi]

About 79 percent of independents agreed Democrats should “elect someone else,” while 91 percent of surveyed Republicans said the same (who are the other 9 percent?).

About 51 percent of surveyed Democrats, on the other hand, said the party should “keep Nancy Pelosi.”

However, these numbers decline precipitously when the survey administrators reworded the question to include that Pelosi has been the leader of Democrats in the House of Representatives since 2002.

With the rewording, the survey found that only 44 percent of self-identified Democrats said the party ought to “keep Nancy Pelosi.” Only 13 percent of surveyed Republicans and 31 percent of independents said the same.

About 87 percent of Republicans said Democrats should “elect someone else,” while 69 percent of independents agreed. About 56 percent of Democrats agreed party leadership should appoint someone new.

The minority leader’s office downplayed the results this week, saying the poll was “designed to generate a negative result for Leader Pelosi.”

The survey’s findings come in the same week that Democratic congressional candidate Rashida Tlaib, who’s running for Michigan’s 13th District, said she likely won’t vote for Pelosi as speaker, making her simply the latest in a growing list of Democratic candidates to say so.

Honestly, this could go either way for Pelosi. She is remarkably politically savvy and she knows how to weather a storm. But there’s only so much you can do to quell uprisings at the grass-roots level, especially if it’s a long, sustained revolt. It can be dealt with, sure, but it can also be all-consuming. You can deal with it for only so long before exhaustion sets in. Just ask former House Speaker John Boehner, R-Ohio.

HarrisX CEO Dritan Nesho said in reaction to the group’s survey, “Democrats are split on whether to keep Nancy Pelosi as leader and independents and most voter groups want someone else to step up. The findings suggest a yearning for change.”

Anna Greenberg of the Democratic polling firm Greenberg Quinlan Rosner said in reference to the GOP’s attempts to tie Democratic candidates to Pelosi, “She’s been sort of the boogeyman for some time.”

“I’m skeptical that those ads really work so I think that even though Nancy Pelosi is unpopular, I have never seen a lot of strong evidence in congressional races that calling these people Pelosi Democrats has actually had all that much impact on what actually happens,” she added.

The American Barometer survey, which was conducted online between August 3-4 and surveyed 1,021 registered voters has sampling margin of error of plus or minus 3.07 percentage points.

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[cucinacarmela-blog]

The mock CAP baker's certificate exam

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The mock CAP baker's certificate exam

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The next instalment in my life as an apprentice baker at the French INBP professional school. I’m now halfway through training and it’s still as exciting as ever, and exhausting – but maybe I’m just getting old, or both… Anyway, a few days ago we had to go through the mock CAP exam. A sort of trial run for the assault-course of the real thing that’ll we’ll be facing at the end of May.

For weeks we had been revising the basics, but we already knew we’d be given a list of required items to make (bread, speciality breads and viennoiseries) and this lived up to expectations. We’d have to be in place by 6 am, raring to go, for half a day that would seem much longer.

It began with 30 minutes gathered round for the briefing, where we were given our “order” of what to produce: what types and how many of each. We then had to make all our calculations and, most importantly, organise a work schedule with timings and use of equipment. We all reached for our calculators and recipe files then set to work…

The order:

Traditional French bread: – 9 x 550g slashed loaves – 8 x 350g baguettes, including 4 zig-zag split loaves – 12 x 80g rolls in 3 different shapes of own choice (I chose “tobacco pouch”, “pistol” and “volcano”) – 4 x 400g large loaves, 2 round with own choice of slashed top, 2 long with 2 slashes

Wholemeal bread: – 4 x 350g wholemeal loaves in 2 different shapes, round and long

Viennoiseries 1: Raised dough (milk dough this time) – 6 x 80g “shuttles” – 6 x 80g plaits (single line) – 3 plaits (double line) “with remaining dough”

Viennoiseries 2: Raised flaky dough – 12 pains au chocolat – 12 croissants – 12 pains au raisins

We needed to calculate weights, how long everything would take, dough proving time, kneading, weighing out and shaping. As well as all that, and most importantly, we had to organise ourselves to avoid having too much to do at some moments (the biggest challenge) or twiddling our thumbs at others.

Then it was time to take possession of our “tour” (the workstation with its wooden worktop that resembles a kind of baker’s workbench, as shown in the photo lower down). We installed ourselves in the “fournil” (oven area), got out all our tools and everything else we needed: scales, baking sheets, trays, cooling racks, etc. Each of us had our own kneading bowl, dough mixer and an allocated shelf in the oven – so no bottlenecks, which was very useful. One touching detail: the taller people had been allocated the higher shelves in the oven. No need to tell you which my shelf was out of the 4 levels…

At 7 am sharp, there was an announcement: “At one o’clock all your items must be cooked, turned out and presented artistically on your workstation”, and we were off.

It was all systems go and a total hush descended on the “fournil”. We were all hard at it, with no time for joking, in an atmosphere of intense concentration. There were no great anxieties either; these were baked goods we knew and we had our recipes. It was more a matter of avoiding cock-ups (like forgetting the salt or yeast, weighing something out wrong, etc.). The two examiners walked around, not offering any advice nor replying to questions, but giving our batter a poke here, weighing a lump of dough there, measuring the temperature of another. They did all this, as you’d expect, with poker faces – they gave nothing away, not letting slip the merest look, smile, encouraging nod, pursed lips or furrowed brow, in spite of all our frequent searching looks. We were marked on everything: dress, hygiene, behaviour, how we turned out the dough, how we put everything in the oven, how we managed (or didn’t) the chaos on our workstations… and much else besides.

It all went fairly smoothly for me; no mistakes with weighing, my items were more or less uniform (I’ve not yet totally mastered this, my big flaw) and I only made one cock-up: just as I was putting my baguettes in the oven, I realised I’d forgotten to slash 4 for the zig-zag version. Remembering this when putting the loaves onto the baking tray left me completely distracted (but that’s me for you). Well, not too disastrous; time for Plan B: I slashed open 4 of the baguettes on the tray with the cutter. Not very elegant, but at least the “split” effect would be there.

Everything was looking good, when the equipment let me down: when I went to put my viennoiseries in the oven, I found the proving cabinet (visualise this as like a large fridge kept at 30° C and 98% humidity), was only at 20° C and down to 44% humidity so, of course, everything was dried out and crusted over. My first though was that I was sunk… Both examiners came over and took stock of the damage and my crestfallen air. The cabinet must have broken down mid-morning. Not to worry, they told me, you just won’t be marked on the volume of your viennoiseries. I took this on board, but my morale went into a nosedive. We transferred my items to another cabinet and, at the same time, I glazed them with a mixture of egg glaze and water to rehydrate them. As a result, I now had another hour and a half ahead of me, and when I thought I’d nearly finished. And how were they going to rise with this delay? I hung around in sullen mood, waiting for them to swell up again, if they would be so kind… And they obliged, so I cooked one tray after another, and they turned out pretty well in the end. Phew!

As required, everyone displayed the finished items on their “tour”. The examiner came over to see us and began a long and rigorous debriefing: he counted all the items, checked how well they were cooked, the flavour and colour. He cut one of each through the middle to check the crumb quality for texture, flavour and holes. All the good and bad points were indicated and noted. The result: a fairly good score for my wholemeal, rolls and viennoiseries (just shows how important it is never to despair), average score for my loaves (just a touch overcooked), and a poor score for my plaits (I’m useless at this, sad to say).

This is what it all looked like:

In the photo you can see my colleague from the second wave still hard at it, top left the cursed proving cabinet (!) and lower right the knife with which I was tempted to slit my wrists. 🙂

As the photo doesn’t show the full end result very well, here’s a very short (9sec) panoramic video.

Next step, the real test on May 29th…

Last modified on: May 1st 2018

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The mock CAP baker's certificate exam

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The mock CAP baker's certificate exam

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The next instalment in my life as an apprentice baker at the French INBP professional school. I’m now halfway through training and it’s still as exciting as ever, and exhausting – but maybe I’m just getting old, or both… Anyway, a few days ago we had to go through the mock CAP exam. A sort of trial run for the assault-course of the real thing that’ll we’ll be facing at the end of May.

For weeks we had been revising the basics, but we already knew we’d be given a list of required items to make (bread, speciality breads and viennoiseries) and this lived up to expectations. We’d have to be in place by 6 am, raring to go, for half a day that would seem much longer.

It began with 30 minutes gathered round for the briefing, where we were given our “order” of what to produce: what types and how many of each. We then had to make all our calculations and, most importantly, organise a work schedule with timings and use of equipment. We all reached for our calculators and recipe files then set to work…

The order:

Traditional French bread: – 9 x 550g slashed loaves – 8 x 350g baguettes, including 4 zig-zag split loaves – 12 x 80g rolls in 3 different shapes of own choice (I chose “tobacco pouch”, “pistol” and “volcano”) – 4 x 400g large loaves, 2 round with own choice of slashed top, 2 long with 2 slashes

Wholemeal bread: – 4 x 350g wholemeal loaves in 2 different shapes, round and long

Viennoiseries 1: Raised dough (milk dough this time) – 6 x 80g “shuttles” – 6 x 80g plaits (single line) – 3 plaits (double line) “with remaining dough”

Viennoiseries 2: Raised flaky dough – 12 pains au chocolat – 12 croissants – 12 pains au raisins

We needed to calculate weights, how long everything would take, dough proving time, kneading, weighing out and shaping. As well as all that, and most importantly, we had to organise ourselves to avoid having too much to do at some moments (the biggest challenge) or twiddling our thumbs at others.

Then it was time to take possession of our “tour” (the workstation with its wooden worktop that resembles a kind of baker’s workbench, as shown in the photo lower down). We installed ourselves in the “fournil” (oven area), got out all our tools and everything else we needed: scales, baking sheets, trays, cooling racks, etc. Each of us had our own kneading bowl, dough mixer and an allocated shelf in the oven – so no bottlenecks, which was very useful. One touching detail: the taller people had been allocated the higher shelves in the oven. No need to tell you which my shelf was out of the 4 levels…

At 7 am sharp, there was an announcement: “At one o’clock all your items must be cooked, turned out and presented artistically on your workstation”, and we were off.

It was all systems go and a total hush descended on the “fournil”. We were all hard at it, with no time for joking, in an atmosphere of intense concentration. There were no great anxieties either; these were baked goods we knew and we had our recipes. It was more a matter of avoiding cock-ups (like forgetting the salt or yeast, weighing something out wrong, etc.). The two examiners walked around, not offering any advice nor replying to questions, but giving our batter a poke here, weighing a lump of dough there, measuring the temperature of another. They did all this, as you’d expect, with poker faces – they gave nothing away, not letting slip the merest look, smile, encouraging nod, pursed lips or furrowed brow, in spite of all our frequent searching looks. We were marked on everything: dress, hygiene, behaviour, how we turned out the dough, how we put everything in the oven, how we managed (or didn’t) the chaos on our workstations… and much else besides.

It all went fairly smoothly for me; no mistakes with weighing, my items were more or less uniform (I’ve not yet totally mastered this, my big flaw) and I only made one cock-up: just as I was putting my baguettes in the oven, I realised I’d forgotten to slash 4 for the zig-zag version. Remembering this when putting the loaves onto the baking tray left me completely distracted (but that’s me for you). Well, not too disastrous; time for Plan B: I slashed open 4 of the baguettes on the tray with the cutter. Not very elegant, but at least the “split” effect would be there.

Everything was looking good, when the equipment let me down: when I went to put my viennoiseries in the oven, I found the proving cabinet (visualise this as like a large fridge kept at 30° C and 98% humidity), was only at 20° C and down to 44% humidity so, of course, everything was dried out and crusted over. My first though was that I was sunk… Both examiners came over and took stock of the damage and my crestfallen air. The cabinet must have broken down mid-morning. Not to worry, they told me, you just won’t be marked on the volume of your viennoiseries. I took this on board, but my morale went into a nosedive. We transferred my items to another cabinet and, at the same time, I glazed them with a mixture of egg glaze and water to rehydrate them. As a result, I now had another hour and a half ahead of me, and when I thought I’d nearly finished. And how were they going to rise with this delay? I hung around in sullen mood, waiting for them to swell up again, if they would be so kind… And they obliged, so I cooked one tray after another, and they turned out pretty well in the end. Phew!

As required, everyone displayed the finished items on their “tour”. The examiner came over to see us and began a long and rigorous debriefing: he counted all the items, checked how well they were cooked, the flavour and colour. He cut one of each through the middle to check the crumb quality for texture, flavour and holes. All the good and bad points were indicated and noted. The result: a fairly good score for my wholemeal, rolls and viennoiseries (just shows how important it is never to despair), average score for my loaves (just a touch overcooked), and a poor score for my plaits (I’m useless at this, sad to say).

This is what it all looked like:

In the photo you can see my colleague from the second wave still hard at it, top left the cursed proving cabinet (!) and lower right the knife with which I was tempted to slit my wrists. 🙂

As the photo doesn’t show the full end result very well, here’s a very short (9sec) panoramic video.

Next step, the real test on May 29th…

Last modified on: May 1st 2018

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The mock CAP baker's certificate exam

New Post has been published on http://nielsencooking.com/the-mock-cap-bakers-certificate-exam/

The mock CAP baker's certificate exam

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You are here: Home page > The blog > Random post > The mock CAP baker’s certificate exam

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The next instalment in my life as an apprentice baker at the French INBP professional school. I’m now halfway through training and it’s still as exciting as ever, and exhausting – but maybe I’m just getting old, or both… Anyway, a few days ago we had to go through the mock CAP exam. A sort of trial run for the assault-course of the real thing that’ll we’ll be facing at the end of May.

For weeks we had been revising the basics, but we already knew we’d be given a list of required items to make (bread, speciality breads and viennoiseries) and this lived up to expectations. We’d have to be in place by 6 am, raring to go, for half a day that would seem much longer.

It began with 30 minutes gathered round for the briefing, where we were given our “order” of what to produce: what types and how many of each. We then had to make all our calculations and, most importantly, organise a work schedule with timings and use of equipment. We all reached for our calculators and recipe files then set to work…

The order:

Traditional French bread: – 9 x 550g slashed loaves – 8 x 350g baguettes, including 4 zig-zag split loaves – 12 x 80g rolls in 3 different shapes of own choice (I chose “tobacco pouch”, “pistol” and “volcano”) – 4 x 400g large loaves, 2 round with own choice of slashed top, 2 long with 2 slashes

Wholemeal bread: – 4 x 350g wholemeal loaves in 2 different shapes, round and long

Viennoiseries 1: Raised dough (milk dough this time) – 6 x 80g “shuttles” – 6 x 80g plaits (single line) – 3 plaits (double line) “with remaining dough”

Viennoiseries 2: Raised flaky dough – 12 pains au chocolat – 12 croissants – 12 pains au raisins

We needed to calculate weights, how long everything would take, dough proving time, kneading, weighing out and shaping. As well as all that, and most importantly, we had to organise ourselves to avoid having too much to do at some moments (the biggest challenge) or twiddling our thumbs at others.

Then it was time to take possession of our “tour” (the workstation with its wooden worktop that resembles a kind of baker’s workbench, as shown in the photo lower down). We installed ourselves in the “fournil” (oven area), got out all our tools and everything else we needed: scales, baking sheets, trays, cooling racks, etc. Each of us had our own kneading bowl, dough mixer and an allocated shelf in the oven – so no bottlenecks, which was very useful. One touching detail: the taller people had been allocated the higher shelves in the oven. No need to tell you which my shelf was out of the 4 levels…

At 7 am sharp, there was an announcement: “At one o’clock all your items must be cooked, turned out and presented artistically on your workstation”, and we were off.

It was all systems go and a total hush descended on the “fournil”. We were all hard at it, with no time for joking, in an atmosphere of intense concentration. There were no great anxieties either; these were baked goods we knew and we had our recipes. It was more a matter of avoiding cock-ups (like forgetting the salt or yeast, weighing something out wrong, etc.). The two examiners walked around, not offering any advice nor replying to questions, but giving our batter a poke here, weighing a lump of dough there, measuring the temperature of another. They did all this, as you’d expect, with poker faces – they gave nothing away, not letting slip the merest look, smile, encouraging nod, pursed lips or furrowed brow, in spite of all our frequent searching looks. We were marked on everything: dress, hygiene, behaviour, how we turned out the dough, how we put everything in the oven, how we managed (or didn’t) the chaos on our workstations… and much else besides.

It all went fairly smoothly for me; no mistakes with weighing, my items were more or less uniform (I’ve not yet totally mastered this, my big flaw) and I only made one cock-up: just as I was putting my baguettes in the oven, I realised I’d forgotten to slash 4 for the zig-zag version. Remembering this when putting the loaves onto the baking tray left me completely distracted (but that’s me for you). Well, not too disastrous; time for Plan B: I slashed open 4 of the baguettes on the tray with the cutter. Not very elegant, but at least the “split” effect would be there.

Everything was looking good, when the equipment let me down: when I went to put my viennoiseries in the oven, I found the proving cabinet (visualise this as like a large fridge kept at 30° C and 98% humidity), was only at 20° C and down to 44% humidity so, of course, everything was dried out and crusted over. My first though was that I was sunk… Both examiners came over and took stock of the damage and my crestfallen air. The cabinet must have broken down mid-morning. Not to worry, they told me, you just won’t be marked on the volume of your viennoiseries. I took this on board, but my morale went into a nosedive. We transferred my items to another cabinet and, at the same time, I glazed them with a mixture of egg glaze and water to rehydrate them. As a result, I now had another hour and a half ahead of me, and when I thought I’d nearly finished. And how were they going to rise with this delay? I hung around in sullen mood, waiting for them to swell up again, if they would be so kind… And they obliged, so I cooked one tray after another, and they turned out pretty well in the end. Phew!

As required, everyone displayed the finished items on their “tour”. The examiner came over to see us and began a long and rigorous debriefing: he counted all the items, checked how well they were cooked, the flavour and colour. He cut one of each through the middle to check the crumb quality for texture, flavour and holes. All the good and bad points were indicated and noted. The result: a fairly good score for my wholemeal, rolls and viennoiseries (just shows how important it is never to despair), average score for my loaves (just a touch overcooked), and a poor score for my plaits (I’m useless at this, sad to say).

This is what it all looked like:

In the photo you can see my colleague from the second wave still hard at it, top left the cursed proving cabinet (!) and lower right the knife with which I was tempted to slit my wrists. 🙂

As the photo doesn’t show the full end result very well, here’s a very short (9sec) panoramic video.

Next step, the real test on May 29th…

Last modified on: May 1st 2018

Back to top of page

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